Enchantment Exchange

"Who'll cross first?" Bilbo asked.

The darkness of Mirkwood forest pressed in on every side and the only sound that could be heard after the question was asked was the splashing of the enchanted water from the stream in front of them. Balin held onto the small, black boat with his fingertips, leaning as far away as possible so that the dark water could not touch him.

"There is one stream there, I know," Beorn had warned them, "black and strong which crosses the path. That you should neither drink of nor bathe in; for I have heard that it carries enchantment and a great drowsiness and forgetfulness."

None wished to touch the black water.

"I shall," Thorin Oakenshield answered when the last sound of Bilbo's voice had been stifled by the forest. "And you will come with me. And Fili and Balin. That's as many as the boat can hold at a time."

He went on to list the next few boatloads, his voice becoming a dreary drone in the suffocating stillness, finally finishing with, "…And last, Dwalin and Bombur."

Bombur crossed his arms with a frown. "I'm always last and I don't like it," he stated. "It's someone else's turn today."

"You shouldn't be so fat," Thorin said flatly, not looking at Bombur. "As you are, you must be with the last and lightest boatload. Don't start grumbling against orders or something bad will happen to you."

Bombur's scowl deepened. Was it so unfair to give that simple request? It wasn't as if it was unfounded, after all. He was always last, it was true! When hiring their burglar, Gandalf had said, "Last, Thorin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur." Later, at Beorn's house: "Bombur is fattest and counts for two. He had better come alone and last." Now here it was again. There were twelve other dwarves with him, and Mr. Baggins as well. It wasn't as if he wanted to be first. Next to last was even better than dead last.

Bombur would have followed instructions unhappily but obediently if Bilbo's small voice had not piped up. "I don't mind going last."

"Eh?" Thorin asked, and all the dwarves turned to look at the hobbit.

"Erm, what I mean is…" Bilbo started awkwardly, feeling everyone's eyes on him, more oppressive than the forest around. "Ah… we could switch." He made a gesture with his hands. "I don't have to be in the first boat. I'm always shoved to the front. I think Bombur should go first, for a change."

Bombur gaped. He wasn't the only one. Every dwarf was staring at the hobbit, eyes opened wide with this fantastic suggestion. Thorin swiveled to appraise Bombur, who tried to look as valuable as possible.

"Mr. Baggins," Thorin said in his typical pompous manner, "you must understand. You cannot possibly switch boats with Bombur. He is far too heavy to get into a boat with three other dwarves. The boat would sink straight to the bottom, and then where would we be?"

"Then switch the boats." Bilbo was determined to have the thing done now that he had started. "Have Bombur and Dwalin go first. Just reverse the order, have us go last. It'll be better this way, you know," he added. "That way all our provisions will be safe on the other side from the start and we needn't worry about them so much."

Thorin glanced around at each face, finally settling on Balin's. Balin looked down at the toes of his boots and shrugged. "It is your decision," he said.

Bilbo and Bombur held their breaths.

"Very well," Thorin said at last. He waved a beneficial hand. "It makes no difference. Have Dwalin and Bombur go in the first boat. Mr. Baggins, Balin, Fili, and I will go last. Now that that's settled, everyone take off your packs and set them in the boat."

Bombur, looking dazed, moved forward. "Thank you," he muttered to Bilbo as he passed.

Bilbo only smiled self-consciously and shrugged, muttering, "It's nothing."

In this way they were all safely across the enchanted river. Everyone was nearly out when something bad did happen.

The first anyone knew of it was the sound of hooves. "What's that?" someone asked, but nobody answered. Everyone froze where they were standing, even Bilbo, who was halfway out of the boat, one foot inside and the other on shore.

Then, like a streak of black lightning, a stag shot out of the forest's depths with the speed of terror. It did not pause in its desperate flight, but sped through their gathering, knocking dwarves helter-skelter as it ran. Those who did not get knocked over leaped aside, stumbling to their knees or falling on their faces.

Thorin was the only one among them who kept his feet and his wits. He had strung an arrow to his bow as soon as he alighted in case a hidden guardian of the boat should appear. Now he let the arrow fly and it struck true. The stag gathered itself for one desperate leap and Bilbo tried to move, but it only helped the inevitable. As the stag jumped over the stream, Bilbo was knocked into the river, letting out a single cry before it turned into a gurgle, shoving the boat hard against the bank.

"Bilbo!" cried Bombur, who was closest. He reached out, but the hobbit was already too far away. The black water frothed as it closed over his head.

"A rope! A rope! Quick!" commanded Thorin and the rope was thrown towards the drowning hobbit. It went taught. "Now pull!" Thorin shouted, and the nearest dwarves fought against the currant, trying to drag Bilbo back out of the river's hold.

Bilbo was hauled sopping wet out of the river, his legs up to his knees still in the water. His hand was clamped solidly around the rope. Kili and Fili wrapped their cloaks around their hands to shield themselves and dragged him up onto the bank.

"Is he breathing?" gasped Balin.

"Yes," answered Kili, putting his hand above Bilbo's mouth. "Yes, he's breathing."

"But unconscious," added Fili.

"Sleeping," finished Dwalin dully.

"Just like Beorn said," sighed Kili, leaning back on his heels and pulling his blond beard.

"Get him dry," ordered Thorin, and Fili and Kili picked up their cloaks and tried to pat the moisture away. "As dry as you can."

"How long will he sleep?" asked Dori, sounding shaken.

"Who knows?" said Balin. "A day? Two? Five? There is no way to tell."

"But we won't leave him here!"

"Of course not," snorted Thorin. He turned to the others, the silver tassel on his blue hood flashing, even in the scant green light. "We will make a stretcher to carry him. Fili, Kili, we will use your cloaks. Dwalin, come with me. The stag is still on the opposite bank and we need the meat. The rest of you, spread out. We need to find suitable branches to form the stretcher."

The others moved away, but Bombur stayed where he was, staring dully at Bilbo's prone figure. "It would have been me," he whispered numbly in a voice that nobody but himself heard. "He was last – I was going to be last… it would have been me."

"Bombur," Bofur called wearily. He jerked his head toward the others. "Come on."

They had successfully crossed the enchanted stream, but at a terrible price. No matter what they tried, Bilbo would not wake. They carried him between them in turns of two, dividing up their packs and provisions between the others. This would have been unbearable had not their stores already been so low.

The meat from the stag gave them a few more days provision, but even so their hunger never fully ebbed. Even with one of their company unconscious, each meal was meager and water even more so.

Every morning, two dwarves would pick up Bilbo's stretcher with a sigh and they would press on. Still Bilbo slept on with a small smile on his face as if he no longer cared for all the troubles that vexed them. The others looked on him with envy, for their dreams were dark and sleep scant. The eyes that glowed around them at night made it impossible to sleep deeply, and the hunger that stabbed them thrust it still farther away. And yet Bilbo slept on.

Six miserable, suffocating days passed and still Bilbo slept. The already dark forest was darkening even more with the sunset above and the dwarves stumbled to a halt, groaning and grumbling softly as they leaned against the trees near the path.

"Is there no end to this accursed forest?" Thorin shouted in wrath, but the endless oak trees swallowed up his words.

It was decided that someone should climb to the tallest tree and have a look about. Of course, 'someone' usually meant Bilbo, but with that option gone, Fili was sent. He was the youngest and lightest of the company, but even he could not get very far. The tree's trunk was slimy and treacherous and at last he fell with a thump to the bottom. It was lucky that the autumn leaves carpeted the forest floor, or else he might have been more hurt. As it was, he got up with no more than a purple bruise.

Their hope burned dim that night, and even dimmer in the morning. It was raining up above, but they could not get at the water. Nor was it any use to stand around with their mouths open in the hopes that a chance drip would fall on their tongues. The steady tap of the rain on the leaves above only served to make them even more miserable. The only scrap of comfort there was came unexpectedly from Bilbo.

Dori had only just picked up his end of the makeshift stretcher and called for Ori to pick up his, when Bilbo unexpectedly moved. Dori nearly dropped his end in his excitement and called for all the others to come and see. They all gathered around as Bilbo sat up, giving his head a little shake and rubbing his eyes.

"Bilbo!" they all cried. "Mr. Baggins!"

Bilbo looked around in bewilderment, his head jerking to and fro like a squirrel who had forgotten where he had stored his nuts. "W-what's going on?" he stammered. "Where am I?"

The dwarves' good cheer vanished almost instantly. They had almost forgotten about the final symptom of the river: forgetfulness. But how much? How much had he forgotten? They all looked to Thorin to explain.

"Mr. Baggins," he started pompously enough, "we rejoice to see your recovery. Indeed, for the last few days we had begun to doubt if the enchantment would ever lift and if we would ever get our burglar back again."

"En-enchantment?" Bilbo demanded. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Baggins," Balin stepped forward. "Let me explain. You have been in under an enchantment for the last six days."

"Six days?" Bilbo seemed unable to do anything but repeat what they said.

"This is the seventh," they all agreed.

Bilbo looked stunned.

"So," he said slowly, "we must be in Bree country, must we? Is this the Old Forest?"

The others looked around.

"Bilbo," Balin asked slowly, "what is the last thing you remember?"

The hobbit frowned in concentration. "I… the… the party. The unexpected party at Bag End. Yes, that's it. You were all singing, and then he," he nodded towards Thorin, "was explaining about the… the dragon, and then we all went to bed. I could hear someone singing through the wall." He looked up at them blankly. "You're saying that that was a week ago?"

The dwarves looked at each other again, each one reluctant to give the news.

"Bilbo," said Dori at last, his gruff voice as gentle as it would come. "That was back in April."

"So?"

"Now…" Dori swallowed. "It's late August."

"Or early September," added Nori. "We're not quite sure which."

For a moment Bilbo looked blankly about as if waiting for someone to tell him the joke. In that moment he measured all the dwarves, their ragged appearance, how much more worn they appeared than before. Then his eyes opened wide in horrific realization and he slumped against the tree with a squeak. The dwarves gathered around him as he lay there, eyes closed, brow wrinkled, breathing short little breaths. "I need… I need air," he gasped, flailing upright and stumbling as soon as he rose. "Where… where does the wood end? I need… I need…"

"Sit down, Mr. Baggins," said Thorin sternly, pushing him down again. "We are in Mirkwood Forest. Hopefully near the journey's end, but no amount of squeaking and stammering will get you there sooner, so it would be best if you sat down and recovered before trying to run off."

Bilbo sat there, trembling. "Mirkwood," he whispered.

Thorin pulled out a map and stuck a finger down at it. "Here," he said.

Bilbo traced the forest with his finger, then all the way back to the Shire, measuring the distance with his eyes. "It's not possible," he snorted, still shaking. "Not possible. I am a Baggins. Surely I wouldn't have agreed to come all this way!"

"The contract should still be in your pocket, if you wish to look," said Thorin.

Bilbo patted himself down and found the paper. He read it through once, twice, and then put it down. "Where's Gandalf?" he asked. "I want to speak to him."

"Gandalf is gone."

Bilbo's face turned the color of paper. "What, dead?" he whispered.

"O no," they reassured him. "Nothing like that!"

"Gandalf told us he had pressing business," said Balin. "He rode away south right before we reached Mirkwood."

Bilbo's skin still retained its milky color as he stared into the darkness beyond, although his shaking had subsided. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

They gave him a meager serving of Beorn's travel bread and a sip of water while they talked. Bilbo was ravenous and ate hungrily, listening to their tale just as voraciously. He interrupted their story every so often to exclaim, "You must be joking!" or "That can't be true!"

The dwarves watched him anxiously. They had traveled for many months with their esteemed burglar and although none of them could say that they understood him, all knew his face well enough to tell his moods. They had seen him at his best and his worst. They knew how his face lit up when it saw food – like at Beorn's house – and how it sagged when he was terrified – like with the trolls or goblins. The expression on his face now concerned them because it wasn't absolute terror, although there was a healthy dose of that. Confusion as well. But mostly there was emptiness. Pure, unbridled shock.

"Well," he said slowly when they had ended. "You said we were almost near the end of the forest. That can't be but a few hours walk, can it?"

They chuckled at this innocence.

"A few days at the most," Thorin said.

"A few days!"

"Then we must pass the Long Marshes, then upriver to the mountain. That is when your part begins, Mr. Baggins."

Bilbo's pale face went green. "But—"

"Until then, we must walk," continued Thorin as if he had not heard. He swung his pack on and motioned to Bilbo's. "Put on your pack, Mr. Baggins. We may still make several miles today."

"Isn't there anything more to eat?" huffed Bilbo, putting on his pack and stumbling forward. "I'm still terribly hungry."

"Nothing more until nightfall. Our stores are running low and we want them to last as long as possible."

They began to move through the silent trees, walking along the path.

"You know, I had a dream while I was asleep," said Bilbo, tripping over a tree root. "A most wonderful dream. I was walking in a forest rather like this one, only not so dark. There were lanterns on the branches and elves dancing in a clearing. You mentioned elves, didn't you? You… met with elves?"

"In Rivendell," said Thorin. "Yes."

"Rivendell, yes. But these were different elves, I think. They must have been wood elves. There was a bonfire in the middle and tables all around spread with the most delicious food I've ever seen! I can't even begin to describe them!"

"You need not try," Thorin said curtly. "In fact, if you can't talk about something else, you had better be silent. You need all your strength so you shouldn't waste it all by talking. Dream dinners aren't any good, anyway. You can't share them."

Bombur watched Bilbo closely as he staggered along in front of him. A change had come over the hobbit since the enchanted river, that he could see. The stream had erased all of the experiences he had gone through, and within the space of six days had given them back the soft, inexperienced hobbit they had begun the journey with. Before the river, Bilbo had marched on almost uncomplainingly, bearing his load with the others. He had visited elves, he had beaten goblins, he had ridden on an eagle's back. Now all of that was gone. Now Bilbo's tired legs threatened to dump him at every step and he complained just as often about wanting to go home or about how very tired or hungry he was. Although all the dwarves were very fond of the hobbit, their patience was beginning to wear thin.

He didn't remember their names, Bombur realized with a sudden start as Bilbo's empty eyes swept over his face as he dragged him upright again. He remembered how long it had taken Bilbo to put each name with the right dwarf when the journey first began. Now he would have to learn them all over again.

Again the thought struck: It could have been me.

And then another thought that he had tried to suppress: It should have been me.

Bilbo fell yet again and Bombur stooped over to drag him upright by his arm, but Bilbo thrust him away and rolled over. "I don't want to go on," he moaned.

"Get up, Mr. Baggins," Bombur told him gruffly as the rest of the company staggered to a halt.

"Let me be," groaned Bilbo. "You should have left me in the river. You should have let me die in peace! I wish I had never woken up!"

The other dwarves gathered around, protesting and telling Mr. Baggins not to be a fool, but he wouldn't listen. He merely rolled over and closed his eyes, curling up in a tight ball and ignoring them all.

"What was that?" called Balin through the mill of exasperated dwarves. "I thought I saw a twinkle of light in the forest."

The others stopped bickering to look over and even Bilbo opened his eyes to look. There was, indeed, a light in the trees a little way off the path. One by one, more lights began to ignite until the trees seemed to be hung with stars in that directions As if drawn, the dwarves followed the path to get as close as they could to look. Even Bilbo got up and followed them.

"It seems as if my dreams were coming true," he exclaimed and began to step off the path, but Thorin held him back.

"Hold," he said. "I remember only all too well the warnings of Gandalf and Beorn. A feast would be no good if we never got back alive from it."

"But without a feast," Bilbo argued, "we shan't remain alive much longer anyway."

"I heartily agree," seconded Bombur.

So they argued it backwards and forwards for a bit. Some said yes and some said no and still others said 'wait and see'. At last, Thorin had the final word.

"We still have food in our packs, meager as it is," he said stubbornly. "If we were drained completely I might be persuaded, but as it is I think it best that we stay on the path. Dark things lurk in this forest, and no good will come of straying. Come. We move on."

And with that they moved forward, hauling the protesting hobbit after them. After some time the lights vanished and they stumped along in silence and in darkness.

The days following became more miserable still, for the food storage became ever lighter, even as they grew weaker. Of them, Bilbo was weakest of all. His complaints faltered after the first day, but he could be heard moaning and even weeping under the trees at night. Strangest of all, his hand always strayed to his pocket and groped there as if searching for something. When asked about this, Bilbo simply shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "I keep feeling like I've lost something, but I can't remember what it is."

"Lost what?" asked Balin.

Bilbo shook his head again. "I can't remember," he repeated. "But I feel as if it was something valuable. Something precious."

At these words he lowered his head and trudged on. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I can't remember."

Those words – "I can't remember" – had become favorites with him, as they summed up rather nicely his experience of the journey. He always said it very softly and sadly as if racking his brain all the while, trying to figure out what he had lost. What good was an adventure if you couldn't remember any of it?

Finally, there came a day when the trees thinned and the sun shone through the branches for the first time. The Company of Thorin surged forward into the open, given a fresh dose of energy by the feel of the wind on their faces.

For a time they stood rejoicing in the sunshine, taking off their caps or laying down their (mostly empty) packs and flopping down beside them. But soon enough Thorin called them to their senses.

"Our journey is not over yet," he warned them. "We still have the Long Marshes to traverse before we reach Lake Town. Hopefully we can find some game here and have a proper meal. At least there is plenty of water, even if we have to boil it first to make it safe. Even so, this is no time to relax. Resting will bring us no closer to the mountain."

The others grumbled in agreement and staggered to their feet again, beginning their treacherous passage across the marsh.

The ground was unstable and wet, often causing them to stumble or slip. Areas that seemed safe were frequently deceitful; holes full of marsh water were covered up by floating grass, ready to swallow up whatever unwary traveler stepped there. Thick, sticky mud patches pulled boots off of feet and refused to give them back again, so several of the dwarves had to stump along in their stockings, groaning and complaining loudly about their unhappy state.

Soon all were drenched, wet, and thoroughly miserable. Day was far from ending and still Thorin urged them to press on, pointing to the steepled point of the Lonely Mountain in the distance. They stopped only once to eat the remainder of their provisions before pressing on once more.

It was about midday when the marsh claimed its first victim. Dori was walking carefully to the side of the others when he suddenly gave a great cry. Those nearest grabbed for his hands, but too late. He had stepped into a sinkhole and the marsh's waters had already closed over his head, covering up the hole with grasses as if it had never been.

They reached after him with their arms, thrusting down the longest objects they owned hoping to pull him out again, but to no avail. At last they had to admit defeat. Dori was dead.

Lamenting greatly the loss of their companion, they journeyed on rather more slowly than they had been previously. Every patch was eyed with suspicion and prodded with walking sticks before trusted.

The sun sank and Thorin commanded that a fire be lit. There was very little dry firewood, but Oin and Gloin managed to get a little sputtering fire started. They huddled around it, trying to keep warm as the chill wind dried their soggy clothing. Mosquitoes came out and bit unrelentingly and everyone was swatting themselves and each other. The smoke did not seem to drive them away, only madden them.

Just as Bombur had voiced the thought, "This couldn't get any worse," it did. Over the nearest rise came a sound. A hissing, sputtering sound that grew louder as the thing making it came closer. It was joined by many other hissing somethings, and along with it was the flicker of firelight and the grunting of many foul, deep, rasping voices.

The dwarves stood up, the mosquitoes, cold, and tiredness forgotten in this new horror that had arisen to hunt them. As the things cleared the rise, they could be seen clearly for the first time. Goblins like the ones beneath the Misty Mountains had climbed out of their holes with the dawn of the night, readying their foul instruments for hunting. But that was not all. With them were many squat, fat, many legged spiders, hissing to each other in shrill voices as they came closer.

These horrible creatures of the night saw them, for their eyes were keen in the dark, and the lead goblin gave a terrible shriek to announce that the hunt was on. As a black mass, they stormed down the incline towards the company, not stumbling even a bit, for they knew these marshes well.

Thorin drew Orcrist, which flashed in the moonlight and grew steadily brighter as the goblins drew nearer. The other dwarves drew their knives, and those that had none picked up rocks to throw. Bilbo huddled somewhere near the center of the group, unable to move for fear was keeping him frozen.

The goblins began to fire their large black bows, and many a dwarf fell before the goblins came close enough to strike. The torches held in the goblins' hands flashed bewilderingly, confusing their opponents and blinding them.

Stabbing and slashing and throwing rocks as best as they could, the dwarves began to retreat, their only thought being that of getting away. Kili was shot by an arrow and he fell. Gloin took one wrong step and followed Dori into the depths beneath the marsh. Dwalin dragged Bilbo along for some time before realizing that he had an arrow in his chest and the scream frozen on his face would be there forevermore.

Bombur's knife was struck from his hand and he fell to the wet ground, scrambling back to his feet like a frightened rat. His foot slipped and he plunged into the marsh, his hands slipping off the slimy roots at the edge. All his vision was black. He couldn't breathe. But overall there was a sense of peace that he could not explain.

Maybe I could find that dream, he thought to himself. The one with the lanterns in the forest and the feast going on forever. Maybe…

Bombur woke up gasping for breath, accidentally knocking the helmet beside him, tipping it over and knocking it clattering across the stone floor.

"Steady, my friend," said a voice. "It's just me."

Bilbo stood over him, looking somewhat guilty. He had just shaken Bombur awake and apparently had not been prepared for so violent a reaction.

"Bilbo." Bombur gave his head a quick shake to rid it of the strange dream. "Is it midnight already?"

"Yes. Time enough for you to wake the next watchman."

"How can I ever repay you, Mr. Baggins?"

Bilbo gave an awkward shrug like the one in his dream. "It's nothing."

Bombur rolled to his hands and knees, and from then on to his feet. "I had a very strange dream just now," he said.

"Not the one in the forest?" asked Bilbo.

"No. A different dream. I dreamed that you were the one who fell into the river, not I. You slept for six days while we carried you, and when you awoke you had forgotten everything since Bag End. We had enough food to carry on, so we never were captured by the spiders or imprisoned by the Elf King. We made it to the Long Marshes, but there we met our doom with goblins."

Bilbo's brow furrowed in thought. "A strange dream indeed," he said. They had stopped by the doorway to the hall and Bilbo moved no further, his face mostly hidden in shadow.

"You were strangest of all," continued Bombur. "All that mattered to you was getting back home, no matter how miserable it made the rest of us. Since you didn't remember anything since Bag End…"

"I daresay I was pretty different back then," commented Bilbo. "Back before the trolls and the goblins and meeting the elves."

"I think you lost that ring of yours, too," added Bombur. "You kept searching for it in your pocket, but none of us knew what it was you had lost, for you never told us."

Bilbo's hand groped instinctively toward his pocket. "No, it's still here," he said, taking his hand out again.

Bombur nodded toward it. "Keep an eye on that," he said, shifting his spear to his other hand. "It comes in handy."

"So," Bilbo said slowly, "we would all have died if I had fallen into the river?"

"Well," Bombur sighed, "it was just a dream. No saying what actually might have happened."

"It might be better than what's going on here," muttered Bilbo.

"What, with the siege?" Bombur looked out into the darkness where the campfires of the two armies below were lit. "We can withstand a siege. Not for long, no, and we might starve to death if Thorin does not change his mind, but it's a better fate than falling prey to goblins."

"You know you don't want this war any more than I do." Bilbo's voice held a pleading note.

Bombur heaved a heavy sigh. "We don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Bilbo looked down at his bare feet. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Bombur heaved another sigh, just as heavy as the first. "Well, I had better wake the next watchman. Again, thank you, Mr. Baggins."

He began to walk away, but Bilbo called after him. "Wait. Bombur."

Bombur turned back and Bilbo struggled, his hand twisting in his empty pocket. Should I tell him? he wondered silently. He had taken Bombur's watch with a precious treasure in his pocket. Now, several hours later, it was gone. He had given the Arkenstone away to their enemies. Had he done right?

His original query dying with the questioning look in the old dwarf's eyes, Bilbo asked, "Have any of your memories come back?"

Bombur's breath came out with a puff of smoke that spiraled away in the frigid winter air. "No," he answered. "And I don't think that they will ever come back. I try, but they've been gone for too long."

"That's something that you had above me," said Bilbo.

"Hm? What's that?"

"A group of friends that you knew before the journey began," Bilbo said. "When you woke up, you had your brother, your cousin, and all your kinsfolk around you. The only one you didn't know was… me."

There was a moment of silence before Bombur spoke again. "I do now."

"Do you?" Bilbo's voice was so low he doubted Bombur could hear it. He was staring at his toes again.

"You're a fine fellow, Bilbo," Bombur said with a nod. "A stout-hearted hobbit and a good friend. Our company could not have chosen a better burglar."

Bilbo smiled a little, but still appeared unconvinced.

"Cheer up, Master Baggins," urged Bombur. "Things will look better in the morning."

"Yes," murmured Bilbo, turning away. "In the morning."

But as he curled himself up in his sleeping blanket, he couldn't help but wonder. Would it have been better if he had fallen in the enchanted river? If this doomed quest had failed? Maybe a few of the dwarves would have survived the Long Marshes. Maybe they would have gotten to Lake Town and sent toward the Lonely Mountain, but without him they would not have found the door. They would have gone back to the Blue Mountains where they had come from and there would have been no war over the treasure. Confusticate and bebother the treasure! Smaug could have it if only a few of them would have survived.

Then Bilbo thought of the black waters closing over his head and shuddered, wrapping himself even more tightly in his blanket. No, he thought. I had a chance at stopping this war and I took it. You're a long way from home now, Bilbo Baggins, and you're not the hobbit you once were. You may have bitten off more than you can chew, but now is the time to take your medicine. Whatever happens tomorrow morning… you did what you thought was right. Whatever happens next is up to fate.

And with that, he drifted off into a deep sleep, forgetting all his worries till the morning. As a matter of fact, he was dreaming of eggs and bacon.

The

End