It was almost noon by the time they left. Packed and fully rested, the group began the long trek down the mountain. Thorin led them with Gandalf by his side while Fili, Nori, and Bofur were ordered to walk in the middle as they were still healing. Bilbo chose to linger in the back with Bombur as he pondered on what to do next.
Without the aid of the eagles, they would no longer be able to cover such vast miles so quickly. They were going to have to walk down the mountain and then to Beorn's cottage, and thus were going to be set back a few days. They were no longer following the original timing, and now he didn't know what to expect.
Were they to face more enemies because of the time delay? Was Azog going to catch up to them quicker than the last time? And most importantly, were they going to miss the last rays of the Sun of Durin's Day, and fail in the quest? He also still had no idea where Radagast was; did he still linger in his home in Mirkwood? If so, then was it possible they would meet him there?
So many unknowns. It's going to drive me to madness, he brooded, kicking a stray pebble on the road. I can't prepare for anything now that I know everything may have changed. The only things I can prepare for is getting into Erebor and getting rid of Smaug.
The irony that Smaug was now the least of his concerns was not lost on him.
In front of him, he noticed Gloin whisper something to Oin, who then nodded and waved him away. To his surprise, the Dwarf then slowed his steps until he was side-by-side with the Hobbit.
"Master Gloin," he greeted, nodding to him. "What brings you back here?"
"Got a question for you. I've been watching you in battle. Who trained you with the sword?" asked Gloin, eyeing up Sting with narrowed eyes.
"I have no training. My tactics are 'don't get stabbed,' and 'get them with the pointy end.' Does that count as training?" he replied dryly.
Gloin snorted. "Thought as much. You looked like child out there; swinging away until you hit something. Was almost painful to watch you."
Bilbo laughed. He had forgotten how very blunt Gloin could be.
"Thank you for your honesty. Nice to know I'm making a fool of myself every time I lift a sword," he said cheerfully.
"I see no point in dancing around the point. I say what I like, when I like," the Dwarf boasted, grinning. The look made the lines in his face softer and the twinkle in his eyes brighter. Bilbo was suddenly strongly reminded of Gimli.
"That's why I decided we need to train you," Gloin continued, "so you don't look like a fool out there. Oh, and so you don't die."
"Train me?" he repeated, blinking.
"Mm-hm. In swordplay. I don't think those scrawny arms could lift an axe," the Dwarf said.
"But—"
"We can also practice with some daggers. Think Nori has some extra ones he'd be willing to spare."
"Why—"
"We also need to teach you how to throw a punch. Can't depend on weapons for everything. You gotta be able to take care of yourself in any situation!"
"I can—"
"We'll practice during camp. Oin said he'd help out and heal whatever wounds you get," Gloin added, patting the Hobbit on the shoulder. "Make sure you don't wear yourself out walking. I won't go easy on you just because you're a Hobbit!"
Having finished his say, Gloin left Bilbo behind and returned to his place next to his brother.
Bilbo watched him go before slowly turning to face Bombur. "What just happened?"
Bombur patted his shoulder with a grin. "I think Gloin has taken a liking to you. Tough luck."
~*~
To Bilbo's eternal horror, Gloin made good on his word that night.
"Time to train," he said cheerfully, interrupting Bilbo and Ori in the middle of their conversation.
"What? But dinner—!" he complained as Gloin grabbed his arm and dragged him away to an open area in the camp.
Gloin waved a dismissive hand and tossed him Sting. "You can eat when we're done. Now first things first: change your grip. You keep holding the blade like that and you'll strain your wrist. Maybe even break it."
Bilbo gave him a stink eye. "Change it what? You need to show me the 'proper' grip."
Gloin rolled his eyes but dutifully readjusted the Hobbit's hands until he was satisfied. "There. Now, do you know the difference between high guard and low guard?"
Bilbo blinked. "Um, no?"
"Thought as much," the Dwarf grumbled, but he didn't look to put off. "We'll start at the beginning then."
For the next hour Gloin explained the different positions to him and had him practice each one. He would call out the stances randomly with Bilbo struggling to follow each one. It was a surprisingly taxing routine, and all too quickly the Hobbit found himself tiring from the effort.
"Not much upper body strength," noted Gloin, shaking his head. "You need to work on that."
Bilbo shrugged as he gasped for breath. "I'm a Hobbit. We rely more on speed than strength."
The Dwarf nodded, looking thoughtful. "Logical. We'll work on your defenses first then. Now, high guard!"
The Hobbit groaned but dutifully moved into the correct position. By then most of their companions had joined the two and were watching the Dwarf and Hobbit with varying degrees of interest. Bilbo could hear them as they discussed the two as if they weren't there.
"His footwork is good. He seems to know the correct steps and patterns," Balin commented as took a seat on a rock.
"Needs to tighten his grip. One hit and he'll lose his blade," Dwalin pointed out, shaking his head.
"He'd work better with daggers or a bow. Something light so not to weigh him down," Bofur added without looking up from his carving.
Dori shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Gloin is being too tough on him. It's his first-time training with a blade."
Next to him, Nori and Ori snorted in unison.
"Mister Baggins can handle it. He's tougher than he looks," defended Fili as Kili nodded in agreement.
"He's been keeping up with Gloin this whole time," Oin added with a wide smirk.
"Dinner is ready. When is Gloin going to let him eat?" Bombur complained to Bifur, who in turn ignored him.
"When Bilbo can't go any further," Gandalf answered, lighting up his pipe.
Thorin said nothing but Bilbo could feel his eyes watching him. It made him uncomfortable to be under that gaze as he struggled to follow Gloin's commands. But then again, Thorin's eyes always affected him one way or another.
It took another twenty minutes before Gloin finally called to a stop.
"That's enough for today, burglar," he said cheerfully. "You can go and eat now."
He dropped his arms to his side and released a loud sigh. "Thank you. I thought my arms might fall off if I didn't stop soon."
Gloin laughed. "You'll be feeling that for the rest of the night! Not to worry; in time you'll get used to it."
Bilbo winced. "Lovely."
~*~
Later, after dinner was finished and the few bedrolls set out, Bilbo was surprised to find himself in the company of Gandalf. He had not spoken with his old friend much throughout their journey. It was partly his own fault since he had been preoccupied with keeping track of events and Dwarfs, but he also had a feeling that Gandalf had been avoiding him.
"It is a nice night," the wizard commented, gesturing to the sky above them with his pipe.
Bilbo nodded and glanced up at the clear sky. "Very nice. I hope it stays that way for some time."
"Indeed. We need some luck after these past few days," the other agreed, glancing at the Hobbit from the corner of his eye.
"Tell me, Bilbo, how are you doing? We have faced a great deal of foes in a short amount of time. Has it all been very difficult for you?" he asked.
Bilbo closed his eyes and thought about the question. The journey had been difficult so far, but not in the way that his old friend assumed. The difficulty was in choosing which events to change and which to leave alone. And after his foolish mistake, he now had more to worry about since he didn't know what was changed and what would remain the same.
"It has been... hard in some cases," he finally admitted, opening his eyes. "I find myself at a loss over what to do at times. And I worry about the others often; I fear losing one of them before we ever see their home again."
"Yes, I've noticed your affection and protective nature over the others," admitted Gandalf. "It worries me when you insist on putting yourself in danger for them. You need to be more careful."
"I'm sorry; I can't help it. My life holds little value while they have the hopes of their people resting on them," the Hobbit explained with a shrug. "If I fall then the worst thing to happen will be that my home is sold. If they fall, then they lose their kingdom all over again. Do you see why I do not hesitate to risk my life for them?"
He thought his explanation would satisfy Gandalf, but all it did was make his face fall and his eyes grow dark. "You underestimate your worth, Bilbo Baggins. I can promise that quite a few would mourn your passing a great deal. Me included."
Bilbo felt his heart give a painful squeeze. Gandalf was his oldest and dearest friend even if the wizard did not know him as well yet. He never wanted to see him hurt or worried even when it was over Bilbo. Gandalf deserved better than that.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, reaching out to grasp the wizard's arm. "It was not my intention to make you worry. I just... They all lost so much already. Their home and family and friends. They've all suffered unfairly for years without any help. Knowing all of this, how can I not risk my life for them? How can I not want to help them succeed? To ignore them would be selfish and heartless; two features that Hobbits just do not have."
Gandalf stared at him for a long while with his ancient eyes. He could not begin to imagine what the wizard was thinking, but he hoped that the other heard the sincerity in his words. He did not want to worry his old friend, but he also could not give up on his mission. He was going to see it through even if it did end up killing him.
Eventually Gandalf released a long and deep sigh that made his shoulders slump. He grasped the Hobbit's shoulder and gave him a half-smile. "Hobbits. You never cease to amaze me. Even after all my long years, I'm still surprised by your folk again and again."
"I don't know why. We're actually quite simple when you get down to it," he pointed out.
"Maybe to you. But the rest of us are not as... noble by nature," the wizard said slowly.
Bilbo thought of King Elessar and his attempts to protect Frodo and the others to the point of even challenging Sauron personally. He recalled Boromir who, despite his weakness for the ring, still gave his life to protect Pippin and Merry. He thought of Legolas and Gimli who each fought to protect all of Middle-Earth. And he remembered the Battle of the Five Armies where Dwarf, Elf, and Man fought together to defeat their enemies.
"You're wrong," he said, looking up to meet the wizard's eyes. "Hobbits are not the only noble folk out there."
He did not know what Gandalf thought of his words, but the wizard smiled at him like he had an idea of what he meant. "Indeed, my dear burglar, indeed."
~*~
It took another day before they finally reached the bottom of the mountain. The sun was setting when they finally did, but Bilbo could still see the green horizon as it spread out before them. He spotted the river and the little cave where they moved to rest for the night. It was there that Gandalf finally Mentioned Beorn and suggested that they stop there to ask for supplies and rest.
"Beorn is the only one close enough to ask for aid," the wizard explained. "He may or may not grant it, but we should still ask. We can't be picky at this point."
"What is a Man doing living all the way out here alone?" Balin asked, raising one thick brow.
"Beorn is... different from other Men. He is a shapeshifter and his people have supposedly lived here for centuries. I have not met the Man myself, but I am told he can speak the language of beasts," replied Gandalf. "Asking him for aid will be tricky though. I'm told he can be easily angered."
"A shapeshifter? What does he change into?" Kili asked, his dark eyes lighting up.
The wizard smirked. "A bear. A very, very large bear."
The Dwarves erupted into chatter at that. Bilbo listened to them as they speculated about the unknown shapeshifter and took a moment to ponder about the Man himself. Beorn had been an interesting friend the first time around. The Man looked intimidating, and his temper was frightful when evoked, but on the whole, he was a good sort. He had been kind to them the first time around, and he hoped it would be the same this time.
"How long will it take to get to his home?" Dwalin asked Gandalf.
"Two days at the most. Maybe less if we are not followed by Orcs and Wargs," Gandalf grumbled, casting a glare to the mountains behind them.
Bilbo counted the days in his head. Two to reach Beorn, another to prepare for Mirkwood, and finally two more to get to the forest. That was five days in all and that was if they didn't run into any problems along the way. They were definitely behind schedule now.
We will need to make up the time with Mirkwood. If I can keep them on the road and away from the spiders and Thranduil, then we may be able to slice off a few days, he thought, trying to outline a plan in his mind. Then there's that river and the blasted deer... I better ask for extra rope from Beorn. We're going to need it.
"Oi, burglar! It's time for training!" Gloin yelled, pulling him from his thoughts and plans.
Bilbo groaned but dutifully got to his feet while reaching over to pick up his sword. "Fine, fine. But don't hit me so hard with your stick this time when I make mistakes! I'm beginning to bruise."
Gloin laughed and reached down to tousle the Hobbit's curly locks. "Good! The bruises mean you're learning. Now, high guard!"
~*~
At dawn, Bilbo awoke first. He gathered the clothes he still had left along with Sting and set out for the river nearby. He waved to Bifur, who was on watch, and the Dwarf nodded back in understanding. Content that no one would worry about him, he set out for the river as the rising sun lit up the land. It was still chilly, but he was willing to risk the cold in order to clean off the blood and grime. Warg blood was never a good smell to wear.
He washed his clothes first as they would take the longest to dry. He scrubbed them the best he could with the soap Nori had lent him—which suspiciously looked Elven made and smelt of flowers—before setting them out on the nearby rocks to dry. Then he forced himself into the chilly river and began to long task of getting clean. Bilbo didn't know how long he was in the river before the sound of heavy boots told him that he was no longer alone. When he turned to see who it was, he wanted to cry.
"What are you doing here?" he nearly whined, sinking into the water.
Thorin—and of course it was the king who came because that was Bilbo's lot in life—raised a single black brow as he begun to unbraid his hair. "For the same reason you're here: to bathe."
"I didn't think anyone else would be up this early," the Hobbit grumbled mostly to himself.
"So? Were you trying to avoid us? Shy about being naked?" the king questioned, obviously amused. "I don't know much about Hobbits, but I'm fairly certain you're not too different from us Dwarves."
Bilbo groaned. "I'm not shy. I just... don't bathe in front of others."
Thorin snorted and began to strip off his coat and armor. "I promise not to look."
It's not you looking that's the problem, he grumbled to himself as he drifted away from the Dwarf. He tried not to stare at the other as he entered the water, but it was very, very hard. He had always found Thorin mesmerizing even before he grew to love him. From his scarred and tattooed skin to his burning blue eyes, the Dwarf was striking in every aspect.
Thorin made good on his word and ignored him for the most part. He was busy washing away all the blood and dirt and sweat from his thick hair. As the Hobbit watched him from the corner of his eye, he realized something that he had never noticed before.
"Why don't you grow your beard out all the way?" he asked before he could stop and think.
"Why do you ask so many questions?" Thorin shot back, never pausing in his task.
Bilbo shrugged. "Because I want to understand you all?"
The Dwarf finally paused and stared at him with raised brows. "Really?"
"Yes," he said firmly, feeling rather annoyed. "I want to get to know you and the others, remember? I told you this back in Rivendell."
Thorin just kept staring.
Bilbo met his look evenly and tried not to let his annoyance get to him.
"I cut my beard off after Smaug," the king finally said, turning back to his washing. "It was in memory of my father and grandfather. I will only grow it out once I have reclaimed our home in their honor."
He had not expected that. "Oh. That's... very honorable of you to do. I understand that Dwarves highly prize their beards as their best feature. It must have been difficult to cut yours off."
"It was my price to pay," the Dwarf said simply, shrugging one shoulder. He glanced at the Hobbit and ran a hand over his own shorn beard with a curious look.
"You do not have a beard. Can Hobbits not grow them?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Most of us can't but some with mixed blood are able to grow beards," answered Bilbo, thinking back to his relatives and stories. "They usually have Stoor blood in them if they do. The Brandybucks are the only ones I know capable of sporting a beard."
"Brandybucks?" Thorin repeated.
He waved a dismissive hand. "A Hobbit clan. I'm related to them through marriage but not by blood."
"Unlike the Sackville-Baggins," the Dwarf countered, the edge of his lips curling up slightly.
He made a face of distaste. "Unfortunately. I prefer to pretend that I share no relation with them."
"Are they that bad?"
"Yes. No. Well, sometimes." Bilbo scratched his nose as he tried to think of an accurate description for his cousins. "Otho and Lobelia are not bad Hobbits per say. They are simply greedy and can't seem to appreciate what they already have. Their greed outshines their good traits most of the time."
Thorin looked considering as he took in his answer. "I understand. I don't care for most of my Ironfoot kin. They whine too much for my taste. The only one I don't really mind is my cousin Dáin. He's not as aggravating."
Bilbo tried not to wince at the mention of Dáin. He respected the powerful Dwarf and appreciated his efforts in both the Battle of the Five Armies, and the War of the Ring. However, a part of him couldn't help but resent the Dwarf for taking the crown that Thorin never got the chance to wear. It was a senseless feeling since he knew that it wasn't Dáin's fault that Thorin died, but sorrow was rarely logical.
"Seems we have something in common then," he commented instead, trying not to think of the past.
Thorin shrugged and returned to washing the dried blood from his skin. "I suppose bothersome relatives are to be found in every race."
"Even Elves?" he countered mostly to be annoying. He was part Took after all.
The Dwarf scowled. "Elves are simply bothersome."
The Hobbit laughed and also returned to cleaning the dirt from his hair. "You really hate them. I wonder how we'll get through Mirkwood without you going off to behead their king."
"I won't do such a thing. We are on borrowed time already," the king rebuked. "However, after Erebor has been reclaimed and rebuilt, then I will turn my attention to our enemies. The Elves will pay for turning their backs on us."
Bilbo spun around and stared at the Dwarf in disbelief. "You're not serious, are you? Starting a war with the Elves? That's madness!"
"No, it is revenge," the warrior countered as his wide shoulders drew back and his face turned grave. "My people have suffered for years because the Elves decided that they were not worth saving. I won't have their suffering be for naught."
"But starting a war will just bring them more suffering," he pointed out. "Would you really have them endure more sorrow and death? Can you not just forgive them and move on?"
"No! Some things cannot be forgiven! Some things cannot be forgotten!" admonished Thorin, his blue eyes turning into glaciers. "I would not expect a halfling to understand what it means to lose all that is dear to you! To watch as it slips away from you while you stand by powerless! You cannot understand the level of grief we carry for what we have lost!"
—he falls to his knees at Thorin's side. His Dwarf struggles to draw breath while Oin tries to staunch the bleeding gorge across his chest. The blood doesn't stop no matter how hard Oin presses, and he realizes that it will never stop no matter what they do. Thorin reaches out a shaky hand and he catches it in his own bloody pair. He wraps his small hands around the single large one and holds it as tight as possible. Maybe if he does this, he can keep the king with him for a little longer.
"Farewell, good thief," Thorin rasps, his blue eyes darkening with the shadow of death. "I go now to the halls of waiting... t-to sit beside my fathers, until... until the world is renewed."
He shakes his head in denial, but Thorin doesn't stop as he begs for forgiveness and friendship. He wants to say yes, that he forgives him for everything; that he wasn't even angry and only hurt. He wants to apologize for stealing the Arkenstone from him and explain that he did it to save them all.
Only it wasn't enough, was it?
He wants to confess his love and devotion for this Dwarf; wants him to understand that Thorin has his heart, and he doesn't know how to take it back. He wants to scream because that heart is breaking with every pained gasp Thorin takes, and the blood won't stop even as Oin yells for aid, and he has to say something so he says, "Farewell, King Under the Mountain," and it is not enough and it never will be, but what else can he say as he watches Thorin die before him—
Bilbo didn't realize that he was moving until his fist struck Thorin across the face. The impact made his hand throb sharply, but it was worth it for the look of shock on the Dwarf's face. He took a step back and cupped his face while staring down at the Hobbit before him. Bilbo raised his head high and met his gaze firmly even as his body shook from his suppressed emotions.
"Don't you dare," he growled, "presume for one moment that I do not understand what it means to lose all that you hold dear. I watched my world die an unfair death. I held his hand and watched the light fade from his eyes. I could do nothing to save him; I could only stand by and watch like some useless fool! Do you have any idea what that's like? To watch what you hold most dear fade away from you?!"
He didn't realize that he was crying until the tears fell. He wiped them away fiercely, wishing not for the first time that he was a stronger Hobbit. "You say I do not understand your grief? Hah! I have lived every day since his death with a guilt and longing that I can never erase. My life will never be completely happy no matter what I do because I lost the very one that made me the happiest!"
By then Thorin was looking at him as if he had never seen a Hobbit before. Bilbo was sure that he was quite a sight, and he knew that he was going to regret losing his composure later, but at that moment he could not help it. Thorin's words had hit him deep; deep enough to remind him of that terrible day that he watched the Dwarf die. It made him angry to be accused by the very one he mourned that he didn't know what sorrow was.
"Master Baggins, I—"
"Don't," he interrupted the Dwarf, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear anything. I can't... I can't speak right now. Not when I'm this emotional. You... You have made me very angry so please—"
"I did not mean it," Thorin said, this time interrupting him. He ran a hand through his wet hair as he visibly struggled to find the correct words. "I did not mean to... hurt you by accusing you of not understanding pain. I just... My temper tends to get the better of me. I cannot think straight once my anger takes over. So, I'm... I'm sorry for my words. They were undeserved."
"Yes, they were," agreed Bilbo, rubbing his face clear of tears. "But I suppose I provoked you in my own fashion. But you must understand something: hearing you speak of going to war with the Elves alarms me. I am risking my very life to help you reclaim your home, and yet you tell me that you plan to risk losing it again in only a few short years! It makes me wonder why I'm even bothering to help you lot in the first place."
"My anger against the Elves is justified," Thorin argued, but his voice lacked any heat. "However, I understand your point. Rest assured that this war would not take place for many years. Erebor has to be rebuilt first and foremost."
He shook his head. The stubborn Dwarf was just not getting it. "That doesn't reassure me; it makes me worry even more. Whether you go to war now or later, you still risk losing your people and kingdom. You risk Fili and Kili. Tell me, would you do that to them? Would you force them to fight in a war for your own satisfaction?"
Thorin's eyes widened, and he looked taken back by the thought. The Hobbit had a feeling that the thought of his nephews fighting in a war never crossed his mind. He probably thought he could keep them from it, but no one could stop the two brothers from fighting for their family. They proved that in the Battle of the Five Armies.
"I... I would not," the Dwarf admitted, broad shoulders slumping in defeat. "It is difficult enough having them on this journey. I would not see them go to war on my behalf."
"So, you won't go to war against Thranduil? You'll let the past go?" he pushed.
"I will never forgive Thranduil for turning his back on us," replied the king, slowly, "but I will not go to war over his cowardly actions. For the sake of my people and my sister's sons, I will leave the past behind."
Bilbo's shoulders slumped in relief. He had avoided another disaster in the making, praise Eru. Perhaps nothing would have ever come from Thorin's desire for revenge, but he didn't want to risk it. He had enough wars to worry about in the present (or was it past?).
"Thank you," he said gratefully. He gave the Dwarf a small smile. "And I'm sorry I punched you earlier. That was very rude of me."
Thorin scoffed and tapped his unmarked cheek. "That could hardly be considered a punch. We need to work on that along with your swordplay."
"Well excuse me for being a Hobbit and not a Dwarf," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. It was only then that he recalled where they were, and what they were not wearing.
Don't look, don't look, don't look, he began to chant to himself as he subtly turned around and tried to wade back to where his soap and clothes were. Don't look, don't look, don't look—
"What are you doing?" Thorin called from behind him.
"Finishing my bath," he replied, trying to sound casual and failing. "You should do that too. So, we can put our clothes back on. Away from each other. Without eye contact."
The warrior king snorted. "Very subtle, burglar, very subtle."
"I didn't think Dwarves knew that word," he retorted, finally returning to his spot. "And my name is Bilbo!"
Thorin was silent for a moment before he grudgingly replied, "Very well, Bilbo."
Bilbo did not blush at his answer, but he did drop his soap into the river.
~*~
"Where have you two been?" Dwalin asked bluntly when they finally returned to the camp clean and clothed.
"The river," Thorin replied, wrinkling his nose at the other Dwarf. "You should pay a visit. You smell like an Orc."
Dwalin gave him a rude hand gesture in reply.
Bilbo ignored them and returned to his bedroll in order to pack his now clean clothes away. After he did, he looked around at his companions and found that most were awake and packing or eating breakfast. A few were even gathering their clothes and looked to be heading off to the river to bathe. Soon enough they would be ready to leave to find Beorn's home.
Then... Then we tackle Mirkwood, he thought, glancing to the direction where the forest laid in wait. And then... Smaug.