Edge of the Wild (Tag: Bilbo + Open--PM First!)

[pumpkin]

ooc: This is taking place at some point during the actual quest--a sort of side-quest. PM if you're interested in joining in! Of course, we will end up back on track with the main quest~ And all god-playing has been pre-approved with Bilbo's player~ ^^

It was just Balin and Bilbo--just the two of them in the back of the dwarf pack. The remaining twelve dwarves in their team were already a ways ahead of them, shadows being swiftly swallowed up by the night, and Gandalf the Grey had all but disappeared. It had been only a matter of hours since they had all left behind that confounded elf haven, Rivendell, but the journey was long enough that turning back for there in such a rainstorm would not have been pretty, either. The thought hardly mattered much anyway. It was hardly as though they were going to be welcomed back open-armed, not after so briskly sneaking off. And while they hadn't been as rude as they could have, Balin hadn't been all that happy with the way the elf lord, Elrond, had gone on about business that very clearly had little to do with him...

The old dwarf pushed the thought from mind. That was hardly important now. They were in the rear of the pack and swiftly losing the others in the downpour. The land had started sloping up--up and up, the green melding into brown earth, the brown earth turning hard and cracked, bits of silver sprinkled here and there, until the frost-layer on the ground turned into actual snow. They had reached the Misty Mountains. And no sooner had they done so, than the rain had begun to pour. Had there perhaps been some curse involved with their leaving Rivendell unannounced? Balin didn't actually believe so, but it was amusing enough to entertain the thought.

He was huffing in an effort to climb up the slope after the others. He had taken the back in order to keep watch over the lot, and so far his keen eyesight alone had been enough to help him keep track of where the group was. Which was good, of course. The rain was so loud around him, drumming against the ground endlessly, that it was almost impossible to hear anything else. But the surprised cry that suddenly followed...that was clear as day. Their burglar...

Balin squinted against the rain. In that instant, the path ahead had become entirely clear. The other dwarves were gone, all sight of them and their trail soon to be washed away by the incredible rainfall. And most noticeable of all, the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, who had just been in front of Balin a moment or two ago, had vanished.

The dwarf took one look into the darkness off the pathway and was sure he knew what had happened.

"Bilbo!" Balin rushed over to the rock edge, wary of his own footing on the slippery slope. Curses of fire demons if they lost their burglar to a rainstorm... "Bilbo Baggins!"

Peering over the rock edge, there was nothing. No trace of the hobbit, not even a real trace of a scramble through the brush. It wasn't a sheer drop--there was land below, though it fell into a rather steep and ugly hill. Bilbo would have gone a long way, then, if he hadn't been able to grab onto something. But at least it hadn't been a fall off the face of the mountain completely. That would have been...well, another thought to set aside.

He hopped off the main pathway, grabbing onto a nearby tree trunk and digging his boots into the earth to get a firm hold. If he was going to get to Bilbo to help him, he had to make sure he didn't make the same tumble down along with him. Whatever happened next, this would certainly cost them, time-wise. The remainder of the group was going to be well ahead.

Yet it wasn't entirely hopeless. Balin knew where the group was headed, so assuming they too didn't encounter some sort of bad fortune and get separated, then they would stick to the straight path. As long as the other dwarves did that, Balin was sure he could get Bilbo and himself back to their group in due time. How many times had he tread over these same hills? As it was in his lifetime, too many times to count, vagabond that he was. Come day-break or the end of the confounded rain, it would be far easier to see the paths clearly. They could catch up.

The most important thing now was to get out of the storm. The other dwarves were sure to do the same before long--it was absolutely impossible to keep crossing the mountains in such dreadful weather--and the sooner they got warm and rested, the easier it would be to rise early and head out to meet the others.

"Bilbo Baggins, is that you, laddie?" Balin challenged his old but otherwise keen eyes to take in the land before him. A ways down, was a sort of huddled form, half curled around a tree. The dirt and scratches and tears aside, the fine material of the figure's clothing told Balin that it most certainly was. Well, at least the tree had caught the poor hobbit...

He moved the rest of the way down to the hobbit, crouching beside him. "Are you all right? Quite a tumble you took there."

[banaili]

They had left Rivendell without Gandalf. And from prior experience with this particular group of dwarves, Bilbo felt sure this was not going to be any better an idea than when they had been alone without Gandalf during the troll incident. Even during the Warg attack, they had only been able to get to safety thanks to Gandalf's skill in finding a safe haven. It was beginning to seem now as though they couldn't get anywhere without the help of the mysterious wizard.

Through the sheet of rain in front of him, Bilbo could barely make out the lumpy shapes of a couple of dwarves. Bombur, perhaps, and maybe one of "ori" brothers. It was almost impossible to tell. He, in fact, was in the back of the pack, with Balin. If it weren't for the elder dwarf, Bilbo might have already turned around by now. He was cold and wet and unsure, and worst of all utterly miserable. Meanwhile, there was a sour feeling in the air. The dwarves were teeming with it. They hadn't liked it at all in Rivendell, though Bilbo could hardly understand why. Rivendell had been a place of extraordinary beauty, the likes of which he had never imagined he'd be able to witness firsthand. Even before he'd lain eyes on his first Elf--the very beings which he had spent his childhood in search of--he had been sure that this was a place he might never leave.

And he wouldn't have, if he could have had his way. (Or perhaps simply if he just didn't have a conscience.) But while Gandalf was busy discussing private matters with Lord Elrond, the dwarves had gathered together and decided to sneak away and return to their journey. Bilbo had asked why they were so eager to go, particularly without Gandalf. He'd nearly been stubborn and bold enough as to say he wouldn't leave until the wizard was with them. After all, he saw no point in leaving behind a place as beautiful as Rivendell so quickly. But one of the dwarves had promised him that Gandalf was merely creating a distraction for them so they could escape unnoticed, and thus they could not waste the wizard's efforts, and Bilbo had to come along.

And so he'd come. And now he was missing Rivendell sorely--the beauty and comfort of that sparkling city--as icy rainwater stabbed at his eyes and seeped into his fine clothing. As they climbed higher and higher up the mountain, the layer of snow on the ground beneath them grew heavier and heavier. The cold of the place was beginning to seep into his bones.

This is absurd, he thought to himself, the frustration of the journey thus far building up inside of him. He knew the dwarves didn't really want him around--merely needed him, apparently--and he knew that they saw him as a sort of burden. The truth was, he didn't want to be here anyway, not in this sort of weather and not when he felt so thoroughly unwanted. The only dwarf who had come fairly close to embracing him at all was Balin, the one who was keeping watch behind him at the moment. They hadn't really spoken to each other since they'd left Rivendell, even despite the fact that they had both been in the back of the pack since they'd departed. But Balin was Thorin's adviser--the elder dwarf had seemed so preoccupied back in Rivendell preparing for their departure, that Bilbo had simply kept his mouth shut. And on that note, he still didn't feel quite sure that the dwarf really wanted to speak with him anyway.

He sighed, his heart beginning to feel more of the weight it had carried since their encounter with the trolls. What was he doing here? Why was he letting himself be bossed around by these dwarves, who didn't care in the least about him? That's right, Bilbo Baggins. You're entirely unnecessary. And if you had any sort of intelligence, you'd turn around right now and go straight back to Rivendell, where at the very least you'd be warm and comfortable and hap--

He didn't get to finish that thought, however, as he suddenly felt his foot catch in some sort of pothole in the stone beneath him. He tripped and fell sideways.

Right off the cliff ledge they had been walking on.

A strangled cry was all that he could manage, before he began to fall. He thought for sure this would be the end, that he had tumbled straight off of a sheer drop. But suddenly he hit land hard--more stone, but this time with some sort of underbrush, and trees as well. It hurt like hell. He was falling, tumbling far too fast to fully take in the multiple injuries he was being dealt on the way down. His face whipped by passing branches. A tree root tearing his jacket and digging into his side. A rippling pain as his elbow smashed into a rock jutting out from the ground. He gave small cries of pain with each blow.

And then the falling stopped suddenly. His body landed hard, the force of it folding him nearly in half across a tree. The wind was knocked out of him like a punch to the gut. Thank the gods he was still clutching his walking stick. The silly thing had been what had saved him, catching on another tree root while he crashed down the hill, and swinging him neatly over onto the tree that had, however painfully, cradled his fall.

He lay there for a moment, no desire to move in the slightest. He was on the verge of giving up. The pain in his body was finally beginning to reach his consciousness.

As he lay there, he heard something. There was a different sound against the rain now. But with his head ringing in pain, he wasn't sure if he was just hearing things. Perhaps he was.

Then suddenly, there was a shape by his side. He saw the boots first, planted firmly in the gathering mud. One of the dwarves...

Bilbo looked up slowly, wincing. It was Balin, the concern in his dark eyes apparent as day, even despite the sheet of rain between them.

"Are you all right? Quite a tumble you took there."

Bilbo felt odd given his current position, but after a moment, he nodded slowly. He winced again. "I think I might have hit my head," he murmured painfully. He didn't want to have to ask Balin for help. To seem weaker than the dwarves already thought him. Slowly, he backed up on the branch until his feet gingerly found the ground once more. Then, gripping the tree trunk tightly, he slowly got himself back into a sort of standing position. The terrain was steep enough that it was difficult as it was. But he would manage, like Balin seemed to be doing.

On his feet again, his vision felt foggy, although he couldn't tell if that was from the multiple blows his battered body had taken, or from the sheer strength of the rain. In any case...

"The others..." Bilbo called to Balin over the rain, trying to appear less fazed than he felt. "Can we catch up with them?"

He shifted his weight and felt a sharp pain shoot through his ankle. Perhaps I've twisted it, he thought to himself. He wondered if he would even be able to get up the hill on it.

[pumpkin]

"I think I might have hit my head," Bilbo replied, his voice tinged with pain. Balin was just grateful to see the other responding at all.

"Aye," he replied, nodding in agreement. "And assuredly a whole lot more than that, too."

He offered a hand for Bilbo to take as he struggled to his feet, but the hobbit managed on his own, despite being as apparently pained as he looked. Balin lowered his hand to his side again.

In fact, he had to admire the hobbit's determination and hardiness. He certainly didn't look all right--covered in bruises, battered in addition to being soaked. He seemed unsteady, too, as though he was going in and out of consciousness. The poor lad... They really ought to look for shelter immediately, before the young Baggins collapsed. They could worry about everything else later.

Balin released his hold on the tree he had wrapped his arm around, sliding down to the next available trunk, where Bilbo was holding on tight. There, he wrapped an arm around the hobbit, trying to get a firm enough hold on him to help him back up the hill. It was not going to be an easy trek, most especially with the horrid rain. "The mountain's notorious for caves," he called through the storm, blinking water from his eyes. "As long as we keep sharp and mind the not-quite-vacant ones, we'll be fine. Most important thing is that we get out of this downpour. I think we can safely agree on that."

"The others..." Bilbo's voice was only just audible. "Can we catch up with them?"

Balin waved a free hand, a hand which he then reached out with in order to grab the nearest tree starting back up the hill. "That's to worry over later. Let's just get back to the path, find a shelter... I'd blame need of rest on account of your injuries, but as it is, this old dwarf's in need of a break as well."

He offered as gentle a smile to the hobbit as he could manage, given the grueling circumstances, then began the trek back up the hill, one arm still around Bilbo to support him.

[banaili]

Bilbo was still gathering his bearings, testing his weight on his injured ankle, when Balin carefully made his way down to him. He felt a strong hand slide around his middle, holding on tightly enough that he suspected if he did trip again, Balin would make sure he didn't fall anywhere this time. Somehow, there was a little comfort in that thought. Even if he wanted more than anything right now to appear more able than he was feeling.

"The mountain's notorious for caves. As long as we keep sharp and mind the not-quite-vacant ones, we'll be fine. Most important thing is that we get out of this downpour. I think we can safely agree on that."

Bilbo had merely nodded in agreement, blinking rapidly against the raindrops making their way into his eyes. Surely Balin knew what he was talking about--although Bilbo did wonder what had happened to the others. If they had lost them.

As he posed this particular question to Balin, the dwarf was already on the move, trying to get them back up the hill. His stealth, despite his age, was admirable.

As Balin answered his question, Bilbo tried again to gain better footing on the steep hillside, digging his toes with no small manner of disgust into the thick black mud beneath them. Balin was supporting his weight on one side--with the other, Bilbo looked for a place to prop his walking stick.

"That's to worry over later. Let's just get back to the path, find a shelter... I'd blame need of rest on account of your injuries, but as it is, this old dwarf's in need of a break as well."

Bilbo could sense the small smile the dwarf offered his way. He gave as much of a smile as he could, then continued to look for some sort of hold. There was a jagged shape not too far above them--just within reach, in fact. Perhaps it was the rock that had jolted his elbow.
Balin had already made a few steps upwards, grabbing onto another tree trunk. Not wanting to become a dead weight for the dwarf, Bilbo hefted the walking stick higher, then reached out with it and braced it against the farther side of the rock. He tested its weight. Sturdy enough. He pulled himself up slowly, without going so far ahead that Balin couldn't stay with him.

They moved fairly slowly, trying to get back to where they had started. As the mud around them got thicker and the hill even steeper, Bilbo thought perhaps it might be impossible. Even despite Balin's support on one side, he had already tripped several times anyway. He had never known himself to be so clumsy. There had even been a moment when the dwarf had almost toppled over backwards because of Bilbo's lack of coordination. Thank goodness they had been holding onto each other for support: Bilbo had nearly grabbed onto the dwarf's beard to catch him--luckily he'd missed and caught the dwarf's belt instead. The going certainly wasn't easy for his comrade either.

We have to get out of this confounded weather, he thought, determinedly setting his jaw against the building pain in his twisted ankle.

Then he saw something odd, just off to their right.

As he peered through the sheet of rain, he thought perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. But no. There, set into the steep slope, was a thick blackness--a cave of some sort. Bilbo didn't know if there was something already inhabiting it, or if it even really was a cave. Maybe it was just a shadow created by some sort of outcrop above them. But considering how tired his body already felt, how it was screaming to get out of this wet and terrible weather and just rest, he thought perhaps it would be a good thing to point out to Balin nonetheless.

"Balin, look," he called over the wind to his dwarf companion. Without a free hand to point out the cave, he nodded in its direction, hoping the dwarf would see what he could see. Surely, given Balin's incredible eyesight, he would be able to differentiate what it was. "Shall we stop there?" he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He was tired and frustrated. Whether they were on the correct path now or not, stopping seemed a better solution.

And if they were closer to Rivendell because of what had happened...well, he wasn't going to complain about that.

[pumpkin]

ooc: Last notice about god-play, since we know better. If we are godplaying at all in this post, it has been pre-approved with the character being god-played. Because, of course, if it hasn't, the god-player is going to be roasted on a spit and squashed into jelly.

The trek back up the hill was no easy feat. When one of them wasn't losing his footing, the other one was. The earth had turned muddy with the endless rain, and with the frost added to the mess, it was a particularly nasty going. Balin himself had almost gone tumbling backwards down the side of the mountain--Bilbo had caught him only just in time, to which he had murmured a quick word of thanks he was well aware had been carried off, soundless, by the wind.

It felt like quite a time before Bilbo spoke again. "Balin, look!"

The older dwarf glanced up at the words, holding tight to yet another tree lining their pathway up. His eyes followed the direction of Bilbo's gesture to a dark area in the side of the rock wall. A cave.

Impressively done, Bilbo.

"Shall we stop there?" the hobbit asked.

"All right. Let's make for it, then." Balin took a moment to get proper footing in the mud, then with a grunt, swung himself and his companion to the next tree over.

They made one last dangerous trek over the unsteady terrain until they reached the safety of the cavern. It was pitch black inside, but by the sounds of things, it was quite empty. It didn't mean it didn't lead to other parts of the mountain or that it couldn't be some sort of trap. This area was too close to Moria, the beloved dwarf mines that were still riddled with nasty beings. There was a very good chance it wasn't entirely empty. They had to check first.

It was cool inside the cave, the rock lifeless, chilled by the cold, dead mountain. But it was dry, and that was what mattered most.

Balin set Bilbo down at the mouth of the cave, drawing his blade and moving deeper in to ensure they hadn't stumbled along into somebody else's resting place. By the looks of things, it was entirely empty, a rocky haven out of few others in the cliffside. They might be all right.

Then Balin had set to work making a fire--only a simple thing, barely embers--and the light of the small blaze had revealed to them that they had, in fact, found a proper place to rest for the night.

And now here they were, just he and the hobbit, in the middle of an abandoned cave in the mountainside. It was a small space, but it would suit them well enough. Balin was especially grateful for the fact that the terrain sloped downward, even in the cave. The rain couldn't get in that way, even with the incredible wind force behind it. As it was, he and the hobbit were already soaked to the skin. They didn't need to wake up and discover the rain had found a path into their beds.

Still, Balin felt troubled. He realized he wasn't merely edgy about what was happening now. His thoughts were as restless as they had been at the inception of this entire venture. Though, he was well aware that separation from the rest of the group was going to mean double the work come dawn. They would have to rise early, get a head start, and hopefully they would find some leads as to where the rest of the group had gotten off to for camp. The others would be fine, assuming they too hadn't been separated from each other. Balin was absolutely sure of that, and he at least had the comfort of knowing these mountain paths well.

But what was bothering him was that it had become just the two of them alone in the wilderness, and both of them were of only average size. Balin had faith in his own abilities, and he liked to think Bilbo could pull through if the challenge truly presented itself, but the tall folk of the world--men, elves, orcs, if luck was truly against them...Well, that lot was strong. Two--and a hobbit and dwarf, no less--stood an admittedly dangerously small chance of success against such beings.

He turned his attention to the small flames before him, thought back to the first time he had seen a real fire--in Erebor, the entire mountain kingdom ablaze, destruction raining down from a winged beast, the dragon, Smaug. One never really forgot such memories...

"Wind's going to be bitter at this time of night," Balin said to Bilbo honestly, sighing. "But I don't have Gloin's talent at fire-kindling. That'll have to do, I'm afraid." And it would. Any stronger a fire, and they would be sitting bait for the enemy.

The old dwarf clapped dust and ash from his gloves, studying the dim flame for a moment before sitting down by his bag of supplies. He turned his attention to the hobbit before him. The journey had very much only just begun, but the poor hobbit lad had already proved more of a nuisance than a proper help. Even so, Balin liked him. Very much so. There was something about Bilbo's character, the entire sense of his being out of place--but enthusiastically so, like he wanted to be here anyway--that Balin admired. He was a brave little bugger, no doubts about it. Good-hearted of him, anyway, to join in on a venture intended for someone else's benefit.

"Is it what you expected, all of this?" Balin offered the other a smile, an attempt to console and simultaneously keep his own troubled thoughts at bay. "I won't deny there's some excitement in it all, traveling, keeping constantly on the move..."

He eyed the other curiously. He thought he ought to see if the hobbit needed any medical attention. He was still carrying a great deal of the group's supplies and could surely help, if so...

[banaili]

ooc: Sorry for a not particularly amazing post! >.< I wanted to get one more in, but I'm tired as hell! I think I've been awake almost 20 hours now! T_T

ic:

"All right. Let's make for it, then."

Bilbo couldn't read the look in the dwarf's eyes, whether he was impressed or whether he thought this was a sound idea or not. But he had agreed to investigate the cave in case it really could be their shelter for the night, and that much was enough. Bilbo felt the dwarf moving into a sturdier stance, and he too braced himself. A moment later, and Balin had used his might--with a little help from Bilbo--to swing them both over to the next tree.

It took almost 10 minutes more before they finally found themselves at the mouth of the cave--for it was indeed some sort of cave. Bilbo strained to see ahead of him, but there was only pitch black. Though the air inside was cool and moist, at least the earth itself seemed dry enough. But was there someone or something inside? That was the real question. It didn't appear to be inhabited, at the very least...

Balin gently let go of Bilbo. Bilbo merely watched as the dwarf moved cautiously into the darkness of the cavern, drawing his sword and checking that the coast was clear. When the other had deemed the place empty and inhabitable, Bilbo had limped after him, down to a slightly lower, more secluded part of the cave. There, Balin began a fire.

Although Bilbo thought it would be polite to offer some assistance, and though he did actually want to be of some use, he decided to keep himself busy setting up camp while Balin worked. He took a spot across from Balin, gingerly settling himself down and going through his pack to pull out his rolled-up blanket. He wrapped the fuzzy thing around his shoulders now to keep out the chill, sitting and absentmindedly rubbing at one of the deeper cuts on his temple while he watched the dwarf work, his mind lost.

He should never have come here. Not only was he causing a problem for himself, but now, watching his companion, he felt more guilt than ever. He had also succeeded in getting Balin lost from his company--from his fellow dwarves. And if there was one thing Bilbo had learned from this adventure thus far, it was that being the odd one out was a very unpleasant thing indeed. He couldn't tell how the other was feeling, if he had merely been being polite before, or if he was actually quite upset about the whole thing. In any case, it had been Bilbo's own foolishness that was sure to have skewered the dwarves' plans. If he were in their place, he would have been agitated too.

Like he had been earlier. About this whole situation. But now he was just tired.

A fire roared up between them. His eyes stared into the dancing flames, seeing beyond them. There was a dusting sound from across the way, and Balin finally spoke to him again for the first time since they had left the storm outside.

"Wind's going to be bitter at this time of night," Balin said to Bilbo honestly, sighing. "But I don't have Gloin's talent at fire-kindling. That'll have to do, I'm afraid."

Bilbo could only nod his understanding, wrapping the blanket around himself tighter as he curled into himself for warmth. He didn't blame Balin for any of what had happened. And the fire was strong enough, at least for him.

There was a long silence after that, in which Bilbo could feel the dwarf's eyes on him again. Despite that, he couldn't bring himself to look up, away from the fire. Staring at it gave him something to do, other than feel like a complete idiot for having sidetracked the quest they'd set out on. The glow was nearly as mesmerizing as the sight of Rivendell had been. His heart sank again at the thought of having left such a beautiful place behind.

"Is it what you expected, all of this?" Balin offered the other a smile, an attempt to console and simultaneously keep his own troubled thoughts at bay. "I won't deny there's some excitement in it all, traveling, keeping constantly on the move..."

Bilbo finally looked up, finding himself surprised at the warm expression on the dwarf's face. Surprisingly, Balin did not look as perturbed as Bilbo expected he would--or should--be, given the circumstances. It took a moment for Bilbo to find the proper words or mindset to reply, but when he did, he tried to force a small, albeit half-hearted smile onto his own face as well.

"You know...I don't know. I really don't," he began, shivering a little and tightening the blanket around himself further. He stared at the fire once more. What had he expected from going on this adventure? Adventure, naturally... But all these mishaps? These terrible, unexpected ordeals?

Well, the whole thing had been entirely unexpected anyway.

His words came out honestly. "The further I get from home, the more I wonder if I have any common sense at all. This whole adventure business doesn't seem to suit me, does it?"

There was another twinge in his ankle. He reached down and rubbed at it vacantly.

After a moment, he looked back up, this time meeting Balin's wise brown eyes. The flames of the fire were reflected in the dwarf's kind but penetrating stare. Something about the sight painfully reminded him that he and Balin were of two very different races. And there was nothing wrong with that, of course. But surely it meant they thought differently. And Balin, as a dwarf, would live much longer than he, would have seen much more of the world and its evils over the course of his life. Bilbo stared back at him now, almost curious. "Did you ever get used to it...? This...wandering?"

[pumpkin]

Balin hadn't set to work making a bed for himself, however much sleep he felt he needed. He'd already decided to take the first shift keeping watch for the night. Better to get everything else settled and ready for tomorrow rather than get comfortable and risk falling asleep prematurely. The fire, though small, was a nice visual comfort, at least.

Across the way, looking something of a twisted mess of relieved, exhausted, and pained, Bilbo met his gaze. "You know...I don't know. I really don't," he replied in answer to Balin's question, wrapping his blanket tighter about him.

There was a moment of silence--Balin glanced away for a minute, aware of Bilbo's discomfort in the wet cold, but equally and uncomfortably aware that he was unable to help him more than the tiny flame in the center of the cave--and then the hobbit began to speak once more. This time, his tone sounded more determined, as though he were finally getting something especially troublesome off his chest.

"The further I get from home, the more I wonder if I have any common sense at all. This whole adventure business doesn't seem to suit me, does it?"

"No, no, it doesn't," Balin answered him honestly. He caught sight of Bilbo rubbing absentmindedly at his ankle, then recalled the sight of the other limping into the cave earlier. He must have injured his ankle in the fall--something more than just a simple cut. Balin prayed it wasn't anything that would slow them down too much by morning. It was probably for the better that he was keeping watch, then.

He busied himself with the supplies bags he had been carrying for this leg of the journey, counting them both lucky that he had in fact been charged with carrying the most important of resources to them now: some of the best food stores, as well as the medicine. Balin grabbed a few slivers of salted pork, along with some eggs and vegetables hoarded away from Riven-hell, as he'd decided he wanted to call the elf haven, and set these aside for their dinner. He went back through the bags again just as quickly in search of the medicine.

"Did you ever get used to it...? This...wandering?"

Balin blinked at the hobbit. That question had certainly come from the blue. Maybe he thought about it all too much, enough so that he had very much, in some way, become used to it--like it was routine.

"Personally...no. I don't believe so." At that, Balin had to laugh a little at his own irony, a laugh like a low, impish chuckle. "Perhaps it is one of those cursed things one can never get used to. It can be a pleasure, wandering. It can mean a sense of freedom, liberation, the ability to see things you otherwise wouldn't see, being crowded in under the cover of a mountain kingdom... Or, in your case--" He gestured to the hobbit with a hand now holding gauze wrap, his eyes crinkling into a cheeky smile, "--tucked away in that Bag End of yours."

His eyes still smiling, Balin moved to Bilbo's side, settling down beside him and lowering the medical supplies to the floor. An herbal antiseptic, one of Oin's own brilliant creations, and the gauze. He set to work on Bilbo's apparently injured ankle, wrapping the gauze as tightly around it as he could manage in order to hold the injured joint steady. A flask of boiling water against the ankle would have soothed the pain considerably by morning as well, but Balin had decided they would have to pass on that. They had only the drinking water they were carrying in the flasks, and it was best they didn't fiddle with that.

"But it can be overwhelming, you know, always having to move. Sometimes you just need time away from it all. Sometimes you just need a real moment's peace. That is what I believe, anyway."

And that was indeed the essence of his feelings about this quest. Balin had seen enough death, done enough fighting and wandering to last him several lifetimes. Thorin had made a good home for their people in Eriador. It had not been Erebor--no, nowhere could replace such a mighty kingdom as the one his kin had once had--but it was good enough. And it wasn't for lack of courage that Balin felt "good enough" was exactly what the Blue Mountains were for their people--good enough. It was that he was tired of the death, of the fighting, of losing people that mattered to him. If he didn't love Thorin and his people so strongly, he liked to think he would have stood more firmly against the entire venture.

Balin had cleaned out a few of Bilbo's cuts with the antiseptic, but he handed the small glass jar to the hobbit now, urging him to finish the rest for himself. He wanted to begin work on their dinner. "Careful with the medicine. We don't have much, unfortunately."

Moving back to the fire, Balin took the salted pork slices and eggs and set them in a metal pan over the fire. Damned if Bombur wouldn't have been a great use now. Balin himself had very little experience with cooking. They would be a lucky pair if he didn't burn their food mercilessly. Although, with such a small flame, maybe it was impossible. That was a pleasant thought.

"So what is Hobbiton like? And hobbits? Hard to get a good impression from just a quick stay with one of the Shire-folk. I've always been curious about hobbits and their lifestyles. It became common, passing by your green lands on the way to the Blue Mountains, and I've made that journey far too many times than I care to count."

[banaili]

"No, no, it doesn't," Balin answered him honestly.

Despite the directness of Balin's response, it wasn't entirely unexpected. In some ways, Bilbo appreciated the dwarf for his honesty. At least he wasn't being rudely blunt about it, or lying about things simply to ease the hobbit's mind. Bilbo believed that a white lie once in a while wasn't a bad thing, but honesty was always the safest and best bet. Particularly given this situation.

He watched as the dwarf seemed to busy himself with something in his pack--perhaps his own bedding. He didn't blame him in the least for wanting to get comfortable, not after the rain storm they'd just been in. Still, as he watched the dwarf work, he couldn't help wondering about the other's opinion on all this wandering. Were dwarves more comfortable with a life of wandering? Although they all seemed so eager to return back to their home in Erebor, Bilbo got the feeling that they weren't the sort who could just settle down. Dwarves were the sort one thought of when it came to adventure--not hobbits like himself.

Balin met his eye then, looking thoughtful. "Personally...no. I don't believe so." At that, Balin had to laugh a little at his own irony, a laugh like a low, impish chuckle. "Perhaps it is one of those cursed things one can never get used to. It can be a pleasure, wandering. It can mean a sense of freedom, liberation, the ability to see things you otherwise wouldn't see, being crowded in under the cover of a mountain kingdom... Or, in your case--" He gestured to the hobbit with a hand now holding gauze wrap, his eyes crinkling into a cheeky smile, "--tucked away in that Bag End of yours."

Bilbo gave the dwarf another smile, despite the homesickness in his heart. It was true. Although he never stopped thinking of the comforts of his home in Bag End, and despite the dangers he'd already been through on this quest so far, he really had been able to do things he wouldn't have normally done. Seen things he would never have otherwise seen.

Like the Elves, Bilbo thought to himself, feeling the same amazement he had felt upon entering Rivendell. Men and women twice his size, and with twice as much grace and beauty as he had ever seen in all the Shire--and there were quite a few fair folk in the Shire, one could be sure.

At that moment, Balin came to sit by his side, carrying what looked like a few of their emergency supplies. Oin was usually the one to create and thus carry the medical supplies, so Bilbo thought it an odd chance of good luck that Balin had taken a turn carrying it this time. He only hoped the other dwarves weren't in need of it now. Balin didn't say anything at first, just reached for Bilbo's ankle and began massaging some sort of herbal remedy into it. Bilbo flinched for a moment, not so much from the pain that followed so much as from the unexpected contact. A moment later he felt a flush of embarrassment. His companion must have noticed his pain, even despite the fact that he wanted so desperately not to seem as pathetic as he felt.

"I, I can--" He began softly, though his voice faltered off. It was certainly something he could do on his own. But the dwarf was working hard and doing a good job of it. Looking at him now, Bilbo also noted that his older companion looked distant, as though he were lost in thought. He thought perhaps it would be better not to interrupt.

"But it can be overwhelming, you know, always having to move. Sometimes you just need time away from it all. Sometimes you just need a real moment's peace. That is what I believe, anyway."

Bilbo nodded his wholehearted agreement. "You know, I quite agree with you. And--agh!" He flinched again as Balin reached out and covered the deeper gash in his face with the same cool remedy.

A moment later, and the dwarf held out the jar of antiseptic to him, which Bilbo took gratefully. "Thank you," he finally added, his hand subconsciously going up to the burning cut on his face.

"Careful with the medicine. We don't have much, unfortunately."

Again, he nodded his agreement. Given they still had quite a ways to go on their journey, it was kind of the dwarf to let him use some of their medicine supply. He set to work with treating his own wounds, being as sparing as he could with the remedy, and as tender with his own wounds as he could manage. This time, Balin had moved away from him to begin their dinner.

Bilbo couldn't help but look up as he worked, eying the food that would be their dinner tonight. Pork, some vegetables, and eggs--in fact, a much richer food than they had had for several nights since before the troll ordeal. Bilbo wondered if perhaps some of it had been pilfered from the Elves in Rivendell--not that Balin seemed the type to do such a thing. Maybe they'd been saving it for a more important occasion, he thought to himself, feeling even more guilty at that particular notion.

"So what is Hobbiton like? And hobbits? Hard to get a good impression from just a quick stay with one of the Shire-folk. I've always been curious about hobbits and their lifestyles. It became common, passing by your green lands on the way to the Blue Mountains, and I've made that journey far too many times than I care to count."

Bilbo looked up, torn away from his thoughts by the sound of Balin's voice. "Well--" He stopped. The question stumped him for a moment. How could he properly convey what it meant to be a hobbit?

He began almost hesitantly. "Well...I suppose we are simple folk. We like green and growing things, having our own gardens to tend to. That's why you can find so many flowers and other varieties of plant life in the Shire. In fact," he continued, his voice growing a little bolder, "I suspect the Shire is home to some of the most beautiful flowers in all of Middle Earth."

He smiled at the thought of his lifelong home--the green, rolling hills of the Shire, covered in all manner of color. His own garden at Bag End was rather impressive, if he did say so himself, though perhaps it was the Gamgee family or Ella Chubb's family down in central Hobbiton who had the most stunning array of flowers.

"We like to live peacefully. Quietly, and comfortably. And we usually enjoy company," he added, knowing full-well that he hadn't been quite as hospitable as he normally would be when the dwarves had visited. He finally set down the jar of ointment, resting his head back against the rock wall behind him and nearly lost in thought. "All we need is some good food, lots of ale, and a pipe to go with that, and we're perfectly content. That's Shire folk for you. Simple folk." He smiled at the thought, lost to memories of his simple but happy childhood and early bachelorhood.

Then he smelled something slightly overcooking. Only slightly, though since he enjoyed food as much as he did, even something being "slightly overcooked" was noticeable to him. Distracted from his memories, he glanced down at the fire and saw that the eggs were on the verge of burning. Good thing he'd caught it in time--burnt eggs weren't all that tasty, no matter what spices you added to them.

"Would you like some help with that?" he added, motioning to the frying pan. He didn't really wait for an answer before grabbing his pack and scooting forward towards Balin and the fire, avoiding putting any stress on his weak ankle. He lifted the frying pan away from the fire. The pork had yet to cook through fully, naturally, but they could always put that back on once they'd taken out the eggs.

Balin had already prepared, too, having taken out some extra bowls and utensils for them to use. Bilbo gave a grateful nod, then grabbed at one. From his pack he took out several canisters of spice from his homeland, things he had brought along without a proper thought as to why he'd need them (although he certainly didn't regret having them now), and began adding some egg and spice to one bowl. While he worked, he addressed some of his own questions to the dwarf.

"How about Erebor? Can you tell me what it was like to live there?" Having finished scooping out the eggs and adding a fine layer of Shire spice to them, he handed a bowl to Balin, then replaced the frying pan over the fire. "To be quite honest, I don't know a lot about dwarves, even having lived among thirteen of you for the past few weeks." He gave a weak smile as he picked up his own bowl, this time staying closer to the fire instead of going back to his spot by the cavern wall. He wanted to be as companionable as he could be--and besides, it was warmer here anyway.

[pumpkin]

"Well--" Bilbo looked almost lost at the question. Balin couldn't deny that it, too, had come from the blue. He was admittedly curious about the Shire-folk and had been for quite some time, but his question had been posed specifically for a good change of topic.

"Well...I suppose we are simple folk." The hobbit went on; Balin nodded. "We like green and growing things, having our own gardens to tend to. That's why you can find so many flowers and other varieties of plant life in the Shire."

There was a only a moment's pause before Bilbo's tone became a shade more confident, and suddenly he was speaking once more. "In fact, I suspect the Shire is home to some of the most beautiful flowers in all of Middle Earth."

More silence. Bilbo had gone quiet again, the pains earned from his fall seeming to go forgotten as he lost himself in some likely warm memory of his home. His eyes lit up, he smiled. The gesture alone conveyed his love for the place he had left behind, and Balin suddenly felt a twinge of guilt at having stolen the hobbit away to act as burglar for his group.

"We like to live peacefully. Quietly, and comfortably. And we usually enjoy company," he added, setting down the jar of ointment. Balin nodded again. He understood those sentiments completely, of course.

"All we need is some good food, lots of ale, and a pipe to go with that, and we're perfectly content. That's Shire folk for you. Simple folk."

The old dwarf smiled. Perhaps there wasn't more to hobbits than he had initially thought. It was their simple but peaceful lifestyles that had always set them apart in his mind. He greatly admired it--their ability to live and thrive in the way they did, with little apparent interest in what happened in the world around them. That was their blessing, in some sense. To live prosperously and remain ignorant to the horrible going-ons beyond the Shire borders. Balin himself wasn't sure he would ever fully be able to understand or appreciate hobbit lifestyle, however much he longed to, simply because it was entirely the opposite of his own. But what he could love was what it represented--the ideals of peace, quiet, and simplicity.

"Would you like some help with that?"

It took a moment for Balin to realize that Bilbo meant their dinner. He quickly pulled out a couple of the utensils and bowls from the supplies pack, setting them down by the fireside. "No, it's quite all right--I'm sure I can manage..." As if it intended to spite him, Balin watched one of the eggs begin to sizzle as mercilessly as he had initially suspected it would and frowned. Bilbo had already moved in to help out, anyway. "Ah. Well...perhaps not, then. Here--I'll leave you to it."

Bilbo set to work with the food, even adding spices of his own, and Balin had to admire his ability. The hobbit had seemed a terrific cook even the many days back when they'd first met at his home in the Shire. A pantry full of all sorts of foods, some of which Balin had never before encountered in his long lifetime, and the dishes for the evening had been quite good. Perhaps fine cooking was a natural gift of the hobbits in the same way the dwarves possessed a talent for craftsmanship. "I'll take the burnt one, then. It was my doing after all," Balin said to Bilbo. He reached out a hand to take his bowl from the hobbit.

"How about Erebor? Can you tell me what it was like to live there?"

The dwarf glanced up at Bilbo, hesitating for a moment. The hobbit seemed to be full of odd questions tonight. Perhaps he'd hit his head a little too hard... Although, it stood to reason that he had every right to ask such a question, considering he was accompanying the dwarf company to help them get Erebor back.

"Thank you." Balin finally accepted the bowl with a nod of his head--the spices smelled admittedly divine--and set to work on the meal, keeping one keen eye on the slices of pork over the fire.

"To be quite honest," Bilbo went on, "I don't know a lot about dwarves, even having lived among thirteen of you for the past few weeks."

That was true. They were two very different sorts of beings--hobbits and dwarves. Bilbo was still something of an outsider, something Balin was painfully aware that Bilbo himself knew, and every day of this quest proved more and more difficult. For all of them, of course, but probably most especially for the hobbit. Perhaps this just wasn't the happiest topic. Old Balin sighed, turning his attention back to the small flames and to the same thoughts he had been reflecting on mere moments before. They came and went, memories of Erebor, memories of the exile and the wandering, of the wars that followed. He remembered them all as clearly as the day each had occurred. It had been his whole life, all he'd ever known...what else could he reflect on?

"Well...it was a majestic place, Erebor. As you might imagine. I was quite young when it fell, but I remember it all very clearly. And it was nothing akin to your home in the Shire, I can say that honestly--it was a very different sort of world. But it was home, and it was beautiful. Thriving, a tall, star-shaped mountain rich with fine metals and jewels. We had long, great halls, halls of silver and gold, and far more treasure than could be counted. Some of the finest pieces of work came from our mountain. And there was great intellect as well. I used to--" Balin actually flushed a little at the memory, a sense of personal pride filling him up from the inside. "--take part in some of the most important councils, though I was very young at the time. 'A noble dwarf with word-craft equal to the jewelry of the finest Dwarven smiths.' That is how they used to describe me."

He lifted his gaze, smiling at the hobbit with the same look of haunted nostalgia that any person who has lived for a very long time has when they reflect on their Glory Days. And those truly had been days of glory for Balin. He'd never quite felt that he had rekindled that passion for the art of words after the attack by Smaug.

Fueled by these thoughts, Balin went on. "There was a great pride in our people, the same pride which has..." He paused. Unfortunately, he wanted to add. "Which has lead us to this trip back to the mountain. The Lonely Mountain stands silent, perhaps vacant. Our beautiful kingdom was all but destroyed, and I imagine now that a great part of it has gone to rot. Naturally, a century has past since it's loss--it is to be expected. But for King Thorin, there is hope. Hope of re-gaining the kingdom, and, of course, the treasure our people worked so hard to create and collect. I suppose it's not quite greed for the treasure that drives us, but our pride. The memory of what we all once had in that beautiful place we once called home."

The fire crackled. Balin lowered his gaze. "Yet I feel it was perhaps that pride that became our downfall. We never expected a dragon, because we were too blind to the prospect of such a..." His words drifted off.

There was a very long moment before he spoke again.

"And now I've gone and said too much." Balin cleared his throat, didn't bother with any more words. He merely gestured to the slices of meat over the fire, both of which had burned a sort of sickly brown. It was a good thing the remainder of the group wasn't around to see their fine food toasted to a crisp. The rest of the salted pork--unburnt and still safely in the supply bags--would have to go to the remainder of the dwarves. No more for Bilbo and him.

"All right, you eat this, Bilbo--" Balin offered the lesser burnt of the two slices of meat to the hobbit, sliding it into his bowl, "--and then you can have some proper rest. If that's not enough for your dinner, I've taken out the vegetables from Rivendell, as well."

He cleared his throat and slid the last blackened pork slice into his own bowl. It would be too hot for consumption now. But he had plenty of time to wait before eating. As he was taking the first shift to guard for the night--if not the only shift--it would give him something to do.

[banaili]

ooc: Another not-so-great post from me! >.< I think I've been sleeping weird recently, hehe. I have to sleep better! ^_^;;

ic:

Bilbo saw the dwarf sigh, and almost regretted having asked about Erebor. It was merely to appease his own curiosity, after all. But perhaps bringing up memories of the place was painful for Balin--in fact, he thought it must be, as he watched another distant, almost pained look cross the dwarf's face. Balin's gaze had turned to the fire now, like he could see something more there--reliving wonderful memories of the past that were very much long gone.

"Well...it was a majestic place, Erebor. As you might imagine. I was quite young when it fell, but I remember it all very clearly. And it was nothing akin to your home in the Shire, I can say that honestly--it was a very different sort of world. But it was home, and it was beautiful. Thriving, a tall, star-shaped mountain rich with fine metals and jewels. We had long, great halls, halls of silver and gold, and far more treasure than could be counted. Some of the finest pieces of work came from our mountain."

Bilbo watched the firelight reflected in the dwarf's eyes, strong and passionate like the dwarf's feelings for his own city. Balin's description was strong enough that Bilbo too could imagine the once-beauty of Erebor. A towering mountain, full of all manner of color--though not in the form of flowers, but a variety of jewels and precious metals instead. It could never be a home for Bilbo, surely, such a place built out of stone. But it sounded very much that Erebor had its own sort of beauty. And Bilbo could certainly understand Balin's feelings of missing his old home. He himself couldn't imagine being away from the Shire for so many years. No longer having it to call home.

"And there was great intellect as well," Balin continued. "I used to--" he actually flushed a little at the memory, a sense of personal pride filling him up from the inside. "--take part in some of the most important councils, though I was very young at the time. 'A noble dwarf with word-craft equal to the jewelry of the finest Dwarven smiths.' That is how they used to describe me."

Balin met Bilbo's eye with a smile now, and Bilbo returned it. Of all the dwarves, Balin had always struck him as one of the most intelligent--wise and thoughtful. Terrible as it sounded, one didn't usually associate such traits with dwarves. Brashness perhaps, stubbornness and strength and pride. Warriors at heart. Bilbo knew that was perhaps a backwards way to think, stereotyping the dwarf people by what he'd read about them in his books. However, he'd also been living with thirteen of them, after all. And it was true...Balin did, in several ways, stand out from his dwarf brethren.

"There was a great pride in our people, the same pride which has..." He paused. Unfortunately, he wanted to add. "Which has lead us to this trip back to the mountain. The Lonely Mountain stands silent, perhaps vacant. Our beautiful kingdom was all but destroyed, and I imagine now that a great part of it has gone to rot. Naturally, a century has past since it's loss--it is to be expected. But for King Thorin, there is hope. Hope of re-gaining the kingdom, and, of course, the treasure our people worked so hard to create and collect. I suppose it's not quite greed for the treasure that drives us, but our pride. The memory of what we all once had in that beautiful place we once called home."

The fire crackled. Balin lowered his gaze. "Yet I feel it was perhaps that pride that became our downfall. We never expected a dragon, because we were too blind to the prospect of such a..." His words drifted off.

Bilbo could only watch the other, in some ways understanding the torn feeling Balin seemed to have. Pride was an integral part of dwarf culture, or so it seemed. It was unheard of to imagine a dwarf who wasn't proud. And certainly, many of the dwarves in their company, if not all of them, carried that same stubborn amount of pride. It was simply in a dwarf's nature.

But thus, to feel that a key part of one's culture could bring about its downfall...yes, Bilbo could understand what a terrible feeling that had to be. It was quite like the torn feeling he got from being part Baggins and part Took, in fact. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to be back in the Shire, living comfortably and respectably--as a Baggins should. But that Took side of him...he'd tried to deny it before, but he knew now that he could not. It wanted this sort of adventure. It wanted him to try the unknown. And now he was at war with himself, wanting to stifle the Took side and go back to just being a Baggins.

Yes, it was quite a terrible thing, being so torn about one's own identity.

Some time passed before either of them spoke. It was Balin who began speaking again first.

"And now I've gone and said too much."

Bilbo, realizing that Balin's words about Erebor and dwarves had led him off into his own world of thoughts. He quickly looked up at the sound of Balin's voice, then followed his gaze to the pork. To his slight dismay, it had burned. That was partly his fault, he knew, given that he had kept Balin busy with thoughts of the past. He'd made them both think of things perhaps they didn't want to be thinking of.

"All right, you eat this, Bilbo--" Balin offered the lesser burnt of the two slices of meat to the hobbit, sliding it into his bowl, "--and then you can have some proper rest. If that's not enough for your dinner, I've taken out the vegetables from Rivendell, as well."

"Ah! Oh--" Bilbo thought he ought to tell Balin that it was alright, that he didn't need to take the best of the pieces. Even if he did have a fairly big appetite, it was mainly his fault for distracting his companion from their dinner. Still, as Balin had already slipped it into his bowl, he simply offered a quick "thank you" and pulled back.

"You can save the vegetables," he added, though he did think a nice side of lettuce would go nicely with the meal. It was better they didn't waste anymore of their food supply. Perhaps the dwarf would want to eat it anyway--although judging from their short time in Rivendell, the dwarves weren't particularly fond of green foods. What a pity, he had thought at the time. He couldn't imagine a proper meal that didn't include some vegetables.

He added some of his own personal stock of seasoning to the pork, then pushed it over to Balin, in case the other wanted some as well. At the very least, he'd seemed to enjoy it on the eggs they'd eaten earlier.

As he blew on his meal to cool it down, he tried to think of something else he could bring up to talk about. From this little side quest of theirs, he'd been able to learn a lot more about his dwarf companion--that he was wise, that he had been particularly admired for his skill in his younger days. That he too missed his home badly, and that he was perhaps even a little ashamed of the dwarves' stubborn pride.

He couldn't say he knew that much about the other dwarves, that was for sure. And certainly, Balin had been the nicest to him of them all anyway, right from the beginning. It made him wonder about the others too.

"So...are all of you from Erebor originally? Is that why you've all gathered together--to gain back your homeland?" he asked, hoping for more conversation, though also genuinely curious at the same time. Although the dwarves were as close as peas in a pod, he sensed something different between some of them--ones who seemed like pieces of the puzzle who had managed to be squashed in, but who upon closer inspection didn't actually fit. Sort of like himself, really, except he was the one piece that couldn't even pretend to be part of the same puzzle.

He smiled across at his older companion. "You all seem very close, although I've had the feeling many times that perhaps you were from different parts of the world."

Thinking his food must be ready for consumption, he cut a piece off of the end and took a bite out of it. The salt and other seasonings had seemingly baked themselves into the steaming piece of meat. Even though it was a little burnt, it was still delicious. Bilbo nodded his approval as he chewed. "It's good!" he said between mouthfuls, hoping to appease his companion.

[pumpkin]

Bilbo took his plate, surprisingly astute despite assuredly being tired. "You can save the vegetables," he said, as he set to work on his own bowl of food.

Balin studied the hobbit for a brief moment, searching to see if he was genuine about that. It was no secret how much the Shire folk liked their food, particularly the garden-grown sort, and lots of it. Balin himself could eat vegetables if he had to, but it was an equally known fact that dwarves didn't particularly have the taste for such foods. He could certainly do without; he'd only really taken the vegetables out for Bilbo.

"All right then. Suit yourself." Balin wrapped the fresh, brightly-colored vegetables back up in the silken cloth they'd received them in--or perhaps "nabbed" was a more appropriate term--at Rivendell, then stowed them back away in the pack. "You know where to find them if you change your mind."

He poured some of the Shire spice over his food, nodding his thanks to Bilbo, but despite his own hunger, Balin spent the next few minutes absentmindedly pushing his meal around the bowl. He was perhaps a bit too anxious about everything happening to actually eat. That had to be it. He was hardly a picky eater, something his brother Dwalin was always rather fond of pointing out.

The fire crackled on, but the flames were beginning to die down. Balin had gone out to gather some branches for the small fire earlier. He was grateful to have them nearby now as he tossed another armful over the flame, one branch after another. The flames spat our sparks, hissed. The branches were still wet.

"So...are all of you from Erebor originally?" Bilbo had looked up from his meal again, smiling. "Is that why you've all gathered together--to gain back your homeland? You all seem very close, although I've had the feeling many times that perhaps you were from different parts of the world."

Balin nodded. That had been a good observation on the hobbit's part. Or at the very least, good intuition. Dwarves tended to be lumped together as one entity by most races, and for someone who had otherwise never left the Shire to properly be able to notice the differences...

"We all have our own reasons, I suppose, for being a part of this journey. There are things Thorin and I do not see eye to eye with regarding this quest, but naturally, I will stand by him without fail. And he knows that." Balin returned the hobbit's smile. His relationship with Thorin had always been like that, ever since they had lived together in Erebor as children. "For the other dwarves, I imagine it's the same. We all know what we are fighting for, deep inside ourselves, and however different it is amongst the lot of us, it has brought us together. That is the most important thing, I believe. That which has connected us. But we are not all from Erebor. You are right in that guess."

The fire crackled on, and outside, the rain continued to come down, drumming against the cool rock of the mountain. It really was terrible weather for a journey. But the Misty Mountains were often this temperamental. They could only hope it stopped by morning. The going over such slippery terrain was going to be difficult as it was.

Balin looked to Bilbo again after a while, who seemed--at the very least--to be enjoying his meal. He set his own bowl of food down in his lap, still untouched. While they were having this heart to heart of sorts, there was something Balin was curious enough to bring up. He had been thinking about it since the very first day the quest had set out from the Shire. "What was it that made you change your mind, laddie? About going on this journey with our lot? I have to agree with you--hobbits appear to be a very simple folk to us dwarves, though it is that very trait that I admire."

[banaili]

At Bilbo's question, Balin had nodded. Bilbo smiled back, then took another bite out of his meal. He had suspected as much. Though he really only knew about dwarves what he'd read in his books, he had, in fact, encountered a few passing through the Shire--maybe some who were friends of his current company, since the dwarves he had met in the past had been heading to the Blue Mountains. There was something a little different in the manner of the dwarves he was with now, he had noticed. The way some of them spoke, or the way they held themselves. Little things, but noticeable differences nonetheless.

"There are things Thorin and I do not see eye to eye with regarding this quest, but naturally I will stand by him without fail. And he knows that." Balin returned the hobbit's smile. "For the other dwarves, I imagine it's the same. We all know what we are fighting for, deep inside ourselves, and however different it is amongst the lot of us, it has brought us together. That is the most important thing, I believe. That which has connected us. But we are not all from Erebor. You are right in that guess."

There was another moment's pause, and Bilbo nodded his understanding. True thought it was that dwarves were, unfortunately, renown for their greed, it was certainly a marvelous thing that they could rely on each other so much. Even despite their levels in status--for Thorin was a king, after all--they treated each other like brothers. Shire folk were like that too, he thought to himself, although there was something more genuine and simplistic about the way the dwarves did it.

At the sound of Balin's voice again, Bilbo looked up, turning away from his thoughts once more.

"What was it that made you change your mind, laddie? About going on this journey with our lot? I have to agree with you--hobbits appear to be a very simple folk to us dwarves, though it is that very trait that I admire."

Despite how tired they both were, there was genuine curiosity in Balin's kind, twinkling brown eyes. Something about the question made Bilbo's face flush red.

Well, how could he put it, exactly? He had wanted to prove something, both to himself and to the dwarves who had occupied his house that night. He wasn't as "simple" as they all thought, although he certainly wore that trait as comfortably and naturally as any other Hobbit. But Gandalf had been right. There was Took blood in him, and it had wanted him to go on an adventure. He wanted to show the dwarves that he could do this, that even a peace-loving Hobbit of the Shire could tackle a quest as big as theirs. And he also knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Old Took had always said that "opportunity only knocked once," and Bilbo knew that was the truth. If he'd given up on this chance, another wasn't likely to cross his path ever again.

It was a long while before he finally responded to Balin, but when he met the dwarf's eye, he gave a small, almost sheepish smile. "I wanted to prove something," he told his companion honesty. "I wanted to prove that even a simple, well-respected Hobbit of the Shire can make a good burglar." He smiled weakly at the thought of how truly rash his decision had been. "And I suppose I couldn't miss out on the chance, however reluctant I still am to admit that."

It felt odd to be having this heart-to-heart of sorts with his dwarf companion, although Bilbo had always felt closest to Balin of all the dwarves. He got the feeling the older dwarf was always carefully looking out for him. Something about that was reassuring for him, even if he didn't want to seem weak.

And yet, here you are, the only one injured after that tumble down the mountain, he reminded himself, glancing down at his ankle again.

He paused for a moment, looking back to the flames, before remembering something. He glanced back up at Balin.

"I have something to ask you as well. Dwalin...is he your brother?" The similarity in names seemed an obvious clue, but the two also seemed so physically and mentally different, Bilbo had been quite curious about the matter for a while. "It's just, the two of you are so very different, I couldn't be quite sure. Obviously, the names and all, but...Well, I suppose I wondered how two family members could appear so different."

Bilbo took another bite out of his supper, thinking about his family in the Shire. Everyone in his own family had been pretty much the same, although perhaps that was just a standard of Shire folk. It was true that his mother had had an odd side to her. But she had always been a peaceful, home-loving Hobbit as well, regardless of her Tookish blood. It was interesting, comparing his own experience with family to what he suspected of the dwarves'. Although thinking about it now made Bilbo miss his mother very much, all over again. He felt a twinge in his heart.

[pumpkin]

Balin saw Bilbo set aside his food for the moment, a bit flushed, then set at work pondering the answer to that question somewhere deep inside himself. Perhaps he himself didn't know or understand it either; perhaps it had been instinct alone that had spurred him on to join the venture. Or perhaps it was simply too late at night to be talking about such things. Balin might have been bone tired, but he could see Bilbo certainly was, as well, and his injuries probably didn't help matters. Oin's mixtures always seemed to have something of a drowse-inducing effect. Small price for proper treatment, Balin supposed, though...

Bilbo still looked bashful when he finally spoke, but the old dwarf could see a glint in his eye as he recounted it all, as if it were a guilt-ridden but simultaneously pleasant memory. "I wanted to prove something," he said, and Balin instantly nodded his understanding. Of course. "I wanted to prove that even a simple, well-respected Hobbit of the Shire can make a good burglar. And I suppose I couldn't miss out on the chance, however reluctant I still am to admit that."

Balin gave a half-grin. "Well thank you for indulging me." He cleared his throat, prodding at the burnt dinner in his bowl before finally forcing himself to take a bite. Bitter. Awful, and yet no room for complaints. "It's a good reason, I'd say. Better than coming out just for the sake of treasure, don't you think? Aye, maybe a good number of us are out to restore our honor and reclaim our kingdom, but just as many of us are hungry for all the gold waiting beneath the Lonely Mountain." He winked at the hobbit, then turned to glare down at the monstrosity he had dared call food, sitting getting cold in his bowl.

That sense of resilience in Bilbo had been another reason Balin had come to like the hobbit. He might not have seemed particularly skilled with anything more than domestic affairs, but he certainly seemed free of greed. He hadn't even minded the little addition in the contract that had mentioned (in admittedly fine print, as Balin had written it himself) the possibility of no share in the treasure for the hired burglar...

The old dwarf swallowed another particularly bitter piece of the burnt pork--perhaps he'd used a bit too much of the fine Shire spices--and looked up just in time to see Bilbo looking his way again, poised to ask another question.

"I have something to ask you as well." A brief, almost comical moment, then, "Dwalin...is he your brother?"

Balin had to chuckle at that question. He was almost sure he knew the reason for Bilbo's curiosity, and mere moments after thinking it, Bilbo's words confirmed it.

"It's just, the two of you are so very different," he went on, "I couldn't be quite sure. Obviously, the names and all, but...Well, I suppose I wondered how two family members could appear so different."

He and his brother might have appeared to be total opposites--Dwalin tall and fierce-looking, and he--Balin--shorter, wider, and somehow too jolly in appearance to seem menacing, but they weren't actually so very different. Other dwarves tended to mistake the pair as something else, too, if they hadn't already been acquainted. War buddies, fellow smithies from Dunland, typically something of that sort, but never brothers. Appearance might have set them apart, but they certainly shared some family traits. A deeply in-bred sense of loyalty and devotion to Thorin and their people, a rather intuitive, protective nature, and an admittedly fierce warrior side. Though, Dwalin was more inclined towards fighting a good battle, whereas Balin had grown comfortable with the idea of peace.

"You need not worry, dear hobbit." Balin waved a gloved hand, chuckling again, softly. "I hear that a great deal. 'His uncle,' some say. I've heard father before, as well. Others have mistaken Dwalin as a servant of mine, and I as the unknown grandfather of Thorin from his mother's side. Incredible what the years can do to you," he remarked, still grinning even as he downed the rest of his not-at-all-pleasant meal. "Or your parents' blood, perhaps."

Still chuckling softly to himself, fond memories with family from an otherwise troubled childhood coming to mind, Balin glanced out the mouth of the cave. The sky was still a deep gray, but along the fringes of the horizon, the color was beginning to lighten. Soon he would have to insist Bilbo get some rest, before neither of them was able to.

"While we are on the topic of family," Balin said softly, turning back to the hobbit, "why don't you tell me about yours? About your young life in the Shire? It can be a proper bedtime story. Though, you'll be telling it to put yourself to sleep, I'm afraid."

[banaili]

Balin gave a half-grin. "Well thank you for indulging me." He cleared his throat, prodding at the burnt dinner in his bowl before finally forcing himself to take a bite. It's a good reason, I'd say. Better than coming out just for the sake of treasure, don't you think? Aye, maybe a good number of us are out to restore our honor and reclaim our kingdom, but just as many of us are hungry for all the gold waiting beneath the Lonely Mountain." He winked at the hobbit, then turned to glare down at the monstrosity he had dared call food, sitting getting cold in his bowl.

Bilbo followed the dwarf's gaze down to his plate of food, not quite noticing anything wrong with it, but rather thinking about what he'd just heard. There had been several times during this journey where he had thought he was being patronized. It had certainly happened over and over again when the dwarves had taken up a very short-term residence at his home. Balin, too, had occasionally made him feel as though he was a small child who couldn't possibly understand what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into. In some ways, Bilbo might have actually been that small child, he knew. But Balin's response, this time, did not resonate with that sort of condescension. If anything, he sounded...Happy? Proud? Maybe perhaps as though he held some admiration for what Bilbo expected might have been the most foolish thing he'd ever done?

Of course, Bilbo knew well why the dwarves were so eager to get the Lonely Mountain back. Not only to take back their rightful homeland, but also to have all the riches and honor that came with doing so. Despite the cheerful way in which Balin had stated this, however, Bilbo didn't get the feeling the dwarf was quite as greedy as his companions were.

After he posed the question about Dwalin, Balin--to his surprise--chuckled heartily.

"You need not worry, dear hobbit." Balin waved a gloved hand, chuckling again, softly. "I hear that a great deal."

"Ah," Bilbo cut in, embarrassed. "Very sorry."

"'His uncle,' some say," Balin continued. "I've heard father before, as well. Others have mistaken Dwalin as a servant of mine, and I as the unknown grandfather of Thorin from his mother's side. Incredible what the years can do to you," he remarked, still grinning even as he downed the rest of his not-at-all-pleasant meal. "Or your parents' blood, perhaps."

It was true, there looked to be quite an age difference between Balin and his younger brother, although Bilbo had no intentions of confirming that to his gentle companion, particularly when he was already doing his best to entertain Bilbo. In fact, thinking about it now, Bilbo realized he didn't actually know Balin's age, nor the age of his brother. He knew the life expectancy of dwarves was more than twice that of hobbits, and he supposed that played some part in the vast difference in appearance between the two brothers. Of course, he couldn't be a proper judge of that though.

He smiled slightly and shook his head, his eyes focusing on a blackened twig sticking out from the fire, the end of it curling in on itself from the heat.

"It makes sense. I suppose I just wondered. I don't have any siblings myself, actually." He thought it must be quite nice to have even one living member of one's immediate family--brother, sister, father, mother. Usually, extended family was just as important to Hobbits as immediate family. But Bilbo hadn't seen even his extended family in a while, not since the loss of his mother. Perhaps they'd been hoping to give him a little time, space. He could understand that. Meanwhile, he'd begun to grow used to his carefree albeit lonely life as a bachelor.

"While we are on the topic of family," Balin said softly, turning back to the hobbit, "why don't you tell me about yours? About your young life in the Shire? It can be a proper bedtime story. Though, you'll be telling it to put yourself to sleep, I'm afraid."

Bilbo was surprised. After a moment, he realized that his companion intended to take the first watch, while he got some sleep. It was true--he could do with the rest. He was surprisingly exhausted. Even more surprising, when he looked down at his bowl, he saw that he had nearly completed his meal. Going to bed on a full stomach and after just having eaten wasn't exactly the healthiest idea, but Bilbo knew Balin was right. They didn't have a lot of time to rest, so the more they got, the better.

"Alright then," Bilbo answered finally, picking up the last piece of pork left in his bowl and finishing it up. He set the bowl and utensil down, then began scooting back to the far wall where he had left most of his things.

"I suppose the reason I'm here at all is because Gandalf knew me as a child," he began honestly. "As he would probably tell you, I wasn't entirely like most hobbit children. He called me brave and daring for a child, though I wouldn't say that. I...simply liked pretending to go on my own adventures, looking for--" He paused, recalling quite vividly how much the dwarves, including Balin, had disliked their Elf hosts back in Rivendell. Entirely the opposite of Bilbo's feelings about the place and the particular, enchanting race of beings who lived there. "--Elves," he finally finished, not looking up from his work. "Oftentimes I'd nearly miss dinner, I was out until so late. In fact, one time my father was so upset, he sent me to bed with just dinner and no supper." The thought that perhaps there was no difference between the two for the dwarves didn't occur to Bilbo, his thoughts turning instead to his deceased parents. "They truly loved each other, my mother and father. Of course they loved me too. You know, my father built Bag End just for my mother? They lived there after they married, and to the end of their days. And I've lived there all my life."

He realized he was just prattling now, entirely unaware of Balin's reaction. His voice had lowered quite a bit, as it did when he was tired. Sleep was finally hitting him. On the ground in front of him, he'd already taken out his thinner, extra blanket and unrolled it. He pulled a small, rectangular-shaped box of seasoning out of his bag next, then set up the bag as a sort of cushion for his head.

"Anyway," he began, laying down in the resting space he had made, his thicker blanket still wrapped tightly around him. "The life story of a hobbit is surely a grand deal less epic and entertaining than that of a dwarf." He gave a wry smile, gingerly propping his injured ankle up on the seasoning box he had taken out of his bag.

Once he was properly set for bed, he turned his head slightly to look at his companion. "Thank you, Balin," he finally spoke, his words entirely heart-felt. He couldn't tell if the other was tired or not, not with the fire separating the two of them and pervading his view. Still, he was concerned for his companion. "Do wake me up when it's my turn to take watch, if that's alright?"

He tossed another pacifying smile the dwarf's way, then turned over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling drowsily. He hadn't realized how much their expedition from Rivendell had taken out of him--perhaps the fall as well. In a matter of a mere few minutes, he was already taken by dreams.

ooc: Thanks for having me get ready for sleep again! XD I didn't want to waste the writing from the last time! (And I do wish this post was a little better! >.<;

[pumpkin]

ooc: Don't worry one bit! I suppose I could tell you this in person, but these little notes are kinda cool to get at random! ^^ Anyway, the post was super fantasmic-awesome, so you need not worry. MINE might set the not-so-good bar. But going to enjoy writing all the same!

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"It makes sense," Bilbo replied, a smile, though slight, on his face. "I suppose I just wondered. I don't have any siblings myself, actually."

Balin glanced down at the cool area of cave floor next to him, then set his bowl of half-eaten food down. He wasn't quite hungry for any more of the bitter stuff. Some part of him had begun to wonder if the hobbit had ever felt very lonely, all by himself at Bag End. Surely some lovely hobbit lass would have taken interest in him. Balin couldn't imagine why not--the home atop the hill itself was a treasure, and Bilbo was...well, by dwarf standards, he wasn't attractive, not with such a baby-smooth face, but he had a charm about him. And he was intelligent, a good cook. He would surely find himself a proper wife, all assuming he returned home from this quest.

Bilbo finished off the last of his food and left the fireside, moving to set to work on his bed out of the few comfortable supplies he had on hand. As he worked, he relayed the truth of his situation to the old dwarf, his voice low, probably out of exhaustion. But he was speaking in earnest, it was clear. Balin remained by the fireside, his hands folded in his lap; he listened attentively. It had been many a month since he had last been able to have such a talk.

"I suppose the reason I'm here at all," Bilbo admitted, "is because Gandalf knew me as a child. As he would probably tell you, I wasn't entirely like most hobbit children. He called me brave and daring for a child, though I wouldn't say that. I...simply liked pretending to go on my own adventures, looking for--"

Bilbo hesitated.

"--Elves."

Balin coughed, perhaps involuntarily. It wasn't unexpected in the slightest, Bilbo liking elves quite so much. That was likely everyone in Middle Earth, the exception being the dwarves. And Balin himself was just still somewhat bitter about elves after their not entirely pleasant encounter in Rivendell...

"Oftentimes I'd nearly miss dinner," Bilbo went on. "I was out until so late. In fact, one time my father was so upset, he sent me to bed with just dinner and no supper."

To this now, a sly grin crept across Balin's face, and he raised an eyebrow, amused. Hobbits were such curious creatures. But there was suddenly an extra dose of passion in Bilbo's words, as there had been when he'd spoken of his people before, and Balin felt moved. There was many a race in all of Middle Earth, some more refined than others, and it was not always an easy thing to find those that genuinely appreciated who they were and what they stood for. Men quarreled over this constantly; orcs and goblins were simply chaos as a unit. Dwarves, it had to be said, had true bonds of loyalty and appreciation for their kind, and hobbits, it would seem, were much the same way. A united group was most definitely a powerful one, and without a doubt admirable.

"They truly loved each other, my mother and father. Of course they loved me too. You know, my father built Bag End just for my mother? They lived there after they married, and to the end of their days. And I've lived there all my life."

Balin smiled warmly, despite the ensuing silence. Bilbo had probably been a very good son. He was just about done with his bed now, though he still looked somehow uncomfortable. He was probably still cold.

"Anyway, the life story of a hobbit is surely a grand deal less epic and entertaining than that of a dwarf."

"I would not say that necessarily," Balin replied quickly, with a chuckle. Not in your case, he thought.

He reached behind him, thinking he would offer the hobbit his own blanket, though it was the only one he had for himself, but he turned in time to see Bilbo already ready for bed and on the verge of dozing off.

"Thank you, Balin."

Balin returned the words with another smile, and set his blanket down again. Bilbo need not have thanked him for anything. They were part of the same company, after all. And dwarf or not, as part of the same company, it was their shared duty to protect each other.

"Do wake me up when it's my turn to take watch, if that's alright?"

"Certainly," Balin replied. "Rest well, laddie."

It wasn't very long before Bilbo fell asleep. Balin heard his breathing even, even over the crackle of the flames, and sighed. There were things about Bilbo that Balin himself was still curious about--everything Gandalf had told the dwarves about him prior to their meeting at Bag End, how the hobbit himself was actually feeling.... Balin could make intelligent guesses about all of those things, but it would never amount to hearing the truth of them from the hobbit himself. The truth was, Balin did worry about Bilbo. Not just due to the nature of their mission, but about what it would all mean for him once it was all over.

Balin turned his attention to the world beyond the cave. Through the opening and beyond the curtain of rain, a fringe of light was moving further in on the charcoal gray sky. It would be only so many hours before dawn arrived. The dwarf party had been trekking through the mountains all through the day and into the night, spurred on by the realization that Durin's Day, the one day that would allow them access into their long lost mountain, was nearly upon them. Though, they had to be weary of their strength, too. They were naturally strong, but their rest was important, especially in the event they encountered any more unexpected troubles like those horrid trolls from before.

Not that you're setting a good example for anyone, you old fool, thought Balin. He chuckled despite himself.

He would be tired by morning, he was sure, but he could manage. He had that advantage of knowing these mountain paths well, and with the early time in which they intended to arise to go after the others, they would surely make good enough time as to find the rest of their crew without too much trouble. Balin had worried over the prospect that Thorin would have gone out with some of the other dwarves to scout for him and Bilbo, possibly even turn the entire party around to go back and find them, but he hoped the eager King would trust in them somehow, expect them to catch up. It was so confoundedly difficult to get an important message out to others these days...

Something cracked, alerting Balin from his thoughts. He instinctively turned to the fire before him. It had begun to dwindle down to mere embers again. Just as he was reaching behind him for the dampened tree branches to fuel the flames for a bit longer, the crack came again.

Now Balin was sure it had not been the fire. No, this sound was different--oddly loud even over the drumming rain and very much alike to that of a...breaking branch.

So they had a guest...? Balin felt sure it was asking too much to hope that it was Thorin, stubbornly come to get his party members back and with an angry word or two to deliver to them about their failure to keep up with the party.

But he didn't believe they could be so lucky. Luck had never been a friend to the dwarves. Only hard work, perseverance, and a dangerous amount of dedication.

The old dwarf got to his feet slowly, reaching past the firewood and for his weapon instead. His hand tightened over the familiar hilt, and he moved slowly for the cave mouth, raising the weapon at his side in preparation for an attack. This was the one true danger in not fully having his wits about him out of lack of rest--his reflexes were assuredly slower. He was already quite old as it was.

"Show yourself!" he called out through the rain, his brow furrowed. "Show yourself, and we might just avoid any unnecessary trouble, eh?"

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Tag: Ginger!