Chapter 11, everyone!
One day late with the update, but I hope the chapter will be worth the slight wait.
Thanks to all readers, followers, favourites and reviewers! I really appreciate all of your support!
I do not own any characters or places; J.R.R Tolkien or Peter Jackson and Co do.
Enjoy!
Chapter 11: Day 3 – Gandalf
"Mister Gandalf! Mister Gandalf!"
Gandalf awoke with a start at Dori's slightly hysterical voice. He muttered a curse at his arm, which was still bandaged and could ache at any moment. The Wizard could not remember having slept, but in his simple bed he awoke. Quickly, he was on his feet and wrapped his silver scarf around his neck and then grabbed his staff and hurried out of the tent.
Dori was outside. He looked healthy apart from a few bruises, but his face was set in an expression of grief and Gandalf feared the worst.
"What is it, Master Dwarf? Speak quickly!"
"It's Thorin", explained Dori in a shaky voice. "He is dying."
Gandalf blinked. Then he said slowly, more to himself than to Dori:
"So he will die."
It saddened him, but he was surprised that he had hold out as long as he had. He had gotten some nasty wounds from the battle when he was attacked by a group of Goblins not even his nephews and friends could protect him from.
He hurried towards Thorin's tent as quickly as his old legs let him. Dori was at his side, the silver-haired Dwarf running to keep up with him. Many hurried out of their way as Gandalf approached like a stormy cloud to fall down on them all. Outside Thorin's tent stood many of his Company, all looking ashen-faced and talking to each other in voices that they tried to keep hushed but rose with worry and anxiety. They all looked to Gandalf as he and Dori arrived. Hope entered many of their eyes, but Gandalf doubted that he could prove himself worthy of it. He barely managed a smile for them, though he knew that was a small comfort for these Dwarves who had followed Thorin Oakenshield through many perils and a few of them had followed him all their lives.
"How is he?" asked Gandalf, directing the question to whoever had the answer.
It was Óin who answered, pushing away the flaps of the tent and looking grim.
"He's in there", said the healer as if Gandalf did not already know that. "It is critical."
Gandalf let out a long sigh that was drowned by the upset talking of the Company. Óin stepped aside to answer their questions and Gandalf entered the tent. It had changed little since he had been there before, though Thorin looked worse than he had then. His face was sweaty, his eyes feverish and his strong jaw firmly set.
"All hail Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór", offered Gandalf as a greeting as he stepped inside and let the cloth fall from his hand to hide them from the outer world.
Thorin blinked and nodded to him.
"Gandalf."
He indicated with another nod that Gandalf should sit down in the chair that stood next to the bed. It looked like a chair used to have occupants.
"How are you faring, Thorin?" asked Gandalf gravely, his old eyes looking the Dwarf over.
It was a silly question – Gandalf could see that he did not look well – but it was a question needed to be asked. Thorin grunted, smiling crookedly.
"Óin says that it does not look too good", he admitted. He gingerly put a hand to his midriff. "Some of the wounds opened during the night and I…. did not call for the healers."
At that confession, Gandalf frowned, but he did not speak of it, for he guessed that the King had had a lot on his mind during the night and might even feel that he deserved the pain. Gandalf did not doubt that the news of his nephews' deaths had struck him hard and painful, perhaps more painful than his wounds. Gandalf stroked his moustache as he came to think of something else.
"What do the Elven healers say?" he wanted to know.
Thorin let out a snort.
"I rather die than let one of them look me over", he said and swallowed thickly. "What respect would my people have for me, their King, if I had to rely on Elven herbs and tricks to grow stronger and to rule? No…. no Elves…."
"Oh, the stubbornness of Dwarves!" exclaimed Gandalf and stomped his foot in his annoyance and sorrow. "And what do you expect me to do, hm? Would my tricks, as you put it, be acceptable?"
"No", said Thorin and squinted up at Gandalf through narrow eyes. He smiled, though it looked to cause him pain. "I did not send for you. At least not so you would heal me."
Gandalf frowned, his bushy brows appearing to be one under the brim of his hat. He looked around the tent and his eyes found Dwalin near the entrance of the tent, always being Thorin's shadow. Gandalf realized how desperate the Dwarf must be if he was prepared to lay aside his suspicion of magic to call for help to save his King. Dwalin's jaw was set and his muscular arms crossed.
"I will not let you die on my watch", he said through clenched teeth and glared at Thorin as if it would keep him alive.
Thorin laughed at that, but it was a raspy sound that sounded ominous to Gandalf's ears. He had heard laughs like that before. It was the laugh of a dead man, a man knowing that he would die.
"Then why do you want me here?" asked Gandalf tiredly and did not bother with hiding the sadness in his eyes.
"I wanted to thank you", said Thorin and he struggled to find a position that would allow him to be more at eyelevel with the Wizard.
Gandalf's eyebrow jumped to his hairline in surprise.
"Thank me?" he repeated slowly.
Thorin nodded while Dwalin silently stood and watched.
"Yes. I wanted to thank you, Gandalf, for giving me this opportunity, for giving me a chance to reclaim Erebor." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Though heavy losses, I am glad that I got to live long enough to see the Mountain free from the dragon."
Gandalf wondered if the King thought of his nephews and of the hundreds of bodies that had fallen at the slopes of the Mountain. Thorin's eyes shone fervently and there was gratitude in the deep, blue depths. It was not something Gandalf had necessarily seen before in the battered Dwarf's eyes. He nodded somberly, though he had never meant for the Quest to turn out as it did.
"There is no need to thank me", said Gandalf, though he could not help but feel a small pang of satisfaction at the otherwise so proud Dwarf's words. "You would have marched upon the Mountain sooner or later, with or without my help."
"Perhaps."
There was a moment of silence as Thorin closed his eyes and grimaced in pain. Then he seemed to be remembering something and his face was clouded with a different sort of pain now.
"The burglar", Thorin said urgently and opened his eyes enough so that Gandalf could glimpse the blue in them. "I need to speak with him before I…. Could you send for him?"
Even though it pained Gandalf to say, he explained to Thorin that Bilbo Baggins had not been seen since the battle. Beorn had searched long into the night, but he had not been able to find Bilbo either. The Skin-changer had said that he thought he smelled him, but the stench of the dead, of blood and ash was too strong for him to be absolutely sure. It had eased Gandalf's worries but not enough to make him find peace.
When Gandalf told Thorin this, the Dwarf frowned.
"You've lost our burglar?" he asked for confirmation and gave Gandalf an almost reproachful look.
"I have not lost anything", Gandalf bristled. "He seems to have simply disappeared."
Thorin closed his eyes again and let out a rattled breath. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat and he looked to be in pain, though if it was only because of his wounds, Gandalf was unsure.
"Do you think you could find him for me?"
Thorin did not open his eyes when he spoke. If he had, he would have seen Gandalf's thunderous expression; a mixture of anger, grief and guilt. The Wizard stood up and looked down at the Dwarf King.
"I shall find him, Thorin Oakenshield, but not only for your sake."
Thorin hummed, but seemed not to have heard him. Gandalf and Dwalin exchanged a look before Dwalin poked his head out of the tent to call for Óin. Gandalf gave Thorin a last look before leaving the tent and was replaced by a group of healers. He was thinking so hard that it seemed as if his head would burst into flames by the effort. Around him, Dwarves, Men and Elves were buzzing around, carrying supplies and tools around the camp. The Wizard's old eyes took a quick look around and then he hit his staff against the ground, demanding attention.
"Now, listen here!" he called in a loud, thunderous voice filled with urgency. It gained him the full attention of many. "Many of you might not know this, but we have a Hobbit to thank for our victory against the Goblins. Without his actions, an alliance would not have been formed and our losses would have been even worse." Gandalf paused, aware of that nobody was moving, that all had stopped to listen to him speak. "Mr Bilbo Baggins, our brave little Hobbit is missing. He needs to be found!"
Knowing that he had everyone's attention, he described Bilbo to them – short, curly hair and bare feet – and where he last had been spotted. Gandalf had thought long and hard about it and he recalled seeing Bilbo at the Mountain with the Elves just before the battle broke out. He hoped he was still there, but hope seemed to have diminished for them all.
As the people around him eagerly went separate ways to finish their chores or to look for the Hobbit, Gandalf nodded to himself and his grey robes were billowing around him as he stomped away to follow his own orders.
He needed to find Bilbo Baggins.
So, that was Gandalf! Any thoughts? If you have any questions, I'll be happy trying to answer them!
*a quick note; I know it can be debatable if Bilbo truly was 'the hero' of the Battle and while I'm not looking for a right or wrong (everyone's allowed their opinions), I believe that Gandalf would be one of them who would've appreciated Bilbo stealing the Arkenstone that helped create an alliance, thus Gandalf's (in this story): "... but we have a Hobbit to thank for our victory against the Goblins."*
Next chapter should be up on Sunday or earlier next week.
Thanks for reading! :)