Some things simply need to be done.

I really hope you'll all like that chapter...

Idk whether some of you realized that some formatting was missing in the latest chapters. That's due to FFN being and absolute and total bitch - maybe some of you have had similar problems when posting. When I copy&paste the chapter into here to upload it it usually keeps the formatting, but lately, italics have been lost - and I don't really have the time to go through the whole fucking chapter again and correct what's wrong. I'm really sorry for that! (It's more easily readable, I believe, on AO3, should any of you be really annoyed!)

21. To rush out and reveal himself and tell all the truth

The Hobbit, or There and Back Again – Chapter 12: Inside Information

Bilbo stares at Gimli, tears in his eyes, and pain – but no accusation.

"I do not think I could do that."

"Neither did I, however… there are things coming, things much more important than you and me and Thorin. Erebor will be a dearly-needed stronghold even if it is Dáin who sits upon the throne, and time will continue as it will. I simply… I simply hope that this is not what it should be like. What the Valar meant it to be like."

A moment passes, and then short, thin arms are wrapped around Gimli's broad torso.

The dwarf fights to keep back the tears threatening to fall as he holds the younger one close, careful not to hurt him, and when Bilbo pulls back again he even manages to return the hobbits equally tearful smile.

"I am glad it was someone like you who was sent back," Bilbo murmurs, and then turns to dart back into the mountain, leaving a stunned Gimli behind.

"I heard Thranduil mention that they are to march upon the mountain two hours after the sun has risen, in order to inform Thorin of the trade that has been struck," reaches his ears and tears him from his stupor; however, when he turns the hobbit has long vanished into the dark halls and tunnels of Erebor.

The time-traveller stands flummoxed for more than a minute, shocked and warmed at the same time.

While Bilbo seems to be placing an awful lot of faith in him… it is also incredible – knowing that someone who is not of his immediate family, who he has not travelled across time with, who has not known him for all that long… trusts him like that.

He could not say how much time has passed – standing there on the battlements, staring off into the sunrise and feeling ridiculously happy – when he finally shakes off that stupor and, after one last glance at the elves waiting on the walls of Dale's ruins (their armour shining in the newly rising light), follows the hobbit into the depths of Erebor once again.

A little unsure what he should do (there is, as he very well knows, little use in searching for the Arkenstone inside these walls) he trudges down towards the room he saw the others make camp in last night, and the princes throw themselves at him the moment he enters.

"Gim," Kíli whispers into his neck, where his face is hidden, "we need to talk. Alone."

Raising an eyebrow at the old nickname (Legolas better never hear that one!) the time-traveller wraps his arms around his young friend and cousin, before breathing "alright, follow my lead" into Kíli's dark mane and then promptly burying his blunt fingertips in the prince's ribs where he knows him to be the most vulnerable.

Kíli screeches with surprise and the terrible torture of being tickled; and Fíli immediately throws himself at Gimli in order to avenge his brother.

The time-traveller barely manages to keep standing underneath the playful assault and returns the shove, which leaves the youngest with the possibility to attack on his part. His quick fingers wrap around the tip of Gimli's fiery red beard, and tug.

Gimli roars and his hands let go of Fíli again only to be buried in Kíli's sides with double the intensity of before, and after squealing rather unmanly the dark-haired prince takes off at a run. The redhead dashes after him, followed by the blonde, and neither of them needs to look back in order to know that Balin and Dwalin will be shaking their heads fondly, and that Glóin will know how to excuse them should Thorin come looking for his nephews.

The boys lead Gimli into an old apartment far off the treasury, and when they turn around to look at him all laughter is gone from their eyes.

"Gim," Kíli says again, eyes wide and looking so terribly young that Gimli finds himself unable to scold him for even uttering that name. "What is happening? What is wrong with Uncle?"

And with that one sentence, guilt comes crushing down on the time-traveller.

"I did promise Dwalin to shield you good as I can," he admits miserably. "Instead, I wallowed in self-pity with Bilbo, and ran when I could."

Fíli is more composed than his brother. However, he too is visibly shaken. "…shield us? From what?"

"From what you saw already." Gimli closes his eyes in defeat. "I… I knew, of course, that it would happen… and Balin and Dwalin realized the moment it began. I should not… I should not have let all this distract me so much that I forgot to distract you."

Once more this day arms are wrapped around his strong torso.

This time, however, they are thick and muscled; and there is four of them.

A little awkwardly Gimli manages to return the three-way-hug.

"I am sorry.

"You should not be," Fíli murmurs from where his face is hidden in the wild red hair. For once, it seems, he is too shaken to be strong for his brother. "We are adults. Uncle deemed us old enough to face a dragon – surely we should also be old enough to be able to stand… to stand…-" He gulps, unable to finish his sentence.

Gimli shakes his head determinedly, ignoring the way two pained faces receive one or the other slap by his braids.

"No!" he disagrees hotly, "no one is ever old enough to stand seeing one they consider family disappear slowly! No, being of age changes nothing about how this hurts. I…"

"Does it hurt you too?" Kíli interrupts quietly, almost hesitantly.

The oldest sighs.

"Oh Kee," he returns the favour of using old, long-buried nicknames, "of course it does. I… I never knew him like you do, obviously, but he is family no less. And I… I am terribly pained to see him thusly. However… I am rather distracted by feeling guilty, and worrying over what is going to happen next…"

"What is going to happen?" Fíli asks, whom Gimli's admission seems to have given some of his usual countenance back.

"And why guilt?" Kíli adds, still rather subdued.

Gimli smiles wryly and rather bitterly.

"I could have saved all those people in Laketown. You do realize that, right?"

The blond prince pulls back far enough to be able to look at him, and his eyes are way too old for his age. Too serious. It comes with the burden of being the heir to the throne of a barely won-back kingdom, Gimli supposes.

"Everyone who leads will have to make sacrifices at some point," he says, and it sounds so terribly matter-of-factly. "Every commander will lose soldiers. Every king will lose subjects. And with how you are acting… you might as well be leading all of Middle-Earth against whatever enemy you found in the future. So… if sacrificing those men of Laketown, or maybe even some of us, is what will be necessary in order to prevent whatever Mahal and the Valar sent you here for to keep from happening – then you will need to be strong enough to do so. And I know that you will be."

Gimli gives the younger one a rather crooked smile.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "I already received a similar scolding from Bilbo last night… I guess I might actually be a little too self-pitying."

Fíli opens his mouth to answer; however, Kíli is faster.

"Bilbo knows?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

Oh bother.

"He does," the time-traveller nods, barely managing not to flinch or look guilty. "He… heard me talk aloud of things that should have better been left unsaid, and I forgot about his sharp ears. It was a mistake… as he might well play an important role in what is to come if I am allowed to change some things, though, it was perhaps for the better."

Kíli's eyes widen at that, before taking on a crestfallen shade.

"No important roles for us?"

Gimli cannot help but laugh softly at that. "If I am to make any changes, you can take whatever important roles you wish," he promises.

If the Lady Galadriel permits him to save them, after all, they will be alive enough to do whatever they want.

Fíli returns the time-traveller's treacherously soft smile.

"Just… one more question. Is he… will he snap out of it?"

That much, the redhead decides, he can tell them.

"Aye, he will."

It is only true – even if perhaps only for a painfully short time.

Kíli brightens up a little.

"Thanks, Gim," he whispers, and this time there is a tiny bit of cheek in the nickname.

Gimli snorts and pinches him. "I am happy I could help, Fee, Kee. If you need something – I am sure you will know how to find me. You always do." He gives them a toothy grin at that, and both brothers return it. "Now, off with you two – go and be in somebody's way, as usual."

He receives pinches in return, and then the two young princes take off as he prompted, both visibly more at ease than before.

Smiling indulgently the redhead sets to follow them back to the main hall at a more sedate pace, and he is on his way to move further down and towards the treasury when he sees a flash of golden.

Within the blink of an eye he has raced for the alcove Legolas has hid in.

"Are you mad?" he hisses angrily, "What are you doing in here when you do not know where Thorin is?"

"Delivering the latest news," is the amused answer. "Be calm, mellon nín. I merely came to inform you of Mithrandir's arrival. He brought word of an army of yrch marching here, they left from Dol Guldur. At the moment he is attempting to convince my father of fighting with, instead of against you. Ada, as agreed upon, is making things difficult. He is having a ball, I am sure."

The elf snickers, and Gimli finds himself unable to suppress a snort.

"As for Tauriel, she should be on her way back from Gundabad and return with numbers within a few hours. That should help us plan-"

"How," a menacing voice rumbles, "did you get in here?"

Gimli freezes.

His heart seems to stop for a moment before beginning to race.

This cannot be happening.

Thorin-

Legolas' eyes are wide.

Closing his eyes the dwarf takes a deep breath, does his best in an attempt to regain his composure, and, ever so slowly, turns around – only to see Thorin Oakenshield stand before him, eyes dark with dragon sickness and hands grabbing the hilt of his sword (the point of which is entirely not far enough from the time-traveller's head).

Behind him, the rest of the Company is gathering, staring and waiting for an explanation.

Glóin's eyes are wide with shock after having heard his son whisper elvish words.

Clearly, he has made the connection – that this must be the one who Gimli has come across time with… the One.

His son's heart – given to an elf.

And this terribly rude creature, no less…

Gimli can almost see his father think; however, there are more pressing matters.

"Oh, it was not all that hard," Legolas, having recovered from his shock, answers the King under the Mountain's question haughtily as he studies his fingernails, and the younger time-traveller fights the urge to hide his face in his hands. "We are good climbers, you know? Barricading that door did not make entering even remotely difficult for me."

Legolas will never let any opportunity to irk a dwarf slip, will he?

Thorin raises his sword a little farther, madness shining in his eyes as he snarls:

"You should never have come here! Why did you sneak into my kingdom, weed-eater? Were you sent to spy upon me? To steal my gold? To kill me when I sleep? I shall show you-"

"Stop."

Gimli's voice is commanding

It is the voice of someone who has seen the worst, and who will do anything to stop it from happening again.

The words are filled with so much authority, strength, pain and knowledge that even the fevered dwarf's rant comes to a halt for a few moments.

Long enough for the time-traveller to put himself between the one he calls King and the one he has given his heart and soul to.

The choice is almost too easy to make.

"He came here for me."

"For you," Thorin echoes, his voice dangerously calm, eyes burning with fever.

"Aye." Gimli says nothing more.

There is nothing he would not do to protect Legolas, even if it is the elf's own carelessness that has brought him into this particular situation. (It is not like he himself has not acted with recklessness more than once, his dearest friend always being there to help him.)

"He… they fought together in Laketown," Kíli quietly offers an explanation. "The elf saved us, together with another." The dark-haired prince and his brother are standing a little to the side, closer to Glóin and Bilbo than the rest of the group, their eyes wide. That is not, Gimli imagines, what the blonde would have expected to happen next. (Neither did he.)

The younger one is clinging to Fíli's arm with a vice-like grip, eyes wide with fear – fear for the life of his best friend, and for his beloved uncle's mind.

"Saved you?" Thorin echoes, outraged, raising the sword a little higher.

Gimli stands before him proudly, the tip of the weapon at the height of his eyes now.

"We were attacked by orcs," Bofur quickly, desperately barges in, even as he edges closer towards where the princes are standing. "Don't know why, but there was a whole lot of 'em when we were tryin' to help Kíli. They must've tracked, an' found us."

"One of the elves healed him," Fíli murmurs, clearly still terrified with how close he had come to losing his brother. "He… he would have died, had she not helped."

"You let an elf touch your brother?" the King roars, the news fuelling his rage even further. He might foam at the mouth, for all that he acts like a rabid animal.

Óin's voice is angry as he takes a step back towards his own brother and the princes. "I could not have helped him! Had you rather seen him die?" His right hand is in a position in which it will easily reach the small throwing knife his nephew knows to be hidden beneath his mail.

It warms the redhead's heart – to know that his uncle would intervene, although he still mistrusts 'Gimin', has only just caught him conversing with an elf and would normally be the last to stop his cousin, his King, from anything.

He would, however, do what is right.

Also, his aim with said knife is immaculate.

"You should never have let an elf help!" Thorin hisses furiously, unaware of the decision his healer has come to make – or of the way his nephews flinch upon hearing his words.

Fíli's eyes widen with shock, and helpless pain. Kíli, upon his uncle's reaction, closes his own lids, clearly fighting back tears and unknowingly fuelling the rage suddenly filling his brother. Bilbo, who has been standing behind them, takes a step forward and wraps his thin arms around the princes, who are clinging to each other. The boys, who have come to think of the hobbit as another parental figure during their quest, turn in his embrace and hide their faces in his curls, even though they have to stoop to reach them.

They are not even remotely successful in their attempt to hide their tears.

Or the agonized glances towards Thorin.

Gimli sees the way both princes stare at the dwarf who has been like a father two them, who has helped bring them up and who they love boundlessly, betrayal and hurt making their eyes shine, and that is the moment he finally snaps.

Some things simply need to be done.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" he hears himself roar, the fury which is making his blood boil resounding in the hall. (Thorin is out of his mind, oh, he knows that! Still, he cannot watch his friends bleed like that!) "They are your sistersons, the children you claimed to love like a father! If Tauriel had not helped Kíli he would be dead now! You cannot be serious when you say that you would not care!"

Judging from the looks in his companions' eyes he might be quite a sight in that moment when his rage and disappointment finally boil over, making to take on the reason for their very awakening.

Fíli and Kíli, still clinging to a furious Bilbo, give him watery, grateful smiles – which drop from their lips like stones when they hear their uncle's reaction.

"What I really do not care for is to hear your opinion!" the King under the Mountain rages, his whole body shaking with uncontained fury. The point of the shining sword is trembling uncontrolledly, a mere eight inches from Gimli's eyes. "You let an elf into my kingdom! One of those traitorous bastards! Thranduil's folk! How dare you! I should have you behead him right there, and then lock you up until you starve like traitors deserve to!"

In all probability Thorin really and honestly is fully unaware of the fact that he is treading dangerous territory – and surging forward with full speed.

A small part of Gimli's mind thinks his eyes might be shining with a madness of their own now – a madness of an entirely different kind than his King's.

Legolas is a calming presence in his back, his hand having moved to lie on his shoulder blade some time ago, without any of the other dwarves ever seeing the physical contact.

It is why he feels the stiffening of the long body, although it is no more than a tiny movement, at the King's words. He is, however, tuned to his beloved, now more than ever with the threat of death hanging over the one his heart has chosen to love forever.

The elf's reaction comes at the mention of Gimli's starvation, not at that of his own decapitation, and that further deepens his rage.

Thorin, King under the Mountain as he may be, has only just threatened to take the life of his One.

There is but one side left to choose, but one possible outcome-

…

It is the hand wandering to fully sit atop his shoulder, hardening its grip until sharp fingernails are digging almost painfully into the strong strands of muscle, and the ghostly wisp of "You do not want to do that" reaching his ear, barely more than a breath of wind, that stops him.

Just like that, the fury seeps from his blood as the iron leaves his limbs, the darkness in his mind drawing back and his fingers relaxing their grip on his ax.

Legolas is the only one who might have pulled him back from a wrath started because someone threatened the elf's life.

It is all he needs to regain his composure.

He is sane enough, now, to see the panic in his father's eyes, and the endless relief replacing it when Glóin realizes that Gimli will not react like any other dwarf whose very heart was attacked like that would.

They share a short moment of understanding, before the time-traveller lets his eyes travel further.

They find Fíli and Kíli, lingering in the hobbit's arms. The princes are as close as physically possible, the older one having wrapped his free arm around his brother and whispering to him in an attempt to comfort. Kíli's features look like set in stone, however, and where their hands are connected the knuckles of both are white with the force of the grip. Bilbo's face, almost hidden behind the taller dwarves', is one portrait of fury.

Next to them Óin's hand is slowly retreating from the hilt of the knife, his stance fading back to attentive instead of battle-ready. His eyes tell the time-traveller that his uncle, too, has understood what his reaction to Thorin's threat has meant – what the elf is to him.

As his heart warms with love for that family member he had regarded so little before this journey Gimli averts his gaze, or else he might say something sappy, and finds himself staring at Thorin instead, feeling the dread pool in his stomach. He had known that this would be happening, and still… it hurts to see this dwarf, his friend, his King like that – ready to sacrifice even his sistersons in his madness. Willing to tear apart a dwarf and his One, by choosing death for the latter.

And although he and Legolas have not decided yet whether they will change history he can no longer watch this happen, cannot withhold the words burning on his tongue even one more moment.

They set his mouth on fire just like fear and anger are blazing in his blood, snapping his self-control once again (too much has happened already that day, his nerves are frayed and trembling) and then he is yelling:

"You are my King, Thorin Oakenshield, always have been and always will be, and I have been loyal to you for longer than you can possibly imagine! However, if you do not find back to yourself right now – I will not hesitate to beat you as long and hard as necessary! For if you do not come to your senses very soon, you will be King under the Mountain for no more than an awfully short time, and everything you have worked for will be worth nothing!"

Thorin boils over, once again – never having cooled down.

"Are you, a subject of mine, threatening to take my crown?!" His eyes are shining with more madness and paranoia than ever.

It breaks Gimli's heart; however, he, too, is still raw and angry.

It is testament to his loyalty, his belief, that he answers with calm words instead of furious fists.

"Never," he vows, "Azog, however, is threatening to take your life!"

In that very moment a beautiful bird, the kind of which he has never seen, sails into the dark, wide halls of Erebor and gracefully lands on Legolas' shoulder. It sings a wonderful tune that has even Thorin quiet down for the moment and the elf's eyes lighten up as he listens, understands.

It seems he cannot wait to relay the news to his friend, as he quickly translates what he has been told, not even bothering to speak Sindarin in order to keep it from the dwarves:

"It is from the Lady Galadriel! She lets it be known that she believes we have been sent here for the purpose of righting the wrongs!" Relief and excitement are colouring his voice, making his words smoother and more otherworldly than they would otherwise have been spoken in Westron. The redhead's heart stutters at the sight of shining eyes and eager lips.

"From what she has seen both in our minds and her mirror, we have done nothing that would justify sending us back here as punishment, to suffer – to do naught but watch. Also, what has happened has brought great pain for so many, pain she does not believe was inflicted by the Valar on purpose, but by one Maia opposing them. They will wish to rectify that, she assumes, and the two of us have been deemed able of altering the course of history. Thus, she says, we shall do about the battle what we think necessary, and afterwards we are to have council concerning the R- ... rest. Also, she is sending Haldir with a troop of Rivendell and Lórien warriors, both archers and swordfighters. They ought to arrive just after dawn. It seems that, once again, Lord Elrond chose to offer his help as well."

The last remark, clearly added by Legolas and not translated, lightens Gimli's heart even more.

Just in time, he thinks, the Lady responded just in time, and her warriors will arrive just in time before the orcs' attack.

This is so very typical for those incorrigible long-legs with their muddled sense of time, to have him worry and make himself crazy until the very last minute!

It is that single, ridiculous thought, together with the endless relief rushing through his veins and the way his heart suddenly is so light with relief, which allows a single tear to escape from his eye and roll into his beard.

Legolas' hand on his shoulder is comforting now, companionable and reassuring, and he could not feel shame over having shared this moment of weakness with the elf even if he wanted to.

He turns his head until his gaze meets one from bright blue depths, and when their eyes connect the blonde lets a few precious pearls of jubilant, glorious laughter escape, soon joined by a much deeper guffaw.

Only then does Gimli turn back around to meet the reactions of his companions.

He is met with incomprehension from everyone but four.

Glóin, it seems, has overcome his shock of realizing his son has chosen a woodland elf as his One – for the moment (there surely is a healthy rant still to come). For now, however, he appears to focus on the information said elf has only just disclosed. His eyes are wide with fear upon having heard Legolas talk about the pain so many have suffered, and about the Valar wishing to right some wrongs. He, quite clearly, does not even want to imagine what must have happened. Also, he seems to be rather angry at the fact that his son is the one to carry this burden – this responsibility.

Next to him, Óin is looking at Gimli with wholly new eyes. It appears he has drawn the right conclusions – both concerning the situation, and who 'Gimin' really is. There is a tiny, proud smile on his lips.

Bilbo, of course, is no surprise. He has, after all, even spoken to them about the sacrifices they may have to make. His formerly angry features are lighter now, open and hopeful as he hears them talk of being allowed to change what went wrong. His eyes are glued to Thorin's back, and it is not hard to imagine what he is thinking.

Balin's eyes are huge. He, too, seems to have picked the truth of Gimli having travelled through time from Legolas' words, and his quick mind is already scrambling to process all the information, draw what conclusions can be drawn, and make new plans – new strategies. There is a reason Thorin values him so highly as a counsellor besides his never dying loyalty and friendship.

The others, however, are staring; their faces open with confusion. Even Fíli and Kíli obviously did not understand what the news mean, too distracted by their own pain.

The point of Thorin's sword has not wavered.

Gimli chooses to ignore them all, for the moment, and concentrate on the matters at hand.

"Best then to send that bird on to your father, laddie, and tell him about the news. He should understand its trill too, aye? We ought to assemble and finally make proper plans for the battle, together with Bard… after we have dealt with Thorin, of course."

Legolas nods and turns his fair head to whisper soft, melodious words to the bird as his friend, fellow and companion lets his gaze travel over all present, dwarves and hobbit, and finally stop on his King. As he ignores the wondering whispers of "His father?" and "Deal with Thorin" he musters all his courage in the face of one raging, mad King under the Mountain.

Never had he wished to speak to the Dwarflord he would follow into any battle in such a way as he is about to; however, Thorin's life is on the stake, as are Fíli's and Kíli's.

And some things simply need to be done.

Therefore he takes a deep breath and a step forward until the now wavering point of the fine sword all but touches his forehead, Legolas' presence as always calming and reassuring in his back. He is not afraid that Thorin might kill him in his wrath – he would die before his stroke fell. He does, however, fear that he may not be able to tear the King from his madness, to convince him of his honesty and loyalty – to save the lives of those he considers family.

The son of Thráin, grandson of Thrór, is muttering angry words about betrayal and darkness, the same darkness he accuses Gimli of shining in his eyes as fever.

Closing his eyes for but a moment the redhead lets his mind travel to dangers and terrors long passed but still waiting to come upon them, and his memories of fear and hope and loss and companionship and death and victory and hatred and love flood him like the water that must have sprung forward and reclaimed the blackened Wizard's Vale after the ents broke the dam – no less powerful, consuming and unstoppable.

"You. Stop. Right. Now."

Behind him, the calming monotony of Legolas' breathing stutters for a moment as the blonde hears and feels everything that has brought these words forward.

Thorin himself freezes upon the command which is just as powerful as the emotions behind it, his eyes wide.

"Because if you do not then, Mahal forgive me, I will make you." The memory of three bodies lain out, of a kingly burial and of mournful songs resounding in wide halls, of his own tears and pain and loss clearer than his words are as threatening as they are desperate, his dark eyes shining in a way that stays even Thorin's tongue for a little while longer.

"And you better heed my words, Thorin, son of Thráin, King under the Mountain, if you value your life and those of your sistersons."

The King's deep blue eyes widen once more, pupil's still diluted with gold fever – yet more lucid than he has been in days (shocking him thusly, it seems, was the only chance to at least make him listen) he lets his gaze travel to find the two youngest he loves so dearly, their eyes glistening with terror as they, finally, begin to understand.

Fíli has never let go of his brother; now, however, they are fairly clinging to each other as they realize what this means. One – they know – will have to fall before the other.

It is a truth so painful to accept that it is near unbearable.

Then, suddenly, the Lady Galadriel's winged messenger pushes from Legolas' shoulder and sails off across the hall and towards the barred gate, breaking the spell of the moment.

The elf steps forward to stand beside his friend now, his hand never having left the redhead's back, and Thorin seems to be regaining his composure – which is not, in any way, desirable.

Gimli realizes that it is time.

He takes a deep breath, exchanges a last glance with his elf, closes his eyes in another attempt to collect his thoughts and courage.

He had hoped so much that this moment would come, that he would finally be able to tell his King who he really is and what is awaiting them in the battle to come – he had not, however, imagined this conversation to happen during a desperate attempt to tear Thorin from his madness, in the knowledge that if he fails, all will be lost.

Well.

It is not like he has not been under the pressure of another's life before – he is, after all, still one of the Nine Walkers.

"My name is Gimli Glóin's son."

TBC