Clarity of Vision, Chapter 24
Title: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 24
Chapter Summary: A confrontation with a vampire and a flight into the desert.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Arwen, Aragorn, Gandalf, Denethor, Theoden, Gimli, Dis, Legolas
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: None
Word Count: 1900
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.
“Lúthien destroyed you, long ages ago,” said Arwen, staring at the shape that stood before them. Her voice seemed a tiny thing in the great silence that enveloped the courtyard.
Thuringwëthil’s gray eyes glinted. “You think me or my kin so easy to slay? The sniveling girl unhoused me, yes. She took from me my form. And for long centuries I wandered the world in spirit only, reduced to nothing but my will--and my hatred.”
She stretched one great black wing up against the starry sky once more, preening, and Thorin felt fresh horror grip him. Yet through it, he suddenly heard Bilbo’s voice in his mind, as clear as if he were standing beside him: Ancient terrors and immortal vampires are all well and good, Thorin Oakenshield, but Estel is still chained to that marble block! Someone’s going to have to do something about that if you have any chance of escaping this alive, you know, and since no one else seems to be thinking in practical terms it’ll have to be you.
Swallowing hard, Thorin edged forward slightly. Bending down, he slipped a file from his belt and began to do his best to weaken Estel’s bonds, keeping his eyes on Thuringwëthil’s face.
Thuringwëthil took no heed of him--and for once Thorin was grateful for the tendency of the high and mighty of Middle Earth to ignore folk of a lesser height. Her eyes were fixed on Arwen’s, a sneer touching her perfect lips. “And now here you are, the both of you, brought before me to destroy. Descendents of Lúthien and her churl lover…” Her eyes searched Arwen’s face, and her smile took on a gloating edge. “...and more, are you not? You two seek to retell their sordid tale with your own lives? You will give up your immortality to rot in the earth forever, two skeletons clasped together under the sod? Pfaugh!” She made a hissing noise, and for the first time Thorin saw her delicate white fangs. “What a waste. Yet I shall be happy to send you to your final rest.”
“You are wrong,” said Estel, and Thorin hastily stopped his work on his bonds as the man raised his head to glare at Thuringwëthil. “There is a Fate beyond this world for us, one that you and your ilk can never deny us.”
Thuringwëthil laughed, a silvery chime that made the edges of Thorin’s sanity fray. But her eyes turned back to Arwen, leaving him free to go back to work on Estel’s bonds. Could you please try not to wax philosophical while someone is trying to get you out of here? he thought in annoyance.
“Will you truly give up life eternal for him?” Thuringwëthil asked. She sounded honestly puzzled. “You will follow him into silence and the void?”
“If that is what awaits us, I will,” said Arwen, clear as a vow. “Where his spirit goes, mine does as well.”
“So be it,” said Thuringwëthil, her voice deadly calm.
“No,” said Gandalf. He stepped forward, raising his gnarled gray staff to block her way. “You shall not have them, vassal of Morgoth.”
“Vassal? Servant?” Thuringwëthil looked amused, but Thorin could see anger stirring beneath the humor in that icy expression. “Such language from one who chooses to grovel to the Valar, who lets his powers be bound, until he becomes a petty, trifling thing, a maker of firecrackers and smoke rings. When such power could be yours…” She shook her head in mock-pity. “But then, if you were brave enough to take the power that is your due, you would have joined me millennia ago rather than remain a slave.”
“You know nothing of me,” said Gandalf. The silver-blue light at the tip of his staff brightened as he stepped forward--and Thuringwëthil, unbelievably, fell back a step before it. “I do not expect you to understand my mind, Thuringwëthil,” he said taking another step forward, and then another. “But all you need understand is that you shall hurt no more of the Secondborn while I draw breath.”
“So be it,” said Thuringwëthil again, low and flat.
And then things happened very quickly.
With a shout, Estel lunged forward against his weakened bonds, and they gave way with a rending snap. Together, he, Arwen, and Thorin leaped forward to stand beside Gandalf.
But before they could get there, Thuringwëthil struck.
With a sinuous, inhuman speed, she seized Gandalf’s robes in her hands. Her wings clapped forward, buffeting his three companions, and in a burst of wind she launched herself and the wizard into the starry sky above the courtyard. For an instant their forms were silhouetted against the constellations, locked in struggle, soaring upward.
And then there was nothing but the careless insects in the jasmine and the weeping of Jetei over the body of his son.
“No,” whispered Arwen after a long, horrified moment, still staring up at the sky. Her knees started to give out and she sank to the ground. “It cannot be.” Estel put his arms around her, the broken chains still hanging from his wrists, and held her up.
“Your majesty--” Three guards came running into the courtyard, stopping dead at the sight before them, and Kestrel rose to her feet.
“Care for the my father,” she said in a sure voice. “He is unwell.” She bent once more, helping Jetei to his feet. He clung to her, murmuring broken pleas for forgiveness, for mercy. “Be at peace, father,” she said softly.
The guards bowed, looking relieved. “Yes, Queen Samur.”
“And see that Prince Jelme is--” She broke off, then said with tears in her voice, “That he is laid to rest with honor and respect. He defended my life at the cost of his own.”
They bowed again. “Yes, Queen Samur.”
“I shall see our guests to the outskirts of town,” said Samur, stepping close to them. “You must go,” she said in a low voice as she led them from the courtyard. “I cannot be sure all the guards will be so pleased to have a Queen once more. And if your companion fails to stop Il-Qaltun…” She shuddered.
“He will not fail,” Arwen said fiercely, her voice choked with tears. “He would never fail us.”
Samur did not contradict the pain in her voice, but led them quickly through a palace still quiet with night.
“My father,” said Thorin. “My father is here, is plotting against--”
“I will deal with him,” said Samur. “This is my kingdom, not yours,” she added sharply when it looked like he might argue. “The wizard gave his life to protect yours, and you must not stay here.”
The city was silent and dreaming as they hurried to the southern gate. Thorin wondered how he could ever tell the others what happened to Gandalf--but when they reached the group and saw Pallando and Bachai clinging to each other, weeping, he realized there was no need.
“Is it true?” Bilbo--dressed in loose robes and a scarf wrapped around his head--stepped forward, searching his eyes. His voice was sharp, but he took Thorin’s elbow as though needing to be sure he was truly back. “Is Gandalf--”
“He took on a mighty foe,” said Thorin. “With wings like night. They disappeared into the stars. He sacrificed himself for us.”
There was a wince at the corners of Bilbo’s eyes, but he turned to pat Bachai’s arm comfortingly. “He’ll be all right,” he said. “Wizards are tough.”
Bachai merely sobbed again and buried her head in Pallando’s shoulder. The small black cat on her shoulder mewed in distress and tried to burrow under her chin; her tears glistened on its fur.
It was a subdued and saddened party that eventually departed from the gates of Saynshar. Arwen’s gaze was turned inward once more, and Bilbo wondered just how much loss the elf-maiden could bear. Even the sight of Gimli seated most uncomfortably between two humps of an ornery-looking camel failed to elicit more than a fleeting smile from her.
“Olifaunts look much more comfortable,” Bilbo noted as he tucked himself into the strange valley. “No offense, Butterscotch,” he added, putting his hands on either side of the hump and patting his mount.
“Rest assured that Saynshar’s troops will not be joining Mordor’s assault on Minas Tirith,” Samur said to Denethor. To Thorin she said, “And I shall call back my soldiers from their siege of Erebor if I can. There is much work to do. Fortunately Bachai has agreed to stay and advise me for a time.”
Pallando looked down at his fellow wizard sadly from his camel. “You will be trapped in my dirty, dusty city, my dear.”
“Well then, you must return soon to relieve me of this onerous duty!” Bachai retorted tartly. Then her face softened as she looked at her friend. “Besides, any city you love must have some redeeming qualities. I shall try to find them by the time you return.”
Samur was looking at Estel. “Is it true?” she said abruptly. “When Il-Qaltun addressed you, she called you--is it true?”
Estel looked uncomfortable, but inclined his head once.
The Queen of the Easterlings bowed low to him, as to an equal. “Until we meet again, then. Farewell, my friends.”
Bilbo, who was beginning to have some theories about Estel’s background, expected that Denethor would have something cutting to say as Pallando clucked to the lead camel and they started to move away from the city. But the Steward’s son was subdued as they headed down the road, lost in thought, and even friendly jibes from Théoden failed to rouse him from his reverie. Into the silence, Pallando lifted his voice in song in a language Bilbo did not recognize, and its melody was strange and alien, yet somehow familiar to Bilbo, as if he had heard it in his dreams, or before he was born. It was beautiful and filled with sorrow, and hearing it Bilbo felt like all the majesty and all the sadness of the world were part of something larger than he could imagine. He heard weeping, and was not sure who it was, did not turn to look. He looked instead at Thorin, riding by his side almost close enough to touch, and Thorin looked back at him and nodded.
No need to say anything, it was all in his sea-deep eyes: We will not part again, heart’s-ease. Bilbo hugged that comfort to himself in the cold desert night, carrying his burden, gazing up at the stars.
So did the Fellowship leave Saynshar, and Bilbo Baggins never saw again the cerulean tiles of that city of legend, though it proved a staunch ally of Gondor in days and years to come. They rode through the night, and grasslands gave way slowly to sand, until dunes rippled all around them like waves, silvered by the stars.
Far to the west, great battles were raging: that very night, the armies of Lothlórien and Khazad-dûm would take Isengard and overthrow Saruman the White, and the Siege of Erebor dragged on, though salvation would soon reach the Lonely Mountain from a most unlikely source. But of these events Bilbo knew nothing. He knew only that he had lost another friend, and that the great river of stars that wheeled above their little caravan seemed both lovely and lonely.
As Bilbo watched, a single point of light shook free of the blaze of glory and slid down the side of the sky, a shooting star falling far off to the East.
Chapter Summary: A confrontation with a vampire and a flight into the desert.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Arwen, Aragorn, Gandalf, Denethor, Theoden, Gimli, Dis, Legolas
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: None
Word Count: 1900
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.
“Lúthien destroyed you, long ages ago,” said Arwen, staring at the shape that stood before them. Her voice seemed a tiny thing in the great silence that enveloped the courtyard.
Thuringwëthil’s gray eyes glinted. “You think me or my kin so easy to slay? The sniveling girl unhoused me, yes. She took from me my form. And for long centuries I wandered the world in spirit only, reduced to nothing but my will--and my hatred.”
She stretched one great black wing up against the starry sky once more, preening, and Thorin felt fresh horror grip him. Yet through it, he suddenly heard Bilbo’s voice in his mind, as clear as if he were standing beside him: Ancient terrors and immortal vampires are all well and good, Thorin Oakenshield, but Estel is still chained to that marble block! Someone’s going to have to do something about that if you have any chance of escaping this alive, you know, and since no one else seems to be thinking in practical terms it’ll have to be you.
Swallowing hard, Thorin edged forward slightly. Bending down, he slipped a file from his belt and began to do his best to weaken Estel’s bonds, keeping his eyes on Thuringwëthil’s face.
Thuringwëthil took no heed of him--and for once Thorin was grateful for the tendency of the high and mighty of Middle Earth to ignore folk of a lesser height. Her eyes were fixed on Arwen’s, a sneer touching her perfect lips. “And now here you are, the both of you, brought before me to destroy. Descendents of Lúthien and her churl lover…” Her eyes searched Arwen’s face, and her smile took on a gloating edge. “...and more, are you not? You two seek to retell their sordid tale with your own lives? You will give up your immortality to rot in the earth forever, two skeletons clasped together under the sod? Pfaugh!” She made a hissing noise, and for the first time Thorin saw her delicate white fangs. “What a waste. Yet I shall be happy to send you to your final rest.”
“You are wrong,” said Estel, and Thorin hastily stopped his work on his bonds as the man raised his head to glare at Thuringwëthil. “There is a Fate beyond this world for us, one that you and your ilk can never deny us.”
Thuringwëthil laughed, a silvery chime that made the edges of Thorin’s sanity fray. But her eyes turned back to Arwen, leaving him free to go back to work on Estel’s bonds. Could you please try not to wax philosophical while someone is trying to get you out of here? he thought in annoyance.
“Will you truly give up life eternal for him?” Thuringwëthil asked. She sounded honestly puzzled. “You will follow him into silence and the void?”
“If that is what awaits us, I will,” said Arwen, clear as a vow. “Where his spirit goes, mine does as well.”
“So be it,” said Thuringwëthil, her voice deadly calm.
“No,” said Gandalf. He stepped forward, raising his gnarled gray staff to block her way. “You shall not have them, vassal of Morgoth.”
“Vassal? Servant?” Thuringwëthil looked amused, but Thorin could see anger stirring beneath the humor in that icy expression. “Such language from one who chooses to grovel to the Valar, who lets his powers be bound, until he becomes a petty, trifling thing, a maker of firecrackers and smoke rings. When such power could be yours…” She shook her head in mock-pity. “But then, if you were brave enough to take the power that is your due, you would have joined me millennia ago rather than remain a slave.”
“You know nothing of me,” said Gandalf. The silver-blue light at the tip of his staff brightened as he stepped forward--and Thuringwëthil, unbelievably, fell back a step before it. “I do not expect you to understand my mind, Thuringwëthil,” he said taking another step forward, and then another. “But all you need understand is that you shall hurt no more of the Secondborn while I draw breath.”
“So be it,” said Thuringwëthil again, low and flat.
And then things happened very quickly.
With a shout, Estel lunged forward against his weakened bonds, and they gave way with a rending snap. Together, he, Arwen, and Thorin leaped forward to stand beside Gandalf.
But before they could get there, Thuringwëthil struck.
With a sinuous, inhuman speed, she seized Gandalf’s robes in her hands. Her wings clapped forward, buffeting his three companions, and in a burst of wind she launched herself and the wizard into the starry sky above the courtyard. For an instant their forms were silhouetted against the constellations, locked in struggle, soaring upward.
And then there was nothing but the careless insects in the jasmine and the weeping of Jetei over the body of his son.
“No,” whispered Arwen after a long, horrified moment, still staring up at the sky. Her knees started to give out and she sank to the ground. “It cannot be.” Estel put his arms around her, the broken chains still hanging from his wrists, and held her up.
“Your majesty--” Three guards came running into the courtyard, stopping dead at the sight before them, and Kestrel rose to her feet.
“Care for the my father,” she said in a sure voice. “He is unwell.” She bent once more, helping Jetei to his feet. He clung to her, murmuring broken pleas for forgiveness, for mercy. “Be at peace, father,” she said softly.
The guards bowed, looking relieved. “Yes, Queen Samur.”
“And see that Prince Jelme is--” She broke off, then said with tears in her voice, “That he is laid to rest with honor and respect. He defended my life at the cost of his own.”
They bowed again. “Yes, Queen Samur.”
“I shall see our guests to the outskirts of town,” said Samur, stepping close to them. “You must go,” she said in a low voice as she led them from the courtyard. “I cannot be sure all the guards will be so pleased to have a Queen once more. And if your companion fails to stop Il-Qaltun…” She shuddered.
“He will not fail,” Arwen said fiercely, her voice choked with tears. “He would never fail us.”
Samur did not contradict the pain in her voice, but led them quickly through a palace still quiet with night.
“My father,” said Thorin. “My father is here, is plotting against--”
“I will deal with him,” said Samur. “This is my kingdom, not yours,” she added sharply when it looked like he might argue. “The wizard gave his life to protect yours, and you must not stay here.”
The city was silent and dreaming as they hurried to the southern gate. Thorin wondered how he could ever tell the others what happened to Gandalf--but when they reached the group and saw Pallando and Bachai clinging to each other, weeping, he realized there was no need.
“Is it true?” Bilbo--dressed in loose robes and a scarf wrapped around his head--stepped forward, searching his eyes. His voice was sharp, but he took Thorin’s elbow as though needing to be sure he was truly back. “Is Gandalf--”
“He took on a mighty foe,” said Thorin. “With wings like night. They disappeared into the stars. He sacrificed himself for us.”
There was a wince at the corners of Bilbo’s eyes, but he turned to pat Bachai’s arm comfortingly. “He’ll be all right,” he said. “Wizards are tough.”
Bachai merely sobbed again and buried her head in Pallando’s shoulder. The small black cat on her shoulder mewed in distress and tried to burrow under her chin; her tears glistened on its fur.
It was a subdued and saddened party that eventually departed from the gates of Saynshar. Arwen’s gaze was turned inward once more, and Bilbo wondered just how much loss the elf-maiden could bear. Even the sight of Gimli seated most uncomfortably between two humps of an ornery-looking camel failed to elicit more than a fleeting smile from her.
“Olifaunts look much more comfortable,” Bilbo noted as he tucked himself into the strange valley. “No offense, Butterscotch,” he added, putting his hands on either side of the hump and patting his mount.
“Rest assured that Saynshar’s troops will not be joining Mordor’s assault on Minas Tirith,” Samur said to Denethor. To Thorin she said, “And I shall call back my soldiers from their siege of Erebor if I can. There is much work to do. Fortunately Bachai has agreed to stay and advise me for a time.”
Pallando looked down at his fellow wizard sadly from his camel. “You will be trapped in my dirty, dusty city, my dear.”
“Well then, you must return soon to relieve me of this onerous duty!” Bachai retorted tartly. Then her face softened as she looked at her friend. “Besides, any city you love must have some redeeming qualities. I shall try to find them by the time you return.”
Samur was looking at Estel. “Is it true?” she said abruptly. “When Il-Qaltun addressed you, she called you--is it true?”
Estel looked uncomfortable, but inclined his head once.
The Queen of the Easterlings bowed low to him, as to an equal. “Until we meet again, then. Farewell, my friends.”
Bilbo, who was beginning to have some theories about Estel’s background, expected that Denethor would have something cutting to say as Pallando clucked to the lead camel and they started to move away from the city. But the Steward’s son was subdued as they headed down the road, lost in thought, and even friendly jibes from Théoden failed to rouse him from his reverie. Into the silence, Pallando lifted his voice in song in a language Bilbo did not recognize, and its melody was strange and alien, yet somehow familiar to Bilbo, as if he had heard it in his dreams, or before he was born. It was beautiful and filled with sorrow, and hearing it Bilbo felt like all the majesty and all the sadness of the world were part of something larger than he could imagine. He heard weeping, and was not sure who it was, did not turn to look. He looked instead at Thorin, riding by his side almost close enough to touch, and Thorin looked back at him and nodded.
No need to say anything, it was all in his sea-deep eyes: We will not part again, heart’s-ease. Bilbo hugged that comfort to himself in the cold desert night, carrying his burden, gazing up at the stars.
So did the Fellowship leave Saynshar, and Bilbo Baggins never saw again the cerulean tiles of that city of legend, though it proved a staunch ally of Gondor in days and years to come. They rode through the night, and grasslands gave way slowly to sand, until dunes rippled all around them like waves, silvered by the stars.
Far to the west, great battles were raging: that very night, the armies of Lothlórien and Khazad-dûm would take Isengard and overthrow Saruman the White, and the Siege of Erebor dragged on, though salvation would soon reach the Lonely Mountain from a most unlikely source. But of these events Bilbo knew nothing. He knew only that he had lost another friend, and that the great river of stars that wheeled above their little caravan seemed both lovely and lonely.
As Bilbo watched, a single point of light shook free of the blaze of glory and slid down the side of the sky, a shooting star falling far off to the East.