Chapter Text
Belladonna was freezing. Her limbs were ice, and if it weren’t for the child growing inside of her, she would have stopped a long time ago.
She had realised she was carrying a child upon her arrival in Rivendell, although she knew she could not stop. Not until she reached the Iron Hills. She needed to continue on, she had no time to wait. But the pain in her stomach was too much to bear and the icy wind was whipping at her and the night had grown dark and frightening. The moon was full and shone down, but there was not nearly enough light to guide her way.
She had crawled up the side of the mountain, slipping and tripping and tearing the skin at her knees, hoping to find some crevice or cave to crawl into.
Luckily enough, after some time of grasping along the ridges, she found one. A tunnel-like entrance that lead deep inside the Mountain. She crawled inside, relieved in finding shelter from the storm that raged outside, and went downwards. And downwards. And downwards.
She did that for some time, worming through the tunnel, groping her way through the dark, until she could see slivers of light in front of her, growing larger the closer she got.
And finally, finally, when she reached the opening of the tunnel, the room it led to, she was astounded by the sight. Piles of gold and silver and gems, covering the floor, stacked so high Belladonna was sure there was no end to how far they stretched up.
Treasure. What a sight it was. But more of a sight, and infinitely more frightening, was what accompanied the treasure. A beast.
A great big golden beast, with long claws, and a stretching tail, and a snout as large as her home back in Hobbiton.
“A visitor,” the voice was low, and snake-like, hissed out, coiling through the air and spinning dread in her gut. She clutched her stomach. The creature’s eyes opened, two great, magnificent things, golden in colour. The pupil dilated as it took in the swell of her stomach. “Two, in fact, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Please,” Belladonna beseeched. She did not come all this way to be fried to a crisp by a dragon. She had faced worse things before- well, that is not precisely true, but the point still stood. “I-” but the pain came again, breaking her sentence off. She cried out, falling to her knees. This was not the time for it, but there appeared to be nothing she could do to stop it.And the creature made no move to eat her, for which she was grateful.
She dragged herself along the gold until she could rest against a large pile of it.
“You will not live through it.” The creature said, matter-of-factly. “That much is clear.”
Belladonna already knew that. She'd been certain the moment the pain had begun, she had never felt anything quite like it. “Please,” she begged again, though she was not certain what exactly she was begging the creature to do.
“I will not kill it.” Came the assurance, lifting some of the weight from her shoulders. “Just as I will not kill you." The creature paused. "You will do that yourself.”
Belladonna cried out again, pain shooting through her body. It felt like she was being torn apart. “Baggins,” she managed eventually, falling back onto the pile of gold. “His name will be Bilbo Baggins.”
“Bilbo,” the creature repeated, whispers like fire reverberating throughout the room, “Baggins.”
She screamed again.
Bilbo had never seen any other creature before. Not unless, you count Smaug, of course, but Smaug was a dragon and Bilbo very much doubted there were many of those around. Well, more than that. He knew there were no more dragons, Smaug had told him so.
There were other creatures, of course. Elves and Dwarrows and Ents and Orc. He’d read enough about them in what was left of the Mountains library to know that much. The library had initially belonged to the Dwarrows who had lived here before Smaug's attack. At first he had thought that perhaps he was a Dwarrow, but Smaug assured him he was not one of those vile creatures.
“I saw many of them the day I took this place with my Dragonfire.” He’d say. “And you are certainly not one of those.”
Bilbo had seen himself for the first time when he was seven. He’d been investigating the upper part of the mountain, where the nicer chambers were- and he’d found a mirror. At least, that’s what Smaug called it. He’d been frightened upon catching his reflection, and had cried out in shock before running back down to the treasury.
Smaug, with a surprisingly everlasting patience for Bilbo, had explained carefully that it had been himself.
Bilbo thought he looked different from what was left of the faded and broken paintings that hung around the abandoned rooms, so he decided that Smaug must be right. His ears were pointed and sharp, his nose small and tilted slightly at the end, his eyes were large and round, his feet long and large. He had freckles on his body, a few on his hands and wrists, on his chest and legs. He couldn't see his back, so he wasn't sure if there were any there. The mirrors had been a great discovery. Up until that point he'd never seen his own face. It had been frightening, of course, but he found that as time passed he got used to it. It made him feel like he wasn't as alone, seeing himself doubled.
Needless to say, Bilbo didn’t even know what his own kind looked like (he'd assumed they probably had feet like his- unless he was abnormal) let alone anyone else.
So when he’d heard the voices at the tunnel, the arguing, he’d been both terrified and infinitely curious. The voices carried like wisps of wind, down the tunnel, bracketing off the walls and landing on his ears. At first he'd thought perhaps it was the birds- they had returned as of late, much to Smaug's annoyance. He was used to roasting them for fun, but he hadn't done that recently due to Bilbo's pleading (he'd liked the birds).
But the sounds grew louder, and he became certain that the sounds that caught his ears were not coming from a Thrush.
He crept to the edge of the tunnel, leaning inside to catch the words that echoed off the walls.
“We’ve got this far, we can’t turn back now!” One voice snapped.
“Aye,” a second voice agreed. “But how to kill a dragon?”
The words put ice in Bilbo’s veins. They were here to kill Smaug. Smaug, who was his carer and protector. Smaug, who had brought him food and told him stories and taught him how to speak.
Smaug himself was deep in sleep now, having buried himself under a large pile of gold, and although he was large and fearless at that moment Bilbo felt like Smaug was the most vulnerable creature in the world.
Bilbo knew he had to do something.
“We have to find the passageway,” a third voice argued now. Very gentle and logical and reasoning. Bilbo would have found he found it comforting, even, if not for the violence he knew they were discussing. “The lore is that it will be revealed in the moonlight to those who seek it.”
Bilbo knew about the tunnel. Of course he did- he was partway in it now. Smaug told him it had revealed itself to his mother and saved his life, although it could not save hers. It was long and winding and led right to the edge of the mountain where a pathway passed by. It was hidden from most, and until now Bilbo never had a reason to fear it. No one ever came round these parts, and if they did, they passed by very quickly, hoping not to wake the dragon.
“Then we camp until nightfall.” The next voice that spoke held an infinite amount of authority and was certainly not to be argued with. It made something jump in Bilbo's stomach, which was... odd. He'd never had that happen before. It was like a string, tugging him towards it. He wanted to listen to it more, but whoever held it did not speak again.
Bilbo heard clanking noises- perhaps things being dropped to the ground, and the conversation turned a bit lighter.
“What’s for supper then?”
Bilbo’s stomach growled at the thought. He lived off of the birds and rabbits he found in the woods nearby, and sometimes he was even lucky enough to catch a deer in the mostly blackened forest. Smaug would roast it with his fire and once Bilbo had taken his share, he would eat the rest- bones and all. The crunching noise was particularly cringe-worthy.
He had read, in one of the many books he spent his time devouring, that many forests were lush and green and abundant with wildlife. Much soil held flowers and plants of a variety of shapes and colours. He had seen green before, of course. Grass sprouted up on the side of the mountain, and in the forests occasionally, trying to grow back after the abuse from fire so long ago. But he’d never seen a whole forest overtaken with green before. The idea was alluring, and Bilbo often found himself daydreaming about going off on adventures.
Smaug had told him to be careful of strangers, of course (not that any had ever been here before) but Bilbo was far too curious to simply leave it be. Not to mention these visitors were a potential threat. And a threat is a threat no matter how small. It was his obligation to inspect it further, after all. Smaug was the creature who had kept him safe, who raised him from a little babe and who taught Bilbo all he knew.
Smaug was been the only family he ever had, save for the small grave where his mother was.
Anyone who desires to hurt Smaug in turn must desire to hurt Bilbo as well, and he could not allow that.
So he crept along the tunnel, careful not to make any noise, and when he reached the end he peered through the hidden entrance silently.
There were thirteen of them, all squarish, large creatures, sternly and stoutly built, with heavy thick clothing and heavy thick boots. Bilbo wore such clothes himself- ones he had found among the ruins.
Bilbo could only assume (as they were here to kill the dragon) that they were Dwarrows. Smau always said that Dwarrows were the only ones stupid enough to think they could match a dragon. He recalled the broken portraits he'd seen, though they were all but smashed beyond repair and he hadn't gotten to see much in them, but he could see some resemblances.
Smaug was right. They did not look like him. They were muscled and strong where Bilbo was soft and round. Their ears were curved rather than pointy, and their feet seemed alarmingly small. Bilbo couldn't imagine wearing the boots he'd found, the idea of restriction in that way seemed painful.
They may not be like him, but perhaps they knew what he was. The thought was exciting.
He watched while they set up, relaxing onto the ground and striking up conversation with one another.
Some of them were very large and round, others were very slight. But he could tell they were all of the same race. Their hair ranged in a variety of colours Bilbo had never seen before. One was golden like Smaug’s scales, others were brown like the dirt, some were black like the water at night.
It was getting dark now, though they did not light a fire. Which (with forethought) seemed smart to Bilbo. If they were here to kill the dragon they would not want to alert it to their presence. Soon the moon would rise which meant soon they would find the passageway, and Bilbo couldn’t let that happen.
But what was he to do?
The largest one (with the awe inspiring coloured hair Bilbo could not name) took something out of his pack and passed it along.
Food.
Bilbo had not eaten since breakfast, so the sight was cruel and teasing and completely unfair. He considered, briefly, revealing himself. After all, they did not seem like bad people. They were laughing and joking, even if they did seem tense. But then he thought the better of it.
He’d never seen others interact before this, so he was certainly no expert. He would not risk it.
But that food did look lovely. Perhaps he could sneak by and simply grab some.
He was very quiet- Smaug had taught him to be as quiet as air. The round Dwarrow’s bag was open behind him and no one was facing in his direction. He could…
His stomach growled loudly, deciding for him. He slipped out of the hidden entrance, creeping towards the others.
“I’m just sayin’,” a cheery-looking Dwarrow with something odd on his head was saying now, “I don’t feel like bein’ burnt to a crisp because we don’t have a plan.”
“We got all this way, though, didn’t we?” the round Dwarrow with the little legs argued: the one with hair Bilbo could not describe (like a sunset- like fire, or blood, perhaps). “We just have to think carefully before we do anything.”
Bilbo was close now. So close. His hand slipped into the bag, and he pulled out a slice of some kind of meat he’d never seen before. It was cold, though the others seemed fine eating it, so Bilbo assumed he would be, too.
The round Dwarrow was even larger from a closer distance. And he... she... (Bilbo did not know) had hair all over their face. In fact, all of them did, save for one. Bilbo thought it odd. He’d never had hair on his face. Many of them had such long hair, as well, going from their upper lips, to well past their chins.
Bilbo slowly moved away, pocketing the food.
“Well, we’ll figure out a plan,” the pointy-faced one said, and Bilbo noticed he had equally pointy hair. He was right near the entrance now, again, he could slip away and tell Smaug what he’d found. “And we can find the beast and slaughter it!”
The others cheered, mouths full of food, and Bilbo found himself in pain at the very idea. His intake of breath was quiet, but it was enough to have the strange Dwarrow (with whatever that was on his head) looking over his shoulder in his direction.
Their eyes met.
“Mahal above!” the Dwarrow got to its feet, catching the others attention.
Bilbo couldn’t go through the door now. Not if he wanted to keep Smaug safe. He’d have to go the long way round.
“Who on Earth are you?”
Bilbo didn’t answer. He just bolted, down the steep and narrow pathway that led back to the base of the Mountain. He heard the other calling after him, but did not stop. He could hear heavy boots crunching on dirt, voices calling out.
He kept running though, as fast as his legs could carry him, down and down and down until he reached the foot of the Mountain. Then, he darted into the trees to hide. He’d always been very good at climbing. He used to climb the gold piles before he’d fallen off a precarious one and would have certainly fallen to his death had Smaug not caught him, tail rapping around his torso and gently setting him back on the ground.
He climbed the tallest tree he could find, praying the sparse leaves were enough to hide him.
The Dwarrows reached the bottom of the Mountain now.
“Do you see him?” the one without hair on his face asked.
“He couldn’t have gone far.”
“Spread out,” the scary one announced, “we can cover more ground if we go two-by-two.”
The round one was the last to come through the trees, red in the face and gasping for breath. Bilbo felt guilty for making the Dwarrow run. “I looked through my pack.”
“And?” The fair one asked.
“And, the meat’s gone.”
“So we have a burglar on our hands.” Bilbo didn’t know what that word was, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. The voice that spoke it had been the one he’d heard through the tunnel, the one full of authority. The Dwarrow it belonged to looked just the way his voice sounded. Composed, stately, but with a darkness underneath. Utterly lovely, if he was being honest. Bilbo didn't know if it was a good thing or not that he thought that. The feeling of being tugged by a string came back in full force and he had to resist the urge to jump down and reveal himself.
It did that odd thing to his stomach again, which he was sure couldn’t be good, even if it felt nice.
Bilbo stayed where he was until they had all well and truly gone, searching for him through the dead forest. He slowly climbed down, ensuring he was deathly quiet, before rushing back up the narrow path. He hesitated when he reached their camp, wondering if he should search through their things once more. But he didn’t have the time, and he felt guilty. He pulled the meat out of his pocket and set it back down on the pack he’d taken it from before disappearing through the entryway again to go and find Smaug.