After the war broke out, Balin hid Bilbo away. The hobbit had a sword in hand and still wanted to follow the Iron Hills army and charge into the fray.
The elite Dwarves around him were all built like they'd "grown sideways," each one like a concrete bollard planted in the road. With Bilbo's skinny arms and legs, standing among them made him look like a single cucumber strip stuck in the middle of a pancake.
So Balin had him throw on an invisibility cloak and wriggle down into a hollow in the slope. The sword in his hand was Elven-forged in the First Age; if any Orcs drew near, it would glow, giving him an early warning.
Bilbo took the advice. Curled up in the shallow pit, he stared at the sword, and whenever it lit up, he would press down his cloak and mutter, "Disappear, quick!"
And so he waited. The Battle of the Five Armies started in the morning, and by noon the fighting in the valley had settled—the host turned and pushed south. At first, Bilbo was scared out of his wits.
The clamor of bows and blades was like a swarm of bees bickering right next to his ears. Warriors' stomps made the ground shudder.
Dirt and stones kept raining onto his head until he was coated in dust; before long the brim of his hat had collected so much fine mud that he had to reach inside and pick it out bit by bit.
He waited for ages. Eventually, everything around him went quiet. The sunlight turned orange-red. He grew drowsy—and one doze turned into a full sleep that carried him all the way to the next dawn.
He crawled out of his hiding place, stood on the slope, and looked out over the world. It was unnaturally quiet, with only the wind keening through the open ground. The sky was still dim; the two spurs of the Lonely Mountain rose cold, hard, and steep, like knives forged from black iron. On the plain there were no living souls. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, as if they were misshapen stones tossed at random.
Bilbo wandered west for a while with no real aim. Then his foot snagged on a Dwarf's corpse, and he stumbled. When he turned back, something round and smooth was revealed beneath the body—a stone, perfectly spherical.
The Arkenstone.
He felt no surge of triumph—only a tired, sinking gloom. He picked it up and stuffed it into the wizard's pocket.
After that, the fortunate Mr. Baggins headed south and soon saw several Elves on horseback.
It frightened him. Not knowing that peace had been made, he assumed the Elves were still the enemy, and he spun around and bolted back the way he'd come.
"Hey! You there!"
The mounted soldiers quickly caught him.
"It's a hobbit," they said. "Are you lost? We're getting ready for a victory feast—want to join us?"
Bilbo was put up on an Elf's white horse, and the hooves clopped along southward at an unhurried pace.
"I'm Bilbo Baggins," he said. "From the Shire."
"Oh, that's a long way."
"Are Thorin and the others all right? Is Balin all right?"
"The King under the Mountain is in good health. I don't know this Balin, but a great many Dwarves have died. It's like waking from a bad dream—one moment you're here, and the next, so many companions have gone to the Halls of Mandos."
When an Elf's body is destroyed, their spirit goes to the Halls of Mandos on the shores of the Outer Sea, where they reflect, await judgment, and—most of the time—are permitted to take up a new body. That is why their life is everlasting. The Dwarves are much the same, only they wait in a separate chamber of those halls, until the final war at the end of days calls them back. Only the souls of Men, after lingering in those halls, depart for an unknown land.
Bilbo went pale. "Oh… Balin."
He was so miserable he nearly burst into tears—until they reached the riverbank, and there stood old Balin perfectly intact. When he saw the hobbit, they hurried toward each other on their little legs, then threw their arms around one another in an excited hug.
"Bilbo, I almost thought you were dead," Balin said, thumping him on the back. "We wrote your name on the long list of the fallen. The battle ended yesterday evening—where were you then?"
"Nowhere," Bilbo said. "I stayed put. Slept the whole night."
"I remembered your hiding place wrong. I searched several spots and couldn't find you, so I thought you'd fallen in the fighting."
Mr. Baggins smiled brightly. "I haven't even taken my share yet. How could I die that early?"
But the moment the treasure of the Lonely Mountain was mentioned, Balin's face darkened again with worry.
"Thorin's still the same, isn't he?" Bilbo said, unsurprised.
"The food and drink for the feast came from the Iron Hills. The cooking pots came from Men. Even the cloth on the ground came from the Elves."
"A crowdfunded victory feast," Bilbo said helplessly. "Is he planning to contribute even a single gold coin for it?"
"He says he will—but the moment money comes up, his face turns dreadful. Six of the Company are dead. Most of our good friends had no family ties… taking out even a portion of that gold would be more than enough."
"I think Thorin will pay," Bilbo said, thinking of Dumbledore. "Is the wizard all right? He didn't get eaten by the dragon, did he? I think I heard his voice."
"He's gone. You didn't hear wrong—Dumbledore did appear, holding up a star. Like a miracle, he drew away most of the Orcs and forced Elves and Dwarves to fight side by side. Without him, I'd be a corpse right now. And the Dwarves, Elves, and Men you see around us would all be dead as well."
"Dumbledore won't be hurt," Bilbo said firmly.
A Man carrying a cup passed by. Hearing this, he turned and said, "He's fine. Just a little injured—resting."
Thorin Oakenshield, surrounded by the Elven prince, Dáin Ironfoot, and Bard, stepped to the center of the feast and gave a speech—mostly about how foolish the war had been.
No one contradicted him. No one echoed him, either.
Elves sat with Elves, Dwarves with Dwarves, Men with Men—the lines between them were as sharp as drawn ink.
A victory feast didn't need a morale-boosting speech. In the end, it was about giving everyone an answer.
Legolas wanted the Elven jewels back. Bard wanted payment—and as the heir of Dale's lord, he wanted the return of the wealth the dragon had plundered from Dale. Dáin didn't particularly want treasure, but he did want the Dwarves of the Iron Hills to be allowed into Erebor to mine.
The instant the topic turned to money, Thorin seemed to suffer a sudden affliction of the ears; the thick earwax apparently made it impossible for him to hear what anyone was saying.
Just then, a Man dressed like a wizard walked up.
"Hey, Thorin. I'm here on Dumbledore's behalf to collect what you owe."
"And who are you?"
"As you can see, a wizard. Dumbledore's student." He lifted a magical contract in his hand. "If you break your promise, you'll suffer pain, including but not limited to: rat fur sprouting all over your body; disability of the eyes; vomiting three ounces of blood every day; your own feces flowing backward…" He paused, then added calmly, "And after one year of breach, you'll suddenly develop lupus. Then you'll die."
The soldiers nearby all wore the same expression—half terrified, half desperately trying not to laugh. As the primary party involved, Thorin abruptly produced a radiant, sunshine-bright smile, the very picture of robust health.
"Money, money," he said.
Legolas took the chance to demand his own share. Thorin sealed his lips tight.
At that moment, Bilbo took out the Arkenstone. "Can this be traded for the Elves' jewels?"
Thorin produced another sunshine-bright, robustly healthy smile, nodded through clenched teeth, and agreed.
Seeing that, Bard also began to press his claim. Thorin's face turned dark.
The human wizard leaned close to Bard's ear and said a few casual words. Then Bard asked Thorin, "Do you want to see your father? He isn't dead."
Thorin smiled for a third time. It wasn't sunny. It wasn't bright. It wasn't healthy in the slightest.
At the sight of it, all three armies finally lost control.
The River Running surged on, and the laughter along its banks rolled like thunder. Down on the riverbed, the One Ring tumbled once in the current and drifted away downstream.
All wrapped up—heading back soon. Also, did everyone have a good time today? Remember to smile.
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