Chapter Text
Bilbo groaned and made to sit up. His head exploded into pain, and he saw stars through his tears. He closed his eyes again and very slowly, tried again to change his position. He was lying in a small space between some rocks. He was becoming more aware of his surroundings and his body. He was bitterly cold, ached all over and his head! … … Oh Lady Yavanna, his head! He tried to take stock and think. What had happened?
Snatches of memory started to return. The battle! Fili! Kili! They had been brutally attacked by the orcs. Were they dead, or still clinging to life?
Thorin! Where was Thorin? The trap the orcs had sprung! Did anyone escape? Was Thorin … …? No! He would not think that! He could not bear the thought that he … … !
Thorin was not just a King, he was a mighty warrior. He would be alright! He had to be alright! Thorin! He would be alright! He must be alright!
Bilbo closed his eyes again and tried to calm his racing heart. Breathe! And again! Deep breaths! Calm yourself Bilbo! Think! Deep, slow breaths, and think!
As he became calmer and more aware, he listened. There were no sounds of battle now. He could hear no loud voices, no shouts or screams. Nothing except the wind whistling through the rocks. He looked around. Everything seemed dull, grey and washed out. But strangely blurred, shimmering almost! He realised with a shock that he was still wearing his ring.
Taking it off, the sound of the wind lessened, and the colours and shapes became a little clearer, even though it was still grey and dreary on this rocky hilltop. He realised that the light was fading, and it would soon be night. He had to move and get off this hill.
He finally found the strength to sit up and slowly managed to stand. He had to find out what had happened. Where was everybody? He realised that he was probably alone amongst the rocks because he had been invisible to anyone while wearing his ring. They would have walked straight past him, even if only inches away.
He checked himself as he stood, swaying. He still had Sting, sheathed on his hip. A few cuts and bruises, but the mithril armour had protected him from any major injuries. He was lucky that his ring hid, not just him, but whatever he held in his hands or wore on his person.
His head was still pounding, mercilessly. Perhaps he should have worn a helmet or some sort. He tried not to move too fast, as any fast movement or bending down made him a bit sick and dizzy. Definitely a concussion then! Wonderful!
As he slowly moved away from the rocks, he came across some dead orcs. One of them was pierced by a spear. Bilbo grimaced as he removed it from the body, but he needed something to help him move and get down from the hill. He knelt and wiped off the blood and gore on the weapon. This was no time to be a squeamish hobbit! He needed to move and find shelter. He needed to find his friends.
Bilbo stood and braced himself upright with the spear. He looked around and saw many fallen bodies. Then he realised, with a shock, that even as he had lain there unconscious, but unseen, others may also be alive enough to still do him injury. Proceed With Caution, then!
He replaced the ring on his finger and braced himself for the cold and dreary … … almost unearthly … … version of the scene around him. He didn’t like the feeling of wrongness that wearing the ring gave him. It was more pronounced now than it had been in Mirkwood. It was a useful tool, but very unpleasant. He took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. He was still a bit shaky, but it was time to move.
It took longer than he thought it would to get down from the ridge. He could not go very fast, and he was extremely cautious not to make any noise or disturbance as he passed by the casualties of the battle. Just in case!
He finally reached the rows of tents that had been erected in the valley. From the moans and cries coming from the tents, he realised that these were the tents of healers. Torches and braziers had been lit to provide light and warmth inside. There were so many wounded! The healers bustled from bed to bed to give whatever help they could.
Bilbo had never seen such carnage before, and it shook him to the core. But he couldn’t linger, he had to find his friends. Were they even still living? He moved from tent to tent, looking in each to find anyone he could recognise.
Finally, he came to a large tent. There were guards posted at the entrance. This looked more promising. He heard voices and moved closer.
“… … you have seen their injuries Balin, there is nothing more I can do. Thorin may have won his battle with Azog, but his injuries are many and too severe. The Princes are also merely a breath away from our Maker!
I cannot work miracles. All we can do now is lay them to sleep in the stone. Give them to the sacred care of Mahal. Only his arms and grace can help them now!
I do not want to see our King and Princes die under this meagre canvas, with the screams of the injured in their ears and the grime of the battle still on their bodies. We must move them into the mountain. As swiftly as we can.”
“Yes Óin, you are right. You have done all that you can now. I will gather the Company, and we will carry Thorin, Fili and Kili into the mountain tonight. They will be prepared for the rites to be spoken over them, and we will lay them in the stone. We must call for Dain. He is family, he must be present. It is he, who must rule over Erebor now!
The others, are they treated for their injuries?”
“Yes, I have seen to them Balin, they are not too badly hurt. All are battered, but they are on their feet, at least. … …
All of them, except for Bilbo!” He sighed.
“No one has seen him. Not since he was banished by Thorin on the battlements. Was he still here for the battle or did he get away? If he were caught up in this horror, I fear he would not survive it. We have not found his body, at least, not yet.
I pray to Mahal he got away in time, but he would not have been able to go very far! He would still have been in the area. Everything happened so fast.
We will continue to search the battlefield, but … he was not a skilled warrior, Balin, no matter how brave his heart!
But, right now, we have to prepare Thorin, Fili and Kili, for the stone and the sacred rites. Call the Company, Balin. Call them, to come as soon as possible!”
Bilbo reeled! No! No, this is not possible! Fili and Kili! And Thorin! No, no, no! Not Thorin!
He turned and staggered away between the healing tents. He was too caught up in his grief to see or think of where he was going. Finally, in a secluded spot between the tents, he fell to his knees, and shaking, he took off his ring. Kneeling in the dirt, in the shadows of the tent, he curled into himself and sobbed in grief.
He had no idea how long he stayed there, and his very heart and soul felt broken.
He was too numb to respond when gentle hands laid upon his shoulders.
“You are injured and hurting. Come with me and I will tend to your wounds.”
Bilbo was gently raised to his feet and guided into the healer’s tent. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t find any words to express his despair. He barely noticed as the elven healer dressed his wounds and gives him some cool water to drink. He sits there shivering as the healer wraps him in a blanket and takes him to lay down in an empty pallet in the corner of the tent.
He is handed a warm drink, some herbal concoction, and told to drink up. He does so and then drowsiness overtakes him, and he falls into a deep sleep.
When Bilbo woke again, he was alone. There was no healer in sight and the three beds that were occupied in the tent had patients that looked to be either deeply asleep or unconscious.
He felt rested, but empty. Not just hunger, but … empty!
He sat up and tried to think. What would he do now? He couldn’t stay here! There was nothing for him here anymore. From what he had heard, his friends all thought him dead. He was known to be banished by Thorin, upon pain of death if he should ever return! All he could do now, was to go home to the Shire.
He would gather the supplies he needed, as discretely as possible, and he would leave this place of death and despair. He took a deep breath, put on his ring and left his bed. Even though, there was no one there to see him rise and no one to see him leave.
He would not remove the ring again, not until he was well away from the mountain, lake, and forest. He was banished and could not afford to be seen or heard by anyone!
Carefully and as silently as a hobbit could, he gathered his supplies. He found the storage tents of the dwarves from the Iron Hills. He took a sturdy pack, a warm bedroll and blanket. He found some clothes in chests. They were too big, but he had a good belt. He would manage.
When he started to gather, he felt a little guilty, as though he was stealing. But then, he adjusted his thinking and called it recompense. Payment for his services.
He had saved his companions lives, many times, he had fought in their battles, saved them from captivity, and spoken in their defence. They owed him. At least, this small amount to get himself home.
He had signed a contract giving him up to a 14th share of the treasury of Erebor. He certainly didn’t want all that, but he filled a small bag with some gold and silver coins and small jewels to help him with his expenses on his way home. He wouldn’t take more than he thought necessary for the journey. He may be ‘The Burglar’, but he was not a thief!
He gathered food and water skins, for the journey, from both the elves and dwarves. He found a small dagger; another blade would be handy. A bow would help, but these were all too large for his stature. He took some bow strings though. He could make some snares, at least.
At last, he had everything he could carry, anything else he needed he would have to scavenge on the way.
He made his way to the edge of the camp and looked back at the mountain, with tears in his eyes.
“Farewell, my friends! Goodbye, my dear companions!
May Mahal and Yavanna keep you all safe. Mahal bless and cherish, Thorin, Fili and Kili.
I will never forget you. I love you all! Farewell!”
He softly said goodbye, and turned his face, with his eyes full of tears, and started his journey home.