PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
LXXI: First Church Of Saint Thorin The Majestic
I'll spare you all the painful details of the barricade building. It took two backbreaking days to block the entrance to the Lonely Mountain. Rocks, dirt, furniture—anything the dwarves could find that would serve went into the wall. We finished the night before the people of Laketown arrived.
Of course, the people of Laketown didn't arrive alone. Near the end of the first day, Dori, who had been on watch duty, came running down from the wall to inform us that the three-hundred or so people of Laketown had encountered an army Mirkwood elves. After a long conversation, the two groups joined and started towards the mountain together.
Well, of course, it was one thing to defend the Lonely Mountain from a group of tired humans, but it was something else entirely to defend the mountain from two armies—one of those armies being the well-trained Mirkwood elves.
Thorin spent the night before the armies arrived preparing the theatrics. I'm not kidding. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin took up residence on the wall and paced back and forth, figuring out the most frightening place for Thorin to stand, the place that had the best acoustics, the place that was out of range of arrows. All night, they talked and debated, while the rest of us tried (and failed) to get some sleep.
The armies came with the rising of the sun. The Company and I gathered on the wall, peering over the battlements at the fields scorched by Smaug's fire. Beneath us, the great doorway, filled with debris, barred the armies' entry into the Lonely Mountain. As the elves of Mirkwood and the men of Laketown approached, I saw them start whispering amongst themselves at the sight of the closed doors. The Lonely Mountain was not as empty as they'd thought.
The Company had dressed themselves for battle despite being outnumbered. I think the dwarrows had enjoyed rummaging through the wealth of the mountain and finding the most obnoxious and expensive armor to wear. The handle of Dwalin's axe contained a glittering ruby, and Balin's boots had emeralds in them. Bofur had a gold-coated chest plate, Bifur wore a helm shaped like a boar's head, Fíli's hand rested on the gold-hilted sword strapped to his side, and Óin and Glóin dressed in matching gold-lined shoulder guards.
Bilbo and I had gone for the unassuming approach. Of course, underneath Bilbo's wool tunic, he wore the most expensive armor in the Lonely Mountain, while I wore no armor, only the tunic and trousers I'd gotten from the innkeeper. Fíli and Kíli had tried to dress me in a silver chest plate, saying I needed the most protection out of all of them, but I'd refused. Firstly, I didn't want to look as silly as the rest of the Company. Secondly, I figured I'd Skip away before any real harm could come to me. And thirdly, all that heavy armor would get in the way of me fleeing from danger.
Thorin was the only dwarf whose armor didn't make him look like something that belonged in a jewelry box. He had shed the clothes given to him by the people of Laketown and now wore silver armor that covered his torso, shoulders, and thighs. The chest plate was marked with a crown and seven stars—the sigil of the House of Durin. A silver crown rested on Thorin's brown, high in the middle and growing narrower as the band wrapped around his head. Thorin strode along the length of the battlements, hand on the hilt of Orcrist and his gaze cast down at the armies on his doorstep. There was no mistaking anyone else for King Under the Mountain.
"How fare you, Ana?" asked Dori.
Dori and Nori stood on either side of me on the battlements. The visor of Dori's golden helm kept falling into his eyes, and Nori was holding a particularly heavy-looking mace. I decided not to comment on practicality at the moment; it was really all for show. No way would Thorin start a war when the Company was so vastly outnumbered.
"Dwarrows really understand my height," I said, resting my elbows on the wall of the battlement. "When I was in Minas Tirith and Helmsdeep, I had to stand on tiptoe to see over the walls, but here…" I grinned out at the two approaching armies. "Perfect height. I can see everything."
"You are a similar height," observed Dori.
"Still tall," grumbled Nori, who was a few inches shorter than me.
"I'm taller than all the Company," I said proudly. It wasn't often in my life that I got to say I was taller than people.
"Thorin is taller than you," said Nori.
"He is not."
Dori looked from me to Thorin, back and forth, squinting.
"I believe Thorin has the advantage," said Nori.
"That's because you're blind," I snapped. "I'm obviously taller by half-an-inch."
Dori frowned. "What is an 'inch'?"
"It's— Ah, never mind. All you have to know is I'm taller than Thorin."
The armies had come to a halt now in front of the barricade. The Mirkwood elves stood in neat, straight rows. They all had quivers and bows on their backs and swords at their sides. The men of Laketown, on the other hand, stood clumped together towards the right side. I could see their heads turning in the direction of the elves every so often as if looking for advice. At the front of the two armies were two figures distinct from the rest. The first was a dark-haired man on horseback, and the second was a blond-haired elf on mooseback. (Yes, yes, I know, it wasn't actually a moose, but mooseback is more fun to say than elkback.)
In my head, I tried to count how many elves there were, but I kept losing count around three-hundred. I gulped and glanced around at the Company. Unfortunately, Bilbo seemed to be the only one who agreed with me that just paying the armies to go away was a good idea. I mean, there was more than enough gold in the Lonely Mountain for everyone. And if the armies of elves and men decided to lay siege to the mountain…well… How long would the barricade last? How long would the supplies last? How long would it take Dáin Ironfoot to reach the mountain?
Thorin stepped forward to the edge of the battlement. His cool blue eyes swept over the armies, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Even outnumbered and even wearing that heavy crown, Thorin had not lost his pride. The uncertain, desperate Thorin who had apologized to me for letting the Arkenstone control him was nowhere to be seen, and in his place stood a king who would surrender his homeland to no one.
"Who are you that you come before the doors of the Lonely Mountain in arms?" Thorin's deep voice echoed across the scorched fields. "What do you desire of the King Under the Mountain?"
A heavy silence followed Thorin's words. I moved to stand next to Bilbo at the edge of the wall. The hobbit needed to be on the tips of his feet to peer over the battlements, while I stood comfortably, leaning on the stone. The men of Laketown shifted uneasily, while the elves remained frozen in place, refusing the break ranks. Finally, the leader of the men of the Lake urged his horse forward.
I squinted down, trying to make out his features. He was tall and dark-haired with a grim face. When his horse was two-dozen paces away from the barricade, the man tilted his head back and stared up at the Company.
For the first time, I saw his face properly. I let out a little yelp of surprise, and Bilbo gave me a curious glance.
"Hail, Thorin, King Under the Mountain!" said the man. "We come in a peaceful manner, and yet you choose to lock yourself away within the mountain. Surely you wish to join our festivities. Come celebrate with us that the great dragon, Smaug is dead!"
Before Thorin or any of the dwarrows could respond, I leaned over the battlement and shouted, "Bard! Bard the Brat!"
The man's eyes widened, and he turned his head to me. "Aunt Ana?"
"You brat!" I cried. "What are you doing marching on the doors of the Lonely Mountain with a bunch of elves?"
Thorin threw a scowl in my direction before saying, "You have come a long way, Bard, to be standing at my doors with an army. Tell me, how did you come here?"
Bard blinked. I don't think he expected to be asked so directly, but he recovered quickly and said, "We came to the Lonely Mountain expecting the halls to be abandoned. When Smaug came down to the Lake, we thought the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had not survived." He glanced up at the imperious king and added, "We were wrong to have doubted the Company."
"You must be disappointed to find that we live still," said Thorin icily.
"Of course this is good news," said Bard. "When you passed through Laketown, you spoke of renewing the bonds between your people and the people of the Dale. We hope you remember those words when you see the ruin Smaug lay upon Laketown before I shot him down with a black arrow. We lost much in the battle against Smaug. The people of Laketown desire just enough that we may survive this devastation. We aided you in your time of need, we ask only that you extend the same courtesy."
Bilbo shifted nervously from side to side. The dwarrows muttered amongst themselves, but Thorin needed no consultation to know how to answer.
"You speak well," said Thorin. "But your reasoning is flawed. The treasure inside these halls belongs to no man. It was made by dwarrows for the sake of dwarrows, and we place it above all else. Smaug stole from us not only our gold but also our home, the halls our fathers built for us. We have reclaimed the mountain and will allow nothing to be taken from us again. We shall repay all debts in due time—but if you seek to use force, we will shut you out entirely and not a glitter of gold shall you see from us." He stared down at Bard and, in a lower voice, said, "What comes to my mind is the question—what would you have done if you had reached the mountain and found the hoard unguarded and us slain? I doubt you would have taken just enough to repair the damages."
Bard visibly winced. He couldn't guilt-free deny that they would've taken everything they could get their hands upon if the Company didn't stand on the battlements. Not that I could blame him. Hell, I would've taken the heart of the mountain.
Then, suddenly, Bard's gaze shifted to mine, and he sent me a pleading look.
"Don't look to me, you brat," I said, lifting my hands in the air. "Majesty does what majesty wants."
I might've been mistaken, but I thought, out of the corner of my eye, that I saw Thorin smile. However, when I turned to look at him properly, his kingly face was back in place, and he glared down at Bard.
"I will not negotiate with armed men and never with elves," said Thorin. "Come back with fewer weapons and fewer friends and then we will discuss."
Bard shot a look of betrayal in my direction before addressing Thorin. "We will not shed our friends for your sake, Thorin Oakenshield. We stand here without thought of violence. But we will retreat for today and give you time to consider a wiser course."
He dug his heels into his horse's sides and with a tug on the reigns, cantered back to where Thranduil and the two armies waited. Thranduil, his crown of tree branches resting on his brow, stared up at the battlements, none too pleased with what he'd heard.
Dori, Nori, and Ori whispered among themselves, and Dwalin glowered at Bard's retreating back. Fíli and Kíli watched their uncle, while at my side, Bilbo kept fiddling with the buttons of his coat.
"I should have shot him with an arrow," Thorin muttered under his breath as Bard rode out of range.
Bilbo looked horrified at the thought, while I cried, "Don't harm my nephew!"
Thorin scowled. "He is not your nephew."
I ignored this and said, "His home was just burned to a crisp, so of course he's a little hot-headed at the moment. You would be too." I shot Thorin a knowing look. "That's why he's aligning himself with an army of elves."
"I would not align with an army of elves not matter the circumstances," scoffed Thorin.
"That's because when your home got burned to a crisp, the elves refused to align with you."
The look Thorin gave me was murderous, and I wondered if jumping off the battlements would cause me to Skip away.
In the end, however, Thorin didn't murder me. Instead, he called for a meeting of the Company. Leaving Ori on watch, Balin led the Company down to what looked to be a small dining room with a long table that barely fit within the stone walls. Bombur parted to make potato soup for dinner, and then the rest of the dwarrows, Bilbo, and I took our seats at the table. As expected, Thorin sat at the head of the table with Balin to his left and Bilbo to his right. I sat at the opposite end of the table (positioned strategically so I could make faces at Thorin during the meeting and let him know just what I thought of his decisions). Fíli and Kíli sat to my left with Glóin and Óin on my right.
Almost as soon as everyone was seated, Kíli asked, "How long do you think the armies will remain 'without thought of violence'?"
"You saw the look in the elvenking's eyes," said Glóin. "He wants the jewel beneath the mountain."
I frowned. This was my first time hearing that the elves wanted only one specific thing and not the piles of gold. "What jewel?"
"Kurdul aban," muttered Glóin.
Fili nodded. "The heart of the mountain."
My stomach started to sink. Of course, the Arkenstone. Who didn't want the Arkenstone?
"You know," I said. "The people of Laketown, I understand. They gave you food and shelter, and Thorin did promise a return on their generosity. They genuinely do deserve a share of the mountain's treasure." The dwarrows made faces at the suggestion of having to dole out their gold, but I ignored them and said, "However, I cannot for the life of me see how the Mirkwood elves have a claim to anything, let alone the Arkenstone. They locked you away and probably would've left you all to rot in that prison."
Glóin muttered a curse in Khuzdul, and Fíli and Kíli nodded in agreement.
"The Arkenstone is an old grievance," said Fíli. "The elves believe it once belonged to their people, and they have more than once accused Durin's folk of being thieves."
I scoffed. "That sounds like an elf thing to do."
"Our people found the Arkenstone in the belly of the mountain," said Glóin. "As we did all other jewels in our treasure halls."
"They name us greedy," said Óin from the seat beside his brother, "but they desire our heritage."
"They all do," said Kíli darkly. "They would have robbed our home if we had not been here to stop them."
"A favor given is a favor owed," said Glóin. "Perhaps they would like to see our dungeons."
A nasty glint entered Óin's gaze. "The cells beneath the forges are fit for the likes of the elvenking."
"You know," I said loudly. "I think we're looking at this all the wrong way."
The human-elf-hate-fest came to an abrupt halt, and the four dwarrows stared at me.
Before they could think better of giving me a chance to talk, I quickly said, "We're seeing the men of Laketown and elves of Mirkwood as enemies, but why not see them as potential allies…converts, if I may say."
"Converts?" Glóin said the word slowly, testing it. He frowned. So far, it seemed, my bullshitting was not off to a good start.
"Well," I said, "I think the reason why the humans and elves are so antagonistic toward us is that they do not truly understand us. I think we should welcome them with open arms, let them get to know us and what we're all about. Then, they'll come to understand us and join us. We will convert them. I'm sure it may seem difficult—especially the elves—but we must have trust in ourselves."
The dwarrows regarded me warily.
"To what will we convert them?" asked Fíli.
Well, my bullshitting hadn't fully caught up with me, and I—stupidly—said the first thing that came to mind: "To the First Saint Thorin the Majestic and the Anti-Dragon Company Full Missionary Dwarven Church of the Lonely Mountain Cathedral."
I managed to silence the four dwarrows. Not because they were surprised (I don't think anything I said would've surprised them at that point), but because they were trying to remember the name First Saint Thorin the Majestic and the Anti-Dragon Company Full Missionary Dwarven Church of the Lonely Mountain Cathedral.
"She made mention of the Lonely Mountain," said Glóin.
"And Thorin's majesty," said Kíli.
"Was there a dragon as well?" asked Fíli.
"Never mind the name," I said. "We can call it the First Church of Saint Thorin the Majestic for short." This was new levels of bullshitting even for me, but if it stopped the human-elf-hate-fest then I would stick with it. "New member initiation requires potential members to say the full name of the church correctly. Anyway, the point is that we should convert the men and elves to the cult of Thorin's majesty. Once they start worshipping his majesty, they will no longer doubt his promises, but trust that he will make returns in good time. What do you think? Good plan?"
The dwarrows didn't even consider my idea. All four of them turned away from me, and Fili loudly asked his uncle, "Has there been any word from the Ironhills?"
"You could at least pretend it was a good idea," I muttered.
Thorin glanced at me (no doubt knowing I'd said something stupid) before answering his nephew. "Dáin should have received our raven this morning. His reply will not arrive for two days yet."
"If he received our raven," said Dori. "If he did not, then we are left to face the two armies alone."
Nori paled at Dori's words, while Bofur kept fidgeting in his chair. Bifur glanced for Dori to Thorin and back before staring down at the floor.
"It is a three-day journey from the Ironhills to the mountain," said Balin. "Will we hold the gates for three days? Against two armies? There are but fourteen of us." He nodded at me and corrected himself, "Thirteen."
"What other choice do we have?" asked Thorin. "After a hundred-and-fifty years of wandering through Dunland, after begging so that we may have a place to live, after imposing on the generosity of the Broadbeams in the Blue Mountains, we have at long last returned to our home. And you propose we surrender the halls of our fathers to be pillaged by men and elves? We have been here not even three days, and you would surrender the mountain with such ease."
One by one, he looked down the table at the faces of the Company. I watched as one by one, the dwarrows lowered their eyes, unable to meet their king's stare. When he reached me, I was ready. I held his gaze, my blue eyes to his. I willed him to understand me, to know that I trusted him. Even if I believed there was a way to settle this without a battle, I would trust Thorin's judgment.
Thorin looked away, moving on to the next dwarrows at the table—which happened to be his two nephews.
"We will fight, uncle," said Kíli.
"We will not surrender the treasure of our fathers without shedding blood," said Fíli.
The other dwarrows around the table took courage at Fíli and Kíli's words.
"The line of Durin is strong," said Dwalin.
"We cannot be outdone by the young ones," said Óin, while Glóin let out a roar of approval.
"I hope 'shedding blood' is a figure of speech," I said. "What's the point of having all this gold if you're just going to die over it?"
Thorin shot me a sharp look, and I quickly closed my mouth. Right, I was meant to be trusting Thorin. If shedding blood is what it came down to, then so be it…I think.
"Is there not another way?" asked Bilbo. His small voice cut through the ruckus of the dwarrows. "The people of Laketown came to our aid, and the treasure in these halls is more than we could ever hope to count. Surely it would be no great loss to share with the humans and elves."
I both admired and pitied Bilbo in that moment. Admired him for speaking out, and pitied him as the judging stares of the dwarrows turned his way. Bilbo shifted in his seat, his hand flying to the side of his woolen jacket. I wondered if he sought the One Ring for protection.
Thankfully, before anyone could comment on Bilbo's oh-so-brilliant idea to share the gold with elves, Bombur entered the hall with a huge, steaming pot of stew. Immediately, Dori and Nori leapt into action, making room on the table for supper, while Óin and Glóin went to fetch some bowls for the Company. I watched Bilbo's expression change from nervous to resigned as he realized that he wasn't going to change anyone's mind. His hand continued to trace the pocket of his jacket.
The next three days went something like this: wake up, eat breakfast, complain about elves and men and elves, admire the dwarven treasure, reinforce the barricade, eat lunch, work some more on the barricade, discuss how much we hate elves and men and elves, attempt to organize the First Church of Saint Thorin the Majestic, eat dinner, drink, go to sleep, and while the rest of the Company is fast asleep, Thorin and I search through the sea of gold for the lost Arkenstone.
Did you think we would let the heart of the Lonely Mountain stay lost? Of course not. And if getting only a couple hours sleep each night wasn't enough, we were haunted by the ever-growing fear that Dáin would not arrive in time and the two armies would storm the Lonely Mountain, leave us for dead, and take all the treasure the Company had earned.
"I still think it sprouted legs and ran away," I said, tossing a gold chalice over my shoulder. "It is a magic rock, after all. And you just can't trust those magic rocks."
Thorin didn't respond, but I could hear the sound of metal on metal as he dug through one of the piles behind me.
"You might accuse me of being biased against magic rocks," I continued, "but I think I've earned the right to dislike magic rocks on principal…" I trailed off as the image of my parents in our living room flashed through my mind. Anger filled my chest. It usually did whenever I thought of my parents and the secrets they'd kept from me all these years. The anger wasn't as strong as it'd been when I first learned my dad was from Bree, but I still scowled at him in my memories. "When I see my dad again, he'd better explain things properly."
Silence fell behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see that Thorin had stopped moving.
"Did you find something?" I asked.
"How long has it been since you returned to Ohio?" Thorin kept his head turned from me.
I tried to do the math in my head. "It's hard to keep track with all the Skipping. I can go days without ever seeing the sun set. I think it's nearing three weeks though." I tossed a golden plate into another pile. "Sometimes I wonder if the Skip will ever bring me back."
"Do you wish to return to Ohio?" asked Thorin. He started rummaging through the coins again.
"Of course. I need to find out what my parents know about the Senturiel. My dad must have Skipped to get from Bree to Ohio."
"But do you wish to remain there?"
That question made me pause. It wasn't like I hadn't asked myself that question before—if I didn't Skip, where would I want to stay? The ideal situation, in my opinion, would be to have control over the Skip, and I could pass from Middle Earth to Ohio as I pleased. But, of course, that was a dream scenario. The true question was whether I would choose one place over the other. A year ago, I would've said Ohio without question. Now, I wasn't so certain. But I'd never been faced with the possibility of having to make that choice before so I'd never thought too deeply about it.
"Depends," I said. "What time in Middle Earth do I get to live? I'd hate to get stuck in the Second Age or something crazy like that."
"You would no longer be able to Skip from danger," said Thorin. "You would have to rely on your own skills to save you."
I shuddered. I wouldn't bet anything on my own skills, let alone my life. "Maybe Ohio's the better choice. There's a lot less swords and orcs there." I finished with the pile of gold I'd been rummaging through and moved on to a chest containing jewels of all shapes and sizes. "But I don't think I could leave you behind, Thorin. I know I get on your nerves sometimes and all, but you're super important to me. You're one of my best friends. Actually, 'friend' doesn't really work for you. 'Best friend' is for Bonnie and Nick and Boromir, and you're not like that. So maybe you're like some weird long lost brother of mine. Except I'm not a dwarf. Though my dad's from Bree apparently—so I guess there's a possibility we're related somehow. You can be my long lost cousin."
Thorin stopped rummaging, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw that he'd turned to stare at me. His eyes narrowed and he said, "We are not related."
I stuck my tongue out at him before turning back to the chest of jewels. "You don't have to be so offended by it. I'm not that bad, am I? I think Fíli and Kíli would like to have me as some sort of fifth-cousin-removed."
I think Thorin gave up correcting me. Eventually, we fell into silence. Only the sound of shifting metal and rock filled the treasure hall. I don't know how long we worked without speaking for, but it was Thorin who broke the silence. Of all the things I expected him to ask, this was somewhere near the bottom of the list: "Do you know what is going to happen?"
"What?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to stare at Thorin. I don't think he'd ever asked me about the future before.
"Not that you would tell me," muttered Thorin. "You keep what you know to yourself, do you not?"
"Well, yeah, I try to. I don't always succeed." I peeked over my shoulder, trying to get a good look at Thorin's expression, but he had his back to me. "I know what happens in the distant future. And I know what happens to certain members of the Company, but well, I don't know what happens to you." Even as I spoke, the faint memory of Rivendell echoed in my mind, and how I'd stopped them from telling me Thorin's fate.
"The future must be a heavy burden," said Thorin. "When I was first told of the prophecy, that I would be the one to reclaim the mountain, I did not believe it."
I nodded. When Gandalf had tried to make me out to be some kind of destined person, I'd fled in the opposite direction. "It's a hard thing to believe."
Thorin's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "Yes." He tilted his head back and sighed. "I tried to out run my future. I even abandoned my people."
"You did?"
Thorin nodded. "My father did not much like the prophecy. If I were to be the King Under the Mountain returned, then it would mean that my father would never set foot in his homeland again. He did not understand the path I would have to walk to fulfill the prophecy."
I stared at Thorin's back in silence. It seemed that entering the halls of the Lonely Mountain had made Thorin weird. There was too much self-reflecting going on. I didn't like it. After some hundred-and-fifty years, Thorin had reclaimed his homeland. He should be happy, not wallowing over the choices he'd made. I felt a wave of anger towards the two armies that would return to the doors of the mountain the next morning—if only they could have left us alone.
I crossed the distance between Thorin and me and sat down on the ground beside him. Pulling my knees to my chest, I said, "Whatever you do—no matter how stupid I might think it is—I'll stand by you. And so will the Company. We have faith in you."
Thorin put down the golden helm he was holding and turned his head to look at me.
"Whatever happens when the two armies come tomorrow," I said, "I won't let them hurt you. I know I'm not the most reliable person. I'm loudmouthed and a little slow on the uptake. I can barely wield the Sword Breaker and I tend to flee from fights. But I promise, I will do everything I can to keep you, the Company, and this mountain safe."
A small smile appeared on Thorin's face. "I know."
"And we're not going to find the Arkenstone."
"I know."
"So why do we keep looking for it?"
We both turned to stare at the piles of gold, silver, and jewels that stretched out before us. Over the past three nights, we'd barely made it through a tenth of the treasure hall. The sheer ridiculous of what we were doing—our pitiful hopes of finding the Arkenstone—hit me, and all of a sudden, I laughed. And then, Thorin laughed too. Our voices filled the treasure hall, and we laughed until our sides hurt and we could laugh no more.
"Come," said Thorin, getting to his feet. "We should rest before dawn comes."
And with it would come the armies of Laketown and Mirkwood.