Hobbit 1. Old Promises

Thorin sighed, reaching for yet another of the missives that had piled up on his cluttered desk. It had been many years since the Fell Winter as folk were calling it, but he felt as if they were still recovering. They had barely made it through the harsh season, and when spring had come at last it was as if the land itself breathed a sigh of relief. Prey had been slow to return, fruit trees had been damaged, and food remained hard to find for quite awhile, but the warmer weather had brought hope.

Continuing to idly scan the parchment as he let his thoughts run off into memory, Thorin was jerked back to the present as certain words glared off the page. '_Thrain...spotted in Dunland...wandering_.' His heart skipped a beat, resuming its pace at a faster rate than normal. Could it be true? Could his father still be alive? There was no question what he would do now. He had to go looking. He had to be sure, because if there was even the slightest chance that he could bring his father home...

Slamming the paper down he headed decisively for his room, taking out a travel-stained cloak and serviceable bag. He carefully packed it with anything he might need, clipping his sword onto his belt and slinging the pack over his shoulder. All he needed to do was inform the family of his imminent departure and leave Balin in charge. Dis and Mara would have enough to do in his absence without having to worry about his duties, and he knew his long time friend would have his back in this.

He went to Balin first, the elder dwarf giving him an understanding smile and trying to hide the doubtful sorrow in his eyes that said he believed the trip to be in vain, but he knew why Thorin was going regardless. He next gathered his family in the sitting room, both Dis and Mara eyeing his travel gear with puzzled apprehension. He offered Mara a small smile of reassurance before turning to Dis, nervously anticipating her reaction to his news.

"I've received news," he announced lowly, his tone sending Dis into rising suspicion. She gave him a sharp look, waiting impatiently. "Rumor has it that Thrain, our father, was spotted wandering the wilds in Dunland."

Dis gasped, turning a strange shade of white before glaring at Thorin. "You told me you found his body outside Moria," she accused, tears falling unbidden from her eyes as Mara clasped her shoulders in rising worry. "You said he was so mangled I shouldn't even look, that you knew it was him!"

Thorin's eyes were filled with rising shame. "I told you that to spare you the grief. In truth we did not find him at all. The last I saw was him charging towards the gates. I felt certain that he was dead when he did not return, and it seemed naive to believe otherwise. I am so sorry, I just wanted to spare you the pain of living in fearful hope as I have all these years. I must be sure, if there is even a chance..."

Dis's anger melted into pained understanding. She knew her brother had precious little hope, though he would go still, and shoulder the load like every other he had taken upon himself for so long. She grasped him in a tight embrace. "Go then, and may you find him and bring him home," she whispered.

Mara hugged him next. "Come home safely to me," she ordered him sternly, prompting a smile to cross his rugged face. He nodded, murmuring a farewell for only her ears before turning to the three young men that stood before him. His nephews were full grown, his son nearly so, and all filled him with an intense jolt of pride. His heirs. He could not wait to show them to his father.

"Take care of your mothers," he instructed them, clasping all three by the shoulders firmly one by one.

He left the town behind without fuss, taking as little notice as possible as he headed south and into the wilds. The journey was long and arduous, filled with dead ends and nights spent hand on sword in unfamiliar territory. In the end he found nothing, no proof that there was any merit to the rumors whatsoever. He turned at last to make his way slowly home, arriving at Bree disgusted, tired and hungry. Night had long since fallen, and only the flickering of torch lights skimmed over the shadowed faces of the taller beings that meandered through the town at this late hour. Despite that, many were still out and about, ducking in and out of the tavern and going about their less legal business transactions where none were likely to see them. Thorin kept his hood covering his face and his hand on his sword hilt, discomfort thrumming through his veins.

Making the doorway of the inn, he at last allowed himself a sigh of relief, pushing back the sodden hood of his cloak and removing the heavy fabric before hanging it over a nearby rack to dry. He wound his way through the room, avoiding eye contact with the other patrons and ordering a meal in a low tone from the serving maid that had followed him to his chosen table. She delivered it promptly, leaving him to his food in relative peace, which he felt grateful for. Sometimes the wenches wanted to talk, interested in seeing a dwarf this far south, but he was not in the mood for that and it appeared this one was a perceptive sort.

Taking a large drought of ale, he began idly pulling apart the rich bread, hair prickling on the back of his neck. He felt like he was being watched, and lifted his head cautiously to glance around him. At first nothing seemed amiss. Men were crowded around the many tables littering the room, chatting and laughing with drinks in their hands. A spattering of smaller folk could be seen as well. Hobbits that shared the town with the men. They wove their way through the crowd with expert ease, accepting help only to clamber up on to the tall bar stools.

His cursory observation of the room almost completed, Thorin caught sight of a pair of unsavory looking characters at opposite corners of the room. They were not drinking or chatting, and they appeared in fact to be alone, if they were not with each other. He sensed that they were, and that their purpose was to no good as they rose from their chairs either side of him and began to approach. His hand drifted slowly to the hilt of his sword, placed in such a way that he could easily draw it within seconds. Thorin groaned inwardly, he had no wish to cause bloodshed in this establishment, but he would be damned if he allowed these vagabonds to get the best of him.

He was just about to confront the closer of the two when a tall figure slipped into the seat across from him. The newcomer had the immediate effect of driving off his would-be assailants, the men scowling and retreating from the tavern to find easier prey. Shaking off his startlement, Thorin knew instantly why the men had given up, for the grey-clad man that now eyed him expectantly was easily recognizable. They had only dealt with each other a handful of times in the distant past, when Erebor was still a kingdom instead of a ruin, but he remembered the wizard enough to know he could trust him.

"Gandalf," he sighed. "What brings you here? I feel I can safely assume this is no chance meeting?"

The wizard smiled wryly. "You would be correct," he confirmed agreeably. "I have a proposition for you, the same proposition I once made your father long ago." Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. "It is high time for the dwarves to take back Erebor," he advised a now gaping Thorin. "Gather your people, set out for the mountain. This I will aid you in doing, for the dragon concerns me greatly. It has sat there for far too long."

Thorin frowned thoughtfully even as he felt a thrill of anticipation from the wizards stirring speech. "The clans will not rally to me, you know this," he reminded the wizard. "Only the one who holds the arkenstone has that power, and it lies half a world away under a fire-breathing dragon."

"What if we could get it?" Gandalf asked mysteriously.

"That would certainly change things," came the immediate reply. "How?"

"We will need a burglar," Gandalf said with a smile. "That also I can get for you."

They spoke for a few minutes more, finalizing details and agreeing on a meeting place, and it was with lighter heart that Thorin retired to his bed for the night. Dreams of his lost kingdom ran through his head, the image of his son and nephews standing in the reclaimed mountain a thought that filled him with new hope.

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><p><strong>Author's note: To those that have traveled over from my first segment, welcome back! To any newcomers, I would strongly advise reading the previous story to this one, which is entitled "Healing Hearts - The Beginning" and can be found on my profile. It will provide much needed back story for my characters, and explain quite a few questions that would otherwise go unanswered. I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter, and I'm looking forward to sharing the journey with you! Just a note: the Bilbo in my story will be portrayed as being very OOC when compared with the one from the Hobbit, but it was important to make him this way for the purposes of the tale later. I felt it necessary to mention this, and I hope people like Bilbo as I have decided to write him.<br>**


	2. Surprise Gift

It was with mixed news that Thorin returned home to Ered Luin. He pulled his family and closest friends aside at once, waiting until they were all assembled to break the news.

"Did you find him?" Dis asked hopefully, despite the fact that she already knew the answer from the simple fact that their father stood not at his side.

Thorin shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing his forehead gently against hers in their renewed grief. "It seems it really was just rumor." His face inexplicably brightened then. "I have better news now however, for I bumped into a most unexpected person in Bree."

"What has happened?" Balin asked, taking in the eager expression of his king with surprise.

"Gandalf approached me," he began, his tone hushed now in a curious solemnity. "He has urged me to get a small company together, to go to Erebor and find the arkenstone, that we may reclaim our home!"

The dramatic speech was met with gasps of shock all around, many of the group staring at him in abject disbelief.

"Are you certain this is wise?" Dis protested. "We have a wonderful home here, we are safe and happy." She knew her voice shook but she could not fully contain her fear, knowing if her brother marched on the mountain her sons would follow.

To everyone's surprise Mara interjected, a smile of understanding on her face. "I think you should do it," she said firmly, Dis nearly choking in shock. Mara held up a hand, already offering an explanation for her reasoning. She turned to Dis. "Do you remember the day we met? You were telling me about Erebor."

The woman nodded, recognition flashing in her eyes as she called forth the memory. "You had a vision didn't you?" she said slowly. "You said dragons didn't live forever, but you never did explain that. What did you see?"

Mara chuckled. "I didn't explain at the time because I was confused. I saw Thorin, looking much like he does now, with a crown on his head. The skull of a dragon was at his feet and three men stood at his sides. Two of them looked exactly as Fili and Kili do now, the other looked like my Frerin, but of course at the time that really threw me for a loop. I had no idea who it was, so I didn't say anything."

"Then this quest will succeed?" Thorin whispered hopefully. "Your visions, are they always true?"

"They have not failed me yet," she said thoughtfully, "though at times they take interpreting and they can change. But as I have not seen a different version of that particular vision yet, I would think you have a fighting chance."

"With so much certainty we are with you for sure," Balin said, Dwalin nodding in agreement.

"We will go also," Oin and Gloin replied together, closely followed by Dori, Nori and Ori.

"Outta be a fun adventure," Bofur chimed in, echoed by Bombur and Bifur, the three of them having risen in Thorin's regard due to their friendship with Mara over the years.

"We can come too right uncle?" Fili and Kili asked nervously, awaiting rejection as they stood beside Frerin, the three of them clearly anxious to prove themselves. For a moment Thorin looked torn, his need to protect his family warring with the fierce desire to have his heirs at his side on the day when their homeland was reclaimed.

"Please adad," Frerin pleaded seriously. "We can help, it is our duty."

Thorin looked at the young men approvingly. They had grown up so fast. "Mahal," he chuckled. "Whenever did you become such strong warriors? Of course you must be by my side." All three were puffed up with pride, holding back their cheers of delight as they worked to maintain a strong disposition, accepting the approval with the grace of the warriors they had been named.

Plans began in earnest then, as bags were packed and ponies allotted. Thorin had informed them of Gandalf's offer of a burglar, and their chosen meeting place in the Shire. The company would head there in small groups as they finished what tasks they would need to complete before leaving. Affairs were put in order, families were informed, and an extremely put out Gimli and Bomfur were placated.

"You must stay here and help guard our people in our absence," their fathers patiently instructed them. "Your job may end up being the hardest of all." The boys cheered up marginally at being given such a heavy task, feeling the weight of responsibility and finding it good.

The company spent one last night in Ered Luin, and it was a tearful Dis and Mara that sent their sons off together. Dis slid a rune stone into each of her sons hands, Mara passing a similar trinket to Frerin, and the three marched off confidently, eager for the road and the adventure that would follow. "If you see any of my cousins tell them hello from me!" Mara called after them, pleased that they would get to see the peaceful lands before starting their journey proper.

Thorin had already left, and Mara recalled her farewell to him in private. It had been far more intimate, the couple spending the night talking about Thorin's memories of his home before resting in each others arms for a few blissful hours. Only the deep-seated surety that she would see him again had allowed Mara to let him go, but the impending separation still tugged painfully at her heart. No matter what happened it would likely be well over a year until they were reunited.

The two women tried not to dwell on the ones that were missing from the table as they shared a quiet supper, even as they eyed the empty chairs with longing. They ate slowly, sharing small anecdotes about their loved ones to fill the silence that had settled over the room, and taking comfort in the fact that at least they had each other.

Mara had just finished her meal and was rising to clean the plates when Dis saw a most peculiar expression cross her face. She almost looked to be in pain, her eyes laced with sudden panic before she darted out of sight.

"Mara?" Dis called worriedly, hurrying after her friend. "Is everything alright?" She caught up to the smaller woman just in time to see her retch the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet. She had only seen that happen once before in all the years they had known each other...

Mara faced her with a look of wry humor. "Oh dear."

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><p><strong>Author's note: Oh dear indeed. I wonder what is wrong with Mara? I hope I made it obvious enough what her current affliction is.<strong>


	3. Baggins or Took

The familiar hills of his home came into view lit up by a lowering sunset. Bilbo had spent a relaxing two weeks in Rivendell, chatting with the elves and keeping his sindarin up to snuff, all while indulging in their rather extensive library. He had also taken the chance to join a few of their patrols, the taller beings finding the sight of him propped on one of their horses extremely amusing. He had been unable to ride the great beasts himself, but there was always a friendly hand there to sit behind him and guide the obliging animals around.

They had seen little combat in those times, and he had been restricted to watching even when they did encounter an enemy, but he managed to get in some practice with his sword all the same. It was a rather rough weapon, but he was very attached to it, and he staunchly refused a replacement whenever they offered. The elves only shrugged, not quite understanding his attachment to the little blade but too polite to question it. He ended up using it primarily in the training grounds, taking on any elf that would fight him and practicing occasionally with the young ward of Elrond. The human appeared very nearly at his majority in the years of his people, though his face was still quite young. It was his eyes that were old, telling of a hard life. His skill with a blade also spoke of long days on the road, the moves he utilized resembling those of the rangers that traveled the lands.

Now he was home again, and fairly glad of it. A brief respite was just what he needed before he began to plan where he might go next. He figured he would spend perhaps a good month or so telling stories to the children and working with the bounders, then he might leave again, letting his feet take him where they may. It did not have to be far. To Bree, or even the old forest, it mattered little as long as he was seeing things, experiencing as much life as he could while he had the chance. That was the lesson he had decided to take away from the fateful winter when his dearest treasures were lost to him.

It was all too easy to settle into his normal routine. Build up the fire, make a quick supper with fresh chicken from the market, sit before his hearth with a book, and then off to bed for a peaceful sleep. Then rise with the sun, a quick breakfast, and a pipe on the bench out front of his house.

It was there that he was sitting, puffing out a rather impressive set of smoke rings, eyes closed in contentment, when he received a most unexpected visitor. One minute he was relaxing, the next he opened startled eyes as a puff of his own smoke came back to hit him without explanation, wondering why the sun had suddenly disappeared. He was confronted with a tall figure, clothed in grey and wearing a pointy hat, the man looking down at him with evident curiosity. They stayed thus for a moment, Bilbo waiting politely for the other to speak, before deciding he obviously needed to take the initiative when the man remained silent.

"Good morning," he offered pleasantly enough, a cheerful smile on his face for this stranger that he had an odd feeling he should know. The man then broke into a curious monolog that left Bilbo feeling rather flummoxed, ending abruptly and causing the hobbit to stutter a little in his confused response. He tried to wrap his head around what was said, something about wishing a good morning whether he wanted it or not, and being good and other such nonsense. Finally he resolved to go with the safest non-answer he could come up with. "All of them at once I suppose," he replied lamely, unsurprised when the man looked rightly disappointed. The man returned to examining him, not deigning to speak further, and it was making him oddly uncomfortable. He really felt like he knew the curious stranger, but any name he might have had was escaping him at present. "Do I know you?" he asked, an apologetic smile on his face when the man appeared even more disappointed than he had been previously.

This however seemed enough to get him talking, a fact for which Bilbo was grateful. He was running out of things to say to people that were familiar but not, and that stared at him so intensely. "You know my name, though you don't seem to remember that I belong to it," the man said indignantly. "I'm Gandalf, and Gandalf means...me!" A grand shrug accompanied the words, as if it should have been obvious from the start, and Bilbo nearly laughed at the over-dramatization, remembering at last.

"Gandalf!" he said cheerily. "It's been awhile since your last light show. What brings you back to these parts?"

The wizard harrumphed. "Well, I'm glad to know you remember something of me, even if it is only my fireworks. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure."

Bilbo blinked, his mind immediately tearing into excited ramblings. '_You just got back_,' his inner voice tried to remind him, but he was ignoring that one, already far off down the road. "Really?" he asked excitedly. "What sort of adventure?"

To his surprise Gandalf did not respond at once, instead giving him a cryptic frown. "You are not what I expected Bilbo Baggins," he said finally, though he looked pleased with what he had found, or as pleased as a mysterious wizard _can_ look at any rate.

"Took," Bilbo replied automatically. Gandalf offered him a quizzical look, clearly asking why he was disowning his father's name. "I love my father, bless his soul," he hurried to explain, "but I have far more of my mother in me I'm afraid. I'm really nothing at all like the rest of the Baggins, so it seemed odd to carry the family name when it represents me so poorly." The hobbit smiled easily, going back to the subject at hand as his mind screamed out questions that wanted answers all at once. "Now, about this adventure..."

Gandalf chuckled, enormously pleased with this turn of events. His reception was even better than he had hoped. "The company I have gathered is looking for a burglar to steal a jewel from under the very nose of a dragon," he announced importantly, a faint twinkle in his eye as the hobbit took in this particular bit of news.

"A dragon?" Bilbo asked incredulously, feeling surely the wizard was jesting. When the man didn't reply to this he shrugged. Best not worry about that for now. "What is this company like? When will they be arriving?" he asked instead, feeling this to be of far more import than things that were bound to come later.

"They are dwarves," Gandalf informed the nearly ecstatic hobbit. "I know not their exact number, but I would expect in the range of a dozen for supper this eve," he continued. Bilbo just nodded happily. Dwarves! This was marvelous! He had never met dwarves in person before, the reclusive race was hard to get near.

"I will have a meal ready and waiting," he assured the wizard, already going through items in his head to be sure he had enough food. This was where the Baggins in him _did_ shine, all the lessons on hosting guests being recalled with perfect clarity.

"Excellent, I shall inform the others!" Gandalf replied. "If you don't mind, I shall place a mark on the door so that they may find the place easier," he requested, pleased when Bilbo stood back to watch in interest as he carved the rune for burglar into the green-paneled wood. The two parted ways, Bilbo to go to market and Gandalf to gather the company.

'_Took indeed_,' the wizard thought to himself amusedly, watching the little fellow trot towards the market, a smile on his face and a spring in his step.


	4. Family Ties

Clapping his hands together in satisfaction, Bilbo looked around his spacious dining room. He had expended every effort to make this evening a memorable one, for what was a hobbit if not the most gracious of hosts? It had taken a lot of work, but as he examined his handy work he was pleased to note that it impressed even him. His table was positively groaning with food of every kind, though he had made certain to keep the greens to a minimum, having heard that dwarves were not very partial to foods of the leafy variety. Barrels of his finest ale and wine were ready and waiting in the hall, right next to the cupboards that he had painstakingly dragged out to make more sitting room. He briefly despaired over the gouges running through his wood floor from his efforts, but ended up shrugging in the end. What were a few dents anyway? They could always be mended.

He was now pacing in anticipation, glancing out the parlor window every so often and watching as the shades of evening deepened to give way to nights darkness. Usually this was swiftly followed by another look at the table, just to be certain he had left nothing out. He was making one such check when the doorbell rang at last.

Dwalin son of Fundin was apprehensive to say the least. He remembered well their trip to the Shire all those years ago, and how the hobbits on this side of the river had run and hid from their approach. What was the wizard thinking, sending them to the shy people here? His very presence alone was likely enough to send one of the gentle creatures into a faint, and the thought secretly saddened him rather than causing disgust. He usually enjoyed being intimidating, it worked well for him, but when children and gentle folk shied away from his presence with distrust he could not help but feel the sting of rejection. These were the thoughts that plagued him as he reached forward and rang the bell outside a certain green door under the hill.

Heart thudding insistently, Bilbo pulled his door open, taking in the sight of the bald, tattooed, and very armed dwarf with utter fascination. The frown that was prominent on his face would have frightened lesser folk, but Bilbo could see that this newcomer was fighting a case of nerves himself, so he offered his brightest smile to put him at ease. The dwarf responded with a courteous bow. "Dwalin, at your service," he growled out, his face never breaking from its serious expression.

"Bilbo, at yours!" the hobbit replied happily, bowing in return as best he could and ushering his guest inside. "Come in, come in! Dinner is ready just through here. I hope your trip was a pleasant one?" he inquired.

Though Dwalin merely grunted a positive affirmation, his face had softened somewhat. This hobbit was not afraid of him, and that was most unexpected indeed. He did not look much like the soft creatures the dwarf remembered. This one was thin and bright-eyed, and very nearly muscular. At least by hobbit standards. He was presently staring at him while trying not to appear overly curious, and Dwalin was tempted to chuckle at the young mans eager expression. He settled himself down in one of the chairs he was offered, nearly gaping at the feast that was laid out, when the bell rang again.

"I'll get that not to worry!" Bilbo exclaimed, dashing off to make sure his newest arrival was not kept waiting on the stoop.

Balin looked around curiously as he trudged up the hill towards his destination, recalling fondly the memories he had of his last visit to the peaceful lands. It didn't appear to have changed a bit, and he could almost swear he had passed the small house where he once asked a young Bungo for directions. He wondered how the lad was doing now, him and his wild Bella. They would be fairly old now he reckoned, but it had been many years since they last exchanged letters with the couple. The house he was nearing was much larger, and seemed to be the most impressive one he had encountered, even including the Thain's residence on the other side of the river. He gave the bell a ring, listening with a smile to the rush of footsteps that pattered towards the door in answer.

Bilbo's next guest was older than the first, with a wizened, cheerful disposition. He had the look of a scholar, though the large mace strapped to his back suggested that he was just as much warrior as Dwalin. "Balin, at your service," the dwarf offered with a disarming smile and an elaborate bow.

"Bilbo, at yours," the hobbit returned again, figuring this was clearly a cultural thing. Perhaps he would be well versed in bowing by the end of the night if this were to continue nearly a dozen more times. That thought brought a grin to his face as he invited the dwarf in and was treated to the odd greeting his guests shared. They clasped each other by the shoulders and positively slammed their heads together, leaving Bilbo in awe of their structural fortitude. He sincerely hoped they didn't try that move on him! He was liable to be knocked out straight away.

No sooner had he seen that they were situated when the bell rang a third time, much more insistently. Either there was more than one person at the door or they were an impatient sort, and he scurried to yank it open before they bashed it in with their enthusiasm. It seemed his first guess was correct when he was greeted with three mischievous faces, all brimming with youth. The trio were nudging each other and shuffling around as they took in the sight of their first hobbit, sporting very similar excited grins. Two were dark haired, one golden, and that last seemed the eldest if their beards were anything to go by, for the other two had almost none to speak of. "Fili, Kili, and Frerin, at your service!" they chorused in a well-rehearsed chant, all bowing at once and nearly jumping through the doorway in their haste to get inside.

The longest ring of his bell so far had him regretfully abandoning the youths to the direction of their elders, after showing them where they could stow their gear while they relaxed. Bilbo pulled open the door only to have to jump back in surprise when eight dwarves tripped over each other and fell through his doorway. They must have been leaning against it, and he had to fight to suppress a laugh at their antics as he tried gallantly to help them up. Gandalf was with them, and Bilbo was quick to share his delight with the wizard, though it was coupled with worry over whether he had prepared well enough.

"Gandalf! This is wonderful!" he gushed. "But I'm not sure I have enough food, is everyone here now?"

The wizard took a minute to respond, counting the dwarves as he maneuvered his way through the low halls of Bilbo's house. "Not quite," he admitted. "It appears we are one short."

"He is late is all," Dwalin called out from amid the melee of food-tossing dwarves gathered around the feast. "He went to a meeting of our kin, he will come."

"Well, I'll just put some things aside for him then," Bilbo cried cheerfully, dodging biscuits and ducking edible projectiles as he piled a good selection onto a spare plate. He rescued it from out of the grasp of the others, shaking his head in amusement for their merry ways and placing it safely in a cupboard in his kitchen where it would remain undiscovered.

The next while was rather chaotic in Bilbo's opinion, though he would admit to enjoying himself immensely. The dwarves sang, played instruments, had food fights, and to his intense surprise did such a good job cleaning up after that he couldn't tell they had ever been there. He had only had one minor moment of concern when they began tossing around his mothers pottery, but it appeared they were very well coordinated, for not a single dish was cracked, nor glass chipped, and all ended up back in their rightful place undamaged.

Their merriment abruptly ceased at the sound of knocking on his door. Three deliberate thunks followed by a collective silence. It gave Bilbo the immediate impression that this final arrival was someone of fair importance, so he was careful to put on his most charming face as he slowly pulled the door open for the last time.

Thorin Oakenshield groaned in dismay when he saw that his destination was on the Hobbiton side of the river. Gandalf honestly expected to recruit one of these bumbling pacifists? This was going to be a travesty, he was sure of it. The closer he got to his journey's end, the more worried he became. The houses were getting larger, and he could already see the faint glowing of the rune-mark on the largest one of all. It appeared to belong to a family of some local importance, and unless things had changed drastically since last he came here that meant Baggins, the stuffiest of all of them. Mahal, what kind of joke was the wizard playing? He had half a mind to turn right around and head for home if the old man wasn't going to take his quest seriously. So it was in a considerably subdued state that Thorin ignored the bell in favor of venting some of his frustration on the brightly painted door.

When it opened he was treated to a most unexpected sight. The hobbit greeted him with a staggeringly bright smile, his dirty blond hair tumbling around a thin face that seemed filled by large green eyes. Eyes so alike to those of his son Frerin, and his wife Mara, that he quite forgot his voice.

"Bilbo lad, may I introduce you to the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said grandly as Thorin was ushered inside. His words had a shocking effect on the hobbit.

"Thorin? The same Thorin that traveled to fae valley with Belladonna Took?" he nearly yelled in excitement.

Thorin was now gaping at him in astonishment. "That's right," he agreed. "How do you know Bella?"

"She was my mother!" Bilbo said, a fond, though slightly pained smile crossing his face. "She used to tell me all about that trip, said it was her favorite."

"Well this is a fine turn!" Thorin said with intense relief. "You are practically family then, seeing as how you are distantly related to my wife, the last of the fae." The entire room was smiling, but then Thorin's grin died as he caught the tense in which Bilbo had referred to his mother. "Wait, you said was...?" he asked worriedly.

Bilbo looked apologetic when he responded. "I'm afraid my parents passed on nearly twenty five years ago," he informed them sadly, declining to go into further detail.

"I'm sorry lad," Balin offered from nearby, the rest of the company adding muted condolences. They could see his reluctance to address the subject so Balin only squeezed his shoulder and added a last request. "If ever you wish to talk about it, any of us will listen."

Bilbo's smile was heartfelt. "Thank you." He quickly brushed the last vestiges of sorrow from his eyes and turned to Thorin with a renewed grin. "Come on then, I'm sure you're hungry. This lot managed to nearly clean me out but I saved you a plate..."


	5. Contracts and Departures

Thorin was just polishing off an extremely satisfying meal when his closest friends felt they could wait no longer for his news. They were looking at him expectantly, and he shoved back a flash of sorrow at the disappointing report he would have to give. Most everyone had turned towards him, save for a few of the youngest. Bilbo had been tugged to a seat beside his son, the boy engaging him in soft conversation alongside his nephews. He smiled fondly at them for a moment, glad to see how well their newest member was already acclimating himself to the group. Balin drew his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Well laddie? What of the meeting? Did they all come?"

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin agreed, his mind momentarily going back to that rather disastrous meeting. It took a great effort to keep the disgust out of his voice, remembering how the others had simpered and offered polite, regretful rejection of his quest.

"What of the Iron Hills?" Dwalin rumbled hopefully. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin shook his head sadly, distraught at having to crush his friends optimism. "They will not come. They say this quest is ours, and ours alone." Murmurs of disappointment passed around the table, skipping the hobbit who appeared to feel he was a little out of the loop. Thorin addressed him next. "How much have you been told Master Bilbo?" he asked patiently, hoping the man had at least been given a general idea of what they were doing, if not the specifics.

The hobbit smiled a little uncertainly, surprised to be so abruptly addressed. "Well... Gandalf mentioned something about stealing a jewel from a dragon?" he suggested, the disbelief in his voice indicating he hadn't taken much stock in the wizard's words.

"He speaks truly," Thorin nodded in agreement. "Long ago our homeland was stolen. Erebor is now under the duress of the great wyrm Smaug, and we need to regain possession of a certain jewel he has taken in order to command our armies to come to our aid in slaying the beast."

Bilbo was wide-eyed at this point. "The dragon is real?" he gasped softly, showing traces of mild apprehension. Not that any of the dwarves there blamed him. The thought of the beast was terrifying to most, and the fact that the hobbit had not fainted outright was a good sign in their opinion.

"Aye laddie, but that's really not our main problem right now," Balin interjected, his next comment directed to both Thorin and Gandalf. "Or have you two forgotten, the gate is sealed. There is no way in."

"That my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf said mysteriously, an old map and intricately wrought key appearing in his wizened hands.

Thorin gaped at them, torn between wry amusement and righteous indignation at the way the wizard continued to pull tricks out of his sleeve. "You did not show those to me at our last meeting," he accused, brow raised for want of explanation.

Gandalf merely coughed a little, puffing on his pipe and laying the map out properly. The key he slid into Thorin's hands, and the dwarf looked it over reverently before tucking it into his tunic. "There is a clue on this map," he said lowly. "Though I do not know how to find it, but it tells of a hidden door, another way into the mountain. If we can but decipher this clue we will be able to get inside."

"Alright," Thorin nodded. If he felt some slight misgiving over how exactly Gandalf intended to find said clue, he kept that to himself. Polishing off the last of his meal, he pushed the plate away with a contented sigh and signaled to Balin. "Give Master Bilbo his contract so that he can look it over," he commanded the dwarf.

Balin drew out a lengthy piece of parchment, handing it off to the hobbit who proceeded to skim through it rather quickly. He muttered to himself as he read, certain phrases coming out loud enough for the company to hear, but he appeared agreeable to what he was reading. "One fifteenth of all treasure to be payable at successful outcome... seems fair." He skimmed lower, his eyes widening incredulously as he opened up a different section. "Company not liable for any injury including laceration, evisceration... incineration?" he had turned to them then, brows raised, but the expected faint still did not come. He startled them by bursting into laughter. "This hardly seems like the way to try recruiting people," he gasped out, shaking his head at the endless details of what could possibly befall them.

"Perhaps not," Balin conceded with a mystified smile as to the lad's devil-may-care reaction. He exchanged a slightly concerned look with Thorin, both of them wondering if Bilbo was entirely all right in the head, for most people would have been apprehensive instead of amused. They turned their worry to Gandalf who just shrugged.

"Bilbo is a rather remarkable fellow," he offered lowly, not bothering to give any further assurance as to the hobbits state of mind.

They were distracted from their conversation when Bilbo handed the signed contract back to them. "Here you go," he said cheerfully. There was an almost collective sigh from the group, everyone relieved that he had not been deterred by the overly descriptive contract. They rose in groups, retiring to the sitting room to gaze into the blazing hearth. Bilbo was struck silent when the music began, not entirely sure from whom it had started. He could almost feel the words were bearing him off to some far away place, and the tragedy that had occurred there, and it made him feel all the better for having not hesitated to accompany them. The mournful tune was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep.

Hands shaking him with youthful enthusiasm were what brought Bilbo to wakefulness the next morning, and he looked up into the faces of the youngest members of the company. Thorin's nephews and son seemed more like three brothers, and he had felt an instant kinship with them, their fun-loving ways speaking to his own passions for adventure. "Morning Bilbo!" they exclaimed, stepping back so he could hop up from his makeshift bed on the chair where he had fallen asleep. He stretched with a lingering yawn, not nearly as uncomfortable as he could have been had he not been used to sleeping in unorthodox places.

"Morning boys," he responded happily, heading to the kitchen to see about breakfast, the three trailing after. Sun streamed in the window, lighting on his hair as he bustled around the room, gathering up the last foodstuffs he had in the house. He was glad he kept a separate pantry for his breakfast food, and that it had not been discovered last night. As it was it had been just enough to feed the whole crew.

They were heading out the gate and down the lane when Bilbo was accosted by a particularly grouchy female with what appeared to be a permanent scowl on her face. "Bilbo Baggins, where on this good earth are you off to now?" she asked, flicking his companions a reproachful glare, as if they were to be blamed for his flightiness.

Bilbo sighed, pasting the most reluctant smile on his face the group had seen from him yet. "Lobelia, my dear cousin, how nice of you to see me off!" he returned brightly.

"Don't you Lobelia me," she cried, wagging a threatening finger in his face. The dwarves stood back, not cowed by her, but realizing this was a private family matter. "Three times in the last month alone you've been out and about. Your house is going to fall into disrepair and you'll have no one to blame but yourself!"

"I expect I shall be gone for a good long while this time," he informed her, ignoring her tirade. "So it would be a great favor to me if you would care for the place until I return."

His announcement had an immediately pleasant effect, the woman closing her mouth with an astonished snap. The disapproval all but melted away in her shock, allowing Bilbo to get in a mild jab as he prepared to continue down the road. "Just don't steal my silver while I'm gone," he grinned, leaving the stunned woman with the key to his home in her hand.

"Well she seemed a right unpleasant sort," Gloin remarked as they went on their way. The sound of Bilbo's bright laughter was his only response, filling the air with his mirth and following them out of the Shire.


	6. New Recruit

"So Bilbo, have you done much burgling before?" Kili asked with a wide grin, wanting to know more about their hobbit. Fili and Frerin flanked him, surrounding the object of their curiosity as they walked down a sunny path towards the stables. The mounts they had put aside were waiting there, along with packs full of supplies. Bilbo noticed that they were not the only ones paying attention. Ori walked nearby, the studious dwarf awaiting his response eagerly even as he craned his neck to try and take in all the new scenery at once.

"Well, I don't know if it would be considered burglary as such, but I have pilfered my share of sweets off windowsills," Bilbo replied modestly, unable to hold back the mischievous smile that some of those memories prompted. "Why I remember the time I took an apple cake right from under Lobelia's nose... To this day I'm still not sure she knows it was me!"

His anecdote was met with a smattering of laughter that was interrupted by Gandalf's amused voice cutting back to them from the front of the group. "I seem to recall stories of a certain farmer who was particularly vexed by all the crops that went missing from his fields. Kindly remind me if you would young Bilbo, how high was the reward for information? Several gold pieces?"

"Oh now," Bilbo blushed with embarrassment. "I haven't stolen from him since I was a tween." He turned thoughtful then for a moment. "You know he almost caught me once. I had to shove an entire bushel of carrots down the back of my trousers. I'm lucky I decided to play adventurer that day, it was only my cloak that hid the bulge!"

His confession nearly had the dwarves rolling in hysterics, a few of them going into their own tales. It made for a merry morning, swapping stories of daring do and pretend heroics.

As midday rolled around their pace increased, the ponies carrying them easily along the trail. The dwarves had been impressed by how well Bilbo could ride, remarking on it when he let the restless mount gallop around them for a moment, testing her paces. He ended up settling the little mare to a steady trot beside Thorin, wanting to get to know their illustrious leader better. For just a moment he glanced over almost shyly, but his natural curiosity won out with ease.

"Would you tell me about your wife?" he asked, green eyes positively glowing with interest. "My mother mentioned her a few times, but she wasn't able to say much."

Thorin nodded, a smile crossing his face. "Your mother and my wife could nearly have been sisters," he admitted with a grin. "Except for those pointy ears and unnaturally large feet of yours," he teased, chuckling when Bilbo responded with a good-natured snort.

"There is nothing wrong with my feet," he retorted. "Yours are just too small and delicate," he added, faking a pompous attitude.

"Hmph," Thorin snorted in answer to the mild insult. "Mara is always cheerful, and very outspoken. I was sick when we met, and she gave me a right talking to, not having any idea who I was. I'll admit I found it quite refreshing at the time."

"Then you don't like being King?" Bilbo wondered aloud, eyeing him curiously.

Thorin shrugged. "It's not my station that I mind exactly, it's more the distance that it creates between others. Most people don't seem to know what to say to me, or don't care to try and interact on any personal level. That has changed a lot since I met Mara. She helped bridge the gap so to speak, and I continue to be thankful to her for that."

"Well, I cannot begin to understand the position you're in, but I am glad you found someone," Bilbo responded honestly.

"What about you?" Thorin inquired suddenly, breaking the moment of comfortable silence that had been stretching between them.

Bilbo blinked. "What about me?"

"Any special lass waiting for you back home?" he hinted, eyes narrowed slyly at the flush that appeared on the hobbit's cheeks.

"N-no not exactly," Bilbo stammered. "In fact..." he glanced sideways at the dwarf. "I am beginning to think I lean the other direction," he offered, "but it's frowned upon so I have never thought about really looking."

Thorin barked out a short laugh. "You'll fit in right well with us then," he reassured the disconcerted hobbit. "We have very few women, so many of our men end up in pairs, either for simple companionship or something more. Actually," Thorin mused, casting a glance back at the group of jolly company members. "Apart from myself, Balin, Gloin, and Bombur, none of the company are attached to anyone."

"Oh!" Bilbo let out the muted exclamation, cautiously observing the company with new eyes. He flushed slightly deeper when Ori offered an excited wave, sending the dwarf a weak smile in return before facing the front again.

By evening Bilbo had forgotten any nervousness he felt at being surrounded by so many potential eligible men and was getting comfortable on a log around the glowing fire. He laughed along with the jokes that were being told, enjoying himself immensely, when he found himself suddenly confronted with calculating eyes. "So, you're supposed to be the burglar," Nori drawled, looking teasingly doubtful. "I gotta say, I can't see it. You don't look like you could sneak up on anyone."

"Nori here's got a bit of a reputation as a thief," Fili explained with a laugh as Dori and Dwalin scowled at the younger dwarf, the one in question looking especially smug. "He's mildly peeved that his skills weren't considered good enough for this quest."

Never one to back down from an obvious challenge, Bilbo smirked at him. "Bet you I could sneak up on and steal from anyone in this company," he said softly for Nori's ears alone. The dwarf's eyes gleamed in anticipation of a bet, roving over the members to give Bilbo an acceptable target.

"Dwalin," he muttered, leaning back against the log with a confident air. Bilbo nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention to the large dwarf with a subtlety that only a hobbit could master.

Gandalf was the only one to give him a knowing look the next morning, a twinkle in his eye, when Bilbo tossed one of Dwalin's knuckle dusters to Nori over their breakfast bowls. Its owner was gaping nearly as widely as its recipient at the knowledge that it had left his hands sometime while he slept, and he none the wiser.


	7. Into the Wild

Bilbo was in high spirits as they continued through lands he was well familiar with. This was the first time his travels had included any companions, and he found no end of opportunity to make friendly conversation with the dwarves he had longed to meet for years. It was something of a thrill for him, to have the characters out of one of his mother's fireside tales sprung to life before his eyes. They were even more impressive than she had made them, and he continued to delight in the good fortune, or perhaps just a meddling wizard, that had brought them to his door.

Their journey was now leading them out of the Shire proper, but these woods and plains were still known territory to the hobbit who had traveled farther than most of his kin. Bilbo was relaxed and calm in these surroundings, made more pleasant with the sound of boisterous song and laughter coming from his comrades. He would join them when it was a tune he knew, and sometimes even spouted out his own melodies when prompted, the dwarves cheering for his rousing bar songs. Never let it be said that hobbits did not know how to have a good time, after all. Their lives were dedicated to making merry and singing was just one small part of that.

They had made a short stop for lunch when the first dwarf Bilbo had ever met approached him. Dwalin was staring at the short sword he had belted to his waist, looking upon it with approval, but also a little curiosity. "Do ya know how to use that lad?" he barked out, indicating the focus of his question with a casual wave of one broad hand.

Bilbo let out a short laugh, nodding. "Well enough I suppose," he assured the warrior. "I've taken out my share of lone wolves during my travels. Though, I haven't ever seen proper combat as such," he continued thoughtfully. "Perhaps you can give me a few pointers."

Dwalin was about to respond when an arm was draped over the hobbit's shoulder. "We can show you, can't we lads?" Fili offered with a cheeky grin, two matching smiles on the faces of his brother and cousin who were right behind him.

"Ha!" Dwalin snorted. "I'll run you through some training," he agreed. "Those three will just get you into trouble." Indignant shouts nearly drowned out his further jibes against their skills. "After all, weren't it just last week I knocked you off yer feet boy?" the older dwarf taunted Fili, a brow raised in challenge.

"It will be the last time," the golden-haired prince responded, eyes narrowing as he smiled mockingly. Many of the elder dwarves laughed at this, ribbing the prince even as his comrades leaped to his defense. Bilbo just shook his head with a smile, remounting his pony when the call came out to move on.

Evening was darkening the sky to red and purple when they made camp on a sheltered cliff side. They were well and truly into the wild by this point, and it was nice to settle in for the night after a long day of travel. Stretching sore muscles, the group dismounted and tethered the ponies nearby, after which they went about their nightly chores. Wood was gathered and a fire built, the flames licking hungrily into the sticks and sending cheerful sparks to the skies. Shadows played across the faces of the company as they devoured the filling meal they had put together, most of it consisting of roast rabbit that Kili and Frerin had caught along the way.

Everyone was settling down for the night when Bilbo crept over to his mount, offering the gentle creature an apple in a gesture of friendship. The pony took it happily, making the treat disappear in a few swift crunches before whickering softly in pleasure. He murmured soft words to her, stroking the furry nose and smiling happily. He had a feeling the pony (who he had named Myrtle), and he would get along just fine.

Bilbo was just turning to head back to the fire when a sharp screech pierced the night air, filling his bones with dread as it called to mind nearly-forgotten memories. The sound was harrowing, a noise of frightening promise, and Bilbo could not suppress the shudder that wracked him.

"You all right laddie?" Balin asked in concern.

Bilbo nodded hurriedly. "I'm fine, just heard orcs a minute ago." He was working to clear the panic from his face, unaided by Fili and Kili's rather loud discussion of what said creatures would do should they find their camp. Bilbo knew all too well what might happen, he had seen the carnage they wrought first hand.

Their talk had brought Thorin lurching to his feet, his momentary worry for the company replaced swiftly with irritation at the antics of his nephews, and his son who was sniggering in amusement.

"You think that's funny?" he growled angrily, cowing them instantly to silence. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

"We're sorry," the three mumbled dispiritedly. "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't," Thorin scathingly retorted. "You know nothing of the world." He stalked to the edge of the cliff, his back to them, shoulders tense as memories of his own flooded back. Regret filled the faces of the young dwarves, and Balin took pity on them for it.

"Never mind lads. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs." He went into a stirring speech about the battle for Moria, his sorrowful tone and misty eyes haunted by the past as he wove the tale. Bilbo could feel a stirring of anger in him for the loss the king had endured, coupled by his own. Those creatures had a lot to answer for, and he vowed that given half the chance he would exact his own vengeance, even if he had to train for years.

The sounds of the far-off enemy faded into the darkness near the end of Balin's tale, leaving only silence when Thorin turned to face them. No one was left feeling anything short of awe at the feats he had performed, the lengths he was going to in order to give his people a new chance. It stirred the hearts of everyone there, nearly all the group having subconsciously gotten to their feet in a gesture of solidarity and respect.

Only Bilbo caught the shared glance of Balin and Gandalf when mention was made of the demise of Thorin's most hated enemy. He curled into his bedroll with a tingle of fear running down his spine, knowing somehow that the pale orc was not dead. He sent a silent prayer up to the watchful stars, that they would remain hidden and safe, even as he felt certain it was not to be.


	8. Tricking Trolls

Rain. Not such a bad thing when it was thrumming on the roof, or streaming down the window while one was curled up before a roaring fire. The sound would be soothing, providing a steady backdrop of white noise that spoke of comfort and renewal. The cleansing waters would leave behind a fresh smell that awoke the senses and encouraged all the growing things to drink deep and flourish.

All these things were largely forgotten when one was trapped under a steady downpour while wrapped in naught but a cloak over thin clothing. The cold streams were unrelenting, sending rivulets of icy water running down the back of their necks and turning the ground to mud. Many of the dwarves had dismounted after a time, lessening the strain on their tired mounts as they trudged slowly through the deluge. It was not yet a storm, but neither did it give any indication of nearing its end. The elder members of the company were becoming increasingly grouchy with this development, grumbling to themselves as they dreamed of hearth and home. There was not even a warm meal or a dry bedroll to lift their spirits for the next four days.

The younger dwarves and Bilbo were in remarkably better moods than their older counterparts, and were laughing as they kicked the sludge around with their feet. None of them would be certain later who had thrown the first mudball, but it very quickly progressed into a full on mud battle between the four giggling youths. Ori was the only one to leave off, his elder brother shielding him from the fight with a glare back at the grinning combatants. They were careful to contain their antics to the immediate area, using precise throws to avoid hitting anyone else. The fight was still going full swing when Bilbo slipped, landing flat on his back as the handful of mud he carried flew through the air only to hit Thorin in the back of the head with a resounding smack.

The entire company stopped at the sound, Thorin stiffening as he slowly reached back and felt for the muck that was oozing down his tangled mane. He turned abruptly, glaring down at the wide-eyed Bilbo that was still sprawled on his rear. The hobbit was nearly unrecognizable, his entire form swathed in clinging mud. "S-sorry," he stammered, hands pressed either side of his mouth as the strangest expression worked across his face. The look Thorin graced him with was priceless, the strangled giggles from behind causing Bilbo to lose control as he burst into helpless laughter.

Swinging back to face the front, Thorin hid a smile as he increased their pace. "I suggest you get back up master Bilbo, if you become lost in the mud I do not think we will ever find you again," he called back.

"Let him off easy," Dwalin muttered at his side with a grin. Thorin only flicked the residual mud off his hands at his friend's face in response, suppressing a snigger of satisfaction when Dwalin was left spluttering indignantly.

The stream they found the next morning was a welcome sight, and the company lost no time in getting stripped down, bringing their dirty garments into the water with them to be cleaned. The rain had finally abated, and the day was promising to be a fine one. They washed quickly, not lingering long enough even for their clothes to dry. Wet shirts and trousers were draped over the backs of the ponies, spare clothes being pulled out and put to good use as they hastened to cover more ground. They were still quite damp when they reached a suitable campsite in the late afternoon. An abandoned farmhouse lay in a clearing in a state of considerable decay, but as the space was large enough to accommodate them they took advantage of it readily.

Bilbo had been as surprised as everyone when Gandalf stormed out of the camp, stating his annoyance with all around him, but the group did not remain subdued for long. Stew was simmering in the pot over the crackling flames, and it was impossible to be upset with the smell of Bombur's cooking wafting under their noses.

"Here Bilbo, take this to the lads will ya?" Bofur asked him cheerfully, handing the hobbit two brimming bowls. He hurried off with his burden, winding through the trees towards where Fili and Kili were watching over the mounts. The two did not acknowledge his presence, staring intently into the vastness of the forest as they strained their ears worriedly.

"Something the matter?" he asked, jiggling the bowls a little in the hopes that they would take the hint and relieve him of their supper.

"We're supposed to be watching the ponies," Fili began.

"Only we've encountered a slight problem," Kili continued, before stopping.

"Well, go on," Bilbo encouraged them when no more was forthcoming.

"We had sixteen." That was Fili again.

"Now there's fourteen," Kili finished. "Daisy and Bungo are missing," he added, heading through the trees to begin a proper investigation. They came across the remains of a brutally uprooted tree, and the three began feeling the stirrings of wrongness from the area. They weren't long in spotting the flickering light of a campfire not their own, and hurried to get a closer look, swearing when the deep voices of trolls reached their ears.

Somehow Bilbo found himself volunteering to retrieve their stolen mounts while the brothers hurried to gather reinforcements. "Just in case," they had said together before pushing him towards the camp. Drawing his little sword, Bilbo snuck as quietly as he could towards the fire. He could see two massive creatures sitting around the blaze, the pot they were balancing over the flames emitting an odorous stench. Keeping a careful eye on them, Bilbo began to saw gently at the ropes that held the ponies, only to drop the weapon with a squeak of dismay as he was hauled up by his ankles.

He could see from this new and uncomfortable position that he was facing not two but three adversaries, and now he was unarmed. Heart thumping in his chest, he felt the blood begin to rush to his head as they bickered about what to do with a pony-stealing squirrel, and only his immediate danger stopped him from telling them off for the perceived insult.

"Let him go!" a sudden voice rang out, drawing all their attention. Bilbo focused on the grimly determined face of Kili, never so glad as he was right now to have the mischievous dwarf come to his rescue. To his surprise the trolls complied with the order, flinging him none too gently through the air to land on top of his savior with a hefty thump. Countless figures materialized around the downed pair, weapons up and war cries ringing off lips as the company charged to their aid.

As soon as he was able Bilbo snuck around the dueling masses to retrieve his weapon, losing no time in freeing the ponies. He waved his arms wildly, spooking them into running out and away before heading back into the fight. Bilbo was dismayed to find that the weapon that worked all too well against wolves was not so very good at cutting through troll flesh, and he wanted to cry when his blade actually snapped against one of their thick legs. The troll had felt the useless blow, and he suffered the swooping sensation of becoming airborne once again, albeit upright this time, his arms and legs stretched between two of the beasts.

Bilbo had never felt so guilty as he did when he looked around at the company some minutes later, half in sacks, the other half protesting their treatment vehemently as they turned slowly over the large fire. He felt certain it was up to him to get them out of the mess he had bungled them into, and he began his distractions at once. He was careful to keep a straight face when he began describing the proper way to cook dwarf, unable to send so much as a reassuring wink in the direction of his companions.

Thankfully, just as he was beginning to run out of ideas, Gandalf turned up with his trusty staff and managed to flood the clearing with daylight, turning the trolls to stone. The group let out sighs of relief and hearty cheers as they composed themselves. Bilbo struggled out of his sack quickly, going over to the sad remains of his weapon and picking up the pieces. The blade he tucked back into its sheath, the hilt he managed to strap over it, making it seem to be whole again.

"Best leave that behind," Thorin advised him gruffly, an unreadable expression on his face. "A broken sword will do you no good."

Bilbo shook his head, tucking it into his pack. "I can't," he explained. "It was my mothers." Though he offered no more explanation, it appeared Thorin understood, for he inclined his head, something akin to sympathy in his blue eyes.

It was merely a stroke of luck that Gandalf managed to find him a replacement weapon amongst the troll horde, and Bilbo took it with a feeling of satisfaction. The trolls had taken his weapon, so he was fully entitled to one of theirs.


	9. The Fruits of Labor

Back in Ered Luin Dis was waking up to another busy day. She sighed as she thought of the paperwork that her brother and Balin usually handled. It was so very dull and tiresome, and had quickly become the bane of her existence. She would be grateful when the time came to put it aside and take physical action of any kind, whether it be the move to Erebor or simply pulling in part of the harvest.

Luckily the latter was a viable option. The garden was bursting with ripe things to eat, and they would all need to be gathered in before the frost hit, so she would have a very reasonable excuse to be outside for the better part of the day. Thus saving the tedium of policy and other nonsense for the evening when the chill began to set in and drive everyone indoors. Everyone, of course, consisting of herself and Mara right now while the menfolk were away.

Speaking of Mara, she was beginning to feel rather concerned over her friend. It had been nearly two months since the departure of the lads, and her friend was progressing faster than she should be. Or so it seemed. She had faithfully consulted the book that Balin had left behind on Mara's people, trying to glean some insight as to why, but no certain explanation was forthcoming. They could only hazard a guess, and it was almost too much to hope for. Practically unheard of in fact. Dis knew that for dwarves if one was getting larger faster it signaled twins, but such cases were extremely rare. Even rarer still did they end well, but she pushed those negative thoughts out of her mind, heading to the stove to cook breakfast.

As she had expected, the smell of eggs and bacon drew Mara from her meditation, the woman padding into the room in her bare feet, a robe wrapped snugly around her growing form. "Only four days this time," Dis greeted her cheerfully, placing a generous helping in front of her.

"Oh good," Mara mumbled through her current mouthful. "I really don't like being out of it so much, I'm starting to feel like an invalid."

"Do you want to go out today?" Dis asked her. "We could pick some of the vegetables from the garden."

"I though you were going to be doing apples this week," Mara said confusedly, knowing despite her regret that she could no longer assist with the delightful task. She was too heavy and cumbersome to get into the branches of the trees, having given up just last month when she slipped on the first branch. She had earned herself quite the scolding for that careless act, so she now contained herself to being on the ground.

Dis shrugged easily. "It doesn't really matter. The apples can wait and I'd like to spend time with you. I'm sure the air will do you good."

"Sounds like a plan then," Mara smiled, getting to her feet with a mild groan and fetching a small basket from the cupboard. It was of a size that she could carry it even when full, though she would have to make several trips to unload it if she were to get any real progress done today. She settled herself down in the dirt, within reach of plenty of ripe tomatoes, glad that she was wearing a darker colored gown. The tangy smell of the red orbs was very pleasant, and she could not resist polishing the dust off of one and having a light snack.

Dis laughed nearby. "Mahal, didn't you have enough breakfast?" she teased gently.

Mara flushed in embarrassment. "It just smelled so good I had to eat it," she confessed.

"For me it was apples," Dis admitted with a wry smile. "I ate so many of them that Fili can't stand sight nor smell of them at all. I was always snacking on one, and cooking them into things. Apple sauce, apple pie, apples in salad. I even tried putting them in soup once, but that didn't go over well with the others," she chuckled, remembering the looks of disgust when she had unveiled her newest invention. Needless to say, apple soup was not one of their staple dishes anymore.

They were still in the back, now relaxing over a light repast when a familiar voice called out as it rounded the house. "Yoohoo! Anyone home?" They both turned to wave to Lona, sharing a smile at the sight of Gimli trudging reluctantly behind her. He appeared quite eager to sink into the ground, obviously wishing he were anywhere but there.

"Welcome you two, come join us!"

Lona settled herself down between them, sighing when Gimli continued to stand awkwardly near the trees, looking disgruntled. Ignoring him, the woman turned to them happily, setting down the bundle she had been carrying. "I brought cookies," she grinned, delighting in Mara's eager appreciation for the offering. "So lass, how are you faring?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Hormones going haywire, hot flashes, muscles aching," she laughed, only half joking. Gimli emitted a strangled noise of protest, acutely uncomfortable with the current topic, so Mara turned her attention to the young warrior. "How are _you_, Gimli dear?"

"M'fine," he muttered, face reddening as he shuffled his feet in the dirt. He had long grown out of his childish enthusiasm for anyone who would pay him attention, much preferring to spar with his friends over holding polite conversation with womenfolk. He seemed to be suffering from some sort of internal conflict for a moment before he turned pleadingly to his mother. "Amad, _please_ can I go do some sparring with Bomfur? Please, for the love of Mahal, don't make me stay here," he begged.

Lona gave him a warning look. "Gimli, remember what we spoke about," she said sternly.

The young dwarf sighed. "Must I?" Lona just raised a brow silently, and Gimli let out a huff of air. "Oh all right." He turned to Mara and Dis, forming his expression into something meant to look polite, though it ended up just looking strained. "It would be my honor to assist you with any chores around here that you might need help with," he forced out quickly.

The women valiantly tried to hold back giggles, Dis and Mara exchanging looks as they thought up a response that would please both mother and son. Somehow over the course of their friendship they had graduated to silent conversations at times, seeming to know the others thoughts, so Dis spoke for them, feeling confident that Mara would agree. "Well, we don't need much at the moment," she began, holding up a hand when Gimli brightened considerably. "But," she continued, the lad's face falling again. "We could really use some meat sometime soon, we are running low. If you wanted to do a spot of hunting that would certainly be most welcome."

At her request Gimli looked much pleased. "Really? I can do that! I'll take Bomfur and we'll go right now!" He turned to head off eagerly, swinging back around at the last minute. "That is if you are done with me?" he asked hesitantly. At their agreement he ran off with a grin.

"It was nice to see you!" the two called after him, laughing when all they got in reply was a haphazard wave as he rounded the corner.

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><p><strong>Author's note: I had initially wrote the entirety of the journey without taking into consideration those that were left behind, but as I was nearing the end I realized that I really ought to check up on them every so often, so this chapter came to fruition. It will have some small impact in the story later, but for now, we return to the company next chapter.<br>**


	10. Interlude With Elves

**Author's note: Rather than do a large amount of searching for translations, please note that anything written in **_italics _**is being spoken in elvish.**

* * *

><p>"Someone's coming!"<p>

Thorin's shout of warning echoed through the clearing, following swiftly after the sudden flight of birds disturbed from their rest. Gathering together, the company moved as a unit through the trees, weapons out as they prepared to defend against the threat. Countless thoughts ran through their heads, none coming even slightly close to reality when the curious figure that was approaching revealed itself.

Snapping branches and the thudding of rapid footsteps left them all tense, and the group nearly jumped out of their skins when sound was given form. A strange sled drawn by overly large rabbits came careening into their immediate vicinity, its driver screeching something terrible.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" The tall man yanked the sled to a violent stop, eyes wild under his dirty brown hat. He wore robes to match, and carried a gnarled staff that looked similar in appearance to Gandalf's. At his appearance the wizard in question relaxed visibly, lowering his staff to rest on the ground as he approached the newcomer.

"Radagast! Whatever are you doing here?" he asked lowly, frowning in concern as his friend continued to struggle for words.

The company moved off a ways, allowing the wizards to have some privacy for their conversation, and trying to shake off the unease that something else was not right. Bilbo was feeling especially jumpy, his ears nearly twitching as he listened for any sound that might back up his discomfort.

"Alright there Bilbo?" Frerin asked him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. A howl from close by interrupted Bilbo's response, the hobbit stiffening in fear, his eyes seeming to retreat into a nightmare. Suddenly he shook himself from his trance and threw himself into Frerin, knocking the dwarf to the ground. "Durin's beard Bilbo, what...?" the dwarf squawked indignantly, stilling as he heard the low growl. The company looked up as one, to see a warg standing right where Frerin had been only moments before, unaware of the danger.

With a snarl the beast leaped at them, and somehow Frerin managed to extricate his arm from under Bilbo's shaking form, slashing at the attacker with his sword. He downed it with Dwalin's help, and the one that followed after was shot to the ground by Kili, Thorin making sure it was dead. Once the immediate danger had passed Frerin tried to get to his feet, only to look up pleadingly as the hobbit remained prone over him, trembling and pressing his face into the dwarf's chest. "Umm, Bilbo?" he asked haltingly. "You're sort of crushing me."

"Are they gone?" the hobbit replied, his voice muffled in the fur trimmed jacket Frerin wore.

"Aye, but we don't have much time," Thorin broke in, pulling Bilbo to his feet as Fili and Kili assisted their cousin, yanking his clothes back into place and teasing him mercilessly. A small shoving match began, ending as swiftly as it had started when Thorin leveled them with a glare. "Boys, enough. Those were warg scouts, which means an orc pack is not far behind," he said grimly.

His words proved true, and the company was forced into a swift run through the plains, their mounts having sensed the danger far sooner and bolted for safety. Dodging around rocks and skimming over the uneven terrain, they tried to take advantage of the lead Radagast had given them through his diversion. It didn't last. Before long they were running in earnest, the enemy having given up chasing the swiftly retreating wizard and going for easier prey. Not even the combined efforts of Frerin and Kili's archery was driving them back, and soon they were surrounded.

It was Gandalf that rescued them again, popping up from behind a boulder and summoning them with a sharp yell. "This way you fools!" The dwarves were quick to follow him into the tunnel he had uncovered, Bilbo fast in the lead. None too soon it seemed, for only moments later a ringing horn call sounded from above, and the sounds of someone engaging their enemy rang through the plains. One of the slain orcs tumbled down to where they were hidden, coming to rest at Thorin's feet, and he yanked the arrow out of its neck in disgust.

"Elves," he cursed, looking darkly above as he tossed the shaft aside.

Bilbo gave him a small frown but didn't comment, instead following Gandalf as the group decided to take the path they had been offered. The hobbit knew exactly where they were headed, and it was difficult to keep from smiling, especially when they broke out into the open and the familiar waterfalls and soothing atmosphere of Rivendell came into view. They climbed down into the valley by means of a small path, ending up in a courtyard bordering the sanctuary. Bilbo was entirely at his ease even as the dwarves huddled closely together, their faces closed off with suspicion and unease.

That feeling only doubled at the sound of swift horses approaching, and the same horn from before. "Close ranks!" Thorin ordered fiercely, placing Bilbo in the center of a protective circle of weaponry.

"Oh really," the hobbit huffed in annoyance, shoving his way out to the front of the group as he saw who was in the lead of the procession. "Lord Elrond!" he called out cheerfully. "Mae govannen mellon nin!" (_well met my friend_) Behind him the dwarves lowered their weapons a fraction, grumbling in disapproval of this interaction.

"Master Bilbo!" Elrond smiled in amusement. "We saw you no more than a fortnight ago, whatever brings you back so soon?"

Bilbo just laughed. "I found myself some new traveling companions more my size," he joked, pleased to hear some of the dwarves sniggering in approval. "_I'm afraid they are a little on edge being here_," he admitted, drawing an understanding nod from the tall elf.

"Come," Elrond beckoned to them regally. "There is food and sleep to be found here. Rest easy and know that none who seek refuge in this valley shall be harmed. Especially if they are friends of master Bilbo." His words were enough to break the tension, and Gandalf smiled proudly at the hobbit who had managed to put them at ease. Thorin was even smiling, shaking his head in wry amusement.

"What's so funny?" Bilbo asked him, confused with how rapidly he had changed his tune.

"I should have expected this," the dwarf admitted with a chuckle. "When we met your mother she had just gotten back from a visit here. Like mother like son as they say."

"Aye," Balin interjected. "It seems you can help us in more ways than one."


	11. Lightning Strikes

It was just a cut. Something so insignificant should not inflict such trauma. Just a little cut.

They had long since left Rivendell behind at the behest of the wizard, Gandalf promising that he would catch them up as soon as he could. They traveled across rock and plain, through forest and over stream, until their path led nowhere but up. Up into the cold heights of the misty mountains. Despite the fact that it was summer the ground was covered in a light layer of snow at their current elevation. It was never summer here, with the wind whistling and their breath blowing ahead of them in clouds of white.

The company did what they could to stay warm, marching through the day, building large fires at night, and sparring in the evenings, when the light of the setting sun sparkled off the snow. Bilbo had been taking lessons from Dwalin, Fili, Gloin, even Thorin. He improved upon his limited skill by leaps and bounds, learning new techniques and bettering old ones. Around him the others would spar, enjoying the good-natured battles that kept their abilities sharp.

That was how they had gotten to this. Fili and Kili had been dueling one such night when Kili slipped, his foot hitting a stone buried under snow and skidding out from under him. Fili had been unable to stop his blades in time, the closest one barely nicking the skin of Kili's wrist and sending a splash of crimson to rest in the untouched powder. It should have been nothing, and in all honesty it really _was_ nothing, Kili was already getting to his feet, laughing it off and calling for a bandage. The only thing that alerted them that not all was well was a quiet gasp from the hobbit.

Bilbo stared at the discolored snow, transfixed as his nearly-forgotten past flooded his mind with frightening clarity. Images of corpses and blood-stained white held him hostage, his parents staring with empty eyes at the unforgiving sky. He did not know that he was shaking, did not realize that the company had surrounded him in their concern. Balin was the one to see what was wrong, and to kick fresh snow over the offending spot, breaking Bilbo's gaze and releasing him from the nightmare. The hobbit shrank down into himself, remaining oddly quiet for the rest of the night, unable or simply unwilling to explain the reason for his lapse in concentration. He gave only the smallest of smiles when the four youngest members of the company piled around him at night in a show of solidarity, their presence bringing him comfort.

By morning he was back to himself, whistling a cheery tune as he again banished the darkness to a corner of his mind where it could remain unheeded. The group moved on, the weather changed from snow to rain, and the episode was mostly forgotten.

All too soon they had much more pressing concerns when the weather took a turn for the worse. The rain pounded down relentlessly, blinding them and making the narrow path treacherously slippery. Thunder boomed overhead, the sound deafening, and lightning threw their surroundings into blinding clarity every few seconds, leaving them blinking away stars as they stumbled along.

"I've found a cave!" Thorin called from the front of the group, nearly screaming to be heard. "We must get into shelter!" Those who heard him sighed in relief, staggering after their leader to get out of the elements. They were nearing the entrance when the skies split right over their heads, a streak of lightning shattering the path with a terrible crack and splitting the group in two. The ones on the wrong side of the gap began jumping across, thankful that the distance was manageable. There were a few close calls, but no end of grasping arms on the other side, ready and waiting to catch them and pull their brothers to safety. Bilbo was the last one, and he eyed the drop with narrowed gaze, jaw set as he took a few steps back to get a running start. Setting his feet, he broke into a sprint, gasping when his foot skidded in a patch of water on the very last step. His balance thrown, he went toppling over the edge, the screams of his friends ringing in his ears...

Bilbo felt his heart in his throat, ignoring the way his hands were shredding as he grasped desperately for anything to slow his rapid descent. Somehow he managed to keep close to the rock wall, nearly screaming when his leg bashed against a bit of stone that was jutting out from the rest. He grabbed for it all the same, managing to catch his fingers on it for just a moment before the blood streaming from them loosened his grip. He could hear nothing now but the wild wind rushing past his ears, and felt he would surely die any moment, when he came to a pounding halt on a small ledge. For a long time he simply lay there, the pain threatening to overcome him. He tried calling upwards, but his voice was thin and he could not see farther than a few feet in the increasing darkness of night.

After awhile he sat up gingerly, head swimming, and tried to take stock of his injuries. His hands were a mess, and a bloody gash had opened up on his leg, small bits of rock embedded in the ruined skin. Trying to hold back a sob, he dug through his pack for the bandages he knew were in there, thanking the gods that it had stayed attached. Wrapping his hands was awkward, but he managed it, and once that was done he used the rest of his supply to wrap his leg, hoping that his unskilled job would hold.

The next order of business was to figure out how to get back to the group. He could see that there would be no going back the way he came. He had no rope for one, and with the state his hands were in he could barely hold his sword, never mind climb a cliff. Looking around, he noted that the ledge actually appeared to be a path, though it was pockmarked from storm damage and likely hadn't been used in quite some time. Shrugging, he followed it slowly, favoring his left leg as he limped along. The path meandered along the cliff side for a time before ending quite abruptly in another drop off that was even larger than the last. Groaning in dismay, Bilbo searched for a way out of his predicament, his sharp eyes just catching sight of a small crack in the rock itself. Beyond it lay only darkness, but it seemed to be a path leading into the mountains, a path just large enough for a hobbit. Drawing his sword in shaking hands, Bilbo ventured into the shadows of the mountain...

Up above in a small cave, the company was sitting frozen in shock and grief. Ori was crying, clinging to his brothers, and Fili, Kili and Frerin looked very close to doing the same. Thorin could not stop the pounding in his head, voiceless words incessantly repeating the damning phrase. 'Your fault. Your fault.' _He_ had allowed the hobbit to come with them, _he_ had not made sure the smaller being could get across. He had failed the only child of his wife's cousin. The knowledge of such innocent life wasted lay heavily on his shoulders, dragging him into a brooding silence.

"Balin, is there any chance...?" Kili spoke up hesitantly.

The elder dwarf sighed deeply. "No my lad, best not to hope. No one could have survived that fall."

Silence returned, punctuated only by the muffled sounds of sorrow that echoed through the cave, dying down to nothing as the exhausted company succumbed to sleep. The last of them was just drifting off when a sharp crack jerked them back to wakefulness and the ground dropped from under them...

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><p><strong>Author's note: I decided for whatever reason that I did not want to do the storm giants in this story, but I still thought a similar situation would work well, so now Bilbo is separated from the group, but miraculously alive, and the journey continues through the dark tunnels below.<strong>


	12. Trapped!

Down they tumbled, the dark giving way slowly to flickering torchlight. With many groans their descent came to an abrupt end, a shoddy wooden platform catching them up in a pile. They did not have time even to right themselves before they were set on by hordes of goblins, screeching in triumph as they secured their newest prisoners. The dwarves fought as they could, punching and kicking whenever they had the room, but their struggles were mostly in vain, the enemy overpowering them and dragging them along rickety bridges and stone tunnels. A few fell over the edge in the tussle, several more promptly taking their places in a burgeoning mass.

The light increased, as did the sound, and they were thrust forward into a massive cavern and tugged to a stop before the throne of the goblin king himself. Lesser goblins thronged on every available surface, beating on makeshift instruments and singing in painfully off-key voices, the words a garbled promise of torture and death. The goblin king heaved his bulk off the chair he was seated on, nearly crushing several minions in the process and smashing aside any that did not move fast enough.

"Who dares come armed into my realm?" he rumbled menacingly, eyeing them the way one might stare at a gnat.

"Dwarves your malevolence," came the shrill reply from one of the smaller creatures who was presently staring at the company hungrily.

"Dwarves eh? Search them! Every crack, every crevice!" the king ordered, watching as their packs were stripped from them and added to the pile of weapons that had been confiscated when they first landed. Once they were naked of any means to defend themselves the king addressed them directly. "Now then, what are you doing here? Speak fast, and do not try my patience! My people are hungry." The smaller goblins laughed excitedly at his joke.

"We were just trying to get shelter from the storm," Bofur spoke up loudly. "We have to cross the mountains you see, to get to our kin in the iron hills."

The goblin stared at him, eyes narrowed in contemplation before he shook his head with an evil smile. "Nope, I don't believe you." Silence met his accusation, none of the group daring to give their true purpose, and the delay sent the goblin into a fit of rage. "Fine. IF you will not talk we will make you squawk! Bring forth the bone breaker! Start with the youngest!"

Frerin was bodily dragged out of the protesting group, only the trembling in his hands betraying his fear. He glanced back at Thorin once, managing only the slightest shake of his head. The order was clear. Do not give in for him, he would be strong and endure. Forced into a kneeling position, his protective layers were stripped off, leaving bare skin from the waist up. His arms were stretched between two goblins, hindering his movement, but he kept his head up, glaring balefully at the hated enemy. Holding a whip in his hands, the goblin king circled him, using the end to almost gently caress the exposed flesh. "Why are you here?" he demanded, going back to his position in front of the crouching dwarf.

"I will tell you nothing!" Frerin snapped, creating enough saliva to spit in the king's direction.

With a sudden snap the lash hit his back, tearing a raw strip into his skin. Frerin jerked away, barely suppressing a scream. "Wrong answer," the king responded in a sing-song voice. Down came the lash again, and then a third time and a forth before the goblin paused again. "Why are you here?" His request was met with stony silence, Frerin clenching his jaw as he fought the pain.

Changing tactics, the goblin king tossed the whip aside and brought forth a twisted blade, dragging it across the fresh wounds. This time his charge was unable to hold in his agony, a shriek that ended in a moan leaving his lips. This was too much for the company to watch, Thorin felt his heart tearing at the sound of his son's pain. "Stop!" He yelled, stepping forward from the middle of the group.

"Well if it isn't the king under the mountain!" The goblin sneered mockingly, motioning for his minions to release the shaking dwarf. They tossed him to the floor, throwing his clothes over him for the company to collect. They quickly recovered their wounded member, drawing him gently into the center of the group and carefully redressing him. Frerin stayed wrapped in the embrace of his cousins, using them for support as Thorin faced down the king. "But I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain, and you're not a king, so that makes you... nobody really." Thorin ground his teeth at the insult, every fiber of him screaming to tear the monster apart with his bare hands. He was just about to give in to the ill-advised urge when a flash of light and a shockwave sent everyone in the vicinity to their knees.

Gandalf had come at last, and the group lost no time in gathering their weapons and charging out of the caves, the wizard leading them unerringly towards the light, and safety.

Meanwhile in a darker, deeper area of the mountain, Bilbo was stumbling along with his sword out in front of him. He could hear distant screeching, and the weapon was glowing faintly. 'Goblins.' he thought to himself with a curse. But not too near to him if the sword was to be believed, so he stayed calm and crept along as silently as he could. Thankfully the tunnel he was following appeared only to go one way, so he did not have to fear getting lost, or at least not any more lost than he already was.

His heart suddenly leaped into his throat when a shuffling noise reached his ears. Hardly daring to breathe, Bilbo peeked cautiously around the next bend, catching sight of a curious looking creature. It was mumbling to itself and dragging something along, and it appeared not to notice when something small and shiny fell out of the ragged cloth that was its only covering, coming to a bouncing stop before Bilbo's feet. The hobbit stooped and picked it up with clumsy fingers, nearly dropping it before it accidentally slipped onto the only finger he had left unbandaged.

He felt his breath catch as the world took on a ghostly pallor, the walls wavering and surprisingly making it easier to see by a fraction. Creeping along again, he followed the path, being careful to leave a fair distance between himself and the strange creature. It did not occur to him for even a moment to return the lost item, something he would have found strange any other day, but he had bigger concerns at the moment and he felt the trinket might be useful.

Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back a shout of pain when he stumbled on a loose stone in the path, stiffening as the creature paused in front of him. It dropped its bundle, turning and _staring right through him_! 'How odd,' Bilbo thought uneasily when his heart had retreated to its normal place in his chest. It appeared the creature could not see him at all, and he felt he must have the ring to thank for that. He did not pause to wonder at his good fortune, but kept up the pace when the creature returned to what it was doing with a shrug. When the path came to a sudden fork he did not hesitate to follow the one opposite to the creature, and he was grateful for his choice later when it began to lead steadily upwards, a thin beam of light penetrating the foggy darkness that he had gotten used to.

His pace quickened as he heard a frightful shriek from behind, panicking at the thought of being caught down there in the dark. Running as fast as his wounded leg would take him he burst out of the mountain, nearly becoming blinded by the light of the setting sun that was now directly in his eyes. He could hear voices that he recognized up ahead, and almost sobbed in relief. His companions had made it out and he was so very close to them.

In a clearing halfway down the mountain the group was regathering from their flight. Gandalf counted them as they ran past, turning every which way when his count ended at fourteen. "Where is Bilbo?" he called out. "Where is the hobbit?" The wizard's face fell when Thorin appeared to crumple, the reminder of their loss cutting like a knife.

"The storm knocked him off the cliff," he ground out heavily. "He is lost."

"No, he isn't," Bilbo cried out, slipping his ring into a pocket and stepping out from around a tree. The company gaped openly at him.

"Bilbo!?" they all yelled at once, surrounding him in glee.

"You fell!" Thorin choked out, disbelief coloring his voice. "How did you get back?"

Bilbo chuckled, thinking back on his little adventure with a wince. "That I did. I got lucky I suppose. I landed on another path far below yours, and with no other option I followed it, and here I am!" Absentmindedly he patted the pocket containing his new treasure, deciding to keep it a secret, and missing the knowing gleam in Gandalf's eyes.

"Well," the wizard sighed in relief. "You are back, and that is all that matters."

"You're injured lad!" Oin cried out, seeing the bandages plastered over Bilbo's hands and leg. The lower one was oozing blood and throbbing mightily, but the hobbit had not had a chance to stop and see to it, and when a sudden howl broke the silence he sighed in near exasperation. He would not get to see to it now either.

"No time for that!" he yelled, joining the group in running away from the approaching hunters.


	13. Lionheart

Thorin Oakenshield was livid. The vicious howls of wargs rent the air, following the company's panicked flight down the mountain. He could see the unmasked fear in the eyes of the younger members of the group, he watched as Frerin and Bilbo were both being bodily dragged along, unable to keep up with their injuries. Bilbo, so newly returned to them, and already they were in even worse danger than a simple storm. He felt the fear in his own chest at the thought of what would happen should they be caught, and it only fueled his anger. He detested the unpleasantness of fear, and the shame it still brought him, as silly as it was.

The group was going on pure adrenaline now. After a sleepless night and little food for the past day it was the only thing to keep their flagging limbs moving. When Gandalf yelled for them to get into the trees, it was only terror that forced their heavy arms to grasp the branches that would shelter them. They ended up with seconds to spare before the hunters were at their feet, the wargs working themselves into a frenzy as they attempted to drag down their prey. The dark sound of black speech joined in their disjointed howling, a further group of mounted enemies following their servants.

A short burst of the horrid language roared over the cacophony, bringing with it an eerie silence and the wargs temporary retreat. Orcs directed their mounts to the sides, leaving a sort of aisle through which a creature from nightmares arrived. Thorin could feel his heart drop at the sight. The pale orc, very much alive, riding a massive white warg and sporting a satisfied sneer.

"Azog," he whispered. "It cannot be..." He found himself unable to look away, or even blink, wondering if perhaps he was just trapped in a bad dream. Maybe if he pinched himself he would awaken. His nemesis cackled, rumbling out a series of taunts from the sound of it, and Thorin caught his own name among the mess, along with his father's. His eyes narrowed in instant fury that the disgusting creature before him dared to utter that name. Only the restraining hand of whoever was next to him stopped him from losing it completely and launching himself out of the tree to kill Azog right then and there.

The pale orc delighted in his assumed victory for another moment before issuing a command that had the wargs attacking once more. No more breath was wasted on howls or taunts. The orcs sat back and watched as the wargs proceeded to throw themselves up the side of the trees, gripping the branches with strong jaws and ripping them off. They snapped at the heels of the company, unable to reach them and becoming increasingly frustrated.

Suddenly they changed tactics, and the trees began to shudder violently as the large beasts hurled their full weight against them. Creaks and groans ripped from the base of the dwarves sanctuary as it began swaying dangerously, and they were soon forced to jump for another perch. One by one natures monoliths tumbled to the ground, giving way before the assault and leaving only the last of the trees, right at the edge of the cliff. The group tried not to look down, several of them failing to do just that and blanching at the steep drop below.

"Fili! Kili!" Gandalf called down from his position at the very top of the tree. The two looked up, catching the burning cones he tossed down to them and immediately catching on to his plan when he flung his own out at the enemy. They quickly made more, passing the projectiles around and creating a veritable fire storm before them. Wargs fled, snarling in pain and fear of the flames, and Azog now looked outraged at having been thwarted, however temporarily it might be. As long as the fire burned the group was safe, for the orcs would not pass the heat of the flames.

They were just beginning to cheer victoriously when the last sound they had wanted to hear rang out over the crackling of the fire. Moaning in defeat, their tree was beginning to tip precariously towards the gorge, sending the group into an unbalanced tumble as they fought to secure their grip. Due to chance, or luck, their two injured members ended up on top of the tree, and Frerin let out an audible gasp when his hands came in contact with the bark. He felt as if a spark was connecting him to the tree, a surge of energy leaving him as the fall came to an abrupt halt. The roots were holding, and his hands almost seemed to glow faintly, a green luminescence flowing from his fingertips.

"I don't know what is happening!" he cried out.

"Whatever it is, keep doing it laddie!" Balin chuckled, brushing aside his worry and curiosity for a later time. Under his enthusiastic prompting Frerin slammed both hands onto the trunk, creating as much contact as he was able, and trying to ignore the rush of dizziness that accompanied this new phenomenon.

At his back Thorin was fuming, angry that Azog's good mood had returned at their predicament. Taking a deep breath, he deliberately straightened to his feet, balancing on the trunk as he stalked towards firmer ground. His sword was out, the shield that was his namesake clutched protectively in the other hand. He was going to end this, and he was going to end it now. Azog's delight seemed to increase with his proximity, and both charged simultaneously. Thorin wasn't really sure how it happened, but he was on the ground in seconds, at a clear disadvantage. His fury peaking, he felt as if he were seeing red when he lurched to his feet, facing off against the orc once more.

Again he was felled, the mace that Azog held in one clawed fist driving him into the dirt. He could dimly hear screaming past the ringing in his ears, and he tried to get up, but he couldn't seem to make his body work. All he knew was pain, the sudden flaring agony of warg fangs encasing his chest, and the whirling sensation of being airborne. Swinging out, he felt his sword connect with flesh, the shock ringing up his arm, followed by a brief moment of flying before he was jarringly reunited with the ground. His weapon had left his hand, his vision was swimming, and he fought off the fear of inevitability as he grasped at the dirt, trying to find anything to use in his defense against the orc sword that now rested on his neck. The last thing he saw was a small figure knocking the enemy to the ground before his world faded to black...

Bilbo swallowed heavily past the lump in his throat, trying to settle his racing heart as he got shakily to his feet. He could see that he was the only one with a chance of saving Thorin. Frerin was the only other one on the top of the tree, but he was busy holding off their imminent demise by falling, so he drew his sword and muttered a prayer. He broke into a stumbling run, his leg screeching in protest at every step, but the pain was worth it when he got to the orc just in time to shove it out of the way. Bilbo had no time to even think, letting out years of rage and pain on the unfortunate creature for what had been done to his family, both old and new. He smiled grimly at that thought. His new family, for that they were, at least to him. He would not fail to protect them again.

With a yell, several of the other company members joined the fight, finally managing to get free. They dodged fire and orc blades, battling with the single goal of defending their wounded king. Bilbo had shrunk back, lowering himself to the ground as his leg gave way, but still keeping his body between the helpless Thorin and the enemy.

Over on the tree Frerin was losing his own battle, his face going pale as his energy depleted at an alarming rate. "Gandalf, I can't hold it!" he cried in a strained whisper, falling forward as his eyes shut against his will. His face smashed against the trunk, and his last thought was of pain as his tongue got trapped between his teeth. The tree let go, roots tearing free of the earth and spinning towards the ground as its occupants were plucked from the death trap by monstrous eagles. Gandalf sighed in relief, his plan had come to fruition just in time, and the company was borne away, leaving behind a furiously roaring Azog and his scattered forces.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: So, something strange is happening to Frerin. I haven't yet decided whether I'm going to do anything with this ability, but I will at the very least explain it some time later in the story.<br>**


	14. Shieldbrothers

Flying through the air would have been an exhilarating experience for Fili and Kili if the two people they cared most for were not currently on death's door. The duo sat pressed together on the back of a massive eagle, staring ahead at their uncle and cousin and praying for movement, hearts in their throats. Neither of them knew the cause for Frerin's motionless state, so they were understandably afraid that they had failed to protect their cousin. It made for a tense hour as they were brought to safety far from the site of the battle.

When at last the eagles showed signs of slowing, they were deposited on a pinnacle of rock at the edge of the misty mountains, a forest surrounding its base like an ocean below. Frerin and Thorin were the first to be placed down, the two remaining where they were, still dead to the world. Gandalf followed closely behind, as did Bilbo, and the two hurried to check on their youngest member first. A quick glance at his softly moving chest reassured the wizard that Frerin was in no immediate danger, and he said as much quickly. Bilbo sank down beside his friend with a sigh of relief, unable to bear the thought of standing again for a long while. His leg had gone partially numb from the cold air, but the rest of it was a fiery pain, the ragged bandage threatening to fall off entirely.

Leaving Bilbo to watch over Frerin, Gandalf rushed to Thorin's side, feeling a growing concern when the dwarf made no indication of still living. His chest was unmoving, his wounds ever so slowly leaking blood. It would have appeared that he was sleeping if not for the lack of breath.

"Thorin," Gandalf called urgently, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. There was no response, so, drawing on some of his power, Gandalf laid a hand over Thorin's face and muttered a few words. He exhaled when the dwarf's eyes fluttered slowly open, letting out the breath he had been holding and smiling widely.

Thorin stared up at the wizard hazily, trying to recall what series of events had led to his current position. He could see clouds and a sky bright with sunrise. No more fire, no orcs or wargs, no battle. Bilbo had saved him... "Bilbo?" he asked worriedly, fearing the hobbit had been lost in his foolish attempt at heroism.

Gandalf's face was relaxed. "Bilbo is here, he is quite safe."

Turning his head to the side, he could see the hobbit resting against a boulder, his son nearby. His heart twisted then, at the paleness of Frerin's face, and the trickle of blood on the corner of his mouth. Thorin did not even consider the fact that neither Gandalf or Bilbo appeared distraught, he felt certain something had happened. "Frerin?" he whispered hoarsely, fear jerking him to his feet when the young one did not respond. He lurched over to them, placing a hand on his shoulder and jumping when Frerin groaned and rolled to face him.

Frerin cracked one eye open. "'M fine adad, just tired," he mumbled.

"You could be bleeding internally," Thorin protested, looking anxiously still at the blood that was trickling out of Frerin's mouth.

The younger one shook his head in denial. "Bit m' tongue," he explained. "Jus' wanna sleep."

Thorin chuckled in relief. "Alright then, if you say so I believe you." He carded a hand through Frerin's hair, smiling when his son drifted off into a calm slumber. Once Frerin was deeply asleep Thorin turned to Bilbo, a medley of emotion taking over him. The hobbit was regarding him warily, perhaps expecting a rebuff for his reckless charge, but that was the furthest thing from Thorin's mind. "Are you alright?" Thorin asked him in concern.

Bilbo nodded, giving a little shrug. "As well as may be considering what we just went through," he admitted, shifting his leg with a slight wince. "I'm glad to see you back with us, I was getting worried for a moment there," he confessed.

Thorin shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face for the selflessness of the small man. Lacking the proper words to express his gratitude, he pulled Bilbo into a firm embrace. "I cannot thank you enough for what you did," he said roughly. "Truly you are one of us, brother." His term of endearment was met with several gasps from their audience, and Bilbo glanced up at them in shock, noting that they appeared surprised but not displeased. He felt this was a momentous thing to have been said, and a surge of warmth filled him at the idea that his wish for a family was reciprocated.

"You think of me as a brother?" he whispered, a brilliant smile lighting his face.

Thorin nodded regally. "Yes. In fact..." He reached up, unclasping one of the silver beads that held his braid closed. The metal rolled into his palm, and he offered the token to the wide-eyed hobbit. "I would be honored to call you family."

Bilbo stared at it in fascination. "What do the markings mean?" he asked curiously.

"They are the symbols of my house," Thorin explained. "This is the rune of Durin. It will let any dwarf know that you are tied into my family."

"Thank you," Bilbo murmured, swiping at his eyes when they welled up a little with the emotion of the moment. He flushed then, appearing uncertain. "Umm, Thorin? I can't say as I know how to braid like you. I've never done it before."

The dwarf chuckled. "I can help with that, and I'm sure my nephews would enjoy teaching you."

"Of course!" Fili and Kili broken in with an excited clamor. "Anything for our new Uncle Bilbo!" Their positive reaction garnered a laugh from the rest of the group, and they sat to watch as Thorin expertly wove a quick plait into Bilbo's short hair. The clasp gleamed in its place at the end, looking slightly out of place on a hobbit, but Bilbo found he quite enjoyed it. It made him feel like he really fit in. As usual Gandalf presided over all, looking as pleased as if he had arranged the whole thing himself.

"Now then, let's see to that leg laddie," Oin broken in sternly, pulling out what was left of his supplies. Bilbo obligingly kept his leg straight in front of him, leaving the healer plenty of room to work. The rough bandage was stripped, some of the group hissing in sympathy at the gruesome wound. With great care Oin picked the stray bits of gravel out of the injury before washing it off with some water from his canteen. He had lost all his salve, but there was enough fresh linen strips to re-wrap the wound, where it would hopefully keep until they could resupply. His hands also were looked over, though he had to turn away when the wrappings were removed, feeling a little sick at the sight.

Bilbo sighed in relief when it was done. "Thank you Oin," he said gratefully. "That does feel better." The healer snorted, certain that his ministrations would have offered little in the way of comfort, but the hobbit appeared determined to make the best of things. It was an admirable trait. Once he was settled again with his back against a rock Oin tended to Thorin and Frerin. They would have only a short time to rest before they felt pressured to move on, so the healer did what he could in the time allowed.


	15. Gentle Giant

They got moving again a little while later, going slowly to keep a good pace for their injured members. Thorin had his arm around Dwalin's shoulder, Frerin was being supported on either side by his cousins, and Bilbo found himself being carried by Nori. He had protested at first, feeling a mite embarrassed to be the only one not walking, but Oin had snapped at him to quit causing further damage to his leg, so the hobbit laughed and accepted his defeat gracefully.

"We really should find a place to rest and restock," Thorin admitted as they traveled. He was loath to stop, but even _he_ was having difficulty keeping anywhere near his usual pace, and some of the others had injuries to look to.

"There is a house nearby, where we might take refuge for a time," Gandalf informed them. Had Thorin been less preoccupied he might have been suspicious of the wizard's tone, but he nodded tiredly.

"Very well, we will follow your lead," he announced loudly, triggering a flurry of movement as the company tried to up their speed just a little. The thought of rest and food spurred them on to greater efforts, and they were soon making better time as they tried to ignore the rumbling of stomachs and aching of limbs.

Gradually the trees began to thin out, revealing sweeping plains of wild grasses. Flowers dotted the fields, and a stream could be seen that directly intersected with their path. At the opposite edge of the open space the trees began anew, and cozied up between them was an impressive hedge. A single gap blocked by a wooden gate seemed to be the only way through, at least on this side, and past it they could see a low building made of strong wood and stone. It was towards this abode that they headed at Gandalf's bidding, looking around curiously at the unexpected dwelling. It blended well with its surroundings, though this was mostly due to the hedge hiding its bulk from the sight of prying eyes.

Splashing through the burbling water, the group ignored their wet feet and slowed their pace marginally, gazing ahead with trepidation. There was no sign of life from the house, and at the same time the area was teeming with busy creatures. Whomever lived here had quite a collection of beasts, from the large horses that grazed in the fields to the bees that filled the air with a harsh buzzing. Light filtered through the trees that they stood under, and the company sat down to rest within the boundaries of the small haven while Gandalf went in search of the elusive homeowner.

They were getting quite drowsy and comfortable when the snort of a large beast reached their ears from just outside the hedge. They tensed in anticipation, getting to their feet as their discomfort grew. It was Bilbo that hesitantly peered over the gate to see what was outside, and they would later agree that it was ultimately what saved them from being attacked. The hobbit looked about before yelping in shock and reeling backwards, accidentally pulling the gate open when his jacket caught upon it. The empty space was promptly filled by the form of a hulking bear, and Bilbo stared up at the creature towering over him with pained fear. The rest of the company was motionless, helpless to rescue their fallen companion from his vulnerable position.

Seconds dragged past as the bear examined its catch, a knot forming in Bilbo's stomach as he tried to swallow away his nerves.

"Why isn't it attacking me?" he hissed backwards at the dwarves, his face a shade paler than was healthy. He looked positively tiny in the shadow of the beast, and the precariousness of the situation nearly dragged his attention away from his leg.

"I don't know," they returned. Thorin took a careful step forward, leaning down to reach for Bilbo's shoulder.

"Try and move away," he commanded lowly, his eyes never once leaving the bear. "Perhaps if we go slowly it will not stop us." His face was calm, his eyes only betraying the slightest hint of fear for his companion. Gripping Bilbo's jacket, he began to pull the hobbit to his feet, the smaller man unable to suppress a muted groan when his leg was jostled. "Sorry," Thorin muttered worriedly, patting him down as if to assure himself the hobbit was still in once piece. Thorin gently edged in front of Bilbo, creating a barrier of flesh that was soon strengthened by the other members of the company.

Gandalf chose this moment to show up, striding into sight and stopping short, gaping openly at the silent confrontation. Their movement, slow as it was, combined with the appearance of the wizard, seemed to anger the bear, but then the most unexpected thing happened. With a great shudder the bears skin began to ripple and flex, the animal getting onto its hind feet awkwardly. An odd moan, somewhere between animal and human speech was the only sound before the bear disappeared, leaving in its wake a very large man. He was entirely nude, but apparently unconcerned with this fact as he glared intimidatingly at the strangers that were now backing hurriedly away, weapons drawn.

Tension ran high, the silence becoming nearly unbearable before the man spoke.

"Who are you, and why do you trespass on my lands?" he uttered ponderously.

Gandalf stepped forward, drawing the man's attention away from the main group. "Ahh Beorn, well that would be my doing," he explained hastily. "I am Gandalf, Gandalf the grey." Beorn made no comment, continuing to stare at him demandingly. Clearing his throat, the wizard continued, his voice carefully polite. "We had a rather unfortunate encounter with orcs and goblins these past few days, and lost most of our supplies. Some of our members also became injured in the fight, and are in need of medical attention. I confess I was hopeful that we might indulge of your hospitality." Gandalf offered a courteous smile, awaiting his answer.

"Where are your injured?" Beorn asked as he strode over to a nearby stump and retrieved a pair of wool trousers. Bilbo limped to the front of the group, flanked by Frerin and a softly protesting Thorin. The large man made an effort to soften his expression, crouching down to look at the three. Even in this position the intimidating man was still taller than them by at least a head, but they appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Giving a decisive nod the man beckoned them to follow, heading for the house. "Come, you may rest here until such time as you are recovered. Anyone who has fought with goblins and orcs is welcome. My only requirement is that you take care to harm no living thing within these walls."

The dwarves nodded agreeably, voices ringing around the clearing as they hurried to assure their host that they would be the best of guests, and that they were very much at his service. Beorn snorted, perplexed by the gesture and taking no small measure of amusement in their antics as they gazed around his home. There were even more animals inside, making it appear to be more barn than house, but it was cozy and warm, with a roaring hearth and soft cushions for sitting on. The company was plied with good food and drink, and the injured were tended to with no delay. They spent the remainder of the day in comfort, feeling safe for the first time in weeks in the presence of the mighty skin changer.


	16. Attack!

Striding cautiously through the forest, Gimli kept his ears pricked for any strange sounds. He was going along his usual route, checking trap lines and setting a few new ones when he came across the fresh tracks. He smiled in excitement. It looked like a wolf, and quite a large one too. He was mildly surprised that the tracks were singular, he knew wolves were pack animals, very social, and he trained his eyes on the ground to be sure he wouldn't miss anything.

He planned to meet up with Bomfur in another hour, and he was very much hoping he would arrive there with an impressive kill to brag over. Hunting for Dis had begun as a rather enjoyable chore, but had turned into a weekly contest between the two budding warriors. They were each of them eager to outdo the other, resulting in plenty of meat for not only Dis herself but their own families as well. Last week had been an enormous stag, the week before had been some wild turkeys. There had even been a ferocious boar. Gimli had saved the tusks from that kill, planning to make them into hilts for some throwing daggers.

He refocused his thoughts, drawing them away from where he had been dwelling on past victories. It wouldn't do to become careless. Crouching, he paused to examine a pile of the animals leavings, sniffing in distaste and poking at them with a stick. He nodded in satisfaction. His quarry couldn't be more than an hour away, if it had kept up a steady pace instead of wandering.

Increasing his own pace slightly, he suddenly dropped low at the sound of snuffling from up ahead. There was a break in the trees, and an outcropping of rock that was shaped like a rough cave. The wolf den! Peering through a gap in the bushes he was using as covering, he tried to get an eye on his target, growling under his breath when he saw nothing. The sniffing noises had died off, giving him no sign as to where the animal had vanished to, but he suspected it had caught wind of him and fled into the shelter.

Thinking quickly, he inched his way around the perimeter of the clearing until he was at the closest point to the cave while still retaining cover. He had heard nothing over his own breathing in all this time, so he stepped forward into the light, fingering his hunting knives as they lay in their sheaths. Silently he drew them out, at the same time poking his head around the side of the cave to see what he was up against. The interior was dim, but he was certain that he was seeing all the way to the back, and it was empty.

Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him, and instinct had him whirling just in time to meet the sharp fangs and twisted blade of a warg scout and its rider. Gimli almost staggered in shock at the unexpected horror of the sight. He had never encountered something so barbaric, and he could see that this was going to be a fight to the death, the merciless look in the orcs eyes promised nothing less. He slashed viciously at the warg, only just holding it at bay as his thoughts twisted in frantic directions. His axe was slung across his back, useless unless he dropped his knives, but he was getting no quarter.

Backing up, he turned for just a moment to scramble to higher ground, trying to use the rocks to his advantage, only to yell out when his leg was assaulted by a fiery pain, the warg closing steel jaws upon him. He twisted around onto his back, dropping the knives and yanking his axe out, before swinging wildly. The warg caught a direct blow to the face, and Gimli almost lost his grip on the weapon as it became embedded in the beasts skull. It took all the power he had in his shaking hands to keep hold of it, and it came free with a sickening crunch, sending him reeling back.

He was afforded only a second of relief before the orc came at him with a furious roar, determined to take revenge for the loss of his mount. Their blades clashed, the dwarf somehow holding his own from his position on the ground. He lashed out powerfully, causing the orc to stumble and giving himself enough time to stagger to his feet, though his left leg would bare no weight. He faced his adversary with pained determination, hissing as the orc retaliated once again.

His response was just a little too slow, and the orc caught him a glancing blow to the collarbone, cracking it and causing him to see stars. He fell to his knees, keeping his weapon up in a move that the orc had not at all expected. The beast impaled itself upon it when it took a leap forward, having intended to finish him off while he was helpless. He had just enough energy to drag himself into the cave, praying there were no more enemies nearby.

Out at their meeting place Bomfur was pacing, wondering how long he should wait before he began to worry. It had been nearly a half hour when he huffed impatiently and headed for Gimli's trap lines, looking for his tardy friend. He found signs of his presence surprisingly close by, frowning when the foot prints began to deviate from the path and mingle with the tracks of a large beast. Moving hurriedly along, he burst into the clearing and was drawn up short in horror. The corpses of the orc and warg were clearly fresh, and his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Bomfur approached the bodies mechanically, stiffening when he passed them and caught sight of a dwarven boot protruding from the mouth of the small cave that dominated the clearing. "Oh no," he whispered, taking in the state of his friend. The dwarf was pale and clammy, axe still gripped loosely in one fist. Knowing time was of the essence he shrugged off his own weapons and piled their combined armory inside the cave before slinging his injured companion across his broad shoulders. Praying he would not encounter anything on the way home, he broke into a run, heart thudding painfully in his chest as Gimli dangled motionlessly in his grip.

Dis and Lona lurched to their feet with startled screams when Bomfur crashed through the front door of the house. Dis's hand had gone to a knife she kept nearby, but she immediately saw that it was unnecessary as she took in the dire situation. Lona had pressed both hands to her mouth, going white at the sight of her injured son, and she appeared unable to move from her chair, frozen in nameless panic.

Seeing this, Dis took charge. "What happened?" she asked, clearing off the table so that Gimli could be laid down upon it. She began to bustle around the kitchen, gathering supplies and putting water on to boil.

"Warg attack," Bomfur said solemnly, shaking as he gazed down as his friend. "I found him like this. The warg and its rider were dead nearby. I do not think there were any others."

Dis managed to nod in approval of his concise report. "Good. Alright, I need you to get his clothes off, down to the small clothes. We have to see what we're dealing with here. While you're doing that I am going to try and rouse Mara. She is the only one that is truly equipped to deal with injuries of this extent." She ran down the hall, leaving Bomfur to strip down the unconscious dwarf, and barged straight into Mara's room, shaking her insistently. "Mara, wake up!" she yelled.

"What?" Mara asked in confusion, looking dazed. This was the first time she had been forcibly roused, and she found herself quite disoriented.

"Gimli was attacked by a warg, we need you!" Dis cried urgently, snapping Mara to instant alertness. She got up as fast as she was able, hurrying after the frantic dwarf and slipping into her professional mask.

The next hour was spent cleaning, stitching, and bandaging, during which time Gimli woke up twice and had to be knocked out with a mild sedative to keep him from flailing. At last the job was done, and they had moved him to Fili's bed, assuring Lona she was welcome to stay and sleep in Kili's bed in the same room. Bomfur stayed also, electing to sleep in Frerin's room after sending a note to his mother to explain. The household sank into a relieved silence. Gimli had made it through, and though he was likely to be scarred he would survive.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Another short interlude in Ered Luin, and we will be returning to the company next chapter.<strong>


	17. Through the Forest

Bilbo took one look at the deep shadows that faced them and felt his cheerful disposition falter.

"Gloomy sight isn't it?" Bofur mused grimly, moving up beside the hobbit.

Bilbo nodded. "This place makes the old forest look positively welcoming," he agreed. "I don't suppose there's a way around Gandalf?"

"Not unless you want to go two hundred leagues north," he called. "Or twice that, south," he added in a distracted mutter.

The group got to work unburdening the horses while Gandalf wandered a little ways under the trees, disappearing for a moment into the gloom. The wizard was deeply concerned with certain developments, and the growing presence he felt in his mind. Something was moving in the shadows, something Galadriel had also felt. He almost felt as if his old friend were whispering her suspicions in his ear, and he followed the train of thought over to an ivy-covered pillar. One quick moment swept the covering aside, and he snatched his hand back at the sight of a crudely drawn symbol that he had hoped never to encounter again. It seemed his part in the journey would have to be put aside for now in the face of graver matters...

"Not my horse, I need it!" he called out sharply.

"You're not leaving?!" the company cried in dismay.

"I'm afraid I must," the wizard said regretfully. "I would not be doing this unless it was absolutely necessary." Seeing that the group was unable to change his mind they backed off, watching with concern as Gandalf mounted his horse and aimed its head south. He left them with a final warning. "Remember, whatever you do stay on the path, do not stray. Oh, and do not drink the water." Glancing down at Bilbo, Gandalf examined him critically for a moment.

"Don't worry about me," Bilbo said with an easy smile. "I'll be just fine."

"Yes," Gandalf murmured. "I do believe you will." He spoke louder as he spurred his mount to a swift gallop. "Take care, and I shall see you on the other side. Do not leave the path!"

Exchanging determined glances, the group headed into the dense foliage that was Mirkwood, Thorin taking the lead. Their path started out quite straight, with cut bricks to mark the way, and it put them at ease. They strode on quickly, making good time while the light rapidly dimmed as they left the plains behind them.

By evening it was very difficult to see, and the company found themselves staggering into each other, hands on the backs of the one in front of them so they would not lose anyone in the dark. Thorin finally decided they had gone far enough and ordered them to make camp. The made a small fire, huddling around the blaze, shoulders touching for comfort. No one felt at ease anymore, with the shadows creeping in and eyes shining just out of range of the firelight. A small meal was passed around, and they ate in silence, casting wary glances at the trees that seemed to lean over them.

It was fully night when the moths came, black as the sky and as large as their hands. There were droves of them, fluttering around with increasing interest in the fire, their wings hitting numerous dwarves in the face. They were no sooner slapped away by an irritated hand than they had been replaced by two others.

"Put out the fire!" Ori begged, shuddering at the feel of feathery touches on his face and hands. There was a swift chorus of agreement, and the fire was doused. The group sighed in relief when the moths left, the attractive light that compelled them giving way to inky darkness. It was now impossible to see anything other than the aftereffects that the flames had left in their eyes, and they blinked rapidly to dispel the vivid flashes.

"Set up your beds where you are," Thorin ordered. "Make sure at least two people are within arms reach at all times. I will take first watch."

They continued in this fashion for many days, walking at the first retreat of the gloom of night and settling when they could no longer see the path. Fires were only lit for the short time it took to make dinners and set up camp, then they were put out to discourage the night life from gathering and reacting to their presence. The only lights left were the eyes, like little colored stars that winked in and out of existence throughout the night. Though none actually approached, they were ever watchful, keeping the company on high alert through the dark hours. They only retreated when the shadows crept away, making it impossible to know what was stalking them.

Time ceased to mean anything after awhile, and many of the group began to feel the creeping sensation of lethargy, the heavy air pressing upon them with sleepy insistence. Their pace slowed without their knowledge, until only Frerin appeared to be unaffected. He guided their steps with concern, wondering why he had been spared the enchantments in the air. Bilbo also seemed to be mostly there still, and the hobbit helped keep them going in the right direction, even going so far as to climb a tree when they became discouraged.

Bilbo was utterly unprepared for the breathtaking sight that greeted him upon clearing the canopy of the forest. A breeze ruffled his hair, sun warmed his skin, and butterflies filled the air. They whirled around him in a cloud of brightest blue, so unlike their dark cousins in the lower levels of the forest. After taking a moment to appreciate the scene, Bilbo quickly got his bearings. It was easy to see that they were almost free of the dreadful place. He could see a river, and a massive lake, and the thinning trees not far away. They had less than a days journey ahead of them.

"Good news!" he called down. "We're almost out!" He began to scurry down the tree, worrying when his calls were met with eerie silence. "Hello? Did you hear me?"

Suddenly a scream pierced the quiet, instantly recognizable as Frerin. Throwing caution to the winds, Bilbo flung himself down even faster, skidding the last few feet to land in a battle. Frerin was surrounded by massive spiders, fighting bravely but utterly alone. None of the others were in sight, and Bilbo hurried to draw his weapon and join the battle. "Thank Mahal," Frerin cried upon seeing him. "The others were carried off, I think they've been poisoned!" he panted, swinging out viciously.

"Well, we'll just have to save them then, won't we?" Bilbo yelled back. He made a quick decision, slipping on his magic ring and vanishing from sight. Frerin screeched in shock for only a second before rushing to defend himself against the onslaught, unable to comprehend what he had just seen. Even stranger was the fact that many of the spiders continued to fall when he was not attacking them, and soon the arachnids grew fearful of their unseen assailant and fled.

"Bilbo?" Frerin called out softly once they were gone.

"Here," came the disembodied voice of the hobbit. "I'm fine."

"How are you doing that?" the young dwarf asked incredulously.

"No time for that," came the evasive reply. "Come on, we need to find the others."

Shrugging, Frerin followed after the path that was showing up in front of him as the hobbit purposely disturbed the foliage for his benefit. He put the matter out of mind for later, tacking it off as some obscure hobbit trick. He himself was capable of some measure of blending with the surroundings, a talent he had from his mother, but this was beyond his skill, and for a brief moment he was mildly envious before he reminded himself that it was only this skill that had likely just saved his hide.

The two shuddered when they reached the web-filled clearing that was home to their enemies. Twitching bundles could be seen hanging about, their size indicating that they likely held dwarves. There were thirteen to their great relief, and they wasted no time in cutting them down and arming up again. The spiders were nowhere in sight, though doubtless there were many more lurking nearby, so they hurried off back towards the path, stumbling with the lingering effects of the poison.

"I still don't know why I wasn't poisoned," Frerin remarked confusedly as they went. "I know I was bitten." He winced slightly, rubbing at his neck where he could feel an oozing wound that should have felled him like the others.

"I believe that is because of your mother," Balin offered, the others staring at him incredulously. "It's the fae blood," he explained patiently. "I read about it in a book she gave me once. Fae are nearly immune to poisons and enchantments."

"Huh, well that is useful," the younger dwarf grinned.

He was about to speak further, only to notice that Bilbo had once again disappeared, and there were presently several arrows pointed directly at their group. They were surrounded.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: The next chapter coming up will switch to a perspective that I have not used yet, as I wish to address an issue in the movie that I was particularly upset by. This next scene stems mostly from the extended edition of the second movie, but I found it very irritating, so consider this a fix-it chapter.<br>**


	18. A Light in the Darkness

The High Fells were not a pleasant place, that much Gandalf was certain of. He could feel the surge of wrongness that filled the air, and he wasn't even at the tombs yet. The path he took creaked and crumbled under his feet, having long fallen to disuse. No one in their right mind ever went this way, but such was the inevitable path of a wizard. It seemed it was his fate ever to tread the dark places of the world. He cursed as he was thrown off balance yet again, a large chunk of the path breaking off to tumble down the mountain side.

When at last he made it to the top it was to see the iron gate that should have barred the way standing open. It was warped and twisted, as if someone had forcibly dislodged it in a fit of temper. Clearly the work of dark magic, if the increasing taint in the air was any indication. There was a faint familiarity to the power he felt, and he shuddered at the implications. An old enemy, so ancient that he had quite forgotten if the creature even had a name once.

Gandalf did not linger inside. It was easy to see from the empty tombs that his suspicions had been correct. The dead were not where they should be, and only fell power could have awoken them from their damned sleep. He turned to leave, startled at the sudden fluttering of wings and barely holding back an attack when the light from his staff illuminated a face only a few feet from his own.

"Radagast," the grey wizard breathed in relief.

"Why did you call me here Gandalf?" the other questioned innocently. "This is not a nice place."

"No, it is not," Gandalf agreed. "Let us leave. It pains me to say that I was right, our enemy has returned while we have been blind, and we have very little time to take action."

"He has returned?" the brown whispered with growing horror. "Then the world is in grave danger!"

"Yes," Gandalf returned. "Come, we must make for Dol Guldur. There is one final thing I will check to confirm my fears." A voice whispered in his head, mere memory. '_If ever you should need my aid, do not hesitate to call upon me_.' Sighing heavily, Gandalf mounted up. "I think it is high time we summoned the council."

The duo raced across plains and mountains, through forests and over rivers, casting aside rest in their haste to prevent disaster. Thoughts of the dark times ahead consumed them. They reached the old fortress in the depths of Mirkwood with due speed and cautiously dismounted on the far side of the only remaining entrance. A dilapidated bridge that had seen better days. It was sturdy enough to walk across, but the railings had crumbled, and pieces were missing from the edges.

"What now?" Radagast asked uneasily, looking decidedly uninterested in reentering the nightmare that he had barely escaped from only a month ago.

"I am going in alone," Gandalf announced grimly. "On no account are you to follow me. Go to Lorien and summon the council, for we must deal with this with all speed."

"But Gandalf, what if it's a trap?" the brown protested uncertainly.

"Go Radagast, do not look back," Gandalf ordered firmly, waiting until the other was out of earshot to begin his trek across the bridge. "It is most undoubtedly a trap," he muttered.

Gandalf strode forward carefully, with drawn sword and lit staff leading the way. The ruin that was his destination looked positively deserted, but he could already tell it was a false assumption. Foul magic, even stronger than that of the Fells was filling the air, a spell of cloaking that hid what was truly there. The grey wizard immediately sought to dissolve the enchantment, chanting in an ancient tongue and letting out a wave of power. His light radiated through the ruins, illuminating the darkness but revealing nothing.

He continued on his way, taking paths and stairways at random, his chanting unwavering in speed or volume. It was jumpy work, never knowing when the spell would break and preparing at any moment to be ambushed.

Suddenly, he heard a soft sound from above, the slightest shift of cloth or leather against stone, and he tensed in anticipation. He had only a moment to stagger backwards, barely avoiding the furiously insane creature that launched itself upon him from above. Gandalf used all his cunning to hold it at bay, managing to come to the conclusion that it was a dwarf of all things. After a brief fight he gained the upper hand, pinning his adversary to the ground and holding a hand over his snarling face. A small rush of power and the dwarf slumped back, becoming still as the madness faded from his mind.

"Gandalf?" he murmured in evident shock.

The wizard gasped, recognizing the wraith that had once been a close friend of his. "Thrain. Oh my friend, I thought you dead. We must get you out of here."

Dragging the dwarf to his feet, Gandalf began to nearly sprint for the exit, forgetting his earlier task in favor of saving his companion. "Where are you taking me? What has happened to my family?" Thrain cried worriedly, racing after him at a much faster pace than he would have thought possible.

"I am taking you to see a friend," Gandalf assured him. "You will be safe there until I can reunite you with your son. Thorin is safe, and currently headed for the lonely mountain."

"NO!" Thrain nearly shouted in horror. "He cannot go to Erebor!" The dwarf yanked Gandalf to a stop with a surprising amount of force. "Gandalf, there is an army hidden here, just waiting to march on the mountain and take it under force. They plan to enslave the dragon, killing anyone in their path!"

Gandalf frowned gravely. "Then it is even more imperative that we get out of here, and warn them of what is to come. I'm afraid it is too late to stop this quest. Your son is determined to reclaim his home." He all but pulled the now stumbling dwarf back across the bridge that separated them from safety. When they had made it into the trees he stopped, crouching to place gentle hands on Thrain's shoulders. "They have a good chance of success," Gandalf assured his friend. "Do not lose hope."

"I will trust you," Thrain sighed tiredly. "If only because you have brought me hope when there was only darkness. I just pray that you are right about this."

Gandalf kept whatever reply he might have made to himself, seeing that the dwarf was fast nearing an exhausted sleep, something that had likely been denied to him in any proper form for years. He was thin and weak, nearly brittle as the dark power that had kept him going for so long began leaching out of his system. Mounting the patient horse that had waited for him outside the fortress, Gandalf settled his friend in front of him and began the short trip to Beorn's.

Thrain was awake when they arrived, looking around with interest. His eyes had softened dramatically, soaking in the peace that pervaded the area, breathing deeply of the refreshing breeze. He had nearly forgotten the color of grass, the feel of sunlight, the smell of flowers. The dwarf vowed that he would thank Mahal for the rest of his days for this unexpected second chance. He returned from his thoughts when the master of the house appeared, eyes widening at the sight of the giant man.

"Gandalf," Beorn called. "What brings you back so soon, and with another dwarf? You seem to have a lot of these little things."

"Yes, well, I require a favor if I might indulge upon your hospitality yet again," the wizard requested seriously. "This is Thrain, Thorin's father, and recently escaped resident of Dol Guldur. I have things I must yet take care of and..."

"You need a place for him to stay that is safe," Beorn filled in, looking upon the dwarf with renewed interest. "I will help you," he agreed obligingly.

"Wonderful," Gandalf cried in relief, helping Thrain to dismount the large horse until he stood before Beorn. The man towered over him, but he was nearly smiling, so the dwarf felt himself relaxing in his presence. "I will come for you as soon as I am able," Gandalf informed him, clapping him on the shoulder before swinging back onto the mount. He listened as the two called out farewells and entreaties before beginning a wary conversation, their words dying off to silence as he galloped out of range towards the south.

"Now then, I have only a couple rules," Beorn informed his guest firmly. "Stay inside when it is dark for your own safety, and do not harm any creature that takes refuge in these halls."

"That seems reasonable enough," Thrain replied agreeably, looking around in amazement at the proliferation of life that filled the grounds. "I thank you for your aid, and I am ever at your service should you need it," he offered with a deep bow.

Beorn chuckled. "What is it with dwarves and service?" he asked curiously.

"Custom," Thrain replied. "Just something we've always done I suppose. The offer stands, though I will admit I'm not really in a position to offer much at the present time."

"I shall keep it in mind," Beorn assured him with an amused smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Yes, I really do feel much better now. I spent the entire time watching that particular scene in outrage that they would just throw Thrain in there and then be all like 'oh sorry he has to die now for some stupid plot reasons and stuff.' I don't think so, and I hope I'm not the only one to like this option better. Anyways, if I remember correctly we will be rejoining the company again next chapter, and Thrain will be given some recovery time before we return to him. The poor dear has been through a lot. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank those people that have reviewed. For whatever reason my direct reply button is missing again, so a shout-out to you fine folks, the kind words mean a lot!<strong>


	19. Dungeon Conversations

The company huddled together, glaring at their captors with unrestrained fury. The elves stared coolly back, seeming amused by the pointless show of resistance. They had been placed before the king himself, and silence filled the woodland halls as Thranduil examined them carefully. There was recognition in his gaze as he locked eyes with Thorin.

"Take them to the dungeons," he said dismissively, indicating at the same time that Thorin was to be left behind. "Leave the young one also."

Frerin went still from fear as he was manhandled to a spot just out of reach of his father, his cousins and family calling after him as they were hauled away. Unbeknownst to all, Bilbo stood hidden in plain sight, watching the proceedings with wary but determined focus.

Rising from his throne, Thranduil towered over the dwarves, using his height to intimidate the younger one and annoy the elder. He paced around them, trying to figure out what it was that was bothering him about the youngest captive. It took two rounds before he realized.

"You have strange eyes," he stated, meeting those pure green orbs with clinical interest. "In truth, I have never before seen a dwarf with green eyes, it is most unusual."

"Perhaps you do not know dwarves very well," Frerin suggested obstinately, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. He was not used to being confronted by someone so tall, and he felt trapped by that icy gaze that threatened to tear him apart and discover all his secrets.

Thranduil raised a brow at his impertinence. "I have known more dwarves than you have ever met, whelp, you would do well not to question your elders. There is something else too, you remind me of someone," he needled, glancing at Thorin to get his reaction. The king was staring at him from under hooded eyes. "A certain king with no mountain," he continued smoothly.

Frerin shifted uncomfortably, eyes drifting to his father and taking solace in his solid presence. Heaving in a calming breath, he straightened his shoulders and scowled impressively. "I don't know what you're talking about," he bit out.

Thranduil smiled then, a cruel thing that told the dwarf he had made a grievous mistake. "If I had any doubts before they are gone now. Only one family has ever mastered that look, son of Thorin. Now, don't try to lie about it, deception is unbecoming in a prince." He turned to his guards, giving a subtle nod. "Take them away, place them in separate cells out of sight and hearing of each other and their companions. Perhaps they will be more forthcoming after a night in solitude."

Frerin had time for only a single pleading glance before the two were forcefully separated, the memory of his father's reassuring yet fearful gaze seared into his brain. Behind them, Bilbo crept after the pair, choosing to follow Frerin and his guards when they left the main path. The cell they arrived at was small and cold, tucked away in shadow. Frerin was shoved carelessly inside, and he clutched at the bars when they were locked behind him, losing hold of his anger as sorrow bent his head. No words were exchanged before the guards left him in solitude, the sound of their retreat echoing down the hall and fading out to silence.

Bilbo watched the young prince for only a moment before glancing around warily and dropping his disguise. "Frer," he hissed, causing the dwarf's head to jerk up in surprise. He was met by a brilliant smile, and he placed a finger to his lips with a grin. "Don't worry, I'm going to find a way to get you out of there," he assured his friend.

"The others? Are they safe? They took Thorin away somewhere," Frerin said worriedly.

Bilbo nodded sadly. "I know, I was with you. I will find him and the others, then I will report back, alright?"

"Go then, and come back as soon as you can," Frerin whispered fiercely, feeling hopeful for the first time since they had entered the dark forest. With a last smile Bilbo vanished, leaving Frerin to wonder once again just how he was doing that.

He did not have long to ponder before his thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected visitor. "Who were you talking to?" the blond elf asked curiously, watching him with much less hostility than he would have expected.

"No one, just myself," Frerin lied cautiously, hiding his fear that Bilbo would be discovered and their plans of escape turned to dust. "What do you want? Why are you keeping us here?" he asked then, keeping his composure as he tried to figure out what it was that was familiar about this elf.

"My father says you are a prince," the elf offered, scrutinizing him with interest. "I am Legolas, prince of the woodland realm," he added, by way of introduction.

'_So that was what was familiar_,' Frerin thought as he examined the spawn of Thranduil. "I am," he confirmed, straightening proudly.

"You are not what I expected, for a prince of that line," Legolas admitted almost haltingly. He wore a frown of confusion, but it lacked the distaste that most of the other elves had borne, and it left Frerin wondering.

"How so?" he asked, nearly smiling at the thought that he was holding a civil conversation with Thranduil's son of all people.

"You're not as, well, grim I suppose," he said at last. "There is a light about you that I have never seen in a dwarf before."

"You're not exactly what I would have expected either," Frerin said cautiously. "After meeting your father I would have thought you to be more cold and distant."

Legolas frowned. "I do not share my father's views on many things," he returned. "He wasn't always like that. Once he was happy, when my mother was still here with us," he added, looking surprised that he had offered such personal information to a prisoner.

Frerin smiled hesitantly at that. "It seems we both have our mothers to thank for the disposition of our fathers. I am told my father used to be quite grim, before he met my mother. She softened him up some, and I share her personality, or so they both tell me."

"This is wrong, keeping you here," Legolas ground out quietly, looking torn.

"You could always let us go," Frerin suggested with a cheeky shrug.

Legolas shook his head, smiling sadly. "I cannot betray my father like that, though I do not understand his reasons for keeping you here." Glancing around, the elf located a torch, lighting it with a match and placing it near the cell. "This is the most I can offer you, I am sorry." He met his gaze for a moment more, looking truly regretful, before leaving down the corridor.

Bilbo meanwhile had finally managed to find a guard carrying a plate of food, and was following him in the hopes that he would lead the hobbit to some of his companions. The meal looked sparse, hardly fit even for a prisoner, and it had quickly clued him in to the fact that it could be meant for no others than the recent captives. To his delight he had been led directly to Thorin, and he was relieved that the elves were being courteous enough to feed the dwarf, after what the king had said. He had not been sure how far their hostility went. It was even darker here than it had been where Frerin was, and he could barely make out the dwarf king where he sat despondently against a cold wall.

Once the guard bearing food was gone, having left the tray behind, Bilbo crept forward. "Thorin," he called softly.

Startled, Thorin dropped the bread he had been guiding to his mouth nearly by feel. He was almost blind here, his eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness. "Bilbo?"


	20. Dungeon Conversations II

"Bilbo, how did you get here?" Thorin exclaimed in astonishment. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you of course," he added hastily.

Bilbo huffed with quiet laughter. "Us burglar hobbits are good at sneaking around," he offered. "I am going to find you a way out of here, never fear."

"I don't doubt it. Tell me, have you found the others? Are they safe?" Thorin's tone was laced with worry as he thought about the company being shut away from light and hope, so close to their destination.

"You are the second one I found," Bilbo admitted. "I have seen Frerin, he is fine. The others I have yet to find, but if Thranduil is treating you the worst of the lot I have hope that they do not fare too badly."

"Good, that is good news," Thorin sighed, feeling relieved.

Bilbo hesitated for a moment. "I should..."

"Go," Thorin nodded in understanding. "Find the others, I will be fine here."

With those words Bilbo was gone, slipping back into the shadows as he retraced his steps towards the higher levels of the halls. He came across a good many interesting things in his explorations, and in the end he did not find the others for two days.

The first thing Bilbo found was the wine cellar, when he mistakenly took a wrong turn past Frerin's cell. The large room was stacked high with barrels, and he looked on with interest as the empty ones were closed up and sent down a chute. The rumbling noise was almost deafening as they knocked against each other, before ending in a resounding splash as they hit the water below. The next time the elves sent barrels down Bilbo made sure he was closer to the door, so that he could see the river below and the barrels tumbling merrily on their way unhindered. He began to develop a plan...

Meanwhile in another part of the palace the majority of the company were depressed with the lack of news concerning their lost comrades. Thorin and Frerin had not been seen since the throne room, and Bilbo was presumed dead, left behind in the forest to the spiders. Each dwarf dealt with their grief in their own way, sitting or pacing as was their habit.

The only bright spot was that the guards left them more or less to their own devices, past bringing food they did not linger. This left the company free to think and plan in peace. Kili spent his time thinking of his mother, tossing the stone she had gifted him from hand to hand as he tapped a foot restlessly against the floor. He had given up pacing, trying to save his strength in case they decided to attempt an escape, though he could not see how it would be possible at this point.

His musings were interrupted by a melodious voice. "The stone in your hand, what is it?"

Kili looked up, meeting the eyes of the female that had locked him up. He had been impressed by the ease in which she deflected his crude jokes, feeling an unexpected draw. Still, he did not entirely trust her, so he was less than candid with his response, hoping she would not try to take the stone from him. "It's just a rune stone," he said quietly. "A token from my mother so I would find my way home one day."

"Wouldn't a map help more, if you are that bad with directions?" Tauriel quipped, sensing that this dwarf was fond of humor.

Kili barked out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "It's symbolic," he snorted. "I'm actually a very good pathfinder. It's my uncle who gets lost at every turn," he added fondly. He stood up, coming close to the bars when the elf made no move to leave him.

"What about your father?" she asked, backtracking when Kili's face fell a little. "I'm sorry, I do not mean to pry."

"No, it's alright. My father died before I was born, I never knew him. My uncle only says he died fighting, he never talks about him. I think he may have been there, he always looks guilty when it is brought up, but I know it wasn't his fault."

Tauriel nodded in understanding. "I can relate. My parents were lost to battle as well, a long time ago." She drew in a steady breath, banishing those memories for another time. "So it is just the three of you then? Your uncle and your mother?"

Kili shook his head. "My brother also. He came with us of course, we have never been apart since the day I was born," he chuckled.

"Let me guess, the blond with too many knives?" Tauriel smirked. "He shares your nose," she said in answer to his surprise.

"Aye, that's him. He's my best friend," he admitted, pressing his face against the bars as if he could see his brother if he craned his neck far enough.

"That must be nice," Tauriel sighed wistfully. "I do not have any siblings, and really only one close friend. The prince and I grew up together, so I suppose it is nearly the same. I think of Legolas as almost a brother."

"The prince?" Kili gaped. "You mean Thranduil's son?" At Tauriel's nod he gave her a look of mock sympathy. "My condolences."

This time it was Tauriel's turn to laugh. "Oh he's not that bad. Nothing like his father that is for certain. He has not left these halls often enough to build up a prejudice for the rest of the world."

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, Tauriel sitting on the steps nearby. She was seriously considering shirking her duties for the rest of the night in favor of talking with the dwarves. Perhaps there were others that would be open to conversation. It had been far too long since they had visitors in the woodland realm, invited or otherwise, and she was fascinated by the strangeness they brought with them. There was still the party to prepare for though, so she regretfully stood.

"I must take my leave of you," she said quietly. "I have duties to attend to. What is your name?"

"Kili," he responded, hiding his disappointment at her imminent departure.

"I am Tauriel. It was nice talking with you Kili."

"Likewise," the dwarf smiled easily, settling himself back onto the floor to take some rest.

Tauriel strode off down the hall, making her way steadily upwards. She was not at all surprised when Legolas fell into step beside her after only a few paces. She had sensed him listening near the end of their conversation. "So, I'm a brother am I?" he murmured, nudging her in the side teasingly.

"An annoying one," she returned, lips quirked in a half-smile.

Legolas clapped a hand to his chest, feigning injury. "You wound me little sister. What did you speak of with the dark-haired dwarf?"

Tauriel shrugged disarmingly. "We spoke of family. His mother awaits his return, and that of his brother as well." Though she said it casually, Legolas was quick to catch the disapproval in her voice.

"You do not agree with my father's choice," he stated blandly. "I do not either," he agreed, putting his friend at ease. "I spoke with the son of the leader, the young prince. He does not strike me as someone we need to fear, or that we should hate. I could be friends with him I think," he mused aloud.

"Keep that to yourself," Tauriel warned him worriedly. "You know how his lordship is when anyone speaks of befriending someone outside of these halls. I have no desire to see his temper again so soon."

Legolas sighed in exasperation. "Believe me, I know. I wish we could do something about this, but I know we cannot. We can only hope father gets over his stubbornness quickly and lets them go. I have no wish to see the light snuffed out in such young lives as they wither away down here."

Behind them Bilbo smiled, catching nearly every word of their conversation and feeling pleased to know that there were sympathetic minds here. Even more surprising that they were in the higher rankings where he would not have thought to look. He slipped down the hall the way they had come from, a ring of keys wrapped in his jacket to muffle any clinking.


	21. A Watery Escape

"Do you think they're alright?" Fili asked, breaking the silence that filled the halls after Tauriel's departure. None of the dwarves had commented on the conversation, though they had all been listening, and Fili was the first to attempt to dispel the awkwardness that lingered as they fought internally between interest and disapproval.

"Thranduil is not so cruel as to physically harm them," Balin returned, his voice ringing with a fair amount of confidence. "I wager they are sitting nearby, perhaps just out of earshot, waiting for something to happen in our favor."

"I just wish we knew," Fili said, sounding morose. "The elves will likely tell us nothing, even the nicer one that left did not mention them. We may never hear from them again."

"Not stuck in here you won't," a voice called softly from the shadows. The dwarves rushed to the bars of their cells, exclaiming in delight at the sight of Bilbo, triumphantly swinging a ring of large keys.

"Bilbo!" they cried. "We'd given you up!"

"You certainly have some fine luck there laddie," Dwalin rumbled approvingly.

"That he does. I bow to your superior skills," cried Nori, with a dramatic flourish.

Bilbo laughed softly. "Save your praise, there are guards nearby," he muttered, holding a finger to his lips in a cautious gesture. He hurriedly began opening the cells one by one, gathering the dwarves into a group and herding them down the hall. "This way, quickly."

They followed a curving path downwards, ending up in the wine cellar, much to the dismay of the company. "Why are we down here?" Bofur protested worriedly. "You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in!"

"Shhh," Bilbo hissed, waving a hand towards the drunken guards slumbering nearby. "This is the only way out, I checked. You have to trust me."

"I would do as he says," Thorin advised, coming out from the corner he had hidden in with Frerin. Their appearance was met with a muted burst of joyful greetings, many hugs and back slaps going around before the company settled. They turned expectantly to Bilbo, who had not yet explained the plan.

"Get in the barrels," he ordered them. "Then we can ride the river out of here."

"What? Are you nuts?" Dori whispered fiercely, looking scandalized.

"Trust me, I've been watching them do this for days. It's not nearly as scary as it sounds," he assured them.

With no small amount of grumbling they did as bidden, climbing into the makeshift boats and offering Bilbo more than a few dubious looks, as if to question his sanity. He rolled his eyes at their sudden excess of caution before throwing a lever that sent the company yelling into the river below. Wasting no time, Bilbo threw himself into a slide, making it out just before the door could close after them. He gasped as he met with the frigid water below, spitting liquid and clinging to the nearest barrel.

"Good job Bilbo!" Thorin praised him from nearby. He just gave a nod, continuing to splutter as small waves smacked against his face. He could feel hands gripping strongly onto the back of his jacket, trying to heave him above the water level, and he looked up gratefully into the determined face of Nori. The fellow thief was looking quite waterlogged at this point, his trademark hairstyle falling down around his ears, but he appeared not to have a thought to spare for it at the moment.

In just a few minutes neither did anyone else either. All Bilbo could hear was a garbled shout of warning before the barrels dropped abruptly down a small waterfall and into a dizzying clump of rapids. They were spun around in circles, bobbing and twisting, and the water pounded in Bilbo's face and thundered in his ears, mixing with the yells of the company. Later they would laugh about the journey, poking fun of the elders who had sounded quite terrified, and remembering how the younger ones had wanted to do the whole thing over again, thinking it such fun.

As it was, they had far too much on their plates to worry about, so much in fact that even the rapids faded in importance. They were rushing along at a frantic pace, the boats utterly out of their control, when they were stopped abruptly at a metal gate that had closed across the stream. There was a slamming noise as they all crashed together, and they groaned as they found themselves once again at arrow point.

The situation couldn't have deteriorated much further, or so they thought. Glancing through the bars that Thorin found himself pressed up against, he caught a glimpse of metal between the trees. A jagged weapon, clutched in a grey fisted grip. Their trackers had found them, and the orcs were materializing out of the surrounding forest, converging on the unsuspecting elves. Thorin didn't like the elves, not a bit, but they were helpless in the water, with only his previous captors for protection.

"Orcs!" he yelled out, pointing wildly when one of the guards shot him an angrily confused look. The warrior spun gracefully, barely intercepting the first of a flood of enemies. Soon it was a free for all, the dwarves grabbing weapons off any corpses that fell their way and joining in the fight alongside the elves. They were unwilling allies, forced to work together against a common foe, and work they did. The orcs targeted anything they could reach, not bothering to discriminate now that the bloodshed had begun.

It was Kili that worked to free them of their temporary prison, leaping out of his barrel, sword in hand, to get to the lever that controlled the gate. Frerin followed him, providing cover, and they quickly managed to overpower the orcs in their way. With a strong heave, Kili threw all his weight on the lever, grinning when he heard the gate open with an audible ring of metal on stone. The two jumped over the edge of the walkway, narrowly escaping being shot as several of the orcs decided to practice their own archery.

The battle continued down the river, and many of the dwarves were surprised to see that Legolas and Tauriel had joined in the fight. The two made a formidable team, slicing down anything in their path with the ease of centuries of practice. They followed until the dwarves hit another patch of rapids, the rushing waters taking them quickly down the river at a pace that could not be matched. Just as they were getting out of range Thorin threw the sword he had captured, cutting down an orc that had been about the ambush the elven prince. Legolas turned in shock, tempted to roll his eyes when the dwarven king offered a sarcastic salute before spinning out of sight.

It was nearly an hour later when they finally slowed down enough to guide their barrels out of the water. Nori ended up having to drag Bilbo out of the water, the hobbit being far too tired to even swim as his numb legs stumbled for purchase. "Alright there?" the dwarf asked in concern.

Bilbo nodded, groaning slightly as feeling began to return, and a fierce ache settled into his muscles. He kneaded at them with shaking hands, trying to rub some warmth back into icy limbs. The hobbit jumped in surprise when Nori began to assist him, reddening at the unexpected attention. "W-what?" he stuttered through chattering teeth.

"Can't have our burglar out of commission," Nori said with a disarming grin. He locked eyes with the hobbit for a moment before giving him a final pat on the leg and standing up. "Well then, you'll be good as new in no time, just have to walk around a little," he finished awkwardly.

Bilbo opened his mouth to thank him, only to gape as he looked over Nori's shoulder, and into the eyes of a grim-faced man that was pointing an arrow right at him.


	22. Bread and Honey

**Author's note: Bit at the start here in** _italics _**represents a dream sequence.**

* * *

><p><em>Fire raged all around, a cacophony of noise sent him reeling to his knees, the dragons roars mingling with the terrified screams of the people. The thundering steps of the great beast shook the ground, causing him to stumble repeatedly. He did not have time to dodge when the massive foot came down over him, knocking him to the ground and turning all to darkness. More screams, and he was surrounded by a pulsating mass of bodies, each side fighting for dominance. Dwarves and orcs battled and fell around him, and he hurried to join in the fight, cursing the missing eye that left him vulnerable. An enraged shout drew his attention forward, and his sight narrowed to the pale orc, holding high the head of his father like a trophy. With single-minded ferocity he battled towards the monster, despairing when the mace it wielded struck him squarely in the chest. His last thought as the darkness claimed him again was to wonder why the ground was shaking...<em>

Thrain opened his eyes with a shout, only to be met with the concerned gaze of Beorn. He sighed, scrubbing trembling hands over his face and offering his host an apologetic look. "Three times in one night now?" he asked hoarsely.

Beorn nodded, pulling him to his feet and leading him to the table. "Come, eat. You will feel better." With a grateful nod, Thrain indulged in the fresh fruit and honey-covered bread. It was a far cry from the sludge he had been forced to consume in captivity, and different even from the food he used to eat long ago, but pleasant nonetheless. "It goes away, after a time," Beorn assured him suddenly.

"How can you be sure?" Thrain muttered, his eyes still haunted by the sights he relived every night.

Beorn lifted his hands in answer, the clink of chains drawing attention to his wrists. The crude manacles still fastened there looked old, rusting from long years of wear. "I too enjoyed the hospitality of the orcs once. They captured my people, using them for sport. When I first got free, it was not easy. Now... it is better. I focus on my life here, instead of dwelling on the past."

"You have a good life here," Thrain nodded in agreement, gazing around at all the animals that for once did not wish to eat him, and the view outside that was so much more than bare and unforgiving stone. For a moment Beorn gave him an odd look, which Thrain met quizzically. "What?"

"You are not like most of your kind," the large man rumbled thoughtfully. "Not many appreciate my way of life, yet you look around as if it were paradise."

Thrain laughed softly. "That's because to me it is. Don't get me wrong, I miss my mountain and my family dreadfully, but captivity has taught me some very humbling lessons. I think a simple life like this would benefit a lot of people far more than the luxury I used to take for granted."

Beorn nodded in appreciation of his new realization. "I suppose you will be making changes when you return to the mountain as king," he offered curiously.

Thrain blinked at him before shaking his head in abject denial. "Nay, I will never be king. I'm too old now for starters. No, if my son manages to pull through on this venture the crown is rightfully his, and with my blessing. I shall have to do my work from the background. Still, that's as good a place as any for me."

"Well, first we must get you back into some sort of shape," Beorn said approvingly. "Come, let's go outside and enjoy the sunlight while it lasts, you can help me tend my bees."

Looking slightly nervous, Thrain followed him. The dwarf had to admit that the gentle warmth on his skin was worth whatever task he was put to, and his host had so far kindly given him jobs that required very little exertion. "They won't sting me will they?" he asked nevertheless, eyeing the enormous insects with no small amount of trepidation.

"Only if you attempt to hurt them first," Beorn assured him with a grin. The man went to the first hive and lifted the lid, gently brushing some of its occupants out of the way. The delicate pattern of honeycomb was revealed, glistening with golden treasure, and he sighed in delight at the sight of the bounty he was about to harvest. Several curious bees landed on his arms, and he stroked along their fuzzy backs with a large finger, keeping his movements slow and disarming.

Thrain jumped when a whisper from the giant man sent a couple of his passengers towards the dwarf. He couldn't help the involuntary flinch when they transferred to his own smaller arms, their feet tickling his skin. They almost appeared to look at him, their heads tilted in silent regard, and he found himself fascinated by their many faceted eyes and glittery wings. He held himself very still, hardly daring to breathe until they finished with their examination and moved along on their business. "Well, that was an experience," he said rather shakily, but he had a pleased smile on his face.

The rest of their day was spent in leisure, like so many of the days that would follow. They would do chores in the morning, slowly graduating from gathering honey to jobs like chopping wood, and gradually Thrain felt his old strength returning. His flesh filled out, muscles redefined themselves, and he felt a vigor each morning that he had not felt in years.

It was such a slow change that at first he did not realize it was even happening. Then, one morning, he went to pull on his tunic and the fabric ripped right up the sides, no longer able to contain his more robust frame. He exchanged a single glance with Beorn and burst out laughing, holding out the tattered remains for inspection. "Looks like I'll be needing to make some new clothes," he said wryly.

"I've been thinking the same thing for awhile now," Beorn confessed, unveiling a chest full of fabric just waiting to be turned into useful things like shirts and pants. "Do you have any knowledge of tailoring?"

Thrain shook his head regretfully. "Never had much opportunity for such things I'm afraid. Even after the mountain fell we just turned to buying our clothes on commission when we needed them. I'd be much obliged if you would show me how, it seems a useful skill to have."

So they spent the next week sitting on the grass out front of the house, Beorn looking over the dwarfs shoulder as he practiced making rough stitches through the comfortable fabric of his soon-to-be shirt. Luckily it was still warm around here, for he went shirtless in the meantime. Beorn had offered him one of his own tunics, but it drowned the dwarf so badly that he just laughed and decided to go without. A set of pants came next, and they turned out well enough that he was eager to wear them when the time came. His old clothes went into the fire, having no more earthly use due to how torn and ragged they were.

At nights he began adding the finishing touches, using careful stitching on the cuffs of each sleeve as Beorn watched with curiosity. "What are you doing?" he asked, as they sat near the fire before one of his patrols.

"Embroidery," Thrain murmured, his voice low with concentration. He stared at his work with narrowed eyes, tongue clamped between his teeth in determination as he recalled images of the symbol that used to adorn every piece of his clothing. This would be much simpler in design due to his lack of skill, but it was important enough that he had felt compelled to take a stab at it. Once it was done he proffered it to the large man, feeling proud of what he had accomplished. Beorn examined it with interest, seeming surprised at the unexpected delicacy of the work.

By the end of a month Thrain was a changed dwarf. He was out in the yard chopping wood when an unexpected visitor arrived in a flurry of wings. Straightening, he greeted the raven with enthusiasm, face ruddy and tanned from sun and hard work, and his new clothes looking almost regal despite their humble origins.


	23. Royal Welcome

Several of the company were quite tempted to throw a tantrum at this moment. How many times in one week could someone be put at arrow point before it just got ridiculous? This time it was even more humiliating, because their current adversary numbered just one. The man stood grimly above them, all dark hair and a thunderous expression as he took in the dripping dwarves and hobbit. "Make a move and you're dead," he warned them, keeping the arrow trained towards the unlucky hobbit.

It was Balin who stood forward to try and dispel the tension, hands raised soothingly. "Might you be from Laketown by any chance?" he asked.

The man nodded, his frown still prominent, but he did lower his bow a fraction. "Aye. What business brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Thinking fast, Balin came up with an ingenious explanation. "We were leaving the elven kingdom when we were ambushed by orcs," he began. "In order to escape we borrowed the barrels here from the elves and took to the river to speed our retreat." Several of the company had to hide grins at his admission. After all, technically it was true what he had said. That the elves had not been willing participants in this exchange had no relevance on the situation as far as they were concerned.

The man merely raised a brow in suspicion, striding forward to finger one of the elven arrows sticking out of the side of a barrel. "Not like an elf to miss their shot," he said mildly, his tone accusing.

Balin shrugged. "They may be good, but they're not perfect. I doubt they have had much practice shooting at things that were moving so erratically down a river. Besides, they were not the only archers," he replied, pointing out the rougher shafts that peppered the sides of many of the barrels, clearly not of elven make.

"Hmph," the man snorted, reluctantly conceding the point.

Seeing this, Balin worked to take advantage of the situation. "As it stands we are in a bit of a bind," he admitted. "We've lost most of our supplies during the tumble down the river, it was quite a rough ride. I don't suppose you could give us passage on your barge there to Laketown so we can purchase more?" he waved a hand towards the boat floating nearby. The man eyed them uncertainly, trying to discern whether they had some ulterior motive. "We can pay our way," the dwarf assured him.

Finally the man nodded. "Very well, come aboard then." He began loading the barrels onto the barge, and the dwarves were quick to jump to his aid, earning them a slight smile of appreciation. "I am called Bard," he offered, once they were cast off and underway.

His introduction was returned by a flurry of greetings as each dwarf rattled off their name, and Bard found his head swirling with the unfamiliar titles by the time they were finished. Only one name startled him, the dark-haired dwarf that was its owner sparking a stirring of something. He could not recall where the familiarity came from so he frowned and stared out over the water, mulling it over as he steered them towards the floating town.

Bilbo was the only one to stand near him through the journey, filling the air with small talk in his genial way. The dwarves listened as man and hobbit spoke, and Bard was enraptured by the tale the hobbit spun of their journey so far. The only part he left out was the purpose for it, and anything that would indicate such purpose, for he had been quick to note that Balin was not so forthcoming with those details in their initial meeting.

"You seem to have been on quite the adventure," the man noted with an amused smile for the light of excitement that filled Bilbo's eyes.

The hobbit laughed. "Yes, it has been entirely unexpected the whole way, but I don't regret it for a moment. If nothing else, I think it is what my mother would have wanted. She would be glad to know I had met her dwarves, and that I'm not alone anymore, and shan't be ever again if I can help it." Here Bilbo cast a fond look over all the company, flushing almost imperceptibly when his eyes hit on Nori. He found himself confused by thoughts of the thief, ever since the river when he had paid such thorough attention to him. It had given him such a warming feeling to be so cared for, but he also wondered if there was something more. Bilbo shook his head. Time enough to figure that out when their quest was over and done with he decided.

As they were pulling under the toll gate the dwarves handed over a tidy sum in thanks for the ride, wondering why the bargeman suddenly appeared so very tense. They got their answer just as they would have been about to disembark the vessel.

"Not, so, fast," drawled a man suddenly very much in their way, his face made ugly with an unpleasant sneer. "Well Bard, what have you been up to now?"

"That's none of your concern Alfrid," Bard replied tightly, gripping his oar with more force than was necessary.

"No, it's the masters concern, and that makes it my concern. We sent you out to pick up a shipment of barrels from the woodland realm, not a pile of ragged vagabonds." The greasy man eyed them all with contempt, looking down upon them with a superior air. He signaled the guards. "Get them out of here, we don't take beggars in."

Dwalin suddenly gave a growl of outrage, shouldering the nearest guard out of the way and placing himself so that he was almost nose to nose with the man. "Hold yer tongue, you do not know to whom you speak. This is no vagabond, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!"

Behind him Bard choked, cursing internally as everything clicked into place. Thorin strode to the forefront of the group, staring Alfrid down as if he were of no more import than a dog. "We are the dwarves of Erebor," he proclaimed forcefully. "I would have an audience with your master to discuss the reclaiming of our homeland."

Alfrid flinched away from him, cowed by his presence while at the same time already thinking of the profits such a venture could bring in. He took matters like this very seriously after all, anything that brought his master coin was a good thing for him. "I will inform him of your arrival," he said, marginally more polite as he motioned for them to follow.

They started to navigate their way through the town, but Bard caught Thorin by the arm, swinging him around just in front of a very large building. "Are you mad?!" he yelled. "If you awaken that beast you will bring nothing but death and ruin upon us! You cannot go through with this insanity!"

"Now steady on there!" the master called, standing at the top of the steps, an open door framing his robust form. "What is the meaning of this?" Bard scowled, falling silent as Alfrid hurried up to his master and held a short, whispered conversation. As the talk progressed it was clear to see the look on the newcomers face go very quickly from dubious to calculating, with a surge of greed that he was unable to fully hide.

"There are families here," Bard pleaded lowly for only the company to hear, in a last attempt to sway the dwarves to his position. "Families who will lose their home."

Thorin gave him a look of pained compassion, but he remained resolute. "I lost my home long ago. Can you fault me for wanting to get it back?"

Bard sagged, feeling utterly defeated. "No. I just wish you realized how much you are risking," he muttered before turning away and trudging down the street towards home.

The group shared a moment of guilty discomfort before they were hailed by the master. "Welcome!" he called. "Alfrid has told me your tale. We would be honored to help you on your quest. Come, come inside."

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><p><strong>Author's note: So, just to make certain things quite clear, there is going to be a relationship of a sorts developing between Bilbo and Nori. I do not have plans at this point to take it farther than a 'bromance' level attachment (so no smutty activities or anything like that), but the two are going to be close, as I rather like the idea of the two 'thieves' of the company being paired up. I hope this is a pairing that people can get behind, though there isn't going to be too much more mention of them until the 'third' book of this series, which I have already started writing. Many thanks to those that are still following along on this tale, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This one was rather slow-paced, but the action picks up from here.<br>**


	24. Durin's Day

Bilbo sighed in content, stretching out in the absolutely luxurious bed he had been given for the night. It was made for a grown man, and he could easily have fit himself in it about four times over. The mattress was thick and squashy, the pillows plump with feathery down, and the blankets scratchy but very warm. He almost felt guilty, being so very relaxed, but he knew the rest of the company was similarly situated, and anyways, if this was going to be his last bed in a while he wanted to make the most of it.

Eventually though, all good things come to an end, and he had never been a layabout. The sun was peeking through the shutters in his room, slanting gently across his face in a pale beam of warmth, so he pushed aside the covers and got to his feet with a slight groan. Moving to the window, he opened the shutters and breathed deeply of the crisp air. It carried a hint of the winter to come, and he felt himself coming fully awake as the breeze ruffled his hair.

Once he had washed up a bit in the basin in his room he straightened his clothes and hair and headed down the stairs, making his way eagerly to the kitchen. Bombur was awake, and looked to be making preparations for a large breakfast.

"Morning Bilbo!" he greeted the hobbit cheerfully. "Look! They have bacon and eggs and I can make some nice pancakes with this flour!" He was beaming in delight, thinking ahead eagerly to the upcoming feast.

Bilbo laughed heartily. "Didn't you get enough at dinner last night?" he asked jokingly, remembering the spread the master had invited them to partake in.

Bombur's eyes widened in horror, looking scandalized. "Never! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day you know," he said officiously.

"You always were fond of it brother," Bofur teased as he came into the room. He rumpled Bilbo's hair and dropped into a seat, looking well rested. "Mornin' Bilbo."

"Morning," Bilbo replied, rolling his eyes dramatically as he made a show of fixing his hair again, leaving the two brothers to snort with laughter. They knew he wasn't fussy, but he emulated his fellow hobbits so well that it was hilarious to watch.

The three of them got to work, and soon the kitchen was filled with yawning dwarves as the scent of food wafted through the house, rousing them from their beds. Many of the others were not early risers, but the smell of bacon had been irresistible. The meal was exceedingly cheerful, with their destination so close at hand the group was feeling the stirrings of anticipation. It was Durin's day, and they would have to find the door before the sun set.

They spent a leisurely hour eating their fill before Thorin took the initiative, sliding back in his chair and draining the last of his morning tea. "Come on then, let's get moving," he prompted them eagerly, already halfway out the door and headed for the docks where their supplies were waiting. The rest of the group followed quickly, checking to be certain they weren't leaving anything behind. Full packs lay ready and waiting on the docks, along with a goodly supply of quality iron-forged weapons. The dwarves chose carefully, most of them ending up with at least one that they were quite familiar with using. Only Bilbo stood back, sting still in his possession.

They set off towards the mountain in a large boat, the oars being plied strongly if not entirely skillfully by the willing company. It was not a mode of travel they were used to, but it would get them there with hours to spare before sunset, hours that they sorely needed to find the door. It was cold on the water, and many of them were soon digging through packs to uncover the thick cloaks they had been gifted, wrapping up snugly as the wind off the lake bit at their unprotected faces.

Bilbo sat whistling at the front, on lookout for any floating chunks of ice or other problems they might encounter. He was soon joined there by the younger members of the group. "You look pleased," Kili grinned, surprised at how comfortable the hobbit appeared to be.

"It's nice, being on the water, even after that rather horrible trip down the river," he smiled back.

"I thought hobbits couldn't swim," Fili remarked, prompting Bilbo to shrug and chuckle.

"It's not that we can't, just that most of us choose not to," he admitted. "After all, if you never plan to leave your home and you live in a hill surrounded by fields what's the point?"

"But you _can_ swim?" Frerin questioned him, feeling a little worried. He personally would never feel quite steady on the water like this. Bilbo nodded though, easing his concern that should an accident happen their hobbit would not be helpless. He had grown quite fond of the younger (older?) man that was his adopted uncle.

"Dwarves may all know how to swim, but I still don't like all this floatin," Dwalin rumbled from nearby, garnering a flurry of agreement. "Give me some solid ground to plant my feet on any day and I'll be content."

At last they reached the shores on the other side, and after shouldering their packs they headed off at a swift trot, leaving the boat moored on the shore. The sound of gentle waves receded behind them, until only the whistling wind broke the heavy silence that filled the area. It seemed to be such a solemn atmosphere that no one had the courage to break it, and many of the group had descended into memory, recalling what it had looked like long ago when forest once coated the lands. All that was left was desolation, an ugly scar surrounding the creeping ruin of Dale.

A high chirping disturbed the quiet, startling the group so that they were placing hands on weapons before the bird in their midst registered to their senses. Bilbo looked delighted, holding out a hand when the thrush hovered nearby, and beaming as it alighted on his arm. It cocked its head to and fro, examining him for a moment before zooming off towards the mountain and out of sight.

"That was a thrush," Thorin said lowly, his voice pitched so the group could only just hear him. "Stories say the men of Dale could converse with them, long ago, the way we spoke to the ravens."

Bilbo suddenly began muttering to himself before exclaiming aloud. "When the thrush knocks... of course! The bird must know where the door is!"

"You think so?" Bofur asked dubiously.

"It is one of the portents," Gloin chimed in. "Perhaps the lad's right."

"Well, we shall have to keep a look out for our feathered friend," Balin assured them. "Even if we cannot speak to it to ask."

The continued forward, aiming for the western face of the mountain before spreading out in a long line to search the slopes. They clambered over rocks and around outcroppings, keeping their spirits up by humming quietly. It was Bilbo who found it, laughing aloud when the bird appeared from around a corner. He followed the little creature, exclaiming at the sight of an impressive set of carven stairs leading upwards. "Here, over here! I found it!" he cried triumphantly.

The group was at his side in an instant. "You have keen eyes Bilbo," Thorin praised him, smiling so broadly he felt he might crack from the exhilaration. They wasted no time in getting to the top, not the least bit discouraged when they came face to face with a blank rock face at the other side of a small ledge. The space was just large enough for them to fill, and they crowded together, staring at the rock in a silent bid for it to reveal its secrets.

Soon Dwalin was pushing at the stone impatiently, and Nori was tapping at it, his ear pressed to the wall as he put his talents to use. They were all beginning to get restless, the sun sinking ever lower at their backs, but Bilbo was watching the thrush, who had landed nearby and was resting quietly on a grey stone near the wall.

"Where is it?!" Dwalin exclaimed, giving it a violent kick that would have broken his toes had his boots not been capped with metal.

Bilbo snorted, shaking his head when he drew the attention of the entire group. "He hasn't knocked yet," he said patiently. He was met with fourteen equally quizzical looks. "Oh honestly, the thrush, he has to knock first. It's in the riddle..." He waved towards the bird that was indeed sitting quite near the door.

"What's that about a fiddle?" Oin asked loudly, having missed the entire conversation. Gloin sighed, placing his mouth quite close to his brothers ear so he could explain what was going on.

Balin led the group in sitting down, giving the hobbit a fond look. "Whatever would we do without you laddie."

It was when the sun had gone down fully, and Thorin was feeling a deep sense of unease, that their patience was at last rewarded. The thrush went over to the wall and began tapping on it, the sound disturbingly loud as the group collectively held their breath. Slowly, a pale beam of light extended down from the rising moon, lighting up the wall and revealing a small hole, just the right size for a key.

Trembling with nerves, Thorin got to his feet, placing the key into the slot with reverent care. It turned with an audible click, followed by a dusty thump as the door ponderously swung open...

* * *

><p><strong>Authors note: And here we stop with a cliffhanger that's not really a cliffhanger. Next chapter will be taking a brief sojourn back to Ered Luin to see how the women are doing, and then it's back to the action. Expect some major angst and drama coming up very soon.<strong>


	25. Death and Life

**Author's note: Anything written in **_italics_** is a vision sequence.**

* * *

><p>Mara sighed, feeling tired and drawn as she lay back against the firm pillows of her bed. She had been in this position for what felt like years, though in reality it had only been two months. Still a long time to be confined to a single area of the house. This pregnancy was certainly taking its toll on her, having been almost twice as long as the previous one so far, and with no vision to guide her there was no end to look for. Suddenly her sight dimmed. '<em>Oh the irony, call upon it and it shall come<em>,' she thought as a vision swamped her mind.

Dis gathered a meal onto the wooden tray in front of her, humming absentmindedly and heading for Mara's room. She felt hopeful that her friend was nearing the end now, her belly could not possibly expand any further and the babies (for it was obvious now that there were two), were barely moving they were so crammed together. Pushing the door open with her hip, Dis danced into the room, greeting her friend cheerily as she set the tray down. "Here we go, a wonderful soup for lunch, and some of those tomatoes you like..." She was arranging them in an appealing fashion as she spoke, and happened to look up at this point, gasping in concern when she was greeted by an unexpected sight. Mara sat upright, hands clutched to her belly and a look of utter horror in her vacant eyes.

'_The screams were terrible. Noise surrounded her, pounding through her skull and driving her to her knees amid a whirlwind of viciously fighting bodies. She was being bumped and battered around, flung in all directions like a rag doll in a strong wind. It was easy to forget in that moment that she could not actually be harmed, the phantom pain was enough to swamp her mind whenever she got in the way of the battling forces. Elves, men, dwarves, all fought valiantly against masses of orcs and wargs. The sky above was darkened with a premature nightfall by the clouds of bats brought by the enemy_.'

"Mara!" Dis screamed, shaking her and trying to get her out of whatever terrible vision had stolen her sight. Her friend remained unresponsive, whimpers of terror escaping her parted lips. "Mara wake up!" The fae twitched, face turning towards Dis, but not seeing her. Her hands scrabbled for something to hold, so Dis swept them both up in a powerful grip, helpless to intervene further.

'_Mara was running now, looking for her friends, for her family. She was certain they were here, she could feel the knowledge in her very bones. She looked down, unsurprised to see that she was as thin as she had ever been. Her vision self never changed. She looked back up and flinched as hot blood sprayed across her face, tasting the bitterness of death on her tongue. The conflict in front of her stilled for just a second as an elf lost his life, his adversary joining him in death moments later. She did not know this elf, but still she felt tears streaming down her face to mingle with the filth that already coated it_.'

Dis clutched Mara tighter as the girl began to sob weakly, muttering unintelligibly. She had only ever seen such devastation on her face once before, when she had spoken of the loss of her people. Dis despaired to think of what would bring that look back, trying in vain to keep her thoughts from straying to their family, now so very far out of reach.

'_Finally, an opening. Mara slid her way through to get to the small spire of rock that pierced the battlefield, dodging the burgeoning mass of bodies and making a hasty ascent. She scanned her surroundings, blocking her ears with both hands to banish the sounds of death and pain. There! She could see the company, they were close, fighting in small groups against overwhelming odds. They had been cut off from the others, and Mara felt her heart stop when Fili disappeared, crushed underfoot. Suddenly she felt a harsh pain in her own stomach, and she stared down at the blade that seemed to have pierced it in confusion_...'

"Fili," Mara whispered fearfully, causing Dis's eyes to widen in agony. She jumped when Mara suddenly wrenched her hands to her stomach, a gasp of pain following the terrible plea. Mara was shuddering, and Dis leaped to her feet as wetness spread rapidly across the bedding. She wrenched the blankets out of the way, heart dropping at the sight of blood.

"Oh no," she murmured. Mara had been pushed into labor by the vision, but already something had gone wrong, and Dis knew she would have precious little time to aid her before all was too late. She ran outside, making it to Lona's house in a matter of minutes and banging on the door in panic. "Lona hurry! I need you!" she screamed. The door was flung open, the woman on the other side taking one look at her distraught friend and following without question. Dis explained on the way back. "It's Mara. She got caught in a vision, something terrible, and it pushed her into labor."

They got back to the house to see that Mara was now lying back, pale and trembling, and still unaware. "Oh dear, this is not good," Lona said breathlessly.

'_The battle raged on, and Mara could get no closer to her comrades. She was hemmed in, an island in a sea of chaos. Across the distance she saw an elf fall in front of Kili, and she could hear his scream above the noise of the battle as he sank down to catch her. Her family was bruised and battered, Fili was still missing from her line of sight, and around her the horror was unending. Above them rain began to fall, soaking her through and sending icy rivulets down her back. As if it were a trigger her vision began to fade, washing away with the cleansing waters until she saw only darkness_...'

"We need to get her conscious," Dis said worriedly. They patted at Mara's hands, shaking her gently and calling her name, but nothing registered.

"Right then," Lona scowled fiercely. "This calls for stronger measures." She picked up the pitcher of cool water sitting nearby and dashed a fair portion in Mara's face. The girl thrashed and spluttered, but her eyes refocused on them at last. The two almost wished they hadn't when she let out a wail of distress, her haunted gaze suddenly overwhelmed by the pain that had taken back burner until that moment.

"What is happening?!" she cried, her voice cracking in fear.

"The babies are coming," Dis replied hurriedly, breathing deeply to maintain her composure. "We need to get them out now. Mara, you need to focus alright?"

Mara nodded, shuddering as another pain wracked her and setting her will against the unrelenting enemy that is time. She had run out, and she put all her effort into making sure that her long wait in confinement would not be in vain. Hours passed as the three worked together to help her through this, mopping her brow, feeding her tea for the pain and calling forth a steady stream of encouragement.

She was almost done in when they were blessed with the most beautiful sound to ever fill the air. Healthy crying announced the arrival of not one but two newborns, just as they had predicted. Lona and Dis each took one into their arms, smiling in awe at the tiny girls they held. "Twin daughters," Dis murmured in tired delight, holding the baby out for Mara to see. Lona did the same on the other side, and Mara felt a sense of peace wash over her, banishing for a time the dark things she had seen.

"Sarra and Bella," she whispered happily, paying homage to her niece and her distant cousin. She fell back soon after, completely drained but relieved that the care of her girls was in the safe hands of her friends.

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><p><strong>Author's note: Just a note, it is quite possible that for the first time Mara's vision was not entirely accurate, but at risk of giving anything away with regards to the coming battle I will say nothing more on it at the moment. Next chapter we return to our company, and an encounter with a certain dragon.<br>**


	26. Hills of Gold

The first few steps into the mountain were fraught with such deep emotion that for the first time Bilbo felt like an intruder. Never before had he seen such a look of raw joy on the face of Thorin, and many of the other dwarves as well. There was pain too, and memory as they swept powerful hands along the stone walls.

"Do you remember Balin?" Thorin choked out harshly. "Chambers filled with golden light."

The elder dwarf was in tears. "Aye laddie, I remember."

They turned to see an inscription over the door, Gloin reading out the runes in a tone of awe. Underneath was a picture, a glorious throne capped with a sphere from which light emanated. "The throne of the king," Balin explained to the hobbit that stood at his side. "And above it, the arkenstone, the heart of the mountain."

"That, is what you need to go down and find," Thorin rumbled deeply from farther down the passage. Bilbo turned to face him, feeling a surge of unease at how the dwarf's eyes seemed to burn with light for a moment despite the fact that half his face was bathed in shadow. It passed quickly, and the hobbit shook his head, feeling sure he was just disoriented in the darkness. Thorin had stepped back towards them, looking as normal as he ever did, if slightly more dour, and Bilbo put the event out of his mind.

"Alright, here goes nothing," he muttered, straightening his shoulders and heading down the passage at a silent creep.

"Good luck," Nori whispered from behind, the voices of the others soon joining him. All save Thorin's, but Bilbo was too preoccupied to notice this at the time. Only Balin had seen the way the king turned his back, and the old adviser felt a sense of foreboding at the unapproachable look in his eyes.

Bilbo was soon out of their sight, his hand tucked in his pocket and gently fingering the delicate gold band that he was fully prepared to use should the need arise. It had become quite precious to him, to his immense surprise, but he dealt that out to its inherent usefulness. He repeated the description of the stone that he had been given in his head, determined to find it as soon as possible, and trying not to worry too much at how difficult a task it was likely to be. Balin had said he would know it when he saw it, a white gem of incomparable beauty, and he took the dwarf at his word.

He should have known nothing could be that simple. The passage had opened up, and spread before him was the most massive hall he had ever encountered. It was as if the entire mountain were hollowed out for him to look upon, and all of it was filled with endless hills of gold and gems. Their light bounced gently around the room, accentuated by a strong warmth that Bilbo felt certain could be attributed to the suspiciously absent dragon. He tiptoed forward, looking every which way and feeling more apprehensive by the second when not a single scale or tip of a wing came into his sight. Was it possible the beast really was dead and gone?

Shrugging, Bilbo stepped out onto the treasure, casting his eyes over it in search of the gem. There were a great many white gems, it turned out, and he began to despair ever finding it. Picking a spot at random he dug cautiously with slender hands, wincing as his fingers caught something sharp. He wrapped his hand around the offending article carefully, drawing it out to reveal a gem-encrusted sword. It was a pretty thing, made of gold and obviously created as a ceremonial item rather than a working blade. Rubies were the stone of choice, covering the hilt and nearly matching the color of his blood as it dripped down the tip of the blade. Frowning, he wrapped a bit of his jacket around the injured finger and hoped that the blade was clean.

Bilbo dropped the sword with a clang as the mound in front of him began to shift, throwing on his ring and slipping into the misty world that it created for him. He gaped, frozen in place as the gold fell away in rivers to uncover the beast that had been laying in wait. The dragon was gargantuan, its eye alone nearly as large as the hobbit, its scales a brilliant scarlet and its belly crusted with the treasure it had been sleeping on. Smaug was larger than his house, the hobbit thought, impressed despite himself.

Then the dragon spoke. "Well little thief? Where are you?" Bilbo backed up slowly, hardly daring to breathe. He should have known it was a mistake not to watch his footing, for he tripped inelegantly on a shiny cup, falling flat and giving away his position. This began a chain reaction as the cup dislodged more and more gold, and he was presently quite far from his original location. He ended up with his back slammed against a pillar, and he was quick to dodge around it, hoping the dragon was stupid or unobservant.

It was not. "Come now, step into the light. Don't be shy," it cajoled him in a rich voice that thundered through the air. He peeked out, shaking as it began to approach his hiding place, but his eyes were suddenly diverted, a shining light drawing his attention like a moth to flame. The flawless gem skittered towards him, propelled by the disruption the dragon was wreaking upon the treasure, and it came to rest quite conveniently at his feet. He picked it up without a second thought, tucking it into his pocket.

"I sense something about you," Smaug mused, still carrying on the rather one-sided conversation. "Something made of gold, but far more precious." His words rang with a compulsion, beating through Bilbo's core, and he gasped when he was suddenly assaulted with the image of a flaming lidless eye, accompanied by horrendous whispers. He yanked the ring off his finger, sighing in relief when the nightmare disappeared. He felt so very exposed, cringing against the pillar as he was subjected to the intense scrutiny of the dragon. The creature bore a feral smirk, though with a hint of confusion in its amber eyes. "There you are. You are a strange creature, I do not think I have smelled your kind before. Where do you come from?"

Bilbo gulped, scrambling to get hold of his scattered thoughts as the dragon began to show signs of impatience at his dithering. He knew the dangers of telling the truth, thinking in horror of the beast razing the Shire to the ground, no matter how unlikely the occurrence was. So, plastering on the smile that he used to charm his most uptight relatives, Bilbo introduced himself, in a matter of speaking. "I come from under the hill, and under hills and over them my path has led," he offered with a small bow.

"I see," Smaug rumbled, though it was clear he did not, but he seemed pleased by the opportunity to bandy words.

Encouraged by this, Bilbo continued, getting quite into his story. "I am luck wearer, eagle rider, and friend of bears," he spouted eloquently.

"Lovely titles," Smaug returned, looking quite delighted. It was such a strange expression to find on a dragon that for a moment Bilbo almost felt he were speaking to an old friend, and he was quite at ease. "Go on," the dragon encouraged him.

"Well..." Bilbo drawled, trying to buy time as he thought of what else to say. He reminisced over their journey so far, getting a surge of inspiration. "I am the stinging fly, bane of spiders, he who walks unseen. I am barrel rider and path finder." He trailed off, looking at the dragon apprehensively. "That's all really."

Smaug sniffed at him appreciatively, baring large fangs and chuckling when Bilbo backed away as fast as his legs would carry him. "Barrel rider is it?" he mused thoughtfully, causing the hobbit to blanch with worry. Clearly the dragon had taken more meaning from his words than he had intended, and he wisely decided that his time was up, and to make a hasty retreat.

"My sincere apologies, but I must be going now," Bilbo cried, slipping on his ring and darting away. He made it to the tunnel just in time, a burst of flame following him up the passage way and scorching his feet.

Behind him, Smaug made a hasty decision, flapping his way towards the main gate and winging off to where the 'barrel men' were. It seemed they needed to be punished for sending a thief to his home to do their dirty work.

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><p><strong>Author's note: So, this chapter is based on a broad mix of both book and movie, and I hope I captured the best parts of two while skipping that ridiculous gold statue scene. Next chapter will go to a POV of someone in Laketown, and I took quite a bit of liberty with it while still hopefully keeping characters accurate to their moviebook portrayal.**


	27. Lake of Fire

"What do you mean you're not going to evacuate?" Bard yelled in outrage. He stood on the other side of the gilded table in the master's dining room, glaring at the large man that was reclined back in a chair, a mug of mulled wine in his hand. "We could have a dragon on our hands at any moment!"

The master rolled his eyes, already tired of the dramatic way that the bargeman was waving his arms about in agitation. "You do like to overreact, don't you?" he drawled patronizingly. "Everything is fine. The dwarves will either kill the beast or become lunch, and after a feast like that doubtless the monster will go back to sleep and good riddance to the lot of them." He took a sip of the pleasant liquid, gazing into the depths of the mug as he gently swirled the pale concoction around. He had already been putting their visitors out of his mind and turning to ways he could make more profit off the townsfolk. Until Bard showed up that is.

Chest heaving, Bard stared at the master in furious disbelief. The man had to be kidding, to bury his head in the dirt like this! He found himself rendered speechless by the utter lack of consideration the master was giving the looming disaster. Clearing his throat he gave one last appeal. "Just think for a moment. If the dwarves fail, if they awaken the beast and it is not satisfied, where do you think it will go? We will all drown in fire!" He did not even think to add that the master's profits would go down in flames as well, though later he would realize that it might have ended up being his most convincing argument had he voiced it.

The master just waved him off. "If you want to run like a coward you are welcome to go," he offered benignly, acting as if he were granting the most generous of favors. "I have more important things to be attending to." With those words, the man turned away from him fully, pretending to focus on a pile of papers in front of him until Bard stormed off, slamming the doors behind him.

"Unbelievable," Bard growled under his breath. "Coward am I?" He marched home, striding in the door and paying his children no mind as he reached for the iron bar that was currently securing strings of vegetables to the rafters. He yanked it free, his stomach twisting in knots as he examined the razor sharp tip of the last black arrow, an artifact of his house remnant of a time before the dragon came.

"Da?" Sigrid asked cautiously, approaching her solemn father. "Is everything alright? You've been gone a long time."

Bard snapped back to the present, giving a gentle smile to his children. "Everything's fine darling. I have something I have to take care of is all." He hesitated for a moment, considering what he might do to keep his family from tragedy. "I want you all to stay on the lower level of the house, and if you see a bright light coming from the mountain, be prepared to get into the lake."

"You want us to go swimming?" Tilda chirped in confusion. "But da, it's almost winter, the water is freezing."

"I know love, but freezing water is better than fire," Bard explained gently, feeling utterly unprepared for this conversation. The look of growing fear on the faces of the elder children nearly broke his heart, for he could tell they understood what was coming.

It was Sigrid who nodded reassuringly. "We will be ready da, don't worry about us." She came forward and clasped him in a warm embrace, swiftly followed by the others.

With a last fond look Bard left the house, filled now with grim purpose. He was halted when a tug on his arm wheeled him around. Turning, Bard came face to face with his only son, a look of seriousness on his young face. "Go back lad," Bard ordered him gently.

"I want to come with you," Bain pleaded. "I want to help."

Bard sighed. "I know lad. I need you to protect your sisters. Get them out if all else fails. This is something I must do on my own." He watched sadly as Bain slumped, retreating back to the house without another word. Bard sighed again, continuing on his way. He was soon back at the master's house, and he barged through the door without warning, causing the man to spill his wine. "I'm going to the roof to wait for the dragon," he announced, leaving up the stairs before the master could so much as respond. Once he gained the top he carefully looked over the wind lance. It was in surprisingly good shape, though he supposed that was to be expected considering who had made the thing. Setting the arrow into its slot, he faced east, waiting...

Down below the master was cursing, a fancy handkerchief reduced to a rag as he tried to mop up the spill. Golden liquid dripped off the edge of the table, and after awhile he just gave it up as a bad job, unwilling to get on his knees to reach the rest of the mess.

"Alfrid, come clean this up," he ordered the man lurking in the corner, ignorant to the annoyed scowl that he received.

"Of course sire," Alfrid responded with a grimace, dropping the cloth to the floor and using his foot to move it around. "Do you think he's right?" the man asked, reflecting on what Bard had said. The words were resonating with him greatly, the thought of fire sparking a dread that he found himself unable to banish.

"Hmmm?" the master asked absentmindedly.

"Bard, do you think he's right? About the dragon?"

The master just scoffed. "That worrywart? Not a chance. Always something to complain about that one. Today it's the dragon, tomorrow the price of fish or the scarcity of medicine. Mark my words, that man just thrives on creating bad news out of nowhere."

"As you say sire," Alfrid muttered dubiously, already planning on ditching the man at the first sign of trouble. When there was profit to be made he could be counted on to be at the master's side, but he was a practical man. There was no profit in staying with a fool when the world was about to go down in flames, and he felt no qualms in his shifting loyalty.

Back at the mountain Bilbo came staggering out of the tunnel, gasping and shaking. He nearly fell into Nori's arms, the thief having been anxiously waiting by the door for his return. The others were right behind, crying out in worry for their friend.

"I'm alright," he assured them, sitting down with a wince. "Just a little singed around the edges."

"Let's have a look see," Oin ordered, coming forward with his bag of salve and bandages and clucking in concern at the state of Bilbo's burnt feet. The skin was red and raw, blistering horribly. Oin had barely finished wrapping them and ordering the hobbit to stay sitting when Thorin stalked over, a surprising lack of emotion on his face.

"Did you find the stone?" he asked imperiously. Bilbo gaped at him, startled by the way his eyes were growing dark as storm clouds.

'_Lie_,' the little voice in his head that had been present of late whispered. Bilbo obediently shook his head, feigning apology. "No, I'm sorry, there was no time."

"No time? Why?" Thorin growled. He was the first to whirl around when an echoing roar answered his question. Smaug had awoken, and was heading straight for Laketown.

"What have we done?" Bilbo whispered in horror.

"Maybe they can kill it?" Kili suggested hopefully, his voice tinged with doubt.

Fili was more practical. "I'm not sure there _is_ a way to kill something that large brother." His face was a mask of sorrow, thinking about the very exposed town.

"Actually, there might be," Bilbo broke in thoughtfully. The entire group faced him, looking surprised, so he hastened to elaborate. "When I first saw him I remember noticing a scale missing on his chest, just above his heart. I suppose if one were to fire an arrow there it would do some serious damage. If only I had a way to tell them..." He jumped slightly then, when the thrush that had been keeping them company darted off in the direction of Laketown as fast as its wings would carry it. "Do you think it understood me?" he chuckled anxiously.

Moments later his question would have been answered as Bard leaned down to listen curiously to the almost human ramblings of the small bird fluttering near his ear. He smiled in satisfaction at the tidbit of information, thanking the creature for the warning and allowing it to settle on his shoulder. When the time came his shot was swift and true, and Smaug at last came to his demise at the hands of the heir of Girion.


	28. Recompense

Weariness filled every bone in Bard's body, until he wasn't entirely sure how he was still standing. He had the odd idea that it was duty that made him stand tall, that forced him to hold his head high when all he wanted to do was sleep. He may have killed the dragon, but not before it had wrecked their city and torn apart their lives. What hadn't burned had been crushed beneath the body of the beast after he had shot it down in a final confrontation that he would never forget. He could see the scene with his waking eyes, etched in fire as he clenched trembling hands around the weapon that was somehow supposed to save them all. He remembered the screams, threatening to distract him from his task as he fought the urge to look for his family, to know they were safe.

A hand tugging at his jacket brought him blinking back to the present, and he smiled down at the relieved faces of his children. Tilda clung to his coat, while Sigrid was latched on his arm and Bain hovered protectively nearby. He had a feeling he would not be let out of their sight for many days to come, until the horror of the past day had lessened. It was a near miracle that they had made it out unscathed, and he resolved to thank the gods for sparing his family. Too many others had been lost, left to burn or drown with no hope of rescue until it was far too late. He sighed, unwillingly pushing thoughts of the dead to the back of his mind. Now was not the time for planning a funeral, but for saving those still living. Winter was fast on its way and there were hundreds of hungry and injured people, all homeless and in need of a leader.

Speaking of leaders, Bard looked around pointedly, surprised by the fact that he could not see the master anywhere. Or his henchman Alfrid for that matter. He would have thought it an easy task to locate those two, as he expected them to be surrounded by some sort of ruckus as they bemoaned their fate, but nothing. People were milling about, uncertain of what to do as they tried to come to terms with what had happened. He could see the fear and despair on many faces, he felt the palpable taint of loss in the air, and he knew what he had to do. Squaring his shoulders he strode to the approximate center of the gathering of survivors.

"Alright everyone, listen up!" he called out forcefully, gratified when he had their instant attention. He saw the relief as people found someone to look to. What he hadn't expected was the awestruck reverence in their gazes, and he felt slightly uncomfortable. He was a simple bargeman, not anyone important.

The townsfolk disagreed. "It's Bard, he shot down the dragon!" they whispered, their voices growing as each confirmed they had seen the same thing, until they rang loudly with praise. "Bard the dragonslayer!"

Bard cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly aware of just how much weight his every word would hold with the people now looking to him. "Where is the master?" he asked. "Has anyone seen him?" He privately thought that he might be able to throw some of this responsibility at the man, but the more sarcastic inner voice in his head laughed at that idea, knowing it would be in vain.

"Bother the master, he's not going to help us," a voice in the crowd declared, swiftly followed by cries of agreement. "What should we do?" another questioned him. This too was echoed by many.

Groaning inwardly, Bard swiftly came up with a plan. "We tend the injured, gather what supplies we can and make for the mountain," he announced. "We need shelter, and as it stands that is the only place near enough that we can look to."

"What about the dwarves?" someone else called.

At their mention Bard scowled, torn between worry for their fate and anger at what they had unleashed upon him. "We will deal with that when we come to it. If they have perished we shall winter in the mountain and leave as soon as we have the means to rebuild our city. If they have lived we will ask for the aid they promised us when they were here."

"What about the gold?" he heard someone whisper. "Rivers of it," another muttered reverently. "We could use it," a third contemplated. Murmurs stirred the crowd as each one thought of the riches said to be hidden deep within the fortress they now headed towards, but Bard shuddered at the thought. He had heard stories of the curse that such dragon-hoarded treasure held, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

"No!" he yelled. "We will not touch the gold. Not a single coin will ever leave that mountain!"

"It could help us!" the people protested, and Bard ground his teeth at their simplicity.

"Enough! Even were I certain that treasure were not completely accursed, still I would not touch it. It is not ours, and you can be sure as soon as other dwarves have heard that the dragon is gone they will be arriving in droves to lay claim to it. I will not start a war over gold." To his relief the mutters stopped as the people mulled over this revelation, for it appeared they had forgotten to factor in other potential claimants. Nothing more was said save for general orders as they trickled wearily towards shelter.

They had reached the ruins of Dale when a shout went up from the back of the group. "Elves, the elves have come!" Bard turned sharply, wondering what they could be doing, and then he remembered that at least one horn had been sounded during the confusion the night before. The elves must have heard them, and now they came to their aid. At least, that was what he hoped. He waded through the throng of gaping townsfolk, most of whom had never seen an elf before, and came to a stop at the head of the group. To his surprise it was the elf king himself that met him, sitting astride a massive elk and looking as expressionless as ever.

"Thranduil," Bard bowed respectfully. "What brings you here my lord?"

The king nodded back a few paces to numerous wagons of supplies. "I heard that you needed aid, and I have brought it," he replied smoothly. "You are headed to the mountain," he stated, though it was clearly a question and Bard nodded.

"We hope to find shelter there," he agreed. "It may take some time to rebuild our city, and until then we must get the young and the wounded to safety."

"A good plan," Thranduil said regally, nudging his mount to get it slowly moving forward. "We will join you. I have matters to settle."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Bard queried him after a second's hesitation. Thranduil paused in his seat, looking almost confused (but mostly insulted) as he raised a questioning brow. "It's just that we are hoping to find aid there, and if the dwarves are alive your presence may complicate matters," he offered as delicately as he was able. "I have heard you are not on the best of terms."

"Nevertheless we are going," the king returned, his tone indicating the discussion was over. Bard shrugged helplessly and sighed, trailing after him as elves and men intermingled in their joint venture. He happened to look up and was surprised to get a sympathetic smile from one that he was certain was the king's son, though he couldn't recall the lad's name. He snorted a little at that thought, for surely the younger one was still centuries older than him, hardly a lad at all.

Back at the mountain the group was already assembled and waiting for the approaching swarm of newcomers, but it was not a happy moment. What should have been a celebration was dampened by the steadily growing darkness that was filling Thorin's eyes. Everyone was treading carefully around their snappish king, wondering just what was the matter with him, though some suspected. Balin in particular seemed aged far beyond what the quest should have wrought upon him, trying to hide his fear at the changes in his friend and what it would mean for the rest of them.

Thorin pointedly ignored his fellows as he glared out at the growing assembly that was massed at the foot of the mountain. He took in their confusion at the hasty barricade that had been assembled over the front gates, but in his mind he only saw greed and anger, and it enraged him further. He was annoyed to see that the new leader of the men was none other than the one who had condemned their quest, and beside him in silent support the elven king that he so despised. The two had approached closer together, and he held his contempt at bay as he sought to figure out their purpose.

"Why do you come to my mountain armed for war?" he growled out, feeling inwardly satisfied that Bard seemed intensely discomfited by his accusation.

The man rallied, squaring off against him as he ignored the growing unease at how vastly the dwarven king's disposition had changed since last they met. "Why have you barricaded yourself inside? We seek the aid you promised when you were our guests. We had very little to offer you then, and even less now, but for my people I would hold you to your words of reparation." Bard was hopeful of a positive outcome (he had to be), but he could not understand why the dwarves that flanked their hostile king looked upon him almost fearfully.

Thorin's response shook him to the core, as the dwarf's eyes seemed to cloud over with a disturbing haze. "I will not treat with those that seek to ally themselves with my enemy. As long as elves sit outside this mountain like beggars not a single coin will pass these gates. Begone!" Bard was left gaping in astonishment as the dwarves turned away, all of them save for their leader with brows creased in sorrow and regret.

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><p><strong>Author's note: Alright, we are now on the brink of a whole pile of angst, and the real action starts soon. Next chapter we take a little trip into Thorin's mind, as I try to interpret the gold sickness and the reactions of those around him. <strong>


	29. Inheritance and Choices

Thorin wandered through the hills of treasure alone, unable to bear parting from it for more than a moment. It was so beautiful, how could anyone wish for more than this? The others seemed not to understand, concerned with silly things like food and the armies that camped on their doorstep. He was not worried. He had sent a raven to Dain, he knew that once his kin arrived all would be well, with both the problems of food and siege dealt with. Then he would be left in peace, and he could begin to sort through the mess that had been made in his kingdom. He gave a passing thought to his son, wondering how the boy fared, and how long had it been since he had seen the lad? Was it just this morning?

A niggling thought at the back of his head told him this was not acceptable at all. He should not be ignoring his kin, he should be showing them around. After all, the lad would be inheriting all of this when he got old, and he needed to see what he had fought for. Nodding decisively, Thorin went in search of Frerin, eager to get started on the finer points of the lad's education. Perhaps he could find him a crown in this mess. Fili and Kili should see it as well, even if they were only secondary heirs, they were family. He would drape them in all the finery they had been denied these long years.

He came upon them in a darkened corner away from the treasure, not noticing how they whispered together, and completely missing out on the drawn expressions on their young faces. He was already far too busy envisioning them clad in gold armor and fur robes, with the finest weapons Erebor had to offer clutched in their hands. "Frerin, my son, what are you doing hiding in the corner?" he asked with a jovial smile. "Come, it's time I showed you some of the kingdom! You too, Fili, Kili, come along," he cajoled them, holding out his hands as he dismissed the nervous looks in their eyes.

The three exchanged glances, cautiously padding after their leader, unable to fully hide the awe that struck them at the sight of the endless piles of gold. It did not consume them, but still it drew them in, and they were only slightly reluctant when Thorin led them out into the middle of it. "This is unbelievable," Frerin muttered, both fascinated and terrified by the sight before him. Light bounced off the surface until it seemed that even _they_ were coated in it's gleaming golden hue. Colors of every shade imaginable twinkled amongst the hoard, like many colored stars. In the midst of it all Thorin crouched like a predator, protecting his own, sifting through it in some sort of manic trance.

The king turned to them, eyes shining in approval at the sentiment voiced by his son. "It is wonderful, isn't it?" The three young ones shuddered as he gazed over the treasure with the same look that was once only devoted to his wife, each one wondering if he even thought of her. "Bilbo!" he cried out, startling them as well as the hobbit who had been wandering nearby, lost in thought. "Come here, I have something for you." He lifted up the item that had been draped over his arm, the silver armor shifting like water through his hands and shining bright as moonlight. "Put it on," he ordered the hobbit with a smile of satisfaction.

Bilbo hesitated, eyeing it with concern. "Umm Thorin, don't you think armor is rather unnecessary? I'm not exactly built to carry much weight..."

Thorin laughed, such a genuine sound that the hobbit could not help but smile in return. "It's mithril, light as air and strong as diamonds," he assured his friend. "Trust me, you won't even notice you have it on." Without waiting for further protest he slipped it over Bilbo's shoulders and grinned.

Bilbo stared down at it, frowning and shaking his head. "I look silly," he announced, immediately putting on his jacket to hide the ostentatious finery.

"You don't like it?" Thorin rumbled, sounding rather hurt and confused. How could someone not like it? He remembered when he had his own mithril armor, it had been the proudest day of his young life to receive it at the time.

Bilbo just shrugged, eyes gleaming with their easy smile. "It's nice, just... hobbits don't generally go for gold that much, or anything like it for that matter. We like simpler things," he explained, gratified to see that while Thorin still seemed confused he had lost the just-been-kicked expression from the previous moment. Taking it as a good sign that Thorin was in a better mood, Bilbo decided to try his luck at reasoning with the king. "Thorin?" he asked gently, waiting until he was certain the dwarf was no longer focused on the gold under their feet. "Can we talk? Privately?" He ignored the looks that were shot his way from the younger dwarves, pulling insistently on Thorin's arm to draw him away and down a hall.

"What is it?" Thorin asked easily, glancing back down the corridor every so often as if to check that his treasure was still there. Bilbo hid a wince, trying not to show how much the action pained him.

"The lakemen," he began, holding his hands up in a placating gesture when Thorin immediately glowered. "Now just hear me out please," he begged. Thorin nodded, drawn brows easing slightly as he fought to hold his temper in check. Bilbo had been there for them, the hobbit had a right to speak, even if he did not understand the situation. Thorin would humor him and then send him along. "It's just... it's our fault, what happened to them. You can see that, right? I feel terrible, so many lives lost, and I know it was for an important cause, what could be more important than your home? But in claiming yours, they lost theirs, and I really feel we owe them for that." He was pacing in agitation by the end of his speech, and Thorin had become impossible to read, his face carefully blank.

Thorin dearly wished the voices would stop tumbling through his head, their noise rendering him incapable of making a decision. He _knew_ Bilbo was right, but he knew also that he was right too. Thranduil would just take anything he gave to the lakemen, and he could not abide the thought of his hard won gold in the hands of that traitor. How could Bilbo not understand that? "You don't understand," he gritted out, forcing the voices away so he could think. "How would you feel if it were _your_ possessions that were being given away, if it were your sliver spoons being given to that dreadful woman that tried to stop you from leaving?" He felt a moment of triumph as Bilbo looked at him thoughtfully, feeling he had at last driven the point home, but that hope was swiftly crushed, leaving him floundering.

Bilbo sighed, shaking his head. "If it meant that a family could eat, that they would have shelter and comfort, I would gladly give away every single one. No amount of treasure is worth more than a life Thorin," he said softly, before leaving the dwarf to his thoughts. Bilbo was trapped in a struggle of his own, as he realized what he would have to do. He had tried to reason with his friend to no avail, and now there was only one option left to him. He would have to use force to persuade the stubborn king to part with his gold, and the very thought disgusted him. It stank of betrayal, and he wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. Why couldn't Thorin just _listen_ to him? When he slipped out of the mountain that night it was with a heavy heart, and when he returned to wait for the dawn he found himself unable to sleep as the anticipation grated on his nerves.

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><p><strong>Author's note: Next chapter we will see the fallout from the choices that have been made, and whether family is stronger than madness. Stay tuned, and thank you to all that have favorited, followed and reviewed, every bit means a lot!<strong>


	30. Thorin's Saving Grace

Morning came too soon, and with it the return of the envoys from both men and elves. Bilbo was a little surprised to see that Gandalf had returned and joined the group, and he wondered if the wizard's presence would ease their negotiations or just complicate them even more. He did not have time to worry over that however, for Thorin was already nearly screaming at the trio when he became aware of what it was they were carrying, and the sight sent a swoop of dread through Bilbo. How had it gone so wrong? He had felt certain that faced with no other choice the dwarf would concede and bury the hatchet, so to speak.

He wanted to cover his ears as Thorin demanded to know how they had come across his heirloom, and Bilbo felt compelled to act when he saw how close Thorin was to erupting on them all. "I gave it to them," he called loudly, gulping when Thorin froze in position and the rest of the group stared at him in horror.

"You did what?!" Thorin thundered ominously, striding towards Bilbo until they were almost nose to nose. Bilbo shook at the sight of the gold-fueled hatred that filled Thorin's eyes, forcing himself to hold still and try one more time to reach his friend.

"I did it to stop a war," he said firmly. "Is this really what you wanted Thorin? To reclaim your home only to throw it all away from greed? Are our lives really worth so little to you?"

Thorin growled incoherently, robbed of the ability to speak. "You know nothing of this situation, burglar," he spat venomously. "You have betrayed us all, stealing from my kingdom. I was a fool to ever trust you, and now you will pay for your treachery!"

Bilbo reeled backwards, stunned when Thorin lunged towards him and wrapped impossibly strong hands around his neck. For the first time in years he felt true fear, his eyes growing wide and panicked, the sounds of protest around him all but drowned out by the roaring in his ears. "Thorin!" he pleaded brokenly. "I was trying to help you!"

Behind them Frerin was pulling on Thorin's arm, trying desperately to free the hobbit. "Adad, stop! You'll kill him!" Thorin threw him off with a growl, and it was the soft cry of pain when Frerin collided with the ground that drew him out of his haze enough to wonder what was going on. He turned to see his son sprawled on the stone, green eyes shining with fear and hurt and his mind went into overdrive. Images assailed him, the gold clashing with the deeper hue of flames as he recalled similar terror-filled eyes burning in an inferno. Mara, vulnerable and afraid as death crept closer, but he had saved her then. Wasn't it his job to be saving his son from whatever was causing him to bear such an expression now? He approached slowly, unaware of the choking hobbit still clutched in his hands, or the large audience that was watching with bated breath. Why was Frerin backing away? Why was that fear directed at him? Frerin's gaze flicked downwards, and Thorin followed it to see Bilbo turning blue in the face, those same eyes still pleading to be saved. Mara's, Frerin's, Bilbo's, all green, maybe different shades, but still the same trusting innocence.

Thorin gasped, his clenched fists loosening slowly as he slid shaking hands down to cradle the hobbit in a soft embrace. He sank to his knees, a tear running down his face as he realized what a monster he had become. "What have I done?" he whispered, looking up at his companions with an expression of one that is so very lost and broken. He ran a finger down the side of Bilbo's face, moving an errant curl away from his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he groaned, reaching out for Frerin.

"It's...alright," Bilbo wheezed thinly, the compassion in his voice sending a new wave of guilt through the king. How could one creature be so forgiving?

"Oin," he called softly. "Will you make sure he is alright? Please?" The healer came forward, nodding gravely and taking the hobbit when Thorin reluctantly relinquished his hold. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Balin with a watery smile.

"Welcome back laddie," the elder dwarf murmured, before holding out a hand to pull him to his feet. He took it gladly, nearly sobbing in relief now that the voices had stopped. His head was full of blessed silence, not a single thing there that shouldn't be.

"I'm sorry," he muttered again into Balin's shoulder, feeling suddenly like a child that had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. His crimes had been far worse, but already the company seemed only relieved and happy to see him back to himself, and he had never been so humbled.

Balin had no sooner let him go before he was ambushed by his son and nephews, and he chuckled as they sought to crush him, listening to their murmurs of forgiveness with pure joy. "Your mothers would be so proud of you," he praised them. "_I_ am so proud of you, for holding back when I could not. I will never fall again, I swear it," he promised.

Once he had greeted all the company anew, and made certain Bilbo was not horrifically maimed by his mistreatment he turned to Balin. "Now, what were we doing before I made such a horrible fool of myself," he asked sheepishly.

"You were negotiating," Gandalf called from beyond the wall, saving Balin from having to come up with a suitable response. The wizard was smiling when Thorin turned to look at him, and he felt a little bewildered by the reaction after how he had just royally screwed up.

"Right," he muttered, shrugging off his discomfort as he faced down the crowd that was still waiting on his doorstep. "I will not negotiate," he began, drawing panicked gasps from many before he smiled benignly, "whilst shouting from a wall top." He took a deep breath as Gandalf smirked and he heard muffled laughter from behind. "We are coming down," he announced regally. "You might want to draw back a few paces, this could get a little messy," he advised them. He waited until they had drawn back to the field, leaving the broken causeway below clear and then had the company pull the ropes that were holding the boulders in place. They tumbled with a roar and a clatter, sending a small wave of water ahead of them as they crashed into the remains of the stream that bordered the shattered gates.

Thorin and his company emerged from the wreckage, the dust settling around them in a blur as they strode forward. As they went Thorin pulled the crown off his head that he had recovered earlier, looking upon it with disgust before dropping it to lay in the dirt. He heard murmurs of surprise from the men, and even some of the elves, though their leaders remained expressionless. Gandalf was nodding in approval.

Thorin had just reached a comfortable speaking distance when a harsh croak sounded near his ear, and he reflexively held up an arm to the approaching raven. The glossy bird landed gracefully, ruffling its feathers and emitting a series of sounds that only the dwarves could understand. "They're here? Now?" Thorin asked, glancing towards the southern ridge of the mountain as the bird cawed in affirmation.

"Who is here?" Bard and Thranduil asked simultaneously. Gandalf just gave him a knowing look, keeping himself well out of it.

"Dain is here," Thorin explained. "I called for him before... well, he will be welcomed royally even now, though his purpose be different." He held up a hand in greeting to the army that crested the hill, remaining calm as they thundered down towards them, many mounted on rams. Their leader rode a large boar, and kept his bright red hair tamed beneath an iron helmet. He dismounted upon reaching them, glancing at the elves and men with a disapproving frown.

"What are this sodding rabble doing here?" he growled, raising a brow in a manner that clearly stated they should leave immediately. Bard shifted uncomfortably, while Thranduil remained unruffled and Gandalf sighed in resignation, barely restraining an eye roll.

"Peace cousin," Thorin grinned placidly. "They are here by my invite. We have much to discuss."

"That's not what you said earlier," the dwarf grouched, appearing disgruntled by the lack of action he was being offered.

"Things change," Thorin said easily, looking to Gandalf for help, and for once the wizard obliged.

"Indeed," he agreed. "We do not have time for petty squabbles master dwarf," he said firmly, though he glanced warningly at the elven king when he said it, a look the elf proceeded to disdainfully ignore. "There is an army approaching, an army of orcs and wargs and all manner of foul beasts, and it will take our combined forces to defeat it."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Dain grinned wolfishly, cracking his knuckles and signalling his men to stand down.

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><p><strong>Author's note: Alright, so I tried to make the gold sickness similar to the bookmovie while adding in some changes due to the fact that Thorin has a family. Also, I know some people might think Bilbo's forgiveness is extremely premature, but I see him as someone who is just normally of a very calm nature, though that does not in any way mean that there will be no repercussions later. Lastly, in response to a review that I was unable to directly reply to: Mara and Frerin are quite connected to nature, this is true. However, I chose 'gifts' to give them that I felt were not overly powerful, and rather underdeveloped, for reasons that will come up later. Their powers will be explained more in depth in a family discussion that I am already planning, and which should give more clarity to that side of things. With regards to a method of communication: that is a very neat idea, but I hadn't thought of it at the time when I was planning things out, so I do not really think I can fit it in now, but perhaps in another story. Besides, they have ravens, so there is that.**

**Next two chapters are going to be all about the battle, and though I am not very good at describing that sort of thing I hope I did it justice. You have already gotten a tiny preview of what is to come from Mara's vision, but like I mentioned before it may not have been accurate...**


	31. Army of Darkness

The newly recovered armory was a hive of activity, as both dwarves and men equipped themselves with Erebor's finest. Though the armor was too small for the men of Laketown they had been offered weapons of the highest quality, for they had come poorly armed, and Thorin wasn't about to leave their lives to the dubious protection of the rather flimsy swords they had salvaged from the wreckage of their town. The men seemed overwhelmed by the gesture, and delighted to see the inside of the fabled kingdom at last, and the dwarves laughingly promised a celebratory feast when all was done, though they were careful to ensure the elves did not hear about it.

Despite the impending danger Thorin could not help the proud grin that stretched across his face at the sight of his son and nephews ranged before him, clad like warrior kings. Even Bilbo was looking mightily different from the cheerful creature that had followed them out of the Shire, his young face contorted in determination as he obstinately refused all requests that he stay out of the battle. "You are my family, and I will not stay behind," he retorted with a lazy swing of his sword, as if the very idea was deeply insulting.

Nearby a similar dispute was being held, with far different results. Bard heaved a frustrated sigh at the way his son glared angrily up at him. Bain was far too young for this, and yet he stood ready to fight, so naive as thoughts of the glory of battle swirled in his head. "You will not go out there," Bard ordered him heavily. "Stay with your sisters, keep them safe." For a moment he thought the lad would actually strike out at him in outrage before he stalked off further into the mountain, a muttered curse leaving his lips.

Only one being stood alone on the ramparts, the grey wizard conversing quietly with the raven messenger. No one heard the words he spoke, and none bothered to wonder as the bird swiftly fluttered off to the west, out towards Mirkwood. The grey wizard had many secrets, and those that knew him well still were not partial to most of them.

At last the warriors were armed and ready, and they joined the elven forces outside, leaving the women and children safely ensconced within the stone walls of the mountain. The elves had opted to wait for them in the valley, having arrived as heavily armed as if they expected to fight Smaug himself. They arrayed themselves in a broad formation, standing rigidly as they awaited the incoming storm. Around them, the dwarves arranged themselves in a slightly different manner, taking into account their mounted units, while the men uncertainly took their queues from those around them, gathering loosely amongst the others.

Each was then left to their thoughts, for what seemed many hours but was rather less than one, reflecting on what the day would bring, and how many would not return. Thorin spared a moment to speak with each member of the company, wanting to ensure that nothing was left unspoken between them before the final confrontation. He ended with his immediate family, drawing the three close, and including a surprised Bilbo in the huddle. "Stay next to me, whatever happens," he begged them. "I will protect you." The four nodded, sticking right by his sides as he took his place at the head of his people.

Behind the amassed armies, no one noticed the small figure that slunk out of the mountain, armed with a child's sword and an over-sized chain mail tunic. Bain hid at the back of the group, keeping a close eye on the tall figure of his father, determined to do his part.

The first that anyone saw of the enemy was a wave of darkness in the sky. It flickered and swirled like smoke, the heavy wings of thousands of bats nearly blocking out the sun. Underneath it was a matching ribbon of shadow, at first glance making it appear that the ground itself was moving. Orcs and goblins marched steadily towards them, strangely organized for such foul creatures. Wargs stalked amongst their numbers, fangs frothing with a desire to hunt and kill, and their eerie howls filling the air. At their backs were two larger creatures, both mounted on the most massive wargs that any of them had ever seen. Azog and Bolg were roaring encouragement to their followers and threats towards their enemies, black speech dripping off their tongues in a malicious stream.

It was the archers that started the fight, and the joined forces of men, elves and dwarves were gratified to note that the majority of the ranged fighters were on their side. Orcs held no fondness for bows it seemed, instead relying on close combat, so the elven archers were easily able to pick off an entire wave of frontrunners.

"So it begins," Gandalf murmured, as the orcs howled in fury and renewed their charge. The two sides clashed with a mighty roar, leaving most of the combatants deafened by the horrible sounds that now reached their ears. What started as somewhat organized ranks swiftly descended into a chaotic mess, allies striving desperately to stay together as their enemies pressed around them.

At first Thorin tried to be everywhere, fiercely protecting his family from the onslaught, but he quickly noted that more and more of the incoming enemies were being directed their way, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. Azog and Bolg were twin pillars amongst the horde, standing head and shoulders over the rest as they guided their troops. They looked gleefully in his direction, smirking as if they were already triumphant, and it broke Thorin's carefully held restraint. He took off towards them, bent on revenge and determined to end the last scourge of their line, heedless of the danger and unaware of the fact that his family was still faithfully following behind.

So blinding was his rage that Thorin did not at first realize that he was being cut off from the main battle, his quarry drawing back subtly out of sight and range as they headed for the ruins of Dale. There were many places to get lost there, to hide so one might not be found, and Thorin pounded along faster, trying to cut them off in their obvious retreat. He wanted to roar in outrage, but he was saving his breath for the charge, and the fight that would inevitably follow. The two orcs suddenly dropped completely out of sight, seeming to vanish, and Thorin was painfully aware of the silence that surrounded him.

Back at the battlefield the others were only just realizing that the entire royal family had seemingly gone missing, along with the leaders of the opposition, and they began systematically hacking their way through the throng, searching for any trace of the lost members of their company. It was impossible to tell where they might have gone, and when a clue presented itself it was in the most horrifying way possible. It was Balin who tripped over the body, yelling in shock as he took in the sight of Fili's bloodied face. The prince's neck was crimson, and tilted at a strange angle, and had he not noticed the tiny cloud of breath above his mouth caused by cold air he would have thought the blond already dead. As it was he was certain the minutes were ticking, and he glanced around in a panic as he continued to fight, yelling for his brother. Between the two of them they gathered up their fallen comrade, gaining a protective ring as others recognized their burden and hastened to their aid. Fili was borne away to where healers already waited within the mountain, those that witnessed his retreat praying they were not too late.

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><p><strong>Author's note: And now I will leave you to stew with that awful cliffhanger... More battle to come next, and things get personal. <strong>


	32. Final Confrontation

Thorin swore under his breath, in disbelief that he had been so stupid. He of all people should have known better than to blindly follow his enemies, but here he was, alone and defenseless. He snorted then, gripping his sword and shield tighter. Not defenseless. No longer was he some wet behind the ears youngster, armed with naught but a twisted branch and foolhardy courage. He had years of experience under his belt, his armor was still very much intact, and his weapons glittered wickedly in the dim light of a fading day. He strode forward quietly, determined that those he pursued would not catch him unawares.

A light snow had begun to fall some time ago, when he could not pinpoint, but it caused him to smile grimly as his enemies tracks were starkly highlighted against the dark stone. They had unknowingly made his job that much easier now that he could focus on the tell tale prints rather than looking for more obscure clues. Unbeknownst to him the pair of orcs were watching from a vantage point over head, waiting for him to get to the alleyway that would leave him without any hope of escape or rescue. They were delighted to see that those that had been flanking him had fallen behind, unable to keep up with his mad dash through the melee.

Kili and Frerin were neck and neck as they tried to keep pace with Thorin, but it was easy to see that the king would get away from them despite all their efforts. Bilbo was flitting along lightly at their backs, with Fili covering them from behind, and the group kept moving towards the edge of the battle, eyeing the place they had seen the elder dwarf disappear to. Only a desperate shout caused them to halt their charge, and the trio turned to see that Fili had been cut off, assaulted by a hulking figure that seemed to be neither orc nor goblin. The blond swordsman was giving it his all, unwavering even as he was battered back, and Kili felt himself hesitating, torn between two equally important duties.

"Go to him," Frerin urged quickly, giving his cousin a light shove towards his brother. "I'll go with Bilbo to look for adad."

The hobbit nodded his agreement. "He's right, look after Fili and catch up to us when you can."

Letting out a pained growl at having to make such a choice, Kili threw himself towards Fili, his bow now slung across his back as he favored his sword in such close quarters. He was soon lost to sight, the orcs around them towering tall, not to mention the elves and men that aided in their fight. Frerin and Bilbo pressed close together, careful not to lose each other as they broke free of the chaos. They glanced back only once, feeling a flash of worry when they were unable to spot Fili at all, and Kili was only a dark head among many, nearly crushed in amongst the heaving bodies.

Kili was close to panicking. His brother had passed out of his sight, and thoughts of the worst plagued his mind as he swung around, his screams going unanswered. He had almost given up hope when an unexpected voice broke into his thoughts, a familiar figure pressed against his back.

"I saw Fili being carried into the mountain," the feminine voice informed him, uncharacteristically breathless. "He was alive as far as I could tell," she added quickly, unable to completely forestall the noise of denial that left Kili's lips. She grabbed his arm as he made to launch himself towards Erebor, speaking forcefully into his ear as she fought off a goblin with her long knives. "You can do nothing for him now, you are needed out here!" Her words were tough, but the tone was full of compassion, and Kili sensed that she understood.

"Tauriel, I..." He paused to slice down a foe that was sneaking up on them from behind. "Will you help me with something?" he yelled. "I need to find uncle, that's what we were doing before. He went off alone..." The elleth nodded, swirling and placing herself at his back as he began to retrace his steps, protecting him like Fili used to do. Kili felt his heart clench. His brother was in Mahal's hands now, but there was still a chance he could save Thorin. He would not lose them both... He swore then, swiftly banishing the dark thoughts from his head as he cut down a warg with unnecessary violence. His brother was _not_ going to die.

Thorin was cursing himself with every foul name that came to his mind. It did not matter that only one of the orcs that he was pursuing had shown itself, he had no time to wonder on that. Of much more immediate concern was the fact that he had been boxed in, a sneering Azog blocking the way out of the alleyway that he had ever so blindly traipsed into. He stood at the ready, chest heaving as he stopped one assault after another, his adversary merciless in his attack. Azog swung his heavy mace with a strength he could not match, and he was forced to duck and dodge rather than meeting him head on, for fear of being crushed against the wall. His steps began to falter and slow, his arms weakening with exhaustion, and he blinked in surprise when the mace connected with his shield, knocking it out of his sweaty grip with a metallic clang.

Azog roared in victory, bringing his weapon down with brutal force, laughing as Thorin was hit in the face with his own sword, his grip white knuckled and failing as he staggered. Blood trickled down his face from the cut across his nose, and he fought not to choke on it, gasping when the next hit divested him of his weapon, and last defense. The blow that followed hit his shoulder with a flare of agony, but he was too dazed to cry out, nothing more than a low groan leaving his lips as he fell to the ground on his back. Azog leered over him, drawing out a knife, his eyes promising that this would be no easy death, and for once Thorin was grateful that he was alone. No one would have to bear witness to his humiliation, no one would see the horror of what was about to occur until it was over. He did not even realize that he was screaming when the knife began to cut through his arms and chest, his armor having been yanked off and cast aside by the sadistic orc.

Kili and Tauriel somehow managed to catch up to Frerin and Bilbo, the former giving no answer save for a grim shake of the head to account for Fili's whereabouts. He did not want to talk about it, not when they were so pressed for time. They were making their way cautiously into the ruins, drawn forward by the sound of metal clashing not too far away, and the sounds were nearly enough to distract them from the danger that was closer to them. As it was, Tauriel had to throw herself bodily into Kili's side, bulling the two of them out of the way just in time for an arrow to zip past where Kili's head had been not a moment before. The two of them fired return shots from their position on the ground, one of the arrows somehow managing to knock the bow out of the orcs hands. Bolg snarled in fury, drawing twin swords and advancing upon them just as the most horrifying screams filled the air.

"Go!" Kili yelled to Frerin and Bilbo, moving to attack Bolg and keep him distracted. Tauriel stayed at his side, already pulling out her knives as she tried to circle around behind the orc. The other two hurriedly took advantage of the situation, dashing towards the nightmarish sounds of torture as fast as they could.

"Adad," Frerin choked out as they came around a last corner. His plaintive cry reached the ears of the orc and the downed dwarf, and Thorin gazed helplessly over at him even as Azog chuckled darkly and dragged the knife across his chest again. The king moaned and tried to writhe away, cringing as Frerin let out an incoherent cry of rage and stomped towards them, eyes already glittering with unshed tears. Seeing that his time was up, Azog moved in for the killing blow, unprepared for Thorin to suddenly use his last remaining strength to roll away. The knife impaled his arm instead of his chest, but the orc had no time to curse or gloat as he was forced to turn and meet this rather insignificant foe. The last thing Thorin saw as his vision began to blur was Frerin getting tossed against the wall, and he despaired the end that his son was about to meet, unaware of the hobbit that was still at his back.

Bilbo felt an unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest at the sight of his friend lying bloodied and defeated on the ground. It raced through his veins, hot and wild, and he felt his hands begin to shake at the force of the anger that filled him. He could almost hear the whispers that had been at the corner of his mind ever since he found the odd ring in his pocket, telling him to put it on and end this fight. Part of him screamed at how utterly dishonorable that was, but the larger part of him, the part that snorted that honor was lost on orcs, was taking over, and he slipped the cool metal band onto his small finger, vanishing from sight just as Azog turned to finish him off. The orc snarled in confused anger, whirling around to find his quarry, but a glowing blade through his pale torso soon put an and to that plan.

The exhausted hobbit carefully dragged Frerin's unconscious body over to his father before grasping both of their hands firmly, soft prayers leaving his trembling lips. "You're going to make it, both of you," he promised, glancing up when several shadows passed overhead. "Look," he whispered, wondering if they could hear him. "The eagles are coming."

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><p><strong>Author's note: Well, I guess we are technically leaving behind one cliffhanger for another. The fates of the company will be revealed in the next chapter, and as much as I am tempted I will not spoil it now. There are 11 chapters left to this segment, and a fair amount to be packed in to them, but I will say that overall there will be a happy ending to tide you over until the next part which has not been completed yet.<br>**


	33. Aftermath

"Your family needs you," Tauriel protested weakly, but Kili shook his head, resolute.

"I will not abandon you here," he murmured gently, ripping a strip of fabric off his tunic. He tied it as tightly as possible around her injured arm, knowing with a sinking feeling that it might not be enough. The orc had hit her in just the right spot to spill her blood, already it began to pool out. Getting to his feet, he stared down at her through one eye, the other swollen shut, a mix of anger and guilt running through him. How many must suffer to protect him? How many had he failed to save? Any sound of his uncle's fight had long died out, and he did not know if they survived.

"Kili! Frerin!" The faint call sounded through the air, getting closer as a search party neared them.

"Here, over here!" Kili called back, heaving a relieved breath as Balin and Dwalin rounded the bend. The two started at the sight of the elf curled at his feet, her breath shallow and pained, but Kili waved them on. "Bilbo and Frerin went that way, looking for Thorin," he said, pointing farther down the narrow road. He grabbed for their arms before they could leave, eyes darkening as he recalled the haunting sounds he had heard. "It may be bad," he cautioned. "I heard uncle screaming..." His warning trailed off in despair, the others nodding grimly and squaring their shoulders as they sought for any sign of the missing members of their company. Kili scooped Tauriel up, wincing as he felt a searing pull along his side, but he managed to cradle her awkwardly against his chest. Soon he was just one of many heading for the mountain, nearly all with injured companions in tow.

Balin and Dwalin had moved carefully forward, Kili's warning ringing in their ears. They began to hear a soft voice on the chill air, murmuring words of comfort and hope, and the pair sighed in relief as they recognized it as that of their hobbit. Bilbo sat propped against a ruined wall, Frerin's and Thorin's hands clasped in his. He glanced up at their approach, smiling tiredly. "Thank the Valar, I had no idea how I was going to carry them both."

"I'm sure you would have managed laddie," Balin replied, looking worriedly at the prone forms. "Are they...?"

"They're alive," Bilbo reassured them. "Frer took a knock to the head. Thorin..." He looked uncertainly down at the king. "I don't think it's really as bad as it looks. The wounds are mostly shallow, and he was still conscious when we found him." He shuddered then, remembering how exactly he had been sure of that fact.

"And you?" Dwalin asked gruffly. "Are you alright?" There was deep concern as he took in the myriad of scrapes and cuts littering the hobbits face and hands, but Bilbo waved a hand in dismissal.

"I'll be fine, let's just get these two to the healers before we all catch our death of cold," he suggested, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to regain some semblance of warmth. The snow began to fall in earnest then, and Frerin came awake blinking as soft flakes prickled his skin.

"What...? Adad!" he shrilled, lurching to his feet with a stumble before Balin caught his arm.

"Easy there lad, he's alive," the elder placated him, slinging a steadying arm around his shoulders and beginning to lead him off. Dwalin lifted Thorin with a grunt, Bilbo hovering nearby, ready to offer his assistance to anyone that needed it. The group made their way steadily back to Erebor, joining the throng of survivors and trying to ignore the muted cries that followed them as all around noticed who Dwalin's burden was.

The mountain was a bustling web of activity, healers of all races calling out orders as those that were hale enough helped to patch together their wounded. The company had gotten themselves a separate room on Oin's command, the blessedly uninjured healer tending them as each one was brought in. The only unusual face in the small room was Tauriel, and Kili had scowled darkly and hissed that he would not be leaving her until he was certain she would live. Those that would have argued thought better of it at the murderous look in his eyes as he hovered protectively over not only her but his brother as well. Fili had been hovering on the brink for some time, but Oin finally declared that he would live, against all odds.

The elder dwarf turned next to the elf, suppressing a snort of annoyance at having to treat her, and then shaking his head as he saw just what state she was in. "Lad, you realize I'll have to take the arm," he informed Kili hesitantly. "She'll have lost all feeling by this point. Had the bandage not been tied so tight..."

"It was that or her life," Kili bit out, well aware of the decision he had needed to make at the time. He hoped she would forgive him.

Their discussion was interrupted as Bofur and Bombur carried in Bifur. It was clear from the looks on their faces that he wasn't going to make it, but Oin hurried over all the same. He soon shook his head grimly, forced to concede they were right in their assumption. The axe had been knocked out of his head, and the hole left in his skull was beyond any means the dwarves had to heal. He spent his last moments surrounded by those members of the company that were conscious, signing words of love and apology to his family before his eyes closed.

Next to arrive were Dori and Ori, dragging Nori between them, the former thief protesting that he was just fine and not in need of assistance. He looked slightly dazed, a gash on his head bleeding sluggishly, while Ori limped heavily, an arrow still embedded in his calf, and Dori held a wad of dirty cloth pressed against his side. None of the three were at immediate risk of expiring, so they were cleaned and bandaged and ordered to rest for a time.

The last to show up were the group carrying Frerin and Thorin between them. The young prince was stumbling along, eyes glazed as he continually lost focus. Thorin was unconscious, breathing raggedly as his limbs trembled and eyes flickered behind closed lids. Oin cursed, ordering them placed onto beds beside Fili. He snapped for the rest of the room to stay back and went right to work, focusing on Thorin when he had assured himself that all Frerin needed was a good sleep. The younger dwarf reluctantly dozed off at the reassurance that he would be woken if his father worsened, leaving Oin with only one patient to take care of.

Thorin continued to twitch as his many wounds were cleaned and wrapped, his face contorted into a slight frown, though he did not awaken. It was only when Oin got to the dagger still embedded in his shoulder that the healer hesitated. It was not near a large vein, yet he felt certain that taking it out would be enough of a shock to bring the king back from oblivion, and he wasn't foolish enough to perform such a stunt without securing his patient. "Hold him down," he ordered Balin and Dwalin tersely, waiting until they had a careful grip on his unmoving arms and legs. A short count of three, and Oin yanked the offending weapon out, startled in spite of his preparation when Thorin came awake with an unearthly shriek.

"Mahal, HOLD HIM!" Oin yelled frantically as the king began flailing wildly, his breath coming in strange wheezing moans. Sweat beaded down his face, and Gloin and Bofur were forced to join in restraining him as the others found their grip slipping. Quickly Oin poured a bitter liquid down his throat, sagging as he slumped back with a whimper and succumbed to a forced sleep.

"What's wrong with him?!" Frerin whispered in horror, having been jerked awake by the noise.

"Nothing good," Gandalf replied as he strode through the door, gently nudging the bystanders out of the way. He stared intently at the wound before picking up the blade that caused it, frowning when his nose caught the tell tale whiff of something other than blood. "Poison, I should have expected that," he cursed, wasting no time in leaving the room as fast as he had entered it.

"Wait, Gandalf... what do we do?" Oin squawked from behind him, fuming when he received no answer.

Frerin staggered over to his father's side, grabbing one of his large hands and pressing it to his own face. "Hold on adad, please hold on. Gandalf will bring help."

The only notice the room got that Gandalf was returning came in the form of a heated argument just outside the door. "He will die without your aid!" the wizard said fiercely.

"Why should I care? He is the reason all this happened." The dwarves froze at the sound of Thranduil's callous reply, Frerin letting out a choked sob as the conversation reverberated in his head. The door swung open to reveal Gandalf trying to shove the elven king into the room, Legolas trailing behind them with a frown on his face, though who exactly he was annoyed with was unclear.

"Please," Frerin begged, all semblance of pride gone. "Don't let him die. I'm not ready... not ready, please," his voice broke off in a whisper as he leaned down to press his forehead to Thorin's, his tears making a trail through the blood on his fathers face.

For a moment it seemed that Thranduil would remain unmoved, until Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ada, after all that has happened..." he trailed off, the rest of his thought clear in his eyes. '_Hasn't there been enough death?'_

Frerin stared up at them hopefully, his hands now wrapped around Thorin's head as he rocked gently back and forth. At Thranduil's resigned nod he nearly leaped to his feet, and it was as if a light had been returned to his eyes, the sight causing Legolas to smile. The elven king rolled up his sleeves, pulling out a handful of brilliant white flowers that he crushed in water. He worked quickly, pressing them into the wound and beginning to chant in a melodic voice, a light seeming to emanate from his being. Half way through Thorin jerked awake with a groan, his eyes unseeing, but the magic was already working and the pain began to drain from his face until he slept once more.

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><p><strong>Author's note: I'm afraid the angst isn't quite over yet. Just because all the Durin's lived, does not mean they are in the clear by any means, but at least next chapter we will get some fluff and happiness to make up for it. Also, I apologize for killing Bifur, but there was a reason, not the least of which is that I couldn't really let the entire company come out of this unscathed.<br>**


	34. Unexpected Reunion

By nightfall the only occupants left in the private room are the royals, the others having vacated the space to allow them the chance to heal. Kili slept quietly beside his brother, holding his hand even in slumber so he would know the moment he awoke. Tauriel had been collected by her kin, returning to Mirkwood at Thranduil's insistence. At first Kili had been tempted to protest, unsure of the full extent of his feelings, but he knew it was not something he could prevent. Instead he had tucked his runestone into her remaining hand, giving her a sad smile that she barely saw. She had still been in shock, trying to process the loss of her limb, and though he could not pretend to understand he still wished to give her whatever comfort he could.

"If ever you wish to talk, you know where to find me," he had offered, giving her hand a squeeze before she was carried away.

Not far away Frerin slumbered deeply, having given in to exhaustion once Thorin had been healed. He was curled on his side, facing his father who was himself dozing restlessly. The king had yet to return to consciousness, the pain and shock coupled with a strong dose of medicine keeping him blissfully unaware of those around him.

Outside the room most of the residents of the mountain, temporary or otherwise, were resting out the night. None bothered to question the cloaked figure that followed behind Gandalf towards the king's room. From the height it was clearly a dwarf, and even had he not been with the wizard he would have been trusted. Gandalf did not enter the room with him, but backed away with a nod of the head, closing the door behind his companion and waiting nearby on a bench that sat in the hall. The wizard puffed pensively on his pipe, hoping his old friend would finally find peace with this precious chance.

The secret visitor removed his hood with shaking hands, sliding into a seat beside Thorin's bedside and staring at him in wonder, tears dripping silently down his face. He reached out, brushing an errant lock of hair off his cheek, stilling when the dwarf stirred with an incoherent mumble. Thorin opened bleary eyes, slowly managing to focus on the face that hovered over him, his breath catching in his throat when he saw who it was.

"Adad," he sighed, a look of anguish swiftly filling his eyes. "I'm so sorry, I failed you, all of you. My son, Frerin, is he here?" His grip on Thrain's hand was weak and desperate. "He would have made such a good king," he whispered sadly, before his despair morphed into confusion as Thrain shook his head.

"That job is still yours my son," the elder dwarf said gently. "You did not fail. You broke the curse of our line, killed the defiler and his spawn. I have never been prouder in all my life."

"But, am I not dead?" Thorin protested, his brow furrowing uncertainly.

A strained chuckle fell from Thrain's lips. "No dear boy, you are very much alive. You made it." He nodded off to the right, and Thorin slowly craned his neck to see Frerin sleeping peacefully next to him, Kili and Fili just past that.

Thorin looked back to the visage of his father, still very confused. "If I'm alive, and they're alive... how am I seeing you? Have I gone mad truly this time?" he muttered to himself, feeling the first stirrings of horror.

"No," Thrain assured him, gripping his hand tightly and drawing him back to himself. "I'm here, all thanks to Gandalf. The wizard found me in Azog's lair, if not for him I would never have escaped. He's given us a second chance. I owe him my life, and I can't begin to repay him for giving me the chance to see you crowned king as you should have been."

Surprisingly, Thorin's face fell in shame as he replayed his actions as ruler so far. "I do not know if I am ready," he said haltingly. "I have done such horrible things, I almost killed my brother!"

"Your brother?" Thrain asked in concerned surprise, raising a brow when Thorin smiled faintly.

"The hobbit, Bilbo. I, sort of adopted him into the family," he explained with a sheepish look. "He's already distantly related to my wife, so I figured I'd make it official and all. The boys already call him uncle," he added with a tiny grin.

Thrain nodded in approval. "You did well. I should very much like to meet my new son," he assured Thorin. "As for being king? The fact that you do not believe you are ready is what makes me certain you are."

"The curse?" Thorin murmured worriedly. "I fear the gold, and the arkenstone. If it consumes me again I would never forgive myself."

"Gandalf seems to think such curses, when broken, cannot return. I do believe you have saved us all, but all the same I ordered him to break the stone apart. A piece will go to the leaders of all peoples who participated in this battle, as a symbol of our good faith. It was the only order I will ever give, and I hope you forgive me for that."

For a brief second Thorin's mind whirled with annoyance at the thought of Thranduil owning even a tiny sliver of their kingdoms heirloom, but he resolutely pushed back the feeling, nodding gravely. "Thank you, for dealing with that. I do not know if I would have had the wisdom to make such a choice."

Thrain sighed. "It will never be easy, ruling over a people. You have known this for a long time I imagine. Harder still is letting go of a grudge, but we must do these things. It is the only way we will move forward." He brightened then, giving Thorin an expectant look. "Now, how is my little girl? It seems only yesterday she was clinging to my robes, and now she is married and has two sons of her own. And you, my boy! A wife and a son. Tell me about this woman waiting for you back in Ered Luin!"

"Dis is, she is well," Thorin replied thoughtfully. "Unfortunately her husband Vili passed a long time ago, I do not think Kili even remembers him. I helped her raise the boys along with Mara."

"You seem to have done a fine job," Thrain praised him. "Tell me about your lass now. Mara, not a very dwarvish name is it?"

"She's not a dwarf," Thorin said honestly, clearly nervous until Thrain chuckled and nodded in encouragement.

"Go on, never mind that part, I'm no longer one to judge. We find happiness where we will, and there's no telling what the gods have in mind for us. Who am I to argue?"

Thorin smiled in relief. "She's, well she's remarkable. I shall let her tell you the full story of how we met, but it took me far too long to realize she was my one. I am fairly certain Dis meddled more than a little to ensure I figured it out. She is perfect, like sunshine personified." He gazed off wistfully, imagining their reunion with clear longing.

"Ahh, young love," Thrain grinned. "I remember when your mother and I were like that, may Mahal rest her soul." He pressed his head gently to Thorin's then, noticing that his son was starting to drift off. "Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake."

"You'll stay?" Thorin muttered sleepily.

"Always." Thrain whispered, looking up to smile at Gandalf who had re entered the room. "Thank you my friend, for this, for everything."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Yay fluffy fluff! I have been looking forward to this chapter ever since Gandalf dragged Thrain out of that hell hole. Try and hold on to the fuzzy feelings from this one, because the next chapter is more battle aftermath, and it is not going to be pretty.<br>**


	35. Silent Lion

It was mid afternoon before Fili awoke, and he jolted upright with a silent cry, grabbing at Kili's hand where the younger dwarf was still asleep. Kili blinked up at him, his pleasure at seeing his brother awake vanishing swiftly as he noticed the mounting confusion in his eyes.

"Fili? What's the matter nadad?" He placed gentle hands on the blond's shoulders, ignoring the other occupants of the room. Fili in turn opened his mouth several times as if to say something, but no sound came out and he became more and more visibly agitated with each attempt. His grip on Kili's hand was now crushing in its force, his eyes wide and frightened. His other hand was grabbing at his injured throat, and Kili had to restrain him when he tried to tear off the restricting bandages, yelling for help from anyone that might be listening.

A strong pair of hands came into sight, the dwarf connected to them unfamiliar to Kili, but the calm demeanor of this newcomer was enough to put him at ease. He inched back a little, allowing the elderly dwarf enough room to sit in front of his brother. "Easy there lad, best leave those be," the dwarf gently instructed him, taking one of his hands from Kili and giving a firm squeeze. "Everything is going to be alright. Just breathe, slowly, that's it now, good lad." Fili's breathing steadied out from his blossoming panic, a single tear tracking down his face. "Ah lad," he sighed sadly, leaning forward and clasping a startled Fili in a strong embrace.

Behind the two Kili nearly laughed at his brothers expression, his brows raised comically as he struggled to understand why this stranger would hug him. "Meaning no offense, but who are you?" the younger asked, eyeing Fili in concern as the blond began to squirm in obvious discomfort.

The dwarf was startled before chuckling and releasing Fili. "Ah I forgot, you do not know me. My apologies little prince. I am Thrain, your grandfather."

Now it was Kili's turn to gape in shock, joining his brother in wordless surprise. Frerin had awoken as well and was forming the word silently, his mouth a round O of surprise.

Nearby Thorin snorted in amusement "Now you've done it adad. Gone and broken them already. This is the most silence I've gotten in years," he teased.

At his voice the three younger dwarves whirled in delight, Fili mouthing a greeting as Kili and Frerin's voices near tripped over each other in their haste to welcome him back. He was smiling broadly in a way they hadn't seen since they left Ered Luin, and his simple joy was catching to almost everyone in the room. Only Fili was left out of the ensuing conversation, and he began to retreat back into himself as the others forgot about his predicament for a few moments. They were telling Thorin all that he had missed when Kili got to the part that he didn't know, and he turned to his brother curiously. "I never did ask, what happened in the fight? I tried to find you..." he trailed off awkwardly as Fili stared down at his lap. "Oh Mahal, I'm sorry Fee." His ears burned as he wished he could take back the thoughtless words. His brother clearly didn't want to be reminded of his momentary defeat, and here he was putting his foot in his mouth.

Luckily the uncomfortable silence was broken by Oin striding into the room. "Ahh, all awake are we? Good, I can give you a checking up then." He stared for a few moments at Thrain before shaking his head and giving an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry yer highness, it's just so good seeing you back," he explained.

"It's good to be back," Thrain returned heartily. "Just Thrain though if you don't mind, none of this highness nonsense," he added with an easy smile.

Oin nodded, muttering about impropriety in a voice he had likely planned to go unheard, but his deafness left it far louder than he intended and Thrain snorted with repressed laughter. The healer was quick to pronounce Kili and Frerin in good health, save for their healing cuts and bruises. Thorin also was deemed healing nicely, though he was to be kept on strict bed rest for at least another week, much to his chagrin. Lastly the healer moved to Fili, carefully unwrapping the bandages and slapping Fili's hands away when they drifted in the direction of his neck. The wound was a gruesome one, and the others were hard pressed not to turn away in disgust, but they knew better than to do that. Tutting over it thoughtfully, Oin wrapped fresh gauze and salve over the lacerations and was about to leave when Kili asked the question that was burning through all their minds.

"Why can't he talk?" the younger brother blurted out.

"Eh?" Oin asked, not having heard him properly. "Nothing wrong with his legs, he can walk fine," he added loudly with a frown of impatience.

"No," Kili growled, repeating his question at near top volume and causing Frerin to wince in distress as Fili cringed in embarrassment.

At his announcement Oin muttered that it hardly mattered as Kili could talk enough for the both of them, causing Fili to almost smile, but he turned back to his patient nonetheless. "Say something," he ordered the blond, waiting patiently as Fili opened his mouth. Not a sound came, and the rest of the room stayed respectfully quiet. Oin's brows lowered a fraction before he suddenly clapped his hands quite loudly beside Fili's ear. The dwarf flinched, his mouth opening again as if to yell in shock or reproach, but again he was voiceless. Oin sighed gravely. "Thought this might happen." He turned to Thorin, whose brows were raised in question, answering with nothing more than a silent shake of the head. The message was clear to the king. His nephew would likely never speak again. Clapping a hand on Fili's shoulder, Oin offered him a look of deep apology. "I'm sorry laddie, there's nothing I can do." He left the room soon after, unable to bear the denial that faced him.

For the rest of the day Fili seemed surprisingly calm, nodding when spoken to and eating mechanically when prompted, but Kili could see that it was just a front. He knew his brother better than anything, and watching as the light slowly died in his eyes was heart breaking. Fili had always been so solid and strong, now it seemed that he could be bowled over by a strong wind. When he went to sleep that night it was not shocking then that he lay for only a few short hours before nightmares tore him back to wakefulness, his hands trembling and mouth open in a silent scream.

The following days began to take their toll on both brothers, as Kili tried everything he could to keep Fili going, to reignite the will to live in his brother. Soon they had dark circles under their eyes, and Fili was noticeably thinner, his refusal to eat and drink sapping his strength and weakening already worn out limbs.

Kili went to Thorin after a week, his expression nearly crazed with worry, though the elder was not much better. "What can we do uncle?" he pleaded. "He's going to die if he keeps up like this!"

Thorin sighed heavily, furrowing his brow as he eyed Fili's sleeping form thoughtfully. "Bring Bofur and Bombur here," he ordered his nephew. "I have an idea."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Ahh, not really sure why I'm being so mean to poor Fili, but that section sort of wrote itself, so, sorry. Things may pick up for him yet. Next chapter we get some closure for another group of battle survivors, as we find out who lived, and who didn't... <strong>


	36. Price of a Life

In another corner of the makeshift healing ward, Bard fought off the red haze of pain from his injuries, coming back to consciousness with a groan. He tried to sit up, only to discover heavy bandaging across his torso, and the itchy pulling he could feel underneath made him glad he could not see the extent of his wounds.

"Best lie still milord," a quiet voice advised from nearby.

Bard turned his head slowly, ignoring the growing ache that shot through his temples as he sought the owner of the voice. He was soon faced with a pair of familiar dark brown eyes. "Hilda," he muttered in greeting. The soft-spoken woman nodded in return, pausing in her current task to hold a cup of water to his lips. When he had drunk his fill he sighed in relief, feeling the headache begin to retreat the smallest amount, and leaving him able to focus on other concerns. "My children?" he asked, glancing about to see if they were nearby, and half hoping they were not, as the room he was in was full of wounded men, and he did not wish for them to be exposed to such trauma. They had already seen too much.

"The girls are sleeping," she responded shortly.

Had Bard been any less coherent he might have missed the shaky tone to her voice, or the fact that she had only offered a partial update. As it was, he began to feel the first stirrings of unease as he went over her words. "You said the girls are sleeping," he repeated slowly, earning a nod of confirmation, his stomach dropping as he noted the growing worry in her gaze.

"You ought to try and get some more rest," she blurted out hurriedly, in an obvious ploy to distract him.

Bard fought to keep his hands still and his face calm, but he was certain something was horribly wrong now. "What of Bain?" Hilda stared at him, looking close to tears, and he snapped. "Hilda, where is my son!" he yelled furiously, feeling the world crash around him as fresh pain burst through his middle. He glanced down idly, watching as red bloomed through the bandages, and he barely caught her answer before the room went dark once again.

"We cannot find him," she whispered despairingly.

When Bard woke again he had only a cold numbness in his chest, and restraints on his wrists, to remind him of the nightmare that he had been so close to convincing himself was just a dream. Sigrid and Tilda were now on the bed beside his, their cheeks streaked with tears even as they slept. He did not realize he had made some sound of distress, but the two woke instantly, and were soon on either side of him as they sobbed in their fresh grief. Slowly the story came out, bit by bit as they fought for a steadying breath.

"He was so angry," Tilda murmured. "When you sent him back, he spent almost an hour just pacing. He wouldn't even talk to us, tell us what was wrong, but we knew."

"It's my fault da," Sigrid moaned disconsolately. "I tried to stop him, I couldn't get him to listen. I couldn't leave Tilda. He ran out of the room, said he was going to protect you. We haven't seen him since..."

"They're still bringing in bodies," Tilda whispered shakily, and Bard felt himself struck again, as if with a dagger to the gut, that his daughters had to bear witness to all this tragedy.

"Shh, it's alright," he tried to sooth them. "You have been so brave my girls." He clasped Tilda in his lap with one hand, raising the other to turn Sigrid's face to his. He gently pressed their foreheads together. "Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. Do not blame yourself for this, darling. I should have taken better care to make sure he would stay, the fault is mine." Tears still slid down her face, but he felt her nod against him, and for now that would have to be enough.

Two more days would pass before they received word of Bain's fate.

Legolas was out on the battlefield, quite prepared to ignore the order that he return promptly to Mirkwood as he continued to aid in carrying in the dead. The elves had already borne their deceased comrades back to the forest, along with their wounded, but the young prince felt that it was not enough. As long as the men and dwarves needed help, he at least would be there to provide it. After that? He did not know if he could bear to return even then. His father was too distant, and it had been grating on his nerves to lock himself away from the world.

He was stepping over yet another warg carcass when he stopped short at the sight of a familiar face. The young son of the bowman, half buried under the dead around him, a sword still thrust through his middle. For the first time since entering the wreckage the elf felt nauseated. This was a mere child! Far too young to be out here, but just old enough to defy his father's orders. Shoving the foul beast out of the way, Legolas gently picked him up, leaving the sword behind. The chance that it may have been holding in his blood had come and gone long ago. In spite of this, Legolas covered the wound, and much of his body besides, with his own green vest. At least then it merely looked as if the boy was sleeping.

Legolas could still remember smiling at the family in apology as they wound their way towards Erebor not three days ago. It was no consolation that the presence of his people had not caused the ending of this young life. He approached the room that he knew housed the men of Laketown with heavy heart, shoulders bowed over his burden.

Bard glanced up when the door to the room opened, feeling surprised at first to see the elven king's son framed by the stone. He was spared no more than a moment to wonder at his presence before he looked down at what Legolas was carrying, and a cry of agony ripped from his mouth, entirely against his will. The elf strode carefully over to him, placing his load down on the bed nearby. At his side, Sigrid and Tilda were frozen in place, shock nearly causing them to fall to the floor. Legolas faced them when Sigrid choked in despair, blue eyes meeting grey across an ocean of tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Not far down the hall, Thorin heaved himself out of bed at the sound of grief that echoed towards them, wincing in pain and swaying until he managed to catch himself on the wall. He had been granted permission to leave the bed not one day ago, and the sudden movement was a solemn reminder of just why he had been confined to it in the first place. Cursing under his breath, he exited the room, waving off the helping hands of his family before making his way slowly down the hall.

An open door close by ended up being his destination, and the sight that greeted him had his eyes closing in sorrowful denial. A surge of emotion hit him, stealing his breath. It could have been his own son lying there so cold and still. Would have been, if not for a certain invaluable hobbit. He hesitantly approached the grieving family, placing a hand on Bard's shoulder as he held his son's head.

The bowman looked up at him sharply, eyes misted with tears, and Thorin felt his voice catch as he struggled to pull forth something meaningful to say. "There are no words I can give, no price... If there is anything you or your people require, you need only ask. Erebor will provide." Bard was left gaping at him in shock as he hand dropped back to his side, and he turned abruptly and made to leave the room.

"Thank you," Bard whispered behind him, before turning back to his family and drawing them close.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: This is the last of the battle aftermath (for the most part). We leave behind the angst for a bit next chapter as a familiar face returns to Erebor with an interesting request.<br>**


	37. Returning a Promise

Kili slumped down against the wall outside Fili's room with a frustrated sigh. Things were not going how he had hoped, despite the effort everyone was putting into helping Fili get past this temporary obstacle. He had been so certain that when his brother learned of the plan they had come up with, he would be happy again, like he was before. Instead he had become like a statue, unresponsive and sullen. He ate and drank, but otherwise did not leave his bed or acknowledge anyone that tried to speak with him.

Groaning, Kili dropped his head into his hands, at a loss as to how to proceed. The plan had been so flawless when Thorin presented it to him. Bofur and Bombur had been summoned, and as soon as they heard the situation Thorin hadn't even needed to explain. The brothers were eager to get to work teaching Fili iglishmek (their sign language), just the way Bifur had taught them long ago. Kili had been included in the lessons, not having learned it before. There had been no real need for him to learn when talking to Bifur, as the dwarf had still spoke khuzdul, but for Fili this would be his only means of communication.

It just would have been easier if he were willing to learn. For reasons Kili could not begin to understand, Fili had stubbornly refused to accept this new harsh truth in his life, and he turned away from everyone who came to visit, staring at the wall or even pretending to sleep until they left. Bofur and Bombur had offered him sad smiles before retreating from the room, remembering well when Bifur had acted similarly.

"Give it time," Bofur had recommended. "He'll come around when he's ready."

"What if he's never ready?" Kili muttered to himself, getting to his feet to head out side. He needed to go out in the fresh air, to feel the wind on his face and see the sun. He was unaccustomed to spending so much time cooped up indoors, and a part of him even missed the journey, recalling it as a simpler time, before everything went wrong.

He was surprised upon leaving the shadow of the great gates to see a horse and rider coming slowly closer. The horse picked its way carefully through the debris that still littered the ground, the rider swaying awkwardly, as if they were having trouble balancing. Kili could not yet tell much more than that it was an elf, and he barely dared to hope when a tendril of reddish hair blew out from under the green hood that sheltered the riders face. Nearer still, and now Kili could see that the rider was female, and he rushed to greet her, a strange heat thrumming through his veins at the thought that she had come back.

The rider looked up at his shouted greeting, her hood flying back to her shoulders as she urged the horse to a faster gait. She was smiling in relief when she drew alongside him, leaning down as she brought the chestnut steed to a gentle halt. She swung off the animals back towards the ground, landing less gracefully then she normally would have, and Kili caught her elbow to steady her. Apart from his initial yell of welcome he had yet to say anything, and the silence quickly became awkward when her cloak slipped to uncover her missing arm. Kili was filled with guilt, while Tauriel felt a sudden rise of uncertainty, wondering if his promise had been genuine, or if he had just said it because she was leaving.

"I.."

"I..."

Flushing, they both stopped abruptly, the words they had been trying to say dying away. "You go first," Kili urged at last, offering a smile of encouragement.

Tauriel reached into her pocket, pulling out the stone she had found in her hand when she became lucid enough to notice her surroundings. She had clutched on to it for dear life at the time, feeling as if it were the only breath of air available to tortured lungs. Now she handed it back to him, eyes shining in gratitude even as they pushed back some remembered pain. "I thought I should bring this back to you," she admitted, letting her other reasons for coming remain unsaid. Still, from the look in his eyes she felt he knew, and she was certain by the racing of her heart that she had made the right choice. Now she just had to convince his people of that fact.

"All this way just to hand me a stone?" he asked, teasing her gently. Her mild wince left him no doubt that while it might have been one reason, it was the smallest one. Something bothered her deeply to allow her to show this level of emotion. "Tauriel? What is it?"

For a moment she hesitated, wondering if there was time for her to rethink this and flee back to Mirkwood. She snorted internally. She was not about to take the cowards way out. She had already told the king in no uncertain terms that she was leaving, he in turn had tried to mask his hurt at losing a near-family member by more or less telling her not to let the door hit her on the way out. The mountain was the only obvious choice left to her, though there were likely to be many who would call her insane for considering it at all. "I need to speak to your uncle," she informed him in a steady voice.

Kili gave her a calculating look, not yet able to figure out what she was planning and starting to feel concerned in spite of himself. He hoped she wasn't about to do something as dangerous as declaring feelings for him to the king. Part of him secretly rejoiced at the thought, but a much larger part cringed upon imagining his uncle's reaction. Nobody needed to know about their closeness just yet, not when they were still figuring that out for themselves. Still, he did not have a legitimate reason to deny her request. "Alright, let's go."

They spent the moments walking back into the mountain in idle chatter, trading progress reports from each of their kingdoms and speaking of various other harmless topics. They shortly reached the room that Thorin was using as an office, and they paused outside the door for a brief second before Kili ushered her inside with a nod.

Thorin glanced up at their entrance, brows raising in silent query. "Nephew," he greeted Kili cordially, waiting for the other to declare his purpose.

Kili cleared his throat, putting on the stoic face that he was expected to use while conducting official business. "Uncle, the lady Tauriel has just arrived from Mirkwood, and she would request an audience with you," he announced politely. He then stepped back, allowing Tauriel the floor space in front of the desk. She in turn held her silence, already being well versed in the manner in which to approach royalty.

For a brief time Thorin was tempted to make her wait, or simply send her away until he felt it more convenient, but he remembered the story he had gotten. How she had lost her arm due to protecting Kili, and it made him see her in a slightly more favorable light. Such light being highly dependent on what she was about to say. "Speak," he ordered, his voice carefully void of any emotion.

"My lord, I would like to apply for a position working as a guard in your halls," she announced without preamble, causing Kili to nearly choke in surprise, and Thorin to actually place his writing aside and stare at her unblinkingly. When she was not immediately faced with a rejection she continued. "I was demoted from my place as captain of the guard, due to..." Here she waved vaguely towards her missing limb, a frustrated scowl crossing her face. "I cannot just sit around and do nothing! Thranduil refused to give me work, so I left, hoping you would not turn away a soldier based simply on a slight disadvantage. There must be something I can do, anything!"

Whether it was her impassioned speech, or the pleading look in Kili's eyes behind her, Thorin felt himself unexpectedly moved by her plight. Here was one who was not about to let circumstance get the best of her. He could respect that. He had seen far too many men who would have given up when presented with such a challenge, and here instead the elven king had decided to waste her talents and hand him a useful soldier without a fight.

"I have just the thing," he informed her, standing up and indicating that they were both to follow as he led them towards the armory. "Have you ever seen a crossbow before?" he asked, feeling a surge of smug satisfaction by her confused denial. "It's really quite something..."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Aww, look at Thorin being all reasonable and everything. Of course, he wouldn't be doing this to rub it in a certain elf kings face in future, no not at all. As for why Tauriel got demoted? I see it like this. Thranduil is so ashamed of his own scars that he hides them with magic, but it is impossible to hide the fact that Tauriel is missing an entire arm, so I think he may be imprinting his own reactions onto her, and assuming she would wish to be left alone. Naturally, once he makes up his mind he is not going to change it, so her anger at his decision only frustrates him and makes him more obstinate. Anyways, next chapter we return at last to Ered Luin to check on the women folk!<br>**


	38. News From the East

Ever so quietly, Mara tucked the twins in the sling she had designed to carry them around, being careful not to jostle them so they would sleep. She smiled as little Sarra's mouth puckered in a frown before her hand sought that of her sister. Shifting a bit, she made sure the two were pressed against each other, and was rewarded with a sigh from Sarra as the lass fell into a deeper sleep. She grabbed a robe, throwing it on over top to keep warm, and stepped into the soft slippers beside her bed.

Feeling much cozier, Mara moved towards the open window, thinking perhaps she had better close it when she caught the scent of snow on the chill air. While it was refreshing, she did not need the hassle of cleaning drifts off the floors, and she was ever concerned for the girls comfort. She was about to draw the shutters, but a flurry of wings caused her to step back from the sill, a startled yelp leaving her lips. Before her sat a beautiful bird, the glossy raven eyeing her with unexpected intelligence.

"Hello there," she said softly, trying not to startle it even as she wondered how she would close the window now. The bird chirped in reply, sticking out a leg, and she only then noticed the scroll of parchment that was tied to it with a piece of leather. How very strange. "Is that a message for me?" she asked, curiously taking a few steps closer. The bird nodded, and Mara's eyes widened at the realization that it seemed to understand her. Then she frowned thoughtfully as she debated how to get the message with her hands full. She didn't want to put down the girls, she had just gotten them settled.

As if sensing her dilemma, the bird hopped on to her shoulder, making a harsh croak that almost sounded like Dis's name. "Good idea," Mara agreed, heading for the other room and not bothering to question how the bird knew who lived there. The whole scenario was rather unreal, so she was just going along with it. She tread slowly, trying not to dislodge her rider, and calling out to alert Dis to their unexpected guest. "Dis, we have a rather strange visitor," she murmured as loudly as she could without waking the sleeping babies.

Dis looked up from the embroidery she had been working on with a smile, though her face went abruptly tense at the sight of Mara's avian passenger. "A raven from Erebor!" she gasped. She jumped to her feet, holding out a hand to the bird imperiously, and swiftly divesting it of its burden. It appeared content to stay on Mara's shoulder, so she sat down across from the chair Dis had been recently occupying, awaiting the news with bated breath.

For several moments Dis read silently, her mouth pursing as she came across certain ambiguous phrases that she recognized as her brother's usual way of downplaying things. By the end however, she felt her face relax, and she collapsed shakily into her seat, tears running down her face. Mara felt her heart drop at the sight, certain that it meant bad news. "What is it?" she cried anxiously, struggling to keep her voice low.

Dis raised her head with a tremulous smile. "They made it," she choked out. "Oh Mahal, they did it!" Her expression was so painfully joyful it was almost too much to behold. "We're going home," she whispered, pressing her lips together hard to suppress a sob.

With a cry of delight Mara leaped to her feet, the raven squawking indignantly and removing itself to perch on the chair. She spared a moment to give it a pat on the head in apology, but she was soon headed towards her room, already planning what she would need to wear to go outside. "We must tell everyone!" she called back, getting a laugh from Dis followed by hearty agreement.

They went first to Lona, gathering her and Gimli up but not yet telling them what was going on. "Can I count on you to gather the townsfolk and meet us at the great hall?" Dis asked Gimli.

He nodded agreeably, heading off to round up some of the younger recruits to aid in his endeavor. Lona meanwhile linked arms with Mara, asking pointed questions as she tried to glean the cause of her friends sudden jubilation. "You'll see," was Mara's only reply, a mysterious smile on her face. They located Aris next, the wife of Bombur hurriedly calling her children to her as she carried her youngest in her arms. Little Aisa smiled up at them, her blond hair plaited in two tiny braids, brown eyes wide at all the attention she was suddenly receiving. Bomfur took his brother in tow, holding tightly to young Bomdur's hand as they joined the growing procession that was wending towards the hall.

Dis was pleased to see several young boys racing around the large space when they arrived, lighting lamps and starting a fire in the hearth under the confident direction of Gimli. The overseer waved to their group, striding over to drag Bomfur away so the two could talk and delegate at the same time. Dis went with them after some prodding, while the other three women took charge of the children, keeping them occupied until everything was set up.

The people grabbed seats quickly, with no concern for station in their eagerness to hear what news their temporary leader had to give. The doors were closed when it was announced that everyone had arrived, and the hall trembled with the little sounds of anticipation, shifting of seats, and a few complaints from confused children that were hurriedly soothed by those nearby.

Dis stepped to the front of the room, Mara at her side, the little ones left in Lona's care. So excited were they that they clasped hands in front of the gathering, and Mara nodded for Dis to make the announcement. "My friends, it is with utmost pleasure that I bring word from Erebor. A raven from the east arrived this morning with the tidings we have all been waiting for. The mountain has been reclaimed! Erebor is ours once more!" Dis fell silent with a proud grin, allowing the people to cheer for several moments before she raised her hands for silence. "I know that some of us are eager to return to the mountain at once, to see long departed family or simply to be in our homeland once more, but as winter is upon us, I have made the decision that we will wait until spring. I have sent a reply to that note already, explaining my plan to those that await us, and I hope that when the first thaw arrives, many of you will join me in heading for Erebor."

A chorus of loud agreement thundered through the cavernous hall, approval for Dis's wise choice far out ruling any disappointment at having to wait. People began to filter out of the hall, talking amongst themselves and making plans in voices full of expectant promise. As they cleared out, Dis made motions for the council men to stay back, and they gathered to her swiftly. A couple of tables were pushed together, allowing for a more intimate set up, and the group gathered round. Congratulations were offered, the council beaming in response to Dis and Mara's happiness.

"I thank you," Dis said regally, inclining her head. "Now, for a spot of business. As I'm sure you are aware, her highness Mara and myself will most assuredly be departing with the caravan in spring. Taking into account that Thorin is not returning here, for obvious reasons, he has asked me to delegate the lordship of these halls to one of you, on the condition of course that you are willing to take on the task." The gathered lords nodded thoughtfully, not yet passing on their opinion. "I understand that many of you were born in Erebor, and some are simply curious enough that you wish to see the place anyways, and I assure you that I do not refuse you that choice. You have until spring to decide if you will be going, but at that time I shall need your decisions. That will be all," she finished.

"My lady, if I may?" one of the elder lords spoke up.

Dis nodded in encouragement. "You have the floor Lord Dolgar."

"Well, you may already know this, but my wife was lost when the mountain fell, leaving me with a mite of a child to raise on my own. My son Dolgin now has his own family here, and we have been content for many years. I do not wish to leave, so, if no one else speaks for it, I would be honored to take the post. I shall likely be staying regardless."

Dis smiled, relieved that she already had a suitable candidate. "You have been a loyal friend to this family for many years Dolgar. If there are no objections you have my full support." The council appeared content with this turn of events, and the matter was settled with all the proper formalities, Dis handing the signed contract to the halls over in place of her brother. Everyone departed for their homes in satisfaction, and with the political weight now off her back, Dis knew they only had one job left. Waiting out the winter.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Good news has reached Ered Luin at last! While the caravan is waiting for winter to pass we will be returning to Erebor for a chapter, and there the company will learn exactly what happened to Bilbo's parents. Expect a fair bit of angst, mingled with some family feels and fluffiness when Bilbo is introduced to Thrain for the first time.<br>**


	39. Digging up the Past

Back in the mountain Bilbo was just stretching contentedly in the bed he had been given when the door burst almost off its hinges, Frerin and Kili racing to get to him first. They crowded to either side of him, grinning expectantly while he struggled to untangle himself from his blankets.

"Good morning dear uncle!" they chorused, ruffling at his hair until he was laughing and wrestling them off the bed. Kili quickly put him in a headlock. "Surrender?" he asked tauntingly, easily overpowering the hobbit.

With a smirk and a wink to the watching Frerin, Bilbo reached back and tickled Kili's unprotected sides, causing him to giggle and release his hold. "Never!" he grinned, dancing out of range and moving to the wardrobe to choose some clothes for the day. "So, what plans do you two have today?" he asked, his voice muffled inside the folds of the shirt he was pulling on.

They waited until he was dressed before tugging him insistently down the hall. "We're gonna play out in the snow!" they informed him happily, missing the sudden look of apprehension on his face.

"Oh, I'd really rather stay indoors," he pleaded, pulling out of their grip when they stopped in surprise. He had never refused to participate in any of their fun before, so at first they figured he was just joking.

"Come on, it'll be fun," they insisted, grabbing him up again and ignoring his protests even as they gained volume and desperation.

As they neared the doors and Bilbo could see the fresh coat of white outside he jerked to a sudden halt, planting his feet determinedly. "I said no!" he screeched, wrenching away and bolting back down the hall. The two were so shocked that by the time they had thought to chase him he had disappeared around the corner, and they knew they wouldn't find him if he didn't wish it.

Exchanging a look, Frerin began to head for his father's room, Kili trailing after him. "I think we should tell Thorin, something is clearly wrong with Bilbo," he muttered, frowning as he tried to guess at the cause of the hobbits uncharacteristic anger.

"Do you think he's sick?" Kili wondered aloud.

"No, that can't be it. He knows if he told us that we wouldn't have forced him outside."

By this time they had reached Thorin's chambers, and after knocking once they let themselves in. The king was at his usual spot, rifling through papers at the desk he had placed next to a roaring hearth. A mug of tea sat next to him, but from the lack of steam it appeared to have been forgotten. Thorin glanced up tiredly, a smile breaking over his face at the sight of them. "Boys, what brings you here this early in the day? I figured you would be outside, taking advantage of the snow."

"That's actually why we're here," Frerin admitted, having taken charge at a nod from Kili. "It's about Bilbo. He refused to come outside with us."

Thorin raised a brow. "That's all? He's perfectly entitled to do other things you know. Perhaps he is getting a cold."

"We considered that," Frerin said worriedly, "but when we asked he actually ran away from us. He looked... afraid. He yelled at us adad."

At his admission Thorin placed the papers aside, now sporting a frown of his own. "That _is_ unusual. I don't recall him ever yelling before," he mused. His face softened as he took in the concern of his son and nephew. "Why don't you two go out. Enjoy yourselves, and don't worry over this for now. I will take care of it."

The two nodded a little reluctantly and left, suddenly feeling that they didn't really want to play anymore after all. As if through unspoken agreement they headed instead for the lower halls, joining some of the work crews who were still clearing debris out of homes. Two hours of sweating and heavy lifting did much to raise their spirits, after which a romp in the fresh powder helped to cool them down again. They were joined by many of the workers, even the older dwarves indulging in a bit of fun as the younger ones organized a snowball fight.

Bilbo felt bad as soon as he had rounded the corner, but he couldn't bring himself to stop running until he had reached his room. Closing the door softly, he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes, burying his head in his knees. He sat there for nearly an hour before a gentle knock on his door drew him to his feet. Bilbo sighed heavily, knowing he would have to apologize to the lads sooner or later, and he was actually grateful that they had given him a little time to compose himself. Scrubbing a hand down his face to wipe away the lingering evidence of his sorrow, he pulled open the door, stepping back in surprise when it was Thorin standing there instead of the two he had been expecting.

"I brought tea," the dwarf said politely, striding into the room when Bilbo smiled. He placed the tray down on a nearby table and helped himself to a steaming cup, groaning in relief as his back sank into one of the plush chairs Bilbo had placed before the fire. Bilbo sat across from him, taking up his own mug and sipping eagerly at the warm liquid. For a few moments they sat in silence, just enjoying each others company, but after a few more gulps Thorin put down his drink and gave Bilbo a meaningful look, noting the redness under his eyes.

"Kili and Frerin came to see me this morning," he admitted calmly. Bilbo flinched, before offering a noncommittal grunt in response. "Bilbo, are you well?" Thorin asked seriously, beginning to worry in spite of the reassurances he had offered the others.

The hobbit stared up at him, placing his own cup down, and Thorin was alarmed by the haunted look in his large eyes. "I..." He took a shuddering breath, before his resolve seemed to break, leaving nothing but resigned desperation. "There's, something you all should know. It is not a story I want to tell more than once however," Bilbo near whispered, his eyes dropping to his feet.

Thorin nodded in apprehensive understanding. It appeared they were at last to be made privy to whatever dark secrets their newest family member was hiding, and though he didn't look forward to it, he was glad the hobbit was willing to confide in them. "We can go to the meeting hall, I'll send a message to the company," he assured Bilbo, offering a hand to pull him to his feet.

They walked side by side to the hall, which wasn't far away, and within a half hour the rest of the company had been summoned from their duties around the mountain and were scattered throughout the cozy space, looking confused. One other joined them, a stranger to Bilbo. Thorin hurried to introduce the two. "Bilbo, this is Thrain, my father," he said with a proud smile.

The elder dwarf eyed him sharply, circling once as if to get his measure. "So, this is the hobbit," he drawled, and Bilbo looked uncertainly to Thorin for some indication of how he was expected to respond, but he was soon sniggering uncontrollably. Behind Thrain his son had been mimicking his actions, and making the most absurd faces, and Bilbo was helpless to keep a straight face, especially when Thrain caught him at it and slapped him upside the head. "Insubordination," he growled, before shaking his head with a smile of his own. "You two really are brothers, welcome to the family little one," he cried, pulling Bilbo into a strong hug that the pleased hobbit returned with force.

Shortly after this Bilbo was sitting in a large chair , surrounded by the company. They had not been told what this meeting was about, but everyone quieted down and offered their friend a quick greeting. Bilbo glanced up at Thorin, who was standing at his side, and the dwarf placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Ready?" the king asked.

"As I'll ever be," the hobbit returned. "First, I should like to apologize for snapping at you two this morning," he said regretfully to Frerin and Kili, but the two waved it off, assuring him it was quite all right, no hard feelings.

"Well then, when I was a boy, I enjoyed the snow as much as anyone here I would imagine. That all changed when I was twenty five. Winter came early that year, and it was obvious from the start that it would be a harsher one than most."

Thorin and Balin nodded. "Aye," the elder agreed. "We remember that one well. Curst frost almost left us starving."

Nodding in sympathy, Bilbo's eyes darkened. "Would that starving had been our only problem," he muttered. "That winter, for the first time in over a hundred years, the Brandywine river froze solid. We didn't know then, but the rangers who protected our borders had been snowed into Rivendell, with no way of getting out. That was when the wolves came. Then the orcs and wargs followed." He paused, fists clenching as several of the faces in his audience paled in dawning horror. "My mother and I, we were the only ones who knew how to fight at all. We tried to evacuate the people, heading for deeper in the Shire, trying to find a safe place away from the burning and killing. We were too late. We got ambushed on the road. I was hit over the head, I think they assumed they had killed me." Here he absentmindedly ran his fingers over a lump on his skull, the long healed injury hidden in his curls.

"Oh laddie," Balin whispered, his face having fallen in despair. Thorin's hand had tightened on his shoulder, and Bilbo grasped onto it like a lifeline.

"I awoke the next day, alone but for the bodies around me. I had never seen so much blood..." He trailed off. His face hardened then. "That's why I charged Azog on the mountain. That filth had taken one family from me already, I wasn't going to stand aside and let them have another. I never knew what hate was until that day." Despite the residual anger, Bilbo appeared most shaken by that admission.

A despondent Bilbo let out a squeak as he was swept up by most of the company. They gathered around him in silent support, and he buried his head in Nori's shoulder, the fellow thief having gotten there first. Many of the dwarves were unsure what to say, they knew they couldn't promise that they would be safe even now, but Nori just gave him a cheeky wink and began leading him out of the room with an arm slung around his shoulder. "Come on, let's get some grub," he suggested.

"Excellent idea!" Bilbo agreed with growing enthusiasm, and the company laughed and followed along to the dining hall.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Well, most angst aside, this part of the story is just about over. There are four chapters left, all of them dedicated to the caravan coming from Ered Luin, up to and including their arrival in Erebor. There will be a few tears, but mostly healing and family feels at the end of this, and a part three is in the works, for we are nowhere near done yet. A certain ring still resides in Erebor, and where such trinkets lie hidden, dark things are sure to follow.<br>**


End file.
