And again a new chapter!
A little something I have to mention before we continue: it might very well be that I won't be able to upload the next chapter before Tuesday. I know it's quite a long time until then but I should really write my University paper that is actually due on Tuesday and I haven't even started *cough cough* Maybe – just maybe – I will be able to update before but please don't be disappointed if I don't.
I hope you'll enjoy this chapter though and at least it doesn't end on a cliffhanger! Once again: the song in it wasn't written by me but Tolkien ;) Enjoy!
The following day passed by quickly. The dwarves had kept themselves busy with preparations for an inevitable battle, since Thorins mind was stuck on getting the key back and by now, he had convinced most members of the company to fight by his side. They knew that without the key, they might as well go back home to the Ered Luin, for none of them could enter the mountain through the front gate. Not without being roasted alive at least.
They had sharpened their weapons, blades and arrowheads alike, polished their shields and armour and since Bombur and Nori had found various barrels of wine in the deep vaults of the old fortress, they kept their war spirits high by drinking and singing battle songs.
Bilbo was most irritated and by nightfall, he was genuinely scared. So far this journey had proven difficult but nobody had ever actively sought out battle. Watching the dwarves getting all riled up and ready, almost keen on laying their lives on the line, made the hobbit uneasy.
He had creeped from one dwarf to the next, peering over their shoulders, looking at the notably large and impressive weapons and he had quickly begun to feel out of place. After the fifths vile battle song, Bilbo snuck away into the darkness of the fortress. He needed some fresh air and settled down on one of the balconies looking over the valley and Mount Gundabad. The mountain was on fire once more and fear crept into every fibre of Bilbos body.
He flinched badly, when a voice spoke up behind him, though familiar and friendly.
"Now what's our burglar doing out here on his own?", Kíli smiled, a cup of wine in hands. His brother was right behind him and as they stepped out on the balcony, Fíli handed another cup to Bilbo.
"You forgot that in the hall."
"Thank you", the hobbit muttered, fumbling with the cup in his hands.
"Everything alright?", the tone in Kílis voice suddenly changed, becoming a little worried.
"Yeah well- no. No not really", Bilbo sighed. "This whole… well, everything really, this is… this is really bothering me, you know?"
"What's bothering you?", Fíli heaved himself up on the wide stone balustrade of the balcony.
"The fighting", Bilbo admitted. "You guys seem so ready for all this and I'm just… terrified."
A tiny and very crooked smile played on the lips of the hobbit and Fíli and Kíli looked at each other, sympathy and concern in their eyes.
"I just… I think I've never wanted to be home so badly before."
"You know what?", Kíli said, gently putting an arm around poor Bilbos shoulders. "Us neither."
"What?", the hobbit blinked. "But you're getting all ready for the battle."
"There's no other choice, is there?", Fíli asked, smiling a little. "This fight needs to be fought, otherwise all the trouble of the past weeks has been for nothing."
"But believe us, Master Baggins", Kíli added quietly. "We're pretty much terrified as well."
The hobbit did not really feel much better but a slight weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Though he did not really need to prove himself to Thorin and the rest of the company as much as the youngsters did, he had felt sick only thinking about the coming days. Knowing that those two brave dwarves were scared as well made the small hobbit feel a little less doomed.
They rose their glasses to each other, taking a good gulp each when suddenly the clangour of armour and metal distracted them. Fíli glanced over his shoulder, Kíli and Bilbo soon by the balustrade as well and as they glimpsed down, they couldn't believe their eyes.
About four dozen dwarves marched across the stone bridge and towards the fortress, all in heavy armour with glistening weapons and helmets. At their tip walked a particularly outstanding dwarf. He was quite tall, his armour glistening in bronze and on his back was a large, bright red battle axe. He strutted down the bridge as if the place belonged to him and though the youngsters on the balcony couldn't see his face, they suddenly grew very pale, their eyes big as saucers.
"Who's that?"
"It's him", Kíli whispered, completely amazed. He looked up to his brother, suddenly beaming with excitement. "It's him!"
"Who?", the puzzled hobbit looked after Kíli as he rushed past him and back into the hall, closely followed by Fíli who simply grabbed Bilbos hand and pulled him along.
Only a few moments later, the wooden gates of the fortress flew open with a bang. The dwarves of the company, alerted by Kílis enthusiastic chit chatter and yelling, stood on top of the stairs, watching carefully. Thorins face was stern and curious, he half expected Gandalf to return alone but as soon as he recognised the dwarf waltzing into the hall, relief gushed over his features.
Bilbo peeked around Fílis waist and when he saw the face of the dwarf with the red axe, he quickly ducked behind the young prince again, scared as he had never seen features this cold and grim before.
He carried no helmet but instead a thick mane of black hair stood from his head in a Mohawk. A terrible scar ran down one of his eyes and his cheeks were tattooed with thick, black Khuzdul letters. Light eyes were burning in his face, smart but cold and a shiver ran down the hobbits spine, as he clutched his fingers into Fílis coat. This dwarf could never be an ally.
"So this is how it is", Thorin slowly began. "One needs to call on the great hero twice before he answers."
"Why would one hero answer the call of another?", the other dwarf replied, his voice deep and thundering.
The two dwarf lords stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity and Bilbo began to grow very uneasy, slightly tucking on Fílis coat, before a broad smirk suddenly grew on the lips of the fierce dwarf. He took a few quick steps towards the stairs, met by Thorin halfway and they greeted each other with a loving bear hug and laughter.
"It's so good to see you right now", Thorin smiled.
"Can't let family down again now, can I?"
"Family?", Bilbo chirped up, looking at Fíli.
"This is Thorins cousin", Fíli smiled. "The legendary Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills."
The reception of their new guests was most warm and noisy, like it always was amongst dwarves. Not only Thorin was delighted to see Dáin, Dwalin and Balin greeted the great warrior just as merrily since they had fought in battles together before. Especially Dwalin seemed joyful, for he had spend many years in the Iron Hills himself, serving under Dáin when Thorin had nothing for him to do.
They soon settled down in the great hall, more barrels of wine were opened and the kill of Dáins people was roasting above some fires. Chatter filled the high hall.
Thorin and Dáin sat at the end of the hall and though both were lords and mighty, they had gotten comfortable on the cold stone ground, smoking, drinking and talking. Bilbo watched them curiously from a distance, sitting next to Kíli who still couldn't grasp that this was happening. Ever since Dáin had arrived, the youngster hadn't said a single word.
"What's the matter with him then?", Bilbo asked, pointing at a completely mesmerized Kíli who, if they hadn't known better, seemed pretty much in love.
"Oh, Dáin is his childhood hero", Fíli grinned, waving a hand before Kílis face but to no avail. "We grew up with stories of Dáin and his heroic deeds and ever since, Kíli had dreamt about seeing him only once."
"So he's a great warrior then?"
"He's a legend. It was Dáin who brought justice to our kin, when he slayed the great orc lord Azog, the murderer of my great grandfather and last King under the Mountain. He was even younger than we are now, they say, but when he saw his own father Náin being killed in the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs at the front gate of Moria, he didn't hesitate for a second and rushed towards Azog and beheaded him", Fíli beamed, not wanting to admit that he admired Dáin just as much as his brother did.
Suddenly, Thorin looked over to them and waved them to come.
Again Kíli grew very pale, the cup of wine in his hands shaking. Even Fíli swallowed hard.
"I think he wants you to come over", Bilbo stated the obvious and he smirked bemused, as the two young dwarves got up from their spot, their knees weak and their legs shaking a little.
There was no smile on Dáins face, no sign of approval, only grim curiosity, when the youngsters stepped up to them.
"So", he began. "Those two are the youngest heirs of the House of Durin then."
Kíli and Fíli bowed in unison.
"Your uncle told me a great deal about you", Dáin eyed them carefully. "Slaying goblins and wargs, leading your own little company from the Old Forest up here. Not a bad start for two young fellas like yourselves."
Thorin had the most proud smile on his face. He'd been waiting for a long time to present his nephews to Dáin, for he had never seen the boys before and only heard various stories of their younger days whenever Dwalin had been around to visit him.
"Who's the elder?", Dáin asked.
"That's me", Fíli answered and stepped forward a little. "It's an honour to meet you."
"Hm", Dáin examined him for a while, not saying anything. "The next heir to the throne, once your uncle has bitten the dust then. Lookin' like your father, I must say. Great warrior. Great dwarf."
Suddenly, the old warrior smirked underneath his thick black beard.
"It's an honour to finally meet you as well, my young lord."
He got up from his spot and tightly hugged Fíli first before he turned to Kíli to greet him as well. They sat together, chatting into the night, drinking wine and laughing. Soon the good old dwarven songs echoed through the halls of the old fortress and even though the hobbit wasn't sure if this was appropriate behaviour on the eve of battle, he enjoyed this a lot more than the sharpening of weapons. And he sat by Bofurs side, listening and sipping wine.
The dwarves of yore made mightly spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells.
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.
Bilbo smiled quietly. Even though there had been plenty of times when he regretted joining this adventure, he just needed to look around, look at all those faces looking proud, the deep voices singing the old songs of the dwarves and he knew, that he was in the company of the most singlehearted kin of middle earth and he wouldn't want to lose any of them.
Here at the Gates the king awaits,
His hands are rich with gems and gold.
The king has come unto his hall,
Under the mountain dark and tall.
The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,
And ever so our foes shall fall!
Late at night, when the fires had burned down, the songs were sang and the wine was drunk and most dwarves had fallen into a deep slumber, Thorin and Dáin still sat together by the glowing ashes.
"We need to reclaim the key. You are with me on this Dáin, aren't you?", Thorin asked.
"I will help you get your key back", Dáin droned. "But the dragon you will have to face alone. I've seen and heard plenty of him to know that I don't want to get involved."
"Fair enough", Thorin muttered, trying not to sound too upset. He had hoped that Dáin might have changed his mind. "I believe the key will be with the lord of Mount Gundabad by now. I doubt that the wargs have held onto it."
"Not likely", Dáin agreed. "You do know though who reigns over Mount Gundabad, don't you?"
"Some orc I suppose."
Dáin suddenly grinned maliciously.
"Not just some orc. The one ruling in these realms is Bolg, Azogs son. He will, no doubt, be keen on continuing where his father left off. He will go for your head Thorin. And once he has slaughtered you, he will slaughter your lovely nephews as well. And then it's my turn."
Thorin gazed at the red blaze for a while, deep in thoughts. He hadn't known about Bolg and the happenings of the Battle of Azanulbizar lay way behind him, far far away from his home in the Ered Luin. Facing an old enemy again was nothing desired by the King of Thorin's Halls but nothing to be avoided either.
"Then we will have to slaughter him first", he said quietly.
"Aye", Dáin agreed. "We shall do that."