Hello and welcome to Dark Side of the Moon, the new and improved sequel to Strangers Like Me. If you haven't read the previous story, I invite you to visit my profile and check it out, but the plot should stand on its own two feet whether you've read Strangers or not.
This story is a re-writing of The Last, The Lost, The Least, which I started during the final stages of my degree. Unfortunately, this meant that I rushed the first several chapters, lost control of the characters, and made the whole thing a lot more confusing for both me and the reader. That version of the story is still available to read, and I have no intention to take it down. However, this is the story that I will be updating from now on. For those of you who have read any of The Last, The Lost, The Least, much of this story will be familiar. However, I have endeavoured to add something new and entertaining and/or interesting in every single chapter, so it will hopefully not feel stale.
Also, I will be doing an ADVENT CALENDAR this December! That means, for as long as I am able to, I will be uploading a chapter a day throughout the days leading up to Christmas! I'm really excited and slightly nervous, but as prepared as I'll ever be!
So, let's begin.
Chapter One: A Shadow Rides
The night was cool, for the end of June, but Thorin did not mind. His mind was cleared by the breeze, and his heart lifted by the full moon that rose proudly above the mountain. From his private balcony he could see its pale light flood over the surrounding lands, lending New Dale and Lake-Town a quiet beauty that suited them well. Warm, orange lights twinkled in far-away windows, and on the Long Lake they sparkled with the moonlight and gave the illusion of stars dancing on the water.
It was a sight that Thorin could never tire of, a sight that would never bore him, no matter how long he stared.
This was his home. This mountain, these lands. And they had been hard won. With each of the twenty-two years that had passed, the tale of the Quest for Erebor had been woven into a living legend, but the memories of its hardships and sufferings remained as clear and sharp as cut crystal in Thorin's mind.
The battles, the injuries, the cold nights spent in soaking clothes with no shelter from incessant rain...
It had been worth every injury, for the life it had given his family.
Before the quest, he had believed his nephew, Kíli, to be dead. He had watched Fíli become a sombre prince with only a flicker of his former fire. He had watched his sister's eyes grow dull, watched her wear his fingers to the bone helping any soul she could reach, any soul that was not herself.
The Quest had returned Kíli to them. They had found him in the Shire, living as the son of Bilbo Baggins. He had no memory of his past life, save mangled dreams of blurred faces, but he was happy, and healthy, and loved.
And he brought more love and happiness into Thorin's life than the king could ever have expected. Fíli had grown into a prince greater than any Thorin had ever seen, and Dís had found love once more – with Bilbo. That had been a shock, and something rather difficult to wrap his head around, but they had been married for nigh on twenty years now, and it felt as natural to Thorin as breathing.
It was still often the largest shock for visiting dwarves. The marriage, and the dozen odd hobbits that called the mountain home. In particular, Saradoc, Esmeralda, Paladin and Eglantine stood out among the dwarven folk, for they dressed very much in hobbit fashion, and had not adopted as many dwarven behaviours as their offspring. The people of Erebor loved them for their strangeness, not to mention their charity, and their legendary determination to follow their 'brother,' Kíli, across the world to Erebor.
Thorin loved them more for their humour, and kindness, and loyalty. They had become his legal kin when Bilbo made official his adoption of Kíli and of Frodo, and family of his heart soon thereafter.
Their children, along with Frodo and Sam, had adapted rather easily to life in the Lonely Mountain. Just as Kíli's nature had been shaped by his upbringing, so had theirs, and they exhibited endearing blends of hobbit and dwarven behaviours. As such, they were often referred to as 'dwobbits,' a term that Thorin could never decide if he liked. But he loved the little halflings fiercely, especially Frodo Baggins – Bilbo's nephew, and by that token, Thorin's nephew too. Thorin always felt a silent pride when Frodo would run to him to show off a school project, or complain about Bilbo's rules, or ask his opinion on the colours of the sky.
Despite his (well hidden) favouritism, Thorin loved all of his hobbits, and would freely declare it. He loved their strange, gentle ways, and their sharp humour and wit. Not to mention their selflessness and charity, or their cooking.
The mountain felt very empty without them.
Four times, now, they had left for the better part of the year to visit their homeland and families, and Thorin understood. He wanted them to go, and loathed that they were so far from the people and places that they loved, but he missed them while they were gone. More than anyone he missed his nephews. Fíli and Kíli, and Frodo, closely followed by Dís, and Bilbo. They were always, of course, among the party that left. Meaning that Thorin always had to stay.
This year was not an official year for a visit – every five years was the deal struck with the Shire folk, and the one sanctioned by the Court of Erebor, and only two had passed since their last trip. But this year, Frodo was to turn thirty-three, and come of age. Bilbo wanted him to have a 'proper Baggins birthday party' in Hobbiton, and for decades now, Thorin had possessed neither the strength nor the will to deny anything that would make his family happy.
Except such requests as Frodo's plea for a pet lion several years previously. Luckily, Dís had backed Thorin on that one.
Unfortunately, Thorin had also had to deny Frodo his wish for this year, too.
He had only asked once, but Thorin knew how deeply Frodo had wished for him to go to the Shire for the party. He had looked into possible arrangements, such as having Dain's Son, Thorin 'Two' Stonehelm, guard the throne until he returned, but eventually he had to concede that there was nothing he could really do.
When Balin advised against the wishes of the little hobbits, one knew that Balin was well and truly right. Frodo did well in hiding his disappointment, something that made Thorin feel worse. He smiled and said he understood, laughed when Thorin tried to apologise again.
"We shall have another party when I return," he promised. "And that one you shall have to attend."
Thorin's lingering guilt had been appeased by the knowledge that he was not truly needed there. They were well protected. The hobbits had happily complied with dwarven law, meaning that their children had all been well trained with weaponry, and even young Pippin could hold his own (when he was not distracted by passing pie vendors.)
Moreover, Fíli, Kíli and Dís were highly skilled fighters, and Bofur, Bifur, Nori and Ori were providing more protection. Officially speaking, Bofur and Nori were the bodyguards of Bilbo and Dís, respectively. Since Bofur and Bifur were going, Bombur's oldest five children had been granted permission to go as well, lending two more capable swords from Bofin and Bróin. The twins and Bodin were a little more vulnerable, but they had their uncles there. There were also the other royal bodyguards – Bragi, Soren and Ehren – who watched out for Kíli, Fíli and Frodo respectively.
Four times, they had visited the Shire and returned in one piece. The king's main fear now was that some among them would not wish to return. The younger dwobbits were growing up, growing old enough to make up their own minds. Thorin could not begrudge them that, but it hurt rather a lot to think of even one of them refusing to return. He was particularly concerned that Sam would not return – the entirety of the young Gamgee's birth family resided in the Shire, and ever since the first return to Hobbiton the king had been convinced that the sandy haired boy would not return.
But every time he had returned with Bofur. Every time so far.
Nearby, a raven squawked, making Thorin jump, and then he smiled wryly. Balin often accused him of moping when their kin were in the Shire. He said that the king spent too much time getting lost in his own thoughts and reflections. It was somewhat true, but Thorin was two hundred and seventeen years old, and he had every right to be pensive and reflective. His greying hair was no longer the only sign on his advancing age, after all.
That said, he hardly felt elderly. Just a little more suspect to aches and pains than he used to be, that was all.
A faint, familiar noise reached his ears, born up from the far away ground by the nightly breeze, and he frowned. Horse hooves, approaching, rapidly. It was an odd sort of time for a visit from New Dale – all there knew that the mountain gates closed to visitors at the tenth hour past noon. By now, it was nearing midnight. Were it an emergency, there would have been a horn blown before the hooves grew close enough to hear.
He peered down over the balcony to try and spy the rider, but all he could see was a shadow making its way towards his gates. Cursing, he squinted, but his eyesight was apparently fading too.
Wonderful.
He stood up with a shrug, and straightened the edges of his tunic. Well, this visitor would have to wait for morning. They had their laws, and Thorin needed his nightly musings to maintain his sanity. If it really was an emergency, someone would surely send for him.
But as the rider drew closer, the hairs on the back of Thorin's neck stood on end, and a sense of unease curled into his gut. The chill of the breeze no longer seemed so refreshing, and he shuddered.
Dread was seeping into his chest, filling his lungs, though he could not think why. No thought of terror came to mind. It was only a feeling, an emotion so strong it took his breath away.
Something was very, very wrong.
Drawn as if against his will to the edge of the balcony, he peered down again, towards the gate. The Rider was directly below, his cloak billowing in the wind and making him appear eerily shapeless.
Fear curled around Thorin's ankles and his frown deepened.
The Rider looked up.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter! Please let me know what you thought if you have the time and inclination to review - I really appreciate it!
With luck, I will see you tomorrow with a meatier chapter for Day Two of the Advent Calendar! Until then, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day/night.