A Dwarf's Pride
CHAPTER 2
Dungeon Deep
Well, maybe I was a little ahead of myself…
Bilbo had thought it would merely take a few hours, one or two days at most, to find a way to free the dwarves and lead them out of the elven palace.
Yet here he was, four weeks later, and he still had no idea how to do either. The keys to the dwarves' cells seemed to change hands on a regular basis, and it wouldn't do much good if he had them anyway, for the heavy gates were closed at all times by order of the Elvenking.
Not to mention that he still had to find Thorin.
The hobbit had searched every room, every dark corridor for the dwarven king, only to come back unsuccessful each and every time. Kili and Fili's mood grew darker by the day, for the brothers were starting to believe their uncle had been disposed of. Bilbo tried to reassure them, saying that there still were some parts of the palace that he had yet to explore, but the young princes' smiles he got in return held less and less hope as days went by.
Food, on the other hand, never was a problem. Elves certainly didn't want their prisoners to die of hunger, for the meals they brought to the cells – although devoid of any meat – were quite copious. At first, the burly dwarves complained and turned their backs on the green food; but after a few days, they had to resign themselves to eat the berries and carrots they were given. Bilbo, for his part, was happy to finish off any salad or fruit, and the occasional bite of lembas. That elvish bread seemed to make the dwarves sick, but it was quite useful and took up little space, so Bilbo filled his pockets with it at any chance he got.
Days of this routine turned into weeks, and as the fourth one came to a close, Bilbo was starting to think they would be locked in here forever. Locked with elves, carrots, and without any sun. Or Thorin for that matter.
Luck smiled down on Bilbo one evening. Well, who knew what time of day it really was, but Bilbo was about to retreat to a corner to sleep, so it was like an evening to him.
He was casually playing with his golden ring when he heard them talking. Thranduil's son, Legolas, and another elf.
"He just won't eat on a regular basis. Sometimes he doesn't even touch anything for a few days. It has been one week this time," Legolas said.
"His fate is his to decide, if he wishes to die of hunger then so be it," the other, dark-haired elf shrugged. "Do not concern yourself over a mere dwarf, Legolas. He is not worthy of your attention."
At this, Legolas' icy eyes hardened. "I do not care for the dwarf. My father wants him alive, that creature's death would only bring his ill temper forth."
Thorin. They are speaking about Thorin, Bilbo thought to himself, hope flaring up in his chest again as all thoughts of sleep escaped him.
"Have you tried lembas?"
"I did, but he has little care for it. Or anything the kitchens have to offer," Legolas sighed, running a hand through his golden hair. "I had to try something else."
The dark-haired elf's eyebrow quirked. "If you have tried giving him everything you could find in the kitchens, what more can you do?"
"I went hunting this morning and-"
"Legolas!"
"It is just one rabbit, Hatholnin, and I made sure to pick the oldest one," Thranduil's son retorted, gesturing to a small bag that certainly contained his game. "I'm only giving him a leg or two, I'll hang the rest to dry so it can make for other meals, should the need arise."
"Dwarves are wicked, wretched creatures," the other elf spat. "Eating flesh and drinking blood…"
"Hatholnin, promise me you won't alarm the others."
"I won't, Legolas, but this does not mean I condone the way you act. These dwarves… they do not deserve to be treated kindly."
With a last disapproving glare, the dark-haired elf went off, leaving Legolas to stand alone with his small bag and a forlorn look.
The Firstborn, however, soon marched off in another direction, and Bilbo instinctively followed him, hoping against all odds that he would be taken to where Thorin was held captive.
Down, down, down they went, trudging down stairs and spirals until Bilbo thought they would reach the very heart or Arda. As they walked, the lanterns grew rarer, until they finally disappeared altogether. The hobbit was thankful for his ring then, for he could still see in the darkness as he would in bright daylight. But he wasn't sure he would be able to find his way back.
"Dwarf."
Bilbo abruptly looked up from his feet – which he had been staring at to avoid kicking a stone and revealing his presence – to see the elf had stopped in front of a door that looked exactly like the ones keeping the other dwarves prisoner. What was inside the cell, he couldn't see however, as the elf's frame was hindering his sight.
"Are you still not speaking, dwarf?"
Bilbo decided to sit and wait for the elf to leave before he could see for himself if Thorin was really inside that cell. He felt his heart swell at the thought that the dwarven king was alive, and that he had found him.
Kili and Fili are going to be relieved!
"I can hear you breathe, so I know you yet live. I am just here to give you your next meal, should you wish to eat it."
Legolas crouched and emptied the content of the bag in a wooden bowl and slipped it under the door. He tied the small pouch to his belt and turned away, before he hesitated.
"I do not wish for you to die, dwarf, nor do I mean you harm," he whispered softly, and in a few long strides he was away, leaving Bilbo alone in the dark corridor with the wild beating of his heart.
Unwilling to waste any time, yet wary of what he might find inside the cell, the hobbit crept to the iron bars without a single sound.
He almost cried out in relief when he saw Thorin sitting up against the wall. Thrain's son was quite a sight, with his torn-up clothes and slumped shoulders. The blue cotton shirt had tears that even Bilbo's mother would have had trouble mending, revealing dirty and bruised skin underneath. The breeches and boots hadn't suffered as much as the shirt, though, being just as ragged as the last time Bilbo had seen them.
Then, of course, there was Thorin's face. Most of the cuts and bruises had healed, but Legolas' short blade had wreaked havoc in the king's hair and beard. While no patch of skin was entirely visible on Thorin's chin or skull, the dwarf was a sore mess. Gone were the rich dark locks and the silver streaks that used to run through the black mane like gold veins in the mountainside. Instead, strands of various lengths adorned Thorin's head, dirty and wild, and probably cacked with dried up blood.
It made Bilbo's heart ache to see the king – to see his king – so defeated. When there was a glimmer in Thorin's eyes that looked too much like concealed tears, Bilbo knew he had to speak up.
"Thorin," he whispered eagerly. "Thorin it's me, it's Bilbo."
He saw the dwarf's head rise from the knee it was resting on and give a look around, to which the hobbit remembered that he probably couldn't see anything. "Here, to your left, I'm standing by your door."
"Master Baggins?" Thorin's gruff voice called out tentatively, and although it was dry and cracked, it was like music to Bilbo's ears.
He watched as the dwarf dropped on all fours with a pained grunt and slowly, painstakingly made his way over to the door. Thorin felt for the iron bars and hoisted himself up until he was standing on slightly trembling legs.
"It's Bilbo, but yes, it's me," the hobbit whispered. He reached out to pat Thorin's calloused hand reassuringly. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
The only answer he got in return was a grunt. There was something off about Thorin's eyes, as if they had been emptied of all light.
"You don't look so well," the hobbit noted.
"And how can you tell?" Thorin rasped. "I can't even see my hands…"
"Well, I… that is to say… hobbits have a very good eyesight you know?" Bilbo answered poorly, hoping that the dwarf would buy it. There was a gap between a good eyesight and seeing in the dark. "And it's not that hard, either, considering… well…" The hobbit gestured in Thorin's general direction, but he remembered that the dwarf couldn't see him. "The state you are in."
When Thorin's features grew dark, Bilbo knew he had made a mistake. "No no no, I mean, you look worn-out and even sleep-deprived, do you even sleep? I couldn't do anything else, in here, with so little light-"
"Do not trouble yourself, burglar," Thorin said in a strained voice. "I know perfectly well what I look like."
Bilbo sighed. "I… I talked to the others and-"
"Then they told you why I would sooner die of shame than look at them in the eye again."
Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Nobody is going to die, and we are not getting out of here without you, so you'd better get used to the idea that you are going to see them again. And very soon, I'd wager."
"You are just a hobbit. You don't understand."
Thorin began to retreat from the door, probably to sit in a corner again and brood, but Bilbo caught his larger hand before he could get far. "I know this is important to you, but it is nothing time cannot fix! By the time you are crowned king, you'll be able to braid your hair just like you used to!"
"Do not mock me, Halfling," Thorin snarled. "You know nothing."
Oh, you stubborn, sulking dwarf!
"I may not be a dwarf, but I have forsaken everything I held dear back in the Shire to leave on this fool's journey with you!" Bilbo whispered furiously, squeezing Thorin's hand more than necessary. "I sacrificed a life of peace, quiet and plenty to travel across Middle-Earth with thirteen dwarves, although I could be killed in the process. Don't you dare swat me away like you would an irksome fly and tell me I know nothing!"
Thorin fell silent. His eyes were downcast, but he wasn't trying to put distance between Bilbo and himself anymore. The hobbit sighed, regretting his outburst. "Look, I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to lash out at you. I just… I guess I've been really worried, that's all."
It took several long, excruciating seconds, but Thorin finally nodded and raised his eyes to where he thought the hobbit's were. "I just keep on misjudging you, it seems," he said softly. "I thought you were long gone… I thought I would eventually die in here, in the dark…"
"And leave Erebor to Fili and Kili? Don't be silly," Bilbo tried to joke, glad for the change in topic.
Thorin allowed a small smile to grace his lips, the first one in months, and though it was short-lived and splintered it did a lot of good to his hobbit companion's heart. "How are they faring?"
"They are in good shape. Good enough to mock elves as they pass by and throw peas at them, at any rate. They are worried about you," he added with an afterthought.
At this Thorin leaned his forehead against the iron bars and let out an audible sigh. "I was afraid something happened to them," he muttered.
He looked so lost, so broken, standing there on trembling legs, that Bilbo reached out to lay a hand on the dwarf's head. The hobbit bit his lip when Thorin jerked away from the small appendage. "Thorin, it really doesn't matter to them, whether your hair reaches your shoulders or not. They told me as much." He reached out again and this time, he cupped the side of the dwarf's face, fingers settling on the hard jaw which teeth clenched at the foreign touch. He knew he was overstepping his boundaries, but he couldn't help himself. "And it doesn't matter to me."
Bilbo could nearly feel the battle taking place in Thorin's mind after he was done speaking. The king struggled to remain strong and regal, but after four weeks of isolation in complete darkness and shame, Bilbo could feel his resolve cracking.
His burden was a heavy one to carry, and thousands of dwarves looked up to him. To disappoint them was a fear that was probably constantly dancing at the back of the black-haired dwarf's head. There was only so long one could pretend to be strong and in control of everything…
Sure enough, Thorin eventually relented and leaned into his burglar's hand, gratefully relishing in another being's touch. Bilbo smiled weakly and ran the tip of his fingers into uneven strands of hair, and Thorin didn't complain when he brushed his whiskers. The dwarf had been in dire need of some kind of contact with the world, that much Bilbo could tell, so he allowed his guard to slip a little and comforted Thorin as best as he could.
"Everything will be fine," the hobbit whispered warmly, wishing he could do more than combing what remained of Thorin's hair with his hand. "I've found you now, it's only a matter of time until I find a way to get us all out of here. You'll be leading this company again before you know it!"
"May Mahal hear your words," Thorin mumbled in return, "and grant me the strength to leave this place as quickly as possible."
"The elves say you are not eating. You should know better than that."
"I have little care for what they have to offer," Thorin growled softly.
"The one I followed here brought you meat," Bilbo pointed out.
"Again, I don't care."
Bilbo huffed; he had the impression that he was scolding a petulant young child who didn't want to finish his plate, and not a king. "Now, that's just stupid. You need to eat if you want to retain some kind of strength, I am not carrying you out of here. Besides, this elf went through the trouble of hunting a rabbit for you, although it seems to be something elves look down upon. He went against his people's beliefs just so you could eat; I'm not asking you to thank him, but for Yavanna's sake, at least eat what he gives you and use it to your advantage."
Reluctantly, but knowing there was no use debating with the hobbit, Thorin slid to the ground and felt around for the wooden bowl. "What about you? Do you eat enough?"
The question surprised Bilbo; he didn't expect Thorin to worry about him while the dwarf had so much to worry about already. "Yes yes, I'm fine. Unlike our companions – and you, apparently – I enjoy green food just as much as the next hobbit, and I find plenty of it. Would you just eat?"
Thorin muttered something that suspiciously sounded like "pig-headed halfling", but soon enough there were chewing noises coming from inside the cell, as well as stomach growls. Were their predicament not so dire, Bilbo would have laughed.
He waited until he was sure Thorin had finished his meal before he cleared his throat. "I need to go and inform the others that I found you."
"You are leaving?"
No, that wasn't dread and distress he could head in the king's voice, no, he was mistaken.
"I'll be back soon, I promise. I know where you are now, and your cell is not guarded, I will come and see you as often as I can."
There was a slight pause as Thorin processed the words, and he nodded. "Be safe, Bilbo. You are my… you are our only hope."
Bilbo nodded and silently began to ascend the stairs. His legs felt like jelly and he willed himself to think it was because of the heavy task that now burdened his shoulders.
And not because Thorin had finally used his first name.
Bilbo usually came to Thorin at night – well, the few hours of weak elvish activity that he had labelled as "night", anyway. This way, he was sure he wouldn't be caught, should he fall asleep in a corner and wake up a few hours later.
When he was done scouring every corner of the palace for a way out, he would retire to Thorin's side with warmth from his nephews, words of support from the other dwarves and, sometimes, an apple or two.
The routine carried on for a few days. Bilbo would just sit and make sure the King ate something, all the while talking about his recent discoveries – which he embellished quite a bit, for there wasn't much to talk about – and the other dwarves' whereabouts. Kili and Fili were fine, though bored. Dwalin finally managed to break a finger while punching his cell's door. Bifur usually slept the day away and only woke up to eat. So on, so on. Thorin wasn't very talkative, only nodding and grunting, with of course the occasional word to answer a question.
That was fine by Bilbo. He was aware Thorin needed time to recover, away from prying eyes, and the fact that the dwarf acknowledged him and heeded his recommendation to eat was enough.
When Thorin was done eating, they usually sat back to back with the iron bars between them, which denied Bilbo the sight of Thorin and put him off a little. But he kept in mind that the dwarf couldn't see him anyway and that it was as close as they could be in the current situation. A few nights prior, Bilbo had taken off his ring to be on equal level with Thorin; but the sheer darkness and gloom had the Baggins in him shaking, and he quickly, shamefully put the ring back on. It reminded him too much of a dark, damp cave, and despair, and… riddles…
He had then realized that Thorin had had to stand that environment for well over a month, now.
If Bilbo was lucky, Thorin would lean back just enough so that the back of his head fit between bars, and came to rest atop honey curls. The hobbit didn't know why the simple act made him feel so warm, but he guessed he was glad Thorin managed to relax enough to open up a little.
And that night was one of those nights. Bilbo could feel the comforting weight of the dwarf's head on his own, as well as the radiating warmth from his back. It was a blessing to possess a body comparable to a furnace, when there was naught but cold stone all around you.
"Last night I dreamt I had died."
It caught Bilbo off guard, the abruptness of it. He was left fishing for words as Thorin pursued softly.
"I ended up in Mahal's Great Halls. There were lanterns, carved out of the walls. Tapestries so high, with countless names written on them, yet there was nobody around." Thorin's deep baritone voice was soothing and Bilbo allowed himself to be lulled into comfortable silence as he listened. "I wandered down the Halls, room after room, and still couldn't find anyone. Until I came across my brother."
Bilbo shifted his head a little to glance at Thorin from the corner of his eye. "Your brother?"
"Aye. Frerin. I went to greet him, but he would not look at me. He said…" At this Thorin's voice faltered but he never went quiet. "He said that he hadn't expected me to die in a common Elf dungeon, chained and dirty, with no hair or beard to speak of. That it had brought shame on the line of Durin, and that I was to wander in the Great Halls until the end of days. Then he disappeared and I woke up, to discover I yet lived."
Bilbo held his breath for a long time, as if a puff of air could break the trust that Thorin had granted him with his story. He mulled over his next words carefully, afraid to upset the king. "I never knew you had a brother," he whispered.
"I did. He was still in his prime when battle claimed him."
Bilbo winced and almost slapped himself. Well played now, Bilbo Baggins! "I'm sorry."
"You weren't even born, you have nothing to do with the mass that sent him back to Mahal."
Well, Thorin was in a sharing mood that night. Bilbo only wished his tales weren't so dark.
"Still, I know next to nothing about you," the hobbit continued, hoping to steer the conversation to more hearty waters. "Well, I mean, up until you barged in my living room and called me a grocer, that is."
"I was sadly mistaken, wasn't I?"
"It pleases me that you do realize that, yes." The stifled chuckle that came from within the cell lifted Bilbo's heart, and he allowed himself to grin. "Do I dare hope that our adventures changed the idea you had of hobbits?"
"No."
"What- how can you say that, after everything we've been through?" Bilbo sputtered. "After the trolls, the goblins, Beorn, and now Mirkwood for Yavanna's-"
"Our journey did not change the idea I had of hobbits," Thorin said calmly. "It changed the idea I had of you."
"Oh."
Bilbo felt very stupid. He wriggled his toes on the cold floor as he racked his brain for something to say that didn't betray just how much Thorin's last comment affected him. "Well, as I've said, I don't know much about you," he settled on saying. "Will you tell me stories from when you were younger?"
There was a long pause as if Thorin was weighting his answer. "Maybe another time, halfling," he finally said.
Oh, so it's back to halfling now… damn Dwarves and their secrecy!
"Well then, in that case, I won't be telling you about my exciting and amazing childhood," Bilbo huffed mockingly.
"I never asked for it anyway. Pies and contests to determine who owns the biggest chicken in town leave me quite unaffected."
"It was the biggest goose, and I won that one, thank you."
Again, a chuckle, Bilbo could feel it on his back. A strand of hair probably belonging to Thorin came to rest on his sensitive hobbit ear, tickling it softly, and he sighed. He had nothing against spending a few hours in that spot, or even catch a nap, for this position certainly was comfortable.
"You would end up with a stiff neck and a painful back."
Bilbo's eyes snapped open to the realization that he had voiced his last thoughts out loud. Frozen to the spot, he didn't dare move, for fear that Thorin might move back from the door and settle somewhere else. "I didn't… I- I mean, I would never…" he stammered lamely.
"At ease, Bilbo, at ease. I cannot say for myself that I find your presence uncomfortable."
"Oh. Well… well, that's, that's a relief."
"Were it not for you, I would have probably given up by now and handed every treasure in Erebor over to the wretched Elf." Thorin's head shifted against Bilbo's, tickling his ears further. "I owe you."
"Don't be ridiculous, you owe me nothing, Thorin Oakenshield!" Bilbo protested in a furious whisper. "Except perhaps new plumbing, but we'll discuss this once the journey is over."
"Should I ask?"
"Probably not."
"Very well then, I shall not ask."
"You are most wise, King Under the Mountain."
There was a dry chuckle that tumbled out of Thorin's mouth, before he sighed. "And what a King I make… Holed up in a dark cell, even worse, an elvish cell, with hardly enough hair to keep from catching death by cold."
Bilbo worried at his lower lip; of course, he hadn't recovered from losing most of his hair and beard. Talking to a hobbit in complete darkness was one thing; but what of the moment he would have to face the other dwarves in bright daylight? Bilbo had half a thought that it wouldn't go as smoothly.
"You are too hard on yourself," he piped up. "I mean, you still have more hair than I do."
"I know you mean well, but that's hardly a good thing."
Bilbo pretended to be offended. "Why, are you saying my hair is not long enough?"
"Well, it would do you some good to let it grow, give you some more countenance."
"Oh, now I don't have any countenance?"
"That wasn't what I meant. I merely think it would suit you better."
"Tell you what: if I ever get all of you dwarves out of here, I promise not to cut my hair until you are crowned King, is that acceptable your Highness?"
At this Thorin actually laughed. Granted, it was a weak, strained rumble, but Bilbo recognized it as a laugh all the same. "I stand by what I said. You really are a very peculiar hobbit." He then startled the hobbit by reaching back and squeezing Bilbo's shoulder. "And I am very glad you are."
Bilbo reached back as well to give Thorin's shoulder a similar pat, but he missed and found his fingers buried in short hair. Immediately the dwarf tensed, but when Bilbo tried to retrieve his hand he found it stuck in the many tangles that a few weeks without any comb entailed. He tugged sharply but only managed to slam Thorin's skull against the iron bars for his effort.
"Oh goodness gracious, Thorin, I'm sorry!" he said hastily. He just kept on ruining nice moments, as it seemed.
But Thorin just gave him an amused grunt, and Bilbo wondered when he had earned the right for the dwarven king to be so lenient towards him.
"Hey Fili, have you seen that elf just now? I think she was watching me…"
"Of course she was, Kili, you just chucked apple seed at her head…"
"Aye, aye, but I felt her gaze linger on me."
"Maybe she was wondering why you're so ugly, although you are related to me!"
"Or maybe she just realized I'm the only handsome beast of this company."
"If you boys don't stop talking immediately, I'll personally make sure no one ever finds the two of you the least bit attractive!"
"Er, we're sorry Mister Dwalin."
"Aye, we're sorry. Goodnight Mister Dwalin."
