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Chapter Eight: Fear Not This Night
"…and then he – turned her into a spider!" Thorin roared, tickling the two children in his lap before they could get away.
"Stop, stop!" Frerin squealed, but his sister just laughed, and tried to tickle Thorin back. Her clumsy little fingers had little effect, but he laughed anyway, and ended his attack.
"Again, again!" Eyja begged, wiggling around so that she could face him. "Again, Uncle Thorin!"
"Oh, I don't know," Thorin drawled, pausing for effect as Dwalin's children pleaded. It was hard to hide his smirk. For some, babysitting was a chore. For Thorin, it was a brief few hours to escape the worries that plagued him. He tried to commandeer his niece and nephew at least once a week, but it had been a while, between all the news that they had been given of late. "Was that not a bit… scary?"
"A bit," Frerin nodded, but Eyja just giggled and shook her head.
Thorin had been expecting that, for Eyja was famously unafraid of anything. Dwalin occasionally despaired that something had gone wrong during pregnancy, and all Eyja's fears had been left in the womb for her brother to pick up, five years later.
Indeed, while little Frerin had once been spooked by his own shadow, Thorin could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Eyja cry since she stopped teething, and he had never really seen her afraid. As such, telling her scary stories was always an interesting challenge, with a no lack of danger involved. He knew full well that if he did miscalculate, and truly terrorise either of the children, Elza would not care if he was the king at all, and would likely box his ears.
"Very well," Thorin drawled, leaning back on the sofa. "But it's a little late to hear it again…"
Frerin's lower lip wobbled, and tears sprang to his little eyes, but Eyja clicked her tongue and put her hands on her hips, tucking her chin in the exact way her Uncle Balin would when he was telling Thorin what a fool he was being.
"Uncle Thorin," she said. "Really-"
The door crashed open and Thorin stiffened, drawing in breath to roar at whoever dared interrupt story-time, when Frerin gasped, "Adad?"
Thorin turned to see Dwalin standing before him, breathing heavily. "Thorin – there's another one."
Icy fear and blazing anger clashed uncomfortably in Thorin's veins and he got to his feet. Eyja and Frerin tumbled easily onto their feet, and ran towards their father, but Dwalin shook his head.
"Your mother's coming," he said sharply. "Stay here."
"But I want to see," insisted Eyja, following them to the door. Thorin could not really blame her – she was unused to being excluded from anything. As a child of the high nobles, she was often allowed to play by Thorin's feet during meetings, or be the first to see visiting dignitaries, as long as she behaved herself. But if this was anything like the last time…
"No," Thorin said, firmly. "You stay here. Do you understand?"
Eyja looked stunned, but she nodded, and sat down on the spot. Closing the door behind them, Dwalin and Thorin charged towards the gates.
"What is the situation?"
"Another rider, in black. Doesn't feel like the last ones, though – he has a different aura. Equally dark, but different. He's demanding to speak to you – and I think you have to. And we just received word from Nori's lads-"
"That can wait," said Thorin, tightly. His priorities, now, were not to the east. If one more vile slug of Mordor asked about Bilbo, or his nephews, he would not be answering to Balin for a lack of diplomacy. He thought he had made himself perfectly clear the last time.
As if reading his thoughts, Dwalin said slowly, "He has not mentioned Bilbo. Once."
Thorin almost stopped walking. "He has not?"
"No."
Thorin swore under his breath, and sped up. In minutes, they reached the guardhouse, and it did not escape Thorin's notice that the guards looked more than a little uneasy. He strode to the top of the balcony and glared down.
As with the last time, it was a single rider, but Dwalin was right. This one seemed almost more human – more solid. Its aura seemed to come from its foulness, as opposed to the black magic he had suspected from the previous riders. But it mattered little.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Who comes to disturb the peace of Erebor?"
"I wish to speak to the King," the Rider replied.
"You just did," Thorin growled. "Speak now – who are you, and what do you want?"
"I am the Mouth of Sauron," the rider said, and his voice sent a chill down Thorin's spine, "an envoy from Lord Sauron the Great. We offer to you the hand of friendship, and we will reward you greatly, with rings such as those wrongfully claimed from you in the days of old."
Thorin laughed coldly. "You speak as though you offer something great – I am sure you heard that I turned down those who preceded you. You will have no more luck than they. What is it you want? Speak plain, and quickly."
The Mouth of Sauron seemed to grin, though it was too far away to discern a face beneath his helm. "Your allegiance. In coming months we will be marching through these lands, on the way to the greatest victory this earth has ever seen. Should you offer us friendship, you will be richer than ever before. If you oppose us…" A laugh colder than Thorin's rose through the air, and behind him the guards shuffled uncomfortably. "If you oppose us, your city will be ravaged, and your people slaughtered. We will raze your mountain to the ground, and you will not even form a footnote in the great history of our age."
For a moment, Thorin was as stunned as young Eyja. Who would be so bold as to make a threat like that? Alone, afore the gates of so great a kingdom?
"I know your spies have seen our armies," said the stranger. "You know I do not lie."
Thorin glanced at Dwalin out of the corner of his eye, and saw his friend nod a fraction of an inch.
"What say you, Thorin Oakenshield?"
Thorin raised his eyebrows, his face contorting into a scowl. "What say I? What say I? I will not extend friendship to the wretched beggar that threatens me at my own door!" he roared, and all over the mountain ravens fled their roosts. "Nor will I ever ally with Sauron the Black, the Traitor! That is my answer! Begone, ere our arrows fly!"
"You will regret-"
"I will not!" bellowed Thorin, leaning over the balcony. "Unlike you, I threaten not without means to back it up! Begone, or you will be dead before your next breath."
With a curse, the Mouth of Sauron turned, and galloped into the gathering darkness. Breathing heavily, Thorin turned to his pale guards. They clutched their weapons with trembling hands, but drew their shoulders back to attention.
"Do we shoot, my lord?"
"No," Thorin snarled regretfully. "To do so would start open war. That, I would put off as long as possible. But from now on, we ready for battle."
In the darkness beneath the trees, Kíli was suffocating. They had indeed reached the Old Forest by daybreak, but they had been resting for only a few hours when Gandalf gently insisted that they moved on. An hour ago, night had fallen again, and Gandalf's staff was their only source of light. He said it would be unwise to light fires in the forest, even for torches.
As his heavy eyelids threatened to close, Kíli longed to slip onto the front of Bilbo's pony and go to sleep. But he was almost one hundred years old, and less than three months away from being officially of age. More importantly, he was too big, and he would probably knock Bilbo clean off of the pony.
Still, as the night wore on and on it became more and more tempting just to jump off Luno and onto Bilbo's pony. Or join Fíli on Sitka's back. Both the wolf and his brother would probably be able to take it. He yawned.
A whispering sound near Kíli's ear snapped his head to the right. There was nothing there, nothing but the trees. Quashing the crawling feeling in his stomach, Kíli wrapped his fingers through Luno's fur. The wolf looked up at him slightly, and gave a soft whine. Then he let his head drop again. Kíli massaged Luno's neck. The poor creature was tired too, and rightly so.
Kíli felt his own eyelids begin to droop once more. The eerie forest maybe be keeping some of the others on their toes, but Kíli just wanted to sleep. The earthy smell of the forest was homely, comforting even, for one who had grown up in the Shire, and if he pretended that the whispers were coming from his friends they were not so frightening. His mind began to drift, and he imagined the sound of faraway singing.
"Oh," Gandalf, who was at the front of their column, sighed just loud enough for Kíli to hear him. Relief poured through his tone. "Thank goodness." Then he barked loudly enough to wake Kíli entirely. "Quicken the pace! Just for a while now!"
The wizard spurred on his horse, and their line sped up, though the ponies nickered and wolves whined in protest. As they rode, the singing grew louder, and Kíli realised that it was not in his mind at all.
"Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling."
The voice sounded strong and clear, and something about it made Kíli believe this was a friend. Well, that and the fact that Gandalf was riding towards the sound as fast as his horse would go.
"Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water."
Louder and louder the singing grew, and Kíli's curiosity was fully piqued by the time they entered a spacious clearing. Gandalf drew his horse to a halt, and their company came to a faltering stop.
The wizard took breath, then called out. "Master Bombadil, is that you?"
The singing stopped rather abruptly, and then it picked up again, coming closer and closer and closer.
"Old Tom Bombadil, water-lilies bringing,
Comes hopping home again. Who can hear him singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o!
Calling out to Bombadil, are you Bombadillo?"
All of a sudden, a man leapt out from the tree on the other side of the clearing. Several of the dwarves seized their weapons, but Kíli's instincts were still distinctly more hobbitish, and he studied the man curiously. He wore a bright blue jacket, and worn yellow boots, and he had a basket over his wrist, brimming with lilies.
When the man's sharp eyes fell on Gandalf, his grin broadened. When he spoke, there was a lyricism about his voice, and he kept the rhythm of his song. "O! Ho! Olórin, t'was you that was a-calling! Come to visit Tom and his sweet Goldberry this morning?"
"Tom Bombadil," Gandalf smiled, shaking his head and dismounting. Though wizard dwarfed the man, Kíli supposed that the stranger could be no taller than Fíli or Ehren. "It is good to see you, my old friend. Though, I wouldn't quite call this 'morning.'"
"It is the hour past midnight," Tom winked, "what most folk call the morning. Though I'll admit it's not the time that most my friends come calling. What brings the young Olórin to my woods at such an hour? Your friends appear a weary lot, and a couple rather sour."
The man nodded at Bofur, his eyes twinkling, and Kíli smothered a laugh. Sour was indeed a very accurate description of his face – the usually cheery dwarf looked rather as though he was sucking on a lemon. Then something about Tom's words piqued his interest. Young Olórin? How old was this Tom Bombadil, and if he was not a man what was he? Was this the friend that Gandalf had said would be waiting in Bree?
As Kíli considered this, Tom Bombadil's brow furrowed, and he looked at Gandalf for a long moment. It appeared almost as though they were conversing thought words or movements, and then Tom gave a gentle smile. "My borders will dispel the foes that hunt you for this evening. Come now, follow Bombadil. To home now I am leading. You're all in need of beds and warmth, and Goldberry is cooking. If what you want is board for night you all can finish looking."
"You are most hospitable, my old friend, thank you," Gandalf bowed so low that his nose grazed his knees, and then turned to look at the others. "Everyone, this is Tom Bombadil, the Master of Wood, Water and Hill. He's offered us a safe place to stay for the night, and I for one will not refuse him. He is an old friend of mine, and there is no safer place than his home."
Ehren opened his mouth to argue, but was prodded by Soren (who had been given a pointed look by Dís) he held his tongue, and Kíli was glad. He was too tired for arguments, especially between someone as pig-headedly stubborn as Ehren. If Gandalf trusted Master Bombadil, so did Kíli.
Thorin gave a sharp nod, and Tom Bombadil sprang back into the trees, singing as he went.
"Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.
Hey now! merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!"
Gandalf mounted his horse once more and followed the strange, singing man, and Kíli nudged Luno to begin walking again. "Just…" he yawned. "Just a little further now, Luno. Just a little further…"
As he spoke, Tom Bombadil's song continued, clear as ever, though it sounded a little further away.
"Hey! now! Come hoy now! Not far now to wander.
For pained paws and aching hooves salvation is up yonder,
A resting place, a safer place, where Goldberry is waiting.
Soon to sleep, and high hay heaps and misery abating."
Luno's head pricked up slightly, and Kíli felt the wolf speed up just a little. A little spring returned to his step, and his breathing eased. Something about the man's songs seemed to hearten the beasts, dwarves, and hobbits alike. They rode through the darkness for another half-hour, Tom singing all the way, until finally Kíli spotted a light beyond that of Gandalf's staff. They drew closer and closer, until they came to a little house.
Tom Bombadil was standing outside the open door, a warm smile on his face. A welcoming light poured from the open door and spilled around him. "Don't worry, all will fit inside, we can make room for sleeping. My lovely Goldberry is home, and your needs we'll be keeping."
"The floor will be more than enough, Tom," Gandalf said, slipping down off of his horse again. "The mere presence of a roof is a comfort."
"A dozen beds my Goldberry has managed to a-conjure, and we have many blankets more, for every weary wanderer," Tom decreed. A woman slipped out of the door behind him, golden hair rippling over her shoulders and a curious glint in her river green eyes. Her beauty stole Kíli's breath for a moment, and he understood why Tom sang so much.
"Lady Goldberry," Gandalf bowed low, and then kissed the hand that the lady offered. "It has been too long."
"Indeed, it has, my dear Olórin," she said, with a voice more musical than any Kíli had heard. "Come, friends, refresh yourselves, there is food upon the table. My Tom will lead your steeds to the stable, and see that they are fed and comfortable. Come in."
Kíli slipped off Luno's back and scratched his ears, pressing a kiss to the wolf's snout. Luno licked the dwarf's nose, and then plodded slowly towards Tom. Kíli followed Gandalf into the house, Bilbo and Frodo at his heels. Goldberry led them in single file down the hall, and pointed to a room with a slanting roof and several large basins.
"Please, wash your hands and faces, and if you wish do hang your coats and cloaks in the corner. When you have finished, please come and join us for some food, unless sleep is more appealing." She smiled, and disappeared back down the hall, past the wary dwarves and tired hobbits filling up her corridor.
The water was cool, but not too cold, and Kíli scrubbed gratefully at his weary face. Maybe now he would not sleep through dinner – he was sure his stomach would thank him for that.
But as the others washed, and wandered into the hall, Kíli noticed Bilbo linger by one of the basins. The hobbit was staring down, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he saw nothing at all. His hands kept moving over one another, until they were red and wrinkled from the cold water.
When a yawning Pippin had followed Merry out of the room and left them alone, Kíli grabbed a nearby hand-towel. Without a word, he turned off the tap, and wrapped the towel around Bilbo's hands. Then, he waited for his father to meet his eyes.
Slowly, Bilbo's gaze met his, and he gave a weary shadow of a smile. "Thank you, my boy."
Kíli inclined his head, and waited for Bilbo to continue. The smile faltered, and Bilbo shook his head with a sigh.
"Kíli, I am so sorry."
"What for?" asked Kíli, though he already had a rather good idea. "This is no more your fault than the Battle of Hobbiton was mine."
"I know, I know!" sighed Bilbo. "But Bofur warned me, he warned me decades ago that he thought it was no good."
"A murmur in Mirkwood, out of context," Kíli said firmly. "You had no way of knowing that anything like this might have happened."
"No," admitted Bilbo. "But… by Mahal, I thought – when Pippin – and Fíli… I never wanted to put anyone in danger, Kíli. Least of all my, my family. But it was me they were looking for – me who drew them to you. I cannot stand it."
Kíli swallowed, staring at the tears sparkling in his father's eyes. Then he threw his arms around Bilbo, and rested his chin on his hobbit's shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry, too."
Bilbo's arms wove around Kíli, and he pressed his hand into the back of Kíli's head. "If anything happened to you, Kíli," he whispered, "anything – I do not think I could stand it."
"It won't," Kíli promised. "I'll be just fine. Come, let's eat. That will make you feel better."
"I doubt it," Bilbo sighed, but he released Kíli anyway.
Together, they trailed down the hall, following the soft glow of light into a surprisingly vast dining room. Kíli's heart leapt at the sight of cream, honeycomb, bread, butter, cheese, herbs and ripe berries all but spilling off of the table.
"How did they make so much food in so little time?" he breathed, glancing between Bilbo and Gandalf with wide eyes. "Mister Bombadil was only a few minutes ahead of us, if that!"
Gandalf grinned at him from across the table, and winked. Bilbo and Kíli exchanged glances and shrugged, before sitting down between Fíli and Dís. It appeared that they had been holding up the meal, for the moment they sat down, Tom began to tuck in. Without hesitance, the others followed, and found the food was so good that for a long time there was no chatter at all.
Maybe these were the Blue Wizards that Gandalf spoke of, all those years ago on their quest, and they were replenishing their table by magic. They did call Gandalf 'Olórin', and Kíli supposed that was a fairly wizard-like thing to do. They did not seem to be dwarves, or elves, though Goldberry was easily as beautiful as any elf-maid that Kíli had ever seen.
When they had finished, and finally pushed away their plates with yawns and satisfied sighs, Tom Bombadil regaled them with a song of why he was in the forest at one o'clock in the morning.
"I had an errand in the woods: gathering water-lilies,
green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,
the last ere the year's end to keep them from the winter,
to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted.
Each year at summer's end I go to find them for her,
in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down the Withywindle;
there they open first in spring and there they linger latest.
By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter,
fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.
Sweet was her singing then, and her heart was beating!
And that proved well for you- for now I shall no longer
go down deep again along the forest-water,
not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing
Old Man Willow's house this side of spring-time,
not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter
dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water."
At some point during the song, Goldberry excused herself with a smile, but by the time Tom finished she had returned. Protesting adamantly against any help from their guests, the couple cleared away the empty plates. Then Goldberry stood at the end of the table and clasped her hands together.
"Our mattresses and your bedding rolls are laid out over three rooms, and we have blankets on every bed. You will have somewhere safe and sound to rest your heads for the night, and your worries can wait 'til the morrow."
Dís glanced at Bilbo, and then cleared her throat. "I fear that our pursuers-"
Tom Bombadil chuckled. "Old Tom will suffer no dark beings in his land. You're safe as safe can be while you're sleeping in this house."
"They will not find us here," Gandalf nodded at Dís, a tired smile on his face. She paused for a moment, glancing around the room, and then nodded.
"Thank you, from the very bottom of our hearts," she said, bowing at Tom and Goldberry. "Thank you."
Kíli followed suit with the bow, as did most of the others, but Tom chuckled off their gestures and guided them towards the bedrooms as though they were a herd of sleeping sheep. Kíli collapsed onto the bedroll that Goldberry gestured to, and was almost asleep when she spoke.
"Have peace now," she said gently, "until the morning. Heed no nightly noises. For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight and starlight and the wind of the hill-top. Good night."
It was hot. So, so hot.
Rocks were burning his feet with every step, but Frodo had to keep going. There was ice-cold metal clenched in his hand, and he had to get it to the fire itself. If he did not…
The image of Nelly flashed across his mind, dragged away by an iron hook through her shoulder. He saw Pippin and Merry hauled away by the largest orcs he had ever seen – he saw a familiar, sandy-brown haired man fall to his knees, an arrow in his chest.
Frodo fell to his hands and knees, and he saw Gandalf falling down, down, down, into an abyss of fire and darkness. He saw his old friend, Estel of Rivendell wrestle a warg off of a cliff and crash into the waters below. He saw Gimli disappear beneath a crush of armour-clad orcs.
He curled his fingers into the hot dirt and dragged himself forward. He had to keep going. He saw Legolas of Mirkwood topple over the edge of a strange battlement. Had to keep going.
He saw Sam fall down a black staircase, and lie motionless on the rocks below. Frodo crawled over rock and dust towards the heat, towards the fiery door, and saw Thorin fall before the gates of Erebor. He knew that Erebor, that home, was miles and miles away but he could see it, he could see Dís screaming on her blood-soaked bed, her back arching and her legs splayed at awkward angles. Strange, masked dwarves were pinning her down, and one struck her harshly across the face.
Dragging himself to his feet, Frodo tried to run. The door was getting closer, but his running was more of a stagger and he was slowing down. But he was not staggering as much as Bróin when his image appeared in Frodo's mind. His 'cousin' was trying to flee, but the back of his leg was hanging open, and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. An axe wielding orc was bearing down upon him, but Bróin was limping too slowly to escape and closing his eyes could not stop Frodo from seeing the axe fall.
Sobbing, Frodo stumbled through the fiery door and collapsed onto a long, thin bridge. He saw Vinca fighting four orcs at once, fighting and losing.
His nails splintered against the rock.
Esme was lying on a dark stone floor, thin as the dead, reaching up with a shaking hand towards a man who raised his staff to strike.
Frodo wrenched himself back onto his feet.
Pearl was lashed to a tree, gagged, half-naked and crying as Paladin's lifeless body was tossed into a nearby ditch.
Frodo forced himself to the very end of the bridge.
Fíli was lying in a hysterical Kíli's arms, an arrow in his throat and his eyes unseeing on the bank of a lake outside a mountain Frodo did not know.
Frodo opened his palm.
Bodin was holding his oldest brother's sword with shaking hands, trying to cover the bleeding Bofin while tears ran down his face.
Frodo looked at the smooth, golden ring.
He saw himself as if from someone else's eyes, he saw Frodo Baggins on blood-stained ground, choked by long, white fingers until his whole body went still.
Frodo could see his face reflected in the metal of the ring, but it was not his face.
It was Bilbo's. He was in Bilbo's body. Bilbo had climbed the hot mountain, Bilbo was staring at the ring of power.
He saw an eye of fire.
Frodo's entire body jolted and he flew upright, panting. His head was spinning, his sweaty fingers clenched around the blankets, and his eyes darted wildly around while they adjusted to the dark of the room. There was a snore from his right and he jumped, his fingernails digging into his palms through the blankets.
Beside him, Sam snored again, and then rolled over. Frodo could just about see his friend's sandy hair, and his chest rising up and down. He looked around, and saw everyone else in the room still asleep, still breathing.
Moaning softly, Frodo rested his head on his shaking knees. His heart was racing, and he felt so cold, but worst was the feeling in his stomach –a tight, churning nausea that made the threat seem so much more palpable. The dream had not felt real, as such. His old nightmares had always felt real, but this was different, it felt like the dream was trying to tell him something.
No. Frodo shook his head. That could not be the case.
But if that was the future?
No. no, Frodo was not some sort of prophet, he was a hobbit. No, that could not be the future.
He would not let it be the future.
His breathing picked up and his heartrate sped up again, skipping several beats. He could feel it, terror, creeping up and closing his throat and –
"Have peace now until the morning. Heed no nightly noises." Goldberry's words chimed softly in his mind, and Frodo took a deep breath.
Have peace now until the morning.
Heed no nightly noises.
What had she said? "For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight and starlight and the wind of the hill-top."
He was safe, and more importantly his family was safe. He would worry about tomorrow in the morning.
Taking another deep breath, Frodo let his mind dwell on Goldberry's words, and he slowly drifted back into sleep.
I hope you enjoyed that chapter, and there weren't any/too many typos. I do do my best. Please let me know what you thought, and any theories you might have. Uploading every day is not easy, even with chapters like this, where much is largely the same, so I love to know when y'all think I'm on the right track. Anyway, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day.