Clarity of Vision, Chapter 31/32
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 31/32
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, Dís, Thror, Gimli, Bard
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4300
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: Winter turns into spring in Erebor: bittersweet times as the days grow longer and different partings draw near.
The days grew longer and the sunlight warmer, although few noticed it deep in the living, beating heart of Erebor. There was so much work to be done, so much to be set right. So much to do and so much to learn, and for a while it seemed like they had all the time in the world.
"Bilbo!" Kíli and Fíli burst into Thorin and Bilbo's suite, followed by a third dwarf, moving more cautiously. "Why are you just sitting here alone?"
Bilbo put down the scroll he was reading. "Well, Thorin's busy with his grandfather--"
Kíli sighed and rolled his eyes. "Isn't it tedious? Having to go over treaties and maps--"
"--and the endless meetings," put in Fíli. "Meetings with the Gemcutters Guild and the Woodcutters Guild and the Cooking Guild and the Captain of the Guard, settling all those details and grievances--"
"--No wonder he ran away to the West," concluded Kíli.
"I, uh, I don't think that's why he ran away--I mean, left," said Bilbo. He nodded to the third dwarf, who was standing awkwardly behind Fíli and Kíli. "Gimli, isn't it? Is that shoulder healing?"
Gimli looked surprised to be recognized, then bowed stiffly. "It heals well. It would take more than a coward's dagger to bring down a Guard of Erebor, my Lord."
Bilbo snorted with laughter and Gimli looked at him as if suspicious the laugh were meant for him. "No, just--don't call me 'my Lord.' I'm no lord, I'm just a very ordinary hobbit." Gimli raised an eyebrow, and Bilbo suddenly saw himself as the young dwarf might see him: sitting in the heir's quarters, dressed in the crimson velvet and furs Thorin had insisted on giving him, with the prince's star brooch shining as always at his throat. "I'm--quite ordinary," he finished a bit weakly.
"We told him that, but he didn't seem to believe us," said Fíli. "I mean, not that you're ordinary ordinary at all, but you're just--Bilbo, you know?"
"Yes, uh. What he said," said Bilbo. "Really, just call me Bilbo."
After a moment, Gimli nodded reluctantly. "I am here because the princes were talking about their adventures, my--Bilbo," he said.
"He's still kind of angry because he didn't get to come along," said Fíli.
"We keep telling him that it turned out to be really important he be here to guard the King, but he doesn't listen," added Kíli.
Gimli glowered at the both of them. "Don't condescend to me!" he burst out. "I've hardly had a chance to leave Erebor in my life, and now you've been everywhere while I'm stuck here--"
"--But there's lots of places we haven't been," said Kíli. "Gondor, Dol Amroth, the Orocarni far to the east--"
Gimli's jaw set under his beard. "You mock me, but I will see the world," he growled.
"We're not mocking you at all!" protested Fíli. "We wouldn't do that, would we Kíli?"
Kíli shook his head vigorously; Bilbo had the distinct sense that Gimli had grown up with the brothers teasing him.
"We wouldn't do that, right, Bilbo?" Fíli looked wide-eyed at Bilbo, searching for confirmation.
"Um, well," said Bilbo. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why have you come by to see me?"
Fíli pounced on the change of topic with relief. "We were telling Gimli about your butterscotch biscuits," he said, pronouncing the words like they were foreign. "When we told him that you brought some, he wanted to see if they were as good as we claimed."
Bilbo pulled out his pack. "I don't know if they're going to be as good as they say," he said to Gimli. "But they're definitely better than cram."
He doled out two biscuits to each dwarf and one to himself, smiling as Fíli and Kíli took their time turning the biscuits over in their hands, smelling them, savoring the wait.
Gimli took a bite of his biscuit and his grumbling protests trailed off as his eyes grew wide. "This is--!" He couldn't finish the sentence, but took another bite, sighing with happiness.
When Thorin came back from his meeting, he found three dwarves and one hobbit perched on the edge of the royal four-poster bed, cheerfully consuming butterscotch biscuits. There was a majestic wrath to face--and many crumbs to clean up--before the revelation that Bilbo had saved three biscuits for Thorin managed to mollify him.
Bilbo and Thorin were idly playing dice as they waited in the antechambers of King Thrór's new rooms--the old ones having been abandoned. Bilbo picked up a die and held it up to the lamplight. "If my neighbors could see me, playing with dice carved from sapphires and rubies!" he laughed.
Thorin was about to respond when the door swung open and Óin came out, removing a small listening tube from around his neck. When he saw Thorin, he bowed to him; when he straightened again, there was sadness and compassion in his eyes.
"The King is greatly weakened from his long illness and his cruel treatment," Óin said. "He is well in mind and in no pain, but I fear…" He dropped his eyes again.
"How long?" Thorin hardly recognized his own voice.
"It could be a month. Not much longer."
"May I see him?"
Óin smiled ruefully. "He insisted on it."
Bilbo scooped up the dice and slipped them into a pouch. "Stay with us," Thorin said when he stood to go. "Stay with me."
With a sad half-smile, Bilbo nodded, and they went into the room together.
King Thrór was sitting by the fireplace, dressed in his brocaded robes lined with ermine. He stood as Thorin approached, still able to tower over him, but Thorin's heart wrenched when he forced himself for the first time to see just how pale the king looked, as if his spirit were stretched thin.
"Grandfather," said Thorin as Bilbo bowed deeply.
Thrór came close and put his hands on Thorin's shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes. "Oh, child," he said after a moment. "I am sorry."
At the words, Thorin felt a sob shake him; he dragged a sleeve across his face, feeling suddenly terribly young. "I just thought--" he stammered, "I just thought that I would be able to save you." He heard a tiny hiccoughing sniffle from behind him but could not bear to turn and look at Bilbo.
"Thorin," said Thrór. "Look at me."
Thorin looked up and met his eyes, his vision of his grandfather fracturing like the facets of a diamond.
"You saved me," Thrór said. "You pulled me from darkness and madness, you gave me back my throne, my mind, my very soul. I shall go to the halls of our fathers unbroken and whole, and shall stand there proudly." He clapped Thorin on the shoulders. "And I depart knowing that Erebor is in good hands." He smiled, the smile Thorin remembered from when he was a small child and his grandfather would give him a bit of sweet behind his father's back, and reached out to brush the tears from Thorin's face. "And now, my heir, we must discuss relations with Dain Ironfoot. His emissaries will arrive here next week and we must be ready to receive them." He glanced over Thorin's shoulder and smiled again, this one more polite and formal. "We shall not detain you, Mr. Baggins."
"Oh," said Bilbo. "If you don't mind, I'd...I'd like to stay near Thorin. I promise I won't be a bother."
Thrór's smile warmed slightly. "If you do not fear we will bore you beyond bearing, you are welcome to stay."
They talked and planned for hours, and eventually Bilbo fell asleep curled up like a child in one of the ceremonial armchairs. Thrór cast his grandson an amused look as gentle snores came from the chair, but said nothing.
"What? I'm awake! I'm not bored!" Bilbo jerked upward as Thorin shook his shoulder gently.
"The King has retired for the evening," said Thorin, crossing the room to put another log on the fire. "I have sent for dinner to be sent to our rooms. Shall we go and dine?"
"I'm...sorry about your grandfather," Bilbo said as they left the room and walked down the hall. He was getting used to the splendors of Erebor, but he still sometimes became distracted by a hidden carving of intricate detail or a flashing gem placed precisely to catch the light.
Thorin was silent a moment. "I did not think to become king so soon," he said. "Even after my grandfather was gone, I thought that my father--" He broke off and shook his head.
They walked wordlessly for a time, and then Bilbo broke the silence. "I was wondering--what did he mean, 'go to the halls of our fathers?' Is there a journey he'll have to take before…"
Thorin shot him an odd look out of the corner of his eye. "He will go to Zelem-dûm, to the place prepared for him."
"Oh." Bilbo nodded. "How far is it? Is it a long journey? Will he have to leave soon? Because I have to say I'm not sure his health is good enough for a long trip right now. Will you have to go with him?"
"How far--" Thorin stopped walking and looked at Bilbo. "Sometimes I forget how ignorant hobbits are."
"Well!" Bilbo bounced on his toes at the affront. "Haughty words from the person who assumed that heart's-ease was some kind of...magical wishing glass."
Thorin looked annoyed. He opened his mouth, then stopped, considering. "You make a valid point," he said, and only a trifle grudgingly. "Forgive me; I meant merely of the deep history of Middle Earth, of the forming of the world and the titanic events of legend."
"Oh." Bilbo shrugged. "To be honest, I don't think hobbits much care about ancient grudges or great battles. And we're not too worried about how the world got here, we're more interested in how we live on it now that it's here, you know?"
A wry expression ghosted across Thorin's face. "I must admit there may well be...advantages to that view," he said.
"All right, all right," said Bilbo. "Now that we've established that I'm an uneducated oaf--" He laughed at Thorin's expression, waving his hands to show he wasn't upset, "--explain to me what this Zelem-dûm is."
Thorin gazed at him for a long time; so long indeed that Bilbo began to feel uneasy. "Let us discuss it over dinner," he said at last, and turned away.
"When dwarves die," Thorin said soon after as he poured Bilbo a glass of wine, "Our bodies stay here in Middle Earth, but our spirits are taken to the Halls of the West, to Zelem-dûm. There we sleep in bodies of stone, cherished under our Maker's watch until the day when the world will be broken and evil destroyed--because you know elves and men can't manage that without making an impossible mess," he added with a smirk. "Then we shall come forth and be reunited with our loved ones and work together to rebuild the new world. So you see, for dwarves death is a sad parting, but it is not forever." He took a sip of his wine and gazed into the fire, not looking at Bilbo. "Is it not so for hobbits?"
"We--hobbits don't know what happens to us when we die," Bilbo said. "We actually don't think about it very much."
"Then you must share the Gift of Men," said Thorin. "For men are not tethered to this world as elves and dwarves are; they pass beyond it and their fate is a mystery."
Bilbo took a bite of bread. Thorin still wasn't looking at him. "Maybe we go to this western place and we just don't know it. Maybe it's like all that history, and we just didn't keep records of it."
Thorin shook his head. "This is not knowledge from a book," he said. "It is something we are born knowing, just as you never learn you need to breathe or how to sleep. Every dwarf knows their fate, and from my readings every elf knows in their soul that they are tied always to this world." He took another long swallow of wine, and Bilbo saw his throat work. "One day you will pass beyond all our ken, to a fate none know, and the earth will be utterly without you."
He looked at Bilbo then, and he smiled.
"The gods give strange gifts, do they not?" he said, and changed the topic.
Bilbo blinked as the gates swung open and sunlight streamed into Erebor. He hadn't been in direct sunlight in--oh, it must be weeks now, he realized as he kicked his pony into a trot to catch up with Thorin's. The southern road was busy with carts and horses carrying dwarves and men, streaming between Dale and Erebor.
"It's bigger than Bree?" Bilbo asked a trifle nervously.
"Much bigger," said Thorin. "Full of vendors that sell everything under the sun, artisans and grocers, jugglers and minstrels."
"It sounds...crowded," said Bilbo. "Why are we going?"
"I have not seen the Lord of Dale since my return, and I must pay my respects." A quick, sidelong smile. "And I thought perhaps you would welcome the chance to be under the sky once more." The smile slid away. "I shall not be free to pay such spontaneous visits much longer."
Dale was indeed larger than Bree, but its cobbled streets were wider and cleaner than that city's, and they moved easily through the streets without being jostled. Thorin pulled his hood up to hide his face from curious eyes, but most people were more curious about the hobbit than the long-absent prince. They bought skewers of spicy meat and nibbled as they watched a puppet show performed for a crowd of laughing human and dwarf children--the story of the Island of Fools. The puppets capered in ribald burlesque, and at the end the island sank into an impressively-realistic sea of waving cloth, to the applause of the audience.
Bilbo bought Thorin a soft velvet cap that matched his eyes, and Thorin bought Bilbo a leather pouch stamped with stylized flowers, and as the sun was starting to sink in the sky, they made their way to the main hall of Dale.
"May I help you?" asked an officious-looking man with ink-stained fingers as they walked in.
Thorin bowed politely and Bilbo echoed him. "Would you inform the lord Bard that Thorin of Erebor, grandson of King Thrór, has come to pay him a visit?"
The clerk's eyes widened and he hurried from the room. Moments later a surprisingly young man with long dark hair, clad in simple clothing, entered. "My Lord Thorin," he said. "I am Bard: be welcome in Dale."
"It is a pleasure to meet you," said Thorin, and Bard smiled slightly.
"I met you once before, my Lord. You came to speak to my father after--after you left Erebor. I was playing with toy soldiers in his office, and you took a moment and greeted me. I asked my father who you were, later, and he said 'He is a prince, and none shall tell me otherwise.'" Bard inclined his head. "I am pleased that you have your rightful place once more."
"I was grieved to hear of your father's death," said Thorin. "He was a good man."
"I try to live up to his name," said Bard.
Thorin moved to indicate Bilbo, who stepped forward, feeling awkward. "May I introduce to you my husband, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He is--what is the matter?"
Bilbo was rather certain he looked as if he had been hit over the head with a rock. "Husband?" he squeaked.
Thorin frowned. "Will you pardon us for a moment?" he said to Bard, who nodded, looking vaguely amused. Thorin pulled Bilbo into a corner. "Did I introduce you incorrectly?" He looked worried. "We have not your 'calling cards' here, so--"
"You called me your husband," Bilbo said, blinking rapidly.
Thorin grimaced. "Is that not the correct word? Or--" His look of worry deepened into something close to panic. "Perhaps I have made an incorrect assumption. It means the male person with whom you are--" He broke off and growled something about 'cursed translations,' "--with whom you are bound in love? Does that not...apply? I thought I had made my feelings clear."
"No, that's--" Bilbo looked over at Bard, who was reading over some paperwork with intense concentration. "That is what it means. And it applies, certainly. Of course. Without a doubt. It's just that...usually we don't call someone our husband until after a wedding."
Mingled relief and exasperation replaced the worry on Thorin's face. "That custom! It is so important? You are not my husband until someone else says you are? Who gets to decide something like that if not the people involved?" He shook his head. "Of all the strange customs I have heard, that truly gilds the topaz."
Bilbo blinked; Thorin tended to lapse into dwarvish idiom when he was nervous, but it seemed that matched with the Westron "takes the cake."
Thorin grumbled and tugged on his beard. "So if I cannot call you my husband, how shall I introduce you? My lover? My beloved?"
Bilbo felt himself blushing right up to the roots of his hair. "I...I don't think hobbits introduce anyone that way," he stammered. "How about friend? Or comrade? Companion?"
"Faugh!" Thorin looked disgusted. "Those are all correct, but none is sufficient. Your name will have to suffice--and the obviously high regard I have of you." He turned back to Bard, who looked up from his paperwork with a clear "I was absolutely not listening to you" look on his face. "Lord Bard, may I introduce to you Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire, whom I hold in the highest of esteem. The very highest of esteem," he added pointedly as Bard bowed to Bilbo.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baggins," said Bard, and there was only the slightest smile at the corners of his mouth. "And I hope His Majesty the King is recovering."
"The King is dying," Thorin said with no preamble, but Bilbo could see how uttering the words shook him to the core. "If you wish to pay him your respects, you must come soon."
Bard sat down heavily. "I grieve to hear it," he said. "The last years have been hard, but he ruled well and wisely for long decades." He looked at Thorin. "I thank you for coming in person to give me this news. I shall travel to Erebor within the week to see him."
They spoke of other things, of trade treaties and garrisons, and now Bard spoke to Thorin as one who would be soon a fellow ruler.
Bilbo watched Thorin's shoulders settle under the weight of that regard, and he grieved for more than the King.
The door to the King's chambers opened slowly, and all the peoples waiting in the audience hall looked up. Bilbo saw Gimli rose to his feet to stand by his father as Thorin stepped from the rooms. He took a step forward and leaned heavily for a moment on the doorjamb; behind him Bilbo caught a glimpse of Dís, her jaw set, and Balin, tears running freely down his face and into his beard.
Then Thorin straightened and squared his shoulders, stepped forward into the hall.
"The King Under the Mountain, the Lord of Erebor, Thrór, is dead," he said.
"The King is dead," cried Gimli. "Long live the King!" And he dropped to one knee before Thorin.
"Long live the King!" echoed all of the assembly, a great cry that shook the mountain, and they bowed down. All around him Bilbo could hear the rustling of cloth and the creaking of leather as the dwarves of Erebor knelt. Next to him, Dori went to his knees, his arm around his little brother the scribe, who was weeping. Even Balin and Fíli and Kíli, standing behind him, even Dís, knelt before the new King Under the Mountain.
Only Bilbo remained standing, alone of all the people there. His knees seemed unable to bend, frozen in place by the mute misery of Thorin's eyes.
Thorin looked at him for a long moment, then stepped close to him. He put one hand on Bilbo's shoulder and leaned near.
"Do you remember," he murmured, "In Annuminas, when you told me I did not seem very princely to you?"
"I remember," Bilbo said, and then could say no more.
"I shall miss those days, and wandering the wide world with you," said Thorin. "My comrade, my companion, my friend."
The days lengthened still more, and soft rains fell, until all the outside world was covered in a mist of green budding leaves.
And one day Thorin could not find Bilbo, and so at last he went up the back tunnel that led to the little swath of soil perched on the flanks of Erebor.
Bilbo was there, staring at a patch of ground that had been tilled and kept clear of weeds. All around him purple rockcress sprouted from the cracks in the boulders, and a gnarled cherry tree above him had burst into blossom, but the scrap of garden lay empty and barren.
"I brought some viola seeds," said Bilbo as Thorin drew near. "I planted them here. I didn't think--I knew it wasn't likely, but--" He dragged his sleeve roughly across his face. "I just thought maybe."
"Some things do not thrive in rocky ground," said Thorin.
"Not even if they want to?"
"Not even if they want to."
They stood and looked at the bare ground, and beyond it at the lands to the West, blooming under the touch of spring. A thrush landed in the cherry tree and a shower of petals rained down. Bilbo's shoulders were shaking, and Thorin took his cloak and flung it around them both, drawing Bilbo to sit on a rock at his side.
"We dwarves have a tale," he said. "It is a secret tale, but I shall share it with you now. It concerns Mahal--but for this telling I shall call him by his Elvish name, Aule, for that is the name Yavanna knows him by."
"Yavanna?" Bilbo's voice was a small thing, a tiny spark of light.
"Yes, Yavanna, she who loves all growing things, all plants and trees and animals. They met in the crafting of the Great Music, before the world ever came to be. Many of the Valar came together in this crafting, and found one who sang the same tune as they, and pledged themselves forever. So met Manwe and Varda, and Tulkas and Nessa, and even dark Namo and Vaire the Weaver, singing in unison their great themes. But Aule and Yavanna's meeting was otherwise: for they sang different songs; and yet they found that when they sang together the result was sweet indeed. So they of all the Valar first created harmony, and found that with differences can come greater beauty, greater joy, greater love."
He plucked a single white petal from Bilbo's hair and held it out to him; Bilbo took it with a watery smile.
"And when the world was made, and the first spring came, Yavanna bid Aule farewell. 'I must go while the earth is full of life and beauty, I cannot stay here trapped in stone,' she said.
"But Aule said, 'The beauty you hold so dear will wither and fade. Stay with me here, among the unchanging glory of emeralds and sapphires, and seek not the fleeting beauty of leaves and flowers.' But she could not stay, and so she kissed him farewell and wandered far from his halls, walking with her feet bare against the earth, glorying in its changing seasons and all its life, yet missing her chosen partner all the while. And Aule was sorrowful, but dedicated his days to crafting great beauty, and their hearts stayed with each other always.
"When winter came, and the trees grew bare and all the blossoms fell, then Yavanna came back weeping to the halls of Aule. And he comforted her, and showed her the beauteous things he had made to distract her and make her laugh, and their love blossomed anew among the snows until the spring came once more."
Thorin pulled the cloak closer around the both of them and went on: "And so it is always with them, that they are separated for long seasons, and yet their love stays true and steady, unshaken by distance or time. Among us there are couples sworn in love who are so, who see each other but rarely and who will spend months or even years apart, yet their hearts remain steadfast. These we call the Valar-touched, for their love is a sacred thing."
"Valar-touched." Bilbo chuckled quietly. "Well, the folks at home will certainly agree with the 'touched' part at least, I suspect."
"Perhaps--" Thorin heard the hoarseness in his own voice and broke off for a moment, then forged ahead. "Perhaps in some other world, we might have had more."
Then Bilbo turned to him, and his smile was merry and true and only slightly sad, and he kissed him, saying,
"But certainly, in some other world, we could have had so much less."
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, Dís, Thror, Gimli, Bard
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4300
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: Winter turns into spring in Erebor: bittersweet times as the days grow longer and different partings draw near.
The days grew longer and the sunlight warmer, although few noticed it deep in the living, beating heart of Erebor. There was so much work to be done, so much to be set right. So much to do and so much to learn, and for a while it seemed like they had all the time in the world.
"Bilbo!" Kíli and Fíli burst into Thorin and Bilbo's suite, followed by a third dwarf, moving more cautiously. "Why are you just sitting here alone?"
Bilbo put down the scroll he was reading. "Well, Thorin's busy with his grandfather--"
Kíli sighed and rolled his eyes. "Isn't it tedious? Having to go over treaties and maps--"
"--and the endless meetings," put in Fíli. "Meetings with the Gemcutters Guild and the Woodcutters Guild and the Cooking Guild and the Captain of the Guard, settling all those details and grievances--"
"--No wonder he ran away to the West," concluded Kíli.
"I, uh, I don't think that's why he ran away--I mean, left," said Bilbo. He nodded to the third dwarf, who was standing awkwardly behind Fíli and Kíli. "Gimli, isn't it? Is that shoulder healing?"
Gimli looked surprised to be recognized, then bowed stiffly. "It heals well. It would take more than a coward's dagger to bring down a Guard of Erebor, my Lord."
Bilbo snorted with laughter and Gimli looked at him as if suspicious the laugh were meant for him. "No, just--don't call me 'my Lord.' I'm no lord, I'm just a very ordinary hobbit." Gimli raised an eyebrow, and Bilbo suddenly saw himself as the young dwarf might see him: sitting in the heir's quarters, dressed in the crimson velvet and furs Thorin had insisted on giving him, with the prince's star brooch shining as always at his throat. "I'm--quite ordinary," he finished a bit weakly.
"We told him that, but he didn't seem to believe us," said Fíli. "I mean, not that you're ordinary ordinary at all, but you're just--Bilbo, you know?"
"Yes, uh. What he said," said Bilbo. "Really, just call me Bilbo."
After a moment, Gimli nodded reluctantly. "I am here because the princes were talking about their adventures, my--Bilbo," he said.
"He's still kind of angry because he didn't get to come along," said Fíli.
"We keep telling him that it turned out to be really important he be here to guard the King, but he doesn't listen," added Kíli.
Gimli glowered at the both of them. "Don't condescend to me!" he burst out. "I've hardly had a chance to leave Erebor in my life, and now you've been everywhere while I'm stuck here--"
"--But there's lots of places we haven't been," said Kíli. "Gondor, Dol Amroth, the Orocarni far to the east--"
Gimli's jaw set under his beard. "You mock me, but I will see the world," he growled.
"We're not mocking you at all!" protested Fíli. "We wouldn't do that, would we Kíli?"
Kíli shook his head vigorously; Bilbo had the distinct sense that Gimli had grown up with the brothers teasing him.
"We wouldn't do that, right, Bilbo?" Fíli looked wide-eyed at Bilbo, searching for confirmation.
"Um, well," said Bilbo. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why have you come by to see me?"
Fíli pounced on the change of topic with relief. "We were telling Gimli about your butterscotch biscuits," he said, pronouncing the words like they were foreign. "When we told him that you brought some, he wanted to see if they were as good as we claimed."
Bilbo pulled out his pack. "I don't know if they're going to be as good as they say," he said to Gimli. "But they're definitely better than cram."
He doled out two biscuits to each dwarf and one to himself, smiling as Fíli and Kíli took their time turning the biscuits over in their hands, smelling them, savoring the wait.
Gimli took a bite of his biscuit and his grumbling protests trailed off as his eyes grew wide. "This is--!" He couldn't finish the sentence, but took another bite, sighing with happiness.
When Thorin came back from his meeting, he found three dwarves and one hobbit perched on the edge of the royal four-poster bed, cheerfully consuming butterscotch biscuits. There was a majestic wrath to face--and many crumbs to clean up--before the revelation that Bilbo had saved three biscuits for Thorin managed to mollify him.
Bilbo and Thorin were idly playing dice as they waited in the antechambers of King Thrór's new rooms--the old ones having been abandoned. Bilbo picked up a die and held it up to the lamplight. "If my neighbors could see me, playing with dice carved from sapphires and rubies!" he laughed.
Thorin was about to respond when the door swung open and Óin came out, removing a small listening tube from around his neck. When he saw Thorin, he bowed to him; when he straightened again, there was sadness and compassion in his eyes.
"The King is greatly weakened from his long illness and his cruel treatment," Óin said. "He is well in mind and in no pain, but I fear…" He dropped his eyes again.
"How long?" Thorin hardly recognized his own voice.
"It could be a month. Not much longer."
"May I see him?"
Óin smiled ruefully. "He insisted on it."
Bilbo scooped up the dice and slipped them into a pouch. "Stay with us," Thorin said when he stood to go. "Stay with me."
With a sad half-smile, Bilbo nodded, and they went into the room together.
King Thrór was sitting by the fireplace, dressed in his brocaded robes lined with ermine. He stood as Thorin approached, still able to tower over him, but Thorin's heart wrenched when he forced himself for the first time to see just how pale the king looked, as if his spirit were stretched thin.
"Grandfather," said Thorin as Bilbo bowed deeply.
Thrór came close and put his hands on Thorin's shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes. "Oh, child," he said after a moment. "I am sorry."
At the words, Thorin felt a sob shake him; he dragged a sleeve across his face, feeling suddenly terribly young. "I just thought--" he stammered, "I just thought that I would be able to save you." He heard a tiny hiccoughing sniffle from behind him but could not bear to turn and look at Bilbo.
"Thorin," said Thrór. "Look at me."
Thorin looked up and met his eyes, his vision of his grandfather fracturing like the facets of a diamond.
"You saved me," Thrór said. "You pulled me from darkness and madness, you gave me back my throne, my mind, my very soul. I shall go to the halls of our fathers unbroken and whole, and shall stand there proudly." He clapped Thorin on the shoulders. "And I depart knowing that Erebor is in good hands." He smiled, the smile Thorin remembered from when he was a small child and his grandfather would give him a bit of sweet behind his father's back, and reached out to brush the tears from Thorin's face. "And now, my heir, we must discuss relations with Dain Ironfoot. His emissaries will arrive here next week and we must be ready to receive them." He glanced over Thorin's shoulder and smiled again, this one more polite and formal. "We shall not detain you, Mr. Baggins."
"Oh," said Bilbo. "If you don't mind, I'd...I'd like to stay near Thorin. I promise I won't be a bother."
Thrór's smile warmed slightly. "If you do not fear we will bore you beyond bearing, you are welcome to stay."
They talked and planned for hours, and eventually Bilbo fell asleep curled up like a child in one of the ceremonial armchairs. Thrór cast his grandson an amused look as gentle snores came from the chair, but said nothing.
"What? I'm awake! I'm not bored!" Bilbo jerked upward as Thorin shook his shoulder gently.
"The King has retired for the evening," said Thorin, crossing the room to put another log on the fire. "I have sent for dinner to be sent to our rooms. Shall we go and dine?"
"I'm...sorry about your grandfather," Bilbo said as they left the room and walked down the hall. He was getting used to the splendors of Erebor, but he still sometimes became distracted by a hidden carving of intricate detail or a flashing gem placed precisely to catch the light.
Thorin was silent a moment. "I did not think to become king so soon," he said. "Even after my grandfather was gone, I thought that my father--" He broke off and shook his head.
They walked wordlessly for a time, and then Bilbo broke the silence. "I was wondering--what did he mean, 'go to the halls of our fathers?' Is there a journey he'll have to take before…"
Thorin shot him an odd look out of the corner of his eye. "He will go to Zelem-dûm, to the place prepared for him."
"Oh." Bilbo nodded. "How far is it? Is it a long journey? Will he have to leave soon? Because I have to say I'm not sure his health is good enough for a long trip right now. Will you have to go with him?"
"How far--" Thorin stopped walking and looked at Bilbo. "Sometimes I forget how ignorant hobbits are."
"Well!" Bilbo bounced on his toes at the affront. "Haughty words from the person who assumed that heart's-ease was some kind of...magical wishing glass."
Thorin looked annoyed. He opened his mouth, then stopped, considering. "You make a valid point," he said, and only a trifle grudgingly. "Forgive me; I meant merely of the deep history of Middle Earth, of the forming of the world and the titanic events of legend."
"Oh." Bilbo shrugged. "To be honest, I don't think hobbits much care about ancient grudges or great battles. And we're not too worried about how the world got here, we're more interested in how we live on it now that it's here, you know?"
A wry expression ghosted across Thorin's face. "I must admit there may well be...advantages to that view," he said.
"All right, all right," said Bilbo. "Now that we've established that I'm an uneducated oaf--" He laughed at Thorin's expression, waving his hands to show he wasn't upset, "--explain to me what this Zelem-dûm is."
Thorin gazed at him for a long time; so long indeed that Bilbo began to feel uneasy. "Let us discuss it over dinner," he said at last, and turned away.
"When dwarves die," Thorin said soon after as he poured Bilbo a glass of wine, "Our bodies stay here in Middle Earth, but our spirits are taken to the Halls of the West, to Zelem-dûm. There we sleep in bodies of stone, cherished under our Maker's watch until the day when the world will be broken and evil destroyed--because you know elves and men can't manage that without making an impossible mess," he added with a smirk. "Then we shall come forth and be reunited with our loved ones and work together to rebuild the new world. So you see, for dwarves death is a sad parting, but it is not forever." He took a sip of his wine and gazed into the fire, not looking at Bilbo. "Is it not so for hobbits?"
"We--hobbits don't know what happens to us when we die," Bilbo said. "We actually don't think about it very much."
"Then you must share the Gift of Men," said Thorin. "For men are not tethered to this world as elves and dwarves are; they pass beyond it and their fate is a mystery."
Bilbo took a bite of bread. Thorin still wasn't looking at him. "Maybe we go to this western place and we just don't know it. Maybe it's like all that history, and we just didn't keep records of it."
Thorin shook his head. "This is not knowledge from a book," he said. "It is something we are born knowing, just as you never learn you need to breathe or how to sleep. Every dwarf knows their fate, and from my readings every elf knows in their soul that they are tied always to this world." He took another long swallow of wine, and Bilbo saw his throat work. "One day you will pass beyond all our ken, to a fate none know, and the earth will be utterly without you."
He looked at Bilbo then, and he smiled.
"The gods give strange gifts, do they not?" he said, and changed the topic.
Bilbo blinked as the gates swung open and sunlight streamed into Erebor. He hadn't been in direct sunlight in--oh, it must be weeks now, he realized as he kicked his pony into a trot to catch up with Thorin's. The southern road was busy with carts and horses carrying dwarves and men, streaming between Dale and Erebor.
"It's bigger than Bree?" Bilbo asked a trifle nervously.
"Much bigger," said Thorin. "Full of vendors that sell everything under the sun, artisans and grocers, jugglers and minstrels."
"It sounds...crowded," said Bilbo. "Why are we going?"
"I have not seen the Lord of Dale since my return, and I must pay my respects." A quick, sidelong smile. "And I thought perhaps you would welcome the chance to be under the sky once more." The smile slid away. "I shall not be free to pay such spontaneous visits much longer."
Dale was indeed larger than Bree, but its cobbled streets were wider and cleaner than that city's, and they moved easily through the streets without being jostled. Thorin pulled his hood up to hide his face from curious eyes, but most people were more curious about the hobbit than the long-absent prince. They bought skewers of spicy meat and nibbled as they watched a puppet show performed for a crowd of laughing human and dwarf children--the story of the Island of Fools. The puppets capered in ribald burlesque, and at the end the island sank into an impressively-realistic sea of waving cloth, to the applause of the audience.
Bilbo bought Thorin a soft velvet cap that matched his eyes, and Thorin bought Bilbo a leather pouch stamped with stylized flowers, and as the sun was starting to sink in the sky, they made their way to the main hall of Dale.
"May I help you?" asked an officious-looking man with ink-stained fingers as they walked in.
Thorin bowed politely and Bilbo echoed him. "Would you inform the lord Bard that Thorin of Erebor, grandson of King Thrór, has come to pay him a visit?"
The clerk's eyes widened and he hurried from the room. Moments later a surprisingly young man with long dark hair, clad in simple clothing, entered. "My Lord Thorin," he said. "I am Bard: be welcome in Dale."
"It is a pleasure to meet you," said Thorin, and Bard smiled slightly.
"I met you once before, my Lord. You came to speak to my father after--after you left Erebor. I was playing with toy soldiers in his office, and you took a moment and greeted me. I asked my father who you were, later, and he said 'He is a prince, and none shall tell me otherwise.'" Bard inclined his head. "I am pleased that you have your rightful place once more."
"I was grieved to hear of your father's death," said Thorin. "He was a good man."
"I try to live up to his name," said Bard.
Thorin moved to indicate Bilbo, who stepped forward, feeling awkward. "May I introduce to you my husband, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He is--what is the matter?"
Bilbo was rather certain he looked as if he had been hit over the head with a rock. "Husband?" he squeaked.
Thorin frowned. "Will you pardon us for a moment?" he said to Bard, who nodded, looking vaguely amused. Thorin pulled Bilbo into a corner. "Did I introduce you incorrectly?" He looked worried. "We have not your 'calling cards' here, so--"
"You called me your husband," Bilbo said, blinking rapidly.
Thorin grimaced. "Is that not the correct word? Or--" His look of worry deepened into something close to panic. "Perhaps I have made an incorrect assumption. It means the male person with whom you are--" He broke off and growled something about 'cursed translations,' "--with whom you are bound in love? Does that not...apply? I thought I had made my feelings clear."
"No, that's--" Bilbo looked over at Bard, who was reading over some paperwork with intense concentration. "That is what it means. And it applies, certainly. Of course. Without a doubt. It's just that...usually we don't call someone our husband until after a wedding."
Mingled relief and exasperation replaced the worry on Thorin's face. "That custom! It is so important? You are not my husband until someone else says you are? Who gets to decide something like that if not the people involved?" He shook his head. "Of all the strange customs I have heard, that truly gilds the topaz."
Bilbo blinked; Thorin tended to lapse into dwarvish idiom when he was nervous, but it seemed that matched with the Westron "takes the cake."
Thorin grumbled and tugged on his beard. "So if I cannot call you my husband, how shall I introduce you? My lover? My beloved?"
Bilbo felt himself blushing right up to the roots of his hair. "I...I don't think hobbits introduce anyone that way," he stammered. "How about friend? Or comrade? Companion?"
"Faugh!" Thorin looked disgusted. "Those are all correct, but none is sufficient. Your name will have to suffice--and the obviously high regard I have of you." He turned back to Bard, who looked up from his paperwork with a clear "I was absolutely not listening to you" look on his face. "Lord Bard, may I introduce to you Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire, whom I hold in the highest of esteem. The very highest of esteem," he added pointedly as Bard bowed to Bilbo.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Baggins," said Bard, and there was only the slightest smile at the corners of his mouth. "And I hope His Majesty the King is recovering."
"The King is dying," Thorin said with no preamble, but Bilbo could see how uttering the words shook him to the core. "If you wish to pay him your respects, you must come soon."
Bard sat down heavily. "I grieve to hear it," he said. "The last years have been hard, but he ruled well and wisely for long decades." He looked at Thorin. "I thank you for coming in person to give me this news. I shall travel to Erebor within the week to see him."
They spoke of other things, of trade treaties and garrisons, and now Bard spoke to Thorin as one who would be soon a fellow ruler.
Bilbo watched Thorin's shoulders settle under the weight of that regard, and he grieved for more than the King.
The door to the King's chambers opened slowly, and all the peoples waiting in the audience hall looked up. Bilbo saw Gimli rose to his feet to stand by his father as Thorin stepped from the rooms. He took a step forward and leaned heavily for a moment on the doorjamb; behind him Bilbo caught a glimpse of Dís, her jaw set, and Balin, tears running freely down his face and into his beard.
Then Thorin straightened and squared his shoulders, stepped forward into the hall.
"The King Under the Mountain, the Lord of Erebor, Thrór, is dead," he said.
"The King is dead," cried Gimli. "Long live the King!" And he dropped to one knee before Thorin.
"Long live the King!" echoed all of the assembly, a great cry that shook the mountain, and they bowed down. All around him Bilbo could hear the rustling of cloth and the creaking of leather as the dwarves of Erebor knelt. Next to him, Dori went to his knees, his arm around his little brother the scribe, who was weeping. Even Balin and Fíli and Kíli, standing behind him, even Dís, knelt before the new King Under the Mountain.
Only Bilbo remained standing, alone of all the people there. His knees seemed unable to bend, frozen in place by the mute misery of Thorin's eyes.
Thorin looked at him for a long moment, then stepped close to him. He put one hand on Bilbo's shoulder and leaned near.
"Do you remember," he murmured, "In Annuminas, when you told me I did not seem very princely to you?"
"I remember," Bilbo said, and then could say no more.
"I shall miss those days, and wandering the wide world with you," said Thorin. "My comrade, my companion, my friend."
The days lengthened still more, and soft rains fell, until all the outside world was covered in a mist of green budding leaves.
And one day Thorin could not find Bilbo, and so at last he went up the back tunnel that led to the little swath of soil perched on the flanks of Erebor.
Bilbo was there, staring at a patch of ground that had been tilled and kept clear of weeds. All around him purple rockcress sprouted from the cracks in the boulders, and a gnarled cherry tree above him had burst into blossom, but the scrap of garden lay empty and barren.
"I brought some viola seeds," said Bilbo as Thorin drew near. "I planted them here. I didn't think--I knew it wasn't likely, but--" He dragged his sleeve roughly across his face. "I just thought maybe."
"Some things do not thrive in rocky ground," said Thorin.
"Not even if they want to?"
"Not even if they want to."
They stood and looked at the bare ground, and beyond it at the lands to the West, blooming under the touch of spring. A thrush landed in the cherry tree and a shower of petals rained down. Bilbo's shoulders were shaking, and Thorin took his cloak and flung it around them both, drawing Bilbo to sit on a rock at his side.
"We dwarves have a tale," he said. "It is a secret tale, but I shall share it with you now. It concerns Mahal--but for this telling I shall call him by his Elvish name, Aule, for that is the name Yavanna knows him by."
"Yavanna?" Bilbo's voice was a small thing, a tiny spark of light.
"Yes, Yavanna, she who loves all growing things, all plants and trees and animals. They met in the crafting of the Great Music, before the world ever came to be. Many of the Valar came together in this crafting, and found one who sang the same tune as they, and pledged themselves forever. So met Manwe and Varda, and Tulkas and Nessa, and even dark Namo and Vaire the Weaver, singing in unison their great themes. But Aule and Yavanna's meeting was otherwise: for they sang different songs; and yet they found that when they sang together the result was sweet indeed. So they of all the Valar first created harmony, and found that with differences can come greater beauty, greater joy, greater love."
He plucked a single white petal from Bilbo's hair and held it out to him; Bilbo took it with a watery smile.
"And when the world was made, and the first spring came, Yavanna bid Aule farewell. 'I must go while the earth is full of life and beauty, I cannot stay here trapped in stone,' she said.
"But Aule said, 'The beauty you hold so dear will wither and fade. Stay with me here, among the unchanging glory of emeralds and sapphires, and seek not the fleeting beauty of leaves and flowers.' But she could not stay, and so she kissed him farewell and wandered far from his halls, walking with her feet bare against the earth, glorying in its changing seasons and all its life, yet missing her chosen partner all the while. And Aule was sorrowful, but dedicated his days to crafting great beauty, and their hearts stayed with each other always.
"When winter came, and the trees grew bare and all the blossoms fell, then Yavanna came back weeping to the halls of Aule. And he comforted her, and showed her the beauteous things he had made to distract her and make her laugh, and their love blossomed anew among the snows until the spring came once more."
Thorin pulled the cloak closer around the both of them and went on: "And so it is always with them, that they are separated for long seasons, and yet their love stays true and steady, unshaken by distance or time. Among us there are couples sworn in love who are so, who see each other but rarely and who will spend months or even years apart, yet their hearts remain steadfast. These we call the Valar-touched, for their love is a sacred thing."
"Valar-touched." Bilbo chuckled quietly. "Well, the folks at home will certainly agree with the 'touched' part at least, I suspect."
"Perhaps--" Thorin heard the hoarseness in his own voice and broke off for a moment, then forged ahead. "Perhaps in some other world, we might have had more."
Then Bilbo turned to him, and his smile was merry and true and only slightly sad, and he kissed him, saying,
"But certainly, in some other world, we could have had so much less."