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Hunting Erebor	By : LadyLaran Category: Supernatural > Crossovers Views: 1898 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" or "The Hobbit." I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Author’s Note - I have to apologize for the length of time I took to get this story going again. Some of you may know that I lost my mother a year ago, and she was the motivation and inspiration for this particular series. I couldn’t stomach the idea of working on it until recently. I appreciate the sympathies from those who reached out. It’s been a slow process, and I’m nowhere near healed enough from losing her. Between that, health issues, and finances, it’s like I just can’t get my spirits up to where they should be.

Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” or “Supernatural.” I don’t make money from this story either.

Chapter Eleven – Come to an Understanding

The dwarf lord wandered Rivendell for over half an hour before he came across Bilbo in one of the gardens. The hobbit’s head was bowed, and the moonlight turned the tawny hair nearly silver in its gentle light.

“Master Baggins?”

Startled, Bilbo looked up and Thorin could see the stress and grief etched onto the hobbit’s face. The Dúnadan had been right; the memories that haunted the burglar had not yet faded. It was something he could understand; certain losses still lingered with him to this day, decades after the losses had occurred.

“Am I needed somewhere,” he asked, visibly trying to pull himself together.

“No, Master Baggins,” the dwarf replied softly, sitting on the bench beside him. “I came because I understand and felt you needed someone with you.”

“You understand,” he asked bitterly, then shook his head. “Of course you do; you’ve lost more than I have over the years.”

“The pain of a loss is the same,” Thorin said softly. “No one’s pain is greater than another; you have faced hardship and come out stronger for it.”

“I don’t feel it,” Bilbo shared, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was twenty-one when the harvest season arrived and after the tally, it was found to be insufficient due to an inclement spring and summer. We never got a chance to forage to supplement our supplies because winter came much too early.”

Thorin remembered the winter the hobbit was speaking of. It had hit Ered Luin hard, but they had managed to lay in as many supplies as possible to carry them through. Being dwarrow, they were used to not being able to have the ability to hunt or forage. He’d heard rumors of other places taking considerable losses due to the winter and what it brought.

“The thain, my grandfather, went out with his sons and inspected every smial they could get to. For those who had little, he sent them to live with other families for the winter so food, blankets, and fuel could be shared in hopes of making it through. All of us were told to cut back to two meals a day in order to help make the supplies last longer. Some who had enough hosted the Dúnedain, who had come to aid us because of the fears that the temperature would drop enough for the Brandywine River to freeze. It’s not a small river and is deep, and it’s a natural border for the Shire.

“A small troop was sent; Bag End hosted Imrathon and Eruestan,” Bilbo said, staring off into the distance as he shared one of his most painful memories. “We didn’t see them too often as they were out on patrol most of the time.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Thorin waited for him to continue. He knew that the other needed to speak of this and would not say anything until he knew Bilbo had finished his tale.

“The temperatures kept falling, and our worst fears came to pass. The Brandywine froze, which worried the adults considerably. They were right to worry because the howling came not two nights after the river froze. Wolves entered the Shire.

“These wolves were larger than normal; they were starving and had nothing to loose. Reports of doors being destroyed and families killed in their homes started being whispered about by the adults. Papa was worried for our safety and would often stay up during the night to ensure we had warning if the wolves tried to get through our door, but he found out that some of our neighbors were low on fuel and other supplies. He and I would go out during the day to bring what was needed to those who were running out or were completely out.”

The hobbit’s voice went tight, and he clenched his hands in his lap.

“It wasn’t even near sundown when we were attacked. We had just left the Cotton’s smial when the pack came running in, howling and snarling. There was no chance of going back to the Cotton’s because those damned wolves managed to put themselves between us and safety. Papa and I were both carrying weapons; they weren’t fancy – an ax and a sharp knife. Despite being a respectable hobbit, Papa had worked with Mama to rally everyone in case of wolf attacks but it seemed like those who were nearby had decided not to fight after agreeing with my parents that they would help if the wolves came close to our homes and the rangers were too far out to help.

“Papa insisted I stay behind him, make sure he wasn’t attacked from behind, and he took out so many wolves that day before a huge one managed to snap the ax he was using. His scream when the wolf attacked still haunts me. It took me too long to get the damned thing off of him, and it fought me so hard when I tried to keep it away from Papa. I never felt the injuries I took; I was so determined to kill it. I finally did, driving the knife into its skull.

“I got lucky because Eruestan and Imrathon arrived just moments before what was left of that pack could attack me. They killed the others, and Eruestan hauled the bodies off to be burned while Imrathon carried Papa back to the smial. He, Eruestan, and Mama did everything they could to save Papa, but the wounds were too much. Papa died several days later, in serious pain, and I succumbed to fever not long afterwards because of my wounds.”

He swallowed when his throat became tight with emotion but managed to carry on.

“Mama was never right after we lost Papa; she managed to survive for a few years before she couldn’t fight the grief any longer. I sent messages out to those friends we had who might have been able to help. Eruestan and Imrathon were the only ones who responded, and they arrived a short time before she passed. Her illness was of a broken heart, which was beyond their ability to heal.”

Thorin stayed silent for some time and when he realized Bilbo had finally finished, he broke his silence.

“You have gone through a tremendous amount of difficulties, especially at such a young age,” he said to him. “I was in my twenties when Smaug came and in my fifties when my grandfather set his eyes on reclaiming Khazad-dûm. Dwarrow do not reach their majority until they are seventy-five.”

Bilbo looked over at him, eyes wide. Losses were hard to face, but it seemed to be more difficult to work through when you weren’t a grown up yet. Most of his fellow hobbits hadn’t understood, and he’d leaned on Eruestan and Imrathon after their friendship blossomed during the Fell Winter. They had understood and trained him so that he wouldn’t lose anymore loved ones to violence.

“Most do not understand how hard it is to face loss like this,” he murmured to the king-in-exile. “They tell me that since it happened when I was young, I should find it easier to get over because it’s been twenty years. Yet I find I cannot push the memories away. I hear a howl, and my mind reminds me of the day I lost Papa to wolves.”

“Loss is never easy, no matter how old a person is,” Thorin assured him. “I think it’s harder on the young because we’re not quite mature enough to understand and think it through as an adult would. By the time you reach adulthood, you’ve become used to the pain, anger, and bitterness. It’s easier to just continue with that instead of rationalizing it as others would.”

Bilbo nodded, grateful to have someone who understood. Outside of his two friends, who visited when they could, he’d not had anyone who had gone through what he had that wanted to help him. Something shifted in his heart; the pain didn’t ease but quieted somewhat.

“I was still underage after Mama went to Yavanna’s Fields,” he said softly. “There was a lot of arguing between the Tooks and Baggins about what should happen to me. The Tooks knew I had been handling the businesses Papa ran as well as ensuring Bag End was kept up so they argued I was mature enough to accept my inheritance. Since Grandfather outranked my Baggins relatives, I was allowed to continue running Papa’s businesses and remain in Bag End on my own. The Tooks came by when they could to check on me, but they live in another area of the Shire so traveling to Hobbiton wasn’t always an easy thing.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine,” he answered. “Hobbits come of age at thirty-three; Mama did her best to make it until my majority, but her heart just couldn’t keep going without him. I could tell she was in serious pain before the end.”

“So you lost the last member of your closest family and had to be involved with a battle to keep your home and inheritance. That had to be incredibly difficult,” the dwarf said softly.

“I didn’t have time or space to grieve, not properly, because the blasted relatives were fighting over who should keep an eye on me, who should move into Bag End until I came of age, and so on. No one really wanted to hear me out; Grandfather came closest to determining what I truly wanted but was so busy most of the time that he didn’t really sit down with me to listen to what I needed.”

“And once that was done, you just had to continue on and keep things going as smoothly as you could,” Thorin said.

Bilbo turned, catching the understanding in the deep blue eyes, and his breath caught in his throat.

“I did it after Papa died and had to keep on after I lost Mama,” he replied softly. “People depended on the businesses and my being their landlord; I couldn’t stop doing what I was responsible for.”

“I was the same way,” Thorin told him. “After we lost Erebor, Grandfather was still too deep in gold sickness to make any decisions for our people and my father was mourning the death of my mother. I was leading our people for quite some time before Father came out of his grief and took over until Grandfather was somewhat clear headed enough to rule.”

“How long did that take,” the hobbit asked.

“Over a year,” the king-in-exile answered quietly. “I was learning as I went, battling it with the few nobles who stayed with us instead of going to my cousin’s lands. Nain couldn’t take all of us, and so I sent the elderly and those with young families who wanted to go for the safety of their little ones to the Iron Hills. The nobles decided they would rather stay in a safe kingdom rather than roam with the rest of us. They left quickly, and most of the families with small children decided to stay and help our people as we wandered. I walked the camp each night, hearing the little ones cry and hating myself for not being able to do more for them.”

“You did the best you could,” Bilbo answered. “The fact that they survived to make it to Ered Luin and make a home there is a testament to your strength and determination.”

“It’s kind of you to say so, but there were a lot of mistakes made. When Grandfather finally pulled himself somewhat out of his madness, I thought that we’d have a chance to really flourish but he set his sights on Khazad-dûm. Nothing anyone said would dissuade him, and so many lives were lost that day. I went home having to take on the regency until we knew what my father’s fate was. I was a little better prepared for the role but still too young.”

“You didn’t have time to grieve your losses then either, did you,” he asked softly.

“No,” Thorin answered. “I lost cousins, my grandfather, and my brother to that senseless battle, and I came home to my grieving people once more to try to heal them and ensure they had a home, supplies, and trade to keep them safe.”

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” Bilbo said in a very quiet voice. “No one should have to go through that, and I think you are strong for having to face what you did and keep doing the right thing, even if meant swallowing everything back in order to keep those who depend on you safe.”

“You did the same, Master Baggins,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps but not on the same scale you did,” he replied. “I don’t know if I would have had the determination to keep going as you have over the years.”

“You showed the same determination in taking care of your mother, the people who depended on you as their landlord, as well as the businesses you are responsible for. You proved to have the strength needed to take care of your responsibilities and not let the grief break you.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, voice tight with emotion. “I’ve never had anyone point that out to me. Eruestan and Imrathon just encouraged me, but the others in Hobbiton have had a nasty habit of pointing out my failures.”

“It’s a heavy burden,” Thorin told him. “One you have born well. As you face the shadows of the past, remember that. The ones you lost would be proud of you, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo,” the hobbit informed him, making the dwarf blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Given what was shared tonight, formalities aren’t necessary,” Bilbo told him. “I think, in time, we could call each other friend and so I would have you call me Bilbo.”

“You honor me,” the king-in-exile said gravely.

“As you honored me tonight,” the other answered. “You and I are similar in that we keep our past and shadows hidden tightly; that you shared this in order to help me tonight is an honor I can never repay. Thank you, Thorin.”

“You are welcome, Bilbo. Come, we should find something to eat before we are called for by our host to examine the map,” Thorin said, rising to his feet.

Bilbo stood as well, walking beside the other. He didn’t know why Thorin had come to find him, but he was grateful that he had. The hobbit knew that the dwarf didn’t share his inner thoughts and pains with others often, and he was touched that the long haired male had done so with him. Knowing that he wasn’t alone in facing pain that was slow to heal helped a great deal, and he hoped this meant that he was making progress in befriending the dwarf.

Author’s End Note - Of course the first chapter that comes out when I started writing this has to do with loss. It was a bit cathartic honestly, and I hope all of you enjoy it. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter, and thank you again for your kind patience. See you next chapter! ~ Laran
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Hunting Erebor