Clarity of Vision, Chapter 29/32
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 29/32
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, Dís, Thranduil, Tauriel, Dori
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3100
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: The party travels east through the Greenwood, where they are welcomed by Thranduil for an uncomfortable dinner.
The road wound downward and they were on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains once more--but how different this time was than the last, Bilbo thought as the wagons jolted along. This time Thorin was filled with purpose and energy, spending much of their time when in camp talking to each dwarf in person.
"He's looking forward to getting home," said Kíli one evening.
Bilbo hastily pulled his eyes from Thorin admiring a young scribe's penmanship, surprised to catch a shadow on Kíli's face. "Of course he is. Aren't you all?"
"Uncle hasn't been home for a long time," Kíli said as if it were an answer, and dropped his gaze to his fletching for a moment. "Prince-Regent Thráin--" He looked up and flashed a brief smile, "--that's my grandfather, Thorin's father."
"Yes, thank you, I do believe I've got that one now," said Bilbo.
"Prince-Regent Thráin has never been--" He broke off again and shook his head. "But in the last few years, he has become a stranger. Sometimes when he looks at my mother--"
"--Kíli and I decided we had to get Mother away from him," said Fíli, joining the conversation with a bowl of stew. "Didn't we, Kíli?"
"She thought she was getting us away," Kíli confided to Bilbo in a noisy whisper. "But let's face it, Mother is much more clever than either of us or Uncle Frerin, and thus more of a threat." They nodded solemnly in unison.
"That reminds me of something," Bilbo said. "If Frerin is older than your mother, why isn't he the heir?"
"Uncle Frerin?" Fíli chuckled, then sobered. "I forget you've never met him."
"He's nice," said Kíli. "And a great fighter, the best axeman in Erebor. But he has no desire to rule, and he's not...let's just say he's not a master of statesmanship and sound decision-making. The dwarves of Erebor would be glad to let him lead them into battle, but not to lead from the throne."
"That Uncle Thorin considered me a better choice than him should tell you something," Fíli said wryly, lifting the spoon to his mouth.
Then he coughed as he was jolted by a slap on his back. "I would remind you that speaking ill of the Heir can be considered high treason," Thorin observed darkly, appearing behind him. "Do not doubt my judgment."
"Wouldn't dream of it," chirped Kíli.
Thorin met Bilbo's eyes and smiled very slightly before going back to his conversation with the scribe, leaving Fíli still frozen with the spoon lifted to his lips for a long moment before carefully putting it to his almost-smiling mouth.
"Oh Mahal," Kíli whispered behind Bilbo. "It's her."
At his rapturous tone, Bilbo would have turned to blink at him, but his attention was riveted by the sight of six elves blocking the road ahead at the verge of a great dark wood.
"State your name and your purpose on the Old Forest Road," said the leader, a slim elf-maiden with long red-brown hair, her hand resting on her quiver.
Dís stepped forward. "I am Dís of Erebor, returning to my home. I request safe passage through the Greenwood and I bring--" She paused for a fleeting moment and Bilbo saw her hands, clasped out of sight behind her back, tighten. "--tribute for the Lord of the Wood in return."
"Lady Dís." The elf bowed slightly. "In the name of Lord Thranduil, I grant you safe passage through the wood." Her eyes flickered over the company, and she frowned. "It has been many years since I was in the halls of Erebor, but I am unlikely to forget the face of Prince Thorin."
Thorin stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Lady Tauriel--"
"--Just Tauriel, please," she said. "Captain of the Woodguard is the only title I require."
Behind him, Bilbo heard Kíli sigh, a sigh broken off as if someone had elbowed him very hard.
"Tauriel," Thorin said. "I am returning to Erebor with my companions. Will your promise of safe passage extend to us as well?"
She frowned. "Of course it will." Her eyes fell on Bilbo, and her frown deepened. "And who is this?"
Bilbo stepped forward and bowed. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, uh, at your service."
She put her hand to her dagger and stepped suddenly closer to him, ignoring the way Thorin tensed and put his own hand to the hilt of Deathless. "Have you been in the Greenwood before, Mr. Baggins?"
"What? No, not at all, though I'm sure it's a very--" He peeked into the shadowy depths and looked back at Tauriel, "--A very nice place indeed."
She stared at him a while longer, then stepped back, still wary. "My scouts have reported seeing a being--smaller than either a dwarf or an elf, and stealthy beyond even our ability to track easily--in the wood. You are certain you have not been entering the wood without our permission?"
An angry mutter rumbled through the company of dwarves. "He's been with us the whole time!" Dori burst out angrily.
"Mr. Baggins is a being of unimpeachable credentials and impeccable honesty," Thorin said, "and is under my protection. Relations between Erebor and the Greenwood have never been easy, but we have no need to send a spy within."
After a moment, Tauriel removed her hand from her dagger. "Very well," she said. "You may travel the road with our escort. But we shall be keeping a close eye on you, Bilbo Baggins."
The path had not looked large enough to hold their wagons, yet somehow it seemed to expand to let them pass. From the back of his pony, Bilbo looked with some unease at the great, gnarled trees looming all around them, their branches filled with vague rustling. "This is the forest I grew up near," Thorin said in a low voice, and Bilbo realized he had nudged his pony closer to Thorin's without thinking. "Do you still wonder that I grew up with little affection for trees?"
"Well," said Bilbo, "They're certainly not...the friendliest trees I've ever seen." He'd never thought of the trees of the Shire as "friendly" before, but found himself missing the crooked little apple tree in his backyard with a fierce longing.
"I shall go ahead, to bring news of your coming to the Court," Tauriel said. She leapt to a branch, then the top of a wagon, and then a taller branch in three cat-like jumps. "Dwarves may be doughty in battle, but always they run slow behind the Eldar," she said, and for the first time Bilbo saw a smile light her face. Then she turned and was gone into the wood, without even a rustle of leaves to mark her passing.
"She's amazing," said Kíli. He caught Bilbo's look and straightened in the saddle, a smudge of red on his cheeks. "It's not like that," he said with dignity. "I can admire skill when I see it."
"My brother met her when she escorted Thranduil to Erebor--what was it, sixty years ago?" Fíli said. "When he was just a little child."
"Fíli," Kíli said.
"He announced that she was beautiful in front of the whole assemblage--"
"--And no one has ever let me forget it," said Kíli a bit huffily. "Including her."
"Elves are not trustworthy," said Dís from her own pony, looking around at the trees. "They have long memories, and they judge people by the deeds of their ancestors done long ages ago."
In a different situation, Bilbo would have asked what she meant by that, but surrounded by the looming trees and escorted by tall and silent elves he found he did not want to ask about any ancient grudges between the peoples.
The wood blurred around them, filled with dark rustlings and blinkings of pale eyes from within the shadows. It felt like they had been riding for days in muffled silence when suddenly Bilbo's pony stopped and he blinked up at a great wooden door, covered with carvings of leaves and branches. It swung open to reveal Tauriel.
"Thranduil, Lord of the Wood, accepts your tribute and offers you hospitality for the evening," she said.
"We accept," said Dís, her voice even, but there were many nervous looks cast and many dubious mutterings as the dwarves passed through the gates and let them swing shut behind them.
"So, the Exiled Prince returns to the Lonely Mountain." Thranduil sat on his throne with lazy, careless grace as dwarves and elves sat down to dinner. The dwarves--under Dís and Balin's watchful eyes--were largely behaving themselves, but it was far from a relaxed meal. It would take so little to antagonize either party, and Thorin felt keenly as if he were sitting on a powderkeg. Thranduil had accepted a sapphire-studded bracelet and a carved jade ring from Dís, handing them off to an attendant without looking at them closely. "Will there be rejoicing at your return, I wonder?"
Thorin glowered up at Thranduil, feeling his shoulders tense. "I care not. I do not return to reclaim my title."
Thranduil laughed, a silvery and cutting sound. "Let us not be coy, Prince Thorin. Given the news from Erebor, it is clear why you are hurrying home."
Conversations around the hall faltered at the sound of his words, and Thorin felt foreboding pierce him. "Of what news do you speak?"
Thranduil straightened on his throne and looked directly at Thorin for the first time. "You do not know," he said.
Thorin waited, feeling a muscle twitch in his jaw, but Thranduil did not continue. "You have me at a disadvantage," he gritted at last.
The Lord of the Greenwood met his eyes squarely, and for a bare moment Thorin saw something like sympathy in those ageless depths. Then Thranduil looked away, and when he looked back his gaze was bright and cold and birdlike once more.
"The news came to us just days ago," he said, "That Prince Frerin led a great force of his people against the orcs of Gundabad to the north. That his intelligence was in error, and he was met with thousands more foes than he anticipated."
"No," said Dís's voice, a small and breathless sound, and Thranduil inclined his head gravely toward her.
"That Prince Frerin and all his company fell beneath the shadow of Gundabad. His body was borne home, pierced with many cruel wounds, and he rests now within the Lonely Mountain."
Thorin opened his mouth, then closed it again. The flickering torches of the hall swam in a haze. He heard someone weeping and realized it was Fíli; Dís sat as if turned to a statue indeed, her eyes fixed on the elf-lord.
"I am sorry," Thranduil said. "To give you news of such grief."
Everyone was looking at Thorin, elf and dwarf and hobbit alike. After a moment he rose and lifted his cup. "To the memory of Prince Frerin of Erebor," he said, lifting it. It trembled and a trickle of wine spilled over the top. "To the bravest warrior and kindest heart of Durin's Line!"
Murmurs echoed around the hall as people drank.
"To my little brother," he heard himself add in a voice that scarce sounded like his, and sat down.
The cup was shaking so hard now that it was in danger of spilling. Small hands took it away from him and set it down carefully on the table, then rested on his elbow, warm and steady. He wanted to turn and look at Bilbo. He didn't dare.
"If you wish, you and your people may be our guests for the night," Thranduil said. He paused, then added, "If, that is, you promise not to sully anything."
Thorin looked up into the elf-lord's cold bright eyes and seized the gift offered, one more precious than pity. He lifted his chin and stood once more. "As always, your hospitality is a shining example to all," he said, letting the biting sarcasm brace him. "We shall sleep in our wagons so as not to risk damaging any of your pretty baubles. Please come to Erebor sometime soon so I can repay your hospitality in kind."
Thranduil inclined his head, an enigmatic half-smile on his lips. "I look forward to the opportunity, Prince Thorin."
Somehow they got through the meal, although Thorin spoke little, his gaze fixed in the middle distance. Conversations flickered and died throughout the hall, and when the meal came to a merciful end, they slipped away to their wagons, waiting just outside the fortress.
"Thorin," said Bilbo as he lay on his cot.
No answer.
"Thorin. Do you want to talk about it?"
A long silence. "My brother and I parted badly," Thorin said at last. "He considered what I was doing a fool's errand. I called him blind and ignorant. I always thought I would be able to take those words back, and now I never can." Bilbo heard him swallow. "I have no desire to speak further about this issue."
"That's all right," said Bilbo, who had come to understand what it meant when Thorin was at his most distant and regal. "You don't have to. But I'm here if you want to. Or even if you don't."
"Thank you," said Thorin. There was a long silence, and Bilbo had started to drift off to sleep when he spoke again, just one phrase.
"My morning star," he said, and Bilbo couldn't tell if he was talking about his brother, or Erebor, or something else entirely.
"Oh, how beautiful!" Bilbo stopped, struck with admiration, as the wagons came to a stop at the edge of a large lake. On the far shore, the Lonely Mountain perched, its white-topped height reflected in the choppy blue water. Then he looked down the shore and frowned. "What--what in the world is that?"
Kíli peered along his pointing finger and grinned as he took in the great jumble of white bones, the vast bleached ribcage rising from the shallows. "Oh, that's just the dragon, nothing major."
"Just the--what?" Bilbo heard himself squeak.
"Oh yeah, happened before I was born," said Kíli. "Dragon attacked Erebor--greedy bastards, dragons. Girion, the Lord of Dale at the time, shot him with his great black arrow--claimed a thrush told him where to shoot, but I don't know about that, sounds kind of like a fairy tale, don't you think? Anyway, the dragon crashed out here in the lake and that was that!" He shrugged at Bilbo's round eyes. "Exciting, huh? Wish I'd been there to see it."
"No you don't," said Thorin shortly, and Kíli raised his eyebrows at Bilbo and fell silent.
"Uncle Frerin took us here to see it once when we were little," Fíli said with a wan smile. "We took a little rowboat out and touched the bones, and he told us about seeing it in the sky above Dale before it was killed, all malice and flame. It all seemed like a story out of an old book, but the bones were real enough."
Bilbo opened his mouth to ask something more, but his words were cut off by the sound of a cry of alarm from the wagons, yelling something in Khuzdul.
"Bandits," said Thorin, pulling Deathless from its scabbard and sprinting toward the cry as the sound of galloping hooves filled the air.
Strong hands pushed Bilbo under one of the wagons. He started to yell a protest, and realized it was Dís, holding a massive spiked hammer. "Stay out of the way!" she yelled at him, and pushed him further with one boot.
The next few minutes were full of chaos: the pounding of hooves on the ground mixing with the warcries of the dwarves and the screams of the wounded. Peering out from under the wagon, Bilbo could see Dís's furred boots as well as Kíli and Fíli's lighter leather boots, standing with their heels together. Fighting back to back.
A dozen or so human feet entered his field of vision as he scrabbled to get his knife out of its scabbard. One of the bandits laughed and jumped forward. There was a grunt from Dís, a wet solid sound, and the human's feet stopped suddenly.
The body, when it tumbled to the ground and back into Bilbo's vision, was distinctly lacking a head.
A pair of human legs backed toward the wagon; when they drew near enough Bilbo stabbed at his calves with his knife. "What the--!" The bandit turned to look for his attacker, and Bilbo saw him stagger and collapse as someone else stabbed him.
Bilbo slithered down the length of the wagon and emerged at the back, then charged around to find Fíli parrying a blow by another bandit. Bilbo jumped forward to help him; startled, the bandit fell back a step--and right into the path of an arrow.
"You would have missed," Fíli panted as it dawned on Bilbo that all the bandits were dead.
"I predicted he'd step backward," Kíli said.
"I told you to stay under the wagon," Dís said, resting her gore-soaked hammer on the ground and leaning on it, glaring at Bilbo.
"He never listens, Mother," said Fíli.
She opened her mouth to answer, then shut it as Thorin and Dwalin came running. "We're fine," she said to their looks of relief. "The bandits?"
"All dead," said Thorin.
"Casualties?"
Thorin's gaze dropped. "Three dead. Two others badly wounded." He looked back at his sister and his jaw set. "They were lying in wait for us."
"Thranduil," Dís said, but Dwalin shook his head.
"I think not. The bandits were clearly looking for someone in particular. Based on their behavior, they were hunting for you and the boys. They ignored Thorin and I entirely. If Thranduil had betrayed us, they would have known we traveled with you and he would have been a target as well."
"Someone was looking to kill the three of you," Thorin said. He sounded as if someone had hit him in the chest with a mace, breathless and pained.
"First Frerin is sent against a force too large for him," said Dwalin. "Then--no, Thorin, I will speak my fill!--then an ambush awaits Lady Dís and her sons as they return to Erebor." He crossed his arms, his jaw clenched. "The only conclusion is someone wants the Line of Durin dead. Someone with a great deal of power and influence, someone--"
Thorin whirled and walked away from Dwalin and the others, shouting commands at people doing clean-up, leaving everyone looking at each other.
"Uncle hasn't been home in a long time," said Kíli to Bilbo, and knelt to yank an arrow from a bandit's throat.
"Let us hope he still has one to return to," Dís said, meeting Dwalin's eyes gravely.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, Dís, Thranduil, Tauriel, Dori
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3100
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: The party travels east through the Greenwood, where they are welcomed by Thranduil for an uncomfortable dinner.
The road wound downward and they were on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains once more--but how different this time was than the last, Bilbo thought as the wagons jolted along. This time Thorin was filled with purpose and energy, spending much of their time when in camp talking to each dwarf in person.
"He's looking forward to getting home," said Kíli one evening.
Bilbo hastily pulled his eyes from Thorin admiring a young scribe's penmanship, surprised to catch a shadow on Kíli's face. "Of course he is. Aren't you all?"
"Uncle hasn't been home for a long time," Kíli said as if it were an answer, and dropped his gaze to his fletching for a moment. "Prince-Regent Thráin--" He looked up and flashed a brief smile, "--that's my grandfather, Thorin's father."
"Yes, thank you, I do believe I've got that one now," said Bilbo.
"Prince-Regent Thráin has never been--" He broke off again and shook his head. "But in the last few years, he has become a stranger. Sometimes when he looks at my mother--"
"--Kíli and I decided we had to get Mother away from him," said Fíli, joining the conversation with a bowl of stew. "Didn't we, Kíli?"
"She thought she was getting us away," Kíli confided to Bilbo in a noisy whisper. "But let's face it, Mother is much more clever than either of us or Uncle Frerin, and thus more of a threat." They nodded solemnly in unison.
"That reminds me of something," Bilbo said. "If Frerin is older than your mother, why isn't he the heir?"
"Uncle Frerin?" Fíli chuckled, then sobered. "I forget you've never met him."
"He's nice," said Kíli. "And a great fighter, the best axeman in Erebor. But he has no desire to rule, and he's not...let's just say he's not a master of statesmanship and sound decision-making. The dwarves of Erebor would be glad to let him lead them into battle, but not to lead from the throne."
"That Uncle Thorin considered me a better choice than him should tell you something," Fíli said wryly, lifting the spoon to his mouth.
Then he coughed as he was jolted by a slap on his back. "I would remind you that speaking ill of the Heir can be considered high treason," Thorin observed darkly, appearing behind him. "Do not doubt my judgment."
"Wouldn't dream of it," chirped Kíli.
Thorin met Bilbo's eyes and smiled very slightly before going back to his conversation with the scribe, leaving Fíli still frozen with the spoon lifted to his lips for a long moment before carefully putting it to his almost-smiling mouth.
"Oh Mahal," Kíli whispered behind Bilbo. "It's her."
At his rapturous tone, Bilbo would have turned to blink at him, but his attention was riveted by the sight of six elves blocking the road ahead at the verge of a great dark wood.
"State your name and your purpose on the Old Forest Road," said the leader, a slim elf-maiden with long red-brown hair, her hand resting on her quiver.
Dís stepped forward. "I am Dís of Erebor, returning to my home. I request safe passage through the Greenwood and I bring--" She paused for a fleeting moment and Bilbo saw her hands, clasped out of sight behind her back, tighten. "--tribute for the Lord of the Wood in return."
"Lady Dís." The elf bowed slightly. "In the name of Lord Thranduil, I grant you safe passage through the wood." Her eyes flickered over the company, and she frowned. "It has been many years since I was in the halls of Erebor, but I am unlikely to forget the face of Prince Thorin."
Thorin stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Lady Tauriel--"
"--Just Tauriel, please," she said. "Captain of the Woodguard is the only title I require."
Behind him, Bilbo heard Kíli sigh, a sigh broken off as if someone had elbowed him very hard.
"Tauriel," Thorin said. "I am returning to Erebor with my companions. Will your promise of safe passage extend to us as well?"
She frowned. "Of course it will." Her eyes fell on Bilbo, and her frown deepened. "And who is this?"
Bilbo stepped forward and bowed. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, uh, at your service."
She put her hand to her dagger and stepped suddenly closer to him, ignoring the way Thorin tensed and put his own hand to the hilt of Deathless. "Have you been in the Greenwood before, Mr. Baggins?"
"What? No, not at all, though I'm sure it's a very--" He peeked into the shadowy depths and looked back at Tauriel, "--A very nice place indeed."
She stared at him a while longer, then stepped back, still wary. "My scouts have reported seeing a being--smaller than either a dwarf or an elf, and stealthy beyond even our ability to track easily--in the wood. You are certain you have not been entering the wood without our permission?"
An angry mutter rumbled through the company of dwarves. "He's been with us the whole time!" Dori burst out angrily.
"Mr. Baggins is a being of unimpeachable credentials and impeccable honesty," Thorin said, "and is under my protection. Relations between Erebor and the Greenwood have never been easy, but we have no need to send a spy within."
After a moment, Tauriel removed her hand from her dagger. "Very well," she said. "You may travel the road with our escort. But we shall be keeping a close eye on you, Bilbo Baggins."
The path had not looked large enough to hold their wagons, yet somehow it seemed to expand to let them pass. From the back of his pony, Bilbo looked with some unease at the great, gnarled trees looming all around them, their branches filled with vague rustling. "This is the forest I grew up near," Thorin said in a low voice, and Bilbo realized he had nudged his pony closer to Thorin's without thinking. "Do you still wonder that I grew up with little affection for trees?"
"Well," said Bilbo, "They're certainly not...the friendliest trees I've ever seen." He'd never thought of the trees of the Shire as "friendly" before, but found himself missing the crooked little apple tree in his backyard with a fierce longing.
"I shall go ahead, to bring news of your coming to the Court," Tauriel said. She leapt to a branch, then the top of a wagon, and then a taller branch in three cat-like jumps. "Dwarves may be doughty in battle, but always they run slow behind the Eldar," she said, and for the first time Bilbo saw a smile light her face. Then she turned and was gone into the wood, without even a rustle of leaves to mark her passing.
"She's amazing," said Kíli. He caught Bilbo's look and straightened in the saddle, a smudge of red on his cheeks. "It's not like that," he said with dignity. "I can admire skill when I see it."
"My brother met her when she escorted Thranduil to Erebor--what was it, sixty years ago?" Fíli said. "When he was just a little child."
"Fíli," Kíli said.
"He announced that she was beautiful in front of the whole assemblage--"
"--And no one has ever let me forget it," said Kíli a bit huffily. "Including her."
"Elves are not trustworthy," said Dís from her own pony, looking around at the trees. "They have long memories, and they judge people by the deeds of their ancestors done long ages ago."
In a different situation, Bilbo would have asked what she meant by that, but surrounded by the looming trees and escorted by tall and silent elves he found he did not want to ask about any ancient grudges between the peoples.
The wood blurred around them, filled with dark rustlings and blinkings of pale eyes from within the shadows. It felt like they had been riding for days in muffled silence when suddenly Bilbo's pony stopped and he blinked up at a great wooden door, covered with carvings of leaves and branches. It swung open to reveal Tauriel.
"Thranduil, Lord of the Wood, accepts your tribute and offers you hospitality for the evening," she said.
"We accept," said Dís, her voice even, but there were many nervous looks cast and many dubious mutterings as the dwarves passed through the gates and let them swing shut behind them.
"So, the Exiled Prince returns to the Lonely Mountain." Thranduil sat on his throne with lazy, careless grace as dwarves and elves sat down to dinner. The dwarves--under Dís and Balin's watchful eyes--were largely behaving themselves, but it was far from a relaxed meal. It would take so little to antagonize either party, and Thorin felt keenly as if he were sitting on a powderkeg. Thranduil had accepted a sapphire-studded bracelet and a carved jade ring from Dís, handing them off to an attendant without looking at them closely. "Will there be rejoicing at your return, I wonder?"
Thorin glowered up at Thranduil, feeling his shoulders tense. "I care not. I do not return to reclaim my title."
Thranduil laughed, a silvery and cutting sound. "Let us not be coy, Prince Thorin. Given the news from Erebor, it is clear why you are hurrying home."
Conversations around the hall faltered at the sound of his words, and Thorin felt foreboding pierce him. "Of what news do you speak?"
Thranduil straightened on his throne and looked directly at Thorin for the first time. "You do not know," he said.
Thorin waited, feeling a muscle twitch in his jaw, but Thranduil did not continue. "You have me at a disadvantage," he gritted at last.
The Lord of the Greenwood met his eyes squarely, and for a bare moment Thorin saw something like sympathy in those ageless depths. Then Thranduil looked away, and when he looked back his gaze was bright and cold and birdlike once more.
"The news came to us just days ago," he said, "That Prince Frerin led a great force of his people against the orcs of Gundabad to the north. That his intelligence was in error, and he was met with thousands more foes than he anticipated."
"No," said Dís's voice, a small and breathless sound, and Thranduil inclined his head gravely toward her.
"That Prince Frerin and all his company fell beneath the shadow of Gundabad. His body was borne home, pierced with many cruel wounds, and he rests now within the Lonely Mountain."
Thorin opened his mouth, then closed it again. The flickering torches of the hall swam in a haze. He heard someone weeping and realized it was Fíli; Dís sat as if turned to a statue indeed, her eyes fixed on the elf-lord.
"I am sorry," Thranduil said. "To give you news of such grief."
Everyone was looking at Thorin, elf and dwarf and hobbit alike. After a moment he rose and lifted his cup. "To the memory of Prince Frerin of Erebor," he said, lifting it. It trembled and a trickle of wine spilled over the top. "To the bravest warrior and kindest heart of Durin's Line!"
Murmurs echoed around the hall as people drank.
"To my little brother," he heard himself add in a voice that scarce sounded like his, and sat down.
The cup was shaking so hard now that it was in danger of spilling. Small hands took it away from him and set it down carefully on the table, then rested on his elbow, warm and steady. He wanted to turn and look at Bilbo. He didn't dare.
"If you wish, you and your people may be our guests for the night," Thranduil said. He paused, then added, "If, that is, you promise not to sully anything."
Thorin looked up into the elf-lord's cold bright eyes and seized the gift offered, one more precious than pity. He lifted his chin and stood once more. "As always, your hospitality is a shining example to all," he said, letting the biting sarcasm brace him. "We shall sleep in our wagons so as not to risk damaging any of your pretty baubles. Please come to Erebor sometime soon so I can repay your hospitality in kind."
Thranduil inclined his head, an enigmatic half-smile on his lips. "I look forward to the opportunity, Prince Thorin."
Somehow they got through the meal, although Thorin spoke little, his gaze fixed in the middle distance. Conversations flickered and died throughout the hall, and when the meal came to a merciful end, they slipped away to their wagons, waiting just outside the fortress.
"Thorin," said Bilbo as he lay on his cot.
No answer.
"Thorin. Do you want to talk about it?"
A long silence. "My brother and I parted badly," Thorin said at last. "He considered what I was doing a fool's errand. I called him blind and ignorant. I always thought I would be able to take those words back, and now I never can." Bilbo heard him swallow. "I have no desire to speak further about this issue."
"That's all right," said Bilbo, who had come to understand what it meant when Thorin was at his most distant and regal. "You don't have to. But I'm here if you want to. Or even if you don't."
"Thank you," said Thorin. There was a long silence, and Bilbo had started to drift off to sleep when he spoke again, just one phrase.
"My morning star," he said, and Bilbo couldn't tell if he was talking about his brother, or Erebor, or something else entirely.
"Oh, how beautiful!" Bilbo stopped, struck with admiration, as the wagons came to a stop at the edge of a large lake. On the far shore, the Lonely Mountain perched, its white-topped height reflected in the choppy blue water. Then he looked down the shore and frowned. "What--what in the world is that?"
Kíli peered along his pointing finger and grinned as he took in the great jumble of white bones, the vast bleached ribcage rising from the shallows. "Oh, that's just the dragon, nothing major."
"Just the--what?" Bilbo heard himself squeak.
"Oh yeah, happened before I was born," said Kíli. "Dragon attacked Erebor--greedy bastards, dragons. Girion, the Lord of Dale at the time, shot him with his great black arrow--claimed a thrush told him where to shoot, but I don't know about that, sounds kind of like a fairy tale, don't you think? Anyway, the dragon crashed out here in the lake and that was that!" He shrugged at Bilbo's round eyes. "Exciting, huh? Wish I'd been there to see it."
"No you don't," said Thorin shortly, and Kíli raised his eyebrows at Bilbo and fell silent.
"Uncle Frerin took us here to see it once when we were little," Fíli said with a wan smile. "We took a little rowboat out and touched the bones, and he told us about seeing it in the sky above Dale before it was killed, all malice and flame. It all seemed like a story out of an old book, but the bones were real enough."
Bilbo opened his mouth to ask something more, but his words were cut off by the sound of a cry of alarm from the wagons, yelling something in Khuzdul.
"Bandits," said Thorin, pulling Deathless from its scabbard and sprinting toward the cry as the sound of galloping hooves filled the air.
Strong hands pushed Bilbo under one of the wagons. He started to yell a protest, and realized it was Dís, holding a massive spiked hammer. "Stay out of the way!" she yelled at him, and pushed him further with one boot.
The next few minutes were full of chaos: the pounding of hooves on the ground mixing with the warcries of the dwarves and the screams of the wounded. Peering out from under the wagon, Bilbo could see Dís's furred boots as well as Kíli and Fíli's lighter leather boots, standing with their heels together. Fighting back to back.
A dozen or so human feet entered his field of vision as he scrabbled to get his knife out of its scabbard. One of the bandits laughed and jumped forward. There was a grunt from Dís, a wet solid sound, and the human's feet stopped suddenly.
The body, when it tumbled to the ground and back into Bilbo's vision, was distinctly lacking a head.
A pair of human legs backed toward the wagon; when they drew near enough Bilbo stabbed at his calves with his knife. "What the--!" The bandit turned to look for his attacker, and Bilbo saw him stagger and collapse as someone else stabbed him.
Bilbo slithered down the length of the wagon and emerged at the back, then charged around to find Fíli parrying a blow by another bandit. Bilbo jumped forward to help him; startled, the bandit fell back a step--and right into the path of an arrow.
"You would have missed," Fíli panted as it dawned on Bilbo that all the bandits were dead.
"I predicted he'd step backward," Kíli said.
"I told you to stay under the wagon," Dís said, resting her gore-soaked hammer on the ground and leaning on it, glaring at Bilbo.
"He never listens, Mother," said Fíli.
She opened her mouth to answer, then shut it as Thorin and Dwalin came running. "We're fine," she said to their looks of relief. "The bandits?"
"All dead," said Thorin.
"Casualties?"
Thorin's gaze dropped. "Three dead. Two others badly wounded." He looked back at his sister and his jaw set. "They were lying in wait for us."
"Thranduil," Dís said, but Dwalin shook his head.
"I think not. The bandits were clearly looking for someone in particular. Based on their behavior, they were hunting for you and the boys. They ignored Thorin and I entirely. If Thranduil had betrayed us, they would have known we traveled with you and he would have been a target as well."
"Someone was looking to kill the three of you," Thorin said. He sounded as if someone had hit him in the chest with a mace, breathless and pained.
"First Frerin is sent against a force too large for him," said Dwalin. "Then--no, Thorin, I will speak my fill!--then an ambush awaits Lady Dís and her sons as they return to Erebor." He crossed his arms, his jaw clenched. "The only conclusion is someone wants the Line of Durin dead. Someone with a great deal of power and influence, someone--"
Thorin whirled and walked away from Dwalin and the others, shouting commands at people doing clean-up, leaving everyone looking at each other.
"Uncle hasn't been home in a long time," said Kíli to Bilbo, and knelt to yank an arrow from a bandit's throat.
"Let us hope he still has one to return to," Dís said, meeting Dwalin's eyes gravely.