Chapter Thirty Three

A gentle storm, watched from the safety of a hobbit hole with the warmth of a blazing fire radiating from the hearth and a mug of ale in the hand can be a pleasant experience. The collision of two raging storms, viewed from the dubious shelter of a crowded, rocky overhang with neither warmth nor food is not pleasant in the least. This was the situation in which Bilbo, along with the remainder of Thorin's company, now found himself. Thirteen dwarves, one wizard and the hobbit had all attempted, unsuccessfully, to set light to the firewood they had carried; they were soaked through, cold and blinded to the sheer drop off the other edge of the path by the darkness.

The storm had begun in the early evening. For an entire afternoon the company had searched for a place to wait it out, but the situation had become unbearable. Fili and Kili, sent from the shelter with an order to search ahead for any place more suitable for them to spend the rest of the night. Bilbo neither heard nor saw them return, until the brothers appeared like wraiths out of the gloom to sit down with Thorin and Bilbo.

"We found a dry cave," Fili began, and Gandalf hurried over to hear. "Not far round the next corner."

Thorin nodded slowly, and Bilbo knew that he was barely daring to hope that things would work out well.

"Have you thoroughly explored it?" the wizard asked. Bilbo felt Thorin tense slightly.

"Yes, yes," Kili reassured them. "It isn't all that big, and it does not go far back."

This was too good to refuse, even if it was plain that Thorin and Gandalf were unsure of the wisdom of entering an unknown cave in the mountains when every beast for miles around would be searching for shelter.

As they packed and loaded the ponies, Thorin grasped Bilbo's shoulder. The hobbit turned to see what he wanted. "Take care," Thorin said quietly. "There may be any manner of foul creature within, and I would not have you harmed."

"What about the others?" Bilbo asked. It would have been more sensible to speak the warning where everybody could hear it.

"They have sense enough to mistrust my nephews," Thorin answered.

The cave was dry, with a roof high enough to stand up underneath and a sandy floor. If it was not warm, at least the wind was unable to blow the rain far past the mouth, and there was plenty of space behind. The hobbled the ponies by the back wall, so that the company might have a chance of catching them, should they wander or bolt in fear. Shivering, and most grateful for even the barest shelter, Bilbo settled down with his back against Thorin's, hoping to share both body heat and the comfort of not being alone.

They might have had better luck with the fire here, had Gandalf allowed it. As they seemed no longer to be in immediate danger of freezing to death, however, he refused completely to light more than a pipe. This pleased nobody, but even Thorin could see the sense in attempting to avoid notice. They had seen great stone giants, rough creatures with fists the size of Bilbo's whole body, throwing rocks the size of Bilbo's dining room table, apparently for amusement; none of the company wanted to attract their attention.

Thorin spoke, his voice echoing in the darkness. "Get some rest."

"I can't help but think we're stuck on the wrong mountain," Bilbo told him. It seemed to the hobbit that the Lonely Mountain was getting no nearer, that they would never reach their destination.

"Only for the night, and each step takes us closer."

"And then what?" Bilbo asked.

"Then I take back what is mine." The echoes magnified the king's words, and sent a shiver down Bilbo's back that was completely unrelated to the cold.

"But the dragon?"

"It is dead, or gone. Many years have passed since last anyone laid eyes on Smaug."

"But what if he is not?"

"Then I will teach him to fear dwarven axes. Vengeance will be ours, vengeance for everything we lost."

The cave was too dim for Bilbo to see much, and he was facing away from Thorin, but his mind held a vision of the dwarf. Thorin's dark hair was brushed and beaded lightly with gold and gemstones. A short beard was likewise adorned, and a single white stone, larger by far and gleaming with a clear light, was in his hand. The king's garb was of deep purple and black, but covered in mail, save for his helm. A crown of gold sat in place of the armour there, and it suited Thorin well.

Bilbo shook his head a little, and the vision dissolved as quickly as it had arrived. It took him a long time to get to sleep, and he was not comfortable even then.

Bilbo woke, sweating and dry-mouthed, from a dream he did not remember. He lay completely immobile, his chest deathly still, his mind frozen. Something was very wrong. He gasped a breath, and let it out again. Where the ponies had been, there was nothing but a gaping black hole filled with scores of goblins. They moved near silently, but it would have made little difference had they been blowing great horns; the storm thundered outside, drowning all other sounds.

The dwarves had not wakened. Balin stirred in his sleep, but then lay still again. For a moment Bilbo too made no movement other than breathing, though he felt that his heart must soon burst out of his chest. He did not dare sit up, and wasn't sure he could, anyway. The hobbit did the only sensible thing he could think of, and let out a shout.

There could be no saving the ponies or the luggage, all of which had already disappeared into the chasm at the back of the cave. The dwarves, however, roused immediately. Gandalf woke too, and reached for his staff whilst the remainder of the company grabbed axes or unsheathed swords. None of this made the slightest difference; the next thing Bilbo knew, he was being dragged into the hole. A final flash and crack, as of lightning and thunder, boomed through the cave and down the tunnel; Bilbo knew, but could not tell how he knew, that they had been caused by the wizard.