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Bilbo had never experienced the Rage. How could he, without any children and with danger in the Shire being so rare? Even the most protective parents rarely, if ever, felt the Rage. It took something extraordinary to trigger it, such as the Fell Winter.
Truth be told, for a long time afterwards, Bilbo had thought that perhaps his frantic defense of Thorin had been the Rage. It wasn't unheard of for childless hobbits to turn Berserk over close friends instead. It had many elements of what Bilbo always assumed the Rage would be. There was panic, adrenaline pounding in his ears, a deep feeling of desperation and desire. He hadn't been able to think straight until after he had collapsed in an exhausted heap after the eagle's rescue. But on the other hand, Bilbo couldn't be sure that it wasn't just a normal reaction to one's friend being in danger. He didn't know for sure if it was the Rage.
And the only thing anyone was ever taught about the Rage was that it was unmistakable. You would always know when it struck, whether it be the first of fiftieth time. So eventually, after much inner contemplation, Bilbo was forced to conclude that it probably wasn't the Rage after all. There was no shame in that anyways, not going Berserk didn't diminish his loyalty and friendship for Thorin in the slightest. It just meant that his subconscious either didn't think of Thorin as family, or didn't think of Thorin as needing to be protected. Both were understandable considering that they really hadn't been overly close at the time, and he needed protecting a lot less often than Bilbo.
He wouldn't be worrying much about it, but these were dire times. They had just escaped Thranduil's dungeons, and an orc attack at the same time. The barrels had carried them to safety, but only a temporary one, as they had lost the current. Now there was a lake between them and the town, and the only boat in sight had left just before their arrival, and was fast disappearing into the distance. No amount of shouting Dwarves had convinced it to turn around. They were at a loss, since no one was a good enough swimmer to risk the chance of taking the barrels across the lake, and no one a good enough carpenter to fashion a usable raft with these meagre supplies. On top of that, Kili was injured and if they went around the lake, the orcs would definitely catch up to them.
But they had no choice. There was no boat to take them across, and no hope of crossing on their own. Orcs or not, they would have to press on as quickly as they could, and hope to perhaps lose the orcs somehow. Doubtful, since the orcs had an uncanny skill in tracking. However, the dwarves weren't giving up and neither would he. Bilbo was just hoping at this point that maybe the Rage would kick in this time. It hadn't during the barrel ride, so he had little hope, but no one ever really knew when it would strike.
The company continued down the lake's edge, trying to walk on the flat stones in order to disturb the ground less. The less exhausted dwarves left several times to try and confuse the trackers, then backtracked their steps and caught up. Even Bilbo tried to do his part, helping Bifur by lingering about the back of the group and attempting to smooth over footprints and remove any evidence he could of their passing.
In the end, it didn't do them any good at all. It was luck on their part that the orcs had made enough noise that the company was slightly prepared. They still didn't have proper weapons, but everyone was equipped with an appropriately sized tree branch, except for Thorin who had Bilbo's sword. It was to great objection, but in the end, Bilbo had convinced them all that if there was only going to be one armed person, it might as well be the one who could do the most damage with it. Thorin continued to gripe about how Bilbo needed the most help in protecting himself, but luckily the others saw reason and so he was forced to keep it.
Bilbo swing his thick branch to stop the incoming blade at his side. Bifur grunted as he blocked an arrow that had seemingly sprung from nowhere. The company immediately went into a defensive position, pushing Bilbo, Ori, and Kili into the centre. But it wasn't good enough- there were too many orcs and their weapons too weak. Before long, Fili was struck, a long gash down his arm, and three orcs were reaching through their defences, the others too occupied to stop them. A filthy sword lunged at Ori, who had his branch at too awkward a position to deflect it.
Bilbo's mind didn't surge in panic. It didn't pound with energy. No, it went curiously blank. Bilbo's body leaped at the intruder, smacking the flat end of the sword away with the back of his heel while his arm went around the orc's throat. Somehow, Bilbo's hands knew exactly which way and how strong to twist so that the neck made a satisfying snap.
It was strange. For all that Bilbo felt a snarl rumble out from his chest, there was a profound disconnection. His logical mind was there, it just wasn't as attached as it usually was. The next orc was closer to his face than his hands, so Bilbo opened wide and bit through its jugular. It was tough going, but hobbits had stronger jaws than most other races. Biting through the orc's throat felt a bit like trying to bite through Lobelia's revenge stew, the stuff she made with thick pieces of cartilage and then passed off as her birthday gift so he had no choice but to accept it.
The third orc, the one that had gone for Kili, had it's eyes carved into- Bilbo likened it to sticking his hands in the jelly jar as a fauntling. Then, since it was distracted sifficiently, Bilbo secured his branch around its chin and yanked upwards until its neck cracked too, and the body fell slack underneath him. Bilbo, for his part, landed delicately and spared a glance at the children. Their vitals were okay, though in this state, Bilbo could smell the injury on Kili.
But there were more threats than just those three, threats that the rest of his herd were trying to fight off. And they were such a small herd, more like a pack really. So Bilbo threw himself into the greater fray. Idly he took note of Bofur's limping foot- most likely he landed on it weird when blocking an attack- as his hands made short work of the next enemy.
At this point, the logical part of him realized that this was it. This was what it meant to go Berserk. It was almost calming, he knew his emotions were locked away in the meantime, probably being put to use in keeping his body in a frenzy. Not that it bothered him, Bilbo could think rather clearly this way. There was not a hint of fear or distress clouding him, only the simple knowledge that he had to eliminate what was threatening his pack. After a few more orcs fell, Bilbo thought he had a good rhythm going on. His fingernails weren't tough enough to pierce very far into orc skin, but they could scratch out eyes. His grip wasn't strong enough to pull an orc's tongue out, or snap its spine, but he could twist necks. And then there were his teeth, which were his strongest weapon, as demonstrated before.
In the Rage, Bilbo knew that it was best to stay efficient, and that meant sticking with the best tools. His senses were rather elevated in this state, so he could easily stay out of the way of most weapons swinging his way, and his hobbit agility allowed him to jump onto unsuspecting backs. Then it was claw, twist, bite. Whichever worked best on the individual.
Though, even in the midst of the Rage, Bilbo knew he wasn't infallible. He could feel when an orc struck lucky and hit his side, his leg, his arm. But a hobbit gone Berserk was a hobbit that didn't feel pain until they dropped dead, so he ignored it easily enough. Pack leader Thorin, along with the other protectors, seemed to be turning the tides now that it was evened a bit. And the threats were still fighting, but Bilbo could feel the hesitance, the beat of fear in the pulse being crushed between his jaws. They were making some more interesting noises, too. It was loud, though Bilbo hardly registered it- and given his enhanced hearing, wasn't that funny? The Rage was a funny thing.
There weren't so many orcs now. Were they running away? They were. And there it was, a sensation of amusement- the most emotion Bilbo had felt so far. Bilbo bet he would have laughed aloud if he were connected to himself. They thought they were getting away after threatening the pack? Not with a hobbit gone Berserk, they weren't. Bilbo's tiny form was after them in a flash. The more sensitive parts of the neck were on the front rather than the back, so when he chased them, he did more snapping than anything else. One with a particularly beefy neck had Bilbo's branch thrust deep into its overlarge mouth. The pointed end must have pierced something of importance, as it fell as surely as the rest.
He didn't stop going after them until he heard the call. It was his pack, telling him to come back. It wasn't the words that he could understand- Bilbo knew on some level that he couldn't understand language outside of his isolated thoughts- but the feeling in them pulled at his instincts. His pack needed him more than the threats needed to be killed, which he did not understand. But then again, the young were safe and they were in agreement- who was he to argue against pack consensus?
Bilbo felt a cool trickling in his head as he returned, his back to the few fleeing threats. The sun began to feel brighter even as everything around him felt duller. The sounds of shifting feet and beating hearts faded as the sounds of worried voices became overwhelming. His mind snapped, the entire world crashing into one point, and he fell.
Hands steadied him before he could fall to the ground, and when Bilbo's eyes opened this time, he knew the Rage had passed. The throbbing pain in his limbs was a big tip off, as was the raging headache and his racing heartbeat.
“Bilbo! Bilbo, you alright, lad!?” Finally, he could understand his pack- no, his friends, and Bilbo felt relieved. Already, the sense of normality was gone and Bilbo felt fairly nervous. “Ahh, Dori, I'm back, don't worry.” Bilbo croaked.
“Oh dear, I'm afraid my throat feels a little hoarse”, Bilbo commented, wondering what brought that on.
“Well, that might be because you were screaming like a banshee. You had those orcs quaking in their boots. Me too, I think.” Bilbo frowned. He remembered growling a little, but to be honest the disconnect had been enough that he couldn't be sure of anything he was doing, besides removing the threats- no, orcs.
“I.. I'm terribly sorry about that. Really, I was not wholly myself.” Bilbo tried to assure the fatherly dwarf, standing up on his weight. With a dizzy sway, he was caught again. Perhaps he had been struck harder than he first thought.
“Don't you stand yet! You need rest after that, whatever that was.” Dori scolded, pulling Bilbo down onto the rock and arranging him so that Bilbo's torso leaned into Dori's. It was reminiscent to his mothering of Ori, almost.
“Not yourself? I'll say. I've never seen anything like it!” Balin was at his other side.
“That was incredible! Terrifying, yes, but incredible!” Fili had angled in, with Kili at his side. Bilbo scrunched his nose as more dwarves came in at every side to exclaim their surprise at him. Why did they have to draw so much attention to it?
His nose felt sticky as he scrunched it though, and Bilbo brought a hand up to feel. It was covered in dark orc blood. He scrubbed at it, but his fingers were coated in quickly congealing blood too, and the more he felt at his face, the more he realized his cheeks and chin were thick with the stuff. Was that what the strange taste coating his tongue and teeth were? Bilbo sat up straight and spat at the ground.
Bilbo made a disgusted sound as his spit came out mixed with yet more orc blood. He searched his jacket and pockets for anything to clean himself up. “Goodness, this isn't proper at all!” He fretted, now having a better guess at his appearance.
“I, uh, really don't see why you are worrying about looking proper. Not after that spectacle, anyways.” Bofur commented in that friendly manner of his. “Not that I don't really appreciate the spectacle, though! I think you single handedly saved my life, at least. Fili's too, for sure.”
Bilbo blushed, almost glad that the thick blood probably concealed it. “Codswallop. And of course I'm worrying, I must look absolutely dreadful. Not respectable at all!” he huffed. Dwarves really didn't get it sometimes. He desperately tried to swipe his face clean with his clothes- better they be dirty than him – but the stuff was stickier than he thought. Was that blood in his hair, too!?
Someone offered him a cloth soaked in the nearby lake water, and Bilbo accepted it thankfully. Strangely, it was Dwalin that had taken pity on him. “You'll need a better soak than that to get most of it off, but this'll make you feel better. Don't wanna chance the lake now, not with those injuries.
Dwalin was right, he still felt some resistance around his mouth when he moved his face, but the cloth got a fair deal of the mess off of him and he did feel better. “Dreadfully sorry, I know I look a mess.” Bilbo apologized sheepishly as he returned the dirtied cloth.
Dwalin shook his head at that, but Thorin spoke first. “ Master Baggins, you've saved us yet again, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I have seen battle before, and yet I can't recall seeing anything like that before. It was like you were possessed by a warrior spirit.” He, and the others who were leaning in, looked expectant. And after all of that, Bilbo knew he owed them an explanation.
“Well, I wasn't possessed by a spirit. But you're right, it's not a normal thing. We Hobbits call it 'the Rage', or 'going Berserk'. It's a sort of defence mechanism when one's family is in danger.” Bilbo took a calming breath. “Of course, it's only meant to be triggered specifically when one's children are in danger, but for those who have no children, like myself, it can be extended to people who you are close to, who you might feel protective of. It came over me when they broke through Fili and went for Ori.”
“And thank Mahal it did, I didn't even know they got past until you had already offed them.” Nori patted Bilbo on the back, and Dori hummed in agreement.
“So, were you, you know, conscious during that?” Fili prompted, drawing the attention of the others.
“Ah, I knew what was happening. But I wasn't really connected to it. It's hard to explain, and I've never been in the Rage before..” Bilbo trailed off. “You know, it was quite a bit like reading an action scene in a book. I could see what was happening and react to it, but I wasn't emotionally attached to it. I knew I had to get rid of the threat, but in that state it may as well have been weeds threatening my garden.”
Bilbo blushed again. “Sorry, I know that sounds completely horrifying. I assure you I normally feel very much in regards to taking lives-”
“It's alright, Bilbo, no one thinks less of you.” Dori hugged him, and then so did Balin and whoever else was nearby.
'Yeah, if you didn't go into the Rage, I'd have been skewered. I'm honoured that you consider me close enough to family that you would do that for me.” Bilbo smiled at Ori's gratitude.
“No problem at all, though it's not exactly voluntary. It's very tied into instincts and the subconscious, otherwise I would have used it before now to get out of danger. It also increases reflexes, strength, and senses. Otherwise I am sure I wouldn't have caused nearly as much damage.” He swept his gaze around the impromptu battleground, and gulped. Damage, indeed.
“Anyways,” Bilbo cleared his throat, which was still scratchier than he'd like. “Surely we have more important things than talking about quirks of hobbit biology. Do we not need to get to Laketown to stock up?” There were several shifts of discomfort.
Finally, Thorin sighed. “Our Burglar is right, we need to get moving if we want to treat anyone's wounds. Although we have driven the orcs off for now, who knows when they will gain the courage to regroup? And more of us are injured now.” No one liked it, but everyone knew there was no sense arguing that. Bilbo tried to stand on his own, now that he had had a chance to rest, but found it even more difficult. It was probably a mixture of the blood loss and the side effects of the Rage. The world spun around him and his legs failed to even lift him up.
In the end, Bilbo had to be carried. Oh, he protested and tried to fight it (“Just like the most stubborn of dwarven warriors!”, Gloin laughed), but since he couldn't stand, there wasn't much he could do. Bilbo eventually resigned himself to silently despairing over the loss of respectability and the injustice in being carried over Dwalin's back like a tuckered out fauntling.
Later, they did eventually reach Laketown, and were even given rooms and medical attention and a hot meal after Thorin mentioned the riches of Erebor. Bilbo wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself, but he actually relished the protection being extended to him in turn by his small pack. Silently, he allowed the blankets to be tucked over the large bed that he shared with the other more injured dwarves.
Dwalin, who had taken the job of settling next to the most vulnerable of the company to guard during the night, pretended he didn't see the pleased smile.