Mirkwood was despicable. It was bad enough flying over it, but Bilbo had to land sometime. Not only did he have to sleep and rest, but an incoming dragon lacked a certain subtly that the situation in Dol Guldur required.

The Old Forest near the Shire had been an interesting place, but slow to forgive the damage Bilbo had once caused it. This forest had none of that charming personality; it was pure malevolence. Poison had seeped in, sickening the plants and animals, driving away anything sensible and driving mad anything that remained. Despair hung in the thick and stagnant air.

It only got worse as they travelled further in. Bilbo's great nose worked against him. Levels of the toxin that would make the wizards dizzy, made the dragon retch. The strength of it almost laid him out. The only one remotely comfortable was Radagast. Although the brown wizard was frantic about the state of the forest, he was as lucid as ever. Bilbo suspected he had practice inhaling worse substances.

"I could burn this place to the ground," Bilbo sighed wistfully. "Would it be such a loss? A good cleansing and a fresh start is just what this horrid place needs."

"Do not tempt me." Gandalf's grumbled agreement surprised Bilbo. He'd been needling for a scolding, just so he could yell back. He'd never seem the wizard so disconcerted. "But it would be most unwise to attract attention in these parts."

Bilbo conceded that point. The harmless animals were nasty enough.

A squirrel spat and hissed at the wizards as they passed. The critter puffed out and nearly shat itself when Bilbo hissed back.

…

"How are you feeling, Bilbo?" Gandalf was concerned. The dragon had stopped complaining hours ago.

Up ahead, Bilbo did not answer. His black mood spoke for itself.

Radagast tutted. "His body is healed. He only suffers a sickness of the soul, now."

Gandalf's eyebrows lifted to brush his hat. "You miss them."

Bilbo was startled out of his silence. "I do not."

The grey wizard gave that lie all the acknowledgment it deserved. "I did not think I would live to see you so attached. You did not get so distracted when Belladonna went travelling."

"Belladonna wasn't chased by orcs into a bewitched forest."

Bilbo worried for his dwarves, facing the forest and all its horrors alone, hundreds of miles away without their ponies and packs. Of course he did. But that did not explain the full extent of his feelings. There was something else and Bilbo couldn't put his finger on it.

"How were they when you saw them last? Are you sure they gathered enough supplies?"

"As I said," Gandalf signed. "Beorn provided them with enough food to see them through the forest."

"The one who threatened them. I remember," Bilbo narrowed his eyes. "But do they have flint? Blankets? Bandages? Dwalin was injured. Describe his wound to me again."

"They were sound of body and mind, Bilbo. Except for their worry for you," Gandalf tossed over his shoulder as he navigated a shallow ravine.

"For me?" the dragon blinked, taking the ravine in a single stride and lifting the sled over with barely a thought. Radagast clung to it with a startled squeak.

Gandalf ducked as the dangling rabbits passed over his head. "Well, Bifur was inconsolable, at first. Bofur tried to pick a fight with an eagle to get her to turn around. Ori did the same, but much more diplomatically."

"Oh yes, I suppose they would," Bilbo felt warm just remembering how they'd stood by him in the Misty Mountains.

"And Nori expressed his concern for your health. Fíli raised the notion of waiting for you to catch up."

Bilbo snorted. That would have gone over well –

"The idea was supported by Kíli, Nori, Dori, Bombur and Dwalin."

The dragon spluttered.

"Balin did not object, although he was concerned you would not reach them in time to scale Erebor on Durin's day. Neither did Thorin."

"What?" Bilbo turned sharply. "Thorin? Don't torment me, wizard, what do you mean?"

"Thorin was against leaving you behind. In the end, he made the decision to continue based on the need to stay ahead of the orcs. He called you a member of the Company," Gandalf shared, with that infernal twinkle in his eye. "I daresay, when he let it slip he looked about as startled as you do now."

…

"They are still on your mind."

The wind was whipping by so fast that Bilbo felt safe admitting it. "They are always on my mind."

As the gloom set in, Bilbo found his thoughts drawn more often to the dwarves. They were a spark of brightness he carried with him.

…

"I just find the dwarves… curious," Bilbo admitted when they stopped for the night. Radagast had wandered off. He was even harder to keep track of than Bilbo's regular wizard, but he could have been right next to them for all Bilbo knew. It was unnerving how quickly their surroundings were swallowed up by the fog. It was unnatural – a clear sign that they were getting close to Dol Guldur. The fortress wasn't in sight yet, but they kept their voices hushed as if it was hanging over them.

"Curious?" Gandalf chuckled. "I suppose they continue to surprise you. Dwarves are not at all like hobbits."

"No," Bilbo agreed. "They have a deep need to improve their technology, their communities, their skills. They are never content with what they have. It is – ambition?"

"Elves would call it greed."

"No, greed is selfish. From what I have seen, the loyalty dwarves have for each other is stronger than each dwarfs' loyalty to himself. A refreshing contrast to the race of men, I find. That is not what I expected," Bilbo mused.

"Your stories misled you," Gandalf said.

"They do not do the dwarves justice. I knew they originated from men and elves, and could not be a whole picture, but there was so much consensus… but it is a poor reflection," Bilbo frowned. "The isolation the dwarves impose on themselves is part of the problem. We never hear their side because they do not share it. In the void, they are coloured by misunderstandings."

"Of course your solution would be to tell more stories," Gandalf reprimanded gently. "It is a complex cultural issue, inflamed by a their recent refugee crisis. It will not be solved as easily as that."

"Would it not? Hatred and distrust only exist in ignorance. With communication, leading to understanding, ignorance is impossible. It may not be flawless, but while we wait for the perfect solution, the problem continues. They do not deserve the stigma. There is a greatness to dwarves. These dwarves in particular."

"Greatness. Now there is a loaded term. In what sense do you mean it?"

Bilbo blinked. "Great people – legends, I suppose. Not just warriors and kings. Legends can come from anywhere. Tinkerers, toymakers. That's not what matters."

"But legends are only a small proportion of great people. Most do not become renown," Gandalf countered. "What if the Company had never formed – do you think Bifur would be any less of a dwarf, if only a few dozen individuals ever knew his name?"

"Of course not." The idea that Bifur, a dwarf who deserved to be immortalised in sonnets, might've never featured in a story made Bilbo's skin crawl.

"It happens, Bilbo. Not all good will be immortalised. Not all evil will be acknowledged," Gandalf sighed. "I've told you before – life doesn't exist in your books. Do you understand it yet?"

"I'm beginning to."

Gandalf didn't look convinced.

Bilbo didn't either.

Thankfully, the wizard let the issue drop. He filled his pipe and steered them back to safer waters. "But legends: the greatness that coincides with power. Thorin II son of Thrain should have been born to it. The throne was his birthright, but without crown and kingdom, he made greatness of his own. He should have been powerful, and he still is, in a way, but instead of commanding courts and armies, Oakenshield commands hearts," Gandalf said, lighting his pipe with a flick of his fingers. "That is the most dangerous kind of leader."

"Dangerous?" Bilbo didn't know where Gandalf was going with this.

The wizard hummed. "There are many types of greatness, after all. Tyrants and heroes are indistinguishable, apart from the things they inspire other people to do."

"I suppose there is merit in that," Bilbo agreed after a moment.

"I have watched many people over the years, curious what kind they will turn out to be. You were born to be great. As a dragon you could be nothing less. But you shaped it into your own flavour."

Bilbo snorted. "That wasn't a choice."

"Not one, no. Hundreds of decisions made you who you are now. And the choices you make today will make you a slightly different person tomorrow. So it will go on, every day, and I have confidence that more often than not, those choices will be good," Gandalf declared. "There are many horrors and wonders in this world, but it is the choices people make when under pressure that gives me hope. They may struggle with evil, yes, but most people struggle against it."

…

Dol Guldur was a dump. Bilbo was not impressed.

"It looks completely abandoned," Radagast said.

"It smells abandoned," Bilbo confirmed. "Even the sickness is lessened here."

"It would appear that way," Gandalf grunted. "A spell of concealment lies over this place. The enemy is not yet ready to reveal himself," he trailed off thoughtfully. Then, with a decisive nod, "We must force his hand. Radagast, carry a message to the Lady Galadriel."

Bilbo new that tone. "You mean to enter. I'm going with you."

"I would be tempted if you were an elf, dwarf or even a hobbit. While they are resistant to evil and magic, unfortunately your kind are susceptible to both. I would hate to see your pride corrupted and your purpose twisted."

The dragon growled.

"No!" Gandalf booked no argument. "Promise you will remain behind."

"It is a trap," Bilbo insisted.

"Undoubtedly."

…

Bilbo paced. It had been too long. Only the occasional bubble of grey magic told Bilbo the wizard was still alive. Something was gathering in the air; a kind of tension. The dragon hoped it was just the spell lifting.

His tail lashed angrily, shattering a tree with barely any resistance. The forest was dead to its roots. There was not enough life in the soil to cause proper decay. Instead of rotting, the trees just bowed to wind and time, slowly crumbling.

Another pulse of magic. This time it was different. The smell hit him before the bubble did. An overwhelming stench of orcs and wargs and unnatural sickness sent him reeling. It clogged his nose and throat, and stung his eyes.

There was a twang of heavy siege equipment. A dozen chains appeared out of thin air, mere metres from the dragon, flipping end over end. They smashed into him, the force of it knocked him off his feet. He struggled to stand – chains coiled around his neck and tail, they pinned one wing to his side. In the next heartbeat, scores of orcs descended upon him. They brought ropes and hooks and arrows, and tried to pin him down.

From under a writhing mass of orcs, the dragon saw red.

The gang attempting to muzzle him were reduced to ash. Great sweeps of his neck and tail sent dozens flying. His horns ploughed through anything his fire missed, while his legs flailed and started working free. Arrogant little cretins, to think that they could hold a dragon! He flung them off like they were insects.

A screech sent chills down Bilbo's spine. He knew that sound. It was a pitch dragons had been designed to heed. It had been burnt so deeply into his ancestors that Bilbo heard it in his dreams.

The wraiths emerged from the gloom, armed with blades he could not block and ghostly bonds. The orcs had never hoped to hold him long, Bilbo realised, they just needed to trip him long enough for the Nine to secure those chains and he would never break free.

He felt fear. The wraiths revelled in it, approaching leisurely just to draw it out.

Fire. The stories claimed their weakness was fire. The wraiths had surrounded him. He could only blast one at a time and they were quick – almost too quick to hit – but the dry forest would go up like a field of straw. It would save him.

Bilbo turned his flames to the trees. The wood spluttered and hissed, it spewed out terrible black smoke, but it did not burn. His heart stuttered, he wanted to panic, but he didn't have time.

Smoke. Fine. He would take smoke in a pinch.

He rolled to his feet, blasted the path clear. Orcs still clung to the chains but he didn't care, he dragged them with him. His back legs were hobbled, so he leapt. Trees sailed by and the smoke covered his retreat. He twisted and shook his wing desperately, trying to extract it from the chain around his chest.

The chains and ropes snagged on trees and rocks, slowing him down, but the snags were tugging them loose. The bonds around his legs slid down. He stumbled, kicked them off, and then he opened his stride.

The Nine were all around him. They were faster. A wraith flashed in the corner of his eye. It should've picked the other side. Bilbo flung out his wing and flattened the monster. The membrane caught the wind and Bilbo turned sharply, taking another wraith by surprise.

They fell back, either to climb his tail or – no, they were waiting – there was a cliff ahead, they would move to cut off his escape.

They overestimated his survival instinct. He would take death before enslavement. But he wouldn't settle for either if he could help it. With the wraiths more distant, he could expose his neck to turn his head over his shoulder. The chains were hopelessly tangled. The orcs had woven in ropes and tied it off to stop it slipping. Mind working quickly, the dragon soaked his own back with fire. By Eru it hurt, but the ropes snapped. He bit and tugged, lifting the chains just far enough. His wing slid free and Bilbo wasted no time, his next step took him into the sky.

Arrows and angry shrieking followed him, but he soon rose above even that.

…

Bilbo's heart was racing, his legs were trembling, and he didn't expect it to stop any time soon. If he was worth the Nine, he hated to imagine what Gandalf faced. His imagination was a horrible thing, it came up with plenty of ideas, and the scene below provided ample inspiration.

An army was spread out beneath him. Thousands of orcs, hundreds of wargs, trolls and war machines. The forges were lit, the forces had started to move north. The black plague from Dol Guldur was spreading.

The fortress itself felt worse than the forest ever had. It was a far more solid, palpable evil. It flashed and thundered with light and dark. Bilbo could feel the power from hundreds of metres away. The magic made his scales stand on end.

It started to glow red hot, and an entire tower was blasted away by a giant flame. Bilbo had only a second to wonder if that meant Gandalf had won. Then the darkness hit him like a stone giant and Bilbo could barely stay airborne.

The darkness seeped through his scales. It crooned in his ears. It reached into his being until it could taste his deepest desires. At the dragon's core, was his hoard; a collection of memories, all of them stories, most of them not his own. But in the centre, the most precious of treasures, were stories Bilbo had helped make himself.

Belladonna Baggins, an adventurer brave enough to charge a dragon with a pitchfork. Hamfast Gamgee, a dedicated father that asked a dragon to teach his children to read. The Grey Wizard, a meddler who started each quest seeking advice from his dear but most unexpected friend. Elrond, a noble lord who opened his house to even the largest guests. Bifur, an old dwarf who took a blow to save a king, but prefers to give things instead. Thorin Oakenshield, a legend still unfurling, just waiting to be seen.

The darkness flicked through the treasures, looking for anything it could use, and it took from them Bilbo's greatest weakness. It made him feel more strongly than he'd ever experienced, to the exclusion of all reason. It appealed to his greed, his fear, his hope, his vanity. It dangled hundreds of stories before his eyes like the juiciest of offerings.

It turned his mind.

He became a beast, a thing of impulse and desire. He wanted, with all this being. It overruled his self-control and reason. The darkness played with the dragon's emotions and used them to tug him along to His every whim. The darkness turned his fear away from the Nine and replaced it with reckless fury instead. Bilbo wanted to charge them down - those spectres waiting for him on the clifftop with open arms.

But twist as it might, the darkness could not change his heart.

Bilbo felt fury, yes, he was furious he and Gandalf had been parted from the Company. He despaired for the quest if they faced Smaug alone. He was greedy to hear more of Bofur's jokes and Balin's grumbles. He feared for their lives. He hoped to see them again. He would cherish a single anecdote from Bifur more than a thousand other stories. He turned around.

The Nine paused, confused.

He needed to return to his dwarves, but first, he needed his wizard.

Gandalf had been dragged to a cage and strung up in view of the bridge. It must have been bait for the White Council, because the forces weren't ready for Bilbo. The dragon smashed through orcs and stone, he grasped the cage and ripped the chain from the ground. His wings carried them unerringly towards Erebor.

…

"–bo!" The dragon shook his head to rid it of the annoying buzzing. "Bilbo!"

"Gandalf?" he blinked. It was like a fog lifting. They were above Mirkwood, flying hard.

"Bilbo," the wizard repeated for the hundredth time, relieved. "You are back."

"I am," he realised. That had been too close. It had not been a mishap, it had been a situation. "Never again. No more wizard business."

"I'm afraid that is not possible. We must find Radagast."

Bilbo groaned.

"Don't take that tone with me. I must tell him of what we face immediately."

…

The darkness had encroached even on the brown wizard's home. Giant spider webs clung to the wood. The sunlight didn't pierce the canopy as much as it should.

Animals scattered at the sound of an approaching dragon and Radagast came running as Bilbo landed in the clearing. A hedgehog rolled into a little ball of terror.

"Bilbo, Gandalf, this is a surprise – what in the world are you doing in that thing?" he asked Gandalf, much the same way he would if a squirrel got stuck in a birdfeeder.

Gandalf huffed. "I, for one, would prefer to get out of it."

"Oh! Of course, of course."

As Radagast struggled with the cage, Bilbo sniffed the hedgehog curiously. They didn't have any in the Shire. "I don't suppose there's anything around here I can eat?" he wondered, inadvisably.

The look Radagast gave him dared him to try.

Bilbo decided he wasn't that hungry. He was, however, impatient. "Come now Gandalf, we must hurry. Thorin must be warned."

"Indeed, he must. But I cannot go with you," he turned to Radagast. "It is worse than I ever feared. Sauron has regained form, he is building his forces. All he needs now is the ring. It will wake, now that he has coalesced. He will have strength beyond that of the Council if it falls into his possession, we must act now."

Radagast was speechless and Bilbo was dismayed, but Gandalf wasn't done dispensing bad news.

"Ori came to me at Beorn's. He found a simple gold ring in the Misty Mountains. He wanted to fashion a quill nub out of it, but it was entirely unworkable. Upon placing it in the fire, it showed a script he could not recognise, and I had not seen in an age. I thought then that it was enchanted, perhaps even one of their Seven. Now, I fear it may be far worse."

The dragon's mind was racing through everything he knew about the rings. There was nothing good.

"The dwarves must keep it with them, it is the only option. We must know where it is until we can determine exactly what it is. Dwarves are strong, they can carry it safely enough, but it will do no favours to the minds of anyone near it. You are at the most risk, Bilbo, but you will be fine for a few weeks, if you do not touch it." He levelled the dragon with a serious look. "I will be on the Overlook on Durin's day. Do not enter Erebor without me. It is now more imperative than ever."