Chapter Eleven then? Yeah, I think we should do that.
Little note again before we start (I know I do this a lot but since a lot of you review the story anonymously, it's the only way for me to reply to you guys, sorry!): I've been asked lately whether I will end this story the same way that Tolkien did – and I think those of you who have read The Hobbit know how it ends. Weeeell… I won't tell of course :P But just to generally make one thing clear: I will always put a warning up, should any character die. So you guys will know beforehand and then decide for yourselves, whether you want to continue reading or not.
Another thing concerning my updating schedule, which is running nicely at the moment since I'm still on Christmas break. I do however have a couple of papers that need to be written for University, as well as exam time end of January so I don't know for how long I can keep the pace up. So please don't be disappointed if the updates won't come as regularly anymore soon. I'll do my best to keep you guys entertained.
Once again, thanks a million times for all the wonderful reviews and follows and enjoy the new chapter!
Around sunrise on the fourth day, Thorin and company arrived at the northern peak of the Wilderland. Being wary of the Misty Mountains and the goblins and orcs still populating the caves and caverns, they had travelled close to the banks of the Anduin, resting by the river at night. They only halted when they had to and travelled at a fast pace, for time was gnawing at them and they only had a few weeks left until Durins Day. The only day on which, according to the moon runes on Thorins map, the invisible dwarven door would become visible in the moonlight.
Just as they climbed up a small hill, the morning sun peeked over the mountaintops and illuminated the land before them.
Below lay the ruins of a city. Broken stonewalls were scattered across the grass, only a few buildings still standing intact for they had been raided by orcs and wargs for nearly a hundred years now. In the distance beyond, Mount Gundabad rose into the sky, its snow-capped top glistening in the morning sun.
Thorin breathed deeply.
Though he would never admit it, he wasn't prepared for this quest. Worry about his nephews was eating him alive and the wound on his leg was throbbing badly, though it did not seem infected and it hadn't slowed him down too much.
The others already began to unpack, preparing a simple breakfast and shaking the darkness of the night off, when Gandalf approached Thorin, who still stood looking at their goal glistening in the distance.
"Are you sure you want to go there?", the wizard asked quietly, for he had seen the concern on Thorins face.
"No", the king of Thorin's Halls admitted. "But I have no other choice. Without the key, the quest is lost and we might as well return to the homes we came from."
"Even those of you, who don't have a home?"
Gandalf winked at the dwarf, causing a tiny smile to tuck at Thorins lips. The leader of their company was very well aware that not all of them had ventured on to this quest for the same reasons. For Balin and Dwalin it was loyalty to Thorin and Durin that had driven them on this path. Same could be said for Glóin and Óin who had never seen Erebor but were born in exile and yearned for their homeland as much as Thorin did. As for Dori and Nori, and even more so for Bofur, Bifur and Bombur, the main drive for this adventure had been treasure and fame, since none of them were directly of Durins kin and felt no need to protect a kingdom that wasn't their own.
But here they were, happily bristling about, not complaining once and Thorin couldn't have been more grateful, though he never admitted to it.
"Gandalf?"
The wizard raised his eyebrows.
"Those ruins down there. What is that?"
"That? Oh, those are the ruins of Framsburg, the former capital of the Éothéod."
"Men?", Thorin asked surprised. "There were men this far up north?"
"Yes, for a while", the wizard replied. "They only recently left for the south and formed the kingdom of Rohan."
'Recently', in the language of a wizard who had seen middle earth since the beginning of time, meant about a hundred years ago, but Thorin didn't bother with trifles like that. Curiosity grew within him, the longer he looked at the abandoned city below them.
"Is it safe?"
"Safe? Well, I don't know. There's probably nothing left for orcs or wargs to take but it is very much in the open and very close to the mountain. You might want to reconsider camping here."
"Hm", Thorin mumbled, once again leaving the wizard without any useful answer. Maybe he wanted to be seen after all. Not by the orcs and wargs in the mountains, but by someone else entirely.
For he eagerly awaited the arrival of his nephews, hopefully well and sound again and even more so, successfully led by Fíli in whom he laid all his hope. This small journey, though it wasn't too long or dangerous, was the first real challenge to Thorins heir and he was curious as to how his nephew would manage.
So far, his nephew managed quite well down south. Well enough to entirely ignore any advise from poor Radagast and be the nuisance he could become, whenever he was around his brother and nobody was there to scold them properly.
Whilst Ori was busy with properly cleaning out Radagasts cupboards and washing all the dishes thoroughly, not really delighted by the sight of numerous chipped plates and bowls, the brothers were set on an entirely different quest, that Radagast did not like at all.
"Alright now Master Baggins. Ready?"
Bilbo stood in the middle of the glade, Sting in both hands and felt genuinely stupid. He had been hoping for something like a holiday, a couple of days off and no fighting or fearing and yet here he stood, clasping the hilt of his 'letter opener' as Balin had said, not knowing what on earth he was supposed to do.
Opposite him stood Fíli, remarkably cheerful considering how grave his injuries were, not only bandaged around his middle but also around his hand now, which didn't seem to bother him much however. Being extraordinarily skilled at double-handed combat, he held one of his swords in his left hand instead of the usual right.
"No", Bilbo muttered. "No, no I don't think I am, nor will I ever be."
"Oh come on now! Don't be shy!", Kíli supportively shouted from the bench, where he sat and spent half the morning sulking, since his slowly healing arm still forbade him to do any kind of fighting. Radagasts treatment of their wounds however, as well as the herbs and ointments he used, worked wonders and the boys barely needed the elvish poppy seeds anymore.
"Shy? I-I'm not shy I just have no intention of hurting myself!", Bilbo explained, his sword still directed at Fíli though he seemed entirely displeased.
"No worries, brave burglar, you won't hurt yourself. I will hurt you at most!", Fíli didn't even try to cheer Bilbo up and the hobbit whimpered quietly at the thought.
"Ready now?"
Bilbo steadied himself, his feet firmly dug into the ground, yet when Fíli charged for him, he screamed and ran for the table to hide behind poor Ori and his washbowl.
"Oh come on now!", Kíli burst out. "It's not like he's going to kill you. You need some training if you want to survive this journey."
"I've survived well enough without any training, thank you very much!", the hobbit blustered from behind Ori, who couldn't blame Bilbo. He wasn't too keen on fighting Fíli either, for he had done so in the past and always gotten a good beating out of it.
"Maybe he really doesn't need training after all", he therefore stood up for the little hobbit, braver than his sanity would have ever recommended. "He's smart, he might get away with a lot of things."
"He won't get away from an orc that has decided to behead him", Fíli replied, though he had to chuckle a little at brave Ori defending the Halfling. Little did Fíli know about a certain, small object that Bilbo kept in his pocket ever since he found it down in the caverns of the Misty Moutains and Bilbo had no intention of showing it to anybody. Not even those boys, though he had really begun to grow fond of them.
"Oi, we should do a little training exercise with Ori too, don't you think?", Kíli asked, actually intending to lure poor Ori into a trap as they had done ever since they met him for the first time. He was thus surprised, when the chronicler of their company didn't protest like he had done in the past.
"I could learn how to use a sword!", he exclaimed, probably trying to impress the brothers, though the only one properly impressed was Bilbo, who shared none of those nonsense wishes and desires.
"It would be better than a slingshot", Fíli admitted, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, Kíli, get up off your bottom!"
"What, me?"
"Yes, you. Do you expect me to train the both of them? Your right arm is just fine, go on."
The sight before Radagast, as he returned from a stroll through the woods, to soothe his nerves, was most peculiar and probably reason enough for him to turn on his heel and go for another walk.
Ori had been given one of Fílis swords and was facing Kíli, who seemed way too cheerful about all this, sword in hand. Poor Bilbo again stood facing Fíli, who secretly seemed to enjoy his role as training instructor, probably seeing himself like a smaller, less hairy version of Dwalin, who had trained the boys often back in the Blue Mountains.
Radagast sighed but didn't interfere. Instead, he sat himself down on the bench, lit a pipe and watched carefully, quite curious as to what those rascals were up to again.
Again Fíli charged first, taking about three quick steps towards the hobbit and then suddenly everything happened so quickly that Kíli and Ori forgot all about their training.
Bilbo squealed, first smacking Fílis bandaged right hand with the flat blade of his sword, already causing the dwarf to hiss, then proceeding to smack the wound on Fílis side in reflex as well, before he dropped his sword and escaped to the table.
Fíli found himself unable to follow, muttering low 'ahahaha ow's and 'ouch', holding his side and wagging his cut hand.
"That was most unfair, Master Baggins!", he protested, pulling a face from the throbbing in his side and hand. "But very effective. Very effective indeed… ow…"
Seeking a little help from Radagast, he looked at the wizard who, with ostentation, simply stuffed another pipe and didn't give a care in the world.
"Don't look at me. That's what you get for not listening to me."
Kíli and Ori stared at Fíli first, then at Bilbo who seemed utterly astonished that he had actually beaten Fíli, and then burst out in laughter, howling and grunting.
"You owe me a drink for that", Fíli insisted between gritted teeth, though he was smiling wearily already again.
When nightfall came, Thorin and the remaining dwarves had moved camp down into the ruins of Framsburg. They found shelter in one of the few houses that still had a roof, probably a barn or stable once and set up a campfire. Most of them were happily chatting amongst each other, joking and laughing. Only Dori sat aside by the door, looking out. He hadn't spoken a word to Thorin ever since they had left the youngsters in the care of Radagast and seemed generally grumpy and displeased.
"So, when de yer think the lads will join us?", Dwalin asked, sitting next to Thorin by the fire, a large mug with mead in his tattooed hands.
"A few days I suppose. Trusting the healing skills of that wizard, as Gandalf suggested", Thorin replied, eyeing the grey wizard who just smiled happily.
"If they come at all", Dori muttered under his breath, not actually attending to draw any attention but he did nonetheless.
"What do you mean?", Thorin asked, already sounding a little miffed.
"They are boys for Durins sake!", it suddenly burst from the younger dwarf and now everyone was listening. "They are boys and you left them out there on their own! Abandoned your injured nephews and also involved my poor brother in this!"
It was most unusual for the usually chipper and well-mannered Dori to flip like that and only Nori understood his brother to a certain extent.
"I didn't abandon-", Thorin couldn't even finish his sentence.
"Do with your family as you like, Thorin Oakenshield, but if anything should happen to my brother, you can only hope that Durin is with you!"
"It had to be done-"
"Done your selfish ways! Yes! As usual!", Dori had risen from his spot by the door, actually about to face the king of Thorin's Hall like Thorin had never been faced by his own kin before. And it wasn't only Dori who was getting riled up. The most hot headed members of the company, Dwalin and Bifur were close to grabbing their axes, Thorins hand at Orcrists hilt already, when a noise from outside the abandoned city suddenly cut through the quiet night.
It was a howling in the far distance. Only one at first, then swiftly followed by more until the air was filled with it, clanging painfully in the dwarves' ears.
Thorin got up from his spot and stepped to the door looking out, followed closely by Dwalin and Bofur.
Across the fields and beyond Framsburg, Mount Gundabad suddenly seemed to burn in the night. Torches were lit, fires blazing on the slopes of the mountain and the unmistakable laughter and roaring of orcs bellowed through the darkness. For the night was their cloak and Gundabad was their realm. They came creeping out at nightfall, seizing the flanks of the mountain, feasting and fighting amongst each other. Hundreds, if not thousands of them were crawling on the slopes, some daring to step down onto the fields and amongst them were the mighty Gundabad Wargs, the most fierce and dangerous of their kind.
Thorins eyes grew wide when he saw the fires lighting up, shining bright in the darkness. The last time he had been that far north of the Wilderland was during their wandering days across the lands until they found a new home in the Ered Luin. Back in those days, the orcs had still resided deep in the Misty Mountains. Little did he know, that they had established a new home in Mount Gundabad.
"No way that we can stand a chance against that", Dwalin muttered, voicing what everyone was thinking. "There's too many of'em."
"What are we gonna do now Thorin?", Nori asked.
For a while, Thorin didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the flaming mountain, the screeching and howling echoing in his ears. Thirteen of them against thousands of orcs was pointless and nothing but suicide. His gaze suddenly wandered off to the far northeast
"There is one who could help."