The time spent in Lake-town was a good experience for everyone in the Company except for Bilbo.
You would think the fellow had a pleasant time, as the folk of Lake-town offered the Company everything a hobbit could desire. Food, drink, and song were all present in ample amounts, and there was a great deal of good cheer, even in the darkest, dingiest corner of the place. There were fresh sets of clothes, thick blankets, and warm beds. The Company had an entire house to themselves, and a whole town of people willing to help them and cater to their every need.
But most of you will be able to agree that when you are feeling sick, no matter how luxurious and comfortable your surroundings are, you are going to be miserable. So, while all the dwarves ate, drank, and recovered rather quickly from their trip down the river, the hobbit remained in his little ground-floor room, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. He had a cold, the mountain was close, and there was still the dragon he was going to have to deal with. In his bed, propped up with several plush pillows, covered in furs and woolen blankets, his arms crossed and a cup of strong tea clutched in a slightly shaky hand, Bilbo held court over a group of apologetic dwarves.
Now that they were not wet, cold, and starving, the Company, not just Thorin, had much good feeling towards Bilbo. With the Mountain so close and everyone around them in such good spirits, the Company managed to put their uncomfortable journey behind them. In fact, most of them thought that in the end, Bilbo had the right idea. How else would they have gotten out of the Elvenking's prison? What were a few bruises and scratches compared to freedom? So the dwarves, instead of calling Bilbo names underneath their breath and excluding him from conversation as they had been doing, were suddenly patting him on the back and drinking to his health. They all kicked up a great fuss about Bilbo being treated for his terrible cold, and all hours of the day there was at least one dwarf at his side, making sure all his needs were catered to.
Bilbo would have felt more kindly towards all of them if they had tried not to act so well. Their bruises were fading, and they were regaining the weight they lost during their starvation in Mirkwood. They received new clothes in their proper colors (even Thorin had his beautiful hood remade), and all the dwarves trimmed and oiled their hair and beards. Bilbo, meanwhile, remained with his sunken cheeks and cold sweats in clothing that was meant for a much larger child of Man.
"At least you will be able to fit into the keyhole, now," said Thorin, with a smile, as if that was supposed to be a comfort.
In response, Bilbo took a long sip of his too strong tea, saying in his clogged voice, "Stop bringing that up. You should not tease a sick hobbit. Bad luck."
Thorin was in an extraordinarily good mood the whole time the Company remained in Lake-town— a full fortnight, and then some. When he was strolling around the house the Master had given the Company, he walked with a swagger in his step, as if he were already the King of his reclaimed Mountain, as if he were one of the famous dwarf-lords of old, rather than an exile in a little town nearly a full week's walk (they did not have ponies or boats just yet) away from a mountain ruled over by a cruel dragon. He smiled out the windows of the house and greeted the citizens of Lake-town, waving as they sung songs about his return. He sat regally in his rickety wooden seat in the boat the Master lent to the Company to get around town in, kingly despite the shabby state of the town around him. When he was presiding over the celebrations the Master held in his wooden halls, he spoke with a booming voice, and he drank and sang more than anyone else in the Company.
And in private, he was more gentle and kind than he had been at any other time during the quest. If he was not about retrieving supplies, greeting people, or participating in the numerous parties held during their stay, he was at the hobbit's bedside. After everything was settled, he was not constantly in the canals with the rest of the Company, singing songs and getting his fill of the September sun. After a few days, he no longer walked past the windows on purpose, just to hear cheers, as his nephews continued to do. Instead he was making sure the hobbit was never hungry, and that he always had a handkerchief to sneeze into. Bilbo still felt rotten, but it comforted him in that he could not think of how many years had past since someone handled him so gently, and so full of care. Even so, he still tried to act as if he were a bit cross with the dwarf.
"Having you around has brought me nothing but luck, Bilbo," said Thorin one day. "If not for you, I would be wasting away in a cell, cold and lonesome, with no hope to warm me. You have brought me to kingdom, and for that I will always be grateful."
"That is all true," said Bilbo. He blew his nose, and continued, "I have heard it all from the Company: I am a very magnificent hobbit. But you still did not apologize for teasing me about my weight."
"I am very sorry for that," Thorin said, though he did not sound very apologetic. He had, however, been very apologetic about many other things those past few days. When Thorin started talking, you often could not stop him. He was determined to make things up to Bilbo, and when the dwarf was set on a goal, he hardly ever quit. So when he started apologizing, he just kept thinking of more things to be sorry for. He was sorry for taking Bilbo's hand in such a strange fashion in Bree, and sorry for not being more gentle on the mountain path, and sorry for not speaking on Bilbo's behalf that night on the cliff outside Goblin-town. And scores of little other things: sorry for accidentally elbowing your side that night in Mirkwood, sorry for knocking over your cup on Midsummer's Eve, sorry for sending you into that clearing alone.
"And why did you take my hand in Bree like that?" Bilbo had asked, in the midst of one of these sessions. He was very pleased, and spoke with a smile— it was hard to be cross with an apologetic Thorin, much as he wanted to be a bit stern with him. It was something he had not often seen, so he was very pleased that it was just for him. A few minutes of speaking, and Bilbo was unable to chase his curling lips off, happy in spite of the way his little nose dribbled.
"You were small, and very adorable," Thorin replied. "I did not wish for you to get lost."
"I am not that much smaller than you, Thorin." The hobbit's brown skin hid any blush that might have crept up on his face. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks, though. He scolded himself in his mind. Why would any fifty— soon to be fifty-one year old— be pleased to be called adorable? Apparently himself! "You wished to protect me, then?"
"Yes, and how strangely our tables have turned! It seems you are the one who has been protecting yourself for much of this journey. You have saved us dwarves, as well."
"You should have employed me as a dwarf-wrangler, rather than Burglar."
"I think the title of Burglar still fits you quite well. You will most definitely prove yourself once we reach the Mountain, as you have always proved yourself. And anyway, dear Bilbo, you have managed to steal at least one thing so far."
"More than one thing, I should think," sniffed Bilbo. "A troll-hoard, a great deal of elvish lore, a magic ring, more than my share of honey from Beorn's stores, scores of information from those Mirkwood elves, clothes, AND thirteen whole dwarves. That's only off the top of my curly little head! I deserve a rise in pay!"
"Anything you like," Thorin said. He felt a little put out, as he had meant to be very clever and say that the hobbit had stolen his heart, but he had lost his chance. It was true, of course. But maybe he could go a bit longer without saying it. And Bilbo was so clever that he had probably figured it out already. "Once you help me get back the Mountain, you shall have your fourteenth share, as well as many other things."
"Like what?" asked Bilbo, leaning over, setting his now cool tea on the table next to his bed. Before he could rest his hand in his lap or beneath the blankets, Thorin held his open on the covers, in an open invitation. Bilbo placed his hand in the dwarf's grasp, and relaxed into his pillows as Thorin ran his thumb over his knuckles. The dwarf made no comment on how clammy his hands were, for which Bilbo was grateful.
"Anything," said Thorin.
"A mighty promise," Bilbo replied. He smiled at the dwarf, and motioned him to come closer. Thorin brought the wooden chair he was sitting on as close to the bedside as he could manage. Then Bilbo patted the pillows next to him, and the dwarf leaned his head against them. Bilbo shifted so that he was lying down, instead of being propped up with an inordinate amount of pillows. "Who knows, I may steal your throne and all your jewels out from underneath you!"
"Is that how you plan to prove your Burglar status?" He laughed. "I should stop making such wild offers."
"It makes me feel quite important, so go on and keep doing it, just for me. If it comforts you, Thorin, I will only ask for small things. Half your jewels, perhaps. And not the title of King, but maybe Lord, or Duke. I doubt that the Lonely Mountain has a Thain, so perhaps not that. I could be the mayor of your Mountain!"
"How do you like the title of King's Consort?" asked Thorin, softly.
Bilbo started from his place in his little nest of pillows. Now, he had guessed that Thorin had been getting at the idea of courtship with all his talk of important promises and expensive gifts. And when he mentioned outsiders joining the Line of Durin. But he did not think the dwarf would act on his feelings— at least, not so soon. Bilbo had thought that he would have more time to think about the possibility (and the consequences!) of being involved in such a way with a dwarf-lord. A King! He looked at Thorin and marvelled at how calm he seemed.
"I…" Bilbo trailed off. He stopped and blew his nose, just so he did not have to say anything. He took his time doing it, and looked down at his and Thorin's entwined hands. If you looked at his face, you would think he was thinking rather hard about about something. But the hobbit's mind was in actuality rather blank. He did not want to think about anything in that moment.
"You do not have to give me an answer now," Thorin finally said. He sat up from where he had laid his head. "It is a large thing to dwell on, and I would give you time to make a decision."
Thorin then made like he was going to get up and leave, and Bilbo sat up, about to ask Thorin to stay. But he moved rather faster than he should have. This made his poor little head throb, and his throat itch terribly, what with his cold. He coughed spectacularly, and rather moistly, and winced as his head ached and beat his pulse in his ears.
Thorin sat back down quickly after that, his chair clattering and scraping across the floor.
"Breathe!" he cried.
"What else would I do?" Bilbo managed to say (quite irritably) in between his hacking. He tried to blink away the tears his coughs had brought into his eyes. "I'll be fine, Thorin." He sneezed, and cursed mildly under his breath. "Its just a cold, you see. You can leave, if you'd like. You were leaving."
"Do you want me to leave?"
Bilbo gave up and finally wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. He rubbed under his nose to get rid of the snot that insisted on dribbling out, and sniffed loudly. "No," he said eventually. He settled himself back down into his nest.
Thorin reached over, and brushed away the last of Bilbo's tears with the pad of his thumb. Instead of moving away from Bilbo's face, he kept his hand cupped around the hobbit's jaw, cradling it gently. His thumb ran over the bow of Bilbo's lips, and he smiled. Thorin traced the curve of that as well. His other hand smoothed Bilbo's tightly curled (and slightly sweaty) hair from his forehead. The hobbit enjoyed the cool weight of the dwarf's rings on his hot forehead. His fingers travelled down to tease the pointed tip of his ear.
Bilbo took the hand that Thorin was using to hold his jaw, and tangled their fingers together. He laid both of their hands over his slightly rattly chest. Neither of the two marvelled at how quickly the mood shifted. It just seemed like it was right. Thorin looked relieved that things were settled again.
"I've been curious about something," said Bilbo.
"Hm?" Thorin intoned. One look at the dwarf and you could tell that he was feeling very at peace. He was not smiling, not really, but his face was free from many of its care-lines, and the furrow between his brows that usually was present was gone. His eyes were slightly closed, but still all his attention was on Bilbo. Thorin had been acting as if he had already reclaimed his Mountain, and in Bilbo's little sick room, he acted like he already had his Consort Under the Mountain as well. It was a bit overwhelming, but Bilbo found he did not really mind.
"Why the handholding?" Bilbo asked. "Are hands especially precious to dwarves?"
"Almost," Thorin said. "Dwarves work with our hands. Almost all our crafts involve using our hands to smith, to carve, to mold. We value the things our hands make, as well as the hands themselves. I could perhaps compare it to the hobbitish interest in admiring and taking care of their feet."
"I have never seen other dwarves holding hands," Bilbo pointed out. "And hobbits do not rub their feet on one another. Or, at least, not regularly."
"There is also the fact, Bilbo, that I love having you around. And I enjoy holding your hand."
Bilbo breathed out slowly, then sniffled rather harshly, to get the mucus back in his nose.
"I enjoy it too."
They both remained there, relishing in the silence and the contact with each other.
Thorin leaned forward in his wooden seat, looking from underneath his brows at the Master.
"Myself and my Company have to get to the Mountain. We will be leaving within the next week," he said.
The Master and his councilors stopped their smiling, their bobbing, and their good-natured offering of food and drink to the Company. They ceased doing anything, and they fixed their scared eyes on Thorin, who looked very smug and comfortable in his seat.
The Company, and the citizens of Lake-town, picked up on the mood at the high table. They gazed up at the Master and Thorin, who were staring down at one another. (Thorin looked very confident— the Master looked ready to faint).
The Man fumbled a bit, before putting on his most important-sounding voice, and saying, "Preparations will be made, O Thorin Thráin's son Thrór's son! You will reclaim your mountain; the hour is at hand for you to fulfill the songs my people sing. We shall have you straight upon your journey, and we will see your mountain returned. And, of course, our hospitality and aid will remain in your mind once you reclaim your birthright."
The crowd all clapped and cheered, and the good mood of the room returned. At least, it did for everyone except the Master and his statesmen. They still believed Thorin was not who he said, and they believed he and his crowd of dwarves were brigands, come to rob the mountain and then leave. This was almost true, of course, but Bilbo was the one burglaring, not the dwarves. And as you will soon see, it was not just thievery in the dark, but a great deal of riddling, running, and fire.
Anyway, once Thorin had said his piece, he went back to speaking with the dwarves, men, and the hobbit at his side.
He held Bilbo's hand underneath the table as he complimented the Men on their ale, and he moved it to slowly rub Bilbo's thigh as he spoke with his sister-sons about the exact date of their departure.
The whole time, Bilbo did his best to remain polite and coherent, what with his dizzy head and a broad, calloused hand getting rid of most of his sense with its warm path up and down his leg. He still managed, however, to have enough control of his wits to blow his nose into a handkerchief when necessary and say a slurred, "thag you very buch!" whenever he was asked to speak.
A cold and three whole days on a miserable boat, all the while underneath the glaring presence of the Lonely Mountain, did nothing to improve Bilbo's mood. His cough was gone, but his head still spun when he moved too quickly, and his nose insisted on dripping. The rolling of the deck underneath his feet made things all the worse.
There were three boats total, each laden with food, blankets, clothes, and sturdy tents to keep the Company warm in the quickly cooling October weather. Ponies and horses were being led through the wild moors that ran up to the Mountain, and they would meet them at the location Thorin and the Master agreed on. Bilbo wished he were walking alongside one of the shaggy ponies, or even sitting astride one of them, rather than sitting and being rocked back and forth by the motions of the rowers as they made their way down the River Running. Bilbo wished he were with the ponies, if only to avoid the sight of Thorin's proud shoulders and crossed arms as he stood at the prow of the ship, keeping his eyes on the Mountain. The dwarf would not even look at him, and Bilbo did not know why.
Once the good cheer and the celebrations of Lake-town were left behind, the Company all sobered up quickly. It was hard to believe that the Mountain could be reclaimed with the wild heath and lack of civilization surrounding them. The only one who remained somewhat motivated was Thorin, but rather than being elated with the prospect of his Mountain so close, he had become very serious. No longer was there a strong dwarf with gentle hands and a smile in his eyes, ready to give a kind word to a sick little hobbit. Rather, there was a dwarf-lord of old standing regally at the head of the ship, his eyes fixed on his conquest.
Bilbo was seated on one of the hard wooden benches that ran across the deck of the ship, squeezed in between Balin and Fíli. The boats were finally approaching the bend of the River Running, and those on the decks could see the group of Men and beasts gathered at the meeting point. Fíli was idly twisting the ends of his beard, which was finally getting longer than the uneven hanks that had been left after he had to cut spider webs out of it. The boats did not want to fight against the current of the river, and they rocked wildly as the rowers steered them into the banks. Balin patted Bilbo's arm soothingly as the hobbit clutched at his stomach, groaning. After a minute or so of struggling, the boats finally beached, grinding against the sandy bottom.
Everyone then went about, getting themselves and the provisions off of the ships. The dwarves had a little trouble clambering off the boat, having to hike up their legs and heave themselves over the side. Bilbo was too small to even do that, so he busied himself on the deck, passing down supplies to the Company and the Men of Lake-town. Once everything was on the ground, Bilbo stood on the deck, hands on his hips. He was not sure how to get down. He looked out at the Company and the Men, hoping one of them would help him down. After a while, one of the long-armed Men noticed took pity on him and helped him down. Normally, he would be indignant at being treated like a child of the Big Folk, but sometimes it was necessary. Anything to get off the boat.
Bilbo thanked the Man, and walked over to where Thorin stood, overseeing the Company. They were pitching a tent, and loading supplies onto the ponies. All basic tasks, too basic for the important Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf did not acknowledge Bilbo, however, not until he felt a clammy hand wrap around his.
He started, and looked down at Bilbo. "Hello," he whispered. "I apologize, I'm a bit distracted."
"I understand," Bilbo replied, just as quietly. He understood what Thorin was getting at with his hushed tone. The quiet wastes around them, and the thought of the dragon so close made Bilbo want to not speak at all. And not think. About the dragon, that is. He swallowed thickly. "I think I do, at least." He nodded at the peak of the Lonely Mountain lying ahead of him.
"I am close," Thorin said roughly. "It has been a long time since I have seen home. We have much work ahead of us."
"Yes…" Bilbo trailed off. "It is beautiful," he offered.
"You do not have to lie," said Thorin. "The dragon Smaug has ruined the beauty of the Mountain. Once it is mine, however, I will restore it to what it once was. I will have pines, and tall oaks, and green fields lining the Mountain's skirts. There will be life inside, and outside, the Mountain."
"I believe it," Bilbo said softly.
The hobbit padded around camp restlessly, the rest of the Company laying about and watching the clouds drift past the Mountain. All the dwarves had lost all their spirit, even Thorin, who was laying down in his tent. Bilbo supposed there was only so long a time one could look at a mountain before getting tired of it. And there was the fact that none of them actually knew how to get inside. That could dishearten anyone.
Except him, it seemed.
It was strange, considering how uncomfortable Bilbo felt under the heavy gaze of the Lonely Mountain. But in spite of himself, after spending so much time being sick and feeling a great deal of self-pity, in the shadow of the Mountain, Bilbo finally began to regain his strength. He cast off his layers of blankets and took to wandering around the wastes on the Western side of the Mountain, looking for some sign of the hidden door. Occasionally, he would hook his arm through Balin's and drag him off to go exploring as well. Balin did not mind so much, as the Lonely Mountain was his home as much as it was Thorin's, but eventually he became as listless as the rest of the Company.
There was not much to look at, however, around the skirts of the Mountain. The ground was rocky, everything was dead, and Bilbo did not dare to go up onto the slopes by himself. So, he resolved to explore the slopes through much safer means: a map. The only map, of course, of the Mountain that Bilbo had any access to was Thrór's Map. And to get a good look at it, he would have to speak with Thorin.
It was hard to speak with Thorin, now that the Company was so close. He acted strange, and denied companionship. He would walk under the heavy flap of his tent and sit for hours, not coming out unless it was for food.
The hobbit did not know exactly why Thorin was acting the way he did. The dwarf was not the type to get very nervous, or doubt himself. Once he was really set upon a goal, it took a great deal of opposing force to stop him. This explains, of course, why he pursued his homeland relentlessly, despite a dragon being in the way. This dedication applied to whatever Thorin was dwelling on in his tent.
The one time the hobbit attempted to speak with the dwarf-lord, Thorin shrugged off the hand placed on his shoulder. He said his business would not be understood by simple Shire folk. He said a halfling would not recognize the importance of it. He would not let the hobbit inside his tent.
"All you're doing is sitting around, you great lump," snapped Bilbo. "I saw it!"
Bilbo, of course, knew that he was not nobly-born, despite his high standing in the Shire, and he was most definitely not a dwarf. But even so, Bilbo knew how very close the two of them had gotten over the course of the journey. Since that night in the Eagle's Eyrie, the dwarf had never denied Bilbo's company. And the way he brushed off Bilbo's companionship was reminiscent of the beginnings of the quest.
Thorin certainly had a temper that ran hot, but Bilbo was lucky in that he was usually spared from it. He wondered what was bothering the dwarf so much to make him lash out at those he held close, but also was not really curious enough to go find out. He did not much appreciate being called a halfling, after all this time, and also, he hated to be the one to move first. Bagginses are set in their ways, and very stubborn. He did not wish to ask for an apology: he wanted to receive one of Thorin's own will. Bilbo did not actively seek out the dwarf until his curiosity got the better of him, and he absolutely needed to see the map.
And because he was half-Took, of course that time came. So, one day, he slipped quietly into Thorin's tent, and said, "I would like to see your grandfather's map."
Thorin showed more life than he had in the past three days when he jolted from his place on his bedroll.
"Bilbo," he greeted the hobbit casually, as if he had not just jumped nearly a foot in the air. Hobbits could sneak around quite well, as you surely remember. Thorin had not even heard him approach. "Why?"
"I think we need to figure how we are to get inside your Mountain," the hobbit replied. "I would like to look at the map and see if there is anything we may have missed."
"What could you find on it?" Thorin asked. "You cannot read dwarvish runes, nor can you see the moon runes."
"You are right, O Thorin Thráin's son," Bilbo said. "I am a halfling, as you have pointed out before. I just believed that someone should take this quest seriously, now that we are finally at your Mountain. Someone needs to lead, since you insist on sitting by yourself, muttering about who knows what, all hours of the day. But perhaps I will not do that. Perhaps I will not attempt to lead you lot. Perhaps, instead of trying to complete my assigned duties, I will go explore the Western slopes and break my neck, just so I can have the opportunity to stop bothering with the stubbornness of dwarves, but one dwarf, you, in particular."
Thorin sighed. "Bilbo, am I right in the assumption that you wish for me to apologize for calling you a halfling?"
"You have not attempted to apologize," Bilbo pointed out. "And it was quite rude."
"Haven't I tried?"
"No, you have not left your tent in ages!"
"Is that right?" Thorin asked. Bilbo nodded. "I suppose I have lost my heart, in the shadow of the Mountain. It is home, but it also holds a dragon inside, if we are to believe yours and Balin's reports on steam coming from the Front Gate. I must find my grandfather's door by Durin's Day, but it seems I, and the rest of the Company, cannot find the spirit to get up and look."
"Yes, that is my way of thinking," Bilbo said. "Which is why I decided to finally talk to you. I would very much like a look at that map, Thorin." He left off a last biting comment, 'If you would quit your yammering on!'
Thorin breathed out a soft, "Ah!" and finally stood up from his bedroll. He walked towards Bilbo, but did not meet the hobbit's eyes as he stuck his hand inside the heavy material of his coat (gifted from the Men of Lake-town). He looked down at his iron-shod feet until he found what he was looking for.
The dwarf lifted his head, smiling slightly under the tangle of his beard. In his hand was a neatly folded map. He held it out for Bilbo to take, but then brought it back to his chest, just as the hobbit was reaching for it.
"Before I give it to you," Thorin said. "I would make that apology for my harsh words to you. And I thank you, for making me stop dwelling on such deep thoughts for a bit of time. You are a breath of cool air for me, in the busy forge that my mind has become. Now, before you say anything, Bilbo, as I know you will; allow me to speak, doubtless though I am delivering one of my dreaded speeches, as you call them." He nodded his head at Bilbo, deigning to let him speak, at least for a brief while.
"Get on with it, then," Bilbo sniffed.
Thorin cleared his throat importantly, then began: "You are as much a part of this quest as I am, Bilbo Baggins. I would take back my words insulting your kin, and give you this instead." At this point, he held out the map for Bilbo to take. "You are very important, Bilbo, to me as well as to the quest, and you have already played a massive part in this undertaking. Truly, had it not been for you, I would still be in a cell. I owe you my life, my dear Bilbo, and I will soon owe you even more, once we get inside my Mountain. So that you may remember this quest, and all who went on it with you, me, in particular, I wish to give you my grandfather's map.
"When tales of the Reclamation of the Lonely Mountain are sung, and dwarves raise their voices to tell of the Quest for Erebor, they will also sing of Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He who kept the Map safe from water, fire, and dwarves who were— are— very sorry for speaking so harshly to him. A very courageous hobbit, indeed!"
Bilbo smiled, and then finally took the map from Thorin's hands. "Give me that, you silly old thing," he said.
"I hope that you have forgiven me," Thorin replied. "Or are thinking about it. I would not have you cross with me. I would hate to send you into the Mountain with you having adverse feelings for me, and this quest in general. You have an important task ahead of you, my dear hobbit, and it is very close to my heart. I fear you would not complete the task were your mood foul." The dwarf stopped talking when he saw that Bilbo had taken a seat on his bedroll. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Taking a look at this map ," Bilbo said. 'And trying to avoid thinking about the burglaring you would have me do!' "Since I cannot read dwarf runes, as you pointed out earlier, I figured I could stay here and you can provide aid."
"We will find out together," said Thorin.
"Yes. Now sit down!"
Thorin did, a bit closer than was necessary, but it was cold beneath the shadow of the Mountain, so Bilbo did not mind too much. (Even though he was still a bit hurt at Thorin's insults. It was a good apology, of course, but that does not heal hurt feelings. And the dwarf was still acting rather strange).
The hobbit, with fingers newly strong, unaffected by sickness, unfolded the map in his lap. He pointed at the red runes on the side of the map, and said, "Now first, tell me what it says there."
Thorin, in his usual domineering manner, took Bilbo's hand in his own, and guided the hobbit's little finger across the bold, red lines, whispering their meanings to an attentive ear.
"It is time to fulfill the purpose of this quest!" cried Thorin, in his most kingly voice. Despite his efforts to seem full of heart, the Company still looked up at him with bleak eyes. Bilbo, from his spot at Thorin's side, noted that the dwarves went along with their surroundings very nicely: tired faces to match dead grasses and fire-blackened rocks. Thorin breathed out loudly, frustrated with his Company's unresponsiveness. He reached over, and took Bilbo's hand. He lifted his arm and held both of their hands up high. The Company at least raised their eyes to look at that. "Our esteemed Master Baggins has got the right idea. He has been telling us for days, and I have finally begun to listen. We must not lose heart! We must find a way into the Mountain. We will begin searching for the secret door at once! Or rather, once we move camp, but then, that is the time where we will begin searching."
"Thorin and I have been studying Thrór's map," Bilbo called out in his high voice. "And we believe that the door will be somewhere on the North side of the Mountain!"
"The Company must move to the Northern skirts, rather than where we are, which as you all might know, is on the Western side. Once everyone is packed up, myself and Balin, who hopefully still knows the way as I do, will lead you all to our next campsite. Begin!"
With that, the Company all trudged off, going to do as their king said. Bilbo himself dropped Thorin's hand, and started walking away, aiming on taking down his tent, which he had been sharing with Óin and Glóin. Before he got too far, Thorin's broad hand closed back over his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.
"I have to help the Company take down camp," Bilbo said, rather than asking Thorin why he wanted him to stay.
"One word from me," the dwarf declared, "and you will not have to lift another finger."
"I am going to go," the hobbit said. "Thorin Oakenshield has lived almost two centuries without me constantly at his side. He does not need a hobbit. I think you can manage me being a while away for half an hour or so."
"Of course I can manage. Perhaps I just would not like to."
Bilbo had not kept count of the days that had past since they moved their camp. Five? Six? It was hard to keep track of the days, especially since it seemed he was the only one who gave a whit as to whether or not they found the door in time for Durin's Day.
Not that the dwarves did not want to get into their Mountain. They ached to see their home, or the home that they have never seen, but heard about in all sorts of tales. They wished to see the soaring columns and walls of stone, the smooth paths worn down from dwarf-steps centuries old. The hobbit had listened to some of the tales, and had heard the Company's songs, and he himself wanted to gaze upon their homeland. The great mines and forges of the Lonely Mountain would be something not many hobbits could attest to seeing. Would it not also be amazing to see Thorin, seated on his throne? The dwarves valued their history, and their heritage, but, of course, that is not all they were interested in. They were dwarves, at the end of the day. They wanted to see the treasure. Bilbo liked the dwarves he had spent almost half a Shire-year with, once he really got to know the group. He knew that they were not the greedy characters much of Middle-earth made them out to be. They were creatures of love, and honor, and pride. They were brave, and loyal, and put a great stock into those they trusted, and in their King. Even into their hobbit! Despite all this, some of the tales were true: they really did love their gold. Bilbo was sure that the thought of the shimmering metals and gems locked inside the Mountain was the only thing keeping half of the Company on their feet.
Every morning, they got out of their tents, listening with half-slumbering ears to their assignments for the day. Groups of two or three were sent to explore the whole North-Western side of the Mountain. They went off with waterskins, a few wafers of cram, a length of rope, and were not expected back until sundown. Day after day, dwarves trudged from high places down to the little camp hidden by the cave wall. There was no sign of the door, and every day spirits sank lower. Even Bilbo's heart was slowly sinking, which was no good, since he was practically the leader of the Company by the time they were at the Mountain.
One day, Bilbo stood idly, toying with the straps of his pack in the constant shade that covered their camp, situated as it was in the shadow of the North-Western spur of the Mountain. He watched Thorin tighten the straps on his sturdy boots, and pull his cloak tightly around him, blocking out the chill of the autumn morning. The Company had done the same about ten minutes prior, and by the time Thorin and Bilbo were ready to leave, they were the only ones in camp besides Bombur, who volunteered to watch over things, since he did not think he would be able to scale the rocky sides of the Mountain. And at any rate, they needed someone to watch the ponies. Bombur was seated next to their extinguished cooking fire, staring listlessly at the blackened earth. Despite his assignment, he was not paying attention to much of anything, which could be said of most of the Company at that time.
"Are you ready?" Thorin asked Bilbo. The need to find the door was so strong that even Thorin, who was normally spared the menial work the Company often did, was scrambling over rocks and edging around narrow lips of stone to find the secret passageway. All he did was insist that Bilbo search along with him, and no one else. The dwarves did not seem surprised by this, but of course, that may be because of their low moods. When you are really feeling down, even the most interesting piece of gossip in the world could not make you lighten up. Or perhaps they were just used to having their leader wanting the hobbit by his side.
"As much as I ever will be," Bilbo had replied.
Thorin held out a hand, and Bilbo took it. Bilbo led, and together they forged a path. But it was not onto the trails that wound their way around the Mountain. Rather, it was along one of the six rocky spurs that marched down from the peak, descending steadily into the barren plains, until they disappeared all together.
Thorin did not say anything for a long while, but eventually he dropped Bilbo's hand and asked, "We should search the slopes, Bilbo, as is on the map. Much as the Company seems not to notice, we are under a sense of urgency. We must find the door, Bilbo."
Bilbo nodded his head, and turned from where he stood to gaze up at the peak of the Lonely Mountain. He quickly turned back around. "I am just feeling myself lose hope, Thorin," he said. "Over the course of this journey, I have found myself wanting to get inside this Mountain almost as much as you all (anything is better than standing in its blasted shadow!). It is frustrating to come this far, and be stopped because I cannot find a really, rather large door in a cliff side. Honestly, it seemed like a rather large thing whenever I thought of it! I am upset that we cannot find it! I do not want to look at the Mountain for a while. Sitting for a while may help me calm down and search better."
The dwarf did not say anything, but then he finally replied, "Then let us sit, for a while, as you say." He once again took Bilbo's hand, and together they sat down in the shade beneath one of the spurs jutting out from the dead land. "I am often one to speak of duty, but I understand wishing to rest. Aimless searching and wandering does not often lead to success."
Bilbo hummed softly, and laid his little head on one of Thorin's broad shoulders. "That is how I found you in the dungeons of Mirkwood," he pointed out.
"It does not often lead to a profit," Thorin replied. "To benefit from such purposeless action requires a great deal of luck, I believe. And you, of course, have more than a great deal of that. I would even say that you have an unreasonable amount of luck."
"I am lucky number fourteen," Bilbo said. "I was bound to have good fortune over the course of this quest."
"Perhaps that is the reason. Perhaps, instead, the good fortune is due to the luck that comes with a rabbit's foot. Or feet, rather."
Bilbo straightened up. "Stop that, won't you?"
"An apt description for our Burglar, I believe. Beorn had it all figured out when he named our hobbit: a little bunny."
"How disrespectful!" Bilbo spluttered, starting to stand. Normally he might have laughed at the jest, but he was a little fed up with most of the things going on in the shadow of the Mountain. The poor fellow really was frustrated with the quest, and himself, at that time. And the whole time they had walked through the brittle grass of the desolation, Thorin would not speak to him. Rather, the dwarf whispered something about stones under his breath, keeping his gaze on the ground. That is enough to make any hobbit short-tempered! "Thorin! Praps I leave you here, and go search on the mountainside! I am a grown hobbit, you know. Fifty-one years I have spent in this green Middle-earth! Won't you stop your teasing!"
Thorin did not laugh at Bilbo's indignation, but it seemed like a close thing. "I did not know it would bother you so! You did not protest so much when Beorn said it, and I thought in the back of my head, and said, 'How adorable!'. You should have said something." Thorin spread his arms out to Bilbo. Whether it was an expression of apology and surrender, or rather an invitation for the hobbit to take his place in them, Bilbo could not say. "Come, I will not tease you so. Let us lay here for a bit longer, my dear, before I begin to feel guilty about leaving the Company to their own."
Bilbo grumbled, as he was wont to do, but he still obliged to what Thorin said. He went with the latter of his earlier thought, of what Thorin wanted to do with his arms, that is, and eased himself down to the ground, this time atop Thorin, in the little space created by Thorin's crossed legs. Bilbo's back was pressed against the dwarf's broad chest. If Thorin was surprised by the contact, he did not show it. He very quickly got used to the full weight of the hobbit against him, wrapping a strong arm around Bilbo's still somewhat plush midsection. Bilbo, however, was not fully content with that. He dragged Thorin's other arm so it was wrapped around him, and settled his hands over where Thorin's were crossed, just over his navel.
"You are soft," the dwarf said, after a beat of quiet. He realized this was a bit of an odd thing to say, so then he continued with, "I should have held you like this much sooner. It is nice. I would have kept you even closer in that Lake-house."
Bilbo closed his eyes and nodded. Then after a while, he whispered softly, "You smell of brined fish."
"So do you," Thorin said. Bilbo did not see the curve of the dwarf's lips, but rather felt them, as the king nuzzled against the crook of his neck.
It seemed like the right thing to do, in the cool shade cast by the rock they sat beneath: to speak quietly, to not disturb the peace of the moment. All the worries that had been plaguing Bilbo since he first laid his dark eyes on the Mountain, all the doubt and fear; none of it disappeared with Thorin around, of course. Thorin's nose nestling up to the soft skin on his neck and behind his ear did not make every bit of stress go away. The scrape of beard did not help to ease his worries. The dwarf whispering quiet, secret, foreign words of endearment into Bilbo's coily, curly hair did not make the hobbit's troubles vanish. But having Thorin near made Bilbo feel a bit calmer about things. The dwarf at his side made him feel more confident about everything that was happening. Thorin had a habit of spreading his determination to others. In the desolation, it seemed like all of the dwarf's resolve had gone to Bilbo. The hobbit felt the strength to renew his search, while Thorin seemed happy to stay in that peaceful spot (at least, he was, as long as he was not thinking of his jewel). All of Thorin's confidence went into Bilbo, making the hobbit's chest swell with pride.
Bilbo Baggins had stolen from trolls, snuck out of the goblin tunnels, outrun wolves, and escaped from an inescapable prison. He had won games of wit and chance, and befriended elf-lords and wizards and dwarves from all walks of life. He had a magic ring! He was curled up and holding hands with a dwarf who would soon be king. Because there was no doubt that Bilbo Baggins could find the secret passage! What was one door to a master Burglar such as he? What was this against everything he had already done, all that he had done to prove himself? 'Nothing', the hobbit thought, filled with self-determination. He opened his eyes and put on his most commandeering face.
"I am ready to search!" Bilbo said, breaking the relative silence. He made an effort to sit up, but could not, with the heavy weight of Thorin's arms holding him.
Thorin lifted his head from where he had rested it, dropped low and against Bilbo's shoulder. "Now?" the dwarf asked.
"Yes," the hobbit replied. "I can feel it: I will find the door soon! I just know it."
"Of course you will," Thorin agreed. "I am quickly making it a habit to never disagree with you, Bilbo. You have an uncanny way of being correct. But can't you wait a bit longer? Let me hold you a while, before you go off into the unknown, stealing treasure and charging at dragons."
'Well,' thought Bilbo, at that. 'How could I say no to such a reasonable request?'
With a huff, he eased himself back down, submitting once more to Thorin's affections. He thought only of how warm he felt, being held by such strong arms— such arms you could never find in the Shire. He thought only of the rasp of a beard, and how pleasant it felt against his skin. He thought of hands, grasping his, as he idly spun skin-warmed metal around Thorin's thick fingers. He thought of lips whispering long, rumbling words into his ear, and wished that he had the courage to kiss them.
And he absolutely did not think of dragons.
Thorin picked him up, arms tight around Bilbo's middle. It was sometime in the evening, and they stood in the little bay before the secret door, newly discovered. While the Company celebrated and banged with their fists on the stone, a dwarf-lord held Bilbo Baggins close, spinning him in a circle, smiles on both their faces.
No one much liked the way they were to travel between the third camp and the doorstep. Bilbo had never felt more woeful about his lost weight than when Bofur explained to him how the mechanics of the ropes and pulleys he had set up would help him scale the distance between the two locations. Had he been the size he was when the journey started, no doubt he would have been spared from the act altogether. The dwarf knotted the rope tightly around the hobbit's waist, and grinned while the little fellow complained loudly about it.
"I never agreed to this, as it was certainly not mentioned in the job description," Bilbo groused. "This is not the sort of thing I am suited for. Can't we send down Kíli? He would be a better guardsman than I."
"His stint has ended for the day, you silly. And besides, he is at the door, checking for cracks. It is your turn, I am afraid."
"O very well," said the hobbit. "Make sure I do not fall and break anything on me, friend."
The dwarf race is famous for its fashioning of metals and gems, as well as its ability to mine the stuff from the ground. One thing they are not widely known for, but still rather good at, is the sort of engineering that helps them build their vast kingdoms of stone, and the sort that keeps a mine shaft safe and stable. This sort of skill helped the dwarves fashion their pulley system. In fact, it was almost too simple for the Company as they set it up. As so, Bilbo did not fall, and he did not break anything. The most damage he got was a little scrape on his leg when he bumped against the side of the Mountain.
The hobbit kept his eyes shut the whole way down, so he was surprised when, instead of having his sturdy feet touch solid ground, he was enveloped in a pair of strong arms. He did not even have to open his eyes to see who it was.
"That was not so bad, eh?" the dwarf asked, setting Bilbo down on the ground. He put an arm on the hobbit's shoulder while he fussed with the rope tied around his midsection.
"I've experienced better things," Bilbo replied. He let the ropes fall to the ground, and called up to Bofur, getting him to lift the ropes back up to the doorstep.
"I am sure," Thorin said. "Come, you will share my watch."
There was, of course, nothing good about going on watch. Especially when there was nothing to look at but barren land and jagged rocks poking up from the ground. But Bilbo had conceded that it was not so terrible, with someone at your side, passing the time with you.
Bilbo, once more, was sitting upon the doorstep, as he had jokingly referred to the spot before the hidden door. He had taken to shrugging off company, and instead sat there alone. He told the Company he was sitting there and thinking, but really, he was not thinking of anything in particular.
The hobbit had felt his heart soar when he first discovered the path and the secret passage it led to, but now that he could not get inside, his spirits were lower than they had ever been before. And the dwarves felt much the same. They were giving up hope that there could even be a chance they would get in through Thrór's door. Some were turning to other thoughts.
The doorstep was in a little cleft in the mountainside, and was a couple of feet higher than a little rocky bay that jutted out from the mountainside. The dwarves of the Company, when they were not exercising the ponies, milling about the camp, or exploring the mountainside, could often be found sitting down there, leaning against the rocks, chatting and smoking. Bilbo did not join in: he had really and truly tried to sequester himself on the doorstep.
Two days before Durin's Day, that bay was where Dwalin, Bifur, and Thorin were sitting.
Thorin said quietly, though not quietly enough to miss Bilbo's sharp hearing, "Durin's Day is swiftly approaching."
"And winter comes after that," said Bifur thoughtfully.
"And the next year after that," Dwalin continued. "We have been here for weeks, and have not found a way to get inside. Bilbo has got himself that ring of invisibility. I have got the idea that we should send him to snoop around the Front Gate."
Bilbo, up by the door, blanched at that. He stopped his idle gaze at the large snails he had been watching, and turned his full attention to the conversation below him.
Bilbo knew that the Company was getting upset with the door being locked— he was frustrated himself. But to think that some of them were thinking about sending him through the Front Gate. Directly into a hall taken up mostly by a huge dragon!
Dwalin saying it, and Bifur sagely nodding along in agreement, stung him, that is sure. Even worse was Thorin grunting in approval, not even shooting down the idea. Not defending his hobbit, the one who held his heart. Bilbo knew the dwarf was desperate to get that stone-whatsit he kept muttering about, but he did not know that the dwarf was desperate enough to give him up to the dragon so soon, and so directly.
Bilbo knew when he signed up for this job, of course, that he would eventually be dealing with a dragon, and a rather large one at that. But he had also kept a little hope in his heart that the dragon may be dead, and he could possibly waltz in, steal a bit of gold, and be on his merry way. This was not the case, however. The dragon was probably very much alive, and he would not be able to steal much of anything without a fuss (for lack of a better word) being kicked up.
It rubbed Bilbo the wrong way that no dwarf offered to go into the Mountain himself, or volunteered to go in with him.
But of course, the main thing bothering Bilbo was that Thorin had not said a single thing. He was very through with the dwarves needing his help all the time, and he was through with only getting thanks immediately afterward. As in, in a matter of hours, the Company forgot the hobbit's good deeds and were back to treating him as they normally did. Bilbo wanted Thorin to treat him like he had in Lake-town— like he was a treasure, one to be cherished and protected and appreciated constantly. Thorin still held a great fondness for Bilbo, but he was, as most important folk are wont to do in such situations, focused on bigger things at the moment: his throne, and the symbol of his rule. He wanted them both badly, and Bilbo was an excellent way to obtain them both. In the back of the dwarf's mind, Thorin was still looking upon Bilbo with a great sense of adoration. Perhaps he was thinking that having his trothed (if that is what you could call Bilbo) find the symbol of his line would make the match seem more appealing to possible doubting parties. Perhaps he was thinking of the kiss he would surely give Bilbo if he could place his Arkenstone in his hands. That is, of course, not what happened. And anyway, Bilbo was not thinking of any fond feelings Thorin may be having for him. He was just upset and frustrated, and did not want to give much thought to what sort of feelings any dwarf may have.
After the hobbit heard that conversation, he made an even bigger effort to stay on the doorstep. When Thorin came up later to speak with him, and bang on the door a little bit, Bilbo turned him away. The hobbit did not go back down to the camp until most of the Company was asleep, only Dori sitting up, on his watch. Bilbo did not acknowledge the dwarf greeting him, and he laid his bedroll a good ways away from where the Company was clustered; they were looking for body warmth in lieu of a campfire.
Situated nearer to the ponies more than anything, Bilbo did not get much sleep that night. He tossed and turned for hours, resisting the urge to snarl every time a dwarf made a particularly loud snort or snore (he was quite upset that he could not sleep, and they could). He was up before the Sun rose, and he headed right back up to the doorstep.
He sat there all day, watching the Company wander aimlessly among the rocks. Some showed initiative, and exercised the ponies for a while. Most, however, just roved along the mountain paths. The Company seemed to have completely given up, or perhaps they had already decided that they were soon sending Bilbo into the Mountain. At any rate, they quit coming up onto the doorstep to give a few lasts attempts to break the door down.
Gone were the dwarves hammering at the door with their fists, or swinging at it with axes. Attempts to find a weak spot were abandoned, and not even Fíli or Kíli were up there, throwing pebbles at the slab where they suspected the door to be. Bilbo was completely alone with his thoughts.
He was not thinking about anything important, though. His thoughts mainly dwelled on how miserable he felt. He leaned his back against the door, and poked at one of the giant snails with a wooly toe. He kept his eyes on the rock at his feet, or on the horizon, where Mirkwood rested in the distance. And that was what he did all day. The only spot of brightness was when Balin came up with a bite to eat— dried fruit and cram, which was hardly better than nothing at all. The important thing of all this, however, is that nothing happened all day.
What came that night is an altogether different story.
The Sun was an orange ball in the sky, and She slowly dipped behind the eaves of Mirkwood. As She sank, the Moon rose in her place. He was only a pale sliver of a thing, washed out in the still-present light of the Sun, but as soon as it was in sight, something happened.
Crack!
Bilbo turned around very quickly, and saw that a huge, coal-black thrush was staring at him with bright eyes. It had one of the giant snails in its beak, and it knocked it against the stone, crack! crack!
Bilbo suddenly recalled what he and Thorin had spoke about several days past: the runes on the map. Of course! The hobbit had been feeling miserable all day, at the thought of going in through the Front Gate. Then here, suddenly, was the solution to his problems! He cried aloud, a happy, wordless call into the air. Forgetting the danger of causing so much noise, he poked his head out the bay, and let out another cry (this one with words):
"Hi, you! Company! Thorin! Yoo-hoo! Won't you get up here! ! !"
Those nearest to him nearly fell over themselves in their surprise at the loud call, but they righted themselves quickly enough. They did not dare to call back so loud, but in any case, they hurried quickly up to the secret bay. A few dwarves stayed behind, and hauled the members of the Company in the camp up to the ledge. A few minutes of relatively quiet chaos, and all the dwarves (with the exception of Bombur: he was sleeping) were looking at Bilbo, who looked as if he were about to burst from the news he was waiting to share.
The dwarves all stood there, watching him. Satisfied that he had all their attention, Bilbo quickly explained.
"It is Durin's Day," he said. "The last light is shining on the keyhole! The Sun is dipping below the horizon, that is, and listen to the thrush knock! The keyhole should reveal itself in moments, as said on the map!"
The Company marvelled at that, and quickly turned their heads to the stone Bilbo was standing above. As minutes passed, they looked between the two, wordlessly asking why the door had not shown itself. The last light was failing, they thought, and the hobbit had misread the signs. At last, the Sun ducked behind a cover of clouds, and darkness completely fell on the little bay.
The dwarves groaned in disappointment, and kicked at the rocks, but Bilbo still held himself in anticipation. He barely moved, praying to the powers that were listening that he was right.
And he was right: no sooner had he said "may it be", when a last red finger of light peeked out of the cloud cover. It lit up the bay, and shone directly onto the stone-face of the secret door. The thrush, who had been sitting silent as Bilbo, gave a sudden long trill, and a loud crunch-crack sounded just as the note ended. The dwarves (and Bilbo) watched as a chunk of rock fell out of the door, leaving a hole in the stone, just around the top of Bilbo's head.
Without warning, a dozen dwarves surged forward and pushed and pounded on the door— to no effect.
"It is locked!" cried Bilbo. "The key! The key! Where is Thorin?"
Thorin rushed forward from where he had been standing. He had been staring in awe at the newly-appeared door, and had not surged forward with the rest of the Company. With his (slightly shaky) hands, he drew the chain his grandfather's key hung on from his neck. He pushed it into the hole (it fit!) and turned it slowly. With that, the Sun sank fully, and the Company was left in the dark.
In unspoken agreement, everyone began to push on the door again. This time, however, it moved. Slowly, with much grinding and cracking and groaning, the door gave way. One more large push, and the door silently swung forward all the way. The bay was dark, but the inside of the Mountain they could now see was darker still, inky and foreboding.
For a long while, Bilbo stood there, peering into the dark. He could not see a single thing, of course, but still he craned his neck and narrowed his eyes, tuning out the debating of the dwarves. That is what they were doing. Now that the door was open, some of them seemed at a loss, not sure of what they should do. Finally, Thorin spoke above the din, and in his deep voice he said:
"The time has come for our esteemed Master Baggins, who has proved himself a good companion on our journey, and a hobbit full of courage and resource far exceeding his size, and if I may say so again, possessed of good luck far exceeding the usual allowance— now is the time for him to perform the service for which he was included in our Company; now is the time for him to earn his Reward."
We are all well acquainted by now with how Thorin can get on, and he spoke like this for a good long while, but Bilbo, instead of listening with good humor at his rambling, was tapping his big feet rather impatiently. He crossed his arms, and he huffed, and he rolled his eyes. Eventually he just cut off Thorin.
"THORIN," he said. "I am aware of my job, and as we have discussed, yes, of course! I am going into the Mountain first. Just get to the point, you silly thing. Who knows if I should, though? I have delivered the lot of you from two awful fixes, I hope you'll remember, and I'd say that I have earned my Reward, as you say, twice over! My father said, however, 'time pays for all', and I care for you, and I suppose I cannot refuse. I put a great deal into my luck, more so than I did in the old days, that is to say, before you all came knocking at my door, but anyway, I will go. I will go and scout a little, and have a look-see. Who is coming with me?"
Thorin had no idea how to respond to all that, and the rest of the Company looked at their feet. If any had met with Bilbo's big, dark eyes, they knew they wouldn't be able to refuse. Fíli and Kíli shifted uncomfortably, but the rest stared resolutely down. Luckily, Bilbo had not expected any volunteers, so he was not very disappointed when no one offered. After a while, Balin stepped forward.
"I will go a little ways with you," he said. "Within earshot so that if you call for help, I could bring some."
Bilbo nodded his head in thanks, said his good-byes, and took a deep breath, preparing to stride into the blackness of the tunnel. He held out his arm for Balin to take, but it was Thorin who grabbed his hand instead.
Now, you may be thinking harshly of Thorin, and the rest of the Company as well, but they were just acting as dwarves do. They are a people with big hearts, but shrewd minds. They knew the risk of going into the Mountain without knowing what was in there first, and no one really wished to take it. Even so, they all cared for Bilbo, in their own way. They were definitely going to give him a good deal of treasure for his trouble, as he had earned it in their eyes. And if they knew he really was in trouble, there was no doubt that they would go to his aid. Thorin cared much for Bilbo, but it was, after all, the hobbit's job to go in there first. He did not say anything to the hobbit of this like; he did not actually say anything. He squeezed Bilbo's hand tightly, then dropped it. Bilbo tried his best to look cheerful, and then turned his back to Thorin.
With no word of comfort, the hobbit took his first step into the Lonely Mountain. His lips drawn into a tight line, Thorin watched his hobbit disappear into the blackness.
Bilbo had gotten one look at the dragon, and he immediately quailed. The beast was large, red, and puffing out long tails of steam and vapor from its snout. The long, low rumbles of its snoring shook the floor, and the hobbit had never been more uncomfortable in his life.
He and Balin had travelled through the tunnel, and the hobbit marvelled at how smooth the step was. It was extremely level, and his hobbit feet strode on with no obstacle. After a minute or so of walking, Balin told Bilbo that it was there he would be standing. He wanted a good view of the door, in case there was trouble. He wished the hobbit good luck.
Bilbo thanked him, and grasped the dwarf's arm tightly in farewell. He slipped on his ring, and crept his way down the long tunnel, making a point to stay as silent as possible. His hands shook, and his heart was hammering, but his face was set. He knew what he had to do, and he was going to complete the job. He put a hand on Sting, adjusted his belt, and continued on his way.
He walked on and on, and after a long time (so long that his heart was back to its regular rhythm, his shaking steadying) the tunnel stopped its downward slope, and began to level out. There was no sign of the door behind him, and there was no hint of dwarf whispers. The hobbit was beginning to feel rather hot, and he fancied that he could see a bit of a glow, a light ahead of him.
He kept going, and he was getting increasingly worried as the tunnel got hotter and hotter, and wisps of steam and vapor blew past him. He began to sweat, as the light got redder and redder, and his ears were filled with a loud, low, burbling purr. He stopped his way forward once he realized that the sound was the snoring of some large beast. His face twisted, and he scrubbed at his forehead, brushing his sweat into his hair. He fought the urge to whimper and turn right around. Instead, he resolutely took a step forward. Later on, if you asked him, Master Baggins would tell you that that was his bravest moment: stepping into that chamber, even though he had never been more terrified in his life.
A little while longer, and he was finally at the end of the tunnel. It tapered off, and the small opening that lead into the vast hall was about the same size as the door carved into the mountain side. Bilbo poked his curly little head through it, and was met with the very lowest hall of the Mountain: the Treasure Room of Thrór, former King Under the Mountain. The chamber was so large that Bilbo could not see the corners. He saw stone columns, soaring up to support a ceiling he could not even see. He saw mounds and mountains of gold, silver, and jewels. It was all lit by the glowing red light of Smaug.
Smaug! He was a great beast, bright red and shimmering. He was not curled up, but rather, he lay stretched out on his side, his wings wrapped close around him. Bilbo got a good look at the monster's belly, and he saw that it was encrusted with gold and jewels of all kinds, all lit with a ruddy light. All around him steam and smoke swirled, and his breath came out in low rumbles.
Bilbo was terrified, but he soon forgot his peril, looking upon the treasure. In that moment, he fully understood the hearts of his friends. Gazing upon the full treasure hoard of Thrór, he was overwhelmed. There was so much wealth, and so much majesty, that he could not even find the words to describe it. He stood there, a little hobbit in a vast dwarven kingdom, forgetting all about the fierce guardian slumbering upon the treasure beyond price, beyond count.
He stood there for a long, long time. An age could have passed, for how little Bilbo heeded the time. Eventually, though, something in his mind made him step back into the tunnel. As soon as his eyes were torn away from the treasure, Bilbo scolded himself mentally. 'Looking at all that treasure,' he thought. 'Forgetting about what was right in front of you! It is not yours yet, you silly.'
Then he thought that his "look-see", as he had said, had lasted long enough. He decided that he had scouted long enough, and would now head back up the surface. Before he went, however, he made one last decision to live up to his title as Burglar. Casting his eyes about, he saw a large, gem encrusted cup, lying just in front of him. Stealing forward, with a furtive eye cast upwards, he grabbed one of the golden handles. He held it for a minute, and when Smaug did nothing except shift in his sleep, he picked it up. He then fled, hurrying as fast (and silently) as he could with his hobbit feet.
The climb upward seemed even longer with the heavy cup in his arms. His heart pounded even more erratically than before, his arms shook, and his lip quivered. Even so, he was very proud of himself. Never again would any in the Company would doubt him. After that thought, Bilbo almost believed that the trek did not seem so bad, not when he imagined how overjoyed Thorin would be to see him and the cup.
After an age, Bilbo finally saw Balin standing ahead of him, his back leaning against the wall. The dwarf straightened up quickly, a grin on his face when he saw what Bilbo held in his hands. He was worried the hobbit would never come back, so he was doubly glad to see the fellow and his loot. He picked Bilbo up in his arms, and carried him the rest of the way up the tunnel.
All Bilbo could recall about that time back in the open air of the doorstep was a bit of a blur. Himself and the cup were being passed around, and many wordless cries of happiness were heard in the little bay. He took in great gulps of fresh air, and absently thanked every dwarf who thumped him on the back and pledged him their eternal service.
The one thing he remembered clearly was Thorin. The dwarf held him close against his chest (Bilbo was immediately conscious of how sweaty he still was). He was squeezed tightly and rocked around, hair and beard getting into his nose and his mouth. He smiled in spite of all this, as a stream of strange, fond words of gratitude were spoken into his hair. After a while of this, the dwarf began to speak in Common.
"You have brought me the first contents of my treasure hoard," Thorin said softly. "My first belongings as king. I will see you rewarded, my dear— my heart. I thank you."
He stepped back, and held Bilbo at an arm's length. He did not look at the hobbit however, with kind eyes and a smile. He was completely engrossed, rather, with the cup in his free hand.
Bilbo, thankfully, was still distressed enough to not notice Thorin's hungry gaze for the gold.
All thoughts of treasure were soon forgotten, however, once Smaug awoke and realized the theft that took place. How he roared, and how the Mountain trembled! The Company tore their gazes away from the cup, and instead looked fearfully upon one another. They could not see Smaug's glittering red coat or the brilliant blue-scarlet-green flames that spouted from his maw, nor could the beast see them. All the same, they cowered against the walls of the little bay, hoping to avoid the baleful eye of the dragon.
Not one of the Company would have lived past that day, had it not been for Bilbo. He had been under the threat of the dragon once before, and though he was terrified, he was a bit less terrified than the dwarves. He grabbed Thorin's hand and tugged.
"Come, come!" he cried. "We cannot stay here! Into the tunnel!"
The Company wanted very much to avoid the wroth dragon, but before they could all creep through the hidden door, Bifur gasped loudly, and said quickly: "My cousins! Bombur and Bofur are still in the valley!"
"They will be slain," lamented the Company. "Along with our ponies, and our food shall all be burned up. We can do nothing!"
"Nonsense!" Thorin said loudly. He was cowering no longer, but instead stood up straight and tall. He looked at Bifur and declared, "We shall save your kin. We cannot leave them to perish! Where are the ropes?"
The Company started moving immediately, running to where they had set up their pulley system. Thorin went off to join them, but not before he had a word with Bilbo.
He wrapped the hobbit's hands around the handles of the stolen goblet, and leaned down so he could press their foreheads together.
"Get inside with Balin and my sister-sons," said the dwarf. "The dragon will not kill all of us. I will return."
"Good-bye," Bilbo said in a small voice, to Thorin's receding back.
The Company (this time including Bofur and Bombur) got back inside the Mountain, just in time. Bilbo had just yanked the last dwarf into the tunnel, when the very roots of the Mountain shook with the force of Smaug's roar. Bilbo and the dwarves and hobbit all hurtled as fast as they could, down into the darkness of the Mountain. They ran and flinched with every scream of the dragon. Their faces lit up briefly in the dark with every spurt of flame Smaug sent their way, and they cursed as some of the fire licked at their heels. They ran, then crept, then crawled, then collapsed. Then they laid in the dark tunnel, clutching at each other, shaking and sweating, listening to the dragon's wing beats and his roars. Not a soul in the Company slept that night, and no soul could even hope to relax. Though there was no comfort in it, Bilbo held Thorin's hand as they waited for Smaug to give up.
Eventually, dawn came, and the Sun showed pink through the crack of the hidden door. It was not until morning had truly come, though, when Smaug returned to his golden bed.
"Now what happens?" asked Kíli asked quietly. The Company all spoke up at once, though they did it in harsh whispers.
"We need to leave," they hissed. "If we stay, we shall be roasted or eaten!"
"How can we leave when we have just arrived?" Balin said.
"It would be difficult to leave, at any rate." Thorin rubbed at his brow, in a gesture of exhaustion. "Our ponies have likely been eaten, and who is to say that Smaug is not still watching the door? I do not fancy our chances in that bare valley against a dragon."
"I do not fancy our chances against a dragon in any situation," Bilbo said. "Did no one plan for this? Did no one have an idea on how to deal with him?"
"We had several," the Company replied. "It is just that it is doubtful that they would work!"
"Then what are we to do?" asked the hobbit, repeating Kíli's question.
This they discussed for a while. But no matter how much they talked, they could not come up with a good answer. They could not leave, but they could not just stay in the tunnel. There was only so much food, so much water, so they would have to come up with an idea on how to deal with Smaug. Should they fight him? Could they lead him away? None of that would work! And what a shame they had to deal with the dragon. Had Bilbo not stolen that cup, perhaps the beast would still be sleeping, and they would not be under so much pressure. Suddenly, instead of being terrified of the dragon, they were cross with the hobbit.
"Am I burglar or not?" Bilbo asked angrily. He pointed an accusing finger at Thorin. "What else should I have done? We decided in my smial that I was no warrior; I was just doing my best in the role I was assigned. And I made a good beginning, as that is a handsome cup, and you all were so pleased to get it, and I don't like how mad you are now! If anyone should be grumbling now, it should be me! There was an unbelievable amount of treasure down there! I am sure that is a compliment to your grandfather, Thorin, and to yourself, but I was never told how much treasure I was actually expected to steal. Someone could have made mention! Did you expect me to carry that all up to you, under the nose of that beast? It would take me lifetimes to deliver all that gold, even if I were fifty times as big, and Smaug as tame as a bunny."
The dwarves all became a little more civil after that scolding, to be sure. They asked Bilbo for his pardon, and he, of course, gave it to them. Not without a bit of huffing and turning his nose up, though!
"What should we do then, Master Baggins?" Thorin asked politely.
"I have no idea," Bilbo said. He was still a bit irritated, and acted as so. "About removing the treasure, or removing Smaug. Getting rid of a dragon seems quite impossible, actually. Personally I have no hopes at all, and wish I was safe back at home."
"We know that!" cried the Company. "But right now, what should we do?"
Bilbo thought for a long moment (mostly for dramatic effect— he already had an idea of what he wanted to do); he hemmed and hawed, rubbed his hairless chin, and tapped his big feet. Balin saw through the act soon enough, and elbowed Bilbo in the side, a wordless gesture to get on with it. It was not kind of the hobbit to leave the dwarves hanging like that, but Bilbo was still displeased that he was interrupted. He pursed his lips and huffed before delivering his plan. It was this:
The Company would stay in the Mountain, at least by day. Bilbo would go down to the Treasure Room once more, and he would see if Smaug was there. He would see if the beast was awake or sleeping, and most importantly, he would try to find its weak spot. He would not do it, however, until noon came.
Ever since Mirkwood, and the ordeal with the Forest River, the Company had come to accept Bilbo as the leader of the quest, higher than even Thorin. Bilbo was continuing to have brilliant ideas and plans of his own, and the Company was deferring to him now. Bilbo and his ring would be more useful than anything else, at least, while the Mountain remained out of Thorin's grasp.
Now, Bilbo had two reasons to not go down the tunnel until noon. One, it would give the dragon plenty of time to settle down and perhaps fall asleep. (Now is where you and I laugh at the fellow. Of course a being like Smaug would not sleep! Not after he had just been burgled. Bilbo's was a fool's hope). And two, he had not slept in a little over two days. He felt he deserved a nap, nay, needed one! And he was going to get it. One needs all their wits about them when a dragon is involved, after all.
He told Balin to wake him up when it was time for him to go down, and strayed as far as was safe from the Company (no more than four or five feet from where Glóin and his brother were dozing off). The hobbit took off Dwalin's ragged green cloak (it was rather hot in the tunnel), balled it up, and laid his head down on it. He fell asleep to images of gold, gems, and rings flashing behind his eyes; all glinting in a warm, red light.
When he slowly awakened, it was to a rough hand squeezing his fingers, another stroking the hair off of his forehead. It was quite pleasant, and he stretched languidly, from his neck down to his wooly toes. He felt relaxed, as if he were in Bag-End, under the comforting mass of several blankets. It was exactly the way Thorin woke him up that one evening in Mirkwood, his cool rings a reassuring weight on his forehead.
That's when Bilbo realized where he was, and what was happening. Thorin was there, in the secret tunnel of his grandfather. This was no lazy morning in the Shire, nor an awakening from an almost pleasant nap in the depths of Mirkwood. Bilbo was in the Lonely Mountain, and he was to go down alone to face Smaug a second time. The hobbit opened his eyes, and sat up straight. Thorin must have seen something in his eyes— a strong resolve, courage, maybe fear— but whatever it was, the dwarf did not let go of Bilbo. He pulled him gently to his feet, and picked up his cloak that Bilbo had cast aside that morning.
He clasped the cloak over the hobbit's right shoulder (to keep his sword arm free), and moved his hand to the small of Bilbo's back.
"Are you afraid?" the dwarf asked. He followed the hobbit as he slowly made his way through the Company. Some of them were asleep, and Bilbo plucked his way carefully over their bodies. The ones who were awake wished the hobbit good luck, and he inclined his head slightly in thanks. Balin was one of those sleeping. Bilbo wished he had been awake: he would have liked to speak with his friend before going down to see Smaug again.
"Well, I do not like it, of course," Bilbo replied. "But I have got to do it." Thorin did not respond, so he continued, "It is somewhat better, I suppose, that I know what is ahead of me. And that is better than nothing."
"I wish you luck, then, Master Baggins," Thorin said formally. "May your good fortune last you through the encounter. Keep your wits about you, dear Bilbo, and do not do anything rash, for your own safety, and for the Company's as well (so for your sake, I would not try to steal anything more, just yet)."
"I won't," Bilbo said. "Steal anything, that is. I certainly won't, if it means more fire and ash and running. So yes, I will stay safe, and smart, and I will come back. In a little while, then."
He dropped Thorin's hand and started down the tunnel, away from the light of the afternoon streaming in from the crack under the secret door. Into darkness.
The hobbit ran, fast as he could, from the foul snout of Smaug. The beast had stuck it right into the tunnel, once Bilbo had made his parting shot. Luckily, he could only fit the nostrils in, but that still did enough damage. 'Never laugh at live dragons,' Bilbo had said to himself wisely, and he was quite right. It took every ounce of endurance and strength he had to escape the flame and hot vapor Smaug sent his way, and even then, he did not completely escape the heat. The last stretch up the length of the tunnel, he was stumbling along blindly and in great pain, terrified for his life.
It was cool evening light that greeted Bilbo as he clambered his way back outside, onto the doorstep, where the dwarves were now waiting. He tried to give them all a weak smile as they all rocketed up to see him, but that was a touch more than the poor fellow could manage, and he collapsed in a dead faint.
When he awoke, he was lying down on cold stone, and Balin was fussing with the scorched hair on the back of his head. As he slowly took stock of his body, Bilbo saw that while he was knocked out, one of the dwarves had tended to his burns— his many burns. Not only had the hair on the back of his head been singed down to his scalp, he had been burned on his legs, feet, and neck as well. He was all bandaged up, but everything still stung and throbbed with heat. He dreaded to think of what had happened to the dark, curly hair that usually thatched his legs and feet. He was loath to part with it: it was one of his best features.
Balin noticed that Bilbo was awake when the fellow reached down to touch a burn on his leg, and whimpered most miserably. He quickly gestured at the rest of the Company, and they all gathered around where Bilbo was lying. The dwarves were eager to make sure he was comfortable, and very soon, the hobbit was sitting up, his tender head propped up against Thorin's shoulder. He had a waterskin in one hand, Thorin's hand in the other.
The dwarves were very worried for their friend, which is part of the reason why they were eager to please him. Whatever the hobbit wanted, (that was on hand, of course), was given to him. He received a slightly withered plum that Kíli had found in the bottom of his pack, and Dori gave Bilbo an extra pair of mittens gladly.
The other reason why the Company was being so kind to the hobbit was that they wished to know what happened in the Mountain; why the dragon made such a terrible noise, and how Bilbo had escaped.
However, they were having a hard time of getting Bilbo's story out of him. He was very worried, and uncomfortable, and he was being very difficult. He was thinking back on what had happened in in the Treasure Room, and he was strongly regretting the things that he had said. It was apparent that Smaug had guessed too much, hard as the hobbit tried to speak in riddles and sleights. He did not want to repeat any of it to the dwarves, not when they were all being so kind to him.
"Come on, Bilbo!" the Company said. Fíli patted Bilbo gently on his shoulder. "Tell us!"
"Let him be," said Balin. "He will tell us when he is ready."
"And who knows when that will be," grumbled the Company, but they at least grumbled quietly.
They all sat there, while Thorin said words of encouragement and sweet nothing into Bilbo's inattentive ear. Bilbo was not concerned with what the dwarf had to say, rather, his attention was caught by a thrush standing on a rock. Its head was cocked to the side, in a fashion that suggested to Bilbo that he was listening to every word Thorin was saying. The hobbit was in such a foul mood that instead of directing his anger at things that deserved it, he gave it all to the thrush. He picked up a small stone and threw it at the bird. Unruffled, the bird merely fluttered to the side and came back.
"Drat that bird!" said Bilbo crossly. "He is listening to every word you are saying, and I don't like the look of him."
"Leave him alone," said Thorin, taking the hand Bilbo used to throw the stone. He wrapped both hands around it, and rested them all in his lap. "The thrushes around this Mountain are good and friendly— this is a very old bird indeed, and is maybe the last left of the ancient breed that used to live about here, tame to the hands of my father and grandfather. They were a long-lived and magical race, and this might even be one of those that were alive then, a couple of hundreds of years or more ago. The Men of Dale used to have the trick of understanding their language, and used them for messengers to fly to the Men of the Lake and elsewhere."
"Well, he will certainly have news to take to Lake-town, if that is what he is after," said Bilbo; "though I don't suppose there are any people left that trouble with thrush-language."
"That is true enough, but what has happened?" cried the dwarves. "Please get on with your tale!"
Bilbo finally told them all that he could remember (some parts were hard to recall, since he had been so terrified). He told the Company about his dreadful feeling that Smaug had guessed a little too much from the riddles Bilbo had told him. The hobbit was sure that the dragon knew they had come from Lake-town. He was worried for the (mostly) kind people that lived there, because he guessed that there is where the beast would strike next. "I wish that I had never said that about Barrel-rider; it would make anyone around these parts think of the Lake-men."
"Well, it cannot be helped," said Balin soothingly, anxious to comfort his friend. He stooped down next to Bilbo and Thorin, and patted Bilbo's arm. "You did very well, better than most of us could do. At any rate, you found out one very useful thing, and you came back to us alive, and that is more than most can say who have had words with the likes of Smaug. It is good fortune that we now know of the hole in the old Worm's diamond waistcoat."
Well, that changed the topic of conversation, and while the dwarves were still immensely proud of their burglar, they now wished rather to speak of the information he found out, rather than of him. Bilbo did mind this so much, as it let him rest for a while. The Company spoke about all the dragon slayings they could recall from the great tales of the First Age. They discussed weak spots, machinations, and strategies that could bring down such a beast. The hobbit let them discuss; he just shut his eyes tight and tried not to throw up while he thought about what had just happened.
After a while, Bilbo began to think that the unpleasant feeling in his gut was not regret and horror, but instead, something like fear and foreboding. While Dwalin was speaking of the merits of a frontal assault on the dragon, Bilbo interrupted him.
"I feel as if we are very unsafe, here outside, and I don't see the point of sitting here, as all the green is gone, and it is quite freezing." Here, Thorin draped some of his cloak over the hobbit's shoulder. "Thank you. But I feel it in my bones that Smaug will attack this place again. He knows how I came down into the Treasure Room, and as he probably knows the Mountain as well as any of you, he is bound to know where the end of the tunnel is. The beast will break this side of the Mountain into bits and pieces to stop us from getting back in, and I'm sure he will be very pleased if we all get smashed and burned into bits and pieces as well."
Thorin looked down at the hobbit, who was still resting against him. He smiled, in spite of Bilbo's dark tone. "You are very gloomy, Bilbo! If Smaug is so eager to keep us out, then why has he not blocked the lower end of the tunnel? We would have heard him, if he had tried."
"I don't know— I don't pretend to know what that dragon has been thinking. Maybe he wants to lure me down there again, or he wants to hunt us at night, or maybe he does not want to damage his bedroom… I wish you all would not argue with me, or amongst yourself! I just know that Smaug will be coming out any minute now, and our only hope is to get deep inside that tunnel and shut the secret door."
Bilbo was so earnest that the dwarves at last did what he said. They moved all their things into the tunnel, though they did not yet shut the door. They did not know how they would get it open again if it closed, and the idea of being shut into the tunnel when the only way out was through a dragon's lair was not a pleasant one. For a long while they sat, no more than a few yards from the secret door. They kept on talking. Bilbo was once more slotted in at Thorin's side, and it was there that he brought up Smaug's cruel words against him and the rest of the Company. The dragon had pointed out the absurdity of the contract: there was no plausible way to possibly split up an entire kingdom's treasure among fourteen people. And there was no easy way to transport such a large amount of wealth across Wilderland (and over the Misty Mountains— though Smaug knew not where Bilbo had come from).
Thorin tried his best to reassure the hobbit: Bilbo would get to choose his fourteenth share of the treasure, and the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain would ensure that it was transported safely back to the Shire, or wherever else Bilbo would want to go.
"We are more than grateful. I, most of all," Thorin said. "Believe me or not, but it is true."
From then on, they stopped talking of the dragon, and instead talked of what he rested on: the great hoard of Thrór. It was then that Bilbo removed himself from Thorin's side, and went to go sit by the door. He had lost all of his earlier enchanted interest for the hoard, and now only listened with one ear to their hushed whispers of gold and weapons and armor. However, no matter how hard he tried to listen to the world outside, he could not ignore Thorin's murmurs about the King's Jewel.
Thorin had closed the door, at last, and not a moment too soon. Bilbo had been asking him to do it for hours. The dwarf slowly stood up from where he had been sitting, stopping his talk about his white jewel. He kicked away the rock that had been used as a doorstop, pushed against the door, and it closed with a click. The keyhole was gone, and they were shut in the Mountain.
Almost right as the door snapped close, a massive blow hit the side of the Mountain. The rock boomed and shuddered, the walls cracked, and stones and debris fell from the roof of the tunnel onto everyone's heads. The Company was too terrified to do much clear thinking, but if they could have thought, they probably would have shuddered to think what would have happened had they left the door opened. Smaug was destroying the North side of the Mountain, smashing rocks with the lashing of his great tail. The camp, the bay, the thrush's stone, the snail-covered wall— it all disappeared into an avalanche of stones that plummeted down into the valley below.
And then with one great roar, the destruction stopped. The Company heard the beat of Smaug's wings, and then there was utter silence.
Bilbo had no idea how long they sat there. There was no way to count the passing time, and they did not eat, nor did they speak. It they moved even an inch, or spoke in the softest whisper, their noise echoed and carried down the length of the tunnel. So, they had not even the comfort of bodily contact in the complete darkness. If they slept, there was no morning to wake to. The only thing in the tunnel was still darkness and unbroken silence.
It felt like an age had passed, or maybe it was only a few hours, or a day, but at last Thorin spoke. "We must try the door!" he said. "If I do not feel the wind on my face soon I will die. I would rather be smashed by Smaug than suffocate in here!"
Several of the Company agreed, and they followed Thorin up to the door. But they discovered that the upper end of the tunnel had been destroyed, and further blocked with a large rock. No key, nor any sort of magic, would ever open the secret door again.
The Company despaired. "Here we are trapped!" they groaned. "We shall all die here."
For some reason, just when the dwarves were the lowest they had ever been, Bilbo felt a strange lightness in him. He felt like he had had something like a great oliphaunt on his back, and only now, when it was gone, did he discover the way it had been weighing him down.
"Come, calm down, all of you! 'While there is life, there is hope!' as my old dad used to say, and 'Third time pays for all'. I am going to go down there again, that is to say, into the Treasure Room. I have been down there twice, when I was certain there was a dragon, and now I will go down a third time, when I am no longer sure. At any rate, the only way out of here is down. And I believe that this time, you all had better come with me."
They all agreed, if only because there was really nothing else to be done. Thorin was the first one to join Bilbo's side. He grabbed Bilbo's hand, and the hobbit was shocked to feel how clammy the dwarf's palm was. Thorin, for all his bravery, was very worried about the dragon that could have been lurking down in the Treasure Room. It was Bilbo's turn to pat the dwarf's hand in a reassuring gesture. It was Bilbo's turn to tell him that all would be fine.
"Now, do be careful," Bilbo whispered. "And be as quiet as you can be! There may be no Smaug at the bottom, but then again, there may be. Let us not take any unnecessary risks!"
Then, down the tunnel they went. No one could match Bilbo in his stealth, especially not a bunch of terrified dwarves. They all made a great deal of puffing and shuffling around, and it all echoed alarmingly loudly. Bilbo stopped every now and then in fear, listening, but not a sound came from below. Perhaps Smaug really was gone!
Once they had come a long way, near the bottom, Bilbo let go of Thorin's hand. He put on his ring.
Really, he did not need it. The darkness was complete in the Mountain, and everyone in the Company was invisible in the blackness of it all. In fact, it was so black, that the hobbit came to the end of the tunnel quite unexpectedly. He stumbled forward into open air, and rolled headlong into the hall.
"It smells of dragon," said Bilbo. His voice was high and nasally (more so than usual), as he had his nose pinched between his forefinger and thumb. Thorin laughed at his distaste, and dragged him further through the treasure.
"Dragon droppings is a more apt description, I believe." Thorin let go of Bilbo's hand and climbed atop a mound of gold coins to investigate a white-silvery glint at the top. It was not what he was looking for— instead, it was a necklace strung with diamonds as big as Bilbo's fist. The dwarf scoffed, threw it aside, and returned to Bilbo. "I imagine he has it all buried somewhere, perhaps in the gold, like a cat. It will be an awful job to clean the place up. I would think you would be used to the scent, Bilbo, as you have been smelling it for the past two days or so."
"You would think so, but now I am taking advantage of finally have someone to complain to."
Bilbo was no longer alone in the Treasure Room. Once the dwarves were assured that there was no dragon in the Mountain, they were happy to clamber down there with Bilbo. Every one of them had a torch in hand, and they were plucking their way delightedly through the mass amounts of gold and gems. Thorin was the first one to come down, and he very quickly grabbed Bilbo's hand and led him on a tour of the place.
Granted, there was not much to see. Much of it was the same. It was a large room, absolutely filled with gold and silver and precious gems, and Bilbo was not moved by any of it. He had gotten his fill of looking upon treasure when he had been down in the Treasure Room with Smaug. He was still worried about the dragon, and had no interest to run his fingers through gold coins or try on flashy rings and diadems. And it was hard not to feel guilty, watching Thorin look so eagerly for his Arkenstone, when it was, as of about ten minutes ago, sitting so heavily in his pocket.
Every few minutes, Thorin would stop in his search for his jewel to offer Bilbo something precious he found in the mound, or on the wall. The dwarf would place them on his beloved, admiring the sight, and Bilbo would immediately get flustered and take whatever it was off, pressing it back into Thorin's hands. That did not deter the dwarf, however. It simply made him more fierce and determined to find the perfect thing to gift him. Golden bracelets and rings, studded with emeralds. A delicate torque, cast in silver. On one occasion, Thorin found a gold broad collar so encrusted with diamonds and rubies that it made Bilbo lose his balance on the shifting coin of the treasure mound, making the hobbit fall most painfully on his burns.
Thorin made sure to give him only the more delicate pieces after that.
The dwarf eventually found a perfect piece for a hobbit: a circlet wrought from gleaming silver wire. The wire, as it twisted and turned, created the shapes of interwoven leaves and flowers. A rare and precious pearl was strung on the wire so that it would rest just above the wearer's brow. It had been made for some member of an elvish royal house, but it suited the hobbit very nicely. Bilbo tried batting the gift away, but Thorin eventually had it settled over the hobbit's coily hair and pointed ears.
"It is lovely," Bilbo admitted, flicking at the pearl on his forehead. He tried screwing up his eyes to get a good look at it— pearls were a rare thing, even in the Shire, so close to the sea. He glanced at Thorin, waiting for a response, but the dwarf never did say anything. He just gazed at Bilbo with a peculiar look in his dark, slanting eyes. Something fierce and burning and strange was in their depths. Bilbo felt himself becoming overwhelmed and he looked away, over Thorin's shoulder. His eyes found Fíli and Kíli instead.
They had pulled two magnificent harps off the wall, and were playing a merry tune. Some of the Company were listening along, singing and clapping. Most were still too preoccupied by the treasure to notice anything that was not gold or studded with gems. Bilbo had not heard such a lively tune since Lake-town, and he tapped his foot (gently, as it was still burned) along with the music.
"Look at me," said Thorin, over the song. Bilbo raised his eyes, and this time, he did not look away. There was something in the dwarf's look that left the hobbit transfixed. It was not the usual fond look dancing in his eyes, the one so often reflected in Bilbo's eyes. It was something different: the heavy and fierce look of a King, a dwarf-lord blessed with a vast hoard. Something about the gold in the Treasure Room had changed all the dwarves, not just Thorin. There was just something different there. He was not sure if he liked it.
As Fíli and Kíli played their melody, Bilbo did not protest as Thorin dressed him up. Soon, along with his circlet, he also had rings on almost every finger, a necklace of pearls, ear cuffs, and a belt of silver wire and crystal. There were pearls strung on that, as well. Once he was all bedecked, Thorin gave the hobbit a once-over.
"I would have you in twice as much jewelry, and in richer clothing, but this is enough for now. It is breathtaking, all the same." Thorin still had the strange look in his eyes, but his smile was familiar enough. Bilbo was about to brush off the compliment, and perhaps return the necklace of pearls (it was rather extravagant), but Thorin stopped him with a finger to his lips. "Fíli! Kíli! My sister-sons!" he called. His command boomed, and filled the chamber with its sound. "Play louder!"
The harp music swelled and increased in tempo, and suddenly, Bilbo found himself swept up into the arms of a King.
"Come! Dance with me, Bilbo."
Bilbo was struck again by how curious and bold Thorin had become with treasure in his grasp, and he did not even think to question was Thorin was up to. He was simply caught up in the dwarf's eyes, and the feeling of strong hands resting on his hips. Many years later, when Bilbo thought back on the Quest and his experiences with Thorin, he found the moment less fond of a memory than it could have been. It was not a genteel or courtly dance. Nor was it the simple celebration that was a Shire reel. Rather, it was the revelling of a strange King, held captive by the thought of his glittering hoard and a white gem.
None of that even crossed Bilbo's mind as they danced, however. His world was lit in a warm, golden glow. He quickly complied with Thorin's request. He stood on the tips of his toes atop the dwarf's feet and let Thorin wrap his arms around his waist. Together they swayed and spun, Thorin's boots travelling across the gold. As they moved, the dwarf dipped Bilbo, and the circlet dropped off of his head as he came dangerously close to the ground. Thorin laughed loudly, unmindful of the lost headband, and pulled the hobbit back up, close to his chest. Bilbo threw his head back and laughed as well, clinging tightly to Thorin.
The dwarf did not stop the dance when the music ended. Fíli and Kíli continued to play as Thorin halted suddenly. In his dance, he and Bilbo had wound their way to a part of the Treasure Room that was mostly void of gold. Instead, it was filled with weapons and armor. There were bright-tipped spears, gleaming swords, wickedly sharp axes, and exquisitely carved bows. Lined along the wall were scores of helmets, their cheek and nose-guards etched with protective runes. There were uncountable coats of mail, and hundreds of sets of leather and plate armor: enough armaments to outfit an entire dwarf-army.
Thorin, looking at the armor with his mouth agape, pushed Bilbo away from him absentmindedly. He went about arming himself. Bilbo watched silently, and a touch uncomfortably, as the dwarf searched for armor that was suitable for a King.
Very quickly had Thorin's mood turned.
Slowly, the rest of the Company joined the search. Eventually, all of them had on fine armor, and elaborate helms atop their heads. Everyone had found a belt and a splendid weapon to go along with it. Thorin looked especially resplendent in a coat of gold-plated rings. He had a silver-hafted axe at his hip, sheathed and hung on a belt absolutely covered in deep scarlet stones. In his hands he held a corslet even finer than the one he wore himself.
"My dearest Bilbo!" he cried. The dwarf was back in his good humors. "You would not accept my other gifts; I insist you take this one. Cast off your old coat, and put on this!"
It was a small coat of mail, and it was one of the most precious things within the Mountain (though Bilbo was definitely unaware of that— otherwise he would have refused it). Wrought of silver-steel, which the elves call mithril, it was far too extravagant for a simple Shireling. But, of course, in Thorin's eyes, Bilbo was much more than that. He was his hobbit, the One who had reclaimed his Mountain (the dwarf had quite forgotten the fact that Smaug still lived, consumed as he was by the glow of the treasure hoard). Thorin did not see a simple country hobbit, dressed in some sort of absurd costume. He saw a warrior, armed with clever words, a sword, and a remarkable ring.
Along with the coat, Thorin insisted Bilbo keep the belt he had pressed to him earlier, the one of crystal and pearls. To complete his armament, Thorin gave Bilbo a helm of dark leather. The inside of it was lined with hoops of steel, and about the brow and cheeks were bright white gems.
"It is magnificent," Bilbo said, looking down at the coat of rings he was wearing. "But I am sure I look ridiculous."
Thorin shook his head. "You look perfect," he said.
Thorin did not forget any part of his home, and he led the Company effortlessly through dark and ruined pathways and up flights of finely cut stairs. Occasionally he would explain what a hall or chamber was used for back when the Mountain was still inhabited, but mostly he kept silent. He took in the destruction of his home a second time, silent but for his steady breathing and the constant step of his feet. The fey mood that gripped the dwarf in the Treasure Room had faded a little in the presence of the shell of the Lonely Mountain. There was still a dragon to deal with. The Mountain was not quite reclaimed yet.
Bilbo walked beside the dwarf, struggling to keep up. Usually he could keep up with Thorin's strides, but he was tired, hungry, and sore. His burns had not healed much, and his stomach felt like it was gnawing at his insides. He did not carry a torch like the rest of the Company. Instead, Bilbo held onto Thorin's hand and allowed the dwarf to lead him through seemingly endless stone chambers and up smoothly cut stairs.
Bilbo's legs were short, and not meant for climbing dwarf-stairs for hours upon end. Just when he felt as if he could not go on any longer, Thorin led him up one final flight of stairs and into a chamber. This room was much larger than any other they had been in yet, and its ceiling stretched far beyond the reach of the Company's torch-light. Somewhere far above, sunlight glittered. Ahead of them, sunlight found its way inside the Mountain through a set of burned and twisted doors.
"This is the great chamber of my grandfather," said Thorin; "the hall of feasting and of council. We are approaching the Front Gate."
They passed through the ruined chamber, and Bilbo shuddered at what he saw. Thorin tightened the grip on his hand when he felt him tremble. Finely carved chairs and benches were knocked over, charred and pitted by fire. The bones of dwarves not lucky enough to escape the Mountain were spread along the floor, amongst flagons and broken drinking-horns and dust. The smell of dragon and dragon-fire was strong, and Bilbo's desire to leave the chamber was so strong that he felt a renewal of strength in his hobbit-legs.
At last, they crossed the Great Hall, and exited through a set of doors. In the next room, from an opening in the rock, came the frothing waters of the River Running. It flowed not wildly, like a river did on the outside, but rather, it flowed through a narrow carved channel, made straight and deep by the Lonely Mountain's dwarves. Beside it ran a wide, sett-paved road. They were very close to the Front Gate now, and Thorin led the Company swiftly down the path, and around a wide-sweeping turn. As soon as they came past the turn, there was the light of the Sun.
The Front Gate's doors were long gone, but still standing was a carved arch, its keystone almost impossibly high. The thing was worn and blackened with dragon-fire and the passage of time, but still Bilbo could spy fine carvings in the stone. It was a cloudy day, and the Sun shined gently through the cover, casting beams of gold over the threshold of the Mountain.
The Company stood there for a while, silently. They cast aside their torches, and gazed out upon the ruined city of Dale.
Bilbo dropped Thorin's hand, and crossed his arms. It was rather chilly outside the Mountain, and he put his hands beneath his armpits to warm them up.
"Well," the hobbit said, "I never expected to look out of this door, at least, not so soon. And I never supposed that I would be this pleased to see the Sun again, and to feel the wind on my face. But, ow! this wind is freezing!"
And it was. A wind from the East was blowing savagely, telling the tale of oncoming winter. It flowed among the rocks, creating a sighing song.
Then, Bilbo saw that the dwarves were looking upon him for direction, as they had been doing on the doorstep and in the Mountain itself. "I suppose it is more or less breakfast time— if there is any breakfast to be had. I say we go somewhere safe and quiet where we can eat."
"Quite right!" said Balin. "We are all awfully hungry. And I know just the way we should go: we ought to make for the old look-out post at the South-West end of the Mountain."
"How far away is that?"
Balin thought for a beat, then said, "Five hours march, I should think. It will be rough going, since the road from the Gate along the left edge of the river is all broken up. There was an old path, however, that once left the road and climbed up to the post. It will be a hard climb, even if the old steps are there. But it will be a private place, safe from the eyes of Smaug."
No one in the Company felt much like climbing up more stairs for another second, especially without something to eat, but they saw the sense in finding somewhere that was somewhat safe from the dragon. That did not stop them from grumbling.
"Dear me," said the hobbit. "More climbing without breakfast! I wonder how many breakfasts, and other meals besides, we have missed inside that nasty, clockless, timeless hole?"
Thorin laughed at that (his spirits had risen once they departed the great hall— he was once more in that almost euphoric state he had been in in the Treasure Room). He wrapped an arm carelessly around Bilbo, and tweaked his nose. "Come, dear Bilbo!" said Thorin. "Don't call my palace a nasty hole! Just you wait till it has been cleaned and redecorated."
"That won't be till Smaug is dead," said Bilbo glumly.
That sobered Thorin up very quickly.
A five hour hike is no good, not in any hobbit's book. Especially if the hobbit writing the book was burned from head to toe, and had legs nowhere near long and lean enough to climb up endless dwarven steps and scramble over rocky ridges. A leisurely stroll through the rolling green hills of the Shire was no trek up a Mountain. None of Bilbo's walking holidays through the Green Hill Country or the White Downs prepared him for climbing the Lonely Mountain.
After about three hours of quiet suffering, Thorin finally noticed how much Bilbo was struggling to keep up with his dwarf counterparts. Not listening to the hobbit's protests that he could keep up, and how he just needed a short rest, Thorin stooped low to the ground, while the Company struggled onward.
"Come on, then," he said. "I will carry you for a while. "
With difficulty, and a great deal of wincing (because of Bilbo's burns), the hobbit was situated on Thorin's back. Bilbo tried hard not to feel like a fauntling, as he swayed and swung with the movement of Thorin's footsteps.
The dwarf's fingers dug into his thighs, which made his burns protest, but it was still preferable to scrabbling over gravel and scrubby grass. The hobbit resolved that this would not last long. Once Thorin started breathing heavily, or stumbling with his weight, then he would remove himself. But Bilbo figured he would enjoy it as long as it lasted. He wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck, and nosed at his shoulder.
The guard-post on Ravenhill was carved into the rock face on the South-West side of the Mountain. The post was comprised of two rooms: the main chamber, and then a smaller room set further into the rock. The Company reached it near midday, and as soon as Thorin declared that they would be staying there, at least for the next day, everyone immediately threw down their packs. Some of the Company went to the smaller rock-chamber, and laid down to sleep. Others sat up, talking and looking out at the view offered by the watchpost. It gave an excellent view to the South, East, and West, and always at least one pair of eyes looked in those directions, hoping to see where Smaug had flown off to.
Bilbo was one of the ones who slept. He had not gotten any sort of rest since they fled into the tunnel when Smaug destroyed the secret door. Somehow, he managed to close his eyes and doze despite all his worries and pain.
That night, Thorin sat at the doorway, casting his eyes into the dark for a glimmer and flash of a red wing. He was disappointed in that respect (as Smaug was already dead— though he did not know that), but was well pleased in another.
Sometime in the night, Bilbo joined Thorin in the doorway. They sat beside each other, shivering slightly in the cold, Bilbo's legs swinging like a child's over the dwarf-steps that led up to the doorway.
"I see you do not wince with your movement any longer," said Thorin, in place of a greeting. His breath came out of his mouth in great white clouds. "Are your burns healing, then?"
Bilbo rubbed the back of his head— and winced at the feeling of his burned and bristly hair. "A lot of me still burns and throbs," he said. "Smaug was certainly not gentle about it. But it does not hurt as much as it did." That was lie, but it would make Thorin less bothered, perhaps.
"I am glad to hear that. I do wish we could have a spot of fire now. It is cold out here without cover for the wind."
"It is freezing," Bilbo corrected him. "But it is not so bad as the Fell Winter, as my poor toes have not threatened to fall off just yet (though Smaug's fire almost took care of that)."
In Lake-town, they had been gifted with new clothing. But it was more suited to block out an autumn chill, rather than the frigid winds that were blowing down from the Mountain that night on Ravenhill. Still, Thorin's was a kind gesture when he draped most of his cloak over Bilbo's narrow and shaking shoulders.
"Perhaps it would have been wiser to stay in the Mountain," said Thorin. "As the winter has crept upon us most suddenly. I would almost risk the dragon. Still, I prefer a chill to looking upon my grandfather's Great Hall, such a state as it was in."
"Tell me about the Great Hall," said Bilbo. "When it was still used for celebration and council, as you said."
"That room is where life in the Mountain was centered." Thorin took a deep breath. "At any rate, life as I experienced it in the Mountain. At meal times, every place at the table was filled. My grandfather would sit at the table, my father at his right hand. We would eat, and drink, and speak of whatever came to mind.
"I listened to a great deal of politics in that room: my grandfather spoke of all important things over food and drink. My father would have to tug on my ear to pay attention every few minutes, distracted as I got as a dwarf-lad."
"I do not believe it," said Bilbo. "Thorin being distracted when Kingly things were happening. It sounds impossible."
"Possible," replied Thorin, "with my brother at my side."
"You have a brother? Why did he not come on this journey?" Bilbo asked, curious.
"He died at Dimrill Dale."
"Sorry," said Bilbo. "I apologize, I wished to lighten your mind, with talk of the Great Hall. Not to make you recall painful things."
"Not painful," Thorin shook his head. "It is good to remember the Mountain when it was full of life. My brother and I knew what was expected of us, of course, but regardless of race and class, young lads will always do what is unexpected of them. We were always where we weren't supposed to be, getting into the sort of situations princes had no business being involved in. Often we would skip lessons to go bother and tease my sister and her nursemaids."
"You had a sister as well?"
"I have a sister. Dís is still living," Thorin said. "She resides in and oversees my halls in the Blue Mountains while we are on this venture. And then there are Fíli and Kíli, of course. That is all of my immediate family that lives. Do you have a family, Bilbo?"
Bilbo moved so he was closer to Thorin. "No siblings— and no parents. My old dad died about two years after I came of age. Mother died a few years later. I've been alone since then. I have a great deal of aunts, uncles, and cousins, though, just like any other hobbit. Extended family counts much for Shire folk, which is a shame, as one or two of mine are thoroughly terrible." As an afterthought he added: "And I have no spouse, of course."
"I remember the large families of the Shirelings," said Thorin. "I would ask how you keep track of it all, but the Line of Durin is just as convoluted. Though we have no Longbottoms, Grubbs, Chubbs, or Proudfoots."
"Proudfeet!" said Bilbo. "Now, we are in your home, Thorin. No need to talk about the Shire now. You have heard me speak about it at length, and now I would like to hear something from you. Tell me more of the Lonely Mountain."
"I do not tire of your gentle speech, nor of the quaint ways of the Shire, but very well. I shall tell you more about the Great Hall. It was always filled with noise, bustle, and a great deal of light. There was a skylight (that Smaug blocked off, that worm!) and always a score of torches lit. Official audiences were held in the throne room, but unofficial audiences were always being held at the table, over a drink of the King's own ale, usually. That table is where I had my first drink, you know. And my first pipe. I coughed most spectacularly on my first drag.
"Now, feast days are when the Great Hall was the most delightful to see. Drapery in the King's colors hung all about the chamber, music playing, and everyone dressed in their finest robes and jewels. Food and drink were available to all in the Kingdom on our feast days, and it was an impressive sight to see all of Durin's folk assembled in such a fashion.
"You can see now, Bilbo, why it was such a shock to see the Great Hall like that. Smaug truly destroyed all life within the Mountain. For that he must die," he ended in an angry voice.
"Er, yes," said Bilbo. "Thorin, I have another question." 'If only to stop such black thoughts from being spoken aloud,' thought Bilbo.
"You may ask me anything, Bilbo, be it within my ability to answer."
"I would just like to know if that chamber down in the roots of the Mountain was always the Treasure Room."
"Firstly," said Thorin. "That chamber is not quite what consists of the roots of the Mountain. It is the last formal chamber, yes, but below it are the great mines and forges of the Lonely Mountain. I suspect that the passages to reach them were too small for the worm to get into (which is excellent, as that means we may need to make less repairs and renovations to the Mountain). But yes, that was always the treasury. Often my grandfather could be found down there, gazing upon his wealth. A Kingly dwarf, my grandfather was."
"Dwarves certainly love their treasure," sighed Bilbo.
"And hobbits do not love it. Rather, you have your mathoms, and your simple brass buttons. Not that I find any fault in that quality of yours," Thorin said, spotting Bilbo's affronted face in the moonlight. "No one can be expected to value the riches of the earth as much as my people. I cannot make a hobbit value a treasure hoard as much as a dwarf could. Unless, of course…" Thorin trailed off, muttering something low under his breath.
Bilbo took Thorin's hand in his, and frowned at how cold both of them were. "Unless what?" he asked.
"Have you ever heard of the Arkenstone? Do they speak of such things in the Shire?" Thorin asked.
His voice was different, suddenly. There was something in it that gave Bilbo chills, other than the ones he was feeling because of the cold. In some ways, the fashion in which the treasure affected the dwarves was pleasant. It made them merry, and curiously bold. It made them do things like suddenly grabbing a partner and dancing, or sing old drinking tunes. But it also made them fierce, passionate, and a touch overwhelming.
Thorin seized Bilbo's other hand, and leaned their heads together, conspiratorially. No longer did they sit with their legs over the lip of the stair. They sat with legs folded, facing each other. Thorin was hunched over a great deal, so that he could match Bilbo's height.
"The Arkenstone." Thorin was whispering now. "The King's Jewel. I have mentioned it before, you know."
"Yes," said Bilbo quietly, feeling his blood leave his face and gather somewhere near his stomach. He was suddenly very nervous, and very aware of the heavy stone in his pocket. "You mentioned it. A white jewel, that glows and throws off light like the Moon."
"The symbol of my family's right to rule. The symbol to my throne. Bilbo," said Thorin. "I must have it, you know. My grandfather knew well, and he was as Kingly as any dwarf could ever be: the Arkenstone is the most important thing in the Mountain. It has been since Thráin I delved into the Mountain, and found its heart. I need the jewel, Bilbo, to show my leadership, my right to rule."
"Well, firstly we need to be rid of Smaug, eh, Thorin?" said Bilbo. He smiled at the dwarf. He hoped that nothing in his face would betray him. He hoped the dwarf could not see any lumps in his pockets. "Can't get to the stone without dealing with the dragon first! Come, do let's stop being so incensed."
"Smaug." Thorin shook his head angrily. "You spoke with him— you heard him call himself the King Under the Mountain. The Arkenstone could solve that. Having the Heart of the Mountain would aid me. Us."
"It is just a rock," Bilbo pointed out. "Correct? How can the Arkenstone solve the issue of Smaug?" The hobbit fought the itch to tear one of his hands away from Thorin to rest it instead on the stone, to keep it from this dwarf that would take it away from him.
When Thorin could not come up with an answer to Bilbo's question, the hobbit smiled and bumped him with his forehead. He held himself there, their noses touching. "We have seen no sign of Smaug tonight. Let us stop all this talk of him, and move on to happier things. I have had enough of despair in the midst of all this desolation. The Mountain is almost yours, my heart. Tell me more of your home."
Thorin closed his eyes happily. "You are a sweet thing, to be so curious; to keep asking. But of course, it shall soon be your home as well." Bilbo was shocked by the thought that appeared in his head when he heard the first part of that statement: that he was a little frightened of the way Thorin would react if he acted any differently. That is, if he acted as if something was wrong, if he stopped blithely acting as if all was well. The dwarf was becoming very fierce, and not acting altogether himself, ever since he stood in the golden light of the Treasure Room. But Bilbo had been dwelling on all this for some time, and that thought was quickly chased out by another one: the Lonely Mountain would be his home after all this, if he indeed courted this King in front of him. Through so much of the journey to the place, the only thing that kept him going was the thought of Bag-End. At journey's end, it would be waiting for him, comfortable and familiar. But then, of course, he had not been involved in any sort of way with a dwarf ruler when he had entertained his thoughts of the Shire. He could not return, not then. This thought did not surprise the hobbit, though it certainly would have a mere four or five months before.
Bilbo would not leave Thorin, not while the dwarf still cared for him. A thousand lazy mornings in the Shire would never compare to the embrace and gentle touch of this dwarf he had found over the running of the quest. The Shire was his home, and he yearned for it, but perhaps the Mountain could become his second home. He desired a place full of comfort and memory, somewhere warm and pleasant and full of his favorite things. And perhaps the Mountain could become that, someday.
Bilbo did not voice any of this. He just smiled and rubbed his thumb over Thorin's knuckles. From the upwelling of fondness in his chest, Bilbo found the solution to his earlier thought. There was an easy way to get the Thorin he was missing to come back. Get the dwarf to think of anything that was not concerning the quest, or gold, or the Arkenstone, and he was the same as he had always been. "What do you wish to hear?" Thorin asked.
As the dwarf spoke, Bilbo was suddenly aware of how close the two of them were on the doorstep. He could feel and see the white cloud of Thorin's breath puffing between them, ghosting over his lips. He smelled him, or perhaps he smelled himself: the scent of dragon and dragon fire, and something faint and bitter like old weed, or stale sweat. Not altogether pleasant, but Bilbo still smiled. He was shockingly close to Thorin, close enough to experience the good and the bad.
"Your grandfather had a Queen, I have been led to believe? You had a grandmother? Tell me, what were her duties?"
Thorin's beard twitched. "Come, be forthwith and say you are curious as to what your duties will be, once we finish courting." Bilbo smiled and waited for Thorin to speak. This was the dwarf he wanted to see: this was the Thorin he had sat with in Beorn's garden. The dwarf that held his hand and stroked his hair deep in the dungeons of Mirkwood. The one who comforted him when he was ill, and held him close before he went into the dark unknown. "My grandmother ruled by my grandfather's side as much as Thráin, my father, did. She oversaw the court, and kept up the appearances of the royal family. You would be expected to sit in on the council, and also to see over cultural and diplomatic dealings. My sister, once she arrives, would help with that business, since you are not wholly familiar with Durin's folk. Mostly, however, your job would be to stand by my side, to support me and as this is not a political match," here, Thorin looked right into Bilbo's eyes. The hobbit once again shivered, and again, not because of the chill of the night. They really were rather close together; "perhaps to love me."
"It sounds like a manageable enough job," Bilbo said breathlessly. "Thorin, I wonder if it is proper—"
"To do what, Master Baggins?"
"I should like to kiss you."
Thorin looked at Bilbo like he was not quite sure what was just said. But then a smile crept upon his face, making the lines around his eyes crinkle. "Certainly not proper, not for a soon-to-be King, nor for a Gentlehobbit of the Shire. But if you must know, I have not a single quarrel with it."
That was all Bilbo needed to hear. He closed the last inch or two between them, tilting his head— to accommodate Thorin's rather large and long nose— and he kissed him.
And as far as kisses go, it was a chaste thing. The meeting of lips, nothing more. Bilbo thought it was all rather bristly, but not wholly unpleasant. (The hobbit had never kissed anyone with a beard before, unless you count the required familial pecks he once gave to his grandfather Gerontius. The old hobbit had had a singular hair that he sometimes grew upon his chin). The kiss was short, perhaps because Bilbo was smiling too broadly to do much of anything else with his lips. As he drew back from Thorin, he kissed the dwarf once more on his scarred cheek.
"Not proper at all," said Bilbo hoarsely.
The next morning, Bilbo once more looked out upon the ruined lands that lay spread before the Mountain. Or, to be more correct, he watched the skies. A remarkable amount of birds flew through the air over the desolation, creating a loud cacophony of cries and song. The hobbit, and the rest of the Company as well, had been watching the birds all morning, but now they were looking for one bird in particular: an old thrush. The very same old thrush, in fact, that had earlier been eating snails on the doorstep.
The bird had listened in to Balin and Bilbo's conversation that morning, and immediately flew off once Balin mentioned the old ravens that once lived about the Mountain. Bilbo was watching, as Balin had told him to, to see what the thrush would do next.
As the thrushes around the Lonely Mountain are capable of speaking Common, the old bird knew that it needed to go find one of the old ravens. When the thrush returned to the watch-post on Ravenhill, flying next to him was a rather old, large, and decrepit looking raven. The birds eyes were in the process of having its eyes cloud over with blindness, it could hardly keep itself aloft, and the top of its head was losing all its feathers. Still, it carried itself with an air of honor. That is because it was a raven of very high standing, a raven of the Lonely Mountain.
The bird landed very stiffly, and bobbed its way slowly toward Thorin. Bilbo was very surprised when the bird opened its mouth to caw, and began to speak instead. Here is what he said:
"Hear me, Thorin son of Thráin, and Balin son of Fundin. I am Roäc son of Carc. My father is dead, but I know that he was well known to you once. It has been a hundred years and fifty-three since I came out of the egg; I never knew any dwarf hailing from the Lonely Mountain, but I do not forget what my father told me of the mighty folk who once lived here. Now I am the chief of the great ravens of the Mountain. We are few, but we remember still the King that was of old. Most of my people are abroad, for there is great news arriving from the South— some are tidings of joy, and some you will think not so good.
"Behold! the birds are gathering back again to the Mountain and to Dale from South and East and West, for word has gone out that Smaug is dead!"
"Dead! Dead?" shouted the Company. "He is dead? Then we have been in needless fear— and the treasure is ours!"
"The treasure is ours," repeated Thorin, wonder in his voice. He did not caper about as like the other dwarves, but he did laugh in his clear, strong voice, and cast an arm about Bilbo.
"Yes, dead," croaked Roäc. "The thrush, may his feathers never fall, saw him shot from the sky. The beast fell in battle with the men of Esgaroth, three moons past."
After that, Thorin had some trouble getting his Company to stay quiet. They were jumping about, hugging, and crying with joy. Bilbo was just as excited of course, but he was not so loud about it. He clapped and cheered, of course, but he did no impromptu jig, though he strongly felt the urge to. The heavy weight of Thorin's arm over his shoulder kept him still. Bilbo at first did not realize at first why Thorin could stand so calm at such joyous news, but then he realized: the dwarf was still waiting for Roäc to finish his tale.
Eventually, everyone calmed down enough, and the raven delivered the story of the battle. Bilbo thought it all very impressive, something out of a tale Gandalf might have shared around a campfire one night. He wished he had had words with the courageous man that was Bard, while they were in Lake-town. He wished he could have seen Smaug, the beast that had taunted him in waking and in his dreams, finally fall. He was not sure, however, if he wanted to see the old worm lying dead at the bottom of the Lake, as Roäc described him. Much as the creature had tormented him, he had no wish to go and gloat over the body.
Once the raven ended his tale, Thorin allowed himself his celebration. He pulled Bilbo closer, and clasped Balin's arm tightly. Roäc made a curious clicking noise at the shining light in Thorin's eyes— something not unlike the disapproving tut that Bilbo's remarkable mother once had perfected.
"So much for joy, Thorin Oakenshield," said the bird. Thorin's eyes hardened; he tightened his grip on Bilbo. "You may go back to your halls in safety; all the treasure is yours— for the moment. Many are gathering hither beside the birds. The news of the death of Smaug has already gone far and wide, and none have forgotten the tale of your grandfather's gold; many are eager for a share of the spoil. Already a host of the Woodland Elves is on the way, and carrion birds go with them, hoping for battle and slaughter. By the lake, men murmur that their sorrows are due to the dwarves; for they are homeless, and many of them have died, as Smaug has destroyed their home. They too think to find amends from your treasure, whether you are alive or whether you are dead.
"Your own wisdom, Thorin Oakenshield, must decide your course; but thirteen is a small remnant of the great folk of Durin that once dwelt within the Mountain, and now you are scattered far. If you will listen to my counsel, as your grandfather once did with my father, you will not trust the Master of the Lake-men, but rather he that killed Smaug. They call him Bard, of the line of Girion, he is a grim man but true of heart. I and my people would see peace once more among dwarves and men and elves after the long desolation; but to find it may cost you dear in gold. I have spoken."
Anger flashed in Thorin's eyes, and he roughly released Bilbo. He pointed at Roäc with the hand that had been holding Bilbo.
"Our thanks, Roäc Carc's son. You and your people shall not be forgotten." He clenched his hand into a fist. "But none of our gold shall thieves take or the violent carry off while we are alive."