14

BENEATH THE TREES

They had left the safety of Beorn's boundaries at midday, but remained unmolested, no sign of the Orcs that were surely hunting them. Bilbo Baggins was deep in thought as he rode behind Bofur near the back of the Company, recalling his tale the night before. It had been something of a relief to share the events in the Goblin tunnels, even if only partially. He remembered a saying of his mother's, something along the lines of "a burden is made lighter by the sharing," and had to agree. Of course, he had not told his friends everything – and he still wasn't sure why not. His hand was once more fidgeting at his jacket pocket, and he frowned, pulling it away and staring at it in frustration. Why did the golden ring fascinate him so?

* X *

As he moves to follow the sneaking creature, a glint of metal catches his attention. Stooping, he finds a plain gold ring, heavy and smooth in his hand. He tucks it absently in a pocket and continues on, forgetting about it within moments. It is only later, as he fumbles desperately for another riddle in this game for his life, that his fretting fingers find the cool metal once more, causing him to blurt out a question, "what have I got in my pocket?" And so the game is won, quite by accident and a twist of the rules, but the danger is not yet over. The creeping Gollum reneges on his part of the bargain and Bilbo flees into the tunnels. Just when he thinks he is cornered (and likely dead), the ring slips onto his finger and the world goes a little dimmer. Gollum passes him by and the Hobbit gradually realizes that he is invisible. The ring has saved his life, and given him a way out, for he follows the creature until he sees sunlight and can follow his friends to freedom. They are surprised, and he finds himself strangely reluctant to explain what has happened, although Gandalf watches him closely. In the end, he offers a vague, evasive answer and reaffirms his commitment to the Company. And they are satisfied, but the burden of the gold ring settles in his mind as much as in his pocket as the journey continues.

* X *

Lost in his reverie, it took the Hobbit a moment to realize that he was watching a massive, dark shape keep pace with the Company at the edge of sight, barely visible as the sun began to set. It was unmistakably Beorn in the form of the bear that they had first encountered, and Bilbo felt a little safer knowing that their new friend ranged nearby.

* X *

It took three days of travel to cross the open plains, the looming shadow of Mirkwood growing ever more ominous. When they finally reached the edge, late afternoon on the third day, they found themselves reluctant to enter. Simply looking at the trees put Trisk on edge.

"This forest feels sick," Bilbo declared flatly, a look of discontent on his face. "Can we not go around? Even Beorn advised against going through."

"It's too far, and would take too long," Fíli replied glumly, eying the trees with distrust.

"The forest stretches two hundred miles North, and twice that South," Gandalf added, though the look on his face made it clear that he did not like the look of the wood any more than the others did. "North would take you close to the Grey Mountains, and they have not been safe for many a long year. South lie the lands of the Necromancer. The lands east of the Misty Mountains are not so gentle as the West, my dear Bilbo. There are no safe paths here."

"Only a choice between dangers and the length of the road," Thorin added in a low rumble, resting a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "No, Master Burglar, this is our road if we hope to reach the Mountain by Durin's Day. But you are right. I would take another if I could. We will camp here tonight, by the stream, and enter the wood by morning's light."

Trisk turned to help his sister unload gear from their ponies, catching a glimpse of Gandalf walking cautiously along the first part of the Elven path. Something about the wizard's hesitant steps and reluctant posture made the hair on the back of the young Dwarrow's neck stand up and he stopped to watch. Within a few moments, Gandalf strode back out to where the Company was making their camp and setting the ponies loose to rejoin the skin-changer. Nori was just starting on the wizard's horse when Gandalf spoke up.

"Not my horse!" he interrupted anxiously, startling the thief as he grabbed the reins. "I'll need him."

"What?" Kíli asked, looking confused.

"Gandalf, you aren't leaving us?" Bilbo protested.

"I do not wish to, but I must." He swung into the saddle, reciting an urgent list of cautions and warnings as he turned the horse's head back the way they had come. "Stay on the path – do not leave it, or you will never find it again. Fill your water skins before you enter the forest. You will find a river, but heed Beorn's warning and do not touch the water. Take the stone bridge. Remember, this is not the Greenwood of old. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion and will seek to lead you astray. Keep the map and key safe, and I will meet you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Whatever you do, do not seek to enter the Mountain without me!"

And then he was gone.

* X *

Viska had been under the eaves of Mirkwood, once Greenwood the Great, for less than half a day, and she was already tired of it. Judging by the path, Elves were completely incapable of thinking in straight lines. Didn't they know that they were the shortest distance between two points? Why must the trail wander and meander all over the place, rather than guiding them directly from the gate to the far side of this cursed, gloomy, darksome forest? It was difficult to remember that the sun had been bright in the sky when they entered the trees, that autumn was passing beyond its borders, bringing cooler breezes and brisk nights. Inside the wood, the light was dull and dim, the air thick and heavy. Time did not move, no breeze stirred. All seemed choked to a halt, resenting the intrusion of the Dwarven company, throwing any sound they made back at them like a hateful echo. The Elven path was hard to follow, broken and twisted as it was, and the webs that clung to the trees filled them with unease.

The lass's mind felt clouded, her thoughts thick and slow. She clung ever closer to her brother as they made their way through the forest, nearly treading on his heels until he stepped aside to push her ahead. The Company had started out chatting, telling jokes and tales and singing songs, but before the first night fell, conversation faded away. The dreary atmosphere of the wood stifled even Bofur's upbeat spirits. Dwalin and Glóin were the first to become irritable and snappish, to no one's surprise, but then the others began to follow suit. Soon, Óin was insisting that he could not breathe, and Dori was keeping up a steady litany of complaints as they walked. Nori kept reaching for the hilts of his knives, sharp eyes darting to and fro. Balin did not speak, but seemed to grow wearier with every step, shoulders slumped and head bowed. Bifur started at every new sound, his boar spear a dangerous obstacle to those around him. Bombur muddled along disconsolately at the back of the column, forbidden from snacking as they traveled, since they did not know how long the provisions would need to last.

The first night descended like a black curtain, smothering the Company in oppressive darkness so that even the night vision of the Dwarves was of little help. Glóin had started a fire in the middle of the path as the light failed, and they sat huddled around it as they ate a scanty supper. There was little conversation, for all of them felt the sensation of being observed, and they were loathe to talk much beyond what was needful. Viska leaned against Trisk's side, more for comfort than for warmth, blinking owlishly in the firelight as she studied the forest around them. After a long moment, she realized that the forest was was staring back – dozens of shining eyes reflected the flames in the dense undergrowth, though nothing more than the eyes could be seen. The Dwarf lass shuddered and shrank back into the comforting presence of her brother and companions.

"You see them, too?"

The soft question in her ear made her start and reminded her that the fair-haired prince sat on her other side, both comfort and distraction. She nodded silently, trying to ignore the way his warm breath on her cheek made her pulse race.

"Oi! Mahal's beard!"

Kíli ducked against his brother, waving his hands wildly as he tried to fend off huge dark moths that were fluttering around his head. Within moments, the air above the Company was filled with the flapping insects, smacking into their faces with hand-sized wingspans and thumping them about the ears with heavy bodies. Then the bats appeared, massive black flying rodents, diving after the moths. Ori yelped as one brushed by his face and Thorin swore loudly.

"Douse the fire! We'll never get any sleep this way!"

Trisk lunged forward, kicking dirt over the small fire to smother it. Darkness engulfed them once more and the silversmith stumbled back to his seat, settling in on Viska's left.

"Is it even worthwhile to keep watch?" Nori asked quietly. Thorin sighed.

"It will do precious little good," he admitted, "but still, we'd see any light approaching, or possibly hear something. Glóin, take first watch, then Dori, then Nori. Everyone, get some rest."

"Aye," the merchant agreed. Viska heard him moving around and could imagine him setting the large ax near to hand. Yawning, she leaned back into the huddle of warm bodies, smiling as she settled against a broad chest that rumbled with the familiar low humming. A moment later, a strong hand came to rest on hers, giving a reassuring squeeze as she sank into sleep.

* X *

"Easy, Visk, it's alright. Wake up."

The soft murmurs and a gentle hand on her shoulder brought Viska to full wakefulness, struggling out of a twisted, nerve-wrenching nightmare. The lass blinked in the first glimmers of sunlight, sitting up abruptly. Fíli was at her side, kind eyes fixed on her face. To her other side, Trisk was stirring, while Kíli snored steadily, despite his head having slipped off of Fíli's shoulder to rest on a pack. The Dwarrowmaid caught her breath, tucking her scarf into place automatically.

"Alright, then?" Nori called softly from the far side of the fire. She nodded, shivering more from memory than the light chill in the air.

Nightmare. Sorry if I woke you.

The thief chuckled. "I was awake anyway, so you didn't bother me. And I daresay you weren't fidgeting any more than Kíli usually does, so I'm surprised that Fíli even noticed."

The elder prince grinned and shook his head. "I didn't, until I got a fist in the gut," he admitted wryly. "Were you fighting off Goblins? Or bats?"

Spiders, Viska answered with a shiver, glancing up at the thick webs in the trees above them.

"Now there's a lovely thought," Trisk groaned as he stretched out cramped muscles and got to his feet. "I'd rather avoid the spiders, if at all possible, thanks."

The rest of the Company was stirring with muttered protests as Fíli stood, offering Viska a hand up. Kíli snored on in determined slumber and the swordsman fixed him with a narrowed gaze before reaching down to slip the pack out from under his brother's head. The dark-haired prince's skull hit the path with a soft thump and one brown eye slitted open to glare reproachfully.

"Not fair, nadad," the archer grumbled, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "I was sleeping."

"You were faking," Fíli corrected with a smile, tossing the pack to him. "Sun's up, time to rise."

"I should at least get to sleep until Thorin is up," Kíli retorted. A packet containing one of Beorn's travel biscuits smacked into his lap and the lad turned in surprise to see his uncle smirking at him from across the campsite.

"Thorin is up," the king commented lightly. "Now, get moving."

Kíli grinned and Viska found herself smiling behind her scarf. The affectionate exchanges between Thorin and his nephews were few, and oft time buried beneath sass and long-suffering sarcasm, but it was clear to anyone who knew them that they were bound by love. It softened the stern Dwarven king just slightly, and was sometimes enough to make her heart ache with the loss of her own beloved father.

Trisk tossed the lass her pack, then hoisted his own, turning to Nori curiously.

"Did the eyes disappear when the fire was out?" he asked, glancing at the surrounding foliage. The thief shook his head.

"There weren't quite so many when I took watch," he replied. "But they didn't leave until just before it started getting light. Creepy little buggers. Couldn't identify half of them if I tried."

The trip through the forest settled into a gloomy monotony and the days passed in depressing darkness. The Elven road was in poor repair, so they had to keep a sharp eye out lest they wander off of it, and the thick canopy filtered the light to a dim murk with never a break. The Company's spirits sank lower and lower as the days passed with no end in sight and their provisions dwindled. The food that Beorn had provided went quickly, despite the Dwarves trying to stretch it out as long as possible. They had no idea how long it would take them to escape the wood, and even then they would need to get to Laketown before they could replenish most of the supplies. The only possible game that they had seen were strange black squirrels, and the one that Kíli had been able to bring down had tasted horrific when they roasted it. They could hear animals, certainly, but everything else was too fleet of foot for even the Hobbit to spy, hiding in the shadows and underbrush, making odd scuffling noises and grunts.

The nights were no better. After a second experience with the moths and bats, they no longer even tried starting a fire, but sat in the deep darkness and dozed as best they could. They traded off keeping watch, for what good it did, staring into blackness where they could barely see their hands in front of their faces. The only things visible after the sun set were the eyes, all shapes and sizes, that watched them from the depths of the forest (and occasionally the trees, which occurrence had Bilbo yelping in dismay and waking half of the Company one night). More than once, Viska dozed off leaning against Trisk's back, only to wake before the first glimmers of dawn to find herself snugged into Fíli's side, her hand enclosed in one of his and tucked to his chest.

They found the enchanted river late on the fifth day, a sluggish, meandering flow of dark water. The stone bridge that Gandalf had described ended abruptly near the apex of its span, a great chunk taken out of the center that was too wide for Dwarf or Hobbit to leap. The Company milled around in agitation on the bank, searching for another way across. Kíli was eying the thick vines and roots that draped between the trees and crossed the waterway, but Viska caught sight of a dark shape on the far shore and pointed it out to her brother.

"There's a boat," Trisk announced, peering through the gloom. "It's not very big, and I can't tell if it is tied, but we might be able to draw it across."

"Shoot it, perhaps?" Dori suggested.

Kíli shook his head. "We don't have anything that would be long enough and light enough for an arrow to carry."

Fíli was eying the boat and calculating the distance in his head. "Does anyone have a metal hook?" he asked quietly, taking a coil of thin rope from his gear. After a moment of rummaging, Nori produced the heavy hook that usually held one of the straps of his pack. The golden-haired prince tied it to the end of his rope and hoisted it thoughtfully. Spinning it several times to get some momentum, he released it and watched the metal arc over the stream, only to splash down just short of the dark shape on the far side.

"Try again," Bilbo urged. "Just a bit more and you'd have got it. I daresay you'll be safe enough from the enchantment just pulling the rope out of the water."

Viska saw Fíli eye the Hobbit doubtfully, but then he drew the hook and rope back onto the bank and wiped the metal off on his coat before raising it to spin once more. This time, the hook landed in the boat and he drew the rope back carefully until it caught. He gave a few short tugs to make sure it was secure, then started pulling in earnest. At first, the boat did not move, and Bilbo groaned.

"Perhaps it is tied," he fretted. "It's hard to see in this gloom."

"We might still be able to get it," Kíli replied, stepping up to grab the rope and add his weight to the pull. Dwalin and Dori joined in quickly, and when the boat came loose, it dumped the four of them in an undignified pile on the bank of the stream. The boat was small, but looked sturdy, the broken tie rope dangling from the prow. After a quick consultation with Balin, Thorin decided to have them cross in small groups.

"How exactly are we going to get it across, though?" Bilbo asked. "There are no oars."

"Kí, give me your rope," Fíli ordered shortly. "Anyone have another hook?"

Dori gave up one of his this time, and it was tied to the rope, then hurled across the stream into the branches of a tree on the far side. Once it was secure, Fíli handed the end of the rope to his uncle.

Thorin crossed first, with Dwalin pulling the rope to haul them across and Balin holding on to the first hook while Glóin held the end of the rope on the bank. Once they reached the bank, the adviser secured the hook in the wood of the boat and tied the other rope to it so they could draw it back across. Bilbo, Fíli, Kíli, and Óin were in the next load, followed by Dori, Ori, and Glóin. Nori, Bofur, Trisk, and Viska went next, leaving Bifur and Bombur last, in spite of the large cook's complaints at being last (again). Bifur climbed in with his cousin with no comment beyond a shake of his head and pulled the boat across quickly. As it bumped against the far bank, the toymaker scrambled out and stepped easily from boat to ground. Bombur, however, found himself suddenly unbalanced when his turn came and his step out became a stumble, which ended with him toppling toward the water.

"Bombur! Nadadith!"

Half of the Company lunged to catch the hefty Dwarf, knowing that they might never get him out of the river if he fell in. With their combined efforts, they managed to steady the red-haired tinker...but not before the damage was done. One grasping hand had caught Fíli's coat and pulled the young prince off-balance so that he slipped in the soft earth at the side of the sluggish stream and slid in with a yelp.

"Fí? Fíli!"

The heir scrambled to his feet, standing waist deep in the murky flow, one hand held out in warning. "I'm alright, Kíli, stay back! Toss me a rope, carefully. I don't want you falling in, too!"

Bifur tossed the end of the rope he carried and braced himself as the young Dwarf caught it and started hoisting himself up the bank. After only two steps, Fíli faltered, blinking in confusion and shaking his head as if to clear it.

"Kí? Thorin? I don't..."

He trailed off as his uncle and brother lunged forward, pulling him the rest of the way up the bank and easing him to the ground. He was unconscious by the time they set him down, chin slumped on his chest. Kíli crouched next to him, checking him over frantically as Óin hurried to his side.

"Fíli? Nadad?! Wake up!"

"Easy lad," the healer cautioned, moving calmly as he checked the young prince's vital signs. "He's breathing, his heartbeat is strong and steady. He is simply asleep."

"Asleep? Why?"

The archer's eyes were wide with panic, and Viska could feel fear pulsing through her heart. Trisk placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his gaze fixed on Kíli.

"The water. Gandalf and Beorn both said it was enchanted." The silversmith's voice was even and calm, an anchor for the two youngest of the group. "Óin says he is sleeping. Perhaps it will wear off, if we give it some time."

* X *

He wanders in an unfamiliar forest, alone, listening to lilting, musical voices drift through the trees on the sunlight. The path beneath his feet is clear and well-maintained, easy to follow as it winds through the lush green foliage. The cheerful calls of birds drift down from the canopy, and he can see the undergrowth rustle occasionally as small animals dart by on their unending errands of survival. The young Dwarf closes his eyes and inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of fresh air, rich earth, and green growing things...and if there is the faintest hint of other, fouler smells beneath the fair, it is noted only by the deepest part of his enraptured mind.

When he opens his eyes again, it is night. The trills of songbirds have been replaced by the low calls of hunting night birds, and the movements of the nocturnal hunters on the ground are stealthier and harder to see. Moonlight filters down through the leaves, and stars are visible through small gaps in the canopy as branches sway in the night breeze. The musical voices are louder, closer, raised in merriment, and he can see flickering firelight through the trees. Delicious aromas drift through the air, teasing his nose and making his stomach grumble – roasted meats and vegetables, savory stews, freshly baked bread. His mind conjures a brief image of the bread slathered with honey, as it was at Beorn's table, but one of the musical threads worms its way through the thought – Beorn? Who is Beorn? It is certainly not a Dwarvish name – and the vision slips away. The smell of the stew is so thick he can nearly taste it, and it brings another vision, this one of laughing green eyes beneath a gray hood as bowls of stew are eaten around a campfire. But again the unearthly music dances through his mind and drives the image away, and he lets it go.

* X *

"We will camp here tonight," Thorin decided, his eyes never leaving the slumbering form of his eldest nephew. "Perhaps he will wake in the morning."

"And if he doesn't?" Kíli challenged, eyes snapping as he knelt by his brother. The king-in-exile met the younger lad's gaze in understanding and shook his head.

"Then we will carry him, lad, and count ourselves thankful that it is Fíli, and not Bombur, who sleeps. He will not be left behind."

The archer's posture relaxed and he nodded to his uncle, looking slightly ashamed. "I am sorry, I-"

"You are worried about your brother, I know. Get some rest, Kíli. We will make a litter in the morning, if we must."

The Company's spirits had been low since entering the forest, but now they sank even lower as they made a sketchy camp on the path and settled in to watch their princes. One slept, oblivious, his thick mane drying in a tangle about his face. The other, dark eyes shadowed with worry, sat beside him, one hand playing restlessly with a loose golden braid. Trisk watched in silence for a long moment before pulling Fíli's pack over and rummaging in it briefly. When he found the worn metal comb, he pressed it into Kíli's hand and closed the younger lad's hand over it. Kíli nodded in thanks and undid the damp braids so he could begin combing the leaves and twigs out of his brother's hair, humming softly under his breath.

* X *

Finally, he has reached the source of the music, the lights, and the mouthwatering aromas. A wide clearing opens before him, filled with torches, a blazing bonfire, and tables laden with dishes both familiar and exotic. Tall, graceful figures move among the tables as though they are dancing, long dark hair falling in shimmering curtains. A regal Elf with flaxen hair and eerie blue eyes sits at the head of the largest table, wearing a carved crown twined with autumn leaves and bright berries. He reclines at his ease, looking languidly arrogant as he watches his subjects, a goblet of wine held loosely between long fingers. The Dwarf lad feels an instinctive shiver of distrust at the sight of the Elven king (for surely it must be he), half-remembering tales of abandonment and betrayal, but the negative emotion does not linger. How could it, in such a place? The king does not acknowledge the arrival of the travel-weary Dwarf, nor do any of the other Elves. Their conversations, dance, and song continue without interruption as he pauses at the edge of the clearing, staring in wonder at the feast that lies before him. How long has it been since he ate enough to fill his belly? A deep, clear part of his mind is screaming for him to approach with caution, to be wary and suspicious, but the hypnotic music soon silences the tiny corner of clarity and he starts to step into the glade.

Another song catches his attention then, and he turns his head, searching for the source. It is a low, rich sound, and it cuts through the lighter, captivating music woven by the Elves. Where their melodies twist sinuous paths through his mind, this new one sings to his heart and soul, resonating in his very bones. It is the sound of home, of family, of cherished memory, of plans for the future. It is a song that he cannot ignore, delivered by the voice of the one who has stood at his side for nearly eighty years. A face appears in his mind, laughing brown eyes above a wide, cheeky grin, and a smile creeps across his own face in response, even as he has to search for a name. At long last, it comes.

Kíli. That is Kíli. And he is my...brother? Yes, my brother. My little brother. He is Kíli, and I am...

His eyes widen and for the first time, fear creeps into his heart as he struggles to remember the combination of sounds that means him. It is Kíli's voice that helps, for he has heard that voice calling his name every day since the younger lad first spoke.

Fíli! I am Fíli!

Translations and Notes:

nadad – brother (Khuzdul)

nadadith – little/younger brother (Khuzdul)