Clarity of Vision, Chapter 16
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 16
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf
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: Discovered and pursued by goblins, the party desperately searches for an exit to the warrens beneath the Misty Mountains.
Off in the distance Bilbo could hear, faintly, the sound of drums. At least it wasn't nearby, he thought uneasily, feeling the pressure of the mountain, the tons of rock all around him. How did the dwarves stand it?
Next to him, Fíli peered into the darkness, keeping watch with him while the rest of the party caught a few moments of sleep before forging onward toward--one hoped--some kind of exit on the other side of the mountains.
"Have you--have you heard any suspicious noises?" Bilbo said to him in a low voice. "Like a...flappy, slithery noise, following us?"
Fíli frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"
"Oh, no reason." Bilbo sighed and tried to put his worries out of his mind. "I'll just be glad when we're out of here."
Fíli patted him on the shoulder. "We all will. The sooner we get that glass to Erebor, the happier I know I'll be." He blew out a breath. "I just...want Uncle Thorin back where he belongs."
Bilbo glanced over at him. Fíli's sunny, open face was unusually pensive in the dim light. "It sounds like it was hard on you, having him gone."
"Mahal," Fíli muttered, an oath and a prayer in one. "Look at him. Look at me. I'm no prince, I'm barely a princeling. Hunting boars on the slopes of Erebor--I wasn't prepared for any of this. I'm not a leader, not like he is." His voice was low, the words tumbling out in a toneless stream as if he couldn't stop them. "I just want to get him home. That glass is my salvation."
More than you know, perhaps, Bilbo thought. "He has faith in you," he said. "He told me once you were the future of Erebor."
Fíli looked at him, his face startled out of its rueful bitterness. "He did?" He blinked. "Maybe he meant that as a depressing statement."
Bilbo's impulse to laugh was stifled by Fíli's expression. "He didn't, I know. I can tell."
Fíli nodded slowly. "You really can, can't you? Sometimes I have a hard time reading him. But you're his friend, so maybe you can."
"Friend?" It was Bilbo's turn to be surprised.
"Aren't you? He talks to you. You--make him smile. Sometimes," Fíli amended.
"Not very often."
"More than anyone else I know."
"I--" Bilbo didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer by Balin and Dwalin showing up to relieve them so they could sleep for a little while before moving on. As Bilbo lay down, he looked over at Thorin, who was lying with one arm thrown protectively over his pack, frowning even in his sleep.
Friendship? Was that the word for this rush of exasperation, mixed with an inexplicable desire to smooth those frown lines away? It didn't feel like any friendship he had ever known. But then, he reflected as he closed his eyes, he had few friends even back home.
And he had no other word that seemed quite right for what he was feeling, so friendship would do.
: : :
"They will be upon us soon," Thorin noted calmly.
"Yes, Uncle Thorin," said Kíli. His hands were shaking as he tied a rope to the end of one of his arrows. Dwalin and Balin held on to the far end of the rope, looking nervously behind them.
"We have very little time," Thorin said as the sound of clashing weapons and chanting goblins echoed, drawing closer.
"I'm working on it, Uncle Thorin," said Kíli as he nocked his bow, aiming at an iron ring fixed in the ceiling above the crevice which was currently preventing their retreat. Jagged stalactites blocked his aim, and he edged to the left to get a better shot.
"It sounds as if there are quite a lot of them," Thorin added.
"Thorin, shut up!" snarled Kíli, releasing the arrow.
The arrow soared through the ring, dragging the rope with it; the arrow and rope dangled into the chasm, hanging from the ring. "All right," he gasped. "Now we can--" He looked back at Thorin, his eyes going wide with chagrin. "Uncle Thorin, I'm so sorry--"
Thorin discovered he couldn't hold his glower any longer; laughter sneaked out around the edges, and he gave up and simply laughed. "Never mind," he said, wiping his eyes. "It was a good shot." He looked out at the rope hanging in the middle of the chasm. "Now we need--"
Kíli was already dropping his pack and weapons on the ground. "All of you, hold on to this end of the rope." He handed Bilbo his bow. "You hold on to this."
Bilbo juggled it awkwardly, his eyes wide. "You're not going to--"
"I'm the lightest, after you--and I don't think you want to try and jump to the rope, do you?"
Bilbo's eyes flicked to the chasm. "Not--not really," he wavered.
"Someone's got to do it," Kíli said, backing up. He looked at the dwarves anchoring the end of the rope. "And I'm the most expendable," he added under his breath, then ran and launched himself out over the abyss, reaching for the rope.
Thorin's breath stopped as his nephew grasped for the rope over the darkness. Then his hands were around it and with a whoop of triumph he was swinging out to the far side, landing with a solid thump on the distant ledge.
"You're not expendable!" Fíli yelled angrily across the gap.
"This is no time to argue about such things," Thorin said as Kíli opened his mouth. "But Fíli is right," he added brusquely. He removed his pack and handed it to Bilbo, grabbing Kíli's bow from the hobbit.
"What--" Bilbo's eyes were still wide and startled, and Thorin had to fight an urge to put an arm around his shoulders and support him.
"You're the lightest," he said instead, grabbing the end of the rope Dwalin was holding and handing it to Bilbo. "Kíli will anchor that end. You have to get across."
"With your pack?" Bilbo stared down at it and the rope in his hand.
Thorin clapped him roughly on the shoulder with the hand not encumbered by Kíli's bow. "Bilbo, that pack holds all of my hopes for healing my grandfather, for saving Erebor from madness. It holds the culmination of my life. If the goblins catch us, the pack must be safely on the other side." He looked into Bilbo's bewildered eyes. "I trust you with this, Bilbo."
Bilbo blinked, and his jaw set. "Then I shall get it across safely," he said.
His hands shook, but he grasped the rope firmly and got a running start, then launched himself out over the chasm. The rope snapped taut, but Kíli held on to his end, and soon Bilbo was safely on the other side. He put Thorin's pack down very carefully and then sat down on the rock as though his knees couldn't hold him up anymore. "All right," Thorin heard him mutter. "That wasn't...wasn't so bad."
Kíli reeled in the rope, coiling it on the edge of the ledge, then picked up the other end. "The rope is too light!" he called over. "We have to tie something to this end to make sure it gets back across to you." He flipped open Thorin's pack, pulling out a knife, then a belt. "Bilbo, look for something we can tie the other end to and secure it, a rock spur or something." As Bilbo got unsteadily to his feet and started to look around, Kíli pulled out the silver case that held the glass.
"If you use that to weight the rope, I will jump over there and throttle you myself," Thorin called, and he rolled his eyes and put it back.
"Aha!" he brandished Thorin's little lantern. "Handy."
He started to whistle cheerfully, looking down at the rope, and so did not see the two goblins that came around the corner on his side of the ledge.
Thorin stared in horror, unable even to cry out at the sight. His hand tightened on Kíli's bow--useless in his untrained hands: Mahal save them! He could hear his companions calling a warning, saw Bilbo pull his knife from his scabbard and drop into a defensive stance between Kíli and the goblins. Kíli pulled out his own dagger and scrambled to stand next to Bilbo as the goblins charged them, howling.
They fought madly, side by side, as the rest of the party watched in helpless agony; with a clever twisting blow Kíli disarmed his opponent and swiveled to kick it toward the ledge. The goblin staggered, recovered before it joined its blade in the darkness below. Its eyes fell on Thorin's pack sitting on the edge.
Seizing it, it turned to wield it like a weapon, battering wildly at Kíli in great swinging arcs.
And the silver case holding the glass fell out and skittered across the floor of the cave, glinting in the weak torchlight, coming to rest at the feet of the other goblin, who was currently raining hammer-blows down on a desperate Bilbo.
Everything seemed to be moving so slowly, yet at the same time too fast, far too fast. Thorin tore his eyes from the fight and groped for an arrow from Kíli's quiver, his hands clumsy on the unfamiliar weapon. When he looked up again, Kíli was grappling with his opponent, struggling to push the goblin over the edge. Thorin nocked the bow, but they were tangled together, even an expert bowman couldn't have gotten a good shot.
"The rope!" bellowed Dwalin. The struggle had dislodged the coil of rope, and it was slowly unspooling into the chasm below, loop by loop.
Thorin saw Bilbo's eyes widen, and with a desperate motion he slashed at the goblin's hand, then dropped his own weapon and lunged for the rope, catching it at the last second before it vanished into the black void.
His opponent dropped its hammer; blood spattered from its slashed hand to the ground below, staining the silver case at its feet. The goblin peered down at it, then seized and opened it. The twisted face broke into a leer of delight as it grabbed the glass hemisphere and then pounced toward the unarmed hobbit, raising it like a bludgeon.
At the sight, Kíli howled something completely unintelligible. His opponent took advantage of his lapse in concentration to shove him against the cave wall, and Thorin saw his head snap back against the stone with a dull thud. But he kicked fiercely at the goblin and finally sent his foe over the edge, only a forlorn scream echoing back. Kíli staggered toward the goblin holding the glass, then sank to the ground, his eyes fluttering closed.
The goblin straddled Bilbo on the very edge of the precipice and raised the glass to smash Bilbo's head with it.
Time seemed to stop. Thorin felt the bowstring cutting into his fingers, taut as his heart. He saw Bilbo's pale, set face as he prepared to dodge the blow, refusing to drop the rope that was their lifeline. He saw the goblin's crooked teeth gleaming in a hideous smile. He saw the glass descending like death, clutched in a cruel hand.
He released the arrow.
The goblin staggered as the arrow thudded into its shoulder.
And the glass flew wide into the air over the chasm.
It traced a delicate arc, beautiful and doomed as destiny, and Thorin's eyes followed it until it hit one of the stalactites and
shattered.
: : :
Shattered.
Bilbo couldn't seem to look away as the glass burst asunder into a thousand fragments like diamonds, like snow, like tears. They fell into the chasm in a rain of light and were gone, swallowed by darkness irrevocable. Frozen in horror, he hardly noticed the goblin still looming above him, shrieking and clutching its shoulder. Its rheumy eyes fixed on his in sheer hatred and it clawed down at him.
A rush of fury stabbed through him and he grabbed the rope, looped it around the goblin's feet, and yanked.
The goblin tottered and pitched into the darkness after the glass. There was a howl of fury, and then silence.
Silence.
Bilbo found himself on his hands and knees, trembling. With an effort, he raised his head and looked across the chasm, where Thorin had fallen to his knees and was staring down into the pit. There was no anger on his face, no grief, no anguish.
There was nothing.
Staggering with exhaustion, Bilbo managed to tie one end of the rope securely to a stalagmite. He heard low voices talking to Thorin and could not bring himself to look back. With shaking hands he tied the lantern to the other end of the rope and swung it back across to the other side. As soon as he saw Dwalin catch it, he hurried to Kíli's side where he was lying on the stony ground, blood trickling down the side of his face. "Kíli," he whispered, trying to wipe the blood away.
Kíli stirred and opened his eyes. "The glass," he murmured. He saw Bilbo's expression and closed his eyes again. "No."
"I'm sorry," choked Bilbo. "This is all my fault. If I'd been stronger--if I'd only--"
"I'll not hear such nonsense," said Balin's voice behind him, and a strong hand clasped his shoulder. "You were a brave warrior. No one is to blame save the goblins--and perhaps fate."
Gandalf bent over Kíli, the light from his staff touching the dwarf's face. "He'll be all right," he said. "Luckily, the blow landed on the densest part of his anatomy."
A weak smile twitched Kíli's mouth, then faded away once more. "Uncle Thorin..." he said.
"He's here," said Balin. He was untying the rope from around Thorin's torso where Dwalin had secured it; Thorin's hands hung lax at his sides and he had made no effort to hold the rope. "Thorin. My prince," he murmured. When Thorin didn't answer, he took Thorin's hands in his. "Laddie."
Thorin shook his hands off, seized a rope from his pack, and handed it to Fíli, tying the other end under his arms. Balin grabbed it as well just before Thorin swung himself off the ledge and into the darkness.
They lowered Thorin into the depths, but the rope did not reach the bottom. "Light," came Thorin's voice from the blackness, and Gandalf lowered his staff to flood the chasm with pale radiance which fell into the chasm and was swallowed by the impenetrable dark.
Only a dusting of glass glinted on a ledge far below, out of reach. Below that was nothing but oblivion.
"Thorin," called Balin over the rising sound of drums. "We must go on."
"Leave me," said Thorin.
"We leave here together!" Balin yelled, and added something curt in Khuzdul that made the other dwarves stare at him. He dragged on the rope, and Fíli and Dwalin joined in until they pulled Thorin back over the side, a dead weight gazing back into the abyss.
"Come on!" yelled Gandalf, dragging Thorin to his feet as the first goblins came around the far corner. Bilbo threw an arm under Kíli's shoulders and together they broke into a limping run. The air hissed with crossbow bolts as they ducked into the passage; Bilbo saw a bolt glance off the rock next to Thorin's head, but he reacted not at all, following Gandalf mechanically.
They ran into the dark, fleeing death and defeat. A long time they ran, the pursuit behind them fading away until at last they emerged from the endless stinking caves into a pine barren, stumbling and slipping down a long hill. It was raining, a cold pounding rain that soaked them all to the bone immediately as they staggered away from Goblintown, their steps wavering with exhaustion, not stopping until they reached a rock-lined brook and could see no pursuit.
"Uncle Thorin!" cried Fíli as Thorin's knees gave out and he staggered back against a rock, sliding to sit on the ground. Everyone gathered around him, but for some reason they made way for Bilbo to be the one to approach him, to put a hand on his shoulder.
"Thorin." Bilbo's voice was a hoarse croak; he cleared his throat and tried again. "Thorin. Are you all right?" The words sounded idiotic even as he said them.
Thorin looked at him and through him. Rain ran down his face and into his beard, and he made no attempt to wipe it away or shield himself from the torrent.
"You should have left me to die," Thorin said.
: : :
In the heart of the mountain, Gollum wrung his hands in anguish. Gone, gone, the Precious was gone! When he had seen the nasty, sneaky creatures holding and fondling and wearing his Precious, he had thought his heart would burst in his chest. He had waited eagerly to see them fight each other for it, see them beat each others' heads against the rocks, but to his disappointment they hadn't even quarrelled. The fat one had merely taken it, taken it away, put it under its cruel strong armor where Gollum couldn't reach it anymore.
Thieves! Nasty, cruel thieves, stealing his Precious away! He had nearly leapt forward to take back what was his, but the horrid dirty dwarf and the memory of his biting sword had stopped him. And then the tall man with the light on the end of his stick--Gollum didn't like that all, no he didn't, it reminded him of stars, and hope, and things he had given up long ago. But he couldn't give up the Precious, he couldn't! He had followed them at a distance for as long as he could, hate driving him like a lash, so close to his Precious and yet so far, listening to their nasty talkings and squawkings. Now they had escaped him, had fled with his Precious across the chasm and into the horrible bright world. He would never forgive them, no, he would not!
Alone, so horribly alone in the dark, Gollum repeated the names he had learned over and over again, engraving them in his heart like letters of fire:
Dwarf.
Thorin.
Erebor.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf
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: Discovered and pursued by goblins, the party desperately searches for an exit to the warrens beneath the Misty Mountains.
Off in the distance Bilbo could hear, faintly, the sound of drums. At least it wasn't nearby, he thought uneasily, feeling the pressure of the mountain, the tons of rock all around him. How did the dwarves stand it?
Next to him, Fíli peered into the darkness, keeping watch with him while the rest of the party caught a few moments of sleep before forging onward toward--one hoped--some kind of exit on the other side of the mountains.
"Have you--have you heard any suspicious noises?" Bilbo said to him in a low voice. "Like a...flappy, slithery noise, following us?"
Fíli frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"
"Oh, no reason." Bilbo sighed and tried to put his worries out of his mind. "I'll just be glad when we're out of here."
Fíli patted him on the shoulder. "We all will. The sooner we get that glass to Erebor, the happier I know I'll be." He blew out a breath. "I just...want Uncle Thorin back where he belongs."
Bilbo glanced over at him. Fíli's sunny, open face was unusually pensive in the dim light. "It sounds like it was hard on you, having him gone."
"Mahal," Fíli muttered, an oath and a prayer in one. "Look at him. Look at me. I'm no prince, I'm barely a princeling. Hunting boars on the slopes of Erebor--I wasn't prepared for any of this. I'm not a leader, not like he is." His voice was low, the words tumbling out in a toneless stream as if he couldn't stop them. "I just want to get him home. That glass is my salvation."
More than you know, perhaps, Bilbo thought. "He has faith in you," he said. "He told me once you were the future of Erebor."
Fíli looked at him, his face startled out of its rueful bitterness. "He did?" He blinked. "Maybe he meant that as a depressing statement."
Bilbo's impulse to laugh was stifled by Fíli's expression. "He didn't, I know. I can tell."
Fíli nodded slowly. "You really can, can't you? Sometimes I have a hard time reading him. But you're his friend, so maybe you can."
"Friend?" It was Bilbo's turn to be surprised.
"Aren't you? He talks to you. You--make him smile. Sometimes," Fíli amended.
"Not very often."
"More than anyone else I know."
"I--" Bilbo didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer by Balin and Dwalin showing up to relieve them so they could sleep for a little while before moving on. As Bilbo lay down, he looked over at Thorin, who was lying with one arm thrown protectively over his pack, frowning even in his sleep.
Friendship? Was that the word for this rush of exasperation, mixed with an inexplicable desire to smooth those frown lines away? It didn't feel like any friendship he had ever known. But then, he reflected as he closed his eyes, he had few friends even back home.
And he had no other word that seemed quite right for what he was feeling, so friendship would do.
: : :
"They will be upon us soon," Thorin noted calmly.
"Yes, Uncle Thorin," said Kíli. His hands were shaking as he tied a rope to the end of one of his arrows. Dwalin and Balin held on to the far end of the rope, looking nervously behind them.
"We have very little time," Thorin said as the sound of clashing weapons and chanting goblins echoed, drawing closer.
"I'm working on it, Uncle Thorin," said Kíli as he nocked his bow, aiming at an iron ring fixed in the ceiling above the crevice which was currently preventing their retreat. Jagged stalactites blocked his aim, and he edged to the left to get a better shot.
"It sounds as if there are quite a lot of them," Thorin added.
"Thorin, shut up!" snarled Kíli, releasing the arrow.
The arrow soared through the ring, dragging the rope with it; the arrow and rope dangled into the chasm, hanging from the ring. "All right," he gasped. "Now we can--" He looked back at Thorin, his eyes going wide with chagrin. "Uncle Thorin, I'm so sorry--"
Thorin discovered he couldn't hold his glower any longer; laughter sneaked out around the edges, and he gave up and simply laughed. "Never mind," he said, wiping his eyes. "It was a good shot." He looked out at the rope hanging in the middle of the chasm. "Now we need--"
Kíli was already dropping his pack and weapons on the ground. "All of you, hold on to this end of the rope." He handed Bilbo his bow. "You hold on to this."
Bilbo juggled it awkwardly, his eyes wide. "You're not going to--"
"I'm the lightest, after you--and I don't think you want to try and jump to the rope, do you?"
Bilbo's eyes flicked to the chasm. "Not--not really," he wavered.
"Someone's got to do it," Kíli said, backing up. He looked at the dwarves anchoring the end of the rope. "And I'm the most expendable," he added under his breath, then ran and launched himself out over the abyss, reaching for the rope.
Thorin's breath stopped as his nephew grasped for the rope over the darkness. Then his hands were around it and with a whoop of triumph he was swinging out to the far side, landing with a solid thump on the distant ledge.
"You're not expendable!" Fíli yelled angrily across the gap.
"This is no time to argue about such things," Thorin said as Kíli opened his mouth. "But Fíli is right," he added brusquely. He removed his pack and handed it to Bilbo, grabbing Kíli's bow from the hobbit.
"What--" Bilbo's eyes were still wide and startled, and Thorin had to fight an urge to put an arm around his shoulders and support him.
"You're the lightest," he said instead, grabbing the end of the rope Dwalin was holding and handing it to Bilbo. "Kíli will anchor that end. You have to get across."
"With your pack?" Bilbo stared down at it and the rope in his hand.
Thorin clapped him roughly on the shoulder with the hand not encumbered by Kíli's bow. "Bilbo, that pack holds all of my hopes for healing my grandfather, for saving Erebor from madness. It holds the culmination of my life. If the goblins catch us, the pack must be safely on the other side." He looked into Bilbo's bewildered eyes. "I trust you with this, Bilbo."
Bilbo blinked, and his jaw set. "Then I shall get it across safely," he said.
His hands shook, but he grasped the rope firmly and got a running start, then launched himself out over the chasm. The rope snapped taut, but Kíli held on to his end, and soon Bilbo was safely on the other side. He put Thorin's pack down very carefully and then sat down on the rock as though his knees couldn't hold him up anymore. "All right," Thorin heard him mutter. "That wasn't...wasn't so bad."
Kíli reeled in the rope, coiling it on the edge of the ledge, then picked up the other end. "The rope is too light!" he called over. "We have to tie something to this end to make sure it gets back across to you." He flipped open Thorin's pack, pulling out a knife, then a belt. "Bilbo, look for something we can tie the other end to and secure it, a rock spur or something." As Bilbo got unsteadily to his feet and started to look around, Kíli pulled out the silver case that held the glass.
"If you use that to weight the rope, I will jump over there and throttle you myself," Thorin called, and he rolled his eyes and put it back.
"Aha!" he brandished Thorin's little lantern. "Handy."
He started to whistle cheerfully, looking down at the rope, and so did not see the two goblins that came around the corner on his side of the ledge.
Thorin stared in horror, unable even to cry out at the sight. His hand tightened on Kíli's bow--useless in his untrained hands: Mahal save them! He could hear his companions calling a warning, saw Bilbo pull his knife from his scabbard and drop into a defensive stance between Kíli and the goblins. Kíli pulled out his own dagger and scrambled to stand next to Bilbo as the goblins charged them, howling.
They fought madly, side by side, as the rest of the party watched in helpless agony; with a clever twisting blow Kíli disarmed his opponent and swiveled to kick it toward the ledge. The goblin staggered, recovered before it joined its blade in the darkness below. Its eyes fell on Thorin's pack sitting on the edge.
Seizing it, it turned to wield it like a weapon, battering wildly at Kíli in great swinging arcs.
And the silver case holding the glass fell out and skittered across the floor of the cave, glinting in the weak torchlight, coming to rest at the feet of the other goblin, who was currently raining hammer-blows down on a desperate Bilbo.
Everything seemed to be moving so slowly, yet at the same time too fast, far too fast. Thorin tore his eyes from the fight and groped for an arrow from Kíli's quiver, his hands clumsy on the unfamiliar weapon. When he looked up again, Kíli was grappling with his opponent, struggling to push the goblin over the edge. Thorin nocked the bow, but they were tangled together, even an expert bowman couldn't have gotten a good shot.
"The rope!" bellowed Dwalin. The struggle had dislodged the coil of rope, and it was slowly unspooling into the chasm below, loop by loop.
Thorin saw Bilbo's eyes widen, and with a desperate motion he slashed at the goblin's hand, then dropped his own weapon and lunged for the rope, catching it at the last second before it vanished into the black void.
His opponent dropped its hammer; blood spattered from its slashed hand to the ground below, staining the silver case at its feet. The goblin peered down at it, then seized and opened it. The twisted face broke into a leer of delight as it grabbed the glass hemisphere and then pounced toward the unarmed hobbit, raising it like a bludgeon.
At the sight, Kíli howled something completely unintelligible. His opponent took advantage of his lapse in concentration to shove him against the cave wall, and Thorin saw his head snap back against the stone with a dull thud. But he kicked fiercely at the goblin and finally sent his foe over the edge, only a forlorn scream echoing back. Kíli staggered toward the goblin holding the glass, then sank to the ground, his eyes fluttering closed.
The goblin straddled Bilbo on the very edge of the precipice and raised the glass to smash Bilbo's head with it.
Time seemed to stop. Thorin felt the bowstring cutting into his fingers, taut as his heart. He saw Bilbo's pale, set face as he prepared to dodge the blow, refusing to drop the rope that was their lifeline. He saw the goblin's crooked teeth gleaming in a hideous smile. He saw the glass descending like death, clutched in a cruel hand.
He released the arrow.
The goblin staggered as the arrow thudded into its shoulder.
And the glass flew wide into the air over the chasm.
It traced a delicate arc, beautiful and doomed as destiny, and Thorin's eyes followed it until it hit one of the stalactites and
shattered.
: : :
Shattered.
Bilbo couldn't seem to look away as the glass burst asunder into a thousand fragments like diamonds, like snow, like tears. They fell into the chasm in a rain of light and were gone, swallowed by darkness irrevocable. Frozen in horror, he hardly noticed the goblin still looming above him, shrieking and clutching its shoulder. Its rheumy eyes fixed on his in sheer hatred and it clawed down at him.
A rush of fury stabbed through him and he grabbed the rope, looped it around the goblin's feet, and yanked.
The goblin tottered and pitched into the darkness after the glass. There was a howl of fury, and then silence.
Silence.
Bilbo found himself on his hands and knees, trembling. With an effort, he raised his head and looked across the chasm, where Thorin had fallen to his knees and was staring down into the pit. There was no anger on his face, no grief, no anguish.
There was nothing.
Staggering with exhaustion, Bilbo managed to tie one end of the rope securely to a stalagmite. He heard low voices talking to Thorin and could not bring himself to look back. With shaking hands he tied the lantern to the other end of the rope and swung it back across to the other side. As soon as he saw Dwalin catch it, he hurried to Kíli's side where he was lying on the stony ground, blood trickling down the side of his face. "Kíli," he whispered, trying to wipe the blood away.
Kíli stirred and opened his eyes. "The glass," he murmured. He saw Bilbo's expression and closed his eyes again. "No."
"I'm sorry," choked Bilbo. "This is all my fault. If I'd been stronger--if I'd only--"
"I'll not hear such nonsense," said Balin's voice behind him, and a strong hand clasped his shoulder. "You were a brave warrior. No one is to blame save the goblins--and perhaps fate."
Gandalf bent over Kíli, the light from his staff touching the dwarf's face. "He'll be all right," he said. "Luckily, the blow landed on the densest part of his anatomy."
A weak smile twitched Kíli's mouth, then faded away once more. "Uncle Thorin..." he said.
"He's here," said Balin. He was untying the rope from around Thorin's torso where Dwalin had secured it; Thorin's hands hung lax at his sides and he had made no effort to hold the rope. "Thorin. My prince," he murmured. When Thorin didn't answer, he took Thorin's hands in his. "Laddie."
Thorin shook his hands off, seized a rope from his pack, and handed it to Fíli, tying the other end under his arms. Balin grabbed it as well just before Thorin swung himself off the ledge and into the darkness.
They lowered Thorin into the depths, but the rope did not reach the bottom. "Light," came Thorin's voice from the blackness, and Gandalf lowered his staff to flood the chasm with pale radiance which fell into the chasm and was swallowed by the impenetrable dark.
Only a dusting of glass glinted on a ledge far below, out of reach. Below that was nothing but oblivion.
"Thorin," called Balin over the rising sound of drums. "We must go on."
"Leave me," said Thorin.
"We leave here together!" Balin yelled, and added something curt in Khuzdul that made the other dwarves stare at him. He dragged on the rope, and Fíli and Dwalin joined in until they pulled Thorin back over the side, a dead weight gazing back into the abyss.
"Come on!" yelled Gandalf, dragging Thorin to his feet as the first goblins came around the far corner. Bilbo threw an arm under Kíli's shoulders and together they broke into a limping run. The air hissed with crossbow bolts as they ducked into the passage; Bilbo saw a bolt glance off the rock next to Thorin's head, but he reacted not at all, following Gandalf mechanically.
They ran into the dark, fleeing death and defeat. A long time they ran, the pursuit behind them fading away until at last they emerged from the endless stinking caves into a pine barren, stumbling and slipping down a long hill. It was raining, a cold pounding rain that soaked them all to the bone immediately as they staggered away from Goblintown, their steps wavering with exhaustion, not stopping until they reached a rock-lined brook and could see no pursuit.
"Uncle Thorin!" cried Fíli as Thorin's knees gave out and he staggered back against a rock, sliding to sit on the ground. Everyone gathered around him, but for some reason they made way for Bilbo to be the one to approach him, to put a hand on his shoulder.
"Thorin." Bilbo's voice was a hoarse croak; he cleared his throat and tried again. "Thorin. Are you all right?" The words sounded idiotic even as he said them.
Thorin looked at him and through him. Rain ran down his face and into his beard, and he made no attempt to wipe it away or shield himself from the torrent.
"You should have left me to die," Thorin said.
: : :
In the heart of the mountain, Gollum wrung his hands in anguish. Gone, gone, the Precious was gone! When he had seen the nasty, sneaky creatures holding and fondling and wearing his Precious, he had thought his heart would burst in his chest. He had waited eagerly to see them fight each other for it, see them beat each others' heads against the rocks, but to his disappointment they hadn't even quarrelled. The fat one had merely taken it, taken it away, put it under its cruel strong armor where Gollum couldn't reach it anymore.
Thieves! Nasty, cruel thieves, stealing his Precious away! He had nearly leapt forward to take back what was his, but the horrid dirty dwarf and the memory of his biting sword had stopped him. And then the tall man with the light on the end of his stick--Gollum didn't like that all, no he didn't, it reminded him of stars, and hope, and things he had given up long ago. But he couldn't give up the Precious, he couldn't! He had followed them at a distance for as long as he could, hate driving him like a lash, so close to his Precious and yet so far, listening to their nasty talkings and squawkings. Now they had escaped him, had fled with his Precious across the chasm and into the horrible bright world. He would never forgive them, no, he would not!
Alone, so horribly alone in the dark, Gollum repeated the names he had learned over and over again, engraving them in his heart like letters of fire:
Dwarf.
Thorin.
Erebor.