Chapter Text
Everything seemed so neatly polished Bilbo almost couldn’t stand it. The very stones seemed to gleam with the attention given to them, and the mountain had come alive in such a short time. It seemed almost like yesterday when they had begun cleaning and preparing the mountain for the great celebration.
It felt like yesterday for a great many other things, too.
Ten years. Ten years of rule, and shortly after that, of marriage. Something fluttered in his breast at the thought, and he reached out to steady himself on the rail as he stared down at the comings and goings of the kingdom. All of the dwarves below were moving as if the very stones compelled them to, racing with goods and deliverables, all of them intent on making this a celebration to remember. Erebor, the mountain, seemed to almost breathe with the production going on, the halls glittering and the gold shining. The wind flew above the gates and into the mountain, stirring the various banners and silk flags hanging everywhere. Bilbo stared out into it, entranced, feeling like a child again as he watched Gandalf’s fireworks for the very first time.
It was wondrous. Simply magical. And the knowledge of why it was being done, that it was all to celebrate his incredible husband…it was enough to put a smile on his face and joy in his heart.
“Not s’posed to go wanderin’ off, your majesty.”
Well, that hadn’t taken long.
“Dril, there’s only so much I can do from the chambers,” Bilbo said, attempting to keep the irritation from his voice. “I wanted to see what was going on.”
“Which is all fine and well, but his majesty the King was going to come meet you, as it were.” The large dwarf gave a wink. “And he doesn’t like not findin’ you. Might’ve gone down another rabbit hole.”
Should’ve known it had to do with that air gap. Two years and it was still a point Thorin kept making again and again. “That hole wasn’t anywhere as small as a rabbit hole, and what was I supposed to do? Leave my grand-niece down there?” Still, he was grinning by the time he was finished, and Dril chuckled good-naturedly. That had been an adventure. And Thorin had threatened him for a good week afterwards about braiding bells into his hair in order to keep track of him.
Bilbo wasn’t entirely certain his husband had been joking. And he was certain that if given half a chance, Thorin would have bells made to place in his hair within a day, if he hadn’t made them already.
“Lili’d have found a way out. She’s a rascal, she is.”
That, Bilbo wouldn’t argue with. Hildili was a menace, even more than her older brother. Even at six years of age now, she still had a grin that spelled trouble. “Lili’s got her mother’s spirit and her father’s penchant for mischief, whereas her brother’s got a bit of mischief but more of Fili’s thoughtfulness and Dernwyn’s stubbornness.”
“Just makes ‘em both handfuls. Cute handfuls, mind.”
That was possibly one of the best descriptions of the little ones he’d heard yet. “Why are you really chasing me down?” Bilbo asked, the other conversation having died a natural death. “I’m here, I’m only taking a short break from my ‘royal’ duties which, really, should be in Fili’s hands-“
Dril cleared his throat to interrupt him. Bilbo frowned until he felt two arms wrap around him from behind. “Because I really don’t like not knowing where you are,” Thorin murmured. Dril gave him a quick nod and left them alone to watch the great hall below. “And I don’t like being alone.”
“You were surrounded by the Council; I hardly doubt you were alone. One would think you’d want more time alone after that nonsense.”
Thorin snorted. “They’re getting better. Nadr’s son, Valdr, sat in today.”
“Oh? How was he?”
“Good, very good. He knows the matters well, though his favorite discussion involves the young maidens coming from Rohan. Apparently Dernwyn’s set a very favorable impression with the young dwarves.”
Bilbo laughed, leaning back into his husband. A trail of silver hair fell beside Thorin's marriage braid, and Bilbo slid his finger along it fondly. It wasn’t all silver, not yet. But much of Thorin’s hair had begun to turn and glisten, which left him grumbling more often than not. Bilbo’s hair, on the other hand, was still golden and filled with curls, only serving to annoy his husband further.
Truthfully, there was a small patch going gray at the nape of his neck, hidden beneath his hair. But that no one needed to know about just yet. Especially not Thorin. His husband wouldn’t admit to it, but Thorin would absolutely gloat and they all knew it.
“Why am I being chased down again?” Bilbo asked, a hint of seriousness in his tone.
Thorin let out a sigh and pulled Bilbo deeper into his arms. “You know why,” he said softly.
He did. And he hated, hated, that nothing he could do or say would alleviate his husband’s fears. “Thorin, we’ve had nothing but peace for years now. Years. We have our greatest allies coming to join us at the feast, complete with their own armies, there is absolutely nothing that can go wrong. We’re safe.” He swallowed and let his hand trail behind him from Thorin’s hair up to his cheek. “I’m safe.”
Thorin didn’t answer. Bilbo didn’t speak again: his words could offer no true comfort the way his beating heart and presence could. If Thorin’s grip was a little tighter, hands splayed almost possessively across Bilbo’s chest and midsection, well, he really couldn’t blame his husband. Ten years ago, Bilbo had nearly died to save them all. And only three years after that, he’d nearly been assassinated at the hands of two dwarves aiming to ‘cleanse’ the mountain of the foreigners within. Then only two years ago, there’d been thieves to run out from beneath the mountain. Three had been slain in the short skirmish that followed, and the other two had died in prison by their own hands.
But there had been peace ever since. Mirkwood was all but reclaimed, leaving Legolas the sole heir to the kingdom. King Elessar reported peace along Gondor’s borders. Queen Morwen wrote often to Dernwyn of the good fortunes that had come to the Rohirrim and how Théoden would soon wear the crown. And even now, several brave hobbits were making the journey with dwarven guards to Erebor, just to visit and celebrate ten years of freedom from Mordor, ten years of crowned kings across Middle-Earth, and, more privately, ten years of marriage between one dwarf king and one hobbit formerly of Bag-End.
Peace. They finally had peace.
“Worrier,” Bilbo accused gently. He nudged at Thorin who grunted but didn’t disagree. “And here I thought you had the Guard following me because I was getting over being ill.”
“That was a reason. Just not the principal one. Truthfully, you could do everything you need to from the royal rooms.”
“And miss out on the going-ons of the mountain?”
“Yes,” Thorin said stubbornly. Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Just last week you were so ill you could barely sit up in bed, so I will offer no apologies for being concerned.”
Half the mountain had been ill; Thorin had told him once that dwarves could not be ill, but after continuous contact with men as they traded, the occasional sickness happened. At least Dwalin hadn’t gotten sick this time, as Bilbo’d had no energy to get out of bed and yell at him. Again. “I’m fine, actually. I’m mostly over it. Just a little bit of a cough.” And a random tendency for the room to spin, but that his husband didn’t need to know about. He’d be fine. Oin had said so. …Mostly.
His husband pinned him with a look but, thankfully, said nothing. “You would put my heart more at ease if you were resting,” Thorin said, and Bilbo scowled at him, because that wasn’t fair.
“That’s cheating,” Bilbo mumbled, but Thorin had him and he knew it. If it made his husband happy, no matter what it was, odds were that Bilbo would at least try to do it. Even if it included sitting in the boring main room of the royal wing to satisfy his husband’s worries.
Thorin pressed a kiss against his temple. “If it means you rest without over exerting yourself, then yes, I’ll cheat. Between worrying about someone aiming to make a political statement by hurting you, and then watching you fall ill, more ill than even in Esgaroth so many years ago…”
“Oh, grind it in, why don’t you,” Bilbo grumbled, but he finally leaned back into Thorin with a sigh. His head caused a clinking sound when it met the mithril braided into Thorin’s beard. “I’ll go back to the rooms. I just…wanted to see what was going on. It’s brilliant, all of it to celebrate you.” He couldn’t help the smile that arose. “They’re all here for you. All of them thrilled that you’re their king.”
“They’re also here for you,” Thorin pointed out, but when Bilbo glanced over his shoulder, his dwarf’s face had gone a little pink with embarrassment. “You saved us all, ten years ago. And not a single being here will ever forget it.”
No, Bilbo knew that. Ori had told him that they had begun writing the newest history scrolls, and Bilbo featured prominently alongside the heroic Durins. It was enough to make a hobbit blush. Him in a history book! His mother would never have believed it.
Maybe she would have. Either way, she would’ve laughed and demanded to read it. It made him smile.
“I couldn’t have finished it without you,” Bilbo pointed out. “If you hadn’t carried me…I don’t know what I would’ve done.” Perhaps he would’ve made it. Perhaps he could’ve gotten to the top of Mount Doom on his own.
But he never would’ve had the strength in the very end if it hadn’t been for Thorin’s presence. Even when Bilbo had thought him to just be a hallucination, it had still bolstered his determination and given him the power to push the Ring aside and finish the task. No, Thorin never gave himself enough credit. If Thorin hadn’t arrived, Bilbo was fairly certain that he never would have made it. And if Thorin had never come to Bag-End that one fateful night, Bilbo would never have known just how strong he could be.
Thorin placed another kiss – this one on top of Bilbo’s head – and glanced down at the work below. “It’s lovely to watch,” Bilbo said, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re here with me, so technically, there’s nothing to worry about…”
His husband could sigh like no other. “For a little while,” Thorin acquiesced, and Bilbo grinned.
After the celebration, Thorin would be a lot less worried. And the celebration itself would be beautiful, Thorin would see.
He leaned back into his husband, Thorin’s hands still cradling him, and smiled in contentment.
The forest flew by in a rush as she ran. Everything looked too tall, too dark, and all of it terrifying. Her stomach felt tight, too tight, and she wrapped a hand around it as she hurried on. Branches threatened to trip her or give her away. Leaves rustled in the wind, and there was something important there – a scent, perhaps, her father had always spoken about scents for hunting. But she was the hunted now, and it all faded out of her head because she had blood trailing down her face and spattered across her clothes and her feet were sore and bleeding from the ground.
Through it all, she could hear the screams of those behind her, those she’d abandoned in her attempt to escape.
She kept running.
The trees began to thin and part, leaving her an easier path, and finally she emerged from the woods. The moon wasn’t quite full, but she could still make out the land before her: the city glowing in the distance, the glistening river that crept out of the forest to her right.
And up ahead, the tall mountain that pierced the sky. Erebor.
They had to be closing in, now. With a sob she forced herself onward. She had to make it to Erebor. She had to get help. As terrified and helpless as she was, how were the others faring? No, she was the lucky one. What would Bilbo do?
Bilbo had walked all across Middle-Earth with the world’s worst enemy hanging about his neck, and he was only part Took. She was full-blooded Took, and she could do this.
“Get ‘er!”
She whipped around, her long blonde hair keeping her from seeing before she swiped it from her eyes. There they were, streaming out of the forest after her. Only three had followed her, but they looked as insurmountable as the mountain behind her. She couldn’t fight three, not even with the small blade she’d insisted on carrying.
The sound of racing hooves made her whip back around, terror making her stomach roll. Sweet Eru, had they double-backed to trap her? That was a horse, it was definitely a horse-
A whistle in the air was all the warning she got before those chasing her dropped to the ground. She stared at the arrows, not quite understanding what had happened. None of them moved, and the moon lit the sky just enough for her to see the arrows jutting out from their chests. Dead, they’re dead, they can’t follow you anymore. She forced herself to take in a breath.
“Are you all right?”
She turned, stunned at the voice. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. She spun around and stared at the being she’d long thought of. “Tauriel?” she whispered.
The elf’s eyes went wide with recognition. And that was the last thing she saw before her own eyes fluttered shut and her body simply shut down.
She still heard her name being called in horror.
“Esmeralda?!”
The night was cold, the breeze sharp, but neither were anything to worry about. There was nothing to be seen across the field before Erebor, and no one was expected to reach Erebor until the morrow. For all intents and purposes, it was a peaceful night.
So Legolas was not sure what it was that drew him down to the gates, where the Guard was. Tauriel was not late with her border patrol, but neither had she been assigned the duty, either. She had simply told him that something in the wind had called her, and he had trusted her intuition, especially when she had rode hard to Mirkwood.
Despite the promise of Kili waiting for him in their chambers, Legolas had remained at the wall, standing with the Guards, seeking his kin through the night. No sound had reached him yet. He closed his eyes, trying to pick out a voice in the wind, as light as it was this night.
“Anythin’?”
Legolas shook his head. “Nothing. But Tauriel would not leave without a reason.”
Dwalin nodded and looked out into the night. Though he could not see as far as Legolas, the elf knew that the dwarf would move to aid in an instant, if it were called for. Their beginning had been rocky at best, but now the dwarf was what Legolas would call a friend, even a good friend. In a time of trouble, Legolas would be grateful to have Dwalin fighting beside him. “Wouldn’t cross her, no. Or mess with her intuition. She’s a good ear for trouble.”
“I trust her,” Legolas agreed. “If she says something is amiss, I-“
The wind gusted through, and the fear and bloodshed it carried with it left him frozen. “You all right?” Dwalin asked, frowning. “Legolas?”
“Something’s wrong,” Legolas whispered, unable to raise his voice. He felt sick at how wrong it was. So much despair and fear and death. It felt like a poison had been poured upon his very soul. Something was indeed wrong.
Dwalin hefted his blade and made for the stairs. “How many?” he called.
“I do not know. More than we could fight on our own,” Legolas said grimly. They would need more than two to answer the cries that the wind had brought him. He began to follow, then paused. Off in the distance, fast approaching, was a light horse, two figures astride it. Tauriel.
“She’s returned,” Legolas said, and he quickly moved ahead of Dwalin. He all but flew down the stairs that led to the side hallway, then nearly slid down the rail of the next stairway to reach the ground floor. Dwalin was hurrying behind him, Legolas could hear it, sharp breaths and heavy footfalls that promised death and destruction to those who dared to strike and harm.
Unfortunately for the poor souls whose cries still lingered in the wind, the dwarf was too late.
The main gate was opening, and Tauriel rode in, holding a brown bundle in her arms. “Take her,” she urged, and bewildered, Legolas did. The brown bundle shifted, a whimper of pain sounding familiar and teasing at his memory. The weight, the sound, the gentle blonde curls from beneath the cloak Tauriel typically wore-
The bare, hairy feet. Legolas held his breath and carefully lifted the hood away from the small, frightened face.
Twin pools of misery locked on him, and the little one in his arms hitched a breath. “Leg’las,” she whispered.
“Mahal,” Dwalin breathed, stunned. “Esmeralda?” The hobbit flinched, shutting her eyes tight. It was enough to push Legolas into action.
“Call for Bilbo and Thorin and anyone else you can wake,” he said, and Dwalin, for once, did not argue at the instructions, but yelled at two guards to follow the command. “Tauriel-“
“When they arrive,” she said darkly. “I will tell all when they arrive. She needs a healer.”
Now that she had said it, Legolas could see the blood still sliding down Esmeralda’s face. He gently wiped it away with his hand, keeping his touch light and soothing. Esmeralda’s eyes remained closed, but the tightness around them eased. Her fingers, clutching at a small golden locket hanging about her neck, were bruised and torn, and her feet were messy and nicked. He could only imagine how else she was injured beneath the cloak. “Are you grievously injured, Esse?” he asked, after deciding to use the informal, familiar name.
She opened her eyes at the name, and her lower lip wobbled. After a moment, she shook her head, but her fingers released the locket to clutch at him instead. Legolas held her more closely. She was safe within Erebor’s walls, but it was all different and new to her. A familiar face and name would ease the heartache.
He refused to think of the other voices he could hear fading in the wind. He refused to think of the other hobbits who had come with Esmeralda. When she was well enough to speak, when she was healed, then they would know.
“Esmeralda!”
Esmeralda immediately pushed herself up as much as she could at Bilbo’s terrified cry. The hobbit raced down the stairs, not even looking where he was going, his eyes too fixed on his cousin. “Esse!” he shouted again. Behind him, Thorin and Kili were desperate to keep up.
Esmeralda’s eyes filled with tears as Bilbo flew towards her. “Bilbo,” she whispered, and then Bilbo slid to the ground beside her, arms already opening. She choked on a sob and tumbled into him, clutching at him with her one hand. Her other hand remained firmly wrapped around Legolas’s tunic, and Legolas let her. Anything he could offer as comfort, he would give.
It did not take long for someone else to take his place. Tauriel, having seen to the horse, returned, and quickly knelt beside Esmeralda. She whispered something that even Legolas could not hear, surprising him, but Esmeralda moved her hand from Legolas’s tunic to Tauriel’s hand, clutching it fiercely. Bilbo refused to let go of his cousin, his arms wrapped tightly around her, face buried in her hair.
Thorin slowed to a stop behind his husband, taking the scene in with a grave face. Kili glanced at them briefly before hurrying to Legolas. His hair was mussed, as if he had already been abed, and his tunic looked hastily thrown on, if the mismatched buttons were any indication. “Are you all right?” Kili asked softly as he crouched beside him.
How could Legolas begin to describe the terrible pain in his heart at the wretched cries in the night? How could he tell Kili that others were hurt and dead, innocent lives taken, and that Esmeralda may have been the only survivor? How could he tell them all that Bilbo’s kin were dead, and they had been painful, merciless, cruel deaths?
“Legolas,” Kili murmured, worry in his gaze. “You’re trembling.” He shifted in his crouch and wrapped an arm around his husband. “What happened?”
Legolas swallowed. “Blood has been spilt,” was all he could say, as quietly as he could, but both Bilbo and Thorin’s heads immediately whipped up to see him. Bilbo turned to Tauriel, eyes pleading for a different answer, but Tauriel lowered her gaze. It made Legolas ache to see the plea in his friend’s eyes devolve into disbelief, only to be followed swiftly by grief. Esmeralda wept quietly, but it almost seemed to echo in the cavernous hall.
Thorin, thankfully, took command. “Tauriel, she needs a healer,” he said, voice soft but still filled with power. “Bear her hence. Legolas, Kili, wake the others. Dwalin, bring more guards to the Gate for the night.”
He did not bother speaking to his husband. They all knew that Bilbo would not leave his cousin’s side.
Thorin’s own actions did not need words, either.
Tauriel gently gathered Esmeralda in her arms as if she were made of glass. Bilbo hovered by her side, barely coming to Tauriel’s lowered elbows. Thorin followed behind them, and the four disappeared further into Erebor.
Kili stood when Legolas did, but neither moved for a long moment. “What happened?” Kili could not help but ask, completely bewildered.
Legolas shook his head. “Death. That is what happened. And it happened to an innocent race who did not deserve it.” His mind brought forth the smiling faces of Primula and Drogo, whom he had met so many years ago, and for a moment, he dared not breathe. Bilbo had spoken of their child, once-
Kili took him by the hand and pulled him from his dark reverie. “We won’t get answers until everyone’s awake,” he pointed out. “Royal chambers first, then everyone else.”
Legolas gave a short nod, and they flew through Erebor to the main hall and to those whose night had not yet been disturbed by evil.