Clarity of Purpose, Chapter 9
Title: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 9
Chapter Summary: The Council of Khazad-dûm continues, but tempers flare. Thorin has a plan, but Saruman believes it requires too high a cost...
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf, Balin, Dwalin, Saruman, Arwen, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Theoden, Denethor, Galadriel
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2300
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
Bilbo sat in his small chair, pushed back slightly behind Thorin and Balin’s, and watched Thorin pace in front of the council table. He had not called on Bilbo to place to Ring on display again, and for that Bilbo was profoundly grateful.
“From the Anduin, it seems that the Ring passed into the roots of the Misty Mountains,” Thorin was explaining to the Council, “where it was picked up by the creature known as Gollum. What exactly this Gollum is remains a mystery, but it seems he possessed the Ring for many thousands of years, hiding with it in the shadows and depths of the mountains.”
“What manner of being lives for so long?” asked Théoden. “Was he some kind of elf, then?”
“I think not,” said Thorin. He frowned down at the table. “I believe he was...some forerunner of the hobbits, from a time before they crossed the Misty Mountains and traveled to the Shire.”
“A hobbit?” Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone turned to look at him, and he realized it was the first time he had spoken in the Council. Too late to call back the words now, although he keenly wished he could. “I’m afraid hobbits are not known for living for thousands of years,” he stammered instead.
Thorin’s gaze upon him was affectionate, but there was a melancholy hovering around his mouth. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But it appears that one of the qualities of the Ring is that it...prolongs the life of its bearer.”
“Oh.” Bilbo blinked at Thorin, remembering compliments received from his friends and relatives: You look so young!...Haven’t aged a day...so hale and hearty for your age… “I...I see.” He remembered Gollum’s skittering form and felt faint nausea touch his throat.
“And so Gollum lurked deep beneath the mountains, until the day that Bilbo and I came across him and took the Ring from him,” Thorin went on, turning away and gathering everyone’s gazes up with him, to Bilbo’s relief. “The Ring could make Bilbo invisible, but it had no effect on me--or so it seemed.” He swallowed hard. “I carried it with me for some weeks, and in that time I slipped deeply into an illness that affects my people. I did not realize until years later that it was the Ring that was exacerbating my illness, turning it to its own ends. And in the depths of Moria, when we were captives of the white orc, Azog, I...gave it to Bilbo to aid his escape.” He looked then at Bilbo, and his eyes were full of grief and guilt. Bilbo couldn’t seem to look away from him, even when he heard the abrupt grating of a chair.
”Gave it--” Saruman’s voice was a bark of disbelief as he stood, towering over Thorin. “You expect me to believe that you possessed the One Ring of Sauron, and you gave it up freely? Impossible!”
“I assure you it is true,” said Gandalf, and Saruman swung to stare at him. “I have talked at length with Thorin about his experiences, and--”
“You have talked at length with Thorin Oakenshield? Truly, this is a day of revelations,” Saruman announced. His mouth was set in a grim line. “And how long have the two of you been working together?”
Gandalf stood as well, meeting Saruman’s gaze. “Thorin contacted me shortly after he banished his traitorous father and took the throne of Erebor. He had...concerns, and doubts, and wished to discuss them with me. Thanks in part to his tireless researches into the libraries of Erebor, our worries eventually solidified into fears. And then a messenger came to Erebor from Mordor, seeking the Ring, and we knew that somehow Sauron had heard that the baneful artifact he had forged was once more in Middle Earth. He believed it to be in Erebor, but his Ringwraiths scour the land for it now.”
“This is grave news,” said Glorfindel as Saruman stepped back and took his seat, still gazing at Gandalf. “How did Sauron come to know that his Ring had been in Erebor?”
Gandalf cleared his throat and glanced at Thorin, who nodded grimly and picked up the narrative. “We believe he learned of it from my father. Not directly,” he added as Dwalin made an inarticulate sound of fury. “But the Blacklock Clan of the Red Mountains report that Thráin came to them twenty years ago with a tale of being cast out by his cruel son. He stayed with them for a time, until they grew weary of his machinations and manipulations, and then he left them--they say to move on to Ulankhot, capital of the Ironfist Clan.”
Thorin’s hands balled into fists and he brought them down on the council-table.
“The Blacklocks tell us that when Thráin first arrived, he was accompanied by a small, bent figure. They seemed to be traveling together, but before approaching the Blacklocks they parted, and he disappeared west, toward the Sea of Rhûn. We believe that Sauron received word of the whereabouts of the Ring from this Gollum,” Thorin said. “Tormented by his thirst for the Ring, Gollum would have been drawn to its master as a moth to a flame. From Gollum, Sauron would have learned that his Ring was held in the Lonely Mountain--for so Thráin would have told Gollum, because he could never have believed that Bilbo would leave the glories of Erebor, nor would he have known where Bilbo was from originally.”
“So then, it is your fault that the Enemy is aware of this!” cried Elrohir. “Why did you not slay Thráin rather than let him leave with this information?”
As one, Balin and Dwalin surged to their feet. “And abandon Erebor?” cried Balin.
“Thorin Oakenshield has been the greatest leader of the dwarves in generations,” growled Dwalin. “We needed him.”
Elrohir blinked at them. “No one is saying he could not have been King,” he said. “Just--”
“A parent-slayer as king?” Balin looked astonished beyond offense. “Impossible!”
“Even Thráin, mad as he was, would never have slain his own parent,” said Dwalin. “There is nothing--nothing--more profane, more obscene to a dwarf. Monstrous to even consider it!” He stared at Elrohir as if the elf were gibbering. “Perhaps you elves have no objection to being led by kinslayers, but we dwarves--”
Chaos. Elrohir and Elladan were on their feet, hands on their weapons. Gandalf hurried to stand between them and Dwalin, but they were shouting him down. Even Arwen had leapt to her feet, her fists clenched and her face stormy with anger. Legolas looked more wary, but he also stood with the Rivendell elves, eyeing the dwarves with suspicion. Of all the elves, only Galadriel and Glorfindel remained seated, their faces stony. Bilbo saw Théoden and Denethor share a brief look of commiseration: elves and dwarves!
”Enough!” Thorin’s voice cut through the cacophony; when he repeated himself in Sindarin even the elves fell silent, staring at him.
“But Thorin--!”
Thorin cut off Dwalin’s protest with a raised hand. “We shall adjourn for the evening,” he said, “And continue in the morning, when we have all had a chance to cool down a bit. Dwalin, Balin, I wish to speak to you in my quarters.”
Dwalin opened his mouth again, but closed it at the look in Thorin’s eyes. “Yes, my king,” he muttered.
Thorin turned to Bilbo. “Shall we?” he said with a small smile, and offered his arm to Bilbo.
Bilbo took it, and they left the council room together.
”Apologize?” Dwalin stared at Thorin as if he had suggested Dwalin grow wings and fly to Erebor. “They were the ones--”
Thorin sighed. “Must I repeat the history lesson?”
Balin looked dubious. “Laddie, if I understand you right--and you must admit there were a lot of names to remember, and I couldn’t keep them all straight in my head--the younger elves weren’t even born when these events took place. And if Galadriel and Glorfindel did not take part in the murder of their kin, why is everyone so very tetchy on the subject?”
“It is...complicated,” Thorin said. “They slew no kin, but the shadow of the act touches them still.”
“Considering how awful you agree it is, I should think you’d understand being ashamed at being connected with it in any way,” Bilbo said suddenly from his seat by the fire, gazing into the flames. “Even if it was eons and eons ago.” He shrugged. “I remember when I was just a fauntling, my group of friends got in trouble for throwing rocks at a stray dog. I wasn’t even there, but I still felt sick and horrible about it, like I should have done something.” He poked at the fire, not looking at the dwarves. “I still feel bad about it, sometimes. I’d hate to think of having to feel guilty about something like that for thousands and thousands of years.”
There was a long silence in which Dwalin looked down at the floor and grimaced. “Very well,” he muttered. “I shall--”
There was a knock at the door, which opened to reveal all three children of Elrond, standing in the hall looking for all the world like chastened children. Extremely tall children of unearthly beauty, but still children.
“Grandmother and Glorfindel have both told us that we must apologize,” said Elladan.
“We’re sorry that we offended you,” said Elrohir. His color was high, but he looked sincerely regretful.
“Please forgive our ignorance,” said Arwen.
Dwalin made a harrumphing noise in his throat. “There was no harm done,” he said with moderate grace. “And I beg your pardon for my own ill-tempered words.” He shot a look at Thorin. “I shall go and apologize to your elders myself.”
He had hardly left when there was yet another knock; Thorin stifled a sigh at finding a guard at the door. “Yes?”
“Your majesty, Lord Saruman has begged your presence.”
Thorin resisted an urge to grind his teeth as he glanced at Bilbo, who was sitting at the fire, looking weary and worn.
“I’ll get the lad some hot food and see he rests,” murmured Balin, too low for Bilbo to hear, and Thorin felt a wave of gratitude and affection lift him as he followed the guard from the room.
“I confess I was...surprised to discover how close you and Mithrandir are.” Saruman was pacing the room restlessly. “I would not have expected a dwarf to cherish the company of such a close friend of the elves.”
“I am eternally tired,” Thorin heard himself say before he could think better of it, “of these petty divisions between the free peoples. We fight and we squabble, and all the while the Enemy sits and waxes stronger…” He trailed off and scrubbed at his face with his hands, feeling terribly weary.
“You wish to destroy it,” said Saruman, and there was a blank surprise on his voice. “You would seek out a way to destroy the One Ring.”
“There may be a way,” Thorin said.
For a moment the room was silent but for the hissing sound of Saruman’s robes as he paced, a low sibilant rustle. When Saruman spoke again, his voice had lost all its sharpness; it was melodious and soothing. Sympathetic.
“If you are considering this course of action, then I admire your bravery, Thorin Oakenshield. But even more than that, I admire your self-sacrifice. Or perhaps I should say the good Mr. Baggins’s self-sacrifice?” Saruman’s eyes were deep with pity as he looked at Thorin. “As you note, the Ring extended Gollum’s life for centuries. Your hobbit has so little time in this world, and then he will be gone forever. It grieves me to see you sacrifice the chance for a life together.”
Thorin tried to think of something gruff and stoic to say, but his voice abruptly failed him entirely. Images filled his mind: holding Bilbo’s body with all of that great brave spirit emptied from it, gone beyond the world itself into the great Mystery, where no dwarf could follow--
“Such sadness,” murmured Saruman, and Thorin felt a hand on his shoulder, comforting. He realized his face was buried in his hands, and he struggled to compose himself as Saruman went on: “How cruel this world is, to deny two such valiant hearts their little space of time together. Your majesty,” he said urgently, “There are other ways.”
“I know of none,” Thorin said, his voice hoarse.
“Mithrandir does not know everything,” Saruman said. “I beg you to consider this alternative to the path of sorrow he wishes you to follow. Let me take the halfling to Orthanc, and there I shall bend all of my arts to finding a way to separate him from his burden without harming him. Perhaps…” Saruman hesitated, then went on as if he were reluctant to promise too much, to give too much hope. “Perhaps my arts could even find a way to confer the benefits of longevity upon your companion after he is separated from the Ring. You could be together at last. Surely you deserve this, after all you have done.”
“I shall consider your arguments,” Thorin said--the same words as the night before, but he could hear this time the hope and the yearning beneath them.
“I hope you shall,” Saruman said with a kind smile, and Thorin knew he heard them too.
Bilbo Baggins was startled when Thorin came back from his meeting and immediately swept him into a hug so tight Bilbo felt he could nearly hear his ribs creak. He would not explain his mood, but neither would he let go of Bilbo’s hand as they sat and talked of the tensions in the council. “I need you near,” was all he would say to Bilbo’s questioning face.
It was an answer Bilbo could sympathize with, so he let it go.
Chapter Summary: The Council of Khazad-dûm continues, but tempers flare. Thorin has a plan, but Saruman believes it requires too high a cost...
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf, Balin, Dwalin, Saruman, Arwen, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Theoden, Denethor, Galadriel
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2300
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
Bilbo sat in his small chair, pushed back slightly behind Thorin and Balin’s, and watched Thorin pace in front of the council table. He had not called on Bilbo to place to Ring on display again, and for that Bilbo was profoundly grateful.
“From the Anduin, it seems that the Ring passed into the roots of the Misty Mountains,” Thorin was explaining to the Council, “where it was picked up by the creature known as Gollum. What exactly this Gollum is remains a mystery, but it seems he possessed the Ring for many thousands of years, hiding with it in the shadows and depths of the mountains.”
“What manner of being lives for so long?” asked Théoden. “Was he some kind of elf, then?”
“I think not,” said Thorin. He frowned down at the table. “I believe he was...some forerunner of the hobbits, from a time before they crossed the Misty Mountains and traveled to the Shire.”
“A hobbit?” Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone turned to look at him, and he realized it was the first time he had spoken in the Council. Too late to call back the words now, although he keenly wished he could. “I’m afraid hobbits are not known for living for thousands of years,” he stammered instead.
Thorin’s gaze upon him was affectionate, but there was a melancholy hovering around his mouth. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But it appears that one of the qualities of the Ring is that it...prolongs the life of its bearer.”
“Oh.” Bilbo blinked at Thorin, remembering compliments received from his friends and relatives: You look so young!...Haven’t aged a day...so hale and hearty for your age… “I...I see.” He remembered Gollum’s skittering form and felt faint nausea touch his throat.
“And so Gollum lurked deep beneath the mountains, until the day that Bilbo and I came across him and took the Ring from him,” Thorin went on, turning away and gathering everyone’s gazes up with him, to Bilbo’s relief. “The Ring could make Bilbo invisible, but it had no effect on me--or so it seemed.” He swallowed hard. “I carried it with me for some weeks, and in that time I slipped deeply into an illness that affects my people. I did not realize until years later that it was the Ring that was exacerbating my illness, turning it to its own ends. And in the depths of Moria, when we were captives of the white orc, Azog, I...gave it to Bilbo to aid his escape.” He looked then at Bilbo, and his eyes were full of grief and guilt. Bilbo couldn’t seem to look away from him, even when he heard the abrupt grating of a chair.
”Gave it--” Saruman’s voice was a bark of disbelief as he stood, towering over Thorin. “You expect me to believe that you possessed the One Ring of Sauron, and you gave it up freely? Impossible!”
“I assure you it is true,” said Gandalf, and Saruman swung to stare at him. “I have talked at length with Thorin about his experiences, and--”
“You have talked at length with Thorin Oakenshield? Truly, this is a day of revelations,” Saruman announced. His mouth was set in a grim line. “And how long have the two of you been working together?”
Gandalf stood as well, meeting Saruman’s gaze. “Thorin contacted me shortly after he banished his traitorous father and took the throne of Erebor. He had...concerns, and doubts, and wished to discuss them with me. Thanks in part to his tireless researches into the libraries of Erebor, our worries eventually solidified into fears. And then a messenger came to Erebor from Mordor, seeking the Ring, and we knew that somehow Sauron had heard that the baneful artifact he had forged was once more in Middle Earth. He believed it to be in Erebor, but his Ringwraiths scour the land for it now.”
“This is grave news,” said Glorfindel as Saruman stepped back and took his seat, still gazing at Gandalf. “How did Sauron come to know that his Ring had been in Erebor?”
Gandalf cleared his throat and glanced at Thorin, who nodded grimly and picked up the narrative. “We believe he learned of it from my father. Not directly,” he added as Dwalin made an inarticulate sound of fury. “But the Blacklock Clan of the Red Mountains report that Thráin came to them twenty years ago with a tale of being cast out by his cruel son. He stayed with them for a time, until they grew weary of his machinations and manipulations, and then he left them--they say to move on to Ulankhot, capital of the Ironfist Clan.”
Thorin’s hands balled into fists and he brought them down on the council-table.
“The Blacklocks tell us that when Thráin first arrived, he was accompanied by a small, bent figure. They seemed to be traveling together, but before approaching the Blacklocks they parted, and he disappeared west, toward the Sea of Rhûn. We believe that Sauron received word of the whereabouts of the Ring from this Gollum,” Thorin said. “Tormented by his thirst for the Ring, Gollum would have been drawn to its master as a moth to a flame. From Gollum, Sauron would have learned that his Ring was held in the Lonely Mountain--for so Thráin would have told Gollum, because he could never have believed that Bilbo would leave the glories of Erebor, nor would he have known where Bilbo was from originally.”
“So then, it is your fault that the Enemy is aware of this!” cried Elrohir. “Why did you not slay Thráin rather than let him leave with this information?”
As one, Balin and Dwalin surged to their feet. “And abandon Erebor?” cried Balin.
“Thorin Oakenshield has been the greatest leader of the dwarves in generations,” growled Dwalin. “We needed him.”
Elrohir blinked at them. “No one is saying he could not have been King,” he said. “Just--”
“A parent-slayer as king?” Balin looked astonished beyond offense. “Impossible!”
“Even Thráin, mad as he was, would never have slain his own parent,” said Dwalin. “There is nothing--nothing--more profane, more obscene to a dwarf. Monstrous to even consider it!” He stared at Elrohir as if the elf were gibbering. “Perhaps you elves have no objection to being led by kinslayers, but we dwarves--”
Chaos. Elrohir and Elladan were on their feet, hands on their weapons. Gandalf hurried to stand between them and Dwalin, but they were shouting him down. Even Arwen had leapt to her feet, her fists clenched and her face stormy with anger. Legolas looked more wary, but he also stood with the Rivendell elves, eyeing the dwarves with suspicion. Of all the elves, only Galadriel and Glorfindel remained seated, their faces stony. Bilbo saw Théoden and Denethor share a brief look of commiseration: elves and dwarves!
”Enough!” Thorin’s voice cut through the cacophony; when he repeated himself in Sindarin even the elves fell silent, staring at him.
“But Thorin--!”
Thorin cut off Dwalin’s protest with a raised hand. “We shall adjourn for the evening,” he said, “And continue in the morning, when we have all had a chance to cool down a bit. Dwalin, Balin, I wish to speak to you in my quarters.”
Dwalin opened his mouth again, but closed it at the look in Thorin’s eyes. “Yes, my king,” he muttered.
Thorin turned to Bilbo. “Shall we?” he said with a small smile, and offered his arm to Bilbo.
Bilbo took it, and they left the council room together.
”Apologize?” Dwalin stared at Thorin as if he had suggested Dwalin grow wings and fly to Erebor. “They were the ones--”
Thorin sighed. “Must I repeat the history lesson?”
Balin looked dubious. “Laddie, if I understand you right--and you must admit there were a lot of names to remember, and I couldn’t keep them all straight in my head--the younger elves weren’t even born when these events took place. And if Galadriel and Glorfindel did not take part in the murder of their kin, why is everyone so very tetchy on the subject?”
“It is...complicated,” Thorin said. “They slew no kin, but the shadow of the act touches them still.”
“Considering how awful you agree it is, I should think you’d understand being ashamed at being connected with it in any way,” Bilbo said suddenly from his seat by the fire, gazing into the flames. “Even if it was eons and eons ago.” He shrugged. “I remember when I was just a fauntling, my group of friends got in trouble for throwing rocks at a stray dog. I wasn’t even there, but I still felt sick and horrible about it, like I should have done something.” He poked at the fire, not looking at the dwarves. “I still feel bad about it, sometimes. I’d hate to think of having to feel guilty about something like that for thousands and thousands of years.”
There was a long silence in which Dwalin looked down at the floor and grimaced. “Very well,” he muttered. “I shall--”
There was a knock at the door, which opened to reveal all three children of Elrond, standing in the hall looking for all the world like chastened children. Extremely tall children of unearthly beauty, but still children.
“Grandmother and Glorfindel have both told us that we must apologize,” said Elladan.
“We’re sorry that we offended you,” said Elrohir. His color was high, but he looked sincerely regretful.
“Please forgive our ignorance,” said Arwen.
Dwalin made a harrumphing noise in his throat. “There was no harm done,” he said with moderate grace. “And I beg your pardon for my own ill-tempered words.” He shot a look at Thorin. “I shall go and apologize to your elders myself.”
He had hardly left when there was yet another knock; Thorin stifled a sigh at finding a guard at the door. “Yes?”
“Your majesty, Lord Saruman has begged your presence.”
Thorin resisted an urge to grind his teeth as he glanced at Bilbo, who was sitting at the fire, looking weary and worn.
“I’ll get the lad some hot food and see he rests,” murmured Balin, too low for Bilbo to hear, and Thorin felt a wave of gratitude and affection lift him as he followed the guard from the room.
“I confess I was...surprised to discover how close you and Mithrandir are.” Saruman was pacing the room restlessly. “I would not have expected a dwarf to cherish the company of such a close friend of the elves.”
“I am eternally tired,” Thorin heard himself say before he could think better of it, “of these petty divisions between the free peoples. We fight and we squabble, and all the while the Enemy sits and waxes stronger…” He trailed off and scrubbed at his face with his hands, feeling terribly weary.
“You wish to destroy it,” said Saruman, and there was a blank surprise on his voice. “You would seek out a way to destroy the One Ring.”
“There may be a way,” Thorin said.
For a moment the room was silent but for the hissing sound of Saruman’s robes as he paced, a low sibilant rustle. When Saruman spoke again, his voice had lost all its sharpness; it was melodious and soothing. Sympathetic.
“If you are considering this course of action, then I admire your bravery, Thorin Oakenshield. But even more than that, I admire your self-sacrifice. Or perhaps I should say the good Mr. Baggins’s self-sacrifice?” Saruman’s eyes were deep with pity as he looked at Thorin. “As you note, the Ring extended Gollum’s life for centuries. Your hobbit has so little time in this world, and then he will be gone forever. It grieves me to see you sacrifice the chance for a life together.”
Thorin tried to think of something gruff and stoic to say, but his voice abruptly failed him entirely. Images filled his mind: holding Bilbo’s body with all of that great brave spirit emptied from it, gone beyond the world itself into the great Mystery, where no dwarf could follow--
“Such sadness,” murmured Saruman, and Thorin felt a hand on his shoulder, comforting. He realized his face was buried in his hands, and he struggled to compose himself as Saruman went on: “How cruel this world is, to deny two such valiant hearts their little space of time together. Your majesty,” he said urgently, “There are other ways.”
“I know of none,” Thorin said, his voice hoarse.
“Mithrandir does not know everything,” Saruman said. “I beg you to consider this alternative to the path of sorrow he wishes you to follow. Let me take the halfling to Orthanc, and there I shall bend all of my arts to finding a way to separate him from his burden without harming him. Perhaps…” Saruman hesitated, then went on as if he were reluctant to promise too much, to give too much hope. “Perhaps my arts could even find a way to confer the benefits of longevity upon your companion after he is separated from the Ring. You could be together at last. Surely you deserve this, after all you have done.”
“I shall consider your arguments,” Thorin said--the same words as the night before, but he could hear this time the hope and the yearning beneath them.
“I hope you shall,” Saruman said with a kind smile, and Thorin knew he heard them too.
Bilbo Baggins was startled when Thorin came back from his meeting and immediately swept him into a hug so tight Bilbo felt he could nearly hear his ribs creak. He would not explain his mood, but neither would he let go of Bilbo’s hand as they sat and talked of the tensions in the council. “I need you near,” was all he would say to Bilbo’s questioning face.
It was an answer Bilbo could sympathize with, so he let it go.