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In the Shire, it was polite practice to wait three months until declaring someone officially dead. The hobbits reckoned that after that period, Yavanna in all her glory, had decided to keep what was given rather than heal through the power of her good, green earth. Though for all appearances sake, a hobbit may look dead and gone, it was more akin to a state of hibernation where he waited until he had been placed in the ground to bloom once more, Yavanna willing.
The hobbits were of the earth, from the earth, and when they were injured or seriously ill, they returned to the earth. All knew that hobbits had a special relationship with all things that grew in the wide, green world. What they did not know was that the earth in her turn, cared for her hobbits.
However, like many things, it was just not shared with the ‘big folk.’ The hobbits had their own way of life, no doubt about that, and they were quite content to pray that they did not get injured during the rainy season because who wants to try and clean off mud like that?
~*~*~*~
Thorin had not cried. However, Fili and Kili had wept at his side as the hobbit had been lowered into his hole. The Halfling had fought well and indeed it had been his sacrifice that had allowed the sons of Durin to survive. A fact that Thorin would never forget.
It had been Balin who discovered the unfortunate hobbit, laying there pale as death on Ravenhill. It had been his brother Dwalin, who carried the motionless figure down where Oin pronounced him dead.
The hobbit had laid in state on the steps of Erebor for three days, guarded by Bifur and Bombur, who had managed to escape the battle relatively unscathed. All while their King and his nephews had been healed in the tent by the magic of the elves. Thranduil himself had had a hand in their healing and when it had come time to pay their last respects, had joined the company.
13 dwarves, an Elven King, and a kindly old wizard had watched with solemn eyes as Bilbo was laid to rest in the earth on the slopes of Erebor.
~*~*~*~*~
12 days later, Bilbo ran his fingers through his curls and grimaced. He so needed a bath. In truth, he had been healed within eleven days, but some clothead had made the hole too deep. It had taken him the better part of the next day to make his way back to the surface.
Shallow graves were usually a sign of disrespect to all, unless you were a hobbit. Then it was just good practice. Bilbo himself had never had to use Earth Sleep before, but he’d known several good and gentle hobbits who had. In fact, he’d dug the hole for one of them himself. Poor old Hamfast had gotten to close to his scythe and nearly lost a leg. That had taken the poor hobbit almost three days to heal from. He got a good scolding from his wife, Rosemary when he’d finally come home trailing dirt and twigs.
Brushing himself off, he hooked his thumbs in his bracers and looked around. While he’d been sleeping, the field had been cleaned of the dead and it appeared that all had moved within the halls of Erebor itself.
Right, then. Time to see what the rest of the company were up to. He did hope that Thorin had in fact survived. He had loved that silly idiot from the moment he’d called him a grocer and he’d hate to have to mourn him now.
With clods of dirt still clinging to him, Bilbo began his trek toward the front gate, which had been unsealed after the battle. He could see a few dwarrows milling about but as he did not recognize them, he assumed they were from Dain’s army.
He took a deep, cleansing breath and grinned. If this was what it felt like to come back from Earth Sleep, he’d have to do it more often. He felt like a young hobbit again, barely out of his tweens.
Slipping in past the guards, who were indeed of Dain’s folk and who paid little regard to a small hobbit, Bilbo glanced around the echoing halls. Where could his company be?
If there had been a mirror handy, Bilbo might have understood what happened next.
There was a sudden gasp to his right and he found himself staring into the wide eyes of Dori.
“Good morning!” Bilbo chirped, happy to have found a familiar face. The dwarrows of Dain’s army were too grim for his liking.
“Get away from me! I didn’t do anything!”
Bilbo blinked in surprise and stared at Dori. “Of course you didn’t. What’s the matter with you?”
“This isn’t right. It isn’t natural. Get away from me!”
Bilbo took a deep breath and accidentally inhaled piece of dirt. After a brief coughing fit, he finally manage to rasp out, “Dori, where is Thorin?”
If anyone would know if the overemotional king were alive, it would be the fussy Dori.
However, Dori’s face just drained of color, matching his own silver braids and he suddenly sprinted away from Bilbo, muttering rapidly and making some kind of hand sign.
Well. That’s a bit not good. Bilbo straightened up and shook a bit more dirt off. Maybe something really had happened to Thorin and Dori was just afraid to tell him. He felt a sinking in his stomach. Please let that stubborn old King be alive.
Using what little knowledge he’d had wandering around after a fire-breathing dragon, Bilbo made his way toward what use to be the old royal living quarters. Maybe the dwarrows had set up camp there.
The next dwarf he spied was Bifur. Well, that was unfortunate. Over the course of their journey, Bilbo had picked up very little of the khudzul and sign that the axe-headed dwarf used, relying on Bofur to translate more often than not. At least he could greet the warrior.
“Ho there, Bifur. How are you?” Unfortunately as he called out, he stumbled over some damaged tiles in the floor and his “you” got stuck in his throat, which sounded odd even to him.
Stooping to examine his poor, abused toe, he heard the pitter-patter of boots running in the opposite direction and he glanced up to see the kindly toy-maker disappearing rapidly around the corner.
“Was it something I said?” He mused out loud as he straightened back up. Now his toe hurt, he was dirty as a fauntling and he still had no word on whether the King under the mountain lived or not.
Over the course of the next hour, the reactions were all the same. Bofur took one look at him and pulled his ridiculous hat down over his eyes and refused to say a single word. Bombur had choked on whatever he was tasting in the kitchen and then had thrown the salt at him. Ori had gone white as the sheet of parchment he held, which had begun shaking like a leaf, before hesitantly asking him what the afterlife was like.
Now Bilbo was really concerned. The poor young lad must be very upset indeed. That could only mean one thing: Thorin was dead.
He decided to see if he could find Oin next. If anyone would be able to tell him about Thorin, it would be the company’s healer.
Oin, apparently, had set up shop near the front gate, where he had first encountered Dori.
“Oin?” Bilbo called out hesitantly, stepping just inside the swinging curtain of the healer’s tent.
The old healer had his back turned to the door and did not respond. Thankfully, the tent was empty at the moment so Bilbo felt comfortable raising his voice.
“Oin!” He yelled again and the old healer straightened up from where he had been rolling bandages.
“Who’s calling m’name?” the gruff dwarf bellowed, sending a baleful eye around the tent. He finally spotted Bilbo, standing in the midst of the curtains at the entrance. Curtains which seemed to have taken a life of their own and were now billowing around him. Bilbo could hear the wind kicking up outside. It was always windy on the side of the mountain.
“Have you seen Thorin?” Bilbo called and Oin’s eyes widened comically. When the dwarf did not answer, Bilbo realized that the dwarf’s ear trumpet was nowhere in sight.
“Have. You. Seen. Thorin!?” He yelled again, taking a step closer to the aged dwarf. The dwarf made the same sign that Dori had made and Bilbo felt his heart sink toward the vicinity of his toes.
Outside the tent, Nori heard the raised voice, recognizing it instantly as Bilbo’s. With fear in his eyes, he bolted toward the throne room. As leader of Thorin’s spy ring, it was his job to let Thorin know of all assassination attempts, especially when it was by the spirits of the dead.
“He’s where he’s always been, poor lad. In the throne room.”
The words ‘poor lad’ echoed in Bilbo’s head as he suddenly paled, which made Oin flinch for some reason. Thorin was dead. He must be laid out in state in the throne room. All of a sudden, he felt a surge of anger.
“That stupid clothead. After all I’ve done for him, he has to go and do this.” Bilbo all but growled, his expression unusually fierce.
Oin watched the undead hobbit storm from his tent and wiped the sweat off his brow. He’d lived many a long year on this earth, but this was the first time he’d ever come across a vengeful spirit.
Bilbo only had one thought in his mind – get to the throne room. He did not see Gloin scurrying out of his way or Nori shadowing him through the halls. Bilbo wanted to see Thorin, even if it would be this one last time. So focused on his thoughts, he didn’t even notice the strange looks he was getting from Dain’s army. The dwarves had begun to hear a rumor that the dead walked the halls and though he was little, this hobbit was certainly a force to be reckoned with.
Five heads flew up as the throne room doors were pushed open. Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili all stared at the shaking apparition that had been their Burglar. He was highlighted in righteous gold and seemed to seethe in anger.
As the undead hobbit began to stride toward them, Thorin felt a flicker of fear. He almost hadn’t believed Nori when he had come rushing to warn him.
“You are supposed to be dead,” the apparition said, pointing a finger at Thorin imperiously.
Bilbo was having none of this shit. He’d been injured. He’d been buried. He’d been worried sick. And now, come to find out, Thorin was just in some thrice-cursed meeting?
At least the glimmer of gold had died down. Really, did they need to move that much gold at a time? The reflection it was casting made it extremely difficult to see in the caves.
Stamping his foot when Thorin failed to answer him, Bilbo blinked as a rumble echoed through the cavernous throne room.
“Seems you’ve got some shoring up to do,” Bilbo added almost conversationally before remembering that he was supposed to be angry.
“Please don’t bring down the mountain, Bilbo.” Fili suddenly blurted out. “Uncle didn’t mean to be such an ass.”
Kili was nodding his head rapidly while Balin glanced at the support columns scattered around the room.
“Bring down the mountain? Don’t be absurd.” Bilbo snorted. “I worked too hard to get you all here and this is how you repay me? Let me guess, it was you who dug the hole, wasn’t it?”
At that he glared at Kili who shook his head rapidly.
“Dwalin did it.” Kili said solemnly, not daring to glance at the battle hardened warrior.
“Well, I had a devil of a time getting out of it let me tell you.” Bilbo snapped, glaring at Dwalin who made an abortive movement as it to hide behind Balin.
“I’m…sorry?” He asked hesitantly. Honestly, the dead had never complained before about the depth of their grave and Dwalin was a bit unsure how to handle this new situation.
Thorin took a deep breath and pushed his way forward.
“I am truly sorry, Bilbo Baggins for my actions have wronged you. My words and actions on top of the barricade can never be undone. Tell me how I might appease your spirit.”
Fili and Kili were behind him nodding like two marionette dolls.
“We’re really sorry, Bilbo. Honestly, you have no idea how sorry we are.” Fili called out, nudging his uncle forward encouragingly.
“Well for starters, I’d like a bath.” Bilbo said thoughtfully, not noticing the curious glance Balin had thrown his way at that.
“We bathed you in the cleanest water, anointed you with oil and clothed you in our finest linens.” Thorin said, looking a bit confused.
“Yes, that’s all well and good. But what about now?” Bilbo demanded, gesturing at his dirt covered body.
“Perhaps there was a hobbit custom we didn’t know about?” Kili hissed behind them. “Maybe we were supposed to use a shroud?”
“Quiet, Kili,” Fili snapped, clapping his hand over his brother’s mouth. “Don’t give it any more reason to be angry.”
“We will bathe you daily, as long as we are able, if that is your wish.” Thorin finally said. As far as demands go, this vengeful spirit was certainly tamer than he’d expected.
“Bathe me? Don’t be absurd, Thorin.” Bilbo said impatiently. “And what exactly am I supposed to eat? Bombur threw salt at me when I entered the kitchen.”
“We will inform the others to treat you with the utmost respect,” Thorin conceded. “And I will make a place of honor where all may pay homage to your service in my company.”
Bilbo was starting to get very confused. And a trifle annoyed. Thorin was being perfectly conciliatory but there was something off about his responses.
“Are you feeling well, Thorin?” He asked softly, tilting his head and eying the dwarven king carefully.
“Please don’t kill him.” Kili pleaded, his voice still muffled by his brother’s hand.
Bilbo looked at Kili as if he’d grown two heads.
“Kill him? Why on earth would I want to kill him? I love your uncle, daft as he may be.”
“Because he wronged you?” Fili offered even as his head jerked forward from where Dwalin’s heavy hand had smacked him.
“Yes, yes. And I wronged him. And we all survived and now for the love of all that’s good and green will someone please just tell me what is going on?”
Finally, Balin tilted his head at Bilbo and with a slight twinkle in his eye, smiled gently at their burglar.
“Bilbo, is there something you’ve forgotten to tell us about your people?”
“What on earth are you talking about, Balin?” Bilbo looked at the kindly, old warrior and had never been so confused in his life.
“We buried you.” Thorin said bluntly, eying someone he thought he had been forever separated from.
“Yes, yes.” Bilbo said impatiently. “Oddly enough, I’d figured out that bit on my own.”
“And now you’re here,” Kili said, “and you’re angry. Angry spirits must be appeased or they cause all kinds of trouble.”
“Angry spirit?” Bilbo was dumbfounded. “What the hell are you on about, Kili?”
“We buried you,” shouted Fili at least. “You died and we buried you and then we mourned for you.”
“Died…mourned…for me?” Bilbo echoed faintly. “But, but, I didn’t die.”
“Of course you did.” Kili said. “Great, now not only do we have a vengeful spirit, but one who doesn’t know he’s dead. Clearly we are going to have to help him move on.”
Bilbo took several hasty steps back from the sons of Durin, sudden visions of them tossing him off a parapet flashing through his mind.
“I’m tired. I’m dirty. I am definitely hungry. But I am most certainly NOT dead.” Bilbo said stubbornly, crossing his arms in defiance.
Thorin rubbed his forehead wearily. “Oin pronounced you dead. You’ve been buried for at least 12 days by now.”
“Ah. So that’s how long it took. I’d wondered that, thank you.” Bilbo said distractedly, his mind still hung up on the fact that he was supposed to be dead. Suddenly, everyone’s reactions made much more sense.
“How long what took?” Balin prodded, the only one who seemed to not care that their burglar was undead.
“For me to heal, of course.” Bilbo looked at Balin strangely. “You all seriously thought I was dead?”
“You had no heartbeat. Your skin was pale as death and your wounds were grievous. Of course we thought you dead.” Thorin snapped, his temper finally fraying.
“That’s what was supposed to happen.” Bilbo snapped back. “Yavanna, give me strength. Thorin, when a hobbit is grievously injured, we go into hibernation! We’re supposed to look like that. That’s a GOOD sign.”
“A good sign?” Dwalin said doubtfully, eyeing the hobbit in front of him.
“Yes!” Bilbo all but shouted. “We are hardy folk for a reason. When we get hurt, we are placed underground so that we may heal by the grace of Yavanna.”
“So you aren’t dead?” Kili asked hesitantly.
“Oh for the love of – “ Bilbo muttered striding forward and nicking one of Fili’s daggers with the air of someone used to stealing them.
Suddenly, Fili understood why he could never find that particular dagger when he needed it but how it always seemed to turn up in the end.
Taking the dagger, Bilbo sliced it across his palm and held it up.
“See? Blood. Actual blood. And yes, it’s still flowing. How many times do I have to say it. I’m. Not. DEAD.”
Bilbo felt his hand suddenly yank forward as five dwarrows crowded around it, poking and sniffing at the blood.
Suddenly Bilbo felt arms wrap around him and squeeze tightly.
“You really aren’t dead,” Kili cried happily, twirling the hobbit around. Bilbo nodded dizzily and poked him in the shoulder.
“You can put me down now.”
But Bilbo was not to get his wish for no sooner had Kili made to set him down but he was snatched up by Fili, even Dwalin hefted him up and attempted to squeeze the stuffing out of him. All in all, Bilbo almost preferred it when they thought he was dead.
Setting him down on his feet finally, Bilbo felt himself being embraced by Balin before finally all the dwarves had migrated behind him, leaving him to face the last dwarf.
Thorin eyed his burglar and then said hesitantly. “All that I said was true, Bilbo. My words and actions can never be taken back. I am so sorry.”
Bilbo shook his head and moved to stand in front of Thorin. “And I betrayed your trust and stole the Arkenstone from you, giving it to the people you hate most. We both have much to be forgiven for. If you can forgive a silly hobbit, I can forgive a grumpy old dwarf.”
Bilbo grinned up at the King who suddenly swooped down and lifted Bilbo into a hug that was tighter than any he had received before.
Ignoring the catcalls behind him, Thorin finally did what he had wanted to do for the longest time and kissed Bilbo soundly. If there were tears in his eyes, none would comment on it.
Gandalf leaned against the door to throne room and looked on at the happy couple and grinning dwarves with a grandfatherly smile.
“Hobbits really are quite remarkable creatures,” he murmured as he took in the joyous reunion.