I just want to warn you that I have changed the way things flow, but as some of my reviewers and followers on Tumblr said, this is my Fanfiction and OC. I can change things how I want to, and I hope that some of you will be okay with that.
That sounded really sassy and mean, sorry hahahaha.
Also, I received a review stating that I shouldn't use the space at the bottom to evaluate and justify the reasons for whatever I did in the chapter, but I will keep doing that. I realize that these things should have been realized in the story because I am the writer, but if a reader doesn't catch onto my reasons it's better for them to read it at the bottom than go on confused, isn't it?
It had taken us a couple of hours to roam the halls, and something tells me that Thorin had decided to take the long way around. Erebor, even in its death, had been beautiful. The ceilings, in some places, were so high that there had been no end, the floors were hard and the walls had been sharp in their design. Every detail had been thought out, every line of gold, ever crevice in the walls, every mosaic pattern.
The Dwarves had run their hands along the walls, commenting on the architecture, the smoothness. But there had been places where the rock had not run so smoothly, where whole corners were chipped away by large objects and where the absence of care had ruined the finery of Erebor.
And myself and Bilbo had seen how this had struck the Dwarves.
It had been dark as we had roamed through the silent halls. I tried to imagine Dwarven men and ladies filling the halls, dressed to their finest and talking, filling the place with sound. It had been hard to imagine that a whole civilization of Dwarves had lived here once - including some of the ones that I had traveled with. Erebor, then, had felt dead.
Then came the stairs.
Apparently, not only did Dwarves like dangerous floors hoisted above a thousand foot drop of death, but they also liked stairs. Trying to hide my panting hadn't worked, because Bofur had patted me on the back as he'd passed me up the steps and said, 'Come on, lass. Work those legs, aye?' It had been the first proper thing that any of them had said to me, so through struggled breath I had followed his advice.
The more we'd moved up those stairs, the sweeter and cooler the air had gotten.
'There is a balcony above the Front Gate,' Thorin had said, only slightly out of breath. 'You will remember, Balin - it is where we stood whence the dragon came'. He looked over his shoulder, and there was something of a bitter smile playing on his face. 'Not the fondest of memories, admittedly'.
Balin had huffed and lumbered up the steps. 'Aye, I remember. A good spot to camp to see the skies and the ground'. With that, it had been settled. We would spy out this balcony and camp there, but Balin had stressed that we should close the doors at night. Of course, we had all agreed. 'Master Baggins, are you quite alright? You're lagging'.
Bilbo was furthest back, and had sighed and stated, in that attitude filled voice, 'I am a Hobbit, and Hobbits are not so used these Dwarven staircases, Balin. Not used to them at all'.
Bombur had agreed with a great, heaving breath and a grunt.
We had, once again, then reached flat stone floors. The ceilings had not been so dramatic that high up into the Mountain, but the more we walked along the passages, the more grand everything seemed to get. Grander than anything we had already seen - aside from, perhaps, the glittering cavern where the Throne had been.
'This is where you would find Dwarves strolling throughout the day,' mused Balin, as we had broken through an archway and found ourselves in a large, curving room with the highest ceiling I had seen yet. The mere height and width of the room cannot be explained with words, but I will try my best. I suppose that I can only describe Erebor as beautiful. Even in the state it had been in.
I heard Fili let out a small huff from beside me, and had hid a small smile. He and Kili had been awestruck. It'd been quite cute actually.
There had only been a few more stairs, and then we'd reached a platform in which Thorin named camp. It was here that the smell of fresh air had been at its strongest, and as we dumped our bags onto the ground Thorin approached the wooden doors.
'Fili, Kili - help me with this'.
They'd heaved and tugged at the doors, eager to help as much as they could. I found that they had wanted to touch everything, to see everything. They'd only heard legends and stories from Thorin about Erebor, yet there they were. Living it. Breathing it.
And then, with a sound like a thousand people sighing (and the sound of wood snapping out of stiff positions), the great door had burst open and late morning light had poured in from outside, lighting up the small space that we had acquired, just away from the grand hall we had walked through. I hadn't been the only one to breathe in deeply, glad to be rid of the musty, old smell of the Mountain and Smaug.
'Mahal...'
The ground outside of The Lonely Mountain had been dried and dead before, but now much of it had been blackened by dragon fire. Trees were bent and burnt, spots black and cracked from the night before. We all stood in the light of the tall doors, taking in the desolation outside.
And smoke had risen in the distance, at the end of the River.
The clanging and banging of metal filled the silence of Erebor, echoing throughout the Mountain and making myself, Ori, Dori, Nori, Bilbo and Bombur wince with every stroke. We had been deemed the once to make dinner and to watch the skies while the others went about fortifying and barricading the Front Gate. They had, of course, been the more able ones.
We had been the rejects, apparently.
Charming.
There wasn't much in our packs to make for dinner, but Bombur managed to draw together some cooking pots and ingredients to make an unnamed soup. The sky seemed to get lighter with the coming of afternoon, and the smoke soon disparated from the horizon. I'd wondered if the water around Laketown had dispersed the flames.
The idea made my gut feel rotten.
'He would of been back by now,' Dori insisted to Nori, looking back from the skyline. 'If the smoke has stopped, then that must mean he's stopped. Why would he stay if he had defeated the Town?'
'Food,' deadpanned Nori, and Ori had looked mildly queasy.
I'd looked blatantly horrified.
'He doesn't mean it!' hurried Dori, lifting up his hands in an 'Oh Dear God, Do Not Throw Up' gesture. 'Honestly, Millie, you know what Nori is like. You mustn't..worry too much. I see how regretful and fretful you are - you'll make yourself sick, you know'.
Nori had a look of utter seriousness on his face, but had suddenly blanched with a dirty look to Dori. 'What d'you mean 'you know what he's like'? Without me, Ori would have been hacked to pieces by an Orc by now. I'm the teacher, you Mother Hen'.
'I beg your pardon-?'
'I could have sworn that I just saw-' started Bilbo, wandering amidst the open doors to peer over the balcony, though he had been much too short. He had been lingering beside the walls, studying everything with precision. He'd seemed a little...off, though - like something was bothering him. He was cut off suddenly by the sound of three, great bangs from below us.
Right where the others had been working on the Front Gate.
Those of us who were gathered around the cooking pots and soup had stared at each other, both wide eyed and confused. Who would be knocking...here? The idea of Smaug knocking seemed mildly ridiculous, but also a little funny. A lot funny. All humor vanished when I wondered if it could be people from Laketown, coming to seek shelter.
It would have taken them more than a day to reach the Mountain, moron.
There was a scuffle from down below, the sound of harsh whispering and Thorin, finally, calling out, 'Who knocks upon the doors of Erebor today?' There was a hush after these words, and those of us who had been upstairs had crept forward, over to the balcony that had hung over the inside of the Front Gate. I could see the tops of the Dwarves heads, and in their hands they had held rusty hammers and wood, gathered from abandoned rooms.
The voice that had answered was muffled through the high, gaping door. Considering that we were quite high up, it had been even quieter. 'An old friend, Thorin Oakenshield. I believe that Bilbo knows who knocks upon Erebor's Front Door this day,' answered an old, wise voice. The kind that stuck to your very memory, the kind that you just remembered. 'If you do not let me in, I shall only continue banging upon this door with my staff'.
'I thought I saw him,' muttered Bilbo, a little dazed. 'It's Gandalf'.
After making our swift way down the dozens of steps that led from the upstairs to the great hall in front of the Front Gate, we had joined the others Dwarves. They had been dirty and sweaty from making the barricade, but each of them was equally as excited to pull away what they had put in place so far.
With each of the Dwarves efforts, one of the double doors was pulled back only a small amount, leaving them huffing from the weight of it. Gandalf stepped in idly, his staff moving with each step that he took. He looked the same, all grey beard, grey robes and grey eyes.
Exactly how I'd remembered my Tall-Old-Guy.
His mouth pulled into a small little smile, and he addressed Thorin while looking around at the high ceilings and the stone floors. 'I trust that the map worked, then?'
'Quite well,' responded Thorin, considering Gandalf with a level look. 'You've returned to us'.
Gandalf had inclined his head and stepped further into the doorway, allowing a few of the Dwarves to shut the door behind them. 'As I promised I would, Thorin Oakenshield. Or is it King Thorin Oakenshield now? For you have certainly reclaimed your Lonely Mountain, I see'. Once again, he looked to the view of Erebor.
Thorin darkened and glanced behind him, to all of us. 'Smaug has been driven to Laketown to punish those who helped us, we do not know when he will return to finish us off. We were preparing to barricade the door, and now you-'
'And then I came knocking,' said Gandalf, clasping his hands to lean onto his staff, smiling. 'As I always do, do I not?' With that, he spied out Bilbo, who had merely straightened up and scoffed. 'I am sure that you will be pleased to know that in the process of 'punishing' Laketown, as you say, Smaug the Magnificent has been slain'.
There was a brief silence in which my chest had swelled with a feeling like glitter, kittens and balloons, and Bilbo had practically choked on his own spit. 'He has been defeated?' said the Hobbit slowly, practically spelling it out. 'He's dead?'
'Who?' Thorin had gaped at Gandalf, who'd just smiled back all smugly.
'Bard the Bowman was the one who strung the arrow and hit the dragons heart, I believe. Although others came to aid the troubled Town, such as King Thranduil and his son, Prince Legolas, as well as their small army of Elves. I find it particularly knowing that they were most likely in search of you'. With that, he had peered at the lot of us. 'I have the heard phrase 'barrel-riders' thrown around'. He paused.
'But I bare darker news, I am afraid'.
And with that, the mood had been freakin' murdered.
But the dragon was dead. The Men and Women of Laketown had killed him, slain him - and they had survived. I could have cried, laughed, broken into song. Heck, any High School Musical song would do. Screw that, a Disney song - a real Disney song.
'Are they alright?' I had cut in quickly, not allowing Gandalf to reply to our disappointed faces, nor to explain himself any further. 'Did they all survive?' The words had felt sticky on my tongue, and they had hung in the air like a bad smell.
'I do not know, Millie,' said Gandalf, and his eyes were kind, like he knew why I worried. 'The Town, though, will have to be rebuilt. The survivors are many, so do not fret'. I let out a whoosh of breath, thinking of splintered, burnt wood and fire. Very secretly, Kili's hand had slipped into mine. I hadn't even noticed his presence beside me.
There was a small silence.
'The Pale Orc and his son, Bolg, march for Erebor,' said Gandalf above the tense silence, voice low. 'With an army of Orcs and Wargs behind them. They learnt of the wealth of Erebor, and that the Grandson of Thror searched for it's halls to slay the dragon, Smaug. He must be near, and must have heard from Laketown that you passed through the Town recently. Soon, he will know of Smaug's demise'.
Kili's hand had tightened in mine in his distress.
'An army?' growled Thorin. 'To take the Mountain; the Treasure of Thror?' He stood higher, grinding his feet into the ground. 'Never'.
Gandalf stared for a moment, looking at Thorin, and then he said, 'You know that he already strives to wipe out the Line of Durin, and now he will have a reward for this act.'. Another pause, another grim look. 'As you know, I found myself among the gathered, homeless people of Laketown. I understand that they turn to Bard the Bowman for much advice and leadership - and he advises that they make for the Mountain'.
Thorin seemed to shrink with dread and rage, his whole form stiffening.
'And why is that?' he had bit out.
Gandalf tilted his head a little. 'Why else, Thorin son of Thrain, but to seek out the gold in which they believe they are owed? Bard killed the dragon, and now there is a Town to rebuild, and people to feed. You will also find the Elves among their company, I do believe'.
Thorin shook his head, disbelieving. 'Do they not know that an army of Orcs marches our way?'
'No,' said Gandalf. 'They do not. I thought it best that you tell them this when they arrive in two days time to talk with the King Under the Mountain concerning their reward for desolating Smaug the Terrible'. It had been in his tone, and we had all heard it. The sarcasm, the hidden the meaning of whether Thorin would give them their gold.
Sure, I couldn't really see why Thranduil was hopping along for the ride, but Laketown needed it. It hadn't been my guilt talking, either. Bard had killed Smaug - our job - and therefore we should have given him enough money to help rebuild the Town.
'I will not share the treasure of my Grandfather to any troubled passer by!' spat Thorin, irrationally angry. His voice startled us all, but it had been Balin to step forward and address our leader.
'Thorin,' he had said. 'Perhaps you should consider this, and the fact that Smaug has been-'
'There is an army of Orcs marching for us!' said Fili, who had perhaps been the more rational one out of the lot of us. 'We do not have time to talk of the treasure, nor who will take it! Once we tell the Men and Elves who march for us, I am sure they will think the same. We need them to fight with us, and to want to fight with us to defend our Kingdom'.
Kili had stared at his brother with a hard look of agreement. Everyone had looked too. I think we'd all seen the second Heir to the Throne then, the boy that Thorin had groomed for the Throne since birth.
'How long until our foes reach us?' inquired Thorin, who had been staring at the ground with a solid and grim look upon his face.
Gandalf gave Thorin a knowing look over his staff. I always had this feeling that Gandalf knew exactly how things would play out, like he had known what Thorin's reaction would be. 'You will have enough time to send for Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, if you do so immediately'.
It had been that that I realized how serious this was. The shit had truly hit the fan.
'Ori!' barked Thorin, and the youngest of the three brothers had stood taller. 'Write a letter to Lord Dain asking for assistance. Describe everything that has happened, and all that will happen. Involve the slaying of the dragon and the threats from both the Elves and the Men, as well as the Orcs that march our way'. A pause. 'And be sure to mention the Pale Orc. That will get him down here faster'.
None of us had said it, but we had each shared a thought, an opinion of whether the Men and the Elves had truly been a threat. Spoiler: they hadn't. Well-
'Tell him we go to war,' Thorin had said gruffly and oh-so dramatically, staring hard at Gandalf before sweeping away with a turn of his cloak. Kili and Fili watched him go, both deep in thought and worried for their troubled, sick Uncle.
It had been Dwalin to snap us out of our daydream. 'No time to waste! We must continue with barricading the door, especially if there are those who want our treasure, lads. Bofur, grab me that hammer. Gloin, you keep on with nailing that wood on like that - yes-'
My hand had slipped from Kili's with a soft look and and a tight smile. We would talk late, we would all talk later. War. The word had rung in my head until it lost all meaning, until it had stopped being a word. War. Fight. Orcs. They marched for us, the Men and Elves wanted a share of the treasure. When everything should have been going well it had suddenly crumbled away, falling into shitty little pieces.
We'd fight, but we hadn't been able to think about it properly. We hadn't been able to mourn the coming war, nor consider the fact that the Orcs were the enemy. But Dwarves were stubborn, which is perhaps why I would stick to my opinion, and they would stick to theirs. But that hadn't changed the fact that we would fight the enemies.
Five enemies to fight in the Battle.
Boom. Like I said, I changed things so that it would flow better. I'm excited for the next chapter, which should stick to the book in concerns of the confrontation between Thorin and Bard and all that jazz. Also, I realize in the book that Azog isn't at the Battle of the Five Armies, and I have a feeling that he'll be dead by that point in the film but don't spoil my fun tehe.
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