When Thorin Met Tauriel – 7
Weeks later, twelve dwarves and one hobbit sat around the campfire outside the secret door into the Lonely Mountain. Just beyond the reach of the campfire's light, Thorin paced. There had to be a way in.
Bombur was talking. "That elf nearly carved my eye right out. The yellow-haired one, remember him? The one who made his cape swish around. Thought the ground wasn't good enough to feel the touch of his boots."
"Sethiel," said Bifur. "Nasty piece of work."
"That's the one. Well, he had that pig-sticker of his close enough to pluck out my eyeball, and told me I'd better talk or else." Bombur looked around significantly at the others.
Thorin stopped pacing. He frowned. He hadn't heard this story before.
"Then the Captain came in. Oh, she was not pleased," Bombur said with a chuckle. "Not pleased at all. She bounced that yellow-haired coward off a few walls, then punched his sneering little elf-face for him. He never came back, but he still caused trouble for the Captain. Called her a dwarf-lover, if you please, although she didn't seem friendly to me above half."
Abruptly Thorin turned and walked farther out into the darkness. He hadn't thought about Tauriel in days, and always pictured her existence as having returned to normal once they had left. Dwarf lover. Hardly! More like, loved by – No. He shook his head to erase that thought.
He didn't like to think about her. She confused him. All his life, he'd known that the secret to being a good leader was knowing how to get others on his side. A good leader knew his people. He knew what they were best at. He knew how to aim them like arrows toward his goal. He knew how to get them to share that goal.
He'd always relied on his gut instinct to guide him in understanding others, and that instinct had never failed him—at least, not with dwarves. He knew he was in uncharted territory with that hobbit burglar, Bilbo. Thorin hoped Gandalf's recommendation (and a good contract) would go far in substituting for his usual perceptive ability there. Hobbits were a mystery.
But with Tauriel...He had thought he understood her. Yes, she was an elf, but they had shared so deeply, he'd thought his intuitions about her were correct. He sensed within her a deep loyalty, a steadfast purpose, and a lonely heart so like his own, and he'd believed he knew her.
Then she had betrayed him.
His heart tightened in his chest. Why had she done it? He didn't understand. He could have sworn she would never have revealed the nature of his quest. They hadn't discussed it, but his instinct, his sense of her, had told him she would have kept his secret.
He wished he could see her again, after the dragon was disposed of and its treasure was his—the dwarves'—once more. He imagined her there in the great hall of Erebor, her eyes filled with desire for the gold piled everywhere. The satisfaction of denying her the smallest coin almost relieved his pain.
He tried to sweep these thoughts aside. He had been over it all before, and there were no answers to be had. He and his companions had new challenges to face. All he knew of Tauriel was, he had been mistaken in her and he would not allow himself to be mistaken again.
He told himself he had no instinct for understanding those who were not dwarves. He would have to rely on what everybody knew: Elves were not to be trusted. Humans were just as bad. Only dwarves could be trusted to look out for the interests of dwarves. No exceptions based on his gut or his intuition, and especially not his feelings.
He crossed his arms and heaved a sigh, looking out into the dark night.
Behind him, back at the campfire, he heard Bombur's voice raised in a plaintive question. He didn't catch what was asked, but Bifur's response floated clearly through the night air.
"Who knows? Thorin's a moody one. Leave him be."
On the giant grassy field between the two outstretched arms of the Lonely Mountain, three armies had gathered. Lances and arrows bristled as ranks of elves and humans faced off against the axes and broadswords of the dwarves.
Tauriel cast an angry glance at the mountain's stone face. In its center, a vast cave entrance once gaped—the doorway through which Smaug entered and left his lair. Now, the door was bricked up with giant blocks of stone dry-laid from end to end. Tiny slits marked the spots where an archer inside could shoot at anyone rash enough to approach the stronghold. At the bottom of the new wall a space was left open for the River Running to pass through.
The Gate of Erebor. It made her so mad she could spit. Thorin had built that hateful barricade, shutting himself up inside the mountain like a turtle in his shell, and she wanted nothing more than to tear it down, stone by stone, with her bare hands. What was he thinking?
She'd heard him speak earlier, behaving with the same mulishness and irascibility he'd shown during his audience with King Thranduil. Fool of a dwarf. Now battle was about to be joined and it was all his fault. She needed to reason with him and (if necessary) force him to display the nobility of purpose that was his true nature.
"Halt!" cried Gandalf, who appeared suddenly and stood alone with arms uplifted between the advancing dwarves and the ranks that awaited them. "The Goblins are upon you! Behold! The bats are above the army like a sea of locusts. They ride upon wolves and Wargs are in their train."
Fear gripped Tauriel. Goblins and Wargs. This was no longer a matter of stubbornness and greed. Thorin needed to know what was about to happen. He had to stop wasting his time and join in the fight, or evil would win the day.
She swept her gaze over the battlefield, past the troop encampments and the tents with bright pennons marking the general's quarters. To the south, the ground rose up to form a small hill. Ravens circled overhead. Despite the dark roiling clouds overhead, she could see a hobbit standing on the hill and looking up at the threatening sky. He was in the company of a couple of dwarves.
Setting her teeth grimly, she began to run. She knew this hobbit was one of Thorin's traveling companions, so he might be able to lead her to him. Then again, he might not—this was the same hobbit who very nearly had been pitched off a cliff by Thorin not too long ago. Apparently they were not on friendly terms at the moment. But that might make him more willing to help her, when she explained what she intended to do.
Bilbo, that was his name. Bilbo the burglar, the magician who had snuck thirteen dwarves out of the Elf King's palace under her very nose—she didn't doubt he could sneak one elf into Thorin's stronghold inside the Lonely Mountain. She found him and introduced herself.
"Ah, yes, the Captain of the Guard," the hobbit said, looking nervous. "I do hope most sincerely that you didn't have too much trouble after – well, after the dwarves left."
She pressed her lips together. It hadn't been easy. If she'd thought her life had been difficult while the dwarves were still her captives, it had been nothing compared to what happened after they escaped. Plus, she'd had a massive hangover to contend with.
But she stretched her mouth into the semblance of a smile. "I'm still walking and talking."
"Ah, good. That's all right then." Bilbo didn't seem very relieved.
Tauriel took a deep breath and plowed in. "I need you to take me to Thorin."
"Me?" Bilbo squeaked. He rose up on his toes, as if he wanted to flap his arms and fly away like one of the ravens circling overhead.
She grabbed him and held fast. "You're a burglar. You sneak into and out of places. Just sneak me in, that's all I ask. You don't have to stay there. You don't even have to be in the same room with Thorin. Just help me."
"No! Absolutely not." The hobbit was trembling.
She looked deep into his eyes. There was goodness there, a willingness to do the right thing, and a hidden core of strength. She had to reach him, make him understand. "Bilbo. You know what's coming, don't you. An army of the most evil creatures. We need everyone to fight on our side. Thorin has to be told, he has to stop this foolishness and come out and fight."
Bilbo looked very unhappy. "Very well. I'll take you in. But you can't tell anyone about the secret door. And you can't tell him I helped you."
"I won't," she said dryly. "No sense in getting myself pitched off the mountain, the way you almost did."
Thorin paced back and forth near the entrance of a vast, cavern-like room. Once it had been the storeroom of Durin's palace. More recently it served as the lair of the dragon Smaug.
The room's vaulted ceiling was lost in darkness high above, where the light of the dwarves' torches could not reach. Most of its large area was taken up by the dragon's immense hoard, piled up in the center like a shining hill of gold and jewels.
Set upright near the spot Thorin paced was the massive gold Throne of Durin. Cups and plates of gold lay scattered around the small fire, showing where the dwarves had set up camp.
The palace was a sad and ruined place. He had to think hard to recall even a wisp or two of the vibrant life and power that had once filled its halls. Its present dusty grandeur filled him with gloomy thoughts, and with an effort he shook them off.
"Let's get this rubbish out next," he said, pointing to piles of broken and rotted timbers. "See how much we can salvage. Then—"
"We should rest first," Balin said. He looked at Thorin, concern in his eyes.
"And have a decent meal," grumbled Oin.
"What about the others?" asked Gloin. He waved an arm in the direction of the armies of men and elves camped outside the newly-constructed Gate of Erebor.
Thorin glared at Gloin. "Let them wait. They can sit there until they turn to stone, for all I care." He turned and paced back toward the Throne of Durin. "They have no right—"
The rest of his words died in his throat. At the far corner of the storeroom, just at the edge of the torchlight, stood Tauriel.
At first, for the briefest moment, his heart stopped. He blinked, but she was still there. His next thought was that his dreams had become waking images. He hadn't slept much recently. Perhaps he had fallen asleep without knowing it. But the Tauriel of his dreams was a bright laughing creature whose smiles were sweet and full of love. The Tauriel standing before him was scowling.
Tauriel strode forward, both hands on the hilts of her daggers. "Who has no right?"
Thorin dropped into a battle-ready stance, but shot a quick glare at the dwarves by the campfire. "Who let her in here?"
She stopped a few feet away from him. "If you want to discuss rights, you'd better take a closer look at that pile of glittering trash back there." She jerked one thumb at the dragon's hoard. "Not all of it came from the dwarves."
He ignored her and addressed the dwarves in a deadly quiet voice. "I asked, who let her in here? Have any of you been conspiring with that rat of a hobbit?"
Bombur spoke up. "I let her in, O King. Maybe you should listen to what she has to say."
Tauriel nodded at Bombur. "Thank you. I only came to speak to your king here. Even though I haven't had much luck dealing with kings lately. Not very pleasant."
Thorin looked away from her for a moment. Of course the burden of blame for the dwarves' escape had fallen directly on Tauriel, the Captain of the Guard. The elf king's wrath must have been terrible—Thranduil was not a particularly gentle ruler. Thorin ground his teeth. He refused to feel guilty. He summoned up a sneer.
"What, your king wasn't grateful after you'd told him everything he wished to know? Told him exactly what we planned to do, so that he and thousands of elven archers could come here and steal our treasure right out from under us?" Bitterness filled him. "How you must have laughed to think of it—an easy prize for the picking, once we'd gotten the dragon out of the way for you."
For a moment she went silent and pale. "How dare you," she whispered. "The King's archers were about to kill my sister, right there in the throne room. I spoke to save her life."
Understanding burst upon him like a light. He pictured the scene again: the King's gesture, and the way the archers had moved, pointing their arrows at a new target. She had been faced with a cruel choice—forced to betray him or watch her sister die. Of course she would protect her sister. Relief swept through him. She hadn't willingly revealed his secret. He felt lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from him.
"I didn't know. I misjudged you." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for that."
She nodded, her head bowed and her long hair shading her face. He couldn't see her expression.
He frowned. "But why are you here? Is that what you've come to tell me?"
Her head came up at that. She threw back her shoulders and planted her feet. There was an angry glint in her eye. "I came to ask you," she paused and then raised her voice to a shout. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Taking back what's mine," he bellowed in return.
"Is this what you want?" She jabbed a finger at the giant golden hoard of the dragon.
"Yes!" They were shouting at each other, nose to nose.
"And for this, you are prepared to let countless elves and men and dwarves die? Are you planning to build your kingdom on top of their corpses?" she demanded. "Is this what you want—to be the King of a golden tomb, squatting here in safety while outside your gate people are dying?"
He stared at her. Is that what she thought of him?
She strode over to lay her hand on the Throne of Durin. In a quieter voice she said, "Is this the throne you hid under during that game of hide and seek, all those years ago? Back when Erebor was a place where your people lived and worked and prospered?"
Unable to speak, he nodded.
"The Thorin I – knew," she said slowly, "He wasn't looking for treasure. He wanted to bring his people back to their home."
He waited.
She moistened her lips. "Outside this mountain, the armies of men, elves and dwarves are preparing to fight. Not each other—they are about to be attacked by an army of goblins and wargs who have heard of the death of Smaug and come to claim his treasure. Outside, battle may already be joined. So what I want to know is, what are you going to do?"
Goblins and wargs! A chill went down Thorin's spine. He would have to tell the other dwarves right away. He began sketching out a battle plan in his mind. There was no time to lose.
But Tauriel wasn't finished speaking. With a quick movement, she stooped and hefted a golden breastplate that lay at the edge of the dragon's hoard. "Look at this—a golden breastplate. What good is this, except as a fancy-dress costume? Gold is too soft a metal for armor." She dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a clang, and pulled one of her daggers out.
"Wait—" Thorin said.
"My dagger could punch right through—" She stabbed down into the gleaming metal, but the dagger skidded off the breastplate with a screech. "Ow!"
Thorin suppressed a snort of laughter at the surprise in her face. She was right about gold—alone, it was too soft to be effective as armor—but the breastplate she'd just attacked was more than an ornament. At least it had given him a chance to recover from the deadly accusations that she had leveled at him. He felt as if she'd woken him from a dream, and was ashamed to find that some of what she had said was true.
He said with difficulty, "You are right. Thank you." How had he not seen all this for himself? She must think him a wretched fool for having been so bewitched by the treasure. At least he had her to thank for caring enough to seek him out and set him straight.
Now, no doubt she'd be glad to be done with him. Fool that he was. He felt a twinge somewhere in the area of his chest, and lifted his right hand to rub the sore spot with the heel of his hand. "We will join the fight against our common foe. You can go back to your people now."
He turned away from her. He wasn't going to watch her leave. Besides, there was too much to do. He pitched his voice to be heard by all of his companions. "All of you, find some armor! Quickly! We have a battle to fight!"
But she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He glared at her, already focusing on the battle ahead.
"No. I won't leave. I am yours, if you want me." She looked deep into his eyes, pleading. "Do you want me?"
Her words fell on his ears softly, just sounds at first, before their meaning fully bloomed inside him. In her eyes, he saw her love for him. Suddenly he was breathless. Did he want her? Oh, yes—most definitely yes! It was a miracle. Every fiber of his being sang with triumph. He wanted her, and he wanted her to know exactly what she meant to him.
"Yes. I want you more than life." Stepping close to her, he tenderly traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers. Solemnly, purposefully, he took her hand in his. "Tauriel. Will you fight by my side?"
Her eyes were shining. She understood him completely—another miracle.
"Yes, I will. Until the end of my days." She held tight to his hand, her smile a little shaky. "Will you, Thorin?"
For a moment they were alone together, wrapped in the power of their love. His voice sounded husky in his own ears. "Yes, until the end of my days."
He drew her fiercely into his arms, loving the way her supple body yielded to him, and kissed her.
Knee-deep in Smaug's pile of treasure, Fili and Kili paused in their search for pieces of armor to exchange a look of consternation.
"Can they do that?" Kili asked his brother.
Fili shrugged. "He's the King under the Mountain."
From farther away, Gloin piped up. "They will get no argument from me."
"About what?" Bombur asked as he bustled into the room. Looking around, the portly dwarf saw Thorin and Tauriel locked in each others' arms. He grunted. "Right. Well, we'd better get to finding some armor that will fit the lass."
"The lass?" Tauriel said incredulously. She looked at Thorin.
Releasing her, he stroked his beard. "Let's find you some armor." He hurried off.
"The lass?" she repeated, following him.
And so it was that the King under the Mountain and twelve other dwarves charged out through the Gate of Erebor into the Battle of Five Armies. In the gloom, the great dwarf gleamed like gold in a dying fire. And at Thorin's side, ablaze in her own golden armor, fought Tauriel the elf.