Jeez, guys your reviews melted my heart. I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter that much but of course our story doesn't end here. There's still quite a lot ahead of us and I hope you're ready for it. I hope I'm ready for it even.
Thank you so much for your beautiful reviews and enjoy the next Chapter, when the wonderful peace will once again be disturbed.
The company spent the following days rebuilding and cleaning within the vast city of Erebor. In a combined effort, they had begun to renovate the large, dark Gates that had suffered badly under Smaug and their battle hammers, replacing wooden boards, reforging the hinges and decorations and they had lifted the most fearless or rather devil-may-care Dwarves, namely Kíli and Nori, up on makeshift swings to paint the large wooden Gates black with hot tar once again. Dori commanded a little troop of them to dust off their chambers and mop through them, naturally it ended in a bunch of soaked Dwarves, and Thorin and Balin planned out the work to rebuild the pillars and stairs.
Bilbo was quite surprised about the commotion, wondering why they wouldn't wait for the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains to come back and help, for sturdy as those thirteen Dwarves might have been, they couldn't accomplish it all alone. But it seemed as if the company was so overwhelmed with sheer luck and joyfulness and their fatigue of the weeks before had completely faded, that they could not possibly sit still. They bustled about all day, working hard and Bilbo watched in wonder.
Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were always amongst them, forging and cutting and whittling and painting and whilst they worked side by side, there was no difference between them. Heritage, upbringing, titles, none of that mattered and they worked in unison and by the end of they day, they were all equally dirty and smelly and sat together in the Hall of Thrór, drinking and smoking and laughing, before one after the other either fell asleep at the table or scuffled off to their respective doss.
While Thorin had settled in his old chambers again, feeling overwhelmed each time he stepped into them, the brothers had claimed the adjacent rooms for themselves and Kíli found himself sleeping in his mother's old chambers, while Fíli occupied the chambers of his deceased uncle Frerin. The boys spent many hours rummaging through the belongings of their family, adoring their mother's old clothes, joking that they wouldn't fit her anymore today and they marvelled at Frerin's little treasures. Fíli had been most delighted to find Frerin's rooms stuffed with books, paintings and maps and even though Thorin had never told much about his brother, Fíli could now imagine what Frerin must have been like in his lifetime. And he had secretly smiled to himself, for he found that his uncle had been pretty much like Kíli and himself.
On quiet days, when rain was pouring down from the mountain and a chilly breeze howled around the peaks, they stayed inside and explored the huge city. They wandered through the abandoned merchant quarters and across market places, passed taverns and inns and many stores and the deeper they went, the hotter it became until they eventually found themselves in the Mines of Erebor. Wide chasms dropped into a never-ending blackness and when they peered over the cliffs and edges, the walls below where glistening in the lights of their torches. They saw brilliant, massive forges and furnaces, golden scales and shimmering tools and Bilbo and the brothers could not help but gape at all the glory and beauty surrounding them.
The weather turned worse and made a hunt impossible, thus the company was quite surprised to find Bofur, Nori and Bifur missing every now and whenever they returned, they had quite a notable amount of meat with them to serve for dinner. It was tender and soft and quite tasty and filled the stomach, thus everyone had been content. It had been Kíli's nosiness again of course that one night he bluntly asked whatever it was they were eating since days.
"Oh that's dragon", Bofur explained casually. "Thought it would be a waste to leave him lying around outside."
And whilst Nori and Bifur continued to cheerfully munch on their stew, large chunks of dragon meat swimming in their bowls, the others immediately began to gag and spit their mouthfuls back into the bowls, moaning and groaning, complaining and ranting. Even Thorin slowly put his bowl back on the table, a little green in the face and he fought hard, not to vomit it all back up, keeping his composure with much effort.
"Thank you for the- meal", he mumbled and chewed on dry bread for the rest of the evening.
Soon enough they began to sharpen their own weapons as well, forging entirely new blades for them or replacing the hilts and nails. They spent vast amounts of time, decorating and enhancing their weapons and Bilbo quietly wondered how someone could be so interested in a simple piece of metal. He usually sat by Bifur's side, watching quietly after he had quickly given up on starting a conversation with the Dwarf, since he couldn't understand his replies anyways. Bifur was sulking. Badly, to be honest. His own beloved weapon, the large boar spear, was still stuck in Smaug's skull and nobody had managed to pull it out. Whenever Thorin got close to him, he shot him a dirty look for of course it was their leader's fault that his weapon was lost.
"Oh knock it off now, will you?!" Thorin chuntered, after he noticed Bifur sticking his tongue out at him. "I already apologized a dozen times. See it from this perspective; it was your weapon that killed the dragon. You should be proud! What do you think?"
Bifur seemed to ponder over it for a while and finally cleared his throat with some dignity.
"Gelek menu caragu rukhs!" he declared solemnly.
"Come again", Thorin blinked for he only understood bits and pieces of Old Khuzdul.
"He said you smell like Orc dung", Bofur translated and the entire company roared with laughter. Kíli toppled off his stool and Fíli cried so hard, he got a pretty bad hiccup that wouldn't fade for a while.
"Charming", Thorin muttered while Bifur smiled at him.
Like that, days came and went and when all the repairs they could do were done, they went on with the delightful things in life. Old pantries were plundered and Bilbo found pleasure in watching the Dwarves, scattered across the place, lazily lying around, smoking pipes and drinking ale in the early hours of the morning already, chatting and singing and telling old stories. It felt a bit like home, Bilbo thought to himself and he found himself a nice spot at the massive hearth in the Hall of Thrór, where he sat with his pipe and listened to the tales and songs and the beautiful music they played occasionally.
They eventually returned to the treasury, for Thorin meant to keep his word and share the treasure equally. It seemed however, that their King had forgotten about the extent of Thrór's gold craze and they soon found it impossible to split the countless coins and bars and chests up. Thorin therefore decided that each should take whatever he wanted and promised them support for the rest of their lives, should they ever run short on coins. Thus they merrily dug through the mountains of gold and jewels and looked for objects they particularly liked.
Only Bilbo stood frozen to the spot, watching the bustling with quite a large lump in his throat.
"What is it Master Baggins?" Thorin asked, as he approached him with a smile on his face. "No interest in gold after all?"
Bilbo flinched a little and looked up at the Dwarf. Over the past days, Thorin had turned back to his remarkable self. He had found an old coat of his father, brimmed with fur and decorated with silver plates. Thick rings glistened on his fingers again and he wore a new jerkin, made from satin and silk, embroidered with silver patterns. No crown however sat on his head, since the crown of his forefathers was lost.
Only Fíli and Kíli had noticed their uncle sneaking out into the treasury many nights before, all alone. They knew how much Thorin craved the Arkenstone and after countless nights of search, he had grown frustrated, for the jewel was nowhere to be found. The rest of the company suspected nothing though and carelessly dug through the piles of gold.
"Me?" Bilbo mumbled. "Oh well, Hobbits don't tend to hoard gold, really."
"I'm not asking you to hoard it, I am asking you to pick pieces you like as part of your reward", Thorin chuckled.
The Hobbit showed a crooked smile, overlooking the vast treasure once more before he sighed deeply. By the time Thorin already suspected that something was wrong with their little burglar and watched him warily.
"Thorin", Bilbo began. "This is all very generous and kind and you have my deepest gratitude but I- I want none of this."
Thorin raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Then what do you want?" he asked.
"I-", Bilbo sighed once more. "I want to go home."
If Thorin had anticipated anything at all, it certainly wasn't this. Mesmerized and overwhelmed by their own sheer luck, he had entirely forgotten that Bilbo was the only one amongst them who already had a home. And his home was far away, over the Misty Mountains, safe in the Shire. He eyed Bilbo for a while, before he nodded understandingly.
"And you shall return home soon. I would ask you to remain with us a little longer though, until my company had a good rest, before I shall send some of them with you, to accompany you on your way home. Is that bearable for you?"
"Very bearable", Bilbo smiled and the promise of Bag End made his heart race. Though Erebor fascinated him, he wished to return to the green hills and clear rivers of the Shire, to his armchair and his books and the leaf of Old Toby, for Dwarven weed was strong and bitter and not quite to the Hobbit's taste.
"You still earned yourself a part of the treasure", Thorin insisted and simply shooed Bilbo away. He wandered amongst the pillars and mountains, listening to the chatting and clangour of the others and quite by chance his steps led him back to Smaug's lair and the little pile of gold under which he had laid unconscious for two days. He looked around, digging through some heaps when he suddenly caught a glimpse of something particularly shiny and shimmering in the dark. He dragged a large golden shield out of the way and dug a little deeper and then he found it.
A shining, white jewel, large as the palm of his hand and delicately polished. Looking at it from a different angle, the diamond shone in turquoise and sometimes silvery and the Hobbit stood mesmerized. Though not interested in gold at all, this jewel enthralled him and he quickly shoved it into his pocket.
He wouldn't be able to explain why he kept it in secret, but something told him that this would not be a part of the treasure he could keep, if Thorin knew of it. He therefore picked out a golden goblet with some beautiful carvings and returned to the King under the Mountain, explaining that this would be nice to drink red wine from. Thorin laughed, not suspecting that the little Hobbit had secretly found the famous jewel he had been looking for in those previous nights. For in Bilbo's pocket rested the Arkenstone, the King's Jewel and Heart of the Mountain.
One by one the Dwarves returned from their investigation. Dwalin was the first, returning empty handed.
"Still not interested?" Thorin asked, smirking a little.
"It's just plunder", the old warrior muttered underneath his thick beard. "Pay me with ale and my own bed again and you'll find me quite content."
The rest of them had stuffed their pockets just fine, especially Nori and Thorin did not doubt for a second that he would sooner or later sell it on for a good price but he didn't mind much. It was a fair share and Nori, who had fought bravely and in the battle against Smaug burned his side so badly that scars would remain for the rest of his life, deserved any form of gratitude. He therefore simply grinned at his King and Thorin let him leave with a light shaking of his head.
Fíli and Kíli though surprised everyone, including their uncle and Bilbo, for when they returned last, they had nothing but two beautiful golden harps.
"Is that it? Nothing else you liked?" Dori asked.
"We don't need much", Kíli replied.
"Only music and happiness", Fíli added.
Later that night they sat in the Hall of Thrór by the fire again and the boys tuned the harps and strummed a little and soon the most beautiful melody that Bilbo had ever heard sounded through the Lonely Mountain. It was soft and gentle like the first rainfall of spring and the Hobbit closed his eyes and listened. And he dreamt of the green meadows of the Shire, of the dew on the morning grass, of dripping waterfalls and sunlight reflected by the raindrops. And the whole, usually loud and rough company of Dwarves sat and listened.
So captivated by the beautiful melody, neither of them heard the loud banging on the Gates of Erebor and only when the song had ended, did they listen up well enough. Thorin and Balin exchanged a quick glance before they got up from their spots and made their way to the Gates, soon followed by the rest of the company, for all of them were curious as to who might be knocking on their door that late at night.
A storm was howling outside and winter had approached quickly, bringing the first light snowflakes and frost. Nobody in their right mind would travel under those conditions, they were sure and half expected a band of orcs or worse, another dragon but they stood entirely surprised, after five of them had been needed to pull the large, heavy Gates open. By the front porch stood no dragon and no orc.
Two cloaked figures, well hidden in the shadows of the Gates stood waiting, while the storm howled around the high peaks of Erebor. Their faces were completely covered and a thin layer of snow already laid on their shoulders and hoods. Thorin stepped closer, his hand on the hilt of his sword. They were Men, no doubt, for they were way bigger than the Dwarves. One was slim and dressed in fine garment, his cloak embroidered with beautiful stitchery of ivy leaves. The other was a little smaller and sturdier, quite muscular in fact and his cloak was dirt stained and rough, already patched in various places.
"Who are you, that you come knocking at the Gates of my Kingdom?" Thorin bellowed, loud enough that they would hear him over the bluster of the storm.
"Former and hopefully future allies of the Great King under the Mountain!" the broader one replied, his voice strong and confident and Fíli and Kíli looked at each other, for the voice sounded familiar to them. "We bid shelter for the night and an audience with the King! And a large pint of grog, if you can spare one!"
Thorin stepped aside to let the unexpected guests in and once the Gates had fallen shut behind them again, they removed their hoods. The Dwarves gasped and low murmur and whisper spread amongst them, for the figures standing before them were no mere Men.
One was Bard, the Guardian of Esgaroth, his grey eyes once again glistening mischievously in the flickering light of the large torches that hung on the walls. He looked shabby as usual and frozen to the bones and while Fíli's face lit up a little, Kíli's features grew dark and he immediately puffed himself up like the angry little sparrow he was.
The other one however, Thorin stared at bewildered and an old hatred began to boil in his innards, as memories of past days flashed through his mind again. Memories of his people abandoned and of his nephew abducted and imprisoned. For before him, glorious and beautiful, yet cold as the snow outside, stood Thranduil, the Elvenking.