Days of Agony [Featured]

Nightfall

The Arkenstone. Thorin loved it fiercely and jealously, as Balin had explained. But was Bilbo not acquainted with that love at least a little? Did he not understand better than he wanted to admit what it was like to have an unnatural attachment to a shiny object?

All that had happened in the past day had taken his mind off the ring that he had taken from Gollum, but now he remembered it in a flash. He fished in the pocket of his trousers for it frantically although he did not mean to be so hasty. He did not recall moving it from the pocket of his soiled blue coat borrowed from Bard to that of his new trousers borrowed from Thorin of all people, but it was there. He had probably done it without even thinking when he had changed. The ring gleamed softly in his palm, its smooth side reflecting the light of the lantern, just a tiny thing after all, only one golden ring in a mountain that had halls filled with precious metals and gems. And yet, it was not just a tiny ring. It had magical powers and it had gotten him out of danger so many times. It had helped him help his friends. It was so important to him that he never would have misplaced it or wilfully given away. A great relief washed over Bilbo as he looked upon it again, but it was not the kind of relief that set him free. It bound him further to a dark desire to have the ring and to hold it for himself. The more he looked at it, the more it ensnared him, emptying his mind of everything that he cared for.

Frightened by his own thoughts, his gaze shot back to Thorin. Yes, he understood very well what the Arkenstone had done to him. He slipped the ring back into his pocket and decided right then and there that Thorin would never lay eyes on it.

Bilbo shifted on his side to face the bed, and gathered the blanket around him. Worry grew in his mind until it became too heavy for him to stay awake under its pressure. He allowed his eyes to close, knowing that there was nothing good waiting for him in the dark.

Strange images tormented the hobbit in his sleep until he woke again, in shivers, at the touch of something cool on his forehead. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was Balin dabbing at his face with a cold, wet cloth.

"You really should be in bed, Bilbo," said the dwarf, half admonishing, half sympathising."

No, I need to be with Thorin," muttered the hobbit, barely able to hear himself speak. Trying to sit up made him realise that he had a dull ache pervading his every bone and muscle. He remembered wavering in and out of consciousness for a while, but he could not tell what time or day it was. The fact that there was more natural light in the room told him at least that it was daytime.

"There is nothing you can do for him now," said Balin. "You'll only make yourself worse. Really, Bilbo, we've prepared a room for you. Let me take you there, and I promise to let you know as soon as there's any change."

"No, what if there's no time?"

Bilbo had hoped that Balin would dismiss the possibility with much vehemence. He didn't. He simply sighed and wrinkled his forehead. "All right. Let's have a look at your head and then I'll bring you something to eat." Bilbo opened his mouth to issue more protests, but Balin was done granting him unhealthy favours. "You do not have a say in that. Whatever happens to Thorin, I'm not letting you wither away."

Bilbo swallowed his words and stood still as Balin leaned over to tend to the wound in his right temple, which had been dressed by the Elves he did not know how many hours before. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaws as Balin's ministrations sent sharp needles into his skull. He could not help thinking about Thorin, who was in store for much more pain than he was feeling now, should he have woken up.

"There," said Balin, having finished redressing Bilbo's wound and tucking the warm blanket tighter around him. "All done. Now sit tight. I'll be back with something warm and tasty to put a little colour back into your cheeks." He stood up, smiling a little wearily.