#flashfridayfiction

Bilbo was running for his life. There was a very pissed off dragon after him, after all. He spotted the entrance he had come down and headed towards it, ignoring the huffing and puffing and general unpleasantness of a dragon trying to eat him or burn him alive as he did so.

He was there; he thought with relief, grateful that the dragon was so busy shouting and that hobbits were so nimble on their feet that Smaug hadn’t known where he was heading and was looking in the wrong direction.

Bilbo ran through the entrance of the corridor he had used and spared a moment to lean against the wall, out of sight of the dragon to catch his breath before he scampered back up to the dwarves.

He turned to carry in when he stopped, seeing Thorin highlighted by the flames shining off the gold that was coming through the doorway Bilbo had just scurried through.

He watched, bemused, as Thorin cocked his head and stared into the cavernous room behind Bilbo, his gaze hard and penetrating, as though he could see through the walls.

“Thorin …” Bilbo hissed at the dwarf, trying to catch his attention.

Thorin didn’t seem to hear him.

“Thorin, love, there’s a dragon,” Bilbo hissed again as he edged closer to his lover, confused why he wasn’t even looking at him.

“Thorin!” Bilbo said louder than he meant to, his voice echoing off the walls.

That caught Thorin’s attention as he turned to Bilbo, but his eyes, his usually mesmerising eyes, looked dark and cloudy, as though something was blinding him from seeing what was before him, from seeing Bilbo.

“Where is it?” Thorin suddenly asked, his eyes not actually leaving the shine of the treasure beyond the two of them.

“Thorin, dragon!” Bilbo reiterated as he edged closer to his dwarf and away from the place he could hear Smaug’s grumbles and groans coming from.

Without warning, Thorin turned, his sword now out and pointing straight at Bilbo’s chest.

Bilbo blinked down at it, confused, as he looked up and frowned at Thorin. “What are you doing?” he demanded to know, trying to keep his voice down because of the very angry dragon searching for him.

“Where is it, Bilbo?” Thorin demanded again, putting the smallest amount of pressure on the sword now pressing against Bilbo’s chest.

“If it’s the Arkenstone you’re on about, I didn’t see it. You know what I DID see, Thorin? A great big dragon who wants to burn me alive. So we need to go,” Bib said quickly, panicking as he could hear Smaug following his scent to where he had run off to.

“We have to go,” he tried again as he reached out to grab Thorin’s arm.

Thorin immediately had Bilbo up against the wall by the lapels of his coat as he pressed that little bit harder in warning. “Where is it burglar?” he demanded, using a name he had started using as a tease as though Bilbo was scum between his teeth.

“Thorin, knock it off. Smaug is coming,” Bilbo said in disbelief. This was the dwarf who had slept with Bilbo in his arms the night before, who had almost changed his mind about sending the Company’s lone hobbit in to face a dragon alone.

This was the dwarf who said he loved Bilbo and now he was what … threatening him? Bilbo couldn’t understand, he didn’t understand. All he knew was that Thorin was being foolish, and they had to go, leave now.

“Thorin, DRAGON!” Bilbo hissed loudly into his ear.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what it was, what snapped Thorin out of whatever had been going on, but the dwarf blinked and looked at Bilbo, confused, as he scowled down at his sword before shaking his head and putting it back in its scabbard. “He is awake,” Thorin said suddenly, as though Bilbo hadn’t been telling him that for who knew how long.

“Yes, and any minute now …” Bilbo stopped as he heard Smaug find the little corridor they had come in and was ranting and raving about dwarves.

“Run,” Thorin said as he grabbed Bilbo, and they ran as fast as possible, trying to outrun Smaug and his flames.

The rest of the Company followed and what came next was the most terrifying game of cat-and-mouse Bilbo had ever been a part of.

In the end Smaug flew off, wounded and covered in gold, but still very deadly, still ready to cause death and destruction.

“What have we done?” Bilbo asked in despair as he watched Lake Town burn. He felt his heart fall even more when he turned and saw Thorin, that same distant, blinded look in his eyes as he moved away from Lake Town and towards the treasure.

“It is only what was done to us,” Thorin said in what sounded like a far off voice.

Bilbo looked at the back of the dwarf he loved as he walked away from the death they were responsible for and felt his heart freeze.

“Count the days. Count the hours. Count the minutes. Count, count, count, until you cry,”

Bilbo was mumbling to himself over and over again.

There was nothing to distract him from both the heartache and physical pain apart from his own mind.

He refused to look down. To see what HE had done to him. To remember how he had cradled Bilbo’s feet before breaking each toe and his ankles whilst cooing softly and saying it was for Bilbo’s own good before placing shackles around them.

Bilbo’s wrists were similarly shackled before him, and all attached to the wall behind him.

Bilbo was an utter shell of the hobbit he had been before this, both physically and mentally, and now he was just counting the days until it was finally over. Until his own personal void rushed forward to embrace him and cover him in its darkness.

“Count the days, count the hours, count the minutes. Count, cou...”

“Will you stop that infernal racket Bilbo?” Thorin suddenly bellowed as he stormed over to his hobbit.

He grabbed Bilbo by his chin and roughly pulled it up, adding more bruises to the bruises he had already inflicted on his little One. “You are my treasure. You are to sit and look pretty. I have no need for your wicked little tongue, not after you betrayed me,” Thorin said as he viciously pushed Bilbo into the wall.

Bilbo could do nothing but whimper in pain and heartbreak.

This demon in Thorin’s skin was destroying him, bit by bit, moment by moment.

Bilbo could no longer stop his soft little whimpers as he curled himself up as best as he was able.

“What’s Uncle Bilbo snivelling for now, Uncle Thorin?” Kili asked as he walked through the treasury.

Bilbo watched as the same half awake sheen covered the younger Durin’s eyes too. It covered all of his dwarves’ eyes. The dragon sickness having infected them all and now all they were was monsters.

“You know him. Always snivelling about something. Don’t worry about him, Kili. I will break his fingers if he carries on whining,” Thorin said dismissively. Kili just chuckled and carried on wandering around the vast treasure mountains in Erebor.

Erebor, Bilbo thought with silent tears falling down his face. It was supposed to be a new, wonderful start for the dwarves. He had also hoped it would be for him.

Bigger fool that he was. Now he could hear the men and elves and orcs battling with Dain’s troops outside of the mountain. Bilbo didn’t know if any of them would survive. But no matter what the outcome was, he was as good as dead. He was never getting out of here. He would never see the sky again, he thought mournfully.

Bilbo had first thought that Gandalf would save him. That he would use his wizardry to get his friend out of Thorin’s greedy hands, but the dwarves had refused to let him scurry away.

Gandalf had been powerless against the three leaders at that moment, but he also hadn’t realised what Thorin was going to do to his friend. Dear, sweet, stupid Gandalf, who wouldn’t have a friend left to save after the battle.

Bilbo just bit his lip until it bled. It didn’t matter now, anyway; he thought as he accidentally wiggled his toes and screamed in pain from it.

He was destroyed. From the inside out and there was no point counting the days until Gandalf came to rescue him.

There would be no rescue for Bilbo, not this time. This he understood and was ready to welcome it.

He silently picked up the item he had been moving closer to himself by steadily shifting the gold for days. Almost glad that Thorin and The Company were all wandering the treasury, acting as if they didn’t have their burglar, their friend, their hobbit, chained to the wall like a damned animal.

Bilbo managed to grab the item in both hands and cradled it softly to his chest.

Having it in his hands must have served as some kind of pressure valve because Bilbo started sobbing and just couldn’t stop.

Thorin of course heard him and stalked over to Bilbo, showing him who was prey and who was the predator ready to rip the other’s throat out.

“Why are you sniffling now? I swear to Mahal Bilbo, shut up,” Thorin hissed out, putting his face close to Bilbo’s threateningly.

Unlike all the other times where Bilbo had cringed back and tried to make himself invisible, this time Bilbo sat up as straight as he could and snapped his teeth at Thorin, causing him to draw back in surprise.

Bilbo looked into Thorin’s glazed over eyes sadly and saw nothing of the dwarf he was once, the one who had cared and loved Bilbo more than anything else.

Bilbo slowly raised one hand to Thorin’s cheek and stroked it gently before pressing a soft kiss to it.

He then pulled back, one hand still on Thorin’s check, the other clenched at his breast.

Bilbo looked into Thorin’s eyes before he spoke again.

“Count the days, count the hours, count the minutes. Count, count, count before you cry. Cry, cry, cry before I die,”

he whispered with a sad smile before plunging the hidden dagger straight into his own heart.

The last thing Bilbo heard before everything faded was Thorin’s anguished howl.

Remus stood at the floo and looked around. He knew they were going to be late. They were always late for everything now days.

He cast a quick Sonorus on himself so he could be heard throughout the house. Grimmauld Place had expanded over the years, giving them all what they needed in a home. Including working internal floo places, so Remus didn’t have to climb the now 5 flights of stairs with his bum hip.

“Oy, hurry up you lot. We are going to miss the train,” he called into the house.

He listened with a smile as he heard three pairs of running feet. Two much too old to be acting like it was their first time on the Hogwarts Express.

Not that Remus really minded. He was excited about this year. He hated leaving his family behind when he went to work at Hogwarts like he had been for the last 4 years. Now he didn’t have to.

Teddy had turned 11 and was off to boarding school. Even knowing Minerva wouldn’t allow the same things that happened to Harry to happen to Teddy, Remus had refused to let him go if he didn’t have a close adult on sight.

Minerva had taken it as a challenge.

This year Remus was going back as the History of Magic teacher and the Deputy Head. He was giving up his beloved DADA position, but he couldn’t help but beam when his successor came bounding through the doorway, a beaming smile on his face, hair every which way and his glasses askew.

“You might want t put yourself together before we get tot he platform, Professor,” Remus teased Harry, who blushed as he straightened himself out.

Harry just waved a hand behind him, as though Remus should understand why he looked like he had been tousling.

It turned out it was because he was. Remus rolled his eyes as Sirius Lupin walked through the doorway, looking magnificent for a 50-year-old man. Not that they could say that number around his delicate ears.

“Can you believe it, Moony mine? Prongslet tried to lock me in my room. Apparently it would be funny to see the new Charms professor come into the feast late,” Sirius said, a faux glare on his face as he turned, hands on his hips as he stared Harry down.

“Oh please, as if you wouldn’t have enjoyed the attention. Where is Teddy?” Remus said as he nudged Sirius towards the floo, looking for his son.

“He’s packing some last-minute supplies,” Harry said.

“What supplies?” Remus suddenly said, as he turned to look at Harry suspiciously.

“Just stuff he needs for Hogwarts. Don’t worry Moony, I helped him pack,” Harry said with a beaming grin.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Remus sighed as he watched Teddy come in, his hair bright yellow, no surprise what House he wanted to get into.

Sirius walked over and helped Teddy with his trunk, accepting the hug the boy seemed to dish out so easily. Something that the three men had never experienced, even at his age.

“Thanks Pads, it’s heavy,” Teddy said, smiling softly.

“Its all right Teddy Bear, come on, we’re almost late,” Sirius said as he placed a kiss n Teddy’s head before taking the trunk and walking through the floo, Teddy on his heels.

“I think he loves that boy more than me,” Harry said with a laugh and a smile.

Remus knew he was joking, knew he didn’t mean it, but he instantly whipped around and grabbed Harry’s shoulders. It didn’t matter how broad he got, how filled out, how he aged, he was still the little boy Remus and Sirius had adored before he had even been born; he was the boy they had fought and literarily died (and came back) for.

“He loves you more than anyone in the world, Harry, including me. The wonderful thing about Sirius is he is made of love and loyalty, but I promise he doesn’t love Teddy more, he doesn’t love me more. He knows I can and will protect Teddy from the world. So even now, even with you as a grown man, you will always be the one he protects first, the one he thinks of first. For Sirius, you have been his first thought for 28 years. It won’t end now, it never will.” Remus said earnestly. Wanting Harry to understand, even now, the depths of Sirius’ love for the boy. All of their love for the boy.

“Ok Moony,” Harry said shyly.

Remus sighed, even a decade of counseling and self esteem work couldn’t get rid of the insidious voice that told Harry he was unwanted, that he was the last choice, that he was here to be used, not to be loved the way they did.

“Come on Prongslet, we have a new chapter in our lives. One we are entering together, ok?” Remus said as he gently squeezed Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m glad we can stay together this year,” Harry mumbled.

“Me too, cub, me too. Now come on, Sirius will hold the train up if we are any later and it will be me Minerva sends the howler too,” Remus said as he ushered him towards the floo.

Kher Morhen was quiet. Quieter that it had been for a long time.

Geralt, Lambert, Eskel and Coen had set the funeral pyres up, ready for Vesemir to use Igni on them to set their spirits free.

Cirilla had been hiding away, terrified of herself and what she could do to those that were still standing.

Geralt knew he should go to her, that he should help her get through this. After all, it wasn’t any more her fault than it was anyone else’s.

He just didn’t know how or what to say to her. He was a lot softer now than he had been 25 years ago, before meeting Jaskier, but he didn’t believe he was soft enough for a child. A traumatised one at that.

Jaskier had just scoffed at him and said tough shit, he had one now and if he ever spoke to her the way he had Jaskier, he would find a way to kill him in his sleep.

Geralt didn’t doubt him one bit. His bard was feral when the occasion called for it.

Speaking of his bard, he looked over to see him hand a piece of paper over to Vesemir, who grunted and nodded in turn.

When he turned back around, Jaskier gave Geralt a small but sad smile. There was so much they still had to talk about, so much they had to hash out, but like Jaskier said, now was not the time. They had all winter after all and right now Geralt had brothers to see off into the abyss. Brothers to bid a last farewell to.

The 5 witchers lined up with Vesemir in the centre. “The bard is going to sing something,” he said gruffly.

“Indeed. I know witchers aren’t much for words when deeds show the measure of your heart. So allow me to thank and honour each of your brothers, your friends, for protecting us all and the world at large. I will have written a song for each of them by the time we head out on the Path again in spring, but until then, please allow me to sing them farewell. These men were brave and kind and fear of them, of you all, has made all your lives harder. It is unfair, and it is unkind, but fear is like a sickness that ravages the mind. So, to these good men, these good witchers, these good souls, I bid them adieu, to a place where fear can no longer touch them.”

Jaskier’s voice went quiet as he started to slowly strum at his lute strings, humming softly.

Vessimer stepped forward and cast Igni on their fallen family. “Sleep well, my boys,” he said tiredly, defeated.

“Sleep well,” the younger witchers chorused.

They stood there quietly until Jaskier’s melodic voice broke the silence. He sang softly, sweetly, almost like a lullaby.

It took Geralt a moment to hear the words, but when he did, he didn’t even try to stop the pain he felt from crossing his face. If the way the others were crowding one another was any indication, they felt the same.

In the shadowed corners of the world,

Where whispers weave their web of art, Fear takes root, a silent seed,

A sickness that spreads with stealthy speed.

Oh, fear, the cunning thief of light,

It steals our good sense in the dead of night,

But listen close, my witchers, and hear: Fear is a sickness if you let it steer.

It creeps like mist across the mind,

A fog that blinds, a knot that binds,

Yet courage blooms where shadows fall, Witchers are a remedy that breaks fear’s thrall.

Oh, fear, the cunning thief of light,

It steals our senses in the dead of night,

But listen close, my witchers, and hear: Fear is a sickness if you let it steer.

The cure lies not in potions or signs,

But in the fire that burns and warms, The ember of hope, the spark of might.

That banishes fear and reclaims the light.

Oh, fear, the cunning thief of light,

It steals our senses in the dead of night,

But listen close, my witchers, and hear: Fear is a sickness if you let it steer.

So sing this truth, let it resound,

In every heart where fear is found,

For courage, love, and daring cheer,

Shall heal the sickness because witchers draw near.

Jaskier let his voice fade away as the music filled the space he had previously sung into. Geralt slowly walked towards his bard and they stood side by side as the other witchers finally left the funeral pyre.

“Jaskier...” Geralt started, unsure what to say.

Jaskier slowly stopped strumming and lifted a hand to Geralt’s cheek and moved his thumb, stroking it. “Not now, dear heart. There will be time for this. But now is the time to say goodbye, to be with your brothers. We have time, Geralt.”

“Do we?” Geralt croaked out.

“We do, so much time. Go. I’ve got Cirilla for the night. Tomorrow is a new day Geralt. We don’t have to rush just because we are afraid,” Jaskier whispered into the night air.

“I am. Afraid I mean,” Geralt admitted quietly.

“I know, love. So am I. But we can’t give into the fear, we can’t let it win. After all, Witchers chase the fear away,” Jaskier said with a smile before he leant in slightly and kissed Geralt’s cheek.

“Go. Try not to be afraid, just for this night,” Jaskier said before walking away.

They had so much to sort out, so much to be afraid of and for. But Jaskier was right. Feat was a sickness, a monster with invisible claws.