Chapter Text
The Battle was over, the orcs were defeated, and he had survived... yet Bilbo just felt numb. He was exhausted, more so perhaps than ever before, but after everything that had happened, after everything he had seen... he knew sleep would not come to him that night. Not that he could even think of trying until he knew the fates of his three wounded friends; Fili, Kili and Thorin. Everyone had lost so much in this battle, the Elves and the Men as well as the Dwarves, but it was the Dwarves who had suffered the most, for there was a good chance they had paid for the victory with the lives of their king and his two sole heirs. That they had won a kingdom, just to loose it’s king. And that would be a poor exchange indeed, for Bilbo knew the lives of Thorin and his nephews were worth more than all the gold in Erebor. A sentiment shared by every dwarf in the company, Bilbo was sure.
He had found a quiet spot near the heeling tents but away from the constant bustle where he could think, and he just sat there, staring into the distance, almost unaware of the sound of approaching footsteps until they were practically upon him.
When he turned, he saw Balin trudging towards him, and the dwarf looked as exhausted as Bilbo felt. He was still covered in the dirt and grime of battle, there was a makeshift bandage wrapped around his arm and the old dwarf looked almost ready to drop... but it was the redness of his eyes, the look of worry and grief they held that sent a chill into Bilbo’s heart.
“How are they?” he asked softly, knowing Balin must have come with news, that probably was not good if the look on his face was any judge. Bilbo took a deep breath, bracing himself for the reply and Balin forced a smile, though it did not reach his eyes.
“Kili’s doing well, probably due to that elf of his. Her heeling touch kept him alive until help arrived” Balin explained. “He’ll need time to recover, but he’ll survive.”
For just a moment, at the news Bilbo let a sudden spark of joy shoot through him, but though he could sense the relief in the dwarf’s tone, he could not ignore the weary sadness behind his words.
“That’s wonderful! But what about the others?”
Balin looked a little reluctant to speak for a moment, sitting tiredly down on a boulder of rubble opposite Bilbo, for once showing his age.
“Fili, I'm afraid he didn't get help as quickly. We’ve done what we can, but he’s not out of danger yet.”
Bilbo nodded slowly, saddened by the news, yet after seeing him wounded, surprised he was still alive at all.
“And Thorin?” he asked after a moment. “What about him?”
Bilbo could hear the worry in his voice, and at his question, Balin looked away. The hobbit could almost have sworn the dwarf had tears in his eyes as he replied.
“Gandolf and Elrond are both tending to him as we speak, but his wounds are...even with their combined skill...” Balin trailed off, his voice breaking slightly as he struggled to finish, but he did not need too. Bilbo already knew what he was going to say and he felt a wave of grief slam into him, harder than even he would have expected.
“They don't think he’ll survive, do they?” he finished quietly and Balin shook his head sadly.
“No laddie, they don’t.”
A few days passed in the camps of the Elves, Men and Dwarves, stretched out like a vast army below the shadow of the lonely mountain. The Men hoped dearly to rebuild Dale, and for that they needed the gold Thorin had promised them from Smaug’s hoard, though for now, they could do little but struggle to find enough food and shelter to survive in the face of such recent tragedies. The Elves, on the other hand, grew impatient, wanting to settle things swiftly, retrieve what was theirs and return to their woodland home. Both sides were waiting on the Dwarves to settle treaties, divide the gold and make things right after their king’s recent madness, but in these regards, they were doing little.
An air of sorrow lay over the dwarves' encampment. They had won the war, reclaimed their homeland and gained the riches of the mountain, but now their king lay dying, and they could do little but prepare to mourn him. All thoughts of treaties, of future alliances and divisions of treasure were pushed aside until they had honoured their fallen king, and another ruled in his stead.
Until then, the dwarves kept a constant guard around Thorin's tent, their leader, and their king, despite knowing he would likely never wake. They were always from the company, everyone, even Ori, taking their turn, but Dwalin was like a constant shadow, either standing guard outside, or watching over his old friend within. He barely seemed to sleep, and the only time he appeared to leave was when he checked the camp’s defences, not entirely trusting Dain and his dwarves to keep it safe.
The only joy to be found amongst all their sorrows was the gradual recovery of Thorin’s sisters' sons, Fili and Kili who, against all odds, had both survived their wounds and were expected to live. Kili was doing surprisingly well, while Fili, though still weaker than his brother, had woken that morning from a fever which had gripped him after the battle and he too was now expected to make a full recovery.
In fact, it was to visit the two dwarven princes that Bilbo was heading to the heeling tents that very morning, his spirit just that little bit lighter now he knew Fili would be ok, despite the shadow of Thorin’s impending death hanging over him. He had not seen all that much of the dwarves after the battle, not wanting to intrude on their private grief, but he could not resist visiting the two young dwarves now they were both on the mend, wanting desperately to see them both alive and well with his own two eyes after everything that had happened.
There was a general low hubbub of noise as Bilbo slipped inside the largest of the dwarves healing tents, trying his best to keep out of the way as he scanned the many makeshift beds for his two young friends.
Growing up in the quiet, peaceful lands of the Shire, Bilbo had never seen so many wounded in all his life as he had these last few days, and he felt a deep swell of sorrow in his kind heart for all those who had fallen, or lost friends and loved ones to the wrath of the orcs. But at least Fili and Kili were not among the lost, he reminded himself as his eyes finally came to light on two beds a little of to the side, separated from the others by a thin linen drape, and Bilbo recognised the two youngest heirs of the line of Durin... along with an elf he thought he remembered from their time in the Woodland Realm.
With a smile, he hurried over and at the sound of his approach, Kili looked up, treating him to a wide goofy grin,
“Mr Baggins!”
The broad smile was infectious and Bilbo found himself returning it without even realising.
“Hi. I heard Fili was awake and I just wanted to come by, and see how you were.”
“Thanks” Fili murmured gratefully from the bed opposite his brother, but while Kili was sitting up in bed looking relatively chirpy, Fili still seemed a little out of it.
Bilbo shot him a friendly smile as well, before turning his attention to the dark-haired elf sat daintily on a small stool beside Kili’s bed, her hand in his.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Bilbo, from Thorin’s... company" he began, though he stammered into a sad silence for a moment at the mention of his friend.
“Tauriel” she greeted politely, though she seemed a little unsure how to behave, no doubt ill at ease as the only elf in a tent full of dwarves. She turned uncertainly to Kili. "Should I leave you?” she asked, now the two dwarven princes had a new visitor, but at her words. Kili grabbed desperately onto her hand, a note almost of fear in his voice for a second as he replied, though he quickly covered it.
“No! I mean, Bilbo won’t mind, will you?” he asked hopefully, and the hobbit shook his head. Kili had been through a lot these last few days, the battle, his wounds, and for a time the strong possibility of losing both his uncle and brother, leaving him king... if the elf’s presence gave him some form of comfort, Bilbo would not object.
“Of course not" he replied, and at his words, Kili visibly relaxed.
They sat and chatted about nothing for a while, reminiscing about old adventures and daring deeds, though Bilbo was sure Kili embellished some for Tauriel’s benefit, but after a while, Fili voiced the question on both of their minds.
“How's Thorin?” he asked, his quiet voice shaking all the more as he grew suddenly serious.
“Yes, no one will tell us anything” Kili added, suddenly sounding equally worried and Bilbo sighed, looking from one dwarf to the other. What could he say? He guessed they had been told nothing yet as no one wanted to upset the two, still badly wounded princes. He wished he had better news, and he knew how the two boys practically worshiped their uncle but... he could not lie too them.
“He's... he’s still very unwell” Bilbo admitted finally, trying not to let his own worry show too badly.
“But he’ll be alright?” Kili pressed, and Bilbo found himself unable to meet either prince's gaze as he gently began to break the news.
Bilbo was on his way back from the visit, trudging wearily through the dwarven camp, when the surprising sight of the Elven King and several of his soldiers caught his eye. They were at the edge of the encampment, in heated conversation with Dwalin, who was stubbornly refusing to let them through, and when Bilbo hurried over to find out what was going on, he was sent to fetch Balin, the company's natural leader when Thorin was not around, and the dwarf most likely to handle the situation without bloodshed.
After a moment’s thought, the hobbit hurried back the way he had come, through the camp to the king's tent. With Dwalin on patrol, Bilbo guessed that was where his brother was most likely to be, and he was right.
It was a small oval structure of plain canvas, off to one side of the other healing tents but near enough that the healers could keep a close watch over their king. It barely looked different from the others, except for the honour guard which, as always. stood watch outside, guarding their king day and night.
Today, as he approached, Bilbo found himself relieved to see Bofur standing by the tent flaps, antique dwarven armour thrown haphazard over his normal travel clothes and leaning slightly on a large mining pick.
“Bofur?” he called hurriedly.
“Bilbo!” the dwarf cried, a sudden grin lighting up his unusually sombre face, clearly delighted, if somewhat surprised to see his friend. “Where’ve you been? I was getting worried, thought maybe you’d gone back to the Shire without saying goodbye. I’ve hardly seen you since the battle.”
“I know. I'm sorry” the hobbit admitted with a nod, feeling a slight twinge of guilt at his friend's words. “It’s just...”
He trailed off and Bofur spoke up before he could finish, there was a slight touch of hurt in his voice, but no blame as he spoke.
“I thought you’d want to be here too, with us... with the company.”
And at that Bilbo almost broke.
“I did, believe me. But after everything, I wasn't sure I'd be welcome and I didn’t want to... “
He trailed off, and yet again, he could feel the prick of tears in his eyes.
“Thorin... he’s your king, and your kin, and I wasn't sure you’d want an outsider around at a time like this” he finally managed to finish, and Bofur shook his head sadly, though the smile he gave Bilbo was warm and kind.
“Oh, come on Bilbo, you're not an outsider. You're his friend, and you're one of us, you've got just as much right to be here as anyone. You know he’d want you here.”
The hobbit looked down for a moment, blinking the tears from his eyes and nodded.
“Thank you” he muttered gratefully before properly pulling himself together, “Now I need to talk to Balin, is he...?”
“He's inside” Bofur nodded, gesturing to the door. “Go ahead.”
It felt dark and still as Bilbo stepped inside; the bright mid-day sun dimmed to a sombre glow as it filtered in through the thick fabric of the tent. He was about to call over to Balin, who was standing at Thorin’s bedside, staring sadly down at his fallen king, when he heard the soft gentle tones of his voice and paused, not wanting to interrupt.
“The boys are both out of danger now.” he murmured quietly, wanting Thorin to know they were safe, even if he had no idea whether or not the other dwarf could hear him. “Kili’s doing well, and Fili woke up this morning. He’ll make a fine king someday." He nodded proudly, before looking down at his old friend, lying pale and motionless before him, and a slight hint of desperation entered his voice. “But not yet, eh?... we still need you laddie.”
He reached out to touch Thorin lightly on the shoulder but after that he was silent and, after a moment, Bilbo thought it best to speak.
“Balin?" he asked softly, and the dwarf almost jumped before turning slowly to see the hobbit standing worriedly by the doorway.
“Bilbo” he greeted, and though his eyes looked red, his voice hoarse, he did not look annoyed at the hobbit’s interruption.
“I'm sorry to intrude, but ...” Bilbo began, but before he could finish, Balin swept his apologies aside with a week smile.
“Don't be lad, he’d want to hear your voice too, same as mine.”
Bilbo nodded, glancing over at Thorin for a moment as he walked further inside.
“Dwalin sent me to find you" he began, in explanation for his presence. “Thranduil’s at the gates, demanding to see whoever’s in charge.”
At that, Balin just sighed.
“I’m surprised it took him this long...”
Bilbo stepped up beside him, looking down at his lifeless friend for a long moment before he spoke. Thorin looked no different than he had the last time Bilbo had seen him, that first day after the battle. He was just as pale and still as before, almost like a ghost,
“How is he?" he asked eventually, but Balin just shook his head sadly. There was nothing new to say, they all knew what was coming. But Bilbo, he refused to believe it.
“He’ll be alright, you’ll see” he declared softly, a kind of optimistic, yet honest certainty in his voice that made Balin pause.
“You really believe that?”
And Bilbo nodded. “I do, yes. Look, I know what the healers have said, but he's survived this long, hasn't he? No one expected that either. And we both know the stubbornness of dwarves, especially Thorin. He'll wake up...” Bilbo stared down at his friend again and the first hint of worry crept into his voice. “He has to.”
They stood in silence for a few seconds before Balin clapped him lightly on the shoulder, turning to leave.
“Stay with him lad, for a time" he suggested, not wanting to leave his king alone, and guessing it would be good for Bilbo, even if Thorin was too far gone to know he was there. “I have to speak to the elven king about his missing gems.”
When Balin approached the edge of the camp, he saw King Thranduil, along with a retinue of several elven warriors, standing impatiently opposite his brother, Dwalin, arms crossed and resting menacingly on his giant war hammer as he denied them entrance.
He turned at Balin’s approach, giving the elves one last glare before addressing his brother.
“Ah, brother, perhaps you can tell these elves they’re not wanted here” he growled and Balin sighed. Diplomacy had never been one of Dwalin’s strong points, and with everything hanging over them, he was in a worse mood than normal. Balin knew he blamed himself in part for what had happened on Ravenhill, that he had not been there to protect Thorin when he needed it most, an opinion he had tried many times to dissuade him of but with little success.
“Come now brother, we can at least see what they want” Balin replied, his voice the epitome of diplomacy as he turned to the elves. “Well?”
Thranduil looked down at him coldly, clearly unused to being kept waiting.
“I would speak with you, dwarf, about returning what is mine.”
“Ah, Lord Thranduil,” he began tactfully, “You must understand this is a difficult time for us. A little patience on your part would be greatly appreciated. As you can imagine we have little time to search the halls of Erebor for whatever you may deem to be your property, nor do I have the authority to grant it to you even if I did.”
But Balin’s evasive answer did little to satisfy the elven king.
“If you have no time to go searching, then by all means let me inside and I will retrieve the gems myself.”
But Balin shook his head, this time his voice growing hard.
“No, Thorin is King under the Mountain. only he can make such a decision.”
At that, Thranduil raised an eyebrow just slightly, a look of cool, aloof indifference on his face as he spoke.
“I did not believe Thorin son of Thrain was expected to survive his wounds. Is he not now dying as we speak?” Thranduil asked, and there was a noticeable shift in in the dwarves around him, both anger and grief radiating off them in waves.
“Now look here you Inbul-hibir fundhamâd-ublag” Dwalin spat, taking a menacing step forward, but Balin hurriedly reached out a restraining hand to his brother's arm, before he could do something they would all regret.
Not that Balin himself did not feel the same; angry at the elf king's dismissive words, yet pained at the truth they held. However, if they wanted to maintain the fragile peace between the races of elves, men and dwarves, simple rules of diplomacy would have to be followed.
“I don't know" he admitted after a moment, as calmly as he was able. “Maybe he will live, and maybe he won't. But he is still my king, and until he breaths his last, I will never allow you through those doors without his consent.”
Thranduil sighed at the useless stubbornness displayed before him.
“Surely this is just delaying the inevitable. Must we wait until he dies to resolve this matter? “
But Dwalin shook his head, shaking off his brothers hand as he hefted his weapon.
“You heard my brother...”he began, a menacing tone to his voice, but Thranduil just stared back at him coldly.
Once again, before violence looked to break out, Balin spoke, his voice firm and businesslike, yet unable to completely hide his growing anger at the dismissive elven king.
“You may talk to king Thorin when he wakes... or to his successor if... the worst happens. But only then. I will not let you inside against the king's orders. Do we understand each other?”
There was a long pause, Thranduil giving him a hard stare before, giving an icy nod.
“Perfectly" he replied curtly, then turned on his heel and strode gracefully from the camp, his retinue of warriors just behind.
With each day that passed, the fragile alliance between the elves, men and dwarves grew more fraught and strained. A shadow of despair hung over the dwarves, Fili most of all, as he was only too well aware that if Thorin died, he would be the next king under the mountain, it would be his job to ensure the safety and prosperity of his people, and he knew he was not ready...