Call of the Dragon
Note: Nothing from Tolkien's or Paolini's creations are mine. New chapter is here so share your opinions. Now to clarify some things, the words spoken by Smaug were understood by Galbatorix and Ra'zac because of the similarity of languages which will be explained in this chapter and well.. a bit of magic (you can assume that reading memories of his victims added to our great dragon's ability to understand and talk to the inhabitants of Alagaesia). Now you'll see if this works or not hahaha.
Chapter VI:
Gandalf and Radagast were heading in boats to the Great Hall. The Esgaroth was one of the most unusual cities. Lake-town of the Long Lake stood here for centuries. It was not built on the shore, though there were a few huts and buildings there along with fields and pastures, but right on the surface of the lake. It was protected from the swirl of the entering river by a promontory of rock which formed a calm bay.
Town had countless narrow passages like the piers stretching from the sea shore. All traffic inside the city was performed through the water channels serving as streets. Great Market was an open space in the center of the structure. This wide circle of quiet water was surrounded by great houses, and by long wooden quays with many steps and ladders going down to the surface of the lake. It was bustling with activity all day, often late into the night.
From one great hall there shone many lights and came the sound of many voices. Towers and buildings of many storey's were quite impressive. Gandalf calculated that the great wooden city could overall house thousands of people, but he knew that once it was even bigger. The inhabitants were still thriving on trade that came up the great river from the South, but in the great days of old, when Dale in the North was rich and prosperous they had been wealthy and powerful.
In the forgotten past there had been larger fleets of boats on the waters, and some were filled with gold and some with warriors in armor, there had been wars and deeds which were now only a legend. The rotting piles of a greater town could still be seen along the shores when the waters sank in a drought.
Men remembered little of this, but some still sang old songs of the dwarf-kings of the Mountain: Thrór and his son Thrain of the race of Durin and of the coming of the dragon, and fall of lords of Dale. It was told that one day King Under the Mountain will return. Once Thorin's company arrived but a weeks ago, the citizen's hopes were quickly roused, yet recent events were not optimistic and many wondered whether the old prophecies failed. No word about the fate of travelers reached the ears of Lake-men and this was troubling for some, others returned to daily business, their excitement faded. One especially grim fellow, who according to his friends, used to prophesy floods and poisoned fish, a captain of archers from local militia was very restless.
His concerns for the safety of the town and his family were mended for a time. When the lights from the Mountain were spotted, Bard, because that was his name, was strongly convinced that danger is close. Yet dragon did not come to take his vengeance upon Esgaroth.
Bard though was a decent fellow and he had enough kindness and good will to be truly worried about the fate of Thorin and his companions. Others soon stopped caring about it.
Especially the strange, short creature going by the name of hobbit interested him. Bard observed the entire party in secret and got to know them somewhat during their stay in the town. They were not bad people, in fact he felt sympathy for them, the funny hobbit with his furry feet was endearing. He seemed so cheerful and full of life it would have been tragic for him to end his life in dragon's jaws.
He felt that the dwarves did not deserve their deaths at the end of their long and dangerous journey putting so great effort to come this far. Bard did not altogether approved of Thorin's actions noticing his stubborn pride and knowing that the vastness of legendary treasure could get into his head. Stories were often told about the power of gold, upon which dragon had long brooded, and how it affected those who took it for themselves. The dragon-sickness, some believed it was a curse, malevolent will of dragon. Others claimed it's only a myth and the only source of it was the darkness in one's soul, the avaricious nature.
Bard often wondered what would happen if the guardian of this treasure was finally dispatched, he thought how the treasure in the dark halls of the Mountain would help him revive the glory of the lost realm. He thought of Dale rebuild and filled with golden bells, populous and joyful once more. Yet he was a reasonable man and knew that Smaug could not easily be killed.
It was a very dark night even though the storm calmed down and Bard stood with his great longbow in worn clothes before the entrance to the hall where Master held out great feast. He did not join the festivities being in strange mood, and then suddenly he heard the splash of water announcing the arriving boat. Walking along the quay he noticed several men with torches and lamps leading two bend old men.
One was grey in raiment and of hair, with long beard, bushy eyebrows and wrinkled yet noble face, leaning on the ashen grey staff. He had a large hat and silver scarf. Though Bard had never seen him before, he immediately recognized that this is a man of whom many tales were told. In his living memory Gandalf the Grey did not visit the town, yet many old gaffers and gammers talked about how they saw him in their childhood, listening eagerly to the tales brought from far, wide world. The Grey Wanderer, one of the mysterious wizards. Behind walked another in earthy browns with a bird sitting on his shoulder and a gnarled staff of oak. Of him often spoke the Elves from the forest, a friend of beasts, a gentle soul and one who knew nature's secrets better than anyone else: Radagast the Brown.
Bard hesitantly approached the two men and their guides and spoke:
"Welcome to Esgaroth Grey Wanderer! It's been many long years since you visited this town and even though I'm too young to remember it, you made a lasting impression on many people here!"
"Indeed?" The old man chuckled. "Usually I seem to be looked upon with scorn, herald of bad news, disturber of the peace they call me." The eyes of the wizard twinkled with amusement.
Bard grinned thinking that everyone would warm up to this fascinating man immediately.
"They say you are wise! It is fortunate that you should come to our town in this very moment, for I wish to seek your guidance!" He said, and after a brief moment asked: "If I may, what is it that brought you to us, Master Gandalf?"
Gandalf face was passive his eyes narrowed as if in deep thought. "I seek here few friends of mine, with whom I parted on the western edge of the forest. Have anyone arrived to Lake-town recently? Any…large parties of travelers round these parts where seen?" He answered finally.
Bard immediately understood. The Grey Wizard had something to do with the Dwarves and their quest!
"Yes they were here, master Gandalf. And arrived in quite unexpected circumstances! After spending here two weeks they departed to the Mountain! But it's been many days since they went!"
He added after a moment of silence, his curiosity peaked "Are you here to help them I presume? Find and rescue if necessary?"
The old man smiled and looked Bard in the eyes. It was a strange feeling for the Bowman, as if the Wizard could see right through his soul.
"We'll speak about it in detail after the audience with the Master of Lake-town! Wait here good man!" the Wizard spoke gently and followed his guides to the entrance of the hall. Radagast in silence did the same.
Interior was filled with light and warmth. The hall was huge and many people were gathered there, sitting at the tables, drinking wine and ale. Roasted venison covered in thick sauce, spread a wonderful scent. The Master sat at the gilded chair at the head of the largest table in the far side of the hall under wall. An intricate shield bearing emblems of the Lake was hanged above. The wooden chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling. In it's flickering light Gadnalf saw a fat richly clad man with a velvet bonnet on his head. His servant quickly whispered into his ear.
"It's Gandalf the Grey, Master! The wandering Wizard! He wishes an audience."
Master shuddered and shot quick glance at the announced guest.
"W-w-w-welcome in my hall, G-g-grey wanderer!" He stuttered in shock and took a gulp of wine from his fine silver cup.
Gandalf did not move nor spoke only nodded his head, taking off his hat trying not to be rude.
The Master finally regaining his wits spoke with more surety in voice.
"I-I am pleased to meet the one of whom so many tales speak! What may I do for you? Please let me show you our famed hospitality, sit with us and honor our feast with your storytelling!"
"Forgive me, o Master of this fair town but I have important matters to attend to. What I wish from you is to tell me everything about Thorin Oakenshield and his companions!" Said Gandalf, courteously but sternly. "There are many strange rumours and tales spreading far and wide! Strange lights, I have heard, were seen above the Mountain. Is that true?"
There is not much that can escape Gandalf's notice when he puts his mind to it. And so he quickly divined that Master was a cunning and manipulative sort and he heard about his greedy ways before. He might have helped Thorin's company to set out but Gandalf deeply suspected that his aid was of dubious nature and wondered whether there weren't some wickedness afoot from his side that could have in the end prove ill for the Dwarves.
On the other hand the disturbance of power that was felt far away in the south filled him with worry and pressed his actions. It was something far greater and much more dangerous than any mortal's actions. He needed to act quickly and had no time to deal with Master's possible wickedness.
"But they're gone! Few days ago and haven't returned since!" the Master spoke quickly with hint of fear. "As for the light indeed there was a great rumble and red flashes were seen, we feared that the Dragon might have issued from his lair once more, which haven't happened for a long time, but then it went quiet. Dwarves did not give any sign. There's nothing more to be told!"
Gandalf looked intensely into Master's eyes and finally sighed.
"I hoped to gain more information, from you who was their host, and kindly one I presume, but oh well!" After a moment of silence and noticing out of the corner of his eye, that Bard came in to the hall, a new idea formed in his head.
"Gracious Master of Lake-town! I have a request. I'm going towards the Mountain to search for my friends and I wish to have a guide, maybe Bard Bowman? Would you grant him leave to accompany me and Radagast?" He spoke with a smiled on his lips.
Master it seemed sighed with relief inwardly and immediately assumed a friendly face.
"But of course, good sir! Bard is a captain of archers of our town's guard but we have no pressing need of his services right now. He can go with you, we'll also provide supplies for the three of you and help in any way we can!"
"Excellent then!" Answered Gandalf and with that turned away and approached Bard, his staff pattering on the wooden floor.
The next morning the trio of Radagast, Gandalf and Bard were to set out towards the Lonely Mountain. Boats were laden with supplies and rowers prepared to take off.
Bard had his bow and quiver full of arrows, among them was also his favorite one, the Black Arrow handed down for generations and as family history told made by the King Under the Mountain himself
Radagast sat comfortably in a boat playing with tender hands with his companion bird lost in thought.
"So what now Gandalf?" He spoke. "Are we going to search the whole mountain? Do you realize that they can be dead, that the dragon could have…" He gulped nervously.
"Yes Radagast my friend." Grey Wizard interrupted him mid-sentence. "I am ready for all eventualities, but we must try to find them and help them and foremost we must explain what it was that we felt emanating from the Mountain. That's our duty!"
And they were on the road again, amid the blue waters of Long Lake gleaming in the sun of a new day.
…
In the same time when Gandalf and his two companions ventured out, in different part of the world, goblins were gathering at council in their caves. Ever since the death of Great Goblin of the Misty Mountains the hatred of their race for the dwarves had been rekindled to fury. Messengers had passed to and fro between all their cities, colonies and strongholds; for they resolved now to win the dominion of the North. Tidings they had gathered in secret ways; and in all the mountains there was a forging and an arming. Then they marched and gathered by hill and valley, going ever by tunnel or under dark, until around and beneath the great mountain Gundabad of the North, where was their capital, a vast host was assembled ready to sweep down in time of storm unawares upon the South.
High upon the slopes of Gundabad, orc-patrols and messengers were going to and fro. Armed guards were standing with torches amidst snow and ice before one the many entrances to their stronghold. Once long ago it was a delving of the dwarves, but now it's fair halls had new masters. Orcs wee hurrying inside like ants, centuries of their work reshaped much of the ancient fortress, repaired, adapted for their purposes and filled with arms. In the huge central hall with mighty pillars of stone, that in ancient past served as a place of gathering for dwarves of all Seven Houses, now arose a great inner city. Tents, shacks, drab buildings and wooden walkways were raised, new tunnels made, new stonework and masonry. The pillars served as core for new structures: staircases and multilayered platforms interconnected with many bridges.
In the far reaches of the vast chamber, under great wall carving, depicting a crown set with white gems (the only one not defiled or looted, left on a fancy of the Orc-lord) on a stone throne made by the dwarves sat now a large Orc in full armor. His head covered in dark hair raised proudly like a true king, helmet resting on knees and trusty scimitar at his side.
Fighters of personal guard armed to the teeth were standing watchfully close by. It was Bolg of the North, son of Azog, unquestionable ruler of the strongest Orc tribe and one who for that moment united all warlike clans of the Misty Mountains. On a flat stone before him a great map drawn on a tanned animal skin, was laid down for all to see. Covered in many runes and foul symbols in the manner of Orcs, it depicted lands of the North. The great chieftains from all over the mountains were also gathered there, surrounded by their own goblin soldiers with thick limbs, covered in black mail, eyeing each other suspiciously.
Bolg was squirming in his seat, he looked with annoyance on the rival chiefs. They acknowledged his authority for now, but he knew that if he won't show true strength they'll quickly turn against him. Barely several hours before messengers arrived from Goblin-town at the High Pass. The former bodyguards and people of the old lord of their cave were seething with desire for revenge. Death of their leader caused great chaos and the son of Great Goblin was but a young goblin-imp not suited to rule.
"I should throttle him before the little maggot grows up and will sprout ideas of challenging me!" Bolg mused silently. "Though for now he won't be a problem. Maybe some underground creature will eat him long before that! Heheh!" he chuckled.
Orc-children must adapt quickly otherwise their lives end up horribly. With a glee Bolg started to reminiscent his own childhood when his father Azog first became ruler of Moria and orc-holds surrounding it.
He was a strong lad, already leading his own little gang, running like wild beasts over orc-tunnels, shrieking and howling, causing mischief. He remembered well the time when Azog annoyed at the constant jabbering and yammering, gave him a serious beating after which he had to lay down for few days whimpering.
"Those were fun times!" He chuckled in thought. Bolg remembered well the War with Dwarves and though still a youngster he made his mark in the fighting.
"The dwarves will pay for death of my father! They'll pay dearly!" He thought menacingly.
Other memories filled him with nostalgia.
At times he, as a wee lad, would venture out into little used corners, caves and caverns seeking for dark things. He was brave enough to dare exploring in the darkness discovering underground lakes and streams.
There are strange things living in the pools and lakes in the hearts of mountains: fish whose fathers swam in, goodness only knows how many years ago, and never swam out again, while their eyes grew bigger and bigger and bigger from trying to see in the blackness; also there are other things more slimy than fish. Even in the tunnels and caves the goblins have made for themselves there are other things living unbeknown to them that have sneaked in from outside to lie up in the dark. Some of these caves, too, go back in their beginnings to ages before the goblins, who only widened them and joined them up with passages, and the original owners are still there in odd corners, slinking and nosing about.
Among the many creatures, natural dwellers of caves, like insects and snakes and ordinary bats there were also more dangerous ones. Huge black bats that could also be found in dark forest of Mirkwood, larger and more malicious than any, feasting on blood of all living things. Those great bats were already roused and Orcs prepared to drive them, swarming like locusts on their great raid. In numbers they could pose danger even to large battle-hardened warriors, but now they would serve his goals.
Coming out of his reverie, Bolg looked over his kingdom. The excitement of goblins was visible, though it was but a calm before the storm. All over the place Orcs were finishing last preparations, some already bickering and bargaining about their future share of plunder.
Orc-women and male healers were brewing potions, poisons and salves, while warriors were training in pit fights. Others were watching the spectacle, laughing, drinking and betting on the outcome. In the meantime gathered chiefs were discussing routes, points of interest, engaging in furthering their own rivalries and listening to the reports of newly arrived messengers.
Cooks were preparing a great feast. The smell of roasted meat made Bolg's stomach rumble.
Pleasant thought about impending meal was interrupted by approach of one of Bolg's servants.
"O truly tremendous one!" He called bowing waiting for lord's reaction.
"Speak quickly! What news?" asked Bolg with annoyance.
"The Great Eagles have been sighted, sire. It seems they are flying all over the area in increased numbers!" messenger's voice was shaking while he cowered in fear.
"Cursed feathered fiends!" roared Bolg in answer. "One day I shall roast those birds! Have they detected our movements?"
"I cannot say, my lord! We can't track them over the skies! There's no way to be sure, but for certain they flew around the peaks immediately south of Gundabad, where the entrances to the tunnels are." answered frightened goblin in whimpering voice.
"Don't make any lame excuses! Double the guards in the dale before the mountain, burn watch-fires all night if need be! Companies of archers on the high ground, especially all over the precipices of the mountain side!" barked Bolg issuing orders with finality in his voice.
"If they'll decide to attack us, our troops must answer with full force! Do you understand?! Shoot them down if you are able, at all cost! If you maggots fail, then I'll rip off your skin and wear your ears as a necklace!"
"It will be done master!" uttered the terrified Orc and hastened to comply with his master's wishes.
Eagles are not kindly birds. Some are cowardly and cruel. But the ancient race of the northern mountains were the greatest of all birds; they were proud and strong and noble-hearted. They did not love goblins, or fear them. When they took any notice of them at all (which was seldom, for they did not eat such creatures ), they swooped on them and drove them shrieking back to their caves, and stopped whatever wickedness they were doing. The goblins hated the eagles and feared them, but could not reach their lofty seats, or drive them from the mountains. No wonder then that the news of those creatures disturbed the leader at the brink of the great war campaign.
After departure of the servant, Bolg turned his full attention towards the remaining chiefs gathered around him. They all looked on him expectedly, barely making any noise at all.
"Now, you tell me! How many Wargs have answered our call?" he asked impatiently tapping his clawed fingers on the stone.
All the packs from the Northlands it seems!" said one. "Among them even the legendary Warg-chief Wolgar, it is said, he brought all his followers to you…my lord!"
A murmur arose among the gathered Orcs. Terrifying tales have been told about that one. Some said he was the mightiest and oldest of all Wargs, others said he wasn't actually a true Warg, but a related, though much more powerful and formidable, creature. A great Werewolf, like those of the Elder Days in the Land of Beleriand that now rested beneath the waves.
"Good!" laughed Bolg in delight. "He's a strong one, ahh yes! That is good news! If at least half of the stories are true, the host of Wargs under his command will be more terrible then ever. The unsuspecting filthy scum Men, Dwarves and Elves will discover this first hand, when a mighty wolf will tear them apart and scatter their entrails all over the battlefield. Hahaha!"
In his mirth Bolg, now felt even stronger and amused himself thinking what will he do when the lands of the North will be subjugated under his rule. The best loot and food would be flowing for him like river and ever new slaves to work for him undeground!
…
In the same time on the outside a cold wind was blowing and a sudden snowfall begun to trouble the stationed guards. Several of them stood with torches looking on the valley below. From a high cliff the view was encompassing whole area. There were thousands of lights out there, in the largest gathering these lands have seen for centuries. The howls of wolves rended the air, harsh orc-voices were a clamour echoing among the rocks. A huge camp was quickly assembled with countless tents, fires and banners floating on the wind.
Suddenly a great flash of white light appeared before the startled guards. Some covered their eyes and fell to the ground in fear, others awestruck stood in place as if turned to stone. One of the braver ones, the captain of the watch, approached with raised weapon hissing. Mustering their courage several more soldiers followed.
"What is it!?" screeched one looking at commander and eyeing the strange light with hate and suspicion.
"An Elvish trickery!" shouted another in enraged tone.
"Enough blabbering!" shouted the captain of watch. "Now let's see.." with those words he stooped low, took a stone and threw it towards the sphere of light. The rock passed through and disappeared. Shouts of fear and wonder were raised.
"We must notify the chieftain immediately! He'll know what to do about this devilry!" shouted watch-captain and without further delay, sent a speedy messenger to the entrance.
Bolg and other leaders were in the middle of the long awaited meal when a terrified messenger appeared. Quickly he recounted the strange event. Bolg himself came forth, passing the long tunnels and passages, his bodyguards close by in case it was just a trick of a rival to put him in vulnerable position. A great crowd of Orcs followed. Issuing out the carved entrance at the high gentle slope they reached the crevice overlooking the valley. Already many more goblin soldiers came about, but they retained safe distance from the strange light. Some bold enough were amusing themselves throwing more rocks and watching them disappear in flash, hooting and shouting excitedly.
"What's this all about!" roared Bolg, but when his eyes lied upon the phenomenon he blinked confused.
"It's like a hole in the sky, Master!" shouted watch-captain. "We spotted it first! This is some cursed light, bright enough to hurt our eyes, and it's hovering in thin air! We don't know what it is, but I wager it's some sorcery at work here!"
"Sorcery?!" Exclaimed Bolg with worried expression. This was unexpected and very troubling.
"Anything that passes through disappears!" the Orc continued.
"What do you mean disappears?!" shouted Bolg, his irritation growing. He didn't know what to do in that weird situation, his discomfort was growing.
"Well it just…vanishes my lord! Anything really: rocks, thrown spears, arrows!"
"Nothing can just disappear! It's a trick that deceives our eyes!" spat out Bolg in voice full of conviction.
"What should we do with it?" asked other goblins. "Maybe we should throw there someone!" jeered others.
"Wait!" laughed Bolg. "That is actually a good idea. Scouts! Yes, we'll sent scouts into it! If things disappear in there they MUST go somewhere! Call Azdush, he's the best of my trackers, hunters and slave drivers! This accursed…thing must be investigated!" He ended sternly.
Other chief holding large, round shield laughed in mocking tone. "What? Hunter, tracker and slave driver, all in one?! Is he also a cook?"
Bolg turned towards the other chieftain and spoke with evil grin. "Maybe you think you're better for the job? Azdush is very resourceful and have done many tasks for me and emerged victorious from many battles. He also perfected the art of using the whip to a, hehe…new level." After pausing for a moment he added turning to his followers. "Find the rascal whenever he is!"
….
Azdush was walking around the caverns and halls. He was a large Orc clad in black mail and cloak, an impressive collection of knives hung at his belt, a whip rested in his hand. His face was crossed by a long scar. All around him Orcs and the miserable slaves, Men taken in raids, were toiling to ensure that the forces that were soon to march forth, were well equipped. With a grin Azdush looked at one female Orc with long shaggy hair, brewing a potion. He approached casually and stared at her intently.
"Wanna taste a whip from my hand?" He asked teasingly. "I bet you'd love that, my sweet!"
She sneered in answer baring her fangs in a hiss. In the next moment, in a move too quick for him to react, she snatched a filled flask and threw it into the male Orc's face with full force. Azdush cursed silently, but before he could take retribution the summons of his master was delivered to him. Minutes later he stood before Bolg and a crowd gathered outside, looking with disbelief on the scene before him.
"So…this is the 'trusted' servant for special tasks. Hmm? So far I'm not impressed!" said the chief from Mount Gram with contempt. "My lads will do better than that wimp!"
Bolg only nodded his head. With a blinding speed Azdush cracked the whip and flung it around the neck of arrogant chief bringing him down to the ground in one vicious pull. Orcs jeered as the furious chief was catching his breath on all fours.
"I think he'll take care of any mission I decide to entrust him with!" laughed Bolg.
And, as it was ordered by the leader, a large troop of goblins under command of Azdush hesitantly prepared to enter the vortex of light. But before they could step in, a howling of wolves was heard. All faces turned towards the sound and a large pack of Wargs appeared coming up the slope pouncing and capering about in the snow. Soon the red glowing eyes of Wargs gathered before lines of Orcs. A huge wolf-like creature leading them was larger than the rest and heavier in build. It's brown fur was tipped with silver, here and there it's hide showed signs of previous wounds, scars of the past struggles. Bolg immediately recognized, it was legendary Wolgar, a mighty beast old in evil, dreadful lord of wolves whose eyes were filled with malice and evil intellect.
"I welcome you, Wolgar! My strongest ally of all your kind!" said Bolg in greeting. Then he repeated it in dreadful language of Wargs. It was strange tongue full of growling and yelping sounds. The creature answered in kind and then lengthy conversation followed. Finally the wolf-talk stopped and Bolg announced to all gathered.
"It seems news travel fast! The venerable chief-wolf heard of this strange happenings with the light orb and our decision to study it" (here he glimpsed with hint of fear on it) "And what's more he wishes to go with his pack with our lads!"
An astounded murmur arose. Other chiefs were whispering among themselves. After the initial reaction calmed down Bolg continued.
"I think that I'll agree to this! It's a wise decision, though we'll sent our best to the unknown I'm sure that in this way we'll be able to fully understand this strange phenomenon and..'' He did not had the chance to finish his long winded sentence when another voice was raised in defiance.
"And what if we sent our boys for certain death!" shouted chief of Mount Gram still rubbing his neck. "This is pure sorcery! It can well be a doom for whoever tries to pass through it! Nar! I say let's just leave it right here, the light appeared out of nowhere so it can very well disappear to rids us of trouble!" Supporting voices expressed their approval. Bolg looked around with anger building inside him. The crowd started to bicker and with each passing moment a greater uproar was ensuing.
"Shut it! You globs, I'm here the one to decide, not you!" gasped Bolg in fury. His bodyguards at a signal stepped forward with swords drawn and the whole crowd stepped away in fear, the clamor stopped short as if cut with a knife. Azdush and his group not waiting for order approached the Wargs and quickly set up a deal, a great number of wolves allowed themselves to be ridden while remaining Orcs who were to march on their own feet went back to the mountain halls for leather saddles that were customary for Wolf Riders. Wolgar and Azdush already settled the matter of command and now waited for Bolg to give his approval.
One hundred and twenty soldiers, armed to the teeth some mounted on great Wargs, proceeded to meet the unknown that awaited them on the other side. Bolg gave a signal and they stepped over the blinding portal to emerge to a new place.
….
Dwarves are hardy folk in work and travel, but the deadly pace Thorin now set for the party, was wearing them down quickly. Their glittering mail they had covered again with their old cloaks and their bright helms with their tattered hoods, and one by one they walked behind Thorin.
Bilbo had trouble to keep up and he probably would have collapsed from exhaustion if not the helpful hand of Dori. Though grumpy he was decent fellow and allowed hobbit again to stride his back. The wisp of smoke turned out to be coming from remnants of a fire in what looked like traveller's camp. Yet they found no sign of the owners.
"They must have moved on, whoever they were." Said Thorin with thoughtful expression. "No matter. We'll follow in that direction!" he added pointing south-east. Indeed it seemed that they could recognize the trail of horse hooves leading in that way. They soon encountered a beaten path, a road that led from north to south, but something warned them not to use it. They went cross country instead.
Days passed and the landscape started to change. They saw a hill covered in strange plants.
"They looked like desert cacti!" said Ori with excitement. Traveling dwarves from the East often spoke of the barren deserts far away, beyond grassy plains and unexplored forests amid countries of Rhun. From those few that ever reached Eriador, Ori eagerly gathered tidings of the events and lands themselves. After three more hours, in the gathering gloom of evening, before their eyes now twinkled lights of a settlement.
"Do you think we should, enter and ask about a way?" proposed Fili hesitantly. "So far we did not encounter any people around here, and searching for those who were camping at that fireplace is a waste of time, they could be long gone by now. Maybe it's time to finally make sense out of everything and get to know WHERE exactly are we!" He added with urgency giving a meaningful look towards Thorin.
Dwarf leader pondered for a moment.
"No! I think we.." But he did not have the chance to finish when a shout of Bilbo drawn all of their attention.
"There's another camp nearby! Look!" He pointed. Indeed to the south there was it again a smoke and flicker of light of burning fire.
Dwarves their curiosity peaked decided to investigate. The was a great sandstone formation and some bushes surrounding a small ravine before them. Soon they came near as silently as they could (Bilbo again shook his head annoyed by heavy thud of dwarvish boots) and saw two figures about the fireplace. They looked like young boys from race of Men, clothed simply in travel stained clothes. Two horses stood further away, near the fire itself they noticed a lying shape, another person who seemed to be sleeping, but who it was they were not able to make out in this light.
Dwarves realized with dismay that though many words were perfectly understood by them, some were nothing short of incomprehensible babble to their ears. The observed persons sheltered in the small ravine spoke with quite different accents which wasn't that unusual as there were also many dialects of westron in Middle Earth. These were overall just different styles of the same speech.
Strangely though it seemed that current subjects of dwarven company's curiosity were partly speaking with elements of some other, unknown tongue. Yet those words they could not decipher in fact brought associations with similar words that of the Common Tongue, just with mangled pronunciation, beyond their understanding. Surprisingly the general meaning of the conversation could be deciphered in scraps. It told the company something about escape, danger and hiding.
Ori intently wrote in his journal visibly fascinated.
"It's amazing!" He whispered. "They speak some dialect related to adunaic which is the basis of the Common Tongue. But in the same time it's devoid of elvish roots as if it was some older version of westron from before the changes brought by sindarin's influence from the time when it was forming in the beginning of the numenorean realms on our shores!"
Dwalin frowned and visibly irritated asked:
"They speak the what?! Speak plainly yourself! Now I don't understand you, for a change!"
Ori sighed and shook his head.
"I'm saying that there is no refinement of the elven tongue in their words…Incredible! This is just priceless knowledge for a linguist. Phonetics, grammar it's all there! Straight from the pure version of high tongue of Numenor but with some unknown variety! I had to spend some time to study it and we will be able to communicate easily. The basics appear to be the same, and vocabulary is similar enough, so for the most part we can understand the sense of some words! Certain oddities in speech are due to the changes in grammar and phonetics caused by lack of elvish influence so for us their manner of speech might seem strange!"
Dwalin grumbled angrily and whispered.
"I still don't know what you 're talking about. You were supposed to explain it to me, not complicate more!"
Ori only snorted and uttered a biting remark.
"Now the presence of a scholar in our company seems more pleasant, eh?"
Thorin cleared his throat, looked with anger on Dwalin, silencing his retort and nodded with approval in Ori's direction.
"Well, I'm really impressed Ori! It's good to have you among us after all!" the leader's words were full of appreciation which peaked Ori's self-esteem.
"So how do we approach them?" asked Balin in concerned voice. "Will they not be alarmed or even feel threatened seeing the lot of us speaking differently and clad like for war?"
"I say we first sent Ori in with a companion or two!" whispered Gloin impatiently. "We'll see how they react and proceed from there as situation will dictate!"
Thorin seemed to be lost in thought then suddenly he made his decision.
"Ori, Bilbo and Balin will go to them! Make good impression. If everything will be alright give us a sign and we will follow. In case they turn out to be a danger to us we will be able to help you immediately."
And so it was, Bilbo took a deep breath and followed the two dwarves.
Notes: Part of description of Lake-town, of Orcs mustering for war and other fragments are taken straight from The Hobbit , part of the design of the interior of mount Gundabad is taken from game Lotr: War in the North, simply because I liked how it looked hehe.