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a slow low note and an iron bell

Summary:

Thorin was falling. Thorin was falling. There was no way to catch him, no way to save him from that height. Nothing but Bilbo. Bilbo, who had to fall once more.

So Bilbo did the only thing he could think to do. He took one step. Two. Then a third. Then he was leaping from that platform, everything lighting up around him as he slipped from the in between and back into the world once more.

 

“Thorin! Take my hand!”

Notes:

Here's the next part in the passing of mysteries series! I hope you all enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

          Getting their hands on Gandalf was turning out to be far more difficult than any of them had thought. Bilbo had been with Fortinbras as the Bounders came in with report after report, talking about the Men and elves that had arrived, about how tensions were rising and how the stores the dwarves had were starting to run low. The Bounders also came back with reports saying that none of their feet were splitting open anymore and that they had heard from some of the cooks in the kitchens that all of the hobbits of the Shire had been named dwarf-friends of Erebor, welcome in the Mountain's halls for now until forever more.

          That information had called a council of the widows – yet again – and in a closed door meeting with them and the matriarchs of the clans, some sort of decision had been made. Lalia had been the one to inform Fortinbras that their Farmers could start to portion out the stores to see what kind of return gifts they could give to their new neighbors. They had also been told that because the dwarves had named them friends, had gifted them a place, like the Shire had been, then it was to Bilbo's Thorin that their loyalty would lay.

         Bilbo had blushed at that. For that wording was how Lalia said the widows had proclaimed it. Bilbo's Thorin. What a dream that would be. He had been forced to inform the ladies that Thorin was by no means his, and that with Thorin came a Dwalin, and. Well. Widow Layflower had given him such a stare that Bilbo had felt his toes curling...right until she had let out such a sigh and went back to her knitting. The project on her lap had expanded much in the day or so since Bilbo had seen it last, with all of the widows beginning to work on it in one of the strange halls that were starting to form in the in between.

          But widow's work was not for him to know, so Bilbo had to set his curiosity aside.

          More worryingly one of the Bounders had came upon a dwarf lingering about Thorin's rooms one night when Bilbo had been in yet another meeting with the Thain and the widows. Bilbo had just agreed to look over the Baggins store rooms when one of the Bounders had come in to report that they had clipped a dwarf over the head outside of Thorin's rooms and then run for it when it had caused a bit of a mess.

          “But why did you hit him?” Fortinbras frowned at the lad.

          “The cup,” the Bounder said, wringing his hands together. “It had a badcap sheen to it. I was told only us could eat those,” he said. “Was I wrong?”

          Bilbo had wanted to run out of the door that moment but Fortinbras held him back. A different Bounder had come back with the cup and indeed there was the sheen of the kind of mushrooms that only hobbits could eat left inside.

         “What is going on,” Bilbo had rubbed his hands over his face.

          “No more interacting with any of them,” Fortinbras laid down the law.

          “But this was an assassination attempt!” Bilbo turned to his cousin.

          Fortinbras made a face. “If they're in need of saving, then we act. Otherwise we leave them alone until we can talk to the wizard and sort this all out, dwarf-friend or not. Something strange is going on in these halls.”

          Bilbo hadn't been best pleased with that, but what could he do? Fortinbras was his cousin, yes, but he was also Bilbo's Thain and Bilbo would never undermine him like that.

          Even if Bilbo wanted to kick him.

          The next day came with even more eventful news. “New report,” came one of the Bounders just as Bilbo was about to leave Fortinbras' smial. The young one was a bit wide-eyed. “It's a big one.”

          Bilbo sat back down in his chair.

          “Go on,” Fortinbras said from his chair by the fire.

         “An elf lady came today,” the Bounder had his hat crushed together in his hands. “She said that some people were comin' from over the sea. Made it seem real important like.”

          “From over the sea?” Bilbo sat up at that.

          “Yessir. She called 'em emissaries from Valinori or something.”

          “Valinor?” Bilbo choked on the name.

          “Yessir, that's it, sir.”

          “Thank you, Nim,” Fortinbras said. The young Bounder bobbed a bow at them and nipped back out the door as quick as he came. “Talk to me, Bilbo.”

         “Valinor?” Bilbo rubbed a shaking hand over his face.

          “Bilbo.”

          “It's the Great West,” he translated for his cousin. He looked up to see Fortinbras miss his mouth with the stem of his pipe and poke himself in the cheek. “Emissaries from the Great West are coming here.”

          “Here,” he breathed. They looked at each other.

          “Lalia needs to know,” Bilbo said.

         “The widows,” Fortinbras blanched. “Oh. No.”

          Bilbo felt much the same. “Things are becoming very strange.”

         “Becoming?”

          “Fortinbras – Fortinbras – hey, hey! Stop smacking me with your pipe! Fortinbras!”

 

 

 

 

         As it turned out Lalia and the widows had been told the news first, which was a relief to Bilbo since it meant that at least he did not have to deliver the news to them himself. Which also meant that he now had the time to try and get close to his dwarves and perhaps even try to pin down Gandalf for a word or four.

          Which was easier said than done.

          Bilbo had crept out with Holman Cotton into the camps, but even he could see that getting any of his Company alone was going to be a Quest in and of itself. They did get a chance to nip some of the herbs from Lord Elrond's stash to help their own healers in their halls, which in turn helped heal up Bilbo's arm in a jiffy. Bilbo had toyed with the idea of popping into a tent with only a couple elves, but even he could tell that it was a bad idea from the way even Master Erestor and Lord Elrond were starting to wear swords buckled at their sides.

          Botheration.

          More and more of their people started to stalk the tents of the men, elves, and dwarves, looking for what was setting them all on edge. No one could spot a thing, which in turn made the widows mutter in ways none of them liked. Bilbo had chewed on his thumbnail as he stood outside a room where Thorin and Dáin were having a very loud argument in, the politics of the dwarven nations starting to become more clear bit by bit. Bilbo had been relieved when he had first seen Dáin and his army come to Thorin's aid during the Battle of Five Armies, but his relief had been swiftly replaced by a growing dismay at the way Dáin was speaking to Thorin.

         And the less said about what Dáin said about Bilbo, the better.

          If Bilbo didn't know better, it almost sounded like Dáin and his people were becoming touched with the gold-sickness that had taken Thorin and his Company. But that was impossible, since the widows had snipped that right out of the Mountain with their golden shears.

          Wasn't it?

         But Fortinbras and Lalia had put their foot down about any of them showing themselves to anyone Outside and not even Bilbo was willing to break that rule. That meant Bilbo and the other Bounders, plus a few Farmers and some of the Cooks, were starting to poke about the encampments outside the gates to figure out just where they could all help, even if they could not be seen. The Cooks had set up grow caves for mushrooms and had separated all the ones edible for Men and the other races for their new neighbors to have. The Farmers were a bit sour about handing over some of their root-stock, but Bilbo had finally had time to go inspect the Baggins food stores and noted that there must have been a bumper crop since all of the cold rooms were packed to the brim.

          “It were a strange summer,” Hamfast Gamgee said, rubbing at his chin as he stood next to Bilbo at the door to the cold room. “Never seen the like of it before. All of 'em stores are just like this, packed to the brim. We'll have to keep a good eye on it, since spoilin' is bound to happen.”

         “And the seed stock?” Bilbo reached down to pick up an apple from one of the crates before he backed out of the door and let it shut with a thunk. Their cold rooms had never been so large before, either. Perhaps it had something to do with being in between.

          “Lots of seed, plenty to start up a'new,” Hamfast sighed. “Pity we lost the orchards, though. That'll take a good while to get back.”

          Bilbo felt his shoulders sag. “Indeed,” he murmured. He looked down at the apple in his hand. “We'll have seeds, at least,” he tossed it to Hamfast who caught it with a snort.

         Except when Hamfast touched the apple a swirl of green something spun about his hands. Hamfast dropped the apple with a shout but as they watched the apple fall the flesh of the fruit shifted and instead of bruised apple that landed on the floor...a small sapling slapped the ground instead.

          “What in all the green hills,” Hamfast said, holding his hands out away from his body, eyes a touch too wide.

         There were a number of other hobbits in the in between hall with them. Bilbo alone was the one to move, kneeling next to the sapling and picking it up with shaking fingers. Even to his own senses the plant felt... alive in a way that felt full of promise and vigor.

          “Perhaps we won't have a problem with the orchards after all,” he said before someone went running for the widows once more.

          After that all the Gardeners were brought to the different storage rooms and put to the test. Hamfast Gamgee was by far the best of them all to coax plants to life from the fruits and vegetables that had been packed away. Fortinbras did not even have to say a word before all the Gardeners were grabbing what fruits and stock they could and heading out onto the hills about Erebor with a fire lit in their eyes. By the turn of a single day the entire southern side of the Mountain had been planted with a vast number of fruit trees and shrubs and who knew what else. Bilbo had joined in the help handing off crates for the other runners that were taking them out to the Gardeners, lending a hand where it was needed most.

          It had been an eventful day or two.

         All that fuss meant Bilbo had little time to focus on his – on Thorin and Dwalin, so when he did get a chance to seek them out once more it was to see all the dwarves gathering deep into the mountain where some sort of ceremony was starting.

         Bilbo had hung back, not sure if he was allowed to see such things. A part of him wanted to step away, to give the dwarves their privacy for their Rites, as he should have...but a stronger part of him kept him there, creeping closer and closer in the in between until he was standing near Thorin and his Company, taking them all in.

         For the first time since they had reached the Mountain Bilbo felt comfortable to be near them once more. Knowing...knowing that they did not hate him, that they did not blame him, that they missed him, even with what he had done...it had soothed some deep ache in his heart that he had been too scared to look at before. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch them but he kept his hands to himself. Instead he had hunkered down at the side of the platform and took in the strange songs and the glowing light, cataloging all the changes that had happened to his Company since he had properly seen them last.

         Thorin and Dwalin looked far too tired. It made Bilbo want to fuss at them, tuck them into bed and feed them properly. Fíli and Kíli were at Thorin's side, fidgeting a bit, but always in place when Dwalin glanced over at them. Balin looked just as frail as Bilbo had seen him last, tired in a way that put a frown on Bilbo's face. Bofur was near the back with Bifur and Bombur, all of them looking a bit uncomfortable but each time one of Dáin's people gave them a look Bofur's chin went up and his shoulders went back. Glóin and Óin were next to Balin, the both of them with their eyes closed as Thorin was, palms upturned as they murmured along with the rest of their people. Ori was sniffing and using his sleeves to wipe at his face as the songs grew louder, while Dori put an arm about his brother's shoulders to pull him close. And Nori...

          Nori was staring right at Bilbo.

         Bilbo blinked, his heart catching in his throat. Had he...had he slipped out of the in between ? But that had never happened before! But just as Bilbo began to panic he realized that Nori wasn't looking at him...but at the dwarf right in front of Bilbo, who had been creeping forward as steadily as Bilbo had before, until he was right behind the boys to Thorin's left.

          That was...odd.

         The dwarf was not one Bilbo recognized but from his fine clothes and the jewels dripping from his neck and in his hair, the fellow was a noble of some sort. Perhaps one of the Iron Hills lot? But why was he trying to get close to the boys? Bilbo did not like that at all. Not with what they had heard about these Iron Hills folk, who were trying to say that Fíli should not inherit the throne of Erebor simply because he was Thorin's nephew.

         Just as Bilbo was trying to figure out how best to pull that noble back – just in case – the worst happened. For it was not the boys that this strange dwarf targeted. Oh, no. It was Thorin. Before Bilbo could move that dwarf darted forward, just as Nori let out a cry when the song swelled and filled the entire cavern with a deafening low note, that dwarf got his hands on Thorin's back...

         And pushed.

         Something cracked through Bilbo like a bell at the sight. Thorin was falling. Thorin was falling. There was no way to catch him, no way to save him from that height. Nothing but Bilbo. Bilbo, who had to fall once more.

         So Bilbo did the only thing he could think to do. He took one step. Two. Then a third. Then he was leaping from that platform, everything lighting up around him as he slipped from the in between and back into the world once more.

         “Thorin! Take my hand!

 

 

~*~

 

 

          All Thorin could see was Bilbo. His hand was warm in Thorin's, palm to palm, and fingers curled tight. All the world felt...strange about him, like he was spinning, like this strange fall into the heart of the Mountain would go on forever. Perhaps it was a blessing from his Maker. Perhaps there would be no pain when they hit the bottom, that they were given this impossible, infinite fall instead.

          Thorin pulled Bilbo to him, holding his One in his arms at last. “Bilbo,” he whispered, reveling at the warmth of his One against him, at the way Bilbo's arms went about his neck, how they were pressed cheek to cheek in a holy kiss.

          Thorin did not expect his Bilbo to say, “Brace yourself,” and then that strange fall twisted around them, hurling Thorin's stomach into his throat and making his head spin as if he had emptied every barrel of ale in all of Arda all at once.

          “Bilbo,” he managed to gasp out.

         Warm hands touched his face. “Everything is going to be all right,” his Bilbo whispered. Then it felt as if...as if something had grabbed them, some great force just scooped them up in it's hand and then –

          That was the last Thorin knew.

 

 

Notes:

you can find me at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jezebel-rising