Yo. Heads up, I only have one chapter today, and it's very minimally edited from last time. Please forgive any typos that have escaped my clutches again.
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Shield
It was cold. So, so cold.
The ice was burning his feet with every step, but Frodo had to keep going. The red-hot metal was clenched in his hand, and he had to get it to the abyss, to the icy bottom of the black well. If he did not…
He saw an iron hook dig into the flesh of Nelly's shoulder, and drag her backwards into the arms of a waiting orc. He saw a club smash into Merry's skull and knock him to the ground, and then saw an orc throw his cousin's limp body over its shoulder and cart him away.
Frodo saw Pippin leap across a fissure, leap and miss his landing, and break at the bottom of the chasm. Frodo screamed as goblins ripped Pippin's body away. And then he was in a forest, and watching arrow after arrow shoot into Boromir's chest.
Falling to his knees, Frodo saw Gandalf falling down, down, down, into an abyss of fire and darkness. He saw a warg's jaw close around Aragorn's neck, and drag him off a cliff. He saw Gimli disappear beneath a crush of armour-clad orcs, and saw only blood escape.
Frodo curled his fingers into the ice and dragged himself forward. He had to keep going. He saw Legolas fall from a strange battlement in a foreign place, saw him land on a spear. Had to keep going.
He saw Sam fall down a black staircase, and lie motionless on the rocks below with his eyes and neck wide open. He could see Dís, screaming on a blood-soaked bed, her back arching as masked dwarves stabbed black knives into her flesh.
Dragging himself to his feet, Frodo tried to run, slipping on the ice. The end of the tunnel was getting closer, but his running was more of a stagger and he was slowing down.
Staggering like Bróin, leg hanging open, powerless to stop the orc swing the axe that severed his head, and left it lying on the floor beside Bofin's foot. And the rest of Bofin's corpse.
Sobbing, Frodo collapsed into razor sharp snow. He saw Vinca fighting four orcs at once, fighting and losing – and losing her life.
Pain shot up his arms.
Pearl, lashed to a tree, gagged, half-naked and crying as her father's lifeless body was tossed into a nearby ditch.
Frodo wrenched himself back onto his feet.
Thorin, struck down before the gates of Erebor, and axe ripping open his ribs.
Frodo forced himself to the very edge of the abyss.
Bilbo was being strangled, strangled by long, white fingers.
Frodo opened his palm.
Fíli was lying in Kíli's arms, an arrow in his throat and his eyes unseeing on the bank of a lake outside a mountain that Frodo knew – Frodo was too late, too late, he had failed and –
A hand seized his shoulder, and Frodo's eyes snapped open to a pair of bright blue eyes.
"Fíli!" he cried, hands grasping at his bedroll as he struggled to sit up. "Fíli!"
"Hush now," said a voice – not Fíli's voice – and Frodo blinked until Gandalf's face swam into view. "It's alright, Frodo my lad."
"Wha's goin' on?" slurred Nelly, an impressive sense of urgency in her voice.
"It is time to leave," said Gandalf evenly, without moving his eyes from Frodo's. "Frodo and I are going outside to make the final decision on the passageway. Master Samwise, would you be so kind as to pack up Frodo's things for him?"
"Of, of course Master Gandalf," stammered poor old Sam, rubbing sleep from his eyes even as he gazed worriedly at Frodo.
Frodo barely had time to blink before Gandalf was bringing him gently to his feet and steering him out of the door. Then, the wizard crouched so that he was eye-level with Frodo and rested his hand on the hobbit's shoulder. Despite himself, Frodo felt just a little safer.
"Are you alright, my lad?" asked Gandalf quietly. "That looked like some dream you are having."
For a moment, Frodo drew in a deep breath to deny it, or make up some standard nightmare – Mahal knew he had enough of them – but he was too tired. Too afraid that his dreams might mean something – and exhausted of carrying it all on his own. Before he could find the words to say, however, Gandalf's brows lowered slightly.
"There is something you keeping to yourself – you called out to Fíli before the gates, yet he was not the only one in danger. Tell me what troubles you, Frodo."
Frodo lowered his eyes, but found that looking up at Gandalf made him feel safer. So, he looked back up into the wizard's eyes. "I had a dream, at the house of Tom Bombadil. But it did not feel like a dream – it felt, well… real. It scared me, Gandalf. I saw things; things I have never seen before, places I did not know – and I, I saw my family…" Frodo took a deep breath. "I saw my family in great danger. At different times, in different places, but some – I saw some of them dying. I was walking into a mountain of fire, but I was not myself, I was Bilbo." Gandalf's eyes were growing darker, more dangerous, and something about it heartened Frodo. "It scared me, but I told myself that it was just a dream, and that I could stop it from becoming anything more."
"But something changed your mind," stated Gandalf, his hand tightening on Frodo's shoulder. "Didn't it?"
Frodo nodded. "I saw the gates of Moria. I'd never even seen a picture before, not from that angle, in that way – and I saw Fíli dead there. With an arrow, an arrow in his throat."
"You are sure of this?" Gandalf frowned, shaking Frodo slightly. "What else did you see?"
In a trembling voice, Frodo rattled off the awful visions. He tried not to embellish them with the new nightmares that had since twisted the original, but it was difficult. Had he seen Bróin die at Tom Bombadil's? He thought he had just been running – and Pippin, he had not seen Pippin fall before, had he?
With every word he spoke, Gandalf's eyes grew darker and darker, and his grip on Frodo grew tighter. "You should have told me this sooner," he said heavily.
Frodo's heart leapt painfully.
"You do not think it's true?" he begged, feeling his knees melt beneath him. "Gandalf-"
"I think you should have told me sooner," Gandalf said firmly, "but 'true' is a relative term. Always remember, Frodo, that even the wise cannot truly see the future – only glimpses and predictions that may or may not come true. With that said, it certainly sounds as though you experienced a vision of some sort – not normal for a hobbit, I am sure, but Tom Bombadil is a strange man, and his house a strange place. It is possible that some power there granted you this foresight. After all – you saw Boromir, before you knew that he was at Rivendell, and you saw Legolas far from home. Yes, I believe it was a vision, my lad. But remember, the future is not like the past. It is malleable, and much of it rests in your hands."
This did not make Frodo feel any better. "My family – my whole family…"
"Are out of your hands," insisted the wizard, but then a small smile flickered across his face. "Well that is not entirely true. Much of your family is still with you. But we shall leave a message in Lothlórien for the others. The Lady will ensure that it reaches them, and then they can deem themselves prepared. For Fíli, we must hope that your call was enough."
Frodo hung his head, reining in his breathing as tears prickled his eyes. "I should have said something before."
"Yes. Yes you should have," Gandalf sighed. "But there are many things we both ought to have done differently. By going yourself, you may well have changed parts of your vision already. Bodin, for example, is still in the Shire, he is perfectly safe."
A soft knocking made Frodo jump half a foot into the air, and he whirled around to see Aragorn poking his head out of the door.
"Are we ready to leave?"
"I do think so," said Gandalf, standing up without a trace of care. Aragorn nodded and ducked back to tell the others, and Frodo grasped Gandalf's sleeve.
"The others, should I tell them?"
Gandalf pursed his lips, and paused for a moment. "I think that you must. But not here, not in so dark a place."
Nodding slightly, Frodo dragged his composure back into place just in time for Sam to wander up and hand him his pack.
"You alright, Frodo?" he asked, eyeing Frodo suspiciously.
He gave a wan smile. "I'm alright, Sam. Nothing but a bad dream."
"If you're sure." Sam shrugged, and shifted his own pack on his shoulders, gazing at the three passageways with a furrowed brow. "I'll be glad when we're out of here. It's too dark. Not natural. I reckon the place's been alone too long."
"You might be right about that," Frodo sighed.
"Which path are we taking?" Merry asked, striding over with Pippin behind him. Frodo's mood sank lower. His youngest cousin was standing very close to Merry, and casting guilty, apprehensive looks at both Gandalf and his sister. He looked like a pup that had been kicked too many times.
"I am going this way," declared Gandalf, striding to the right-hand passage. "I do not like the smell of the middle way, and it is about time we start travelling upwards again. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."
And so on they went. Walking, trudging on through dark passages and dark stairways and dark bridges. All that he had on him – that was what Frodo would give for a light. He felt that the shadows were watching him, watching and waiting.
Waiting for what?
His mind drifted to Bilbo, waiting outside the gates of Moria. To the stricken, furious face that his uncle had worn – to the damage that Frodo had done. Frodo would give all the light in the world to see Bilbo again. To say he was sorry for the pain he had caused, to explain why he had not had a choice. To have Bilbo forgive him, smile at him again. To make sure that Fili had not met the end he had seen.
Frodo shuddered.
"Take care now," Gandalf called over his shoulder. "We are about to enter the mines themselves, the path is narrow and cracked."
The state of the path mattered little to Frodo. He hated the place either way. His leaden feet simply continued to carry him onwards, step by step into the ever-present darkness. Only raw determination to protect his family was driving him on now. That and the grief for the scene at the gates. That was what drove him. Stubbornness and grief.
Just like a true son of Durin, he thought.
A cold draft tousled his hair, and Frodo turned his jacket collar up to shelter his neck. He could not be bothered to fish out the scarf at the bottom of his pack – he had not thought that he would need it after Caradhras, and it would be more trouble than it was worth to fetch it now. A growl emerged from his stomach, and Frodo groaned. He had missed breakfast.
Then he gasped, and halted with a foot in the air. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Their food – almost all of their food – was in the bags carried by Kanna.
Outside.
In their own packs, he doubted they had rations enough to see out the week.
Biting back a curse, Frodo forced his feet onwards. He could skip breakfast. It would not kill him. Not quickly. He tried to remember what foodstuffs he had in his own pack, but it did not make him feel much better. Two apples, a handful of nuts –
Stars?
Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo could see something, glittering off of the side of the path, down in the depths of the dark mines. He kept his eyes on his own feet, afraid that if he looked directly at the light it would vanish. When he blinked, and it remained, he peered over the edge of the path, and his mouth slipped open.
Silver rivers of starlight were running through the rock, with tributaries the breadth of a strand of hair, and pools as wide and long as his hand. They sparkled in the dim light of Gandalf's staff, dancing in delight at relief from the darkness, and Frodo knew exactly what those rivers were, even as their beauty stole his breath.
"What if Uncle Bilbo doesn't come back?"
"He will."
"But, but what if he doesn't?"
"He will."
"But what if…" Frodo trailed off as Thorin stuffed his fingers into his eyes, something that Kíli said meant he was 'praying for strength.' Why he would need strength now, Frodo was not sure. But he had never been left alone without Auntie Dís or Kíli or Fili before, and he hadn't been left alone with Thorin overnight, ever. He wished that he had just slept with his cousins and risked the flu that was making its way through Dale, and through the hobbits of Erebor. "What if he doesn't, though?"
With a soft sigh, Thorin crouched down, and placed his hands on Frodo's shoulders. They were so big that his fingers met across Frodo's back. For a moment, Frodo worried that he was in trouble – adults did not like too many what-ifs – but Thorin's voice was very gentle. "Uncle Bilbo will always come back for you, Frodo. Surely you know that?"
What? Of course Frodo knew that – it was not the point! Frodo huffed and stomped his foot, even as tears sprang to his eyes. "You don't understand! Mama and Papa would always come back until the bad dwarf made them not able to! What if someone makes Uncle Bilbo not able to?"
A light dawned in Thorin's eyes, as if things had suddenly started making sense. "That is highly unlikely to happen. Firstly, your Uncle has a brilliant guard. Secondly, Dale is safe, enough. And thirdly, and most importantly, I gave him a secret gift."
Frodo narrowed his eyes. "What sort of gift?"
"A very special shirt," said Thorin, "that can stop even the sharpest of elven blades. It is harder than dragon scales-"
"Still-on ones?"
"What?"
"Harder than still-on dragon scales, and not, not ones like Smaug's that had fallen off?"
Thorin smiled, but it was not the eye-twinkling sort of smile he would give them when they made him laugh, nor the cheeky smirk they got when they narrowly escaped a good telling off. Either of those smiles would have quite upset Frodo, but this one did not.
Thorin was smiling sadly, the sort of smile Frodo had seen thrown at Fíli or Kíli when they said something about the bad things that had happened. Frodo had never been on the receiving end of that smile before.
"As hard as the still-on scales of the greatest dragon on earth," promised Thorin. "As long as Uncle Bilbo is wearing his shirt – and I know for a fact that he is – nothing can harm him."
For a moment, that made Frodo feel better. Then, he gasped. "But what about his face? The shirt won't cover his face or his legs or help if he drowns or-"
Even as tears fought their way out through Frodo's sentences, Thorin wrapped his arms around him, lifting Frodo clean off of the ground. For a moment, Frodo was startled, and he hiccupped, giving Thorin a chance to speak before Frodo could sob.
"If anything happens to your Uncle Bilbo, we will look after you. But nothing will, not tonight. I am sure of it. Come."
Frodo sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, but he did not bother pointing out that it was useless to tell him to 'come' because if Thorin was carrying him he had no choice anyway. Instead, he just tucked his arms around Thorin's neck, and let himself be taken into the king's own rooms.
Frodo had not been in there before, but Sam said it was just like the other rooms in the royal suite. And Frodo had to agree. It was most like Fili's, he supposed, very regal and kingly-looking with gems everywhere and not even one flower, but it was not too posh that it looked bad. It was not like Miss Lobelia's house.
Thorin walked straight through the bedroom door and sat down on the bed, pulling open the drawer of the bedside cabinet. For a moment, Frodo wondered if Thorin expected him to let go, but the hug was making him feel better, and the king did not deem to mind Frodo clinging to him like a spider, so Frodo supposed that he did not have to let go. He rubbed at his eyes, while Thorin pulled a small box out of the drawer.
It was more hobbitish than Frodo would have expected – it was made of wood, and looked very simple. It was dark wood, like cherry wood, and very plain and worn. It did not really look like it fit in here, in this majestic room. Then Thorin opened the box, and Frodo gave a little gasp.
Nestled inside was a shard of captured starlight – it was too pretty to be anything else.
Transfixed, Frodo watched Thorin pick up the twinkling light, resting it on his palm so that Frodo could see. It was a necklace – and a little less sparkly now that the light from Thorin's window was not shining right on it. But it was no less beautiful.
It looked like a little shield of silver, complete with pretty dwarven patterns and runes so small they must have been engraved by mice, and it seemed to shine all on its own. Even the chain that held it sparkled.
"My mother gave me this on my tenth birthday," murmured Thorin. "This is mithril, Frodo. It is strong, and beautiful, and the most precious of all metals and gems to our people. It grants great beauty, and weighs very little, but it is very strong. You could bite down on this tiny shield, or any link of that chain, with the jaw of a wolf and it would not scratch. This is what is protecting your uncle. This one can protect you."
Frodo looked up in surprise. "Me?"
"Yes, you. If you want it." Thorin fixed Frodo with his sharp, blue eyes. "It can remind you that I will always protect our family, and I will always protect you."
As if a spell had been cast, the frightened crawling in Frodo's belly changed to calm, and an odd feeling took its place. He was safe. He had not felt safe without Uncle Bilbo since before they left the Shire. He smiled, and squeezed Thorin as tightly as his little arms would allow.
"Thank you!" And then, for the first time, he added, "Uncle Thorin!"
Frodo's fingers closed around the pendant as he stared down at the unmined mithril. He had worn the shield around his neck ever since that day, though he usually kept it hidden beneath his shirts. No need to draw attention to the most valuable thing he owned, and he hardly wore it for its beauty. Even now, as the familiar metal pressed into his palm, Frodo felt just a fraction safer. And sadder.
Uncle Thorin could not protect him now. He was far beyond the reach of the dwarf king, and drawing further away with every step. Out of all his family, Frodo was surest that Thorin would understand. He would be the first to admit that he would do the same thing in Frodo's place.
But Thorin was far away.
Frodo swallowed, and his hand tightened around the shield until it almost hurt.
"Well, that's an eye opener and no mistake," Sam murmured to him, eyes as round as the moon, and Frodo suddenly noticed the gasps of the others around him.
Their awe, their hope.
Frodo smiled. He was not alone.
He eased his grip on the necklace, let it fall softly against his chest, and allowed himself to breathe into the beauty of Moria.
"It is indeed, Sam."
All too soon, they left the mithril mine behind them and returned to the gloom and the dark, but its light left an imprint in Frodo's mind. A fragile aura of hope was settling around him, and stubbornly weathering every step that he took. They walked on, and on and on and on, until Frodo had lost track of the hours. Or was it the days? It did not seem to matter here. But still, hope clung to him, and he clung back. Just as he had clung to Thorin's neck all those years ago.
The thought made him smile.
The present made itself known with a cold smack to his face – there was another draft here, and though Gandalf's light had not always touched the sides of the passageways, Frodo had the distinct impression that he had just walked out into a wide, open space. Gandalf strode forward and then paused, allowing the others to spill out around him.
"Finally," breathed the wizard, before speaking loud enough for the whole party to hear. "We have reached the habitable layers. I will now risk a little more light."
Like a wave delivering water to the desert, light poured out in all directions, and again Frodo's breath was stolen from him. They stood in a great hall, larger even than the great hall of Erebor, held up by beautiful stone columns larger than anything Frodo could imagine.
His hungry eyes drew in just a fraction before the light faded away again, and Gandalf sighed.
"It is so beautiful, yet so dark," murmured Boromir. "How could folk live here?"
The wizard sighed again. "It wasn't always like this, Master Boromir. Once mirrors and windows drew in light from the sun, and at night the halls were lit by torches and chandeliers more beautiful than you could imagine. You have seen similar sights yourself, in Erebor. Yet anything of beauty, light or value has been taken by orcs. Melted down, most probably."
Frodo felt a lump growing in his throat, as sorrow and anger wrapped around him. He may be a hobbit, but this was his heritage. He was the nephew of the King of Erebor, the heir of Durin. It was his family's homelands that had been stolen again and again, his family's kingdom that lay gutted before him.
Lifeless.
A soft hum met his ears, and he turned to Gimli. He was humming, deep in his throat, with tears glistening in his eyes. As Frodo watched, he began to sing:
"The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the moon was seen.
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke, and walked alone."
With the reverence the hymn deserved, Frodo joined in softly:
"He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirromere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,"
He heard Sam and Merry add their voices to the dirge:
"As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadows of his head."
Pippin's voice slipped naturally into their harmony:
"The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In elder days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nagothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day."
As Bróin and Nelly too began to sing, every voice seemed to swell to fill the emptiness around them:
"A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door."
Far above them, Frodo saw the ceiling begin to lighten just a fraction, and his heart and hope grew together.
"The light of sun and star and moon
in shining lamps of crystal hewn
undimmed by cloud or shade of night
there shone forever fair and bright."
In his mind, Frodo could see it – the kingdom as it was, as it should have been – full of life and song and laughter.
"There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove and graver wrote;
There forged was blade and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built,
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corselet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard."
The light above them grew a little stronger, Frodo realised with a leap of his heart that the ancient windows still let light in, that dawn had come at last!
And with it, their voices began to slow.
"Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harper's harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang."
Bróin's voice faltered, and a sadness seeped into every voice:
"The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen cold.
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls.
A shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and endless Mirromere;
There lies his crown in waters deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep."
Their voices faded away, and the pale light of morning continued to seep in upon them. Frodo did not try to stop the tears that trailed slowly down his cheeks, and he hung his head. A silence fell around them, like the heavy silence of prayer, and for a long while no one spoke.
Enough light had bled in for Frodo to see the entire company, and for Gandalf to douse his staff, when the silence was broken by the last person Frodo would have suspected.
"I am sorry," said Legolas, gazing down the hall with misted eyes. "I am sorry, that this fate befell your people. The darkness here is deep, indeed."
Gimli's eyes widened, but then bowed his head in acknowledgement, and Bróin and the hobbits followed suit. After another pause, Gandalf sighed, gazing over the weary group.
"Let us rest here a while. We are making better time than I would have expected, but we cannot maintain such a pace without rest."
Barely waiting for the others, Frodo slumped down at a nearby pillar and let his bag spill onto the floor beside him. Dust billowed up in heavy clouds, displaced by the hobbit and his baggage, but Frodo did not care. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, to wake up, and to leave. Yet as he settled himself down to rest, Frodo's fingers wrapped around the shield that hung from his neck.
He breathed in, and breathed out, and closed his eyes. Fell straight into a dream.
It was cold. So, so cold.
The ice was burning his feet with every step, but Frodo had to keep going. The red-hot metal was clenched in his hand, and he had to get it to the abyss, to the icy bottom of the black well. If he did not…
He saw –
Thorin.
"This one can protect you," said the king, placing his large hands on Frodo's tiny shoulders. The fire in his palm stopped burning, and instead of a searing ring he felt a cool, metal disc, with patterns as familiar as the back of his hand.
He saw Nelly –
Thorin wrapped his arms around him, tightly, placed his hand on the back of Frodo's head. "Hush now. It's just a dream."
He saw Merry –
Bilbo was telling him a story, jostling Frodo on his knees to show just how bumpy it was to ride on a pony.
He saw Pippin –
Singing gently, Dís rocked Frodo on her hip and carried him out onto a balcony so that he could see the stars.
He saw Boromir –
He was clinging to Kíli's back as the dwarf ran and ran, his hair flying free behind him as laughter spilled through the air.
He saw Gandalf –
Fíli spun him around and around, and Frodo was laughing so hard that he thought his lungs might implode.
Thorin pressed his head against the hobbit's.
A cool disc of metal pressed gently into Frodo's palm.
"Your family loves you, Frodo."
Later, when Frodo woke, he found that the delicate layer of hope that settled around him in the mithril mine had grown stronger. He felt hope stirring into the raw determination in his heart, and he felt it bring strength to his mind. Almost like an armour.
Almost like a shield.
So, we're very, very close now to catching up. We should be onto fully new stuff by the end of next week, I imagine, though there are some newer scenes peeking into the next couple of chapters, too. I hope that this rewrite has made things a little easier to follow, and that you do consider the story worth continuing. Please do let me know if you have the chance, it's a little hard to know if what I've done has made a difference to you guys without feedback. That said, I am significantly happier with the writing I've done, so that's something :)
Until next time, take care of yourself, and that's for reading!