Echoes in Stone - Avidcatperson - The Hobbit (2024)

Chapter 1: 1

Chapter Text

There had been a dwarf in his home for roughly three days before the confounded wizard had shown up with all his grand announcements about adventures.

The Dwarf had shown up in his garden midway through a charming conversation about how Hamfast was keeping his strawberries free from pests. Naturally it had startled Bilbo quite badly to see a stranger poof into existence among his tomato plants. In fact it had startled him so badly that he’d tripped right over his friend and promptly knocked himself out on a wayward flower pot.

Most concerning of all was that Hamfast was quite adamant that there was no one and had been no one in bilbos garden at all.

“Trick of the light Bilbo, happens to the best of us. Now get back into bed and stop fussing, you gave us all a good fright falling into my flower beds like that. Honestly! A dwarf in your garden, Imagine that!”

Of course like any good respectable hobbit he hadn’t mentioned the fact that he could still very clearly see the dwarf stomping all over the garden right at the very moment. Dwarf or no dwarf, the others clearly couldn’t see him and it would do no one any good to insist on it. Especially not when half the shire had just witnessed him take a nasty bump to the head.

Bilbo could only assume this was an early sign of some kind of mental breakdown and resolutely decides that he will simply be ignoreing the issue until it goes away. Like any rational Baggins. His father had always said “ignore a problem and it will go away, and if it persists then we can learn to live with it.”. Ofcourse his mother had always preferred “if you can’t fix a problem then you are the problem” but that was neither here not there. One invisible dwarf was hardly worth making a big fuss about and Bilbo had never enjoyed visiting a healer.

The hallucinations seem to be limited to just that at the very least. A small blessing but one he was grateful for. Bilbo isn’t sure he could ignore a whole company of invisible dwarves, elves and whatever else his mind could conjure up. One is already quite difficult to look past, especially when the dwarf follows him into his house. And especially when the hallucination start talking.

Almost constantly.

It’s really quite distracting to be having his weekly tiff with lobelia while a dwarf prances around his kitchen commenting on anything that catches his interest and talking about himself in the third person. What’s particularly vexing is that the hallucination seems to be talking to only itself and not even remotely interested in trying to speak directly to Bilbo.

Perhaps it is silly assign hobbit rules etiquette to an invisible dwarf but it really is quite rude to ignore someone in their own home even if you aren’t real. Naturally, Bilbo wouldn’t dream of mentioning it. His ignore and move on method had been working quite well and he’s honestly quite used to the background noise after a day or two. It’s almost nice to hear some life in his smile after so long on his own. In fact, he’d nearly been ready to stay this way for life when the wizard had shown up.

Crouched over his pansies, elbow deep in soil, it had been thanks to Frerin (Bilbo had learned his name through listening to the strange lad reprimanding himself for one thing or another) that Bilbo hadn’t gotten the fright of his life a second time when the wizard leaned over him. It would have been quite embarrassing to pass out in the garden twice in a week.

“Ah I knew it would be any moment now! Here comes the Wizad. Wondering up the road like he has all the time in the world and no dwarrow to send on an adventure.”

Adventure. Now Bilbo certainly didn’t like the sound of that. Now had he enjoyed what followed, in this case a conversation that had been immensely frustrating and repetitive. It had started and ended with a firm ‘good morning’ and a meek ‘oh dear’ from Frerin. Bilbo got the distinct impression Gandalf was ignoring most of his responses to this ridiculous sales pitch but he would not allow himself to be swayed! As soon as the man left the mere idea of an adventure was carefully filed far away and that was the end of it.

Or it would have been if it weren’t for the ringing. Loud, impatient ringing coming from his doorbell that was far to impolite for a hobbit (even a sackville-baggins) and quite a bit later than anything Bilbo was used to being interrupted for. His hallucination seems to have a similar idea.

“Oh no. That does not sound like a hobbit ring. That sounds like Gloin…or maybe Bifur? But the hobbit hasn’t even changed his mind yet so why would they…agh that damned wizard!”

The stream of commentary follows Bilbo to the door and every word nails the splinter of dread he’s felt since Gandalf visited deeper than before. The ringing stops just as he comes to a halt in front of the door. Quietly he tells himself that there’s nothing to be so worried about after all it’s probably just Gandalf again.

“If Gandalf is behind that door I’ll eat bofurs hat”

Bilbo has no idea what a bofur is so he simply braces for the worst and pulls open the door in one smooth motion. He’s ready to be quite firm with the wizard by the time it’s fully open except Gandalf, as it turns out, is not behind the door. Not at all. Instead a mountain of a dwarf looms over him. Bilbo tried his best not to squeak but, judging by the derisive scoff he receives, he doesn’t think he manages. Bald, covered in tattoos and weapons enough to arm a small city, this dwarf is a very unusual presence on a hobbit doorstep.

“Dwalin!? We’re starting with Dwalin!? An entire company of choices and Dwalin shows up first. We’ll be bloody lucky if the others even get let into the house at this rate. No! Stop that Frerin! Be positive! Dwalin is soft inside, this could be a good thing!”

Bilbo swallows.

“Dwalin, at your service.”, the dwarf rumbles as he drops into a stiff bow.

“At least he bowed I suppose…that’s a decent start…”

Both look at Bilbo expectantly. Dwalin with a glare that speaks of a large amount of suspicion and only slightly less threat of bodily harm. He startles out of his frozen state with a clumsy imitation of the bow.

“Oh! Um Bilbo Baggins at yours.”

And with that both dwarves, real and not, breeze past him towards the kitchen. Bilbo tries not to be too unnerved that his hallucination knew Dwalin’s name before it was announced.

He doesn’t do a very good job of it and ends up needing to shakily sit down on his doorstep to regain control of his breathing. From inside the house he can hear the usual noise of Frerin reprimanding this unexpected addition to his home.

“Valar wept what are you doing Dwalin!? You have to make a good impression not - oh! No no no no no no put that down that is NOT your dinner you confounded stone brained lump!”

It would almost be funny if it weren’t a sign of some kind of brain damage. A moan of despair echoes up to Bilbo just in time for the doorbell to sound again. He lets it ring twice more before standing to open it. Another dwarf stands in the entrance. Older and only barely less intimidating than the first. This time Bilbo gets to his manners first.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

The old dwarf looks at him appraisingly for a moment before apparently deciding he is greatly amused by Bilbo and dipping into a bow with a chuckle. Bilbo just barely manages to stop his eye twitching at that.

“Balin at yours! I see the others have already begun to arrive?” He gestures to the discarded weaponry and coat Dwalin had unceremoniously dumped by Bilbo’s umbrella stand.

“Ah…yes right through there, Dwalin I believe he said his name was?”

Balin heads where he has been directed with Bilbo trailing behind him still not quite sure what to do with himself but starting to feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

“Dwalin!”

“Balin!”

The hobbit cringes when the two smack their heads together in greeting, hand hovering above his own forehead in sympathy but the two brothers (they do look quite similar once you get past all the hair) seen unbothered by the impact.

“Balin! That’s good tell your fool brother to stop eating the- no! Not you as well! There is only one plate at that table! Can you not count? Are you not an advisor!? Erebor is doomed. This is my fault! I’ve left them to fend for themselves!”

Frerin for his part is throwing a truly spectacular fit in front of the two, not that they can see it. He is making aborted gestures to pull them away from the dinner (which Bilbo appreciates a great deal, successful or not) and as per usual talking mainly to himself.

Whatever numbness Bilbo had been experiencing until now begins to be over taken by the familiar feel of righteous fury at the sight of his father’s teacups being used to drink the ale he’d just filled a jug with but he never gets far with that thought before being interrupted.

The doorbell rings again. He doesn’t move as Frerin dashes past apparently much more interested in the door than his scolding, just stares at the two brothers making a mess of his kitchen table.

“I believe that was the door master Baggins?” prompts the elder.

Internally his monologue of thoughts is screeching Rude! Rude! Rude! Rude!. Externally he managed to nod sharply and turns to march back up the corridors.

“Odd fellah” is muttered behind him but he deliberately ignores the comment. Odd is a description that he is well used to hearing and even more used to ignoring.

This time the door is opened with a scowl. Two young faces beam back at him with mischief written all over them. He briefly conjures up the faces of hordes badly behaved fauntlings in his mind. Certainly not what he needs on top of all this other nonsense.

“Fili! Kili! My favourite boys! Now things can start running smoothly! You’ll win the hobbit over in no time I’m sure!”, announces Frerin.

The hallucination makes a joyful sound as he tries to hug the new arrivals but his hands go right through them with little to no resistance. The newcomers shudder slightly but otherwise don’t react. Bilbo thinks it’ll be deeply unlikely that anyone wins anyone over on this situation.

“Yes?”

The two dwarrow make no move to show that they pick up on the sharpness of his tone.

The dark haired dwarf speaks first, “Are you Mr. Boggins?”

Frerin groans in disappointment.

“I beg of you all to stop making such an awful first impression.”

The blonde gives no room for an answer to his companion’s (who honestly bares a startling resemblance to Bilbo’s local apparition despite the difference in hair tone) rather rude misuse of the name baggins and tugs them both into a quick bow.

“Fili…”

“And Kili!”

“At your service”

Later Bilbo would describe the look in their eyes as maniacal and curse himself for not spotting the threat to his crockery before it was too late.

There ends up being no time to correct the two because they catch a glimpse of Balin exiting the larder (why on earth is he in there!?) and go charging into the house after dropping an alarming combination of sharp pointy things onto Bilbo’s unsuspecting arms. His knees just barely manage to avoid buckling under the weight. The mud left behind by their awful boots is Bilbo’s final straw.

“NO! GET BACK HERE AND TAKE YOUR BOOTS OFF! You! Why are you in my pantry!? No! NOT ON MY MOTHER’S GLOTY BOX! And you! That is my dinner that you-“

He dearly wishes that his shouting had any effect on the intruders but as it is, only Frerin seems to be listening. Which makes sense he supposes, considering he made the dwarf up (a theory he is still clinging to with all the will power he can muster).

“STOP THAT FILI! KILI GET OFF THERE! BALIN! BALIN TAKE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION! WHAT IS THE POINT OF YOU DWALIN!? GET OFF YER ARSE AND HELP THE POOR LITTLE FELLAH!”

The bell rings, cutting sharply through the combined noise of their distress.

“No.”

“I’m afraid so”, mutters Frerin.

“No.”, and he keeps repeating himself all the way to the door which he yanks open to reveal even more bloody dwarves.

“Dori”
“Nori”
“Ori”
“Oin”
“Gloin”

“At your service!”

“Oh mahal that is more of you than I think this little creature can handle at once.”

That is a lot of dwarves. Thank you Frerin for the observation very well spotted. Far more than have any business being anywhere near his peaceful home. In fact he’s starting to experience the tell tale symptoms of one of his shaky episodes that are usually reserved for Yule time when all the family come barging in and disturb his parent’s home.

“Bilbo Baggins.”

Perhaps this is the breakdown he’d been expecting. A terrible nightmare brought upon by his fall. He’d wake up any minute and they’d all be gone and he’d be back to just one invisible and intangible dwarf.

Behind him the existing dwarves cheer.

“Took you long enough to turn up! Come inside!”, that sounds like one of the young ones.

The second last dwarf (Oink? Loin?) frowns, “turnip? stay outside? What in the mahals name are you talking about Fili? Gloin did you hear the cheek of that boy, he just said we should stay outside!”

Bilbo blinks. His ears are ringing.

“No Oin he said come inside.”

They shove past him in a scramble to seek out the others and the weight of their various belongings being dropped into his arms is the only proof he has that any of this is real and not some odd continuation of his previous dwarven hallucination.

The dwarf with an almost bowl cut hairstyle hovers by Bilbo for a moment looking quite concerned by his swaying in the doorway. He seems young, maybe not as young as the brunette from earlier but certainly around the age of the blonde if Bilbo had to guess.

“Are you alright Master Baggins? You look a bit pale…”

How charming! He even got his name right.

“That’s a good lad Ori! At least one of you has the sense to be a polite guest! He is looking a bit pale though…”

“Master Baggins? Please answer…perhaps I should call back Oin, he is a doctor…”

The imagined threat of strange dwarvish remedies startles Bilbo out of his daydreaming in a flash. Clearing his throat he pats the dwarf of his shoulder and urges him into his home.

“Ah! Sorry Master Ori! No, no there’s no need to call anyone back at all! I just wasn’t quite expecting all of this, I’m sure you understand this is rather a lot all at once.”

Despite only knowing from listening to Frerin’s commentary (perhaps not a good plan) Bilbo is a small bit delighted to see the excitement on Ori’s face when he realises his name has been remembered. Bilbo carefully identifies him as his current favourite guest.

“Of course Master Baggins! We would have staggered or arrival if we could have but Master Balin was certain it would rain later on and well… Gandalf hardly gave us enough time to plan and we really are very grateful you let us into your home and even more so that you agreed to help us with the-“

“GANDALF!?”

Ori hesitates, “um yes? You know…the wizard?”

“Gandalf the grey?”

They’re all looking at him with concern now which he finds quite irritating.

The door bell rings. Again.

“I think it’s Gandalf and the urs. Come on Bilbo you’ll like Bombur.”

Frerin is sounding far to happy and far too familiar. He’s right though. It is Gandalf. And “the urs” presumably are the dwarrow accompanying him.

“Gandalf.”, the name carries all the frustration Bilbo can squeeze into his tone, not that the confounded wizard seems to notice.

“Bilbo! I see most of everyone has arrived. Good of you to get them something decent to eat after all the travelling. How are you this evening? Not to overwhelmed? My my, you are looking a little pale…”

Something about the genuine concern in the man’s voice irritates Bilbo more than the obvious pretence that he has no idea what he’s done wrong. Spluttering he tugs the wizard aside with firm orders to the latest dwarves directing to go straight to the dining table and NOT to touch anything. Gandalf peers down at him with an almost pleased look when they do as they are told (-ish, he hears a few things thrown around about his doilies which he knows are supposed to be in the drawer).

“What is the meaning of this!? Who are these rude people? Why on earth are they raiding my pantry? Gandalf never in all my years have I been so thoroughly disturbed mid supper! Explain yourself immediately!”

“Bilbo Baggins! That is no way to greet a guest, unexpected or not.“

“GUEST!? They are no guests of mine! You are no guest of mine!”, his voice is taking on a almost whistle like quality.

“You are making quite a scene.”

“Me? I’m the one making a scene!? I’ll have you kn-“

It actually has gotten rather quiet all of a sudden.

Bilbo pauses what would have been a rather impressive scolding and risks a look towards the crowd around his table. Oh dear… the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. Dwalin and Fili (He thinks?) are glaring at him. Ori looks close to tears while Balin seems resigned to a night out in the cold, almost as if he’d expected something like this to happen but is still disappointed by the outcome. Most of the others (who he is still struggling to remember by the way) seem to be committed to glaring at their dinner.

“Come on Bilbo, please…” Frerin is shuffling awkwardly in the hallway and in the short time Bilbo has been living with his presence this is the only time the strange vision has looked truly unsure. Years down the line Bilbo still won’t be sure why exactly that made him reassess the situation. Why he suddenly became aware of just how tired they all looked behind the endless beards and hair.

“We’ll just head out after our dinner then? No need to bother the wizard about us Mr Boggins”, chirps the youngest, grin still in his face and goodness he really does look just like Frerin isn’t that odd.

Gandalf draws himself up, clearly to loudly protest that suggestion but Bilbo has already made his mind up.

“Ah…no need Kili,” he takes a risk with the name and is rewarded by the smile brightening considerably, “There’s plenty of room for you all and frankly more food than one hobbit knows what to do with.”

Gandalf hums approvingly beside him. Almost as if he thinks he’s off the hook for this disaster.

“Gandalf…”

The wizard barely pauses on his way down the hallway but pause ever so slightly he does. Many many many many years down the line from this exact moment Bilbo would be known as one of three hobbits in history with the ability to scold a wizard effectively. This marks the very start of that particular journey.

“Why exactly are they here? Surely this wouldn’t have anything to do with what you mentioned the other-“

Something odd happens then. There is a knock at his door, which in itself is abnormal because he has a perfectly functioning doorbell, and the entire room sort of…stands to attention. Even Gandalf seems to settle in to a much more professional demeanour.

Bilbo is ashamed to say the dwarf who faces him when he opens his lovely green door for the last time that night doesn’t make a hugely memorable first impression. He will recall later that the dwarf looks much more normal to him by hobbit standards than the other (barring Kili). He might mention at some point that this new dwarf takes rudeness to a truly impressive new level. A grocer? Really? A burgler!? This is his own home thank you very much. At a push he might even think it worth mentioning how ridiculous it is that anyone might complain about getting lost on this side of the shire. There is only one real road for goodness sakes and it’s practically straight!

However before any of that, Bilbo finds that Frerin sticks out to him in the midst of all the tension. He relaxes completely, like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and smiles (loose and happy and almost proud).

“Thorin. Lost again were you?”

Ofcourse nobody else here’s how warm and gently concerned but still teasing Frerin sounds, but Bilbo does and for whatever reason that is enough to carry him through the rest of the night. Even with all that horrible business with his plates, cutlery and teacups.

Up until the dragon that is. Or well the mention of the dragon. And the treasure (because apparently that is supposed to make him WANT to waltz into a certain death by fire). And more talk of treasure. And quite a lot of talk about the dragon, thank you bofur. At that point not even the gentlest most tender tones could have kept him from keeling over. The last thing Bilbo remembers clearly thinking is that he might be about to make a very foolish decision.

He dreams of singing, deep and rumbling. Two voices, one far lonelier than the other but both longing for a home that was taken from them.

Chapter 2: 2

Chapter Text

Baggend is quiet when he wakes the next morning. His head, surprisingly bump free, throbs in protest when he braves squinting into the morning sun streaming through his window. The pain behind his eyes would typically indicate a night of heavy drinking and probably a lot of dancing but if his memory is to be trusted there had been no drinking the night before. At least not by him and not enough to illicit these sort of side effects. And most definitely no dancing.

Blinking, and trying not to knock anything important over, Bilbo stumbles out of his room to deal with whatever the dwarves will throw at him this morning. Except…there are no dwarves. The house is spick and span, not a trace of muddy boots anywhere in sight, and almost uncomfortably empty.

Swallowing a concern that he had in fact just had a breakdown and imagined the whole thing, he goes to check the pantry. Surely there would at least be proof of his guests in there. Even on the rare occasion that he had gotten black out drunk as a youngster Bilbo would not have managed to eat all that food by himself. By his estimates his pantry should be down to at least fifty percent of its usual capacity if the dwarves visit were real.

In the end he doesn’t make it to his pantry. He gets halfway to the kitchen before a subtle but jolly whistling reaches his ears. It’s coming from the living room and when he follows the noise he finds the now familiar figure of Frerin perched on his coffee table, swinging his feet and tapping out a tune with his fingers on the hard wood. His hair is practically spun from gold in this lighting and Bilbo can’t help but imagine (slightly sheepishly) what a sight it would be to see him beside Thorin with all his dark and silver colouring. It had struck him last night that the two had a soft sort of similarity in their features. A kind of wild and slightly unkept handsomeness. Bilbo brushes the thought away as soon as it occurs to him.

Beside Frerin is the first real proof of yesterday’s activities. The contract, penned in thick angular writing and aimed to one burglar, sits unsigned by Frerin’s hand. Bilbo reaches for it.

“The hobbit awakens! And just in time for a dramatic appearance!”

As usual he avoids any reaction to the dwarf’s commentary. Even if he is considering this ridiculous adventure, being seen reacting to empty air is hardly a good idea. He skims the contract lazily not really reading it very carefully. After all, he hasn’t forgotten that there is a dragon at the end of all this and no amount of carefully worded clauses will help him with that.

“Ugh more contract reading! Gandalf really should have mentioned that it’s only real purpose is to give Balin and Thorin some peace of mind. Sentimental old fools, after all these years you would think that they would know that a contract means very little to someone with bad intentions. Not that out lovely future burglar would have bad intentions! Awful thing to imply.”

The ink is barely dry when Bilbo goes racing out the door, excitable dwarf at his heels and a hastily packed bag on his shoulders. He nearly knocks his gardener right over in his rush to get to town in time.

“Bilbo!? Where on earth are you going in such a rush? It’s barely past first breakfast!”

“On an adventure Hamfast! Keep my relatives out of my silver please! I’ll be quite furious if I come back and find my home raided.”

Frerin whistles.

“Oho yes! That’s the hobbit I expected! Although I really do think you’ll be needing a nice pair of boots for this…”

Bilbo ignores him to run faster. Boots. What a ridiculous notion he thinks as he takes a sharp corner and finally catches a glimpse of a large pointy hat bobbing in the distance.

The look on Gandalf’s face when they hear him screeching to “Wait! Gandalf Wait! Don’t leave without me!” is horribly smug but overshadowed by the various shades of disbelief on everyone (including a few early risen hobbits) else’s faces.

“Haha! Look at Fili, not so sure of our hobbit’s bad character now are you little one? Oh! And Dwalin don’t look so surprised. Thorin! Stop your scowling it doesn’t do you any favours, if any of you could hear me I’d be screaming I told you so right this moment.”

Bilbo barely has the breath to gasp out any protests about the decision to ride on ponies before they’re all well on their way out of town.

They are miles away when Bilbo realises his handkerchief is missing from his pocket. One small start to many other unfortunate incidents he’s certain he’ll encounter along the road. He’s not sure why he even tells Gandalf, possibly he’s hoping that the wizard might have one tucked away somewhere.

Of course he doesn’t. Gandalf rarely has anything on his person that hobbit might consider convenient or useful (apart from good pipe weed). The dismissive scoff that his question draws from the front stings even if he can’t place who it came from (He strongly suspects Dwalin).

Embarrassed to be caught complaining so early into the journey, he resolves to say nothing even slightly critical for a few days at least. It’s already clear that they consider him (rightfully so, he’s well aware he’s not providing much in the way of protection) to be their weakest link and he has no desire to draw more attention to that.

It takes a few long cold evenings in the wild for Bilbo to realise a much larger issue with his current social standing with the company. Boredom is fatal. Travelling (once he gets over the fear of falling off his pony) quickly loses its novelty. Green hills and small scattered settlements become repetitive rather than exciting. After a few days the constant chatter from the company shifts away from overwhelming and threatens to leave him feeling lonely in a way he’d forgotten how to experience. People watching starts to feel a lot like envy.

Gandalf, when he’s around, rides up front with Thorin and Dwalin. Even when they stop to rest he’s usually too preoccupied with staring contemplatively off into the distance to give Bilbo any real attention. Luckily for the hobbit he is at least happy to let Bilbo set his sleeping roll up next to him even if he doesn’t seem too keen on engaging in conversation these days. Bilbo doesn’t like to think about what he’ll do if Gandalf isn’t around at night.

Balin alternates between sticking near the three at the front and falling behind to chat with Gloin (Bilbo is getting quite good with all their names now that he’s had some time to commit them to memory) and occasionally Oin when he’s feeling particularly patient. Bilbo has a tentative sort of truce with the older dwarf that includes occasionally sharing a reading spot if they pause for lunch but it’s hardly the beginnings of a proper friendship.

The “Ri” brothers tend talk amongst themselves which, despite Gandalf’s encouragement, means that no matter how many times Ori casts curious and tentative smiles his way Bilbo is quite put off trying to approach him. He had tried, once at the very start, to get closer with the intention of thanking the young dwarf for his concern when they first met but had been firmly intercepted and sent scurrying away by a disapproving Dori. He doesn’t think any of his companions would get truly angry for pushing at the boundary between them and him but… he also doesn’t know that they wouldn’t.

Bombur and Bifur tend to be a little too close to the front for Bilbo to casually ride beside them without a dirty look from Thorin “he looks like a grocer” and Dwalin “get out of my way puny hobbit or I will crush you between my large fists” (Dwalin never said that obviously but Bilbo can read a room well enough to know when someone wants him far away). Anyway Bifur can’t speak a lick of any tongue Bilbo has a basic skill in so there’s not much point. Bofur is promising but he likes to stick around the other two and…well frankly Bilbo isn’t quite ready for the attention any conversation with Bofur tends to attract no matter how charming he finds him.

Fili and Kili are complicated. They don’t really stick to any one spot in the general order, even going as far to trot behind Bilbo on occasion and cause their uncle a great deal of stress by being completely out of his sight. However, while Kili seems ready to jump at any chance to pester Bilbo with millions of questions, Fili is older, slower to trust and much less likely to question Thorin’s (frankly irritating) mistrust of… well everyone and anyone who isn’t a dwarf. Where Fili goes Kili follows (for the most part) so Bilbo isn’t holding a huge hope for that interaction.

Throughout this internal struggle Frerin is a gift. Regardless of wether the hallucination (Bilbo really isn’t keen to stray into the paranormal conversation just yet) knows that Bilbo can hear he keeps up a steady stream of witty and thoughtful commentary. It’s perhaps depressing but Bilbo can’t help but think of him as his only friend out here in the world outside his shire. He decides that the fact that no one else can see or hear him doesn’t matter unless Bilbo does something foolish like answer back. He’s taken to riding on the back of Bilbo’s pony too so the hobbit doesn’t even have to make an effort to stay close enough to hear all the things he says.

“Books perhaps? Ori likes books. I would put good money in him being curious about hobbit customs too so that would be a good kindling for a conversation. Hmm Dori presents a problem. Much too protective, Ori would have to be the one to aproach Bilbo…but he’s too shy for that. Unless….Oh! Cooking! Yes that’s good, Bombur likes cooking! And he’s easy to approach. Unless…hmm actually I suppose maybe to a hobbit he looks intimidating…”

Currently he seems to be having the same thoughts Bilbo has been having and coming to all the same realisations.

“Here comes Kili again. Hmm and Fili is staying up there to speak with Thorin and the mountain that learned to talk.”

Bilbo is desperately curious to know what exactly Dwalin had done to deserve this kind a scathing commentary. His current favourite had been “smoothest pebble in the river” but this latest moniker was also good.

Frerin is right though, Kili is pulling away from front alone and slowing his pony down to fall behind the other. He has his eyes set determinedly on Bilbo.

“I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep away for long. The lad is chronically friendly. Greetings to my beloved nephew, it is a good sign for the future that at least one of you has the rare and sought after ability to pull your head out of your a-“

“Mister Boggins! How are you?”

Bilbo blinks. He’d honestly expected a little more pretence.

“It’s Baggins, Master Kili. I’m certain you know this.”

The lads eyes twinkle, comforting that he does intact know this.

“I don’t know what you mean? That’s exactly what I said! And none of that ‘master Kili’ rubbish please. Plain and simple ‘Kili’ will do just fine! Just like you called me in your home. ‘Better looking son of Vili” if you must.”

“Ofcourse my mistake, how could the ‘better looking son of Vili’ get my name wrong! After all if I, a humble hobbit, can remember all of the names that were thrown at me surely such a high standing dwarf such as yourself would remember the single name given to you.”, he raises an eyebrow to drive his point home.

“You tell him Bilbo! Don’t let these fools think they can walk over you just because you are little and barefoot.”

Frerin remains obsessed with the lack of footwear a hobbit requires. Point made, Bilbo extends an olive branch to save Kili from trying to justify his teasing. It’s not as though it had done any real harm after all.

“If I am to call you Kili then I think it’s only fair you call me Bilbo. Don’t you think?”

“Yes! Great plan Bilbo. Let’s both use first names, as friends should, from now on!”

Kili is loud in his excitement, laughing as he reaches over to give Bilbo a hefty slap on the shoulder. Ahead, Bofur and Ori are both casting slightly envious looks back at them. Clearly Bilbo’s quest for friendship isn’t as futile as he thought.

“We are friends of course.”

It sounds like a statement but Bilbo spies the way Kili glances quickly at him t9 gauge his reaction. He grins.

“Naturally. Nothing like travelling on the road together to forge a friendship!”

“Forge a friendship… now that’s a phrase a dwarf can get behind. Tell me Bilbo,” he really seems extraordinarily pleased by the offer of a first name, “how should we say that in a more halfling type way?”

And there is that unfortunate word again.

“Hobbit, Kili, I’m a hobbit. I suppose you might say we have a budding friendship, or that it’s growing roots. Maybe blooming…but that tends to have more…er… romantic connotations.”

“Blooming! That’s brilliant. I’ll be telling Fili all about his blooming feelings for-“

“KILI!”

He freezes, exchanging a terrified look with Bilbo. Apparently whatever his brother had been discussing was dealt with by now. The blonde is twisted right around on his pony practically fuming.

“He’s going to give Fili grey hairs. I suppose that’s the duty of any younger brother.”

Bilbo risks a look at Frerin. His face is twisted into a wistful expression as he watches Kili trot up to his brother to plead for forgiveness. Despite his supposed anger Fili’s scowl melts immediately into an exasperated but fond eye roll. Up at the front Thorin is wearing an identical expression to Frerin. Suddenly the whole scene feels like something Bilbo is intruding on.

Gaze turned away, he commits to focusing on his riding and hunger. He’s not quite used to the new diet he is expected to follow but hasn’t bothered to say anything just yet. It just a bit of stomach grumbling and they should be stopping to set up camp soon anyway.

He’s proven right a short while later when they pull off the main path and into a sheltered corner where the rain that has been threatening to fall all day hopefully won’t bother them while they sleep.

As usual Bilbo hovers around the edges of the camp while the dwarves bustles back and forth from the ponies. He would try help but he doesn’t feel confident getting involved without clear instruction. Not that he couldn’t provide some useful direction himself. After all they were still surrounded by fauna and flora he recognised and Balin is making a very interesting choice for his bed.

He gently taps Dwalin’s arm (goodness gracious it’s like a tree trunk) as the warrior goes past. Smiling as sweetly as he can he ignores the glare he receives. He’s honestly starting to think that that may just be what Dwalin looks like.

“Pardon me but are you sure you should be setting up your sleeping roles there?”

He doesn’t want to assume, for all he knows this is one of the dwarf things that he can’t understand. Dwalin gives him a bemused look.

“That is a patch of nettles after all?”

Deeper confusion.

“Stinging nettle? It’ll give you a terrible rash. Or at least it would give a hobbit a terrible rash…”

Dwalin grunts and stomps off.

“I think that was supposed to be a thankyou but who am I to interpret the boulder that dared to dream.”

Bilbo does not startle when Frerin apears beside him but it’s a near thing. Instead he watches as Dwalin relays the information about the stinging nettle. Balin looks back at Bilbo almost startled by the idea that the he could be useful, which is a blow to his pride, but moves his kit anyway.

“And now the lump will touch the plant he has just been told is poisonous”

Sure enough, just as Frerin predicted, Dwalin sticks hand right into the nettles before jerking back as (just like Bilbo said) he gets stung. Bilbo muffled his snort as best he can.

“What’s truly impressive is that despite all the odds and years of head injuries he’s not actually that foolish. He’s just genuinely so suspicious he decided the risk was worth it. My brother would do the same although Thorin would probably do something ridiculous like lick it.“

That would mark the seventh time in so many days that he’s heard Frerin directly refer to their leader as brother. The picture of what’s really happening here becomes clearer each time to the point where Bilbo can’t deny the evidence any longer. It appears that (despite his best efforts to find another explanation) he is dealing with a ghost. He knew Kili and Frerin looked to similar to be a coincidence.

Now he just need a good moment to bring it up without outing himself as a lunatic infiring if the others.

“Master Baggins! I’ve been looking for you.”

It’s Bofur. Clearly the idea of being beaten in extrovertedness by Kili was too much to let slide. Still, with Gandalf off doing gods knows what and Kili occupied with causing mischief with his brother, Bilbo needs something to keep him from making a rash decision like confronting his ghost in the middle of camp. No that wouldn’t be good at all, so instead he doesn’t mention that Bofur has been staring his way since they got to camp and let’s himself be drawn into a conversation that has him snickering into his hand and avoiding teasing elbows.

Chapter 3: 3

Chapter Text

3

Bilbo had meant to say something about his realisation he really really had. He just wasn’t really sure how to A) get Frerin away from everyone in order to do so and B) what on earth to even say to begin with. On top of that it seemed like the universe was conspiring against him and his efforts to clear up any miscommunication. He really wanted to get it done before the ghost revealed something truly private to Bilbo without meaning to.

“-and anyways I said to him, I said to him don’t you know that a-“

Case en point. Bofur had decided they would be riding as a pair from now on. It was lovely. Really it was and in any other situation Bilbo would be incredibly pleased by it but it’s been three days now and he had been counting on being able to whisper at the back without drawing too much attention. That plan was out the window as long as Bofur stuck around.

“And everyone knows that a fellah with a good hat is-“

He had to admit the dwarf was a natural storyteller. Bilbo hadn’t been this entertained in weeks (possible even years). Frerin is roaring with laughter behind him, clearly paying much more attention to the story than Bilbo.

“At least that’s what the lovely Dwarrowdam who I met in-“

Honestly! If Bilbo had told himself three days ago that he’d be struggling to get rid of a dwarf’s company he’d have scoffed in his own face. Still the company was nice and despite Bofur’s slightly vulgar sense of humour (Bilbo’s father would have died from a heart attack three stories ago) he met Bilbo’s more sarcastic wit with an easy going back and forth that reminded Bilbo of his favourite cousin on the took side.

“Master Baggins? Are you with us Master Baggins?”

Oops.

“Ah yes sorry Bofur, just got lost in thought. And please, Bilbo will suffice just fine as I’ve told you before.”

“You sure? I was calling you for ages! Do you need another handkerchief?”

He grimaces remembering the rough and stained piece of fabric he’d had thrown at him the first time around. It was buried at the bottom of the pack (he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away even if it had been given to him in jest).

“No thank you, I’m quite alright.”

He’s saved from any more mud caked ‘handkerchiefs’ by some upset at the front of their little parade.

“Oh wonderful. the wizard and my brother are having a tiff again.”

Again is the key word. Whatever they are arguing about has been an ongoing on and off issue since the early hours of the morning. This time even Fili seems to be getting involved, although he’s not really contributing past nodding seriously or frowning. From this angle it almost seems to Bilbo like the Prince could be on Gandalf’s side if he weren’t so used to siding firmly with Thorin.

Eventually he speaks and whatever he says has his uncle scowling (wether in irritation or consideration remains to be seen). Kili steps on then and seems to push the point in the wrong way because he gets rounded on and snapped at by all three and pulls away from the group with a sour face that revivals his uncle.

“My money is on Gandalf wanting us to visit the elves nearby, Thorin disagreeing loudly and Fili not sure where to land but unwilling to argue with my brother, Then hmm…Kili plays devils advocate? Lad’s always had an odd fondness for the grass loving prancy creatures. Maybe a rude comment that pushes us onto the elvish path? I doubt that went down the way he’d hoped…”

Bilbo has to agree with the ghost’s assumption. Sensing hurt feelings that should be swiftly dealt with, he waves Kili over who grumbles but obeys the call anyway. Since their initial conversation he has found Kili to be surprisingly obliging to his requests.

Bilbo also nudges Bofur to move back to his usual travel companions and thankfully this time the miner makes no protest, trotting on with a knowing grin. He wears that expression more than he has any business to.

Bilbo had spent too many years fauntsitting to allow the mix of hurt and indignant thoughts to fester (being the only trustworthy single in a family gets you ALOT of fauntsitting time). Best to nip this in the bud before it eventually built into some sort of family shouting match.

“Everything alright up there?”

Kili huffs but adopts a self depreciating smile. Frerin makes a sympathetic but wordless noise in response to the expression that Bilbo suspects stems from a time where he’d been in the same position.

“Yup, just a bit of disagreement over the next camping stop. Nothing for you to stress over. Should have just stayed out of it really, Dunno what I expected.”

Bilbo hums and gestures to the front.

“I think you expected them to stop their squabbling? Which, although most people would prefer not to be caught in the cross fires, you seem to have managed.”

It’s true. While the energy of the trio us hardly jolly they aren’t bickering anymore. Gandalf has dropped back to converse with Dori while Thorin and Fili (who keeps glancing back at Gandalf like he expects the wizard to curse him) chat in low murmurs. Kili beams at the sight.

“Crossfires? I wouldn’t call that crossfire! You should see Fili when he’s in a proper mood, he takes after our mother. She could glare the fur off a bear! I’ll admit it’s rare I can squeeze anything that snappy out of Uncle though…he’s usually more ‘you’re young and foolish Kili. Go to bed’ and grumpy frowning. I’ll tell you a secret but you must take it to the grave, ok? Amad says he actually hates arguing.”

Kili has, unbeknownst to him, scrambled Bilbo’s whole world in one sentence. He had rationally known that Thorin’s perpetual bad mood couldn’t just be about being around ‘strangers’ but… Frerin laughs.

“True enough, Kili. It’s terrible honestly. My poor brother argues, which puts him in a foul mood because he hates it, which then makes him prone to snapping and arguing more. A cruel but fascinating cycle. One wonders what mahal was thinking making such an introverted heir to the throne. Worse out here of course, back home Dis at least knows to smack him out of it.”

Interesting. Something Bilbo will have to think deeply on later. For now though, he can’t let Kili go on like this if the lad truly wants to play this role again. At this rate he’ll get an axe to the head and Bilbo would have to live with the guilt of knowing that he might have stopped it.

“Can I ask what exactly you said to upset all three of them?”

“Um…that at least we could make a mess of their poncy tree houses while we were there….”, his cheeks are flaming now that he has to repeat himself outside of the moment.

“Is that all?”

“I uh, may have said something about tree shaggers I dunno”

“GOOD BOY KILI!”

No Frerin. Not ‘good boy Kili’, try ‘diplomatic nightmare Kili’ and ‘you have started a war Kili’.

“I see… was that really the best way to go about it?”

Kili is properly flushed now. Spluttering excusing and protests.

“Ah Ah. Just listen. If you say that then Gandalf, who you must know is very fond of elves, will feel offended on their behalf and your uncle , who you must know is not very fond of elves, well…”, he pauses to shoot both of them a scathing look.

Honestly! He can’t believe they ever had the audacity look down on his early complaining. At least he can react with tact and sense when to give his companions a break. A skill that is apparently too much to expect from a great wizard and dwarrow royalty.

“Your brother won’t know what to do at all because you’ve not really given him a way to join your side, so instead he gets irritated that you’ve put yourself in the way of their anger. I imagine that he’d much rather that they shout at him than you.”

His audience is silent, both of them thinking hard on what he’s just laid out. Kili’s brow is furrowed deeply in concentration.

“But Bilbo, then what am I supposed to do. I don’t want Fili to get shouted at either. He’s very nervous about Gandalf even if he doesn’t show it. At least if they shout at me I can just make them laugh later and they’ll forget about it. Fili’s crown prince, it doesn’t do anyone any good to see him being scolded like a child.”

Bilbo doesn’t have any brothers or sisters but he will always be fascinated by the way they circle around each other trying to to help but often causing more trouble in the attempt.

“You have to set it up so that they would both look like fools to scold either you.”

The dwarf scoffs, “Easy as that.”

“Yes, easy as that, actually. You say something like, ‘I bet elvish hospitality has nothing on ours’. That gives Thorin a chance to agree with you and Fili a chance to start moving towards your defence and it’s a fairly harmless comment that won’t hurt Gandalf none. Then you can IMPLY how irritated you could make the elves by using them as a stock point. Fili can take it from there I’m sure.“

Kili is looking at him like someone seeing Gandalf’s fireworks for the first time.

“How do I know Fili will be on my side if we haven’t talked about it first?”

“You don’t. That is the fun part about negotiating, he might disagree but you have the satisfaction of a nicely setup conversation that is unlikely to backfire in a bad way. I doubt he would though. From what I’ve seen you could insist we turn around tomorrow and he would follow. In a terrible mood probably and maybe after a day or two but I’m certain he would follow.”

“Really?”, he sounds sceptical which won’t do.

“Tell me something, you don’t seem to be as enamoured by gold and jewels as some of our other companions? You barely have anything in your hair.”

Blinking at the subject whiplash, he takes a moment longer than expected to gather his thoughts in order. The question seems to reach deeper than Bilbo anticipated.

“I like them… I think all dwarves at least like things that come from rock but I dunno. I’m more of a stone and fossilised bark type of person, copper if I must include something shiny. Fili likes to think it has do to with whoever my…ugh but never mind that he believes any old myth. If you ask me, we never grew up surrounded by all the overflowing riches that people talk about and so we never grew to value it that much. I like moonstone though! That’s the one in my bead.”

He tilts his head to let the single braid slip over his shoulder and show how the stone reflects the sunlight. Bilbo hums appreciatively and bites back all his burning questions about beads and what they mean. No good getting distracted now.

“And your kingdom? Erebor?”

Kili shrugs.

“I’m sure it’s going to be amazing. I hope having their home back will heal some of the hurts that everyone has gathered over the years. It’ll be odd leaving behind our old home of course but…”

He shrugs again.

“So you aren’t on this quest for riches and you think you will miss your home when you get the mountain back. If I had to guess I would say that you are here for the simple reason that your brother wanted to be here.”

“Keen eye, burglar.” Frerin whistles.

Kili startles, apparently shaken by the accurate read into his motivations. His mouth opens and closes a few times but no sound comes out.

“I’m not saying your any less dedicated to this than any the rest of the company. I’m just saying it’s odd that you think Fili doesn’t value you in the same way. And anyway you wouldn’t be the only person here with that sort of motivation.”

“I’m not?”

Bilbo lowers his voice and motions for Kili to lean in.

“Ori, Dori and Nori are complicated. Don’t you think so?”

This was of course an immense understatement. Bilbo had never seen a lack of communication quite as impressive as whatever Dori and Nori had going on. He could only hope that Ori would eventually lose his temper and smack some sense into them.

Dori, he privately thinks, would get along famously with Lobelia if given the chance and if the thought makes him slightly homesick…well no one needs to know.

“I even have my doubts about Dwalin but don’t you dare mention it to him! He’d have me dangling by my ankles for the insult.”

This draws a purely disgusted noise from Frerin, “oh yes I think we all have our doubts about Dwalin.”

Understanding dawns in Kili’s eyes. He takes a moment to stare at the ri’s in a new light. Gaze flickering quickly between Nori (who is pushing a ‘borrowed’ handkerchief into Dori’s hand with a condescending sneer), Ori (glancing to check that Bilbo hadn’t seen the exchange) and Dori (tearing into Nori about the risks of being caught stealing but making no move to hand the handkerchief back). His mouth forms a silent oh.

As Bilbo suspected he had potential to be a great mediator if only he’d learn to be faster with his observations and smarter with his actions.

“You’re really good at this.”, awe was not a tone Bilbo was used to hearing from anyone in the company but he had to admit is was a nice change of pace. He could, however, do without the undercurrent of disbelief.

“Kili… you realise I am not actually a burglar. A gentlehobbit needs be good at a number of surprising skills. You can’t imagine what organising dinners with both Baggins and Tooks present is like. The seating arrangement alone is the thing of nightmares. You don’t even want to think about how the occasional Brandybuck would fit in. If there’s one lesson you should take with you till the very end, NEVER agree to host Yule I’m your home if you can help it.”

Kili nods seriously. He obviously has no idea what a took or baggins or bramdybuck really means but Bilbo is pleased to hear Frerin snickering behind him. Probably remembering a few encounters he’d witnessed in the days leading up to Gandalf’s initial visit.

“I’ll remember that! No Yule! Although…I don’t know that we really celebrate that at all. It’s a very…elvish…sort of celebration.”

“Elvish? If you think that is elvish I’m afraid you should stay far far away from the shire around the harvest season. I don’t think your gentle dwarven manners could take it.”

Kili squints, deciding wether to rally against the teasing or pick fun at the hobbit tradition. Considering his new friend for a moment he then glances around dramatically before adopting a terrible stage whisper. (Bilbo had realised early on that whispering was not a skill his companions had mastered)

“You don’t frolic naked under the stars, do you? Should we be worried about seeing a pasty hairless bum disappearing into the woods?”

Somewhere in front of them, Bombur makes a startled noise and looks to his cousin and brother in alarm. Bofur just chuckles and shakes his head, hat flapping with the movement. Apparently they have keener hearing than Bilbo had realised and have been putting it to use.

“We do not ‘frolic’ thank you very much! We dance. It’s all very respectable and any nakedness is usually restricted to peoples homes and bedrooms as it should be!”

He smacks Kili lightly to reprimand his cheekiness before deciding to have his own fun, pleased at the direction the conversation is taking. Scandalising nosy neighbours is a secret passion of his, after all if people where going to eaves drop then…

“…although there was that one time in the pear orchard…Ah! Actually no I promised I wouldn’t speak of it…”

Bifur falls right off his pony with a scandalised shout (yelp) of something in kuzdul. Poor Bombur nearly goes down too while trying to catch him before he hits the ground.

Bofur and Kili break out into peals of laughter. The noise has almost (Thorin and Dori are resolutely pretending not to have heard a thing) the entire company turning around in their saddles to see what all the fuss is about. Unsurprisingly the promise of mischief has Fili drawing close to try find out the source of all the chaos.

It takes a good while for everyone to settle down again and even when they do Bilbo still catches a rosy cheeked and curious glance from Ori. It would be unfortunate for dear cousin Fortinbras if this was the piece that finally makes the scribe too curious to stay away. He had of course promised not to speak of the incident but in the name of knowledge, who was he to deny a student of history.

Naturally the story was nowhere near as scandalous as the dwarrow were assuming. At least not in the way they were assuming. Bilbo still maintained that cutting him out of his pants was the only way they could have gotten Fortinbras free from that thorn bush. His cousins underwear had been an unfortunate casualty.

The hours pass easily as Bilbo listens to the two princes chat and tease each other, accompanied of course by Frerin’s usual running commentary. It’s peaceful despite the light bickering and he finds himself being lulled into a nice dozy state that he usually associated with his armchair.

It almost seems like they’ll last till the next morning without another incident when Gandalf lets out an aggravated shout and storms away muttering about dwarves and sensible company. It seems as though neither he nor Thorin had been able to let the matter rest.

“Gandalf!? Is. Is he really leaving? Will he come back?”, the wizard is showing no signs of stopping or even turning back.

Bilbo receives no answer for those left behind as they all stare at the Wizards retreating form in confusion. In the end it’s Thorin who breaks the silence even if he doesn’t answer Bilbo’s panicked questions.

“Fili, Kili, watch the ponies. The rest of you, we will set up camp here for today and set off early tomorrow with or without a wizard to accompany us.”

He’s still as tense as he usually is but now Bilbo can see how he relaxes with every step that Gandalf takes away from them.

Huh.

Who would have thought. They hadn’t been joking after all. It would appear that Thorin Oakenshield does in fact hate arguments despite how often he seems to start them. It’s ever so slightly endearing.

Chapter 4: 4

Chapter Text

They’re plating up the final meal of the day (the third of three meals. Bilbo is so hungry. He’d forgotten what hunger was like.) when Bilbo comes to terms with the fact that at least for tonight Gandalf won’t be coming back. It’s the scenario he’d been dreading since day one.

If Gandalf isn’t around at night then where is he to sleep? His best option was Kili and Fili but he dare not test Thorin’s patience by getting that close to his family during sleeping times no matter how warm their designated spot by the fire was.

There was always Bofur he supposed. Both Bombur and Bifur seemed to accept his presence around their family member with only mild confusion which was leagues more promising than the others. Perhaps if he could look miserable enough they wouldn’t be opposed to him placing his bed roll a little closer than usual…

He turns to Bofur to lose the question only to have two bowls of stew pressed into his hands. His stomach cramps, he was going to have to start foraging for snacks if this was going to continue.

“Here take those to the lads won’t you? They’re over by the ponies and I’m sure they’d appreciate their dinner while it’s hot.”

Bilbo nods, standing carefully with the bowls. He’ll ask later when he’s back and everyone’s mood has been softened up by their dinner.

Frerin saunters beside him as he makes his way to where he remembers seeing the ponies last. The ghost is whistling as he often does, this time a low melancholic tune that sets the evening mood to a almost mournful feeling.

Bilbo focuses on not spilling the contents of the bowls as he listens to the whistling and tries to imagine what the ever secret Khuzdul might sound being sung to the tune.

“That is a guilty face if I’ve ever seen one…”, Frerin interrupts his music with that dry observation.

Looking up from the bowls Bilbo finds he agrees. Fili and Kili are leaned into each other muttering and gestures vaguely. Both are frowning intently but Kili seems to be trying to convince his brother of something while making sharp hand motions in the direction of the camp. They both startle when Bilbo lightly clears his throat.

The brothers exchange a series of rapid but meaningful looks. A silent argument that eventually draws to a conclusion when Kili clicks his tongue in irritation and steps forward. The action had Fili looking briefly like he’s sucked on a lemon before he too switches tracks and takes on a more boyish persona.

Quite suddenly Bilbo feels the fondness he has built for Kili stretch to include Fili even though his interactions with the prince had been somewhat limited. (Fili occasionally hovers when Kili comes to chat but other than that…)

“We have a problem…”

Bilbo squints at Kili. That doesn’t sound like good news for him. In fact some deeply buried prey instinct to run has been kicking off ever since he walked into this clearing.

“We- I got that sense…what’s the problem?”

He catches himself just before he slips up on the pronouns. That had been happening occasionally. A side effect from realizing Frerin was in fact a real person. Acknowledging that made it much harder to not think of the dwarf his actual friend.

Fili nods towards the ponies, “Well we were supposed to be watching the ponies.”

“Oh balls.”, Frerin curses.

“And?”

“And there are supposed to be more ponies than there currently are”

Bilbo can almost physically feel the blood drain from is face. Suddenly the fallen trees and mud register as what they are. Ripped out rather than fallen and all the signs of something big. Much much bigger than a hobbit.

“Whatever did this was large…”, he swallows dry, throat clicking nervously.

“Probably trolls”, the ghost’s voice floats up from where he’s dug further into the destruction to investigate. Sometimes Bilbo really wishes he didn’t speak his every thought out loud (he is aware this is partially his own fault).

“Shouldn’t we tell Thorin? Or Dwalin maybe?”

“Brilliant idea Bilbo!”

The brothers shift, Fili looking anywhere but Bilbo and Kili giving him a meaningful wide eyed look that he doesn’t know what to make of.

“No need to bother uncle! We can just find them and bring them back before anyone realize they’re missing.”

“Oh- oh no I really don’t think.”

He falters. There’s a line of tension in Fili’s shoulders that he hadn’t noticed earlier. Kili’s eyes get wider and more insistent.

“Oh no you don’t! Little pests! Face your mistakes and go get your uncle right now. Do NOT throw our burglar into the waiting arms of trolls!”

Confound. And. Confusticate. These. Dwarves. And his own weakness to boys wanting to make their father (uncle) proud.

He takes a deep fortifying (it fortifies absolutely nothing) breath.

“No Bilbo don’t do it…”

“Okay. Okay let’s see if we can find them.”

They perk up immediately, nodding emphatically as they start to drag him through the undergrowth. Their bowls of stew remain forgotten in Bilbo’s hands and he briefly wonders if they would notice if he stole a spoonful or two.

“No! This is a terrible awful idea! Bilbo you are supposed to be the sensible one! Have you lost your mind!?”

Bilbo is asking himself the same question. What can he hope to do against trolls!? If the reason for the missing ponies does turn out to be trolls.

It does.

Turn out to be trolls, that is. Three of them actually. Loud, huge and foul smelling and up till this point the most terrifying thing Bilbo has seen in his life. They barely duck out of the way in time to avoid the largest trolls crushing them as it lumbers past, two more ponies swinging in its arms.

“Enough of this nonsense. Go back right now and get help you f*ckless idiots! Right now! Ooh if I had tangible hands I’d give you such a hiding! You’d be standing for weeks!”

Bilbo holds his breath as they risk peeking out from behind a tree to get a better look. The trolls alternate between arguing over nothing and loudly discussing all the awful ways that they’ll eat Myrtle. His lovely pony! Oh dear…he can’t just leave her to the trolls.

Right. He draws himself up into as confident a stance as he can manage and plants his hands in his hips. His knees betray him by wobbling the entire time.

“Right. Well, We have to do something.”

He had meant like fetch someone better equipped to deal with something large and dangerous. If only Gandalf was nearby! Thorin or Dwalin have surely dealt with thousands of trolls in their time.

Kili hops up and down with enthusiasm, “Yes! You should!”

Frerin releases a wordless shriek of rage and panic.

“Me!? No. No no no.”

“It’ll be perfect! Your small and fast while they’re so big and dumb! Won’t it Fili?”

“No. No. Absolutely not.”

“It Is! Great idea Kili! Bilbo, you are our burglar after all. Think of this as a warm up.”

He’s going to say no again. He should say no. In fact he really is about to say no when the memory of Thorin staring down his nose at him resurfaces. More of a grocer than a burglar. His pride stings and the memory of those first weeks of riding alone while the others only shot him doubtful and suspicious looks stings even more.

“You’ll be perfectly safe. If something goes wrong I’ll come in and rescue you.”

Kili squeezes his shoulder. It’s the first real contact Bilbo’s had in a long while and it chips away at his resistance like a warm pick against ice. He’s seen how tactile the dwarrow are when they trust someone and the idea that Kili trusts him makes him a fool apparently because he lets himself be shoved forward with very little resistance.

“If you need help hoot once like barn owl and twice like a brown owl.”

With that parting message they’re gone from his sight and he’s alone in the woods with only three trolls for company.

“Of all the brain addled stupid things to do! And to think Bilbo would let them! Using his kind nature like that why their mother would die an early death from shame!”

And Frerin.

“I’m ashamed to call them my sister sons. A'lâju Mahal!”

Bilbo creeps forward towards the ponies. They’re not that far from the shadowy edge of the trees and the trolls lumber around their makeshift cooking setup oblivious to his presence. Perhaps…perhaps he could actually do this.

“Bilbo. Bilbo come on. Go back and get Thorin. Don’t let those idiots cost you your life. It’s just some ponies!”

If he could just concentrate that is. Now he’s here but how is he going to cut these ropes? The princes had forgotten to hand him a weapon of some kind before throwing him to the wolves (trolls).

“How are you even planning on releasing the ponies? And when you do!? What then!? Then you have three angry and hungry trolls who just lost their dinner! Do you think they’re just going to call it a night and move along!? No they-“

“Would you shut up!”, he hisses, focused on the knot in front of him. His heartbeat is thudding in his ears and he barely even realises the implication of what he’s just said.

“oh don’t worry they can’t hear me, It’s one of the only beneficial side effect to being unseen by all your living relatives and loved ones. They can’t hear you complain to their faces. Although even if-“ Frerin stutters to a grinding halt.

“You can’t hear me.“

The sharp irritated sigh that escapes Bilbo must be forgiven. He is in a very tense situation after all and this knot simply won’t budge.

“No you can’t! No one can. I’m alone like this. That’s how it works. I can watch and I scream and shout till my voice gives out but no one hears what I’m saying. No one listens. You can’t hear me.”

Frerin is breathing fast. Jagged wheezing breaths and it’s alarming enough that Bilbo can’t help but turn around. This time there is nowhere else for Bilbo to look, no convenient explanation for why he’s turned towards Frerin’s direction. He can see the exact moment Frerin realises their eyes are meeting. Properly. Not just by coincidence.

The ghost’s legs crumple as he falls to the floor mutely shaking his head. His breaths are still harsh and much to fast. Bilbo doesn’t even get half way through his name before the dwarf vanishes into thin air. Just as quick as he’d first appeared in Bilbo’s garden.

Now Bilbo is the one breathing fast as he stumbles towards the spot where his friend (is he his friend?) been. He doesn’t see the troll turn around until he is dangling from its hand.

He’s still not thinking straight as he stutters through identifying himself. Where is Frerin. Oh valar did he kill him. Was it a hallucination this whole time. No he’s not a burglarhobbit he’s a burglar hobbit. No please don’t eat him please please please where is Frerin please don’t eat him he doesn’t want to die alone in a wood barely a kilometre from everyone else.

By the time Kili comes charging into the the clearing demanding his release, Bilbo has only just managed to pull himself together enough to try and reason with the huge beasts.

He’s still gasping when he’s dropped to the ground. There is chaos around him and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do here. Dwalin rushes past to slam his axe into the Troll’s foot. Bilbo has no weapon.

Even Ori seems completely at ease with the seemingly random push and pull of the fight. But he’s a dwarf and dwarves know how to fight. Hobbits don’t. This hobbit doesn’t.

He’s shaking as he tries to free the ponies again. He’s shaking when he finds himself hoisted up into the air again and the chaos stills. Kili has to be forced away from launching himself at the troll holding him and Bilbo adores him for it.

For the second time that night he feels certain when he thinks ‘this is where I die’. In front of everyone as a troll rips his arms and legs away from his body. At least he’s not alone this time, although the idea brings him less comfort than he hoped.

“Drop your weapons.”

Bilbo gapes at Thorin who only glares back at him. The company reluctantly obey the order and Bilbo is saved from being ripped in two only to be forced into incredibly scratchy cloth sacks and dropped in a pile for eating.

“Hurry up! We don’t got all night. Mornings comin’”

“Yeah! Hurry up! I don’t want to be turned to stone….”

Time. They need time. That’s fine. Bilbo can work with that.

“Wait! That’s not how you cook dwarves.”

Hobbits may not fight but they are incredibly good at talking.

“Rubbish! Whadda you know about cooking dwarves?”

“Oi! Let him speak! I wanna hear what he has to say.”

So talk he shall.

“You…you uh you have to…”, he glances around trying desperately to guess how much time he needs, “you have to…”, Gandalf! That was a pointy hat he just saw scurrying behind the rock he’s sure of it, “skin them!”

Bilbo winces as the dwarves protest loudly, perhaps not his greatest tactic and not particularly effective either as it backfires and nearly gets them killed quicker.

“WAIT! THAT ONE’S INFECTED!”

They all pause just in time, looking at poor bombur with disgust etched into their stupid faces. Oh thank the lady.

“He has worms…in his tubes! Parasites. THEY ALL DO ACTUALLY!”, he talks louder in an attempt to drown out the comapany’s attempt to commit some kind of troll based suicide, “Riddled with them. Its terrible buisness. I really wouldn’t eat them if I were you.”

A grunt from behind him and then…

“I HAVE HUGE PARASITES!”

“MINE ARE THE BIGGEST PARASITES YOU’VE EVER SEEN!”

There we go. Took them long enough.

It’s almost not enough. The trolls may be stupid but they’re also impatient and Bilbo can feel the control he had over the conversation slipping away fast. He’s running out of ideas and his heartbeat is still in his ears hammering against his rational thinking.

Then the stone cracks underneath Gandalf’s staff and it’s fine. They’re all fine and he can finally sit down so he does. He sits for a long while, staring blankly ahead.

He sits as Gandalf shuffles past and commends his quick thinking with a booming laugh.

He sits as they loot the troll cave. He accepts the eleven dagger that gets pressed into his hands and despite his protests about hobbits and swords he still clings to it.

He sits as Thorin comes to berate him about letting himself be drawn into ‘foolish and stupid plotting’ and can’t bring himself to even care because Frerin is back. Standing behind his brother with a dark look on his usually light expression that has Bilbo’s heart dropping like a stone.

“Master Baggins…are you okay?”, Balin interrupts Thorin before he can continue.

Bilbo blinks. He’s still trying to pull his gaze away from the trolls’ petrified corpses. The sword in his hand feels heavier the longer he stares. What would he even do in that situation with a sword? Slay three beasts over five times his size?

“You’re shaking.”

Oh yes. He is actually. Somehow he’d thought that had stopped when he’d started talking to the trolls earlier but it seems he was wrong.

“Just a bit of adrenaline master Balin, nothing to concern yourself with.”

The elder dwarf looks like he doesn’t believe that for even a second. Luckily for Bilbo he doesn’t have to worry about it because Thorin isn’t finished.

“You have no right encourage them. These plans and schemes seem grand when you are young and inexperienced,” he looks pointedly at Bilbo when he says inexperienced (Bilbo can’t even be mad about that. What experience could he claim to have), “but in the real world…in real battle your foolishness could have gotten someone killed.”

“I didn’t-“

“They’re too young too lose each other.”

It’s barely a whisper from Frerin but it’s conveniently timed with reappearance of Fili and Kili. And all of a sudden Bilbo is furious. The kind a fury that only comes from being terrified that someone you care for was about to get hurt because apparently he’d grown to care about those two (if not more than just them) a great deal in the short time they’ve been on good terms.

So he stands.

And he cuts Thorin off with a sharp hand motion before walking straight past him to the two princes who have gone quite an impressive shade of white.

“Well?”

The two menaces avoid eye contact.

“Well?”, he respeats, “was your intention to have me killed? Perhaps you thought your journey might be easier with me gone? How convenient! Some trolls! Let’s throw the hobbit at them!”

A flinch and a grimace. Kili peaks up at him, eyes shiny from the water that was gathering in them. Bilbo would not be swayed by tears. It hadn’t worked for any of his nieces and nephews and it wouldn’t work for this one either.

“No ofcourse not Bilbo! We just…”, he swallows.

“You just!? Go on then! Clearly you had a wonderful and daring plan to pull off. What was it now?,” he glares at Fili now, “hoot once like a screech owl and twice like barn owl? Or was it brown owl?”

They both glare down at their ridiculous boots, unwilling to answer. He’s half expecting Thorin to intervene at this point. Even he can tell he’s stepping well over a boundary by reprimanding his sister sons in front of him.

“And you Kili! Jumping in like that! I am very thankful of you saving me I really am but next time you have some kind of plan where one of us might very easily die I’d appreciate if you took the time to realise how it might feel to be the one who gets to witness the results.”

And that’s the crux of the matter really. Thorin’s words had been fi pull of anger but his eyes where panicked and spoke of an experience he couldn’t bear to see repeated. Maybe if Bilbo lived a life where he couldn’t see Frerin he wouldn’t have noticed what that look meant. Maybe he would have just heard those angry words and curled into himself. Maybe, but in this life Frerin was there and Bilbo felt he knew Thorin a little better for it.

Now he knows they think of him as a silly little hobbit who’s lived a nice comfortable life with no pain or losses and they’re not entirely wrong. He knows none of the company can imagine he might be able to read fear where he was shown anger and they’re almost right. However he’s also been a hobbit living alone in a home built for three. He knows what being the one left standing is like and he can see that in Thorin’s hunched posture right now as the dwarf struggles between shouting more at Bilbo or turning his emotions at his sister sons instead.

The grumpy fool just doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say properly. And Frerin can’t say it at all. So for now Bilbo will have to do.

“I have known you for a very short time but this nonsense about being a living shield must stop at once. That goes for both of you. If you die then wonderful. You’re dead. The rest of us have to keep going though and I’d like you both to think VERY carefully about how you would feel being alive while your brother was lying dead in a field somewhere.”

There is a sharp intake of breathe from all around him.

“Next time you will stop and think. And then just like I suggested,” he glares at Thorin to make sure he’s listening, “you will get help. Do I make myself clear?”

They mumble out a vaguely affirmative response. The tears that had been gathering in Kili’s eyes have slipped free. He angrily scrubs at them with his sleeve. All at once Bilbo is reminded just how young they are for dwarves.

“Wonderful now if you please I would like a hug. I have never been so worried in my life.”

They launch themselves at him before he’s even finished speaking, knocking him right over.

From his new place on the ground he can see Thorin giving him a sort of scowly confused glare. When they make eye contact he nods and stalks off to wherever Gandalf had escaped to. Bilbo figures it’s the closest he’ll get to a truce so he accepts it with a nod of his own.

Frerin won’t look at him at all. He has abandoned his usual spot on Bilbo’s pony to sit silently with his brother, as far from the hobbit as he can get without leaving the party. Bilbo feels his loss like a physical thing and just when he thinks his day can’t possibly get worse the orcs turn up.

Chapter 5: 5

Chapter Text

Bilbo loses himself between the arrival of another bloody wizard and the orcs arriving and the elves appearing just in time to save their lives (His life has been in danger twice in too short a time and it’s starting to sink in just what the contract he signed really meant). Then of course Gandalf leads them through a stone tunnel only to reveal a place Bilbo had dreamed of since he’d been a fauntling in his mothers arms and all thoughts of impending death are wiped clean from his mind.

The Elven city is unlike anything Bilbo has ever seen while simultaneously being everything he’d ever imagined. Light streams through almost golden leaves and the sound of running water and light music follows him wherever he goes. He could stay here forever, perusing the library and soaking in the sun in any of a stunning gardens if he was allowed.

The rest of the company…are still coming to terms with the situation. Thorin hasn’t said more than three words strung together in over four hours and the rest of them seem intent on getting themselves kicked out before they can get any real help from Lord Elrond.

Frerin still won’t look at him but at least he’s around, Bilbo can occasionally hear the snarky comments he makes when he thinks Bilbo isn’t close enough to to listen in (The assumption all the dwarves have made about Bilbo’s heating will need to be corrected eventually but for now it’s quite useful so he lets it be). He gives Frerin the space he can unwilling to push and risk losing his companionship completely.

In the end neither of them approach each other willingly. It at least not completely.

Instead it happens like this. Bilbo pressed into the shadow of a doorway behind Thorin while Lord Elrond and Gandalf discuss (rather loudly) the fate of the company and Thorin’s state of mind. He doesn’t try to stop the dwarf when he brushes past him.

“Thorin…”

“A word of advice Burglar. Stay out of business that is not your own.”, the words are rough, meant to shove Bilbo away and so he lets Thorin go.

Bilbo doesn’t really understand. The words gold sickness are foreign to him and madness means very little when he’s seen no proof of anything that would suggest there was something wrong with Thorin’s mind.

In another situation he would have insisted that Thorin explain but he’s smart enough to see when someone is lashing out in pain. Thorin had dealt with enough of that without him poking at whatever wound the pair had just reopened. Even Bilbo, who is perhaps not on the best terms with their leader, can see that.

And really. What kind of elven lord and wizard can’t tell when their conversation is no longer a private one. Having that sort of conversation right out in the open. It takes a certain type of cruelty to dig into someone’s family losses to make your point known. Bilbo doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

Gandalf should know better. It’s something he’s thought before and will think again many times in the future. The wizard has been alive long enough to have learned how to handle matters better than he does and it frustrates Bilbo to no end. One day he will lose his patience for it.

He often wonders if the wizard sees them as anything more than talking chess pieces on a game that is too big for anyone else to see. The fact that they have lives and hurts seem to be nothing but a huge inconveniences to the man. It’s feeling that never really leaves Bilbo no matter how much he enjoys picking at Gandalf’s vast knowledge and sharing a pipe with him in the evenings.

The hobbit pulls away from the conversation unwilling to stay and listen to anything Thorin couldn’t even bear to hear. He’s already eavesdropped enough on private family matters, no need to make it worse (deep down he is ashamed to admit that he probably would have stayed if anything they were saying made sense to him).

He doesn’t get far before he’s interrupted again. This time the garden he has found is truly empty. If someone where to look in they would simply see a hobbit enjoying nature’s gifts as a hobbit is expected to.

“That won’t happen. Thorin is not…he’s better.”

Frerin had followed him after Thorin had stormed off. And now, for the first time since Bilbo had been able to see the ghost, they stand opposite each other, face to face. He almost doesn’t know what to say. It’s the first time he’s been able to properly look at Frerin without the worry of exposing his secret.

“Bilbo? Bilbo you can see me right? I didn’t make that up?”

He’s younger than Bilbo had originally estimated. Somewhere near t just approaching Kili’s age if Bilbo had to guess. It’s hard to tell with the beard but suddenly Bilbo is quite certain that what he’d assumed were signs of age were instead sign of someone who had suffered a great deal. Bile stings his throat. Had he died that young? Was it a painful end?

“No. No sorry you didn’t make anything up. I can see you and hear you Frerin.”

The ghost chokes up slightly, taking a shaky breath as he walks in a tight circle before swiping at his face and recentering himself. His hands flap at his sides to shake of the excess energy and swiftly knock another handful of years off Bilbo’s estimate.

“How long. How long have you been able to see me?”

Bilbo has learned to be wary of Thorin’s temper and he can see he must be careful here too. The tell tale signs of anger are clouding Frerin’s complexion.

“From the moment you appeared in my garden. I’m sorry, I should have said something.”

“YES! YES YOU SHOULD HAVE!”, he kicks at the ground aggressively, hinting towards a tantrum of sorts and for a moment Bilbo thinks he’s going to disappear again so he rushes forward with his own explanation.

“Frerin please. I thought I was hallucinating! I’d just hit my head, surely you saw that? By the time I realised I was still sane we were trekking through the countryside! What was I supposed to do!?”

The ghost is right up in his personal space now. They both know he can’t touch Bilbo but that doesn’t stop the proximity from being nerve wracking.

“You tell me! How could you keep that to yourself!? I trusted you with my family surely YOU knew that given that I’m sure I said it allowed enough times! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been alone!? How long I’ve had to scream into the void knowing that no matter how loud I get I can’t be heard? Bilbo I’ve watched my family die in front of me as I beg them to reconsider the suicidal choices they insist on making! And now I find out that someone could have heard me the whole time!?”

Bilbo swallows. He aches for his friend (this was his friend. Even if the sentiment wasn’t returned at this exact moment).

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Frerin, I didn’t think.”

“No. No you didn’t. Nobody ever thinks about me!”

Frerin’s anger is different to Thorin’s. It burns brighter but dies out faster. For all his shouting just moment ago, now he’s quiet. Subdued and bitter. It’s a terrible sight compared to his usual demeanor but maybe…maybe he’ll give Bilbo a chance to explain himself.

“Please just listen to me before you shout. I only realised that day when Kili came to speak to me. That’s when I put together enough to know I wasn’t still suffering from the side effects of a head injury. Do you remember that?”

Frerin doesn’t answer but Bilbo can see in the way he draws himself in that he does.

“I was going to say something that night as soon as I got a moment alone but then-“

“Bofur wanted to talk to you.”, Frerin interrupts with a sigh.

His eyes are closed, brow furrowed. Bilbo can almost physically see him trying to hold onto his earlier anger but luckily for both of them it seems that the chance to talk with someone wins over his hurt.

“Yes! Yes exactly. And as much as I adore his company he didn’t give me a moment to myself for days afterwards. I wanted to tell you. I really did, please believe that at least, but how was I supposed to talk to you with bofur or Kili or Fili right there. They barely trust me as is. Talking to ‘myself’ was not going to help my case at all.”

Frerin is looking at him now. Not glaring or scowling, just looking. Bilbo wants to imagine he sees forgiveness in that (even though, and this is a very baggins-y thought, he really did not intend to cause any hurt). So he continues.

“And what if I slipped up? If I used your name around someone even though it’s clearly dwarven and none of them had taught it to me. What if they went and told Thorin!”

They both wince at that. It is no stretch of the imagination to see how Thorin would have reacted to hearing his dead brother’s name on the lips of a hobbit he never wanted on this journey to begin with. It would not have ended well for Bilbo.

“He’d have killed you. Or at least tried to before Balin or Gandalf intervened. Right... I still think you should have told me -ah ah wait let me finish please- but I can see why you kept quiet.”

“So you forgive me”

Frerin’s jaw clenches and unclenches before he huffs and the tension drains out of his body.

“Very well. Yes, I can forgive you. Although you have an unfair advantage. I haven’t talked to anyone properly in almost a century…it’s not like I can give that up.”

They stand quietly after that, neither sure how to progress now that the dynamic they had had (thought they had) has changed. Eventually though, Bilbo can’t take the silence anymore.

“You think Balin would intervene?” He asks, moving to sit by the water feature in the center of the garden.

Frerin follows with a scoff. He seems to be putting a lot of effort into keeping his thoughts to himself. Bilbo supposes that makes sense. Up till now the ghost hadn’t had to worry about voicing his internal monologue out loud.

“Ofcourse he would. That old man adores you.”

This is new information to Bilbo. He’d known that he had a neutral relationship with their oldest member but he would never have gone as far as to say that Balin actively liked him.

“He does?”

Frerin hums.

“Indeed. You won him over on the very first night when you sat down to read next to him. You should talk to him, he’s probably holding back because a lot of them think you’re uncomfortable around us.”

Now it’s Bilbo’s turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“Oh I wonder why that might be!”

Frerin lifts his hands to placate him, “I shan’t tell you they didn’t build the situation themselves because they certainly did. I’m only keeping you in the loop of what they’re all thinking.”, his eyes narrow as he grins, “think of me as your informant! They can’t see me as I gather and compile information for you to use and win them over! I’ll be your spymaster!”

He says the last with laugh like it’s some hilarious joke. Bilbo has no idea why but he smiles anyway.

“What about Bombur? Or Ori? Do you think they like me?”

The look he receives tells him that is a stupid question.

“You know as well as I do that the only thing keeping Ori away from you are his brothers. It’s a trait you share with Fili, maybe the two of you can bond over it. Bombur is shy and used to being made fun of.”

Bilbo scowls, “what!? Why!?”

“Cooking is not always seen as a proper craft among our people. Bombur is a master in his own right but from what I know of him…many refuse to acknowledge his title.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“I agree but alas it is the way of my people. We are slow to change. You should talk to him about it. He would appreciate the common topic and at least you know he’ll be less likely to come with Dori attached. Really though, they all like you to some extent. Some more than others but I doubt any of them would refuse to at least have a chat.”

“And you?”

Frerin pauses confused, “what about me?”

“Do you like me?”

He scowls as if the question is something deeply offensive and stands to take up the space directly in front of Bilbo.

“Stop asking questions you already know the answers to master baggins. Now come, my brother will begin to wonder where you are and I for one have had enough of elvish gardens”

He tugs at Bilbo’s arms to pull him up with him as he speaks. The motion does nothing as his hands simply slip through but Bilbo follows him anyway. From there they begin a leisurely walk back to the room where everyone was staying and although Bilbo has to cut himself off once or twice as an elf walks past they encounter no dwarves.

Bilbo pauses when they finally reach the heavy wooden door that separates their sleeping quarters from then hall. He takes a long look at Frerin before speaking. Neither of them will be happy about what has to happen next but Bilbo can’t risk being found out. Not yet anyway, not until he asks Gandalf a few questions.

“I won’t be able to answer you when we are around the others. I hope you understand?”

Frerin sighs, eyes closing in acceptance before he shrugs.

“I know Bilbo. I only ask you listen to me and answer when you are able to.”

“I can do that.”

Then they push through the door and right into the midst of what looks like frantic packing. There are bags scattered everywhere and objects flying through the air as they get tossed from person to person. It reminds Bilbo of the scene he’d witnessed in his kitchen. It seemed an awful long time ago now.

He stumbles as he receives a hearty clap to the shoulder.

“There you are Bilbo! Uncle was about to lose his mind trying to track you done, where have you been?”, Fili questions as he presses Bilbo’s pack into his arms.

“I…I was in the garden?”

“The garden? You are always in the garden! Never mind never mind, pack your bags quickly. We are leaving as soon as we can!”

Bilbo stumbles again when he is firmly shoved towards his belongings.

“Leaving? Why on earth are we leaving now?”, he casts a questioning glance at Frerin who just shrugs, looking just as bemused as Bilbo feels.

“We are leaving before we are detained.”, Thorin’s voice cuts through the room to him (its a truly impressive ability, to be heard in the midst of all this).

“Detained!?”

He approaches Bilbo slowly backing the hobbit against the wall and ducking his head so that their eyes meet. Bilbo feels his breath hitch.

“Yes. Detained. I have reason to believe that Lord Elrond intends to stop us from continuing on this journey. He has been uneasy since the moment he helped understand the map. You heard his concerns as clearly as I did.”

Then he pulls always completely leaving Bilbo reeling as he tries to regain his composure. What on earth. Frerin is staring at his brother mouth agape but thankfully decides to keep his thoughts on whatever just happened to himself.

Busying himself with his packing, Bilbo pretends he can’t see the suspicious look that Thorin is aiming at him (he’s assuming it’s suspicion because really what else could a glare like that mean).

Of course he is more than a little reluctant to leave the safety and comfort of the elven kingdom so soon but when they eventually sneak out he does his best not to complain too much. Although he’s sure they all catch him glancing wistfully over his shoulder until the place is completely out of sight. He can’t help but miss it and resolves to pay a visit should he ever return this way in the future.

Now, back on the road he tries to readjust to the idea of cold nights and hungry days as best he can while he ponders on ways to subtly communicate with his ghostly friend.

Frerin has returned to the position he had taken before their argument only now instead of perching on the back of myrtle he trots beside Bilbo as the walk.

“Now would be a great time to work on what we discussed…”

Bilbo doesn’t answer but it doesn’t seem to matter as Frerin continues as if he had.

“About branching out with your friendships. Not to say that my sister sons aren’t perfectly good company and bofur certainly has his charm but Bombur is walking alone and it seems a shame to let this opportunity go to waste…”

Bilbo turns to verify this information and finds it to be half true. Bombur isn’t exactly alone as he has Bifur and Bofur beside him as usual. However they are mainly talking to each other and as Bilbo watches he sees what Frerin had been describing in the garden.

The large dwarf is holding a piece of the elvish travelling bread in his hand. He takes a tentative nibble at first before lighting up at whatever taste he discovers in it and leaning forward as far as he’s able to try and catch the attention of either Bifur or Bofur and offer them a piece to try as well.

Bifur grunts something dismissive as the bread is pressed into his hands but eats it without complaint however when Bombur gestures for an opinion the toy maker simply shrugs, clearly unsure what he’s supposed to say about it. Bofur in the other hand jumps at the opportunity to tease and jest before he even tastes the food.

Bilbo can tell they don’t mean any harm, not really, and are just carrying in in the way they usually do. Bifur can hardly be faulted for not having as much a interest in food and Bofur is probably just trying to keep the mood light but Bilbo can see the way Bombur shrinks back in himself as if slapped. Honestly, he thinks, it wouldn’t hurt to at least fake some kind of opinion.

Bofur, seemingly noticing the reaction, snatches a piece and stuffs it into his mouth with an unconvincing “vats vewy nice Bwombur” but the damage is done. Bombur is packing away the bread with a defeated look.

And that makes up Bilbo’s mind because if there’s one thing a hobbit won’t stand for it’s seeing someone’s love for food being pushed down. It simply isn’t done.

A small change in pace and he’s jogging forward before he can second guess himself.

“Master Bombur! Was that the special bread that the elves make?”

Bombur startles slightly at the sudden appearance Bilbo makes at his elbow. His eyes flicker between the bread and the hobbit quickly.

“Ah…yes…I was just wanting to taste it a bit which is why…There’s no need to be calling me Master anything! Just Bombur will be fine really!”

Bilbo reaches over and snatches a piece before the dwarf can stuff it back into his pack. It’s terrible manners.

Closing his eyes he pops it into into his mouth and chews with exaggerated slowness. He can hear Frerin muffle laughter at the dramatics but ignores him. When he eventually reopens his eyes he finds Bombur regarding him with curiosity but still unwilling to ask.

“Oh! That’s quite interesting isn’t it, slightly bland but surprisingly rich. But there’s an after taste isn’t there...something almost…”, he leaves the sentence open for Bomber to respond.

“…floral?”, the chefs voice is hesitant.

“Yes that’s it floral. Well said. I can almost imagine it paired with something sweet but tart. A lemon curd perhaps?”

Bombur is leaning into the conversation again and Bilbo can see the enthusiasm from earlier is back. Bofur shoots him a grateful smile.

“Lemon curd…is that the soft yellow custard-like spread we tried at your home Master Baggins?”

“Indeed it was, good memory. And please just Bilbo, I don’t expect formalities from a fellow food lover. I had no idea anyone else else in this party knew how to truly appreciate good cuisine!”

The dwarf seems to falter slightly, checking for his brother’s encouragement before he answers softly, “it is my craft.”, like he is expecting Bilbo to argue with that. Thinking back to what Frerin had shared, Bilbo realises that people probably usually did argue.

“A wonderful art to dedicate yourself to, if my opinion means anything to you. I’ve always thought it’s hard to beat the satisfaction of feeding the people you care about.”

“Most expect a dwarf to craft metal or jewels. Or something longer lasting than a meal.”

Bilbo snorts derisively, “If jewels and metal can stop even a dwarf from feeling hunger I’ll be quite impressed. Longer lasting indeed. I’ll have you know that the memory of my father’s blackberry pie is the talk of the shire to this day. Whoever said good food doesn’t leave an impact must have had a life of very shabby meals indeed!”

“Well said Bilbo.”, crows the ghost when he ends his little speech.

Bombur is laughing gently now, earlier shyness forgotten.

That evening when they stop for sleep Bifur presses a little wooden carving of a pie into his hands with a grunt. Bilbo has no idea what he means but Frerin tells him the grunt was a thank you. He packs the carving carefully into his pack next to the ‘handkerchief’ he got from Bofur. Bofur doesn’t say anything out loud but the way he drags Bilbo over to their little trio to sleep says enough. It’s the warmest night Bilbo has had out in the wild. Nothing disturbs his rest that night.

Chapter 6: 6

Chapter Text

The addition of the full ur family to his list of friends within the company is a welcome change even if it does appear to cause some jealousy among the line of Durin. Particularly in Kili who seems convinced that Bilbo will suddenly turn around and decide he no longer wants anything to do with him.

Bilbo has tried to explain on a few occasions that this is not the case but his words have little power to change the youngest’s mind. Every night as he sets his sleeping role up between Bombur and Bofur (he’d offered to choose another spot but the two had reacted with quite some uproar and claimed they wouldn’t have him freezing to death right beside them) both of the dwarves are treated to venomous glares from Kili.

Eventually Bilbo has to put his foot down. There’s only so much smugness he can take from Bofur and if Kili looks at him with such deep betrayal again he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He announces that evening that he would like to take the second watch in order to avoid the complications around getting his bed ready. To avoid unnecessary disturbances the person on second watch typically just set up their bed roll closer to wherever that nights watch point was.

Bilbo had found he suddenly had a much greater enjoyment for keeping watch even though the job rarely fell to him (it appeared that the company weren’t quite sure about his ability to recognise a threat. Apparently they had much better eyes for the dark.). If the watch point was sufficiently far from the lighter sleepers and he was careful to whisper then the hours stood on guard doubled as time were he could speak to Frerin with only minimal caution.

So that night he happily settles his stuff down by Gloin (who would be taking first watch) knowing he won’t have to deal with glaring and teary gazes.

“Look sharp Bilbo. The smallest pest approaches and it looks like he’s up to no good.”

Frerin’s alert is just in time to avoid Bilbo getting the fright of his life as Kili pops up behind him. The young dwarf is looking slightly flustered but determined. He has a intricately carved comb clutched in his hand.

“Did you need something Kili?”

At feels as though the whole camp is watching the interaction. Glancing around Bilbo confirms that, while Fili and Ori are the only ones outright staring, most of the company is trying to be subtle as they keep an eye on whatever is about to happen.

Kili shakes himself a bit and stands straighter. He is resolutely not looking at Bilbo when he shoves the comb into his hand.

“Would you brush my hair? It’s very tangled and Fili is busy and Uncle is always too rough. I’d do it myself but it’s in the back part and-“

“KILI!” Thorin booms from his place by the fire. He’s been trying to start it for a while now (nobody wants to offer help before he admits he needs it).

Kili pales, spinning quickly to face him.

“I don’t mean anything by it! Just a friendly request…”

Thorin looks only slightly less murderous when he stands from his work.

“I don’t care what your intentions are. You should know better than to ask in front of so many people. If I didn’t know your character I would think you where trying to embarrass our Burglar.”

That’s a bit sweet. Bilbo can’t say he minds hearing Thorin defend his honour but still seeing the way Kili turns to him in despair and clearly ready to start begging for forgiveness is enough to kindle Bilbo’s ever present irritation toward their leader.

“Oh stop it Thorin. Honestly it’s just a hairbrush. Going on like that you’d think the boy just offered to show me his underwear!”

Silence. Bofur coughs in the background as he accidentally inhales the water he’d been about to sip. Kili has gone a deep shade of pink.

“Touching hair is a sign of extreme familiarity in our culture. My brother’s reaction is fairly tame. Kili could easily have been propositioning you under different circ*mstances”, Frerin has his head in his hands and his voice is muffled but Bilbo hears it none the less.

His cheeks warm slightly and he sprints to clear whatever misunderstanding might come from this.

“Which would be a terribly inappropriate thing to show me! I would hate to see his underwear!”

Frerin collapses into the ground with a choked whine of laughter.

“See uncle! Bilbo would never… I would never! I meant it like when I ask you or Fili to help…”, Kili looks slightly offended despite the words.

“And I think that’s quite acceptable. I used to help with my nieces’ hair often back in the shire.”

Thorin’s gaze flickers between the two of them. He looks a bit constipated in all honesty but Bilbo isn’t sure if that because he doesn’t believe them or if it’s because Kili just implied he see Bilbo as family (That thought has bilbo go warm in fondness for the young Prince).

He doesn’t seem to have anything more to say on the matter so Bilbo takes initiative and tugs Kili down to sit in-front of the log Bilbo has been using as a stool. He’d been right about the knots in his hair. It’s seems that wind and long unbraided hair were a bad combination.

Although, he thinks as he pulls a handful of leaves free, maybe Kili just had a natural affinity to getting his hair tangled.

“Would you really hate to see my underwear?”

Frerin actually squeals like a pig he’s so appalled by the second hand embarrassment. Bilbo doesn’t really know what to say.

“You are a little young for me. If that really was your intention then I think it’s best that we-“

“NO!”, Kili yelps before dropping his voice into the first proper whisper Bilbo has seen any of them manage, “I really didn’t mean it like that…I just…what you said made me wonder if…”

“He’s probably convinced you think he’s hideous or something.”, Frerin elaborates where Kili doesn’t.

“My goodness! Not at all Kili, in fact you’re lucky we left the shore when we did or you would have been overrun by hobbits trying to woo you.”

“Really!?”

Bilbo chuckles, you’d think Kili had never seen a mirror before.

“Really Kili. You should know that your family are quite good looking.”

“Even uncle?”

Heat rushes to Bilbo’s face. In all honesty he’s never really let himself think about it before. Across the fireplace Thorin is suddenly deeply invested in his boots. His sharp features are perhaps a little more intense than what most hobbits look for but they certainly had there own appeal. Even his beard which was certainly not something Bilbo would ever let get that long in himself was undeniably well kept. Frankly the only real fault Bilbo can point out is his hair being in dire need of good wash and even then the way the silver strands that pepper the dark black are surprisingly lovely.

He shakes himself out if in amd clears his throat.

“Ehem…well yes if I had to say he’s probably…he’s quite…I mean he looks quite different ti what alot if hobbits might look for but I wouldn’t say that…oh bother enough of that you pest! Turn around at sit still, you’re making this harder than it needs to be. And no more fishing for compliments it’s very unbecoming.”

Kili obeys but the sly grin that Bilbo see as he turns around spells a world of trouble in the near future.

“Very interesting Bilbo. Very interesting indeed.”

Frerin is very lucky he’s intangible or he’d be receiving a cuff to the ear for that. Bilbo chooses to direct his full attention into his task instead of letting any more nonsense take place.

It’s slow work but he soon finds himself slipping into an almost meditate rhythm. Separate, clear, brush through and place aside. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Kili’s hair is thick and almost wiry compared to the thinner and curlier bird-nests he’s used to expecting from nieces.

Eventually the hair is clear of leaves and knots. Bilbo hesitates, brushing his fingers through it gently. Kili mumbles something which sounds vaguely encouraging. Bilbo already has the hair separated into three pieces…would it be presumptuous to braid it? Did that mean something he wasn’t aware of just like the brushing? He wants to ask but with Fili and Thorin watching him like hawks he doesn’t dare to try and whisper to Frerin.

Thankfully it seems the ghost has learned to read his body language better than he had thought.

“Braid it. You have already made your intentions clear, my brother will not come flying over to defend Kili’s honour and I will stop you if you are making any traditional braids that means something else.”

Bilbo quickly checks in Thorin as he gathers the hair once more. The dwarf is giving him the same look he’d given back when he’d ripped into the princes about their behaviour around the trolls. Bilbo still struggles to place it.

“Ignore him and focus on your task. Kili is nearly asleep and that will make everything much harder. May I suggest a hobbit braid? I’m sure Kili would like that.”

Bilbo strongly suspects Kili would rather have his hair loose and tangled in leaves as it is usually but follows Frerin’s advice regardless. He doesn’t mention that there isn’t really such a thing as a ‘hobbit’ braid. Not in the way one might say elf braid or dwarf braid. He also doesn’t think Kili would appreciate the knowledge that in hobbit life a braid is something that is mostly for woman and a few particularly…eccentric…bachelors.

Bilbo eventually decided to twist he hair into a simple and loose style that he’d often seen his mother put in before sleep (she’d always said it helped her curls). He works under the careful eye and advice of Frerin who despite his encouragement is never quite able to hide the deep strain of envy in his being. Bilbo takes extra care to follow Frerin’s instructions after he notices. This is not just Bilbo braiding now. This is an Uncle getting a chance to do his nephews hair. Bilbo might not know exactly what that means to a dwarf but he knows it’s no small matter.

When Bilbo finally ties the braid back with the clasp that Fili had been holding onto there is a slight mistiness to Frerin’s eyes.

Kili head lolls when Bilbo stands to stretch his legs. The lad is half asleep and seems to be heading towards an almost trancelike state of mind. He slumps into Fili when he reaches out to gently shake him awake. Bilbo would be concerned if it weren’t for the easy grin on Fili’s face as he pulls his brother away from his spot and back to their bed rolls.

“My turn tomorrow okay?”, the elder brother whispers.

Bilbo nods. He doesn’t even bother checking for Throin’s reaction. No reason not to after all.

“Bilbos git magic fingrs Fili…”, the youngest slurs before he collapses and steady snore rises up from his prone body.

“I’m suddenly quite jealous that we can’t touch at all. That boy is famously tender headed, I’ve never seen him relax enough during hair care to actually fall asleep. Magic fingers must be right.”

Frerin is only half teasing but neither of them mention it. No need to rub in the fact that he’s a ghost and therefore probably wishes everyday that he could reach out and touch someone.

A few hours later, when Bilbo has been woken for second watch and they are sure that the others are soundly asleep, Frerin comes to sit beside him and together they stare out into the dark.

“I died before they were born.”, he rasps.

Bilbo says nothing. He wants desperately to reach over and clasp the ghosts hand but he knows he would be clutching at empty air.

“It’s strange, that I have watched them grow up. As soon as I saw Fili for the first time I…I swore I wouldn’t be parted from them. I probably know them better than anyone except their mother and they barely even know my name.”

“Thorin hasn’t…?”

Frerin shakes his head with a sigh.

“No. Neither has Dis. It’s not something I blame them for. I saw first hand what the loss of our family did to them both. They had to move on, they had no time to grieve as they should have been able to….they didn’t give themselves the time. My death…it turned them against each other. It would be selfish of me to expect them to dig all that out of the ground again when they’ve only just reconciled.”

Bilbo purses his lips. These dwarves and their strange idea’s about honour and selfishness will be the death of him.

“It’s sounds like you are blaming yourself for dying.”

The silence between them says more than Frerin ever could have.

“I’ll tell them.”

The ghost turns to look at him, surprise written all over his face.

“What.”

“I said I’ll tell them. I can’t know when I’ll be able to but I will try.”

“Don’t say that.”

Frerin’s voice is choked when he eventually answer. Despite the apparent rejection Bilbo can hear the underlying hope in his voice. That alone is enough to solidify his resolve. This is something he can do. He wants to push and make sure Frerin knows that but he back away from the matter for now. The ghost will approach the matter again when he is ready. Bilbo must be patient here.

“I wouldn’t say a word unless you asked me to. But I will insist that you teach me to braid better than simple hobbit style. You deserve to have that much at least. And if I can provide it then I will.”

“That…that means more than I think you know.”

“I suppose you will have to show me on your hair,” He draws the conversation towards a less emotional territory and waits for the teasing he knows Frerin won’t be able to resist.

The ghost’s voice is still rough when he answers but as Bilbo predicted he takes the bait to draw their talking away from serious matter.

“Asking me to teach yip braids on my own hair! My my Bilbo you are terrible forward, I hope you don’t behave this way with all the good looking dwarves you meet!”, he teases even as Bilbo watches him undo his hair from the complex patterns it’s in.

It’s morning by the time Bilbo has minimal grasp of the basics of dwarrow braids and what certain starting formations might mean. Frerin had even gone as far as to show him a few styles that start at the beard rather than the hair but had made sure Bilbo was under no circ*mstances allowed to let anyone talk him into touching a beard without Frerin’s permission. Bilbo hadn’t known a ghost could blush until that very moment.

“I’m telling you this with complete seriousness. And Dwarf who even hints at any kind of before touching before at least three months of proper courtship is in it for the money or something sinister. It would be completely indecent and I won’t have you being taken advantage of.”

Bilbo is desperate to interrupt here and point out that not only does he have no knowledge of what courting looks like to a dwarf but also Frerin seems convinced that there is a dwarf out there looking for a hobbit to court. Based on the impression these dwarrow seem to have of Bilbo, he very much doubts that.

He never gets to voice any of that because he is immediately confronted by Ori. The scribe is burning with questions that no doubt have to do with the way Kili is strutting around camp making sure that there isn’t a single person present who hasn’t seen his new braid. Bilbo flushes suddenly ashamed to have his handy work on display. The plait seems terrible mediocre now that Frerin has taught him what the dwarrow consider to be ‘simple beginners braids.

“I’m sorry to bother you so early Bilbo, Fili said to call you Bilbo, but I have so many questions! I’ve been holding back to let you adjust but I just can’t anymore. I will die! Do you understand Bilbo!? I will die if I can’t ask you about hobbit things!”

Bilbo’s eyebrows fly up.

“I knew it”, sings Frerin, “a hobbit braid would be simply too much for our little scholar to resist. And don’t look so surprised by the dramatics, you have met Nori.”

“Ah of course Ori. Ask away although please don’t judge me too harshly for my braiding ability, is hobbits tend to prefer more simple things…”

Ori shakes his head furiously, hands fluttering in front of him, “Not at all! I think it’s a lovely braid, actually that’s what I wanted to ask you about. I remember seeing plaits full of flowers when we walked through your land, is that why you prefer the loser type of twist? To fit in the flowers and stuff?”

Blinking in realisation, Bilbo frowns in thought. He had t thought if that but it was true, the women he knew did tend to prefer wearing seasonal flowers in their hair wether it was loose or tied up.

“That’s brilliant Ori, you know I’ve never actually thought about it but I think you might be right. It might also have to do with the type of curls and hair most hobbits have but that seems very plausible… oh uh hello Dwalin?”

The dwarf had appeared behind him some time while he’d been speaking and was glowering down at him until Bilbo realised. A while ago this would have had Bilbo jumping out of his skin but by now he was afraid to admit that Frerin’s constant grumbling about the dwarf had chipped away at his threatening demeanour.

That’s not to say he wasn’t still very frightening it’s just that…

“Oh lovely, the wordless poet graces us with his much sought after presence.”

… it’s quite hard to stay serious with that sort of commentary going on.

“Ori, Dori wants you. Master Baggins, Thorin want us moving soon so please pack.”

“Oh…um okay I’ll go to him. Bilbo, I’ll be back to walk with you once we get going if that’s alright?”

“I’ll be waiting Ori.”

The youngster dashes off to find his brother, leaving Bilbo standing slightly uncomfortable with Dwalin.

“Please!? Bilbo did you hear that!? The chip of fools gold knows how to say please! Never in my life have I heard such a wonderful thing. Everyone clap for him we need to positively encourage this behaviour. Mahal willing Thorin will leave the word next.”

Bilbo claps his hands together sharply if only to stop Frerin continuing.

“Sorry Master Dwalin, I’ll do that right away.”

Dwalin nods and turns away only to falter and spin back.

“My brother says you are to be trusted.”

“That’s…good?”, this is an incredibly odd situation to be in this early in the morning.

The warrior shifts, clearly as uncomfortable as Bilbo is. His hands make an odd sort of aborted movement at his side.

“You may call me Dwalin.”

And then he’s gone. Matching off in the direction opposite to Bilbo like he had t just thrust the hobbit into a state that can only be described as shell shock.

“THE NERVE OF HIM!”, the shrill shriek of rage from Frerin is expected, “FOSSILISED SHELL OF DWARF WHY WOULD BILBO EVEN CARE TO USE YOUR NAME!”

Bilbo winces at the volume.

“Frerin please calm down.”, he risks mumbling as he ducks his head to stuff his items into his pack.

The ghost blanches, making outraged and incomprehensible gestures at the space Dwalin had been occupying. He does however quiet down.

As they set off again Bilbo is treated to the sight of Frerin abandoning his usual place by Bilbo’s side in order to circle menacingly around Dwalin. It’s a wonderful sight even if Bilbo still hasn’t worked out what exactly the bad blood between the two is.

His attention is diverted when, as promised, Ori apears at his right.

“Sorry about all that. You won’t believe it but my brother wanted to make sure I didn’t ask anything rude!”

Bilbo very much can believe it. Dori seemed to care a lot about being polite and respectable. He’d make a very good hobbit if he weren’t so tall and didn’t wear those terrible boots.

“I’m sure he means well.”

Ori huffs, throwing his hands up, “Oh please! Nori never means well!”

Nori? Apparently Bilbo had been wrong. He can’t believe it after all.

“Just making sure you don’t scare off our burglar”, the dwarf in question appears out of seemingly nowhere and throws an amicable arm over Bilbo’s shoulder.

“I doing Ori could offend me with some questions.”, Nori makes a doubtful noise, “And please stop trying to pinch my buttons. This is my favourite waste coat.”

Nori drops his hand like he’s been burned. Honestly, compared to Lobelia this was child’s play.

“How’d you know?”, nori squints.

“You have a long way to go before you can keep up with a Sackville Baggins . She’s been trying to pinch my spoons for bear a decade now.”

“Is that a normal hobbit thing?”

“Oh no, just her I’m afraid. She’s still furious I caught her when she tried to hide them in her ridiculous hair do.”

Ori seems almost concerned by this, “Is she… Why do you let her in if you know she’s trying to steal your things?“

Bilbo sniffs. He supposes there’s no real harm in admitting this out here. After all it’s not like any of them will be gossiping about it at the morning market.

“Because it’s only fair after I stole her doilies.”

Chapter 7: 7

Chapter Text

They are lucky with the weather until they hit the higher part of the mountain (not THE mountain but the mountain they are currently on). Then the rain starts bucketing down with such intensity that it becomes hard to see more than four people ahead much less hear anyone.

Bilbo, in an effort to stay in the tiny path they are on, has his front pressed to the rock face when Thorin yells down the line that they need to find shelter. The air around them shudders and Bilbo can feel the hair on the back of his neck prickle as lightning fills the air with static.

Balin’s voice rings out over noise, awed and scared at the same time, “This isn’t a thunderstorm! It’s a thunder battle!”

Which makes absolutely no sense until Bofur’s subsequent exclamation put things into context.

“Stone giants! The legends are true!?”

Bilbo gasps as the entire mountain heaves into action, a Goliath of stone and rock towers above them. From across the valley a huge boulder comes crashing into the rocky outcrop above them.

“Take cover”

Dwalin has him and Ori by the backs of their coats in a flash. Yanking them into the corner of the rock. Debris tumbles down as the company cower into the path as best they can. Only Frerin remains out in the open unbothered by the rocks that go right through him. His eyes seem to almost pulse in tune with the cracks of lightning as he laughs.

“I always knew these rocks felt alive!” Then he freezes, gaze directly above them.

“Bilbo! Tell them to move! We’re not on the path!”

His warning comes too late, suddenly the mountain shifts and they are torn away from each other. He loses track of the first group as soon as the rock they are on goes swinging through the air.

The mountain face is fast approaching when someone gives the command to jump. He jumps as far as he can but the difference in height between him and the dwarrow catches up to him and rather than go crashing into Ori like Kili had he drops. It’s a miracle he manages to catch a small piece of jagged stone.

“Bilbo!? Where are you!?” Frerin’s frantic calls blended into Bofur’s but before he can answer they’ve found him and Thorin is tossing him back into the path. He gasps again desperately sucking in air, trembling.

“Bilbo, can you hear me? Are you alright? Bilbo answer!” Frerin’s hands are waving around his head. Bilbo can only nod mutely.

“I thought we lost our Burglar!”

Frerin’s eyes snap to the side no doubt to criticise Dwalin for the observation but Thorin gets there first.

“He’s been lost ever since he left home,” he growls.

Frerin jerks back in shock, stepping in front of Bilbo as if he can protect him from whatever Thorin might say next.

“He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

It’s like someone has punched the air out of his lungs. Frerin’s snarls.

“Thorin! What is wrong with you!? How can you- Bilbo don’t listen to a word that comes out of his mouth! He…Bilbo?” the ghost falters in his rampage when he turns to check on the hobbit. Whatever he sees there steals the words from his mouth.

Bilbo lets the eye contact he has maintained with Thorin drop. Squatting his jaw he stumbles to his feet and silently continues after everyone. He doesn’t say another word until the others are asleep. Thorin is right. He doesn’t belong here at all. What was he thinking? Letting a half ,a wizard and a ghost convince him to go on some kind of adventure. That’s no place for a hobbit much less a Baggins.

He slowly gets to his feet only to freeze when he looks up. Frerin is sitting, back against the wall, just opposite him. He doesn’t seem surprised to learn that Bilbo wasn’t asleep.

“Don’t do this.”

The hobbit inhales sharply before shouldering his pack.

“He’s right.”

“No. He’s not. Bilbo please he speaks without thinking especially under stress.”

“He’s been thinking that the whole time and you know it. Don’t lie to yourself just because you need someone to keep you company.”

Frerin’s eyes flash dangerously.

“You promised.”

Bilbo sighs. He did. He did promise that. Frerin approaches slowly, gaze pleading. Bilbo’s resolve wavers.

“Bilbo? What are you whispering about?”

Bofur’s head peaks around the corner. He notices almost immediately that Bilbo is packed to move.

“Where do you think you're going?”

Bilbo swallows, debating just leaving right then but the helpless expression on Frerin’s face makes him falter.

“Back to Rivendell.”

“No! You can’t do that”, Bofur hisses, “You’re one of us! One of the company!”

“Listen to him, Bilbo. The others think so too, it’s not just me who wants you here.”

“Bofur you all heard what Thorin said. He was right. I don’t belong here. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here with you all.”

The dwarf’s face creases with sympathy, “You’re home sick. I understand.”

“No! No you don’t.”, Bilbo snaps, the hurt finally spilling into anger.

He meets Frerin’s gaze briefly, “None of you do. Your dwarves!”

He’s had quite enough of his worries and concerns being brushed away and it’s all just too much. He’d nearly died. Again. It had been absolutely out of his control and he’d been reprimanded and cast out in front of everyone. He doesn’t know what else he can do to win Thorin over at this point so he might as well give up.

“You’re used to being like this. Never settling in one place, always being on the road. Not belonging anywhere!”

“Bilbo!”

Frerin's sharp cry snaps him back to the reality of the situation. He is angry at Thorin for being mean and unfair, and he’s dealing with it by doing the very same to Bofur. He’s being terrible.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re right. We don’t belong anywhere,” Bofur murmurs.

His gaze is downcast. His ridiculous hat covering the hurt that Bilbo knows he would find in his eyes if he were looking up.

“Nicely done Bilbo.”

“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Bofur looks back up with a forced smile, “I really do.”

He genuinely seems to mean that too. After that awful thing Bilbo just said, he really wishes him the best.

Bilbo is going to answer. Try to salvage this mess of an interaction because he hates the thought of leaving Bofur hurt and Frerin is right, he had a promise to keep. He doesn’t get the chance. His sword glows, faintly at first but quickly growing brighter by the second, and the back of the cave opens up to reveal more goblins than they had any hope of fighting off.

He loses track of Frerin in the chaos. His entire focus narrowing down to just himself as he tries to get their filthy hands off of him. He swings his sword out blindly and it manages to startle them into letting go of him only for him to stumble and land on back near the edge. A goblin leaps at him, hands scrabbling at his face for a moment before the edge gives way under the weight of the two of them. And then they are falling into a darkness that quickly fades into unconsciousness as his head smacks against something hard on the way down.

He wakes to the sound of sticky wet breathing. Something fleshy and pale is hovering over the goblin that had dropped with him. Bilbo blinks, trying to will his eyes straight.

The creature cackles and begins to drag the goblin deeper into the dark.

“Yesss yessss! Gollum! Gollum!” it’s whispering gleefully, making an awful noise somewhere between a gag and a swallow.

The goblin suddenly starts to struggle against its grip. Bilbo gasps quietly as the thing grabs a rock in the goblin’s head again and again. There’s blood on the stone when the creature jumps over the body to finish the job but all Bilbo can get his eyes to focus on is a thin band of gold bouncing across the ground towards him. Every clang if the metal hitting the stone rings in his ears but the creature doesn’t seem to hear it.

He doesn’t know how much time passes between then and the moment the ring slips onto his finger. The colour seeps out of the world around him as it settles. Sounds echo in his ears but they’re delayed and far away like noises carrying over a huge expanse of still water.

He should kill this creature, Golem, before he leaves. Put it out if it’s misery before he follows after the company. It wheezes, breath rattling in its chest. Bilbo’s sword weighs heavy in his hands. He can’t do this. There’s something too pitiful about this creature, so warped by the darkness it lives in. Bilbo will not be the one to end its life.

Something dark whispers in his ear as he takes a mad leap for freedom, mocking him for his weakness. Gollum screams in agony behind him but he doesn’t stop to look back even for a moment.

“BAGGINSSSSSSS! THIEF! THIEEEEF!”

Riddles echo his head as he scrambles to catch up with the dwarrow.

He catches up to them, gathered in a group as Gandalf demands to know where Bilbo is. Everyone is there, arguing about where they last saw him. Except for Frerin. Frerin is nowhere to be seen. Bilbo turns around, fully prepared to go back and look for the ghost when Thorin speaks.

“I’ll tell you where he is. Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s been thinking of nothing but his warm hearth since the moment we left. We will not be seeing our burglar again. He is long gone.”

How dare he. How dare he stand there and say those words when by leaving Bilbo would have been doing exactly what he’d wanted from the very start. Bilbo yanks of the ring. His ears pop as the sounds rush back up to him.

“-arrogant fool. Our burglar? OUR burglar? After what you said to him!? You must be delusional. Did you hit your head!? How can you sound so betrayed when you were the one who told him he didn’t belong here! Dwalin put our differences aside and hit him for me. Bofur defend MY hobbits honor! He could be dead. Don’t slander his name like this! How-“

Frerin’s voice pops into existence as soon as the ring is off his finger.

“The hobbit has a name,” Bilbo announces, stepping out from behind the tree that was concealing him from view.

The dwarves startle, whipping around to face him. A muttered cry of joy goes up in the air as they recognise him.

“Bilbo Baggins! I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life,” Gandalf laughs, arms outstretched to welcome him into the circle they had formed.

Fili and Kili come rushing up to him. He endures their rough pushing and prodding, accepting it for the show of affection he knows it is.

“We’d given you up!” Kili beams at him. Bilbo’s braid is still in his hair despite the rough treatment he’s sure they’d all gone through.

“How did you get past the goblins!?” Fili seems rightfully disbelieving about that.

Bilbo chuckles, slipping the ring away where he hopes no one will see it. He doesn’t want anyone else to know he has it but he doesn’t know why. Instead of answering properly he gives them all a vague non answer that Gandalf thankfully fills in for him.

“No. I want to know. Why did you come back?” Thorin won’t be swayed.

Bilbo is almost offended for a second except for the way the dwarf almost seems shy to properly look at him. It’s completely unlike Thorin.

“What my brother means is: I’m so sorry for what I said to you. It wasn’t your fault that the mountain turned out to be alive. You have no reason to return to us and also I’m so happy you are alive,” Frerin whispers into Bilbo’s ear.

Bilbo straightens. There’s something he’d been meaning to say to Bofur back in that cave that he may as well say now.

“I know you doubt me. You always have. And you’re right. I often think of Baggend”, he shrugs, a what can you do sort of gesture, “I miss my books. I miss my armchair and my garden. That’s home.”

Thorin is staring properly now. Face open in a way Bilbo wasn’t expecting. He almost looks vulnerable and Bilbo has the sinking realization that maybe Frerin and Bofur weren’t the only ones who heard his careless comment.

“That’s why I came back. You don’t have a home, it was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”

“Careful Bilbo. That’s nearly a smile, I’d hate to see my brother fall in love with you.”

Unfortunately for Frerin (and the rest of them) he doesn’t get the opportunity to see how the words fluster Bilbo. A howl rips through the air and the company freeze, reaching for their weapons.

“Out of the frying pan,” growls Thorin.

“And into the fire,” Gandalf finishes with a flourish before he booms, “run. RUN!”

They rush into motion, abandoning thoughts of standing their ground and fighting (to which Bilbo is very grateful of, he isn’t sure how well he would manage against an entire pack of wolves even with Frerin’s sword wielding tips to help him.). Against all odds he manages to screwed one when it lunges at him but he knows it’s pure luck he wasn’t ripped to pieces.

Gandalf urges them towards the trees as they risk stumbling right off the cliff face. It’s not enough Bilbo thinks desperately. They’ll just wait for us at the bottom of the trees. We can’t stay up here forever.

Bilbo pulls himself up onto a sturdy looking branch just in time to snatch his toes out of the way off the snapping maw of one of the beasts. Somewhere above or below him someone inhales sharply as the orcs come into view.

Now let it be said that Balin had never gone into huge detail about what the orc from Thorin’s past looked like. As far as Bilbo knows the awful creature is supposed to be dead from the wounds Thorin gave it and long since buried. But still, as the hulking mass snarls at them from the top of the biggest warg Bilbo has ever seen, he knows exactly who he’s looking at before Thorin says the name they had all been dreading.

“Azog.”

“Bilbo stop him from whatever idiotic thing he’s planning on doing. Please. I’m begging you to stop him.”

Which is a truly wonderful sentiment, although Bilbo isn’t sure what Frerin realistically expects him to do. Especially when flaming pine cones have no effect and the base of the tree squeals under the combined weight of thirteen dwarrow, one hobbit (even though his belly has shrunk significantly on a travelling diet) and a wizard. He can only watch a the tree goes toppling over and Thorin, somehow unaffected by gravity, stands to face his enemy.

With flames surrounding them and a drop meaning certain death below them, Bilbo’s only thought is that he is incredibly sick of running away.

Chapter 8: 8

Chapter Text

For a moment it feels like the world pauses to watch the way Thorin hefts Orcrist and lunges towards Azog. The fire roars around them creeping closer to the pine tree they are clinging to. Everything echoes distorted and faraway to Bilbo’s ears almost like he’d somehow slipped on the ring again without noticing.

Frerin makes an aborted movement towards Thorin. His face is stuck somewhere in the middle of fury and horror.

“WHY AREN’T YOU STOPPING HIM! BALIN! STOP HIM PLEASE! BILBO DO SOMETHING!”, he yells, torn between sticking to Thorin’s side and screaming in their faces.

Eventually sticking by his brother wins out and Bilbo watches the ghost stumble away from them and throw himself in front of the weapon Azog swings at Thorin. It passes straight through him and slams into Throin’s middle, sending him sprawling across the ground.

“NO! NO PLEASE!”, the ghost begs but no one can hear him. Only Bilbo.

He’s just a hobbit, he thinks as he somehow manages to get his feet under him and stand. Sharp teeth clamp down and Thorin’s cry of pain cuts right through the odd far awayness he’d been experiencing. He’s just a hobbit, he thinks as Dwalin somehow also manages to stand only for the branch to collapse under his weight.

Bilbo’s heartbeat hammers in his chest when the orc tosses Thorin aside only to order another of the creatures forward. The second orc walks forward, taking its time with the movement. Thorin isn’t moving. He’s a hobbit, Bilbo thinks as he fumbles with his sword.

If you were to walk into the Shire and ask anyone about what makes a Took a Took they will say something similar to this. Tooks are stupidly brave, quite reckless, fairly even tempered despite it all and altogether remarkably forgiving.

You have to be if you’re the adventuring sort or you would never survive a day outside in the big wide world surrounded by all those different people. You can’t offend and dislike every strange person you come across if you want to get far outside the shire. So naturally if you are significantly less brave, prone to excessive planning, occasionally fly into a rage and fond of holding a grudge it’s best not to do any sort of adventuring.

“Get Off him! Get off! Please! DWALIN YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! SOMEBODY HELP ME GET HIM OFF I CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN!”, sobs Frerin, he’s pointlessly trying to claw the orc away from Thorin but his hands are slipping through its body again and again no matter how hard he tries. The ground around them is burning and the wind is ripping at them but the orc pays it no more kind than he does Frerin.

You would be hard pressed to find anyone less suited to adventuring than a Baggins. A Baggins (although not many people will tell you this) is prone to fits of emotion (mostly rage or tears), frankly unneeded levels of planning and holding a grudge like no one’s business.

Behind him Bilbo can hear a second pair of sobs and even without turning around he knows it’s Fili and Kili. Too old not to know what is coming next but too young or too loyal to turn away from the scene.

It’s a combination of two very distinct family characteristics that lead Bilbo to (in what might be bravery but is certainly reckless) launch himself (quite suddenly overcome with a odd sort of crystal clear fit of rage) towards the creature (who Bilbo had quickly adopted a grudge against as soon as he’d seen his dwarrow go pale at the sight of it) with a battle cry that would make any dwarf proud.

He’s not a fighter. His skill with a sword is mediocre at best and more likely to accidentally hurt than help Thorin so he doesn’t bother with trying any fancy maneuvers. Instead he tackles the orc with all the momentum he can get going and prays to any god that might spare the time to listen that it will be enough to get Thorin safely out of the orcs slashing range.

It is. By some miracle the momentum is just enough that they both roll off Thorin and Bilbo ends up with enough leverage to blindly stab at any soft part he can reach. He can barely see what he’s doing between the hot air stinging his eyes and the way his head is still spinning but he manages to force his sword into a gap in the armor. He forces down the urge to gag when he can feel the tip off his sword slide through any resistance and hit the ground. The orc flails one last time and falls still.

Bilbo staggers back barely thinking past the knowledge that he has to get between Thorin and the orcs. He may just be a hobbit, he thinks once more, but these creatures will have no choice but to face him first if they want to reach Thorin. He tries to take comfort in that.

“Steady your stance, Bilbo. Don’t over extend your reach but don’t let them get too close. You can’t see them but the others are nearly on their feet. Just buy them time. You can do this,” Frerin's advice washes over him as Azog’s beast crawls towards them, drool dripping from its open mouth.

The ghost’s voice is hoarse from the fear he’d felt just moments before but he is unwavering by Bilbo’s side. Together they face Azog.

Bilbo swipes his sword out in front of him. Time. He just needs to give them time. He struggles to keep his gaze forward. He hasn’t heard movement from Thorin since he placed himself between them and the fear that he was somehow too late is gnawing at him.

His head twitches slightly to try to listen for a breath, a groan, anything but gets nothing. Just oppressing silence.

“That’s it. Careful now. Don’t look away from them. Thorin’s still breathing, he’s just unconscious. Now, be ready to parry. The one on the right is about to lunge at us.”

Thankfully Bilbo never has to rely on the single lesson Frerin had given him on parrying because Dwalin intercepts the orc’s movement with a powerful axe swing. Bilbo has never been so pleased to see a dwarf in his life and his knees nearly collapse underneath him as the others appear right after, roaring and swinging their weapons.

“Go for the one on your left while it’s distracted!”, barks Frerin.

Bilbo barely notices the eagles until he is snatched off the ground midway through following one of Frerin’s instructions. One moment he’s surrounded by heat and fire and the next he’s freezing, miles above the ground.

The sound that leaves him when he’s dropped onto the back of another huge bird is one that he can only pray went unnoticed because he knows he’d never live through the humiliation if Kili or Fili had somehow heard it. Or even worse, Bofur.

Bilbo’s fingers clench against the feathers as he tries to overcome the aftershocks of the adrenaline spike. He’s shaking quite badly now and it has nothing to do with the frigid conditions that come with flying.

Bilbo can barely take his eyes off Thorin, hanging limp in the claws of one of the eagles. Had he been too late? Why wasn’t Thorin moving?

Below him the eagle lets out a disgruntled coo that startles him into loosening his grip. He mutters an apology that goes unheard (or at least unanswered) by the bird. On the horizon the first signs of morning begin to wash over the world. Orange and pinks splash over everything as the rest begin their descent.

Bilbo barely gets one shaky foot in the ground before the two princes knock him right over.

He manages to shove them off, with some difficulty and Balin’s help, just long enough to take stock of the situation they have found themselves in. Everyone’s here except… Bilbo turns to locate Frerin who wouldn’t have been able to get an eagle. The ghost is nowhere to be seen and Bilbo nearly panics only for Frerin to pop into existence beside Thorin.

He looks to Bilbo for help, “what’s going on? Why hasn’t he woken?”

Bilbo loses sight of both of them when Gandalf leaps off his eagle and rushes to Thorin’s side. Oin crowds in too.

“He’s waking up”, shouts Frerin.

“Where is he? The halfling?”, are the first words out of Thorin's mouth.

Relief floods Bilbo, so all encompassing that he barely registers the mild irritation the name brings him. He watches as the dwarf struggles to get up, Dwalin and Kili rushing to his side to aid him.

Stormy blue eyes meet greenish brown. Bilbo almost laughs. He hadn’t realized just how worried he had been that he wouldn’t get a chance to meet that gaze again.

Thorin sways precariously but manages to stay upright, “You!… What were you doing”

“Oh what now!?”, groans Frerin, accustomed to his brothers ways enough that he just knows Thorin is about to say something monumentally stupid or at the very least incredibly odd.

Bilbo takes a small step back as if to hide from the intensity of Thorin’s glare. He doesn’t understand.

“You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild!”

Bilbo bites his tongue to stop the small part of him that wants to unleash an indignant stream of irritation and hurt. A larger part of him is rendered speechless. Tossed right into a deep lake of confusion.

Frerin does not need to hold his tongue. The ghost sputters around some vague frustrated noises before settling on a flabbergasted, “Thorin! Have some honor!”

“That you had no place among us…”

The tension is thick between them. Nobody says a word as Thorin steps into Bilbo’s space. And perhaps, at the end of the day, that is what stings the most. That no one, not even the wizard who brought him on this quest, says a single thing in his defense. At most Kili looks confused and Balin at a push looks like he pities Bilbo. He hates the pity more than anything.

“Hit him. Something clearly went wrong while he was unconscious so put him back that way and we can hope that when he next wakes his brain will have healed”, Frerin growls, probably trying to lighten the mood.

And then, almost as if Thorin heard his brother’s growling, his face softens. His eyes pitching into a slightly brighter shade of blue when he leans in to catch Bilbo’s gaze.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life.”, he almost gasps, reaching to tug the hobbit into a tight embrace.

A light cheer goes up amongst the company when Bilbo finally manages to gather his wits about himself and return the embrace. Thorin is leaning heavily into him, pressing his grin into Bilbo’s shoulder as if that could also hide the feeling of the expression.

“What is wrong with him? That…that was beyond strange. Bilbo I was jesting before but now I am actually concerned. Please ask the wizard to reassess the damage to my brother’s mind…”, Frerin is looking at Thorin in the way Elrond looked at the company when they decided to skinny dip in his fountain. Confusion, concern and horror.

Bilbo doesn’t have the chance to follow up on the comment because Thorin pulls away from their embrace. He’s only a little reluctant to abandon the warmth that seems to radiate off the dwarf.

Once they are facing each other again Bilbo notices the smile has gone and been replaced with an earnest but regretful look. One might assume Thorin had rushed into a hug just to hide the fact that he could feel joy. Even before the orcs had arrived Thorin had seemed so hesitant to show any more than the hint of a smile.

One day, Bilbo makes a mental note, he will find out what has made the dwarf so afraid to feel softer things and then perhaps he will try and convince him otherwise.

“I am sorry I doubted you…”, Thorin murmurs, almost a whisper by his usual standards.

“No…no I would have doubted me too,” he had doubted himself, “I’m not a…”

Bilbo pauses. Unsure what exactly he’s hoping to say until Frerin chimes in.

“A hero? You looked plenty heroic to me.”

“A hero. I’m not a warrior, I’m not even a burglar”, Bilbo finishes with a chuckle unaware of the way Kili follows the brief glance to empty air.

He’s too caught up in the way Thorin’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he finally allows Bilbo to see him smile. For a moment it’s like someone has punched the breath out of him. A strange unplaceable movement in his chest that feels far too fond to be directed at someone who had spent the whole journey snapping and growling at him.

Thorin’s eyes shift to focus on something behind Bilbo and widen in awe. He shuffles forward, they all do, but it’s an unconscious movement like some huge magnet is drawing all the dwarves forward at once.

When Bilbo turns he sees a mountain. Alone on the horizon as it points towards the heavens. To him, a hobbit who’s never traveled this far before, it could easily be just another peak. One in a hundred that they’ve passed and clambered over and fallen off of. But he knows it’s not.

Long before Gandalf announces the lonely mountain he can tell by the way this is the most quiet he’s ever seen the group outside of when they were sleeping. They barely seem aware of Gandalf and Bilbo’s comments. The mountain is calling them all in a language that wizards and hobbits can’t understand but Bilbo thinks he’s starting to hear the echoes of.

“Our home.”, announces Thorin, voice thick with suppressed emotion.

“Our home.”, agrees Frerin but there’s an unexpected level of apprehension in his voice that Bilbo would never have expected to hear at the first sight of their destination.

As if to emphasize their next step, a small light winged bird weaves through their crowd and towards the lonely mountain. As if it too has to be there by durin’s day and can’t afford to wait for a silly group of travelers to get going and move out of its way.

A raven returning to the mountain according to Oin (who may or may not have ever seen a raven in his life).

A thrush according to Gandalf (who is probably correct if Bilbo’s glimpse of its marking was accurate and his bird watching skills not too rusty).

A sign according to Thorin (and who could argue with that when he said it in such a gentle but almost exuberant tone. Certainly not Bilbo).

“I wonder,” muses Frerin a good while later after he’d sat quietly thinking, “if my brother realizes that it’s not only the mountain that he looks at like that or if he needs more time to self-reflect.”

Bilbo has no idea what that is supposed to mean but he doesn’t get that chance to ask.

Fili, accompanied by Ori (Bilbo is starting to see what Kili saw there), comes jogging by and presses a bowl of dinner into Bilbo’s hands. He lingers a moment before he places his hand very seriously on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“Akhminruki astû. We owe you a great debt.”

Then he scurries off, dragging poor Ori with him and leaving Bilbo sitting quite confused by the whole affair.

He turns to Frerin after double checking no one else would come running up, “Do you have any idea what that was about?”

Frerin hums, “He was saying thank you. In our tongue things often feel…stronger, which is probably why he chose not to say it in yours. He thought he would watch his uncle die today.”

“Well now! I hardly need anyone in my debt. I can’t very well go and let the leader of our group die. Who on earth would Balin gossip about.”, Bilbo blusters a bit, uncomfortable at the thought of anyone owing him anything other than monthly rent.

Frerin isn’t listening to his adamant refusals though. He’s looking into the middle distance, deep in thought again. He leans back and forth a few times in a clear pros and cons argument with himself before he claps his hands together, apparently decided.

“To be more exact it means thank you wholeheartedly. Or at least that’s the closest I can think of.”

Bilbo blinks, startled by the new knowledge, “Aren’t you supposed to…”

“Keep our language secret until the day we die?”

“Ah…yes?”

Frerin grins and throws his arm around Bilbo to ‘rest’ it on his shoulder.

“I believe you’ll find that I have succeeded with that part and considering that my nephew has announced that our family owes you a debt…granted I’m sure he means to defend you in battle but as your greatest friend I know that you’d much prefer some language lessons. Or am I wrong?”

He’s not. About any of it actually. Even his little teasing comment about being Bilbo’s greatest friend is only really challenged by one other claim and that relationship is complicated enough that Bilbo thinks Frerin can take the title.

“You aren’t wrong exactly…I just…Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll need it if you become part of the family anyway, just consider this a head start.”

The ghost is once again talking utter nonsense but Bilbo chooses to let him prattle on without interruption. He’s clearly keeping himself entertained and it’s not as if anyone else has to hear it so what’s the harm.

Chapter 9: 9

Chapter Text

It would have of course been too much to ask that they could avoid being chased by orcs so soon after the initial incident.
They were chased by orcs. Again. In case that was somehow unclear.

And a bear.

Bilbo can not forget the bear, that would be a rather important detail to skip over. Especially since, as it turns out, the ‘bear’ is not just a bear but in fact their host as well. And even half dead on his feet Bilbo will be buried before he can ever be accused of being a rude or bad guest. It simply won’t happen.

He lets his attention wander over towards the giant. Aside from his obvious distrust of dwarves and everything they bring with them, Bilbo has actually found the man remarkably pleasant. When Gandalf had first decided (how kind of him to give them basic information in time) to explain Beorn’s personality he’d made it sound like they were about to encounter a huge brute who would sooner separate their heads from their bodies than allow the company a few days of shelter.

Across the field the giant leans down to give a pony his attention. His demeanor is open and welcoming to the creature. The huge hand he runs through its mane is gentle as he carefully untangles any foliage he finds there. The pony shifts a bit when Beorn finds a particularly difficult tangle but other than that shows no signs of concern or discomfort. If his animals are any indication of the giant’s character then Bilbo feels quite comfortable in his home.

Personally Bilbo has found him to be a charming host. He has had the occasional tense showdown when confronted by one of the dwarves (mainly Gloin who for some reason has decided that Beorn is to be treated with a great deal of suspicion and keeps demanding what the price of there stay will be) but other than that he has kept them well fed and well rested. As far as Bilbo is concerned it’s potentially the nicest stay they’ve had so far.

Elrond had been a gracious host but the stay was rather spectacularly overshadowed by a) the fight Bilbo had had with Frerin and b) the clear disdain dwarves had for elves and the obvious snide comments elves had for dwarves. Backhanded comments rarely make for a relaxing stay unless delivered to you by someone who you are used to verbally sparring with (read: lobelia). Here at least everyone is open about their opinions and there will be no sneaking away at midnight to avoid imprisonment needed.

Beorn moves along only mildly disgruntled when Fili and Kili disturb his peace by grappling each other into the ground beside him. Terrible show of spacial awareness from both of them but thankfully the pony chooses not to kick them in the head.

Somewhere in the background Nori and Ori seem to be trying to goad Dori into doing the same. At first their attempts are met with a great deal of exasperated huffing and eye rolling but Ori, at least, is undeterred by the show of reluctance. Eventually Dori caves and gets them both into a headlock with remarkable ease. Bilbo looks away, pretending he can’t see the way Nori goes wide eyed and unsure when the action includes him. Nosy hobbit tendencies or not, this is a big step for the three of them and he doesn’t want to accidentally ruin it by being caught staring.

Wrestling is apparently a very normal and encouraged thing to do with your siblings in dwarrow culture according to Frerin. It gave Bilbo quite a fright the first time he’d been around to witness Kili get bodily shoved into the dirt. Luckily Frerin had gotten there first before he’d done something embarrassing like box their ears for causing a scene (he was saving that for a better moment now).

Not all the brother’s wrestle of course. It’s, as far as Bilbo understands, more about the ritual of doing something together than the actual activity. Fili and Kili wrestle because they are endless fountains of energy and hate being clean. Frerin has been very helpful about pointing out other examples of this time sharing they all do.

Ori and Dori knit usually. Fitting to the younger's intense attention and the elders enjoyment of more peaceful activities. Ori and Nori… Bilbo can only describe it as hide and seek but even then that is only the closest thing he can compare it to. Nori and Dori argue (although Bilbo doesn’t think they know that’s why they’re doing it). This is the first time he’s seen all three of them together.

Oin and Gloin (much to Bilbo’s surprise that anyone could do this for fun) chatter about math and strange problems involving winds and gravity and such. A strange middle ground between Gloin’s skill with numbers and Oin’s scientific brain. Interesting conversations to listen in on although Bilbo often finds himself getting lost once they start to throw in Khuzdul words here and there. Oin also listens to Gloin waxing poetic about his family when no one else can bear it any longer.

Bofur, Bombur and Bifur (even if they aren’t all technically brothers) just sort of exist together even if they aren’t participating in a common activity together. Whittling wood while Bombur cooks or humming and hahing about the intricacies of ‘stone sense’ (another thing Bilbo can barely wrap his head around no matter how many times Frerin tries to explain it).

According to Frerin, Balin and Dwalin try to kill each other. Or at least that’s how it looks to Bilbo. Swinging swords and axes at each other with great force only to be deflected just before they behead the other. Bilbo disagrees with Frerin here. He thinks that the way they throw jibes at each other over dinner was a better example and that all the nasty business with axes was just for the sake of training.

They’d argued about that for a while before Bilbo had made the mistake of bringing up Thorin. Why would they pull Thorin into their sparring if it’s their brotherly bonding time? In fact any sparring is usually initiated by Dwalin and Thorin first. At the time Frerin had scowled but refused to dignify Bilbo with an answer.

Sensing he’d stepped a foot wrong somewhere he’d tried to lighten the mood and asked about what Thorin and Frerin used to do. Usually the ghost jumps at the chance to reminisce about their childhood. Only that time it didn’t go the way Bilbo expected.
“He likes to spar with Dwalin” he’d sneered, no funny name or insult, just pure unfiltered venom.

Since then the names have come back into play with their usual teasing nature (The stone that could, Structurally Dubious cavern ,Axe wielding cloud of emotional repression) but he can’t unhear the way Frerin had spat Dwalin’s name nor can he forget the hurt way Frerin had pulled away from the conversation. For the first time since his discovery of this one sided feud Bilbo is finally starting to see why it existed in the first place.

Bilbo isn’t really sure how to approach the subject again even though he feels as if he should. Jealousy is a painful thing to carry and he has no way of knowing how long the feeling has been festering.

Fili and Kili come bounding over, covered head to toe in grass and dirt, and throw themselves down in front of him expectantly.
“Yes?”, Bilbo prompts, unsure about what is expected of him and still quite caught up in thoughts of Frerin, Dwalin and Thorin.
“You never did my hair even though you gave your word”, announces Fili with a level of gravitas that Bilbo really thinks is unnecessary.
He hardly ‘gave his word’ after all. That makes it sound like they made some kind of blood pact under the full moon! Far too dramatic, the entire family.

“I assume you are here to collect the debt I owe you then?”, Bilbo is aiming for sarcasm here but his expectant customers only nod, no hint of a smile, like that is exactly what’s happening here.

He sighs, “Very well then. Position yourself comfortably and let’s get this done with…Uh as long as your uncle is happy to let me take over for today?”

Bilbo accompanies the questing with a tentative look at Thorin who is staring quite intently and has been ever since his nephews announced their reason for coming over.

“I think uncle would like it if-“

“Kili!”, Thorin snaps only to clear his throat rather awkwardly, “that would be quite acceptable Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo nods slowly and returns his attention to the mess of blonde in front of him. Whatever that was about, he wants no part in it. Especially if the dwarf is going to insist on calling him Mr. Baggins when everyone else has moved past that ages ago.

“Ooh Mr. Baggins! Please care for my young nephews and thus prove your worth in our family! Ooh Mr. Baggins please give me explicit permission to use your name so that I may feel as though you really want me to use it! Ooh Mr. Baggins won’t you run your dexterous finger brought my greasy locks next and then maybe also you-“

Bilbo lets out a sharp cough, eye twitching slightly. Frerin, from his position lounging next to Thorin, just gives him a grin that would most aptly be described as ‘sh*t eating’ if Bilbo is going to use that sort of language.

The ghost has been a complete bugger recently. Giggling to himself and making honestly cruel jokes anytime Thorin comes within two meters of Bilbo. Just because Bilbo thinks Thorin is quite good looking hardly necessitates this sort of relentless teasing. It’s perfectly acceptable to acknowledge a handsome face without it meaning any more.

“Kili! A comb please!”, he says with a little more volume than needed, startling the youngest enough that it was pure luck that Bilbo manages to catch the comb that goes flying towards his head.

Frerin finds this even more amusing than putting silly ideas about combing Throin’s hair into Bilbos head. Honestly! As if Thorin would trust Bilbo anywhere near his lovely braids.

Luckily for everyone involved it seems that that little nonsense production was enough to satisfy Frerin’s need for mischief for now and he blessedly keeps his thoughts to himself as Bilbo begins the process of combing out Fili’s hair.

He doesn’t miss the raspberry Frerin blows at him but at this point he is well used to that sort of behavior. He’s come to terms with the fact that his best friend is only just barely out of dwarf maturity in terms of living years and while it had originally been an odd thing to realize as someone who (by hobbit standards) is comfortably middle aged, he can recognise that a younger perspective in life has done his own sense of humor a world of good.

Although he still hasn’t worked up the courage to ask exactly how old Frerin was, he muses as he parts Fili’s hair and undid the brains that run down the side of his head (mindful of course to avoid the beard.). Bilbo drops the beads and clasps that hold the braids into Fili’s waiting hands.

In the back of his mind Bilbo is reminded of Beorn and the pony from earlier but he chooses to keep the comparison to himself for now. He’ll tell Frerin later when no one is nearby to get offended.

Across from them, Kili has popped himself down in front of his uncle to demand the same treatment. He is putting up quite a fuss about having his hair pulled too but Thorin is clearly used to that because he just clicks his tongue to stop Kili moving too much and continues.

It’s almost…domestic. Bilbo suddenly gets the strongest feeling that he isn’t meant to be sitting here doing Fili’s hair, that he has stolen this spot from someone who never even got the chance to sit in it. His fingers falter and the hobbit style braid he has been doing falls apart in front of him. Fili makes a questioning hmm when he feels his hair go slack.

“Bilbo! Look! Tell Uncle I wear it better than he does!“, he almost mistakes Kili’s voice for Frerin’s before he looks up to see why his attention is being called.

Kili tugs Thorin up to stand side by side with him. Whether it’s because of their preference for loose styles or Thorin’s practice at braiding, he has finished up a lot faster than Bilbo even if he hadn’t accidentally let Fili’s braid go.

It takes Frerin for Bilbo to notice what exactly he is supposed to be comparing because (and he’s rather ashamed to admit it) the sight of Thorin allowing himself to be tugged around by his excited nephew with a soft smile is so novel that he quite forgets himself for a moment.

“The menace has convinced Thorin to give him the same style Thorin usually wears. Don’t lie to them Bilbo we both know it’s boooorrriiing! So simple! Like a wild pair of horses, hair flowing in the wind.”

It’s true. Now that Bilbo looks closer they look almost identical except for the number of beads and of course the…beard situation (perhaps if Kili ate his vegetables more regularly…). Whether he agrees with Frerin’s assessment of style will remain a private thought for now.

“Very nice Kili but you’ve made me drop what I was doing now! I’ll have to start again…”, a lie but easier than explaining the real reason and less embarrassing than pretending he just messed up.

“Afraid to answer Mr Baggins?”

Bilbo freezes. Surely he heard wrong? Teasing he could handle from Kili and Frerin! From Fili and Bofur! Even from Ori on occasion but Thorin!? He tries to recover as smoothly as possible by sniffing delicately and picking Fili’s hair back up.

“People do say it’s hard to beat the original, Mr. Oakenshield.”, his words (carefully chosen to point out the rudeness of using his last name) have an unexpected effect on Thorin.

He goes almost purple and stutters through a series of bird-like head movements and blinks at least four times. Bilbo, back to focussing, does not see this but he does hear the very eloquent grunt that accompanies the display. He mistakenly takes that to mean Thorin is acknowledging that he should just swap over to using plain old Bilbo from now on.

“You put me to shame Bilbo. I don’t want to hear any complaints about my jokes ever again!”, whispers Frerin (for effect if nothing else).

The words give Bilbo another pause before he commits to redoing the original braid. That awful thought that he’s taking up a role that’s supposed to be Frerin’s surges back up (even as he shoves down the idea of being so presumptuous about his own importance). With the thought comes an idea. A silly one really, quite risky but he can’t help but follow through once he’s thought of it.

“Fili, do you mind if I try something a little different?”

“Huh? Oh, have at it.”, comes the dazed response.

Bilbo switches the way he’s been splitting the hair into four sections along the side and one section along the top. He’s come to learn over the many late night lessons he’s had with Frerin that dwarrow braids are quite serious things that borrow from family lines and mix with personal expression.

He starts to twist the sides into simpler three strand braids that stick right by the scalp as they curve with the shape of Fili’s head. Thorin’s style (according to Frerin) is heavily inspired by his grandmother on his fathers side but its looser appearance is his own touch.

Abandoning the right side he moves to mirror it on the left, it’s surprisingly similar to what he usually wears only neater. Kili’s style (although barely a style and not quite decided due to his age and other factors that Bilbo doesn’t really understand) is clearly starting to take inspiration from Thorin with his refusal to tie his hair back. The braids will come later, says Frerin, when he has a little more idea of who he is.

Finally moving towards the top Bilbo splits the hair into five segments, concentrating deeply now as it gets more complicated. This is where it differs from Fili’s usual look (loose from Thorin, braided on the sides from his mother from her father, mustache braids from his father) and begins to look like what Bilbo wanted.

Frerin inhales sharply. It’s taken him longer than Bilbo expected to realize what he was doing. He risks a smile to where the ghost is hovering over the work. If he is allowed to sit in this spot then he will make absolutely certain that Frerin gets to sit here with him. Last time that had been through following instructions, this time it would be through his style.

He finishes by tying the hair all together at the back and stepping away to let Frerin inspect the final product. Fili feels along the back of his head with curious fingers and calls his brother over for a second opinion.

“I like it!”, announces Fili after a moment.

Kili doesn’t give his opinion just yet, finger tracing the top braid thoughtfully then mimicking the motion on his own head. Whatever he’s thinking so deeply about never gets said aloud, instead he shoots a thumbs up at Bilbo before going back to fiddling with Fili’s new braid.

Unconsciously Bilbo looks to where Thorin last was for his opinion too. Only he’s nowhere to be seen. Concern bubbles in Bilbo’s chest. Had he recognised the style? Was this the moment that he gets accused of witchcraft and thrown into the nearest fireplace?

“He went that way.”, Frerin’s voice is a little wobbly but neither of them mention it.

Bilbo isn’t sure how to express his concerns without speaking but he doesn’t need to because Frerin seems to have gotten there already.

“He won’t have recognised…I didn’t have a style back when…”, he struggles to get to the end of the explanation without his voice cracking under the pressure of the memory, “Go find him…I’d…I think I want to sit with them for a bit please.”

Bilbo doesn’t argue. Can’t really but he doesn’t feel like he needs to. As Frerin sits by the two brothers, still picking at the braid and comparing it to Fili’s usual style, he looks more solid than Bilbo has ever seen him. Together like that they almost look like three brothers rather than an uncle and his nephews.

Bilbo steps away quietly and wanders in the direction Frerin has sent him in. It’s nearly dinner time and someone would make sure that their resident brooder comes back to eat.

He finds Thorin fairly quickly, sitting by a stream as the last of the sunset slips away. The first of the night's fireflies are starting to sluggishly pull themselves into the air around him. Bilbo takes a moment to watch the way the lighting softens the creases on Thorin’s face. This is the least armor he’s ever seen on the dwarf, emotional or otherwise.

Unlikely as it is he hopes that he’ll get to see this Thorin more often. It’s an unexpected time to have the realization that he really does intend to take this grumpy sod home. Late, some might say. For all his lovely words on the carrock and in the pine forest this is the first time the certainty of it has settled in him.

“Who taught you to braid?”, Thorin’s gruff question cuts through the silence.

Apparently Bilbo hasn’t gone as unseen as he thought.

“Pardon?”

Thorin turns to face him. His scowl’s effect ruined by the firefly that flies into his nose and has to be nobly (read this as petulantly) swatted away.

“That was no Hobbit braid. Who taught you to do it? When? Was it Balin? It is one from our family line although I cannot put my finger on whose…”, he grunts question after question in rapid succession, stepping much closer than he needs to be so that they’re practically nose to nose.

Bilbo fumbles around the suddenly blank cavern his brain has transformed into for an acceptable excuse that won’t easily be disproved by Thorin doing something like asking Balin.

“If you must know…”, his brain makes some sort of last ditch attempt at a thought that links the concept of Balin to the concept of Ori, “…I read it in a book!”

Thorin’s eyes narrow, “a book.”

Making a bold move and physically shoving Thorin’s chest until he gives Bilbo space to think, Bilbo huffs as if he’s tired of Thorin’s inexplicable behavior (he’s barely acting).

“Yes. A book. The heavy objects with pages?”

“I know what a book is.”

“Right well…you could have fooled me. I read a book in Elrond’s library and thought it would be fine since it seemed like it was linked to your family. Line of Durin? Unless I’m wrong…oh dear…is Oakenshield an actual surname?”

He knows full well he’s right but confused, well meaning panic had worked on Thorin before and he’s not above using the same dirty trick twice. It works a charm this time too.

“No. You are right. Then…you saw a picture? No one taught you.”, Thorin is trying hard to confuse Bilbo to the point of physical pain. What does it matter if someone taught him or not? Surely even dwarrow have to learn somehow.

“No, just a picture. Now come on, it’s nearly supper and I won’t have you keeling over from hunger because you struggle to believe I’m capable of learning from pictures!”

He doesn’t wait to hear any more strange questions. Just leans right in and grabs Thorin by the hand and starts dragging them back before he can overthink his actions.

“I don’t.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I don’t… I do think you can learn from pictures.”

Oh sweet Yavanna above, to think he’s let this very dwarf hurt his feelings nearly to the point of walking back to Rivendell alone.

“You’re smart.”, apparently Thorin isn’t done. The compliment (?) sounds like he really had to dig deep to find.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Thorin just grunts. For someone who likes to make long winded and often quite tedious speeches he can be frustratingly monosyllabic. Or maybe that’s just a trait Bilbo brings out in him. He seems perfectly happy to have long conversations with Balin all the time

Chapter 10: 10

Chapter Text

Breakfast sitting heavy in his stomach and warm from the morning sun, Bilbo is comfortable enough to finally bring up that matter he’d been hoping Gandalf might be able to shed some light on. Sat as they were, smoking their pipes a bit away from the others, was a perfect opportunity.

“Gandalf? Could I ask something a bit odd?”

The wizard inclines his head to motion Bilbo onwards with his questioning. A small gesture that gets accentuated by the impressive width of his hat.

“Have you ever met a ghost?”

Gandalf splutters, coughing around his pipe. Bilbo rushes to smack him on the back to stop him choking, missing the way the people behind him experience a sudden drop in activity as they move their attention to the scene Gandalf has caused.

Eventually with a heaving gasp Gandalf regains his composure.

“What on earth has you asking that, Bilbo?”

The hobbit shrugs, aiming to play it off as mere curiosity rather than the pointed question it was, “Just wondering you know. I’ve always heard hobbit tales about ghosts and spirits that linger but I never really believed much of it. Only now, I’ve seen orcs and goblins and skin changers…”

“Well…there are some rather famous ghosts, although that’s hardly their preferred terminology, hanging around in a mountain but you needn’t worry about them. They can’t leave that place without…well basically don't worry about them.”

“I see…but what about a normal ghost?”, he has a sense this might be a very typical Gandalf conversation (frustrating and vague).

“A normal ghost?”, Gandalf chuckles, “perhaps you mean a wraith? Or river spirits? Or the so-called corpse candles? I very much doubt you’ll have to worry about those either!”

Bilbo huffs, “no. I mean like a hobbit ghost. Like how granny Sackville swore up and down that her husband would visit her in the evenings for tea time. No one ever saw him but it’s hardly the only story like that.”

Gandalf eyes him quietly for a moment. Something knowing and suspicious behind his gaze that has Bilbo avoiding eye contact like a naughty faunt. For a moment it seems as though he’s about to say something but he glances behind them and appears to think better of it.

“I’ve never seen such a thing myself but…”, he pauses to think (probably debating whether to encourage or dissuade Bilbo’s delusions), “…your mother used to say certain places had bad energy or good energy or well you get the idea. It was quite upsetting to Elrond when she informed him that there were memories in his library!”

The memory of whatever face lord Elrond had made at that sends the wizard into a round of mischievous chuckling, smoke puffing between his lips with every short exhale. He looks, and perhaps this is a sign that Bilbo is subconsciously more concerned about the next bit than he’d thought, like a dragon.

“My mother… could she…I mean did she ever see anything? Have you ever? I mean has anyone ever seen a ghost as far as you know? Not the scary kind?”

“See anything? Certainly not that she mentioned. And I doubt she would have seen anything I couldn’t. Bilbo…ghosts…aren’t like the stories your people tell. They are tortured beings, oath breakers or souls filled with dark magic. Should you see one I would strongly recommend going as far away as you can.”

He’s staring at Bilbo quite intently, concern wrinkling his forehead. Bilbo can see that his warnings come from a place of worry and care but the words irritate him. Clearly he can’t see all that well! Since Frerin is happily walking around him everyday and the wizard remains none the wiser.

“But then why do we have the stories! There are so many if you really start to think about it. If all ghosts are terrible and evil or trapped in mountains then why would a hobbit of all things lie and say they saw a friendly dead relative in their kitchen!”

Gandalf blinks, taken aback by the insistence in Bilbo’s tone. Still, he makes an interesting point. Why would a hobbit lie about ghosts when they value peace and quiet above all else. And above even that, do they not value family and home?

“I suppose…if any being was stubborn enough to refuse a valar then it would be a hobbit who was at risk of missing teatime. And if anyone were to pick at loopholes in the fabric of creation then I guess it would likely be a Sackville, if your mother’s stories are to be believed.”

Bilbo nods firmly. That’s much better. But still…a hobbit is not quite what he was dealing with.

“Only a hobbit?”

Gandalf gives him a shrewd look, “Bilbo if every person were as committed to mealtimes as hobbits the world would be overrun by ghosts of every shape and size to the point where we would barely be able to move without walking through a hundred spirits or more! No. It would take a particular type of stubbornness to return as a well meaning ghost.”

Then the wizard stops to think again, rubbing his fingers against the end of his nose.

“Actually there is one other race who might be able to match the will of a hobbit.”

Bilbo leans forward, “oh?”

Gandalf waves away the question, “nonsense! They aren’t able to linger outside the halls.”

“They can! I can!”, Frerin insists, having come closer to hear the answers Bilbo was trying to get out of Gandalf.

Bilbo is about to argue again. To try and work out what loophole might be used to keep a dwarf on this side past death but he is interrupted.

“There are no ghosts. Not in our kind and likely not in yours either Mr Baggins. Grief does strange things to a person.”

Bilbo feels his lips twist bitterly. Mr. Baggins. One step forward and two steps back. There is only so much rudeness he can take from Thorin Oakenshield at this point.

“Excuse me?”

Thorin rolls his shoulders clearly sensing the irritation in Bilbo’s voice and preparing for an argument. Bilbo finds himself mirroring the posture.

“There are no ghosts. Grief makes people mad. Makes us hear and see things that aren’t real.”

“With all due respect Thorin, I’ll take your opinions on your own people but I won’t have you making decisions about mine. If my mother says she felt energy or memories or whatever she felt then I’m inclined to believe her.”, he can feel himself getting quite heated about this, his own feelings not helped by the hurt and apprehensive face Frerin is making.

“Your mother…I believe she believed she was sensi-“

Bilbo cuts him off, “Are you implying my mother was mad?”

He’s not being fair to Thorin. Not really. For all his kingly education he’s ill equipped to keep up with the quick fire pace Bilbo likes to lead a disagreement with. He’s used to being given the time to consider his responses and has always needed that time as he speaks for more than just himself. The snapping style of bickering that any hobbit is used to using puts him at an immediate disadvantage.
The accusation has Thorin floundering to regain his footing in the argument.

“Ah. No. No, I'm sure… I only meant to say the Dwarrow ghosts do not exist.”

“Because you’ve never seen or heard one?”

Thorin scowls, recovered from his accidental insult and irritated that Bilbo is daring to push at this issue, “Because NO ONE has ever seen or heard one, Mr Baggins.”

The high pitched Hmmph that the repetition of Mr. Baggins brings out of Bilbo has Gandalf adjusting his hat with a muttered, “oh dear.”
“Oh but you have a magic ancestor who gets reborn?” he snaps, “That’s fine is it? But hobbits are mad and grief ridden to imagine ghosts might be real?”

The logic of dwarves is enough to drive Bilbo to a real sort of madness.

And there’s that cursed formal nonsense again. Did Bilbo have to sit the fool down and scream in his face for him to stop holding them at an arm's distance from each other. Whether Thorin meant to remind Bilbo that they weren’t close or whether he was merely being a patronizing arse was still up in the air.

“Fine!”, Thorin shouts, flipping his hands up, “Fine. As you say, I shall not tell you about your own people and you shall not tell me about mine. You hobbits may have ghosts and we,” he gestures aggressively around them, “do not.”

Bilbo only barely restrains himself from stamping his foot in anger, “But you-“

“Bilbo enough.”, Frerin’s voice cuts through the air icily.

He’s standing at Thorin’s shoulder. Face pinched but stern. Enough is enough.

Bilbo swallows, quickly realizing that he’d let himself get carried away and in doing so had missed the shadow that had fallen across Thorin as they argued. He inhales through his nose and takes quick stock of their situation.

“Goodness me! We’ve gone and made a bit of a scene haven’t we. How embarrassing…”, honestly he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who makes him argue quite as much as this.

Thorin doesn’t acknowledge that, staring at the ground with a distressed frown. It’s enough to remind Bilbo that most of the time he barely means to start arguments at all. If they were going to be anything even remotely approaching friends then Bilbo was going to have to learn to give him time to correct and reorder what he wants to say.

He reaches out slowly to grab the dwarf's hand in his own. Much too familiar but he does it anyway. The feeling of their fingers connecting draws Thorin out of whatever place he’d fallen to in his mind, blue eyes glancing up at Bilbo warily.

Oh dear. That made Bilbo feel like a terrible bully. Running circles around Thorin with words like he had. He really must remember that not everyone was blessed with Lobelia’s natural ability to keep up with his moods.

Bilbo clears his throat, “I’m sorry. I was being unfair. I was merely asking out of curiosity and you accidentally stumbled upon a sore spot when you joined the conversation. I’d appreciate it if you were careful not to call me or any of my family mad in the future, if you can help it. And in return I’ll not dig up painful memories like such a brute. I imagine you didn’t mean to imply anything about my mother until it was already out of your mouth…”

Those bushy eyebrows fly up in surprise. Bilbo gets a small hand squeeze back before Thorin lets go and takes a step back.

Somewhere off to the side, Dwalin and the two princes watch the interaction like hawks. Bouncing between the two speakers like members of an audience during a tennis match (a sport that would be invented about half a century later when an elf smacks an orcs head towards a dwarf who smacks it right back).

“I owe you my own apology. I should not have disregarded your culture. I…did not mean for my words to come across in that manner. Ghosts are a painful topic to those of us who lost so many dear to us.”

Gandalf coughs “subtly” into his hand, “Perhaps it would be best if we discuss something else?”

A general murmur of agreement rises to meet his suggestion and Bilbo, catching Frerin’s eyes, makes a move for a more solitary part of the garden.

“I’m going to go and clear my head. I must have slept badly to have snapped so easily! My mother would be ashamed!”, and with that he scurries off hoping Frerin will follow.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Bilbo turns to face the ghost who had in fact followed.

“Are you alright?”

Frerin seems caught off guard by the question.

“Me? I’m…well I didn’t expect him to leap at the idea of ghosts …It would take nothing short of a miracle to convince Thorin that I was still around. He’s very good at rationalizing things when he wants to.”

“I’m glad, still…I should probably have warned you I was going to bring it up,” admits Bilbo, a little embarrassed by his own oversight.

Frerin doesn’t get to answer because another voice interrupts before he gets a chance to say anything.

“Bilbo, a moment of your time?”

Bilbo isn’t sure who is more surprised to see Dwalin. Frerin is obviously not happy about the development, he rarely is when Dwalin is involved. Bilbo was expecting almost anyone else and frankly even Dwalin seems a bit shocked to be here.

“Tell him to piss off”, grouches Frerin, although later Bilbo will realize this was an aggressive tone even for one aimed at Dwalin.

“Of course Dwalin. I’m sorry about my behavior there, if that’s what you’ve come to talk about…”

The warrior shakes his head as Bilbo guesses his reason for being here, “Quite the opposite. I wanted to say thank you. Thorin….is often misunderstood by outsiders. As dwarves we are rarely given a second chance to improve others' opinion of us.”

Frerin growls wordlessly but Bilbo brushes it off as his usual disgruntled attitude. He’s quite fascinated by Dwalin's way of speaking. Formal and almost business-like. Language similar to Balin but missing the ease that the older dwarf navigates through social interactions with. It reminds Bilbo of how Thorin speaks when he isn’t in front of a crowd. Who would have thought. The king and his guard, two introverts better suited to fighting than talking.

“That’s not something I think you should be faulted for. If big people, and I assume it’s usually big people, can’t take the time to get over their own prejudices then they don’t deserve to do business of any kind with you!”, this time he does stamp his foot, quite aggressively, into the grass.

Dwalin breathes out a sharp breath, almost a laugh.

“I have misjudged you too many times. I hope you can give me the same opportunity to redeem myself that you have given Thorin.”, he’s almost shy when he says it, quite an odd tone for someone so imposing to be using when talking to Bilbo of all people.

“Bilbo. I don’t want him here. Tell him to piss off.”, Frerin repeats, voice rising in volume and pitch.

Bilbo can’t risk looking to see if he’s okay with Dwalin this close by. There’s no way the warrior won’t pickup on a tell like that.

“Of course Dwalin. As I said to Thorin, I would have made the same assumption about me. I can hardly fault you all for noticing the fact that I had clearly never gone farther from my home than Bree!”

The air around them seems to coil with tension as he answers. Moisture leaking out of it and leaving every breath hot and dry.

“DON’T IGNORE ME!”

The tension snaps. Both of them startle as a powerful wind rips between them, shoving them apart. Dwalin because he can’t know where this sudden burning air is gusting in from. Bilbo because Frerin is suddenly in his face, eyes burning.

“Odd weather around these parts…” grumbles Dwalin, casting a disgruntled gaze towards the clouds as if his face alone might convince the weather to behave.

“HE HAS FRIENDS! HE HAS A BROTHER! HE DOESN’T NEED MINE!”, Bilbo’s ears pop under the sudden new air pressure.

He forces a smile despite the screaming dwarf by his ear. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, has never seen this from Frerin before, but he’s certain that he doesn’t want to be in a position where he has to explain paranormal activity to Dwalin. Especially not after his prior argument with Thorin.

“Very odd, especially compared to the shire…probably a sign to head inside! Who knows what might happen next. Torrential downpours, thunder…could be anything really…”, he chirps desperately hoping that the strain in his voice isn’t as obvious to Dwalin.

Dwalin nods but it’s more of the kind of nod you’d give an elderly relative speaking nonsense than an agreement.

Frerin’s voice drops in pitch but not in volume as he pushes up into Dwalin’s space to spit, “just because I’m not around to-,” he whirls around to scowl at Bilbo, “he’s always done this! It’s not fair! No Frerin I can’t spar today, I promised Dwalin I’d spar with him! No Frerin, I don’t know where Thorin is but I saw him with Dwalin earlier! Why don’t you go play with Dis, me and Dwalin need to go AND TALK WITH ADAD!”

Heat is coming off Frerin in waves. Bilbo can barely see past the shimmering air to where Dwalin is. Bilbo doesn’t know what Dwalin is seeing but it’s clearly enough to leave him puzzled by the temperature change around.

“Oh…Dwalin you know I think I heard your name just now? Someone must be looking for you…”

Dwalin turns in the direction Bilbo pointed in just in time to miss how Frerin swipes his hand out in frustration and the force of the gust that pushes Bilbo back. He’s squinting as best he can into the heat and air but Frerin’s form is shaky and hard to make out. Flickering between visible and not.

“I didn’t hear anything…”

“WASN’T THAT ENOUGH!? HE TAKES MY BROTHER AND NOW THIS! BILBO I WON'T LET HIM! HE CAN’T HAVE YOU TOO! YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND NOT HIS! I TRIED SO HARD TO MAKE THORIN THINK I WAS BIG LIKE THEM! IT NEVER WORKS! HE WAS ALWAYS JUST BETTER!”

Bilbo swallows and steps forward, hand coming up to shield his eyes, “oh well you know, Hobbit hearing is quite good.”

“DO YOU KNOW HE EVEN GOES WITH TO VISIT THAT STUPID LITTLE ROCK THEY WROTE MY NAME ON! DOESN’T HE KNOW I DON’T WANT HIM THERE! TELL HIM TO GO AWAY! WHY DOES NO-ONE EVER TELL HIM TO GO AWAY!”

Dwalin shrugs, “fair enough. Got to go back that way anyway.”

Bilbo nearly collapses in relief but he’s relaxes too soon because Dwalin isn’t done.

“I know you say that it doesn’t matter to you…the way you were treated,” he pauses to say over his shoulder, “Still, I give you my thanks. For your help to the company and to my king. Thorin…I have rarely seen him this confident about the future and I like to think you have had a part in making that happen. He’s… like a brother to me”

Then he walks off at an almost marching pace like the words embarrass him, leaving Bilbo to deal with the fallout of that unfortunate turn of phrase.

Everything stops. Frerin’s form flickers once, twice, three times before he takes a measured step towards Dwalin. The heat that had been radiating outwards seems to almost crumble in on itself. All Bilbo can see is the way Frerin’s hands suddenly glow white hot.

“I could make him go away…”, is all Bilbo needs to hear before he’s sprinting towards Frerin.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out and grab the ghost by the shoulder. By all past experiences his hand should go right through his body but this time it doesn’t. Instead Bilbo burns, knives running up his nervous system as he grits his teeth and puts his all into dragging Frerin back from the direction Dwalin is.

Bilbo must make some kind of noise that manages to slip through his clenched jaw because Dwalin stops and goes to turn around. Bilbo nearly drops his grip on Frerin’s shoulder in panic but somehow Kili is suddenly at Dwalin’s side gesturing wildly and ushering the older dwarf towards Beorn’s home.

He glances back once at Bilbo, worried questions all over his face before they turn a corner and disappear from sight.

Finally Bilbo can drop the painful hold he has on Frerin but before he can the ghost has rounded on him with a snarl. He’s almost unrecognizable. He looks the same…but his eyes…Bilbo can’t find the Frerin he has come to know in those pools of molten metal.

“AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH!? WHAT MORE MUST I DO!?”, he roars in Bilbo’s face.

The hobbit tries to back away but Frerin’s hand snaps out to catch his forearm. Bilbo bites down the scream that wants to tear from his throat.

“Frerin please! Calm down!”, he gasps.

The grip tightens, skin bubbles as Frerin’s palm brands itself into the flesh beneath it. Bilbo isn’t thinking when he reaches out and crack his free hand across the ghost’s face as hard as he can.

“That hurts!”, his voice is shrill with pain.

The words seem to hit Frerin harder than the slap. He jerks, eyes snapping back to their usual blue and Bilbo’s arms slips through his grip. Bilbo clutches his aching arm to his chest and takes this chance to place some space between them.

They sob as one, tears dripping down both their faces. Bilbo’s stain his shirt while Frerin’s hiss into steam as soon as they hit his cheeks. Frerin makes an aborted move towards Bilbo only to shrink back when he sees how the hobbit tenses.

“I…”, he chokes over the words, looking at his hands in horror, “I was going oh I oh no.”

“Frerin?”

The ghost stares at him but there’s something unseeing about it. Like he’s somewhere else.

“I burned you.,,”, he whispers.

“Yes. Yes you did but it’s okay that has never happened before has- Frerin!”, Bilbo scrambles after the ghost as he jerks away and dashes into the thicker part of the woods around Beorn’s garden.

Bilbo’s arm screams in protest at the rough treatment but he’s gotten very good at ignoring discomfort by now,

“Stay away! I don’t want to hurt you any more!”, Frerin sobs from somewhere in the trees.

“Oh for goodness sake! You didn’t mean to hurt me in the first place!”, Bilbo calls back.

The air in front of him shudders slightly before Frerin pops into existence, the shock of his appearance knocking Bilbo flat on his backside. The ghost is in hysterics, tears and snot smeared over his face but not evaporating anymore so Bilbo takes that as a sign he can at least be reasoned with.

“I burned you!” wails Frerin, collapsing into a heap on the ground as far as he can get from Bilbo, apparently having run out of strength and unable to run away now that he’s tipped into uncontrolled crying. The ghost pulls himself behind a thick tree trunk, hiding himself from view almost entirely. He’s intent on keeping a barrier of some kind between Bilbo and himself.

“Frerin…”, he’s not really sure what he can say to help his friend. He can barely concentrate past the pain and general weariness that has completely overwhelmed his senses. He can only hope Kili buys him enough time to sort this out before Dwalin realizes he never followed him back.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Kili laughs as Dwalin grumbles about being pulled away from important conversations for the whims of immature children. He’s playing up the loud and boisterous part of him that never fails to send the older crowd running. Even Bofur and Nori (generally agreed to cause just as much if not more trouble than the young members of their company) could only handle the full force of Kili’s energy for so long before they needed to pull away and recover from the headache he inevitably caused them.

Internally he scowls. In jest or not the moniker of child drags behind him and Fili no matter which direction they choose to go in. From a place of concern perhaps or a side effect of the already low birth rate taking a hit after the events that lost Erebor.

Or, and he chooses to ignore this most often, out of a third concern. They lost their father so young, people would whisper. Sympathy or Pity, either way Kili didn’t want it. Thorin had done a fine job of helping amad raise them and it was an insult to both of his parents to imply that he was somehow less because of it. Also, and this was the bit that really got to him, it upset his brother.

Ori also battles with it. Codling from his brother’s and the frustration of not being taken seriously. It’s something they have often complained about when they get the rare opportunity to stand guard together. Putting their heads together to brainstorm ways they can prove themselves and escape the irritation that comes with being the youngest. Marriage, he’d suggested one time with a very pointed look at his brother and an eyebrow wiggle at Ori. That had ended with Ori rubbing his face into the dirt. Apparently you had to be the blonde sibling to get away with teasing Ori. (And wasn’t that an answer all by itself!)

Neither of them have been quite brave enough to bring up the topic of father’s (or lack of) yet but the similarity hangs between them. It doesn’t need to be acknowledged for the two of them to understand that they have some sort of half shared experience. Harder for Ori maybe since he had no Thorin but then again he’d probably say that was an insult to Dori’s efforts (and Nori’s although in his own way of things).

Fili has it a little better, as far as being taken seriously is concerned. No one wants to dismiss the dwarf who clearly has the king's favor (mountain, crown or no. Despite what Uncle thinks, his people don’t actually need a fancy piece of metal or a shiny stone to justify following him). But even he has to sit through condescending smiles and old half blind fools going “yes yes of course” while they scoff and complain about him behind his back.

Dwalin rolls his eyes and shoves Kili away. Huffing something to do with Thorin and being away for too long something something wondering where he is something something. It doesn’t really matter to Kili as long as he leaves. Now, ideally. He disappears with the warning that Kili must behave himself.

As if he didn’t know that. Whatever. As annoying as being underestimated was, it was working in his favor now. No one thinks twice about happy go lucky Kili demanding their attention out of nowhere. They certainly wouldn’t assume he had any other purpose. That he might be deliberately distracting them.

Bilbo had taught him that. A breath of fresh air compared to the constant coddling he had to deal with from everyone else (yes including Fili). He’d approached the hobbit out of pure curiosity at first. A desperate need to find out why Gandalf liked this strange creature so much. Their first impression hasn’t been great after all. After nearly being kicked out of the hobbit hole and then watching Bilbo faint at the idea of a dragon Kili had been quite sure Gandalf had made a huge mistake.

And of course there was the fact that uncle seemed to despise him. What kind of sister son would he be if he didn’t at least TRY to scare the stranger off and save Uncle the effort of being civil.

Thorin and Fili can’t just make people uncomfortable and be rude whenever they please. Even when they did it was always in the form of huffing and growling and mumbling. Not very effective for much other than starting arguments. Amad always says you have to talk them into thinking it’s their idea to leave you alone.

Kili was still trying to work out how to do that. So far he’d gotten very good at redirecting an argument and half as good at nudging people into the outcome he wants. (And chasing people off with a smile, like he had planned to do with the hobbit)

Except that hadn’t gone to plan at all! Because first he’d gone and made a mess of his usual methods (that’ll show him for trying to get involved when a wizard was present). And then, when he’d turned his attentions to Bilbo, he’d gotten the first real sense of what amad had been trying to tell them.

He’d had circles talked around him until he was quite helpless to do anything but apologize and listen as he was given a speedy lesson on how to pull the strings in any conversation. Which had been amazing because (and he really should warn the others) hobbits apparently do this sort of thing for fun and so are very very good at it.

Also Bilbo had said that he was a natural and Kili really isn’t used to such upfront compliments (Dwarrow ways preferred subtlety between teacher and student). Also also Kili hasn’t ever really had a proper teacher for this kind of skill before, not like Balin/Ori Thorin/Fili Gloin/Gimli, and so the idea that Bilbo immediately identified him as a worthy student was enough to make even the toughest dwarf shy and flustered.

And then Bilbo had won over Fili and chatted three trolls to their deaths and told off Uncle and decided to come back to them and saved uncle's life and talked his way into letting a giant house and feed them and- And now he’s in trouble so this time Kili will help him. Properly. Not like the attempt at rescue he’d made with the trolls. (Honestly he’d been half worried Bilbo would decide he wasn’t worth teaching word tricks to after that! Especially when those sneaky Ur’s went and snatched him up at bedtime)

Kili spins on his heel and races back to where he last saw Bilbo as soon as he is certain Dwalin won’t be turning around and coming back. He can’t be sure what he’s so worried about but (he can’t explain why because surely Dwalin didn’t do anything!?) Bilbo had seemed in pain at the last glimpse he’d gotten of him. Like he was struggling against something that Kili couldn’t see.

Kili had heard those questions the hobbit had been asking this morning. He’d heard what Gandalf said too. It didn’t paint a pretty picture, at least it didn’t now that he’d seen Bilbo biting back a cry of pain and being dragged into the woods.

He curses when he turns the corner properly only to see that Bilbo isn’t there. Where would he have gone? Not the house, that’s where he’d been heading away from last Kili checked. So then deeper into the garden or into the trees.

He flips a mental coin and heads in the direction of the trees (not because of the coin, he just figured that at this point most times things went wrong, it was when they were surrounded by trees. The coin toss had been for his own entertainment). He also rationalized that if he'd read the situation wrong and Bilbo was doing the dragging rather than being dragged then it was likely he’d gone for somewhere secluded. For example, not the middle of a garden where anyone might walk past.

There’s is potential here, he realizes as he stomps through the undergrowth, to make a fool of himself. He has decided quite firmly by now that he was about to have an encounter with the supernatural (of the spiritual kind not the wizard kind). In the event that he’s wrong and Bilbo really has been asking out of simple curiosity, he has no idea how he’s going to convince Bilbo he isn’t a lunatic. Which is a problem but he really doesn’t have time to waste right now.

Kili ducks under a particular low branch and pauses. He can hear something off to the right. A voice, too muffled to be understood but carrying a level of exasperation that Kili has learnt only Bilbo is capable of. And maybe Balin.

He creeps closer. Originally his plan had been to burst into whatever situation he found Bilbo in and save him. But Bilbo doesn’t sound particularly distressed and Kili…well Kili is insatiably curious and nosy by nature.

“Please listen to me…It was an accident and I’ve already said I’ll forgive you.”, Bilbo is saying when Kili gets close enough to understand.

The hobbit pauses, head slightly tilted like he’s listening for a response. Maybe he is. That certainly adds credibility to Kili’s theory.

“I know but you didn’t. You were angry and I shouldn’t have ignored you. I- excuse me do not interrupt me young man!- No I will speak to you however I think you need to be spoken to- Well you certainly seem to be behaving like one!”
A long stretch of silence before Bilbo sighs, “Listen to me. And let me finish this time if you don’t mind. Whatever happened back there was not good. I was quite frightened and I really thought for a moment you were going to seriously hurt Dwalin- No. I don’t think you would have gone that far. Do you? Do you really think that?- right. I thought as much.”

Kili risks peeking out from his hiding spot. Just as expected there is nothing other than Bilbo. Mahal wept! Friendly conversational ghosts! Fili would lose his mind! Ori would want to call the entire quest off just so that he could write everything down.

“Please breathe. Last time you lost your breath like that you disappeared completely for a bit and really I can’t go through that stress again. I understand you’re upset and I am sorry I can’t be more patient with this but- You are right. I am. And it’s affecting my focus quite substantially but you have apologised and we have established you didn’t mean to.-yes I am aware and trust me we will be speaking about that later but for now I would like to see that you are okay- No actually. Last time I saw you were flickering in and out of existence so you’ll have to pardon me for being concerned but that is the price of being my best friend!”, Bilbo has a very effective and very unique way of making everyone in a room feel thoroughly scolded.

“Yes, you are still my best friend. Honestly it’s like you don’t know me at all! Now are you ready to come and talk face to face? I don’t feel like we are getting anywhere like this.”

Kili isn’t sure what response Bilbo gets then but a moment later the hobbit squeaks out a strangled, “What!?” and then a quiet “oh bollocks!”.

Kili will go down in history insisting that what happened next was handled with a calm manner that befitted someone as brave, wise and strong as he was.

What really happened was that Bilbo, either by his own hobbit magic or the interference of otherworldly entities, crossed his arms and called out, “Kili I strongly suggest you come out from there before I come and pull you out. Eavesdropping on a private moment is incredibly rude!”

And Kili, with all the grace of a newly hatched duckling, screeched, leapt almost twice his own height in the air and smacked his head against the tree he was pressed up against. On the way down from that painful meeting between head and wood he got his foot caught on a root and instead of calmly stepping into sight as he intended instead went stumbling head over heels to land at Bilbo’s feet.

He then panicked and yelled out “WHERE IS IT? IS IT WATCHING ME!?” before jumping to his feet and whipping his head around in search of the ghost.

Bilbo clears his throat pointedly.

“It prefers to be referred to by he or even better by his name which-“, he stops to scowl at the empty space just behind Kili, “Frerin he knows exactly what is going on there is little point in lying now. Give the boy some credit, he’s really quite observant.”

The term ‘boy’ gets neutralized by the compliment which then gets knocked straight out of Kili’s sphere of interest by the name. A dwarrow name. And not only that but a name he knows. Because try as she might to pretend that nothing ever shakes her, he’s heard amad crying late at night.

He and Fili had both heard how she’d spat the name in Thorin’s face when she’d learned that they’d signed onto this quest. Sending them to join Frerin is what she’d hissed and Kili had seen how the words drained the blood from Thorin’s face. How his usually stoic uncle had faltered in the face of a name that meant so much to both of them.

“Frerin?”, he whispers (as long as he’s been alive that name has only ever been whispered or yelled and yelling doesn’t feel right at this moment.)

Bilbo’s gaze flickers between him and the empty space. Whatever he’s hearing makes his brow furrow, “Yes. I take it, you know who that name refers to then?”

“Of course!”, he exclaims. The loss might still hurt but amad spoke of him as much as she could bear to. Small pieces of information that her children would cling to in order to try and form the idea of this person in their mind.

Bilbo hands settle on his hips, “I see. Well he had me quite convinced that his memory is avoided like a curse,” the movement shifts his sleeve and Kili gets a glimpse of what caused the pained expression earlier.

“Bilbo! Your arm!”, Kili pulls the limb closer to see the injury better. The skin is red and irritated on Bilbo’s palm. Pulling the sleeve up, Kili grimaces in apology when the movement makes Bilbo wince. A burn stretches over his forearm in the unmistakable shape of someone’s hand. The blisters ooze clear fluid

Kili’s face must give his thoughts away because Bilbo flaps him away with his free hand and quickly tugs his shirt back into place.

“Oh stop that! I’ve had enough weepy, apologetic staring from the culprit without you adding to the mix!”

“Frerin did that!?”, he gasps suddenly remembering what Gandalf said earlier. There are no nice ghosts.

Bilbo smacks the top of his head, “I said stop it! It was an accident and he’s- yes I know you’re sorry. I understood that the first five times”

“Bilbo”, he’s not sure how to approach this when the ghost is supposedly behind him, “Are you…I mean well Gandalf said that…Is he…”

“Is he secretly an evil spirit parading as your long lost uncle?”

Kili gapes.

Bilbo continues unphased, “no I’m quite certain about who I’m speaking to. He appeared in my home long before any of you did so it would hardly make sense for him to pick that form if he wanted me to trust him. Also I hid the fact that I could see him for a long time and he never let the persona slip. On top of that he’s been teaching me a lot of things that he wouldn’t know unless he was exactly who he says he is. This,” he wiggles his arm in Kili’s face, “was a freak accident that won’t be happening again. Dwalin said something…unfortunate. He’s also my friend regardless of all of that and I wouldn’t be here without him.”

Kili frowns as he takes in the information Bilbo has laid out in front of him. It… makes sense…sort of. After all if he had been Bilbo he’s sure he would have abandoned them after the trolls (perhaps even before then). And Bilbo had always seemed to know more about his family and their strange ways than he should have. He just… well it’s weird. He’d gone in expecting a ghost and that was already stretching his disbelief. Now he’s supposed to believe that it’s the ghost of an uncle he never got the chance to meet.

A gentle hand on his shoulder draws him back to the present. Bilbo is watching him carefully.

“Kili I know this must be hard to come to terms with all at once but you must know by now that I’m not easily lied to. The ghost- the dwarf I’m seeing is called Frerin. He looks just like you and Fili. He- actually you know what, this would probably be best if he spoke to you himself. I’ll translate anything he says so go ahead and ask him anything you like.”

Kili just stands there for a moment before deciding what’s the worst that can happen and fixing his eyes on the empty spot Bilbo had looked at earlier.

“Hello?”, he tries. What do you say to a ghost?

Bilbo smiles, “he says hello back. Honestly Frerin this is the quietest I’ve ever seen you! Do you really have nothing to say after all this time?”

Whatever the ghost says in response has Bilbo laughing lightly and swatting at the air.

“Are you really my uncle? Why are you not in the halls? How long have you been a ghost? Why can Bilbo see you? Can you touch things? Do you get hungry? Did you ever try archery? What about your craft? Do you know amad misses you every day? Do you think Uncle Thorin is still upset by what she said to him when we left? Is it weird to hear people talk about you like you aren’t there?”, it’s like every question he’s ever had suddenly comes spilling out of him.

Bilbo blinks, “well then. It seems you don’t have to worry after all Frerin”, then he waits probably for the ghost to answer the mess of questions Kili has just thrown at him.

“He says he is your uncle as far as he knows unless someone swapped you out at some point between your birth and now-“

“He was at my birth!?”, Kili isn’t sure what to think of that at all.

“He says he was behind the curtain to give your mother some privacy but yes. And at Fili’s. He says he would refuse to go into the halls a million times if it meant he got to see the two of you. As for why he’s not in the halls, he said no.”

“No?”, Kili hadn’t realized that was an option.

“Exactly. He won’t go into more detail than that so your guess is as good as mine. He’s been a ghost since a little after Smaug attacked Erebor and we both have no idea why I can see him. He says he can’t tou- well that’s not true.- No it’s not. You touched me didn’t you? I hate to bring it up again but there is a hand shaped burn that- yes exactly. Right so he can touch things but it’s a new development and we will be experimenting later on.”

“That’s the first time he’s ever touched something since Smaug?”, Kili asks just to clarify whatever one-sided debate he’d just witnessed.

Bilbo nods and continues, “he says…he gets hungry metaphorically? Frerin that makes no sense. What do you- oh stop it and talk to your nephew! FRERIN! WHAT HAVE I SAID ABOUT THAT KIND OF COMMENT!”

Kili watches the hobbit shriek with raised brows. It’s sweet, the way they talk. Even if he can't hear the other side he can tell by Bilbo’s reactions that they are used to teasing each other. It reminds him of him and Fili somehow. Bilbo hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called the ghost his best friend.

“Oh honestly! Kili, do not listen to a word he says. The scoundrel!”, Bilbo huffs, “He hasn’t done archery.- No you haven’t, you liar. You called an arrow ‘the pointy part’ just the other day- yes that’s what I thought. He says you get that interest from your father and maybe your One. What's a One by the way? You keep- oh okay. But you must tell me later.”

“Adad did archery? Fili says he favored the sword?”, Kili is hungry for information.

His father was often placed into the same category as his uncle. Things that caused his mother pain to speak about. Fili also struggled even after all this time. And it was fine. It really was. Kili didn’t feel the gap in his upbringing like Fili did, he hadn’t gotten the time to truly learn to miss him, but the promise of finally getting answers to the questions he’s been holding back is almost enough to dismiss any suspicions he has about the ghost.

“He did but he…oh interesting…it seems your father had a rather wild childhood involving several adventures into the elven kingdom and a close friend who- okay im not repeating that-. It’s why your uncle, the alive one, didn’t- Thorin didn’t approve!? Oh dear apparently your poor father had to win him over.”

Kili laughs, taken by the idea of his father trying to impress Uncle Thorin, “he must have succeeded eventually if Fili and I are here!”

“He must have. I guess I finally know where the two of you get your charm from- yes yes you’re also very charming.”, Bilbo’s grin slips after that, his face going somber.

“What is it?”, presses Kili struggling to keep up with the sudden mood switch.

“He…he says he knows your mother misses him and that he wishes he could tell her that she should stop feeling so guilty about everything that happened. But he’s a little upset with her because…oh I see. Well then yes I should think Thorin is probably still upset about that. Knowing what I know about him.”

Kili swallows, he’d worried about that. Worried that if Uncle thought about it for too long he’d…whatever no point in worrying over than now. It would be crazy to send them home after this long.

“How come he’s with us and not back with…”

“With your mother?”

Kili nods. It wouldn’t have made a difference really, since she wouldn’t have known, but at least she wouldn’t have been all alone running things. Surely if this ghost was her brother then he’d want to be with her.

“Well he says…oh goodness…he says you all are more likely to die and he wants to be first on line to sack you all for being reckless.”, Bilbo leans in to whisper, “and by that he means he’s very worried about you all and doesn’t want you to go through everything alone. And rumor has it he swore to stick by his nephews the day Fili was born.”

Then he laughs, “now he’s saying that I’m ruining his reputation.”

Kili likes that. Likes how this uncle of his sounds coming from Bilbo’s mouth. Uncle Thorin had made a similar vow on the first birthday where both Fili and Kili could understand such things like vows and oaths. He wonders briefly if Uncle Thorin would be annoyed to find out someone got there first.

“Wait a moment, I thought you got suspiciously good at braiding between then and now! Was he teaching you?”

Bilbo grins, “I may have told a small lie when I said I learned from a book.”

That made sense. A lot of sense actually. Bilbo’s braids were nice but they were often simple and fell out easily as they were designed for curly hobbit hair rather than the thick and almost straight hair that most dwarrow have. Then there had been that braid he’d done for Fili, the one that ran along the top of his head and was cinched together at the back. It had been practical and seemed quite nice for Kili’s archery stance but also…there had been something else.

“Does this mean that braid you did for Fili…Was that his style?”

Bilbo looks a bit sheepish about that. So he knows enough about dwarrow braids to understand why it would have been important. What else had this new uncle been teaching the hobbit…

“I understand it may have been a small overstep but you looked so pleased to be wearing Thorin’s style and I felt as though Frerin deserved to see his own represented.”

“How come Thorin didn’t recognise it?”, Kili wonders. He’d recognise Fili’s style immediately if he saw it on someone else.

“When they last saw each other Frerin didn’t wear the style.”, Bilbo’s tone is grave, “He says he only chose it right at the end.”

Kili doesn’t question what the end means. It’s clear enough what end Bilbo is talking about based on the way his lower lip wobbles ever so slightly. Addressing a friend’s death is never easy even if they are a ghost. What Kili does question, although only to himself as they slowly start to return to the others, is what age Frerin must be (have been? Do ghosts age? No apparently not.). If he hadn’t had a unique braiding style when he…he must have been Kili’s age or younger.

A shudder runs down his spine. Somehow he hadn’t ever really stopped to think about what lay at the end of this long journey.

All he can do is send a whispered prayer to Mahal that by some stroke of luck the beast was dead when they get there.

Chapter 12: 12

Chapter Text

It’s not hugely in character for Bilbo to ignore what could potentially be classed as a serious injury. It’s the sort of behavior one might expect from his slightly taller and hairier companions. The Thorin’s and Dwalin’s of the world.

In all honesty it sort of willingly slipped his mind. The twenty four hours between the initial incident and the moment that they depart from Beorn’s home are filled with a million questions from Kili and small comments from Frerin. The both of them eager to continue the short conversation they’d started.

They’d even gone as far as to work out a system for talking in front of the others which meant that for the first time since the start of all this, Frerin could now have a conversation at (almost) anytime. Granted Kili and Bilbo where standing close to each other and Frerin wasn’t saying anything that would be suspicious coming from Bilbo.

It was a smart plan too. Subtle and unlikely to cause any odd looks. Basically if Kili starts or ends his sentences with ‘mr Boggins’ then it’s aimed at Frerin not Bilbo. In response if Bilbo rubs his nose then Kili knows that whatever comes next comes from Frerin. Bilbo was a little miffed that he didn’t come up with the system first. Yesterday's argument could potentially have been avoided if he’d had a secret way of telling Frerin he wasn’t being ignored.

The two of them, caught up with excitement that comes with inventing secret codes, had been distracted enough that neither had followed up on the issue at hand. Or well, on hand. On hands even. Bilbo’s hands to be exact.

Ignoring them was easy enough until he was plonked on top of a pony (he misses myrtle terribly) and left to work out how he was going to hold the reins without really hurting himself. He would have said something right then but suddenly Gandalf was announcing that he had other places to be and no one seemed to be in a good enough mood for Bilbo to interrupt and say that they had to stop again just because he’d gone and hurt his fingers.

Plus, and he’s sticking to this, how was he going to explain the burns in the first place? And what about the quite obvious hand print!? What then?

In the end he settles for hooking his little fingers around the reigns as loose has he can manage. He finds himself incredibly grateful for the intelligence of Beorn’s creatures as time goes on and he barely has to pay any attention to anything other than maintaining his balance.

Falling off his pony would be too embarrassing for words. Especially at this point.

Bilbo winces when he wobbles and has to clutch the reigns to reestablish his balance but other than a gloomy look from Frerin no one seems to notice. In an irritating way Bilbo supposes he should be grateful to Gandalf. He’d riled everyone up enough that they weren’t focusing on the small things.

“You have to tell someone… It’s already passed midday and you could get an infection…”, pleads Frerin from over his shoulder.

Another wobble, another wince.

“I will deal with this as soon as we stop for the evening…”, Bilbo whispers back.

“That’s too long and you know it! Please Bilbo…”

“What am I supposed to say about the injury then!?”, he hisses, already struggling with his patience (an unfortunate side effect of being dizzy and in pain).

Frerin huffs, “lie? I don’t know! You don’t have to show them the…my…the…”

“The handprint? It’s fine.”

“It’s not it-“ Frerin hesitates like something has caught his attention,” - um…you! You’re hurt! It’s hurting you that’s not fine especially when it’s my fault that you’re hurting in the first place!”

Oh goodness gracious. Bilbo really can’t stomach having this conversation again until at least tomorrow morning. Cause, fault and who deserves what punishment blah blah blah. Dwarrow, he has learned, are a race that greatly approve of self punishment.

“It barely even hurts.”, he grumbles (a lie).

“What barely hurts?”

There are some things that Bilbo has grown used to over the course of this journey. One is that Frerin’s existence means that Bilbo rarely gets caught completely off guard. Two is that there is not a scenario where Dwalin can get close enough without Frerin spitting out insults, rude noises and (most recently) physical embodiments of rage via temperature and weather.

Which is why he nearly loses his balance completely and has to clings to the reigns with such force that he finds himself muffling a scream between his gritted teeth when pain shoots up his arms.

Dwalin fumbles slightly, clearly alarmed by the display.

“Dwalin!”, he gasps out eventually, “I didn’t realise you were there!”

The second part of that comment is dripping with accusation. The accused, already leaking new warmth into the air behind Bilbo, only grunts. He sounds just like Thorin.

“Are you hurt.”, it’s somehow less of a question more of a statement when Dwalin says it.

“Oh it’s really nothing…”

“Show me.”, the company seem to be in prime grunting mood today.

Bilbo shoots him a sweet but irritated smile, “There’s really no need Dwalin. Why don’t you just go back to Thorin and let me handle it. I’m a grown hobbit you know.”

“You don’t have to handle anything. We are supposed to be looking out for one another.”, Dwalin is very earnest when he wants to be.

Bilbo has a foreboding feeling that this is going to end with more burns and tantrums if the warrior doesn’t pick up on the hints Bilbo is leaving him. Earnest and well meaning or not, he doesn’t think Frerin will take kindly to Dwalin babying him. Not when-

“Give him your damned hands Bilbo.”, Frerin snarls, effectively setting Bilbo’s thoughts up in smoke.

He tries not to outwardly react beyond a quick bobble blink to forcefully reboot his brain.

Dwalin makes a ‘stop wasting my time and show me your wound soldier’ sort of noise which Bilbo finds a little rude but doesn’t comment on. He’s at a bit of a loss really. Frerin had said one thing but he had sounded absolutely furious about it which sort of implied the opposite.

“GIVE HIM YOUR HAND!”

That startles Bilbo into action. Making very sure to keep his sleeve below the handprint burn he gingerly releases the reigns and turns his palm up for Dwalin’s inspection.

Silence stretches between them as Bilbo watches Dwalin trying to logic his way around the injury. He obviously recognises a burn (he’s not an idiot) but Bilbo can’t blame him for the confusion. He still hasn’t worked out what excuse he’s planing on giving.

“Does he reallly have nothing to say? I’m going out of my way to let him near you and all he can do is stare dumbly!?”

Bilbo mentally makes a note that he’s going to have to have a discussion about what Frerin ‘lets’ happen. He has never been one to care about what others ‘allow’ him to do and he isn’t about to start now.

“STOP! THORIN WE MUST STOP FOR TODAY!”, Dwalin manages to shake himself out of his thoughts just enough to do exactly what Bilbo was hoping to avoid.

Cause a scene. That’s something else his dwarrow like to do.

“WHAT? WHY?”, calls back Thorin.

“Dwalin this really isn’t necessary! If this is about our conver then I insist you-“

“THE HOBBIT IS INJURED”

It’s enough to send the entire company into chaos. Bilbo is almost flattered by the speed with which ponies get pulled off the path and bags get unpacked. He’s barely off his pony before Ori and Bofur are faffing at his side trying to work out what he’d done to himself. They barely get a moment before they are shoved out of the way by the princes.

Kili has the beginnings of ‘I’m about to blame myself for this thing that is entirely not my fault’ written across his face.

“Dwalin says you’re hurt? Why didn’t you say something!?”

“I should have said something!”

“Dwalin is exaggerating Fili. It’s hardly your responsibility to make sure I go to the doctor Kili. Both of you get out of the way so I can tell Thorin we don’t need to stop. Honestly! All this fuss because of a little burn.”

“A burn!? Kili why didn’t say-“

“ENOUGH!”, Bilbo has never in all his days had to raise his voice this much.

The company stare back at him, finally settling down. He brushes past the smaller group of the young ones (and Bofur and Dwalin) making sure to give a Kili a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he goes.

He decides to postpone convincing Thorin to leave in favor of cornering Oin and shoving his hands in the healer's face.

The elder dwarf squints down at Bilbo’s palms with a judgemental click of his tongue. His hands are gentle as they twist Bilbo’s wrists this way and that to assess the situation better. He hums every now and then as his eyebrows pinch closer and closer together until finally he drops Bilbo and turns to rummage around his pack.

“Absolutely terrible business! How on earth did you manage…No I don’t even want to know! And trying to ride around with dirty reins in your hands! Practically asking for an infection! No no, we’ll have to cover those up immediately. Now where did i…I’m sure I had some somewhere… after all wouldn’t want to face a dragon without some…”

Oin mutters and grumbles as he searches before pausing and snapping his gaze to Thorin who has been slowly inching forward the entire time.

“Fetch some water and tell the others to stop crowding. The halfling isn’t on his deathbed! They’ll see him in just a moment!”, Oin sounds almost as irritable as Bilbo so he doesn’t even try to make his opinion on the term ‘halfling’ known as he usually does.

Thorin, clearly sensing the same, makes no protests as he turns to follow the orders he’s been given. He looks…not exactly pleased as he leaves but not as bothered by the interruption as Bilbo had anticipated. He seems more concerned that Bilbo is hurt than anything else. A sign of their relationship improving. A few weeks ago Bilbo is sure he would have thrown a fit in front of everyone before deciding to leave Bilbo on the side of the road.

“Told you it wouldn’t annoy anyone.”

Bilbo turns just enough that he can give Frerin a glare. He’d been worried about a meltdown and his friend has the audacity to look smug about it.

“Come here and give me your hands. This should help as soon as,” Oin huffs and calls out to Thorin again, “Hurry up! We need to clean these before an infection sets in.”

Bilbo once again chooses to follow instructions rather than argue. As long as he can keep Oin focused on his palms the handprint shouldn’t be an issue.

Thorin scurried (yes scurries. Who would have thought.) over to them with a rag and a flask of water that he quietly hands to Oin before sitting in his haunches across from Bilbo. He’s scowling.

“That’s an ‘I’m worried’ scowl not an ‘I’m angry’ scowl”, Frerin translates.

Bilbo just focuses on Oin. He’d known what type of scowl that was without Frerin’s help. He just wasn’t sure what to do with that information. Worried Thorin was confusing to him.

“You might want to roll your sleeves up for this?”, suggests Oin as he prepares to dump the contents of the flask onto the burns.

He has, much to Bilbo’s relief, deemed the rag unsuitable for treating any kind of injury.

“No thankyou, I’m quite cold…”

“Cold? Hmm well we’ll check you for a fever next. It’s unlikely but there is always a chance that an infection has already set in.”

Thorin tenses, “so soon? He did not have this injury two days ago…”

Bilbo shivers when the water spills over his hands. It’s an odd sensation. Relief and light pain mixed together into a confusing experience.

“How did this happen?”, presses Oin as he slathers on a thick layer some kind of cream.

“I-“

“You grabbed a hot pot by the base.”, Frerin comes up with an excuse faster than Bilbo. Apparently he’s been thinking about it.

“-grabbed a hot pot by the base rather than the handles.”

Oin could try to look less judgemental, “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Well! Well it dropped! And it was a feeler Oin! I didn't do it for fun!”

Bilbo can feel his ears burning with embarrassment. Oin assumes a flabbergasted act as he quickly wraps up bilbo's hands in some gauze he’d produced from who knows where.

“Did it for fun!? Thorin, do you hear that! The mad creature says he did it for fun! Thorin I don’t know that he can be trusted with that sword if this is the sort of thing he does for fun.”

Thorin doesn’t react much, just hums thoughtfully while Bilbo aims a pretend kick at the healer.

“You ears heard that perfectly fine you demon!”

The healer just laughs and moves to put away the bits and bobs he’d dug out to treat Bilbo’s (really not so grievous) injury.

As he potters away, to do whatever it is he does when there’s no one to shout or grumble at, Bilbo turns to Thorin. The dwarf is still awkwardly crouched in front of him, eyeing the bandage on his hands like they’ll come alive and eat Bilbo’s arms.

“For all our sakes talk to the idiot before he gives himself an aneurism.”, Frerin whines.

Thorin’s eyes meet Bilbo’s.

“We can get back to it now. There’s still a good amount of daylight left if we-“

“Why did you not tell us you were hurt? It is no trouble-“

They speak simultaneously, sentences crashing into eachother mid air. Frerin let’s out a frustrated groan.

“Sorry Thorin, please go ahead.”

The dwarf frowns. Again. He really should give his poor forehead a break (even if it dies suit him well to brood in shadowy corners). He reaches forward to gently brush his fingers against Bilbo’s.

“You thought we would be angry at you for requesting an extra day of rest? Despite your injuries?”, the words seem to almost physically pain him.

“No. Not angry. Just perhaps a little irritated, especially after Gandalf went off on his own and really it’s not like I was hiding a stab wound.”, he’s trying to brush the whole incident away, aiming to have Thorin’s intense eyes somewhere other than him and his barely concealed third injury.

“Bilbo. You must know. However we behaved in the past. However I behaved in the past. We would not have blamed you for seeking medical care! I do not want anyone in this company to feel as though I would not want them to ask for help! Especially you, who I have been careless with before”, his voice is strained under the weight of the feelings he’s trying to share with Bilbo.

Bilbo lets their fingers brush again before moving his touch higher, to Thorin’s elbow. Thorin’s muscles twitch under the touch but his eyes do not stray from Bilbo’s nor he doesn’t say anything that might imply he would rather Bilbo didn’t touch him.

Bilbo thinks of that moment where he had grabbed Thorin’s hands the day before. How even then, mid argument, neither of them had rejected the small gesture.

This is a new language they are learning to speak with each other. One that’s softer and subtler than Thorin’s rough tone. One that’s blunter and gentler than Bilbo’s sharp comments. Bilbo has never had the opportunity not the desire to learn this way of talking but he finds himself quite comfortable learning with Thorin who clearly has never had a chance to practice this either.

He risks a squeeze to the elbow he’s holding, nothing painful just a light reassurance.

“I’ll do my best to remember that. I didn’t mean to worry you all.”

Thorin smiles, glancing to the side.

“And yet you did but it can be forgiven. Lord knows I’ve caused them all the same amount of worry many times over!”, he even grins then and leans closer so that they are almost knocking foreheads, “I have rarely heard Dwalin so panicked…how have you won over the captain of my guard master baggins?”

The air shimmers with a subtle temperature change when Dwalin is brought up but it’s not so drastic that Bilbo turns to look for Frerin. The ghost had wondered away moments ago, presumably to give them some privacy (although Bilbo knows the menace is eavesdropping), and isn’t in a place where Bilbo can easily see him.

“Win over Dwalin? I doubt you need help with that Thorin!”, he should steer the topic elsewhere but Bilbo is reluctant to lose this new teasing atmosphere they’ve created between them.

Thorin chuckles, “I’m afraid I have never been the charming sibling. Dwalin tolerates me most days but even my oldest friend feels the urge to smack me around the back of the head. Why do you think we spar so often, it isn’t proper for a Prince to be smacked around by a guard much less a king. When I get hurt I get insults, not mother henning!”

Bilbo wants to disagree. The Dwalin who thanked him for saving the dwarf he sees as a brother is not someone who ‘barely tolerates’ anyone.

“Oh for crying out loud, now he thinks the Tactical Replacement doesn’t dote on his every word!? As if that brute has been stealing him away for decades!”, it seems that comment was enough to break Frerin’s pretense of not listening in.

“Am I lucky then? To have won him over? Surely there must be others. Your sister perhaps? Kili has told me Dwalin is especially…obedient with her.”, Bilbo can’t help but pry, the hobbit ability to sniff out a secret is legendary and everything in him is urging to find out.

“Ah. No, Dwalin is actually terrified of Dis. Rightly so! She would have any of us groveling for weeks if she decided we had slighted her! You are quite unique in your position actually. He is like this with Fili and Kili. I’m sure he would be with Ori if his relationship with Nori wasn’t so…”, Thorin searches for the word before settling with, “explosive.”

“I see. How flattering to be grouped with the youngsters even in my middle age.”

Thorin flushes (Bilbo is delighted by this but manages not to react too intensely), “That is not what I meant. Balin would receive the same treatment if he would allow it.”

Now it’s Bilbo turns to stifle his laughter at the image of Dwalin cooing and mothering the eldest member of their group as Balin grouches and growls about the treatment.

“I see. Well at the very least you can say you are the favorite cousin. I’m sure all that sparring isn’t just so you two can burn off resentment.”

Bilbo isn’t actually sure what he’s digging for or if he’s even digging at all. Maybe more tales about the infamous Lady Dis or maybe he just wants Thorin to acknowledge that Dwalin cares for him just as much (even though he knows that Thorin knows by the way his eyes twinkled when he said it). He isn’t expecting Thorin’s smile to dim ever so slightly or for those blue eyes to go misty.

“I’m afraid the position of Dwalin’s favorite cousin has remained unchallenged for almost a century and I would want nothing less than to steal the title.”, Thorin sounds so serious, too serious for a silly conversation about who likes who the most.

“Surely he doesn’t think Dwalin prefers Dis!”, cackles Frerin, saying his sister’s name the way some might whisper the name of an old and powerful spirit.

Thorin swallows, “I…Dis and I…It is near impossible to out charm our brother.”

And that. That takes all the air in Bilbo’s lungs and crushes them.

Frerin goes completely silent as Bilbo chokes past a too casual, “you have a brother?”

“Yes. Younger than I but older than Dis. His name is…was Frerin. He won Dwalin over completely at a mere five years old by learning how to say his name right after mine. I was too jealous back then, my efforts to keep my little brother to myself eventually…” Thorin's gasps, “My apologies Master Baggins. It is still very painful to talk about. I lost a lot that day but nothing compares.”

Bilbo nods in understanding, and allows Thorin to back away for air. The dwarf takes the silent offer gratefully, standing and running his hand across his face as he takes a long inhale.

“I would love to hear about him,” Bilbo prompts lightly, “if you ever feel like sharing. Sometimes it’s nice to remember even if it hurts.”

Thorin looks at him with a smile and Bilbo can tell that this conversation won’t be happening now but maybe in the near future when they next have a moment to themselves he’ll be trusted enough.

“I will keep that in mind. Perhaps you are right and the joy of keeping his memory alive will be worth the pain it causes us to speak of our dead. But not today. This talk of Dwalin and my brother has shaken me more than I expected.”

He’s not looking at Bilbo anymore. Instead his attention has been drawn to his nephews as they try and fail to act as if they aren’t trying to sneak close enough to hear what Bilbo and Thorin are discussing. Bilbo takes the opportunity to turn to Frerin.n

The ghost is frozen. More of statue than a dwarf as he battled to comprehend what Thorin has just shared.

Bilbo clears his throat gently to grab his attention and raises an eyebrow in question.

Frerin shakes himself out of his stupor, “I need to think on some things. Do not convince them to start moving again. You need rest and my brother needs to recover from the ordeal of sharing emotions.”

He moves to leave them before pausing and glancing back as if to say something but eventually just shakes his head and keeps moving, leaving Thorin and Bilbo to themselves.

Chapter 13: 13

Chapter Text

Bilbo’s hand, despite the potentially dubious origin of the bandage, does feel better after a day or so of Oin’s mysterious cream.

He still thinks that stopping everyone was unnecessary, especially since they had to get off the ponies as soon as they reached the forest. They could have just as easily patched him up while on horseback (they could not have). And even then it wouldn't have been an issue once they started going by foot (it would have).

In the end though, an extra day's rest before these awful woods was a blessing in disguise. Gandalf and Beorn had warned them that the place was sick. But sick barely covered it. The whole entire place stank of rot. Not physical scent exactly but a strange cloying thickness to the texture of the air around them At night Bilbo could swear he could feel it creeping into his bones, lungs and mouth trying to choke him whenever he let his guard down.

He’d asked Ori, Kili and even Balin if they felt it but they’d only looked at him in confusion (and alarm). Frerin had reacted with slightly more understanding but Bilbo could tell that even he couldn’t quite feel the same.

Thorin, who had been close enough to hear when Bilbo had brought it up around Balin, had grunted (as he tended to do around Bilbo) and nodded gravely but Bilbo was fairly sure that was just how Thorin felt about trees (even the non rotting evil ones).

Bifur (of all people) seemed to be the only one who really understood what Bilbo was sensing from the greenery around them. He also struggled to sleep, the two of them tossing and turning at night until one or both of them gave up and decided to relieve whoever was on guard from their duties.

Bilbo had watched the toy maker try and carve a few pieces of wood that had been lying around (neither of them felt like pulling bark straight from the living trees). It was an activity they had shared before. A half baked form of communication between two people who could not talk in a common tongue (as far as Bifur knew anyway).

The toy maker's skill with a carving knife needed no words anyway. It was something that still greatly impressed the hobbit even after watching it many times. But this would not be something they could share while under the canopy of the Mirkwood. The material from this place did not want to be carved. As if it had a mind of its own even long after it had been separated from the living tree. It would crumple in Bifur’s grip, spongy and weak, or resist the blade as if it were made of stone.

They gave up on that pastime almost immediately. Instead (in a stroke of what Bilbo would call genius) he had taken the opportunity to wriggle his way into a series of very rudimentary lessons in dwarf signs. A sort of two birds one stone achievement as it allowed him to finally have some sort of conversation with Bifur as well as providing Bilbo a good excuse for why he suddenly understood most of what they all signed at each other. (The hidden lessons Frerin was giving him in Khuzdul would of course have to remain a secret but truthfully Bilbo liked having that upper hand anyway)

Bifur seemed very happy to finally be able to actually talk with bilbo (although roughly). So much so that he didn’t react with too much suspicion when Bilbo magically appeared to know something before Bifur could explain. Aside from the occasional side eye, they both adopted a ‘I won’t mention it if you won’t mention it’ approach to Bilbo’s apparent prodigal skill with languages.

Frerin finds the entire ordeal hilarious and does everything in his power to distract from the activity. At least he does while the rest are asleep. During the day he’s taken to splitting his time between Bilbo, his nephews and (in a surprising show of maturity) hours upon hours of staring into Dwalin’s face as if the dwarf will suddenly gain the ability to hear and answer Frerin’s doubts.

Bilbo is sure that if Thorin knew the world shattering effect of his words he would be laughing just as much as Bilbo is on the inside.

“Do you think we’re lost?”, mumbles Ori.

The youngsters (although by hobbit years they’re mostly middle aged) have become a semi-permanent addition to Bilbo’s life on the road. Kili’s shift from a daily conversation to an almost suspicious amount of time at Bilbo’s side had had a domino effect on Fili and Ori.

Poor Bofur practically had to fight for his attention these days. (Although Bilbo did try his best to make time for his friend when he could, the youngsters had the persistence of a burr buried in a sheep's woolen coat.).

The only real peace and quiet Bilbo managed to get was when he would talk to Thorin (an occurrence that, while wasn’t exactly common, was becoming much more frequent) or when he would sit and play word games with Kili. Bilbo…isn’t quite sure about the dynamic he’s stumbled into there (Frerin refuses to tell him. Irritating Sod.). All he knows is that Fili and Ori had tried to join them once only to disappear almost immediately when Kili had informed them that ‘Bilbo is teaching his skills to me now’ in a very grave and almost humorously jealous tone.

It was almost certainly one of those strange secret dwarrow rules that Bilbo so often stumbled through. Nothing too bad hopefully. Honestly it seemed to be working in Bilbo’s favor as, whatever the little ritual meant to the others, it had raised the group's general opinion of him up a notch or too (even if they did appear to think Kili was a bit of a lost cause. Honestly it’s amazing they’ve survived as long as they have with those observational skills.)

All that aside, there was still the ever present issue of the forest. And the fact that Bilbo is certain it’s trying to lure them off the path. Or perhaps as Ori says it already has, he considers as they cross over an exposed piece of root that Bilbo quite clearly remembers tripping over about half an hour ago.

“I think we might be…”, he murmurs as loud as he dares. Thorin has been known to take any comments about direction as a personal slight and as much as Bilbo is learning to enjoy their arguments…now is not the time.

Ori nibbles on his lip. A nervous habit that Bilbo is sure he inherited from Nori.

“We never left the path though…did we? I’m certain I would have noticed if we were starting to stray…Oh dear I really don’t want to starve to death in a forest…”, he worries.

Bilbo should tell him he needn’t worry just yet. Food may be running out…but they’d have more warning than that. After all, he would starve first.

His arm throbs. A small and unpleasant reminder that hunger is not the only potential threat to his well being (even if it is the most pressing one). He shivers as his body hits a patch of cooler air.

“You shouldn’t worry just yet Ori. I’ll starve long before any of you and if I’m still moving then that means you have plenty of time left.”, Bilbo will later blame the poor choice of words on the growing ache in his stomach and hidden wound (as well as the small beginnings of a fever he’s resolutely refusing to acknowledge).

Fili, picking up the tail end of the conversation, turns around with an amazing likeness to his uncle's scowl (the living uncle. Frerin’s scowl isn’t quite as impressive as Thorin’s. Practice does, after all, make perfect.), “What? Bilbo, we won't let you starve! Do you think that lowly of us even now? That we would keep food from you?”

Goodness gracious. These Durin’s do love leaping to insulting conclusions. It’s like chatting through a bear trapped forest in the dark. When had Bilbo said they were going to withhold food!? His head isn’t nearly clear enough to deal with this.

“No no my dear, I just mean my lazy hobbit body isn’t built for little tiny meals like this. I know you wouldn’t choose to starve one person over another. It’s just how life on the go is.”, he really is quite out of sorts, maybe the risk of infection finally caught up to him.

Fili goes quite pale all of a sudden, “Tiny meals? Bilbo we’ve been eating three times a day! I know the rations are not ideal but surely…have you been giving your portions away!? If Kili-“

“My portions away!? Goodness me no! Then I’d really be dead. I’m just still getting used to three.”, Bilbo feels his cheeks sting with embarrassment,” I know it’s silly. I should be adjusted by now but I’m afraid I may have over indulged a little at Beorn’s and it set my progress back…but no matter, I’ll just tighten my belt and continue forward. Not much else I can do other than complain a bit here and there. Which I do try not to…complain that is. I know I was terribly whiny back at the start. I must have seemed so spoiled to you all!”

The two youngsters are staring at him with something akin to horror despite his attempt to lighten the mood. He almost has to double check his sleeve hasn’t slipped and revealed the supernaturally created injury because he can’t imagine anything else he’s said would have caused such strong reactions.

“Um…”, Ori interrupts tentatively, “Sorry but how many meals would a hobbit have exactly? On an ideal day… not a uh traveling day as you mentioned…”

“On an ideal day? Well seven of course. We may be small but we can keep up with the rest of you big, or well bigger, folk.”

Fili chokes on the air, flinching away when Bilbo tries to pat his back and help him catch his breath. He looks stricken as he scurries away to the front. Probably to inform Thorin that Bilbo has once again proven himself unsuitable for life on the road.

It’s feeling quite repetitive. If they force him to put on more ‘Ointment’ he’s going to make a real fuss this time.

“Bilbo…”, calls Ori.

“Yes?”, he sighs, dragging his gaze away from the disgruntled conversation he can see happening at the front. Even Dwalin is getting involved.

“We only eat three meals.”, the dwarf says.

“Yes I know. I imagine you all adjusted to traveling rations long before you ever collected me from the shire…”

Ori winces, “No, Bilbo I mean we always only eat three meals… I don’t think…this is new information for us…”

He sounds terribly guilty. Like he’d been snatching the food out of Bilbo’s mouth personally rather than happily bringing him his dinner every night.

“Oh! Oh I see! I should have-“

“You are starving.”

“BILBO! WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING!?”

“PLEASE DON'T DIE BILBO!”

“My apologies! I should have known! It was a foolish oversight…”

Thorin, Kili, Frerin and Balin’s voices tumble over one another. When Bilbo looks away from Ori he finds them all crowded into his space in varying degrees of upset. He really hates being the center of attention like this.

“Oh stop it all of you! I’m perfectly fine. I’ve been hungry before and survived. No one is dying.”

Yet. Whispers a treacherous and anxiety ridden voice in his head. It’s the Baggins part. It sounds like his father.

A shadow overtakes Thorin’s face, “You should not have to. If we had known…if I had known. No. I should have known…You must not hide such things from us.”

Bilbo huffs and urges them to start moving again, “I didn’t know either. Trust me, I would not be sacrificing my well being just because of embarrassment or whatever you’re thinking.”

“You already have once!”, exclaims Ori, the whole thing seems to be causing him an unexplainable level of stress, with a pointed look at his bandaged hand. If Bilbo didn’t know better he’d almost think the lad was under the impression it was his job to monitor Bilbo’s meals.

Frerin shouts something vaguely agreeing. Bilbo glares at him, he knows perfectly well why there had been any hiding of injuries going on.

“That was different! Now would you all start moving please. The faster we get through this awful place the faster this problem will go away. Balin if you would stop looking at me like you’re writing my obituary I would really appreciate it. Honestly this is like the shaving incident all over again. You have got to stop assuming my mental state.”

A ripple of distress shudders through the dwarves at the mention of shaving (a long and painfully awkward conversation that had occurred just after Rivendell). Bilbo regrets bringing the memory back as soon as he spots Dori mournfully stroking his beard. It seems that they still didn’t quite believe Bilbo. He’d have to sit them down again later on.

“No. STOP! EVERYONE STOP! We must not move. We are lost.”, announces Thorin, it clearly takes a lot out of him to admit to it (for once though it’s probably not his fault they’ve gone astray).

Bilbo blinks. Well. Well he had been thinking it (he’d even said it aloud once or twice) but he certainly hadn’t expected Thorin to agree.

The dwarf sighs, “It is as Bilbo said earlier. We are walking in circles.”

He had said that. They passed by a small bag of pipe weed that was almost identical to Bofur’s. So identical in fact that it had turned out to be his. They’d somehow looped back around and found it again. At the time no one had been keen on admitting it but apparently the idea of starvation (which was probably nowhere near happening if Bilbo’s estimates were correct) was enough cause to reconsider.

A general muttering goes up around them. No one wants to admit they’re lost but now that Thorin has said it… It’s hard not to see the truth of the matter. They’ve been going in circles for at least a day and a half (if not longer).

Concerns and ideas for finding a path float up into the air and clash until they eventually sink back down into one solid plan of action. They weren’t ever going to find the path (if they were correct about no longer being in it) by staring into the dark and stumbling through the trees blindly. The only solution was to go up. Which meant of course that SOMEONE needs to go up. Up into the awful trees and try to spot the way from above the leaves.

Bilbo knows it’ll be him long before Thorin turns to him looking like a dog expecting a kick. It makes sense. He’s the smallest and lightest (certainly now anyway). There’s little risk of him breaking a branch and falling to his death.And his hearing is the best so he should be able to hear them if they call him back for whatever reason.

“Yes yes. I’ll go up there.”, he waves the mournful look away from himself and marches up to the closest climbable tree. He’d be more annoyed if Thorin did t look so upset about it himself.

Dwalin offers him a boost onto the first branch.

Maybe Bilbo will ask for a change to the contract. Burglar, Tree Climber and Troll Riddler. What a funny list of titles. Lobelia would never let him hear the end of it.

“Do not move. Do you understand me? If I come back down here and you have all scattered to the wind, I will be extremely cross!”, he hisses just to make certain they don’t think of anything foolish before he starts to climb.

“Wait! Wait Bilbo I’m coming up with you!”, Frerin yelps as he does his best to scrabble up after the hobbit.

Bilbo is grateful for the extra presence even if there is little Frerin can do to help if he falls. Really falling was the least of his concerns. He hadn’t liked the idea of crawling into the shadows above them alone.

His palm stings as he pulls himself up onto the next branch. It really feels as though they should have broken through the top by now. He can barely hear the company anymore. He nearly misses the next branch, his vision oddly blurred.

“Are you alright Bilbo?”, Frerin asks.

Bilbo grunts an affirmation as best he can. His blinks feel oddly slow, vertigo that he doesn’t usually experience tugs at his center of balance. He almost calls it quits when out of nowhere he feels fresh air hit his face.

He gasps, sucking in the first clean breath he’s had since they entered the forest. Light glints off golden and orange leaves like sunshine on clear water. The wind sings as it brushes fingers through Bilbo’s hair. He blinks into the sudden cold and the motion takes far too much energy from him.

“Look at that…”, Frerin whispers, awe hushing his voice.

A butterfly splits off from the leaves and the treetops erupt into motion, wings flashing past. Bilbo gasps another breath. The vertigo hits him again but this time he’s sat firmly enough that he can rest his head against the cool wood. He blinks again, slow and lagging.

It’s not too bad, he thinks, to just enjoy the clear air for a moment. He’ll go back down soon enough.

“Bilbo…”

“Bilbo?…”

“Bilbo…wake up! Bilbo!”

He jerks upright with a yelp. When had his eyes closed!?

Frerin is leaning into his space with a pinched expression, “Bilbo? Are you back now?”

He goes to answer but has to stop and cough past the roughness that had settled in his throat, “sorry! I must have lost focus for a moment….

“A moment? Bilbo, you were gone for ten minutes at least!”

He falters mentally. Ten minutes? Surely he wasn’t that tired, sleep wasn’t easy in the forest but he hadn't thought he’d reached this point yet.

“We need to go back down now…”, Frerin suggests.

“Yes…yes Of Course sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I must be more tired than I realized.”, Bilbo shifts as he mutters apologies, feet searching blindly for the hold he knows must be beneath him.

“You need to rest more. But I won’t nag at you just yet. I’m worried about the others.”

Bilbo pauses to look back at Frerin, “Worried? Why?”

The ghost grimaces, “I thought I heard someone shouting but I didn’t want to leave you…not when you weren’t responding.”

Bilbo swallows and discreetly pats the right side of his chest. The ring, small and unassuming, is still in his pocket. He can only hope he won’t have any need for it.

Chapter 14: 14

Chapter Text

The tree creaks ominously as Bilbo slowly climbs back down, Frerin following close behind. The fatigue that had pulled Bilbo under just moments ago still clings to his mind even as he makes a concentrated effort to shake it off. His skin prickles.

Despite the noise Frerin insists he heard from the others…there is no sound now. Only the trees and the wind. It’s too quiet actually. Bilbo has never known the company to be fully silent at any moment aside from sleeping…and even then a few of them were prone to sleep talking in one language or another.

Another step lower and all semblance of fresh air vanishes, replaced again with that cloying stagnant air that had been choking them all since the first night in the forest.

Still no sight or sound of the dwarves. Any other time he’d call out, whistle for Bofur to answer or perhaps even try his hand at the blasted owl hoot, but he doesn’t. Something stops him. A bone deep instinct that screams not to draw any attention to himself.

Bilbo pauses to catch Frerin’s attention, “Can you hear anything? I can’t…”

They both freeze, straining for any movement or whisper of life. Frerin’s expression turns grim the longer the seconds tick by with nothing.

“No…Bilbo get to the ground. I have an idea but I don’t want to leave you in a tree to fall to your death.”

As if to conveniently add gravitas to his concerns Bilbo’s head chooses that moment to try and pull him under again. He wobbles slightly, pressing close to the tree bark to regain his composure.

“Right. Okay.”, he gives Frerin a sharp nod and continues his way down.

Just like it had on the way up, time seems to stretch out indefinitely before he finally finally finally feels and hears the crunch of dirt underneath his feet. The joy of solid ground pales in comparison to the dread that comes with the confirmation that they were alone. Not a living dwarf in sight.

“I told them to stay put.”Bilbo nearly snarls.

“Maybe they did.”

Bilbo turns to glare at Frerin, “Do you see something I don’t? Are they hiding in the bushes? Hmm? Have I just gone blind to the presence of an entire company of dwarves?”

His temper really is quite worn thin after days of little to know sleep and aching arm wounds and itchy palms and confusing but intriguing conversations with- Bilbo is in dire need of a rest. Basically. To cut a long story short. He forces himself to take a measured inhale.

The ghost has the decency to look sheepish, “I just mean that these woods…they aren’t normal. You said it yourself. There’s something not right about all of this. We never left the path, but we still got lost. Did you notice how long that climb felt? Your palms are bleeding again.”

Bilbo looks down at his hands to see that Frerin is right. His palms are bleeding.

“Then what do we do? I…”, he doesn’t know how to explain the dread that the thought of shouting makes him feel,”…I don’t want to just scream into the darkness.”

Frerin nods like he understands. Looking around he urges Bilbo towards a fallen log to sit.

“Stay here okay. I can find them fast but I’m not going to leave if you don’t swear to stay right here and safe.”

Bilbo frowns, “how? Don’t tell me you plan on blindly walking in a random direction until you bump into one of them?”

“Not at all actually. I’m going to use my post life abilities to my advantage. I can sort of…teleport to you all. Or well most of you, I can’t teleport to the urs or Gandalf and I struggle with Dori and Nori. I can get to Oin and Gloin most times but it’s a bit of a lucky draw as to which one I’ll end up with. I usually just end up by Gimli if I don’t focus hard enough.”

Bilbo blinks, “what?”

“I can teleport? I think it has to do with family or closeness or something similar. Maybe memories? It doesn’t work if someone’s…I mean I can’t teleport to a corpse but… anyway I’m not really sure about why I can but-“

“And you can teleport back to me?”

“Of course”, Frerin snaps like it’s the most stupid question he’s ever heard. The underlying ‘Of Course i can teleport to you’ is clear which is quite touching but…

“Right and I’m certain you believe that I just… You have tested it right? You aren’t just about to leave me here on a very sweet but dangerous assumption? “

Frerin gives him a long suffering look, “I’ve always been able to teleport to you. How do you think I ended up in your garden? It wasn’t supposed to work you know but it’s impressive I got that close at all!”

“Oh…I see…”

“I told you i always liked you”, the brat has the nerve to grin cheekily at Bilbo even in a situation like this.

Bilbo sniffs away the pleased embarrassment that is welling up in him at an alarming rate, “Then in that case you should go and make sure our companions aren’t too lost. You know how Thorin is…”

It’s a poor attempt at humor but with the way his body is threatening to abandon his lunch it’s the best he can manage for now. Frerin, sweet as he is, gives him a weak smile anyway.

“I’ll try…Thorin first. Since he’s most reliable as far as accuracy goes. It’s that thing about connections like I mentioned. If I disappear then you know he’s alive. If I don’t then….,” Frerin swallows nervously, “well then we try the others. I’ll go now okay?”

Bilbo watches him close his eyes to concentrate and simply sits, reeling from this revelation, before one last question occurs to him, “wait Frerin. One last thing?”

The Ghost cracks an eye open to see what he wants, “yes?”

“How accurately can you get to Dwalin?”, part curiosity, part suspicion and a small part teasing.

Frerin scowls, embarrassed, and grumbles “Very” in a dark tone before he flashes out of existence with only the slightest sound of a tinderbox being hit.

The trees seem to lean in menacingly as soon as Bilbo is by himself. It’s like they know there’s no one to watch them lure him off the path now. He shudders, both from the cold and the slight fever he knows he’s running, and tries to put the nasty things out of his mind. Frerin has successfully disappeared. That means, according to him, that Thorin is at the very least alive.

Bilbo can only hope that doesn’t also mean that they deliberately left him. It seems unlikely of course but he really had been very firm about them staying out. If they had moved…they must have known they’d never be able to find him again. Nor he them, not when he was all alone (as far as they knew).

Bilbo’s eyes are begging him to close them again, just for a moment but he firmly dismissed the idea. Falling asleep (He was refusing to acknowledge the idea he may have passed out) right now with no one to wake him felt like a terrible idea.

Mindlessly his hand drifts up to his pocket again. His fingers twist around the smooth metal of the ring. A repetitive soothing motion that lulls him into an almost meditative state.

He nearly has a heart attack when Frerin pops into existence, panting and ashen faced. The ghost is looking around wildly, tracing his gaze over every branch as if he’s expecting something to leap out at them.

“What happened!? Are they okay? Where are they!?”, he yelps, ring dropped in his pocket as he gestures wildly.

“They…”, Frerin half gags around the words, “…there are spiders. Huge spiders! Big as horses. They have everyone wrapped up in silk and hanging from the trees. We have to free them. Quickly!”

He starts off into the trees.

“Frerin! Wait! How do you know which way to go!?”, Bilbo gasps as he stumbles after his friend. A smarter hobbit might have waited for an answer before following but this hobbit was not keen to watch his friend disappear again. Especially not with the threat of horse sized spiders lurking around the corner.

“I can sort of feel the direction I came from, and now that I know what took them…I can see the signs too”, he slows for the briefest of moments to gesture above them.

Bilbo shudders. Thick ropes of off white sticky silk are stretched across the canopy like some kind of demented crochet project. How the hell did they miss that!?

The webs get thicker and wider the further they stray into the dark. The path is shrinking to nothing behind them. If they hadn’t left it earlier…they certainly had now.

“There! Do you see?”, hisses Frerin coming to an abrupt halt.

Bilbo grimaces. He does see. He sort of wishes he didn’t. Nasty skittering legs (much bigger than a horse. Frerin had been underselling the horror of these creatures) flash past and up into the biggest web Bilbo has ever seen. In the center he spots some misshapen wriggling sacks hanging from the main tree.

“Is that-“

“Yes. That’s them…”

Yavanna’s muddy boots! Oh he’s going to throttle Thorin at the end of all this. (He’s been thinking that a lot recently.)

Frerin growls lowly as another spider crawls past their hiding spot, “stay here for a moment. I’ll see if there’s a way for you to get to them with being spotted.”, then he hurries off and Bilbo…Bilbo puts on his magic ring.

The hissing and chirping of the spiders shifts into muttering and whispered plans to eat the dwarves. This isn’t like the trolls. He can’t talk them out of this one, not when the spiders are snickering about sucking their juices out and leaving them all dried up.

Slowly as he dares (he’s worried his feet will stick if he doesn’t keep moving) he creeps along and up the sturdiest tree branch he can find. The world spins below him but the chill that comes with wearing the ring keeps him focused on the task at hand.

A spider runs past, above him and upside down. He barely ducks in time.

He needs them gone. Or at least, he thinks as he tries to get a good grip on a piece of loose bark, distracted. Finally it comes free. He throws it as far as he can in the opposite direction and crouches low as the creatures scuttle after the noise.

Swallowing he hefts his sword up and faces the remaining beast. It’s crawling all over Bombur, hissing all the ways it plans to kill him as it spins his cocoon around and around. Bombur is trying to say something but it is muffled against the webs, coming out as a distressed but incomprehensible shout.

Bilbo’s sword comes down and the spider shrieks. He hits it again.

“Where is it!?”, it cries.

He yanks off the ring, “here!”

His blade swings out again before it can react and he buries it into the spider’s head.

“Stings! It stings!”, it shrieks one last time before tumbling towards the ground, curled up and twitching in a pile before a very surprised Frerin.

“Bilbo!? How the hell did you get up there!?”, he calls up but Bilbo ignores him as he gets to work on the web holding the company up.

They drop like stones, saved from a concussion only by the layers of webbing between them and the ground. They wriggle like oversized maggots as they struggle to get free.

“CHECK FOR INJURIES!”, he shouts, vague enough that aside from Kili the rest will probably assume he’s talking to them.

Frerin calls back something agreeable. Bilbo tries not to fidget as he waits anxiously for a proper response to his sort of question sort of order.

A brief moment passes before Frerin’s voice calls up, “They’re all fine. Just a bit woozy. Focus on the spiders and don’t worry about us! I don’t want to see you get eaten alive. It won’t be good for morale.”

Bilbo shifts his grip on his sword just in time to block the snapping jaws of another spider. Distantly, as he shoves it into the unprotected belly of the creature, he ponders the word sting. It has a nice ring to it. Sting. Yes, he thinks as he takes another down, Sting feels like a good weapon for a Baggins.

“BILBO WATCH OUT!”, Frerin’s cry comes just a second too late.

Time seems to stretch as he falls. Everything bleeds out of focus except for the feeling of the ring slipping from his grasp. It calls to him as it tumbles away. Not in words of course but he can feel the way his very essence tugs in its direction.

Somewhere behind him he can hear Frerin screaming his name but he doesn’t listen. He wants to get to the ring. He needs the ring. He needs it.

He barely notices the creature he kills on his way to that simple gold band. All he knows is it had touched it and he couldn’t risk it being stolen or knocked into the dark of the forest.

“Mine”, he gasps as he finally clutches it again, the metal cool against his burning skin.

The corpse twitches one last time before going still. Bilbo clasps a hand of his mouth and bile suddenly rises in his throat. He glares at the ring, images of Gollum’s odd behavior flashing behind his eyes. That hadn’t been like him at all.

The sound of voices behind him doesn’t give him time to think. There are more people there than his dwarves and the whispering spiders. Without thinking the ring slips back onto his finger and the world goes gray once again just in time for an elf to go bounding past, arrow nocked and ready to fire in her bow. Her hair is a warm bronze color even with the ring's color leaching effect and for a moment he wonders how bright it must be without it.

In the end there’s nothing he can do about elves. Spiders can be tricked with a tossed piece of bark but these elves are clearly trained warriors. They don’t flinch when he throws a handful of pebbles behind them. And Bilbo isn’t going to stab them, not when they aren’t actively planning on killing Thorin (because it would be Thorin they’d kill, considering the insults he keeps hurling at them). All he can do is follow. Quietly and as fast as he can with blurred vision and crashing adrenaline.

He barely makes it through the door before it slams shut behind him. For once the awe elves usually inspire in him barely distracts him, he’s too focused on following the group who have confiscated the companies equipment. He needs to get to Oin’s pouch. His arm demands it.

He’ll find the dwarves later, he promises himself later as he watches carefully. They’ve managed to recover an impressive amount of their supplies.

“What are dwarves doing in our forest…”, grumbles one as they march out of the room (clearly used often for stashing the items of imprisoned guests judging by the impressive display of orc weapons).

Bilbo waits longer than he needs to when they disappear from sight before he scrambles to the bag he recognises as Oin’s or Gloin’s. He's careful as he struggles to tug it down from the peg that the elves had so easily reached. It is a slow process, Paranoia that about the way the ring muffles sounds has him barely moving an inch before pausing and waiting to see if anyone had heard. It must take him at least twenty minutes to get the bag completely off the wall and settled by his feet.

He's lucky though. It’s Oin’s, and the cream is right where he saw the healer stash it. Privately he can’t help but huff about the fact that he’s well due some luck at this point. They all are.

His arm throbs in protest as he struggles against the tightly sealed lid. Puffing with exertion it finally comes loose just when he was starting to consider using Sting (Sting! He really does like that.) to cut it open.

The cream is almost empty. His palms ache at the same time as he comes to the realization he can only apply the cream to one of his wounds. Maybe twice to his arm if he’s really careful about how much he uses but there’s no way he can stretch it thin enough to cover both injuries.

Bilbo gingerly tugs at his shirt sleeve, muffling a cry when the fabric rips free from where it had dried stuck to the handprint, then he very carefully exposes the injury to the light. He throws up. Clear acidic bile drips onto the floor as he gags on a painfully empty stomach.

The wound is glossy red, blistered in places and leaking yellowish fluid in others. The smell of charred meat still clings to it.

He needs to wrap it. Needs to clean it and wrap it, he mutters to himself and he pulls himself away from the bile on the floor. Anyone who works in a kitchen should know how to treat a burn even if he’s far too late to stop the infection that has clearly started to take over.

He is halfway out the door when he realizes he’s left the storage in a state of complete disarray. Despite the urge to collapse in a hidden corner somewhere and sleep, he doubles back with a pained sigh to put Oin’s things up where he found them before turning with his new goal in mind. Clean (preferably soft) linen to use as a bandage. Clean (preferably fresh) water to clean it first.

He’ll find the dwarves later, he insists when the nagging worry that he should check on them resurfaces. Frerin will come find him if they need him.

Chapter 15: 15

Chapter Text

Bilbo isn’t sure how much time passed between his attempt at treating his wound and when he next woke up. In all honesty he doesn’t remember ever closing his eyes but the fact of the matter is, he woke up at roughly the same time of day he remembered it being so he must have been out for a day at least.

He had hoped to rush off and find his dwarrow then, except he couldn’t. Hunger is no laughing matter to a hobbit and the days of dwindling rations and infection had left him in no state to be wandering around an elvish palace with windy tall staircases and exposed tree roots everywhere. He doubts he would have made it far before tripping over something and cracking his skull open on the artfully painted tiles. So instead (with the very last of his stamina) he’d dragged himself to the kitchen and quietly, very very quietly, snuck tiny morsels of food off the table until the trembling had eased and the sharp cramps had left his stomach. It had been a slow process that had included some unfortunate trial and error to realize just how much his stomach was willing to take before emptying itself onto the floor but he’d managed.

He’d stolen some bread rolls too, they were stuffed into his back pocket for whenever he would need them. He couldn’t count on the kitchen staff’s lack of awareness, especially when he wasn’t confident he remembered how to get to the kitchen.

Then he’d lost time again, but not much, as the infection his arm had left him feverish and half delirious. He’d had the mind to lock himself far away from any guards just in case he started talking to himself or something ridiculous but that was just about all he had been capable of doing before slumping against a wall and trying his hardest to wait the worst of it out. He wasn’t looking at the arm much except to rinse and clean it when he was able. Staring at the festering wound was no help to anyone unless he somehow managed to get his hands on more ointment. Another reason to go and find the dwarves as soon as possible.

And Of course there was the ring. The ring and its cold whispering reality that came as the price of going unseen. Bilbo had no way of knowing if it was time that it had stolen away with its strange warping of reality but he was certain it had taken something. Was taking something. He could feel the loss of whatever it was in his chest like someone had leaned in and blown out the source of warmth in his blood.

All in all…Bilbo is miserable, cold and only barely over the delirium when he finally manages to pull himself together and go searching for his companions. His head is swimming in and out of focus with every step but it’s not as bad as it could be. He just can’t bear to wait a second longer. Thorin could be dead by now. Fili and Kili could be next in line! Bofur could be forced to entertain that cold tempered and stuck up king for hours on end just to ensure his safety. Dwalin was probably overcome by grief! And Frerin-

Bilbo gasps, leaning into the wall for support, as the reminder that all of that is in his head snaps into place again. Frerin would certainly not have let him go alone this long if any of that had happened. Surely he would have at least come to tell Bilbo the bad news.

He takes one last careful step off the stairs and back onto flat no windy passageway. The low murmur he had thought he’d heard earlier was still going strong. It hadn’t sounded like any kind of elvish dialect from upstairs, and now that he was closer he could begin to make out the familiar rumble of khuzdul.

The topic of conversation seems to be about escape judging by the words Bilbo can recognise. Tunnel, break, run and a series of very rude words make a repeated appearance in the conversation as he creeps closer.

The pitch of the voices becomes clearer the closer Bilbo gets, low rumbles morphing into the familiar tones of Dwalin and Balin. Bilbo can’t ignore the way relief washes over him as soon as they come into view, scowling together in the low lighting but not showing any signs of major distress. They were okay, and so were the others if these two felt at ease enough to throw childish insults at the passing guards.

Two down and all the rest to go, Bilbo thinks as he presses up to the bars of the cage. It's not hugely difficult to work out where to find the rest of them, he doesn’t really need to risk revealing himself at all but…it’s funny how lonely one suddenly feels when friends are just within reach. Even with the confidence that he’d bump into everyone else if he just kept walking, he can’t bring himself to leave without at least making sure that someone knows he’s still here.

“Dwalin! Balin!”, he hisses after doing a quick check to see if any guards are hiding around the corner.

His voice is little more than a croak, rough after days of silence and irritated by the bile that had been trying to rise with every bite of food and sip of water.

The result is wonderful. Truly, had Frerin been present the ghost would have insisted on having their expressions carved in stone. Balin freezes, face like ice and hand reaching instinctively for a weapon that had been confiscated the moment the elves had tossed them in here. Dwalin on the contrary to his brother, is all movement, leaping to his feet and rushing to the bars of the cell with a snarl.

“Who’s there!? Stop this trickery and show yourself”, the dwarf roars, hands swiping at the air just in front of Bilbo.

Bilbo settles his hands on his hips despite knowing they can’t see him and gathers his most lobelia inspired tone, “Honestly Dwalin. I thought we had gotten to a point where you would at least be able to recognise my voice.”

The dwarf falters, head whipping around to try and locate the source of the voice but failing. Behind him Balin unfreezes with a start.

“Bilbo? Is that you?”, he whispers, coming up to Dwalin’s side and tugging his brother back a little.

Bilbo steps just out of sight before slipping off the ring and walking into their line of sight again. Their faces light up the second they catch a glimpse of him before dropping again as they no doubt quickly catalog the general state of bad health he is in. Suddenly all he can think about is how obvious the bandage must be, even under his shirt, and how much he does not want to have to answer questions about it. Not that the hand print was as visible these days with the red puffy edges bleeding into each other as the swelling got worse. Still, he shifts to move his hand behind him anyway.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry it took this long but-“

“We thought…None of us wanted to assume the worst but…”, Dwalin’s voice is choked when he interrupts.

Bilbo winces, “I really would have come earlier but I-“

“How have you gone unnoticed Bilbo? Is this some hobbit magic you forgot to mention? What happened to you? You look terrible”, Bilbo is interrupted again, by Balin this time.

“Charming as always Balin. Look I really don’t have time to-“

“WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO!?”, from somewhere to the right the echoes of the unmistakable voices of two dwarven princes come bouncing off the walls.

If he weren’t so pleased to hear them acting as usual, Bilbo might have thrown a spectacular tantrum at the third interruption in as many seconds but luckily for everyone he can’t imagine getting actually angry when he just got them all back (sort of. There is still the prison to deal with). All he can really think of is rushing away to check the scoundrels over for any injuries. Goodness gracious their hair must be a mess by now! Surely the guards would have let them keep a comb.

Balin gives him a knowing look before gesturing for him to move along, “go on then. Go tell the boys you’re alive and well.”

“I’ll be back later!”, he assures them before rushing off in the direction of the princes.

They’re further than their shouting had suggested. In Fact by the time he’s passed the Urs and oins (who are all in good condition too) Bilbo is almost sure he’s taken a wrong turn somewhere but just as he’s thinking about doubling back he stumbles upon a sharp turn.

“Don’t think they heard us….should we shout again? Maybe someone managed to get out…”, Kili is thinking aloud when Bilbo finds them.

They’re almost directly next to each other although, unlike Dwalin and Balin, they’ve been placed in different cells. Bilbo can only begin to imagine what led the guards to make that decision.

“Better not. What if we accidentally call a guard down…”, responds Fili although his face says he was thinking the same.

Bilbo watches with fascination as an almost dreamy expression takes over Kili’s face at that idea but decides to intervene before he hears whatever embarrassing revelation the lad is about to voice about himself. He’d much rather find out about whatever that was from a less dramatic source (he also would hate to rob Frerin of the chance to gossip).

“I agree with Fili, better not. Do either of you have any idea where I might find your uncle?”, he interjects with a pointed cough.

The two of them deserve credit for barely reacting to his sudden appearance. There is no shouting or freezing or reaching for weapons at all. Granted he isn’t teasing them with a magic ring but it’s still sweet to see how quickly they identify his voice. A grin breaks across Kili’s face as they both leap to their feet.

“Bilbo! I knew you’d come and find us!”, he cries (only just below a shout but still much too loud to be considered subtle or secretive).

Fili hops forward on his toes with a similar smile, there’s more stress on his face but Bilbo can see that having his brother nearby has been helpful. He wonders briefly if that was an intentional effect on Kili’s behalf. A quick glance at the youngest confirms the thought, the dwarf giving Bilbo a meaningful look and a gesture that he loosely interprets to mean ‘don’t stress him’ or something similar.

“Of Course i'd come and find you! It’s not like you can rely on anyone else to rescue you all from the messes you find yourself in”, Bilbo huffs, only half joking because really it was unbelievable the things this group manages to stumble into.

Both dwarves laugh but don’t move to defend themselves or the various incidents he’s referring to. At least they’re also aware of it, Bilbo thinks with a sigh, that’s better than their uncles outlook on the situation which up and till very recently was something along the lines of ‘this would never had happened if Bilbo hadn’t come along’.

Actually though, speaking of Uncles, where was the long winded grump? Bilbo definitely hadn’t passed him on the way here, he has absolutely no doubt he would have heard some kind of speech against the rights of elves if he had.

“Do you two know where your uncle is? I passed almost everyone else on the way to the two of you but I didn’t see nor hear him.”

The brothers share a look of deep fatigue.

“Uncle Thorin was taken much further down, so was Ori…”, Fili informs dutifully.

“And nori!”, chirps Kili.

“Yes. And nori. They took them away because they kept causing trouble for the guards. We really did try and get Uncle to stop saying such…inflammatory things but you know how he feels about elves. And about these ones in particular. Ori and Nori didn’t like that Dori had been moved far away so they kept joining in and well, they’re quite creative when they want to be. We don’t know if they’re been kept together but if you could…?”

Bilbo nods, “Of Course. That was my plan anyway. I’ll return as soon as I can with some news!”

Then he turns away only to pause and give them both a quick glance. He’d been right about the state of their hair, loose locks weren’t convenient to the prisoner lifestyle.

With a wrinkled nose he says, “and with a brush. The two of you look like bird nests.”

He leaves before he can see the pleased little smirks they both react to that comment with.

Ring back in and dashing down the corridors and windy steps, he has time to consider what he’s been told. The idea of nori and Thorin causing enough trouble that they get separated doesn’t require a huge stretch of the imagination. Ori though…Bilbo is deeply curious to quiz the usually quite polite scholar on his behavior. Dori will probably be mortified to hear that he is the cause of their misbehaving.

Bilbo nearly runs two guards right over, deep in thought as he is, when he takes a particular fast turn. Pressing himself against the wall he holds his breath as they pass, unwilling to test the range and ability of elven ears when he has nowhere to run except forwards or backwards.

“Difficult bastard. One would think he’d give up on hurling insults at the king after the first few days without dinner.”, sighs the tallest guard.

Bilbo perks up at the mention of a “him”. Hurling insults at the king? That sounds just like Thorin.

“Yes, well you know what they say about his kind. Heads like the rocks they love so much. Hardy but not particularly complex.”, answers the second with a haughty sniff.

“Stubborn and stupid! What a cruel fate!”

They snicker together as they leave, shoulders bumping in mirth. Bilbo scowls. Stubborn and stupid indeed! Who do they think they are!? Stubborn certainly! But stupid? They’ll need to risk their lives to a few more trolls and goblins before they get to throw that sort of nasty commentary around.

And actually, he thinks with a huff, where do elves get the idea to go around calling other races stubborn. They’re the ones inching through life at a glacial pace, calling meetings upon meetings upon meetings only to organize more meetings rather than getting things done. As an enjoyer of their literature himself he can think of over 20 examples of elves thising and thating over trivial tiny issues while everyone just gets up and does something. Aren’t elves the ones who love to remind everyone how little time means to the immortal? Surely a few days is barely a blip on their timelines!

He kicks and a loose piece of pebble in frustration, sending it skittering along the floor and into a cell door. The clang it makes reverberates around the room like a cannon shot and despite the subpar lighting, Bilbo sees the way something or someone shifts in the shadows woken or at least disturbed by the sudden noise.

“Come back to tell me to bow before that fool you call a king? Give up! I would rather die. And save your breath on all the ‘that can be arranged’ threats. I, growing very tired of our repetitive conversations” comes a familiar growl (although sounding a little raspier than usual on account of the missing dinners).

Bilbo ducks into his own shadowy corner with a smile and slips off the ring.

“I hope you have been giving them a very hard time? I hear they’ve been taking away your dinner.”, he says as he moves into the light.

From inside his cell, Thorin makes an oddly choked noise, “Bilbo!”

Bilbo moves closer, allowing the calloused palm that is reaching beyond the bars to cup his face.

Light glitters across Thorin’s gaze as they stand like that for a long moment, not saying anything. Eventually the dwarf drops his hand back to his side, satisfied with his assessment of Bilbo’s general well being.

“I worried we had lost you.”, he murmurs.

Bilbo chuckles lightly, “I’m afraid it’ll take quite a bit more than a spider to get rid of me.”

“A dragon?”, comes the teasing answer he was looking for.

“Not even. You’ll have to kick me out the door with your own two booted feet Thorin Oakenshield. I won’t let you shove the responsibility onto any old monster you find!”, Bilbo sniffs as he gently lowers himself onto a sitting position, “Which you should really consider not doing. It’s very rude to throw out a guest when they bring you a gift you know?”

Thorin mirrors his position with a curious look, “a gift?”

Bilbo reveals his bread roll stash with a flourish and deposits them in Thorin’s lap, “Food of course. A good and traditional hobbit house warming gift. To lighten up the new living arrangements. At least until I find a way to get you all out.”

Thorin laughs, deep and booming, at his theatrics, “You are one of a kind Master Baggins! Perhaps I should tell you more about my siblings after all. You would have gotten along well! With both of them..”

It’s a sign of great improvement in their relationship that Thorin would think to share any kind of personal anecdotes and Bilbo is practically desperate for the information only the words jiggle something loose in his mind.

It’s at that point that he remembers a particular detail from the post gollum escape that he had been ignoring up until now. That being that last time he had worn the ring something had also gone missing.

He had expected to find Frerin here. By Thorin’s side as he often was when not by Fili or Kili. Except he isn’t. Bilbo is at the last place he thought to look and there is no sign of any ghost at all and suddenly he has a terrible thought that if he can’t see or hear Frerin while the ring is on then maybe…Frerin can’t get to him either. And if Frerin can’t get to him then that would mean the ghost probably though that Bilbo was dead.

“I would love that Thorin, I really would but I must ask that you tell me another time…I’ll be back soon I promise! I just realized I forgot to check on someone!”, he scrambles to his feet in a panic.

“I’ll be back soon! I will!”, he insists again when Thorin reaches out to grab his arm.

“I know,” the dwarf grunts, “I just meant to say be careful.”

Chapter 16: 16

Chapter Text

It’s not easy. Finding someone you can’t hear or see while they can’t see you either and you absolutely cannot risk just shouting into the echoing halls of a palace filled to the brim with elves that really want to lock you up.

Bilbo spends a long while creeping into corners and plucking the ring off for as long as he can stand to hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He even takes to whispering Frerin’s name as loudly as he dares whenever he thinks he’s feeling a slight warmth to the air. But it’s a futile effort that does little else but put him at risk of discovery.

In the end, in a weird twist of fate and expectation, it’s the guards that lead him to his friend. It starts with the usual small mutterings about stubbornness and bad manners. All the usual complaints he’s come to expect (he really is starting to feel like the dwarves are winning this petty feud on creativity alone. He doesn’t think he’s heard Thorin use the same insult twice.) Only this time something new is brought into the griping. The one guard groans and shoves his palm up into view.

“Dwarven curses. I’m telling you. It’s bad luck having them all locked in our forest. The trees want them gone, sent back to their stones and tunnels.”

His skin is oddly pinkish, like he’d been holding it in piping hot water for too long. A burn one might say. Now, Bilbo is not one to jump to conclusions if he can help it but he thinks that just this once the guard might be right about dwarven curses. Or at least, Dwarf (singular) cursing.

And so he looks for a new sign of his friend’s existence in the form of moderate to severe heat induced injuries. A cup of tea that burns the king's tongue after he says something particularly unfriendly. The smell of singed hair on a cook who stands a little too close to the fireplace. And finally, when Bilbo has all but given up on being able to reveal himself, a decorative door knob that has gold inlays glowing cherry red under the prince’s hands neatly disrupting what was surely supposed to be a private conversation between the prince and the captain of the guard.

“Are you certain we didn’t miss something? They seem…unconcerned by their capture, and the kitchens…”

Bilbo shrinks back at the mention of the missing food, breath hitching in panic. He’d thought no one had noticed. He’d taken such small portions…

The prince scoffs, “The kitchens have come up with a fantastic story to cover up what is most definitely somebody sneaking snacks off my father’s table.”

“Then what of the other incidents? And what of the weapon we couldn’t find in the forest? You know as well as I do that some of those spiders were killed with a dagger.”, the guard scowls, gesturing to a direction that must be the forest.

“I know. I know but Tauriel if we did miss one there’s not a chance they survived out there. Surrounded by spiders and with no supplies? It’s simply not possible. Please, I’m asking that you drop this. It’s hard enough maintaining my father’s mood without the paranoia he would develop about some invisible dwarf circling our walls. It’s hard enough to draw his attention from the ones we have inside the walls”, there’s something in his tone that catches Bilbo by surprise.

A slight bitterness laced with hurt that even the prince doesn’t seem comfortable admitting. The redhead, Tauriel, notices it too because she softens her stance. Her hand gently touches his shoulder on a shy gesture of comfort. It reminds Bilbo of the way Frerin often hovers over Thorin when he knows he can’t offer the comfort he desperately wants to.

“I hear you. I will let it go for now. You are right about the likelihood of a straggler surviving alone. Eventually, though, I would like us to return for the weapon at least. For their closure if nothing else.”

“For his closure you mean.”, spits the prince, any previous vulnerability disappearing behind the iron gates that slam closed behind his eyes.

Tauriel sighs, “Do not do this again. They deserve to know the fate of their companion. That should not depend on whether you can keep a handle on your jealousy.”

“Jealousy!? You think this is jealousy!? Has it not occurred to you that perhaps it is concern? Concern because you have clearly lost your sense enough to find that rude creature charming!? I heard what he said about hiding weapons in his pants! What does he take you for!? And to think you would even consider letting a dirt covered-“

“Legolas!”, Tauriel gasps in outrage, “that is quite enough.”

Legolas sneers, “yes. It is enough. I’m glad we agree. So you can tell him his friend is strung up in a web somewhere. Probably feeding the next generation of those dark things we risked ourselves to save them from. See how charming he is then and you will realize what I already know. He is not good enough for you.”

“And who is then?”, she spits, seemingly giving up on the pretense that there was nothing going on at all.

There is a freezing cold in his glare when he answers. Bilbo has seen a glare like that before. Once at a dinner table in Lord Elrond’s home.

“I will endeavor to find you an answer.”

He turns away from her to yank the door open, clearly desperate to be anywhere other than having the conversation they are having. Only the door doesn’t just open as one would typically expect. Instead the scent of burned flesh bursts into the air and Legolas screams, stumbling out of the room with his hand cradled against his chest.

Tauriel cries out, concern overriding her irritation, and dashes after him. The door slams closed behind her with an echoing bang. The door handle glows menacingly, red and almost throbbing in the way Bilbo has only ever seen in a blacksmith's forge.

He can hear the muffled sounds of a softer argument outside and the subsequent shuffling of the two elves moving away.

Bilbo is yanking the ring off before his thoughts catch up with him and as soon as it leaves his finger, he’s no longer the only person in the room. Frerin is standing, faced away from him, bellowing every insult he knows at the closed door like they’ll hear him if he shouts loud enough.

“KEEP HIS NAME OUT YOUR POX RIDDEN MOUTH! HE DIED KEEPING THEM SAFE! YOU DIDN’T RISK A THING!”, the ghost howls, fist beating uselessly against the wood. It’s odd, the way he doesn’t go through objects but still seems unable to truly interact with them.

Bilbo sags against the nearest firm surface, so relieved to see his friend again that all the words he had prepared to say completely fly from his mind in an instant.

Frerin takes in a ragged breath. It rattles in his chest painfully as he half sobs through his next round of curses.

Bilbo is hit with the pained realization that he has seen his friend cry far too many times in the period in which they’ve known each other. These are not tears of sadness, Frerin seems to be in the initial stages of coming to terms with what he believes is Bilbo’s death. A trait he shares with most of his family as far as Bilbo can tell. Lock sorrow behind anger until there is time and place for real grieving.

Fury, sadness or otherwise. He can’t bare to watch it any longer. The idea that Bilbo is about to witness those tears again has him reaching out but before he can say a word Frerin is off again.

“THEY KNEW! THEY KNEW HE WAS OUT THERE AND THEY DIDN’T EVEN- I should never have left him I shouldn’t have made him…” The words choke to a halt as a wounded noise escapes Frerin when he spins away from the door to finally see Bilbo.

“No…”, he breathes, legs giving out beneath him, “no no no Bilbo no don’t tell me you’re trapped like this too. I’m sorry I’m sorry this wasn’t supposed to happen. Oh mahal this is my fault isn’t it.”

Bilbo feels his eyes widen in horror as the realization of what Frerin is thinking dawns on him. He rushes to his friend's side desperate to be able to touch but unable to offer any real comfort.

“No Frerin, listen to me”, the ghost's eyes seem to float over his face, almost seeing but not quite,” I’m alive. Look! See how my hands can’t grab you? I’m alive”

The ghost squeezes his eyes shut tight and shakes his head like somehow that will dispel the existence of Bilbo, “No I tried to jump to you and it wouldn’t let me. I tried for hours and then again the days after…”

Bilbo swallows, “I’m not dead. I swear I’m not dead.”

“I know it’s hard at the start but surely you spoke with your maker? Did she not explain? Bilbo, you should have let her take you through to the next plane. Why would you return to this?”, Frerin seems unwilling to hear any different.

There is a lot to unpack there, far too much for Bilbo to accurately and sensitively address at once. The story that led to Frerin becoming what he was…Bilbo still didn’t have the full picture.

“Open your eyes and stop trying to shake me away! I am alive! Stop apologizing, I, begging you. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that in my efforts to stay undetected it applied to you as well. There was no speaking with my maker at all because I never got to see her at all!”, he pleads.

Frerin’s eyes snap up to meet his, “no maker? But-“, whatever vision of a ghostly Bilbo he had been imaging seems to clear (even if only the smallest amount) when he meets Bilbo’s eyes properly, “but I couldn’t get to you.”

“Because I’m alive!”

The ghost shakes his head, “no. No you heard them you must have! How could you survive out there? I couldn’t get to you, there is no way that you…”

Bilbo jumps to his feet as an idea takes him, “Frerin stay here. Count to 20 then try to get to me. You’ll see that it will work this time.”

It’s all he can think of. He ignores Frwrin’s whimper of protest as he yanks the door open, confident that this is the fastest way to convince his friend.

Then he races out the door. He doesn’t dare to put the ring on as he dives around the now familiar twists and turns of this floor, heading straight for the storage room he now knows is never visited. It’s where he has been sleeping, too afraid to sleep anywhere that might put him within earshot of a particularly suspicious captain of the guards.

He practically collapses onto the bedroll he had left discarded by the car corner in a fit of overwhelming fatigue. A bad move on his part. Anyone could have walked in and seen the clear signs of someone living here. Still, he’s grateful for the padding now. No sooner have his knees touch the cloth does Frerin pop into existence in front of him.

A beat of silence passes as the ghost stares at him in hopeful disbelief. Frerin’s mouth moves like he means to say something but no words escape.

He sniffles slightly, eyes going glossy as wispy tears try to gather in them, “Bilbo I had- I thought you were-“

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize until just recently.”, Bilbo shushes him, once again deeply stung by his inability to just reach out.

Instead he settles himself more comfortably and gently reaches for the ring. Answers and explanations will have to provide the comfort he wishes he could.

“Look,” he murmurs.

He means to take it out of his pocket to show Frerin immediately but it’s like his fingers catch on something. His hand feels stuck, fingers rubbing against the metal but unable to pull the ring fully out into sight. He frowns, confused about where the resistance is coming from. Himself? Or maybe… Could it be the ring? He’d felt this before. With Gandalf back at Beorn’s house. With the spider. Had there been another time?

“Bilbo?”, Frerin questions, voice still shaken.

With the sound of his name comes a small flush of warmth into Bilbo’s system. He hadn’t even noticed the way the world had suddenly gotten so much colder. The ring (because now that the thought had occurred to him he can identify that it is infact the ring causing this) loses its battle against Bilbo’s intention and he finally manages to pull it out his pocket.

“This is why you couldn’t get to me. I found it while we were escaping from the goblins.”, he explains.

Frerin reluctantly drags his eyes away from Bilbo’s face and to his palm instead. For a moment they both simply look at it, taking in the deceptive simplicity of the gold.

It’s funny, Bilbo thinks. The ring had always seemed so magnetizing up until this moment, like he could lean into it forever, getting closer and closer but never quite touching it. Now, pinned to his palm by Frerin’s gaze, it seems so unimpressive. Just a little band of metal like any other. Something about that unnerved Bilbo and he finds his fingers curling around the ring before he’s suddenly tucking it back into his pocket. Once again he can’t quite identify whether the feeling is his own or not.

Frerin frowns, “And that ring…it hides you?”

“From sight with most. From…everything with you. I think. I have had no chance to test if you can hear while I wear it. It hides you from me too.”, Bilbo nods as he explains.

Frerin grunts, uncomfortable and sounding exactly like his brother for a moment, “I don’t like that thing. I can’t explain but I don’t like it.”

A flash of uncharacteristic hatred stained protectiveness fills Bilbo at the words but it soon fades. Dismissed at first as an irrational feeling born from too little food and sleep but Bilbo pauses his dismissal at the last moment with a promise to look closer at the feeling later. The ever present but subtle dread that comes with imagining himself putting the ring on again strengthens ever so slightly with the thought.

“I didn’t realize it hid me from you. Or at least not so completely.”, he apologizes again.

He’s rewarded by a small, wobbly but honest smile. Frerin’s eyes don’t even stray to Bilbo’s pocket now that the ring has been put away and Bilbo doesn’t know why he notices that.

Frerin rubs away the last of the mistiness in his eyes with a sigh, “I know Bilbo. My reaction was… I can’t believe I really thought you were…like me.”

“Yes, actually I meant to mention that next.”, Bilbo says, matter of fact in a way he inherited from his father (neither of them were very skilled at handling the transition from panic to even emotions.).

Frerin blinks, “you did?”

“Yes. You must know that if I die on this journey I will be fighting tooth and nail to get back here. I have no intention of leaving you to the loneliness of it all. And I won’t have you blaming yourself either, if old wives tales are to be believed then us hobbits have quite the history for sticking around. I won’t have you taking credit for it. Understand?”

The ghost scoots back with a pained look, “You mustn’t! Please promise me you won’t. I’ve done it before and I’ll get used to it again so please don’t subject yourself to this. It’s harder than you know. Promise me!”

Bilbo does know. Or at least he’s starting to. Every moment spent alone with the ring in this place had had him constantly imagining what it would be like to live this way for near a century or even more. It would drive a person mad. He would not subject his best friend to that fate even if he had to fight with every valar in the process.

Perhaps it would not be so hard if it was two rather than one. Then at least they could face the tests of time together, and when the right condition where met and Frerin moved on, then Bilbo would return to his maker and pray she let him into the garden.

Or, and this is a small private thought that he isn’t ready to really acknowledge yet, he would perhaps take a detour. Avoid the garden he's grown up hearing about and follow a cobbled path instead. He hadn’t thought to mention it out loud until very very recently but he’s not sure his heart belongs to a garden anymore.

“I promise.”, he lies through his teeth.

Chapter 17: 17

Chapter Text

There is a plan brewing in Bilbo’s head.

Not exactly a perfect one but it’s looking like it’s as good as they’ll get and so he makes the executive decision not to tell the others about the plan until he is completely ready to bundle the lot of them into barrels and send them spinning down a river.

Frerin knows of course. They’re both far past the point of hiding things from each other but the ghost agrees that it’s best to surprise the company with this particular escape. Less time for them to huff and grumble their way into complete refusal to cooperate. So instead Bilbo bides his time, spending his spare moments with each of his dwarrow to keep everyone calm (read: pulling them into a false sense of security).

With Kili and Fili he perches by their cell and listens. Frerin had warned him that the youngest was committed to making his brother believe in ghosts, a mission which is (probably) well meaning but could end in a complete disaster. These things need to be approached delicately, in places where the fallout of a bad reaction can be contained and dealt with.

Also Frerin isn’t quite comfortable with listening to his eldest nephew aggressively argue for all the reasons he doesn’t exist. So if Kili insists on continuing this campaign (he likely will, but Bilbo has a plan to delay the inevitable) then he should at least have the decency to do it privately.

“But Fili, don’t you think it would be possible? I mean loads of folk die! And Bilbo said that in the shire hobbits have loads of stories! Surely at least one of them has-“

“Kili.”, Bilbo snaps quickly, having decided that he’s let this run on for far longer than he (or Frerin) is comfortable with. Even Fili is starting to look a little more concerned than usual. Apparently even he has his limits to how much of Kili’s “nonsense” he can endure.

The rascal freezes, a look of irritation at being caught slathered across his face without a trace of shame or guilt. Frankly Bilbo is most irritated about the way he’s choosing to approach the subject. Are all their sessions on etiquette and manipulation just for fun then?

“Not a drop of recourse in him”, scoffs Frerin with a sense of incredulity which is slightly misplaced considering how often he behaves in the exact same manner.

“Bilbo…”

“Do not whine at me. Can’t you see you’re making your brother uncomfortable?”

Kili frowns, “He’s not uncomfortable! This is Important!”

“He certainly is and he isn’t the only one”, Bilbo levels him a meaningful look that he hopes Kili is able to read in the low light.

The youngest looks slightly chastised, “I just…”

“I know,” Bilbo softens his tone, “But you must understand that there is a time and a place for certain things. This is not one of them. The last thing we need is anyone assuming you’ve lost your mind.”

Fili stays quiet beside them, gaze resting on Bilbo curiously. There’s a certain level of respect that Bilbo has noticed since Kili had announced their new dynamic (that Bilbo still isn’t quite sure he’s comfortable with) that affects the rules between them all in ways Bilbo almost understands.

Additionally Fili clearly realizes there’s more to the conversation here than he understands. He’s a smart lad after all.

Kili sighs, “I’m sorry.”

He’s not talking to Bilbo when he says it.

“He doesn’t mean any harm”, acknowledges Frerin for Bilbo to translate as subtly as he can.

“We all know you aren’t trying to bother anyone. Just drop the matter for a little bit, that’s all I ask.”

Bilbo gets a sullen nod in response which is the best he’ll get so he turns away with an approving hum.

“Oh and Kili,” he tosses over his shoulder, “Thorin would hate to hear about your other interest of late so keep that in mind.”

The dwarf blushes furiously, eyes wide as he chokes over a series of unconvincing excuses for his behavior. Frerin cackles at his panic.

-

A short chat with Bifur, as are most of their conversations, reveals a series of ‘new’ words and phrases in their complicated hand language that Bilbo dutifully pretends to be surprised about.

The dwarf as usual gives Bilbo a deeply knowing look when the hobbit claims to have memorized them after only a few tries. This is the secret second game they are always playing. One that has Bilbo testing the boundaries of how quickly he can ‘learn’ things while Bifur sends him increasingly judgemental eyebrow raises and impressed grunts.

They both know Bilbo already knows a lot of it but Bilbo enjoys the speed they can move forward with and Bifur enjoys knowing something the others do not. It must be frustrating not understanding what’s going on all the time. The other dwarves do not always remember to stop and translate things for him. Sometimes it just isn’t possible to pause and repeat things. This seems to be Bifur’s little act of revenge.

As far as Bilbo knows the dwarf hasn’t told anyone that he’s teaching Bilbo and seems to be making an effort to keep it under wraps whenever his cousins are around.

‘You haven’t told them that I can understand yet?’, Bilbo signs shakily (Although Frerin makes an approving grunt that means Bilbo at least managed to avoid any grammatical errors).

Bifur snorts, reaching out to flick Bilbo quite hard on the end of his nose. An affectionate gesture that the hobbit would rather he stopped but also can’t bring himself to be too annoyed at.

‘More fun this way’, he answers.

He’s not a huge speaker even when you do speak his language.

‘What if they say something rude?’

“Then they shouldn’t say it in the first place.”, huffs Frerin as Bifur signs something of a similar nature.

Bilbo accepts that without complaint, he’s always been the kind of person who’s happy to insult you to your face. Whispering behind backs is faunt behavior. It’s one of the few things he and Lobelia regularly agree on.

‘Fair. What about secret hearing?’

‘Hearing secrets’, Bifur corrects patiently before continuing, ‘then they should be more careful. No language is unlearnable.’

‘Besides’, he pokes Bilbo in the ribs with a smirk, ‘You’re practically one of our own. If it were up to me you’d be learning our spoken tongue already!’

Bilbo feels his cheeks warm as his beams back at his friend, “Bifur! You old sap!”

He says it in his usual tongue because he doesn’t have the words for it in sign but he’s certain his tone conveys enough for Bifur to understand. Then he decides to push his luck because after his plan there’s a chance the dwarf will never want to speak to him again (Bifur has been known to show great distaste around any sort of moving water).

‘You could teach me? I would keep secret!’

Bifur shakes his head firmly, ‘no. I will not break that rule without the permission of my king. Also, keep it secret not keep secret.’

Bilbo sighs, it was worth a try.

Frerin giggles into his hand like the menace he is, “Something tells me Bifur is going to be mightily surprised any day now.”

-

Dwalin is a visit that is, simultaneously to everyone’s surprise and none’s, motivated by Frerin.

He announces one evening, while Bilbo is getting ready to sleep (he feels much safer now that he has Frerin to wake him in time to get the ring back on), that he would like to listen to Bilbo talk to the warrior. Something about confronting his own assumptions before he makes another arse out of himself.

It’s all very unemotional and mature despite the various name calling that gets tossed into his pitch (he hardly needs a pitch. Bilbo is always happy to talk to Balin and Dwalin). They begin to sound more like pet names than anything else anyway. The sort of teasing one might expect from a sibling or especially close cousin rather than vitriolic acid spat between to hated rivals.

Hated rivals where one of them was actively mourning the other with a fond and loving memory… Bilbo finds himself more endeared towards Dwalin every day.

So here he is, crouched by the stairs and praying to anyone listening that no one comes down them while he’s sitting here.

“I have a plan…”, he admits after a few minutes of Balin’s unflinching question, “…but I can’t tell you just yet! It’s not quite dwarrow ready if you catch my meaning?”

Judging by the dissatisfied glares Bilbo is willing to bet that they do not in fact ‘catch his meaning’.

“I just need to run it by Thorin first…”, he tries and breathes a sigh of relief when that seems to settle the brothers.

“I’m sure he will appreciate then”, Dwalin grunts with an odd sort of meaningful tone that has Bilbo gaping at him in outrage.

“Dwalin! I expected better from you!”

Frerin says nothing throughout the conversation. This would typically be a cause for great concern as Bilbo is very aware that there is little Frerin enjoys more than talking. However, the dynamic here is delicate and he sees the way his friend twitches with amusem*nt every now and then.

If nothing else it’s a sign that Frerin seems genuinely committed to his project of reconciliation.

-

The last conversation he has,whispered late at night only hours before he announces his intention to shove them into barrels and pray they all float, is with Thorin.

Because of course it is. Bilbo has long since realized that, at least for him, things will always end with Thorin.

“Tell me about your sibling?” He pries quietly.

He’s sat beside Thorin on the floor of the dwarf’s cell, close enough that their knees are leaning against each other. They’ve been talking for hours now and while there are still things to say they’ve fallen into a comfortable sort of silence.

Bilbo disturbs because Frerin has finally left to go check on Fili or Kili or maybe even Dwalin and although Bilbo realizes it might be rude to discuss someone in their absence…he would feel dishonest asking Thorin to spill his pain when he did not know who was listening.

“My siblings?”, Thorin asks with a smile.

Bilbo nods, “yes your siblings. You promised me tales of your time in the lonely mountain.“

Thorin hums, a soft acknowledgment before he clears his throat lightly, “I suppose I did.”

He says nothing further for a long moment, staring into the darkness like it holds the answers Bilbo is looking for. (Maybe it does. Hobbit eyesight is no match for a dwarf’s in the dark although maybe not in Thorin's case)

“There were three of us.”, Thorin finally continues, “A blessing they said. One child is a healthy number, Two is cause for celebration. Three? Three is a good omen.”

“Like the Ri brothers?”, Bilbo can’t help but ask.

Thorin responds with a firm nod, “Yes. Their mother deserves more respect for them than she gets. Different fathers or not, she still had to bring them all into the world on her own! My mother used to put curses on my father from the moment labor started till the moment she had the baby in her arms.”

Then he grins, “Apparently Dis had the biggest head of the three of us. My father had to flee the room because my mother kept trying to kill him.”

Bilbo blinks. All this giving birth nonsense sounds like far too much effort but at least he knows a temper isn’t frowned upon.

“Dis is your sister? Fili and Kili’s mother?”, he feigns uncertainty despite feeling like he knows her almost as well as he knows Thorin after all Frerin’s stories.

“Yes my sister. She is terrifying! You would get along well I think. Although I worry for the rest of us when you eventually meet.”

“She’s waiting back home?”

Thorin scoffs, “Waiting implies idleness. No, she is ruling and most likely preparing to give us all a hiding when she next sees us! She doesn't like to be left alone.”

He winces when his mouth forms the word alone.

Bilbo doesn’t ask about the boys’ father. He already knows that story and has decided that if he is to hear it again, it shall be from Dis herself or perhaps Fili.

Thorin speaks again before Bilbo has time to respond, “We had a brother. I have mentioned him to you before, Frerin. I’m not sure whether you would have loved or hated him. He was like Kili if you gave him his brother's stubbornness and his mothers quick temper.”

It’s a rather lovely way of describing Frerin and Bilbo can’t help but say, “I think I would have liked him quite a lot then.”

A regretful aura settles around Thorin and he noticeably swallows back the pain that has resurfaced as they spoke, “I miss him every day of my life. When we were younger and our grandmother passed Dis and Frerin were inconsolable. Death is confusing to a pebble.”

His voice breaks off at the end of his sentence and he has to clear his throat again. Bilbo rests his hand against Thorin’s knee rather than say anything that might distract him from his story.

“At the time I… I didn’t know how to help and nothing my parents could say to explain what had happened was able to get through to them. So I made them a promise. I said that they didn’t need to worry about death because the three of us would not be separated.”, Thorin laughs, a painful almost weeping sound.

“I knew at the time that it wasn’t a promise I would be able to keep easily. I knew eventually time would get to us. I just never thought I would be one of the ones to get left behind. I had always assumed it would be me who broke that oath first, not my brother.”

“Nice of him to assume I broke it. Says a lot about his faith in me I think.”

Frerin’s voice very nearly sends Bilbo shrieking and cursing when it suddenly breaks into the quiet left behind by Throin’s confession. It’s lucky for both of them that Bilbo has been conditioning himself to stay quiet for the duration of the stay in this place.

“I’m sure he did everything he could to stay true to his word”, is what he said instead of the rude description of Mahal’s genitalia that he’d picked up from listening to Bofur’s huffing and puffing (Thorin would probably have reacted badly to that).

“He probably did. I can only hope that his last moments were peaceful. I know he never made it out the mountain… I should not have left him in that position. He was too young to worry about leading others to safety.”

Frerin doesn’t even need to say anything for Bilbo to be jumping to argue with that particular loaded statement.

“As opposed to your own ancient age at the time?”, Bilbo frowns at Thorin’s surprised look, “Don’t think I haven’t had enough time to work out just how old everyone would have been at the time. You must pardon what I’m about to say now as I realize he was your grandfather but any loss of lives, due to poor instruction or otherwise, lie on his shoulders. Not yours. And certainly not your brother, although I know that’s not what you meant.”

Really he just drops that in because he can see Frerin already starting to spiral about whoever got lost with him.

“And also, if he’s anything his I’m imagining he’d be very unhappy to hear you shouldering any blame. I may not have known you all for very long but it seems to be a trait you all share and despise in each other.”

Thorin doesn’t smile, it’s too soon for that after such a heavy conversation, but he does snatch Bilbo’s hand from where it’s rested across his knee.

“Bilbo Baggins, I have never met anyone like you in my life.”, he murmurs into Bilbo’s wrist.

Bilho’s cheeks burn something fierce as he desperately tries to look anywhere other than those deep blue eyes, “I should hope not. I’ve been told I’m quite odd.”

-

Back in his little makeshift room Bilbo risks glancing at Frerin to gauge the ghost’s state of being. He so desperately wants to ask more questions about everything he learned from Thorin but it feels cheap somehow.
“Together or not at all.”
“Pardon?”
Frerin looks up from his fingers, “That’s the promise we made. Together or not at all. We said that we’d cross through to Mahal's realm together.”
Oh.
“You remember the exact words?”
Frerin grins, all teeth, “Hard to forget the main component of a temper tantrum you threw through in front of a god.”

Chapter 18: 18

Chapter Text

There is uproar. Of Course there is. Bilbo had been expecting the wave of outrage and offended yelling. He’d known they wouldn’t be happy but still! He’d hoped it would be loud and brief. Not loud and dragged in for several minutes. Minutes that just gave various elven guards time to track them all down (and how easy that would be for them considering the amount of noise being made.)

Is now really the time for all this nonsense? Could they not hold their tongues till later when they’re safely outside of this place and Bilbo’s head has stopped throbbing every time he blinks. They can get to safety and freedom and then Bilbo would happily sit and give them all a turn to complain about his substandard ability to find escape plans (despite the fact that this would be roughly the third time that they would have died without him. And yes, he counts the trolls in his favor because if he’d been listened to from the start no one would have had to get caught at all.)

“There’s no other way!”, he snaps, sending pleading looks at the three youngest who are complaining and whining just for the sake of taking part as far as he can tell. (He knows Kili and Fili well enough by now that he is confident when he says there is nothing they would like more than to go flying down a river in a barrel)

It works partially, they fall quiet while the others continue to riot and rant. Ori even looks slightly apologetic which is sweet considering the level of dread Bilbo can see in his eyes. He clearly doesn’t share the other two’s excitement.

Someone grumbles something in relation to dwarves and water and unnatural combinations. Bilbo sighs, sharp and frustrated. His patience is running extremely thin. He’s been exploring every nook and cranny of the elf kings home for countless days while they’ve all been patiently waiting and this is the only way. Why don’t they believe him? Must they fight him at every turn?

Surely by now they know he has their best interests at heart. Can’t they see that if he had another plan he would have pitched it already?

His eyes sting and he gets the horrific feeling that if they don’t quiet down soon he may just start to cry. His face feels warm with some combination of internalized shame and the general unfortunate state of his health (physical and mental).

Helpless to snap at them any longer he casts a searching look towards Frerin who gives him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about them Bilbo. I knew they were going to make a fuss but I assumed they’d have the sense to keep it brief and quiet.”, Frerin’s voice holds all the irritation Bilbo is feeling and more. He nods his chin at Thorin with a sharp motion, “Get our esteemed leader to pull them back in line.”

Bilbo blinks, his head throbs again but really he’s starting to get used to the constant shivers and aches, and turns to Thorin. He hadn’t noticed in the midst of all the other complaining but the dwarf had yet to voice any disagreements with the plan. Instead he was glaring at the barrels in a way that meant he was thinking rather than anger.

“Thorin…”, Bilbo mutters under his breath.

The dwarf shakes himself free of whatever thought had been plaguing him, “Yes Bilbo?”

Bilbo clears his throat delicately, sending a meaningful side eye towards the main complainers (Dwalin, Gloin, Bofur. Bilbo expects this sort of behavior from Gloin and Bofur but Dwalin?). He punctuates this look with a short hand gesture that he hopes gets ‘deal with that or I will start screaming and shouting at a volume that will have every guard down here before you can blink’.

Thorin makes a silent ‘ah’ expression before shuffling into an authoritative stance and booming (as quietly as he can manage), “Get in the barrels!”.

Bilbo is only 40% bitter about the speed in which that gets them all moving. He tells himself it’s because he’s been wearing them down and not just because they trust Thorin’s opinion over his on a plan that Thorin had nothing to do with whatsoever. Being sick, Bilbo is remembering, has always made him feel especially sensitive.

And petty he muses, yanking on the lever to open the hatch with no real warning other than a, “hold your breath”. His moment of small revenge is ruined by a shuffle of movement from Frerin. The sort of shuffle someone makes when they’re about to throw a cat amongst the pidgeons but aren’t sure how to approach it.

“What is it, Frerin?”

The ghost looks at the place where the dwarves had been then back to Bilbo, “Exactly what are you planning to do about your own escape?”

Bilbo swallows. He’d let himself forget about this part. In all the effort he’d spent trying to convince the others to get into those barrels he hadn’t let himself worry about the next step.

Stepping back slightly he activated the lever again. The sound of rushing water fills the room again and Bilbo shivers slightly as the new temperature sends goosebumps rippling across his skin.

“Bilbo, please don’t tell me you're planning on jumping in there? Because there isn’t an extra barrel and I’m not trying to doubt your skills as a swimmer but I don’t think-“

Frerin’s voice muffles, drowned out by the sound of the water he plunges into it. No doubt the ghost will have a long and very detailed lecture when Bilbo washes up on shore.

What nobody warns you about a fever is that when you plunge into ice cold river water it feels like someone is taking razor blades to every inch of skin available. Probably because no one would expect people with fevers to go jumping into rivers.

Bilbo’s scream gets swept away by the water before anyone can hear it. So does his breath. He gasps for air before he realizes how stupid that is. Water fills his mouth, choking him and forcing him to gasp again only for more water to force it way down his throat.

A rough hand fists into the back of his shirt and yanks him up. It’s Bifur, or at least he thinks it’s Bifur. His vision is blurry and he can’t focus on anything, too busy desperately trying to get air in between uncontrollable coughing.

Bilbo thinks Thorin says something complimentary but he doesn’t have time to react before they’re all tumbling over the side of a sharp drop and crashing through the rapids.

Water covers his head again but this time he keeps his mouth shut only for his hands, numb and stiff from the cold already, to lose their grip in the barrel he’d attached himself to. He sees Bifur try to snatch him back but his reach isn’t long enough and Bilbo slips away.

“Bilbo!”, a voice that’s definitely Frerin calls out in panic but Bilbo can’t identify exactly where his voice is coming from.

There’s a horn sounding somewhere above them, rough shouting from somewhere else but it’s all too much at once. Bilbo grabs at the nearest barrel, he can’t see whose it is from under the water but that doesn’t matter. He just needs them to pull him up while they are not moving.

He spoke too soon. He only just manages to get his head above the water for a second before they’re moving again. He loses his grip again.

Darkness blurs around the edges of Bilbo’s vision as he watches the barrels rush past. He’s sinking slowly and they don’t know he’s there. His throat aches in tandem with everything else. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, it feels too much like giving up but at the same time he can barely see anyway. So maybe it won’t be so bad if he just-

Heat envelops the space around his collar, water bubbling furiously, and then suddenly he’s above the water again securely attached to the edge of the last barrel that went past.

“Thankyou! Thankyou thankyou!”, Bilbo wheezes, wiping the water from his eyes and looking up to see which dwarf is about to earn a permanent spot on the very top of his favorites list.

Blue and blonde sways in front of him. Bilbo blinks trying to focus. The blonde and blue blur focuses into the familiar form of…Frerin?

Bilbo blinks again, the barrel he’s clinging to is empty. Kili is in Fili’s barrel now. Confusion overtakes him in much the same way that the water had just a moment ago. The ghost blinks back. His face is just as baffled as Bilbo’s. For a long moment they just gawk at each other, silent as their barrel gets swept back towards the others and the fighting.

“Did I just…?”, Frerin breaks eye contact to stare at his own hands in total disbelief, “Bilbo I think I just…”

Whatever he’s about to say gets completely ridden over by the appearance of an additional host of orcs and elves all armed with very nasty arrows. Bilbo lashes out at closest Orc part with Sting. The orc screeches and goes crashing into the water. The movement overbalances them and Bilbo loses his grip on Sting.

With a yelp he leans forward to grab the hilt before it disappears into the rapids. A grey gnarled hand snaps around his wrist and tugs him down. Bilbo braces for a repeat of cold knives and aching lungs but it never comes, instead he gets warm pressure around his middle, just one side of too warm, and he’s being tugged back into the safety of the barrel again.

This time Bilbo doesn’t need to look back, “How long have you been able to do that?”

He just has to ask. How can he not? It’s not every day that your best friend, who also happens to be a ghost, develops the ability to yank you out of rivers and catch you as you fall. And no sign of a 3rd degree burn anywhere either! Although that water had bubbled a great deal… He can only hope the others are too far away and busy with Orcs and Elves to hear the breathless question. (Later, when he isn’t reeling from the affects of new powers, Frerin will be sure to tease him for sounding like a damsel out of some ancient human tale)

“New development!”, Frerin sounds just as out of breath.

Unfortunately there’s not much either of them can do about the boulder they smash into moments afterwards. Frerin shouts a string of incredibly graphic words in Khuzdul as they go tumbling over the rock and back into that awful water.

Bilbo is ashamed to say he isn’t much help in the effort to get them back to shore. It’s all he can manage to keep his grip on Sting. Between the consistent shivering that he can’t seem to make go away and nausea that has steadily been creeping up on him, it’s like everything that’s been happening has crept up on him all at once.

He’s so cold. So so cold. His bones are aching with it, shuddering every time the light breeze freezes his soaking wet clothes. The clothes are also just too heavy for words, clogged with mud and water as they are. He can barely stand let alone crawl his way out of a river in this state.

The next time he can focus on anything other than how awful he feels it’s when he’s hanging from Thorin’s grip like a miserable wet cat. Or maybe a rat. He’d seen a rat get stuck in someone’s pond once and the imagery certainly matches how he feels at the moment.

There are people around him all reacting in various levels of excitement and relief but he can barely bring himself to smile. His whole arm is half tingling, half burning but no matter how Bilbo tries to focus he can’t quite remember why it feels like that.

“Bilbo? What’s going on? Did you feel that back there!? Well naturally you did! But I can’t help but ask twice because frankly you would never imagine how many times I’ve managed to touch something only for it to be the wind or some other odd coincidence! Although I suppose it would be nearly impossible for the wind to have pulled you from the water. Actually perhaps…”

Frerin’s voice is a steady but strangely distant noise by Bilbo’ s ear. It's a soothing sound even if it’s all just a little too far for the hobbit to really understand what is being said to him. Only it shouldn’t be too far away because Frerin is standing right there. Has he accidentally put the ring back on? That would be terrible! No one would be able to find him… what if they leave without him!?

“We have to try it again later! I can’t say that I’ve worked it out but maybe with practice then…”

No… no he can’t have the ring on if he’s hearing Frerin. That means everyone can see him just fine. Bilbo breathes a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been. It had always been at the back of his mind of course, the slight concern that they would break out before they knew he was there. That he’d be stuck living like a ghost in those shadowy halls until he was either found or died of some natural cause.

Bilbo closes his eyes for a moment, pausing to catch his breath before moving forward again. They’re getting on a boat now. He’s not sure when they came to that decision but there is a man talking in the same low tone that Thorin uses. His name is Bard, he has two daughters and a son. They live at the base of the mountain.

Bilbo is so cold. He’s wrapped up as best they can manage but he still can’t get the shivering under control. Thorin has been sending him concerned glares for the better half of the boat journey (although that could be because Bilbo is talking to the man…Bard, his name is bard. He has two daughters and a son. They live-)

“Get in the barrel Bilbo. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t know for certain that it’s the only way. We’ll get you warmed up once I get you to my home.”, Bards voice is softer with him than it had been a moment ago when he was talking to the dwarves.

Bilbo can understand that. He knows personally how irritating dwarves can be. Especially when you need them to get into a barrel! He gags as cold slimy fish get poured over him. That’ll show them to be grateful about his plans! He hadn’t included fish of any kind in his barrel heist.

The gentle rocking of the boat lulls Bilbo’s mind even as it heightens the nausea. Sleep, he figures, won’t be a terrible choice for now. Frerin will wake him if he’s missing anything hugely important and he trusts Bard even if the man seems chronically grumpy. Thorin is chronically grumpy all the time and Bard hadn’t even accused Bilbo of any dishonorable behavior yet. Bilbo must remember to mention that when Thorin inevitably starts some speech about how men aren’t to be trusted.

He’ll say something like ‘And what about me Thorin? Did you trust me from the start!? No, I didn't think so. Sometimes you have to be a little more open minded.’ and Thorin will grunt and do that lovely thing where he scowls but his cheeks go all rosy.

Bilbo closes his eyes with a heavy sigh and does his best to focus on the way the gentle noise of the water overlaps with Frerin’s excited chatter. His head is so so so much heavier than he remembers it being. His arm…he can’t feel his arm anymore so it must be all better now. Actually he can’t really remember why he was thinking about his arm in the first place.

The muffled noise of accusing whispers manages to motivate him to drag his eyes open once more. Something must have happened. The boat has come to a stop and the sounds of men’s voices float around them all. They must have reached the village. He squints through the gaps in the wood as best he can to try and get a glimpse of laketown (and isn’t that a charming name. Very sensible and nice,y descriptive. Vaguely he ponders whether they have a mind in laketown. The big folk do love their kings and queens. Bilbo has never quite gotten the hang of how big something needs to be in order to earn such a person.)

The last thing he remembers before falling into nothingness is the fuzzy image of Bard talking to some other man he can’t hear what they are saying but Frerin is with them and he doesn’t look concerned so there is probably nothing to worry about.

Good. He’s tired of worrying about things. He’ll let the others take over for just a little while as he rests.

Chapter 19: 19

Chapter Text

Bilbo groans lightly, eyes fluttering for a moment before he manages to will them open. He wants to rub the sleep from his face but his whole body feels like it’s made of some heavy unyielding material. He can barely breathe under the weight of whatever has sapped his strength so thoroughly.

His brow furrows as he tries to wriggle into a slightly more comfortable position. He’s quite tired for someone who only just woke up from a sleep. Bilbo is by no means a morning person but usually he wakes with a little more energy than this. What on earth happened?

There’s a roof above him. It’s something that sticks out as unusual. At the start of this journey it wouldn’t have struck him as odd to wake up under wooden beams and tile but now after months and months of sleeping in caves and forests it’s a notable change. It’s not an elvish roof either. He remembers waking up to those and they never felt as homey as this one. Instead it’s almost hobbit like, or it would be if it wasn’t quite so tall. A man then?

Oh! That’s right! Bilbo remembers now. They’d been getting into that lovely man’s boat (Bard if his memory serves him right) and he’d put them into those fishy barrels for… some reason. Only that doesn’t really explain why he’s in a house now…and on a bed!

“Are you awake?”, that’s Frerin’s voice coming from his right.

He sounds a little irritated…so he’s worried then? Worried about Bilbo? He really has to stop doing that to poor Frerin.

Bilbo manages to tilt his head just barely in his direction. Fatigue is still clinging to him but he’s more stubborn than sleep. He’s starting to suspect there’s a little more going on than a nap. Judging by Frerin’s pinched expression he’s probably right.

“What-“, he coughs as soon as the word gets out, throat sore and dry.

“What happened?”, he tries again in a volume that doesn’t sting (it’s barely a whisper but he knows Frerin will be able to hear him).

The ghost’s bottom lip wobbles, “You got sick Bilbo. Really sick. By the time we tipped everyone out the barrels you…”, he falters.

“Frerin it’s okay.”, Bilbo tries to comfort his friend.

“It’s not okay! I knew you weren’t well. I could see the way you were breaking down. I should have made you tell Oin before you convinced them all to leap into ice cold water.”, he pauses to glance at the end of the bed, “Also careful. I don’t know when they’ll wake up. Kili won't be bothered by us talking but I don’t think my brother nor Fili would take kindly to my name right now.”

His brother? Bilbo falls his gaze to the strange heaviness on his legs that he’d thought was another symptom of his condition. He almost gasps when he sees the real source of the feeling. Thorin is slumped over his shins, fast asleep. There is a slight crease to his brow and drool staining the thin blanket but Bilbo can’t bring himself to mine. He notes that Thorin looks a bit worse for wear but the rest of his body is lax and his breathing is slow and steady.

A tiny smile makes its way onto Bilbo’s face before he registers the rest of what Frerin had said and turns his head in search of Kili and Fili. He finds them in a similar position barely an arms reach from Bilbo’s bed. Fili has somehow squeezed himself onto the bed and curled protectively around his brother.

There’s a sickly sheen to Kili’s skin and he’s shivering every other second hunting at a dangerously low temperature. What happened? When had it happened? How could Bilbo have missed it!? Guilt gnaws at his conscience despite the rational part of his mind that knows there’s little he could have done.

“He got caught in the knee by a stray arrow as we were escaping. He tried to hide from us all. It was coated in poison. He’s just sleeping for now, he’ll wake soon enough.”, Frerin explains before Bilbo even thinks to ask.

“Bilbo?”, Thorin mumbles into the blanket.

His voice is rough from sleep and he’s clearly still groggy as he raises his head to stare at Bilbo. It takes him a while to make sense of what’s in front of him because Bilbo can pinpoint the exact moment he realizes that Bilbo is up and moving (a generous description of his current state.)

“You are awake”, he nearly gasps, eyes wide.

His hair is disheveled, strands sticking up and out in all directions. Part of his beard is stuck to his cheek from where he’d been resting on it and there are the imprints of beads on his forehead. Bilbo finds it ridiculously charming and it keeps him from making a teasing comment about Thorin’s ability to point out the obvious.

He has a terrible out of place idea that he’d like to see Thorin like this more often. Rested and soft. It’s a silly thing to think.

“I am.”, he agrees with a slight head tilt.

Thorin jumps to his side, hands coming up to clasp Bilbo’s almost reverently, “You must not frighten me like this again. Is concealing your injuries a hobby of yours?”

He says it so seriously, face already falling into its usual commanding scowl. The look he expects people to take seriously and treat with the respect he deserves. Bilbo is certain that he is supposed to be feeling very chastised and guilty as a result. However the effect is lost by the general state of dishevelment that sleep has caused. His face must betray his real feelings.

“Take this seriously Bilbo!”, snap the brothers, ghost and living, in the exact same tone of guilty, self-blaming worry.

He’s laughing before he can stop himself. His life, he’s come to realize, is completely absurd. Mindful of the sleeping princes he tries to stifle his hysterics as best he can, high pitched giggles slipping through his fingers as he presses his hand to his mouth.

Thorin’s hand brushes against Bilbo’s cheek. Concern stretching across his face even as Bilbo's laughter threatens to put a smile in its place.

“You are a strange creature”, he murmurs.

“He certainly is. And hopefully still a sane one”, grunts a bemused voice,

Thorin falters, hand dropping for Bilbo’s cheek gently. He looks a little guilty for some reason. Bilbo finds himself missing the contact immediately. Oin, the source of the voice, watches the movement with an unimpressed eyebrow lift.

“If I might have a moment of privacy with my patients. I believe I asked to be informed immediately if they wake. That was our agreement hmm?”, he says with a pointed cough.

Bilbo watches as a soft warmth rises on Thorin’s cheeks. He seems reluctant to leave Bilbo’s side and while his face is almost enough to get Bilbo to offer an alternative there is a glint in Oin’s eye that holds Bilbo’s tongue. Whatever conversation the old dwarf wants to have, he wants it to be a private one.

“Ah…of course. I should see how the others are fairing anyway…offer my gratitude to Bard”, Thorin rises from his seat only to hesitate briefly when his eyes land on Fili. The boy twitches slightly in his sleep, grumbling something unintelligible and pressing closer (as if that were even possible) to his brother.

“Leave him. The lad is fast asleep and it won’t do anyone any good if Kili wakes once we separate them. We all saw how that went last time…”, Oin interrupts before Thorin can make a move to wake him.

The dwarf inclines his head in acknowledgement before heading through the door with a quick (and surprisingly bashful!) smile at Bilbo. Slowing by the exit Thorin leans slightly to whisper something to Oin before he goes but it’s quiet enough and Bilbo is tired enough that he can’t catch what is being said.

“Oin knows.”, Frerin mutters in warning.

Bilbo feels his heart stutter in his chest, mind racing to the worst possible conclusions before the ghost continues, “He’s not sure what exactly he knows but knows there’s something going on. If he asks… I’d rather you didn’t mention my name but I trust him to keep the rest to himself if you ask nicely. He hasn’t said anything to anyone else yet.”

Bilbo nods as quickly as he can manage. That’s promising at least.

“Later…”, Frerin adds hesitantly, “…later I’d like to talk about how we can inform the rest of them all. The mountain is so close I can almost taste it, it’s making me…not homesick but something similar. Obviously now isn’t a good time but maybe after…when everyone’s spirits are high. After we deal with…”

There is a new tension in Frerin that hadn’t been there last Bilbo was conscious. It rises when he mentions the mountain and steals the end of his sentence away before it fades again when Oin approaches Bilbo’s bedside.

“How are you feeling Bilbo? And don’t go saying you’re fine or decent or any of the nonsense the rest of these fools try to spoon feed me!”, he asks.

Bilbo grins despite the headache that’s plaguing him. Oin’s bedside manner suits him much better than all the useless simpering that his healer back in the Shire used to do. Straight and to the point.

“I’m feeling much better than I can remember feeling last. I do have quite the headache and I’m famished but I’m lucid and at least I have an appetite. I would appreciate being let out of bed though.”, he informs before tacking on, “Id also appreciate some water if you have some?”

“That’s what I like to hear! Hunger is good. We’ll see if you can handle solid food in just a moment. If those go down smoothly then you’ll be walking around as soon as I’m satisfied you’re not hiding any other ailments”, Oin glances up to test Bilbo’s reaction to that little jab.

Then he busies himself with something or other in his bag of various medical whatnots. Hopefully looking for some water.

“Subtle.”, snorts Frerin.

“You’ll have to thank Kili when he next wakes”, Oin says in a roundabout sort of voice when he pushes a mug into Bilbo’s hand,

“Oh?”, Bilbo tries not to let any particular info action bleed into his response. He’d like to know what Oin wants to ask before providing any answers.

“Yes. If the lad hadn’t convinced me that you value your privacy I wouldn’t have kicked everyone out before stripping you of your shirt.”

He really will have to thank Kili. That was quick thinking. Bilbo hadn’t noticed his short had been changed but now that he does…well, there’s no surprise in what Oin says next.

“That was a nasty wound you were hiding. I should tear you a new one for being so stupid”, the healer scowls before settling into the chair Thorin left with a deep sigh, “Although I can imagine what you were thinking. Burn wound like that…in a shape like that…When did that happen?”

Bilbo fidgets and Oin glares furiously at him.

“No don’t answer. I’ll guess. At the same time you caught ‘the hot cooking pot’. Yes? I thought as much. That makes it twice you’ve lied to your doctor. I’ll give you a chance to be honest now. And before you say anything I’ll remind you that Kili has told me all sorts of things so you better hope your stories match up”

Bilbo lets the tension fall from his shoulder and meets Oin’s glare with an impassive look of his own, “I’d like to know the terms he used. I’m not about to be caught out by some small cultural difference. You’ll remember that that hasn’t gone well for me in the past.”

The healer huffs. His glare breaking under Bilbo’s calm.

“I think we both know what he told me. Especially if what he said is true.”

“I believe he referred to me as a benevolent spirit. It was quite flattering.”, Frerin snickers. Apparently Kili’s natural ability as a comedian is powerful enough to overcome the stress of how badly this whole conversation could go wrong.

Oin turns his head towards the space the Ghost is occupying with a sharp inhale. Bilbo must have accidentally looked there when Frerin spoke. Rubbing his hands quickly over his face, the hobbit settles in for the most unbelievable response he can give. The truth.

“I can see spirits. There has been a ghost following us throughout our journey, since the shire. Kili was telling the truth.”, he says, throwing in a mention of the shire on purpose just to avoid any dwarrow superstition if he can.

“Hobbits…”, Oin mutters darkly.

“I hope he remembers this later. I for one am quite fond of hobbits and your ability to see ghosts. Frankly I would have visited years ago if I’d known.”

Bilbo ignores Frerin for now, “Oin you have to promise me you will keep this between us.”

“Between us? And why should I do that? I may be half deaf but I heard clear as day what the wizard said about lingering spirits. They don’t stick around for good reasons. The last thing we need is a second evil being in that mountain. This quest is doomed enough.”

“He’s not evil!”

Oin very pointedly turns his head to Bilbo’s arms. Doubt bleeding from every pore on his body.

Bilbo scowls, “He’s not! Please Oin, you have to trust me with this.”

He gestures at his arm, “This? This was an accident. An accident that led to a great deal of other things? Yes. But an accident all the same. Do you really think I would endanger all of you on a whim?”

“Not knowingly…I just can’t see how any sort of accident leads to your skin flaking off your arm in charred little pieces. Whatever ‘he’ is, burning a handprint into someone isn’t what I look for in a friend.”

“Oh that’s nice. Making up medical details. It wasn’t charred!”, Frerin exclaims only to falter when he spots Bilbo’s wince, “IT WAS CHARRED!? Bilbo he’s right…I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near living things.”

“Then go wait outside!”, Bilbo snaps (he is NOT going through this again. Not now not ever.)

Oin watches Bilbo like a hawk, “Kicking up a fuss is he? Doesn't like hearing everything laid out in plain and simple? Bilbo I’ve seen worse than this for less. Whatever he’s telling you isn’t worth-“

“No actually. He’s agreeing with you. Quite loudly. And for gods sake Oin, I’m not being abused. He’s not guilt tripping me or anything else that you might be thinking. You’ll find hobbits don’t let that sort of thing slide and I am no exception.”

Bilbo flattens the blanket over his lap primly and sniffs. He doesn’t remember this conversation being so difficult with Kili. He dreads to think what it will be like with Balin or Dwalin.

“And besides”, he watches the healer out of the corner of his eyes as he speaks, “you’d all be dead at least 3x over without him.”

Oin retreats as if he’s been slapped. Nothing like a life debt to get a dwarf rethinking your value.

“What in mahal’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“Did you not think I was suspiciously confident when I went up against Azog? You’ll find I had instruction. And the spiders? Did you honestly think I managed to find you all by myself in that horrendous forest? Our escape too. I was half delirious the entire time, without him I’d have probably tossed you into the water with no barrels at all.”

Oin grumbles but he looks unconvinced so Bilbo pushes further. Extending his arm to make sure Oin can see it, he shakes it pointedly.

“Did you find any other burns? No you didn’t. Because there aren’t any. Please Oin you have to believe me. If this hadn’t ever happened then I’d have likely drowned in the river while the orcs distracted you all.”

“Drowned?”, he grunts in the tone that Bilbo has come to recognise as ‘I’m coming around to your idea but I’m not happy about it at all’.

“Yes. I was stuck under your barrels without the strength to swim up for air. He pulled me out. Why would he do that if he was evil? Why would he help me save you all time and time again?”

“…the gold”

Bilbo scoffs, “Now just what on earth is a ghost supposed to do with gold? Be serious please.”

Oin stands, wanders around the small room a bit and sits again with a huff. He’s thinking hard about what Bilbo has shared, face furrowed in concentration and fingers drumming against his temple.

Bilbo remains quiet, letting him think without disturbing him until eventually Oin drops his hand from his temple and leans in towards Bilbo.

“Fine. I believe you. I can’t think of anything a hobbit ghost would want with our mountain anyway. Now convince me not to march out that door and share all this with the others.”

Bilbo blanches, “You can’t!”

To his side Frerin mutters, “Under no circ*mstances can he find out I’m not a hobbit.”

Oin shrugs, “You said that. Convince me. I don’t like lying, least of all to the dwarf I’ve chosen to follow so give me a good reason not to.”

This is the precarious part.

“You saw how Thorin reacted last time I mentioned this. He might send me away.”

“No he won’t. We need a burglar and it’s too late to find new one.”

Bilbo ignores the childish sting the words produce. He knows he’s not here just because they need a burglar. Not anymore at least.

“No, he wouldn’t. You’re right. But would he trust me? Would any of you be able to really focus knowing that there was some secret being floating around? Dwalin and Thorin are the most paranoid people I know and you want to tell them that nothing they say can truly be secret anymore? I can’t risk that.”

They glare at each other for a long moment before Oin breaks eye contact to stare out the small window at the misty silhouette of the mountain. From this far away the clouds dusted around its peak almost look like smoke.

“Will you be fine?”, he eventually asks.

“What do you mean?”

A pained look flashes across Oin’s eyes when he turns back to face Bilbo, “A lot of good people died in that mountain. A lot of good people with regrets.”

And that…that is something Bilbo hadn’t considered until this exact moment. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to think about it. Or maybe it hadn’t seemed real until he had the mountain right in front of him, just a story that was very important to everyone.

Lifting his chin defiantly he says, “I thought you all believed Dwarrow didn’t have ghosts?”, and silently dares Oin to disagree with him.