Hello everyone.
First and foremost, I would like to express my sincerest apologies for the appalling delay between updates, especially after proposing a wishful schedule of once a fortnight. There is no sarcasm in this statement, I promise, just pure, genuine apology. Since I last spoke to you all I have had so much on, including issues of both physical and mental health and an enormous amount of work for my third year of university. I am not telling you this as an excuse, but because I view writing the Last, The Lost, The Least as a commitment to you, as much as it is a pleasure for myself, and I believe that you deserve to know why such a gap has occurred. Especially with how amazingly, wonderfully supportive most of you are. I appreciate it so much, and I appreciate your patience.
I don't think this chapter will necessarily make up for the gap – it is neither my best nor my longest – but I'm fairly happy with it, and hope that it helps you get back into the swing of things.
As much as I'd like to promise this won't happen again, I can't do that. My workload is insane at the moment, but I'm getting better at juggling it. What I can promise is that I will never quit this story. Not until I have brought it to an end that is satisfying for both writer and reader. I'm not giving up on Kíli Baggins, and I hope that you won't either.
As ever, I apologise for any typos, and hope that you enjoy the chapter.
With all the love in the world, please read, enjoy and review.
Chapter Four # The Dark of the Night #
Every time that he blinked, he saw the inside of a cage. With every slip of his concentration, his subconscious threw him back into the pits of Mordor and under the thumb of the foulest of Sauron's servants. There was shame as well, broiling in his sunken stomach whenever he thought of his blunder into the same trap that dragged the wretched creature he had been tracking into torture at Minas Morgul.
One moment of misdirected concentration, a blow to the head, and then Gandalf the Grey of the Istari had been rendered helpless as a babe in arms. He had posed a pretty prize for the orcs that restrained him so thoroughly, and he had heard whispers of the Lord Sauron himself expressing pleasure at the wizard's capture. More than once he half wished for the dark lord to show himself, to numb the frustration of knowing that he could defeat every single one of his captors, had he his staff, sword, or even just the use of his hands. But Sauron had never appeared, and his hands had remained bound with wire-like rope from his forearms to his fingertips.
Flexing his scared wrists, Gandalf tightened his grip on the staff that Radagast had gifted him, but the smooth wood did little to bring him back to the present. It was only a reminder of the shards of his own staff, swept away by the hot winds of Mordor. A grim smile tugged at one corner of his mouth at the thought of an orc felled by an infected splinter, but it could not chase away the 'what if's that still sought to plague him. It did not matter what would have happened if Radagast had not found him before the orcs did, because that had not happened. Likewise, it was unimportant what would have come to pass if the Nazgûl had garnered all the information that they needed on dear old Bilbo before Gandalf was able to escape. It did not matter, he told himself, but it still irked him, the oddity in his hazy timeline.
Seven years. It had taken Gandalf seven years to escape from Mordor. To his knowledge, Gollum had been captured before he had, but he doubted the creature would have lasted a single year under torment. Not without his Precious in any case. Perhaps he was mistaken, and Gollum had been captured later, or had held out for longer than expected. Perhaps it had taken the dark lord a long while to interpret his new prisoner's screeches. It might have been that Gollum was not deemed important for a time, when they had captured such a powerful prisoner as Gandalf. The wraith of a creature could have been forgotten about for years, lost and recaptured, or perhaps he had been in league with the enemy all along.
No story made sense, but Gandalf had not had time to search for proof or evidence. He had escaped barely a week before the Ringwraiths rode forth from Minas Morgul, and from the moment he guessed their task it had become a desperate race.
His enemy had won the first stage – when Gandalf reached Erebor he had learnt that a rider in black had preceded him. An envoy, from the 'Great Lord of Mordor', asking for the Bagginses. And for the absent king.
He had known then that he must use every single drop of energy clinging to his wasted body and fly. He had to reach the Shire before the enemy. Balin had all but threatened him, demanding that the wizard rest, or at least see a healer, but there had not been time to waste.
If he had accepted the invitation, if only for an hour, he would likely have arrived to find a massacre.
"Gandalf," a light, lilting voice tugged him from his thoughts, and he looked down at Pippin.
"Peregrin Took," he smiled wryly. "How can I help you?"
"I was just wondering if you wanted this," Pippin stood up in his pony's saddle to pass Gandalf a cloth wrapped package. There was an odd sort of look about his face, an innocence that was, for once, unfeigned. His smile was small and meek, and his eyes showed no trick or glimmer of trouble. It was rather uncommon, from the wizard's memory, of the young hobbit who so idolised Fíli and Kíli.
Gandalf frowned slightly and unwrapped the package, and the frown instantly melted into a smile. It was a cinnamon bun, Pippin's favourite treat, if he remembered rightly. And it was the twenty third time that day that a hobbit had given, offered or forced him to take an item of food. They had eaten lunch but an hour ago.
"Thank you, my dear Pippin, but wouldn't you rather snack on this yourself?" Gandalf offered it back, but Pippin smiled and shook his head.
"Oh no, I have twelve in my bag. Nana packed them for me, for the road. Merry says they'll only last me a day, but they're only at their best for a few days. Then they go stale," he said. "You take it."
"Pippin, come play catch with us!" Eyja called from a few ponies back.
"We must make haste, my dear dwarfling," Gandalf reminded her heavily. "We do not have time for catch today."
"But Pip and I'll tell you a story," Merry said. "C'mon, Pippin."
"Right you are, Merry," Pippin sung, and let his pony fall back.
Another pony quickly replaced the tween's, and Bilbo smirked. "So, how much food have you been given today?"
"Oh, enough to feed a small army, I am sure," smiled Gandalf, wrapping the bun again and tucking it into his saddle bag. "It is very kind of you all. Do I truly look so awful?"
"Well, if truth is indeed what you seek, then I must say yes," Bilbo's tone was light and conversational, and Gandalf loved the halfling all the more for it. "It reminds me of my first trip to Lake-town, when I was skin and bone myself. The dwarves were in and out of my room every hour or so, feeding me up. Not that I minded, of course. It was the first time I'd had a decent amount of food in weeks. But, I have to say, you do look worse."
"Looks are not everything, but indeed, I have been of better health. Still, I will survive, if only thanks to the nutrition your kin provide. Though I fear my looks may have frightened your youngest dwarfling rather a bit."
Bilbo laughed. "Frerin will warm to you, I am sure of it. He is a shy little thing."
Glancing over his shoulder, Gandalf looked at the group behind him. They were moving fast, for a group of so many, with so many young ones, but it was not fast enough. Their pace had slowed since dawn.
"Cutting cross country should take some time off our journey, Gandalf, as well as keeping our route unknown." There was a little concern seeping into Bilbo's voice now. "Our kith and kin know that we had to leave in a hurry, and they know that we'll be back when we can be. They also know to keep torches burning, in case of any black-robed callers that overstay their welcome. As for talking to strangers, well. That is not a very hobbitish thing to do, wont as we are to gossip."
"Yes, I do think staying off of the road would be best."
"Are you going to tell us what is pursuing us?" Bilbo lowered his voice. "You said you would not speak of it in the dark."
"And I would not tell it where there are little ears to hear," Gandalf said sharply.
"Will you tell it at all? Or would you have us run from a nameless fear? The children are appeased by 'because Gandalf said so', yes, but those older than the twins are not children anymore. They are afraid, Gandalf. We are all afraid. And we deserve to know why we are afraid."
Gandalf glanced over his shoulder at where Pippin was laughing with his cousin. He closed his eyes. It felt, someone, that his task had become the bringer of ill-fate. The destroyer of innocence.
"They have seen horror before, Gandalf," Bilbo said quietly.
"Very well." Gandalf gazed at the sky. "If we ride hard, now, until dusk is almost upon us, we can make camp while it is still light. Then, I will tell you call I need to know."
The entire group sped up, and soon they were making a pace that Gandalf could hardly have hoped for. It seemed that the wolves were in their element, and Gandalf could not help but wonder as a three-legged wolf baring a full-grown hobbit outstripped his own horse.
Miles slipped by and dusk grew nearer, and finally Gandalf called them to a stop beneath a cluster of trees. The ponies were frothing at the mouth, and staggered to a halt, and the panting wolves flopped straight to the floor, rider and all.
The exhausted travellers set up their camp with ease, though to their luck Dwalin's children had both fallen asleep. Bodin was sent to watch them and start the dinner with Orla and Ola, and the others gathered around Gandalf.
The wizard sighed and spoke in a low voice. "How many of you know the tale of the dark Lord Sauron, who plagued this world in ages past?"
"Fíli tells it to us," Vinca said. "Every time we go to Rivendell, we visit the sword and the mural. It's become a tradition. Why?"
Gandalf took a deep breath. "You all know then, of the Ring of Power?"
"That was thing that gave Sauron his strength, was it not? It was lost when Isildur cut it from his hand." Frodo's bright eyes darkened. "Wasn't it, Gandalf?"
"It was lost," Gandalf closed his own eyes. "But, it has been found. And it is currently sitting in Bilbo's pocket."
Every head swivelled to look at the hobbit, who in turn blinked and looked down at his waistcoat. The colour drained from Bilbo's face. "What? No? No! Really? Ah. Alright. Well. In that case." Dís put a hand on her husband's arm and Bilbo stopped talking.
"Unfortunately, the creature Gollum, from whom Bilbo acquired the ring, knew Bilbo's name and where he hailed from. I searched everywhere for Gollum, but I was delayed by the enemy, held prisoner for a time. When I escaped, I learnt that the Black Riders had set forth. I knew then, that my suspicions were correct. Bilbo's ring was the One Ring, and the Riders were aware of it."
"What are these riders?" Thorin interrupted. "You spoke of a foe more terrible than Smaug."
"They are Ringwraiths. They were once men, but they were corrupted by Sauron. They inspire terror wherever they go, and they use it as a weapon. Their breath is poison, their aim is deadly, and their leader is known as the Witch-King. They are drawn to the ring, and ever seek to return it to their master. If they find you," his eyes fell on Bilbo. "They will kill you. But your political importance is such that they will not leave the rest of you in peace, should Bilbo go ahead or… fall behind."
There was a long moment of quiet.
"Well, that all sounds awful," Nelly said. "So what's the plan?"
"We will make for Bree," Gandalf said immediately. "I have a friend waiting for us there, and he will escort the rest of you to Rivendell while I ride ahead with Bilbo. He knows of how to fight these beasts and his skill is great."
"You may tell us how to fight these beasts," Dwalin snarled, "before you entrust our lives to a stranger."
Despite himself, Gandalf smiled. "This friend is not a stranger, my dear Dwalin, and even he cannot truly defeat them. What we can do, is disrobe them. Should you destroy their helm, with fire, for instance, they must return to Mordor so that Sauron can give them another physical form." It was a simplistic explanation, but it would have to do. Gandalf was too weary to try and explain the intricacies of the wraiths.
Nelly snorted with laughter, and everyone stared at her. "Forgive me. I'm just imagining an awfully evil wraith popping back to Mordor. 'Hello, Mister Dark Lord Sir, I'm sorry, can I have another robe please? Lost the last one.'"
"It isn't funny, Nelly," Pearl frowned heavily.
Nelly's eyes darkened slightly. "Our situation isn't funny, no, but if we all sit around acting like the end of times is coming that won't help anything either. Gandalf, you said that they feed on fear? Well, I won't be scared of them."
"You have a brave heart, child," Gandalf said. "I hold hope that it will endure. But the Nazgûl can make the very bravest hearts quake."
Silence fell again, and Gandalf closed his eyes once more. Dark was falling now, and their path was growing more dangerous. He had not envisioned fleeing with so large a group. Thirty-three, in all. To leave any behind would be a death sentence.
"Dinner's ready!" Bodin called suddenly, breaking the quiet and ushering in a cheerier part of the evening. The hobbits led the way into lighter conversation, and though Dwalin and Thorin brooded, for the most part the company kept their spirits up.
Once again, the task fell to Gandalf to break the joy. "We should get some rest, and set up a watch. We cannot linger for long."
Gandalf did not sleep a wink. All night he sat awake, sucking on his new pipe (pressed into his hand that morning by a chattering Kíli) and staring into the darkness. Not even an owl disturbed the night, and when dawn broke and he woke his companions there was naught to see but mist.
They rode hard the next day and covered good ground. Their journey was more subdued than it could have been, and the littler children fussed now and then, but as the moon rose to its full height on the second evening, Gandalf thought that he might catch a few moments' rest. Dwalin and Dís were on watch, and their eyes were keen and sharp.
The wizard closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, banishing the fragments of memory that assaulted his weary mind. He soon drifted into a sleep of murky half-dreams and disembodied voices.
And then he was woken by a scream.
He dragged himself into a sitting position and looked around with bleary eyes as more and more screams broke out, but their fire had been extinguished and there was no light to see with. He grabbed his staff, sending light out over the campsite.
It was chaos. Three black riders had caught up with them, and the company had scattered like chickens fleeing a fox. It was exactly what the Ringwraiths would want, and though the older members of the company were putting up a fight they had naught but their usual weapons. Weapons that would be no use against such evil. Before Gandalf was even on his feet he saw a long, dark sword swing down towards little Frerin.
The moment lingered, and the boy did not move. He just stared with wide, terror-filled eyes and watched the oncoming blade.
Even as Gandalf moved to aim his staff at the Nazgul, he knew it would be too late. He knew that he was too far away, in too awkward a position to stop death coming down on Dwalin's son.
And then a blur knocked the child out of the way, and Fíli cried out in pain. In the same instant, one of the wolves leapt at the Ringwraith and seized its arm, ripping and tearing at the fabric of its sleeve.
Gandalf managed to send a beam of energy from his staff, blasting the Ringwraith and setting its clothes ablaze. It shrieked, and immediately turned its horse away, but the noise was nothing compared to the wailing of the youngest children. Now on his feet, Gandalf bellowed the first spell that came to his mind.
The air around them lit up as a whip of flames was cast from the end of his staff, and Gandalf swung it with all his might. He hit his mark. The fire wrapped around the throat of the second Ringwraith, and Gandalf wrenched the beast off its horse. Like its fellow, the flaming creature fled. A trio of wolves leapt at the riderless horse, and dragged it down to the floor. The creature shrieked and whinnied, but not for long.
"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, tugging on Bilbo's arm. The older hobbit was squeezing his eyes shut, and his hands were clenched in fists. In his pockets. The final horse had been felled by Thorin, Dís and Kíli, but its rider was bearing down upon the two hobbits. "Gandalf, help!"
Clenching his teeth, Gandalf began to run, tripping over bags and bedrolls. He raised his staff once more, bellowed a slightly more refined spell, and sent a beam of light straight at the creature, destroying its robes immediately.
An eerie silence fell, broken only by soft moans and a child's sobs, coming from the centre of the camp.
"Is everybody here?" Gandalf barked, conjuring enough light to illuminate their entire campsite. "Speak quickly, is anybody missing?"
"Bodin?" Bofur called, his voice breaking slightly. "Orla, Ola?"
There was a terrifyingly long silence, and Gandalf threw his gaze over the others. The hobbits who had run at first were all back and accounted for, and he could see Frerin beneath Fíli in the middle of what had been their camp.
Beneath Fíli?
"They're probably hiding," Nelly's voice shook. She was holding onto Bróin's arm, but who was comforting who was not quite clear.
The wolves let out howls, and a pair dove off into the darkness.
"Fíli?" At first, there was just trepidation in Kíli's voice. Then, there was panic. "Fíli? Fee?"
"I'm alright," Fíli groaned, slowly pushing himself up. "The wretched beast got me right in the back, but I'm in my shiny shirt."
"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked brusquely, his own fear growing as Kíli seemed to relax. If Fíli had been struck with a Morgul blade, a fancy piece of clothing would not save him.
"Fili insists on calling the Mithril coat I gave him a 'shiny shirt.'" Thorin explained impatiently. "We should look for the young ones, if you're not hurt, Fíli."
"Bruised. Maybe deeply, but I'll be fine," Fíli sat up, awkwardly cradling a sobbing Frerin in his arms as he did so.
"Uncle Bofur!"
Gandalf had never been so pleased to see a crying child when Bodin tore out of the darkness behind two wolves, his sisters hot on his heels. The boy crashed into his uncle's side, and Bofur seized all three young ones quickly. Then he looked up at Gandalf, his face pale.
"We're all accounted for," he said.
"We must move. The ponies will have fled, but-"
"They haven't," Esme called in an impressively steady voice. "Well, they did, but the wolves've rounded them all up, they're all here."
"Very well," Gandalf took a deep breath. "Collect your things, quickly, we must go."
"But they're gone," Eyja protested in a quiet, quavering voice. Her arms and legs were locked around her mother, and she looked more afraid than any child should ever be. "You made the bad things go away."
The wizard sighed. "There may be more, my child. We must keep going."
"I don't like it anymore," Frerin whined, reaching towards Dwalin. "Ada, I want to go home! I want to go home!"
"That's what we're trying to do," Dwalin said gruffly, though he took his son from Fíli and clapped a hand on the prince's shoulder. "Thank you, Fíli."
Fíli smiled, though he looked pained and was a little slow in getting to his feet.
"If we make haste, we can make it to the Old Forest by daybreak," Gandalf calculated. "We will rest then – the trees may offer some shelter."
"Shelter?" Paladin said faintly. "In the Old Forest?"
Esme shook her head at her brother and held up two hands, miming a scale. "Nazgûl, Old Forest. Old Forest, Nazgûl. I think the Old Forest will be quite alright."
"The best of a bad situation," Paladin said darkly. "But of course. Lead the way, Gandalf."
Soon, too soon, they were riding again, with naught but what little light the wizard dared risk to guide them.
Gandalf closed his eyes, and saw the inside of a cage.
I hope you enjoyed it! I find it quite hard writing from Gandalf's perspective, particularly because we hardly ever see the full extent of his powers, but I hope that I've done our lovely old wizard justice. Even if I haven't been too kind to him.
Thank you so much for reading. The next update will hopefully be sooner rather than later, but as we've proven the only thing I can promise is that as long as I am physically capable, there will still be updates. I promise.
Thanks again for reading! Leave a review if you fancy, and I hope you have a great day/evening/night depending on where you are right now.
