Disclaimer: I most certainly don't own the franchise.

Warnings: Angst for now.

AN: A little what-if that resulted in being a sort of fix-it for the end of the novel. But only sort of (unless I rewrite the ending *cough*). Also, I'm more heading for the friendshippy sort of interaction, but feel free to put on your slash goggles! ^_^ Now, without further ado, to the fic!

Altered Fates

I

They are at an impasse. Thorin refuses to give up treasure to help men while there is an army in front of Erebor's gates. Bard the Bowman unwilling to withdraw ere Laketown has received any sort of compensation. And the Elves requesting their share, too.

All changes when a stranger steps forward and reveals the Arkenstone.

Thorin is upset, unsettled and furious at once. And it is with the calm of one bound for the gallows that Bilbo speaks up – and reveals that he was the one to hand the Arkenstone, the greatest treasure of Thorin's house, to the enemy.

For a moment it seems Thorin will indeed kill him for this. Then the stranger lowers his hood and Gandalf's familiar voice stops Thorin from flinging Bilbo from the wall. Instead Thorin casts the hobbit away, and the violent strength makes Bilbo fall over, his back and shoulder smarting where he hit the stone.

"Take him away," thunders Thorin, "Out of my sight!"

Bilbo barely has a chance to gather his bearings before Dwalin grabs him by the arm and roughly pulls him to his feet. His head is ringing, and everybody is staring (at least that is what he feels like) – and he can't look at them, can't watch his friends for the fear of seeing betrayal written all across their faces.

And his eyes aren't focusing, and then they are cast back into the stony darkness of Erebor's enormous halls. Their footsteps echo ominously – there's shouting outside (perhaps Gandalf? Certainly Thorin), though Bilbo fails to understand a word (maybe because he doesn't want to. Hearing Thorin call him traitor once is already more than his heart can bear; further words and he may shatter on the spot). Dwalin marches on, not caring if Bilbo finds his feet. He keeps his eyes down, and at some point the floor blurs.

He has probably passed out, because when he comes to again, he is in a small room - a cell - carved into the rock. The walls are bare, the ground hard and the only exit a sturdy door crafted from metal. It is dark - only a candle, already half gone, provides any light - and damp, and with a shiver he pulls his abused jacket tighter around his shoulders (there's little flesh on those bones to have cushioned his earlier fall. And his left shoulder hurts fiercely).

A gurgling draws his attention. In the dim light he spies a small gap between the back wall and the ground. With a grunt Bilbo pushes himself up on his knees and glances over, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes. Sparkling in the dim light is running water - a sidearm of the river, then.

But he isn't thirsty and his limbs ache too much to pull himself over, so Bilbo sinks back against the wall, and closes his eyes again. He would have blown out the candle, yet he has no means of lighting it again, so he lets it burn away.

He is alive. Considering Thorin's obsession with the Arkenstone that in itself is nothing short of a miracle. Yet all but Gandalf probably believe him a traitor - Thorin's fury had been neigh unbearable. Luck had been with him as he had not had to see disappointment written across the other dwarves' faces.

Maybe death would have been a kinder fate.

Bilbo swallows, trying in vain to erase the knot in his throat.

Maybe he should never have listened to Gandalf. Never have left his home - he could be sitting in armchair know, perhaps with a pastry and a good book. Instead he is here; locked away in a dungeon of the King under the Mountain, and the only future he can imagine is death.

His eyes burn uncomfortably behind closed eyelids.

Curse his Took blood, and whatever had made him go on this adventure. Curse his foolish heart; too, for it has caused him to make the dwarves' cause his own, to befriend his companions to the point where he is willing to risk his own life for theirs.

But in the end, as it turns out, he isn't cut out for these adventures. The war he has attempted to stop with his thievery may have been temporarily prevented - yet there is no peace, and danger looms. Still, Bilbo tells himself, no war means nobody dies (yet. Physically, too, because Thorin lost to the gold sickness preying on his soul is dead in a way that hurts Bilbo to think about).

And isn't that – seeing everybody alive at the end of the quest – all he has hoped to achieve in the end? (Maybe, but somewhere his heart has seen it fit to make it alive, and whole and happy, and this, this just isn't it. Reclaiming Erebor wasn't supposed to result in a war likely to kill the entire company – he does not want his adventure to end on burned earth and dead bodies).

There is a sharp ache in his heart, conjoined with a dizziness shadowing his mind. Breathing feels difficult, while he loses himself in fluttering memories - Thorin's disapproval at the outset if the journey, their understanding, harsh words, warm words, and maybe, maybe Thorin and his company would not have gotten this far without Bilbo (Thorin might have perished at the hands of Azog, the company may have been lost to the spiders of Mirkwood, or rotted away in the dungeons of Thranduil), yet this helps little.

No matter what fate Thorin will devise for him, he will never regret saving him. But is this the end it all has to come to? War and death and betrayal - such a terrible fate for such noble characters.

And he will be here in the dungeon, rotting away slowly - forgotten (and maybe for the better). Something wet trails down his cheek, but with nobody watching him, Bilbo does not have to admit to crying.

Bilbo must have dozed off, since the next time he opens his eyes somebody is knocking on the door.

"Mr. Baggins," calls Bofur, and knocks again. The sound echoes eerily in the stone chamber, and a part of Bilbo would rather close his eyes and withdraw into himself than face Bofur (who always had a friendly smile. But that was before).

"Yes," says Bilbo, and though he tries his best to avoid it, his voice sounds thin, close to breaking. He draws his knees to his body, wraps his arms around them and shivers miserably in the dim light. The candle isn't quite gone yet, but it won't be long.

Something is pushed back – the scratchy sound of old metal hinges moving – , and in the lower part of the door a small window opens - large enough for a familiar, gloved hand to push through a steaming bowl.

"Compliments of Bombur," says Bofur, but Bilbo's stomach twists at the smell. With a bitter swallow Bilbo recalls how little food they have in Erebor – and then he's overwhelmed at the implications of Bofur bringing him a share.

"Just so you know, we're with you," adds Bofur, aiming for jovial, though he can't exercise the heaviness filling the air, "I know why you did what you did, and the rest does, too."

Bilbo's insides twist further (he's nauseous, though he doesn't know whether it's from the food or something else. He hasn't eaten in a while, but with everything in him in knots, he just feels sick). For a moment he thinks he can't breathe (is Bofur telling the truth? Do the dwarves understand?) He remembers all too clearly shouting out warnings about a dragon's possible return while all his companions without exception were too enchanted by treasures and gold to listen. So maybe Bofur is only nice – Dwalin's grip when he'd dragged him away hadn't been …

And the last thing Bilbo wants to see is a division of the company.

"Thank you, but I can't eat right now - please take it for yourself of somebody who needs it more," he manages to say. Because the dwarves will need all their strength if it comes to battle - he, in his cell, will not need any (more so, should Thorin decide to have him executed. Regardless of Gandalf's wishes, Bilbo did betray Thorin, and the regular punishment in Erebor is likely dead. Not that he minds, now).

"Just try it," replies Bofur with forced cheer.

"Please take it away," says Bilbo and this time his voice hitches on the last word.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence a hand reaches in and withdraws the bowl. "If you say so. Anyway, we'll try to get some food to you later on - don't worry, once Thorin has calmed down, he's bound to see reason."

Bilbo presses his lips together. There is something resembling a sob stuck in his throat - Bofur had not seen the hatred in Thorin's eyes, has not realized just how deep his desire for the Arkenstone runs.

"We're with you, Bilbo," repeats Bofur when the hobbit remains silent, "All of us. Don't worry, this will work out."

Bofur's kind words do little to cure the heartache. Bilbo does not know how much time passes - no sunlight reaches the cell, and once his candle has burned out all vanishes into total darkness. He is left alone with the gurgling water, and sometimes the faint echo of footsteps from the outside world (one, that may well have disappeared, and one he neither desires nor expects to ever see again).

Sometimes he drifts off, but the cold will not vanish. He does not know if that is due to feeling so hollow and exhausted or comes from the cell's stone floor and walls.

At one point, he hears the small window being pushed open and shut again. When Bilbo opens his eyes, there is another candle flickering in the darkness and next to it a bundle of furs and blankets.

He does not reach for them then, but much later, when the cold and the darkness become unbearable, he stretches out his fingers and draws the fabrics close. And because there is a part of his soul still searching for comfort, he huddles into them, trying to regain warmth (at least for his body. It seems unlikely he'll ever know happiness again. Even if he lives to return to his home in the Shire, he doubts he will overcome this hurt).

The fur feels a little stiff under his fingers – not scratchy as Bofur's is, or soft like the ones Fili and Kili own (he doesn't even want to imagine how the two princes reacted to his betrayal. For the sake of their friendship he would have wished to spare them knowing how betrayal feels – and yet he brought it about with his own hands).

There is a faintly familiar scent clinging to the fur. One that – and Bilbo almost gasps in surprise – he last smelled before waking in this cell. At one point Dwalin must have worn this fur (and Bilbo wonders what this means. Does Dwalin know his fur was given to Bilbo? If not, will he be furious? (Like the trolls, Bilbo imagines Dwalin capable of tearing his limbs apart with his bare hands.))

Mostly, he tries to ignore the traitorous little voice that whispers look, isn't the blanket red like Balin's tunic, and maybe Dwalin gave his fur to you. Maybe those two don't hate you.

But that, Bilbo thinks, is impossible.

Then – it probably is night – the door to his cells is thrown open abruptly.

Bilbo glances up warily, wondering if he is going to be executed (he won't mind), or what else fate has provided for him. Instead Kili stumbles inside, a cloak across his arm, bow and arrows on his back and a sword strapped to his side.

He glances around; then casts an imploring look at Bilbo.

"Mr. Baggins, come along," he whispers, "We're getting you out of here."

Bilbo blinks.

"It's all arranged – Bofur's waiting on the wall, and we'll drop you down, and then you go to Gandalf – they'll treat you alright, I hope," says Kili, "Come on!"

There's no air in Bilbo's lungs. Madness, a voice in the back of his mind whispers, while his heart feels like it's breaking all over again. (Shouldn't Kili hate him? Shouldn't he demand Bilbo's head together with his uncle?)

Abruptly Kili's eyes widen, he steps forward and crouches down, inspecting Bilbo's face closely. "Mr. Baggins, are you injured?"

Bilbo can't help but draw back a little, but he manages to shake his head. (He doesn't know what to think of the concern in Kili's eyes. The prince shouldn't be worried on his account, but there is no denying that Kili is).

"Then what are you waiting for?" Kili reaches out to pull Bilbo up, but the hobbit manages to cover Kili's hand with his own before that can happen.

"What about your uncle?" he asks, breathless (and he can't say Thorin's name just yet).

Kili shrugs. "What about him?"

"What if he finds out?" asks Bilbo.

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Baggins," says Kili, "He might be mad, but you know how he is."

Bilbo gapes at him – because Kili's nonchalance about this is either bravery or madness (he can't decide). And he can't imagine Thorin understanding this – this, which ultimately is treason. And for Kili to – for the King's own nephew –

This kingdom, Bilbo thinks, is already crumbling. For a split second he has the horrifying vision of Thorin ordering Kili's execution (treason is treason, but the image vanishes immediately. Even after all that has happened Bilbo doesn't believe Thorin to be so far lost to the gold to turn against his own kin).

Still, he can't risk it. This vision should never come true, least of all due to Bilbo himself.

Carefully, he detaches Kili's hand (warm between his clammy ones). "I appreciate what you're doing, Kili," says Bilbo eventually, and now his voice sounds calm and resolute, "But I'd rather stay and face my fate than steal away like a thief in the night."

He even manages a dry (humorless) chuckle. "I did what I did knowing what might happen – and I'm not going to run from the consequences."

Bilbo doesn't say that he doubts running away would do little more than ensure his physical survival. The wide-eyed look Kili is giving him already tugs painfully at his heartstrings.

"Mr. Baggins, no one will hold you responsible should you … disappear from this cell. One day even my uncle will understand this – but in the meantime, please believe me that we'd rather know you safe and whole with Gandalf than in this dark place," says Kili, and his fingers close around Bilbo's hand, so there's no way he misses the small shudder.

"Still, right now the situation is already complicated enough. Th - your uncle would not take well to my disappearance, and should I reappear in the enemy camp he will likely be even less inclined to agree to an alliance," explains Bilbo as lightly as he can, "Also, he'll guess I had help in escaping. Somehow I can't see any good come from my escape."

Kili sighs and Bilbo knows he has won.

"But thank you. It means more than you can imagine," he adds eventually.

"You really shouldn't be here," says Kili with a shake of his head, "At the very least you shouldn't be in a cell like this – " He trails off, then raises his head to look at Bilbo, "Anyway, if you change your mind, just let me or Bofur know."

And then Kili spontaneously draws him into a bone-crushing hug. Bilbo more than ever feels like doll (a plaything for fate and good-intentioned wizards perhaps), but after a moment he raises his hands to clap Kili's back reassuringly (because for some odd reason it feels as if Kili is just as lost as Bilbo is).

Time passes. Bilbo can't keep count, and he lets the candles burn down. Twice he has woken to find a new one burning next to the door, accompanied by food. At one point he manages to get down a quarter of the bowl (hunger has left him slightly dizzy), but then his stomach is in knots again.

Nobody speaks to him, and that is okay. His conscience is loud enough.

Until there's a shout on the other side of the door: "There's a message! Orcs and goblins are coming from the north! A whole army! Somebody get Thorin! We need to …"

Then, with the disappearing sound of hurried footsteps, the voice is gone, too, and Bilbo is alone in the dark again.

tbc

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