Chapter 6: After The Battle

Days had passed since the battle had begun and ended, and the company was starting to lose hope. Now not only was Bilbo still unconscious, but so was the line of Durin. Thorin had managed to defeat Azog, with Dwalin close by to assist in helping him walk back to Dale. Fili and Kili were found near each other on the top of Raven Hill, barely breathing. There were now four cots in the tent, with Thorin being placed next to Bilbo and Fili and Kili on the other side. The elfs had taken pity on the company, knowing what they had gone through to get to Erebor and eventually defeat the pale orc. They had brought in more chairs, allowing for most of the company to sit at their friends’ sides while the others wandered about Dale, still trying to be useful. The only way they knew there was still a chance of them recovering was the deep rise and fall of their chests.

It was on the seventh day after the battle that things had started to change for the better. Oin, Balin, Bombur, and Gandalf were in the tent, keeping to themselves when they heard it. A groan had tumbled out of someone, causing Gandalf and Balin to look up from their books. It was quiet for a second, until they heard it again. Balin stood up and nudged Bombur, who was sleeping beside him. He scanned their faces, trying to figure out who was waking up. His eyes landed on Bilbo, who had begun squirming in his cot. His face broke out into a smile once the hobbit’s eyes had started to open. Balin began laughing in earnest as Bilbo took in his surroundings. “I am quite glad to see you are still with us, my friend! You certainly had us convinced you wouldn’t pull through a couple times. Now, don’t try to sit up so fast, you might pull something. I’ll go get some of the elfs and the rest of the company while Oin and Bombur help you.” With that, Balin left the tent in a hurry, still laughing to himself.

This left Bilbo even more confused, but he was too tired and groggy to ask many questions. He went to try and speak but his throat was scratchy and his mouth was dry. Before he could even motion for it, Bombur had already made his way over with a cup of water. Bombur and Oin helped him sit up on some pillows so he could drink without choking, and he was very appreciative for the help and water. He set the cup down on the table next him, picking up the wooden duck and examining it. He tilted his head up, still squinting at how bright it was in the tent, and glanced between Bombur, Oin, and Gandalf. “What exactly happened? How long have I been out? Where’s Thor-” Bilbo looked around the tent and fully took in his surroundings. Once he had spotted Thorin in the cot next to him, he tried to jump out of his own to try and reach him. He was immediately stopped by Oin’s hand on his arm, alerting him to the fact that he didn’t have his mithril or robe on. He looked down at his exposed body, startled by the faint black veins that still danced across his chest. He snapped his head up, a furious expression on his face, but before he could demand any answers the rest of the company came sprinting into the tent, with some elfs in tow. He was met with a chorus of shouts, ranging from “Bilbo, ya bastard!” to “Took you long enough!”. His anger faded, a small smile taking its place. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he was glad to see his friends again, and happy that they were glad to see him as well.

The elfs began fretting over him, checking him for any residual fever, unusual aches or pains, feeling in all of his limbs. The whole time, the dwarves were laughing and talking over each other, telling Bilbo everything he missed in the past week. It wasn’t until Bofur had begun a sentence with “You should’ve seen Thorin and Dwalin face off Azog last week! It was a spectacular fight,” that Bilbo remembered the dwarf lying still next to him. “Last week? What do you mean last week? What fight are you even talking about!” He had begun to get worked up again, much to the dismay of the elfs tending to him. The company fell silent, with Bofur wringing his hands as he tried to form a thought to begin explaining. Gandalf stood up, making his way to stand at the foot of Bilbo’s cot. The old wizard’s face seemed to have more wrinkles than the last time Bilbo had seen him, but there was still a twinkle to his eye as he spoke. He explained everything to Bilbo, from how he had collapsed again, the poison spreading and the elf lass Tauriel helping, to how Thorin and Dwalin took on Azog while Fili and Kili took on Bolg. As Gandalf talked, the pit in Bilbo’s stomach grew heavier and heavier, until he felt like was going to be sick. Oin must have noticed as he held a bucket besides Bilbo as he vomited, wincing from the pain as it was mostly stomach acid and the water he just drank.

When Bilbo sat up, he looked over at Thorin and his nephews, tears pricking in his eyes as he felt too useless to do anything. If he hadn’t been attacked, would he have been able to help? Would the dwarves he had grown so close to still be in this state? He tore his eyes away before the pain in his heart became too much to handle, looking amongst the company instead. They all looked exhausted, the bags under their eyes more prominent than when they were traveling. Some had just scrapes and cuts, while others had bruises covering what little skin was showing. Their hair and beards were all disheveled, mud and blood matting them. It had been a week and none of them had been able to clean themselves up, upsetting Bilbo even more. He looked back down at the wooden duck sitting in his lap, a small smile gracing his face as he realized that Bofur had made it for him. “So now what? Is there anything that I can help with? It would be quite nice to get out of this lumpy cot and get a breath of fresh air.” One of the elfs who had moved to check on Fili made a strangled noise in his throat, while Dwalin snorted a laugh.

“You, Master Baggins, are not going anywhere past the chamber pot until we figure out what all has been affected by the poison. We need to make sure you won’t drop on us again, and that it isn’t spreading still. Master Oakenshield bringing you to us when he did certainly helped, but the.. Lack of attention from one of us did not. You are quite lucky Mistress Tauriel knew where to look for Athelas to draw out the worst of it.” The male elf shook his head as he spoke, returning to Bilbo’s side with a small bowl that contained what looked to be a green paste, and a cup that had a sweet smelling drink. “Alright now, onto your side so I can reassess the damage on your back.” Bilbo grumbled but did as he was told, listening as the dwarves started talking amongst themselves again. He shivered as the bandage was removed from his back, letting the cold air hit it. He felt the old paste being wiped off with a rag, and was surprised when the new paste was warm. “This should be able to get the last bit of poison out, but I am afraid that your skin will stay marked, possibly until the end of your days.” Bilbo let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, glancing down at his chest. Thankfully it looked like the veins would all be covered by his clothes, but that didn’t help to alleviate the dread in his chest. He would forever be marked, the memory of that day on the ramparts burned into his mind. Damn orcs!

“Well that’s alright Bilbo! You can just get tattoos like us and turn them into battle stories!” Bofur tried his best to cheer up the hobbit, showing off the tattoos on his hands. Bilbo grimaced at the thought, sitting back up to drink whatever the elf had just handed to him.

“This should help warm you up, but it will make you tired. Rest is what you need, and lots of it.” Bilbo took delight in how warm the cup was, holding it closely before taking a sip. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, downing the rest of the cup before setting it on the table. He pulled the furs that had fallen to the edge of the cot back up, bundling under them as the drink started to work its way through him. He closed his eyes, listening to the company share hushed conversations and Gandalf laugh with the elf. His last thoughts before he drifted off were about the line of Durin, praying to Yavanna that they would make it.