Clarity of Vision, Chapter 15
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 15
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 4400
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: Beneath the Misty Mountains, the fate of Middle Earth veers in a slightly different direction.
Bilbo tried to catch his breath, feeling battered and bruised. He was lying on pebbly rocks and the darkness around him was shot through with eerie rippling light and the whisper of water.
He sat up, wincing. He could hear the sounds of something paddling stealthily, and of breaths hissed through clenched teeth.
He was not alone in the dark.
"Th--Thor--" His voice wavered and vanished into the dark, unanswered.
He reached behind him, groping for reassurance, terrified he would find a body instead of Thorin, hands raking through loose pebbles and--what was that? Something denser and colder than the rocks; his hand closed around it without thinking. A band of some sort. No time to look at it--whatever it was, it was no weapon. Shoving it into his pocket, he scrabbled for his knife, gazing wildly around the rocky cave.
Oh, Bilbo Baggins, what have you gotten yourself into this time? he thought frantically. The sibilant breaths were closer now, though they seemed to come from everywhere at once, bouncing off the slimy walls. Bilbo clutched his knife with trembling hands and swallowed hard.
Pale eyes gleamed at him from the top of a rock. "Is it tasty, precious?" whispered a voice like mist and malice.
: : :
Two days ago
Bilbo looked back at Rivendell one last time before it disappeared around a bend forever. "Goodbye, warm towels," he murmured.
Thorin made an annoyed sound, but the other dwarves sighed in sympathy with Bilbo and he held his tongue.
The travel was easy at first--they had provisions aplenty, the ponies were rested and well-fed, and the weather good. But all too soon Gandalf was eyeing the sky with worry etching his face. "I do not like the look of those clouds," he muttered.
Indeed, the dark clouds on the horizon loomed quickly into a gathering storm. "This does not feel natural," Balin called over the rising wind that whipped his beard over his shoulders.
"Why would someone try to hinder our progress?" Thorin said, frowning.
Gandalf's jaw set. "I fear you are not the target," he said. "Perhaps it was unwise to travel with you after all."
"If this storm was meant for you, then you have powerful enemies!" yelled Dwalin as his pony shied nervously.
"Indeed," Gandalf said shortly, which did not reassure Bilbo at all. "We must find an alternate route," he called to Thorin.
Thorin's eyes looked wild in the strange storm-light. "The pass is our only option!"
There was a startling white light, a crack of thunder. Daffodil shied under him and Bilbo hung on for dear life. He saw Gandalf's jaw set and the wizard urged his mount forward. "Follow me!"
As the first drops of rain pelted down, cruel and harsh, Dwalin spotted a dark gap in the cliff face and they ducked into a small, dry cave. Thorin looked around, frowning. "We cannot delay," he growled.
Gandalf was examining the back of the cave. "I do not intend to," he said, looking down intently. "If we are to be thwarted from passing over the mountains, perhaps..." He waved his staff and a line of silver light glimmered on the floor, shooting out from beneath his feet to cross the room. Silently, the floor opened up to reveal a hole and a steep, winding passage. "Perhaps we must go under them."
Bilbo looked at the darkness and swallowed hard. "Wouldn't it be better to wait until the storm passes?"
"I thought you hobbits lived in holes," Thorin said. He was already pulling his pack off his pony.
"Cozy, friendly holes, not gaping crevices leading into unknown peril," retorted Bilbo. "And what about our ponies?" he added as Daffodil nickered nervously and eyed the dark passage with a white-ringed eye.
"We shall send them back to Rivendell," said Gandalf. "Elrond will care for them."
"Maybe we should send ourselves back to Rivendell," Bilbo muttered.
"Well, they can't come along," said Kíli as he grabbed his own pack. "Goblins love horseflesh."
Bilbo froze with his bag in his hand. "Goblins?"
"Oh yes," said Fíli. "Like orcs, but dirtier. They swarm beneath the mountains, you know."
"We are a small party and can avoid detection," said Gandalf, catching Bilbo's frantic look. "Probably."
"Probably?" Bilbo's voice squeaked.
"Almost certainly," Gandalf said reassuringly.
They sent the ponies off into the rain with a slap on their rumps. Daffodil cast Bilbo a reproachful look over her shoulder as she moved off into the rain-soaked darkness, heading back down the pass toward Rivendell, and Bilbo wiped his face roughly with the sleeve of his jumper. "Rain in my eyes," he said shortly when Thorin looked at him.
"There is no shame in tears shed over parting with a comrade," Thorin said. He turned away before Bilbo could respond. "Let us go."
Quietly, with weapons drawn, the party slipped into the caves beneath the Misty Mountains.
It went well at first--if anything can be called "going well" that involves skulking for hours in dark, smelly caves in constant fear for one's life. The pale light from Gandalf's staff gleamed ahead of them, just enough to see by, and they walked in cautious single file, with Bilbo tucked between Fíli and Kíli.
At one point ruddy torchlight-reflections began to flicker off the damp rocks, and Thorin brought the party to a halt with a finger to his lips. He shot Bilbo a meaningful glance, his gaze darting down to Bilbo's silent bare feet, and Bilbo swallowed hard and nodded, creeping forward past them toward the light.
He heard every faint rustle of his own clothing as if it were a shout, but there was no outcry, no alarm as he slipped ever closer. He yearned to turn back, to return to safety, but if he was the only person in the party who could scout like this, well--perhaps this was how he was to save Thorin's quest, after all. And then I'll be done and my responsibility for all this madness will be at an end.
He peeked around a corner and saw two gnarled beings looking sleepy and bored, aimlessly rattling a box of dice as they sat at an outpost. His heart pounding, he ducked back beneath the rock before they could see him, and made his way back to the party. Holding up two fingers, he sketched a rough layout of the outpost in the dust on the floor. Thorin looked at it, frowning, then gestured for Dwalin and Fíli to come with him. They disappeared around the corner and Bilbo found himself fidgeting, imagining the worst. Kíli's eyes were fixed on the corner where his brother had vanished, and Bilbo saw his fingers smoothing the feathers of one of his arrows over and over.
Just as the waiting grew nearly unbearable, Thorin came around the corner once more and Bilbo felt his breath rush from him with a pent-up sound. Thorin cast him an amused glance. "Two drunken goblins are no match for three dwarvish warriors," he said.
"Oh, I wasn't worried at all," said Bilbo, wondering if the way Fíli lit up at Thorin's last words was as apparent to his uncle as it was to Bilbo.
"Me neither!" announced Kíli. Fíli clapped him briefly on the back, smiling. "I wasn't worried at all!" Kíli repeated.
"Let's continue," said Gandalf, as the light of his staff brightened once more.
All in all, Bilbo thought as they crept forward, things had been going quite well indeed. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after--
He stopped dead as he realized that a chasm stretched before them, with only a narrow span of rock arching across it. "Oh dear," he faltered. "I don't--I'm afraid I don't like heights very much."
"None of us do," Thorin said shortly, "Except perhaps the wizard, who lives always at an unnatural height."
Gandalf shot Thorin an annoyed look, but said only, "We must cross it. I shall go first." Balin and Dwalin fell in behind him, followed by Fíli and Kíli, and then Bilbo, with Thorin taking up the rear.
As they inched across the bridge single file, Thorin's voice directly behind him said, "Don't look down." This, of course, made it impossible for Bilbo not to look down, and then he truly wished he hadn't. Below them yawned what seemed an endless maze of ledges and outcroppings, piercing down into what must be the very center of Middle Earth. Torches flickered here and there in the inky dark, and evil echoes reached them faintly.
Bilbo felt his knees turn to water and he wavered on the narrow span. Thorin hissed behind him as the gap between him and Kíli increased, but Bilbo couldn't move a muscle. His breath stuttered in his own ears, a sound that blotted out all encouragement, all hope. He stared down wildly at his feet, but it was as if they had become one with the stone, immobile for eternity.
Which probably saved their lives as the rock started to crumble between him and Kíli.
He heard Thorin gasp in alarm, saw the rest of the party start to turn and stare as empty space opened up between them. Galvanized by panic, he staggered backwards as the bridge gave way beneath his feet, a squeaking shriek of terror bubbling between his clenched lips.
Thorin grabbed his arm and yanked him back, but it was too late. Bilbo heard a chorus of despairing cries from the other dwarves as the rock gave way entirely beneath them and then there was nothing but space, empty and dizzying.
I'll never see the Shire again, he thought, small and distinct and despairing.
Strong arms wrapped around him and flipped him over; he felt a thudding impact and heard Thorin grunt in pain. Head over heels they tumbled, colliding with stone and then flying free like mad marbles in some god's game, and at some point Bilbo was ripped from Thorin's grasp and wrenched away, bereft and lost.
The world spun in circles around Bilbo, then reached up and slammed him into darkness.
: : :
The creature in front of him stretched out long, strangely delicate fingers, swallowing deep in its throat as if already imagining how Bilbo would taste. "Gollum. Gollum. Is it all alone here in the dark, precious? So sad. So sad. We are never alone, are we?"
Bilbo scrabbled backwards, holding the knife in shaking hands. "What--what are you?"
The creature's head tilted on its thin neck; its pale eyes blinked. "Is it a riddle? Is it asking us a riddle?"
"Um. Yes," Bilbo said, trying to keep his voice steady. "A riddle. What are you?"
"We are--" It looked at its hands as if bewildered, then its face cleared. "They called us a Gollum, they did. We doesn't know why, precious. Gollum." A sly smile creased its face. "Is it playing a riddle game with us?"
"M--maybe?" Bilbo forced assurance into his voice. "Yes. A riddle game. And if I win, you have to show me the way out of here."
Gollum lowered his head, smiling. A grayish tongue flicked out to caress his lips. "Yes, precious, yes. And if it loses..." His head came up and the sly grin transformed into a beam of almost childish joy. "And if it loses, we eats it!" He shuffled forward and Bilbo backed up until his back was pressed to a rock. "Let's play then, precious. Let's play a riddle game."
"I have a better idea," said a familiar voice behind Bilbo. "Let's play 'I beat your head against a rock until you show us the way out.'"
Thorin stepped out from behind the rock and leveled his sword at Gollum's throat, the tip up against the frantically bobbing Adam's apple.
"Thorin!" cried Bilbo, so relieved he could have thrown his arms around the dwarf.
Gollum's eyes had gone cold and calculating. He swallowed several times in quick succession: gollum, gollum. "Is it a goblin, my precious? No, no, it's too fat for a goblin. Fat and juicy, we thinks."
"I am no goblin, creature. I am a dwarf," said Thorin.
"A du--warf?" Gollum cocked his head to the side. "Is du-warfses tasty?"
"I think not," said Thorin, stepping forward. Gollum fell back a step to match, the cold light in his eyes collapsing into cringing servility.
"Don't hurts us, gollum! Don't hurts us, du-warf! We just wanted to play a game, just a simple game!"
"Game time is over. Now you show us the way out."
"Do you really know the way out?" Bilbo asked. If he did, why hadn't he ever fled this dismal hole? "Is there really a way out?"
"Yes," muttered Gollum. "Yes." His eyes glittered. "Upward, always upward, to the nasty big sky, we hates it, precious." He wrung his hands together, smiling up at Thorin. "Let us fetch something, something to help you, du-warf." With a sharp scuttle backwards he was at the water's edge, out of range of Thorin's sword. "Yes. Something to help. Nice du-warf and little thing waits here, yes?" He didn't wait for an answer, but slipped into his little craft.
Bilbo watched the spidery figure paddle its way into the dark. "Will he come back?"
"I have no intention of waiting for him," Thorin said shortly. "He reeks of treachery and deceit." He looked around. "Upward, he said. Well, we can find up as well as any cringing monster."
He set off around the verge of the little lake, sword still drawn, and Bilbo followed him--though not without a nervous backward glance at the lake, from the center of which the sound of rummaging could be heard.
: : :
"We are not lost," Thorin said a few hours later as they stopped to sit down on a rock and catch their breath. From impossibly far above, a single moonbeam crept through some forgotten gap in the stones to cast pale light around them. "At least no more lost than we were originally," he added grudgingly.
"That's not saying a lot," snapped Bilbo.
Without answering him, Thorin pulled off his pack and gazed at it for a moment, and Bilbo saw his jaw set and his eyelids flicker in a way that--in anyone else--he would say was fearful. Then he opened it with a swift movement and pulled the elvish glass from its silver case.
It shone in his hand, unfractured and whole, and Bilbo saw Thorin's shoulders sag in relief and his face relax a fraction as he slipped it back.
"My poor pack," Bilbo sighed, opening it up and checking his frying pan, his lemon drops and viola tea and battered tin teacup. "At least everything breakable in it is long gone." He extracted a piece of waybread and handed it to Thorin, who ate it without comment, staring glumly up at the taunting glimmer of light. "Maybe we should have waited for that Gollum creature to come back," Bilbo said.
"We are better off without him," Thorin said. "He was almost certainly going to seek a weapon or a trick of some sort."
At his words, Bilbo frowned, remembering the moment of panic in which his hand had closed around something cold in the dark. "I wonder..." He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.
It was a ring, a simple unmarked band made of what seemed to be the purest gold. The delicate shaft of moonlight ignited reflections within it, turning it to pale fire.
"What is that?" said Thorin, pulling Bilbo's attention from its elegant curve.
"I found it on the ground back there," Bilbo said. "It's...lovely."
Curious, he slipped it on his finger.
Thorin leapt to his feet, his sword out. "Bilbo!" he cried, staring around as if in a panic.
Bilbo blinked at him. "What?"
Thorin swung around to look at him--but not directly at him. His gaze settled slightly off, focused a few inches to the left. Unnerved, Bilbo inched over to match up.
"I'm right here, Thorin," he said, frowning.
"I...cannot see you," Thorin breathed. "What happened?" He stretched out his free hand, groping, and Bilbo felt a strange pang at the sight of his blind reaching, the fingers straining toward him and not touching.
"I'm here," he repeated, and slipped the ring off his hand.
The cave felt...colder as the ring slid off, and Bilbo almost winced. But Thorin's gaze sprang to him in relief and he forced himself to smile. "I bet that's what Gollum was looking for," he said. "Easy matter to slit our throats wearing this pretty bauble, huh?" He flipped it into the air with his thumb, and it sang out at the impact, a sweet chime as it climbed upward, arcing--
--and Thorin's broad hand caught it out of the air.
Bilbo reached out to grab it away once more, but it was too late, the dwarf was holding it up against the moonlight, his eyes narrowed. Bilbo realized his hands were clenched and he unfolded them carefully--it's just a ring, Bilbo Baggins! But he still took a quick breath of alarm as Thorin slipped the ring on his finger, waiting for him to disappear.
Except he didn't. Thorin sat in front of him, the ring on his little finger, frowning at it. "I can still see you," Bilbo said.
Thorin arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Odd. It must only work on your kind." A sliver of a smile. "That seems a very limited sort of magic."
Bilbo tore his eyes away from the band of gold gleaming on Thorin's finger. "Does...does that mean that Gollum was a hobbit?" He didn't like that idea at all.
"Perhaps. Something close to it, maybe." Thorin twisted the ring on his finger, then slipped it off. "I'll hold on to it," he said as Bilbo reached out. "Might be dangerous to carry it, with that Gollum still slinking around." He put it into a pocket at his chest, under his armor and over his heart, then patted it. "Safe and sound," he said.
Bilbo heaved a sigh as Thorin stood and began to gather his things together. It had been a truly beautiful piece of craftsmanship. But he reminded himself that gold and gems were more the purview of dwarves anyway, and that a well-armed warrior could take care of it better than he could. He wasn't altogether sure he had enjoyed the feeling of being invisible anyway: the way Thorin's gaze had passed over him, the strange dislocation of it. I would have thought being invisible would have felt...safer, he reflected. Maybe if I had gotten a chance to get used to it...
He rubbed absent-mindedly at the spot where the ring had rested on his finger, but the empty feeling faded as they walked, and within a few hours the fleeting touch of gold was only a tantalizing memory.
: : :
Thorin pulled Bilbo over a particularly difficult stone outcropping, the hobbit's hand almost lost within his. Bilbo brushed rock dust off his clothes, and Thorin saw the bruises and cuts on his hands, the black caked under his fingernails. They had been soft hands when Thorin first met him, pampered hands clutching an umbrella. Now...
Bilbo shot him a quick smile and set off again, his steps quick although Thorin knew his legs must be weary beyond belief.
Not for the first time, Thorin found himself baffled by Bilbo Baggins, who complained about missing his feather bed and hot baths right up until he was in actual danger. Then you couldn't pry a complaint from him by force. Strange, stubborn, contradictory being. Thorin followed after him, remembering his tears at bidding his pony farewell--and his attempt to hide them.
"Perhaps we should sing something, to pass the time?" Bilbo's voice was faint but steady in the darkness.
Thorin was going to say that it was too dangerous, but a glimpse of Bilbo's set, pale face made him stop. "Very well," he said. He walked a few more paces, then took a breath and started to sing:
"There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill..."
Bilbo made a surprised choking sound, then started to laugh, and Thorin cut off the song. "What?" he snapped.
"It's just--you remember my song," Bilbo said. "I didn't think you were listening, back on the road."
"Of course I was listening," huffed Thorin.
"Well, you didn't show it. You just glared straight ahead. I assumed you were thinking, you know, Serious Princely Thoughts about your High Destiny, and had no time for silly rhymes."
Thorin started to snap something, then paused and bit his lip. "Am I truly so ridiculously serious?"
"No, no!" protested Bilbo. A pause. "Well, sometimes. But since you do actually have a High Princely Destiny, I think it's excusable." Thorin heard him clear his throat. "I'm sorry, it seems like whatever I say I manage to end up insulting you. I'm not usually so rude, I swear."
"You are not rude, just honest," Thorin said. He sat down on a rock, and Bilbo hesitated, then sat down next to him. "Being honest to a Prince--or a King--is not always a safe thing."
Bilbo's voice was small, as if he could hear the past in Thorin's words. "Your grandfather?"
"And my father. When in the grip of the dragon-sickness, they...see nothing but gold. My grandfather would gladly have thrown me to my death for a bauble." In the darkness, away from the others, it was easier to speak of such things. A relief, of sorts. Bilbo was...easy to talk to. Thorin remembered his own surly reticence in Fornost, a lifetime ago, and nearly winced. "When I look at my nephews, my heirs, I wonder, will that happen to me? Will I come to value their lives, their laughter, less than gold?" He released a long breath, felt it shaking in his throat. "This glass," he murmured, touching the pack with a gentle hand. "It is all of my hope for the future. If it can cure the dragon-sickness, I need never fear losing myself again."
A small hand patted his. "I can't imagine you needed to fear it even without the glass," said Bilbo. "You're a good person."
"I am a dwarf," Thorin said, and heard the pride and the pain in his voice.
The hand on his tightened briefly. "Well, I'm an honorary dwarf too, right? And you're also an honorary hobbit now. Neither of us are...simply what we started as."
Thorin started to say something quick and dismissive in reply, then stopped and thought for a moment. "No," he said at last. "Perhaps neither of us are."
He stood up and shouldered his pack again, breaking into song once more:
"The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he saws his bow
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle...
After a moment, Bilbo joined in, his clear high voice blending with Thorin's rumbling bass in ways that were--unexpected, and not wholly unpleasing, Thorin thought.
They were wrapping up the verse about the Dish running away with the Spoon when a faint sound reached them: a clash of metal, a voice raised in defiance. Thorin picked out the sound of a Khuzdul battle cry and broke into a run, hearing Bilbo's ragged breathing just behind him as he unsheathed Deathless.
He burst into a cave lit by flickering torchlight to find the rest of his party surrounded by leering goblins., Gandalf's glowing staff and Dwalin's axes just barely holding them at bay. With a shout of equal parts fury and relief, Thorin plowed into their flank, his sword flashing. "For Erebor!" he cried. "For the Lonely Mountain!"
Cries of joy from the other dwarves; they rallied to join his side, and goblins fell before them. Thorin spared a quick glance back to make sure Bilbo was still safe; the hobbit had wisely found a cranny to squeeze into and had his knife out, doing his best to look fierce. And failing. A goblin spotted him and lunged for him, but Thorin vaulted over a rock to spit him before he could reach the hobbit. The goblin spat dark blood and gave him a look of pure hatred as it died, but Thorin was exalted with battle-joy and cared not: he was protecting his own and nothing could hurt him. Laughing, he brandished Deathless in a wide arc, only slowly realizing that the goblins were all dead.
"Uncle Thorin!" cried Kíli and Fíli, and would perhaps have spitted themselves in turn if he hadn't moved the sword before they threw their arms around him. "You're alive!"
"Patently," he said gruffly, although his relief at finding them was so intense he found he had to lean against a rock.
"A pleasure to see you again," said Gandalf as Balin and Dwalin thumped him on the back and Fíli and Kíli turned their attentions to a flustered-looking Bilbo. "Have you had an eventful day away from us?"
"Oh, quite," said Bilbo, and filled the others in on their adventures at the roots of the mountain. He made the moment where Thorin appeared to save him seem ludicrously heroic, Thorin thought, but otherwise hewed close to the facts, with one exception: he did not mention the gold ring they had found.
Thorin felt rather relieved at this. He had not wanted to explain to anyone--especially Gandalf--why he had insisted on keeping a ring that only worked on hobbits. It would have been more practical to let Bilbo keep it, of course.
The fact of the matter was, Thorin admitted to himself, that he had not liked at all the sickening moment when Bilbo had disappeared from his sight. He watched the hobbit now as he waved his hands about, explaining their climb upward back to the party. His face was smudged with dust and dirt and drawn with exhaustion, but his eyes were merry.
No, the ring was better off in his pocket, and Bilbo was better off being somewhere Thorin could keep an eye on him.
---
Note on Thorin and the One Ring: In both the Silmarillion and the appendices to Return of the King, Tolkien says that dwarves could not be enslaved by the Rings of Power: "Dwarves indeed proved tough and hard to tame; they ill endure the domination of others, and the thoughts of their hearts are hard to fathom, nor can they be turned to shadows" (Silm 260). In a draft of Lord of the Rings, he said explicitly that nothing could turn a dwarf invisible--they're too solidly in this world and cannot be shifted to the spirit realm, either as invisible or as wraiths. The "only" effect of the Seven on them were that "wrath and an over-mastering greed of gold were kindled in their hearts," and I've decided to assume that the One Ring would have a similar effect.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 4400
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: Beneath the Misty Mountains, the fate of Middle Earth veers in a slightly different direction.
Bilbo tried to catch his breath, feeling battered and bruised. He was lying on pebbly rocks and the darkness around him was shot through with eerie rippling light and the whisper of water.
He sat up, wincing. He could hear the sounds of something paddling stealthily, and of breaths hissed through clenched teeth.
He was not alone in the dark.
"Th--Thor--" His voice wavered and vanished into the dark, unanswered.
He reached behind him, groping for reassurance, terrified he would find a body instead of Thorin, hands raking through loose pebbles and--what was that? Something denser and colder than the rocks; his hand closed around it without thinking. A band of some sort. No time to look at it--whatever it was, it was no weapon. Shoving it into his pocket, he scrabbled for his knife, gazing wildly around the rocky cave.
Oh, Bilbo Baggins, what have you gotten yourself into this time? he thought frantically. The sibilant breaths were closer now, though they seemed to come from everywhere at once, bouncing off the slimy walls. Bilbo clutched his knife with trembling hands and swallowed hard.
Pale eyes gleamed at him from the top of a rock. "Is it tasty, precious?" whispered a voice like mist and malice.
: : :
Two days ago
Bilbo looked back at Rivendell one last time before it disappeared around a bend forever. "Goodbye, warm towels," he murmured.
Thorin made an annoyed sound, but the other dwarves sighed in sympathy with Bilbo and he held his tongue.
The travel was easy at first--they had provisions aplenty, the ponies were rested and well-fed, and the weather good. But all too soon Gandalf was eyeing the sky with worry etching his face. "I do not like the look of those clouds," he muttered.
Indeed, the dark clouds on the horizon loomed quickly into a gathering storm. "This does not feel natural," Balin called over the rising wind that whipped his beard over his shoulders.
"Why would someone try to hinder our progress?" Thorin said, frowning.
Gandalf's jaw set. "I fear you are not the target," he said. "Perhaps it was unwise to travel with you after all."
"If this storm was meant for you, then you have powerful enemies!" yelled Dwalin as his pony shied nervously.
"Indeed," Gandalf said shortly, which did not reassure Bilbo at all. "We must find an alternate route," he called to Thorin.
Thorin's eyes looked wild in the strange storm-light. "The pass is our only option!"
There was a startling white light, a crack of thunder. Daffodil shied under him and Bilbo hung on for dear life. He saw Gandalf's jaw set and the wizard urged his mount forward. "Follow me!"
As the first drops of rain pelted down, cruel and harsh, Dwalin spotted a dark gap in the cliff face and they ducked into a small, dry cave. Thorin looked around, frowning. "We cannot delay," he growled.
Gandalf was examining the back of the cave. "I do not intend to," he said, looking down intently. "If we are to be thwarted from passing over the mountains, perhaps..." He waved his staff and a line of silver light glimmered on the floor, shooting out from beneath his feet to cross the room. Silently, the floor opened up to reveal a hole and a steep, winding passage. "Perhaps we must go under them."
Bilbo looked at the darkness and swallowed hard. "Wouldn't it be better to wait until the storm passes?"
"I thought you hobbits lived in holes," Thorin said. He was already pulling his pack off his pony.
"Cozy, friendly holes, not gaping crevices leading into unknown peril," retorted Bilbo. "And what about our ponies?" he added as Daffodil nickered nervously and eyed the dark passage with a white-ringed eye.
"We shall send them back to Rivendell," said Gandalf. "Elrond will care for them."
"Maybe we should send ourselves back to Rivendell," Bilbo muttered.
"Well, they can't come along," said Kíli as he grabbed his own pack. "Goblins love horseflesh."
Bilbo froze with his bag in his hand. "Goblins?"
"Oh yes," said Fíli. "Like orcs, but dirtier. They swarm beneath the mountains, you know."
"We are a small party and can avoid detection," said Gandalf, catching Bilbo's frantic look. "Probably."
"Probably?" Bilbo's voice squeaked.
"Almost certainly," Gandalf said reassuringly.
They sent the ponies off into the rain with a slap on their rumps. Daffodil cast Bilbo a reproachful look over her shoulder as she moved off into the rain-soaked darkness, heading back down the pass toward Rivendell, and Bilbo wiped his face roughly with the sleeve of his jumper. "Rain in my eyes," he said shortly when Thorin looked at him.
"There is no shame in tears shed over parting with a comrade," Thorin said. He turned away before Bilbo could respond. "Let us go."
Quietly, with weapons drawn, the party slipped into the caves beneath the Misty Mountains.
It went well at first--if anything can be called "going well" that involves skulking for hours in dark, smelly caves in constant fear for one's life. The pale light from Gandalf's staff gleamed ahead of them, just enough to see by, and they walked in cautious single file, with Bilbo tucked between Fíli and Kíli.
At one point ruddy torchlight-reflections began to flicker off the damp rocks, and Thorin brought the party to a halt with a finger to his lips. He shot Bilbo a meaningful glance, his gaze darting down to Bilbo's silent bare feet, and Bilbo swallowed hard and nodded, creeping forward past them toward the light.
He heard every faint rustle of his own clothing as if it were a shout, but there was no outcry, no alarm as he slipped ever closer. He yearned to turn back, to return to safety, but if he was the only person in the party who could scout like this, well--perhaps this was how he was to save Thorin's quest, after all. And then I'll be done and my responsibility for all this madness will be at an end.
He peeked around a corner and saw two gnarled beings looking sleepy and bored, aimlessly rattling a box of dice as they sat at an outpost. His heart pounding, he ducked back beneath the rock before they could see him, and made his way back to the party. Holding up two fingers, he sketched a rough layout of the outpost in the dust on the floor. Thorin looked at it, frowning, then gestured for Dwalin and Fíli to come with him. They disappeared around the corner and Bilbo found himself fidgeting, imagining the worst. Kíli's eyes were fixed on the corner where his brother had vanished, and Bilbo saw his fingers smoothing the feathers of one of his arrows over and over.
Just as the waiting grew nearly unbearable, Thorin came around the corner once more and Bilbo felt his breath rush from him with a pent-up sound. Thorin cast him an amused glance. "Two drunken goblins are no match for three dwarvish warriors," he said.
"Oh, I wasn't worried at all," said Bilbo, wondering if the way Fíli lit up at Thorin's last words was as apparent to his uncle as it was to Bilbo.
"Me neither!" announced Kíli. Fíli clapped him briefly on the back, smiling. "I wasn't worried at all!" Kíli repeated.
"Let's continue," said Gandalf, as the light of his staff brightened once more.
All in all, Bilbo thought as they crept forward, things had been going quite well indeed. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after--
He stopped dead as he realized that a chasm stretched before them, with only a narrow span of rock arching across it. "Oh dear," he faltered. "I don't--I'm afraid I don't like heights very much."
"None of us do," Thorin said shortly, "Except perhaps the wizard, who lives always at an unnatural height."
Gandalf shot Thorin an annoyed look, but said only, "We must cross it. I shall go first." Balin and Dwalin fell in behind him, followed by Fíli and Kíli, and then Bilbo, with Thorin taking up the rear.
As they inched across the bridge single file, Thorin's voice directly behind him said, "Don't look down." This, of course, made it impossible for Bilbo not to look down, and then he truly wished he hadn't. Below them yawned what seemed an endless maze of ledges and outcroppings, piercing down into what must be the very center of Middle Earth. Torches flickered here and there in the inky dark, and evil echoes reached them faintly.
Bilbo felt his knees turn to water and he wavered on the narrow span. Thorin hissed behind him as the gap between him and Kíli increased, but Bilbo couldn't move a muscle. His breath stuttered in his own ears, a sound that blotted out all encouragement, all hope. He stared down wildly at his feet, but it was as if they had become one with the stone, immobile for eternity.
Which probably saved their lives as the rock started to crumble between him and Kíli.
He heard Thorin gasp in alarm, saw the rest of the party start to turn and stare as empty space opened up between them. Galvanized by panic, he staggered backwards as the bridge gave way beneath his feet, a squeaking shriek of terror bubbling between his clenched lips.
Thorin grabbed his arm and yanked him back, but it was too late. Bilbo heard a chorus of despairing cries from the other dwarves as the rock gave way entirely beneath them and then there was nothing but space, empty and dizzying.
I'll never see the Shire again, he thought, small and distinct and despairing.
Strong arms wrapped around him and flipped him over; he felt a thudding impact and heard Thorin grunt in pain. Head over heels they tumbled, colliding with stone and then flying free like mad marbles in some god's game, and at some point Bilbo was ripped from Thorin's grasp and wrenched away, bereft and lost.
The world spun in circles around Bilbo, then reached up and slammed him into darkness.
: : :
The creature in front of him stretched out long, strangely delicate fingers, swallowing deep in its throat as if already imagining how Bilbo would taste. "Gollum. Gollum. Is it all alone here in the dark, precious? So sad. So sad. We are never alone, are we?"
Bilbo scrabbled backwards, holding the knife in shaking hands. "What--what are you?"
The creature's head tilted on its thin neck; its pale eyes blinked. "Is it a riddle? Is it asking us a riddle?"
"Um. Yes," Bilbo said, trying to keep his voice steady. "A riddle. What are you?"
"We are--" It looked at its hands as if bewildered, then its face cleared. "They called us a Gollum, they did. We doesn't know why, precious. Gollum." A sly smile creased its face. "Is it playing a riddle game with us?"
"M--maybe?" Bilbo forced assurance into his voice. "Yes. A riddle game. And if I win, you have to show me the way out of here."
Gollum lowered his head, smiling. A grayish tongue flicked out to caress his lips. "Yes, precious, yes. And if it loses..." His head came up and the sly grin transformed into a beam of almost childish joy. "And if it loses, we eats it!" He shuffled forward and Bilbo backed up until his back was pressed to a rock. "Let's play then, precious. Let's play a riddle game."
"I have a better idea," said a familiar voice behind Bilbo. "Let's play 'I beat your head against a rock until you show us the way out.'"
Thorin stepped out from behind the rock and leveled his sword at Gollum's throat, the tip up against the frantically bobbing Adam's apple.
"Thorin!" cried Bilbo, so relieved he could have thrown his arms around the dwarf.
Gollum's eyes had gone cold and calculating. He swallowed several times in quick succession: gollum, gollum. "Is it a goblin, my precious? No, no, it's too fat for a goblin. Fat and juicy, we thinks."
"I am no goblin, creature. I am a dwarf," said Thorin.
"A du--warf?" Gollum cocked his head to the side. "Is du-warfses tasty?"
"I think not," said Thorin, stepping forward. Gollum fell back a step to match, the cold light in his eyes collapsing into cringing servility.
"Don't hurts us, gollum! Don't hurts us, du-warf! We just wanted to play a game, just a simple game!"
"Game time is over. Now you show us the way out."
"Do you really know the way out?" Bilbo asked. If he did, why hadn't he ever fled this dismal hole? "Is there really a way out?"
"Yes," muttered Gollum. "Yes." His eyes glittered. "Upward, always upward, to the nasty big sky, we hates it, precious." He wrung his hands together, smiling up at Thorin. "Let us fetch something, something to help you, du-warf." With a sharp scuttle backwards he was at the water's edge, out of range of Thorin's sword. "Yes. Something to help. Nice du-warf and little thing waits here, yes?" He didn't wait for an answer, but slipped into his little craft.
Bilbo watched the spidery figure paddle its way into the dark. "Will he come back?"
"I have no intention of waiting for him," Thorin said shortly. "He reeks of treachery and deceit." He looked around. "Upward, he said. Well, we can find up as well as any cringing monster."
He set off around the verge of the little lake, sword still drawn, and Bilbo followed him--though not without a nervous backward glance at the lake, from the center of which the sound of rummaging could be heard.
: : :
"We are not lost," Thorin said a few hours later as they stopped to sit down on a rock and catch their breath. From impossibly far above, a single moonbeam crept through some forgotten gap in the stones to cast pale light around them. "At least no more lost than we were originally," he added grudgingly.
"That's not saying a lot," snapped Bilbo.
Without answering him, Thorin pulled off his pack and gazed at it for a moment, and Bilbo saw his jaw set and his eyelids flicker in a way that--in anyone else--he would say was fearful. Then he opened it with a swift movement and pulled the elvish glass from its silver case.
It shone in his hand, unfractured and whole, and Bilbo saw Thorin's shoulders sag in relief and his face relax a fraction as he slipped it back.
"My poor pack," Bilbo sighed, opening it up and checking his frying pan, his lemon drops and viola tea and battered tin teacup. "At least everything breakable in it is long gone." He extracted a piece of waybread and handed it to Thorin, who ate it without comment, staring glumly up at the taunting glimmer of light. "Maybe we should have waited for that Gollum creature to come back," Bilbo said.
"We are better off without him," Thorin said. "He was almost certainly going to seek a weapon or a trick of some sort."
At his words, Bilbo frowned, remembering the moment of panic in which his hand had closed around something cold in the dark. "I wonder..." He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.
It was a ring, a simple unmarked band made of what seemed to be the purest gold. The delicate shaft of moonlight ignited reflections within it, turning it to pale fire.
"What is that?" said Thorin, pulling Bilbo's attention from its elegant curve.
"I found it on the ground back there," Bilbo said. "It's...lovely."
Curious, he slipped it on his finger.
Thorin leapt to his feet, his sword out. "Bilbo!" he cried, staring around as if in a panic.
Bilbo blinked at him. "What?"
Thorin swung around to look at him--but not directly at him. His gaze settled slightly off, focused a few inches to the left. Unnerved, Bilbo inched over to match up.
"I'm right here, Thorin," he said, frowning.
"I...cannot see you," Thorin breathed. "What happened?" He stretched out his free hand, groping, and Bilbo felt a strange pang at the sight of his blind reaching, the fingers straining toward him and not touching.
"I'm here," he repeated, and slipped the ring off his hand.
The cave felt...colder as the ring slid off, and Bilbo almost winced. But Thorin's gaze sprang to him in relief and he forced himself to smile. "I bet that's what Gollum was looking for," he said. "Easy matter to slit our throats wearing this pretty bauble, huh?" He flipped it into the air with his thumb, and it sang out at the impact, a sweet chime as it climbed upward, arcing--
--and Thorin's broad hand caught it out of the air.
Bilbo reached out to grab it away once more, but it was too late, the dwarf was holding it up against the moonlight, his eyes narrowed. Bilbo realized his hands were clenched and he unfolded them carefully--it's just a ring, Bilbo Baggins! But he still took a quick breath of alarm as Thorin slipped the ring on his finger, waiting for him to disappear.
Except he didn't. Thorin sat in front of him, the ring on his little finger, frowning at it. "I can still see you," Bilbo said.
Thorin arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Odd. It must only work on your kind." A sliver of a smile. "That seems a very limited sort of magic."
Bilbo tore his eyes away from the band of gold gleaming on Thorin's finger. "Does...does that mean that Gollum was a hobbit?" He didn't like that idea at all.
"Perhaps. Something close to it, maybe." Thorin twisted the ring on his finger, then slipped it off. "I'll hold on to it," he said as Bilbo reached out. "Might be dangerous to carry it, with that Gollum still slinking around." He put it into a pocket at his chest, under his armor and over his heart, then patted it. "Safe and sound," he said.
Bilbo heaved a sigh as Thorin stood and began to gather his things together. It had been a truly beautiful piece of craftsmanship. But he reminded himself that gold and gems were more the purview of dwarves anyway, and that a well-armed warrior could take care of it better than he could. He wasn't altogether sure he had enjoyed the feeling of being invisible anyway: the way Thorin's gaze had passed over him, the strange dislocation of it. I would have thought being invisible would have felt...safer, he reflected. Maybe if I had gotten a chance to get used to it...
He rubbed absent-mindedly at the spot where the ring had rested on his finger, but the empty feeling faded as they walked, and within a few hours the fleeting touch of gold was only a tantalizing memory.
: : :
Thorin pulled Bilbo over a particularly difficult stone outcropping, the hobbit's hand almost lost within his. Bilbo brushed rock dust off his clothes, and Thorin saw the bruises and cuts on his hands, the black caked under his fingernails. They had been soft hands when Thorin first met him, pampered hands clutching an umbrella. Now...
Bilbo shot him a quick smile and set off again, his steps quick although Thorin knew his legs must be weary beyond belief.
Not for the first time, Thorin found himself baffled by Bilbo Baggins, who complained about missing his feather bed and hot baths right up until he was in actual danger. Then you couldn't pry a complaint from him by force. Strange, stubborn, contradictory being. Thorin followed after him, remembering his tears at bidding his pony farewell--and his attempt to hide them.
"Perhaps we should sing something, to pass the time?" Bilbo's voice was faint but steady in the darkness.
Thorin was going to say that it was too dangerous, but a glimpse of Bilbo's set, pale face made him stop. "Very well," he said. He walked a few more paces, then took a breath and started to sing:
"There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill..."
Bilbo made a surprised choking sound, then started to laugh, and Thorin cut off the song. "What?" he snapped.
"It's just--you remember my song," Bilbo said. "I didn't think you were listening, back on the road."
"Of course I was listening," huffed Thorin.
"Well, you didn't show it. You just glared straight ahead. I assumed you were thinking, you know, Serious Princely Thoughts about your High Destiny, and had no time for silly rhymes."
Thorin started to snap something, then paused and bit his lip. "Am I truly so ridiculously serious?"
"No, no!" protested Bilbo. A pause. "Well, sometimes. But since you do actually have a High Princely Destiny, I think it's excusable." Thorin heard him clear his throat. "I'm sorry, it seems like whatever I say I manage to end up insulting you. I'm not usually so rude, I swear."
"You are not rude, just honest," Thorin said. He sat down on a rock, and Bilbo hesitated, then sat down next to him. "Being honest to a Prince--or a King--is not always a safe thing."
Bilbo's voice was small, as if he could hear the past in Thorin's words. "Your grandfather?"
"And my father. When in the grip of the dragon-sickness, they...see nothing but gold. My grandfather would gladly have thrown me to my death for a bauble." In the darkness, away from the others, it was easier to speak of such things. A relief, of sorts. Bilbo was...easy to talk to. Thorin remembered his own surly reticence in Fornost, a lifetime ago, and nearly winced. "When I look at my nephews, my heirs, I wonder, will that happen to me? Will I come to value their lives, their laughter, less than gold?" He released a long breath, felt it shaking in his throat. "This glass," he murmured, touching the pack with a gentle hand. "It is all of my hope for the future. If it can cure the dragon-sickness, I need never fear losing myself again."
A small hand patted his. "I can't imagine you needed to fear it even without the glass," said Bilbo. "You're a good person."
"I am a dwarf," Thorin said, and heard the pride and the pain in his voice.
The hand on his tightened briefly. "Well, I'm an honorary dwarf too, right? And you're also an honorary hobbit now. Neither of us are...simply what we started as."
Thorin started to say something quick and dismissive in reply, then stopped and thought for a moment. "No," he said at last. "Perhaps neither of us are."
He stood up and shouldered his pack again, breaking into song once more:
"The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he saws his bow
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle...
After a moment, Bilbo joined in, his clear high voice blending with Thorin's rumbling bass in ways that were--unexpected, and not wholly unpleasing, Thorin thought.
They were wrapping up the verse about the Dish running away with the Spoon when a faint sound reached them: a clash of metal, a voice raised in defiance. Thorin picked out the sound of a Khuzdul battle cry and broke into a run, hearing Bilbo's ragged breathing just behind him as he unsheathed Deathless.
He burst into a cave lit by flickering torchlight to find the rest of his party surrounded by leering goblins., Gandalf's glowing staff and Dwalin's axes just barely holding them at bay. With a shout of equal parts fury and relief, Thorin plowed into their flank, his sword flashing. "For Erebor!" he cried. "For the Lonely Mountain!"
Cries of joy from the other dwarves; they rallied to join his side, and goblins fell before them. Thorin spared a quick glance back to make sure Bilbo was still safe; the hobbit had wisely found a cranny to squeeze into and had his knife out, doing his best to look fierce. And failing. A goblin spotted him and lunged for him, but Thorin vaulted over a rock to spit him before he could reach the hobbit. The goblin spat dark blood and gave him a look of pure hatred as it died, but Thorin was exalted with battle-joy and cared not: he was protecting his own and nothing could hurt him. Laughing, he brandished Deathless in a wide arc, only slowly realizing that the goblins were all dead.
"Uncle Thorin!" cried Kíli and Fíli, and would perhaps have spitted themselves in turn if he hadn't moved the sword before they threw their arms around him. "You're alive!"
"Patently," he said gruffly, although his relief at finding them was so intense he found he had to lean against a rock.
"A pleasure to see you again," said Gandalf as Balin and Dwalin thumped him on the back and Fíli and Kíli turned their attentions to a flustered-looking Bilbo. "Have you had an eventful day away from us?"
"Oh, quite," said Bilbo, and filled the others in on their adventures at the roots of the mountain. He made the moment where Thorin appeared to save him seem ludicrously heroic, Thorin thought, but otherwise hewed close to the facts, with one exception: he did not mention the gold ring they had found.
Thorin felt rather relieved at this. He had not wanted to explain to anyone--especially Gandalf--why he had insisted on keeping a ring that only worked on hobbits. It would have been more practical to let Bilbo keep it, of course.
The fact of the matter was, Thorin admitted to himself, that he had not liked at all the sickening moment when Bilbo had disappeared from his sight. He watched the hobbit now as he waved his hands about, explaining their climb upward back to the party. His face was smudged with dust and dirt and drawn with exhaustion, but his eyes were merry.
No, the ring was better off in his pocket, and Bilbo was better off being somewhere Thorin could keep an eye on him.
---
Note on Thorin and the One Ring: In both the Silmarillion and the appendices to Return of the King, Tolkien says that dwarves could not be enslaved by the Rings of Power: "Dwarves indeed proved tough and hard to tame; they ill endure the domination of others, and the thoughts of their hearts are hard to fathom, nor can they be turned to shadows" (Silm 260). In a draft of Lord of the Rings, he said explicitly that nothing could turn a dwarf invisible--they're too solidly in this world and cannot be shifted to the spirit realm, either as invisible or as wraiths. The "only" effect of the Seven on them were that "wrath and an over-mastering greed of gold were kindled in their hearts," and I've decided to assume that the One Ring would have a similar effect.