Chapter 16

Thorin's Hall in Ered Luin was a big cavern of a place. At one end of the Hall, there was a dais occupied by a massive table. Around the table sat several dwarves, a wizard and Thorin Oakenshield.

By the time I got there, the hall was full of Longbeards, Firebeards and Broadbeams, standing with their arms crossed and feet planted wide. Every face, whether it belonged to a merchant or a ragged miner, wore an expression of wary interest.

Thorin stalked back and forth on the dais, roaring at the crowd.

"Dwarves of Ered Luin! Many of you never knew the glory that was Erebor. But know this: Erebor was the jewel in the crown, the most magnificent kingdom in all Middle-earth. Our halls shone with gold and gemstones. We traded on profitable terms with the Men of Dale. Even the Elves bowed to us in respect. Peace and prosperity! And no dwarf, anywhere in the kingdom, lacked for any good thing."

An approving murmur spread through the listening crowd. Of course, everyone knew the story. The young ones had grown up with it, the strangers had heard the songs about it, and some of us had even lived through it. Stories and songs are in our Dwarven blood, every bit as much as gold.

"Then, news of our prosperity—of our vast store of gold—came to Smaug the Terrible, the chiefest calamity of our age. The ancient, powerful and greedy worm blasted into our peaceful home, killing and destroying everything that stood in its path."

At the mention of death and destruction, some of the dwarves who had been listening sidled toward the door. A few more were shaking their heads and shifting from foot to foot. But still, a sizeable number stayed put.

"Many did not survive that day," Thorin continued. "Many more, from the frailest grandfathers to the youngest daughters, died in the harsh years that followed. Everything we loved was cruelly taken from us. And we were cruelly abandoned by those who had once claimed to be our friends."

On the dais behind Thorin, my brother Balin coughed. I'd heard that cough before and knew it meant "Oh, no. Not the elf thing again. Don't get sidetracked." Thorin knew it, too. He shot my brother a sidelong glance.

I moved toward the front of the room and took a seat at the table on the dais. I nodded to my brother Balin, and cousins Oin and Gloin. Across from me sat Thorin's young nephews Kili and Fili. I frowned at them; weren't they a bit young for this quest business? Kili stuck his tongue out at me, the little pest.

I pointed at Kili and mouthed, "Later."

Thorin took Balin's hint and didn't give his usual speech about untrustworthy elves. "But now, the omens are in our favor. The dragon has not been seen for sixty years. The ravens are returning to the mountain. Our enemy may be weak, or even dead for all we know. Now is the time for us to strike—now is the time to take back Erebor!"

The dwarves in the hall cheered. Thorin nodded at them in regal acceptance of their acclaim.

Then the wizard Gandalf, the scruffy gray fellow I remembered seeing in Bree, spoke up. "Spoken like a true king, Thorin. But Erebor is a long way from here, and at this distance, it is very easy to underestimate the strength of a great Dragon."

A number of dwarven feet began to shuffle. Gold was a powerful lure, but it was no good to a dead dwarf. In the wake of Gandalf's discouraging words, more listeners slunk out. I could see frustration in Thorin's face—he saw them leaving too.

The wizard was talking again. "But that is not all: there is a Shadow growing fast in the world which is far more terrible than Smaug. Worse, the Dragon and the Shadow will help one another. Open war would be quite useless. You will have to try something simpler and yet bolder, indeed something desperate."

"Oh, really," said Thorin. "What would that be?"

"My point is, you're going after a very old, very cunning Dragon. So keep these two things about him in your mind: His memory, and his sense of smell."

"Thanks for that. Tell us something we don't know," Thorin said with a snort. I nodded. Who did that wizard think he was talking to? Nobody knew dragons like we dwarves did—more's the pity.

Thorin rolled his hand impatiently. "Go on, what is your idea?"

Gandalf spread his arms wide. "Stealth! You can't overwhelm the dragon with force, so use stealth. Also, you need someone whose scent isn't known to Smaug. He knows what dwarves smell like. He knows everything about your people. He lives in the home of Dwarves, he sleeps on the gold of Dwarves—he dreams of Dwarves. He would know if any Dwarf set foot anywhere within the mountain."

My brother Balin had been staring at his hands, which were folded in front of him. Now he looked up. "Then stealth won't work either. Sneaking up on a dragon sounds impossibly difficult."

"Difficult, but not impossibly difficult," Gandalf answered. "Just absurdly difficult. So I am going to suggest an absurd solution to the problem. Take a Hobbit with you! Smaug has probably never heard of Hobbits, and he has certainly never smelt them."

Groans of exasperation and disappointment sounded all around the table. I looked out into the audience, which was looking a bit sparse.

Hot-headed Gloin jumped to his feet, spluttering, "What? One of those idiots from the Shire? Who cares what a Hobbit smells like—a hobbit wouldn't dare come within a hundred miles of any dragon!"

I was in complete agreement with Gloin. All the other dwarves around the table nodded, too. Absurd was right. Some help this wizard was turning out to be—the crowd thinned out some more.

Gandalf argued for a while about Hobbits and their good points. What a joke—he didn't offer any proof at all. No tales of Hobbit bravery in battle, no examples of the extraordinary qualities of Hobbits. Just some vague ideas about seeing what developed when you put them under pressure. Nobody in his right mind would undertake a quest on that basis. And yet he wouldn't budge from his ridiculous idea of a stealthy Hobbit.

"You've got to be joking!" shouted Thorin, stomping around and swearing under his breath. He knew as well as I did that he was quickly losing Dwarvish support for the quest. "This is not advice, it is nonsense."

"Yeah," I said. Well, I know it's not much of a contribution, but talking and negotiating have never been my strong suit.

Gandalf frowned, looking more stubborn than ever. "This Hobbit is special. He's just as good as any dwarf. He has plenty of gold ornaments, eats with silver tools and drinks from fine crystal."

"Oh! I get it," said Balin, who has always been quicker than anybody else. "He's a thief! Well, that would certainly be useful."

"Right, a thief," said Gandalf sharply. "Of course, he must be a thief, if he's a Hobbit who's got gold and silver, right? That's how you Dwarves think. And considering how many good things he's got, he must be a professional thief."

Thorin looked doubtfully at the wizard. I nodded, thinking that finally the wizard was making sense. A thief—yes, they were stealthy. That part seemed logical enough. And a dwarven thief wouldn't work because of the scent problem, so…maybe a hobbit burglar would work.

But Thorin shook his head, dismissing the idea.

Gandalf got to his feet, looming over the group. Around him, the air seemed to darken and roil with power. He glared down at us, suddenly not just a scruffy human man but something far more: the focus for a vast, incomprehensible energy that could snuff out all our lives in a blink of an eye. A shiver of remembered fear swept over me. One run-in with an Istar had been more than enough for me, thanks very much.

"Listen to me, Durin's Folk! If you persuade this Hobbit to join you, you will succeed. If you do not, you will fail. If you refuse even to try, then I have finished with you. You will get no more advice or help from me until the Shadow falls on you!"

The dwarves around the table sat frozen, staring in terror at the wizard. Then Gandalf looked around with an irritable scowl, and shrank back to his normal Man-size self. He harrumphed and settled back into his seat.

The fear that had overwhelmed me faded to a few uneasy prickles, and I breathed normally again. If you think my reaction to an Istar in the full exercise of his power is a sign of cowardice, you don't know what you're talking about. Anyone who isn't afraid of them is either stupid or dead. Or likely both, in quick succession.

After Gandalf sat down, Thorin gazed long and hard at the wizard. Finally, he nodded. "That was no ordinary speech. Your words have the ring of prophecy about them. Very well, we will do it your way."

The wizard made a few more grumpy remarks, trying to make sure that we wouldn't all show up at the Hobbit's hole just to laugh and point.

"Fine, fine, that's enough," said Thorin. "I gave my word we'd let the Hobbit join the quest. I just don't like being made a fool of."

So Gandalf said that he had some other business to take care of, but he would be back within a week so we could all head out to fetch the Hobbit. Then he left, and the dwarves who were left breathed a sigh of relief.

I looked around the Hall, and my heart sank. Of the large crowd that had filled the room, we were left with only the group on the dais, and the half-dozen dwarves who had been with us in Bree: brothers Nori, Dori, and Ori, and the three miners Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Worried, I looked over at Thorin.

Thorin Oakenshield gazed around himself at the pitifully small group that remained. His face was bleak, etched with despair. We were the only loyal ones—a mere dozen dwarves, some too old to fight and others too young to throw themselves away on what would surely amount to a suicide mission. I knew what he was thinking: He had failed even before he'd begun.

Only a dozen dwarves, daring to face an enemy that had wiped out a kingdom. It would never work. But destiny was driving Thorin down this fatal road. He would burn in the end, as would we all, perishing by Smaug's fiery breath. He knew it. This was his doom: he knew he was leading us to our deaths, but he could not give up the quest.

And here's my doom: I will always be at his side.

Staring at him, I rose to my feet and placed my right fist over my heart. "You are my king, Thorin Oakenshield, and I will serve you any way I can. Whatever you ask of me, I willingly give. Wherever you lead, I will follow, to victory or to death."

The other dwarves spoke up in a chorus of agreement. Thorin stepped over to give me a hearty embrace. His eyes were filled with warmth, gratitude, and even a tear or two. Hell, turnabout's fair play, and he did it to me in Bree. I gave him a thump on the back.

A commotion of sound at the other end of the Hall made us all turn. In the doorway stood Thorin's sister Dis with a thunderous scowl on her face. Slightly behind her lurked Lady Ran, looking more spiteful than I'd ever seen her.

In front of both women, lips pulled back into a snarl and fury blazing in her eyes, was Var. Her rage pierced me like a flaming arrow.

In a low, controlled voice she asked, "Just what do you think you're doing?"