Clarity of Vision, Chapter 21
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 21
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 1800
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: The party finds the Chamber of Marzabul--and something else finds them.
Bilbo Baggins had never seen dwarven halls--he wasn't sure what he had expected, but the vast, sweeping vistas of Khazad-dûm took him aback. Surely these had been carved for giants, and not for the only-slightly-taller-than-the-correct-size dwarves! The vaulted ceilings soared above their heads, and open hallways looked out over dizzying gulfs. Every surface was carved with ornate geometrical patterns visible in the dim pale light that came from gems embedded in the walls. Far from feeling claustrophobic, Bilbo felt exposed and vulnerable with so much space around him. He fought a desire to skulk close to the walls, to let the shadows hide him.
The dwarves showed no such inclination. From the moment they entered Khazad-dûm, their bearing had changed--their usual confident strides had lengthened into swaggers as they surveyed the halls built by their greatest ancestor. Seemingly unconcerned about the fact that Khazad-dûm was occupied by orcs, they walked through the center of the halls as if they were the rulers of them, and Bilbo could not tell if he was witnessing boldness or madness.
When they encountered the first party of orcs, he decided it was without question madness. Orcs were totally different from goblins--instead of skittering they strode, and their massive shoulders hunched with tightly-leashed power. Not that it availed them anything--as they came around the corner the first of them fell with an arrow in its throat, and the others were slain soon after as the dwarves fell on them in a fury of blades.
Thorin looked over at where Bilbo stood against the wall in a defensive posture, his unbloodied knife in his hand. He laughed shortly at Bilbo's expression. "Peace, Bilbo. I do not expect you to fight for our halls."
"We wouldn't want you to steal any of the kills from us anyway," Kíli added with a fierce grin, and Fíli clapped him on the back.
They seemed so pleased with themselves that Bilbo couldn't bring himself to mention that surely these clashes would eventually attract more attention than they could handle.
Slowly they made their way through the city until they spotted, at the end of a corridor, a blaze of light pouring from a gap in massive doors. "The Chamber of Marzabul," breathed Thorin. "Where the records of the loremasters of ancient Khazad-dûm are kept."
To Bilbo's shock, the light turned out to be sunlight, rich and golden. He blinked upward, his eyes watering, and realized that the room was designed with an opening to the sky, from which sunshine spilled like a pillar of light to illuminate the center of the room. Bilbo stared up at it and at the patch of clear blue sky, his vision blurred, unwilling to look away for a long moment.
"Leave them open," Thorin snapped, and Bilbo realized Fíli had gone to close the doors. "Patrols will be used to seeing sunlight come from this room and if the doors are closed they'll notice it immediately."
"But to leave them open--"
"--We'll just have to listen for a patrol and hide within the room if we hear one," Thorin said. "It must be here," he muttered, staring around the alcoves filled with books and scrolls. "It must."
"There's too many," Dwalin said, gazing around the room. "We'll never find it before another patrol comes by."
"Then stop talking and start looking," snarled Thorin.
Desperate hands pulled crackling parchment from shelves, and the room was filled with the sound of voices murmuring in Khuzdul. Bilbo picked up a book and shuddered as the cover fell off at his gentle touch, revealing spiky writing on yellowing paper.
"This is it," Thorin said abruptly from the back corner of the room. He was holding a scroll in his hands, with a midnight-blue silken tassel swinging gently from the vellum. "This is the complete work of Elloth, 'On the Healing of Various Ailments of the Khazad.'" He unrolled more of the scroll, his eyes avid. "The beginning is of more common problems: miner's lung, the dwarven croup. But I think--"
They had been listening for the sounds of a patrol, and if it had been a patrol, perhaps they would have heard it. But instead when Fíli cried a warning, everyone looked up to see a single startled orc peering into the chamber. He grabbed for the horn at his side as Thorin cried out: "Kíli!"
The arrow cut the braying notes short, but it was too late: the brazen clang of the warning horn echoed endlessly into the depths. Deep in Khazad-dûm, Bilbo could hear an answering clamor rising up: the sound of footsteps and the rumble of drums.
Balin stood in the middle of the room, his face pale even in the bright sunshine pouring down across him.
"They are coming," he said.
: : :
Thorin stared wildly at the scroll in his hand. To have it fall into the hands of his enemies after all their effort: unbearable. Rolling it back up, he pushed it deep into an alcove. "If we perish here today," he said to Balin's shocked face, "Another will come after us one day. If we avoid capture we can return. If we are seized with it, its secrets die with us."
After a moment, Balin nodded. Then he lifted his axe and strode to the door to stand beside the other dwarves. "Then let us meet our enemy," he said.
They ran from the library and started down the hall, but all too soon they met the first wave of orcs. With a yell, Thorin charged into them, feeling Deathless slice into leather and stop jarringly in bone. Dark blood spattered across his face and he yanked his sword free. He heard Dwalin lift his voice in a battle-cry and joined in with the others until the high ceilings echoed with their defiance, the first dwarves to fight for Khazad-dûm in centuries.
The last orc fell and Thorin whirled to lead his party away from the Chamber of Marzabul, when a form appeared at the far end of the corridor, and Thorin felt his heart fall.
The orc towered over the others, and the ghostly light of Khazad-dûm made his eerie pale skin gleam like corrupted pearl. The scars and gashes in his hide were like a map of sadism and pain, and his eyes were filled with intelligence and malice.
For the first time in his life, Thorin stared into the eyes of the orc who had sworn to annihilate his line.
With a snarling laugh, Azog unshouldered his great black mace and strode forward.
It was a losing fight from the beginning; the orcs were too many, and they fought with savage cruelty knowing the fate that awaited them if Azog witnessed any cowardice. Deathless clashed against Azog's mace, darted under his guard and added a new wound to the old scars across his chest, but Thorin had no time to feel satisfied as black blood trickled down Azog's torso. Another blow of the mace and Thorin felt his wrist go numb; Deathless clattered to the floor as he was seized by four orcs and wrestled to his knees.
One of the orcs grabbed his hair and pulled until he looked up at Azog, towering above him. Azog rubbed the fresh blood off his own chest and licked his clawed finger slowly, smiling as he stared long at Thorin.
"What brings you to my halls, you by-blow of Durin?" he asked in a voice of decay and despair.
"They are not your halls," spat Thorin, and Azog cuffed him across the mouth so hard that sparks danced in front of his eyes. One of the other orcs said something in the Black Speech, and Azog's eyes narrowed.
"My lieutenant reports that your footsteps lead back to the Chamber of Marzabul," he said. "What have you come here to find, worm of a Khazad?" When Thorin said nothing, Azog snarled something in Black Speech and Thorin was yanked to his feet and hauled back to the Chamber. He could hear the others cursing and struggling against their captors, but could not turn to look at them as Azog dragged him to stand in front of the open door.
"I ask you again, spawn of maggots, what did you search for?" Rough hands went through his clothing, and Thorin felt a stab of panic as they drew close to his breast pocket, but his captors were looking for scrolls and books and didn't search the tiny pocket with its heavy, precious burden. "You did not find it," Azog said, his voice thick with gloating. "Tell me what it was."
Thorin clamped his mouth shut.
Azog stared at him, then finally shrugged. "What to me are papers?" he said. He gestured to two orcs carrying torches, and they stepped forward with a salute. "I should have done this a long time ago. I thank you for the reminder."
The orcs threw the torches into the Chamber, and flames flared up from the alcoves as dry parchment and leather caught fire instantly. Thorin felt a howl of fury and despair shatter his chest as he surged forward against his captors' grip, but the room was lighting into an inferno already, the heat scorching his face as all his hopes burned before him.
He heard Azog laughing, and then his cry was cut off as something smashed into the back of his head and he fell into blackness filled with flame and loss.
: : :
He came to himself slowly. There was a taste of ashes and blood in his mouth, and he lay on cold iron. When he sat up, he found himself in a cage bolted to the floor, its rusted bars encircling him. The floor was scattered with straw and bones.
"He's awake," said a voice that he vaguely recognized as Balin's.
"Where--" His voice cracked and died in his parched and torn throat. He looked around to see four more cages, each with a bloody and battered occupant.
"He said he still wants answers from you," Dwalin said.
"I think the rest of us are here for the orcs to...practice their skills on," Fíli added.
Thorin stared around the room. Four cages. Four cages and his own. "Where is Bilbo?" he finally managed to croak, and the question seemed to tear fresh pain from his lungs.
The other dwarves looked at each other and at him. "Thorin," said Kíli. "None of us have seen him since we left the Chamber."
The Chamber. Everything within the room was destroyed now, burnt to cinders. Thorin felt anguish tear his chest. All was lost, consumed in fire. They would all perish here, nothing but bloody sport for the orcs.
Far off he heard drums, their voices raised in triumph, mocking: doom.
Doom.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 1800
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: The party finds the Chamber of Marzabul--and something else finds them.
Bilbo Baggins had never seen dwarven halls--he wasn't sure what he had expected, but the vast, sweeping vistas of Khazad-dûm took him aback. Surely these had been carved for giants, and not for the only-slightly-taller-than-the-correct-size dwarves! The vaulted ceilings soared above their heads, and open hallways looked out over dizzying gulfs. Every surface was carved with ornate geometrical patterns visible in the dim pale light that came from gems embedded in the walls. Far from feeling claustrophobic, Bilbo felt exposed and vulnerable with so much space around him. He fought a desire to skulk close to the walls, to let the shadows hide him.
The dwarves showed no such inclination. From the moment they entered Khazad-dûm, their bearing had changed--their usual confident strides had lengthened into swaggers as they surveyed the halls built by their greatest ancestor. Seemingly unconcerned about the fact that Khazad-dûm was occupied by orcs, they walked through the center of the halls as if they were the rulers of them, and Bilbo could not tell if he was witnessing boldness or madness.
When they encountered the first party of orcs, he decided it was without question madness. Orcs were totally different from goblins--instead of skittering they strode, and their massive shoulders hunched with tightly-leashed power. Not that it availed them anything--as they came around the corner the first of them fell with an arrow in its throat, and the others were slain soon after as the dwarves fell on them in a fury of blades.
Thorin looked over at where Bilbo stood against the wall in a defensive posture, his unbloodied knife in his hand. He laughed shortly at Bilbo's expression. "Peace, Bilbo. I do not expect you to fight for our halls."
"We wouldn't want you to steal any of the kills from us anyway," Kíli added with a fierce grin, and Fíli clapped him on the back.
They seemed so pleased with themselves that Bilbo couldn't bring himself to mention that surely these clashes would eventually attract more attention than they could handle.
Slowly they made their way through the city until they spotted, at the end of a corridor, a blaze of light pouring from a gap in massive doors. "The Chamber of Marzabul," breathed Thorin. "Where the records of the loremasters of ancient Khazad-dûm are kept."
To Bilbo's shock, the light turned out to be sunlight, rich and golden. He blinked upward, his eyes watering, and realized that the room was designed with an opening to the sky, from which sunshine spilled like a pillar of light to illuminate the center of the room. Bilbo stared up at it and at the patch of clear blue sky, his vision blurred, unwilling to look away for a long moment.
"Leave them open," Thorin snapped, and Bilbo realized Fíli had gone to close the doors. "Patrols will be used to seeing sunlight come from this room and if the doors are closed they'll notice it immediately."
"But to leave them open--"
"--We'll just have to listen for a patrol and hide within the room if we hear one," Thorin said. "It must be here," he muttered, staring around the alcoves filled with books and scrolls. "It must."
"There's too many," Dwalin said, gazing around the room. "We'll never find it before another patrol comes by."
"Then stop talking and start looking," snarled Thorin.
Desperate hands pulled crackling parchment from shelves, and the room was filled with the sound of voices murmuring in Khuzdul. Bilbo picked up a book and shuddered as the cover fell off at his gentle touch, revealing spiky writing on yellowing paper.
"This is it," Thorin said abruptly from the back corner of the room. He was holding a scroll in his hands, with a midnight-blue silken tassel swinging gently from the vellum. "This is the complete work of Elloth, 'On the Healing of Various Ailments of the Khazad.'" He unrolled more of the scroll, his eyes avid. "The beginning is of more common problems: miner's lung, the dwarven croup. But I think--"
They had been listening for the sounds of a patrol, and if it had been a patrol, perhaps they would have heard it. But instead when Fíli cried a warning, everyone looked up to see a single startled orc peering into the chamber. He grabbed for the horn at his side as Thorin cried out: "Kíli!"
The arrow cut the braying notes short, but it was too late: the brazen clang of the warning horn echoed endlessly into the depths. Deep in Khazad-dûm, Bilbo could hear an answering clamor rising up: the sound of footsteps and the rumble of drums.
Balin stood in the middle of the room, his face pale even in the bright sunshine pouring down across him.
"They are coming," he said.
: : :
Thorin stared wildly at the scroll in his hand. To have it fall into the hands of his enemies after all their effort: unbearable. Rolling it back up, he pushed it deep into an alcove. "If we perish here today," he said to Balin's shocked face, "Another will come after us one day. If we avoid capture we can return. If we are seized with it, its secrets die with us."
After a moment, Balin nodded. Then he lifted his axe and strode to the door to stand beside the other dwarves. "Then let us meet our enemy," he said.
They ran from the library and started down the hall, but all too soon they met the first wave of orcs. With a yell, Thorin charged into them, feeling Deathless slice into leather and stop jarringly in bone. Dark blood spattered across his face and he yanked his sword free. He heard Dwalin lift his voice in a battle-cry and joined in with the others until the high ceilings echoed with their defiance, the first dwarves to fight for Khazad-dûm in centuries.
The last orc fell and Thorin whirled to lead his party away from the Chamber of Marzabul, when a form appeared at the far end of the corridor, and Thorin felt his heart fall.
The orc towered over the others, and the ghostly light of Khazad-dûm made his eerie pale skin gleam like corrupted pearl. The scars and gashes in his hide were like a map of sadism and pain, and his eyes were filled with intelligence and malice.
For the first time in his life, Thorin stared into the eyes of the orc who had sworn to annihilate his line.
With a snarling laugh, Azog unshouldered his great black mace and strode forward.
It was a losing fight from the beginning; the orcs were too many, and they fought with savage cruelty knowing the fate that awaited them if Azog witnessed any cowardice. Deathless clashed against Azog's mace, darted under his guard and added a new wound to the old scars across his chest, but Thorin had no time to feel satisfied as black blood trickled down Azog's torso. Another blow of the mace and Thorin felt his wrist go numb; Deathless clattered to the floor as he was seized by four orcs and wrestled to his knees.
One of the orcs grabbed his hair and pulled until he looked up at Azog, towering above him. Azog rubbed the fresh blood off his own chest and licked his clawed finger slowly, smiling as he stared long at Thorin.
"What brings you to my halls, you by-blow of Durin?" he asked in a voice of decay and despair.
"They are not your halls," spat Thorin, and Azog cuffed him across the mouth so hard that sparks danced in front of his eyes. One of the other orcs said something in the Black Speech, and Azog's eyes narrowed.
"My lieutenant reports that your footsteps lead back to the Chamber of Marzabul," he said. "What have you come here to find, worm of a Khazad?" When Thorin said nothing, Azog snarled something in Black Speech and Thorin was yanked to his feet and hauled back to the Chamber. He could hear the others cursing and struggling against their captors, but could not turn to look at them as Azog dragged him to stand in front of the open door.
"I ask you again, spawn of maggots, what did you search for?" Rough hands went through his clothing, and Thorin felt a stab of panic as they drew close to his breast pocket, but his captors were looking for scrolls and books and didn't search the tiny pocket with its heavy, precious burden. "You did not find it," Azog said, his voice thick with gloating. "Tell me what it was."
Thorin clamped his mouth shut.
Azog stared at him, then finally shrugged. "What to me are papers?" he said. He gestured to two orcs carrying torches, and they stepped forward with a salute. "I should have done this a long time ago. I thank you for the reminder."
The orcs threw the torches into the Chamber, and flames flared up from the alcoves as dry parchment and leather caught fire instantly. Thorin felt a howl of fury and despair shatter his chest as he surged forward against his captors' grip, but the room was lighting into an inferno already, the heat scorching his face as all his hopes burned before him.
He heard Azog laughing, and then his cry was cut off as something smashed into the back of his head and he fell into blackness filled with flame and loss.
: : :
He came to himself slowly. There was a taste of ashes and blood in his mouth, and he lay on cold iron. When he sat up, he found himself in a cage bolted to the floor, its rusted bars encircling him. The floor was scattered with straw and bones.
"He's awake," said a voice that he vaguely recognized as Balin's.
"Where--" His voice cracked and died in his parched and torn throat. He looked around to see four more cages, each with a bloody and battered occupant.
"He said he still wants answers from you," Dwalin said.
"I think the rest of us are here for the orcs to...practice their skills on," Fíli added.
Thorin stared around the room. Four cages. Four cages and his own. "Where is Bilbo?" he finally managed to croak, and the question seemed to tear fresh pain from his lungs.
The other dwarves looked at each other and at him. "Thorin," said Kíli. "None of us have seen him since we left the Chamber."
The Chamber. Everything within the room was destroyed now, burnt to cinders. Thorin felt anguish tear his chest. All was lost, consumed in fire. They would all perish here, nothing but bloody sport for the orcs.
Far off he heard drums, their voices raised in triumph, mocking: doom.
Doom.