A Longing for Home
Thorin
Bilbo the Hobbit, a Baggins of Bag End, had never expected the evening to go the way it had, of that Thorin was sure. Thorin Oakenshield, Heir to the Line of Durin, sat in the Hobbit's foyer and watched as he skimmed the contact Balin and Thorin had written up. It was almost humorous to watch the reality of the situation materialize in the Hobbit's mind. He truly had no idea what he was getting himself into. Thorin would laugh, if his own fear wasn't beginning to eat him alive. He swallowed deeply, a feeble attempt to calm the rapid beating of his heart. It was imperative that he held firm and seemed confident about the coming journey. If his men believed him to be weary of the decision, he would never know.
The Hobbit, muttering under his breath, paced irritatingly in a circle before the party. Thorin knew all too well that it was only a matter of time before something confirmed his suspicions that the Hobbit wasn't up to the task. It wasn't his fault. Hobbits were simple creatures, they preferred the comfort of their homes and the sanctity of their peace. Thorin could not begrudge them that. Afterall, that's what he was here for. It wasn't a simple task he asked of them. Returning to his lost home and reclaiming it from the beast that slumbered beneath the surface. If it was still there, that is.
The Dwarf King sighed and turned his attention back to the Wizard who sat patiently while the Hobbit who openly struggled to keep his wits about him. Gandalf had approached Thorin two weeks prior in the Prancing Pony and convinced him to return to his homeland. It was a brief conversation, with Gandalf revealing only what would entice Thorin to agree. There were still too many questions the Dwarf King had for the old Wizard, but now wasn't the time. He'd tried, two eves prior, when they met by chance at the same pub. Gandalf only said a few words before parting, his demeanor more chipper than Thorin had expected. His confidence in the quest is what solidified Thorin's decision to arrive at the Hobbit's home. He'd been no more convinced that their task wasn't folly after a failed meeting with the Ironfoot clan. Dain hadn't directly called him a fool, but Thorin knew his cousin's true feelings revealed themselves in his tone, his body language. It left a bitter sweet taste in Thorin's mouth. How was he supposed to do this?
Thorin was pulled from his thoughts as the Hobbit hit the floor. His eyes rolling slightly, he glanced at the Wizard, their eyes meeting. There was something buried there, an insecurity that Thorin couldn't recall seeing when he arrived.
"What is it?" he whispered, inquiring. Gandalf blinked, the creeping worry vanishing.
"I think our Hobbit is taking this better than expected." The Wizard smiled before standing to lecture Bofur for antagonizing the poor Hobbit. Thorin did laugh at that. The evening, while pleasant, was not progressing how he imagined. Not that he had a clear idea of what the proceedings could have been, he never imagined Gandalf would suggest something so preposterous. But Thorin couldn't help admitting to himself that Gandalf had quite the sense of humor. A Hobbit joining the Company of Thorin Oakenshield to travel hundreds of miles West to face a fire breathing dragon? Nonsense. Utter nonsense.
Thorin turned to his other side, glancing at his long time confidant and friend. Balin was one of the only other Dwarves in the group who knew exactly what was at stake. He'd grown up with Thorin under the mountain. His brother, Dwalin, born a few years before the mountain was taken, was too young to recall the glory of their people, but that dulled his passion little. They were two most fierce in their loyalty to Thorin, to his family line.
"Do you believe we can trust this Wizard?" Dwalin asked, his voice gruff with suspicion and the words settled in Thorin's mind. There wasn't a clear answer as to why Gandalf was so insistent on helping them. Employing his own helped for the task even, from what he's told Thorin. The Dwarf King wasn't entirely sure who these helpers were, but if they all resembled the Hobbit, Thorin had little faith in how helpful they would be.
"His actions seem true, even if his intentions remain unknown. He wouldn't have presented me the key if it were otherwise," Thorin said confidently.
"I believe a healthy dose of skepticism is required here," Balin started. Thorin gave him a questioning glance. Balin, out of all Thorin's companions, knew just how much this mattered to Thorin. All these years, their people had been lost to the wastes of Middle-Earth with no exact place to call home. His skepticism settled in the deep lines of Thorin's forehead. He gave another sigh and turned back to the Hobbit, who had woken and was stepping out of the room for some space. The Dwarf King shook his head and stood. The Hobbit wasn't the only one who needed space.
As the Dwarves ventured around the house, Thorin couldn't help but find a quiet, secluded hallway to think. It worried him, how little faith he felt. Knowing Balin questioned his decision to retake their homeland cracked deep lines in his confidence. He knew this was the right decision, but he wasn't sure how to make them see that. In all honesty, Thorin wasn't sure if he was cut out to be their king. It was all he was raised to be and yet when it mattered most, all he could muster was a mournful, distant approach to handling their people. He'd settled them surely in the Blue Mountains, but it felt little like pride when he'd seen how far they'd fallen. His throat tightened as the words his sister, Dis, uttered to him when he'd brought up the idea to her.
I have no idea what folly ideas you've conquered up, but we are happy here Thorin. We are safe. It's a fool's errand you feel you must attend too, but I promise you, nothing will replace the peace we have here. Not even gold.
The sound of boots on wood yanked Thorin from his memory and he glanced sideways at Balin as he took a seat on a chest across from Thorin.
"It seems we have lost our burglar. Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend." Balin said, clasping his hands in front of him. Thorin swallowed the persistent resistance that clawed its way up his throat. It wasn't Balin's fault he was so skeptical.
"There are a few warriors amongst us." Thorin tried to be convincing, though it was never a task he was successful at with Balin.
"Old warriors."
It disheartened Thorin to find his friend so lacking the confidence Thorin knew he had.
"I will take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they came. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart; I can ask no more than that," he forced out. It was true. These dwarves, though few and far between, were the heart of what would take his people home. He'd forever be thankful for their courage. Now, if only he could make Balin see that.
"You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built us a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life worth more than all the gold in Erebor." Balin confessed. Thorin knew he'd been skeptical, but this was more. It mirrored what Dis had said and Thorin sighed. Why couldn't they understand? This was the only chance he had to restore not only his family name, but the glory and wonder of their people. To not just provide peace and plenty, but dignity, honor, pride. Thorin reached beneath his blue tunic and pulled out the large iron key that hung around his neck.
"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt for the day the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me." Thorin hated the desperation in his voice, but he had to make Balin understand. There was no turning back for him now. His friend, nearly his brother, looked at him, hesitation fogging his eyes before he sighed and stood.
"Then we are with you, laddie. We'll see it done." Thorin watched as Balin retreated back to the small sitting room where most of their kind had settled for the evening. Thorin stepped out of the small hallway, catching a small glimpse of Gandalf's cloak as he stepped outside the large, circular entrance.
Thorin followed the Wizard, finding him comfortably seated on a small bench outside the smial. He was staring out into the night, his long pipe drooping out the left side of his mouth. Thorin closed the large door behind him, causing Gandalf to greet him with a nod. The Dwarf King took a step closer to the bench and returned the Wizards nod. They stood there in silence for a few long moments before Thorin spoke.
"It is quieter here than I expected," he commented. The hills were dark, lit by sparse small lanterns and windows. The deep blue night sky seemed to stretch out forever. The breeze was subtle, but loud. Even the crickets seemed to be sleeping. He frowned at that. "Even the bugs seemed to find peace here."
Thorin's eyes flashed to Gandalf and he could have sworn he saw the Wizard flinch. A small shift of his cane, his eyes back to the trees across the small path. His eyes rested there for a while, but Thorin couldn't find what the Wizard was looking at. He shrugged it off. Thorin still wasn't certain yet if the Wizard was of his right mind, but he decided to drop it. The night had been long enough already.
"Yes, the Shire seems to bring the best out of all of us," Gandalf finally said before offering his pipe to Thorin. The Dwarf King accepted a drag before returning back into the house to find his own pipe in his things. There was nothing left to discuss. The company would leave the following morning, Gandalf included, without their burglar. The only thing left Thorin could do was hope.
The following morning came in a blur. Thorin had woken early to ensure the Dwarves returned the smial to its former self. Cleaning up here and there where their presence had been known. It wasn't much as they didn't have the time or means to refill the pantry they'd happily emptied, but it was their custom to come and go without leaving a trace. They left shortly after the house was settled, the Hobbit owner still asleep at the end of his bed. He'd approached Balin shortly after, finding him with the contract that would employ the Hobbit as the Company burglar pulled taught in two hands. His Advisor was about to tear it up, but Thorin held out a hand. Gesturing to a nearby couch, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield left the smial, the contract, and the owner to determine their future. They mounted ponies and headed West to Bree where they'd stock up on supplies before starting on the main road.
It wasn't long on their journey before the decision to leave the contract behind became the main topic of discussion. Many felt it was unnecessary, the Hobbit wasn't going to sign it. Other's felt that the Hobbit was more than his cozy home and village. Kili, one of Thorin's own nephews, took pride in believing that Thorin made Balin leave the contract. Thorin would neither confirm nor deny, he'd simply left the decision to Balin, who, after all, acted in Thorin's sted when he wasn't present. The betting started shortly after, much to Thorin's chagrin. He wasn't a fan of betting, not with so much at stake, but it kept the others from bickering.
They'd made it halfway to Bree before a call rangout.
"Wait!" The Dwarves slowly came to a halt, turning on their mounts to find the Hobbit, barefoot and hauling a pack on his back. He was waving the contract in the air frantically.
"I signed it!" He exclaimed between pants, approaching Balin. The older Dwarf pulled up his monocle to verify the signature. He glanced at the Hobbit before looking at Thorin.
"Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield," Balin responded. With a wink and few chuckles from the other Dwarves, Balin pocketed the contract.
Thorin smirked to himself, only half surprised that the Hobbit showed up at all. He spurred his pony into motion, "Give him a pony," Thorin commanded. He'd only taken a few steps before the protesting of the Hobbit brought him to glance back. His nephews, Fili and Kili, had perched the Hobbit on a small, light brown mount named Minty and he was fussing over allergies and handkerchiefs. Bofur, always the jokester, tore off a small section of his jacket and tossed it to the Hobbit, who sniveled slightly at it. Thorin, knowing if he watched any longer would develop a headache, turned back around and continued forward.
They traveled the rest of the day and into the night. Their stop at Bree was quick. Most of what they needed was already packed onto the ponies. Bombur and Oin, the Company cook and healer, took the opportunity to stock up on food, herbs, and bandages. Dori gathered ingredients for teas and broths. Bifur and Bofur traded trinkets for pocket sized whetstones and wooden dowels for Kili's arrows. Gloin purchased parchment for himself and Ori, the Company scribe and cartographer. It wasn't much, but once they all felt ready, they continued on. Thorin wasn't keen on how long their stop had been, but he knew it was the last place for a long while before they'd replenish supplies, but there was a smaller part of him that knew this was the last chance any of them felt they had to back out. So he allowed it, the squabbling and bartering, the spending small amounts of the already dwindling funds they had. He let them say what could possibly be a last goodbye to the East.
His heart felt heavy in his chest at the thought and he pushed it aside as he took his place against a large stone later that evening. The others were gathered around, laying out bed mats and warming their hands by the fire. Time passed in the quiet. Thorin gave a side glance at Gandalf, who was seated across the fire from him. His hands collapsed over his lap as his eyes stared daggers into the tree next to him. Furrowing his brow, Thorin searched the tree with little success as to what the Wizard was glaring at. He shook his head, his eyes catching the Hobbit as he stepped away from the group toward the ponies. He watched as the Hobbit sneakily fed his pony an apple. He shook his head before leaning it back, his eyes closing to rest.
A shriek in the distance pulled Thorin from his thoughts and he listened as his nephews taunted Bilbo with the close presence of the foul beasts that roamed the forest around them.
"You think that's funny?" Thorin finally spit out, "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" He accused his nephews.
"We meant nothing by it," Kili quietly responded, guilt and shame choking his posture and tone.
"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." And with that Thorin stood and walked away from the camp. He walked until the crack of the fire was dull in his ears and he could scan the horizon. Little it did, he couldn't see anything in the darkness. He knew his nephews meant nothing by the comments, but it fueled Thorin's rage. They were sheltered. He had given them shelter. And what had it taught them? Little to nothing of how to survive. His once sufficient, independent people, his own family, brought to dependence by his own need to find them a home. His folly was that, in his desperation to keep them alive, he'd made them soft. It was his fault.
Balin's voice picked up, answering a question from the Hobbit that Thorin hadn't caught. He tuned out Balin's story, unable to relive, again, what was one of the worst days of his life. He hadn't the heart to tell them, not with how much pride and hope they held in him, just how devastated the Battle of Azanulbizar had been for him. How many nights he spent reliving it in his dreams. It wasn't the ascension, or the orcs, or the oak branch shield he still carried with him. He blocked out the image of his grandfather's head, rolling on the ground, the cry his father gave as he suffered a severe blow to the head. He swallowed heavily, shivering as the pain rolled over him before straightening his shoulders. Balin's voice had grown softer, proclaiming Thorin their king.
"And the Pale Orc? What happened to him?" The Hobbit asked, his voice of a child's, soft and curious.
"He slunk back into the hole from whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago." Thorin said gruffly, returning to his spot at the wall. There was a bitter hatred coating Thorin's mouth. It seemed almost impossible for him to forget that day, try as he might. It had been too many years and yet the pain of that victory haunted Thorin closely.
The conversation shifted then. The Hobbit refrained from asking any other prying questions, much to Thorin's silent appreciation. Some of the Company took turns telling stories about their lives while the rest slept, Thorin could find no peace though. Though they'd set up a night watch rotation as customary for longer journeys, Thorin couldn't find peace. He felt uneasy. Like he was being watched. His eyes scanned the camp's edge, finding no sign of distress or worry, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Taking a sip from his water skin, he glanced over to discover Gandalf once again looking into the trees, seemingly searching for something.
Thorin's eyes scanned the trees only to find them dark and empty, again. HE squinted slightly at the Wizard. Maybe he is crazy? Thorin thought as he adjusted his posture and rested his head back to sleep.
At first light, the group awoke. The dark of night faded into a soft grey sky and a light rain accompanied them on their trek. Thorin took up the head of the party and he had half an inclination to question the Wizard on his intense mistrust of trees, but the Wizard chose to travel in the middle of the pack. The Company kept up a light conversation, talking about this and that, the weather and what they might do with their portion of the gold once they retook the mountain. It gave Thorin to hear them so positively assured that they'd be successful. The Wizard, for the most part, kept quiet also, listening to the Company squabble. Thorin glanced back from time to time to have the Wizard once again scanning the surrounding trees.
The Dwarf King just shook his head and faced with a smile as Dori began to question Gandalf's prowess as a Wizard if he couldn't stop the rain.
They made camp many hours later, with a clear sky and an oncoming night. Thorin's mood had turned sour though. He had no inclination as to why Gandalf wanted to continue on, to make camp somewhere else. The abandoned farmhouse was a perfectly fine spot to stay for the evening, but as the Wizard stormed away from the Company, Thorin stood his ground. The Hobbit seemed flustered that Gandalf would walk away and leave him here with the Company, but Thorin wasn't about to pity the Hobbit. He decided to be here. Thorin knew that if they continued on, it would be another hour or so before they found anywhere near appropriate to make camp. The Wizard was only mad that he had little power over Thorin.
The Dwarf King barked out a few orders while he tried to cool his temper. It would do no good to yell at his Company. The day's journey had been long enough and they deserved to rest.
Once Bombur finished cooking up a stew with a few rabbits caught by Bifur and Bofur, Thorin sat with Dwalin in silence, the chatter between them dwindling as they ate. Thorin glanced around, most of the Company had settled onto their bed mat, the fire was steadily roaring in the center of their small camp. Fili and Kili had been stationed by the ponies and Oin was on the first watch of the night. Everything was going smoothly. The night was quiet around them. He glanced up to the sky and the stars scattered around the dark called to him, reminding of jewels he'd once seen under the mountain. Beautiful, almost too beautiful for him to comprehend. He believed that's why he liked the summer so much. The peaceful breeze through the trees. The sounds of night birds and crickets. Except, there were no night birds or crickets. Thorin looked around at the trees, the grass, expecting to find some noise, some proof of the nature around them, but there was nothing. Just as it had been outside the Hobbit's hole.
"Do you think he'll return?" Dwalin's voice pulled Thorin's attention back to the present.
"Who?" Thorin questioned. Dwalin gave him a side look, his brows furrowed in confusion.
"The Wizard." His voice was gruff. Thorin nodded, understanding.
"He'll return," he started, "Perhaps not until morning, but he will return." Thorin shrugged. It wasn't a perfect answer, but when it came to the Wizard, Thorin was beginning to question everything he thought he knew. His thought turned towards the mysterious silence he'd just discovered when his nephew's voice cried out.
"Uncle! Help! They have Bilbo!" Fili's voice was filled with worry. Thorin jumped up, Dwalin following in his stead.
"Who had the Hobbit?" The warrior questioned.
Thorin scanned the camp and noticed that the Hobbit was in fact missing.
"Trolls! They took our ponies; Bilbo went to cut them free and got caught!" His voice filled with urgency shook slightly. He turned quickly and took the lead, showing the Dwarves to the trolls' makeshift camp. Kili had already gone in, blade first, in an attempt to free Bilbo. Thorin wasted no time in following his nephew into the light of the troll's campfire.
The fighting was quick and short-lived when the trolls grabbed Bilbo, threatening to dismember him. They made even quicker work of stuffing the Dwarves into individual sacks and tossing them into a pile on the ground. There they laid, waiting to be cooked. Thorin struggled briefly against his restraints but found it useless. Anger boiled in his chest. He wasn't going to die at the hands of these imbecile cave trolls because he agreed to let a Hobbit, or all creatures, accompany them on their journey. The Dwarf King couldn't help but regret letting the Hobbit sign the contract. They wouldn't be in this mess if he'd just stayed home. Dwalin had been correct in his assertion that the wild was no place for people like Bilbo. It was stupid on his own part to allow this to happen, but there was little he could do about that now except steep in his anger. What would his grandfather say about this leadership skills so far?
It was the Hobbit who dragged Thorin out of his self pity. He stood, burlap sack constricting his arms and began to argue with the trolls. The trolls already squabbling with one another, took interest in what the Hobbit was saying. Others in the Company began to accuse the Hobbit of betrayal. The words were on the tip of Thorin's tongue. It wasn't until the Hobbit claimed that the Dwarves were "riddled" with parasites that Thorin began to see what he was doing. Bargaining for time? The words made little sense to Thorin, but he kicked the Dwarves at his feet. They glanced up at him. He gave a slight nod and a chorus of agreements went out.
"I've got parasites as big as my arm!" Oin cried out, followed by the others who claimed they had the biggest parasites. Out of the turmoil, there was the sound of a single arrow piercing through the air. It hit the troll who had picked up Bombur, causing it to toss the large Dwarf back to the ground. Suddenly, a shadow lept out of the trees, landing on the troll. Lean, dressed in all black, the figure drove a dagger into the troll's thick skull. As the troll stumbled around, swatting at its head and crying out in pain, the assailant flung themselves to the next nearest troll. It tried to reach the attack, but they landed with an eery grace on the troll's shoulders and began stabbing wherever they could reach. The troll cried out, flailing its arms around, swatting at its attacker. It failed several times before the attackers' blows slowed its movements. Thorin stared on, wonder and shock coloring his normally stern features. The blows dealt by the assailant were intense, troll's having some of the toughest skin in all of Middle-Earth. The Troll shook violently, tossing the attacker to the ground. They landed a few feet in front of the Dwarves and turned slightly towards them. The fire light cast a glint over the smooth, handcrafted bronze mask over the majority of the attacker's face, and Thorin realized it wasn't just any kind stranger who had come to their aid. The metal ebbed and flowed like veins and vines, caging in the black material underneath, concealing the ranger's identity from his foes. The Masked Ranger slid a dragger across the dirt at them before turning back to the Trolls, who were stumbling around, gaping at the wounds they'd received. Thorin's eyes turned slightly to see Dwalin, his mouth wide in shock.
The Ranger leapt at the third Troll, climbing around to the nape of it's neck and relentlessly began the project of taking down the creature when Gandalf appeared on a boulder on the horizon. He pounded the base of his long staff on the stone, causing it to crack in two and bathe the campsite in morning light. The air was crisp with the crackling of flesh turning to stone. Looking around the now lit area to find no trace of the Masked Ranger.
Gandalf made his way down from the rocks and approached the party as they freed themselves from their bindings and began returning their outer layers and belts back on their persons. Thorin took a step towards Gandalf as he looked around.
"Where did you go to, if I may ask?" Thorin asked.
"To look ahead," he replied.
"What brought you back?"
"Looking behind," Gandalf answered and then turned to look around the makeshift Troll camp. He then looked again towards the tree, frustration painting his features. Thorin once again followed his gaze.
Sucking in a long breath, "Did you happen to see where our masked hero went?"
Gandalf' demeanor shifted abruptly, mirth coating his features and infecting his glance at Thorin.
"Ahh, probably just some lone Ranger who noticed you were in a bit of trouble. May be best not to pay them much mind," The Wizard said. Thorin frowned.
"I've heard the tales. That mask," he trailed off softly, trying not to gain the attention of the others. Gandalf met his eyes with a knowing look.
"It may be best to check on the others." Thorin's frown deepened.
"Well, he should be rewarded for his services. No thanks to your burglar, a Ranger had to save us," Thorin said, dropping the issue for now. He knew his words weren't entirely accurate. The Hobbit was making an attempt at freeing them, even if his methods were a little odd. Thorin turned then and stalked away, checking first on his nephews and then his advisor. Once everyone was checked and redressed, they gathered the ponies and returned to their own camp to pack up. They'd been up through the night so Thorin had little confidence that they'd cover much ground during the day, but they couldn't stay there. If the Trolls were traveling that far south, there was no telling what else they could encounter on the road.
As they packed, Dwalin appeared by Thorin's side. They stood in silence for a long moment, listening to the other's discuss the possibility of a Troll hoard being in the vicinity.
"We can give a quick look," Gloin said. Thorin caught his eye and nodded softly. As the Company treasurer, it was Gloin's job to consider any chance to increase their fortune for their journey. The other's dispersed in pairs to look around for a cave, but Thorin and Dwalin stayed still.
"The mask," Dwalin said, in a voice so soft, Thorin wasn't sure he'd spoken at all. Thorin nodded again and their eyes met. He could see Dwalin's thoughts through his eyes. They'd grown up on tales of the Masked Ranger who scouted the roads, offering favors to any passerby in trouble. It was said the Ranger had once been a soldier who left his ranks to help the common folk. It was the kindness, the hope of those tales that raised them into the Dwarves they were today.
"It could be," Thorin said, noncommittal. He was too old for those stories now, no matter what dwarfling-like joy the idea brought him.
"Do you think it was?" Dwalin pressed, almost desperately. Focusing his expression, Thorin considered the words and who they were coming from. It was unlike Dwalin to cling to anything, but this? This made sense. There was little hope Thorin's friend had. The slights life had dealt him, of course he would hold those stories from their childhood so closely to his chest. Thorin let himself, for a moment, feel what he wanted and he knew he wanted it to be true. The idea of their childhood hero was real spread like lightning in his veins. The feeling of anticipation was undeniable.
"It's possible. The mask, it looks like the tales description." Thorin offered. It wasn't all the evidence he had of the Ranger's identity, but they'd both witnessed the steel dagger, the strength and grace the Ranger fought with. It was just as the tales told. A party in need, thieves and vagabonds creeping in, the Masked Ranger swinging in to rescue them. All details matched, down to the disappearing with little to no trace.
He offered Dwalin a rare smile, letting the naive glee spread into his eyes. His friend returned with a smirk and Thorin knew their conversation wasn't over.
"We found it!" a voice, Kili, cried out with a whoop and Thorin looked in the direction it came from. He raised an arm and patted Dwalin on the shoulder, indicating for them to join the others. After all, they are just stories Thorin reminded himself, despite the bright excitement that ran through his blood.
