An Even Fifteen (Fili x reader)

(17) War in the Air

Your heart wept for the people of Laketown as Bard rode away from Erebor. Thorin had, as you expected, denied his request for the aid Thorin had promised. More than that, he had threatened Bard with war for even asking. The dwarves watched Bard's retreating form in awkward silence, until Bilbo snapped.

"What are you doing?! You cannot go to war!"

"This does not concern you," Thorin growled. You were glad to be out of the way of Thorin's wrath, but you feared for Bilbo.

"Excuse me?! Just in case you haven't noticed, there is an army of elves out there. And not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We-We are in fact outnumbered."

You couldn't hear the rest of what was said from where you stood below the rampart. Thorin's tone had gone quiet, controlled in a way you had not heard since you first arrived. You heard his heavy steps on the stairs back down to where you stood. Even with the control he had just shown, you were still wary of him, and you quickly fled to your room. You hid with the Rhosgobels there until a light knock came on your door.

"Y/N? It's me," Bilbo said from the other side of the door. You hurried to open it for him, glancing both ways down the hall before shutting it behind you. Bilbo collapsed on your bed, covering his face with his hands. The Rhosgobels hopped up to investigate him, but you pushed them away, seeing Bilbo's distress.

"This is an awful mess," Bilbo wailed into his hands.

"What happened up there?" you whispered.

Bilbo sighed and dropped his hands. "Thorin plans to go to war. With what army, I don't know," he scoffed, "but he's set on it."

You blew out a slow breath. "Not against Laketown?"

Bilbo nodded. "And the elves."

"He can't!" Even you knew that would not end well.

"I know. Which is why I must do something."

"But what can you do?"

He pulled something from his pocket, wrapped in a dirty scrap of cloth. He unfolded the rag to reveal the brightest stone you'd ever seen, even after all the digging through the hoard. Its white light filtered through rainbow hues on the stone's surface. "The Arkenstone," you murmured. "You've had it? How long?"

Bilbo tucked the stone back into his pocket. "Since before Smaug was killed. I was going to give it to Thorin, but," he shrugged, "you've heard the tales of what it did to his grandfather. And with the dragon sickness, it would only make things worse."

"And now?"

"I may have a plan, but I almost don't want to do it." His wince was very nearly a smile as he tapped his pocket. "If Bard had something to barter with, perhaps we could avoid war altogether."

"You wouldn't," you breathed. "If you give that stone to Bard or King Thranduil, Thorin will lose his mind entirely!"

"It might be our only chance," Bilbo replied. "Laketown needs help, and it's because of our actions. The elves," he huffed, "are another matter entirely. Above all, we must avoid war, if we can."

"But how will you get it to them?" You asked.

"I'll sneak out under cover of night. I should be back before tomorrow's dawn, before anyone misses me." He put his hand in his pocket and sighed.

After a silent moment passed between you, you asked, "Why did you tell me about this? Surely it would be safer if I did not know."

His smile was framed with sorrow. "In case something went wrong, someone needed to know where I was. And I knew I could trust you. I--" he clenched his eyes shut, "I just needed to talk to someone."