Far over to the East, beyond the Misty Mountains and the Elf realm of Mirkwood, the Lonely Mountain rose dark in the night over the valley of Dale. Sieged by a fiery dragon for over a hundred years, the Mountain was now the home of the Dwarves of Erebor again, at least of some of them who had fought to drive out the dragon. And with them had come an unlikely creature who was not used to living under mountains, a Hobbit from the Shire, named Bilbo Baggins.
On this night in late March, Bilbo sat awake in his room, by a low-burning fire, lost in thought and running his fingers over a golden ring which he held in his hand. He had found the ring during the quest, in a foul cave inhabited by goblins, and he had told no one about it, although he could not have said why. Over the winter months spent in Erebor he had not given it much thought. He had been consumed with Thorin's ill health, and all his hours had been spent caring for him, but now Thorin was better, and Bilbo had much more time to himself. He had even found it more appropriate to have his own room, which meant that his nights were spent alone with his own heart.
He did not know when exactly he had begun spend his evenings in that solitary fashion, watching the ring, nor had he thought it was something to worry about it. Perhaps it was simply something small for him to rest his gaze upon when he was tired from the day. After all, his world had grown much bigger than he had been accustomed to, and he lived in a big place now, thinking about big things over the course of his days. It certainly brought him a kind of peace to spend his evenings quietly peering at that perfectly round circle of gold, which looked so small and truly insignificant in that kingdom full of the greatest treasures that Middle Earth had seen. And yet, those quiet evenings had begun to feel hollow, like the nothingness inside the ring, empty of things both sombre and happy, like sleep without dreams.
Bilbo found it harder and harder every night to break himself away from these quiet moments by the fire and just go to sleep. He found that time was lost within the ring, and that more and more hours passed by without his even noticing before sleep took over, and his bed would remain untouched more nights than he actually used it. Even though he had to fight the urge to sleep during the day, when he had things to do, it was better than spending his nights lying awake in bed, eyes pinned to the ceiling of his room, which had once belonged to Thorin's sister, a whirlwind of worry and questions without answer storming in his head. Anything that could silence those voices that came to trouble his nights, he would have embraced, and staring at a golden ring did not seem like much harm.
The following morning, he was not quite so sure about that any longer. He woke up in the armchair near the fireplace, where he had fallen asleep once again some time during the night. Judging by the jolting pain in his head, it must not have been many hours before.
He stood up with his head in his hands, and went to find a mirror in order to straighten himself out for the day that was beginning. e He H
He certainly did not like what he saw there. In fact, it quite frightened him to look into his pale, gaunt face, two pools of darkness under his eyes, his lips cracked and livid. He wondered how he would show himself to the others, and to Thorin, in such a state. On the other hand, everyone was rather busy lately with the restoration of the city, so, if he just stayed out of their way, it was possible that he could go unnoticed at least for a good while.
Bilbo walked out of his room, and allowed his steps to take him wherever they wanted, not even a hint in his mind about stopping by the kitchens to get something for breakfast. He just wanted to wander around and not think of anything in particular.
With little sense of the passage of time, he found himself walking into the throne room of Erebor. It was bathed in the azure light of late morning. Wide milky rays fell upon the remade throne, making it glow in a kind of green mist and the Arkenstone, set back in its mount, radiate in a rainbow of colours. It was like nothing he could have imagined if he had stayed in the Shire, even if he was gifted with a more curious nature and with more imagination than most hobbits had.
There was a figure standing before the throne, motionless and solemn, a wide, impressive figure bundled in furs and rich cloth. As Bilbo advanced towards it, he was able to distinguish long, fiery red hair draping down his back.
Bilbo stopped a few steps behind and cleared his throat. "Lord Dain," he said softly.
Dain, Lord in the Iron Hills, and steward of the throne of Erebor until Thorin would be crowned King under the Mountain, turned, not looking at all surprised to see the hobbit suddenly so close to him, in spite of his infamously quiet step. He glanced at Bilbo over his shoulder. "Master Baggins," he rumbled, "what brings you here on this fine spring day?"
"I'm just... taking a walk," replied Bilbo.
"I thought you might prefer taking a walk outside," said Dain. "I believe hobbits are not used to living inside mountains."
"Well, yes," said Bilbo, gathering his hands at his back, "but Erebor is not as unpleasant as I thought it would be."
"So, you like it here."
"Yes, yes, I do."
"I am pleased to hear that," replied Dain with a smirk.
Bilbo smiled in return, but he knew it was not really his most convincing smile.
"How is Thorin? I understand he went down to the treasury yesterday, with Balin."
"I wouldn't know," said Bilbo. "I have not seen him today. I suppose he's well."
Dain nodded his head, appearing mostly pleased. There was something else beneath his expression, something that Bilbo could not really identify. "He will probably be strong enough to return to his duties soon," said Dain, "which means that I will no longer be needed here. I must make plans for returning to the Iron Hills."
Bilbo thought he could perceive a strange mixture of relief and regret in Dain's voice. He did not answer other than with a sympathetic smile.
"I imagine that you will also want to return home soon, Master Baggins," said Dain and something sparkled in his eye and in his tone.
It took Bilbo by surprise and he suddenly began feeling very uncomfortable. "I, uh, I imagine so."
Dain watched him for a while as if he expected Bilbo to say more. He paced a bit, then spoke again in the same vibrant tone, but sounding more genuinely friendly than the hobbit had ever heard him in their talks. "I like you, Master Baggins, you are an honourable fellow. So, I am going to give you a piece of advice, if you will allow it."
Bilbo nodded, his discomfort rising with the feeling that he would not necessarily like what he was about to hear.
Dain glanced back at the throne of Erebor, his chin held high and proud. "I wonder if you truly realise what kind of power lies in this throne."
"I do," replied Bilbo, in complete possession of his answer.
Dain looked back to him, appearing convinced. "Good. Then you must also realise that many of the other Dwarf families in Middle Earth will want to strike an alliance with whoever sits in it."
Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat. "Isn't there already an alliance among all dwarves?"
"Oh, yes," replied Dain and began pacing again. "But now that Erebor has been reclaimed and that there will be a King under the Mountain again, there will be those who will want to strengthen their ties with him."
Bilbo said nothing.
"Do you know how such ties are strengthened, Master Baggins?"
The question lingered heavy in the air and although he found himself in a vast, open hall with soaring ceilings and plunging depths, Bilbo felt a great pressure swelling in his ears, as if the room was collapsing around him. He let the question linger as he gathered his wits. "By marriage?" he said, finally, not really managing to sound as composed as he would have liked.
"Precisely," said Dain. "Once he is crowned, Thorin will have to expect to be poked and prodded by the Dwarf lords who have daughters of age."
"Do you have a daughter, Lord Dain?" asked Bilbo before he could really think.
A flash of anger streaked through Dain's eyes, but it quickly faded into amusement. "No, Master Baggins, I do not have a daughter. But there are others who do."
In a sudden moment of inspiration, Bilbo feigned ignorance and did so masterfully. "I don't really understand why you're telling me all this," he said, pushing his chin forward and rising a bit on his toes.
"Oh, I think you do," countered Dain. "It is obvious that you share a bond with Thorin that is more than disinterested friendship."
Bilbo opened his mouth to protest.
"Not to worry," intervened Dain, "you have not acted inappropriately, but it is obvious nonetheless. And I don't think you would have forgone returning home for so long unless it was for something... particularly important."
Bilbo stared at Dain, silently admitting to his observations.
"I am telling you this because it is something that you will need to consider if you decide to stay even longer."
"So you think I should leave."
"No, I think you should be on your guard."
Bilbo nodded in uncomfortable gratitude. "I will do my best."
Dain nodded back, with a subtle perk of his right eyebrow, which was a very rare gesture from him. Then, he turned on his heels and began walking away, leaving Bilbo alone with the many inconvenient questions that had been closing in on him even before Dain had suggested them, the questions that he had wanted to silence for many nights.
He looked back up at the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain and of Thorin alike, the reason why he had joined Thorin's quest, the precious heirloom that marked Thorin's right as king beyond any doubt. Thorin had desired it with immeasurable passion, with a fierce and jealous love, as Balin had told him. But it was an object, after all, a possession, and Thorin's love for it had not been love at all. He had seen Thorin look upon him with desire, and he wondered now if he too was nothing more than something that Thorin wanted to possess, if, unlike the Arkenstone, he would not be discarded once Thorin had obtain what he wanted, so that he could pursue even more power as King under the Mountain by marrying the daughter of one of the great Dwarf clans of Middle Earth. That was not what he knew of Thorin's regard of him, it was not what he expected after all they had been through together, but he also knew that Thorin always placed duty before his personal desires, and he wondered if he really was not just a little hobbit after all, who had no real place in the life of a great Dwarf King, other than that of a friend. Once, friendship would have been enough, but not now, not anymore, not after he had seen so deeply into Thorin's heart and into his own.
It looked as if there was no hiding away from these thoughts. Bilbo took a deep breath, turned his back to the great throne of Erebor, and began walking back to his duties in the Records Hall, which still contained piles of ancient books and scrolls that had to be cleaned and sorted, a task which Bilbo was particularly suited for.
He had been working in the library, thankfully on his own, for about an hour or so, enough for him to start feeling more like himself around all those books. He had even begun to feel a little hungry, which was always a sign that he was in a decent mood.
Just as he was thinking these encouraging thoughts, the sound of the door creaking open caused him to look up in sudden expectation of unwanted company. Soon enough, Thorin appeared from the hallway leading into the reading hall, his shoulders hunched over uncharacteristically, his eyes shadowed by dark crescents looming underneath.
"Thorin," said Bilbo in guise of a greeting, "you look terrible."
"So do you," replied Thorin with a pained smirk.
Bilbo wanted to make a face that would have seared Thorin's sarcasm to the ground, but he was in no mood for such things. "Right, I had that coming."
"I was hoping to see you this morning," said Thorin, approaching the table where Bilbo was working and sitting down in the chair across.
"Oh, sorry, I wanted to get an early start here," replied Bilbo with what he knew was a sham of a smile.
"I see," grumbled Thorin and planted his elbows on the table.
Thorin looked quite miserable and not really in the mood to discuss it, but Bilbo knew he was there for a reason beyond casually passing the time.
"Are you ill?" asked Bilbo, thinking of the one explanation that would have truly alarmed him beyond his own distaste for speaking his mind that day.
"No, but I had a very bad dream last night."
"Oh, about what?"
"I dreamed of the gold, and my family sickness," began Thorin, bloodshot gaze wavering between the hobbit and the floor. "There was fire again, but not from the dragon. The gold was alight, lashing flames at me, burning my flesh. You called to me to get away. I laughed at you. You drew closer and I grabbed you by the throat and held you in the fire. You thrashed your limbs about. My hand was too tight around your neck and you could not scream. I gripped harder and you lost your breath. The sound of your crushing bones was in my ears. It pleased me, much like the searing of my own flesh."
Murder and flames were alive in Thorin's eyes as he recounted his dream just as it had been, with no attempt to cover its horror. His tone was dark, but clear, bearing down on each word as if he had wanted to carve all of them into stone. And such terrible words they were. The image of his maddened face, his mouth spouting insults and his eyes threatening with death, were rekindled in Bilbo's mind, vivid and terrifying, making him retreat hard into the back of his chair without realising it.
Thorin smirked at him bitterly and lowered his gaze again, his shoulders pulling heavily downwards, strands of hair hiding most of his profile from view. He gathered his closed hand to his chest as if wanting to dull a throbbing wound. He was still burning on the inside, but in wakefulness it obviously hurt.
Bilbo looked at him in sheer horror, unable to utter a word. He knew he should have said something to comfort Thorin, to bring him back to the light, only he was living in the dark as well, and Thorin's dream could have very well been his own if he had slept properly at night.
"Well, that was… quite a dream," he managed to blurt out and instantly felt stupid. "But it was only a dream, Thorin, nothing more. And, and all of that, your sickness, that is in the past now."
Thorin looked at him, terror and sadness welling together in his eyes. "I fear it is also in the future," he said, his voice lowered to a raspy whisper.
Bilbo wished he could have found it within himself to reassure Thorin that such a thing was impossible, that he had faced the gold sickness of his line already and overcome it, that it was not going to return, and that his future lay ahead only in brightness and happiness. Yet, all he could do was to avert his gaze from Thorin's, and look down at his hands, which had clasped in a tight knot over a closed book.
"You fear it, too," said Thorin, his voice cracking under the very familiar sound of betrayal yet again.
"What?" Bilbo's eyes shot back up to Thorin's, his ears resonating with the shrill pain of his words. "No, I…" He extended a hand across the table to Thorin as if he had reached over a raging river. "It will not happen, Thorin, it won't… will it?"
Thorin took his hand into a warm, tender grip that was the very opposite of the pictures he had described in his head. "I went yesterday with Balin to see the treasure. It has to be sorted and put away properly," he said. "That is why this dream came to me. I had not seen the gold since… before the battle. I am still under its spell, Bilbo, and I can still fall, like my grandfather. We would be in ruin again. I cannot let that happen."
Bilbo squeezed his large hand, hoping that it would make Thorin less alone with his burden, but unable to find the right words for it. Fortunately, Thorin seemed to have more that he wanted to say.
"I did not think that anything could halt this madness once it took hold," he said, his voice a little steadier as he met Bilbo's eyes again with a clearer gaze, "but you can. Stay, Bilbo, and keep me sane."
"Thorin," said Bilbo, his voice barely audible to himself. "I cannot promise you that."
He pulled his hand back from Thorin's gentle grip, and Thorin let him go.
"Why? I know you care for me."
"I do, very much indeed, but what exactly are you asking me? What am I to stay on as? Your adviser? Your friend? Your lover?"
Thorin sat back in his chair as if he had been taken a little by surprise, and Bilbo was, too, if he thought about it, but it really shouldn't have surprised either of them that these questions were being asked.
"I am asking you to stay… as my Consort," said Thorin, lowering his forehead a little in a gesture of utter seriousness.
Bilbo puffed and shot up from his chair. "Are you out of your mind?"
"I do not believe that I am," said Thorin.
"You would have to be to make a request like that of me," said Bilbo, now positively angry, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Bilbo, I do not make this request lightly. I know what I am asking."
"Do you? If you did, you would know enough not to make it. This is not about you and me, Thorin. This is about your people and your duty to them. You are going to be crowned King under the Mountain soon and-"
"I know that," interrupted Thorin with a warm smile that should have put out the fire in Bilbo's tirade if he had had eyes for it.
"You will be expected to marry a woman of your noble kin, someone who is worthy of being your Consort, not me. Goodness, think about it! What will your people say now that they finally have a kingdom again? How can you disappoint them? I mean, what will your sister say?"
"My sister knows my heart," said Thorin, his increasingly calm countenance untouched by Bilbo's ramblings.
"What?"
"She knows."
Bilbo was a little stunned, he had to admit, and he didn't know what to say anymore. He realised that he badly needed to take in a deep breath and just rest his mind for a while. He leaned against the table, allowing his head to drop into his chest. He barely heard Thorin stand up from his seat, but he could soon feel him close, his hands gripping his shoulders.
"Bilbo," he said, "I know what is expected of me, I always have, and I have always done it."
"And you will do it again," said Bilbo, looking up, his eyes now filling with tears.
"No," said Thorin, raising his hands to Bilbo's face, his thumbs gently wiping at the small beads of sorrow that had begun to flow the corners of his eyes. "I most certainly shall be crowned King under the Mountain, yes, and I shall do all I can to have the kingdom of my birth restored to what it once was, but it is you that I want by my side, and no one else. No one, do you hear me?"
Bilbo could not hold his tears anymore and started sobbing. "I do not believe you."
Thorin pulled him into his arms, and Bilbo could hear his voice now rumble like a low current from deep inside his chest. "Let me prove it to you."
