PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
LXXII: Of War And Prophecy
Sure enough, the next morning we stood on top of the wall again, staring down at the two armies ready to either a) receive payment or b) kill us. The elves looked prepared for war. Their bows were knocked with arrows and their eyes were bright with vengeance. We had escaped their prisons and insulted their king. They were ready to screw negotiations and storm the Lonely Mountain. The men of Laketown, however, were less ready to fight. Their weapons were not drawn and they seemed tense, their horses shifting from side to side.
On the wall, the dwarrows were uneasy. Fíli and Kíli refused to leave each other's sides. Balin kept talking to Thorin in undertones, while Dwalin continually sharpened his axes. Óin and Glóin made "your mother" jokes in an attempt to keep things light, but their humor didn't have the same vigor it usually did. Bombur ate nonstop to calm his nerves while Bofur spoke in low tines to a fidgety Bifur. Dori, Nori, and Ori tried their best to stand up right and proud, but that didn't stop their knees from knocking.
Bilbo stood next to me. He seemed calmer than the dwarves. His hands were tucked neatly into his pockets, and he looked down upon the crowds of men and elves with a rather neutral expression.
"You all right?" I asked.
"Yes," said Bilbo. "How fare you, Ana?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Worst comes to worst, I'll probably just Skip away." My voice fell flat at the end.
A booming voice came from beneath the wall. "Hail, Thorin Oakenshield!"
I fought back a groan as I turned to look out at the front doorstep. Bard had ridden forward again to stand before the wall of rubble that had been assembled by the Company. He gazed up at the dwarrows, his eyes filled with determination.
"Greetings, Bard of Laketown," said Thorin. He kept his voice controlled, and only a hint of anger crept through.
"Are of the same mind?" asked Bard.
"I will not change my mind simply because a few days have come and gone," said Thorin. "You still bring elves with you despite my condition. You have chosen not to talk, not me."
I sighed and placed my elbows on the stone wall, propped my head up in my palms. "He's so stubborn."
"Does he want war so badly?" asked Bilbo.
"He does what he must," I said. "Thorin is no fool. His condition that the elves and men come to talk without weapons is not entirely unreasonable. The elves, after all, did imprison the dwarrows."
Down below, Bard's eyes narrowed at Thorin's words. However, with perfectly even tones, he said, "Is there nothing for which you will part with your gold?"
"You have nothing I desire," said Thorin.
"What about the Arkenstone of Thráin?" And with that, Bard lifted the glitter stone into the air.
My heart stopped. My stomach twisted and doubled over into knots as I turned to stare at Thorin. I expected him to stare back at me, equally bewildered, but Thorin did not so much as glance in my direction. The other dwarrows were all flabbergasted, their mouths open and their eyes practically popping out of their heads. But Thorin… Thorin was calm. He didn't even seem shocked by the sight of the Arkenstone in Bard's hands.
Calmly, Thorin said, "That stone was my grandfather's and then my father's and now it is mine. Why should I buy what is already mine?"
"I remember hearing a certain expression," said Bard, thoughtfully. "What was it? Oh yes. Finders keepers."
Immediately, the dwarrows turned to me, accusation flaming in their eyes.
I lifted my hands into the air. "It wasn't me."
"You are the only one who says such things," said Óin. Which was true.
"He is your nephew," said Glóin. Also true.
However…
"I'm seriously offended that you'd consider me guilty," I said. "I have been with you—out of order, certainly—for almost every step of your journey. You know I am a devoted member of the First Church of Saint Thorin the Majestic. I would never…You know I would never."
"She speaks truly," said Balin. "Bard only seeks to sow discord amongst our ranks. We should not doubt our own."
"Such stealth is beyond Ana's capability," added Kíli.
Thorin—the only dwarf who had not looked at me with suspicion—finally spoke. Unfortunately, he said the worst thing possible in my defense. "Ana did not give the Arkenstone to our enemies. She lost it."
The dwarrows all stared at Thorin. I shook my head from side to side, violently, trying to get him to stop talking, but Thorin ignored me.
"Ana found the Arkenstone some days ago and we argued over it." Thorin sighed. "In our bickering, we dropped the Arkenstone and lost it amongst the treasure hoard. We spent the last seven nights searching for it."
There was a pause.
"You dropped the Arkenstone?" asked Kíli.
"Is that not offensive to our fathers?" asked Dori.
Silence fell among us and we shifted uncomfortable at the thought of an angry Thráin watching over us.
"Even if you two…" Balin searched for an accurate word to describe us. "…fools lost the Arkenstone within the mountain, it does not explain how Bard came to possess the stone."
"I gave it to them."
The voice was quiet but firm. Assured in his actions but hesitant to admit to them in front of the Company. Little Bilbo Baggins stood on the edge of the battlements, his brown eyes bright with defiance.
"You what?" Dwalin's voice carried down to Bard and the elvenking below.
"I gave it to them," repeated Bilbo, his voice louder this time.
I wasn't sure if I should applaud him or punch him or something in the middle. I admired his courage to do what he thought was right…but the betrayal I felt could not be expressed in words. Bilbo was one of the Company, and the Company was loyal to Thorin. In the halls of the Lonely Mountain was the inheritance of these dwarrows, and I did not believe it was the right of anyone but these dwarrows to decide what was to be done with the gold.
Still, the sense of hurt and betrayal I felt was nothing compared to the Company. Fíli and Kíli were at a loss for words, their mouths open soundlessly. Dwalin was turning red with anger, and Bofur looked as though he might cry. And Thorin…
"I had hoped…" Thorin's voice was low, and he wasn't looking at the hobbit. To someone who didn't know Thorin well, it might seem like he wasn't even angry, but I knew differently. Thorin's rage was beyond words. It took a moment—a slow, agonizing moment—for Thorin to regain himself. He raised his eyes, and I saw the icy fire burning there as he stared at Bilbo and spoke, "I had hoped it would not be so. Ana and I knew the Arkenstone was lost, but I had hoped…" He stopped himself. Then, when he found words again, his tone was thick with rage. "You miserable hobbit." His hands curled into fists. "Curse Gandalf forever bringing us to your doorstep! We welcomed you into the Company, and when our backs were turned, you gave the jewel of my household to our enemies." He stopped again. The anger seemed to drain from his body a little, replaced by resignation. His eyes flickered to me and then away. Perhaps reminded of the hours we'd spent searching or perhaps of something long forgotten, he found his rage again. He rounded on the hobbit, towering over poor Bilbo as he bellowed. "Curse you! Curse the wizard! I will cast you down onto the rocks so that you may join your people—the men and the elves!"
The Thorin I knew was not the sort to harm his companions, and I think Bilbo had relied on that Thorin being sane enough to forgive him. But Bilbo had not seen the desperate Thorin who had struggled with being his father's son, the Thorin who had almost hurt me over the Arkenstone. In that instant, I think Thorin seriously meant to throw Bilbo down on the rocks.
He grabbed Bilbo by the collar and was about to hurl the pale, trembling hobbit over the wall. The other dwarrows remained frozen. This was not the Thorin they knew, not the Thorin who had led them from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain. They did not know what to do. They did not know the hold the treasure of the Lonely Mountain had over him.
In the end, I was the one who stopped him. Not Balin. Not Dwalin. Not Fíli or Kíli. I was the one who leapt forward and grabbed hold of Thorin's sleeve, trying with all my strength to drag the dwarf backwards and away from the wall.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I cried. "You're going to regret this! Thorin, stop!"
I think it was when I said his name that Thorin listened. Almost instantly, Thorin dropped Bilbo onto the hard stone. The hobbit scrambled backwards, holding his arm and trembling.
Thorin's eyes flashed as he rounded on me. I half expected him to accuse me of being in on it, but Thorin only said, "I wish Gandalf were here so I could break him too!"
"Your wish is granted."
And, as if he'd been there all along, Gandalf appeared on the battlements. To this day, I don't know where he came from or how he got there, but what I can say is—damn was I glad to see him.
Thorin did not share my feelings.
"You!" Thorin turned from me and rounded on the wizard. "You are all in the same league! Never again shall I have dealings with wizards and their pets!"
The dwarrows remained still and unmoving. Their loyalties to their king conflicting with their fondness for Bilbo. The hobbit himself seemed very flustered by the whole situation. I could tell he hadn't expected this, that he'd thought his friendship with Thorin would triumph over Thorin's love for his homeland and its treasures. My heart went out to the poor hobbit. He had no love for gold, and therefore he could not understand Thorin's fierce protectiveness over the glory of his people.
Gandalf was the only person on those battlements who was calm. He stood, leaning slightly on his staff, smiling at Thorin.
This seemed to only anger Thorin further, and he took a step toward the wizard. Instinctively, I grabbed Thorin by the wrist. I had no hope of overpowering him and if he really wanted to, Thorin could have thrown me off the wall instead. However, the touch of my fingers seemed to stop Thorin from trying to attack Gandalf. He didn't look back at me or even acknowledge that I was present, but at least he was able to stand still as Bilbo got to his feet.
"When I signed on to this adventure," said Bilbo, a little breathlessly, "you said that I was entitled to one-fourteenth of the gold. But perhaps I took this too literally. I have heard that dwarves are politer in word than in deed. Anyway, the night we entered Erebor and examined the piles of gold, I decided to explore the main hall. I heard two people arguing and decide to see what I could do to help. As I was walking along the stone path, a glitter gem rolled into my view. The Arkenstone. I took the Arkenstone to be my one-fourteenth share. I did with my one-fourteenth as I so chose and there is nothing more to be said on the matter."
With each word that Bilbo said, Thorin's gaze grew darker and darker. I felt something touch the back of my hand, and when I looked down, I saw that Thorin had caught my wrist and was using it to hold himself back.
His voice was little more than a growl as he spoke. "I have been betrayed. By one I thought I could call my friend." His grip on me was growing painful. I endured it as Thorin continued, "Get out of here. Get out and do not let me look upon your face again."
Thorin's grasp had become so tight that it hurt. I let out a small gasp of pain, and immediately Thorin released me. Still, he did not look at me.
The Company could only watch, unmoving and still, as Thorin strode to the edge of the battlements and addressed Bard and the elvenking. "I will divide one-fourteenth of the treasure for that is the traitor's share of the gold and silver. I shall give that to you, and you shall return the Arkenstone. The one-fourteenth may be divided amongst yourselves."
Bard did not have a chance to reply as Thorin turned his back to the two armies to address the traitor. He spoke in the voice of the King Under the Mountain, cold and imperial. "Get out of my home, hobbit. Join your friends begging at my doorstep and do not plague my halls again."
Bilbo took a step back, hurt plain across his round face.
Still, leaning on his staff, Gandalf released a long sigh. "Thorin, you are not making a good example as King Under the Mountain. The gold and silver has already caught hold of your mind." Gandalf frowned slightly as his gaze slid over the Company that surrounded Thorin, coming last to Fíli and Kíli. Finally, Gandalf said, "But perhaps you may change. Not all hope is lost just yet."
"Be gone."
Thorin permitted Gandalf and Bilbo to leave the battlements unharmed. Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin had built an exit by way of removing a large bell-shaped stone. However, as soon as Gandalf and Bilbo were free of the mountain gates, Dwalin collapsed several stones on top of the gap, and the Lonely Mountain was truly sealed from the outside world.
Thorin stood alone in the foyer, his silver armor black in the shadow of the great barricade he had built.
The rest of the Company remained atop of wall, staring down at their king. None of the dwarrows dared to speak out against Thorin—they respected him far too much for that.
As majestic as Thorin was, he was not my king. I did not need to give him the same reverence. We had spent far too many hours searching in vain through piles of gold for me to leave him alone. I descended from the barricade to join him in the foyer. The cracked pillars towered over our heads as I reached out and touched his arm.
Thorin turned to me and I saw something in his eyes that might have resembled regret. For the first time, he looked small in the halls of his fathers. Small and uncertain and burdened with something I did not know how to name.
He opened his mouth…and that's right about when the trumpets of Dáin Ironfoot sounded.
Whatever Thorin had been about to tell me was lost. His expression turned back into its kingly mask, and he pulled away from me. I followed him up the steps to the barricade from which we could see the eastern hills. The crest of the hill was dark with the shadow of an army. The army was marked by two banners one bearing the white and gray boot of the Ironhills and the other hosting the blue and silver stars of the Longbeards.
The two armies that stood on the doorstep of the Lonely Mountain had already started rearranging themselves to face the enemy to the east. They left a small battalion to keep an eye on the Company sealed within the walls of the mountain, while they focused most of their attention on the new arrivals.
As the army of the Ironhills crept closer, I realized just how short they were. The average height of the army must have been four-foot-six. However, their small statures did nothing to lessen their might.
Even astride his painted boar, the red-headed Dain Ironfoot was beyond a doubt a dwarf. He wore dark red armor, marked with a gray boot, and had a giant battle-axe strapped across his back. The dwarrows behind him walked with equal pride, supporting the symbol of the Ironhills proudly. They were all armed to the teeth with swords, axes, maces, and bows.
Thorin began shouting commands from the wall as the members of the Company sprang into action, grabbing weapons and scurrying about. Some of them—like Dwalin and Balin—abandoned the fancy armor they'd been wearing, while young Fíli and Kíli struggled about in the gold plating.
"You should retreat to the lower halls, Ana."
Thorin's sudden command surprised me, and I turned to stare at him. Around us, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur were setting up the ballista.
"I've gotten better with the Sword Breaker," I said, surprised that I would even try to justify my presence in a battle. Usually I would jump at the chance to run and hide.
Thorin snorted. "That little thing will do you no good in battle."
My eyes narrowed. "I will have you know that I have participated in the Battle of Helmsdeep and the Battle of Pelennor Fields."
"I participated in the War of Dwarrows and Orcs," said Thorin. There was something tense in his tone that told me not to argue further.
Still, I had never been one to listen. "I know I'm not much use fighting, but I'm not going to cower…anymore." I added the last part quickly when Thorin gave me a skeptical look. "I've come too far with the Company to leave you all to your fates. There must be something I can do to help."
Thorin still looked hesitant. "The Company can all fight—"
"If anything bad happens, you know I'll just Skip away," I said. "I'll be fine."
I don't know where exactly Thorin and I switched roles. It used to be that I would be the one wanting to hide, and Thorin would be the one telling me to get off my butt and do something. When had I decided helping was more important than my own safety? And when had Thorin decided my well-being was more important than protecting the Company? I wanted to say it happened somewhere in the treasure halls of the Lonely Mountain, but I didn't think that was the right answer.
Thorin released sigh. "Bombur should be in the kitchens, preparing food. See if he needs any aid."
"Yes, your majesty," I said. I even managed some sort of bow for the King Under the Mountain. Then, I headed down through the foyer to find the kitchens.
As Bombur liked to say, "Wars are not won on empty stomachs." The dwarrows were prepared for a long siege. If they needed to hold the Lonely Mountain for months against the two armies, they could. Bombur had spent the last few days drying food and packaging them. There was still food to be stored, and the sooner Bombur completed the task, the sooner the Company would be prepared for the battle. As it turned out, Bombur had a lot for me to do, and soon he had me covering dried foods in herbs to keep them preserved.
Bombur moved about the kitchen in a rush, barely noticing me as I worked. Perhaps he wanted silence, but, well, silence had never been my thing.
"What do you think Bilbo is doing right now?" I asked. The image of the hobbit, shocked and frightened, flashed through my mind. "He must be afraid. I doubt he expected Dáin's army to show up when it did.
Sweat dripped down Bombur's brow as he said, "He is with Gandalf, no doubt. I do not know where they are, but I hope they are safe." He paused and then corrected himself. "Gandalf will keep Bilbo safe."
"I wouldn't trust Gandalf," I muttered. "He likes to have people pushed off cliffs to test their Skipping abilities."
Bombur shot me an odd look.
"It happens in the future," I said. "You're not around."
"Oh." Bombur busied himself with fanning the fireplace. He needed to keep the flames hot.
"So this war," I said, "nasty business, isn't it?"
Bombur may have shot me an annoyance glance.
"I understand the dwarrows, of course," I said. "And the people of Laketown. But I cannot for the life of me understand the elves claim to the treasure of the Lonely Mountain. Except for some long grudge that no one really knows the origin of."
"Thorin understands what this battle is for," said Bombur.
I stared at the dwarf, wondering if he really believed his words or if he said them because he felt he must. Either way, I believed his words. I did think Thorin knew what he was doing. In fact, I might have been the only person who believed that.
Despite Gandalf's belief that Thorin was consumed by gold, I thought there was something else bothering the King Under the Mountain. I know, I know—how dare I think that Gandalf the Grey could be wrong about something. But, well, here we are. While the vast treasure of the Lonely Mountain certainly weighed heavily on Thorin's mind, I didn't think it was the only thing bothering him.
"What do you know of the prophecy?" I asked.
Bombur actually stopped in the middle of packaging some dried fruit to stare at me. "Why do you ask this now?"
"Just curious," I said with my best innocent smile. "All I really know is that Thorin was foretold to be the one to retake the Lonely Mountain."
Bombur hesitated and then returned to his work. At first, I thought he intended to ignore me, but then Bombur said, "I do not know much more than you. A long time ago, when I was still a dwarf not fully grown, it was said that Thorin would be the King Under the Mountain returned. The journey would begin with the call of a wizard, and the company would number thirteen. If there is more to the prophecy, I have not heard it."
The prophecy seemed to be accurate—thirteen dwarrows and one hobbit made fourteen, though one had to wonder if Thorin had chosen to add a fourteenth member to the Company in order to fulfill the prophecy. And it had been at Gandalf's summons to Bree that had triggered the start of this journey. Still, perhaps Thorin would have started on the road sooner if he hadn't been waiting for the "call of a wizard".
"So it's possible that there's more to this prophecy?" I asked.
Bombur frowned. "I suppose it is possible, but word is the prophecy was made in the presence of the court of King Thráin—many dwarrows bore witness."
"And what happened to the person who made the prediction?"
"I do not know."
Bombur was being very unhelpful.
"Prophecies seem to be very flaky things," I muttered. "The future isn't fixed."
Apparently, all this philosophical talk was too boring for Bombur, and he focused all his attention on the food as I rambled on.
"What if there is more to the prophecy? Something comes after retaking the Lonely Mountain from Smaug. What if Thorin is waiting for something else to happen—something no one, not even Gandalf, knows about?"
"Thorin only wants to protect the heirlooms of our people," said Bombur.
I was surprised that he'd even bothered listening. I nodded. "Well, yes, but he's been rather…odd lately. And I know it's not just the whole 'the crown is heavy' thing. Yes, he's now King Under the Mountain, and he has different burdens, but still… He's been very…reflective…lately."
Bombur was clearly the wrong person to discuss Thorin's swaying moods with. And the dwarf only gave me a confused stare at the mention of reflective Thorin. I sighed and buried my face in my hands.
"Thorin's being weird," I said. I just didn't know why.
"Even if," said Bombur suddenly, "we do not understand all the actions our king chooses to make, we still choose to follow him."
"You think I wouldn't?" I asked. "I'd follow that majestic idiot to the end of all things."
Bombur gave me a small smile. "So would we all."
It would have been a really tender moment of bonding between Bombur and me if it hadn't been for the drowned rat we all know as Kíli.
"To the west! Look to the west! They have arrived! Quick! Quick! Take down the barricade! Quick!" Kíli stuck his head into the kitchen. His face was pale and covered in a thin layer of sweat. His gaze flickered from Bombur to me and back. "Forget the food. We need all arms to the wall. We must tear it down."
"The wall?"
Backbreaking day upon backbreaking day, the company had built that wall, and now Kíli was telling us to tear it down. Why? But before Bombur or I could ask, Kíli was gone, sprinting off in the direction of the foyer. For a second, Bombur and I stood frozen in place. Then, he doused the fire and we both ran after Kíli. The Company minus Bilbo had gathered in foyer, staring up at the barricade. I could see the dark outline of Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin standing on the wall. Dwalin seemed to uttering a string of curses in Khuzdul, while Balin spoke in undertones to Thorin. The two brothers seemed horrified with whatever they saw on the battlefield below, but Thorin remained still and unmoved.
"Who has arrived?" I asked, gasping for breath.
"Has the battle been won already?" asked Ori.
"We have not yet finished equipping the ballista," said Nori.
"Who has arrived from the west?" asked Bofur. "Did we send ravens to more of our kin?"
"Are there more elves?" wondered Glóin.
From atop the barricade, Thorin noticed that all the Company had gathered in the foyer. He ended his conversation with Balin to address the rest of the dwarrows.
"We must destroy the barricade," said Thorin. "Another army has arrived from the west."
"Army?" repeated Ori.
Kíli nodded. "Of orcs and wargs."
"Led by Azog the Defiler," added Fíli.
"Well, shit." I said, and Skipped away.