Chapter Twenty Six: In This Bloody Soil

So a part of this chapter- what Bilbo says to everyone else- was inspired by a scene that was cut from the final film of The Hobbit. I disagreed with certain parts of those films, but that scene, when I first saw it, nearly made me cry and for me, represented the parts of the films that I really did love (I still have a deep and abiding love for Peter Jackson and the LOTR films, as well as all of the cast in both trilogies).

I would urge all of you to watch this scene if you haven't seen it already- just type into Youtube 'Bilbo planting his acorn in Dale scene' and you should be fine. The pivotal moment in this chapter was inspired hugely, and borrows some, from this scene. I hope it doesn't come across as overly sentimental or foolish, but I felt there had to be a turning point for the characters, something that got them started towards healing, coming back from the grief and the pain. And it couldn't be anybody but Bilbo who prompted this, because he is the main character of the story, he is the point around which so much revolves. So I hope it works.

Oh, and for those people who have asked about a oneshot where Legolas gets injured, for this follow-up series of oneshots as a sort of sequel to this- how do spiders sound? I've been thinking of playing with them, as I haven't before, and am planning out a story at the moment. Writing is slow going, because of school and exams, but they will all be done eventually.

As always, reviews are very welcome.

0-o-0-o-0

"How are you doing?"

Belhadron looked up, his hands not stopping as he did up another buckle on Legolas' armour. He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "If I think about it for too long, I won't stop thinking about it at all, and we both know that's just a terrible idea." He turned away, picking up the metal plates that would sit across Legolas' shoulders.

Legolas huffed the barest of laughs under his breath, and obligingly slid on the metal plates. Belhadron pulled them into place and then stepped behind him to do up the buckles. "We'll be leaving tomorrow," he said. "And then going home."

"Back to everyone else," Belhadron murmured, moving onto another buckle. He tugged at it and Legolas swayed slightly. "It won't be the same."

"I know," Legolas murmured. He didn't have anything else to say, nothing yet. The grief was still far too near, and would be for some time. Belhadron sighed, and finished tightening the last buckle. He was already dressed in his armour, plates shifting over his shoulders as he tugged Legolas' armour into place, checking it one last time. It was the morning of Thorin's funeral.

"Are we ready?" Legolas asked. Belhadron nodded and picked up his sword. Legolas sheathed one of his knives in his belt, foregoing his quiver.

"Cloak," Belhadron reminded Legolas, reaching for his own dark green cloak, one not ripped or muddy that he'd borrowed from Legolas. He slung it over his shoulders and fastened it. Before Legolas had finished doing up one of his vambraces that was loose, Belhadron had picked up his cloak for him. It was a heavy thing, deep green cloth with white fur settled around the throat and shoulders. Belhadron swung it over Legolas' shoulders and fastened it.

They were silent for a moment. Legolas reached past Belhadron to open a small wooden box, from which he pulled out a thin bronze and copper circlet, white gems settled in amongst the entwined leaves, the crown of the Prince of the Woodland Realm. He put it on, his blond hair falling loose around his shoulders.

He still looked dangerous, with his armour and his blade at his belt, the scrapes down one side of his face and a grief slowly burning into anger simmering within, but as he straightened, white fur over his shoulders and crown on his head, he bore his title with grace.

Belhadron looked at him, and then dropped down onto one knee. "My Prince," he murmured. Legolas held out a hand and Belhadron took it, rising to his feet. With a soft smile, Legolas pulled him in for a brief embrace. They went out into the chill morning air, and the people in the camp parted for them as they went.

Thranduil was standing at the edge of the camp, talking to Bard. Already the thirty elves were gathered with the other two captains nearby, and Bard's men were slowly filtering in. Thranduil looked every inch the fey King of the Woodland Realm in his armour and crown, silver and red-lined cloak snapping around his heels in the chill wind.

Bard, in his own armour with a navy cloak draped around his shoulders, looked over, and momentarily looked surprised upon seeing Legolas, who was bearing his title for the first time he'd ever seen. In the next few seconds he schooled his features and turned to his men. Finally they were ready, and they began to head for the mountain, Thranduil walking next to Bard, their companies falling in behind them. Legolas took his customary place at his father's left hand side, with Belhadron at his own shoulder.

They entered Erebor, passing by Dain's Dwarves standing guard at the entrance. Legolas refrained from looking up at the ceiling high above, the veins of gold running through the pillars. He'd seen Erebor before, if hundreds of years ago on a barely diplomatic visit, and though it was impressive he couldn't help the uneasy feeling of so much stone around him.

Bard was unable to have the same refrain, and Legolas heard a soft gasp from him and many of his men as they stepped over the threshold. He supposed that the even those elves who have never seen Erebor were used to their great halls back home, where Bard and his men had spent their lives living in a wooden town on the shores of a lake. They were unused to such finery, such a display of ancient wealth.

Dain was waiting for them, with all the gravity of a King in his own kingdom despite the crown not yet sitting on his head. Thranduil inclined his head a fraction, Bard actually nodded in greeting, and Dain appeared to bite back a comment and led the way deep into Erebor.

Legolas felt Belhadron move slightly closer to his shoulder as they strode deeper into the mountain, uneasy as they passed by lines of Dwarves standing guard with axes in their hands. Thranduil strode forwards, uncaring of the looks from the Dwarves at his presence there, and Bard walked tall by his side.

They reached another great hall and here lay Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews, resplendent in death. Dwarves lined the hall, and Thranduil and Bard took their own places next to Dain, their peoples moving to the empty places left for them. Legolas stayed at Thranduil's shoulder, Belhadron at his, standing in front of Thorin's tomb.

Gandalf stepped forwards and began to speak, voice echoing through the great hall. After him Dain spoke, and then many of Thorin's companions. One looked to Bilbo after they finished, but the hobbit, in tears, shook his head and didn't step forwards.

Bard stepped forwards, taking a small box from one of his captains. He opened it and pulled forth the Arkenstone. A silence spread through the hall.

"It belongs to Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain," Bard said in a loud voice as he placed the Arkenstone in Thorin's cold hands. "And it shall rest with Thorin Oakenshield from now, until the end of time. May the Heart of the Mountain remain with the King forevermore."

Bard stepped back, bowing deeply to Thorin, and then bowing again to the twin tombs of Fili and Kili. This was not the time for grievances or bad blood between races. Dain and some Dwarves came forwards and they lifted the great stone slabs to one side of each tomb. A slow, steady chant began around the hall from the Dwarves, the sound rolling and building and echoing through the stone halls of Erebor as the stones slid over the tombs of Thorin Oakenshield, of Fili and Kili, sealing their bodies in stone, under their mountain, finally home.

Bilbo was crying silently, as were all of Thorin's companions and many other Dwarves. The chant grew louder, swelling and rolling through the hall like a growing wave, pushed from all sides, and then as the great slabs finally slid into place the Dwarves clashed their axes against their mail in one great shout.

Gradually, silence reclaimed the hall. Out of it Thranduil stepped forwards. He pulled a sheathed sword from his belt and Thorin's companions looked on in amazement as they recognised Orcrist in his hands.

Thranduil unsheathed the sword in one swift movement, and then carefully placed Orcrist on Thorin's tomb, the scabbard underneath it. He spoke a few murmured words under his breath. The might of the elves had long since passed, but he could still do this.

The sword flashed, the steel bright in the darkness of the great hall. White light fractured on the great stone pillars and the gold veins spun through the rock, and rebounded across the hall. Thranduil ran one hand down the length of the blade and slowly the light dimmed until the sword barely had a glimmer to its edges. Thranduil stepped back once more, silent.

"Farewell, sons of Durin!" Gandalf cried out in a great voice. "Farewell Thorin Oakenshield, farewell Fili and Kili! May you find peace, after death." He bowed his head, and then every person in the hall veined with gold bowed their heads in silence.

0-o-0-o-0

They left Erebor, Bard leading his men and Thranduil his elves out back into the winter sunshine. The elves breathed in deeply as soon as they crossed the threshold, relishing in the freedom of no longer standing underneath miles of mountain.

Thranduil paused just outside Erebor, waiting for his elves to gather. Legolas was already with him, talking to Belhadron in a low voice. Bard came to stand beside him. "So that is it," he murmured. "We are done."

"We are done," Thranduil confirmed. He watched as Gandalf came outside with Bilbo and they made their way over to them. "Now we must just face everything that is still to come without breaking any further."

Bilbo looked up at the words he heard, and his heart twisted even further at the bleak tone. He thought back to everything he'd heard the people in front of him say over the days, Legolas' grief and Thranduil's broken spirit and Bard's terror at what was to come. He stuttered to a stop and his hand went to his pocket as an idea began to form in his mind.

"Bilbo," Gandalf called over his shoulder as they began to walk away. "Are you coming?"

"Wait," Bilbo said suddenly. "All of you." Thranduil stopped and turned, looking mildly interested. Bard raised his eyebrows, and Legolas just looked tired. Belhadron shrugged, and waited merely because Legolas wasn't moving.

"What is it?" asked Gandalf, and it seemed he had some idea of what Bilbo was about to do next, for he smiled and nodded slightly. Bilbo squared his shoulders.

"I'm only a hobbit," he said. "I'm not a King, or a Prince, or a leader. I'm not even a fighter. I'm just a hobbit, and I'm nothing special, but even I know that things like this don't heal overnight. But, and maybe it's because I am none of those things that I can say this, you are all wrong." His bright gaze passed over all of them, and for a moment it was as if he could see all their scars laid bare, all their sleepless nights and old wounds that had never fully healed. Bilbo squared his shoulders.

"You think that there are no choices left," he said. "Or that the things left to do are too big and too scary to even think about risking yourself for, or that you are just too small to do anything against all of this horrible darkness and the threat I don't think I can ever really understand." Gandalf, standing beside him, nodded at what he was saying, and Bilbo felt another surge of courage.

He pulled out the seed that had sat in his pocket from yesterday. "Rhavaniel told me to take this home," he said, holding it up. His gaze flickered to Legolas and Belhadron, whose grief became etched more heavily on their faces at the mention of their friend. Bilbo pulled himself up straighter. "She told me to plant it in my garden. And I mean no disrespect to her, but I'm going to do something different."

He dropped down to one knee and dug a small hole with his hands in the dirt, cold and black with dried blood. "What are you doing?" Bard asked. Bilbo looked up.

"I'm planting this," he said, holding up the seed again. "Right here, in this bloody soil." Bilbo dropped the seed into the hole, and scraped the soil back over it. "I know it may seem foolish," he said, levelling a look at Thranduil, "but it is my choice." He looked over at Bard, and then at Legolas beside him. "It is my responsibility to take," he said. "And it is small, but it is something. It is something to keep fighting back, in whatever way I can find."

All of them were looking down at him now, their expressions unreadable. Only Gandalf was smiling softly to himself. Bilbo patted the cold earth over the seed. "After all," he said, standing to face them. "When having passed through all of this, when facing everything else that is still to come, what can any of us do? We go on living."

There was silence, and Bilbo squared his shoulders as he looked up at them. To his surprise, Legolas was smiling ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth curling. Belhadron's face had softened, his normally fey expression fading and making him look so much younger. Bard swallowed heavily, looking close to tears.

Thranduil, as ever, was unreadable, but it was him that broke the silence first. "Master Baggins," he said, and he sounded impressed. "It may be that you are braver than us all, in the end."

0-o-0-o-0

Thranduil watched the fire in front of him. He stood in the entrance to his tent, wine glass in hand. Beyond him the camp was dark and quiet. The logs around the fire were empty. He sighed, tipping his head back and swallowing the last dregs of wine in his glass, and tried not to wonder how they'd all come here. If he thought about it for too long, he was sure he wouldn't have any answers anymore.

"You're thinking again."

Thranduil bit back a grin as he turned to see Gandalf approaching. "The Valar forbid that I think," he said. "What is it, Mithrandir?"

"I cannot merely come to speak with my old friend?" asked Gandalf, seeming disappointed that the glass in Thranduil's hand was empty. Thranduil raised one eyebrow, and Gandalf huffed. "Fair enough."

"We leave tomorrow," Thranduil said. He looked out over the dark camp. He was still wearing his scarlet cloak, though he'd discarded his armour and crown, and in the torchlight it looked nearly black. "Are we done yet, Mithrandir?" he asked. He laughed bitterly. "Nobody ever seems to realise that the King wants to go home as much as everyone else."

Gandalf nodded. "I know," he said. Thranduil looked pointedly at him. "Fine, I don't," he grumbled. "But we are not having this discussion again, not now. I understand what you mean, even if our perspectives are so vastly different that I cannot truly know. I am not, and will never be, a King."

Thranduil let out a deep breath. "And I will never have your freedom," he murmured. "Nor your wisdom, Mithrandir, even if I sometimes call it other names."

Gandalf laughed roughly. He made to say something, but then looked over Thranduil's shoulder and changed his mind. Thranduil turned, and Gandalf actually saw his whole body relax as he saw Legolas approaching. Gandalf sometimes forgot how much the stern and cold Elvenking loved his son. The past few days had been a poignant reminder.

Thranduil reached for Legolas, and pulled him close with an arm around his shoulders. "Greenleaf," he said softly, pressing a kiss to Legolas' forehead. "Better now?"

Legolas nodded, allowing himself a brief moment to lean against his father. Gandalf gathered that Thranduil had spent time talking with him at some point earlier as the two of them spoke softly for a few minutes. He found a small smile on his lips as he watched the two of them.

Thranduil cleared his throat, and looked back at Gandalf. "What are you smiling at, Mithrandir?" he asked, the dry tone of his voice rather spoiled by his own smile, and the way his hand tightened on Legolas' shoulder and kept him close.

Gandalf laughed. "I am just glad to see you whole, Legolas," he replied. "And you of course, Thranduil." Thranduil merely smiled wryly. It was only for a few brief moments, a snatched part of time, but for these few minutes the heavy weights lying over them seemed to lift.

Thranduil turned to Gandalf. "Perhaps I have been too harsh on you, Mithrandir," he said softly. Next to him Legolas huffed a laugh, leaning a little into Thranduil, who merely tightened his hold on him. "Perhaps I have been blinded to certain things for too long," Thranduil said. "Forgive me for that, if you can."

Gandalf inclined his head. "I have been just as harsh to you," he replied. "But I forgive you, old friend. As if I would ever do anything else."

The night wore on, and for the last time the captains, those left, gathered around the great fire. Legolas left his father and joined them as they talked quietly with the beginnings of smiles on their faces. The grief was beginning to weigh less heavily on them for now.

Maedir reached out for a bottle of wine that was warming by the fire. He poured out four cups. "To Thenidon," he said, handing out the cups and raising his own. "To Carandor. To all those we've lost."

They raised their cups, echoing his words, and then drank. Belhadron drained the cup and then set it down with a sigh. He looked over into the darkness, away from the fire.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking Legolas' cup from his hand. The others started, hands going to weapons, but as soon as they followed Belhadron's gaze they relaxed, smiles breaking out on their faces.

Rhavaniel, leaning heavily on one of the healers, stumbled towards the fire. Her right arm was completely immobilised, heavily bandaged and bound tightly to her chest. "I said this wasn't a particularly good idea," the healer said, sounding resigned. "But she insisted."

"I did," murmured Rhavaniel, grinning weakly as the healer settled her in front of the fire. Belhadron sat back down and shifted so she was leant back against his legs, several cloaks wrapped around her. The healer crouched in front of her, checking her once again, before relinquishing her to the captains.

Rhavaniel settled back against Belhadron's legs, her face white but a weak smile there nonetheless. "If this is our last night here," she murmured. "I am not spending all of it in a tent."

Legolas laughed softly, and Alassien moved to sit on the floor opposite Rhavaniel, talking to her with a smile. As the moon slowly moved across the sky they fell to talking softly about what was to come now and what was far behind them. Bilbo turned up late into the night and sat with them, listening in to the captains telling stories of Thenidon and Carandor, of the other elves under their command that they'd lost, and the twist in his chest, the ache there, lessened as he listened.

There were gaps in the group, empty spaces where people should have been sitting, an empty spot in front of the fire where there should have been a dog lying to soak up the heat. Nobody touched the discarded cooking pot lying to one side. Bilbo found himself watching the spaces and the others did too, as if just waiting for someone to step out of the shadows and sit down as they had done a few days ago. But the shadows remained still, and the gaps remained empty.

Legolas leant back against one of the logs in front of the fire, tipping his head back to look up the night sky. He had forgotten to take his circlet off, and the copper and bronze glinted in the firelight, the light rebounding off the entwined metal of the crown and his blond hair until he appeared wreathed in light, an image from tales long since lost by the writers of history.

Maedir was holding onto his cup so tightly Bilbo thought he would break it. Reaching over, Alassien gently pried it from his hands, and distracted him with idle talk for a little while. Rhavaniel spoke when she was lucid enough to follow the conversation, and she didn't move from where she was leant against Belhadron's legs. At one point Belhadron leant forwards and draped his arms over her shoulders where she was sat in a loose embrace, as if the blankets weren't enough to keep her warm.

Over the night some elves dropped by to speak with them, those from their companies and Thenidon and Carandor's companies staying a little while. But for the most part it was the five of them and Bilbo, who was sitting almost forgotten by the fire, listening to their stories.

He couldn't tell which one of them was the first to start singing. It may have been Alassien as she fed more logs onto the fire, the crackling of orange flames masking her soft lilt of her voice. Or it may have been Belhadron, murmuring the words quietly to Rhavaniel as she dozed against him, the melody echoing deep in his chest and the sound creeping out into the night, reaching tenderly towards the empty spaces between them.

But words soon started to form from the strands being woven together in the darkness and then they were singing, half-forgotten laments in grief and remembrance, and Bilbo found himself weeping silently as he listened, even though he didn't understand the words.

So that, I hope, was a fairly poignant ending. It was one of those things that I started writing without much idea of where it was going, and it snowballed to that ending.

Belhadron never normally gives any regard for Legolas' title, but I felt in that moment that it was apt. Legolas' cloak as Prince was inspired by a piece of art I'd seen on tumblr, where he was wearing a cloak with fur around the shoulders (think Jon Snow's cloak, but with white fur and green cloth). The crown/circlet was a product of a discussion with a friend of mine over what it would look like, as we thought that the one worn at the end of RoTK isn't actually his (because honestly, why would he take a crown all the way from Rivendell to Mordor on the quest?).

The next chapter is going to be pretty short- almost an interlude- because I wanted to end a chapter on this end scene here, but also wanted to end one on the next scene, for reasons you shall see. So I apologise for that in advance. It does, however, mean that the story goes on for a little longer, because there's only a few chapters left now!

As always, reviews are very welcome. I'll see you all on Wednesday.