Clarity of Vision, Chapter 8
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 8
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 3100
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Thorin and Bilbo search the library of Annúminas together, seeking clues.
A skylark's sweet song woke Thorin in the gray of morning. Rising quietly, he washed his face in the nearby canal and started back toward the library.
"Can I help?" Thorin turned to find Bilbo Baggins standing on the stone pavement behind him. The halfling shrugged. "I'm getting bored with knife practice, and reading and research are more my area anyway." After a pause, Bilbo added tentatively, "...your majesty."
"What?"
"Well, it was a very tiny library, of course, but I did have one of the larger collections of books and manuscripts in the Shire, and--"
"--No, I mean, what did you call me?"
"Oh." Bilbo looked uncomfortable. "Is 'your majesty' the wrong term? Should it be 'my lord'? I don't know much about titles. The Shire isn't exactly overflowing with royalty, after all."
Thorin frowned. "Are you mocking me?"
Bilbo threw his hands up in horror, shaking his head vigorously. "No, no! I just want to make sure I don't--you know--after all, you are a prince, and--"
"--I was stripped of my title and rank when I was banished from Erebor." He turned to walk toward the library, Bilbo falling in beside him. "I am merely Thorin, and you may call me such--I mean, I would rather you call me Thorin."
"Very well...Thorin."
There was still a formality to Bilbo's voice that made Thorin uneasy. He shrugged awkwardly. "I never liked being called by my titles. Even if I were to regain my status, I would...rather you call me Thorin." Bilbo said nothing, and Thorin strode on toward the library in silence, feeling increasingly thunderous.
Finally he stopped and turned on his heel to glare at the hobbit. "Look here, Mr. Baggins," he growled, "If you are going to continue to hold my previous churlish behavior against me, I would prefer you to say so openly rather than tagging at my heels and silently disapproving of me! You have no right to judge me, and I--" He stopped abruptly when he realized Bilbo was smiling. "What?"
"Well," said Bilbo with something close to a smirk, "You were being so nice to me lately that I was starting to worry there was something wrong with you. But no, you're still most definitely the mannerless dwarf I banged into in Bree, no doubt about that." He started to walk toward the library then looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, and if you don't like titles, you'd better just call me 'Bilbo,' don't you think? I've almost got your nephews broken of calling me 'Mr. Baggins,' and I'd like you to set a good example." He nodded as if he were very pleased with himself. "Now, shall we get to work?"
He set off again; after a moment, Thorin followed him, shaking his head.
: : :
Bilbo blew dust off an old map, wincing as the parchment crackled in his hands. The library of Annúminas was quiet except for the quiet lapping of the lake outside and the gentle turning of pages as Thorin read in the other room. Bilbo peeked around the corner to see him peering at a book, his reading spectacles perched on his nose once more, lost in thought.
Bilbo picked up another stack of disintegrating documents with careful hands, placing them on the table next to Thorin. "These are a mix of Sindarin and Westron, and seem to be about dragons," he said. "Though not in good condition."
"Thank you, Mr. Bagg--Bilbo," Thorin corrected himself.
"You should take a break before starting them," said Bilbo. "I brought some apples, let's sit down and have a snack."
"I'm fine," snapped Thorin. His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and he looked chagrined. "I suppose an apple would not go amiss," he muttered.
They sat down on the remains of a wall, overlooking the lake. Far behind them they could faintly hear Dwalin yelling at Fíli and Kíli about careless battle stances, and the clash of steel on steel. Bilbo took a bite of apple, looking at Thorin out of the corner of his eye. "Can I ask you a question about your family?"
"Considering the previous disastrous results of your ignorance, I would say it's a good idea," said Thorin.
"They said Fíli is the heir to the Line of Durin," said Bilbo. "But you are still--well, you don't seem too old to have children, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I shall have no heir," Thorin said.
"Well, you can't be so sure of that," Bilbo said. "I mean, you're still young, and--and not unattractive--I mean, I don't know what dwarf women find attractive, I suppose, but still--"
"--I shall have no heir," Thorin repeated. "I have consulted the givesh-tharakh, and I know."
"The--the gives-thack?"
Thorin shot him an annoyed look and hurled his apple core into the lake with a resonant plonk. "The givesh-tharakh. It is...an oracle of sorts. There are few women among our kind, and thus it is the fate of much of our race to go without a mate. The givesh-tharakh is a ceremony that all male dwarflings go through on reaching adulthood."
"It tells the future?"
"Not in so many words," Thorin said. "The dwarfling must go on a quest to find a certain type of rock, a kind of geode. We fast and meditate and search until we find the stone that touches our soul. Then the stone is broken open. The inside of the stone can range from black to white, with many kinds of striations and marblings. The patterns hint at certain futures, but the general color of the stone tells a dwarf whether he will ever find a mate in his life. The more black at the stone's heart, the better the chance of such a person to share our lives." Thorin took a bite of another apple, gazing out over the water.
"And..."
Thorin grimaced. "The historians examined my stone and said they had never seen such a perfectly white center. There is no mate in the world for me."
"Oh. Um, I'm sorry to hear that."
Thorin glowered at him. "It was a relief. I was able to dedicate myself fully to saving my grandfather, without wasting time on wooing."
Bilbo tried to imagine Thorin "wooing" anyone, and winced slightly as his imagination sputtered and failed. "Well," he said cheerfully, "If I'm ever in Erebor I shall have to try this giveth-taketh thing and see what my odds are."
Thorin snorted. "It is a dwarvish custom; I sincerely doubt it would work on halflings."
They sat in silence for a time, then Bilbo bit his lip and spoke again. "So this cure. You have to find it because you're worried about your nephews falling victim to the dragon-sickness."
Thorin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Most people would assume I wanted to find it for my own sake."
Bilbo waved his hand. "Well, certainly. But I've seen how you care about them. They're the real reason."
"They are the future of Erebor."
"They're your nephews, and you love them."
Thorin made a harrumphing noise, then scrambled to his feet. "Back to work," he said shortly, then added "--Bilbo," as if faintly surprised.
: : :
"Come over here." Thorin's voice held a barely-suppressed excitement. "Look at this signature. Do you think this says 'Elloth'?"
Bilbo squinted at the scrap of paper in Thorin's hands. Eaten by worms, it was reduced nearly to lace. "I think so, yes," he said.
"This is it," Thorin said. He put the piece of paper down; Bilbo saw that his hands had started shaking. "It's another verse from the poem."
"Not much left of it," Bilbo said dubiously.
"No," breathed Thorin. "But still..." He pointed. "Look here, we can see this whole line: In lands beyond the reach of vengeful waves. And here, and here--" His finger hovered over the paper, "--you can just barely make out the Sindarin words for 'alabaster' and 'emerald.' Alabaster and emerald." Thorin smiled. "It's not much, but it's more than we had."
"What does that one line mean, about the waves?"
Thorin frowned. "'Vengeful waves' must be a reference to the Fall of Beleriand, where the lands west of the Blue Mountains were swallowed by the sea after the War of Wrath, at the end of the First Age. Perhaps that means the artifact can be found in the west of Middle Earth, in the area near what used to be Beleriand."
Bilbo frowned. "Wait a moment." He pulled the old map out of the pile, settling it on the table. The Misty Mountains formed the eastern border of the map, with the sea covering the west and southern sides. Annúminas was at the center, Fornost off to the east and the lands that would become the Shire just to the south. To the northwest was the mountain range of Ered Luin, and beyond them the sea. And to the far northwest...
Bilbo touched the little island marked "Himring." "Isn't this one of the last remnants of Beleriand?"
Thorin bent over the map, his eyes avid. "A land that escaped the vengeful waves. Yes. This island was once a hill, the fortress of Maedhros, son of Fëanor. Perhaps it is there that we can find the item that will save my King." He looked at Bilbo, and there was hope in his face like a dawn, transfiguring all his sullenness to beauty for a moment. "Let's tell the others," he said.
Within hours, the camp was broken and everyone's packs were re-packed, though Dwalin protested bitterly that nearly all of western Middle-earth could count as "lands beyond the reach of vengeful waves," and couldn't they pick someplace a little more likely to have a tavern? But when he saw the light in Thorin's eyes, he sighed and put away his fishhooks and viol without further complaint.
"There should be a human settlement to the west," Thorin said, looking at his own map once more. "We can buy ponies there, and fresh provisions to replace the ones my nephews lost." They started to apologize, but he waved them to silence. He was nearly smiling as he hoisted his pack and started along the lakeshore path once more. "And we can find an escort for Bilbo to see him safely back to his Shire once more."
"Oh." Bilbo blinked. He had rather expected that Thorin would forget all about getting him back to the Shire. Well, it was a relief to know he'd be back home soon, then.
Yes, it was a relief.
"I thought you might ride south with me and see me home," he said after a moment.
"I do not have time to dally in quaint halfling villages and nibble on scones and drink tea," Thorin snorted. "Not when I have the most promising lead I have ever found. No, we shall find you a tinker or merchant who is traveling south and bid you farewell."
Silence fell as they walked along. Fíli and Kíli exchanged glances. Balin looked at Bilbo and bit his lip. Dwalin frowned at Thorin's back.
After a hundred paces or so, Thorin cleared his throat. "Unless, that is, you wished to stay in our party a while longer and travel further with us."
Bilbo's heart gave a great bound of surprise and--well, certainly it must be alarm--at his words. "Oh," he stammered. "Oh, but I'm so close to home now. I really should get back to Bag End. I'm not really--I don't think I have much to add to your quest."
"But Bilbo, your food!" Kíli burst out.
"And you haven't finished teaching me those halfling ballads," Balin noted.
"You're the one who's good with maps," Dwalin said. "We're less likely to get lost with you along."
"Also, rabbit stew!" Fíli added.
"I--I don't know," faltered Bilbo.
"Stop hounding him," Thorin said curtly without turning around. "If Mr. Baggins wishes to return home, he does not need you to pester him with complaints." Under his breath, he added in a mutter, "Mahal knows there have been times I wish I were quit of the lot of you."
He stomped on with the rest of his party trailing after, leaving Bilbo to wonder how going from first names back to titles could feel like such a demotion.
: : :
The little golden pony had a long, thick forelock that nearly covered her eyes; she nickered and lipped Bilbo's hair. "Thank you," Bilbo said faintly.
Thorin threw Bilbo's pack onto the pony's back and fastened it. "We owe you far more than that for your services," he said.
"My services, yes. I see," said Bilbo.
"In fact..." Thorin reached into a pocket and carefully doled out three shining emeralds. They glittered in the palm of Bilbo's hand. "Our thanks go with you, Bil--Mr. Baggins."
Bilbo closed his fingers over them. "It was my pleasure," he murmured.
"Now, I must finish buying some provisions." Thorin sketched a bow to Bilbo. "I shall return to say our farewells."
The mare stomped her hoof as the stable door swung shut, and Bilbo stroked her neck absently. There was a group of merchants heading south to the Shire in a few days; travelling with them would be safe and secure. And he wanted to be safe and secure, right?
"Lad." Bilbo looked up to see Dwalin standing at the door of the stable, his arms crossed. "You'll really be leaving us?"
"Thorin seems eager enough to be rid of me." Bilbo bit his lip at the unexpected bitterness in his voice.
"Well, he's not," said Dwalin. "He wouldn't be insisting so hard that you leave if he didn't want you to stay."
"That's--well, that's just ridiculous."
"That's Thorin. He pushes everything away because he thinks it'll hurt less then when he loses it." Dwalin shrugged. "He's wrong, of course, but far be it from me to correct him."
Bilbo blinked. This was the longest speech he'd ever heard Dwalin give.
"You watch," Dwalin went on. "As we ride away, just before we go out of sight, he'll turn around for a last look at you." He looked at Bilbo. "I'm only saying this because I think you might want to come along. But if I'm wrong, well..." Shrugging again, he turned and left.
The little mare stomped again. "Don't worry," said Bilbo into her golden ear. "I won't drag you off to parts unknown, over mountains and rivers to some mythical island in the endless sea." His fingers tightened in her pale mane. "With a bunch of mad dwarves on some vain quest. No sir, we're going back to the Shire together and you'll have all the oats you want and I'll have a nice comfortable chair in Bag End once more."
The mare rolled a soft brown eye at him and looked dubious.
"Don't you start with me too," said Bilbo.
: : :
"Goodbye, Bilbo!" Kíli waved from the back of his pony, nearly falling off. "Please come see us in Erebor sometime!"
Thorin looked down from his shaggy pony at Bilbo. "Be safe, Mr. Baggins." He opened his mouth again, then shut it, and kicked his pony into a walk.
The trail wound westward, topping a hill, and Bilbo watched them go. Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin and Balin all turned to wave goodbye, but Thorin looked resolutely ahead as they climbed the hill. He didn't look back at all.
Bilbo watched the four other dwarves disappear over the rise until only Thorin was left.
At the top of the hill, Thorin's pony stopped. He sat still for a moment, gazing west. Then, with a strangely abrupt motion, as if he couldn't help himself, he turned and looked back toward Bilbo. With a small and awkward hand gesture, too tentative to even be a wave, he turned away once more.
Bilbo watched him disappear from sight. Then he turned slowly and started to walk toward the stables.
By the fifth step he was running.
: : :
Thorin rode in silence. It was a long road ahead of them and he was in no mood to talk. The fall weather was glorious; he scowled at the sun as if it were a personal insult. The other dwarves were subdued, and even his nephews seemed disinclined to sing and chatter along the road.
Thorin wrapped himself in his foul mood like a cloak against a hard rain and said nothing.
When he heard drumming hoofbeats behind them he didn't turn to look. Only when he heard Balin murmur "Well, I'll be blessed," under his breath and Fíli yell an inarticulate sound of delight did he pull the pony to a halt and look back.
Bilbo was clinging to the back of a galloping pony, hanging on for dear life as it raced toward the dwarves. "Whoa! Whoa!" he yelled as it came closer, pulling on the reins, and the pony dropped into a cheerful canter before halting next to Thorin's mount.
"Uh, strangest thing," Bilbo gasped, looking more winded than the pony. "I don't know what happened, I got on Daffodil here and she just bolted off to the west, wouldn't listen to a word I said. Strangest thing, really." He patted the mare's neck and she tossed her head, looking pleased with herself. "Just took off after you dwarves and...well..." He trailed off and looked over at Thorin, a quick elliptical glance. "...actually, I was rather hoping I could keep traveling with you a little while longer."
"How much longer?" asked Kíli before Thorin could say anything, which was a relief because he had been going to ask the same thing, and it would have been undignified to sound as eager as his nephew.
"Oh, I've never seen the sea," Bilbo said. "And--and it would be quite an adventure to see an island that used to be an elvish fortress! So maybe after Himring you can drop me off back at the Shire."
"Depending on what we find, we shall see you safely home after our time in Himring," Thorin announced.
"That would be quite kind of you, thank you," Bilbo said awkwardly.
"Let us not delay any longer." Thorin kicked his pony into a walk again. "It is good to have you along, Bilbo," he called back over his shoulder.
The glance he caught of Bilbo's smile made him look away quickly to the west: the west, where the goal of all his life, his heart's desire, might be waiting for him at last.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 3100
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Thorin and Bilbo search the library of Annúminas together, seeking clues.
A skylark's sweet song woke Thorin in the gray of morning. Rising quietly, he washed his face in the nearby canal and started back toward the library.
"Can I help?" Thorin turned to find Bilbo Baggins standing on the stone pavement behind him. The halfling shrugged. "I'm getting bored with knife practice, and reading and research are more my area anyway." After a pause, Bilbo added tentatively, "...your majesty."
"What?"
"Well, it was a very tiny library, of course, but I did have one of the larger collections of books and manuscripts in the Shire, and--"
"--No, I mean, what did you call me?"
"Oh." Bilbo looked uncomfortable. "Is 'your majesty' the wrong term? Should it be 'my lord'? I don't know much about titles. The Shire isn't exactly overflowing with royalty, after all."
Thorin frowned. "Are you mocking me?"
Bilbo threw his hands up in horror, shaking his head vigorously. "No, no! I just want to make sure I don't--you know--after all, you are a prince, and--"
"--I was stripped of my title and rank when I was banished from Erebor." He turned to walk toward the library, Bilbo falling in beside him. "I am merely Thorin, and you may call me such--I mean, I would rather you call me Thorin."
"Very well...Thorin."
There was still a formality to Bilbo's voice that made Thorin uneasy. He shrugged awkwardly. "I never liked being called by my titles. Even if I were to regain my status, I would...rather you call me Thorin." Bilbo said nothing, and Thorin strode on toward the library in silence, feeling increasingly thunderous.
Finally he stopped and turned on his heel to glare at the hobbit. "Look here, Mr. Baggins," he growled, "If you are going to continue to hold my previous churlish behavior against me, I would prefer you to say so openly rather than tagging at my heels and silently disapproving of me! You have no right to judge me, and I--" He stopped abruptly when he realized Bilbo was smiling. "What?"
"Well," said Bilbo with something close to a smirk, "You were being so nice to me lately that I was starting to worry there was something wrong with you. But no, you're still most definitely the mannerless dwarf I banged into in Bree, no doubt about that." He started to walk toward the library then looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, and if you don't like titles, you'd better just call me 'Bilbo,' don't you think? I've almost got your nephews broken of calling me 'Mr. Baggins,' and I'd like you to set a good example." He nodded as if he were very pleased with himself. "Now, shall we get to work?"
He set off again; after a moment, Thorin followed him, shaking his head.
: : :
Bilbo blew dust off an old map, wincing as the parchment crackled in his hands. The library of Annúminas was quiet except for the quiet lapping of the lake outside and the gentle turning of pages as Thorin read in the other room. Bilbo peeked around the corner to see him peering at a book, his reading spectacles perched on his nose once more, lost in thought.
Bilbo picked up another stack of disintegrating documents with careful hands, placing them on the table next to Thorin. "These are a mix of Sindarin and Westron, and seem to be about dragons," he said. "Though not in good condition."
"Thank you, Mr. Bagg--Bilbo," Thorin corrected himself.
"You should take a break before starting them," said Bilbo. "I brought some apples, let's sit down and have a snack."
"I'm fine," snapped Thorin. His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and he looked chagrined. "I suppose an apple would not go amiss," he muttered.
They sat down on the remains of a wall, overlooking the lake. Far behind them they could faintly hear Dwalin yelling at Fíli and Kíli about careless battle stances, and the clash of steel on steel. Bilbo took a bite of apple, looking at Thorin out of the corner of his eye. "Can I ask you a question about your family?"
"Considering the previous disastrous results of your ignorance, I would say it's a good idea," said Thorin.
"They said Fíli is the heir to the Line of Durin," said Bilbo. "But you are still--well, you don't seem too old to have children, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I shall have no heir," Thorin said.
"Well, you can't be so sure of that," Bilbo said. "I mean, you're still young, and--and not unattractive--I mean, I don't know what dwarf women find attractive, I suppose, but still--"
"--I shall have no heir," Thorin repeated. "I have consulted the givesh-tharakh, and I know."
"The--the gives-thack?"
Thorin shot him an annoyed look and hurled his apple core into the lake with a resonant plonk. "The givesh-tharakh. It is...an oracle of sorts. There are few women among our kind, and thus it is the fate of much of our race to go without a mate. The givesh-tharakh is a ceremony that all male dwarflings go through on reaching adulthood."
"It tells the future?"
"Not in so many words," Thorin said. "The dwarfling must go on a quest to find a certain type of rock, a kind of geode. We fast and meditate and search until we find the stone that touches our soul. Then the stone is broken open. The inside of the stone can range from black to white, with many kinds of striations and marblings. The patterns hint at certain futures, but the general color of the stone tells a dwarf whether he will ever find a mate in his life. The more black at the stone's heart, the better the chance of such a person to share our lives." Thorin took a bite of another apple, gazing out over the water.
"And..."
Thorin grimaced. "The historians examined my stone and said they had never seen such a perfectly white center. There is no mate in the world for me."
"Oh. Um, I'm sorry to hear that."
Thorin glowered at him. "It was a relief. I was able to dedicate myself fully to saving my grandfather, without wasting time on wooing."
Bilbo tried to imagine Thorin "wooing" anyone, and winced slightly as his imagination sputtered and failed. "Well," he said cheerfully, "If I'm ever in Erebor I shall have to try this giveth-taketh thing and see what my odds are."
Thorin snorted. "It is a dwarvish custom; I sincerely doubt it would work on halflings."
They sat in silence for a time, then Bilbo bit his lip and spoke again. "So this cure. You have to find it because you're worried about your nephews falling victim to the dragon-sickness."
Thorin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Most people would assume I wanted to find it for my own sake."
Bilbo waved his hand. "Well, certainly. But I've seen how you care about them. They're the real reason."
"They are the future of Erebor."
"They're your nephews, and you love them."
Thorin made a harrumphing noise, then scrambled to his feet. "Back to work," he said shortly, then added "--Bilbo," as if faintly surprised.
: : :
"Come over here." Thorin's voice held a barely-suppressed excitement. "Look at this signature. Do you think this says 'Elloth'?"
Bilbo squinted at the scrap of paper in Thorin's hands. Eaten by worms, it was reduced nearly to lace. "I think so, yes," he said.
"This is it," Thorin said. He put the piece of paper down; Bilbo saw that his hands had started shaking. "It's another verse from the poem."
"Not much left of it," Bilbo said dubiously.
"No," breathed Thorin. "But still..." He pointed. "Look here, we can see this whole line: In lands beyond the reach of vengeful waves. And here, and here--" His finger hovered over the paper, "--you can just barely make out the Sindarin words for 'alabaster' and 'emerald.' Alabaster and emerald." Thorin smiled. "It's not much, but it's more than we had."
"What does that one line mean, about the waves?"
Thorin frowned. "'Vengeful waves' must be a reference to the Fall of Beleriand, where the lands west of the Blue Mountains were swallowed by the sea after the War of Wrath, at the end of the First Age. Perhaps that means the artifact can be found in the west of Middle Earth, in the area near what used to be Beleriand."
Bilbo frowned. "Wait a moment." He pulled the old map out of the pile, settling it on the table. The Misty Mountains formed the eastern border of the map, with the sea covering the west and southern sides. Annúminas was at the center, Fornost off to the east and the lands that would become the Shire just to the south. To the northwest was the mountain range of Ered Luin, and beyond them the sea. And to the far northwest...
Bilbo touched the little island marked "Himring." "Isn't this one of the last remnants of Beleriand?"
Thorin bent over the map, his eyes avid. "A land that escaped the vengeful waves. Yes. This island was once a hill, the fortress of Maedhros, son of Fëanor. Perhaps it is there that we can find the item that will save my King." He looked at Bilbo, and there was hope in his face like a dawn, transfiguring all his sullenness to beauty for a moment. "Let's tell the others," he said.
Within hours, the camp was broken and everyone's packs were re-packed, though Dwalin protested bitterly that nearly all of western Middle-earth could count as "lands beyond the reach of vengeful waves," and couldn't they pick someplace a little more likely to have a tavern? But when he saw the light in Thorin's eyes, he sighed and put away his fishhooks and viol without further complaint.
"There should be a human settlement to the west," Thorin said, looking at his own map once more. "We can buy ponies there, and fresh provisions to replace the ones my nephews lost." They started to apologize, but he waved them to silence. He was nearly smiling as he hoisted his pack and started along the lakeshore path once more. "And we can find an escort for Bilbo to see him safely back to his Shire once more."
"Oh." Bilbo blinked. He had rather expected that Thorin would forget all about getting him back to the Shire. Well, it was a relief to know he'd be back home soon, then.
Yes, it was a relief.
"I thought you might ride south with me and see me home," he said after a moment.
"I do not have time to dally in quaint halfling villages and nibble on scones and drink tea," Thorin snorted. "Not when I have the most promising lead I have ever found. No, we shall find you a tinker or merchant who is traveling south and bid you farewell."
Silence fell as they walked along. Fíli and Kíli exchanged glances. Balin looked at Bilbo and bit his lip. Dwalin frowned at Thorin's back.
After a hundred paces or so, Thorin cleared his throat. "Unless, that is, you wished to stay in our party a while longer and travel further with us."
Bilbo's heart gave a great bound of surprise and--well, certainly it must be alarm--at his words. "Oh," he stammered. "Oh, but I'm so close to home now. I really should get back to Bag End. I'm not really--I don't think I have much to add to your quest."
"But Bilbo, your food!" Kíli burst out.
"And you haven't finished teaching me those halfling ballads," Balin noted.
"You're the one who's good with maps," Dwalin said. "We're less likely to get lost with you along."
"Also, rabbit stew!" Fíli added.
"I--I don't know," faltered Bilbo.
"Stop hounding him," Thorin said curtly without turning around. "If Mr. Baggins wishes to return home, he does not need you to pester him with complaints." Under his breath, he added in a mutter, "Mahal knows there have been times I wish I were quit of the lot of you."
He stomped on with the rest of his party trailing after, leaving Bilbo to wonder how going from first names back to titles could feel like such a demotion.
: : :
The little golden pony had a long, thick forelock that nearly covered her eyes; she nickered and lipped Bilbo's hair. "Thank you," Bilbo said faintly.
Thorin threw Bilbo's pack onto the pony's back and fastened it. "We owe you far more than that for your services," he said.
"My services, yes. I see," said Bilbo.
"In fact..." Thorin reached into a pocket and carefully doled out three shining emeralds. They glittered in the palm of Bilbo's hand. "Our thanks go with you, Bil--Mr. Baggins."
Bilbo closed his fingers over them. "It was my pleasure," he murmured.
"Now, I must finish buying some provisions." Thorin sketched a bow to Bilbo. "I shall return to say our farewells."
The mare stomped her hoof as the stable door swung shut, and Bilbo stroked her neck absently. There was a group of merchants heading south to the Shire in a few days; travelling with them would be safe and secure. And he wanted to be safe and secure, right?
"Lad." Bilbo looked up to see Dwalin standing at the door of the stable, his arms crossed. "You'll really be leaving us?"
"Thorin seems eager enough to be rid of me." Bilbo bit his lip at the unexpected bitterness in his voice.
"Well, he's not," said Dwalin. "He wouldn't be insisting so hard that you leave if he didn't want you to stay."
"That's--well, that's just ridiculous."
"That's Thorin. He pushes everything away because he thinks it'll hurt less then when he loses it." Dwalin shrugged. "He's wrong, of course, but far be it from me to correct him."
Bilbo blinked. This was the longest speech he'd ever heard Dwalin give.
"You watch," Dwalin went on. "As we ride away, just before we go out of sight, he'll turn around for a last look at you." He looked at Bilbo. "I'm only saying this because I think you might want to come along. But if I'm wrong, well..." Shrugging again, he turned and left.
The little mare stomped again. "Don't worry," said Bilbo into her golden ear. "I won't drag you off to parts unknown, over mountains and rivers to some mythical island in the endless sea." His fingers tightened in her pale mane. "With a bunch of mad dwarves on some vain quest. No sir, we're going back to the Shire together and you'll have all the oats you want and I'll have a nice comfortable chair in Bag End once more."
The mare rolled a soft brown eye at him and looked dubious.
"Don't you start with me too," said Bilbo.
: : :
"Goodbye, Bilbo!" Kíli waved from the back of his pony, nearly falling off. "Please come see us in Erebor sometime!"
Thorin looked down from his shaggy pony at Bilbo. "Be safe, Mr. Baggins." He opened his mouth again, then shut it, and kicked his pony into a walk.
The trail wound westward, topping a hill, and Bilbo watched them go. Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin and Balin all turned to wave goodbye, but Thorin looked resolutely ahead as they climbed the hill. He didn't look back at all.
Bilbo watched the four other dwarves disappear over the rise until only Thorin was left.
At the top of the hill, Thorin's pony stopped. He sat still for a moment, gazing west. Then, with a strangely abrupt motion, as if he couldn't help himself, he turned and looked back toward Bilbo. With a small and awkward hand gesture, too tentative to even be a wave, he turned away once more.
Bilbo watched him disappear from sight. Then he turned slowly and started to walk toward the stables.
By the fifth step he was running.
: : :
Thorin rode in silence. It was a long road ahead of them and he was in no mood to talk. The fall weather was glorious; he scowled at the sun as if it were a personal insult. The other dwarves were subdued, and even his nephews seemed disinclined to sing and chatter along the road.
Thorin wrapped himself in his foul mood like a cloak against a hard rain and said nothing.
When he heard drumming hoofbeats behind them he didn't turn to look. Only when he heard Balin murmur "Well, I'll be blessed," under his breath and Fíli yell an inarticulate sound of delight did he pull the pony to a halt and look back.
Bilbo was clinging to the back of a galloping pony, hanging on for dear life as it raced toward the dwarves. "Whoa! Whoa!" he yelled as it came closer, pulling on the reins, and the pony dropped into a cheerful canter before halting next to Thorin's mount.
"Uh, strangest thing," Bilbo gasped, looking more winded than the pony. "I don't know what happened, I got on Daffodil here and she just bolted off to the west, wouldn't listen to a word I said. Strangest thing, really." He patted the mare's neck and she tossed her head, looking pleased with herself. "Just took off after you dwarves and...well..." He trailed off and looked over at Thorin, a quick elliptical glance. "...actually, I was rather hoping I could keep traveling with you a little while longer."
"How much longer?" asked Kíli before Thorin could say anything, which was a relief because he had been going to ask the same thing, and it would have been undignified to sound as eager as his nephew.
"Oh, I've never seen the sea," Bilbo said. "And--and it would be quite an adventure to see an island that used to be an elvish fortress! So maybe after Himring you can drop me off back at the Shire."
"Depending on what we find, we shall see you safely home after our time in Himring," Thorin announced.
"That would be quite kind of you, thank you," Bilbo said awkwardly.
"Let us not delay any longer." Thorin kicked his pony into a walk again. "It is good to have you along, Bilbo," he called back over his shoulder.
The glance he caught of Bilbo's smile made him look away quickly to the west: the west, where the goal of all his life, his heart's desire, might be waiting for him at last.