Clarity of Purpose, Chapter 21
Title: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 21
Chapter Summary: A reunion of wizards, and an ambush with dire consequences.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Denethor, Gimli, Dis, Arwen, Aragorn, Legolas, Theoden
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: 2900
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 stared from Bachai to Gandalf, blinking against the smoky air of the inn. “You know Gandalf?” he stammered.
“I should be asking ‘You know Olórin?’” said Bachai, mimicking his shocked tone. “I daresay I’ve known him a sight longer than you have, Master Baggins!”
“But you didn’t say anything when we mentioned his name.”
She waved her hand impatiently. “I can’t be expected to remember all of his ridiculous names. We all have so many--I was called Alatar in the beginning, and the Elves preferred to call me Morinehtar, but that’s such an awkward name, a terrible mouthful. For a long time now I’ve just gone by what the Easterlings call me, Bachai.”
The two people who had been sitting with Gandalf had risen and were standing on either side of him now. One was a slender young woman with glossy dark hair like a waterfall of ink that partly obscured her grave, round face. Her bearing was poised as if ready to defend herself, but there was no hostility in her dark gaze, only assessment. The other was a tall man in deep blue robes, slightly taller than Gandalf, even. He was barrel-chested and powerful, with skin as dark as walnut, and grizzled hair like lamb’s fleece cropped close to his head.
“Bachai,” he boomed. “What lures you within city walls? Did you not swear that even for my sake you would enter here no longer?”
Bachai went to him and threw her arms around his broad frame. “Pallando, my friend, your misguided love of these cramped streets remains the strangest mystery I know.”
“And you know well that my love is not of the streets, nor of the walls, but of the people. Such people this city holds! Jongleurs and healers, sages and traders and dancers, all with their own stories to tell. I could not tire of it in all my life.”
Bachai shook her head in affectionate exasperation. “But as to your question, the reason I am here is--not something we can talk about in public,” she said, looking around.
“Let us go to the roof,” said the young woman, speaking for the first time. “Follow me.”
She nodded to the innkeeper, who nodded back, then led the party down a winding corridor and to a rickety staircase. Bilbo felt a rush of claustrophobia at the narrow walls, but it gave way to a gasp of wonder as they emerged onto the roof.
The first thing that caught the eye was a sweeping vista of blue-tiled roofs, punctuated here and there by slender towers with golden tops and windows of ivory latticework. Then Bilbo noticed the birds.
Birds roosted all over the roof of the inn: eagles and kites and falcons, birds of prey with fierce golden eyes and scarlet talons. They bore no hoods or jesses, but sat freely where they would, eyeing the Fellowship with avian disdain.
To Bilbo’s surprise, Denethor gave a low cry of joy and stepped toward one of them, stopping at a respectful distance. “What a beauty,” he said as its head snapped around to glare at him. “Aren’t you a beautiful girl?”
Pallando threw out his massive chest with pride, beaming. “Is she not? The greatest hunter of my flock.”
“Oh, don’t get him started on his birds,” said Bachai. The small black kitten on her shoulder was staring at the birds, its fur bristling and its tail high in alarm. “There there,” she crooned, smoothing its fur. “Your mother was a great hunter as well, you have nothing to be intimidated about.”
Bilbo had the distinct impression this was an argument the two of them had had often. “Are you--are you both wizards? Like Gandalf and Saruman?”
Pallando snorted. “More like the former than the latter, I do hope! Treacherous snake.” One of the falcons shrieked derisively and hopped onto his shoulder, cocking its head at the party.
“But yes,” said Gandalf. “Alatar--Bachai--and Pallando have been working here in East for quite a long time: Bachai with the Wainriders and the folk of the plains, Pallando with the people of the cities, from the Haradrim in the South to the Easterlings here in Saynshar.”
“And of late he works with me,” said the woman called Kestrel, stepping forward. “Against the Order of Life.” She grimaced at her own words. “That sounds foul indeed, to fight against that which has stood for balance and peace for so long.”
Pallando bowed his head, grief crossing his wide features. “They are the Order of Life in name only now, though they claim that they have only now truly become it. Their head priestess, Il-Qaltun, claims that the Order can prevent death, can give its followers eternal life.”
Bilbo heard a hissed breath from Arwen behind him, and Estel said gravely, “Death is the fate of the Secondborn. Nothing has ever changed that, and nothing ever will.”
Kestrel’s sharp, intent gaze went to him. “So the Order of Life has always said in the past. But now Il-Qaltun promises the King that if he allies himself with Mordor, if he sends his armies to assault Erebor and Minas Tirith, then he will after help the king to assail Cuiviénen and--”
A babble of voices broke out at her words: Legolas cried out “Cuiviénen?” at the same moment Estel said “King?” and Denethor barked, ”Assault Minas Tirith?”
Kestrel waited until it was clear they were done interrupting her, then nodded at Legolas. “Yes, Master Elf, Cuiviénen. The lake by whose shores the very first of your kind awoke. Il-Qaltun has convinced the King that if he drinks from its waters, he too can share in the eternal life of the Elves.”
“That is not true,” said Legolas, frowning, and Kestrel made a sharp, impatient gesture with her hand.
“The High Priestess cares nothing of what is true and what is not! She stands behind the throne and whispers her poisoned words in the King’s ear, telling him to abandon the old ways--yes,” she said, turning to Estel, “You heard aright, I said King.”
“But Saynshar has always been ruled by its daughters,” Estel said.
Her smile was humorless. “Saynshar was indeed ruled by a queen--the fiftieth queen of the Easterlings--until five years ago. But she sickened with a wasting disease, and none could cure her, and she died. Then King Jetei, her husband, said that Il-Qaltun had had a vision. That only a land ruled by men could wrest immortality back from the gods. That--”
She choked with anger and looked away, and Pallando took up the story: “He proclaimed himself ruler and his son Jelme the heir, rather than his daughter who should have taken the throne.”
"How have his children responded?" Dís asked, frowning.
"Princess Samur..." Kestrel's mouth twisted. "She seems biddable enough. Prince Jelme is also not one to defy his father, though I believe he is not so twisted by Il-Qaltun's words. But not all have accepted this perversion of the old ways. Some of us seek to defy the Order of Life, and Il-Qaltun and the King himself.”
“And you are the leader of this rebellion,” Thorin said.
For a moment she looked irresolute, but then she nodded grimly.
“Then we are here to warn you that assassins seek your life,” said Thorin. “Hired by my father who is, I suspect, working with this King Jetei or Il-Qaltun.”
Now Kestrel looked shaken. “Working with the King…” she murmured.
Denethor pushed forward. “You spoke of an assault on Minas Tirith!” he cried. “What do you mean?”
Kestrel started to answer, but suddenly the falcon on Pallando's shoulder made a sharp clicking noise and flapped her wings at the same time Legolas and Arwen both turned sharply to gaze at the stairs.
“There are enemies below,” said Arwen.
“Then we shall face them!” said Théoden, drawing his blade and starting for the stairs.
Denethor made an annoyed sound, drawing his own blade. "Headstrong fool," he snapped, grabbing Théoden's shoulder. "We go together."
"Stay behind me," said Thorin to Bilbo as the two men charged down the stairs with a yell, "And take cover."
They descended into a maelstrom of steel and splintered wood.
The room seemed to be full of people in black clothes and masks, already surrounding Denethor and Théoden. Bilbo saw an assassin coming at him, then realized the true target was Kestrel; with a gasp he grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the bar as Estel and Thorin intercepted the killer.
The floor behind the bar was sticky with spilled alcohol and--Bilbo realized with a thrill of horror--blood. "Arik!" cried Kestrel, and scrambled to the side of the bartender, lying in a pool of blood. "Help me staunch the wound, friend Dwarf!"
Bilbo looked behind him for one of his companions, then remembered his disguise. Grabbing a rag from beneath the bar, he crouched by Kestrel's side, trying to stem the flow of blood from a wound in the man's side. There were tears on Kestrel's face, but her mouth was set and grim as she struggled to keep the man alive.
A black-masked face appeared over the edge of the bar, and without thinking Bilbo grabbed a tankard and smashed it against the side of the man's head. He heard someone--it sounded like Gimli--laugh in triumph, and the dazed assassin was dragged back into the room.
Bilbo peeked over the edge of the bar just long enough to see the three wizards standing back to back in one corner, laying about them with their staffs and knocking the heads of anyone who came near. The kitten on Bachai's shoulder was hissing wildly and laying about with its tiny claws. Théoden and Denethor were on top of a table, kicking and stabbing, while Estel and Thorin were holding off five assassins between them. There seemed to be a lot of bodies lying around. Gimli and Legolas had gotten themselves backed up to the windows, and their attackers seemed to be getting the best of them--until suddenly there was a triumphant cry and Arwen and Dís burst through the window from the outside together.
That turned the tide, and soon all of the assassins were dead or fleeing out the shattered window. "You went down the outside," Gimli said to Dís. "Good idea."
"Yes," said Arwen, cleaning off her knife. "It was."
"Please help," cried Kestrel from behind the bar, and everyone turned toward her voice.
"It's the bartender," said Bilbo. "He's--"
Estel vaulted over the bar with one smooth motion, dropping to his knees to look at Arik. "The guard will be here soon," he said to Kestrel. "You must go."
"I won't leave him!" she said, glaring at Estel. "It's my fault he's--"
"I swear to you that he will not die," said Estel, looking her gravely in the eye. "I will make sure of it. The rest of you must go. Now!"
Pallando reached over the bar and picked Kestrel up bodily. "I have worked too long with you to allow you to be captured," he said as she cursed him.
"I will not leave you," said Arwen, looking down at Estel.
"Protect Bilbo," said Estel without looking up from his patient. "He is the most important."
"Everyone scatter," said Pallando, his deep voice ringing with authority. "We meet at sunset at the bazaar outside the southern temple."
And then he was gone.
With a snarl of frustration twisting her perfect features, Arwen whirled and headed for the back door of the inn with the others. Once out in the street, everyone split up and faded into the crowd, trying to look inconspicuous. Only Arwen and Thorin stayed with Bilbo, making their way through the crowd together.
Bilbo didn't feel at all inconspicuous. His enclosed feet were sweating in their boots and his face was itching under its fake beard, and the back of his neck prickled as if in a warning, as if at any minute someone might call out "That's the hobbit! Get him!" The early spring sun seemed uncomfortably warm, and the Ring in his pocket was agonizingly heavy. Even having Arwen and Thorin on either side of him could bring him no comfort as they made their way through the crowd. How could even they protect him from the lidless Eye that was always searching, searching for him alone, blazing in the darkness...
A hand tightened on his elbow and he blinked into Thorin's concerned face. "We...we should split up," Bilbo stammered. “We’re too conspicuous together.”
"I will not leave you," Thorin said, his voice a low rumble under the surge of the crowd, and Bilbo felt a warmth that was not the sunshine glow within him.
Perhaps Thorin might not be able to protect him from the Eye, but at least Bilbo would not have to face it alone.
“The main square,” Arwen said in a low voice as they found themselves in a large tiled plaza, ringed by ochre buildings with sweeping blue roofs. “With the royal palace at its far end. We must cross it to reach the temple.”
They made their way through the crowd--looking at vendors’ wares, bickering mildly over the price of a handful of grapes, doing all the things that normal, innocent visitors to Saynshar would do. Arwen smiled and laughed, and Bilbo hid his inability to do either in his beard.
The sun slid down the afternoon sky, and was nearly halfway to the horizon when a sudden blare of trumpets shattered Bilbo’s fragile calm. He clutched at Thorin’s elbow, his heart racing, as four figures stepped out onto a balcony of the palace.
The tallest was clearly King Jetei, wearing a crown of filigreed black metal. Next to him was a young man who shared his high-cheekboned features, but not his arrogant gaze: Prince Jelme, Bilbo assumed. The woman next to him was draped in a sky-blue veil which covered all but her downcast eyes, held in place by a much more modest diadem. And the fourth figure--
Bilbo felt his heart thud strangely as he looked at the last person on the balcony, who could only be the mysterious priestess Il-Qaltun. Her hair was dark, and cascaded down her back unbound, but she had a pallor unusual among Easterlings. She was clad in a robe of black silk that was draped around her shoulders, and which shivered lightly at even the slightest breeze. Her pale eyes scanned the crowd avidly, and Bilbo felt once again that sensation of being looked for, of being hunted. Shuddering, he stepped behind Thorin, but the feeling did not dissipate.
The hubbub of the square had died down the moment the trumpets had sounded, and into the silence King Jetei spoke with a strong, ringing voice.
“People of Saynshar! I bring you tidings of war!”
The crowd muttered and murmured, then subsided.
“First, as you know, our armies have joined with our powerful and generous neighbor to the south to beseige the arrogant might of the Longbeards of Erebor! Even now, our armies have taken the once-great city of Dale and are camped outside the gates of the Lonely Mountain!”
Cheers and applause broke out, but Bilbo noticed pockets of uneasy silence as well. He could feel Thorin breathing heavily next to him, and now it was his turn to take Thorin’s arm and squeeze reassuringly. A few people turned from their cheers to look at them, and Bilbo smiled weakly as the king continued:
“The stiff-necked dwarves and humans within will have no choice but to yield eventually, and then the riches within shall be ours!”
“Hurrah!” shouted Bilbo, throwing his hands in the air. “Hurrah! Down with the Longbeards!” Thorin cast him an agonized look, but the people nearby turned away, their suspicions apparently sated.
King Jetei seemed to waver for a moment, and looked behind him to where Il-Qaltun stood. She nodded, a slight smile curving her bloodless lips, and he turned back to the square to address the people once more.
“And now I bring you grave and glorious tidings. We have captured a Gondorian spy, sent to assassinate an inn full of our good citizens and gravely wound the good innkeeper!”
Dark mutterings from the crowd around them. Bilbo heard Arwen suck in a painful breath as she gazed up at the balcony.
“Such an act of brazen aggression cannot be allowed to stand. It is an act of war!”
The mutterings of the crowd swelled upward into cheers, much more fervent than those against the Lonely Mountain.
“People of Saynshar, we must now consider ourselves at war against Gondor! The spy shall be executed here in this square at sunrise tomorrow, and our army marches for the city of Minas Tirith within the week!”
Bilbo reached out to seize Arwen’s hand; she stared down at him as if at a stranger, her eyes dry and distant. He gripped her fingers tightly, unable to speak his heart among the cheering people, unsure if she could hear him anyway.
Then Thorin said something in Sindarin, pitched low for her ears, and she blinked and focused on his face for a long moment before nodding grimly. Then her long fingers tightened around Bilbo’s small hand, and they made their way out of the square together.
“What did you say to her?” Bilbo murmured to Thorin once they were away from the worst of the chaos, making their way slowly across town as the sun turned orange and red and faded downward.
“I said we would save him, of course,” said Thorin with a wry smile.
Chapter Summary: A reunion of wizards, and an ambush with dire consequences.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Denethor, Gimli, Dis, Arwen, Aragorn, Legolas, Theoden
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: 2900
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 stared from Bachai to Gandalf, blinking against the smoky air of the inn. “You know Gandalf?” he stammered.
“I should be asking ‘You know Olórin?’” said Bachai, mimicking his shocked tone. “I daresay I’ve known him a sight longer than you have, Master Baggins!”
“But you didn’t say anything when we mentioned his name.”
She waved her hand impatiently. “I can’t be expected to remember all of his ridiculous names. We all have so many--I was called Alatar in the beginning, and the Elves preferred to call me Morinehtar, but that’s such an awkward name, a terrible mouthful. For a long time now I’ve just gone by what the Easterlings call me, Bachai.”
The two people who had been sitting with Gandalf had risen and were standing on either side of him now. One was a slender young woman with glossy dark hair like a waterfall of ink that partly obscured her grave, round face. Her bearing was poised as if ready to defend herself, but there was no hostility in her dark gaze, only assessment. The other was a tall man in deep blue robes, slightly taller than Gandalf, even. He was barrel-chested and powerful, with skin as dark as walnut, and grizzled hair like lamb’s fleece cropped close to his head.
“Bachai,” he boomed. “What lures you within city walls? Did you not swear that even for my sake you would enter here no longer?”
Bachai went to him and threw her arms around his broad frame. “Pallando, my friend, your misguided love of these cramped streets remains the strangest mystery I know.”
“And you know well that my love is not of the streets, nor of the walls, but of the people. Such people this city holds! Jongleurs and healers, sages and traders and dancers, all with their own stories to tell. I could not tire of it in all my life.”
Bachai shook her head in affectionate exasperation. “But as to your question, the reason I am here is--not something we can talk about in public,” she said, looking around.
“Let us go to the roof,” said the young woman, speaking for the first time. “Follow me.”
She nodded to the innkeeper, who nodded back, then led the party down a winding corridor and to a rickety staircase. Bilbo felt a rush of claustrophobia at the narrow walls, but it gave way to a gasp of wonder as they emerged onto the roof.
The first thing that caught the eye was a sweeping vista of blue-tiled roofs, punctuated here and there by slender towers with golden tops and windows of ivory latticework. Then Bilbo noticed the birds.
Birds roosted all over the roof of the inn: eagles and kites and falcons, birds of prey with fierce golden eyes and scarlet talons. They bore no hoods or jesses, but sat freely where they would, eyeing the Fellowship with avian disdain.
To Bilbo’s surprise, Denethor gave a low cry of joy and stepped toward one of them, stopping at a respectful distance. “What a beauty,” he said as its head snapped around to glare at him. “Aren’t you a beautiful girl?”
Pallando threw out his massive chest with pride, beaming. “Is she not? The greatest hunter of my flock.”
“Oh, don’t get him started on his birds,” said Bachai. The small black kitten on her shoulder was staring at the birds, its fur bristling and its tail high in alarm. “There there,” she crooned, smoothing its fur. “Your mother was a great hunter as well, you have nothing to be intimidated about.”
Bilbo had the distinct impression this was an argument the two of them had had often. “Are you--are you both wizards? Like Gandalf and Saruman?”
Pallando snorted. “More like the former than the latter, I do hope! Treacherous snake.” One of the falcons shrieked derisively and hopped onto his shoulder, cocking its head at the party.
“But yes,” said Gandalf. “Alatar--Bachai--and Pallando have been working here in East for quite a long time: Bachai with the Wainriders and the folk of the plains, Pallando with the people of the cities, from the Haradrim in the South to the Easterlings here in Saynshar.”
“And of late he works with me,” said the woman called Kestrel, stepping forward. “Against the Order of Life.” She grimaced at her own words. “That sounds foul indeed, to fight against that which has stood for balance and peace for so long.”
Pallando bowed his head, grief crossing his wide features. “They are the Order of Life in name only now, though they claim that they have only now truly become it. Their head priestess, Il-Qaltun, claims that the Order can prevent death, can give its followers eternal life.”
Bilbo heard a hissed breath from Arwen behind him, and Estel said gravely, “Death is the fate of the Secondborn. Nothing has ever changed that, and nothing ever will.”
Kestrel’s sharp, intent gaze went to him. “So the Order of Life has always said in the past. But now Il-Qaltun promises the King that if he allies himself with Mordor, if he sends his armies to assault Erebor and Minas Tirith, then he will after help the king to assail Cuiviénen and--”
A babble of voices broke out at her words: Legolas cried out “Cuiviénen?” at the same moment Estel said “King?” and Denethor barked, ”Assault Minas Tirith?”
Kestrel waited until it was clear they were done interrupting her, then nodded at Legolas. “Yes, Master Elf, Cuiviénen. The lake by whose shores the very first of your kind awoke. Il-Qaltun has convinced the King that if he drinks from its waters, he too can share in the eternal life of the Elves.”
“That is not true,” said Legolas, frowning, and Kestrel made a sharp, impatient gesture with her hand.
“The High Priestess cares nothing of what is true and what is not! She stands behind the throne and whispers her poisoned words in the King’s ear, telling him to abandon the old ways--yes,” she said, turning to Estel, “You heard aright, I said King.”
“But Saynshar has always been ruled by its daughters,” Estel said.
Her smile was humorless. “Saynshar was indeed ruled by a queen--the fiftieth queen of the Easterlings--until five years ago. But she sickened with a wasting disease, and none could cure her, and she died. Then King Jetei, her husband, said that Il-Qaltun had had a vision. That only a land ruled by men could wrest immortality back from the gods. That--”
She choked with anger and looked away, and Pallando took up the story: “He proclaimed himself ruler and his son Jelme the heir, rather than his daughter who should have taken the throne.”
"How have his children responded?" Dís asked, frowning.
"Princess Samur..." Kestrel's mouth twisted. "She seems biddable enough. Prince Jelme is also not one to defy his father, though I believe he is not so twisted by Il-Qaltun's words. But not all have accepted this perversion of the old ways. Some of us seek to defy the Order of Life, and Il-Qaltun and the King himself.”
“And you are the leader of this rebellion,” Thorin said.
For a moment she looked irresolute, but then she nodded grimly.
“Then we are here to warn you that assassins seek your life,” said Thorin. “Hired by my father who is, I suspect, working with this King Jetei or Il-Qaltun.”
Now Kestrel looked shaken. “Working with the King…” she murmured.
Denethor pushed forward. “You spoke of an assault on Minas Tirith!” he cried. “What do you mean?”
Kestrel started to answer, but suddenly the falcon on Pallando's shoulder made a sharp clicking noise and flapped her wings at the same time Legolas and Arwen both turned sharply to gaze at the stairs.
“There are enemies below,” said Arwen.
“Then we shall face them!” said Théoden, drawing his blade and starting for the stairs.
Denethor made an annoyed sound, drawing his own blade. "Headstrong fool," he snapped, grabbing Théoden's shoulder. "We go together."
"Stay behind me," said Thorin to Bilbo as the two men charged down the stairs with a yell, "And take cover."
They descended into a maelstrom of steel and splintered wood.
The room seemed to be full of people in black clothes and masks, already surrounding Denethor and Théoden. Bilbo saw an assassin coming at him, then realized the true target was Kestrel; with a gasp he grabbed her arm and pulled her behind the bar as Estel and Thorin intercepted the killer.
The floor behind the bar was sticky with spilled alcohol and--Bilbo realized with a thrill of horror--blood. "Arik!" cried Kestrel, and scrambled to the side of the bartender, lying in a pool of blood. "Help me staunch the wound, friend Dwarf!"
Bilbo looked behind him for one of his companions, then remembered his disguise. Grabbing a rag from beneath the bar, he crouched by Kestrel's side, trying to stem the flow of blood from a wound in the man's side. There were tears on Kestrel's face, but her mouth was set and grim as she struggled to keep the man alive.
A black-masked face appeared over the edge of the bar, and without thinking Bilbo grabbed a tankard and smashed it against the side of the man's head. He heard someone--it sounded like Gimli--laugh in triumph, and the dazed assassin was dragged back into the room.
Bilbo peeked over the edge of the bar just long enough to see the three wizards standing back to back in one corner, laying about them with their staffs and knocking the heads of anyone who came near. The kitten on Bachai's shoulder was hissing wildly and laying about with its tiny claws. Théoden and Denethor were on top of a table, kicking and stabbing, while Estel and Thorin were holding off five assassins between them. There seemed to be a lot of bodies lying around. Gimli and Legolas had gotten themselves backed up to the windows, and their attackers seemed to be getting the best of them--until suddenly there was a triumphant cry and Arwen and Dís burst through the window from the outside together.
That turned the tide, and soon all of the assassins were dead or fleeing out the shattered window. "You went down the outside," Gimli said to Dís. "Good idea."
"Yes," said Arwen, cleaning off her knife. "It was."
"Please help," cried Kestrel from behind the bar, and everyone turned toward her voice.
"It's the bartender," said Bilbo. "He's--"
Estel vaulted over the bar with one smooth motion, dropping to his knees to look at Arik. "The guard will be here soon," he said to Kestrel. "You must go."
"I won't leave him!" she said, glaring at Estel. "It's my fault he's--"
"I swear to you that he will not die," said Estel, looking her gravely in the eye. "I will make sure of it. The rest of you must go. Now!"
Pallando reached over the bar and picked Kestrel up bodily. "I have worked too long with you to allow you to be captured," he said as she cursed him.
"I will not leave you," said Arwen, looking down at Estel.
"Protect Bilbo," said Estel without looking up from his patient. "He is the most important."
"Everyone scatter," said Pallando, his deep voice ringing with authority. "We meet at sunset at the bazaar outside the southern temple."
And then he was gone.
With a snarl of frustration twisting her perfect features, Arwen whirled and headed for the back door of the inn with the others. Once out in the street, everyone split up and faded into the crowd, trying to look inconspicuous. Only Arwen and Thorin stayed with Bilbo, making their way through the crowd together.
Bilbo didn't feel at all inconspicuous. His enclosed feet were sweating in their boots and his face was itching under its fake beard, and the back of his neck prickled as if in a warning, as if at any minute someone might call out "That's the hobbit! Get him!" The early spring sun seemed uncomfortably warm, and the Ring in his pocket was agonizingly heavy. Even having Arwen and Thorin on either side of him could bring him no comfort as they made their way through the crowd. How could even they protect him from the lidless Eye that was always searching, searching for him alone, blazing in the darkness...
A hand tightened on his elbow and he blinked into Thorin's concerned face. "We...we should split up," Bilbo stammered. “We’re too conspicuous together.”
"I will not leave you," Thorin said, his voice a low rumble under the surge of the crowd, and Bilbo felt a warmth that was not the sunshine glow within him.
Perhaps Thorin might not be able to protect him from the Eye, but at least Bilbo would not have to face it alone.
“The main square,” Arwen said in a low voice as they found themselves in a large tiled plaza, ringed by ochre buildings with sweeping blue roofs. “With the royal palace at its far end. We must cross it to reach the temple.”
They made their way through the crowd--looking at vendors’ wares, bickering mildly over the price of a handful of grapes, doing all the things that normal, innocent visitors to Saynshar would do. Arwen smiled and laughed, and Bilbo hid his inability to do either in his beard.
The sun slid down the afternoon sky, and was nearly halfway to the horizon when a sudden blare of trumpets shattered Bilbo’s fragile calm. He clutched at Thorin’s elbow, his heart racing, as four figures stepped out onto a balcony of the palace.
The tallest was clearly King Jetei, wearing a crown of filigreed black metal. Next to him was a young man who shared his high-cheekboned features, but not his arrogant gaze: Prince Jelme, Bilbo assumed. The woman next to him was draped in a sky-blue veil which covered all but her downcast eyes, held in place by a much more modest diadem. And the fourth figure--
Bilbo felt his heart thud strangely as he looked at the last person on the balcony, who could only be the mysterious priestess Il-Qaltun. Her hair was dark, and cascaded down her back unbound, but she had a pallor unusual among Easterlings. She was clad in a robe of black silk that was draped around her shoulders, and which shivered lightly at even the slightest breeze. Her pale eyes scanned the crowd avidly, and Bilbo felt once again that sensation of being looked for, of being hunted. Shuddering, he stepped behind Thorin, but the feeling did not dissipate.
The hubbub of the square had died down the moment the trumpets had sounded, and into the silence King Jetei spoke with a strong, ringing voice.
“People of Saynshar! I bring you tidings of war!”
The crowd muttered and murmured, then subsided.
“First, as you know, our armies have joined with our powerful and generous neighbor to the south to beseige the arrogant might of the Longbeards of Erebor! Even now, our armies have taken the once-great city of Dale and are camped outside the gates of the Lonely Mountain!”
Cheers and applause broke out, but Bilbo noticed pockets of uneasy silence as well. He could feel Thorin breathing heavily next to him, and now it was his turn to take Thorin’s arm and squeeze reassuringly. A few people turned from their cheers to look at them, and Bilbo smiled weakly as the king continued:
“The stiff-necked dwarves and humans within will have no choice but to yield eventually, and then the riches within shall be ours!”
“Hurrah!” shouted Bilbo, throwing his hands in the air. “Hurrah! Down with the Longbeards!” Thorin cast him an agonized look, but the people nearby turned away, their suspicions apparently sated.
King Jetei seemed to waver for a moment, and looked behind him to where Il-Qaltun stood. She nodded, a slight smile curving her bloodless lips, and he turned back to the square to address the people once more.
“And now I bring you grave and glorious tidings. We have captured a Gondorian spy, sent to assassinate an inn full of our good citizens and gravely wound the good innkeeper!”
Dark mutterings from the crowd around them. Bilbo heard Arwen suck in a painful breath as she gazed up at the balcony.
“Such an act of brazen aggression cannot be allowed to stand. It is an act of war!”
The mutterings of the crowd swelled upward into cheers, much more fervent than those against the Lonely Mountain.
“People of Saynshar, we must now consider ourselves at war against Gondor! The spy shall be executed here in this square at sunrise tomorrow, and our army marches for the city of Minas Tirith within the week!”
Bilbo reached out to seize Arwen’s hand; she stared down at him as if at a stranger, her eyes dry and distant. He gripped her fingers tightly, unable to speak his heart among the cheering people, unsure if she could hear him anyway.
Then Thorin said something in Sindarin, pitched low for her ears, and she blinked and focused on his face for a long moment before nodding grimly. Then her long fingers tightened around Bilbo’s small hand, and they made their way out of the square together.
“What did you say to her?” Bilbo murmured to Thorin once they were away from the worst of the chaos, making their way slowly across town as the sun turned orange and red and faded downward.
“I said we would save him, of course,” said Thorin with a wry smile.