What Peace Brings
AN: Sorry about the late update, I had to get my passport filled out and turned in, and then I had to do laundry and get ready to head back to college tomorrow, and then my family and I went to see Oz, the Great and Powerful, which was pretty good, if cheesy. I'm really tired, so if there are any mistakes, please forgive my tired aching brain. -.-
Chapter 7
Thorin Oakenshield stood on the balcony of the royal chambers, dressed in the deep blues of his family and his long fur cloak. The air was brisk and brought with it an awakening chill, just what the dwarf king needed at the beginning of a long day listening to the complaints and moans of the various dwarrows of his kingdom. Months after he had reclaimed his homeland, the reconstruction of Erebor was still very much underway. Though the trade agreements with the men of Dale and those blasted elves were certainly doing much for the area's revival.
He had another meeting with the elf king and his son that day, and he wasn't sure his health was benefitting at all from these poor excuses for negotiations (though they were clearly getting the job done). Thranduil took every available opportunity to needle at Thorin, delighting in making thinly veiled insults and sometimes blatant references to one Bilbo Baggins.
The dwarf's large hands gripped the stone banister fiercely, feeling the now familiar boiling sensation within his stomach at the mere mention of the hobbit's name. There had not yet been a day when Bilbo Baggins had not been a central thought in Thorin's mind. Not a night that he had not fallen asleep looking at the empty place on the other side of his enormous bed with emotion choking his lungs. Not a morning when he did not awake with his name on his lips.
The morning that Thorin had stood on the outer balcony of Erebor, hidden in the shade of a stone column, and had watched Bilbo leave with Gandalf, banished at his own hand had been the beginning of sanity's return to the dwarf's mind. Only now, aided by sanity and hindsight, could Thorin see the madness that had superseded his thoughts, his mind, his heart. He had watched his grandfather suffer it, watched him turn his back on his family and his people, enamored by the mountains of gold and the magnificence of the Arkenstone, and when Smaug the Terrible descended on the mountain, Thorin had been forced to pull his grandfather and king from their home, not for the memories, the family members still trapped inside, but for the heart stone of the mountain.
He had known, but he had believed himself above it, strong enough to withstand it. And yet, Thorin had proved otherwise. And because of this, he had lost the greatest treasure he had ever known. The love he had shared with his hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.
He had hid his feelings from all around him, hidden from Balin, Kili, Fili, Dis, and the other members of the company. Hidden from himself. For the longest time after Bilbo's initial departure, Thorin had continued with his furious outrage and claims of betrayal, though in the back of his mind, a voice cried out in regret. As the days passed, that voice had become louder and louder, until Thorin finally realized it was his own.
It was not a continued sense of betrayal or self-righteous anger that kept the dwarf king from following after his hobbit. No, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he had valued a glorified rock over his company, his friends, and his family. Ashamed that he had lost sight of the true reason that he had wanted to reclaim Erebor, as a home for his people, not a treasure hoard. Ashamed that he had banished the one being who had loved him for all his faults, who had loved him when he had nothing but a sword and oaken shield to his name. Ashamed that he had betrayed Bilbo and the promises he had made that night they had consummated their love.
He was also afraid. After everything that Bilbo had endured for a group of near strangers, for a cause that had nothing to do with him or his life, Thorin had tossed him out of Erebor like a dog, without a single coin of the treasure that was by rights his and without a single friend, with the exception of the wizard, to accompany him. He had not even allowed him to see his nephews, who had been heavily injured and still in fatal conditions at the time. He had not seen him out himself, believing that a king was above the dismissal of betrayers.
Looking back, Thorin realized he had been a coward.
He still was, really. An unworthy king for his people. He was so afraid that were he to go to the Shire, to beg for his hobbit's forgiveness, that Bilbo would turn him away. Thorin would not blame him in the least. He deserved it, deserved to suffer alone as he had made Bilbo suffer. He did not deserve Bilbo's heart, as he had proven he was incapable of treating him with the reverence he deserved.
Stubborn Pride kept him standing in front of his people, organizing the reconstruction and ordering around the returning dwarrow royalty. Pride that kept him silent when Bilbo's name was brought up in conversation.
He carried no happiness with him. Thorin had not felt true joy since before Erebor's reclamation, since the gold sickness had infested his mind. Since he had forced his lover from his arms, burdened with the many insults and cruelties that Thorin had heaped on him. He had felt relief at the recovery of his nephews, but that had been the last bright emotion to lighten the king's long, wearisome days.
As the days became longer and longer still, Thorin realized that it could not continue.
"Uncle."
Thorin turned to watch his nephew come into his rooms, not a care in the world for propriety. He wore the same deep blue shirt that his uncle wore, lined in a fashioned of intertwined silver thread bands along the collar and hem. Fili chose not to wear a fur cloak and instead wore black trousers and fur boots, his sword locked around his hip. His golden hair and beard were intricately braided with the finest beads to be found in the royal treasury. Thorin himself had kept his beard shorn to the same length as before the journey, still believing himself unworthy of such an honor.
Fili had recently taken over Balin's position in the negotiations with the elves, which was in actuality making the treaties with Prince Legolas and working together to prevent their kings from tearing at the other's throat. Fili wasn't nearly as good as Balin was in the subtle ways of politics, but he was fairing much better than his uncle, who had to constantly restrain himself while Thranduil leveled subtle jabs at him every second.
"It's about time to head down to the war room for our meeting with the elf king and the prince." He said this with all the excitement of one attending a funeral or a particularly lengthy session of watching rocks fall from the mountain's side.
Thorin grunted at this but shuffled over to where his nephew stood by the door, opening a letter he'd pulled from under his arm.
"A letter came from Balin," he murmured, reading through with an expression of increasing confusion. Thorin, who was gathering the papers necessary for the meeting, looked over curiously.
"What does he say?"
Fili didn't reply for a moment, reading over a part of the letter and shaking his head. "Apparently, Kili has caught a nasty disease on their way over, and they are prolonging their stay to suit his recovery."
"What?" Thorin said incredulously. "Kili hasn't been sick with anything since he was a dwarfling. Does it say anything else?" He had gathered up all the papers into a messy stack to be carried in his arms and was standing beside Fili with an eyebrow raised.
"No, just that his condition is not serious but is concerning enough that they will be staying for at least a couple more days." Fili looked up at his uncle, a bit worried about his brother. "Should I ride off and check on him?"
Thorin thought about it seriously for a few seconds, rather wanting to ride out himself, but he shook his head.
"If Balin is sure he will be fine, then I believe his word. Besides," He continued reluctantly, "The House of Elrond has some of the best healers in Middle Earth. He'll be back in fighting form in no time at all."
Fili nodded absently, his brow still furrowed, and he placed the letter back in his pocket. The prince reached forward and unburdened his uncle of the documents, heading toward the door with tired look on his handsome face.
"We must be off then. We're probably late as it is, but this might go faster if we do not keep them waiting like yesterday." He threw his uncle an accusing look at this, who gave him an unrepentant stare back.
"Damn elves…"Thorin muttered quietly.
"There's another letter from Rivendell, Uncle." Fili called from the doorway to his uncle, who was enjoying breakfast with his sister and Fili and Kili's mother Dis in the royal dining hall.
Thorin looked up as his nephew made his way to the seat on his left, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Are they on their way back?
"No. It says that Ori caught whatever disease Kili had, and they must delay there return for another few days." His nephew looked up at them with wide, incredulous blue eyes. "What on middle earth is going on at Rivendell? An epidemic?"
Thorin reached for the letter himself and, quickly reading through its contents, found his own curiosity rising. Dwarrows are a notoriously hardy race, immune to most illnesses and ailments. That two young, healthy dwarves fresh out of their dwarfling years caught some form of illness was incredible. Also extremely rare…and unlikely.
He put down the letter and returned to his breakfast, his eyes thoughtful. Dis snatched it up to read as well and then shared a look with her son across the table.
"Were it not Balin, I might suspect this to be a lie, but…" Dis hesitated and frowned down at her eggs and biscuits. "This is strange indeed."
The dwarf princess looked a great deal like her brother, except for her fine cheekbones and long, detailed beard that trailed over her ample chest. She wore a deep grey dress that day, causing her blue eyes to seem of the same color. Her long black hair trailed down her back in braids as well, though her own was not streaked with fine silver like Thorin's. She was called the most beautiful of the dwarf maidens and also the fiercest. She had learned the way of the sword and axe alongside her brother, and she was not bashful about shoving the business end of either up a few asses to have her will be done.
"On the contrary," Fili replied. "I believe that if this is a smokescreen, Balin's the most likely to be behind it. Kili's excuses would be either stupid or completely out of the realm of possibility, and Ori—well, Ori would never lie to Uncle Thorin, even in a letter." He began to fill a plate of his own with breakfast, smirking up at his mother and uncle. "Plus, Balin's a sneaky old bastard when he wants to be."
That was also true, Thorin acknowledged wryly. Still…
"At any rate, we have other more pressing matters," Thorin began with a huff of agitation. "Largely, these ongoing treaties with the elves! This should have ended before Balin left for Rivendell."
"I know," Fili agreed with a mutual growl of aggravation. "They keep finding little things to pick at and discuss, like that meeting earlier this week where we had to hash out the precise exchangements of the specific types of wheat and grains. It's ridiculous! It's like they're trying to draw out these meetings as long as possible!"
Thorin and Dis both paused at that and shared a look. Was it possible the elves were biding their time, waiting for something else to happen? Possibly. Considering the fuss that the elves had kicked up originally at the meetings taking place within Erebor, one would think they would want these meetings to finish quickly, if only to leave and disdain the dwarrows from a distance. What they could possibly be waiting for though, Thorin could only guess at.
"Well, the next meeting started a couple minutes ago. I came here to fetch you for it." Fili said around a mouthful of eggs.
"Let them wait." He grinned from around his goblet.
"Okay, this is becoming ridiculous," Fili shouted as he strode into his uncle's rooms a few days later.
"Are the Gunderson's petitioning for the rights to half the land under Dale again?" Thorin asked wearily over his shoulder from where he sat at his desk.
"No, but that's equally ridiculous, and if they do it again, I'll shove my sword—No, no, another letter arrived from Rivendell. This time, it's saying that Balin fell down a few stairs on his way to the courtyard and broke his bloody leg!" The disheveled prince threw himself into an armchair next to the desk and shook the letter violently.
"They're stalling," Fili repeated something Thorin had been suspecting since the third letter claimed that Kili had somehow managed to shoot Ori with an arrow, and the younger dwarf's wound had become infected.
"We'll have to discuss this later. I'm at the end of my sword with these damn treaty meetings. What does it matter what kind of soil the precious elf plants will be growing in once they are moved to the fields around Dale? They can grow in horse shit, for all I care!"
"I don't have a clue. I just want to crawl back in bed and pretend I'm a comatose patient for the rest of my life." Fili moaned, the crook of his arm cushioning his head, which was quickly developing a headache.
"Let's just get this over with."
The meeting turned out to be the worst Fili had ever been forced to endure. Thranduil's constant insults and jabs at dwarven intelligence was driving Fili and Thorin up the wall. Disregarding Legolas' continuous attempts to take charge of the conversation from his father, Thranduil dominated over the meeting, going on and on about the agriculture process and what was needed.
Then he pulled Bilbo into it.
"I remember talking with a very knowledgeable creature before the beginning of the great battle, now who was that, I wonder?" Thranduil spoke with a quiet sinister voice, a small smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. "Ah, yes, the hobbit, now I remember. Very knowledgeable, indeed. He knew a great deal about the soil and the proper maintenance of such things. I imagine the hobbit must have had many opportunities to investigate matters of the plants and vegetation, living in a hole as he did." The elf king shuddered dramatically, but there was amusement in his cold eyes at the dwarrows' reactions to his implications about Bilbo's life and home.
"My King," Legolas tried to censure his father, weariness and frustration wrinkling his brow and tightening his mouth.
The silver goblet in Thorin's hands began to develop tiny, hairline fractures from the force now crushing it in its grip.
"Such an unsavory thought, though I confess I was curious about the little creature. The hobbit himself seemed very concerned with hygiene and proper appearances, but he was in the presence of kings, so the hobbit was consequently influenced, I imagine. The hobbit—"
"His name is Bilbo Baggins," Thorin roared suddenly, standing up so forcefully that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. "How dare you say such things about him? You knew nothing about him! He is worth more than a thousand of you thrice-bedamned tree-loving bastards!"
"Uncle!" Fili shouted, shocked at Thorin's outburst but actually pleased in the face of his rage. He had not displayed such emotion for months.
"Bilbo Baggins is the only reason these damn meetings are even taking place!" Thorin growled, his voice thundering over his nephew's protestation.
"Is he now?" Thranduil interrupted, not deigning to rise to his feet to face the enraged dwarf king. He fixed Thorin with a piercing, mocking stare. "Where is he, then? Bring forth Bilbo Baggins, if he is the only reason these treaties are being written."
The silence was nearly deafening. Thorin shook with fury, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Everyone else in the room seemed frozen in time at the cataclysmic event that was about to unfold. Bilbo's banishment had been the giant taboo of the kingdom since it had first been enacted.
Thranduil leaned back in his seat, appearing at ease, but the glint in his eyes meant this was not the end.
"Ah, that's right," He drawled, folding his hands carelessly in his lap. "You banished him from the kingdom, did you not? For giving away the pretty rock that sat above the throne." He sighed dramatically at this, though his condescending eyes never left that of the dwarf king's. "I imagine he's made it back to his lands now. The hobbit, finally returned to his rightful place. To his hole in the earth. With nothing to show for his adventures. Full of regret…pitiful…and alone." He smiled cruelly. "Any of that sounding familiar, King under the Mountain?"
Fili doubted he had ever moved as fast as he did then, throwing his thickly muscled arms locked around his uncle's torso as the enraged dwarf lunged across the table, hands outstretched to throttle the elf king.
"Dwalin! A little help, please!" Fili shouted, attempting to haul Thorin away from the round table, but even with his war wounds still recovering Thorin nearly overpowered his nephew.
Dwalin grunted, seeming to want to watch his king give the damned elf king what was rightfully coming to him, but he stepped in anyway, strong-arming his friend and leading him forcefully out of the room, smirking with pleasure at the filthy insults flying from Thorin's mouth at Thranduil.
Fili caught his breath as he watched his uncle disappear behind the doors of the meeting room before he returned his attention to the elves. Legolas was arguing fiercely with his father, though his words were masked from Fili in the elvish tongue. Thranduil merely waved away his son's chastisements, rising from his chair regally and exiting through the door on their side of the hall from whence they'd come, having every air of one who has accomplished what he had set out to do that morning.
Legolas did not follow him, choosing to turn to Fili with an anxious face.
"I cannot even begin to apologize for my father's actions today. Prince Fili, I—"
"It's fine, Prince Legolas." The dwarf prince replied shortly, still a little shocked at what had happened there. As the events caught up with him, Fili turned toward the door his uncle had been dragged through, eager to watch more of the uncle he had grown up with and missed so much in the past few months.
"But Prince Fili—" Legolas shouted after him, most likely wanting to fix the damage his father and king had wrought upon the proceedings.
"I'm saying that amends will not need to be made in the future," Fili said rather coldly as he stopped to look at the elf prince. "The things he said…There will be turnabout coming. I'd prepare for that, if I were you, Prince."
Then he strode out of the room, leaving the elf prince to his worries and following after his own.
He reached his uncle's rooms as quickly as he could, the war room being not to far away from the royal apartments. The doors were thrown wide open, and the sound of things glass and otherwise being thrown about the room in fury could be heard from down the hall. When he reached the premises, the first thing Fili noticed was Dwalin standing next to the door, a nasty cut bleeding sluggishly on his forehead. He gave Fili an exasperated look upon his noticing the prince before his gaze returned to that of his king's raging form.
Thorin's rooms were a chaotic mess. Sheets laid torn about the floor, pillows and seat cushions in tatters. The bookshelf that had stood along the edge of the right wall was now in splinters on the floor, books and papers scattered everywhere. The doors to Thorin's balcony that had held beautifully crafted glass windows, carved in the Durin crest, lay in sharp jagged pieces along the stone floor.
Thorin sat upon the destroyed bed, his face in his hands and his long black hair streaked with silver falling around his knees. The only sound to be heard in the room was that of his uncle's harsh breaths. When those died down, Fili carefully began to speak.
"…Uncle?" He asked tentatively.
Thorin did not reply for a moment, and Fili shifted nervously, glancing back at Dwalin's face, as unreadable as though it were made from stone.
"Pack your bags." Thorin said, suddenly standing up from the bed and crossing over to the balcony, uncaring of the glass shards he stepped on.
"Uncle?" Fili questioned rather stupidly, wondering if his uncle had perhaps blown an artery in his brain in his anger and caused himself massive head injury.
"We leave at dawn. Alert your mother that she will be in charge of Erebor during my absence." Thorin's voice was rough due to his bellowing insult at the elves. He did not turn away from the balcony, looking steadfastly out into the western sky.
"And where, exactly, are we headed, my King?" Fili continued staring at his uncle wonderingly.
"Rivendell, first. To pick up your idiotic brother."
Fili stilled. "And then?"
Thorin did not reply for a moment, but he turned around to face his nephew, a familiar determination in his eyes.
"Then I have a journey of my own to make."
That was all he said, but it had been enough. Fili sprinted from the room, a smile on his face as he dashed through the halls of his home, making a beeline for his mother's suites. He reached her doors, threw them open dramatically, and jumped inside, nearly catapulting over a lounge chair near the entrance to Dis' sitting rooms.
His mother had been relaxing in a chair by the window, a book in her hands. She looked up unsurprised as her son crashed into her room and gave her such a wide smile that she huffed amusedly. It only took that smile on her son's face for her to realize what had happened.
"Finally." Dis grinned.
Thanks for reading...so sleepy...-.-
