I Don't own the hobbit

Bilbo ran and ran. He knew he should face the consequences of his actions but he was so scared. He never managed to find the right time to give away the arkenstone himself so he resorted to calling for Gandalf with one of the ravens and throwing the stone down to him on his arrival, telling him precisely what he wanted done with it to the relief and agreement of Gandalf. Bilbo, however, was just a little to slow in finishing up and was caught by a livid Thorin. Gandalf was just to far away to call for so Bilbo ran. He was fast but so was Thorin plus Thorin knew Erebors tunnels. Down stairs and through doors, hiding behind statues and arches before running the other way. Bilbo ran down a passage that he remembered lead to an unused staircase. The hobbit turned to run upwards but slammed square into a strong chest. Hazel eyes rose and found foggy blue. It happened to fast for Bilbo to do anything. Without even a breath Thorin swung his hard fists into the small Hobits body and threw him back. Bilbo practically flew for a few minutes before his body collided with the first part part of narrow stairs before bouncing, rolling and hitting another. The Hobbit hit every step harder than cruel, breaking bones, splitting skin and at one pint bit off his tongue, not that he really noticed with everything else breaking at the same time. He seemed to fall and tumble forever, it slowing down the further he went. Then he saw them. At the bottom of the flight lay stacks of blades and axes, most likely dropped in a desperate attempt to flee from Smaug. One seemed to be sticking up happily as though it had been placed their waiting for this moment. Time nearly froze for poor Bilbo as he landed, the blade sliding through his neck, keeping his body arched upwards.

For a few minutes Thorin watched with a satisfied smirk as Bilbo struggled and drowned in his own blood, before spitting and walking away.

oOoGHOSToOo

Bilbo gasped and sat up, his head hurting and foggy. It was dark where he was, filled with a cold air that also seemed homely. He looked down and gasped. Decorating the ground with swirls and rivers lay blood. Black and dried but recognizable. The Hobbit lifted his eyes slightly and began crawling away till his back hit cold stone. There in front of him lay his own body, mouth and eyes wide open, legs resting in off positions and his body arched upwards with the blade sticking through his neck. For one reason or another Bilbo didn't feel anger or sadness. He simply felt lonely. Here lay his body, far away from where it belonged, resting in cold agony. No one but a crazy king knew of his whereabouts as far as the Hobbit knew. No, He wasn't a Hobbit any longer. He was just an echo, an apparition, a ghost.

Bilbo thought about how the Dwarves would react to his death. Would they be sad? Would they mourn him? A sudden pain hit his heart. Thorin probably told the others about his treachery. They probably knew of his death and where glad about it. Perhaps they would come and laugh on his corps, spit on it, urinate on it. Bilbo didn't want that. He was dead, wasn't that enough? He could still feel the blade in his throat, the space where his tongue once sat. He knew where every broken bone and fracture was. There was no pain but he knew.

Bilbo didn't want anyone near his body, he wouldn't let them near no matter what. All at once the six or so doors that entered the stairs slammed shut and locked. Bilbo knew what was possible for him in his form, he didn't know how he knew, he just knew. Nothing more to it.

He reached down and grabbed a small blade. It was heavy. Nearly twice what it would have been had Bilbo been alive. He threw it as hard as he could towards the wall. The blade disappeared with speed and when it contacted the stone it created a massive crack in the wall. The ghost picked up another small blade. He looked and willed it to go threw him. The blade fell slow at first but sped up to normal quickly.

Bilbo smiled sadly and stood up. He would protect his final resting place but he would watch over the others too. They would be angry at him but they hadn't done anything to him yet. It was Thorin that would need to watch out.

It was with that thought that the ghost glided past one of the locked doors and headed down the corridor beyond.

He wondered for a while, marveling at how far into the mountain he had gone, until he found the balcony. He had expected to see emptiness. An dull plane that neither party wanted to cross however what greeted him was anything but. It was a sea of red and silver that stretched on for miles. Dale was burned black and a camp of white rested not too far from the mountain.

"The war..." Bilbo gasped. He leaped forward and glided towards the camp. He had to know. He needed to make sure... .

Tent after useless tent he searched. Panic beginning to rise in his mind. He tried to convince himself that if they weren't here they where fine but his eyes always strayed to the gory battlefield. Then he heard it.

"Fili! GET YOUR ASS BACK 'ERE!"

The ghost spun around and there they where, the company, standing outside a large red tent. He glided over and smiled. They where here and safe. Some had arms in bandages but otherwise unharmed. Every one was safe! Bilbo sighed, but then he noticed something. Something he didn't know if he should be worried or happy about. Thorin wasn't there. The ghost drifted forward and into the tent. Sure enough, there the all mighty f***er lay, his chest covered in bloody bandages and sweat covering his brow.

With a disgusted grunt, Bilbo noticed Thorins heart slowing.

"Oh no you don't" The ghost snarled, kneeling over the King and placing his hand on his chest.

"Your going to live so I can get my revenge on you, your not escaping so easily after what you've done!"

Bilbo didn't care that every-time he opened his mouth blood would come out. It never his the floor and was a nice contrast between his own white and blue.

Bilbo pressed down, forcing all the energy into the body as he could. The wounds closed and cleared, breathing normalized and the fever died. The ghost giggled, pulling away and marveling at the hand shaped scar that now decorated the Kings clear flesh.

'Interesting...'

An idea hit Bilbo, making him smile. He once again leaned over the Dwarf and, using his pointer finger, wrote a number 10 underneath the hand.

"Where going to play a game, you and me. You have ten red points. You gain points through evil and loose them through kindness. Get two 20 and I will kill you. Get to 0 and I will forgive you. Sound fair?" Bilbo didn't care if the Dwarf couldn't here him. Why would he? For some reason, Bilbo found the whole event rather amusing and began laughing. Louder and lauder till he was floating of the ground.

If anyone had walked in at that moment they would have seen him, a maddened ghost laughing with bloody lips over a cured King.

Yay done. Yes I know. Another story start...

I hope you liked it though!