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Gandalf's words rang in Thorin's ears. It was impossible. It had to be. There was no way their Bilbo, one Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, found the One Ring of Sauron simply sitting beneath the Misty Mountains and picked it up for a lark.
Of course, should anyone pick such a legendary item up, it would just be their Bilbo's luck that it would be him.
“You're certain Mordor is destroyed?” Balin was the one to ask. Thorin's old friend was leaning forward in his chair, gaze intent on Gandalf. Ori's pen had still not stopped as it flew over the parchment of his journal.
“Elrond received word from Turgon, Steward of Gondor, that a great shaking occurred in Minas Tirith. When they went out to scout the lands about their city they found all of Sauron's foul servants withdrawn from Ithilien and, going further, all of Minas Morgul abandoned. That was when they sent their fastest riders to the Black Gate, only for them to see that all of Mordor was...gone.”
“Gone?” Thorin said. He looked at Balin but his friend's gaze was still pinned to the wizard. “What do you mean gone? Like...like the Shire?”
“No. I mean it is gone, Thorin Oakenshield. A great hole had appeared, taking most of that dark land with it. Only the mountain ranges survived. All else just...disappeared.”
Thorin shook his head. “And you think Bilbo did that?”
“Yes and no,” the firelight shifted shadows over Gandalf's face. “If Bilbo's ring was the One Ring, then the destruction of it would be the undoing of Sauron and all his machinations. Such a feat would be enough to destroy Mordor as it was. However...”
“What?”
One of Gandalf's hands curled into a fist. “With the destruction of the One Ring of Sauron it was thought that the time of the elves would come to an end. That the power of the elven Rings would fade and the time of magic in Arda would have come to a close.”
“But there has been no sign of –,” Thorin caught himself before he spoke the name. Durin the Deathless was more than a legend to their people. Six had come and six had gone. And, according to prophesy, the seventh would mean the end of their people as a whole. No one looked for his coming. Most feared it.
Gandalf blew out another smoke ring, this time shaded blue before it disappeared. “I have spoken to the holders of the elven Rings and none say that their power has faded. In fact,” here Gandalf paused, his hand uncurling and there Thorin thought he spied a ring and brilliant crimson gem embedded in it upon one finger. “They seem to have grown stronger.”
“Stronger?” Thorin echoed. “In what way?”
“Have you not noticed it, Thorin Oakenshield?”
“Noticed what?”
“The very air seems clearer. The waters purer. I feared the winter that was coming for in my bones it felt like a harbinger of the world grown darker and yet...” Gandalf shook his head, gaze still on the fire. “Now though the winter comes, I feel a warmth I cannot name. It reminds me of...”
“Of?” Thorin exchanged a look with Dwalin. His partner had leaned back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the wizard.
But Gandalf just shook his head. “It is impossible, now,” he said, soft. Thorin closed his eyes as his meaning registered. The Shire. Of course.
Then he opened them and said, “If Bilbo really did destroy the One Ring, then why are you all coming here? Shouldn't you all meet in Rivendell?”
“Perhaps,” Gandalf said. “But something calls us here and with such strange things afoot in the world we must listen to the song that guides us all. Thus I am here, thus Elrond is here, and thus shall Galadriel arrive on the morrow. The Steward of Gondor is sending his son, Ecthelion II, to be his voice in our councils here. A representative of the Riders of Rohan have sent their notice that they will arrive soon. Thranduil, as you have noticed,” Gandalf made a face. “Is here and will stay here. Bard and his people are here. And you, of course, and your people, and your cousin, King Dáin of the Iron Hills, is here. Where else should we meet?”
“Councils,” Thorin said, eyes narrowing. “What councils do you wish to hold here?”
“With the destruction of Mordor, our great enemy is gone. There are treaties that are no doubt needed to be made, especially if you and your people wish to re-inhabit your mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. I know that Bard would like to speak to you about Dale and its rebuilding as well, and if you haven't noticed, it's the late fall and your population is only growing. How are you to feed them all? There is much to be discussed and much to be decided. I would have thought you knew that.”
Thorin leaned back on the couch, taking a belated sip of now-cool tea. He would have rather had ale but Óin would have skinned them all. “And these people arriving on our doorstep, they do know that our stores are already run thin by own people, right?”
“Elrond has been very clear with his letters,” Gandalf leaned forward to tap out his pipe against the grate. “It is a good thing they are coming here, Thorin. For are they not acknowledging your people's return in a way? And should they recognize you, and you alone, as King Under the Mountain, well,” Gandalf grunted as he stood, hands on his knees and moving like an old man. “Wouldn't that be a good thing?” And with that Gandalf left the room, leaving them to their own thoughts.
Thorin did not sleep until many, many hours later.
~*~
“Bilbo, you must see sense.”
“I am seeing sense,” Bilbo flinched when Lalia smoothed more of the bruise paste over his back. From the thunderous scowl on his cousin's face the mottling looked far worse than it felt. “You've seen the proof. Their judgment of me and our kind is lifted. No one has any marks on their feet when they leave their main doors, now. I heard Thorin and Dwalin say –”
“I'm not doubting that,” Fortinbras held up a hand, even as Bilbo scowled at him. “But two dwarves alone, who feel guilty and remorseful –”
“Fortinbras!”
“I'm saying we must be cautious in all this!”
“And I do not disagree!” Then Bilbo flinched again when Lalia's fingers hit a sore spot. “I'm not saying that we come out of the dark to spook them all. I'm just saying that I need to go see them again. Me, alone. No one else.”
“I don't like that either.”
“Fortinbras.”
“Don't take that tone with me, cousin. I changed your nappies.”
Bilbo grumbled under his breath but wilted under the steady look his cousin and Thain sent him. “Then what do you propose?”
Fortinbras folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “While I agree that it would be best if you went to go see your dwarves –”
Bilbo sputtered, feeling his face go hot.
“I want at least a few Bounders to go with you.”
“Absolutely not,” Bilbo shook his head. “The dwarves won't know who they are and the Company can be a suspicious lot.”
“Oh, I'm not saying that they need see the Bounders.”
Bilbo paused, some of the air taken from his sails on his argument. “You mean...”
“The Bounders can stay in between while you approach them. Though,” Fortinbras tilted his head to one side. “That is also something I want you to be cautious of.”
“What do you mean?”
“I do not want you to be within arms reach of them. Not right now,” Fortinbras let his arms fall when Bilbo tried to stand up, ignoring Lalia's cry of dismay. “No, you stay right there, little cousin.” Strong arms held Bilbo in place. He refused to look at Fortinbras. “You told me how you...how you fell ,” Bilbo hated the way he could feel both Fortinbras and Lalia flinch at the word. He had been half starved and wild when he'd come to them, feet trailing blood in his wake and feeling like such a failure. They had taken him into their arms then and let him spill it all out, the whole journey, Thorin and Dwalin, the dragon, all of it. These two alone knew how much he feared falling, now, even if he was getting rather used to it in some morbid way.
Fortinbras pressed their foreheads together, despite the way Bilbo screwed his eyes shut. “You stay at a distance to them. You said there are staircases a plenty in that main chamber. You stalk them to there and use that to your advantage. Them on one level, you on another. That way...that way words can be said but they won't be able to lay a hand on you...just in case.”
Bilbo hated the way his cousin's argument made sense. Many a hobbit had seen how the men in their towns could turn fickle, penitent at first, then wrathful in a flash. Bilbo had been a faunt, trailing after Fortinbras in the Great Smials, when he and his mother had gone there for a Took family meeting. The Thain had always relied on his greater relations to act as a kind of council, something most in the Shire had taken comfort in, for then the widows and the matriarchs would always have a voice in the running of things and the Big People outside of their borders were none the wiser on how their people kept to their own laws. Bilbo remembered that meeting well, since the ladies had taken one side of the argument on a union of a Clayhanger cousin having married into a Bree clan who'd taken to Men's ways a little too well. The first two times the cousin had gone back to her husband when he had come to her on penitent knees, but the third time...well. The third time the Clayhanger lass had lost a child and almost lost her life as well. The widows had been up in arms about it from the get go and had all the Took ladies on their side.
The resulting shouting match had left quite the impression on a young Bilbo.
“Fine,” he finally grit out. “I won't go near them.”
“Just for now,” Fortinbras said softly. Bilbo slumped against him, not wanting to fight with the two hobbits who had not – not even once – looked at him with suspicion in their eyes. Even the Gamgees had been a little leery, even if Hamfast had lost those shadows after a blink. Bilbo didn't blame them, not any of them. Not after what he had done.
“Come now. Let's get you up and to bed. And no, you're not sleeping out here tonight. I've had enough of you slipping away before breakfast. You can bunk with Ferumbras and you'll have a nice meal in the morning or I'll let Lalia tie you up, just you wait and see.”
“It's talk like that that gets the gossips going,” Bilbo muttered at them as Fortinbras got him to his feet.
“Bilbo!”
“I'm just saying – Lalia! Lalia, stop pinching me!”
~*~
Thorin stalked out of what could loosely be called a council chamber, his hands in fists at his sides. The shouting match between one Thranduil and Lord Elrond had dissolved into whatever elvish language they spoke behind him.
Thorin had woken to find that Balin had arranged a set of rooms just inside the gates to be used for these councils Gandalf had spoke of. Thorin had put on the simple circlet he'd chosen as his crown and found the least worn clothes they had managed to scrounge up from somewhere to go down and meet with these people, determined to make sure that all of them made sure to acknowledge him and him alone as King Under the Mountain.
Gandalf's words the night before had stirred quite a lot of talk between him and Balin and then later the rest of the Company. Nori had been the most informed. After all the talk of calling Bilbo a thief, Thorin had put his new Spymaster to the task of tracking down just where these whispers and rumors were coming from. Nori's people were a small number as of yet, so no one had been able to pin down just where exactly such ugly whispers were coming from but from what they had been able to deduce most of it was coming from the Iron Hills dwarves.
Thorin knew Dáin was concerned about Fíli and Kíli being Thorin's heirs. Dáin's father, Náin, had been rather particular about lines of succession and had had a heavy hand in making sure Dáin remembered such lessons. It was all tangled together with the way the lines of the House of Durin were split between the Iron Hills and Erebor and Thorin's own father and grandfather had their own issues with their cousins. The Iron Hills branch of the family believed that the kingship should pass from father to son and only in such a manner. But Thorin had known since he'd met Dwalin in their youth that they two would share a One and that one would be male and therefore no child would come from that union. It had not been an issue while Thorin's brother Frerin had been alive, but with his brother dead and only Dís' children to inherit...well. There were no few counselors in Dáin's ear about pushing Thorin to name Dáin as his heir instead of Fíli.
It was a mess.
As for why Dáin and his people were calling Bilbo a thief though...none of that made any sense. Thorin had told Dáin multiple times that Bilbo was the reason why they were not having to pay wergilds to the men of Lake-town or worse yet Thranduil had the dragon escaped the mountain and rained down fire on those settlements in his rage. Thorin could not understand why Dáin had not stomped down on those whispers...unless Dáin was using those whispers to undermine Thorin's position as King Under the Mountain and that was not what Thorin wanted to deal with at the minute. Not with the stupid elf king in his mountain testing his patience at every moment.
“Thorin. Thorin, wait,” said Dáin from behind him.
“Not now,” Thorin growled out, ignoring his cousin as he marched deeper into the mountain. The elves and men would not dare come past the rooms Balin had led them into. Thorin had seen Bard splay a hand over his own face when Thranduil had started with his usual sniping comments. Thankfully Elrond's own counselor, an elf by the name of Erestor, had smiled at Thranduil and said something in that elvish language of theirs that had Thranduil sputtering and Elrond pinching the bridge of his nose.
The meeting had gone downhill from there.
The Lady Galadriel had not yet arrived and from everything Thorin had heard from both Nori and what little he'd heard this Erestor saying, the Lady would do much to keep Thranduil in line. Thorin would believe it when he saw it. As for now he would leave this Lord Elrond to deal with Thranduil and his attitude problem.
“Thorin,” Dáin had caught up to him at one of the platforms that looked over Erebor's central hall. Far above them the staircases were dim lines of gray against a darker background. The day had dawned cloudy and cold, with spats of flurries on the upper reaches of the mountain. He turned to see that his cousin and most of the Company, along with a small herd of other dwarves Thorin did not recognize, had followed him out of the council rooms and onto the platform.
“I am not in the mood, cousin,” Thorin held up a hand at Dáin's frown. “I've had to deal with Thranduil all morning and we didn't even get past a general acknowledgment of those in the room.”
“You cannot let that leaf eater talk to you like that,” Dáin said, folding his arms over his chest.
“I'm aware,” Thorin grit out. “But now is not the time. Thranduil is an ass – even Lord Elrond seems to think so, you saw that mess – and I refuse to deal with him when he brings such an attitude into my kingdom! He can sit and deal with the other elves and I'll meet with him tomorrow – if his attitude has improved!”
“But you – what is that?”
Dáin's gaze had moved up and over Thorin's shoulder. He turned, expecting...well. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but it was not one Bilbo Baggins standing on one of the upper platforms, haloed in the the sudden light coming in from the upper shafts of the mountain as the sun finally appeared. “Bilbo,” he breathed, feeling all the air rush from his lungs.
Their Bilbo still looked wan and pale, and he still had one arm strapped across his chest, but when he looked at Thorin...for a moment it felt like he was there, like their Burglar was back, whole and alive, having just stepped out for a moment and wondering what the fuss was when they panicked about not being able to find him.
“Thorin,” Bilbo said. The distance between their platforms wasn't great but too far to jump, even with a running start. Thorin almost wanted to try anyway. The sunlight hit his curls just right to turn them a shining gold. “I...I wanted...”
“The thief,” Dáin snarled at Thorin's side, making him jump.
“Dáin!” He looked at his cousin. “Bilbo is no thief! He is a dwarf-friend of Erebor! He is the dragon slayer! You know this!”
“He stole from us – from you! He gave away your treasury! How is he not a thief! Has that simple crown scrambled your brains? Didn't you kill it, anyways? Why is it still here?”
“Bilbo is not a thing! And he did not steal anything! He saved us all!” Thorin roared at his cousin, drawing one hand back to punch Dáin in the face. Time seemed to slow as he heard Bilbo shout a warning – but a warning of what? That was when Thorin turned to see an arrow streak through the air, far wide of Thorin and Dáin –
But right at Bilbo where he stood in the sunlight, blind from a bolt from the dark. A shout left his throat – he did not know what he said – but Thorin was forced to watch as Bilbo's pale and frightened expression turned panicked and pained as that arrow flashed into the sunlight –
And then as Bilbo vanished without a trace.