Chapter Text
It took no small measure of bravery to face the spiders. Bilbo had never known how brave he could be. Bravery, he thought to himself as he hefted his blade, is a nice way of saying completely mental. That’s how he felt while staring into the maw of an arachnid that could certainly gobble him up in a few slurps. He felt like he’d gone utterly insane. Silently he wished he was back home in the Shire, living cozy in the hill, his hole in the ground, with all its comforting smells and polished wood furnishings. He wanted to be in his bed, surrounded by the dust of his maps and books.
“Back! I SAID BACK!” Bilbo brandished the weapon at the beast, slicing and hacking at anything he might reach while it reared its head, thick, sticky fluid dripping from it’s fangs that caught at Bilbo’s sleeve. The spiders reared their fearsome faces and Bilbo had to be quick to deflect and to fight back, though perhaps he was not quite quick enough. Something stung along his arm, but he ignored it. His body burned with adrenaline instead, fear pumping through him like a toxin. It was the only thing that kept him moving, his body wanting to give out, his eyes stinging...
Everything was nearly too much. The sight of his friends and Thorin coiled in the nasty webbing of the beasts, wiggling to get free, their muffled screams of fear coming through the silk, spurned Bilbo on just a bit more, just a bit longer...
Luck was on Bilbo’s side as he finally drove the demons back. He had to work quickly to be certain that the spiders would return soon enough. As he slowly cut his friends free his body began to feel heavy, sluggish even. Perhaps it was merely the adrenaline wearing off. It must have been. The pang of pain he’d felt earlier was forgotten in the wake of trying to free the company from their prisons. Once Thorin was loosed from his web cocoon, Bilbo let himself drop down in exhaustion, letting the dwarf King assist in the freeing of the rest of their companions. Everyone seemed worse for wear, but, they’d avoided being eaten yet again, all thanks to the bravery of a hobbit.
A hobbit whose hearing was starting to leave him. He could hear the dwarves speaking, thanking him, but suddenly everything seemed... fainter. Or maybe it was he who was growing faint. In his head Bilbo could hear the rush of water as if he’d stuck it into a freezing river and let the current pass over him. The darkness of the forest was growing darker yet, or was that his vision? A figure came into his field of dimming vision, and Bilbo swooned a bit as he tried to focus on it, make sense of what he was seeing.
“Bilbo?”
The fuzzy sight of a flapped hat and a worried face might as well have been a puzzle. Oh he knew that face, but what was the name? It was on the tip of his tongue... Bilbo opened his mouth to speak but simply mouthed something wordlessly in response. His voice refused to come to him, it had fled with the last of Bilbo’s strength.
“Bilbo?!”
Something wasn’t quite right, Bilbo realized belatedly. He was having a hard time holding onto any one train of thought, his mouth felt like it was full of wool, and his throat was too tight. Another outline came into sight as he nearly fell over completely. His world had been tipping back but he was caught up quickly. There were strong hands grasping at him, deep dwarvish bellows of his name, but it all felt and sounded too distant. Those bellows, the deep tone, he could recall that voice whispering in his ear under the cover of night beneath a moon filled sky. This will protect you... Thorin. Thorin was holding onto him. Why did he sound so worried? Bilbo couldn’t make sense of it. He tried to speak again but all that came forth was a wheeze of discomfort.
The rushing of water in his ears drowned everything else out. He saw Thorin’s darkened figure before him, long pointed nose, silver streaked hair, deep-set ice storm eyes. He wondered if he was dying, if this would be the last thing he saw. He decided if that was true that he didn’t mind too much, and then the corners of his vision began to fade, a black vignette slowly closed over it... and then the world was gone and he could feel, nor see, nor hear a thing.
Unconscious.
Thorin grasped uselessly at Bilbo’s upper arms and shook him, trying to wake him, calling his name again and again, but Bilbo’s grip on his sword slipped and it landed on the earthen ground with a thunk. He slipped away right under the dwarf’s gaze, much against his will.
“He will not stir,” Balin pointed out to the King, stepping closer himself as the ranks of the dwarves circled around Thorin, Bofur, and the unconscious hobbit. He looked pale, the corners of his mouth were dotted with white, thick spittle, dark circles developing under his eyes. The rosy nature of Bilbo’s skin was lost. It was unsettling to see the halfling look so deathly. Thorin looked up at Balin from where he knelt, still grasping a bit too tight at their burglar’s arms. The wise old dwarf gestured to a tear in Bilbo’s sleeve along his forearm. He hadn’t noticed it in his haste to catch Bilbo, but he looked down and there it was.
Under the parted cloth, was a long, jagged wound, oozing blood. It looked oddly dark, the edges of the cut a deep purple, and bruising was spreading. Thorin grasped at the hobbit’s forearm and lifted it, sniffing idly. The rank stench of venom and blood hit his senses and he pulled his head away, easing the little man to the ground. A cold, stony weight dropped into Thorin’s stomach and he thought he might get physically ill from it. Bilbo had been injured saving them. The fool.
“He’s been poisoned,” Bofur announced gravely from where he still knelt beside the halfling as well. Balin nodding once to confirm, not just to Bofur, but to the entire party. There was a low murmur among the company as they all exchanged worried glances. None of them wished this sort of thing to befall their hobbit. All had grown to enjoy him, and all owed him their lives.
“He needs medicine,” Fili prompted, his tone surprisingly serious. The usual lopsided grin he wore was turned downward into a tight, unhappy frown. His brother’s face was just as dark to match. There was a sudden somberness that overcame all of them as they realized, out here, in the middle of the wood, there was no easy medicine to come by. No help could be found here.
Almost no help. No help that Thorin might seek. Thorin raised up, standing once more, and looked to his company as they all awaited his command. Bilbo coughed and gave a feeble whimper but did not wake, and for a moment Thorin’s eyes were dragged back down to him where he lay, away from his men.
“We will not let him perish here in these woods, not without a fight. But if he should pass on, we will take his body to Erebor. He will see the end of this quest, if I have to carry him there myself. We will not leave him behind... But we must move quickly. The spiders may yet come back, and I will be damned before I let them catch us after the halfling gave so much to see us saved,” Thorin commanded the attention of all his kinsmen, and confidence, while not completely restored, was certainly elevated. He was firm in his words. He’d told Bilbo he would protect him and he would not fail to do so again.
“There are things in this forest that can help slow the poison,” Bofur said as he gently smoothed hair away from Bilbo’s feverish brow, “The plants... Perhaps...”
He looked up at Thorin imploringly, silently asking if he might go seek out these plants. Their leader nodded, giving the permission needed.
“Move quickly, Bofur, take Bifer with you. It is unwise to stray from the group alone. Fili, Kili, find me some vines, quickly,” Thorin directed, pointing toward the wooded area around the terrifying web coated clearing. Bofur, Bifur, Fili, and Kili all disappeared into the woods while the rest of the company began to take stock of anything that they’d lost, clearing any remaining strands of webbing from themselves... But Thorin stayed steadfast beside the sprawled and shivering hobbit, Balin giving the king a concerned look.
“Is this really wise?” the dwarf inquired, “Carrying him could slow down the entire company. The chances of him surviving without proper medicine are dangerously slim. This is no mere spider bite. Those beasts were... were forged from dark magic. We are not equipped to treat his wound. He will likely die.”
Thorin turned a sharp gaze on his friend, who looked at him with sympathy. Balin was not anymore keen on leaving their hobbit behind, but he was attempting to be a realist in a severe situation. Thorin was not prepared to lose the hobbit. Not now. He had lost far too much to lose anything more. Bilbo was not getting left behind. Thorin wouldn’t even consider it.
“We will carry him as long as I am able. I... We owe him that,” Thorin said quietly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. A sharp whimper from the unconscious halfling drew Thorin’s gaze away, his brow creasing with worry against his will. Balin, who had known Thorin for so long, did not miss the subtle expression. The look concerned him nearly as much as Bilbo’s wound did.
“Do not let your personal feelings taint your judgment. The hobbit is not the only one counting on you, Thorin,” Balin cautioned. Thorin’s body went tense, every line of muscle was still as a stone, he refused to look at the elder dwarf, even for a moment. He knew Balin was placing the safety of their kin, of their people, of their homeland before the life of one man. One little man. And Thorin should have done so as well. He had a duty to his people, a burden to bear passed on by his father. The key weighed heavy around his neck and was warm against his skin. But...
Bilbo shifted in the dirt and wheezed feebly, the sound made Thorin’s chest feel too tight, too confining, it was terribly hard to breathe.
“He is one of ours, and has his place among us. I would no sooner leave one of my nephews to perish alone in this godforsaken wood,” Thorin’s words spoke of finality and Balin held up his hands in surrender, taking a step back and turning to join the other dwarves in assessing the damages of the spider attack.
When the Fili, Kili, Bifur, and Bofur all returned, Bilbo’s wound was packed with plant and wrapped up tight. Thorin shed his cloak and with the vines and aid from his nephews, the affixed the hobbit to Thorin’s back, his little legs around the dwarf’s waist and his head resting against his shoulder, where Thorin could listen for his breathing easily. He was startlingly light, just as he had been when Thorin rescued him on the cliff face, and once Thorin’s cloak was back on, he was well covered and protected from the elements. He could only hope that perhaps Gandalf would return to them soon, before it was too late, and Bilbo perished.