Nori had never considered himself a particularly good Dwarf.
He didn't think of himself as evil incarnated, of course, but he was also aware that he had made a lot of fucked up choices in his life. Some of them he didn't regret because he really didn't see anything wrong with them. Stealing to provide food for his family was justified as far as he was concerned; anyone who said otherwise could try going hungry for a few damn days, and then come back and talk to him. It was the same way with killing. He didn't like to kill—who the hell did besides Orcs and Men? —but he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself either. He tried his best not to kill, but sometimes it was inevitable in a fight.
But there were also some choices that he was... less than proud of.
Stealing to feed his baby brother was one thing he could justify in his head. But cheating people out of their money? Selling stolen goods on the streets and moving shit through a city for corrupted lords? Fuck, even Nori could admit that he screwed up. He knew he could write a book with his list of crimes and sins. He could probably even turn it into a swashbuckling tale and make a profit off of it too. Ori wasn't the only one in the family who could write, after all. He was just the only brother passionate about it.
Nori knew that what he did was sometimes morally wrong. Dori had failed to be a decent parent to him in many ways—and despite what his brother thought, Nori really didn't hold a grudge against him for it because a child couldn't raise another child—but he did manage to teach his brothers about morals. He had taught them to know the difference between right and wrong, and to live by a code of honor no matter what. So, he couldn't claim not to know any better because he really did.
Unfortunately for Dori, the world was not so easily black and white. It was sometimes muggy and gray and there was no good outcome no matter where you looked. Nori had tried his best to do what was right, but he knew he faltered and screwed up. Sometimes he even chose the easy way over the right one because being noble and honorable didn't mean shit when you're dead.
Nori knew his crimes and accepted that Dori would never quite look at him the way he did when they were children, but it was all worth it because it was him who put food on the table whenever Dori lost his job. It was thanks to his dirty hands that Ori was able to go to school and that Dori was able to keep his house. He was the one who paid for the healers when their ma was dying, and it was him who ensured that Ori survived it.
Nori knew he would go to his grave without ever regretting his deeds because every single damn one of them had been made for his brothers.
Dori would never—could never—understand his line of thinking, but he could see that Bilbo did. The Hobbit so easily risked everything he had just to keep their company alive and safe. At first he was amused by the blunt little kitten—and Bilbo would always be a kitten to him because only a kitten would snarl and hiss at someone thrice his damn size—and his unapologetic methods. But somewhere along the way, between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood, Nori found himself growing attached to the Hobbit. He found the fussy way he worried cute and his obliviousness charming. Somehow the kitten managed to dig his claws under his skin and into his heart.
When he finally realized he cared about the Hobbit, he also came to the realization that said Hobbit had zero self-preservation. Bilbo was quite possibly the stupidest son-of-a-bitch he had ever met in his life. He recklessly threw himself into danger at every turn and failed to realize that he was not, in fact, immortal. He walked around and acted as if he was the size of a troll instead of a sprout, and how he ever made it to fifty was a damn mystery that Nori knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. All in all, the burglar needed looking after, and the thief was determined to see that he got it one way or another.
After all, Nori always did what was best for his brothers whether they liked it or not.
~*~
To Bilbo's surprise, Beorn arrived two days later to join in the battle.
"I saw the bastards joining up before Mirkwood," the shapeshifter explained to Thranduil and Bard, towering over the two tall males easily. "Figured you would need the help so here I am."
"We won't turn down another ally," Bard said, nodding up to the giant. "This battle will not be an easy one to win so thank you for coming."
Beorn shrugged his colossal brown shoulders. "I figured that, should you lot all die, then they would turn their beady little eyes on my land. I rather stop them here with all of you then face them alone."
"Wise of you," complimented Thranduil though his deadpanned voice ruined the compliment. "You may stay if you wish it. Tauriel will find you a place to rest."
The captain stepped forward and pressed her hand to her chest and gave Beorn a short bow. "Welcome, Master Beorn. I am Tauriel and I would be pleased to help you."
Beorn slowly looked the Elf up and down before giving her a rakish grin. "Sweetheart, the pleasure is all mine."
Tauriel raised one brow and smirked as Bilbo groaned from behind Bard and smacked his forehead. In front of him, Bard's shoulders were shaking, and he was making gasping noises that would have worried him if he didn't know the man was laughing. Bard seemed to find humor even in the darkest of hours. He had a theory the man would be laughing on his death bed.
Beorn's face exploded into a smile that showed off his rather sharp teeth and made the dimples in his cheeks stand out. Casually, he pushed through Thranduil and Bard to get a look at the Hobbit. "Little bunny! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your Dwarves? Or did you trade them in for Elves? Not that I can blame you with lasses like Tauriel here. I would drop them too."
"See, this is what happens when you live with only animals for company," Bilbo complained to Bard, pointing to the giant. He then squeaked as he was picked up in a fierce hug by said giant.
"Put me down! Beorn, put me down right now! I don't like being this high up—!"
"You're so skinny!" the shapeshifter cried out, holding the Hobbit out with one hand while using the other to lift his shirt and poke at his stomach. "Too skinny! How can you be so skinny? I gave you so much food before you left!"
"Yes, which I had to share with thirteen Dwarves as we walked through Mirkwood," he snapped, batting at the hand poking him. "Stop that! My ribs are bruised and you're making it worse!"
"When did that happen?" wondered Bard, frowning.
"When I got into an argument with Smaug," Bilbo replied absently.
"You got into an argument with Smaug?" questioned Thranduil, one of his dark brows arching impossibly high.
"What?! What were you doing confronting a dragon? Is that why you left those Dwarves? Did they send you in alone to face that damn lizard?" Beorn demanded, hugging the Hobbit again.
Bilbo groaned against the barely clothed and sweaty chest as his ribs began to scream. "How is this my life?"
"Master Beorn, perhaps you shoulder put Master Baggins down before you break him in half," suggested Tauriel because she was clearly the only one around with any sort of sense.
Beorn sniffed but did as the Elven maiden asked. Once safe on the ground once more, Bilbo straightened his shirt, and carefully moved so that Thranduil's captain was between him and Beorn. He ignored Bard's snort because there was really no shame in self-preservation.
Thranduil sighed and in Sindarin ordered Tauriel to take Beorn to an open tent before stalking off. Bard followed reluctantly but promised to visit them later. As the two leaders disappeared, Tauriel turned her attention back to the shapeshifter.
"Come, Master Beorn. I will show you a place to rest," the she-Elf said, gesturing with two fingers for him to follow. "You may come as well, Master Baggins, since you two seem to know each other so well."
Before Bilbo could politely decline the offer, Beorn picked him up again in one easy swoop and placed the Hobbit on one of his massive shoulders. He squeaked and dug his hands into the shape-shifter's wooly hair. "Beorn!"
"What? You're safe up there," the giant pointed out, balancing him with one hand as he turned to Tauriel. "Lead on, my lady."
Tauriel briefly met Bilbo's eyes before smirking and pivoting on her heel. "This way then. I believe I know the best place."
"You still haven't told me where your Dwarves are," Beorn commented as he followed the Elf through the camp.
Bilbo scowled and tried his best not to look down at the ground so far, far away. "They're in their mountain obviously. Where else would they be?"
"But why aren't you with them?" the shapeshifter pressed.
"Because I was kicked out by their king," he replied tartly, digging his fingers tighter around Beorn's thick hair as he slid down the man's shoulder slightly.
Beorn wrinkled his nose and hoisted him higher. "Who was their king again?"
The Hobbit felt his heart hiccup and tried not to show it. "The broody one."
"Oh, him! Now why would he do that?" the shapeshifter wondered.
"It's a long story. Ask Gandalf or Bard about it later," he replied, not wanting to speak of the events again. It was hard enough not thinking of Thorin and the others; he really didn't need to relive what happened again.
Beorn shifted and tightened his grip on Bilbo's hip. "I think I will."
Tauriel did not stop until she came to nearly the end of the camp where a large and open tent sat. "Is this acceptable, Master Beorn?"
"It's perfect," assured the shapeshifter as he finally set the Hobbit down. "Thank you, my lady, for leading the way and gracing us with your lovely company."
"Mmm." The Elf smirked; obviously finding the giant amusing instead of charming. "You're welcome. Now, Master Baggins, are you planning to participate in the upcoming battle?"
"Of course. Do you think I came here for your king's company?" he replied, rolling his eyes. "I would rather face Smaug again."
The Elf blinked once, twice, and then threw her head back and laughed. Her laughter reminded him of his grandmother's wind chimes when they got caught in the breeze, and Bilbo was suddenly struck by how beautiful she truly was. With her red hair and hazel eyes, Tauriel was like the first hint of autumn when the air began to cool, and the leaves began to change from green to gold. If he stared long enough, he could even see the hints of amber in her hair and the sprinkle of emerald in her eyes.
No wonder Kíli was so infatuated with her, he thought, and then winced as he recalled the prince. He had not gotten a chance to say goodbye to the two brothers. He had not gotten a chance to say goodbye to any of them.
"You have a very bold tongue," complimented Tauriel, crossing her slender arms over her chest. "I like that."
"My tongue can be bold too," Beorn interjected, wiggling his dark brows and grinning.
"Ugh. Do you use lines like that on all the females you meet?" Bilbo asked, looking up at the giant.
Beorn shrugged. "Usually."
"Well, now we know why you don't have a wife," the Elf commented, raising one of her fine brows. "But I digress. Master Baggins, if you wish to fight in the battle then you must be better armed. Simple clothes will not protect you from blades and arrows."
"I have a mithril shirt that I plan to wear," he reassured.
Tauriel arched her second brow. "A mithril shirt? Amazing. That will work well enough, but I still wish you to wear more. Perhaps something for your arms and legs that the shirt does not cover?"
"And what do you suggest I wear? I doubt the Elves and Men have something in my size," he retorted.
"I will make you something myself," the warrior replied coolly.
Beorn snorted. "You? What does a dainty thing like you know about armor?"
"More than you know about maidens," Tauriel said sharply, narrowing her eyes a fraction. "Though female warriors are accepted among Elves, we are still rare and few. Practical armor for us is not a large concern so I have learned how create armor that fits me properly. I will do that same for you."
Bilbo blinked; a bit taken back by the kind offer. "Um, thank you? That's very generous of you."
The Elf simply shrugged. "You are my comrade for this battle, and I will not see you so easily killed. I will come back at noon to measure you. For now, I will take my leave. Unless you need something else?"
"No, we don't," he quickly reassured, stepping on Beorn's bare foot when the giant opened his mouth. "Thank you, captain."
Tauriel gave him a small but sweet smile and simply raised her brows at Beorn before pivoting around and walking away. The two watched her graceful form until it disappeared among the other soldiers. When she was gone, Beorn released a loud and deep sigh.
"What I wouldn't do to have a lass like that waiting for me at home," the shapeshifter said, running a large and dirty hand over his beard.
He snorted. "Mistress Tauriel is hardly the type to sit at home by the fire mending your shirt. If anything, she'd be outside with you; killing Orcs and Goblins alike."
Beorn's dark eyes grew brighter. "Even better! I like a lass with fire!"
Against his will, Bilbo found himself laughing at the shape-shifter's enthusiasm. "Good luck in wooing her. You'll have to get in line with the rest mooning after her."
"Ahhh, goddesses like her don't go for mountain bears," the shapeshifter commented, the edge of his lips folding down while the light in his eyes grew dim. "But it's nice to look and dream, aye?"
Bilbo frowned and reached out to pat the giant on the arm. "Now don't be like that. You're just as amazing as her and anyone would be damn lucky to have your heart."
Beorn gave him a small smile, but his eyes remained shadowed. "Little Bunny, are you confessing your undying love for me?"
—"Don't you see? My feelings for you...?"—
Bilbo flinched. "Don't be stupid. Now come along and put that nose to use in helping me find something to eat."
"So demanding," the giant groaned, but still pointed to the west as the two ventured off to find some food.
~*~
Tauriel returned at noon as she had promised with strips of leather and parchment. Bilbo eyed them dubiously but didn't fight the Elf as she stripped him of his shirt and measured and prodded at him. With her great height and sure hands, he felt a bit like a child again with his mother as she attempted (and failed) to make him clothes. Belladonna had been skilled in many things but sewing had not been one of them.
"You are so small," mused the Elf as she knelt before him and measured his legs, "that it should only take me a day at most to make your armor."
"Will you keep it light for me? I don't wish to be weighed down. My speed is my best asset," he said, holding his arms out.
Tauriel clucked her tongue. "I will keep it light. It will have some weight, of course, but nothing too heavy."
He nodded. "Thank you. I do appreciate all of this."
"I know," assured the Elf, glancing up to meet his eyes with a quick smile before turning back to her task. "You are obviously a kind soul, Master Baggins."
"Call me Bilbo," he corrected automatically as the Elven maiden stood to measure his arms, "and how do you know I'm kind? You don't know me. I could be a complete bastard as far as you know."
"You forget that I was there in the throne room when you made your deal with my king," Tauriel reminded him calmly. "And I was there when you gave the Arkenstone to him, and when your Dwarves banished you. A greedy and cruel heart would not endure so much pain for nothing."
Bilbo sighed and pushed one of his braids behind his ears. "You're right about that. My heart is a soft and foolish thing."
"There is nothing foolish in being compassionate," the warrior chided gently, her face shifting into a small frown. "If more souls were as kind and thoughtful as you, then this world would be a better place."
"I suppose an Elf would know what's best," he admitted. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"
"Old enough to know that loving another will always leave you open to pain," the she-Elf replied as she moved onto his other arm.
"So older than your prince," he summarized.
Tauriel laughed her wind chime laugh. "Indeed. Legolas is a few centuries younger than I. It is not a very large age gap, but it is wide enough that he feels like a younger brother to me."
Bilbo snorted. "Does he know that? Because the looks I've seen him give you are not very brotherly."
"Now don't start that. I hear enough of that nonsense from my king," the Elf scolded lightly, softly flicking his nose. "Legolas is simply confused about his feelings at the moment. He thinks he loves me but what he really loves is the idea of being in love. My prince is a romantic at heart and has built up this notion that the greatest of loves starts as the greatest of friendships. He thinks I fit into that fantasy when I really don't. In time he will come to understand that we are really quite ill matched for one another."
"Have you spoken to him about this?" he wondered, raising his brows. "I think it would be best to set him straight before anything happens don't you think?"
"I tried, but he will not listen," she replied, rolling her eyes. "He is a stubborn little fool. Much like his father."
Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Legolas is much more pleasant to deal with than his father."
"He is, but my king is still better company than some Elves I know," Tauriel mused as she finally finished taking her measurements. She rolled up her parchments and leather and rose to her feet in one fluid move.
"I will work on it tonight and you can try it on in the morning," she explained, looking down at the Hobbit.
Bilbo nodded as he tugged his worn and dirty shirt on. "Take your time. I don't want you to lose any rest on my account."
Tauriel shook her head and gave him a smile that made her high cheekbones even more obvious. "It is not a problem. I do not need as much sleep as most races."
"But you still need to be well-rested for the battle," he retorted, pointing a finger at her. "Don't neglect yourself on my behalf. You are far more important to this battle than I am."
Tauriel stared at him for a moment with unblinking hazel eyes. He stared back as he finished buttoning his shirt up. "Yes?"
"It's... nothing," the Elf finally said, blinking her eyes rapidly and looking away. "I will speak to you later, Bilbo. Good day."
Bilbo watched the Elf glide away before shaking his head. If there was one thing that crossed all species boundaries, it was that males would never understand females.
~*~
Bilbo spent the rest of the day seeing to his supplies, and making sure that Beorn was comfortable. The shapeshifter was easily pleased and needed little but the reassurance that none of the Elves would bring any cooked meat near him. If they did, he promised he could not be held accountable for his actions. Bilbo promised him he would keep the meat out of view and would discreetly warn the Elves. He carried out this mission until night fell and Bard came to drag him off and bully him into eating.
"You do realize I'm not one of your children, yes?" the Hobbit asked as the Man forced into his hands a bowl of what was supposedly stew but was a questionable vivid red color. "Despite the whole height thing, I'm actually lot older than I look."
"Then you should shut up and eat your food like the adult you claim to be," the bowman pointed out as he served himself next.
Bilbo gave him a dirty look but dutifully took up his spoon. "I'm not sure I like the look of this stew. Is it supposed to be so... thick?"
"Bilbo, the Elves of Mirkwood aren't known throughout the land for their cooking skills," Bard pointed out as he snagged two rolls and passed one to the Hobbit. "Just be thankful they only made stew. This morning they were wondering what burnt squirrel on a stick would taste like."
"Awful," he reassured as he recalled the time the Dwarves had tried to cook the squirrels from Mirkwood. It had been a scarring experience for him. "Tell them to stick to rabbit or fish or even elk. Anything but squirrel."
"Careful. They might take that as permission to start roasting the spiders," the Man cautioned.
He wrinkled his nose and gave his companion a disgusted look. "Bard, I thought you wanted me to eat?"
The bowman waved a lazy hand. "Right, sorry. Ignore that."
"I will," he muttered before taking a cautious slurp of his stew and immediately regretting it. "Ugh, what did they put in this? Spoiled vegetables?"
"From the color I'm going with the blood of their enemies," Bard declared as he sniffed his roll and then made a face. "And the bread was obviously made from the tears of their widows."
Bilbo grimaced at the description but did his best to take another spoonful. He needed to eat, after all, and it would be rather rude of him to turn down the meal the Elves worked so hard to prepare. Even if it did taste like dirty dishwater.
"Azog's army has been spotted," the Man said casually as he dipped his bread into the stew. "The king estimates they'll be here by noon tomorrow if they don't stop for breaks."
He felt his stomach clench and knew it had nothing to do with his meal. "Are we ready to face them?"
"No, but we can't change that," the bowman replied, shrugging his broad shoulders. "We will face the Orcs and Goblins tomorrow one way or another."
Bilbo sighed and settled his bowl in his lap. "So, we will. Are your children safe in Lake-town? I would think the army would come through there first to get to us."
Bard nodded as he ripped apart his roll. "Aye, I left them with their mother's sister. Lake-town was evacuated when the Elvenking passed through it, so she'll take care of them. Some of the Elves stayed behind to help them leave on boat up the Forest River into Mirkwood. They will be safe there."
"Thranduil did that?" he asked, blinking a few times. "I didn't think he cared about anyone outside of his own kingdom."
"He doesn't usually but for some reason he's always helped us," the Man replied, pushing a few loose curls behind his ear. "I think he feels guilty over Dale. We... a good portion of us is descended from the survivors of the old city. I think he feels that he owes us for not helping our ancestors the day Smaug came."
"Really? I wonder why he doesn't feel that way over the Dwarves," the Hobbit mused, tapping his spoon against the edge of his bowl.
Bard simply shrugged. "I can't say. Perhaps he can't let go of those centuries of hatred and rivalry. Maybe he does feel guilty and is just hiding it behind a mask. Who really knows what goes on in the Elvenking's head."
Bilbo pressed his lips together and thought of the way Thranduil's face had broken into honest remorse when Thorin had died the first time around. He thought of the little cracks in the king's mask that he had glimpsed so far that hinted at an emotional and passionate being underneath. He thought of Legolas and his silver laugh and unwavering kindness and loyalty, and the way Thranduil's eyes always thawed for his son alone. He thought of it all and wondered if perhaps the king had more compassion in him than he realized.
"You look deep in thought," the bowman commented as he finished his roll. "Are you thinking of the Dwarves?"
"Hmm? Oh, no, I wasn't. I was simply reflecting on something," he replied, shaking his head clear and making his braids smack him in the face.
Bard raised his brows and tilted his head to the side; making the fire cast dark shadows across the sharp planes of his face. "Uh-huh. Sure."
"You know, I think you're the first person not to ask me if I'm fine or not," Bilbo mused, deciding to change the subject because he really didn't feel like thinking too deeply over the moral integrity of Thranduil.
The Man snorted. "I don't have to ask when I know you're not. Actually, I'm impressed with how much effort you're putting into being normal."
"I have to because I can't think of them right now," he admitted. "If I do then I'll falter, and if I falter then I will be useless in the battle tomorrow. So, I must ignore them and focus only on the Orcs and Goblins."
Bard blinked his dark eyes slowly and tilted his head even further. "Do you need a hug? Because if you do I know a guy."
Bilbo laughed and threw what was left of his roll at the Man who, predictably, ducked. "When I end up throwing up this slop later, I'm aiming for your face."
"Can you reach that high? Do you need me to find you a stool?" wondered the bowman with a wicked smile that made him look younger and boyish.
"Sleep with one eye open," he warned, waving his spoon at the bowman.
Bard gave him a lazy salute, and Bilbo found himself laughing again. He really had no reason to laugh with what had happened and what was to come, but at that moment laughing was really all he could do. For in the morning, they would go to battle, and he could not say if he would ever see Bard's roguish smile ever again.
After tomorrow, Bilbo didn't know if he would ever smile again.