He leaned down, his low voice sounding in Bilbo's ear: "Don't worry about it, Bilbo. Thorin... he only said that in anger, blinded by the rain and his fury. You did well — you held on and didn't give up."
Gandalf patted Bilbo's trembling shoulder: "Remember, once you leave home, courage is in your hands. Now pull yourself together — we need to keep moving and get out of this hellish place."
Gandalf's words were like a gentle warmth, temporarily warming the chill. Bilbo sniffled, did not look up, but gave a slight nod. Perhaps luck finally smiled upon them, or perhaps the two battling Stone Giants had shifted the battlefield.
---
Under Thorin's guidance, the company struggled for some time along the remainder of the mountain path, heedless of the pouring rain. Finally, they discovered a crack in the mountainside. The crack was narrow, but it seemed to open into a space within. Thorin was the first to squeeze through, and after confirming it was safe, he gestured for the others to enter.
The cave was more spacious than expected, but for the tall Gandalf, it was still cramped. He had to stoop to get through, even flattening his chest and sucking in his stomach to squeeze through the gap. But for the dwarves, it was more than enough; they couldn't reach the top even if they jumped with all their might.
The cave was dark and damp, filled with the smell of moss, dust, and some indescribable musty odour. Importantly, it was relatively dry here, and this place could provide shelter from the wind and rain.
Upon entering, Gandalf did not immediately set down his belongings; in the dim light, he surveyed the surroundings. His brows furrowed, and a faint white light emanated from the tip of his staff. "Thorin, this place... something is wrong. An old unease hangs over it."
Gandalf turned to Thorin, who was unloading his bundle and sighing. "I suggest finding another place to rest, even if it's just a more spacious rocky shelter."
Thorin dropped his axe with a dull thud. He rubbed his aching shoulders, fatigue and impatience on his face. "Gandalf, it's raining outside, and the storms may resume. Without torches, we could barely see three metres ahead, and there were slippery cliffs and deep ravines everywhere. It's dry here, and it provides shelter from wind and rain — it's the most suitable place. Your feelings cannot feed you, nor can they serve as a roof over your head!"
Gandalf looked at him, then at the other dwarves, who had all collapsed to the ground. Their faces showed only relief at finding temporary shelter and a longing for rest. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he only sighed and swallowed his words. Along the way, he had fully experienced the stubbornness of dwarves. He stopped trying to persuade them and simply found a spot near the cave entrance, from where he could observe both the interior and the outside, and where he could lean against something.
Gloin rummaged through his bag and pulled out some relatively dry firewood and tinder. He rubbed his hands together, took out his flint, and prepared to light a fire in a small open space in the centre of the cave, to dispel the cold and darkness.
"Don't light a fire. Light and smoke may attract unwanted attention," Thorin's voice came. "Let's all rest, keep quiet, and conserve our strength. Bofur, you're on first watch. Keep an eye on the cave entrance and any activity outside."
Reluctantly putting away his flint, muttering a few words, Gloin obeyed the order. The dwarves found places to sit or lean, chewing on their dry rations and some dried meat. As for the delicious vegetables, they had eaten them within three days of leaving Rivendell. Muffled conversations soon ceased, and from exhaustion, most people quickly fell into restless, shallow sleep. Outside the cave, only the sound of the gradually intensifying rain and distant thunder could be heard.
---
At midnight, the cave was pitch black, only faint starlight filtering through the cracks and openings. The sounds of snoring, teeth grinding, and heavy breathing rose and fell. Bilbo slowly got up. He couldn't sleep at all, haunted by Thorin's accusations and the fear of falling from the cliff. The hardships he had endured on this journey, and his own sense of "uselessness," would not leave him alone.
He secretly observed his companions around him. Thorin lay on his side near the crevice, his back to him, apparently asleep. Most of the other dwarves were also deeply exhausted and sleeping. Bofur, who was on night watch, was leaning against the stone wall on the other side. He was nodding off, his eyes half-closed, struggling with drowsiness.
A thought grew clearer and stronger in his mind: go back, go back to Rivendell. Return to his cosy, safe hobbit-hole, full of food and a warm fireplace. This adventure was not for him; he was just a mistake, a burden. Bilbo quietly slung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up the wooden staff leaning against the wall. Then, holding his breath, he tiptoed toward the narrow strip of light filtering through the crack. He planned to leave alone, to return the same way to Rivendell, and then... to go home.
However, as he passed by, Bofur, who was leaning against the stone wall, appeared to be sleeping. Bofur suddenly opened his eyes and whispered: "Bilbo? Where are you going?"
Bilbo flinched; his body froze, and his heart pounded wildly. He looked at Bofur, whose face showed no reproach, only a hint of tired bewilderment. "I... I... I'm going back to Rivendell." Bilbo's voice was barely audible, carrying a note of guilt.
Thorin, who had been lying on his side near the crevice, had woken up just as Bilbo had risen. He continued to lie on his side, eyes open in the shadows, quietly listening to the conversation behind him. Bofur shifted his position, blocking Bilbo's path.
"No, you can't go back, Bilbo. You're the burglar in our expedition company, remember? You signed the contract."
"Burglars... but I'm not at all like one of your companions," Bilbo repeated, bitterness and self-reproach on his face. "I could barely help, and I nearly... dragged everyone down with me. Thorin was right — I shouldn't have come. Perhaps... he is not wrong." His voice faded.
In the shadows, Thorin frowned slightly, but remained motionless and silent. Weariness on Bilbo's face gave way to understanding. He shook his head: "Bilbo, I understand — you must miss home."
"No, you don't understand!" Bilbo's voice rose slightly, without his noticing. "I... I'm not used to this, I'm not like you dwarves. You're used to this way of life — eating outdoors, travelling, wandering."
Bilbo's words were like a poisoned dagger, instantly piercing the unhealed wounds in the dwarf's heart. In an instant, Bofur's expression changed. Did these dwarves love to travel? Were they accustomed to wandering?