Did you miss me? ;) Haha, I'm back at last and I come with a humongous chapter for you :D I didn't actually get as much Fanfiction done on the writing course as I'd hoped, but I did make headway on my novel, so that's good :) If anyone ever gets the opportunity to go on an Arvon Course I would definitely recommend it – it was brilliant! Thanks for waiting, guys :)
Right, this chapter is named after a song by the amazing Emma Blackery called "The Promise", largely due to the latter half which was written to that song, as well as "The Message" and "Fix You" both by Coldplay. All of them have lyrics significant to this chapter, especially the latter half so if you listen while you read, give them a go :) I've snuck a couple of little snippets of lyrics from two of the three in the story, so let me know if you spot them ;)
I actually quite like this chapter, so please forgive any mistakes I've made!
Read. Enjoy. Review.
Chapter Sixty Four # The Promise #
"Kíli, wake up. There's someone at the door…"
Kíli moaned, burying his head into his pillow. "Fee, it's still dark! You get it!"
Fíli snorted softly, before replying through a yawn. "You've got no chance, little brother. Off you go."
"Nope…" Kíli sighed, snuggling further down into bed and pulling the blankets up over his head.
"Kíli!" Fíli moaned as the bell rang again. When Kíli did not respond, the heir to the throne of Durin threw a pillow at his brother's head. "I'm the oldest; you have to do as I say!"
"Don't even!" Kíli yawned, rolling over and blinking until he had formed a somewhat sleepy version of his perfected puppy dog eyes. "Please don't make me get up, Fee…"
Fíli paused for a long moment before finally groaning and swinging his legs up out of the bed. "You're a horrid brat, you know that?"
"Love you too, Fee!" Kíli yawned happily, sniffing slightly and closing his eyes once more as his brother stomped past to go and answer the door. After a moment, however, he sensed another presence in the room.
"Kíli!" a little voice mumbled from right next to his head. "Are you awake?"
"That depends…" Kíli replied sleepily without opening his eyes. "Did you bring me food?"
Frodo giggled weakly for a second before reaching out and weaving Kíli's dark hair around his little fingers. "Kíli, I had another nightmare… And the doorbell won't stop ringing."
Kíli's heart sank, but he managed to give Frodo a wry smile as he opened his eyes. "Well, Fíli's gone to fix the doorbell, why don't you come up here with me and we'll go back to sleep together, eh?"
Nodding, the young hobbit scrambled into bed with the sleepy dwarf, snuggling quickly into Kíli's chest with a soft, contented sigh. Kíli did not know what it was about the his presence – or indeed that of his brother – that chased away Frodo's nightmares, but so far they had stayed away if the little hobbit child slept next to the dwarven princes. Knowing first hand just how awful nightmares could be, Kíli never hesitated for a second when Frodo meekly asked to clamber into bed with him.
Kíli shifted slightly to accommodate for the little halfling's body and sighed once more, completely prepared to go back to sleep.
"Kíli!" the bedroom door flew open and light poured over Kíli's closed eyelids.
The young dwarf's eyes flew open and he sat up immediately, the change in his brother's tone waking him instantly. Fíli was leaning in through the door and he looked from Kíli to Frodo with an expression more worried than any he had worn in weeks, and his voice had rung with urgency and insistence.
"What's wrong?" Kíli asked immediately, automatically stroking Frodo's curly hair when the child clutched at his arm.
Fíli shook his head even as he began to speak. "I don't know exactly, but we've all slept through something big."
"Big?" Kíli frowned as he rose from his bed and Frodo rose with him, scrambling onto the dwarf's hip and clinging tightly to the collar of Kíli's pyjama shirt. "We're in the Shire, 'big' doesn't happen here…"
Fíli just shook his head slightly. "Go and wake Bilbo and Amad, I'll get the others."
Kíli nodded, lighting a candle quickly before walking out of his bedroom and glancing down the hall, though he could see no one there. He walked briskly into Bilbo's room, shaking his hobbit's shoulder firmly.
"Bilbo, wake up, something's wrong."
The hobbit blinked blearily several times in the candlelight, but the word 'wrong' had him sitting up faster than Kíli had. "What, what's going on?"
"I have no idea. Come on."
Bilbo sighed regretfully but climbed out of bed, grabbing his nearby dressing gown before shuffling out into the hall after Kíli. Passing Frodo to Bilbo, Kíli ducked into his mother's room.
"Amad…" he murmured, and before he had even put a hand on her shoulder her eyes opened, the bleariness in her bright blue gaze disappearing with but two blinks.
"What has happened?"
"I don't know…" Kíli shook his head worriedly. "Fíli says something is wrong…"
Dís sighed slightly, though when she got out of bed it was with the most grace and energy than anyone else Kíli had seen that morning. Like Bilbo, she slipped a dressing gown on over her nightgown and followed Kíli out into the hall, where they met Fíli, Bofur and Nori.
"They're in the dining room." Fíli murmured, turning and walking towards the very room he spoke of.
"Who are?" Kíli frowned, before rounding the corner himself to see his favourite Tooks and Brandybucks gathered around the table, each and every one of them in their pyjamas. His heart did a funny little dive as an icy feeling spread across his gut – something was very, very wrong.
They were so quiet, so pale, and there was blood all over Saradoc's face and shirt.
"What happened?" Kíli demanded fearfully, stumbling quickly over to the table to Saradoc's side, putting a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "What happened to you?"
Saradoc and Paladin exchanged a glance and Esme sighed. "You might want to sit down…"
Kíli and the others sat silently next to the hobbits already seated.
"What happened?" Kíli repeated softly.
"Bad mens happened." Pippin sniffled before the adults could speak. "Very bad mens with very bad fires happened."
"What?" Kíli cried, before forcing himself to calm down when tears pooled in Pearl's eyes. "What do you mean?"
"We've…" Saradoc faltered, his hazel eyes fixed on Kíli's with what appeared to be pity. "We… we're all in big trouble… We…"
"Hobbiton has been attacked by a group of maybe a dozen men, led by three dwarves. They got us all out of bed, burned several gardens and threw threats at us." Paladin summarised, but despite his concise words, his eyes were brimming with compassion as Kíli stiffened and swallowed. "They didn't want us to tell you we'd spoken to you, but it was always you wanted. 'The residents of Bag End'."
As horror sank its teeth into his heart, Kíli thought back to the conversation he had shared with his brother moments before they had first spotted the trolls.
"Kíli, something's been bothering me. Does no one in the Shire own a weapon?" Fíli asked curiously.
Scraping his hair away from his face and into a high ponytail, Kíli shrugged. "A few Tooks own bows, mainly for hunting, and of course people have axes for wood chopping and the like, but that's about it. Why?"
"What would happen if it fell under attack?"
Kíli stiffened, his hands freezing in place as they tied a length of string around the ponytail. After a moment, he remembered how to speak. "Attack?"
"Yes…" Fíli nodded, his voice soft.
Kíli dropped his hair and stared at his brother. "I…It never has been under attack…Why would anyone attack the Shire?"
Fíli shrugged almost apologetically. "Some do not need a motive."
"You mean orcs?" Kíli guessed, trying to hide his growing agitation.
"Orcs, goblins…bandits, outlaws…"
Swallowing, Kíli shook his head as images of Bag End burning flashed before his eyes. He tried to scoff. "No one would attack the Shire!"
Apparently recognising Kíli's attempts to reassure himself, Fíli smiled softly. "Of course not."
"But…Fíli, if they did…if someone did… We would…It would be hopeless! No one would be able to do anything about it!" Kíli's mouth felt dry as the fear of his home being attacked began to consume him.
Fíli winced. "I'm sorry, Kíli, I didn't mean…"
"I know…" Kíli took a deep breath. "It's fine, I just… I have never thought about the vulnerability of home before…"
"No… no, that couldn't… that can't… Bilbo?" Kíli turned to his hobbit in his dismay, unable to stop his guardian's name break from his lips as it always had when he was in want of assurance.
Bilbo had gone very pale, his arms tightly wrapped around an unusually quiet young Frodo. "I… Saradoc, what happened to you, what did they want?"
"I suggested that I'd tell you to flee. They didn't like that idea." Saradoc's voice was far more casual than the pain in his eyes, but then again it always was.
Anger pierced Kíli's heart even as a guilty nausea bombarded his stomach. "Are you…"
"I'm fine." Saradoc smiled wryly before he even finished. "Shaken and furious, but it doesn't hurt too much. They addressed us all, they wanted us to drug you with a vial of goodness knows what and leave you under the party tree and noon, the day after tomorrow, or else stay inside out of their way. They claimed to have no quarrel with us, but I'm not so sure about that, either."
"I think we could arrange a nice little surprise for them," Bofur's voice trembled with a fury that shocked even Kíli. "Something to make sure that they stay fifty leagues from the Shire from here on out."
Dís pursed her lips. "Did you say there were a dozen men, three dwarves?"
"Ten and four…" Nelly whispered, and Kíli did not need to be told that the broken words were the first she had uttered since the beginning of the incident. "There were ten men plus four more…"
"Fourteen?" Kíli checked, and she nodded, her grip on her father's coat for a moment, before pausing and leaping away to race around the table and scramble into Nori's lap, sobbing bitterly.
The trickster's eyes widened and he glanced frantically at Paladin with a wild look of confusion, but the hobbit simply smiled sadly and adjusted Pervinca in his lap, giving a little shrug. Rather awkwardly, Nori began to pat Nelly's back, clearly at a loss for what to do.
"We are outnumbered, then." Dís paused.
"The whole village has decided that anyone who wants a say should meet at noon today in the old meadow, and everyone wants you there." Paladin began, and Kíli cut him off in a broken voice.
"Of course we'll be there… Of course…"
"There was something else…" Saradoc paused, pulling something out of his pocket. "I was told to give this to you."
The hobbits slid a small package across the table and Kíli paused. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in paper, paper that had been written on. It took Kíli about a second to realise that it was Thorin's copy of the plans to their journey home, the plans that had been stolen by the traitors who had kidnapped him all those months ago. He turned it over and saw eight words scrawled atop Bilbo's familiar writing in a blood red ink…
At least, he hoped it was ink.
To Kíli with love – Dagr, Sindri and Dwalin.
Kíli ground his teeth together furiously, the very sight of Dwalin's name next to theirs enough to make his blood boil.
"They referred to one of them as Dagr," Esme said quietly. "Another called himself Frár."
The other name was unfamiliar to Kíli, who opened the package rather quickly. A heavy, bronze broach fell onto the table. It was old and tarnished, but the serpent's head symbol wrought into the middle of it was distinct enough, even Kíli knew that.
"I've never seen this before…" he frowned heavily, holding it up to the light of the candle slightly. "I don't understand why-"
A bloodcurdling scream interrupted Kíli's confusion and each and every head turned to look at Frodo Baggins. The little boy's face was distorted in a look of pure terror as he screamed, scrambling out of Bilbo's arms in what appeared to be pure terror.
"Frodo!" Bilbo called over the screams, trying to calm the boy's obvious fear. "Frodo, it's alright-"
The blood slipped out of Frodo's face when the child set his gaze upon Bilbo and he screamed even louder, taking one last look at the broach before racing from the room with more speed than Kíli thought the little boy possessed.
Without a second thought, Kíli dropped the damned thing on the table and raced after him, just in time to see the door to the bathroom slamming shut. He pushed on the handle but found that the door would not budge – Frodo had chosen the only room in Bag End with a lock. Clever boy.
"Frodo!" Kíli called, banging on the wooden door. "Let me in, little one, it's alright. We'll look after you, Frodo. Let me in! Frodo?"
The loud, heart-wrenching sobs were barely muffled by the door as Frodo called back. "N-no!"
"Frodo-"
"No, no, no I d-didn't tell anyone, he c-c-can't because I didn't tell anyone!" the child shrieked through the door, and Kíli frowned.
"What didn't you tell anyone?" he called back. "Frodo, let me in, I'll look after you-"
"You c-can't, you have to run far, far away!" Frodo begged, his words barely distinguishable through his sobs. "You have to run before he finds you!"
"Who, Frodo?" Kíli called through the door as Bilbo, Fíli and Dís appeared in the corridor.
Frodo moaned audibly, fear the dominant emotion in his little voice as he wailed. "I didn't tell anyone, I didn't, I didn't! I didn't tell anyone, not anyone, I didn't! I can't, he can't, no! No, no, no! I didn't tell anyone, I didn't!"
Kíli met his brother's eyes, desperate for any kind of help, but all he could see was his own helplessness reflected back at them. "I know, Frodo, I know. Let me in? Please?"
Though the sobs barley subsided, after a moment, Kíli heard the bolt slide part way back.
"K-Kíli?"
"Yes…?"
"I really didn't tell anybody, I didn't!" Frodo insisted chokingly.
"I believe you, little one." Kíli promised, crouching slightly so that he would be Frodo's height when the child decided to actually open the door.
Slowly, Kíli heard the bolt slide all the way across and then the door opened and Frodo fell out of the bathroom and into Kíli's arms, burying his face in the dwarf's neck and wailing through his sobs.
"Shh, shh…" Kíli soothed the little hobbit, rubbing circles gently onto his back. "I've got you, I'm here, we're all here to look after you-"
At that, Frodo let out a pitiful howl.
"Frodo?"
"It's m-my fault!" the boy whimpered. "He s-said if I told anyone what happened he'd… he'd…"
"Alright, alright…" Kíli murmured, rocking back and forth slowly. "It's alright, Frodo, I promise. Just breathe. Can you do that for me? Deep breaths, deep breaths. That's better, good boy. Now, who is this person?"
"The s-stranger!" Frodo shuddered, burying his head deeper into Kíli's neck.
Confused, Kíli glanced at Bilbo before asking gently. "And what did the stranger say?"
Frodo moaned, his arms tightening around Kíli's neck. "He-he said he'd k-kill everybody if I told people w-what happened but I didn't, I didn't tell!"
"This stranger… was that broach his?"
Nodding, Frodo sobbed. "Was on his coat…"
"And when did you meet him?"
"I can't, I can't-" Frodo began brokenly, but a strong, calm voice interrupted him.
"Frodo," Fíli walked forward calmly. As Frodo peered out from behind Kíli's hair, Fíli held up one of his swords right in front of the little boy. "You spoke about this the other day, didn't you? You asked me some very serious questions."
Sniffing, Frodo slowly lifted his face away from Kíli's neck and nodded.
"I understand, now. And if I have to I will, yes. Now, will you tell us what happened?" Fíli asked gently.
Frodo's arms tightened around Kíli's neck and his breath caught in his throat.
"We need your help, Frodo." Fíli insisted. "There are bad people doing bad things in the Shire, maybe the stranger is one of them. We need to know what you know so that we can stop anyone from getting hurt. Can you help us?"
Tears dribbled miserably down Frodo's cheeks as his eyes remained fixed on Fíli's. The child sniffed and swallowed, before tightening the grip his legs and arms had around the young dwarf.
"I…I can try..." Frodo sniffled once again, his lip trembling as he maintained eye contact with Fili. "I will try."
Bifur followed Dori into the Healing Halls with a full bag and a heavy heart. From the moment they pushed open the heavy wooden door, moans and whimpers met their ears, and Bifur's heart ached for the wounded souls inside.
When you suffered from an attack out of the blue, when you suffered wounds from a traumatic incident you had never anticipated, when your very body was transformed forever in a single event, you never truly recovered, and nobody knew that better than Bifur.
The whole word was dark and muggy and one hundred and one year old Bifur would have believed that he was dead, if it was not for the unbelievable agony torturing his head. It felt as though someone had driven an axe into his skull…
Struggling against the suffocating blackness, Bifur tried to pull his thoughts into some sort of order and remember how he had gotten to this awful place. After a couple of moments, things became a little clearer.
He remembered walking home from the mines with his father, uncle and two of his brothers after an ordinary day at work. Then the memories grew a little hazier, but he could recollect the smoke rising above the isolated little village they were staying in, and he could remember his legs breaking into a run.
As he concentrated, Bifur remembered the cackling screeches of the orcs and the screams of the dwarven town's women and children, and he could feel his heart racing as he remembered fighting his way through a hoard of orcs towards the ramshackle old shop that should have been housing his cousins, sister, younger brother, and mother.
He remembered opening the door, seeing the blood on the floor and screaming in horror at the sight.
He remembered stumbling over his little brother's body.
He remembered turning to call out for the others and he remembered the hideous, twisted face of the orc behind him.
The rest was blank.
Fear pushed Bifur's heart faster and faster as the pain in his head grew fiercer and fiercer and he struggled to swim to the surface of this darkness. There had to be a way to escape, to make sure his family were alright, he had to find them!
Even as his blinding desperation grew, Bifur could feel that something deep within his own body was very, very wrong. It was as though something had shifted in his mind, though he could not quite figure out what that may have been. Before he could dwell on the uncomfortable feeling too much, a faint whining noise interrupted his thoughts and a faint light began to emerge, as though daylight was shining over his closed eyelids.
The noise and the light made the pain in his skull worse and worse, but it grew louder and louder and brighter and brighter until it was utterly unbearable.
Soon, the noise grew clearer – someone was screaming, screaming with as much pain as Bifur was experiencing. After another couple of seconds, he began to hear words.
"No, no, no! You're lying, you're lying! Bifur, Bifur wake up!" The voice was familiar, but it took Bifur a couple of minutes to realise that it was the voice of his young cousin, sixty year old Bofur.
Another voice, a stranger's voice, broke through Bifur's darkness. "Lad, there's no hope for him now, let's go-"
"No!" Bofur cried desperately. "He can't leave us!"
Leave? Who's leaving? Bifur thought frantically.
"I'm sorry, lad, but you're distressing the other patients. You don't have to watch this, let's go…"
Bifur became aware of a pair of small hands clutching one of his arms, and they squeezed tighter as Bofur's little voice broke into his consciousness.
"You've got to wake up, Bifur; you've got to wake up! Please, please Bifur, don't leave us!" there were sobs littered amongst the broken begging of Bofur's usually cheerful voice.
"Bofur, you should leave now." The other voice insisted firmly, and Bifur's heart began to race in terror at the idea of being alone.
The hands on his arm tightened further and Bofur sobbed. "I can't, I can't! Bifur, you've gotta wake up, I can't look after Bombur on my own! Everyone's gone, Bif, everyone's gone, you've got to wake up, you can't leave us, please don't leave us!"
"Alright lad, off we go." The other voice declared, and Bifur felt strong fingers prising the hands away from his arm.
"No!" Bofur shrieked, his voice brimming with pain and grief. "Don't- Get off me! Get off, get off! Bifur, Bifur! Help! Bifur, don't leave, don't go, don't go, please, please, please! Bifur, don't leave me! Please don't leave me! Somebody help me, please!"
His heart pounding, Bifur felt a surge of protective instinct and he forced himself to tilt his head to that side, but a flash of agony burst through his skull and he froze in place.
"Bifur!" Bofur screamed. "Please, Bifur, please!"
By now, Bifur wanted to let go. He wanted to sink back into the sleep that was creeping up upon him and let it carry him away forever – he knew that the pain would be over if only he could sleep.
"Please, Bifur, please don't leave me!"
But he could not sleep.
"We're all alone, Bifur, please!"
He could not rest.
"Somebody help me, please, please!"
He had to protect his little cousin.
Bifur opened his eyes a fraction, and the flooding light burned his eyes furiously but he forced them to open and focus. It took a second, but soon enough his eyes locked on his cousin. A large dwarf stood by a nearby door, his arms locked around a struggling Bofur. Tears streaked down the child's filthy face as he fought like a wildcat, his arms scratching at the stranger and his screams piercing Bifur's ears.
Put him down! Bifur demanded in his mind. Can't you see you're scaring him, you fool? Let him go right now!
The words were harder to form on his lips. A faint moan was all the sound he could make. Bofur was almost gone, now.
Bifur tried harder and called out, his voice breaking painfully over two syllables. "Bofur…"
Bofur's head snapped up and he let out a fresh shriek, finally breaking out of the strangers grasp and racing back to Bifur's bedside, falling over his own feet in an attempt to reach his cousin's side.
"Bifur!" he whimpered, tears filling his big brown eyes even as he tried to smile. "Bifur, Bifur…"
"Bofur…" Bifur repeated with difficulty. The effort of keeping his eyes open grew too strong and he allowed his lids to shutter closed for a moment, but Bofur let out a frightened wail that was so unlike the little lad that Bifur opened his eyes again. "Shh…"
Bofur clutched Bifur's hand as the stranger came closer with a whispered prayer of surprise. "Don't go back to sleep, please Bifur…"
"I won't…" Bifur promised breathlessly, but those were not the words that came out of his mouth. He frowned tried again. Once again, the Khuzdul equivalent of the words he wanted to say fell from his lips, unbidden, unwanted. With a growing sense of horror, Bifur looked up at Bofur's confused, grief-stricken face.
From that moment on, Bifur's life had been transformed into something he had never envisioned, not even in his worst nightmares. He had become unable to communicate with those who did not know Khuzdul or Iglishmêk, and folk were often unnerved by his unpredictable behaviour and fierce appearance, but what they did not know was that both caught Bifur out as much as they did anyone else.
He had lost the cooperation of his body and his mind, his little cousins had been forced to work in the mines to survive and the rest of his family had been slaughtered like animals.
Bifur knew how it felt to have your life horribly mutated in a single, unexpected event, and he thoroughly intended on doing whatever he could to ease the suffering of those around him.
Walking into the halls, Bifur was reminded of those long days he had spent in a tumbledown excuse for a Healing House in a tiny, vulnerable town on the slopes of the Grey Mountains – days which had been spent struggling to regain simple skills he had always taken for granted.
But Bifur was not there to wallow in the memories of his own past, and he had no use for self-pity. He had gotten over that long ago. Bifur was there to help in whatever way he could.
Dori left his side after a few moments, heading towards a family he had known fairly well in Ered Luin, and Bifur glanced around the room for a long moment before heading towards the first bed on his left.
A young dwarven lass was curled up under the covers, her knees tucked up by her chin as she watched the bed beside her with misty eyes. Bifur approached quietly and put a hand on her shoulder for just a moment so as not to surprise her, but she jumped anyway, flinching in further on herself for a second.
"L-lord Bifur…" she stammered, her blue eyes widening slightly in recognition.
Bifur nodded gently, glancing at the boy in the next bed. "Is that your brother?"
Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the unconscious child. "He's not getting any better…"
The toymaker looked back at the little boy and his heart ached at just how tiny and vulnerable the pale child looked in the large bed. With a soft grunt, Bifur used Iglishmêk to ask their names.
"Aria… My name is Aria." She mumbled, her eyes remaining on her unconscious brother. "That's Ari…"
Parents? Bifur signed.
Aria bit her lip as tears filled her eyes. "They… they didn't… they didn't get away from the orcs…"
I'm sorry… Bifur said with his hands.
Aria let out a muffled sob. "That's all you can say really, isn't it? I…I've lost my m-mother and father and uncle, and n-now I'm going to lose Auden a-and Ari, too, but all you can do is s-say sorry, because there's nothing else to do b-because it's h-hopeless!"
Bifur shook his head slightly, though he did not bother smiling. "Not hopeless." He insisted in Khuzdul. "Not hopeless, not yet."
"Really? What hope can you see here?" Aria raised her tear filled eyes to his.
"You live," Bifur reminded her. "You are not alone. Ari is not dead."
Three tears broke free from her eyes in quick succession. "Yet… He's not dead yet…"
"Faith, child, faith," Bifur insisted gently.
"That's what Auden said…" she whispered brokenly. "But faith isn't helping. Auden… kept saying that b-but now he's unconscious as well, they say it's an infection… They say he might d-die too! F-faith d-didn't help him!"
Well aware of how the girl was feeling, Bifur uttered one simple word. "Breathe."
Despite herself, the girl took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Faith is cruel. It likes abandoning you when you most need it." Bifur explained in the tongue of his people, looking from the girl to her brother and pulling a cuddly toy rabbit from his bag. "But if you can keep it, faith will help. Trust me."
"I'm too old for toys…" she murmured, but her trembling fingers unlatched from her knees and took the rabbit nevertheless.
"Toys bring faith." Bifur promised. From the look on her face he knew that she did not understand, but few ever did. "Never too old for toys. Your brother – Ari – does he like animals?"
The girl was obviously confused but she nodded slightly, staring at the toy in her hands. "He did… Especially the little quiet ones… mice, r-rabbits…"
Bifur nodded and rummaged in his bag for a moment before seizing what he was looking for – another rabbit toy, though this one was a little smaller and a little softer, with a little white bandage wrapped around its middle. "For your brother."
Aria's lips parted slightly as Bifur placed the toy on her brother's pillow, but she did not say anything.
"Jari is your brother also?" Bifur asked gently.
She sniffed and nodded. "Yes…"
"You have Jari still." He reasoned. "And Auden."
She nodded again jerkily. "A-and Austen…"
Bifur nodded. "Lots of brothers. Brothers are good. They help."
"But if I lose-"
"No 'but if' or 'what if's, they do not help." Bifur interrupted firmly. "They scare, only. They cannot comfort you. Make a goal. Recover, help your brothers heal. That is a good goal."
"What if I can't do it?" Aria whispered fearfully.
Bifur shrugged, his movements erratic by default. "Then you cannot. But the risk of failure is no cause not to try."
For the first time, Aria wiped her eyes and sat up a little. "So I should just try, even if I know I'll probably fail?"
"Or you can watch." Bifur nodded, and from the look in her eye he could tell she understood the significance of that.
"Alright…" she sniffed, a look of resolve flickering in her hollow eyes. "I'll… I'll try."
Bifur smiled and nodded firmly. "Good lass."
She looked back at her brother, but the hopelessness was gone from her gaze, and a small spark of resolution was beginning to appear in its place. "Thank you, my Lord…"
Bifur could not help but scoff. "No need for thanks."
Aria looked up and met his eyes with a flare of strength she had not been demonstrating earlier. "There is most definitely a need for thanks. You…you reminded me that I'm… that I'm not useless."
"You are welcome." Bifur smiled warmly.
"May I ask… why are you here?" Aria spoke hesitantly, biting her lip as she paused. "Why do you want to help us?"
"Because I know." Bifur tapped on the axe in his head and then pointed to Aria's heart, before gently tapping little Ari's forehead with one finger. "I know."
Tears sprang to her eyes once more but she smiled and swallowed. "Thank you…"
Bifur bowed slightly with a hand on his heart. With hesitant hands, she held up the rabbit he had given her but Bifur shook his head and smiled.
"For you. Never too old for toys, remember." He met her eyes meaningfully and repeated the most important word of the sentence. "Remember."
"I will…" she promised, determination shining through her tears.
Bifur smiled and silently excused himself, leaving the girl with what he hoped was a renewed sense of courage and faith. He tapped the covers of the boy's bed for a moment and moved on.
The bed on the other side of little Ari was occupied by two identical young dwarves who could not be more than a decade older than Fíli or Kíli. Given their location and the resemblances to Aria and Ari, Bifur guessed that they were twins – Austen and Auden. One lad was clearly not doing so well – his skin had a disturbing greenish hue and his rattling breaths were the only signs of life. The other looked healthier, but he too was asleep, so Bifur did not disturb them.
Bifur passed over the next two beds, for their occupants were also asleep, but in the third bed from the twins he found another little boy, a child slightly smaller than Ari, with a tight bandage wrapped around his head, though he looked well enough to be utterly bored.
"Hello," Bifur greeted him and the boy frowned at him.
"Hello," he replied in Khuzdul, his eyes wary and dark. "Who are you?"
"My name is Bifur," he replied. "Who are you?"
Interest sparked in the boy's muddy brown eyes. "I'm Arron. Are you Bifur from the king's company?"
Bifur nodded. "I am."
A toothless grin spread across Arron's face. "Really?"
Bifur nodded and smiled slightly. "I have something for you. To help."
Arron frowned in confusion as the toymaker reached into his bag. "For me? Why?"
"To help." Bifur repeated, finding the toys he was searching for and passing them to the little boy.
The child's mouth dropped open as he took the little figurines – one warrior and one bear, both with moving parts – and he stared up at Bifur in shock. "B...but why?"
"To help. To help heal. Here and here." Bifur pointed first to the boy's head, then to his heart.
"Thank you, Master Bifur!" the child sang, turning a reverent gaze to the toys in his hands.
Bifur spent the whole day in the Healing Halls. All in all there were twenty nine wounded dwarves housed there, the youngest being a babe of just a year and the eldest being a two hundred year old woman, and of their friends and relatives only ten remained on their feet. Scouts sent out by Thorin had retrieved the bodies of the dead and placed the death toll at thirty one, a horribly high number – especially given that most of the dead were women and children. It was impossible for Bifur to not think of the dead as he spent his time among the wounded, but he liked to think that he was doing what little he could for those who had survived.
Once, he would have thought that a little knick-knack of a gift from a stranger could do nothing to comfort a grieving, injured soul, but now Bifur knew better, so he went about the halls distributing his little creations among the survivors, injured or not.
A little doll with only half a head of golden 'hair' went to a little girl whose own hair had been shaved on one side to allow healers to treat a grotesque wound that stretched over her ear. A warrior toy and little wooden sword went to her brother who had hacked the arm off of the orc who had wounded her with his father's axe. A little ring made of soft wood and cuts of colourful fabric went to a baby with a horrible scratch across his little face. A pendant with the Khuzdul word for hope engraved in the centre was given to his mother.
To the heavily pregnant woman went a woven bracelet and a small, cuddly bear for the baby, for when it arrived. To her wounded husband went a collapsible walking stick that doubled as a sheath for a thin knife. To the widowed man with two young children went a wooden box engraved with traditional dwarvish patterns while his son received a wooden bear and his daughter a colourful nutcracker doll.
To the tattooed criminal still reeling from being treated by the king went an iron key that hung on a dark chain and the solemn order not to throw away the fresh start that he was being given.
To the nobles and the commoners, the young and the old, Bifur gave his time and his trinkets out freely, without discrimination of any kind. Some were wary of him and spoke only a little, while others poured out their hearts to his listening ears. With some, no words were exchanged at all. Many recognised him – the company were now famous, after all, and there were very few dwarves walking around with axes in their heads. Some took the gifts with eager, grateful hands and some were far more hesitant, but each and every gift was accepted.
Eventually evening drew near and Bifur decided to take his leave of the wounded for the night. He walked down through the aisles, pausing by the beds of the first family he had visited. The twins were both asleep, though it appeared that the healthiest of the pair had been up and about while Bifur had been elsewhere, since he was now on the other side of the bed with a much cleaner face.
The toymaker paused thoughtfully at the end of the bed and reached into his bag. It was almost empty now. After another moment of hesitation, Bifur looked at the twins once more and pulled out two leather cuffs, each emblazoned with the same intricate pattern, placing them on the end of the bed gently. His gaze turned to the next bed, and Bifur was happily surprised to see the cuddly rabbit tucked under the covers with little Ari, who looked as though he had regained a little of his colour.
Bifur continued on his way to the door and paused at the end of Aria's bed. The girl was dozing herself now, with her arms wrapped firmly around the rabbit Bifur had given her. Its ear was pushed up against her eye, but she did not seem uncomfortable at all - she looked at peace.
"Excuse me, my Lord Bifur… Can I help you?" A quiet, exhausted voice asked, and Bifur turned to see a young, blonde dwarf who looked vaguely familiar.
Bifur's heart ached at the broken look in the lad's eyes– it was the same look Kíli's eyes had held after the Battle of Five Armies.
He had no doubt that this was Jari, the last of Aria's siblings.
"No, thank you. Can I help you?" Bifur offered.
The young dwarf looked taken aback, confused even. "Wh-what?"
"Do you need help? Are you Jari?"
"I…I am Jari…" the lad whispered, his eyes flickering over his four siblings. "I… I don't think there's anything you can do, thank you, the healers say there's nothing more that could be done for them yet-"
Bifur shook his head and pointed at the exhausted young dwarf. "Do you need help?"
Jari blinked several times, shaking his head. "My brothers…"
"Your brothers, I cannot help. For your sister, I have done what I can. I am no healer. Do you need help?" Bifur knew that the answer should be 'yes' – the lad looked dead on his feet, and Bifur doubted that he had slept at all.
"I don't… I… I don't know…" Jari admitted, his voice cracking. "I don't know what to do…"
Bifur recognised the wild look in the young lad's eye. "Oldest?"
"I am, now…" Jari nodded, tears welling in his eyes though he quickly brushed them away. "I don't know what to do…"
"And you do not know what you need. I know."
"How?" Jari begged, his voice hoarse.
"I have been in your shoes. I survived." Bifur gestured again to his axe and left the younger dwarf to fill in the gaps. "You want to stay strong. You cannot stay strong forever. No dwarf is made of rock. Even those who pretend to be."
This time, Jari did not try to wipe away the tears pooling in his eyes. "But if I don't, who will look after my brothers, my sister?"
"You can. They will not expect you to be strong all the time." Bifur said gently. "You have a big task ahead. You cannot bear it alone all the time."
"I…" Jari glanced from bed to bed, his lip trembling. "I don't… I don't think I can do this… I can't, I don't know how!"
"I said the same." Bifur promised. "I felt the same. Two little cousins, for me. No brothers or sisters left. No parents. No aunts, no uncles. No money, either. Bad injury. It is possible."
Jari shook his head with a soft moan. "Ari's so small… Auden's growing weaker every second and if he dies I will undoubtedly lose Austen too. Aria… Aria…"
"Is a strong lass." Bifur reminded the young dwarf.
"I know, I know, but I don't… I don't know what to do!" Jari pleaded. "How can I look after them when I don't know what to do?"
"You can. You are more than capable." Bifur promised, reaching out and patting the stranger's shoulder gently.
Jari covered his mouth, but it did not quite muffle the sound of his sob as he sagged against Bifur's palm. The toymaker stepped forward quickly as the lad's knees gave out, catching Jari before he could really fall. A sob broke from the young dwarf's lips and then another and another and for a moment Bifur was frozen in place, unsure of what to do.
Then the moment broke and the toymaker wrapped his arms around the young dwarf he had known for only minutes, patting his back gently. Jari sobbed, relaxing into Bifur's embrace in a matter of seconds. As the young dwarf cried, Bifur waited and continued to pat his back.
"Breathe…" he reminded the lad after a few moments, though he said nothing else. "Breathe…"
Jari took a deep shuddering breath, apologies falling from his lips as he sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"No need." Bifur tutted, rubbing circles into the lad's back. "No need for sorry."
It was a concept that few adult dwarves would admit they understood, but Bifur knew that sometimes it was a good thing to simply weep until you ran out of tears. There was something cathartic about crying, so Bifur stood there and helped Jari to cry.
It could have been seconds or even minutes later, Bifur was not sure, but eventually Jari stood on his own two feet and pulled away, wiping his eyes shamefully.
"I'm sorry, my Lord." His voice was rough and hoarse from crying and Bifur shook his head.
"Do not say sorry. You needed to cry. It helps." He insisted. "Believe me. I know."
Jari nodded and took a deep breath. "How did you go on?"
Bifur considered that for a long moment. "I remembered."
"May I ask what?" Jari asked with a frown.
"That I am more than capable." Bifur smiled wryly. "That I had to believe in myself. Nobody else was listening."
Jari's mouth fell open slightly but he closed it abruptly and nodded. "Thank you, Lord Bifur. Thank you…"
Bifur simply smiled and reached into his bag, pulling out one of the last remaining items – a hand held lantern, complete with candle that was equal parts decorative and practical. "For you."
Jari blinked, stunned, as he took the item. "Lord Bifur, I couldn't-"
"Lights will guide you home. They help you remember." Bifur said sagely, and though Jari looked confused he nodded and swallowed. "You take care of your family. If you need help, ask."
A small yet determined smile flickered onto the young dwarf's face and he nodded slightly. "I will. Thank you…"
"You are welcome."
With that, Bifur bid the lad farewell and left the Healing Halls, planning on going straight to bed. There was something quite exhausting about taking on the troubles of others…
"My Lord Bifur, my Lord Bifur!"
Bifur groaned loudly and turned to frown at the young guard running towards him. "Yes?"
"The king wants to see you in the Company Room as soon as possible, my Lord, I am to escort you there."
Bifur sighed heavily and gestured for the guard to lead on. They arrived relatively quickly at the Royal Wing and Bifur shook his head as he made his way towards the living room of the royals – now referred to by all as the Company Room. The rest of those who participated on the quest were already gathered, some standing, some sitting with the achingly obvious exceptions of Dwalin, Bofur, Nori, Bilbo and the princes.
Thorin nodded at Bifur as he entered and immediately began to speak, silencing the hushed conversations of the others.
"I have received news from Dain – of the list we sent him but one name stands out as that of a possible traitor – Fraeg. The same dwarf was arrested yesterday in connection with the attack on Dwalin, but we do not yet know if there's a connection with the attack on the travellers. Unfortunately, Dain sent worse news – a week ago, a group of merchants returning to the Iron Hills were set upon by orcs. Several died, but they did manage to take a captive, who said something to Dain regarding the loss of a battle as opposed to the loss of a war. We have believed the orc forces to be depleted, but if they speak of war and have enough strength for two attacks in so short a space of time we have to assume there are more of them than we thought. We need to know their numbers, but we have not enough dwarves to form scout parties. What is more, since spring has arrived, we are expecting hundreds of dwarves to be journeying across Middle-Earth with no idea that they could be in such danger." Thorin paused to take a breath, his eyes scanning around the solemn room. "I have called you all here because I do not know what to do, and I trust none to advise me better."
A long silence followed his words, which was broken by Ori's tentative question. "Dwalin is going to be alright, isn't he?"
Thorin nodded shortly, and Bifur could read the relief in his stormy eyes as he answered. "Aye, though the healers have warned he may lose use of his leg unless he remains bed-bound for a month or so. He is not happy about it, but he will live."
Ori nodded, evidently contented by that.
"Do we have enough guards to patrol the roads outside the mountain?" Glóin wondered.
"Barely." Balin replied. "There is some amount of protection to be found near New Dale from the men, but it is weak, Bard has only just started to build…"
"Should we send word to Ered Luin?" Ori wondered, but his older brother shook his head.
"But what if sending word stops folk from making the journey? We can't do much until our numbers grow…" Dori argued.
"That's as maybe, but we shouldn't let anyone leave without knowing what they may be heading into!" Glóin rumbled and Bombur nodded vehemently in agreement.
"The journey is not without dangers even with this threat, so most will be prepared for some sort of trouble." Thorin reasoned. "Though I agree that Ered Luin must be warned – tactfully."
"Aye, tactfully. That'll be Balin's job, then." Óin added.
Bifur listened thoughtfully to the conversation, but he truly could think of no solutions, or even anything that could really help. His mind was more suited to simpler matters.
"If this was linked to the attack on Dwalin it could well be the same band of bastards that attacked the lads on the road...They had it in for Dwalin as well, and if any did escape…"
Glóin's words hung in the air uneasily, and it was Thorin who broke the silence.
"Perhaps, though I sincerely hope you are wrong."
"Thorin…" Balin's voice was surprisingly quiet and everyone stared at his troubled expression. "Dís and Fíli planned to return by Durin's Day, with or without Kíli and Bilbo, did they not?" When Thorin nodded, Balin continued in the same uneasy tone. "That means they'll be on the road in a matter of days – two weeks at most. If this is all linked, all of it, we have no way of warning them in time. They could walk right into this mess with the belief that all their attackers are dead."
Several groans of horror broke the silence, and Thorin looked just about ready to bury his face in his hands.
After a long moment, Ori spoke up hesitantly. "We could – No, no, that's a terrible idea."
Unfortunately for the lad, the attention of the whole room fell upon him.
"We could what, Ori?" Dori pushed as he was wont to do.
"Nothing, nothing I shouldn't have said anything!" the scribe blushed.
"Ori," Thorin's voice was heavy and weary. "I would value your input, however ridiculous it may seem."
Ori's cheeks flamed red and he tugged on his sleeves, but he answered anyway. "We could always speak to the elves. Not to ask them for help, though, I don't mean that! But if we tipped them off that there were orcs in these parts they might do something about it of their own accord…"
Thorin frowned heavily. "As loathe as I am to admit it, that may be a cause of action we could benefit from. They certainly have far more folk to spare…"
Bifur heard Dori quietly cluck his tongue at Ori, looking amused. "You spent far too much time with those Bagginses and your brother."
Ori rolled his eyes despite himself, looking more comfortable now that he was certain he would not be attacked for his suggestion.
Bifur's eyes wandered over to his cousin, who had surprisingly not yet left for a snack. As if on cue, Bombur spoke up softly, his eyes conveying the fear that did not quite come across in his tone.
"If these orcs are not done and they are targeting children as they did yesterday, is there not some way we can warn those already on the road…"
Bifur's heart jolted as he remembered that Bombur's wife and children would have left Ered Luin for Erebor mere days ago. For a second, the image of his little nieces and nephews in the same position as those he had spent so much time with today burst into his mind, but he banished them quickly. Worrying did no one any good.
"We can send a raven, perhaps, but there's no guarantee it'll find anyone." Balin's tone was gentle.
"Beorn, perhaps." Bifur spoke for the first time. "He knows the forest well. Might be able to help."
Thorin nodded slowly. "I suppose that is true, though he has already given us more than I would ask of him. I do not know if he would be so willing to help us again, given that he lost his home last time."
Bifur simply shrugged. "Or he hates orcs and traitors all the more."
The king nodded and sank down into a nearby armchair, pushing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes for a long moment. Balin closed his eyes in his own chair and Ori slumped back to lean on a bookcase. Óin dropped his ear trumpet and placed it in his lap and Glóin tugged at his long beard and stared into the fire. Dori twiddled his thumbs and looked at Bombur, who was surprisingly still as he gazed with unseeing eyes up at the magnificent ceiling.
Bifur stared at his worried, weary kinsmen and wondered when was the last time any of them slept. Some – Balin and Thorin in particular – looked as exhausted as some in the Healing Halls, and if Dori did not stop twiddling his thumbs soon he would surely tear one off!
The toymaker frowned deeply. He had spent the entire day in an attempt to help strangers, so surely he could think of something to help his family – but no. A necklace for a lonely woman, a lantern for a lost man, a doll for a frightened girl and a bear for a broken boy, all of those things were simple, tangible. Bifur had things to help aching hearts – he could not fix such complicated political problems. His almost-empty bag banged against his leg as he crossed the room to join Bombur, but a slight clang inside had him pausing, and for the umpteenth time that day, Bifur reached into his bag.
A small smile spread across his face and he strode over to the middle of the room, pulling one last item from his old bag and placing it on the table. He wound the little metal handle until it could go no further and then let it go and stood back.
It was not much, but some of the tension left Thorin's shoulders as he looked up in mild surprise. Balin's eyes opened again, and Ori stood up just a little, tiny bit straighter. Óin's ear trumpet slowly rose back into place, and Glóin's deep frown lightened a little. Dori's thumbs stopped twirling quite so violently, and Bombur let out a quiet sigh.
Bifur smiled slightly and took his own seat, staring at the little silver music box he had finished not two nights ago as Misty Mountains Cold chimed up into the night.
I hope you enjoyed that mammoth chapter :) As a side note, I know that music boxes date back to the 18th century at earliest in our history, but with all the amazing things dwarves can make I don't think it's too much of a push that someone as talented as Bifur could make a little music box. I just love them!
Also, I loved writing Bifur's perspective, though it was very hard. I love him so much :D
Right, so the next chapter is not written yet, but I have a pretty clear plan of what's going on so it should be up soon. There are about to be some massive changes in my life which may well have an effect on my writing, but I will promise to do my best to upload at least twice a week. If I can get more out I will, and I will endeavour to, my two a week will be my target.
Thank you so much for reading, I really, really hope you liked this one! Let me know what you're thinking in a review if you like, I'd love it ;)
