Dís had always prided herself on being practical.
As the only daughter in a family full of thickheaded and overly emotional males, her voice of reason was a rare gift. Her father—Mahâl bless his heart—had been a kind Dwarf who tried to live a life with honor and duty. Sadly, he was also very dense, and could never see when he was being played and used like a puppet. Her brothers were no better; Thorin having inherited the same thickness from their father while Frerin had been too kind to even think that someone would ever lie to him. She had spent most of her younger years either dragging their butts out of trouble, or leaving them to burn for her benefit because they needed to learn that she was not to be crossed.
Dís loved her brothers dearly but that didn't mean she was going to cut them any slack.
Being one of the few sensible people in her family—Óin being the other, and possibly Fíli if he could learn to say no to his brother—meant that it was her job to watch out for everyone. She did it subtly, of course, because her brother and cousins were proud Dwarves who were also ridiculously sensitive, and would brood if they knew what she did for them. So out of respect for their pride (and to save her from their whining) she operated from the background; acting out the part as the poor widowed princess who needed her brother and sons to depend upon. In reality she was the one who slit the throat of their enemies and had their bodies thrown into the river, and she was the one who made sure her foolish offspring didn't end up in jail.
But her newest dilemma… it was going to require a bit more tact than normal.
"What are you glaring at?"
Dís looked up from the letter she had received from Óin, and met the dark eyes of one of the loveliest Dwarves in the mountain. "Óin has sent me a letter concerning my dear older brother. Apparently Thorin has gone and proposed marriage to one of the members of the Company."
Súna, the wife of her kinsmen Glóin and one of the few Dwarves she actually enjoyed being around, raised her fair brows. "Oh? And who is the unlucky Dwarf that has captured our dense king's attention?"
"He's not a Dwarf; he's a Hobbit," she replied, pursing her lips together and tapping her long nails against the marble table. "A Bilbo Baggins from the Shire. He's their burglar and the one who ensured Smaug's demise."
"A Hobbit? I thought they never left their lands," Súna commented, blinking her large eyes once. For Súna, that was a declaration of complete surprise and shock.
"Well this one did thanks to that wizard," she sneered, tossing the letter onto the table and leaning back into her chair.
Out of all the possible outcomes she had predicted for this quest, Thorin falling in love was not one of them. At worst she thought she would lose a family member or—Mahâl forbid—both her sons and brother. She had hoped they would succeed, sure, but didn't put a whole lot of faith in Thorin's plans. But this? This was the last thing she had expected when her brother and sons had marched off to reclaim their home from Smaug.
"You're upset," Súna remarked, tilting her head to the side and causing her mass of blonde braids to tumble over her shoulder. "Why? Because your brother has fallen in love without your permission? Or because you have to share him with someone else for the first time in your life?
"Neither. I'm annoyed because I don't know this Hobbit," she answered honestly because Súna would notice if she lied. "Who is he? Why did he join the quest? What is his family like? What are his roots? What does he hope to gain with this marriage? This Baggins is a stranger to me and I don't like it."
The beautiful Dwarf before her smirked. The look made her jaw stand out and highlighted her full lips even more. Dís found herself both annoyed and awed. She knew she was attractive in her own way, but she had nothing on her cousin's wife. Súna was a classical Dwarven beauty from her thick hair to her large bosom. Why she chose Glóin of all Dwarves Dís would never know.
"You are too suspicious and mistrustful," Súna commented because she was also blunter than her husband and had about as much tact as Thorin. "Your brother is a grown Dwarf. I'm sure he can choose a spouse that will not stab him in the back on their wedding night."
"Thorin would never suspect someone he trusted of betraying him," she denied because she knew her brother better than anyone alive. The only one who could have rivaled her was Frerin, and he was long gone. "He seems rough and cold but he has a soft underbelly that is going to get him killed one of these days."
Súna still didn't look very concerned. "That doesn't mean he's making a mistake. What if this Hobbit honestly loves Thorin? What then?"
She didn't have an answer for that. Thorin had always made it clear that his mission in life was to be a king, and that nothing would get in his way in reclaiming his birthright. It was unnatural for him to suddenly declare that he had found his One and was intending to be married. No one could change their mind so easily or so quickly unless they were being tricked.
But… you didn't expect to fall in love with Vílin so quickly either, a voice—that sounded suspiciously like Frerin—whispered in her mind.
That brought her up short.
"Why don't you wait in hiring the assassins? At least until we actually meet this Hobbit," Súna suggested in her sensible way. She was so refreshingly practical in every way. Thank Mahâl that Glóin had married her. "We haven't even left for Erebor yet."
"True. Begin the preparations as soon as possible," Dís commanded, leaning back in her chair and picking up the crinkled letter again. "Tell them we must leave before the week is up. I have a new brother to welcome to the family."
~*~
Bilbo awoke to a symphony of familiar voices.
"—need to let me examine him, Thorin! There could be something very wrong with him—!"
"—told you he's sick! What more do you need to know—?"
"—let him sleep; he clearly needs it—"
"—having nightmares thanks to those damn wraiths—"
"—the retreat has started and Dáin is waiting for us—"
"—we can't move Bilbo yet! Look at him—!"
He slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times as he took in his situation. His head no longer hurt quite as strongly as it did earlier though his body still ached. He was in a small camp on a makeshift bed with a familiar coat wrapped around him. The dark sky showed that it was obviously still night, and he didn't need to look around to know that he was with his Dwarves again.
For a moment he simply laid there and listened to the arguing voices. Some part of him wondered if perhaps he was dreaming again, but a larger part of him was simply annoyed. Couldn't they leave him to rest and potentially die in peace?
"Rude," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with one hand while using the other to push himself up. He squinted around the clearing filled with his friends until his eyes met and found an exasperated Thorin. When he saw Bilbo was awake, his expression melted into one of concern.
"You're awake," he stated obviously, drawing all the attention to the Hobbit.
"Bilbo!"
"Burglar!"
"He's awake!"
"Why did you leave us behind?!"
"You little fool! Never do that again!"
Bilbo squeaked as he was mobbed by Kíli and Ori at once. His battered body protested violently as he was squashed against armor and bodies practically made of stone. He didn't have to suffer long though as they were hauled off of him by Dwalin.
"Fools! Are you trying to do him in for good?!" the healer thundered as he forced himself through the crowd to Bilbo's side. "Get back all of you or I'll switch your pipe weed with leaves!"
"Bossy as ever I see," he mumbled, feeling a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.
Óin spun around to glare at him with eyes that burned like coals. "You don't get to speak! You little brat, do you know how close to death you are at this moment?!"
He nodded slowly while rubbing his chest. "Oh yes, I do. Sauron wasn't a very good host. His wraiths were even worse."
Óin closed his eyes as his face went stark white. At his side, Dwalin rubbed his forehead while next to him Ori bit his bottom lip until it began to bleed.
"Stop biting your lip," he ordered the young Dwarf. "Dwalin make him stop that. Where are his brothers when I need them?"
"We're here, burglar," Nori replied from somewhere up above him. He tilted his head back and found the thief sitting on a small cliff above him. He waved at the Dwarf in greeting.
"How did you get up there?" the Hobbit asked, blinking.
"Never mind him," Óin said, moving to kneel down next to him. He gently tilted Bilbo's face back to him until their eyes met. "Bilbo, how do you feel?"
"Sore. Tired. Confused," he listed, shrugging. "Where are we?"
"Our camp. We're waiting for Dáin and the others to return," Bofur answered as he joined Dwalin in looming over him. Behind the miner, he spotted Dori and Bombur watching him from afar with obvious concern. Beyond them, Thorin stood in discussion with Balin and Bifur, and Fíli. A few unfamiliar Dwarves lingered as well; dressed in iron armor that marked them as Dáin's soldiers.
"You need water and food," Óin observed as he held his wrist to check his pulse. "Dwalin, go get me some water. Bombur, we need some broth. Where did Gandalf go?"
Bofur pointed to the air behind him. "He's with Dáin and Thranduil. Why? Do you need him?"
Óin nodded as he stared into Bilbo's eyes. "Yes. Find him and tell him to get back here. I need his help."
"I don't think he can help me," Bilbo told the healer, gently tugging his wrist free so he could wrap the heavy coat more securely around his shoulders. "Sauron took a part of my soul. I don't think anyone can heal that."
Óin scoffed as he took a cup of water from Dwalin. "We'll see about that. Drink this for now. All of it."
He did as told and gulped down the cold water. When he was done, he handed the cup back to the healer and slithered back into his makeshift bed. "Can I go back to sleep now? I'm tired."
Óin nodded as his eyes darkened and his mouth pulled back into a tight line. "Yes. We'll wake you when the broth is ready."
He hummed and closed his eyes and drifted back into the peaceful darkness.
~*~
The next time he awoke, he found Kíli at his side.
"Hello," the prince greeted, stretched out next to him on the pallet and half sharing the quilt with him. "Are you awake?"
"Do I look awake?" he wondered, turning his head to the side to face the Dwarf. "I feel awake. Does that count?"
Kíli grinned and the look brightened his face up like the rising sun. It made something warm ignite in his chest to see that grin again. "It counts. Are you in a lot of pain?"
"Not a lot," he admitted as he thought the question over. "Not like a wound from battle. I just feel weak and tired and sore."
Kíli nodded and curled closer to his side like a cat trying to get warm. "Why did you leave without us?" he asked quietly, staring at the Hobbit through his messy dark hair.
"I had to destroy the ring," he explained simply. "And I didn't want to endanger any of you with my mission. It was my burden to endure."
"I wish you would stop trying to protect us from everything," the brunet huffed, burying his face in Bilbo's shoulder. "Don't you want to keep living?"
"It is not that I don't want to live so much that I've already lived," he replied, trying his best to find the right words to explain his feelings. "Kíli, you must understand that I am an old Hobbit. I've already lived my life and it was a fairly good one all things considered. Though I look young on the outside, remember that I am an old Hobbit inside who had reached the end of his years. But you and the others? You have not even begun to live yet. You deserve a chance to experience life more than a Hobbit who has outlived his time. That is why I am willing to die so easily for you and the others."
Kíli had nothing to say to that.
"I always wished you and Fíli had lived," Bilbo admitted as he thought back to all his years of regrets and anger. "Even more than I wanted Thorin to have lived. Your uncle had at least lived a life; not the one I wanted for him, but a long one nonetheless. But you two? You didn't get that chance. You died before you ever got the chance to grow into the Dwarves you were meant to be."
"I'm not that young, Bilbo," the prince huffed with a small pout that ruined his argument.
"Your uncle told me you're both considered adolescents by Dwarven standards. Fíli won't even reach his majority for another three years," he chided gently, lightly pulling on the hair tickling his jaw. "Trust me, you two are very young."
"Still doesn't justify you dying," the brunet retorted, but his voice lacked any real heat. "Your letters… Was it all true? Everything you wrote?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Probably. I don't really recall writing the letters but if I did then I doubt I would keep anything out."
"You told Óin and Balin and Ori how they die," Kíli confided. "Glóin and Dori and Dwalin threw a fit when they found out. I don't think Dwalin has let Balin out of his sight for longer than an hour."
"He's just being dramatic," Óin claimed as he joined them on Bilbo's free side. He sat down and waved for the Hobbit to sit up. "I have some broth for you to drink. Kíli, make yourself useful and help him up. That's a good lad."
With help, he sat up and slowly drank the bowl of broth the healer shoved into his hands. As he did, he found himself feeling better and steadier than before. When he finished it completely, he handed the bowl back to the old Dwarf with his thanks.
"That was good. Did you put something in it?" he asked, rubbing his achy elbows and wrists.
Óin nodded as he studied the Hobbit's face. "Aye, some herbs. Did they help any?"
"A little bit," he admitted, glancing around the camp and realizing something he had not noticed earlier. "Why is everyone avoiding me? Are they still angry at me for leaving without them?"
"No, uncle told them not to crowd you," Kíli replied, leaning against his side without any sense of boundaries. "He doesn't want to overwhelm you because you're still so sick."
Bilbo scoffed. "I'm not some wilting flower that will shrivel up and die from too much attention. Tell him to stop being so paranoid. No, wait, I'll tell him myself. Where is he?"
"Watching you from across the camp like the stalker he is," Óin replied bluntly, pointing to his right without any shame.
Bilbo and Kíli turned as one and found the King Under the Mountain leaning against a boulder with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was fixed firmly on them, and he didn't look away even as the three turned to stare at him. If anything, his gaze grew even more intense until he was sure the Dwarf was going to set fire to their camp.
"Ma says that's why people don't trust him. Because he does things like that," the prince confided to him, shaking his head in obvious pity.
He sighed and gestured with two fingers for the king to come over. Thorin did as asked without hesitation, and was soon looming over the three on the ground. "Bilbo, how are you feeling?"
"Tired and sore and annoyed. I wish you would all stop treating me like I'm about to fall apart," he grumbled.
Thorin's eyebrows ascended into his messy hair. "You fainted on the way here."
He blinked. "I did?"
"Yes. I had to carry you the rest of the way," the king explained, frowning. "Don't you remember?"
"No," he replied bluntly.
Thorin's frown grew darker. "Fíli mentioned that you were having trouble with your memories. Óin, what do you think?"
The healer shrugged. "I have a theory but I won't know for sure till Gandalf gets here."
"Are we leaving soon? I don't like this place," Bilbo revealed as he studied the dead terrain around them. In the distance he could see Mordor but nothing of the Black Gates or the armies still fighting there. "Where are we?"
"The outskirts of Dagorlad," Kíli replied, gesturing to the rocky and bleak area.
"We'll leave as soon as Dáin returns," Thorin promised, looking faintly pained. "Can you hold on for a bit longer?"
"Oh don't be so dramatic, Thorin," he chided, rolling his eyes and falling back into his bed. "I can handle a little wait in a place I don't care for just fine."
Thorin's face relaxed into a small smile. When Óin noticed the look on his cousin's face, he snorted and pushed himself to his feet, and muttered something to Kíli in Khuzdûl. Whatever it was had the prince laughing and leaping to his feet with all the ease that came from youth as Thorin rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, laugh it up, you old goat," the king snapped, lightly smacking his nephew in the leg as he walked past. "Now get out of here."
"You're older than me!" Óin reminded with a cackle as he walked off with the brunet.
Thorin simply gave him a rude hand gesture in reply.
"What did he say?" the Hobbit wondered.
"Nothing worth repeating," the Dwarf answered, turning his bright blue eyes back to the burglar. "Bilbo… We have much to speak of. A great deal, really, but I don't know where to start."
"Well, why don't I start for you?" he suggested, smiling slightly. "I'll even go with something simple for your sake."
The king squinted at him. "I don't know. I feel like what you define as simple would be crazy to someone sane…"
"Don't be stupid," he chided, rolling his eyes. "All I want to know is why are you missing one of your beads?"