The Journey

The Misty Mountains

     Cold wind whipped around the company, the towering mountains rising threateningly on one side on the path, dark chasms stretching away on the other. Though the winter was still months away, it was always cold here, the swift breeze jerking at the hems of their cloaks and pinching at their exposed noses and cheeks, turning them pink as they buried them farther inside their coats, shoving their hands deep inside their pockets. Bilbo, for one, wished that they had spent more time in Rivendell, and found himself longing more and more for the Last Homely House, its warm hearths, and bright halls.
     The days seemed to be never ending as they walked deeper and deeper into the mountains, legs burning and ankles aching from walking up and up on the unforgiving stone, scrambling over rocks and edging across narrow paths. Everyone had to be alert at all times—one misstep could lead to terrible injuries.
     Three days into the mountains, they hit a point in the path blocked by a large boulder. With Fili and Kili scouting out the other side, they had to climb the rocks and pick their way carefully down to the spot where the path continued. Clambering over was no small task, laden down with weapons, food and bags; more than once did one have to catch another before they fell.
     Gritting his teeth, Bilbo waited for his turn to go, carefully watching where Ori set his feet, and then as he disappeared over the top.
     "Off you go, then," Balin said encouragingly from behind him. Adjusting his pack on his shoulders, Bilbo swung himself up, carefully fitting his feet into the niches in the rock and pulling himself, hand over hand, higher. His confidence grew as he climbed without incident, finding handholds and footholds easily, and with relief, he noticed that the top was just a few feet away; but as he reached for the next handhold, his foot slipped.
    He gasped, his stomach plummeting, a cry stuck in his throat as he felt himself falling. Flinging an arm out, he tried to catch the rock, but his fingers missed the hold and he started to tumble back down, his voice catching as he tried to call for help—
     But a strong hand suddenly caught him, leaving Bilbo dangling against the rock, for Thorin had grabbed his wrist.
     Thorin smiled at him. "I have you, don't worry," he said as Bilbo, shaking and rather pale, scrambled up the rest of the way to the top.
     "Thank you," he said, trying to shake the tremble out of his voice, still breathing rather hard.
     Thorin nodded. "Are you all right?"
     "Ye—yes, I think so," Bilbo replied, adjusting his sword around his waist and running a hand through his hair.
     "Good," Thorin nodded again, then released his wrist and turned back to the others climbing the boulder.
     Eventually, everyone was standing safely on the path, ready to move forwards, but the sky soon turned dark and the weather cold. It was not long before the rain poured down in gray sheets, lightning illuminating their faces in eerie flashes. Soon, they were all soaked through the bone.
     Wet and cold as they were, once they sat down tiredly and in a dry place, their spirits lifted, for they were out of the rain and wind. They pulled their food out of their packs and were soon sprawled on the rocky floor of the cave, shoulder to shoulder, the small space turning warmer with their body heat. Bilbo laughed at a joke Dori told and ripped off a piece of his bread, sitting cross legged against a rock, smiling for the first time all day.
     Thorin watched the company. They were all doing remarkably well, so far, with the strain of the journey and the load they had to carry, both physically and mentally. Even the hobbit was doing better than expected—he looked at home amongst the dwarves, comfortable and at ease, laughing, his mouth curved upwards in a smile, then down as he leaned to mock-scold someone across the circle, breaking into a smile again, his slender fingers reaching for another bite of bread. He shifted as he sat back down, the line of his arm leading smoothly into his shoulder, down his waist and to his shapely legs, his fingers lifting the bread to his mouth, those full lips closing around it, his tongue peeking out as he licked the crumbs from his fingers....
     "Thorin...Thorin?"
     "Hm?" Thorin said, tearing his eyes away from Bilbo and looking towards the voice that spoke to him.
     "Did you hear us?"
     "Ah—no," Thorin said roughly, turning to Fili and Kili, both turned to look at him concernedly. "What was that?" But though he was able to focus on the conversation and put the hobbit from his mind, when he lay down to sleep pictures danced in front of his closed eyes—his smile, his laugh, the furrow in his brows when he was concentrating, the determination in his face when he walked, those clear eyes, those lips—but what was he thinking? The hobbit was only a burden. Who knew how much longer he would last. The wild was a cruel place; he might not even make it out of the mountains. But even as he turned over, his mind back on the journey ahead, there was a part of him wishing, hoping, that Bilbo would be all right. And Thorin would protect him to make sure of it.