Chapter Forty-Six
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SUMMARY: The King of Dale is dead? And why is Gandalf there?
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"Gandalf! I can't be dead!" Bard cried. "Shouldn't I see Mattie, or my parents? Why aren't they here?"
"Because, Bard, you chose a different fate, and you won't see them again. Don't you remember?"
Oh…
Bard crossed his arms around his stomach, nervously. "I don't understand this…"
"Bard," The Wizard said, in a calm, soothing voice. "I want you to tell me what you see."
He looked to his left and saw the long, wide hallway of the Palace, but he noticed there were no doors; just the polished stone and the occasional bench along the walls. To his right, was the door to the King's garden, made of thick dark oak, with iron vine-like fixtures with large leaves on them.
He turned to face that door, and suddenly felt a strong urge to open it.
He took a step forward and reached out to put his hand on the knob, but the Wizard's voice stopped him.
"Are you sure you want to do that Bard?"
"It's only the garden."
"Is it?"
"What do you mean?" Bard asked him. "It's a nice place; even in winter. I'll need a coat, though…"
He turned around to return to the Kings' chambers, but the door had disappeared. There was nothing there but a smooth white wall, with carved decorative trim.
"Wh… Our door..."
"Bard, I need you to decide something."
"What do I have to decide?" Once again, he faced the Wizard.
"Where you go from here."
Again, Bard heard something call to him from the door to his right. "What's behind that door, Gandalf? Please, I need to know."
The Wizard opened the Garden door, but it opened to a place Bard didn't recognize. Thranduil's garden was gone, and its place was a large dark hall with polished Obsidian pillars. A thick, dark vapor concealed the floor, and occasionally wound its way through the air. There were beautiful, ornate lamps and their bright light reflected on the polished walls and the columns.
It should be an eerie, frightening place, but it was unearthly, ethereal, and beautiful.
As he looked at it, he wondered if he should feel afraid, but he wasn't – something told him he could find peace, and rest there.
"These are the Halls of Mandos, Bard."
"It's breathtaking," Bard marveled, "but for some reason, I always thought it would be light; full of sunshine and flowers."
He heard Gandalf laugh. "Maybe it will be, for you. Your time in these Halls will reflect the life you lived in Middle Earth. Once you enter, Námo will show you to your rooms, and there you will spend time reflecting upon your deeds when you are alive. If you led an honorable life, it will be a pleasant stay."
"That sounds wonderful." Bard said, wistfully.
"And for you, it will be. For another, who has not led such an exemplary life, it will be spent doing penance." Gandalf told him.
"Really?"
"Fëanor is there, will remain until the end of Arda. Never again will he see his homeland."
Bard remembered that story from one of the books Thranduil had sent him. Then he realized something.
"Gandalf, how can you even be here? Aren't you with Bilbo, at Beorn's house?"
"I still am."
"You can't be in two places at once!"
"I can't?" Gandalf gave him a mischievous smile. "Why is that?"
"I don't understand…" Bard whispered again, weakly.
"Please, allow me to explain. Better yet; let me show you."
The Grey Wizard took a few steps away from him, then stood very still.
Bard's eyes widened in amazement, as he watched Gandalf's shape and countenance evolve into something so bright and beautiful, he had to cover his face.
"Stop, please! You're hurting my eyes!"
"Sorry about that." And quickly he was an old man again, with a funny hat and a staff. "Now, do you understand?"
Bard stared at him for a long time, then he laughed. "There's more to you than meets the eye."
"Isn't that true for everyone?" Gandalf grinned, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Fair enough."
The Wizard stepped to the side, and Bard saw the door to Thranduil's study.
"What's in there?" Bard asked.
"Another choice."
"What kind of a choice? Don't I have to go…" he pointed to the Garden/Halls of Mandos.
Gandalf tilted his head and smiled, saying nothing, until Bard began to understand.
Bard could return to his life, and face whatever came, or he could spend the rest of his existence in peace; first the Mandos' Halls, then go to Valinor, to await his husband.
Oddly enough, he found the choice to be more difficult than he imagined. When he turned toward the Garden door, he wanted nothing more than to step through and feel all his burdens lifted from his shoulders, and for the rest of his existence be surrounded by beauty and contentment.
No more battles of any kind.
No more anxiety, or worry, or frustration.
No grief. Ever.
Who wouldn't want that?
He knew he could choose that door, and find peace. And why not? He'd worked himself to the bone, every day of his life. How many years had he spent exhausted, and worn down by cares and worries, the endless grind of poverty, and little hope?
If he went through the study door, he would go back to his life in Dale. He would face—
"Aaaaah!" Bard cried out in agony, from the sudden, sharp pain in his left leg, and he suddenly felt incredibly weak. He began to collapse, and Gandalf had to quickly step over to catch him, before he fell.
"It hurts…." He could barely form the words, he was shaking from the pain.
"Yes, it does, I'm afraid." The Wizard raised his hand, and said a few words in Quenya, until the pain subsided. "There is more you must consider, Bard."
Once he could stand upright again, Bard thought about what else awaited him, if he decided to step through that door.
He would face all the burdens that came with being a King. Endless problems. Endless responsibility. Endless worries.
If he took this path, he would have to face a great and terrible War. It would be much worse than the Battle of the Five Armies, and would last months, possibly years, much of the Middle Earth could be destroyed. Worst of all, no matter how much they all tried, they could lose. Sauron could still be victorious, and all free peoples would be doomed.
If he went through that door, he would, eventually outlive all the humans he cared about, to old age and death: Percy, Hilda, Alun, Old Ben, and everyone living in Dale, now. They would, one by one, leave him, forever.
And, worst of all, worst of all, he would be forced to watch his own children, and his children's children, die, and leave him behind.
Bard's eyes stung, and his breath caught in his throat. "Oh, no… Oh, gods, no…" He put his hands over his mouth to stifle the sob that came from him.
"Yes, my friend. You are truly feeling the pain that awaits you."
A tear rolled down his cheek. "It seemed such an easy decision to make, that night." He choked the words out. "Losing the children seemed so far in the future… Oh, stars… I knew it was going to be agony…" and he buried his face in his hands, and began to cry.
Gandalf put his hand on Bard's shoulder. "If you chose this way," he indicated, the door to the Garden, "you would be spared all that."
Bard tried to form words, but only more sobs came out, and it went on for several minutes.
Eventually Gandalf waved his staff, and the emotional agony lessened, and he waited patiently for Bard to calm down.
The Wizard's hand tightened on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Bard, but you must know everything that awaits you, if you go back. Only then, can you make your choice freely."
Bard nodded, still unable to speak, as he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his white gown. Then he took a deep breath; the time had come to decide.
He dreaded what life on Middle Earth had in store for him. It would be full of hard work, frustrations, danger, and, even if he were successful, there would still be agonizing pain. It honestly seemed pointless; not when could be at ease, and find contentment, until he could see Thranduil on the white shores, and they would be together again…
It didn't seem to be hard choice at all, really.
But… was it all pain? Would all these labors be truly pointless?
Dale needed him, yes, but it was more than that. Bard had decided to accept the Kingship because he genuinely cared about his people. He'd watched them struggle all his life, and remembered the excitement he felt at having the power to make their lives better. The future of Dale was full of wonderful possibilities!
Yes, he would lose his children. But how could he rob himself of time with them, now? Would he really want to turn away from their smiles, their laughter, or even their tears, when he could take them in his arms and offer them comfort?
Life as a parent was a no more than a series of special, fleeting moments. How could he choose to miss any of them? Even the smallest, most insignificant things in a child's life could be important, and if he was not there, to help and guide them, how could he know they would be all right?
Would Bain grow up to be a good King? Would Sigrid be a Healer? And his Tilda… his tiny little Tilda would be…
He would never even know, because he wouldn't be there, to keep her and all of them safe.
And…
Most of all, there was Thranduil.
Bard didn't want to put him through the loss of another spouse… lt would be cruel to do that to him.
"No, Bard." Gandalf broke into his thoughts, and said, gently. "You cannot make this decision from guilt or obligation."
Bard looked again and the Garden door. "How do I decide?"
Wise, piercing blue eyes looked at him from under bushy eyebrows. "What do you really want, my friend?"
"I don't know what you want me to say."
Gandalf pointed to the study door. "What is behind that door, that you cannot find in the Halls of Mandos?"
Bard blinked his eyes and examined his heart. What did he feel? What could overcome just about any evil? What was the strongest force in all Arda?
The realization washed over him, and he smiled.
Despite all the things that would hurt him now, and in the future, and despite the despair that would surely enter his life and some point…
…love awaited him, behind that door. There were no guarantees of happiness, if he went back, but he had to try; he had to take that chance, or he'd regret it for eternity.
Gandalf's blue eyes twinkled as he smiled. "You have done well, and I am very proud of you." He put his arm around the Bowman and guided him to the door of Thranduil's study.
"Your life is waiting for you, my friend." The old man pointed his staff at the door. "Go on."
Bard looked at the light oak door, then back at Gandalf. "Thank you. For everything."
"Thank me for what? You made the choice freely, and with your heart." The Wizard shrugged. It is I who owe you gratitude."
"What do you mean?"
"You won't know that for many years. But in the meantime, there's much to do, isn't there?"
He reached out, and just before he touched the knob, he asked, "Gandalf? Will I remember any of this?"
Gandalf just smiled and gave a quick jerk of his head toward the door.
Bard shook his head in amusement, then sighed, as he turned the knob, and went through it with surety and purpose.
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Once he was gone, the Wizard leaned on his staff, and heaved a sigh of relief.
A beautiful, ethereal woman, clothed in a long black velvet robe, trimmed with silver and rubies, stepped through the Garden doorway. She had a diadem of silver on her brow, and it was decorated with small diamonds and onyx stones that complimented her fair skin. Her long white hair fell in deep waves, almost to her knees. In each hand, she held a long thread.
"Mithrandir?" She asked.
It was Vairë the Weaver, wife of Mandos, the Vala who wove the tapestry of Arda, and all who inhabit it.
"Bard chose to return to his life." Gandalf said, with enormous relief.
Vairë looked at the closed door of Thranduil's study. "The King of Dale does not realize how close he came. My husband finished preparing his rooms; he was only a moment or two away from inhabiting them."
"I am sorry for that, My Lady, but he had to go back freely and for the right reasons, otherwise, our plans for him would come to naught." The Wizard sighed. "I hated to send him back without knowing if Thranduil will live, but there was no other choice. Speaking of Thranduil, I have asked, but have been given no instructions. Does this mean he will be joining you, soon?"
Vairë replied, "No divergent thread has appeared, to weave into the Elvenking's story, and my husband will have his rooms ready soon. I am sorry." At Gandalf's stricken look, she tried to offer him comfort. "If Lord Thranduil is meant to come to our Halls, he will, but take heart; it is out of your hands, and what will be, will be."
She smiled at Gandalf, held up the crimson thread in her left hand, and flung it out into the air. They both watched, as the thread floated off into nothingness, as the halls of the Woodland Realm dissolved, until Vairë and Gandalf stood among bright, beautiful stars.
"Behold, Mellon nîn," Vairë looked down at the blue thread in her right hand. "The Bowman has chosen wisely."
They both watched, as the blue thread in her right hand grew in length and thickness, until it became an unbreakable piece of fiber.
"I am happy for you, Mithrandir." She patted his arm, and began to walk away, to return to her husband and her duties.
"Vairë?"
"Yes?"
"The Queen Varda has done an exceptional job this evening, don't you think?" He gestured at their surroundings. "I can't remember such a beautiful Starscape… Before you return to your labors, would you like to take a walk, and enjoy it with me?"
Vairë laughed, as she carefully placed the blue thread into her pocket for safekeeping, then took the Maia's arm. "You can be quite the charmer when you want to be, Mithrandir."
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City of Dale; 17th of April 2942 T.A.
"Well?" Dáin asked. "How is the lad?"
Two days after the accident, the Chief Healer was examining Bard carefully, as the others looked on, anxiously.
There was utter silence as they watched Ermon's hands carefully move from his heart, to his lungs, and over all his organs. Then he put his hands over Bard's leg and closed his eyes again, to "see" if the shattered pieces of bone were still in place.
At last, he opened his eyes, and straightened with a sigh.
"Well?" Percy said, with his arm around Tauriel. She was standing in between Dáin and Percy, and was pale.
"He is still weak, but here has not been an incident with his heart for an entire day, and his beats are stronger and steady. His lungs are clear, and his other organs are functioning."
"Will the lad live?" Dáin demanded.
"He has a long journey ahead of him, and he will need to remain bedridden for at least a month, but yes, I am optimistic that Lord Bard will survive. This greatly increases Lord Thranduil's chances, as well."
Percy closed his eyes. "Oh, thank the Stars… Thank you…" He whispered, hoarsely, and covered his eyes.
Tauriel covered her mouth with both hands, and let out a sob of relief, and Percy reached for her and held her as she cried.
"Tis good news, lass." Dáin told her. "No' you go whisper the good news in yer Da's ear; it might help 'im." He turned her toward the door. "Go on wi' ye."
Now that Bard was stabilized, Dáin took quick stock of the situation. Thranduil was still unconscious in Tauriel's bed, so he and the Chief Healer conferred briefly, then a Raven was sent back to Erebor. A wagon arrived in Dale within the hour, bringing two of their best long beds, and everyone set to work.
One of the beds was set up, close to the fireplace, to keep Bard warm, with clean, fresh linens and blankets. Then, oh, so carefully, they worked a blanket under him and used it to move Bard over to it. As soon as Bard was settled, the ruined, blood-soaked mattress and rug underneath it, were taken out to be burned. The big bed frame was taken apart, and removed.
Percy wash and dried Bard's body, while the Healer and Óin prepared strips of cloth and a thick, starchy mixture. Together, they carefully encased Bard's upper leg in a cast that went up the side of his hip and around his waist, leaving his right side open to accommodate bodily functions. Once done, the Healer coated the cast with hot wax, to help keep it waterproof.
"The cast will serve a dual purpose," Ermon explained to them. "His bone was shattered, and although we have pieced the bone together, no Elf is powerful enough to knit small fragments like that. His only hope of walking without a limp, is to keep his leg completely immobile while time and nature does its work."
"What's the other reason?" Percy asked, as he combed out Bard's hair.
"Even after his blood supply is replenished, it takes weeks for it to become strong enough to serve his body properly. He cannot exert himself, or Lord Bard could suffer a catastrophic setback."
"So, the cast will keep him in bed, whether he likes it or not?"
"It will."
"Oh, he'll hate that." Percy grimaced. "But we'll make sure he follows orders."
As they settled Bard under the blankets, the other bed was brought in and set up nearer to the window. Feren insisted he be the one to carry Thranduil in from Tauriel's room, and to wash and dress him in comfortable clothing.
Soon, the room was tidied and arranged, with both Kings resting on clean sheets and under thick woolen blankets, with bowls of Athelas-infused water freshening the room.
While they were thankful that Bard was showing signs of improvement, they were worried for Thranduil, because he had not. Even after two days, Ermon could barely find any signs of life; his fëa was almost non-existent.
The Elvenking's life still hung in the balance, and no one could predict his fate.