Chapter 24 - Promises
Glorfindel had been separated for the time Bilbo had found his Thorin.
He was so happy for his heart's son, and the thought of their houses joining was amusing him to no end.
The Durin family married into an elven line.
Having known a few of the Durins, though he hadn't been friends with any as Elrond had been, Glorfindel knew they would have been suitably scandalised, though less so as Bilbo was a hobbit and not a full-blooded elf.
Glorfindel smiled as Kíli and Fíli chatted animatedly with Legolas, three princes with wildly different life experiences.
Thorin sat beside Glorfindel as Bilbo was regaling some of the older elves with poems from Lothlorien.
"Bilbo can't hear us from here if you wish to voice your displeasure," the King Under the Mountain said.
Glorfindel hummed, "Did you know my wife passed on to Yavanna's fields when our daughter passed?"
Thorin looked at him with sorrow, "My condolences."
"My daughter died with her Heartsong of old age. They say among hobbits that there are seasons for living and seasons for grief and renewal. It is their way, to move on rather than cling to sorrow till the end of their days. Hobbits are not defined by their memories or histories, but by their families, the joy, and the beauty of their lives no matter how briefly those seasons last."
Thorin sighed, "For all the similarities they share with the other free races, they are an element to themselves."
"They are," Glorfindel mused. "But even the sunset of your years, King Thorin Oakenshield, you will live longer than an adult hobbit."
Thorin flinched away from that thought, Bilbo was closer to seventy, which meant his years numbered at most fifty.
Glorfindel continued, "However, you will not outlive your nephews or any fauntlings you might have. You are my son's Heartsong, and his heart will beat on for you. I find it quite impossible to feel displeasure for the extra time you have gifted us."
Thorin stared at him, "You mean… Lord Elrond spoke true, I won't outlive him? Not even…"
"His heart is yours," Glorfindel said simply. "And Fíli will protect your heir for the end of his days."
Thorin huffed, "I'll be assigning them both guards lest they protect each other at the loss of the other."
Glorfindel grinned, "Odd that one being partly raised by elves, yet the other would be so drawn to archery."
Thorin shook his head, "You will not hear me complain about my heir preferring a ranged weapon."
"At the very least, Fíli was prepared for being a royal advisor."
"That is true," Thorin agreed. "For someone with no natural gift for languages, Fíli likely knows more than any dwarf in centuries."
Even Balin wasn't fluent in Sindarin, though Ori seemed more than interested to learn.
The music changed its tune and it was far more lively than dinner songs or anything they had heard in Rivendell.
"You should enjoy your night," Glorfindel said as a few of the company were coaxed into dancing.
Thorin stood, knowing well that for all their dreams and hopes, dragon fire cared for nothing but its own evil intentions. But before he left, he said, "I am honoured by your family joining mine. Long has there been unions between men and elves, glad am I to be a part of a different type of union."
Glorfindel smiled, and Thorin saw then it was not merely the colour of his hair or the hue of the flowers that had grown over his resting place that had given him the description of golden.
"Glad am I to have lived so long to meet you, King Thorin Oakenshield, to know the dwarf who bright to my line such joy of heart."
Thorin bowed and did not linger as he found his One dancing with Dwalin.
He did not hesitate to push Dwalin aside, causing both cousin and hobbit to laugh.
But Bilbo fell into Thorin's arms without complaint, resting against his chest as they spun to the music.
"What's wrong?" Bilbo asked, gazing up at him, his curls held back by the braids Thorin placed there each morning.
"I love you," was all he could say.
Love in the face of fear for dragon fire.
Love for joy that if they survived this, they would grow old together.
It was a hope, a promise between them.
Bilbo smiled up at him, a smile as golden as the Lord of Golden Flowers.
oOo
Glorfindel was working hard not to lock his sons and their kin up in the dungeon to keep them safe from their foolish ambitions.
But he had over stepped enough, and a part of him knew that this was the will of the Valar.
Glorfindel did not acknowledge Thranduil when he approached.
"What can I do to mend things between us?" the king asked.
Glorfindel did not look at him as he said, "Ready your armies. Killing the dragon will be a matter of stealth but the evil that will follow afterwards will not be. An army of orcs gathers in the north and Mordor's forces march west to flank Dain's forces fighting south of the Iron Hills. That western force will pivot north as soon as wings carry the news of the dragon's death."
"How fortunate a western assault brings them closer to our borders," Thranduil mused.
Glorfindel took in a long breath before meeting Thranduil's gaze. "I respect you. I consider you a friend. I know your fear of the drakes runs deep and you live in a forest easily burned."
They had both seen the ground charred beyond recognition, all thought of green and trunk burned to ash and coal beneath fire and the carnage of war.
"You were wrong not to give them aid, even if your fear for not fighting evil could be overlooked," Glorfindel said.
Thranduil sighed, "King Thror had broken the treaty–"
"And you broke with common descentency," Glorfindel snapped. "You turned your back on the light and the cost of that was the darkening of not only your heart but your forest. Do you think this is just about the dwarrow regaining their lost gold? This is the fate of all Middle Earth, a symptom of a greater darkening. Your son and mine are the last of the new light of the elves. And you have made yourself and our people ever closer to that fading light, to the surrender of our ways to the fickle whims of men and the growing darkness."
Thranduil stared at him, "It was foretold that the elves would depart across the sea."
"Not this day," Glorfindel said harshly, feeling the cooling of his own light spark back to wrathful heat. "And not the next, death and war are not the end. We have each other, the light of Valar has not forsaken us, only will to embrace it."
Thranduil sighed, gaze drifting toward his people, "Galadriel said that about you and the Lady Arwen, that the light in you both burned brighter than those before because of your love not as it once was but because of how it is and might one day become."
Glorfindel had no response for that for Elrond had told him the same, that his magic was born from the love of the moment. Few humans ever learned that love for it was not the best way to survive, elves looked too far in the past, dwarrow lacked perspective, and hobbits, well they often did not wonder at the world as much as they enjoyed their day-to-day lives.
Glorfindel was immortal and twice born, his heart still belonged to a hobbit lass who had seen in everyone and everything the light and blessings of the world. His love for her had taught him gratitude.
"I've long thought to abdicate," Thranduil went on.
Glorfindel blinked at the change of subject, "Pardon?"
"I've long thought to abdicate, though I know my son is not ready and I knew of no other that had either the strength to rule my people nor their love to follow them."
"You wish to sail?"
"No, I wish to travel freely with my son, knowing that my people are taken care of."
"Have you asked–"
"I am asking you," Thranduil cut in. "You who lead the defeat of the enemy in our lands and you who healed this forest so it may be the Greenwood again. My people adore you and the trees speak to you in voices I long feared silent."
Glorfindel was at a loss for words.
"All that you have said is correct, and you are right, I acted without compassion. And that lack of compassion has led my people from wildness to cruelty. To apathy. Your line continues to love and grow, that is what I wish for my people, and like King Thror, I've grown too old for change."
"I– I could not–"
"Could not become King to the kingdom closest to Erebor? Closest to where your sons live and your hobbits will soon reside? In these past years, my people have looked to you more than they have to me."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing," Thranduil answered. "Listen to the forest, then you will know what is to be done."
And with that, Thranduil glided away to enjoy the festivities while Glorfindel was left flatfooted.
He was certain the rest of his house would be equal parts appalled by his remaining with the woodland elves as they would be amused.
Not many of his house survived but he wondered how many of them could start their lives anew if they travelled east instead of west.
The woodland elves seldom mingled with the others, living in isolation as they did.
Perhaps it was time to change that.
oOo
Frerin worked beside his family in crafting a hundred windlances and three hundred black arrows.
The forges of Mirkwood had likely never known such intensity.
All but Oin and their hobbits joined them. Those who had no skill for wood or blacksmithing kept the fires fed. Those elves who knew what they were doing ended up being a part of the assembly of the windlances.
The designs that Kíli and Fíli had made under Frerin and Dwalin's guidance needed very little adjusting, and that was mainly from the quality of the wood they had at hand.
The elves were judicious for their choices in lumber but it seemed the threat of it all being burned by a dragon made them more willing to prune branches.
Branches that in younger forests would be considered trees, not saplings.
Frerin worked shoulder to shoulder with Kíli as they shaped the wood to even arches, while Thorin and Fíli worked steel into black arrows.
When the dragon laid siege to their mountain, they had not been ready, this would not be the same.
With weapons forged by the heirs of Erebor, Smaug would fall.
oOo
Dís was holding several faunts in her arms as she negotiated with the Thain of the Shire.
Hobbits were both the most stubborn creatures she had ever dealt with and, strangely, the most practical.
Finally, Esmeralda pushed the argument to its end, "What if the dwarrow just moved to the Shire for the winter? It would be a tight fit but it's a better use of resources. We have enough from the last harvest to get us all through the winter and when we do run out there is more game here than in your mountains. Neither of us has the people to risk on the roads in winter and how much for would be greatly limited. Besides, we have the better cooks for rations."
Gloin's wife had a thing to say about that but Dís cut her off, "I agree. We need food and shelter while your people need protection and workers who can handle the cold for a time. Besides, it would give us time to get to know each other before we travel east in the spring."
Esmeralda nodded, "Then it's settled."
Dís smiled, pleased with the people and family her brother had united them with. "So it is."
She had a feeling, though Thorin may have been the first dwarf to find his One in a halflings heart, but he would not be the last.
Once the winter thawed they would travel east to Erebor together.
oOo
Gandalf was appalled by the forces at Gondor's gates.
The numbers that marched from the south were not unending. But they were ruthless.
This would be a hungry winter as farms were decimated and village after village fled to the protective walls of Gondor.
The beacons that had been lit were for the first wave that help from Lothlorien was able to fight back.
But it was a dark time for the race of men.
oOo
Sonna thought her arrival at the Iron Hills would be a slow adjustment and acceptance. What she hadn't anticipated was the Iron Hills' dire need for medics.
So much so that Sonna was immediately thrown into the war camps and given her own tent.
Estur, her friend who had served with the healers at the end of the Battle of Khuzdum, became Sonna's assistant.
The forces that tried to travel north seemed to beat endlessly against the the line of dwarrow. Despite their malice and evil, these orcs were oddly untried and unskilled. It seemed as if they spawned from Mordor and instantly were given crude weapons to march north.
Few were trained and fewer still had armour. They were easier, the soldiers told her, to kill than goblins.
But the enimies' numbers were disheartening.
It was said that a tower was being built, that Sauron was awake and active once more.
But by Mahal, it would not be the dwarrow who retreated from this rising evil.
And after months of fighting, Mordor's fledgling armour fled west, away from the Iron Hills.
When the ravens came from Erebor, Dain's forces were weary, however, Sonna and Estur had every intention of answering their kin's plea for aid.
oOo
Bilbo dreamed of ash.
He dreamed of the party tree burning, of his people enslaved.
And a great eye.
Burning and burning.
Bilbo felt fire in his lungs and a promise of gold in the distance.
A simple band of gold that anchored him, that stayed cold while the rest of the world burned.
That band of gold promised to save him, save his people, his dwarves, the elves in the forest… if only he would—
Bilbo woke with a gasp.
"Bilbo," Thorin said, relieved.
He had a moment to realise the horrors he had seen had just been a dream.
A nightmare.
It must have been the stress, but Bilbo didn't hesitate to throw himself into his dwarf's arms, bursting into uncontrollable sobs that ripped out from him.
Thorin wrapped him in his warm arms, holding him tightly to his hairy chest as he sang something in dwarf that began to settle the primal fear that had stolen into Bilbo.
"What's wrong?" Thorin asked, kissing the crown of Bilbo's head.
"I don't know," Bilbo said.
"Is it the dragon?" Thorin asked. "I told you, we can find another way to draw the wyrm out."
Bilbo shuddered when he remembered the flames. "No. It isn't the dragon." He swallowed hard, "But Thorin?"
"Yes, my One?"
"I am afraid of what comes after."
Thorin leaned down to press their foreheads together, "Whatever comes, we will face it together?"
"You promise?" Bilbo asked, perhaps the most childish question he had asked since the death of his mother.
Thorin kissed him, soft and sweet before meeting his gaze. "I promise."
Bilbo wasn't able to sleep for the rest of the night. A pity, seeing as it was the most comfortable bed he would have in many, many months to come, yet he wouldn't have traded those quiet hours he spent with his Heartsong for anything. Not when it was last memories he could cling in times of peril with neither regret nor doubt poisoning their trust in one another.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, border collie prayers, or reactions, pretty please?