"Chapter 7"

Leaving Bilbo's rooms late that same night, Thorin discovered that he was too restless to settle down in his own quarters, and decided that a long trek through the halls would help. He would have stayed and talked with his friend longer, but he knew that Bilbo was tired, even if the stubborn hobbit refused to admit it. Seeing Bilbo so old—so frail—now was unnerving, a fact that Thorin would just as stubbornly refuse to say aloud. He realized that somehow, through the course of the years, he had imagined that Bilbo would remain just as young and lively as he had been during their Adventure, a thought that had probably been cemented through the still-youthful coloring of Bilbo's letters; but that belief had taken a hard beating. He sighed. They were all old now, old and tired and on the farther side of life.

Stupid Elves, granted immortality. He was a mix of jealousy and pity about that. Who wouldn't want forever to live? But he also realized that there was a curse hidden within such a circumstance, something odd and frightening about having forever in your grasp. Something that made him supremely grateful that he had been born mortal.

His feet led him to a wing of Rivendell that he had only been to once—the Hall that held the shards of Narsil. He had been to this particular place only at the beginning of his Quest to reclaim Erebor, when he and his companions had been tricked by Gandalf to stepping into the Elves' territory. He knew the story of how Narsil had separated the One Ring from Sauron's finger, was familiar with the fact that the Dark lord had broken Elendil's sword which Isildur used to his advantage.

It seemed fitting for him to come here, to this place that was a reminder of War when his thoughts dwelled constantly on such things.

The sword was still a thing of beauty, even broken as it was. Its blade gleamed a bright silver in the moonlight, deadly and magnificent—and well it should be, Thorin thought proudly. After all, Telchar the Dwarf, one of the best smiths of his kind, had created it. Any piece of Dwarf armor or weaponry was something to be proud of. It truly was a mighty weapon.

"Good evening, Master Dwarf."

The soft, unfamiliar voice caused him to spin where he stood, unconsciously poised for defense, until he saw that it was a Man standing there. He really was a very tall fellow, taller than most, with dark hair and keen eyes he could see even in the dark. Thorin thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn't place him.

"Do you usually sneak up on people like that?' he asked gruffly, dropping from his defensive posture and glaring up at the Man.

"Only if those people aren't paying attention," the Man answered, and there was a definite note of amusement to his tone.

Thorin 'hmph'ed but knew that the stranger had a point—and a very good one at that. He settled for simply glaring up at his unwanted company, and a stiff silence descended upon them until finally with a small smile the Man continued:

"I did not believe that anyone would be wandering at this time of night, and I often come here. I apologize for my disturbing you." He bowed slightly. "Your servant, Master Dwarf." He turned in preparation of leaving, but then Thorin called,

"I didn't think there was another Man here besides the Steward's son. Are you perhaps a companion of his?"

The Man paused at the end of the Hall, and Thorin could swear he saw his back stiffen just the slightest—but his face was mild and polite as he looked back at Thorin. "I am neither companion nor servant of Boromir's—but mayhap I can call him 'friend' before the end of this Quest." He looked almost stern now, but still polite. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn."

Ah. So that was why this fellow looked familiar. He had seen this same Man at the Council several days ago, but said Man had not spoken much at all during the discussions, except perhaps during the Elf Legolas's tale of the creature Gollum's escape from Mirkwood. The Ranger—for that was what Thorin knew this Man to be—had seemed content to simply listen and observe all that happened.

It also explained why he had shown up here of all places now. Thorin's gaze turned back to the shards of Narsil sitting on their pedestal. Aragorn's attention followed his and the Man smiled grimly.

"It seems that I always end up where my ancestors reside," he said to Thorin's unspoken inquiry, and he walked back to where the Dwarf stood. "But the time will come soon when Narsil will shine again—very soon indeed, for I have told Elrond that the Sword that Was Broken will smite Sauron's forces like days of old."

"You plan to accompany the Ringbearer as well?" Thorin asked, startled at the thought.

Aragorn smiled again—this time with genuine warmth. It was clear that he held Frodo Baggins in high respect. "I led him and his fellows from Bree to Rivendell, through Black night and danger. I consider it logical, as well, to help Frodo with the destruction of Isildur's Bane."

"Poetic justice?" Thorin asked, not sure if he was impressed or not.

Aragorn's smile turned a mite sharp. "I prefer to call it "dramatic irony"."

Now that—that—Thorin could be impressed with. And he was.

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The next morning, he went to visit Bilbo in the hobbit's quarters. It seemed that Aragorn was very familiar with the eldest hobbit as well as the latter's relations. He knocked on the fine oak door as he always did, but this time there was no answering voice telling him that he could come in. Frowning, he wondered why. Bilbo was always awake at this time of the day, and was always ready to admit guests.

Was he sick? Or was he still sleeping today? Thorin couldn't help his curiosity, and pushed open the door.

"Bilbo?"

At the sound of his voice, there was a low, shuddering intake of breath, dry and heavy, and he frowned, fingering the hilt of Orcist. No one was in the large bed, nor was there anyone at the window, so where-?

Turning the small corner of the room, he saw the answer to his question. The hobbit in question was seated in a chair farthest from the door, clutching a red-bound book, and a look of lost despair was on his face. Thorin had never seen Bilbo Baggins look such, and it unnerved him. It was the same stark, shocked face the older hobbit had worn at the Council, and Frodo had volunteered to take the Ring to Mordor.

"Bilbo?"

Now the elderly hobbit looked up at him; there was no hint of tears on his face but his eyes were dark with guilt. He did not greet Thorin as he usually did, only stared at him for a long moment. Then he spoke: "I have tasked my boy to write his Adventure down. For so many years I hoped… I dreamed that I would give him this book to read, and to read as nothing more than a fairy tale, something that his dotty old cousin once wrote down to settle his over-Adventurous spirit.' He took another shuddering breath and looked down at the book. "I've tasked Frodo to write his Adventure down, and I'm not sure if he'll even make it back." At those last three words, his voice broke and Thorin thought that he saw a single tear fall into his lap.

He slowly approached his friend and crouched a little so that he could look into Bilbo's face. "No one said that this Quest would be easy," he said as gently as he could. "All you can do is have faith that your boy has the strength to do what needs to be done."

Bilbo nodded in reply, but his face was still writ with sadness. 'Have I doomed my lad to Darkness, Thorin?" he asked plaintively. His hands were shaking. "I found that cursed Ring, and then I gave it to him. My dear boy, given that—that monstrosity!"

Thorin sighed, and took one of those old, gnarled hands in one of his own. "I can promise no clear outcome, my friend," he said quietly, "but I will promise this: I will do my utmost to keep your Frodo, and his fellows, safe and uninjured as possible." He knew that that wasn't much, but it was the best he could give.

As he would eventually find, however, that promise was all that was needed.

A/N: I know, I promised a meeting of the entire Fellowship in this chapter, but writing this down, Bilbo decided to have a moment of crisis and Thorin was right there already, so I just went with it! Nobody likes seeing distressed hobbits longer than they have to, so our poor Dwarf had to play counselor. Next chapter will have the Fellowship, I swear!