A/N: What is this, a double post?! 8D Hello friends! As you may have noticed already, I've posted two chapters instead of one. It was all originally supposed to be one final chapter, but I figured that a break in between would allow us all some much needed breathing room (if you wish it). Both chapters are pretty wordy so as always, for those of you who like to read in the morning before work/school, please watch your time so that you won't be late. ;)
Allons-y!
Part XV: Everyone including, but not limited to, the Iron Hills, Erebor, the Blue Mountains, Dale and Lake-town. And possibly Mirkwood, but Thranduil's a bit of a secretive ass so nobody is quite sure about him.
Bilbo had always admired Ori for his tenacity. As the weedy scribe of the Company while being surrounded by burly warriors, it was evident that Ori was very much out of his element like Bilbo was. However, if the young Dwarf had ever felt uncomfortable, he had done a marvellous job disguising it. Armed with a small sling shot and a knife, Ori had faced his adversaries without hesitation, fighting even more viciously than his two elder brothers.
Bilbo was starting to suspect that it was not the Dwarf's tenacity that was his driving force, but his insanity.
And maybe his deep-seated anger issues.
"The plan will work!" the scribe insisted, "All you have to do is get him in the knees and I'll hit him over the head! We have perfectly good wooden planks to get the job done!" Ori held up one of the planks – a piece of the floor board that had come loose during his scuffle with the drunk – and swung it demonstratively. Bilbo instinctively backed away to avoid being hit.
"You're injured!" Bilbo exclaimed in alarm. "I just bandaged up your leg and now, you want to start another fight?"
Bilbo had suitably panicked when he saw the deep, bleeding gash that ran down the length of Ori's shin. Ori, in his typical Dwarven fashion, had brushed off his injury with a casual, "it's just a cut, Bilbo! We've been through worse!"
Showing off his own brand of Hobbit stubbornness, Bilbo dutifully ignored the Dwarf by bringing the clean, wet rag that he had requested from Galion to wash away the dried blood. He continued his ministration even when Ori had mumbled that he was "literally being worse than Dori". The sharp, unimpressed look that Bilbo had given the scribe was enough to stop his sullen mutterings.
"Look," Bilbo brought his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Why don't we try a different tactic? One that involves more stealth and less," he waved at the plank in Ori's hand, "skull bashing." He added hastily when it looked like the scribe was about to argue, "I'm not saying no to the skull bashing, just less of that. We don't want to attract too much attention if we want to sneak our way out of this place."
Ori gently lowered his makeshift weapon and shifted his footing to put more weight on his good leg. "Alright, what do you suggest then?"
"Well," Bilbo started, his mind whirring as new ideas are flooding into his head, "I was thinking that we could go with this plan..."
Thorin had hoped that it would be another two decades before he had to deal with a crisis large enough to merit sitting through a long, frantic, and tension-filled meeting. The last one of its kind was the peace treaty with that tree-shagging Elf, and the experience was such a terrible one that it rightfully earned its spot as the third most traumatizing meetings that Thorin had endured. The only other meetings to have topped it on the scale of horribleness were the one with his father and grandfather (to explain the events of his 60th birthday, which would not be repeated), and that time when his advisors tried to dissuade his sister from starting her distillery business.
The latter had ended in bloodshed and tears, none of which belonged to the princess.
"This is incredibly troubling news, my friends. You are certain that the attackers were Men?" Bard asked with a hint of suspicion, his voice made louder by the confines of the quiet, candle-lit tent. He placed his clasped hands on the weathered oak table and leaned closer to stare hard at the four dishevelled Dwarves seated directly across from him.
Beside Thorin, Dwalin and Dori stiffened in their seats and they simultaneously glared back. Even Dáin, who was an expert at disguising his feelings, found it hard pressed to keep up his calm and collected façade; for once, the Dwarven Lord was wearing an openly pinched expression with his brows drawn and his lips pursed.
Thorin might just have to reconsider a new addition to his list of terrible meetings if Bard continued to question every single damned thing that the Dwarves were telling him.
"My advisor was attacked by four Men who disguised themselves as workers," Dáin replied a bit too tersely to be polite. "While I understand that being a victim to a savage beating is highly traumatic, I doubt that Master Borin would be so startled to the point of being unable to identify the race of his attackers."
"Peace, your Grace, I mean no offense." Bard held his hands up in a pacifying gesture and Thorin felt his tense shoulders loosen a little. "Master Baggins has won both the love of the Lake-town Men and those from Dale. Naturally, I would have some reservation in believing that they would have dared to kidnap him."
Thorin crossed his arms, unimpressed all the same. "Be that as it may, the truth still remains that Master Borin was attacked, and Bilbo and Ori were taken," the Dwarf growled out. "If it weren't for Master Borin's interference, we would not have known who the attackers were."
Bard inclined his head towards Thorin to acknowledge his point. "Please send my wishes to Master Borin for a speedy recovery. I am, however, curious to know what was so urgent that he had to seek Master Baggins' council at that time rather than setting up a meeting in a more secured location."
Thorin and Dáin exchanged a quick glance with each other. Should they drag up the issue regarding the rumours surrounding Haldan? It wasn't any of the Dwarves' business who King Bard decided to elect for his council, not to mention, it hardly seemed appropriate to discuss this matter at the moment when a more serious issue was in play. On the other hand, noble, grim-faced Bard was a soldier and a captain before he took up the mantle of kingship, and Thorin knew that as with most soldiers, Bard appreciated an honest, straightforward answer above all else.
In that sense, Bard and Dwalin had a lot in common.
With his mind made up, Thorin cleared his throat and said, "Master Borin had some pressing news to deliver to Bilbo. Apparently, he heard some distressing rumours about Master Haldan and had wanted to speak to him about that."
Thorin had several guesses as to how Bard would respond to this news, but a resigned, tired sigh was not one of them.
"I'm assuming that Master Borin mentioned something about my advisor stealing from me?" At the Dwarves' stunned silence, Bard shook his head and continued gravely, "That seems to be the newest set of lies that are currently being circulated, no doubt started by the townsmen who are still bitter about Mister Haldan's past association with the Master."
Dori's sharp inhale caught Thorin by surprise until he remembered that he, Dwalin, or anyone from the Company for that matter, were not told about Master Borin's findings on Haldan. Silently, he cursed at himself for his forgetfulness. It wasn't like him to be this careless and he desperately hoped that Nori's search had not been affected without this minor detail. Either way, he will have to rectify this situation immediately upon his return to the camp.
"So, Mister Haldan has indeed worked as the Master's accountant then," Dáin pressed on, unaware of Thorin's musing.
"Yes, and I am also fully aware of that fact when I hired him," Bard admitted without hesitation. "However, I am also certain that my advisor was judged unfairly and too harshly for his actions by those who are seeking an outlet for their frustration. Not once has Mister Haldan given me any reason to doubt his honesty." The corners of Bard's lips curled up unexpectedly and Thorin was amazed at how this simple gesture had lightened his severe expression. "If anything, Mister Haldan has made it his personal mission that I keep all of my money, even down to the last copper coin. His spending plans for Dale are proof of that, what with them being so tight-fisted and conservative to the point of being unfeasible. He even scolded me for being too careless with my book-keeping and insisted that I write absolutely everything down least I get my accounts wrong."
Thorin felt a fleeting moment of embarrassment under the weight of Bard's sceptical look. "If he really was plotting to steal my money, then he has been going about this completely backwards," Bard said reasonably. "Wouldn't the thief want to encourage sloppy book-keeping so that he can use it to cover up his theft?"
King Bard had a point and a part of Thorin felt like he could breathe a sigh of relief over the news. Anyone who had spent some time in the farms could see how Bilbo had become fast friends with the advisor, and Thorin had rather liked the idea that Bilbo had a fellow plant-enthusiast to keep him company on the odd days that he could not work in the farms. The last thing that Thorin wanted was to break Bilbo's heart by telling him to keep away from Haldan.
Perhaps what was the most convincing about Bard's argument was how clearly Thorin could picture the tall, lanky, nervous advisor being the target of his peers' malicious rumours. It was easy to single out someone who seemed weaker or more different from the pack, especially if this person was placed in an enviable position that many others coveted. For the longest time, Thorin himself had worried that Bilbo would suffer the same fate if not for the highly popularized Ballad of Bilbo Baggins (and, he began to suspect, those pamphlets) that had painted such a positive image of his Hobbit. He could thank the efforts of his loyal Company for the latter.
Thorin could only hope that Bard's unfortunate advisor has a similar group of supporters whom he could draw comfort while he weathers this storm of slander and lies.
"Thank you for clarifying this matter," Thorin shook himself out of his reverie and began graciously, "I am more – "
"Your Majesty! I have urgent news!"
Startled, the tent's occupants quickly turned their heads towards the entrance where a visibly agitated blond was strolling through to reach to Bard's side. Thorin instantly recognized him as one of Bard's advisors.
"Speak, we are among trusted friends here," Bard ordered when he saw his advisor casting fugitive glances at the Dwarves.
"Haldan is missing, your Majesty," the advisor said urgently. "The other advisors and I were scheduled to meet with him to discuss his latest financial report but it has been three hours and none could find him anywhere."
"When was the last time that anyone has seen him?"
"At the mess hall during dinner at around seven o'clock, my liege. Many soldiers have noticed him there. Apparently, he had made quite the spectacle of himself when he accidentally spilled his food tray on one of them."
Bard swiftly rose to his feet without sparing another second. "Gather my captains and all the men they could spare, and have them meet me outside of this tent. We must immediately form a hunting party to search around the premise. Go, now!"
The advisor bowed clumsily to his King and to the Dwarves before bolting out of the tent.
"Trouble is afoot," Bard muttered, the worry lines deepening in his forehead. "First, Master Baggins got kidnapped and now my advisor is missing."
Dori cleared his throat lightly and spoke up for the first time in a soft, but clear, voice, "Your Majesty, we estimated that Bilbo and Ori were captured at around six o'clock. If it is true that Master Haldan has disappeared shortly after seven o'clock, then these events have occurred too closely with each other to be mere coincidental."
Bard nodded in return. "I agree with your assessment, Master Dwarf. It seems like we are in the same predicament and it would be foolish for us not to stand together in this time of need. My friends, you have the aid of my men as you see fit. Let us work together to uncover the ones behind these attacks."
It was with a renewed sense of worry that weighed heavily in the Dwarves' hearts when they made their way back to Thorin's tent. Night had truly descended by this point, bringing along a sharp chill in the spring air and a sense of unnatural stillness across the camp. Thorin supposed that if Bilbo were here, they would profit from this rare moment of peace by taking a late night stroll around the camp. They would wind their way through the clusters of tents, for once, their minds untroubled by the unpleasant thoughts of work, and they would let their feet guide them towards the gentle riverbank of the River Running. With the soft grass against their backs and the never ending expanse of the starlit sky stretched high above their heads, Thorin cannot imagine a more fitting time to present his first courting gift to his Hobbit.
Thorin grimaced at the deep-seated melancholy that flooded his heart and he automatically reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the cold, engraved surface of the round metal bead. It was one of the few luxury items that he had permitted for himself on the journey to Erebor, one that he was able to hold on to despite all the bad luck that his Company had encountered.
He was infinitely glad for this small miracle. This bead was one of the few possessions that he had left of his mother, and he still remembered the day when she had wrangled a promise from him to present it to his future consort.
"Why are you so insistent that I give this to my consort anyway? I don't want it!" Thorin had whined petulantly as he squinted at the shining, innocent bead in his open palm.
"Don't you dare take that tone with me, young man!" his mother snapped at him, irritated. She absentmindedly laid her hand over her swollen belly and rubbed small, soothing circles over it. "And if you must know, I want you to give this to your future mate as a symbol of my approval."
Thorin grimaced. "Why can't you just give her your approval in person? I don't see the point of all this."
He quickly snapped his mouth shut at the soft, sad look that his mother gave him, feeling instantly ashamed. She sighed and brushed back a stray lock of his dark hair from his face. "Oh dear child," she murmured, "I can't be here forever, you know."
She died three months later in childbirth.
Thorin took a deep breath, and another, until he could finally ignore the too tight feeling in his chest. He had made a promise that day and he will honour his words and his mother. When Bilbo returns to his side, he will braid his mother's bead into his Hobbit's hair so that all may recognize him as the one whom Thorin had chosen.
He has a feeling that his mother would have liked Bilbo Baggins.
"I can't believe that we couldn't find any traces of Mister Haldan," Dwalin shook his head and muttered in annoyance, finally breaking the silence of the group and successfully pulling Thorin's attention away from his thoughts. "No ransom note, no body, nothing."
"Aye." Dori answered despondently from beside the warrior. He ran a hand over his loosening braids and grimaced, "Although if I were King Bard, I would be more worried by the lack of a ransom note."
"Come morning time and with the aid of Bard's thrushes, the Men should be able to cover twice the amount of ground than we did tonight," Thorin answered gruffly. He stopped a few steps away from his tent's entrance at the sound of muffled conversations. "It looks like the rest of the Company has arrived. Hopefully, they have found something useful."
Thorin would be glad to know that he was right on both counts if he wasn't temporarily blinded by the sight of disarray in his room. His companions had taken up every last inch of free space available, either stretched out on the ground, half-asleep or keeping themselves entertained with playing cards. Nori and Balin were the only exceptions, and they were hunched over a sprawling, detailed map of Lake-town that lay draped on the floor like a gaudy, accent rug. The two would occasionally bring their heads together to mutter quietly between themselves while pointing at different parts of the map.
"Uncle!" Fíli cried out in excitement. He raised his head off of Kíli's lap and jumped to his feet from his laid out position. His brother scrambled after him a second later. "What happened? Did King Bard say anything?"
The Dwarves shuffled closer to Thorin as he began to recount the events in Dale. When he got to the part about the rumours surrounding Haldan and the scandal with the previous Lake-town Master, Thorin casted a quick glance at Nori and was surprised to see the Dwarf completely unruffled by the news. The Dwarven king felt the knot of worry unravel a little. It looked like Nori was able to discover this information on his own after all.
"And now, Mister Haldan is missing. His last known whereabouts was in the mess hall at seven o'clock this evening," Thorin concluded. "We spent the last few hours scouring the camp and its periphery but we could not find anything. We suspect that this is linked to Bilbo and Ori's disappearances, so King Bard was more than willing to work with us on this matter."
"This is most puzzling," Balin muttered to the backdrop of renewed chattering among the interested Dwarves.
"But not completely unrelated to the information I found." Nori frowned and fished out a folded note from the inside of his tunic. "I managed to find a worker who was seen leaving our camp at around six o'clock with an obvious knee injury: Mister Mallor from Lake-town, with brown hair, brown eyes, and he has the same height as King Bard. He wasn't pushing a cart or carrying anything when he left, but common sense would dictate that his accomplices would be the ones who carry Bilbo and Ori out rather than leaving this task to their injured friend." Nori passed the note to Thorin and continued, "It also happens that Mister Mallor worked for the previous Lake-town Master as his scribe and astronomer."
"Which means that he would be well acquainted with Mister Haldan," Balin added to Nori's explanation.
Thorin unfolded the note and stared at the rough ink sketch of the man's profile. Mister Mallor, for all intent and purpose, was disappointingly average looking; he had a square jaw peppered with stubbles, a thick head of curly locks that fell below his ears, a set of thin lips, a straight, button nose, and a pair of close set eyes. Aside from a splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, he had no other discernable marks on his face.
"What else do we know about this Mister Mallor?" Thorin asked. He passed the note to Dwalin, who lowered it so that Dori could get a better view of the image from beside him.
"He is unmarried and the only family he had was his uncle who died a few years back. Other than that, he is a quiet fellow who likes to keep to himself," Nori clasped his hands behind his back and dutifully recited from memory. "After that embezzling scandal was revealed, his circle of acquaintances quickly diminished. Nowadays, he works in a river barge with one of his few remaining friends by collecting the empty barrels that flow down the river."
"And this friend of his, did he also work for the Master?" Dáin asked. He took Mister Mallor's image from Dwalin and peered down at it curiously.
Nori nodded and once again, he rifled through the inner pocket of his tunic. "Those who worked with the Master are sticking together. Safety in number is what I'm guessing, and I wouldn't blame them. That embezzling business has gotten a lot of people very angry." He pulled out another folded note and handed it to Thorin. "His friend's name is Galion, an odd name for a Man, I know," he said quickly when Thorin whipped his head up from the page at the distinctly Elvish name, "but take a look and you'll understand why."
Thorin glanced back down at the drawing and found himself raising his brows in surprise. Whereas Mister Mallor was rather plain looking, Mister Galion was the exact opposite. The Man was strikingly beautiful in the way that the Elves were with his almond eyes, his aquiline nose, and the delicate contour of his clean shaven jaw. His straight hair parted neatly in the middle around his thin face, falling just above his collarbone where it curled slightly at the ends. If it weren't for his rounded ears, Thorin would have been convinced that he was staring at one of Thranduil's people.
Just to be sure, Thorin squinted hard at the ears again. No, they were most definitely not pointed.
Nori continued with his report, "Mister Galion has yellow hair, light blue eyes and is as tall as his friend. He also comes from one of the wealthiest families in Lake-town with his father owning the wineries of the region. The wine that those Mirkwood tree-shaggers guzzle down is produced by Mister Galion's family and they are extremely proud of that." Nori shrugged, "Here is where things take a turn for the bizarre – That family is especially enamoured with the Elves to the point of obsession. They would often claim to have 'close ties' with them, even if technically, they've never actually had any proper dealings with the Elves save for the rare meetings with an Elven servant to negotiate wine prices."
Thorin glanced down at the portrait again and grimaced. He was more than familiar with the dark, dangerous feelings of obsession, to have his waking moments be so utterly consumed by an object that all the things around him cease to matter so long as he could continue to bask in its presence. His gold sickness was a testament to that.
Feeling a bit sick to his stomach, Thorin averted his eyes and he quickly handed the drawing to his cousin who, upon catching a closer look at the portrait, let loose a low whistle.
"This obsession grew to the point that the family members would style themselves after the weed-eaters. They would go so far as to bleach their hair blonde with vinegar and name their children after the Elves." Nori gestured at the drawing in Dáin's hands. "Mister Galion here is the unfortunate product of his family's illness."
Glóin peered over Dáin's shoulder, frowned at the image and said, "I almost feel sorry for the poor sod."
"But if he's so rich, why is he working with Mister Mallor as a barrel collector?" Bombur asked just as he was handed both Galion and Mallor's sketches at the same time. He held the drawings up for everyone before they could bowl him over in their attempt to crowd closer.
"After the embezzling scandal was revealed, Mister Galion has been disowned by his family in their effort to be spared from the townsmens' wrath. He is as penniless as a pauper now and he is in a sad, desperate situation."
"And here I thought that I could not dislike that family even more!" Glóin shook his head in disgust. Thorin could not agree more with that sentiment. To abandon kin just to save their own skin was an honourless act that reeked of cowardice. Thorin was certain that any of his Dwarves would sooner choose death than to betray their own flesh and blood like that.
"Wait a minute, was Mister Galion scheduled to visit our camp today?" Dori asked sharply and Nori gave his older brother a slow, dangerous grin of approval. Master Dori had apparently asked the right question.
"He was seen leaving our camp at around six o'clock. Unfortunately, he wasn't carrying anything when he left the premise."
"It's enough to make him a potential suspect," Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest and growled out. "Not to mention, he's probably desperate for money so the motive is there."
Fíli furrowed his brows in concentration and spoke up from his spot near the back of the crowd, "If those two suspects are our kidnappers, then by the process of elimination, we have two attackers left to find – the tall one and the small one. One of them has to have carried Bilbo and Ori out!"
"I reckon it's the tall one who got the short end of the stick." Kíli muttered under his breath as if he was speaking from experience, "It's always the taller ones who are bullied into doing all the labour." He gave his older, but shorter brother a very pointed look. Fíli answered with the largest shit-eating grin he could muster.
Bofur rolled his eyes at the princes' antics. "Any idea on who the two remaining attackers are then?" he asked.
Nori shook his head. "Unfortunately, not at the moment. I am still in the process of drafting a list of potential suspects."
"In the meantime, we have started to map out the places that Mister Mallor visits regularly." Balin gestured at the Lake-town map on the floor and Thorin could see that it already sported his advisor's neat letters over several locations of interest. "We were able to piece together his day-to-day schedule. Hopefully, we can use this information to find more potential suspects."
Thorin nodded, pleased by the progress. "You have all done well and the very least, we have something to go on. Our two suspects are connected with Mister Haldan from their past association with the Master. Now, if we could only find Mister Haldan himself. I have a feeling that he is the key to our puzzle."
"What do you suppose happened to Mister Haldan?" Óin stroked his beard and wondered out loud.
"Maybe he was forcefully silenced," Kíli offered. "Mister Haldan knew who the attackers were so they went after him to make sure that there weren't any loose ends to their plan. Then, they..." He trailed off ominously, raising his hand to trace a straight line across his neck to mimic a cut throat.
"Or maybe, the attackers thought Mister Haldan knew who they were," Fíli chimed in, "and when they attacked Mister Haldan, he ran for his life, only to...you know." He mirrored his brother's gesture.
"It could also be that Mister Haldan knew that the attackers knew that he knew," Kíli added with growing excitement. "So Mister Haldan made a run for it to save his own skin...only to, you know."
"Or the attackers knew that Mister Haldan knew that the attackers knew that he knew but Mister Haldan still ended up...you know."
"What about if Mister Haldan knew that the attackers knew that Mister Haldan knew about – "
"Why are the two of you are so fixated with Mister Haldan dying? The man could still be alive!" Óin huffed. "I think he ran to save his own skin from those attackers. He's probably somewhere out in the wilderness right now."
"Hold on, I think the lads were on to something," Glóin said to his brother, "the attackers could very well be lying in wait for Mister Haldan."
Óin scoffed and Glóin bristled at the dismissal. "How? They were carrying Bilbo and Ori at the time. I highly doubt they would make a brief detour to go after Mister Haldan when they have bigger things to worry about."
"They could have split up!" Bombur suggested helpfully. "Send two members of their party to take out Mister Haldan while the other two transport Bilbo and Ori away."
"Or, Mister Haldan could have been tricked into leaving the premise to meet up with the attackers," Nori pointed out among the growing rabble in the tent, and just like that, the room dissolved into chaos.
"I think he was attacked!"
"And I think he ran! Mister Haldan's a nervous sort. He seems like the type to run at the drop of a pin!"
"I think he tried to run but his action only drew the attention of his attackers, so his attempt to escape led to his downfall."
"Maybe, Mister Haldan was attacked but he managed to escape! I think he's still alive! He probably managed to burrow somewhere safe to spend the night."
"What if he's a part of the kidnapping?" Bofur exclaimed and the room fell into a hushed silence. Undeterred, he continued, "What if Mister Haldan was one of the kidnappers?"
A chorus of disbelieving scoffs followed that comment and Bofur flushed in embarrassment.
"There were four kidnappers and they attacked at around six o'clock. Mister Haldan was seen in Dale up until seven o'clock!" Bifur explained, his Khuzdûl characteristically peppered with a few signs in Iglishmêk.
"He has several alibis," Dori elaborated kindly. "Practically the whole mess hall saw him spill his food tray on someone else during dinner time."
"We can worry about Mister Haldan later," Thorin spoke over his companions, his tone hard and commanding. "For now, we should focus on our suspects."
"Well, we can't approach Mister Mallor and beat the answer out of him," Dwalin uttered, and Thorin noted the disappointment in his voice. "The ransom letter specifically said that if any of the attackers were harmed, Bilbo and Ori's lives would be forfeited."
"We may not be able to beat the answer out of our suspects, but we can still send someone to follow them," Balin suggested calmly. "Hopefully, they will lead us to their base of operation."
"Guards! Someone, anyone! I need help, please!" Bilbo's screams of distress cut through the peace of the morning. He pounded his fists desperately against its wooden surface and hollered again, "Please, I need help!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming, quit your hollering!" a voice roared back. Bilbo obediently stepped away from the entrance at the sound of jingling keys, and a few seconds later, the door swung open inwards.
"What? What do you want?" their attacker, the large one with a heavily swollen nose, snarled as he kicked the door closed behind him. In the dimly lit room, Bilbo could make out the pronounced bags under the man's eyes and the sad, dishevelled state of his clothes and hair. The latter was probably from being jolted awake by the ruckus that Bilbo had caused, and the Hobbit clamped down the vindictive smile that he could feel blooming across his face.
Instead, he clenched his fists and pursed his lips into a thin frown. "I-It's my friend," he stammered, letting his eyes go wide with fright, "I tried to wake him up just now and I couldn't."
The man gave Bilbo a terrifying glare, roughly pushed the Hobbit aside and he trudged across the room until he stood towering over Ori. The Dwarf was unconscious in a dark corner, curled pathetically on his side in a foetal position with his back towards the room. His face was drawn tight in pain and he was breathing shallowly, as if he was struggling to draw enough air into his lungs.
"Oy! Wake up," the man nudged Ori with his foot. When the Dwarf did not respond, he nudged him again, harder this time. "Oy! Can you hear me? I said wake up!"
"H-he was a bit warm to the touch," Bilbo said meekly. He peered at his friend nervously from behind the man. "I think it might be his leg. He was wounded there. I cleaned it earlier but I think it might be infected."
Sighing loudly in aggravation, the man crouched heavily on one knee and he reached for Ori's shoulder, all the while muttering unhappily under his breath.
He did not notice the wooden plank rushing towards him until it crashed heavily into the back of his skull.
The ferocious howl of pain startled Bilbo so much that he froze in terror, the plank still clutched in his hands in a death grip, but in the next split second, his instincts kicked back into action. He swung wildly again, bringing the wooden plank over his kidnapper's head a second, a third, a fourth time, a fifth time, barely registering the loud thuds from each connecting blow until the man crashed over on to his side, limbs askew and unmoving.
Breathing heavily, Bilbo stood over his attacker's prone body with his wooden plank raised threateningly in the air, ready for another go if the man so much as twitch. Ori stared up at him from the ground, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
"By the Makers, Bilbo," the Dwarf said in a strangled voice, "what happened to our plan, 'less bashing, more sneaking'?"
Bilbo tentatively lowered his weapon with shaking arms. He could feel his heart pounding away in his chest. "I...I may have gotten a bit carried away there," he said, choking back the wild, nervous laughter that threatened to bubble up his throat. Dear Eru, he had just bludgeoned a man with a piece of wood! He had bludgeoned him repeatedly and savagely with a piece of floor board. How was this his life? "I think he might have alerted – "
"Beren!" a familiar voice called out, "What're you doin' down there? You better not be beating those prisoners, at least not without me! I have a score to settle with that pissant little Dwarf!"
Bilbo and Ori leapt into action. Working like a well-oiled machine, Ori grabbed his own wooden plank that he had kept on the floor beside him while Bilbo searched their felled enemy for the set of keys to their locked door.
"Beren, you great fat lug! Don't make me come down there! The esteem leader's not gonna be happy if he hears that you've been messin' around while he's gone."
Ori pressed himself against the wall right beside the door and motioned for Bilbo to do the same. "On my mark," he whispered and the Hobbit nodded as he fumbled for the right key to fit into the key hole. On his third try, the lock clicked open.
"That's it, ya bastard! I'm coming down! I don't care what you do to that Halfling but leave the Dwarf alone." A dark chuckle followed, "I have plans for him and I want him to be awake for 'em."
Bilbo held his breath, listening intently at the heavy footsteps that descended the creaking stairs. The mumbled cursing that accompanied them grew louder and louder.
Finally, there was a pause. "Oy!" the voice called out clearly from behind the door, "I'm coming in!"
Ori nodded and Bilbo immediately yanked the door open.
"What the – " Aldor had just enough time to look up from the keys that he had in his hands before Ori viciously brought his wooden plank over his head in a powerful blow. The hit sent the short man stumbling backwards and his head cracked sharply against the wall behind him. He slid down the wall, crumbling into himself like a marionette with its strings cut, until he lay in a boneless, silent heap on the floor.
Bilbo and Ori quickly reached over to haul their kidnapper by his legs and arms.
"That went much better than planned!" Bilbo grunted. For such a short, skeletal-looking man, he was surprisingly heavy. "How are you doing, by the way?"
"Good, good!" Ori answered brightly, huffing slightly from the weight. "Glad to know that the bashing plan worked!" Together, they dropped the man none-too-gently beside his large companion and quickly rifled through their kidnappers' pockets.
"Found a knife, I think this was yours," Bilbo said, tossing the item over to his friend.
"I found the rest of your buttons!" Ori held out a little pouch and jingled it in Bilbo's direction. "That greedy drunk had it with him this whole time! Oh, I also found a knife for you!"
Bilbo took the knife and the buttons with a quick thanks and, upon having second thought, grabbed the set of extra keys out of Aldor's hands. "Alright, I'm off to do some investigating," he got up and dusted himself off. "Will you be alright here by yourself? I left the key still in the lock if you'll be needing one yourself."
"I'll be fine," Ori answered distractedly. His fingers moved deftly as he went through the considerable amount of pouches that were attached to Aldor's belt. "Come find me once you've found a way out!"
With a final wave of goodbye, Bilbo reached into his pocket and slipped on his ring. He watched as the vivid colours around him disappeared in a rush, leaving in its place a dim world of ominous shadows and muted sounds. Bilbo shivered lightly. No matter how many times he had used the ring, he could never get used to the eeriness of his monochrome surroundings and the pervasive, unnatural cold that seeped through his clothes and into his bones.
Get a hold of yourself Bilbo Baggins, he thought, clenching his fists tightly. Ori depends on you to do your part.
Nodding to himself, Bilbo gathered his courage and strode out the room, closing the door gently on his way out. He squinted at his wispy surrounding as his eyes slowly adjusted to the bizarre, greyscale landscape around him; from what he could see, he was in a tiny hallway with a set of narrow, wooden staircase immediately to his left. At the top of the stairs were another set of doors, and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed a crack of light streaming through the partially opened door.
"Easy does it," he muttered to himself, and he began his slow climb up the stairs. He kept his back pressed tightly against the wall and his steps light, wincing with every creak of the old, rotting wood beneath his feet that bent under his weight. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Bilbo could feel the sweat in his palms and his heart hammering away in his chest.
You're doing good, Bilbo. Just keep your focus.
He breathed a few deep, calming breaths to regain his sense of equilibrium before feeling brave enough to lean forward and squint through the crack. It was difficult to see through the narrow gap, but Bilbo could barely make out what looked to be another hallway. The Hobbit pressed his ear against the door to listen for any footsteps.
Everything was silent.
Huh, I wonder if the place is deserted, Bilbo thought, suspicious but grateful by the peacefulness of his surroundings. He had to admit that he was facing an unusual stroke of good luck, first with how smoothly the attackers were dispatched and now with meeting no resistance on his way up the stairs. If his luck holds up, Bilbo and Ori might be able to escape completely unnoticed.
Feeling emboldened by the thought, Bilbo cracked the door further open and slipped through the entrance. He found himself standing at the end of a dimly-lit, but thankfully empty, hallway that stretched before him, and his eyes automatically flitted around to take in all the details. Like the basement where he and Ori were kept imprisoned, half-rotted wood lined the floor and the walls of this new space, adding to the pungent, wet smell of mildew in the air. There were some attempts to fix the wear and tear in this area; Bilbo could see several patches of newly installed wall paneling from the way that the light colour of the new wood had contrasted vividly against the surrounding planks. The hallway was also devoid of furnishing save for a few crates that were used as makeshift candle stands and a fraying, raggedy piece of cloth – a carpet, if Bilbo could even call it that – that draped along the length of the corridor.
As pathetic as this location was, Bilbo was still happier to be standing there with its half dilapidated walls than to face the dreary, damp chill of Thranduil's ominous dungeon. He supposed he should give the Elves credit. Compared to the Men, they were much better at giving their prisoners a more miserable time. Then again, Bilbo mused, the Elves had all the time in the world to perfect it.
Bilbo gingerly continued his exploration. The hallway only contained two other points of exit aside from the door to the basement, one on the left and one on the right. Bilbo ducked into the doorway to the left, which happened to be the one closest to him, and he immediately recoiled from the strong stench of alcohol and sweat.
By the Valars, what is going on in here?
He wrinkled his nose in distaste and carefully backed away until he was leaning against the doorframe. The room was a disgusting mess of filth, and the first and most obvious thing that Bilbo could see was the piles of blankets, dirty clothing, half-empty mugs of ale, and all manners of trash that were strewn about the space. Buried under this mess were cots, half-made ones that had Bilbo itching to tidy them up, that were pressed up against the walls to allow for as much walking room between them as possible. A neat little square window sat on the wall across from him, but the wooden shutters were drawn shut, further casting the space in stifling darkness.
This must be their bunker! These Men are living in a pigsty! Bilbo thought, aghast. Even Fíli and Kíli had a more organized room and they have a habit of hiding mincemeat pie under their beds.
Shaking his head in mild disgust, Bilbo left the room for the last unexplored door in the hallway. He poked his head through the entrance and to his surprise, he was greeted by an open, welcoming space that held none of the unpleasantness of the bunker. Large, open windows lined the walls from which the bright morning sun streamed into the room, bathing everything in a soft, golden glow. The feeling of warm sunlight hitting against his face instantly brought a new sense of peace in Bilbo's heart and for the first time since he woke up in his cell, the Hobbit felt the lingering feelings of unease dissipate like smoke in the air.
Bilbo shook his head ruefully. He was getting distracted and he really could not afford to do that, not when Ori was waiting for him.
Sighing quietly, Bilbo picked his way around the room, navigating between the mismatched, wooden chairs that lay scattered randomly throughout the area while he stuck as close as he could to the walls. There were two new doors that were connected to this space, one across the room from him and the other to his right, but aside from that, there really wasn't anything else of interest. Still, Bilbo found himself hesitating to leave. Compared to all the other places that he had visited so far, (especially that vile bunker, Bilbo added in his head), this was much less dreary and much better aired out.
He was especially grateful for the latter.
Focus, Bilbo, focus! he reminded himself harshly for the umpteenth time that day even as he tiptoed to the door on his right. He pressed his ear against its wooden surface and upon hearing no sound, he leaned forward and pushed gently against the door.
To his surprise, it did not swing open.
Bilbo cursed under his breath and pushed harder still. When the door would not budge at all, he dug his heals into the ground and tried again, using his shoulder to apply more force. The old wood creaked lightly at the newly added pressure but again, it did not move.
The Hobbit heaved an exasperated sigh and gave up. He still had another door to try so he might as well see if he could open that one instead. With his mind made up, he took several brisk steps towards it, but a flash of movement caught his attention just before he could make it halfway across the room. Bilbo spun around, his eyes glancing out the window and his heart stopped.
Haldan was standing right outside, staring suspiciously back at Bilbo through the open window.
Startled, Bilbo involuntarily took a step back and to his horror, the floor board creaked loudly behind him. He quickly slapped his hands over his mouth to muffle his surprised yelp.
"Hello?" Haldan called out, "Aldor? Beren? Is that you?"
Bilbo stared back with wide eyes. Please go away, please go away, please go away.
Haldan swept his eyes around the room, frowning in confusion. "Aldor? Beren? Are you in there?" he asked again and waited a few more seconds for any response. "Come now, I heard you walking about. Stop joking around." Bilbo could only stay standing in his spot as he kept repeating the mantra in his head, hoping that Haldan could not hear his heavy breathing.
Finally, after what felt like a small eternity had passed, Haldan shrugged and shouted out, "Alright, I'm going to be out here in the front to tend to the horses before Mallor and Galion get back. Come find me if you need anything!"
What did he mean, 'before Mallor and Galion get back'?
Bilbo slowly craned his neck to follow Haldan's line of movement. He watched the advisor stalk away from the window and he waited a full minute after the man was well and truly out of sight.
Then, he promptly bolted for the basement.
Mallor and Galion are not in the house, his mind screamed at him in realization. There is no one else in the house!
"Ori!" he whispered harshly through the cell door while yanking the ring off his finger, "we need to move, now! There's no one else in the house!"
The door creaked open and Ori immediately slipped through the open gap. "What?" he whispered back disbelievingly.
"Come on, we have to go!" Bilbo nimbly climbed up the stairs and Ori, bless the quick thinking Dwarf, followed his cue without missing a beat.
They made their way into the hallway in a fraction of the time that it took Bilbo to explore the place, foregoing stealth altogether for speed. Bilbo ushered the Dwarf into the disgusting bunker, his mind drawing up an escape plan as he closed the door shut behind them. "There is a window on the wall in front of you," he said in a rush. "Do you see the shutters? If we can get those to open, we can climb through."
Ori nodded and together, the Hobbit and the Dwarf pushed against the large wooden panels with their combined force.
They were not expecting the shutters to come clean off its rusted hinges, falling outwards onto the grass in a muffled crash.
Bilbo and Ori cringed at the unintentional destruction. "That – that'll do," Bilbo cleared his throat and promptly clambered through the open window, using a nearby upturned crate as a step on his way out. Ori followed, deftly jumping over the ledge.
They landed ungracefully on the grass in an uncoordinated mess of flailing limbs. Somewhere in the back of Bilbo's mind, he was infinitely glad that Thorin was not there to witness this humiliating event. He could almost hear the Dwarven king's low, rumbling laughter as he offered to carry Bilbo down like he had done whenever the Hobbit gave his talks in the farms from his makeshift platform.
"I have no idea how Nori can make this look so easy," Ori winced. He rubbed at his bruised flank, "Where do we go next?"
Bilbo opened his mouth to answer but Haldan's angry voice cut through the clearing: "Beren, Aldor! Just what are you doing in there? What is all that noise?"
Bilbo and Ori scrambled to their feet with a renewed sense of fear coursing through their veins. "This way!" Bilbo said urgently, pointing to the direction where he could faintly make out the sound of a roaring river, and without further ado, they broke into a mad dash to freedom.
They did not stop running until their limbs felt numb and their lungs burned.
"This...this is insane!" Ori panted out once they had settled by a cluster of trees to rest. He had to be uncomfortable, sitting as we was on the protruding roots of a large oak while his back was pressed against the peeling tree bark, but Bilbo doubted Ori cared at the moment. The Dwarf looked like he was happy just from being able to breathe.
At least the Dwarf had the decency to find a somewhat shielded spot to recover. Bilbo had altogether given up on crawling to a nearby tree and instead, opted to collapse face first on the grass.
"Bilbo? Are you alright?"
Bilbo grunted once. He might have also made a vague hand gesture to go with the grunt. He wasn't too sure.
"I can't believe we managed to pull that off!" Ori exclaimed, still breathing heavily but he could at least form coherent sentences now. Bilbo tried not to hate his friend a little for that. "We clubbed a man – two, actually – stole their items, broke a window and escaped through it!" The scribe pressed his palms over his eyes and laughed incredulously. "We outburgled the burglars!"
That earned a sharp bark of laughter from Bilbo and he rolled over on to his back to grin at Ori. "Technically, they stole from us first! Besides, we mostly just took back our stolen items. Mostly."
"I took all of their gold," Ori confessed in a hush as his eyes lit up mischievously. "And also, this flask of whiskey," he fished out a small metal flask from his pocket and tossed it to the ground beside Bilbo. "I stole it from the drunk as an added insult to injury."
Bilbo broke into helpless laughter. Honestly, who would have thought that Ori had it in him to be vindictive? "Does Nori know that you've been learning all these tricks from him?" he asked teasingly. With a small grunt, he sat up, reached for the metal flask and shook it a little. A half-full flask. Not bad at all.
Ori pulled himself off the tree and lumbered over to Bilbo to sit beside him. "Nori taught me a few tricks. I improvised the rest," he admitted, his voice suddenly shy.
"Well, you did good!" Bilbo handed the flask back to Ori and gave the Dwarf a cheeky wink. "Trust me, I'm a hired professional." Ori snorted but Bilbo could see the growing smile on his face.
"Alright, come on! No more dawdling." Bilbo grudgingly got to his feet and offered his hand to pull his friend up. "We should be able to hit the river in no time!"
A few minutes later, Bilbo was thoroughly berating himself for the lack of planning beyond 'running towards the river' as they stood on a small wooden dock by the riverbank, watching the rapid, churning water below them.
"Now, what can we do?" Ori asked, looking very much frustrated. Bilbo could fully empathize. They haven't made it this far only to be stopped now.
Sighing, Bilbo ran his hand through his tangled curls. "We can't turn back around. Haldan and his men are probably looking for us and they have horses. We won't be able to out run them...unless," Bilbo's gaze slid behind Ori, his eyes widening at the neat stack of barrels that were sitting at the edge of the dock.
A neat stack of empty barrels.
Ori followed Bilbo's gaze and he paled when he realized just what Bilbo had in mind.
"It's the fastest way to get to Lake-town," Bilbo started to explain, hoping to do some damage control, but Ori only paled even further, "The river will take us downstream."
"Oh no. No, no, no, no!" Ori shook his head vehemently. "We are not doing this again! I am not going back into a barrel!" He crossed his arms defensively and planted his foot down in a show of unbending stubbornness, "I am not going into a barrel and there is nothing you can do about it. You shan't make me!"
"AAARRGHHHHHHHH!"
"Ori, for crying out loud, it's not that bad! Just keep breathing and you'll be fine!"
"AAAAAARRRGHHHHHHHH!"
"Think of the bright side! At least we're not being fired at by the Elves!
"ARRRRRGHHH! ARGHHHHHHHH!"
"Hang on! The rapids are coming up! This is going to be messy!"
"AAAAAAARRRRGGHHHHHHHH!"
It was only through his century-long friendship with Thorin that kept Dwalin standing beside his king for the entire duration of his morning meeting with Bard. This was not to say that he had not thought about abandoning his station to track down Mallor and give the man the beating of his life, and Mahal help that poor bastard because a beating is the least he deserved, but Dwalin was able to reign in his desire to act rashly. Still, the thought was a nice one and if nothing else, the flood of anger that followed it chased away any feelings of weariness from the sleepless night that he had.
"I have sent some of my men into Lake-town to search for Mister Haldar while the rest are searching in the wilderness," a visibly tired-looking Bard informed Thorin an hour into the meeting, flanked by his equally groggy advisors. "Unfortunately, that means that I do not have any people to spare for Mister Mallor and Mister Galion."
Bard and his group of loyal followers had arrived to the Dwarven camp just after the sun has risen, asking to speak to the king in private. Luckily for everyone involved, none of the Company members had truly slept, least of all the king who had spent the night pacing back and forth in his tent, and it was through this reason that a meeting could be immediately arranged where the Men were promptly informed of the Company's newest findings.
"If I may offer a solution, your Majesties, we can use the Ravens. They can keep track of the two suspects from the air without anyone else noticing," Balin said almost serenely. He was the only one who was visibly unaffected by the thick cloud of tension that hung above everyone in the room.
Balin's ability to maintain his calm façade was one of the things that Dwalin had hated and envied in equal parts. It drove the warrior insane during their arguments where his elder brother could verbally decimate him without so much as raising his tone, leaving Dwalin to trip over his tongue and flounder pathetically in his rage. Now, he could not be more grateful for his brother's unflappable nature. Upon hearing the reasonable suggestion, both kings not only visibly relaxed, but they were more than happy to go along with the plan, and with a final promise to keep each other informed of any new developments, the meeting was adjourned.
"Majesty," Dwalin greeted and he automatically marched into place by Thorin's right side the moment his king left the meeting tent. He gave a quick nod to Balin who was trailing behind them before turning back to Thorin. "What are we doing next?"
Thorin sighed and rubbed at his tired eyes. It was a testimony to the deep trust that he held for Dwalin to show even this small amount of weakness. "Balin and I will be checking on my nephews to see if they have received any news from the Ravens or from Nori. Afterwards, I will need to speak to Dáin and Glóin about the current situation in Erebor. Hopefully, the Dwarves in the camp are none the wiser about what is going on."
Last night, once everyone had resettled themselves in Thorin's tent, Balin had brought up the importance of keeping Bilbo and Ori's disappearances a secret from the rest of the camp.
"If any of the Dwarves know about this kidnapping, it will be very likely that they take it upon themselves to rescue Bilbo and Ori," the advisor had wisely explained. "The last thing that we need is for a vigilante to throw our careful planning into jeopardy and to put Bilbo and Ori's lives in danger."
Although the idea of having to pretend that everything was normal chafed Dwalin as much as it did everyone else, they could all understand the necessity to keep this charade running.
"Do you have any plans then?" Dwalin had asked Balin rather brusquely, but his older brother was more than familiar with Dwalin's gruff demeanour than to take any offense.
Instead, Balin had simply stroked his beard and replied, "As a matter of fact, I do."
Before the night was out, each of the Dwarves was given specific roles to fill: the brothers Ur, Glóin and Óin would resume their jobs to minimize the suspicion that anything was wrong within the Company, Dáin would act in Thorin's stead to oversee the reconstruction in Erebor, Nori would continue his undercover mission to find out more about the other kidnappers, and Fíli and Kíli would keep a look out for any messages from the Ravens. That left Balin, Dori, Thorin and Dwalin with the task to gather what news they could get from the two princes and use those to design a suitable rescue plan.
It was not a perfect setup, and Dwalin already found himself feeling restless from having to sit around, anticipating over the arrival of any news, but the warrior supposed that it was better than having everyone collectively panic in a large group.
"You should get some rest, Dwalin."
Dwalin jerked back into attention at Thorin's quietly spoken words. He shook his head. "Can't sleep. Too much going on in my head."
He did not tell Thorin that every time he had closed his eyes, he could see his beloved's glassy, vacant eyes staring lifelessly back at Dwalin. The heavy, suffocating sense of loss and regret that would inevitably follow was almost more than he could bear, and he could not stop thinking what he could have done to prevent the kidnapping in the first place. If only he had been a bit smarter, then he would have known to accompany Ori and Bilbo to the farm. If only he had kept better vigilance, then those perpetrators would not have had the chance to strike. If only, if only, if only –
Dwalin forced the thought away into the recesses of his mind where he could no longer see Ori, hurt and bleeding, but from Thorin's soft answering look, he had done a poor job in disguising his attempt. "If you can't sleep, then wait for me in my tent while I see to my errands." The king raised a hand to stop Dwalin's rebuttal, "I need someone whom I can trust to receive any messages that might be delivered there. At the moment, Master Dori is posted at my tent."
Dwalin immediately understood what his king was hinting at: Keep an eye on Dori in case a message about Ori gets to the tent.
"Your Majesty," the warrior bowed lightly to Thorin. Message received. Thorin leaned closer and clapped him on the shoulder one last time before stalking away, his back straight and his steps confident.
Dwalin's trip back to Thorin's tent was largely uneventful, and he barely noticed the wide berth that the Dwarves on the dirt path had given him, so distracted and angry he was from his thoughts surrounding this kidnapping. According to the original ransom letter, they had three days to drop off the gold at the specified delivery site after which they would be informed where to go to find Ori and Bilbo. Dwalin doubted the kidnappers' words. Who's to say that they would not simply run off with the gold without keeping their end of the bargain, never to be heard of again? The kidnappers might have also held an animosity towards the Dwarves, which would not surprise Dwalin since his people were not known to be the friendliest, and as a last insult to Erebor, they would murder their captives in some twisted form of retribution. Or maybe, the kidnappers simply decided that killing their hostages was a quicker, easier way out of this mess after they had received the gold. There were too many different possibilities that Dwalin could not predict.
"Mister Dwalin, if you scowl any more ferociously, you would send every last Dwarf around you running home, screaming."
Dwalin looked up, his thoughts interrupted for the second time that day, to find Dori sitting on a bench right by the entrance to Thorin's tent. To any passerby, the Dwarf seemed like his normal, stuffy self. His hair and clothing were a far cry from the previous evening's dishevelled state, and he had a small tea set with empty cups on a wooden platter that was set aside on the seat beside him.
Any Dwarf who did not know where to look would not have noticed anything out of ordinary, but Dwalin could spot the hints that something was amiss. He could see how the eldest Ri brother's collar was wrinkled, his silver braids tied looser than how he usually sported them, the way his hands shook slightly when he poured out his tea...
"Master Dori," Dwalin cleared his throat and greeted, his voice gruff. "I was not expecting to see you out here."
Dori snorted dryly. "I'm hardly going to stay trapped in the king's tent after spending the night there, and I suspect that I will be spending even more time in that blasted space once he is back from his duties." He picked up his mug and blew away the rising steam, "I might as well take this opportunity to get some fresh air."
The conversation trailed off into an awkward silence. Dwalin shifted uneasily on his spot. Now what?
Dori rolled his eyes. "Would you like to take a seat, Mister Dwalin?" he asked as he gestured at the spot near the end of the bench beside the tea set.
Dwalin could recognize an order for what it was, disguised or otherwise, and he did what his instincts told him to do: he sat down quickly if not a little stiffly.
The uncomfortable silence returned with a vengeance, and Dwalin glanced over to Dori with the corner of his eyes. The Dwarf was calmly sipping on his tea, staring out onto the road at the hustle and bustle of the busy morning. He looked like he was perfectly content in ignoring the warrior's presence.
Dwalin doubted that Thorin had meant to force him into such an uncomfortable situation when he had given him that order to guard Dori, but the warrior could not help but resent his king a little.
It wasn't until Dori had drained his cup before he finally spoke up again, "You are not a Dwarf of many words, are you Master Dwalin?" Reaching for the pot to top off his own cup, he paused suddenly as if he had just remembered something important. "Now where are my manners? Would you like some tea?"
Dwalin glanced down at the tea set and furrowed his brows at the second cup on the tray. "You have brought two cups," he blurted out instead, "were you expecting visitors?"
Dori's hand jolted a little in mid-pour and Dwalin internally winced. There was a reason why he didn't talk much and one of them was his knee-jerk reaction of putting his foot in his mouth.
"I tend to have my morning tea with Ori so I am used to preparing a pot for two people," Dori explained, his voice stilted. He handed the cup to Dwalin, who accepted it with a polite 'Thank you'. "Old habits die hard and I find myself mistakenly taking a second cup. It wasn't until later that I..." He choked off his sentence, looking more and more visibly upset. Dwalin took an awkward sip of tea and wisely averted his eyes.
"I must admit," Dori began after taking a few moments to compose himself, "I did not peg you as the type who would enjoy tea."
"I don't," Dwalin grunted. Then, having realized that his curt answer was a bit rude, he fumbled to elaborate further. "That is to say, I don't like most tea except peppermint. And even that is a recently developed taste."
"It is Ori's favourite," Dori nodded. "I suppose you picked that up from him."
Dwalin made a non-committal noise. "And he picked that up from you. He speaks about you often. It is obvious that you mean the world to him."
Dori rolled his eyes. "No need to flatter me, Mister Dwalin. I know full well that I am not the only brother that Ori has. Not to mention, I doubt I can measure up to the great Master Dwalin." The look he gave to the warrior was a meaningful one tinged with bitterness.
"You're right, he has Nori as well," Dwalin agreed readily, ignoring the growing resentment on the other Dwarf's face. "But Nori wasn't the one who rocked him to sleep, soothed away his nightmares, and supported his impossible dream to be a scribe when no one else would." Dwalin shook his head and placed his mug of tea back on the platter. "Nori may be his second brother and Ori may wish to know more about him, but you're the clear favourite. You always have been."
Dwalin rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and continued, "As for me, Master Dori, I have no intention to compete with you for your position in Ori's heart. For one, he loves us both differently and I would never force him to choose between myself and his kin. Secondly, if he did have to choose between us for some reason, I fear that I will lose to you."
Dori could do nothing but gape at him for a few seconds. "Yes, well...I," he spluttered at a loss for words. He ducked his head and took a quick sip of his tea.
There was one more thing that Dwalin wanted to say and it has been gnawing at him for some time now. Might as well spit it out now, Dwalin thought, steeling his mind to face what he will do next. Here goes nothing. Clenching his fists over his lap, he breathed in shakily and blurted out, "I would also like to ask your permission to formally court Ori."
Dori promptly spat his tea out violently. "I...you...what?" he coughed out.
"I understand that Nori has accepted my first courting present for Ori already, but I would still like to receive your blessing." Dwalin hoped that he was making any sort of sense. He was so focused on getting the truth out at the moment that he wasn't paying attention to how it was being delivered."I also apologize for any offense that I may have caused you with my delay. I realized that I should have asked you sooner, but truth to be told, Master Dori, you are a terrifying Dwarf."
The eldest Ri was not so easily swayed. He lowered his mug on to the wooden tray, crossed his arms, and scowled. "What happens if I say no?"
"I would have done my best to prove myself worthy of Ori's hand in courtship no matter how long it took," Dwalin answered solemnly. "I suspect that Ori might object to the wait and do something rash beforehand, but I will prove it to you or anyone who doubts my affections for as long as Ori allows it."
"That boy has a stubborn streak a mile wide and once he made his decision, nothing can change his mind from it," Dori muttered unhappily. Dwalin wasn't sure if that meant that he was happy with his answer or not. However, his shoulders had loosened from its defensive posture, and Dwalin supposed that that was a good sign.
Dori took a deep drink from his mug before he continued his muttering, "It was like that with his wish to become a scribe and again, when he insisted on joining Thorin's Company. Neither Nori nor I could talk any sense into him. 'I don't want to stay in boring Blue Mountains,' he said! Pah!"
Dwalin found himself inexplicably smiling. "I know," he said fondly. "He had it in his head that I was not warm enough and made it his personal mission to rectify this problem. I tried to convince him that I was fine. He wouldn't have it."
"Oh? And what did he do?"
"He knitted me twenty nine items. Among them were nineteen pieces of clothing." Dwalin fingered the cuffs of his gloves that Ori had recently given him. Never in a million years could he have ever predicted that he would be spoiled rotten with gifts.
Dori let out a bark of laughter. "Of course he would! If there is one thing that Ori has in spades aside from bloody stubbornness, it's passion. He also is a bit of an overachiever!" Dwalin hummed in agreement at that, but he was not surprised. These were the things about Ori that he had learned during the journey and he suspected that they were what attracted him to the scribe in the first place.
A bout of silence followed as each Dwarf thought about what had been said. Dwalin was beginning to hope that Dori and he could resolve their differences without resorting to physical blows. So far, they had done miraculously well.
That did not mean that he had stopped dreading how this conversation would continue, especially when Dori's next question was a seemingly random one. "Why?"
"Why what?" Dwalin asked with trepidation.
"Why Ori?"
Why Ori indeed. Dwalin had a million and one reasons in his mind, yet he could not even begin to answer the question with clarity. If he were to open his mouth right now to respond, his answer would only pour out as a jumbled mess of words, and he doubted that Dori would appreciate his lack of coherence. Still, it was important that he did not spend too much time silently dwelling on what to say least his affections were accused of being insincere.
"Because he is the bravest Dwarf that I know," Dwalin started slowly, "Kind to a fault, smart as a whip, stubborn as a mule, he doesn't put up with my nonsense." He also has the most beautiful smile that knocks the breath from my body. "He's got a loyal heart, and he's one of the rare few Dwarves who's not afraid to be honest with me." I've never felt more at peace with myself than when I have him beside me. "He makes me want to be a better Dwarf. He makes me want to be happy." I would wish for nothing more if I can do the same for him.
Dori has gone completely silent. Dwalin watched him take a slow sip out of his mug, obviously contemplating on his words, and in the lingering stillness between them, the warrior realized just how loud his hammering heartbeat was. Dwalin had never felt more afraid in his life than in that moment. Funny how facing endless waves of Orcs could not compare to the terror of having one's heart laid out in the open.
Finally, Dori turned to glare at Dwalin. "You will take care of him," he said sternly.
"With everything that I have and until my last breath leaves my body," Dwalin swore softly. "Master Dori, I love him."
Dori did not smile, but his eyes had softened just a little at the hushed confession. Then, his usual, disgruntled expression was back on his face. "Master Dwalin," he began in a crisp tone, "it is usually a Ri family tradition to at least have Sunday brunches together. Unfortunately, this has been pushed aside what with the adventure and Erebor's reconstruction. I hope to reintroduce it."
He gave the warrior a no-nonsense look that had Dwalin nervously shifting in his seat. "You will be coming over for brunch next week. Eleven o'clock sharp at my tent. Do not be late."
Dwalin was so stunned that he could only nod back stiffly.
"Good." Satisfied, Dori got up and brushed the invisible dust off of his clothing. "You know, I think I've got my fair share of fresh air. Please feel free to finish the tea, Master Dwalin. I shall collect the tray once you are done." And with a final nod, he spun around and ducked into the tent's entrance.
Dwalin was left to stare after him with a rapidly growing smile on his face. When Thorin and Balin found him hours later, he was still smiling.
Bilbo and Ori resurfaced with a loud splash, coughing the cold river water from their lungs.
"Never – never again!" Ori spluttered out as he scrambled to keep himself afloat by flinging his arms over the barrel that was bobbing up and down in the water on its side. Somewhere along their trip down the River Running, the barrel had flipped, throwing the Dwarf out of the wretched wooden death trap. Bilbo, who was clinging on to the outside, just barely kept his grip on the makeshift boat.
"Never again," Bilbo agreed with a groan. He adjusted his hold on the barrel, freeing one of his hands so that he could brush away his wet hair from his eyes with his numb fingers. "I think I swallowed enough water to last a lifetime."
"I think I will be happy to never see this horrible place ever again," Ori added vehemently. He coughed a few more times to clear out his lungs before he could say, "We can't stay afloat here. Which way do you reckon is Lake-town?"
Bilbo craned his head as far as he could and looked around his surroundings. They were stuck in the middle of a vast body of water that stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Immediately surrounding them was a myriad of other floating debris, none larger than the barrel that they were holding on to. It was hard to distinguish which way is which among the chaos, and the only tell that Bilbo could use was by watching the river flow.
"That way is upriver so...I guess we keep paddling in the opposite direction, which is that way?" He pointed to his right. He hoped they would find somewhere to land soon. Maybe their good luck from earlier on would carry them all the way home.
Thirty minutes later, they were still trapped in the water with no other visible landmark in sight. Bilbo had to admit to himself that their good luck had finally run out.
"O-Ori, h-how are you doing?" Bilbo asked between chattering teeth. He did not remember feeling this cold in the water the last time that they had taken the barrel ride down the River Running.
Ori frowned heavily in concern, "Bilbo, you're shaking like a leaf!" Gripping to the barrel, he immediately made his way to Bilbo's side and boldly wrapped an arm around the Hobbit, ignoring his squeak of protest. "Keep close, we need to preserve our warmth," Ori explained as he tucked his friend closer to him.
"O-oh," Bilbo blinked in surprise at Ori's quick thinking. Frankly, he felt a bit embarrassed for not coming up with that solution sooner. His mind must be addling from this cursed cold.
"We need to get out of this water before we freeze to death," the Dwarf muttered unhappily. The warmth of his breath brushed softly against Bilbo's chilled cheek and it sent him shivering all the harder.
"There's n-nothing around us that we c-can use like a raft?"
"None that I can see, unfortunately," Ori replied. He tightened his hold on Bilbo and spun around to have a better look, pausing every now and then to squint towards the horizon.
Suddenly, he stopped moving. "Wait," he said in a hush, "I think I saw something move in the distance."
Bilbo perked his head up. "What? What is it?"
"I...I'm not sure, I can't quite make out what it is," Ori trailed off, squinting all the harder. Bilbo turned to where the Dwarf was looking and scanned the water, but before he could make much headway, Ori tensed beside him. "I think I see it!" Ori exclaimed with growing excitement. "It's a boat, Bilbo! A boat!"
Bilbo's eyes widened. "Wait, are you sure?"
"Positive! It's a boat, a small one but a boat nonetheless!"
Bilbo let out a whoop of pure joy. "We're saved! We're saved!" Ever so gently, he peeled himself away from Ori and started to wave his arms frantically at the boat. "Oy! Over here! We need help! Over here!"
"It's coming our way!" Ori cried out happily before joining Bilbo's attempt to flag down the ship. "Over here! Help! Please, we need help!"
They did not stop shouting until the boat was close enough to cast a fishing net over them.
"What do you suppose everyone's reaction will be when they see us?" Bilbo asked as he shifted to allow Ori more space from their perch inside the net. They were slowly being pulled out of the frigid water and already, the Hobbit could feel pins and needles in his limbs. He brought his hands over his mouth and warmed them with his breath.
"Probably a lot of disbelief," Ori answered cheerily. He wringed the hem of his tunic to get the excess water out. "I just hope that my brothers or Dwalin haven't killed each other. I fully expect them to have broken into several fist fights."
"Yes, it would be a shame if anything happened to your beau Dwalin," Bilbo teased with a large smirk on his face. "Oho, what is this? Are you blushing?"
Ori quickly buried his face into his hands to hide his flush. "Shut up, Bilbo," he mumbled, but he sounded more mortified than truly offended. "I'll have you know that you of all people should not be making fun of me, what with you and the king's ongoing romance – "
"A romance that you've done beautifully to illustrate in those pamphlets! Thank you for reminding me!" Bilbo nudged teasingly at Ori with his shoulder when the Dwarf groaned. "What I am particularly interested in is that third image, the one where Thorin and I were locked in a desperate – "
Bilbo never got to finish that sentence as their net dropped to the ground without warning, sending the Dwarf and the Hobbit crashing against the boat's hard, wooden deck.
"Oof!" his back connected to the floor with a thud and he felt the wind knocked out of him. Temporarily dazed and more than slightly panicked, Bilbo managed to struggle weakly against his net, further tangling his arms and legs. Ori wasn't faring any better; he was thrashing violently against his bonds but he was as stuck as Bilbo was.
"Oy, what's the meaning of this?" Bilbo asked, his voice shaky from the lack of breath. That fall had hurt. His back would probably bruise something horrible.
"The meaning, Mister Hobbit, is that we were very fortunate to come across you two, although I can't say the same for you or your friend," came a very familiar voice, and Bilbo immediately felt his blood freeze.
Looming above Bilbo and Ori were their captors Galion and Mallor, who looked none too please by their presence on the boat.
"Aw crap," Ori squeaked out. Bilbo cannot help but return the sentiment.
"Uncle! Uncle!" Fíli's urgent shouts jostled Thorin so badly that he immediately lunged for Orcrist, drew his sword from its scabbard and spun around to face the entrance in a fluid motion. Around him, Dwalin, Balin, and Dori had similarly dropped what they were holding to grab for their weapons.
"Uncle, we have news from the Ravens!" Fíli, with Kíli tight on his heels, burst through the entrance, wild eyed and grinning like mad men only to stop abruptly before they accidentally ran themselves through.
"Um," Kíli squeaked out, staring crossed-eyed at the gleaming blade of Balin's sword that was pointed straight at his chest.
The Dwarves collectively breathed a sigh of relief and lowered their weapons. "Sorry, laddie," Balin offered Kíli as he sheathed away his blade. "Now, what is it that you have to say?"
"We just received news from Roäc!" Fíli cried out before Kíli could get a word in. "The Ravens found Bilbo and Ori!"
Notes about the chapter:
[1] I made the assumption that the basement cell's door has a double cylinder lock (ie. it accepts a key from both sides). It's not exactly very historically accurate since a double cylinder lock is a later invention, but we'll just handwave that.
[2] Water temperature of lakes/ponds/rivers tends to be significantly colder in the Spring (which is when this story is taking place) vs. the Fall (the time when Thorin and co. rode down the river in The Hobbit). One of the reasons is because water slowly absorbs heat from the hot summer days and when Fall hits, this build up of heat have not had the chance to fully dissipate yet (until Winter sets in).
This brings us to the following point to consider: full body exposure to chilly water after a set amount of time = increased risk of hypothermia, especially if you're wearing water absorbent clothes like cotton or wool.
[3] I based off the river's temperature on the water surface temperature of Lake Ontario and Lake Eerie in April/May, and I made a very generous assumption that the river's temperature is slightly over 10 degrees Celsius (50 degrees Fahrenheit).
At this temperature, a normal person can last in the water for 1 - 2 hours until hypothermia kicks in, but other factors that can extend this time is the will to live (which Bilbo and Ori would have plenty of). I estimated that Bilbo can last in the water for approx. 2 hours while Ori can last up to 4, given that he's a Dwarf and they're built to be hardier.
On to the next chapter!