Many Paths: Chapter Four
May. 15th, 2015 05:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flakediceTitle: Many Paths (4 of 10)
Author(s): Flakedice
Artist(s):![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
charlies_dragon, penumbria_fics and croix_souillees
Fandom(s): The Hobbit
Type: Slash
Rating: Mature
Word Count/Art type: 44,550 words
Characters/Pairings: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Warnings/Spoilers: major character death, graphic violence, gore, torture, psychological torture, ptsd, (tiny bit of) self-harm, suicide (sort of), mental illness (Please highlight to read)
Summary: Bilbo wakes up in Dale. With the memory of a battle won but lives lost, he finds an army of Men and Elves readying to attack Erebor. Bilbo tries to save his dwarves. Again and again.
MANY PATHS
"What if we tried to break him free from the gold sickness?" If Thorin were in his right mind, they could come to an agreement with Bard and Thranduil. Well, with Bard.
Balin shook his head, an aged hand smoothing fretfully over an ancient tome. "Dragon sickness is not so easily lifted." He shook his head. "We tried with Thror."
But Thorin was not his grandfather. Bilbo had seen him free of the sickness, broken free of his own strength of will. He had seen Thorin surfacing even when the gold's pull had been at its height.
"I have seen him struggle against it." Bilbo spoke, his words filled with passion enough to lift Balin's head. But Bilbo had steadily been losing his staid Baggins respectability. If he had every truly possessed it. "When he is reminded of better things, I have seen a change. A return of warmth and reason." He drew himself up. "Better to make an attempt than to let Thorin continue as he is."
Balin was silent for a long moment, fixing Bilbo with a considering stare. Finally he gave a small nod. "You might be right, laddie." He straightened and heaved a deep sigh. "Aye, it's worth a try."
Relief unwound muscles strung tight. He hadn’t been certain Balin would agree.
~x~X~x~
It was Dwalin who thrust the broach into his hands. A rough handover he hid with his body as they made their way down to the throne room.
Bilbo tucked it up one sleeve, only daring to pull it out when Thorin was occupied with the search for the Arkenstone, wading through gold and jewels.
Bilbo turned it over in his hands. A heavy angular piece with a large yellow stone in its centre and two slightly smaller stones to either side. But for all its size and weight, there was a delicacy to it. A hundred tiny prongs grasped the gems in a delicate basket; a fine tracery of small silver beads formed radiating lines that surrounded the stones like rays of the sun. The pin itself was a thin needle of matchless silver, untouched by age or neglect.
Even Bilbo, who had little knowledge of gems and jewels, could see it was a kingly gift.
A sudden shadow cast over the gold, the air warming behind him. Bilbo's ears twitched.
"What have you there?" Thorin's voice was flat.
Bilbo licked his lips. Closed his eyes to steel himself for a moment. He turned to find Thorin standing behind him, eyes fixed on his hand.
Bilbo slowly unfurled his fingers, revealing the broach.
Thorin stilled. He stared, transfixed.
"I'm no judge of craftsmanship," Bilbo ventured, keeping a cautious eye on Thorin's expression. "But I suspect it holds some significance." He shifted uneasy in the face of Thorin's blank expression. "Some great worth."
He held out the broach.
Thorin slowly reached out. The broach looked ridiculously fragile in his large hands
"It is worthy of a queen." Thorin said quietly. "So my father said when he presented it to my mother."
The broach had belonged to Thorin's mother. Bilbo held his breath.
Thorin stared down at the piece, eye soft with memory, the harsh lines of his face smoothing.
"She must have been very beautiful." Bilbo ventured.
A smile appeared, wide and warm.
Very beautiful if Thorin had inherited her smile.
"She was not a great beauty." Thorin spoke softly, a finger gently tracing over the centremost stone. "But she shone like mithril in torchlight and had a will of iron."
Bilbo smiled. "Much like her son."
Thorin's head shot up, eyes wide.
There was a clatter. Thorin's eyes shot sideways at the sound, growing distant and cold as gold met his gaze.
"We have no time for distractions." Thorin carelessly thrust the broach back at Bilbo.
Bilbo hastily grabbed the precious piece to stop it falling.
Thorin stalked along the dais, the broach forgotten. "The Arkenstone must be found."
Bilbo stared after him, broach clasped in his hands. He finally glanced out at the treasure.
Balin had drawn close to watch Thorin's reaction. His face crumbled at Thorin's dismissal. He gave Bilbo a hopeless look and returned to the hoard, poking through the coins with slumped shoulders.
Dwalin, expressionless, dug among the gold coins more harshly. Gold coins flying up in an angry arc.
~x~X~x~
Thorin lay still on the ice, blood a widening stain that soaked the fur of his coat.
Bilbo fell to his knees at Thorin's side. Reached out and laid a shaking hand to his still chest.
He searched Thorin's face, unable to see anything but a horrible blankness that was worse than dragon sickness.
Throat tight, Bilbo leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Thorin's. "I'm sorry."
He pulled the broach out from the neck of his shirt, placing it on Thorin's chest and folding his large fingers around it.
Tomorrow. He would try again tomorrow.
~x~X~x~
Balin shook his head. "You tried, laddie." He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, watching Thorin pace across the gold far below. "No one can ask any more than that."
Bilbo stared down at Thorin. Still fixated on the Arkenstone, still caught by the gleam of gold.
His appeals had been for nothing. Not even the mention of his sister and sister-sons had made any difference. Thorin was held in thrall to the gold around him.
"Only Thorin can pull himself free of the sickness.” Balin's eyes were filled with despair as he turned away. “Until then he is still our king. We must obey his orders."
He didn't believe Thorin would, Bilbo realized. Had anyone seen those hard earned moments when Thorin had come back to himself? Had it only been him?
Bilbo's gaze returned to Thorin as Balin walked away. He had managed to reach Thorin, if only for a moment.
He might still be able.
~x~X~x~
Thorin was still pacing across the gold when Bilbo found him, his heavy coat falling heavy around his legs. The gold chinked and slid under his shoes.
"Thorin."
Thorin turned, swinging around to face Bilbo. He stared at him, eyebrows lowering. "Master Baggins."
He hadn’t heard Thorin call him by his name for days. Weeks. He missed it. The lack pained him almost as much as the distance in Thorin’s eyes.
“If there is to be battle, you must keep up your strength.” The rest of the Company had eaten. Settling aside a share for their king if he cared to eat it.
And Bilbo. He hadn’t been able to stomach anything.
Thorin gave him a dismissive look. “I am not hungry.” His voice darkened. “I am not so easily distracted from my duty.” His gaze fixed on the upper hallway where the rest of the Company had retreated.
“In the Shire eating is regarded as a duty.” Bilbo rocked on his heels, uncertain under Thorin’s returned gaze. “Feeding one’s family even more so.”
Thorin stared at him for a moment. And then a small smile crossed his face, his eyes lightening. “Your duty?”
Bilbo nodded, drawing himself up self-importantly. It felt a strange, unfamiliar action. “Of course. Caring for those dear to us is the most important task a hobbit has.”
Thorin blinked.
“As dwarves believe if the Company is any indication.” Bilbo continued. “They worry about you.”
A hint of uncertainty entered Thorin’s eyes.
"Any of the Company would die for you." Bilbo said firmly. He held Thorin's gaze, clear for this short moment, of any sickness. "I would die for you."
And have done.
Thorin expression softened into a look of open fondness. "I would not see it come to that." He took a step closer, large and warm. "No army of elves or men will reach the heart of the mountain.”
His hand reached out and cupped Bilbo’s shoulder, engulfing the joint protectively. “And no harm will come to you here.” His eyes narrowed. "The others-"
He was losing him. Bilbo stepped forward, close, almost as close as their embrace long ago on the Carrock.
Or in the grip Thorin had held him on the gate.
Bilbo pushed the thought away. "Love you as their kin. Their king." He pressed a hand to Thorin’s chest, hoping to see the return of some of the tenderness he had shown.
Hard hands caught him and pulled him away. Thorin stared down at him, eyes glittering and hard. "You speak with a golden tongue. Never have you spoken so to me." Suspicion lit in his eyes.
"I care for you." Bilbo refused to look away, knowing Thorin would see it as an admission of guilt. "I worry that you neglect yourself."
Thorin stared at him for a long moment. But finally he gave a small scoff, his grip loosening. "Do not underestimate the hardiness of dwarves. It would take more than a lack of meals to weaken me."
He released Bilbo. "Call the others. We must make the most of our time."
Bilbo slowly walked away, casting glances over his shoulder. Heart sinking with defeat.
There was no getting through to Thorin now.
He smothered the thought that it only seemed to be getting worse.
~x~X~x~
"It's no trick." Bilbo stepped forward in resignation, not willing to let the blame fall on anyone else. "I gave it to them."
Thorin turned, fixing Bilbo with a disturbing stare Bilbo had never seen before.
"What do you say, King Under the Mountain?" Bard's voice rang out, drawing Thorin's attention back to the army gathered below.
Bard tossed the Arkenstone into the air. It was a casual, almost mocking gesture. But it did not end the way Bard intended.
The glowing stone slipped from his fingers. Fell to shatter on the ground near his horse's hooves.
For a moment there was silence. Bard staring at the shattered gem in horror, Thranduil's expression one of shock.
The Company was utterly still, staring down at the glittering shards scattered before the gate.
With a sense of growing dread, Bilbo looked to Thorin.
The dwarf was like a statue, not even breathing.
And then he turned, his glittering eyes fixed on Bilbo.
There was madness in his gaze. As if the breaking of the Arkenstone had severed what grasp he had held to his former self.
Bilbo automatically stepped back even before Thorin started to advance.
"You have brought this upon me." Thorin's voice was a harsh whisper. "It has been you all along."
Bilbo backed up, away from the wall that Thorin had tried to throw him from dozens of times.
"You and your lying golden tongue!" Thorin drew his sword, throwing off his nephews’ clutching hands.
Bilbo backed away. This was not the Thorin he knew. This was not-
Thorin moved fast. His sword even faster.
~x~X~x~
It took Bilbo a long time to gather the courage to face Thorin again. He kept seeing the fury that had flooded Thorin's eyes, turning them a brittle pale sky blue. The betrayal that had twisted his face.
The vicious swipe of his sword.
Bilbo found himself flinching away, cringing when Thorin's gaze fell on him.
And the rest of the Company was beginning to notice.
~x~X~x~
"Master Baggins." Bilbo barely restrained his flinch.
Thorin stared at him, suspicion slowly growing. "You have been uncommonly quiet of late."
Bilbo was aware that the Company had slowed in their search, glancing up to watch the conversation between their king and burglar.
"Have I?" The question sounded unconvincing to this own ears.
Thorin stepped closer.
Bilbo shifted, suppressing the growing urge to retreat.
Thorin stopped, barely a foot away. He stared for a long moment, eyes fixed on Bilbo's face. "You are uneasy among us."
Bilbo couldn't help himself. His gaze flickered out to the treasury, searching for an escape route.
The ring sat heavy in his pocket.
Thorin's eyes narrowed. He glanced out at the rest of the Company, his expression growing dark.
Bilbo knew what was on his mind. Betrayal.
"Thorin." Thorin's gaze returned to him and Bilbo licked his bottom lip, a nervous tic he had never been able to check. "Our food supplies are growing low-" He broke off, staring in disbelief.
Thorin was smiling. His look of suspicion had faded into amusement.
It had been a long time since Thorin had looked at him like that.
"Fear not, Master Burglar." His lips curled up in amusement as he set a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "We will not let you starve."
Bilbo gave him a weak smile.
"When Erebor is secure, you will be able to eat whatever you wish." Thorin's smile faded. "The men and elves will not linger for much longer." His hand tightened on Bilbo's shoulder for a moment before slipping free. "If they do not leave of their own accord then we will make them."
Bilbo stood on the dais, dull despair filling his heart as he watched Thorin walk away. There would be war.
~x~X~x~
There was.
~x~X~x~
Bilbo paused as he entered the communal room the Company had claimed as their own. The fire was lit, as it always was, but there was a dwarf sitting by the fire.
Bifur. Knife and a half-carved block of wood in hand.
The fire was a beckoning spot of warmth and Bilbo slowly made his way over, sinking down onto an old pillow that had been placed by the fire.
Bifur looked up as Bilbo sat and gave a small nod before turning back to his carving.
Bilbo stared into the flames, soaking up the warmth and enjoying the rare moment of calm. He would have to seek out Thorin soon. Try to find a way to break him free of the dragon sickness.
Somehow.
He sat, listening to the measured scrapping as Bifur carved small curls of wood from the figure forming in his hands.
"Has he eaten?" The words slipped out before Bilbo could stop them.
Bifur glanced up, his dark eyes reflecting the dancing flames, and shook his head, expression lacking its usually fierceness.
He hadn't thought so. If there wasn't a battle on the morrow, Bilbo suspected Thorin actually would have managed to starve himself.
Bilbo watched the flames. He was tired and the fire was comfortable. And just for once, he wanted to enjoy it.
It was a burst of Khuzdul that jerked him out of his daze. Bilbo looked over to see Bifur holding out a closed hand.
Bilbo looked at Bofur uncertainly. But after another burst of Khuzdul and a gesture from Bifur with his closed hand, he hesitantly reached forward.
Bifur pressed something into Bilbo's palm with large and gentle fingers. He spoke again, something soft, and pressed the object into Bilbo palm once more before withdrawing his hand.
Bilbo looked down at what Bifur had just given him. It was a dwarven figure. A dwarf with long hair, a sword in one hand, a long thick branch held in the other.
"Thorin?" Bilbo looked up at Bifur for confirmation.
Bifur nodded. Raised the hand that held the knife and slapped his forearm with his other hand.
Oakenshield.
Bilbo turned the small figure over in his hands. Saw the wavy lines Bifur had carved into his hair, the repeating pattern of his mail and the ruff of fur at his collar. The small Thorin stood proudly, eyes intent under their carven brows.
A warrior. With nothing to indicate his noble heritage. No crown, no elaborate armour. It was how Bofur still saw Thorin.
The Thorin they had all followed on this quest.
He was still there. He just had to be reminded of that. Reminded that it was Thorin Oakenshield that they had followed on this quest.
That it was the dwarf, not the king, who had earned their loyalty.
~x~X~x~
Thorin stood on one of the walkways overlooking the throne room.
For a moment, Bilbo hesitated, wary of the change. But finally he padded forward, feet silent on stone. “Thorin?” He called out before he got to close, not wanting to startle Thorin.
For both their sakes.
“Master Baggins.” Thorin didn’t turn, staring down at the gold below.
Bilbo fought back a wave of despair. He stepped closer, creeping forward much in the way he had approached Smaug. “Did you rest?” He doubted it.
Thorin cast him a glance over his shoulder, eyes glittering over the fur of his coat briefly before he turned back to the treasure below. “There is no rest when the Arkenstone has not been found.”
And there would be nothing Bilbo could say to convince Thorin otherwise. He felt the figure Bifur had given him, resting in his waistcoat pocket and pressing gently against his side. “Why is the Arkenstone so important? Is it not enough that you have driven out Smaug and reclaimed the mountain?”
Thorin stilled. He turned to face Bilbo, his eyes dark and searching. As if he suspected mockery or some ploy. His expression relaxed slightly as it became clear Bilbo’s question had been in earnest. “It is a symbol of my kingship.” Thorin’s eyes glittered. “The Heart of the Mountain, which came to the King of Erebor. The King’s Jewel. Its possession gives its bearer the power to unite the seven dwarven kingdoms.”
Bilbo had never understood how the other dwarven kingdoms hadn’t given their support for the quest. Thorin’s longing for his lost home had been enough to convince Bilbo, to change his mind when reason and Baggins propriety had told him to refuse. He had faced a dragon for Thorin Oakenshield and his Company, not a dwarven king.
Thorin had always been more than a king.
“Thorin Oakenshield doesn’t need a jewel to show his worthiness.” Bilbo said quietly, holding Thorin’s gaze.
Thorin’s brows lowered, his eyes narrowing.
But Bilbo didn’t let him speak. “Thorin Oakenshield led his people to safety after their home had been lost to dragon fire.” His voice grew stronger as he willed Thorin to hear him. “It was Thorin Oakenshield who defeated Azog the Defiler at the Battle of Azanulbizar.”
Thorin stared at him, mouth parted slightly.
“It was not a king who won the loyalty of twelve dwarves brave enough to face a dragon when no one else in Middle Earth would even think it.” Bilbo’s voice softened. “It was Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf I followed out of Bag End.”
Thorin’s eyes glistened.
“The dwarf who dared to face Smaug.” Bilbo continued. “Who took back Erebor.”
“Thorin Oakenshield who failed his people!” The words burst from Thorin’s mouth in a pained shout. “Thorin Oakenshield who wandered across Arda like a beggar, his people destitute and dying! Turned away by all we met.” His voice lowered to a ragged whisper. “Even our own kin.”
“Thorin.” Bilbo reached for his arm, throat tight.
Thorin straightened, pulling back out of reach. “But I am king now.” Thorin’s voice darkened. “And all will know it.”
~x~X~x~
The figurine was gone when Bilbo woke up in Dale, his pocket empty except for the acorn and the ring.
Its loss was like a wound, a space scraped raw.
~x~X~x~
The Company worked in shifts. There were always several dwarves working in the treasury, searching for the Arkenstone.
When Bilbo made his way to the room the Company had cleared, he found Bombur and the ‘Ri brothers. Bombur was stirring the stew pot hung over the fire. The others were seated at the table. Dori had found a teapot somewhere and was pouring a cup. Ori was scribbling in one of his journals while Nori idly flipped a small knife between his fingers.
Dori looked up with a smile. "Master Baggins? Could I interest you in some tea?"
Tea. It felt like he hadn't had any tea in years.
"Yes, thank you, Dori." Bilbo took a seat at the table, Ori giving him a smile and Nori a nod.
"I found it among the stores. Sealed tight and still fresh." Dori prattled as he filled another cup. "It's not camomile," he gave a small sigh, "but it's a good Harad brew."
Bilbo accepted the offered cup with thanks. For a moment he simply cradled it, inhaling the gentle aroma of the pale brew.
He drank, feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders unwind at the familiar ritual.
"Maybe we should find something to give Thorin," Bilbo suggested tiredly.
There was a clatter. Eyes wide, Bombur hastily reached out for his spoon before it could be lost in the stew.
Bilbo looked around to find the ‘Ri brothers staring at him, just as shocked.
"To help him relax." Bilbo hastened to clarify. From the looks they were giving him, it was as if he had suggested poison. "He needs rest." And if he had time to relax, he might be able to break free of the dragon sickness more easily.
Dori still looked scandalised and Ori's eyes were wide. But Nori had a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Might be a battle tomorrow." Nori's knife twirled through his fingers. "Thorin hasn't slept for days."
Dori frowned but it was an expression of worry. His gaze fell to the teapot. "When did he last eat?"
It was Bombur who replied, voice soft as he bent over the stew pot. "The night we entered the mountain."
Ori blinked. "But that was four days ago."
Dori's frown deepened. He turned toward Bombur. "Bombur, another bowl, please."
~x~X~x~
Bilbo found himself bringing Thorin a bowl of stew. Not for the first time. But now he had Dori and Ori trailing behind him, Dori walking with brisk steps and Ori scurrying along in his wake.
Bilbo concentrated on not spilling the soup rather than the reception that might await them. Thorin's gold sickness made him unpredictable from day to day. Bilbo only hoped that this encounter wouldn't be one of the dangerous ones.
Gold glittered, a shimmering wave that almost swamped the throne room. Bilbo walked along the walkway the Company had cleared, heading towards the throne where Thorin stood.
Thorin turned at his arrival, eyes fixing on Bilbo before narrowing and turning from Dori to Ori.
Bilbo didn't like the way he looked at them.
"Thorin." Bilbo made his way closer, each step slow and careful. "I brought you dinner."
Thorin's eyes narrowed as he approached. "Did you make it?" His gaze slid sideways. "Or someone else?"
"Thorin, there's nothing wrong with the stew." Thorin's gaze swung toward Bilbo, eyes wild. "Look." Bilbo took up the spoon. "I'll try it if you-"
The spoon clattered to the ground.
Thorin stood in front of him, chest heavying. "Do not touch it!" The words were rasped out.
Bilbo stood stunned. Bowl still clasped in one hand the other still hovering limply above it.
Thorin was already rounding on Dori and Ori. "Did you think I would not notice?"
Ori shrank back, hands clutched anxiously in front of his chest.
Dori shifted nervously but took a half step forward, drawing Thorin's attention away from his younger brother. "You haven't eaten for days, Your Majesty, and-"
"And you decided to act." Thorin finished darkly. "To move against your king."
Things had gone very wrong, very quickly.
The stew was sloshing, the bowl wobbling in Bilbo's grip. "Thorin." Bilbo reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing the heavy fur of Thorin's cloak. "Thorin. It's only ste-"
Thorin snatched the bowl from his hand, throwing it to the ground. Stew spattered over the dais, the bowl hitting stone with a clunk and bouncing high out on to the gold where the Company had stopped searching.
"They have taken it." Thorin spoke with dark conviction. "Taken it and now they seek to take the rest."
Dori's eyes were large, his face pale. But he pulled himself upright, a dignified facade as he answered the accusation. "Your Majesty. We would never-"
"I will not tolerate disloyalty!" Thorin spat out. Before anyone could move, he had drawn his sword. The long blade cutting up across Dori's chest. Blood spurting up in a high jetting arc.
Bilbo stood stunned. Dori. No-
Dori fell back, collapsing onto the dais, blood staining his silver hair.
"Dori!" Ori's eyes were wide with horror as he ran forward.
He never made it to Dori's side.
Bilbo's eyes squeezed shut against the spray, and flinched at the impact. A thousand warm droplets painting his face and chest.
No. Thorin wouldn’t do this. He wouldn't kill Ori over a bowl of stew-
There was shouting.
Bilbo pried his eyes open, the lashes heavy and wet. Dwalin stood facing Thorin, an arm held out to hold Kili back. Fili was pale faced, a hand holding tightly to one of Kili's arms.
And Thorin faced them with a bloody sword. Madness glittering in his eyes and suspicion shuttering his expression.
Bilbo drew in a deep breath. And stepped forward.
~x~X~x~
Bilbo woke with a start. The acorn in his pocket, pressing hard into his side.
Alfrid kicked the door at his scream.
~x~X~x~
He couldn’t break Thorin free of his madness.
But Bilbo might be able to prevent his death.
~x~X~x~
On to Chapter Five
~x~X~x~
Author(s): Flakedice
Artist(s):
charlies_dragon, penumbria_fics and croix_souillees Fandom(s): The Hobbit
Type: Slash
Rating: Mature
Word Count/Art type: 44,550 words
Characters/Pairings: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Warnings/Spoilers: major character death, graphic violence, gore, torture, psychological torture, ptsd, (tiny bit of) self-harm, suicide (sort of), mental illness (Please highlight to read)
Summary: Bilbo wakes up in Dale. With the memory of a battle won but lives lost, he finds an army of Men and Elves readying to attack Erebor. Bilbo tries to save his dwarves. Again and again.
MANY PATHS
CHAPTER IV
"What if we tried to break him free from the gold sickness?" If Thorin were in his right mind, they could come to an agreement with Bard and Thranduil. Well, with Bard.
Balin shook his head, an aged hand smoothing fretfully over an ancient tome. "Dragon sickness is not so easily lifted." He shook his head. "We tried with Thror."
But Thorin was not his grandfather. Bilbo had seen him free of the sickness, broken free of his own strength of will. He had seen Thorin surfacing even when the gold's pull had been at its height.
"I have seen him struggle against it." Bilbo spoke, his words filled with passion enough to lift Balin's head. But Bilbo had steadily been losing his staid Baggins respectability. If he had every truly possessed it. "When he is reminded of better things, I have seen a change. A return of warmth and reason." He drew himself up. "Better to make an attempt than to let Thorin continue as he is."
Balin was silent for a long moment, fixing Bilbo with a considering stare. Finally he gave a small nod. "You might be right, laddie." He straightened and heaved a deep sigh. "Aye, it's worth a try."
Relief unwound muscles strung tight. He hadn’t been certain Balin would agree.
It was Dwalin who thrust the broach into his hands. A rough handover he hid with his body as they made their way down to the throne room.
Bilbo tucked it up one sleeve, only daring to pull it out when Thorin was occupied with the search for the Arkenstone, wading through gold and jewels.
Bilbo turned it over in his hands. A heavy angular piece with a large yellow stone in its centre and two slightly smaller stones to either side. But for all its size and weight, there was a delicacy to it. A hundred tiny prongs grasped the gems in a delicate basket; a fine tracery of small silver beads formed radiating lines that surrounded the stones like rays of the sun. The pin itself was a thin needle of matchless silver, untouched by age or neglect.
Even Bilbo, who had little knowledge of gems and jewels, could see it was a kingly gift.
A sudden shadow cast over the gold, the air warming behind him. Bilbo's ears twitched.
"What have you there?" Thorin's voice was flat.
Bilbo licked his lips. Closed his eyes to steel himself for a moment. He turned to find Thorin standing behind him, eyes fixed on his hand.
Bilbo slowly unfurled his fingers, revealing the broach.
Thorin stilled. He stared, transfixed.
"I'm no judge of craftsmanship," Bilbo ventured, keeping a cautious eye on Thorin's expression. "But I suspect it holds some significance." He shifted uneasy in the face of Thorin's blank expression. "Some great worth."
He held out the broach.
Thorin slowly reached out. The broach looked ridiculously fragile in his large hands
"It is worthy of a queen." Thorin said quietly. "So my father said when he presented it to my mother."
The broach had belonged to Thorin's mother. Bilbo held his breath.
Thorin stared down at the piece, eye soft with memory, the harsh lines of his face smoothing.
"She must have been very beautiful." Bilbo ventured.
A smile appeared, wide and warm.
Very beautiful if Thorin had inherited her smile.
"She was not a great beauty." Thorin spoke softly, a finger gently tracing over the centremost stone. "But she shone like mithril in torchlight and had a will of iron."
Bilbo smiled. "Much like her son."
Thorin's head shot up, eyes wide.
There was a clatter. Thorin's eyes shot sideways at the sound, growing distant and cold as gold met his gaze.
"We have no time for distractions." Thorin carelessly thrust the broach back at Bilbo.
Bilbo hastily grabbed the precious piece to stop it falling.
Thorin stalked along the dais, the broach forgotten. "The Arkenstone must be found."
Bilbo stared after him, broach clasped in his hands. He finally glanced out at the treasure.
Balin had drawn close to watch Thorin's reaction. His face crumbled at Thorin's dismissal. He gave Bilbo a hopeless look and returned to the hoard, poking through the coins with slumped shoulders.
Dwalin, expressionless, dug among the gold coins more harshly. Gold coins flying up in an angry arc.
Thorin lay still on the ice, blood a widening stain that soaked the fur of his coat.
Bilbo fell to his knees at Thorin's side. Reached out and laid a shaking hand to his still chest.
He searched Thorin's face, unable to see anything but a horrible blankness that was worse than dragon sickness.
Throat tight, Bilbo leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Thorin's. "I'm sorry."
He pulled the broach out from the neck of his shirt, placing it on Thorin's chest and folding his large fingers around it.
Tomorrow. He would try again tomorrow.
Balin shook his head. "You tried, laddie." He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, watching Thorin pace across the gold far below. "No one can ask any more than that."
Bilbo stared down at Thorin. Still fixated on the Arkenstone, still caught by the gleam of gold.
His appeals had been for nothing. Not even the mention of his sister and sister-sons had made any difference. Thorin was held in thrall to the gold around him.
"Only Thorin can pull himself free of the sickness.” Balin's eyes were filled with despair as he turned away. “Until then he is still our king. We must obey his orders."
He didn't believe Thorin would, Bilbo realized. Had anyone seen those hard earned moments when Thorin had come back to himself? Had it only been him?
Bilbo's gaze returned to Thorin as Balin walked away. He had managed to reach Thorin, if only for a moment.
He might still be able.
Thorin was still pacing across the gold when Bilbo found him, his heavy coat falling heavy around his legs. The gold chinked and slid under his shoes.
"Thorin."
Thorin turned, swinging around to face Bilbo. He stared at him, eyebrows lowering. "Master Baggins."
He hadn’t heard Thorin call him by his name for days. Weeks. He missed it. The lack pained him almost as much as the distance in Thorin’s eyes.
“If there is to be battle, you must keep up your strength.” The rest of the Company had eaten. Settling aside a share for their king if he cared to eat it.
And Bilbo. He hadn’t been able to stomach anything.
Thorin gave him a dismissive look. “I am not hungry.” His voice darkened. “I am not so easily distracted from my duty.” His gaze fixed on the upper hallway where the rest of the Company had retreated.
“In the Shire eating is regarded as a duty.” Bilbo rocked on his heels, uncertain under Thorin’s returned gaze. “Feeding one’s family even more so.”
Thorin stared at him for a moment. And then a small smile crossed his face, his eyes lightening. “Your duty?”
Bilbo nodded, drawing himself up self-importantly. It felt a strange, unfamiliar action. “Of course. Caring for those dear to us is the most important task a hobbit has.”
Thorin blinked.
“As dwarves believe if the Company is any indication.” Bilbo continued. “They worry about you.”
A hint of uncertainty entered Thorin’s eyes.
"Any of the Company would die for you." Bilbo said firmly. He held Thorin's gaze, clear for this short moment, of any sickness. "I would die for you."
And have done.
Thorin expression softened into a look of open fondness. "I would not see it come to that." He took a step closer, large and warm. "No army of elves or men will reach the heart of the mountain.”
His hand reached out and cupped Bilbo’s shoulder, engulfing the joint protectively. “And no harm will come to you here.” His eyes narrowed. "The others-"
He was losing him. Bilbo stepped forward, close, almost as close as their embrace long ago on the Carrock.
Or in the grip Thorin had held him on the gate.
Bilbo pushed the thought away. "Love you as their kin. Their king." He pressed a hand to Thorin’s chest, hoping to see the return of some of the tenderness he had shown.
Hard hands caught him and pulled him away. Thorin stared down at him, eyes glittering and hard. "You speak with a golden tongue. Never have you spoken so to me." Suspicion lit in his eyes.
"I care for you." Bilbo refused to look away, knowing Thorin would see it as an admission of guilt. "I worry that you neglect yourself."
Thorin stared at him for a long moment. But finally he gave a small scoff, his grip loosening. "Do not underestimate the hardiness of dwarves. It would take more than a lack of meals to weaken me."
He released Bilbo. "Call the others. We must make the most of our time."
Bilbo slowly walked away, casting glances over his shoulder. Heart sinking with defeat.
There was no getting through to Thorin now.
He smothered the thought that it only seemed to be getting worse.
"It's no trick." Bilbo stepped forward in resignation, not willing to let the blame fall on anyone else. "I gave it to them."
Thorin turned, fixing Bilbo with a disturbing stare Bilbo had never seen before.
"What do you say, King Under the Mountain?" Bard's voice rang out, drawing Thorin's attention back to the army gathered below.
Bard tossed the Arkenstone into the air. It was a casual, almost mocking gesture. But it did not end the way Bard intended.
The glowing stone slipped from his fingers. Fell to shatter on the ground near his horse's hooves.
For a moment there was silence. Bard staring at the shattered gem in horror, Thranduil's expression one of shock.
The Company was utterly still, staring down at the glittering shards scattered before the gate.
With a sense of growing dread, Bilbo looked to Thorin.
The dwarf was like a statue, not even breathing.
And then he turned, his glittering eyes fixed on Bilbo.
There was madness in his gaze. As if the breaking of the Arkenstone had severed what grasp he had held to his former self.
Bilbo automatically stepped back even before Thorin started to advance.
"You have brought this upon me." Thorin's voice was a harsh whisper. "It has been you all along."
Bilbo backed up, away from the wall that Thorin had tried to throw him from dozens of times.
"You and your lying golden tongue!" Thorin drew his sword, throwing off his nephews’ clutching hands.
Bilbo backed away. This was not the Thorin he knew. This was not-
Thorin moved fast. His sword even faster.
It took Bilbo a long time to gather the courage to face Thorin again. He kept seeing the fury that had flooded Thorin's eyes, turning them a brittle pale sky blue. The betrayal that had twisted his face.
The vicious swipe of his sword.
Bilbo found himself flinching away, cringing when Thorin's gaze fell on him.
And the rest of the Company was beginning to notice.
"Master Baggins." Bilbo barely restrained his flinch.
Thorin stared at him, suspicion slowly growing. "You have been uncommonly quiet of late."
Bilbo was aware that the Company had slowed in their search, glancing up to watch the conversation between their king and burglar.
"Have I?" The question sounded unconvincing to this own ears.
Thorin stepped closer.
Bilbo shifted, suppressing the growing urge to retreat.
Thorin stopped, barely a foot away. He stared for a long moment, eyes fixed on Bilbo's face. "You are uneasy among us."
Bilbo couldn't help himself. His gaze flickered out to the treasury, searching for an escape route.
The ring sat heavy in his pocket.
Thorin's eyes narrowed. He glanced out at the rest of the Company, his expression growing dark.
Bilbo knew what was on his mind. Betrayal.
"Thorin." Thorin's gaze returned to him and Bilbo licked his bottom lip, a nervous tic he had never been able to check. "Our food supplies are growing low-" He broke off, staring in disbelief.
Thorin was smiling. His look of suspicion had faded into amusement.
It had been a long time since Thorin had looked at him like that.
"Fear not, Master Burglar." His lips curled up in amusement as he set a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "We will not let you starve."
Bilbo gave him a weak smile.
"When Erebor is secure, you will be able to eat whatever you wish." Thorin's smile faded. "The men and elves will not linger for much longer." His hand tightened on Bilbo's shoulder for a moment before slipping free. "If they do not leave of their own accord then we will make them."
Bilbo stood on the dais, dull despair filling his heart as he watched Thorin walk away. There would be war.
There was.
~x~X~x~
Bilbo paused as he entered the communal room the Company had claimed as their own. The fire was lit, as it always was, but there was a dwarf sitting by the fire.
Bifur. Knife and a half-carved block of wood in hand.
The fire was a beckoning spot of warmth and Bilbo slowly made his way over, sinking down onto an old pillow that had been placed by the fire.
Bifur looked up as Bilbo sat and gave a small nod before turning back to his carving.
Bilbo stared into the flames, soaking up the warmth and enjoying the rare moment of calm. He would have to seek out Thorin soon. Try to find a way to break him free of the dragon sickness.
Somehow.
He sat, listening to the measured scrapping as Bifur carved small curls of wood from the figure forming in his hands.
"Has he eaten?" The words slipped out before Bilbo could stop them.
Bifur glanced up, his dark eyes reflecting the dancing flames, and shook his head, expression lacking its usually fierceness.
He hadn't thought so. If there wasn't a battle on the morrow, Bilbo suspected Thorin actually would have managed to starve himself.
Bilbo watched the flames. He was tired and the fire was comfortable. And just for once, he wanted to enjoy it.
It was a burst of Khuzdul that jerked him out of his daze. Bilbo looked over to see Bifur holding out a closed hand.
Bilbo looked at Bofur uncertainly. But after another burst of Khuzdul and a gesture from Bifur with his closed hand, he hesitantly reached forward.
Bifur pressed something into Bilbo's palm with large and gentle fingers. He spoke again, something soft, and pressed the object into Bilbo palm once more before withdrawing his hand.
Bilbo looked down at what Bifur had just given him. It was a dwarven figure. A dwarf with long hair, a sword in one hand, a long thick branch held in the other.
"Thorin?" Bilbo looked up at Bifur for confirmation.
Bifur nodded. Raised the hand that held the knife and slapped his forearm with his other hand.
Oakenshield.
Bilbo turned the small figure over in his hands. Saw the wavy lines Bifur had carved into his hair, the repeating pattern of his mail and the ruff of fur at his collar. The small Thorin stood proudly, eyes intent under their carven brows.
A warrior. With nothing to indicate his noble heritage. No crown, no elaborate armour. It was how Bofur still saw Thorin.
The Thorin they had all followed on this quest.
He was still there. He just had to be reminded of that. Reminded that it was Thorin Oakenshield that they had followed on this quest.
That it was the dwarf, not the king, who had earned their loyalty.
Thorin stood on one of the walkways overlooking the throne room.
For a moment, Bilbo hesitated, wary of the change. But finally he padded forward, feet silent on stone. “Thorin?” He called out before he got to close, not wanting to startle Thorin.
For both their sakes.
“Master Baggins.” Thorin didn’t turn, staring down at the gold below.
Bilbo fought back a wave of despair. He stepped closer, creeping forward much in the way he had approached Smaug. “Did you rest?” He doubted it.
Thorin cast him a glance over his shoulder, eyes glittering over the fur of his coat briefly before he turned back to the treasure below. “There is no rest when the Arkenstone has not been found.”
And there would be nothing Bilbo could say to convince Thorin otherwise. He felt the figure Bifur had given him, resting in his waistcoat pocket and pressing gently against his side. “Why is the Arkenstone so important? Is it not enough that you have driven out Smaug and reclaimed the mountain?”
Thorin stilled. He turned to face Bilbo, his eyes dark and searching. As if he suspected mockery or some ploy. His expression relaxed slightly as it became clear Bilbo’s question had been in earnest. “It is a symbol of my kingship.” Thorin’s eyes glittered. “The Heart of the Mountain, which came to the King of Erebor. The King’s Jewel. Its possession gives its bearer the power to unite the seven dwarven kingdoms.”
Bilbo had never understood how the other dwarven kingdoms hadn’t given their support for the quest. Thorin’s longing for his lost home had been enough to convince Bilbo, to change his mind when reason and Baggins propriety had told him to refuse. He had faced a dragon for Thorin Oakenshield and his Company, not a dwarven king.
Thorin had always been more than a king.
“Thorin Oakenshield doesn’t need a jewel to show his worthiness.” Bilbo said quietly, holding Thorin’s gaze.
Thorin’s brows lowered, his eyes narrowing.
But Bilbo didn’t let him speak. “Thorin Oakenshield led his people to safety after their home had been lost to dragon fire.” His voice grew stronger as he willed Thorin to hear him. “It was Thorin Oakenshield who defeated Azog the Defiler at the Battle of Azanulbizar.”
Thorin stared at him, mouth parted slightly.
“It was not a king who won the loyalty of twelve dwarves brave enough to face a dragon when no one else in Middle Earth would even think it.” Bilbo’s voice softened. “It was Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf I followed out of Bag End.”
Thorin’s eyes glistened.
“The dwarf who dared to face Smaug.” Bilbo continued. “Who took back Erebor.”
“Thorin Oakenshield who failed his people!” The words burst from Thorin’s mouth in a pained shout. “Thorin Oakenshield who wandered across Arda like a beggar, his people destitute and dying! Turned away by all we met.” His voice lowered to a ragged whisper. “Even our own kin.”
“Thorin.” Bilbo reached for his arm, throat tight.
Thorin straightened, pulling back out of reach. “But I am king now.” Thorin’s voice darkened. “And all will know it.”
The figurine was gone when Bilbo woke up in Dale, his pocket empty except for the acorn and the ring.
Its loss was like a wound, a space scraped raw.
The Company worked in shifts. There were always several dwarves working in the treasury, searching for the Arkenstone.
When Bilbo made his way to the room the Company had cleared, he found Bombur and the ‘Ri brothers. Bombur was stirring the stew pot hung over the fire. The others were seated at the table. Dori had found a teapot somewhere and was pouring a cup. Ori was scribbling in one of his journals while Nori idly flipped a small knife between his fingers.
Dori looked up with a smile. "Master Baggins? Could I interest you in some tea?"
Tea. It felt like he hadn't had any tea in years.
"Yes, thank you, Dori." Bilbo took a seat at the table, Ori giving him a smile and Nori a nod.
"I found it among the stores. Sealed tight and still fresh." Dori prattled as he filled another cup. "It's not camomile," he gave a small sigh, "but it's a good Harad brew."
Bilbo accepted the offered cup with thanks. For a moment he simply cradled it, inhaling the gentle aroma of the pale brew.
He drank, feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders unwind at the familiar ritual.
"Maybe we should find something to give Thorin," Bilbo suggested tiredly.
There was a clatter. Eyes wide, Bombur hastily reached out for his spoon before it could be lost in the stew.
Bilbo looked around to find the ‘Ri brothers staring at him, just as shocked.
"To help him relax." Bilbo hastened to clarify. From the looks they were giving him, it was as if he had suggested poison. "He needs rest." And if he had time to relax, he might be able to break free of the dragon sickness more easily.
Dori still looked scandalised and Ori's eyes were wide. But Nori had a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Might be a battle tomorrow." Nori's knife twirled through his fingers. "Thorin hasn't slept for days."
Dori frowned but it was an expression of worry. His gaze fell to the teapot. "When did he last eat?"
It was Bombur who replied, voice soft as he bent over the stew pot. "The night we entered the mountain."
Ori blinked. "But that was four days ago."
Dori's frown deepened. He turned toward Bombur. "Bombur, another bowl, please."
Bilbo found himself bringing Thorin a bowl of stew. Not for the first time. But now he had Dori and Ori trailing behind him, Dori walking with brisk steps and Ori scurrying along in his wake.
Bilbo concentrated on not spilling the soup rather than the reception that might await them. Thorin's gold sickness made him unpredictable from day to day. Bilbo only hoped that this encounter wouldn't be one of the dangerous ones.
Gold glittered, a shimmering wave that almost swamped the throne room. Bilbo walked along the walkway the Company had cleared, heading towards the throne where Thorin stood.
Thorin turned at his arrival, eyes fixing on Bilbo before narrowing and turning from Dori to Ori.
Bilbo didn't like the way he looked at them.
"Thorin." Bilbo made his way closer, each step slow and careful. "I brought you dinner."
Thorin's eyes narrowed as he approached. "Did you make it?" His gaze slid sideways. "Or someone else?"
"Thorin, there's nothing wrong with the stew." Thorin's gaze swung toward Bilbo, eyes wild. "Look." Bilbo took up the spoon. "I'll try it if you-"
The spoon clattered to the ground.
Thorin stood in front of him, chest heavying. "Do not touch it!" The words were rasped out.
Bilbo stood stunned. Bowl still clasped in one hand the other still hovering limply above it.
Thorin was already rounding on Dori and Ori. "Did you think I would not notice?"
Ori shrank back, hands clutched anxiously in front of his chest.
Dori shifted nervously but took a half step forward, drawing Thorin's attention away from his younger brother. "You haven't eaten for days, Your Majesty, and-"
"And you decided to act." Thorin finished darkly. "To move against your king."
Things had gone very wrong, very quickly.
The stew was sloshing, the bowl wobbling in Bilbo's grip. "Thorin." Bilbo reached out with his other hand, fingers brushing the heavy fur of Thorin's cloak. "Thorin. It's only ste-"
Thorin snatched the bowl from his hand, throwing it to the ground. Stew spattered over the dais, the bowl hitting stone with a clunk and bouncing high out on to the gold where the Company had stopped searching.
"They have taken it." Thorin spoke with dark conviction. "Taken it and now they seek to take the rest."
Dori's eyes were large, his face pale. But he pulled himself upright, a dignified facade as he answered the accusation. "Your Majesty. We would never-"
"I will not tolerate disloyalty!" Thorin spat out. Before anyone could move, he had drawn his sword. The long blade cutting up across Dori's chest. Blood spurting up in a high jetting arc.
Bilbo stood stunned. Dori. No-
Dori fell back, collapsing onto the dais, blood staining his silver hair.
"Dori!" Ori's eyes were wide with horror as he ran forward.
He never made it to Dori's side.
Bilbo's eyes squeezed shut against the spray, and flinched at the impact. A thousand warm droplets painting his face and chest.
No. Thorin wouldn’t do this. He wouldn't kill Ori over a bowl of stew-
There was shouting.
Bilbo pried his eyes open, the lashes heavy and wet. Dwalin stood facing Thorin, an arm held out to hold Kili back. Fili was pale faced, a hand holding tightly to one of Kili's arms.
And Thorin faced them with a bloody sword. Madness glittering in his eyes and suspicion shuttering his expression.
Bilbo drew in a deep breath. And stepped forward.
Bilbo woke with a start. The acorn in his pocket, pressing hard into his side.
Alfrid kicked the door at his scream.
He couldn’t break Thorin free of his madness.
But Bilbo might be able to prevent his death.
~x~X~x~
On to Chapter Five
~x~X~x~
