Author Note: For this fic I will be following the events of "The Hobbit" book (up to a point), but using the movie characterization. This will be most visible in my interpretation of Thorin, as he is based heavily on Richard Armitage's portrayal as well as his vision for the character as stated in various interviews. I only point this out to acknowledge how Thorin's actions and dialogue in this fic would be extremely OOC for the book version of the character.
This chapter was edited by the ever-talented Vulgarweed.
Lake-town was alight with music and merriment, and the tavern where Thorin and Company were housed was at the center of the whirlwind. Overjoyed at the news of the King Under the Mountain's return, the people of Lake-town held nothing back as they celebrated the anticipated return of their prosperity. Lights were strung up between the houses, reflecting in the water below the floating town, and music wafted through the streets. The moon was a new crescent in the sky, no broader than a nail paring, and the company still had some weeks until Durin's Day, when the door into the mountain would reveal itself, and time to rest until then.
At first Thorin had graciously received every toast, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips at the exuberant reception. But Bilbo could see somewhere around the fifth toast that the smile had become forced, and Thorin's eyes shadowed. By the seventh (or was it the tenth?) Thorin had used the cover of Bofur, Dori, and Oin striking up a song in the corner to escape. None of the humans seemed to notice, they were all well into their cups, and the other dwarves were too caught up in toasting and being toasted by one another to notice the absence of their leader.
"Thorin has never been one to enjoy this sort of thing," said Balin with a sigh when Bilbo inquired. "Not since the days of the court in Erebor." Balin, usually one of the more sober members of the party, stared down into his full mug, and when he spoke his words was slurred and melancholy. "Beautiful days those were. We drank from jewel-encrusted goblets and feasted on the finest foods from all across the land. Every kingdom for hundreds of miles would send emissaries and rich gifts to Thror. On nights like that, Thorin would play for us on the harp…"
"Thorin plays the harp?" said Bilbo, not sure whether to be amused or impressed at the image of the stoic dwarf prince plucking at such a delicate instrument. But when he thought on it, imagining Thorin's dark head bowed in concentration as strains of music poured through shining dwarven halls, any amusement turned into a pang of regret at what had been lost. "He never mentioned."
"Aye, and even then he put such heart into as to make the very stones weep. And that was before…" said Balin, then stopped and cleared his throat. A great solemnity came over him whenever he spoke of lost Erebor, and the wine had nearly pushed him over the edge to openly weeping. "It has been long since I've heard him play. I suppose to him it belongs to a different time."
"Well, I should very much like to hear him someday," said Bilbo, patting Balin's shoulder to soothe the older dwarf.
Balin accepted the gesture and cleared his throat past the welling emotion. "You should ask him then, laddie."
"Well, you said his heart's not really in it anymore…"
"I think for you he might make an exception," said Balin enigmatically. Another roar went up from the crowd and Dwalin emerged from the throng to clap an iron-shod hand over his brother's shoulder. He roared something in Khuzdûl, which Bilbo quickly realized was an invitation to a drinking contest as Balin was dragged away and set down at a smaller table, where rows of tankards were arrayed before them. It was apparent from the mischevious grin that spread across Balin's face, and the more sinister one across Dwalin's, that Bilbo had lost his conversation partner to an old rivalry.
In truth, his head was beginning to spin and he thought perhaps Thorin had the right idea to escape the party. Hobbits, while hardy, were no match for dwarves once they hit their stride. The room was growing warm and stuffy, the volume increasing as the other dwarves roared encouragement to Balin or Dwalin. Bilbo saw his chance and stole, quick and quiet, out of the tavern and on to the docks that made up the streets of Lake-town.
The fresh air brought immediate relief, for the night was warm and pleasant, with the faintest hints of autumn in the cool breezes that rippled across the water. Bilbo slipped his hands in his pocket (brushing the ring with the back of his fingers, just to be certain it was still there of course) and began to stroll the length of the docks, thinking a short walk might be just the thing to clear his head.
On the far west end of the town, as far as one could go from the festivities without leaving the settlement, Bilbo espied a figure seated on the edge of the pier. His identity might have been a mystery, if not for the fact that here at the western edge was the clearest unobstructed view of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo paused, for quick and light as hobbits are he had not yet been detected, and so had a few private moments to watch Thorin Oakenshield from afar.
The pale light of the moon washed the lines of care from Thorin's face and glinted off the streaks of silver in his hair. He looked strangely young, even vulnerable here in his solitude, for there was something exposed and hopeful in his gaze as he looked into the distance. He had stripped off his heavy iron-toed boots and rolled up his trousers to the knee. His feet trailed in the water.
In fact he appeared so peaceful, so absurdly young, that Bilbo thought it might be best to leave Thorin to this rare moment of peace. But before he could turn away, Thorin's gruff voice spoke. "I know you are there, burglar. Come, sit with me." Bilbo sighed in defeat, for it was true he had not made any attempt to mask his steps.
"Lovely night, isn't it?" Bilbo said casually as he settled down at Thorin's side.
"Hmm," Thorin agreed. "I'd have thought you'd be at the feast. The others will surely miss you, oh barrel-rider." Thorin's voice held the slightest hint of humor at the new nickname, only detectable to those who knew him well. It had quickly made the rounds amongst the company as one of the titles Bilbo had earned along the journey—and appreciated and deserved as it was, Bilbo could not help but feel a bit silly when he heard it, even as he was proud.
"I could say the same to you, oh Thorin son of Thráin, may your beard grow ever longer," said Bilbo. "Isn't this feast in your honor? In the Shire we would find it terribly rude to vanish in the middle of one's own party."
"It is still too soon for parties," said Thorin without meeting Bilbo's eye. "There will be time enough for that once we have regained the mountain."
"You seemed to be enjoying it well enough earlier," said Bilbo. In truth, Thorin had looked every inch the conquering hero when the people of Lake-town had recognized him and paid him due honors.
"Surely even you would not begrudge me that?" said Thorin defensively.
"No, no not at all," said Bilbo hastily. "I suppose after so many years, it might be pleasant to regain a little bit of what was lost. And what's to come, with any luck. But I understand why you left, at least I think I do." Thorin looked up at this, and Bilbo found himself speaking in a rush, rather flustered to have the dwarf prince's attention so fixed on him, lest he be wrong in his assessment. "It's still not done yet, is it? A rest is all well and good, but it is only a short relief until you have retaken Erebor. And what if the quest fails? How could you face those people, or your own people? I understand how any joy can turn to ashes in your mouth at the thought. Better to come out here and think about what still must be done."
"Perhaps that ring granted you other powers than invisibility," mused Thorin. "For it seems you have gained the ability to read thoughts. You are right, once I might have enjoyed festivities in my honor, but now? It makes me uneasy, as if we're tempting fate."
"Oh, but come now," Bilbo said. "We've made it this far, and you've spent quite enough time talking about reclaiming your home. Why not take a little time to dream of what comes after? Tell me of the court of Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and the great feasts he will hold to celebrate his victory!"
Yet his attempt at cheer seemed to have failed, for Thorin went very still as Bilbo spoke, and he stared up at the moon as if looking down a long tunnel with no end in sight, one lined with untold hardships.
"Stop that!" said Bilbo, and swatted Thorin, who blinked, stunned, as if he had just been dragged free of a nightmare. Or perhaps he was merely shocked at Bilbo being so audacious as to swat him as if he were a sulking child. "I'm fully aware that you will spend the first years up to your ears in petty squabbles and mucking out dragon poop. But there will be pleasant times as well."
Thorin gave an amused snort. "I hadn't even thought of the dragon poop."
"I imagine it will be awful. It's probably piled to the ceiling," Bilbo said, pleased to see some of the haunted look had left Thorin's eyes as he gave a short bark of a laugh.
"Just one more thing to worry about. Perhaps it will make good fertilizer," said Thorin. He settled back on the dock, no longer staring blankly across the water, but rather out of the corner of his eye towards Bilbo. "In truth I have not allowed myself to think on the pleasant times, for it only made the work ahead seem all the more daunting. And I feared if I allowed myself to be lost to pleasant daydreams it might dull my edge, for it is all too easy to be lost in such fantasies."
"Fine then, don't have to tell me until after we've won! But I will hold you to it," said Bilbo. Thorin smiled in response.
"My thanks," said Thorin. "But, unfair as it is, I would know yours, if you will tell me."
"My what?" said Bilbo.
"Tell me your vision of our victory. Each member of the company has thought of what Erebor could be, once it is renewed. But what of the halfling?" said Thorin. His voice voice rumbled low and quiet, though they were alone. A faint shiver ran down Bilbo's spine. He felt as if he were being asked something very different, sitting out here alone with Thorin in the moonlight, their heads bowed together as they discussed the future. And he found himself a little at a loss.
"I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose I thought once I had helped you reclaim your home it would be time to return to mine." Even as he spoke he felt a part of himself resisting that future he had once thought set. Why did a hole seem to open in his heart at the thought of returning to his empty house? "I would not presume to tell the dwarves how to run their own kingdom." Except they would probably make a mess of it. They'd insult the elves, or go chasing goblins, and be at war again before the end of the year. Bilbo could not help but fear that dwarves incapable of grasping the concept of stalling for time while in the hands of hungry trolls would be unable to wrap their stubborn heads around the finer points of diplomacy. He could feel his own head beginning to ache at the thought.
"Well, I'd like to see the company all settled, and their families of course. It will be an enormous task to make Erebor livable again, but with all your kin come down from the Blue Mountains it will be easier. Your home will be back to normal in no time." Thorin nodded at this, his gaze contemplative as he listened. "And once that is complete you should hold a great celebration, and invite the men of Lake-town and the uh…the elves."
Thorin jerked away at this. "Are you mocking me? Need I remind you we just escaped that treacherous lot? I'd rather see Erebor remain in the hands of Smaug than allow them to set foot in its halls!"
"I haven't forgotten anything, Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo huffed. "So you can stop being so dramatic. The elves can be either your strongest allies or your greatest foe, and this feud will not mend itself. But think! Wouldn't it stick in Thranduil's craw that once returned to your former status you not only mend the ties, but invite him as a guest to your halls, when he could not even spare us proper food and shelter when we were starving and lost in his? He can hardly go to war over superior hospitality, but can't you imagine how will it hurt his pride to be seen as the petty one in the whole sorry affair?"
"And since when did our burglar become a diplomat?" said Thorin. His expression was still thunderous, but there was interest in his eyes that could not be concealed.
Bilbo snorted. "Hardly diplomacy. Any hobbit knows that nothing wins a feud like being the first one to extend your hospitality. All of the offenders are livid of course, but even that grudge will die after a generation. It's a shame none of you have any children you could marry off to Thranduil's son."
"Marry…!" Thorin choked in outrage, but Bilbo was not done.
"Oh my yes, can't you just imagine? Thranduil's youngest in his silk robes standing across from a young dwarf all in armor, the picture it would make? Fili and Kili probably aren't suited for the groom, perhaps another member of the company. Doesn't Glóin have a child?"
"Gimli will not be running away with any elf as long as I'm alive," growled Thorin. Bilbo could hardly keep his laughter in check at the absurdity of the image, and he might have continued with his description of such an impossible wedding if Thorin didn't appear on the verge of exploding with rage.
"Fine, have it your way. But let me tell you one thing, love will find its way, in the end," Bilbo teased. "All hobbits know there's no love potion as strong as parental disapproval. I swear for every family feud that springs up in the Shire, we see ten marriages before it runs its course. And with your luck you'll have a flock of rebellious young elflings running around Erebor before the year is out."
"Perhaps the mountain is indeed better in Smaug's keeping," muttered Thorin.
"Now you and I both know that's not true," Bilbo said with a grin.
Thorin sighed and looked out across the water. "There is another service not included in your contract. Once I thought that humbling the elves would be one of the greatest pleasures of retaking Erebor. But I'm beginning to see that I must put such pettiness behind me if I am to be a good king to my people." Thorin turned to Bilbo, his eyes searching. "I cannot say I'm cheered at the thought, but months ago I would have flown into a rage. You smash my preconceptions without a thought, and yet I feel better for it. How?"
"Oh, well it's probably that you spend too much time surrounded by dwarves," said Bilbo. He could feel Thorin's compliment rushing to his head but pushed past it. "Don't get me wrong, they're wonderful fellows, but it can get a bit stuffy in there with all of you having the same opinion on everything. I'm not particularly wise at all, more like… a bit of fresh air."
"Indeed," said Thorin, regarding Bilbo. "Then there is something I must ask of you, something I cannot ask any of my kin."
"And what is that?" Bilbo said warily. Many times in the past such a request meant, "climb to the top of the tallest tree" or "find a way to break us all out of this dungeon." Still, he knew whatever it was he would not refuse, fool that he was.
"I need you to keep the Arkenstone away from me," said Thorin.
Bilbo blinked and tilted his head to the side, not sure he had heard right. "Excuse me, what? The Arkenstone? You mean the treasure of your people that you've walked across half of Middle Earth to reclaim? That Arkenstone?"
"Yes," Thorin said, without any further elaboration.
"Oh… all right, umm, and am I to get any explanation as to why you suddenly want nothing to do with it? For months its been all any of you will talk about!"
"It's not so sudden, but I would thank you to keep what I am about to tell you in confidence." Thorin took a deep breath. "I saw the madness of the Arkenstone descend on my grandfather. He nearly died protecting it, he fought wars and turned down alliances over it, and he never ceased speaking of it after we fled. Though our home was lost, it was the jewel that consumed his thoughts. I know it is unreasonable to think so, but I cannot help but blame the Arkenstone for our downfall."
"But then why must I keep it from you?" Bilbo said. "You seem to have a firm enough grasp of the danger, why would you have any trouble resisting it?"
"Because I do not know if I will have the strength once it is within my grasp." Thorin looked suddenly fierce. "I will not risk the lives of my people for a piece of cold stone. But it is our curse that we will desire such things, go mad for them. When I was young I could feel it calling from my grandfather's throne, like a fell voice demanding more gold, more riches. And that call followed us until he fell at Azanulbizar. Now..." He turned to Bilbo. "I do not know if I can resist it, and if I cannot then no member of the company can. Except for you."
"Because I am not a dwarf," Bilbo finished.
Thorin nodded. "Exactly. But for your sake, as well as mine, you must not tell anyone I have given you this duty. They will not understand. They may even try to drive you away as a traitor. That is, if you accept."
"And what would you have me do with it, even if I do find it first or manage to steal it?" said Bilbo sarcastically. And he would have to find it first, for it would be too well guarded for him to steal from his own companions, even with a ring of invisibility!
"Hide it, trade it, or give it away, I care not. As long as it serves my people or our cause," said Thorin. Bilbo gaped openly, searching Thorin's face for any sign of jest but found none. "I am serious. If the worst happens, then none of us will be able to do this. I would rather see it thrown down the deepest mineshaft than have it stand between my people and their home."
"This…is a tall order, Thorin," said Bilbo, feeling a bit faint. For a moment he thought to refuse, but as in many things when it came to the company he thought better of it, though he would later regret it. But any argument he might have made in that moment died on his tongue as his gaze met Thorin's, for there Bilbo saw naked fear. Fear of himself, fear for his people. Such fear in Thorin's eyes was not a new sight for Bilbo on an adventure so riddled with dangers, but that only meant that he knew it when he saw it.
Wordlessly, Bilbo placed his hand over Thorin's. Thorin's fingers were cool from the evening, but smooth and strong like polished stone. "I will do it," said Bilbo. "Whatever you need." Thorin's shoulders relaxed, as if a great weight had been removed, and Bilbo glanced down in surprise as Thorin's fingers closed back around his own.
"Thank you," Thor said simply.
"Of course. Though, uh, I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep the physical harm to a minimum. Also any attempts on my life would be rather unappreciated."
Bilbo meant it as a joke, but something inside him went cold when Thorin did not smile. "If I ever threaten you with harm then you will know that I am truly lost."
"Well, then let us hope it never comes to that," Bilbo said lightly. The party went on behind them, and Bilbo's headache had been replaced with a whirlwind of new worries. But Thorin's hand was growing warm in his, and perhaps the new burdens on his shoulders were not so bad if they lightened Thorin's. Comfort now gained, he and Thorin sat a bit closer together on the docks, close enough that their shoulders touched, and watched the moon as it rose over the Lonely Mountain.
Author Note: Thank you for reading! Chapter 3 will be along tomorrow, I hope you're enjoying it so far!