Much to Thorin's displeasure there was not much preparation needed to leave the path. There was only a knot to be tied, and an order to be decided. Nothing more. As had seemed to happen too many times since they entered Mirkwood, the obvious choice to their present issue was one that Thorin did not like in the least. Clearly someone had to go first. Normally the suggestion for the person to lead an expedition into enemy territory would have been Dwalin, Glóin or himself but . . . this time that would not work.
They were seeking aid, not a skirmish. They needed someone that was less confrontational to be the first to enter the clearing. Fíli—seeking redemption for the map fiasco—argued that he should be the one to do it. He was both a warrior and young enough to be less intimidating than say Dwalin, and would not be as recognizable as his uncle. Once more the group fell into arguing as Thorin rejected the idea of endangering his heir while Fíli, Glóin, Dwalin and Thorin all made their cases as to why they should be the one to go first. Kíli even tried to add himself to the consideration before Thorin glared him into silence.
"Lads!" Balin snapped. "None of you need to go first!" They all turned to look at him as he grabbed Bilbo by the upper arm and pushed him into the middle of the group. "Bilbo, should go first." He raised a hand glaring at Thorin to silence the protest that he could see building in the king. "He's small, they will not fear him. And, no offence laddie," Balin turned to Bilbo with a sad smile, "but you do have admit that he looks rather road-worn and pathetic. He will garner their sympathy better than any of us will."
"I have to agree with Balin," Bofur added in. "Sorry, Bilbo, but you should go first. Elves don't hate hobbits, after all. They would be more willing to help you than they would us."
"I will not send him into the clearing alone, Balin," Thorin growled. "Elves are at least twice his size. If they wished to hurt him . . . he would not stand a chance of defending himself. No. I will not send him alone."
"Thorin," Balin sighed, "I understand that this is difficult for you—"
"You understand?" Thorin scoffed. "I don't think that you do, Balin. I have lost nearly everyone that matters to me in this world. And now you ask this of me? You ask me to send my mate into a dangerous situation alone because he is small and defenseless? I think not, Balin. I—" His rant was cut off when Bilbo put a gentle hand on his arm.
"Thorin," Bilbo said softly, "stop. This is pointless. I don't like it any more than you do, but they are correct. I stand the best chance of getting the Elves to aid us. I will go first. I know that there is a risk but . . . we can't go on like this, Thorin. You just turned on Balin. Who's next? Me? Fíli? Kíli? If I don't go . . . you may as well kill me yourself because it would be kinder than the death that will come. At least this way there is a chance. I can do this."
"Bilbo," Thorin sighed in defeat as he realized the truth of the hobbit's words. "I do not like this. It . . . I do not trust these Elves. I know that you enjoyed your time in Rivendell and that you do not share my distrust but . . . please, be cautious."
"If you're so worried about him, send Kíli with him," Glóin added in, glaring at the dark-haired heir. "The lad doesn't have a beard yet, surely the Elves won't be afraid of him."
"They should be," Kíli snarled more than tired of Glóin's insults against him and his brother. "As should others who continue to speak poorly of me and my kin."
"Peace, Kíli," Fíli said placing a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder. Kíli may have been a good fighter but Fíli knew that if he was stupid enough to challenge Glóin that the veteran would destroy him. "It is more to their detriment if they underestimate your skills, brother." He glared at Glóin as he finished by saying, "their lack of respect will be their downfall."
"Enough!" Thorin snapped with a deep sigh. "Kíli and Bilbo will go first. Next will be Bofur, then Dwalin, then Fíli and me. After that you can decide your orders. It does not matter what order we march to our doom."
"We don't know that we're marching to our doom, Thorin," Bilbo whispered stroking his lover's hand gently. "Do try to think positively. After all—" Thorin never got to find out what it was that Bilbo though might make this situation better because Dwalin had made a suggestion that had provoked the hobbit.
"Should we rough them up a bit first?" Dwalin had asked. "Make them a bit more pitiable than they already are? Perhaps a bruise for young Kíli and a small shallow cut on the cheek for Bilbo. Just enough to draw blood but do no lasting harm?" He didn't even wait for a reply but began to reach for Bilbo, who scurried behind Thorin with his eyes wide with terror at the thought of having a knife used on him by the large dwarf. He was afraid that Dwalin's idea of "shallow" might lay him open to the bone.
"I dare say not!" Bilbo squeaked gripping Thorin's arm and peeking out from behind the dwarf King to glare at Dwalin. "There is no need to go to such extremes! I assure you that I am quite pathetic enough to be going on after weeks on the road with you lot. Especially after a week in this thrice damned forest!"
"I agree," Thorin said stepping between his friend and his mate and nephew. "No one will be 'roughing up' my nephew or mate. They will serve their purpose as they are."
"Um, Bilbo?" Fíli leaned towards the hobbit to whisper, a small smile—his first in days—on his face. "You do realize that you just called yourself pathetic, don't you?"
"I . . . well I suppose that I did, didn't I?" Bilbo replied with a laugh. "I'm not the only one though! You're rather pathetic looking yourself, Fíli. You are so dirty that your hair is almost the same color as Kíli's."
"So is yours," Fíli shot back with a laugh. "Now I think I see why hobbits don't have dark hair."
"Some of us do," Bilbo argued. "I just have light hair. So did my mother."
"Really?" Kíli chimed in. "Fíli's the only one in our family with light hair. Mother's is dark like mine."
"I may be the only one with light hair but you're the only one with dark eyes," Fíli snapped. His fair hair had always been a point of contention with his brother and with the hunger gnawing at his bones he could not tolerate it at the moment.
"Enough, lads," Thorin cut in trying to preempt the argument that he could see brewing. "You are both wrong anyway. Your father and my brother both had light hair and dark eyes. Neither of your features are unheard of in our line. No more of this bickering."
"Yes, Uncle," they both muttered though it was clear that neither of them was happy about it.
"Good," Thorin said before he sighed yet again. "Kíli, Bilbo . . . we cannot delay any longer. Lead the way." Bilbo nodded and turned to give Kíli a nervous smile.
"So . . ." Bilbo said holding the rope in his hands. "Do you want to go first or shall I?"
"Consorts before Princes," Kíli replied with a smirk. "That's the order of things in processions." Bilbo shook his head indulgently.
"Now I know that you and Thorin are related," Bilbo laughed. "You're both insufferable dwarves!" With that said Bilbo grabbed the rope and began to make his way towards the lights, Kíli's warm presence right behind him. He sighed as he heard Dwalin and Thorin cursing as they tried to follow him. At least Kíli was making a point of trying to be quiet, even if he was failing miserably in Bilbo's opinion.
"What was the point of sending us first if they are going to give away that they are behind us with their racket?" Bilbo whispered over his shoulder at Kíli.
The young dwarf shrugged. "I don't think it actually matters," Kíli replied. "From what I have read about Elves they heard every word that we said on the path. They know that we're coming and that we're dwarves and that Uncle and warriors are in the company. I don't know why they bothered to send us in first at all."
Bilbo didn't reply but he couldn't help but believe that Kíli was right. The Elves knew that they were coming and that they were dwarves. He only hoped that Thorin was wrong about the animosity between the elves of Mirkwood and the exiled dwarves of Erebor. Somehow, he knew that Thorin was not wrong. Every step he took towards the twinkling lights and the sounds of Elvish singing made his stomach churn more violently. In his heart he knew that they were walking into an ambush.
When he and Kíli stepped out of the cover of the trees he only had a brief moment to see the shocked faces of the Elves as they took him in before the lights were extinguished. Before he could warn the others that is was a trap, he was knocked free of the rope by Bofur rushing past him in an effort to protect his comrades, who he was certain were being trussed up right at that moment. Bilbo let out a small cry as he was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on the rope.
He felt panic flood his veins as he scrambled blindly for it. This was worse than the path had been, he could see nothing without the aid of light. At least in the goblin tunnels he had had he light of his little sword to guide him. Here he had nothing and he could hear the curses of his friends and knew that they were being captured while he groped around uselessly.
"Quickly!" he heard Thorin call, "back along the rope to the path!" Bilbo felt the panic intensify as he tried to pinpoint the direction Thorin's voice had come from. He knew that the King would be protecting the retreat of the rest and would be in the thick of any skirmish but Bilbo also knew that if he could find Thorin he would be safe. He had only taken a couple of crawling steps forward when someone kicked him in the ribs in the dark, tripping over him to land in a heap on the other side. He curled into a ball, knowing that any second he would be grabbed and bound and captured. His only hope was that they would be somewhat gentle about it.
The hands did come and they were gentle but their goal was not to bind him. Rather they skimmed along his arm up to his shoulder before running gently across his face. He was confused. This was not appropriate capturer behavior . . . or so he though. Just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard the deep rumbling laugh of a dwarf.
"Master Baggins," Glóin said quietly, "either that or a little elfling. Even Kíli has more beard that that."
"Glóin," Bilbo sighed in relief. "I'm afraid that I have lost the rope and . . .I . . . I can't see to—"
"None of us can see in this, lad," the dwarf replied before hauling Bilbo to his feet. "Dwarf eyes are good with dim light but even we require something. This ink . . ." Glóin sighed. "I didn't hurt you when I tripped over you, did I? Thorin probably wants my head anyway after what I've said about his nephews today. Last thing I need is to have injured you."
"I'm fine," Bilbo replied with a small smile. That was the closest thing he had ever heard to an apology from Glóin. "Let's just get back to the path, shall we?" In response, Glóin grunted and wrapped a hand around Bilbo's upper arm before he continued the way he had been going before he tripped over Bilbo. It wasn't long before they ran into Dwalin, literally.
"I've got the last two," Dwalin replied.
"Good," Thorin said with a relieved sigh, "Head back to the path, I've got the rope. I'll bring up the rear." Bilbo soon found himself between Glóin and Dwalin as they blundered back along the rope to the path where the rest of the company was already standing there looking more defeated than they had moments before. Not only had they failed, but they had been denied aid when they had needed it most. Underneath the defeat, anger burned in all of their eyes. Most surprisingly, Bilbo's eyes as well burned with anger.
He had always believed Elves to be benevolent beings that, while a bit aloof, would not leave another creature to suffer needlessly. Now . . . there had been no danger to them. The dwarves had come in supplication only to be rejected. For the first time, Thorin's hatred of Elves made sense to him. He vowed that he would no longer attempt to defend them—at least not the Mirkwood branch—to the dwarf King. How could he defend a people that would allow anyone—even dwarves—to starve due to unfounded prejudices? He looked around at the hopeless faces of his companions and knew that they knew the same thing that he did: they were going to die.
He could see it in the sadness in their eyes and the way that relatives had moved closer to one another, Bofur had even gone so far as to wrap an arm around his brother's waist and rest his head on Bombur's shoulder with his eyes closed and Fíli had sank to the ground cradling Kíli to his chest with a look of infinite sadness on his face as he stroked his brother's wild hair. Even Dwalin had gravitated to Balin's side and had put a comforting arm around his brother's shoulder while Balin leaned against his brother occasionally heaving a deep sigh.
"Is there no hope then?" Bilbo asked suddenly, tears filling his eyes at the sadness of the situation. The dwarves had lost their drive to continue. The rejection of the elves taking the last of their hope and leaving behind nothing. "Is this it? Do we just lay down here and die?"
"What else is there to do?" Ori asked morosely from his position between his brothers, his eyes devoid of life. "We could travel a bit farther but . . . you said yourself that there was no end to the forest in sight. We . . . we'll never make it out. What does it matter if we die here or a few more miles down the road?" Bilbo was surprised to see a single tear slip from his eye. He had never seen a dwarf cry before and that one little tear broke him. He felt his shoulders droop as he realized there really was no way out of this one. There was no clever plan, no riddle game, no puzzle to be solved. This really was the end.
"I suppose it doesn't," Bilbo sighed sinking to the ground with the weight of his realization. "Here . . . there . . . what's it matter? We're dead either way."
"I really thought that they would help us," Kíli said in a small voice that was so sad and lost that it nearly broke Bilbo's heart. "I . . . I thought that Uncle had been wrong about them. I . . . Fíli?" Fíli had stiffened, ceasing his petting of his brother and looking around anxiously. The abrupt change in his demeanor pulling his brother's attention to him rather than Kíli's own misery. "What is it?"
"Where is Uncle?" Fíli said, scanning the faces of the company as if one of them would miraculously morph into Thorin if he kept looking. "He should have made it back by now." It was then that all of them noticed something that should have been readily apparent: Thorin was missing.
ooOO88OOoo
Please don't kill me! *cowers in fear* just remember, if you kill me I can't write them out of this. That's a reason to keep me alive, right?
As I have said about EVERYTHING that I have written this week, sorry about the dark turn this one took :'( For some reason all of my stuff has decided to take the long walk off the short plank into the ocean of angst at the moment. *shrugs* But it will all turn out ok (in this one anyway) so just hang in there! That said,
And a special thank you to those of you who reviewed.
Custard Apple: Thank you for taking the time to read it :) I am very glad that you are enjoying it and hope that it continues to live up to your expectations :)
That's all for now folks. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to know what you think (even if you hated it) so please leave me a review if you have time and/or feel so inclined.
Stickdonkeys