The Manners of Kings
West of the Lonely Mountain many had assembled. Elves and Men had put up camps and unfurled the banners of their houses. Against the slate-grey sky these banners hung limp, no breeze stirred the canopies of the tent sea spread out beneath the mountain's shadow.
Bilbo sat apart from the companies of elven guards. Wrapped in a blanket he held in his hands a bowl of some earthy broth that he had allowed to go cold. Heavy was the weight on the hobbit's heart if he could allow food of any kind to remain uneaten.
The face of Thorin Oakenshield floated in his mind, those proud features twisted with rage and betrayal and Bilbo had none to blame but himself. So hard-won had been his friendship with the dwarf prince that he could only account for his actions with madness.
Perhaps Thorin had not been the only one to fall under the glamourous thrall of gold and gems that at this very hour were stilled piled high in the Halls of Erebor. At the time he had only thought to put an end to Thorin's stubborn refusal to quit his halls. After all, he had only just won them and not through any large effort of his own. He thought this last part bitterly as he kicked a stone into his own small fire.
A heavy figure sat down beside him and Bilbo was cheered to see that it was Gandalf, come to share in a quiet moment and puff at his pipe. The wizard had for a long time been holding council with Bard of the Lake Men and Thranduil, the Elvenking and even he could grow tired of two wilful individuals such as they.
'Here now, Master Bilbo,' said Gandalf after settling down with the usual amount of grumbling in creaking. 'It appears that you have once again found yourself right in the thick of things.'
'More like in a fine mess, Gandalf,' Bilbo sighed and took out his own pipe although he had long since run out of anything with which to pack its wooden bowl.
'I cannot say that is untrue,' muttered the wizard with his pipe stem already between his teeth. There was a long paused filled with the huffing copious drifts of pale blue smoke.
As Gandalf settled back against the packs laid behind them he handed his worn leather pouch to Bilbo without a word. Bilbo took it gratefully and with many stuttered thanks which the wizard dismissed with a few, cloudy puffs.
The two of them smoked for a while in silence filling their corner of the camp with the heady smell of the burning weed. Bilbo smoked with nervous quickness, noting that the elves had moved upwind of them without so much as a word or a glance. Clearly they were used to having a wizard in their midst and had adapted to his strange habits.
Bilbo sighed gustily, 'what sort of friend am I, Gandalf?'
'Hmm, I should think that only you might answer that, Bilbo Baggins.'
The hobbit grew more flustered, 'then I am a horrid friend indeed to keep with Thorin's company for so long only to take the thing he most longed for.'
Gandalf's eyes glittered from beneath his great, grey eyebrows. 'If you think that Thorin Oakenshield would value a glittering bauble above all other things in this world then you are as bad a friend as you say you are.'
Bilbo was stunned.
'I think you will find,' continued Gandalf as if he did not see the stricken expression on Bilbo's face, 'that it is not the Arkenstone that is the source of Thorin's wrath, but that he lost it so easily.'
'Just like he lost his home,' said Bilbo in breathless realization.
'Just so,' said Gandalf. 'I think that one can more easily stomach the loss of one's home to a dragon than the loss of heritage to a burglar, particularly one who was up to now an ally.'
Bilbo gave these notions of homes and heritage several long puffs worth of thought. That he missed his own home was plain enough, for he dreamt of it often, but it had never occurred to him that it might not be there for him to have.
Gandalf watched the hobbit think, the cloud of blue smoke growing ever larger around the spire of his pointed hat.
'Imagine for a time that your fine old hobbit-hole was not only home to yourself but to a great many people. Think now what it might mean to lose that.'
Bilbo jumped slightly in his seat and wondered whether he had said anything out loud.
At that moment there was a rustling of cloth from further on down the camp and the Elvenking emerged, cloaked in the flickering light of many blazing fires and crowned with starlight. He turned his fair eyes towards the seated wizard and gave a slight nod.
Bilbo watched the tall figure move between the fires, pausing at nearly every one to hear some news from his warriors or give council to those gathered about him. The hobbit was reminded of the many times he had watched Thorin on their long journey give that same attention to the dwarves who were huddled with him around the campfire.
The dwarf he had seen on those long nights had seemed to him more a king than the dwarf who was currently holed up inside his shattered halls surrounded by his glittering treasure and meager band of companions.
His mind fell to these dark thoughts and he wondered with no small amount of bitterness whether Thorin was worthy of the role he had come so far to take.
'I wonder, my dear Bilbo, if you are not being a tad heartless in your thoughts.' This remark from Gandalf, though less startling than the first, was still unsettling for it gave voice to thoughts which Bilbo believed were solely in his own keeping.
'Forgive me,' Bilbo answered quickly. 'When I think of how this whole business could be so easily solved if Thorin would only come down from his fortress, I cannot help but grow frustrated.'
Gandalf laughed, and it was a surprising sound. He patted Bilbo warmly on the back and rose from his seat. 'Perhaps if more kings were hobbits the world would not be so dark and fearsome.'
Bilbo had no answer but his mouth continued to flap uselessly for several moments. He managed only to close it when they were joined by the Elvenking, returned from his rounds in the camps.
'It seems that once more we find ourselves on the brink of chaos, Mithrandir.' He said this without taking his eyes from Bilbo's face and the halfling felt heat rising in his cheeks.
'Too often do I find you in such places, Thranduil,' Gandalf replied and this caused to elf to laugh.
'So it appears that my lot is to face madness at every turn.'
'Only because you are too compelling a target.'
The Elvenking placed a long, pale hand on the wizards' shoulder, guiding him back towards the tents.
'I would have your council now, my friend. If I might trouble you further.'
Gandalf huffed and grumbled but made no move to dislodge the guiding hand. 'Have I not spent enough time being driven to my wits end by your plans? I know I only appear old but you are one to make me feel the weight of my years, Oropherion.'
Thranduil's expression became grave and his voice softened so that Bilbo could barely hear his words. 'I have cares apart from those which we currently face and it is with your wisdom that I hope to lighten them, if only for a time.'
Gandalf grew serious as well and nodded, taking his staff from where it lay near the fire. 'Then you shall have my council for what good it might do.'
The two of them moved away into the camp, disappearing into the long tent at the end of the row. Bilbo settled himself further into his resting place and arranged the blanket to cover his legs. He thought no more of Thorin that night, turning his mind instead to the elves who moved about the camp in small groups, speaking in worried tones.
These did not seem to him the same merry folk who feasted among the trees despite the knowledge that spiders lurked and bred just beyond the halo of their firelight.
Eventually he was able to fall into a fitful sleep in which he dreamt that he was back underneath the Elvenking's halls, clinging to a rolling, slippery barrel as it smashed against others and the walls of the cramped passage. In his dream the metal gate that held the barrels away from the river rose above him higher and faster than it ever could in truth. The barrels surged forward into darkness and Bilbo felt himself being swallowed up by the cold and raging blackness that sent him tumbling head over feet. When he awoke shaking and gasping for breath there was only the bleak sky above him and the anxious talk of the elves in the camps which continued long into the night.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings or plot lines as they were set down by J.R.R. Tolkien - I merely use them for inspiration.
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