THE PRICE OF A MOUNTAIN
"It was the blackest of nights on the eve of the dragon's coming, yet all in Erebor slept peacefully, unaware of the horrors the morning would bring. The wind came first, hot, dry, strong, breaking the heaviest of branches off of the strongest trees and uprooting smaller ones. I was out on the walls on guard duty when Thorin came running up. He took one look and knew what was happening. His quick judgement was what saved our people that day; the few minutes he gave us helped us rally our soldiers and begin evacuating civilians. But still, our people lost nearly everything. Many perished, crushed by Smaug's power or engulfed in his flames. Thorin led the attack on the dragon, trying to protect our home, but there was nothing he could do against the might of the dragon. Our mountain, our home, was lost that day, and, somewhere deep inside, the Arkenstone lies hidden."
"But why would Thorin attack the dragon? Wasn't it clear that it was hopeless?" one of the smallest dwarflings asked.
"Hopeless? No, it is never hopeless, Regin. Even here, half a world away from Erebor, I still have hope that I would see it again. Now, it is time for you all to go home. Remember Erebor. Remember the dragon."
Linheid slept fitfully that night as Balin's words echoed through her head, tossing and turning, for there was dragon fire in her dreams. As the moon was setting outside the Blue Mountains, she awoke, screaming. Her father reached her first, her aunt close behind.
"What is it, Linheid? What's the matter?" her father asked urgently.
"Smaug! Smaug!" she could only scream, her grey eyes full of fear. Her father held her close.
"It's all right, kurdu, Smaug is far away from here," he murmured, stroking her mousy brown hair. "Go back to bed. I will sit with her," he directed his sister, who nodded slowly and closed the door. He pulled away slightly and took Linheid's small hands into his large ones.
"What did you see, Linheid?" he asked softly.
"Smaug," Linheid whispered, "inside Erebor with gold. And you. You were in my dream, too. Addad, will you try to get Erebor back?"
"I don't know, little one. You have a good home here in the Blue Mountains, but Erebor is our birthright. We are meant to be Under the Mountain. I don't know, child. I don't know, but I want to. I want to go home."
Linheid looked up. "Then I'll go with you, Addad," she said, already determined. "I'll get Erebor back with you."
"Remember the dragon, Linheid," her father repeated.
"I do," Linheid nodded, "and there's nothing I fear more. But haven't you told me to face my fears? I remember Smaug. But I also remember Erebor."
†
Linheid kept her eyes forward as she walked into the inn at Hobbiton. She heard the silence fall suddenly as she entered. She walked steadily up to the barkeeper, ignoring the stares of the hobbits around her, her long hooded vest swaying over her coat and trousers as she walked. She was not interested in food or drink here, but information. The Company had agreed to meet in Hobbiton, at the home of Master Bilbo Baggins. She was already late enough; she had to find this hobbit.
"Excuse me," her voice alone broke the stillness. Perhaps the hobbits didn't mean to be rude, but they certainly were an odd folk. "I am looking for the residence of Bilbo Baggins."
"Up the Hill," the barkeeper pointed. "Bag End is on Bagshot Row."
"Thank you," Linheid nodded. As she exited, she could hear a few murmurs – "strange folk" "Bilbo" "dwarves." She kept herself focused on her purpose.
"Addad," she called, and he immediately turned from surveying the surrounding countryside. "It's up that hill."
"Good. Hurry, we're late."
"Maybe because you got us lost twice."
Bag End was easy to identify with the wizard's mark scratched on the door. Music and light streamed out of the windows. Linheid stopped, wiping her feet on the mat as her father rang the doorbell. The boisterous singing inside only grew louder. No words could be discerned, but she did recognize Bofur's pipe. Her father tried knocking, but those inside were too caught up in their song. Suddenly the singing stopped, and her father pounded on the door three times. The voices quieted. Apparently they had heard that. She took a deep breath in, smelling the fields of the Shire and the gardens of Hobbiton. Then the door swung inward, revealing Gandalf himself. She thought she caught a look of surprise on his face at seeing her – but it's hard to tell with a wizard. She stepped into the warm light and smiled. The Company had already gathered, including her cousins – Kili the jokester, who was closer to her age, and his brother Fili, to whom she had abdicated her rights as heir to the throne. An adventure was about to begin.
Her father interrupted her thoughts. "Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."
Linheid hid her smile, but her cousin Fili caught it and winked at her, and a chuckle escaped. Her father made no sign of recognition as he continued.
"I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for the mark on the door."
"Mark?" a high voice piped up. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!"
Linheid stopped to examine their potential burglar. He was small, with curly hair, dressed simply; an average hobbit, save for a strange glint in his eye, not from frustration or anger, but something else
"There is a mark. I put it there myself," Gandalf explained. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield; and his daughter, Linheid."
"So," Thorin said, handing his coat to Kili, "this is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"
"Pardon me?" the hobbit asked, shocked, but Thorin did not pause as he circled him.
"Axe or sword? What's your weapon of choice?"
"Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know," Baggins tried to joke. "But I fail to see why that's relevant."
"Thought as much," Thorin tossed over his shoulder to the others. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." That earned several chuckles.
Linheid followed her father and Dwalin into the next room, where Dori handed them bowls of soup. They all settled down around the table; Linheid could feel the questions rising around the table, but, according to custom, they would wait until Thorin had finished most of his meal. Kili, however, never really cared for custom.
"Linheid!" he smiled. "How did you convince Uncle Thorin to let you come?"
"You do recall I am older than you, Kili?" she retorted.
"Not by much. Besides, you're a girl." Linheid narrowed her eyes.
"Perhaps, but you look more like one." Kili's eyes narrowed at that – his beard was a delicate subject - but he held her gaze as she held his, even though she continued to eat. The contest continued for several seconds, until Fili jabbed his little brother in the side, making him jump and the other two laugh.
"What news from the meeting at Ered Luin?" Balin inquired, bringing the conversation back to business since the appropriate time had arrived. "Did they all come?"
"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin replied, earning murmurs of contentment.
"And what do the dwarves from the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin cut through. "Is Dain with us?"
Linheid sighed, knowing what was coming. Dain did have a point, but his lack of support still felt too much like betrayal to her and probably to the others.
"They will not come," Thorin told the others amongst whispers of dissent. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."
The hobbit's voice pierced the quiet: "You're going on a quest?"
"Bilbo, my dear fellow," Gandalf spoke up, beginning to unfold an old map, "let us have a little more light. Far to the east, beyond ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."
"The Lonely Mountain," the potential burglar read off the map, candle in hand.
"Aye," Gloin put in. "Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time."
"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold," Oin himself added. "'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.'" Linheid felt her heart skip a beat. Erebor. Home.
"Uh, what beast?" Baggins broke in again.
"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible," Bofur explained, "chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals."
"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Baggins stated.
"I'm not afraid. I'm up for it," Ori burst out. "I'll give him a taste of Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!" Several voices cried out in agreement – except for Dori, whose was in disapproval – before Balin silenced them.
"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," he reminded them, "but we number just fourteen: and not fourteen of the best, nor brightest."
This brought shouts of protest, but Fili raised his voice above it.
"We may be few in number," he argued, "but we're fighters, all of us – to the last Dwarf!"
"And you forget, we have a Wizard in our company," Kili added. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons."
"Uh, well, no, I wouldn't say-," Gandalf began to object.
"How many, then?" Dori asked.
"What?" Gandalf returned.
"How many dragons have you killed?" Dori extrapolated.
All eyes turned to Gandalf – who only began to cough. Immediately a shouting match broke out, and Linheid sighed again. Unchecked, this could go on for hours, if it didn't escalate into physical violence.
"Atkat!" Thorin stood and shouted, and instantly everything was still. After a moment, dwarves began to take their seats, and Thorin spoke again. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back and let others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"
Linheid lifted her voice in excitement with the others before Balin again silenced them.
"You forget, the Front Gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."
"No, there is a way – if we can find and open it," Linheid argued. She looked to her father for permission before continuing. "My gran told me many stories about Erebor, and, once, she told – she told me of a secret door on the west side of the mountain – an entrance to the lower halls."
"That, my dear Linheid, is entirely true." Gandalf agreed, producing a key.
"How came you by this?" Thorin asked in wonder.
"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping," Gandalf explained. "It is yours now."
"When?" Linheid broke in, anxious to hear any news of her missing grandfather. "Where? Was he-?"
"I'm sorry, Linheid, it was years ago," Gandalf cut her off. "I am sure he moved on long since."
"But there's another way in," Kili said hopefully.
"That's if we can find it," Gandalf reminded them. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it – but there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind," he continued, glancing at Linheid, "will require a great deal of stealth, and no small degree of courage. But if we are careful and clever, it can be done."
"That's why we need a burglar," Ori realized.
"A good one, too," the candidate himself said. "An expert, I'd imagine."
"And are you?" Gloin asked.
"Am I what?" the hobbit returned.
"He said he's an expert," Oin celebrated, laughing.
"No, no, I'm not a burglar," the hobbit protested. "I've never stolen a thing in my life."
"Then I'm afraid I'd have to agree with Mr. Baggins," Balin spoke again. "He's hardly burglar material"
"Ay," his brother agreed," the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."
Arguing broke out yet again – how these dwarves would band together Linheid could not see. At last Gandalf silenced them.
"Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet – in fact, they can pass unseen by most if chose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the final member of this company, and I have chosen Bilbo Baggins. There's a lot more tp him than appearnaces suggest. Annd he has more to offer than any of you know – including himself. You must trust me on this."
"Very well," Thorin agreed. "We'll do it your way. Give him the contract.
"It's just the usual," Blin explained, "summary of out of pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."
"Funeral arrangements?" the hobbit wondered, worried, as he scanned the document.
As the hobbit began to read the fine print out loud, Thorin whispered something in Gandalf's ear. Linheid couldn't hear what the details of the exchange were, but afterwards, Gandalf was not entirely at his ease.
"Incineration?" the hobbit's question brought Linheid back to his voice.
"Oh, ay, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," Bofur took t upon himself to explain. The hobbit began to breathe heavily.
"You all right, laddie?" Balin asked.
"Yes, I – I feel a bit faint," he replied.
"Think furnace with wings," Bofur added.
"Air, I need air," the hobbit said.
"Flash of light," Bofur continued, "searing pain, then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash."
The hobbit straightened for a moment, rolling back his shoulders. Then he was on the floor.
"Very helpful, Bofur," Gandalf pointed out.
They were lucky Oin had some smelling salts about him. Fili and Kili got the hobbit into a chair before all the dwarves left the room to give the lad some space. Linheid followed her father and Balin down the hallway a ways.
"Ridiculous idea, using a hobbit," Thorin scoffed.
"It may yet work," Balin rebuffed. "What do you think, Linheid?"
"Well, I suppose we'll see," she replied. The rest of the conversation was simply business, which Linheid tuned out, pondering the hobbit and that glint in his eye.