Clarity of Vision, Chapter 11
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 11
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 2400
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: While exploring the elvish ruins of Himring, Bilbo finds something interesting.
"But it has emeralds," said Kíli plaintively, lifting the diadem so the gems winked in the torchlight.
"That's the only way it connects to the verse," Thorin countered. "Look, it's even made of silver. The poem most definitely points to gold, tarnished gold."
"We're looking for something that connects the key words of the poem more," said Balin to the crestfallen Kíli. "Look for gilded hearts, perhaps engraved with flowers? Hearts seem to be a theme."
Bilbo was going through a cabinet filled with tangled necklaces of every color and shape. Himring was full of rooms heaped high with treasure--armor and weapons, jewels and cups and cunning boxes. "Here's a gold heart," he said, coming over to hand it to Thorin.
Thorin squinted at it. "The workmanship is on the crude side to be an item of power, but I shall put it aside to consider later. Put that back, Kíli," he added, raising his voice.
Kíli stopped in the act of slipping the diadem into his bag and frowned. "But it's so pretty," he said. "It seems a shame to leave such beautiful craftsmanship here where no one will ever see it."
Thorin made a growling noise in his throat. "We are not grave-robbers or vandals," he said. "We seek an artifact that will save a kingdom. Everything else we leave as we found it."
"Besides, laddie, who knows what elvish curses may lurk on such items?" Balin said.
"Aye, maybe something that will make your fingers fall off," Dwalin rumbled. "Or perhaps your--" He roared with laughter as Kíli dropped the diadem like a poisonous snake.
"Well, I'm taking a break to eat," Bilbo said, unwrapping a block of rations and taking a nibble with a discouraged sigh. Fishing was impossible from the sheer, high cliffs, and there was no game, so rations it was.
"I miss your meals," said Fíli, sitting down next to him and unwrapping his own rations.
"I do too," said Bilbo.
"We are not here to indulge in exquisite cookery, we are here to search for a cure for my King," Thorin said.
Bilbo almost choked on his rations. "Did you just say my cooking was exquisite?"
"I said no such thing!" Thorin cast his eyes upward. "Though I suppose one could infer that from what I said, yes." He cleared his throat. "I will admit your meals are...certainly better than rations. But that is beside the point."
He turned back to the chest he was searching and Bilbo tried to school his expression to impassivity, but from the way Fíli elbowed him and grinned he was afraid he looked excessively pleased. He wasn't good at impassivity, he thought grouchily.
But then, he'd never really needed it before meeting Thorin.
: : :
Their rations were running low. Balin said there were only two more days' worth, and Thorin was becoming increasingly gloomy. To make things worse, it had started raining--a cold, soaking rain that drove their camp indoors and made everyone snappish. When even Kíli and Fíli started squabbling, Bilbo excused himself and began to wander aimlessly through the halls of Himring, letting his feet take him where they would.
The marble walls gleamed with threads of gold as he walked past, like eldritch eyes glinting at him. He could almost swear he could hear faint music, a lament played on instruments no hobbit had ever heard.
Stopping at random in front of a vast mahogany door with a sigil like a star carved into it, he pushed it open and went inside.
He found himself in what seemed a study of some sort: a stone desk sat near a window that must have once looked out over the war-torn fields of Beleriand and now showed only the empty grey sea stretching to the west. Cracked and brittle quills and dried ink bottles lay scattered on the desk. A marble pedestal rose in front of the window, twined now with ivy that crept in through the ruined opening.
There was something on top of the pedestal.
It was too high for a hobbit to see easily; frowning, Bilbo dragged a stone stool over to stand on. Once he was high enough, he could see on the top of the pedestal a convex hemisphere of glass, set into a gemmed metal band. Bilbo looked through the glass and blinked in surprise--it was a magnifying glass, as clear and pure as a dewdrop. Underneath it was a slip of beaten gold with tiny elvish letters etched on it, made large by the glass. Bilbo looked at the looping runes gleaming in the dimness of the room, quiet except for the motion of the lonely wind in the ivy.
Then he lifted the heavy glass and the slip of gold and left the study.
Thorin was angrily explaining that the south halls seemed a more likely place to search, despite being more open to the elements than the north. He broke off when Bilbo came in. "And where have you wandered off to?"
"I found a study of some sort," said Bilbo. He described the sigil on the door, and Thorin stood up, frowning intently.
"That is the seal of the House of Fëanor," he said. "And thus of his son Maedhros, lord of this stronghold."
"I found this there, on a pedestal," Bilbo said, handing him the strip of gold. "I couldn't read it all, but one of the words looked familiar. Isn't it the elvish word for 'heart'?"
Thorin frowned. "Your eyes must be sharp indeed," he said, "To read such fine script."
"Oh," said Bilbo, "There was a magnifying glass that came with it." He fished it out of his bag, handing it over to Thorin. "You can see it clearly if you use that."
As the other dwarves gathered around, Thorin put the slip of gold on a table and placed the magnifying glass on it. "You're right," he murmured, surprised. "This does make it...clear..."
His voice trailed off and his focus shifted from the golden poem to the glass itself: the circle of perfect crystal set into a ring of metal tarnished with age, but still gleaming golden, ringed with smooth polished stones of green and milky white. Thorin touched the stones with a finger and Bilbo realized it was shaking almost imperceptibly. "Bilbo," he whispered, "Do you know what these stones are?"
"Well, no." said Bilbo, "I'm not exactly an expert on gems..."
"They're emeralds," said Fíli.
"And alabaster," breathed Kíli.
"You mean...like in the poem?"
Balin and Dwalin crowded closer to look at it. "It's made of a gold alloy," said Balin.
"And it's tarnished with age," Dwalin said.
Everyone looked at Thorin.
"'And when at last you see your treasure true,'" Thorin said in a low voice. "'The dragon's curse shall lose its hold on you, and clarity of vision make you whole.' This--" He broke off, gazing at the glass. "Could it be?" he whispered, almost to himself.
"Thorin," said Dwalin warningly, "Let's not jump to conclusions. It's a pretty bauble, but it's elvish, lad. I assumed it would be an artifact of our own people, what do elves know of--"
"--But the original poem is by an elf," said Thorin. "Written at a time when relations were better between our people." He looked at Dwalin and Bilbo saw hope kindling in his face. "Dwalin, old friend--" He broke off and looked at Bilbo with a smile of almost startling beauty. "I believe the halfling has found our cure."
Without warning he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, pulling him into an embrace. Startled, Bilbo almost pulled away, but then stopped and made himself relax into the hug. It felt...good, encircled by Thorin's arms. Bilbo could smell leather and salt; he closed his eyes and put his arms around Thorin in turn without thinking.
"It was a lucky day indeed when you chose to come with us, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin breathed. Bilbo could feel his heart pounding against him. Or was it Bilbo's heart? He was no longer certain.
"I think--" Bilbo's voice sounded rather breathless in his own ears, although Thorin wasn't holding him that tightly, "--You know, I think this would be an excellent time for some butterscotch biscuits."
Thorin released him to look down at him curiously, and Bilbo chuckled and went to his pack. "See?" He pulled out the little package of biscuits. "I was saving them for a celebration, and this seems like a good time, doesn't it?" He touched the lemon drops and the viola tea lightly, reassuring himself that they were still there. "You'll like these," he said, handing the package to Thorin.
Thorin took the biscuits as if accepting a great homage, inclining his head gravely. "You honor us with your butterscotch biscuits, Master Halfling," he said, his tone caught between laughing and serious. Unwrapping the paper, he solemnly handed one out to each dwarf, giving two to Bilbo.
"Oh," murmured Kíli as he took a bite of his. "I can see why you were saving these."
For a moment there was nothing but reverent silence as the biscuits were consumed. Thorin was smiling as he looked at Bilbo, and Bilbo found himself feeling strangely awkward under that deep gaze. He smiled back and nibbled on his biscuits, feeling content and nervous at once, somehow.
Then Thorin brushed off his hands and pulled his map from his bag, unfurling it across the table. "Time is short," he said, "So here is what we shall do." He put his finger on Himring, in the northwest corner of the map. Far to the east Bilbo could see Erebor, with the ridge of the Misty Mountains and the vast forest of Mirkwood between them. "Winter is fast closing in. But if we hurry, we can pass through the Rift of Nûrz Gashu, here in the north in the shadow of Mount Gundabad." His finger stabbed at the northernmost edge of the Misty Mountains. "Then we can skirt Mirkwood altogether, traveling along its northern edge, and so to Erebor." He smiled as his finger came to rest on the Lonely Mountain. "To home once more."
"It will be a hard ride across the northern plains, Thorin," said Balin.
"A hard and a dangerous one," added Dwalin. "The orcs of Angmar and Gundabad do not remember us fondly, and Bolg has sworn to hunt us down."
Fíli and Kíli exchanged uneasy glances. "Why don't we go back the way we came, Uncle Thorin?" Fíli asked.
Thorin snorted. "And pass right by Mithlond once more? After taking an artifact of power from one of their ancient fortresses? Be assured that the elves are aware we are here already and hope to accost us as soon as we land on the mainland once more, and we will be hard-pressed to avoid them."
"I don't...I don't believe the elves would harm us," Bilbo said, his voice wavering slightly.
"Have you ever met an elf, Bilbo?" When Bilbo shook his head, Thorin's eyes narrowed. "They have memories that stretch beyond our ken, and they can be fell and dangerous foes." He touched the glass, running his finger along the polished gems. "But even if they held us in no malice, it would cost us dear to encounter them. It is certain they would insist on having some kind of meeting to discuss the implications of this artifact; the history of Himring would have to be recited and the various conflicting prophecies about this glass discussed at length. There would be a great deal of interminable poetry and melancholy song, and we would lose weeks of time while my grandfather lies helpless, perhaps dying. The Misty Mountains will soon be locked in snow, and we have no time to waste." He nodded. "We break camp in the morning for the northern plains and Erebor."
"Wait," said Bilbo. "Wait just a second." All the dwarves turned to look at him. "You said we'd go back to the Shire after this." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "You didn't say anything about--about orcs and Angmar and mountain passes and Mirkwoods."
Thorin looked at him; under the dark beard Bilbo saw his jaw set. "Time is too precious to waste, Bilbo," he said. "If we detour south we may not be able to reach Erebor until the spring. The fate of its King and its people rests in my hands, and I cannot take the time to return you to your home." For a moment the flint in his eyes softened. "Truly, I am sorry."
"But that's--" Bilbo blinked at him in horror. "You're saying I have no choice but to go with you?"
"If you wish, we can leave you with the fisherman from whom we borrowed the boat. Perhaps the elves will--"
"--and perhaps they won't, and I'll be stranded in some forsaken corner of the world for the rest of my life!"
Dwalin stepped forward. "Thorin, maybe I can escort--"
Thorin cut him off with a swift gesture of his hand. "I need you by my side. All of you. I need your strong arm. I need my best counselor, and I need my heirs." He looked at Bilbo, his expression caught strangely between commanding and pleading. "And I need your understanding, Bilbo."
"You don't have it!" cried Bilbo. "I'm a hobbit, I'm not a dwarf--"
"--You're an honorary dwarf," Fíli pointed out helpfully, but Bilbo just glared at him.
"I don't want to be! I wish I'd never followed you, I wish I'd never learned Khuzdul, and I--and I wish I'd never shared my butterscotch biscuits with you!" he finished in a rage. He turned and stomped out into the soaking rain to seek shelter alone, ignoring Kíli's voice calling after him, and sat through the night in bitter silence, missing his comfortable warm bed and cheerful fireplace in Bag End, and thinking ill indeed of dwarves in general, and of Prince Thorin of Erebor in particular.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 2400
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: While exploring the elvish ruins of Himring, Bilbo finds something interesting.
"But it has emeralds," said Kíli plaintively, lifting the diadem so the gems winked in the torchlight.
"That's the only way it connects to the verse," Thorin countered. "Look, it's even made of silver. The poem most definitely points to gold, tarnished gold."
"We're looking for something that connects the key words of the poem more," said Balin to the crestfallen Kíli. "Look for gilded hearts, perhaps engraved with flowers? Hearts seem to be a theme."
Bilbo was going through a cabinet filled with tangled necklaces of every color and shape. Himring was full of rooms heaped high with treasure--armor and weapons, jewels and cups and cunning boxes. "Here's a gold heart," he said, coming over to hand it to Thorin.
Thorin squinted at it. "The workmanship is on the crude side to be an item of power, but I shall put it aside to consider later. Put that back, Kíli," he added, raising his voice.
Kíli stopped in the act of slipping the diadem into his bag and frowned. "But it's so pretty," he said. "It seems a shame to leave such beautiful craftsmanship here where no one will ever see it."
Thorin made a growling noise in his throat. "We are not grave-robbers or vandals," he said. "We seek an artifact that will save a kingdom. Everything else we leave as we found it."
"Besides, laddie, who knows what elvish curses may lurk on such items?" Balin said.
"Aye, maybe something that will make your fingers fall off," Dwalin rumbled. "Or perhaps your--" He roared with laughter as Kíli dropped the diadem like a poisonous snake.
"Well, I'm taking a break to eat," Bilbo said, unwrapping a block of rations and taking a nibble with a discouraged sigh. Fishing was impossible from the sheer, high cliffs, and there was no game, so rations it was.
"I miss your meals," said Fíli, sitting down next to him and unwrapping his own rations.
"I do too," said Bilbo.
"We are not here to indulge in exquisite cookery, we are here to search for a cure for my King," Thorin said.
Bilbo almost choked on his rations. "Did you just say my cooking was exquisite?"
"I said no such thing!" Thorin cast his eyes upward. "Though I suppose one could infer that from what I said, yes." He cleared his throat. "I will admit your meals are...certainly better than rations. But that is beside the point."
He turned back to the chest he was searching and Bilbo tried to school his expression to impassivity, but from the way Fíli elbowed him and grinned he was afraid he looked excessively pleased. He wasn't good at impassivity, he thought grouchily.
But then, he'd never really needed it before meeting Thorin.
: : :
Their rations were running low. Balin said there were only two more days' worth, and Thorin was becoming increasingly gloomy. To make things worse, it had started raining--a cold, soaking rain that drove their camp indoors and made everyone snappish. When even Kíli and Fíli started squabbling, Bilbo excused himself and began to wander aimlessly through the halls of Himring, letting his feet take him where they would.
The marble walls gleamed with threads of gold as he walked past, like eldritch eyes glinting at him. He could almost swear he could hear faint music, a lament played on instruments no hobbit had ever heard.
Stopping at random in front of a vast mahogany door with a sigil like a star carved into it, he pushed it open and went inside.
He found himself in what seemed a study of some sort: a stone desk sat near a window that must have once looked out over the war-torn fields of Beleriand and now showed only the empty grey sea stretching to the west. Cracked and brittle quills and dried ink bottles lay scattered on the desk. A marble pedestal rose in front of the window, twined now with ivy that crept in through the ruined opening.
There was something on top of the pedestal.
It was too high for a hobbit to see easily; frowning, Bilbo dragged a stone stool over to stand on. Once he was high enough, he could see on the top of the pedestal a convex hemisphere of glass, set into a gemmed metal band. Bilbo looked through the glass and blinked in surprise--it was a magnifying glass, as clear and pure as a dewdrop. Underneath it was a slip of beaten gold with tiny elvish letters etched on it, made large by the glass. Bilbo looked at the looping runes gleaming in the dimness of the room, quiet except for the motion of the lonely wind in the ivy.
Then he lifted the heavy glass and the slip of gold and left the study.
Thorin was angrily explaining that the south halls seemed a more likely place to search, despite being more open to the elements than the north. He broke off when Bilbo came in. "And where have you wandered off to?"
"I found a study of some sort," said Bilbo. He described the sigil on the door, and Thorin stood up, frowning intently.
"That is the seal of the House of Fëanor," he said. "And thus of his son Maedhros, lord of this stronghold."
"I found this there, on a pedestal," Bilbo said, handing him the strip of gold. "I couldn't read it all, but one of the words looked familiar. Isn't it the elvish word for 'heart'?"
Thorin frowned. "Your eyes must be sharp indeed," he said, "To read such fine script."
"Oh," said Bilbo, "There was a magnifying glass that came with it." He fished it out of his bag, handing it over to Thorin. "You can see it clearly if you use that."
As the other dwarves gathered around, Thorin put the slip of gold on a table and placed the magnifying glass on it. "You're right," he murmured, surprised. "This does make it...clear..."
His voice trailed off and his focus shifted from the golden poem to the glass itself: the circle of perfect crystal set into a ring of metal tarnished with age, but still gleaming golden, ringed with smooth polished stones of green and milky white. Thorin touched the stones with a finger and Bilbo realized it was shaking almost imperceptibly. "Bilbo," he whispered, "Do you know what these stones are?"
"Well, no." said Bilbo, "I'm not exactly an expert on gems..."
"They're emeralds," said Fíli.
"And alabaster," breathed Kíli.
"You mean...like in the poem?"
Balin and Dwalin crowded closer to look at it. "It's made of a gold alloy," said Balin.
"And it's tarnished with age," Dwalin said.
Everyone looked at Thorin.
"'And when at last you see your treasure true,'" Thorin said in a low voice. "'The dragon's curse shall lose its hold on you, and clarity of vision make you whole.' This--" He broke off, gazing at the glass. "Could it be?" he whispered, almost to himself.
"Thorin," said Dwalin warningly, "Let's not jump to conclusions. It's a pretty bauble, but it's elvish, lad. I assumed it would be an artifact of our own people, what do elves know of--"
"--But the original poem is by an elf," said Thorin. "Written at a time when relations were better between our people." He looked at Dwalin and Bilbo saw hope kindling in his face. "Dwalin, old friend--" He broke off and looked at Bilbo with a smile of almost startling beauty. "I believe the halfling has found our cure."
Without warning he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, pulling him into an embrace. Startled, Bilbo almost pulled away, but then stopped and made himself relax into the hug. It felt...good, encircled by Thorin's arms. Bilbo could smell leather and salt; he closed his eyes and put his arms around Thorin in turn without thinking.
"It was a lucky day indeed when you chose to come with us, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin breathed. Bilbo could feel his heart pounding against him. Or was it Bilbo's heart? He was no longer certain.
"I think--" Bilbo's voice sounded rather breathless in his own ears, although Thorin wasn't holding him that tightly, "--You know, I think this would be an excellent time for some butterscotch biscuits."
Thorin released him to look down at him curiously, and Bilbo chuckled and went to his pack. "See?" He pulled out the little package of biscuits. "I was saving them for a celebration, and this seems like a good time, doesn't it?" He touched the lemon drops and the viola tea lightly, reassuring himself that they were still there. "You'll like these," he said, handing the package to Thorin.
Thorin took the biscuits as if accepting a great homage, inclining his head gravely. "You honor us with your butterscotch biscuits, Master Halfling," he said, his tone caught between laughing and serious. Unwrapping the paper, he solemnly handed one out to each dwarf, giving two to Bilbo.
"Oh," murmured Kíli as he took a bite of his. "I can see why you were saving these."
For a moment there was nothing but reverent silence as the biscuits were consumed. Thorin was smiling as he looked at Bilbo, and Bilbo found himself feeling strangely awkward under that deep gaze. He smiled back and nibbled on his biscuits, feeling content and nervous at once, somehow.
Then Thorin brushed off his hands and pulled his map from his bag, unfurling it across the table. "Time is short," he said, "So here is what we shall do." He put his finger on Himring, in the northwest corner of the map. Far to the east Bilbo could see Erebor, with the ridge of the Misty Mountains and the vast forest of Mirkwood between them. "Winter is fast closing in. But if we hurry, we can pass through the Rift of Nûrz Gashu, here in the north in the shadow of Mount Gundabad." His finger stabbed at the northernmost edge of the Misty Mountains. "Then we can skirt Mirkwood altogether, traveling along its northern edge, and so to Erebor." He smiled as his finger came to rest on the Lonely Mountain. "To home once more."
"It will be a hard ride across the northern plains, Thorin," said Balin.
"A hard and a dangerous one," added Dwalin. "The orcs of Angmar and Gundabad do not remember us fondly, and Bolg has sworn to hunt us down."
Fíli and Kíli exchanged uneasy glances. "Why don't we go back the way we came, Uncle Thorin?" Fíli asked.
Thorin snorted. "And pass right by Mithlond once more? After taking an artifact of power from one of their ancient fortresses? Be assured that the elves are aware we are here already and hope to accost us as soon as we land on the mainland once more, and we will be hard-pressed to avoid them."
"I don't...I don't believe the elves would harm us," Bilbo said, his voice wavering slightly.
"Have you ever met an elf, Bilbo?" When Bilbo shook his head, Thorin's eyes narrowed. "They have memories that stretch beyond our ken, and they can be fell and dangerous foes." He touched the glass, running his finger along the polished gems. "But even if they held us in no malice, it would cost us dear to encounter them. It is certain they would insist on having some kind of meeting to discuss the implications of this artifact; the history of Himring would have to be recited and the various conflicting prophecies about this glass discussed at length. There would be a great deal of interminable poetry and melancholy song, and we would lose weeks of time while my grandfather lies helpless, perhaps dying. The Misty Mountains will soon be locked in snow, and we have no time to waste." He nodded. "We break camp in the morning for the northern plains and Erebor."
"Wait," said Bilbo. "Wait just a second." All the dwarves turned to look at him. "You said we'd go back to the Shire after this." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "You didn't say anything about--about orcs and Angmar and mountain passes and Mirkwoods."
Thorin looked at him; under the dark beard Bilbo saw his jaw set. "Time is too precious to waste, Bilbo," he said. "If we detour south we may not be able to reach Erebor until the spring. The fate of its King and its people rests in my hands, and I cannot take the time to return you to your home." For a moment the flint in his eyes softened. "Truly, I am sorry."
"But that's--" Bilbo blinked at him in horror. "You're saying I have no choice but to go with you?"
"If you wish, we can leave you with the fisherman from whom we borrowed the boat. Perhaps the elves will--"
"--and perhaps they won't, and I'll be stranded in some forsaken corner of the world for the rest of my life!"
Dwalin stepped forward. "Thorin, maybe I can escort--"
Thorin cut him off with a swift gesture of his hand. "I need you by my side. All of you. I need your strong arm. I need my best counselor, and I need my heirs." He looked at Bilbo, his expression caught strangely between commanding and pleading. "And I need your understanding, Bilbo."
"You don't have it!" cried Bilbo. "I'm a hobbit, I'm not a dwarf--"
"--You're an honorary dwarf," Fíli pointed out helpfully, but Bilbo just glared at him.
"I don't want to be! I wish I'd never followed you, I wish I'd never learned Khuzdul, and I--and I wish I'd never shared my butterscotch biscuits with you!" he finished in a rage. He turned and stomped out into the soaking rain to seek shelter alone, ignoring Kíli's voice calling after him, and sat through the night in bitter silence, missing his comfortable warm bed and cheerful fireplace in Bag End, and thinking ill indeed of dwarves in general, and of Prince Thorin of Erebor in particular.