Clarity of Vision, Chapter 12

[mithen]

Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 12
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 3300
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Bilbo endures a hard ride across the icy northern plains of Middle Earth, and the party meets an unexpected ally.



The fortnight that followed their leaving Himring was the worst of Bilbo's life so far. Looking back later, he would remember only a blur of exhaustion, shot through with fragments of vivid detail: the sweat flecking Daffodil's neck as she ran far past her endurance, the cold air like a knife in his lungs, the song of wolves in the night.

There was no time or energy to cook, and they lived off foraged food and the last of the rations, and were always hungry. They rode endlessly through the days, with little conversation and less rest. Bilbo huddled in his jumper and blankets at night, speaking only in monosyllables, and even Fíli and Kíli soon left him alone. Thorin's iron will drove them on like a scourge, his eyes fixed always to the east. There was a bleak beauty to the far north, with its fields of golden grass and the black hills rising always to their left, but Bilbo was not inclined to appreciate it.

One morning there was snow in the air, a fine haze of icy crystals, and Thorin cursed low and steadily under his breath as they rode through it, clouds of powdery white scudding across the steppes and stinging their faces.

The Misty Mountains slowly came into view, impossibly distant to the east, at first nothing but blurred outlines against the sky that could be mistaken for clouds. The mountains seemed to hang on the edge of the world forever, and all their riding seemed to bring them no closer. Bilbo came to hate the vast empty plains, with the sky an endless bowl overhead and nothingness stretching out toward the horizon.

And then came the day that the plains were not empty.

Balin spotted them first, specks of black to the north, swarming on the hills like ants. "Orcs," he said like a curse under his breath.

Thorin wheeled his pony around and stared north. "Gath Forthnir is a day's ride to the east," he said. "If they haven't seen us, perhaps--"

A horn rang out in the distance, braying and ugly, and Thorin took a deep breath. He looked at each of his party in turn, and last at Bilbo, clinging grimly to his little pony. "We ride," he said.

With the orcs on their heels, they rode hard for the east and the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The grassy land under their ponies' hooves shifted to flinty stone as the land rose up, and soon they were galloping through winding, twisting canyons and valleys that echoed with the sound of warg-howls and the clash of orcish arms. Bilbo shuddered as the pursuing orcs struck up some triumphant hunting song in a language that sounded soaked with blood and hate, and clung to Daffodil's back like a stubborn burr, feeling her sides heaving with exhaustion.

Thorin's eyes scanned the rocky cliffs hemming them in as if searching for something; dazed with weariness and fear, Bilbo still saw a small smile cross his face. Then he wheeled his pony around. "We make our stand here!" he called, his voice bouncing off the stone. "Kíli!"

Kíli nodded and unshouldered his bow, his face grim.

Thorin unsheathed Deathless as his pony neighed defiance at the oncoming howls. "Let us show them our mettle!"

Bilbo felt shameful tears rising in his eyes. To die so far from home, unmourned and forgotten! But he dashed them away and unsheathed his own knife, raising it in his shaking hands. "Come and get us!" he yelled as the first orcs came around the corner on their slavering wargs.

Then he added at the top of his lungs in Khuzdul: "{Suckers of goblin dick!}"

Thorin's head whipped around and he stared at Bilbo, and then he began to laugh, a delighted roar that rang from the canyon walls.

He was still laughing when the first arrows rained down from above on the charging horde, a hail of death that pierced eyes and throats and left neither orc nor warg standing.

Thorin's laugh had died down to a chuckle when a figure slid down the canyon wall, leaping from rock to rock before alighting in front of the party and dropping into a graceful bow. Then she straightened, tossing back a mass of golden hair, and Bilbo realized it was a woman in leather armor, smiling up at Thorin.

"Thorin!" she called. "Once again I see you have need of the Rangers to save your reckless hide!"

"My lady," said Thorin, bowing in turn from the back of his pony. "Once again I see you have denied us dwarves our rightful glory in battle."

"Oh, bah," she said. "You always hog all the glory, leave a little for the rest of us." Her gaze went past Thorin to the rest of the party, and her grin grew curious. "Welcome, all of you, to Gath Forthnir," she said. "Master Balin and Master Dwalin I remember well, but you bring new companions with you," she said, glancing at Thorin. She bowed again to the rest of them. "I am Stefa of the Rangers."

"Stefa, these are my nephews, Fíli and Kíli," said Thorin. Fíli and Kíli muttered something that sounded like "At your service," looking suddenly shy. "And this is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire," he said, gesturing at Bilbo.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Stefa said. She raised her voice, looking up at the cliff-tops with a salute. "Good work, Rangers! Let us return to Gath Forthnir and celebrate our victory!"

"Will there--" Bilbo's voice faltered; everyone looked at him and he swallowed and tried again, "--will there be food?"

: : :

There was food indeed in the hidden caves of Gath Forthnir: venison and duck and roasted potatoes and ale, and all of them ate and were satisfied, although Thorin privately thought the cooking was not as good as Bilbo's. But that was a thought his mind shied away from, and he pushed the happy memories of their travels on the coast resolutely away. That time was gone forever. "Where is Laerdan?" he asked Stefa quietly as Dwalin started another drinking song with his old comrades. "I have much I need to discuss with him."

"Laerdan left yesterday on urgent business," Stefa said. "He told us no more than that, but said he hoped to be back within a day."

"We will need re-provisioning. We hope to pass through the Rift of Nûrz Gashu and so to Erebor," said Thorin.

Stefa's easy smile fell away. "The Rift? My friend, that is impossible."

"What?" The singing around the table faltered and fell silent as Thorin's voice sharpened. "But we must cross the Misty Mountains before they are closed with winter."

"There is fresh activity in Gundabad," Stefa said, "and the Rift crawls with Bolg's orcs."

"Did they know of our coming?" murmured Balin.

"I think not. It has been so for weeks," Stefa said, shaking her head. "I believe it is a conflict within the orc factions, perhaps a quarrel between Bolg and his father Azog, who holds the ancient halls of Moria."

"Fathers and sons," Dwalin said with a bleak chuckle, cut off when Thorin looked at him.

"You don't understand," Thorin said. Urgency clawed at him like vertigo: to have come so far, to have pushed himself and his people so brutally, only to be thwarted! He did not look at Bilbo, sitting silent on the far end of the table, but when he considered that he might have dragged the halfling to the wastes and danger of Angmar for naught... "We must pass."

"And you do not understand that it would be suicide," Stefa said, steel glinting through the easy grace of her voice. "Laerdan will grant you neither provisions nor support if you insist on throwing away your lives in a mad venture."

"We have no other option," Thorin said.

"There is always another option," said a voice at the door. Thorin turned to see Laerdan, the leader of the Rangers of Gath Forthnir, standing in the doorway. And beside him--

"Tharkûn," Thorin growled at the sight of the old wizard in his grey robes and pointed hat.

"Prince Thorin of Erebor," said the wizard known as Gandalf the Grey, stepping forward. "Our paths cross once more."

"I am Prince no longer, nor of Erebor, as you well know," Thorin said.

"Nonsense," said Gandalf. "No earthly power can strip those from you." He frowned, his bushy white brows knitting. "But what are you doing here in the wilds of Angmar? The last I heard of your travels you were far to the south, on the coast."

Thorin did not particularly like the implication that Gandalf was keeping track of his movements. "We seek to return to Erebor, passing through the Misty Mountains by the Rift of Nûrz Gashu."

"Stefa speaks the truth," said Laerdan, stepping forward. "You would be throwing your life away for nothing."

Thorin opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by the sound of Bilbo Baggins' voice: "Gandalf the Grey? Is--is that you?"

Gandalf's eyes went to the foot of the table, and they widened: for a moment the old wizard looked surprised in a way Thorin had never seen. "Good heavens," he said, "Bilbo Baggins? Of the Shire? What in the name of mercy are you doing here?"

"Wait," said Thorin. "You know each other?"

"Well, certainly," said Bilbo, sounding bewildered. "Gandalf is--well, he makes lovely fireworks. He comes to the Shire now and then, but I haven't seen him since I was a lad."

Gandalf looked at Thorin. "Is this hobbit traveling with you?"

"It's...a long story," said Thorin.

"Well," Gandalf said. "I have time to hear it." He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "And I suggest you tell me everything."

: : :

Laerdan's council room was quieter than the main hall: only Thorin's party, Gandalf, and Laerdan himself sat around a round table scattered with maps. Thorin was explaining his recent research to Gandalf; under cover of the conversation, Bilbo slipped closer to Laerdan.

"Excuse me, sir," he murmured, "But I was wondering...are you an elf?"

Laerdan bent a polite and slightly amused gaze upon the hobbit. "I am indeed, Mr. Baggins."

"Oh," said Bilbo. "Oh my. I'm sorry to be rude, it's just...I've never met an elf before."

"And I have never met a hobbit," said Laerdan. "It is a pleasure."

Bilbo felt himself blushing. There was something about the timeless eyes and fluid grace of the elf that made him feel tongue-tied. "Hobbits are nothing special," he muttered. "But an elf! My goodness."

Laerdan's eyes creased in a smile. "I suspect you underestimate yourself, Mr. Baggins."

"--And you found something in Himring," Gandalf was saying as Laerdan turned away, leaving Bilbo flustered and speechless. Thorin shared a glance with Balin and Dwalin. "For heaven's sake," snapped Gandalf. "Rock-headed dwarves and your secrets. You would do well to be more forthcoming."

Reluctantly, Thorin reached into his pack and drew out the glass. He placed it on the table, where its curved crystal seemed to gather and focus the golden torchlight. "I believe this item holds the key to curing King Thrór."

"You took this from Himring?" Laerdan asked, his eyes on the glass.

Thorin's chin went up. "I took nothing but this and the poem that came with it."

"Peace, Thorin," Laerdan said. "Not all elves are so enamoured of our treasure that we would withhold aid from those in need. May I see the poem as well?"

Thorin handed him the slip of gold, and Laerdan placed it under the glass, frowning. "There is nothing in this poem about dragons or illness. It is an ode to friendship and the unbreakable bonds between comrades."

"We believe the glass is the key, that perhaps if my grandfather were to gaze through it at the gold that obsesses his soul, he would be healed. Have you ever seen either the glass or the poem before?"

"I have not," Laerdan said. "Himring was lost long before my birth."

Gandalf took the glass and squinted at it. "It was crafted before I arrived in Middle Earth," he said slowly, placing it back on the table. "I cannot perceive its purpose."

"I still have my doubts it serves any purpose beyond making small items appear large," grumbled Dwalin, but fell silent when Thorin looked at him.

"But it fits the prophecy," Thorin said eagerly. "It may well be what I need to restore my grandfather to health."

"It...may be," said Gandalf.

Thorin leaned across the table. "And so you understand that I must return to Erebor as quickly as possible! Even putting aside my personal feelings, the current instability of Erebor can bode no good for the peace and safety of Middle Earth."

"Your artifact will heal no one if it is lost to Bolg's orcs," said Laerdan. "As you surely would be if you attempted the Rift."

Thorin slammed his fists on the table; the glass jumped and came to rest once more. "There must be a way!"

"I believe I have an...alternate plan for you," said Gandalf slowly. "You will lose some time, traveling south across the Ettenmoors. But if you were to attempt the High Pass you could perhaps cross the Misty Mountains before the winter closes in."

"We would still lose time in the depths of Mirkwood," Thorin said, but his eyes were thoughtful.

"Better than losing an entire winter trapped on the western side of the mountains," Gandalf said. "As it so happens," he added, "I am traveling south soon as well, to Imladris. I could travel with you for a time."

Dwalin made a disgusted noise. "Elves," he said. But Thorin raised his head and met Gandalf's eyes.

"Will you vouch for us with the elves of Rivendell and stay them from delaying our travels?"

Gandalf inclined his head. "If it is within my power."

"Then we shall travel with you to Rivendell," said Thorin.

"But--but why, Thorin?" Dwalin sputtered.

Balin nodded. "Risking the elves could be--"

Thorin cut him off with a sweep of his hand. "I have my reasons," he said curtly. Then his eyes softened. "Elrond of Rivendell is one of the few beings in Middle Earth who might know of the properties of this glass and could confirm its power," he said. "If Gandalf will support us, we shall take the risk."

"I shall leave whenever you are ready," said Gandalf.

"Then we shall leave tomorrow morning," Thorin said.

"But Uncle--" Kíli and Fíli started and broke off in unison, as if realizing it was pointless to argue with him.

Dwalin cuffed Fíli on the shoulder. "She's a fine lass, boy, but there's no time for such things now."

Fíli spluttered something incoherent and Kíli snickered until his brother hit him on the head.

Sighing slightly to himself, Bilbo slipped off to re-pack his bags.

: : :

"Frying pan, tinderbox, lemon drops, viola tea," Bilbo muttered to himself. On the other side of the cave, Fíli was sparring with Stefa--both with knives and with words. Kíli was watching as he fletched arrows, occasionally chiming in when Stefa got a particularly good hit (verbal or otherwise) on his brother. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Dwalin and Balin were going over maps with Laerdan and some of the other Rangers, frowning. Bilbo noticed a hole in the elbow of his oatmeal-colored jumper and tsked, getting out his sewing kit and threading the needle.

"Bilbo," called Balin, "Could you go find Thorin or Gandalf and tell them we need their thoughts on the best path across the Ettenmoors?"

Bilbo was not at all certain he wanted to deal with either princes or wizards right now, but he put down his needle and ventured out into the winding caves of Gath Forthnir in search of them.

The passages looped around an underground pond that cast odd rippling echoes everywhere; Bilbo skirted it carefully, admiring the colorful stalactites that cascaded into the pond like a waterfall.

As he moved deeper into the caves, the sound of water coalesced into the voices of Thorin and Gandalf in discussion. Bilbo moved toward them.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when he heard his own name spoken he stopped suddenly, realizing with some embarrassment that he had been "sneaking" again without meaning to.

"I must say," Gandalf's voice said from around a corner, "That I was surprised to find you traveling with Bilbo Baggins. Surprised and pleased."

"What do you mean?" Thorin's voice was wary.

"I know him from when he was a boy," Gandalf said, "And when I set eyes on him again today--it is the greatest luck that you have come across him, I believe. For I have an intuition, a premonition I might almost call it, that Bilbo Baggins is crucial to the success of your mission. Having him in your party, as unassuming as he is, might--"

"--I will not have him in my party," said Thorin.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I will not." Thorin's voice was like iron.

"Is he such a trial, then?" Gandalf sounded puzzled; hidden around the corner Bilbo felt a sharp pain and realized he was biting his own lip hard enough to hurt, and that his hands were clenched. "He seems a merry soul and a pleasant enough traveling companion."

Bilbo heard Thorin take a deep breath. "You do not understand, Tharkûn. Bilbo Baggins is not with us of his own free will. It is I who have forced him to travel with us, through terrible hardships and danger. He has borne it all bravely--more bravely than I would have imagined possible. He rode across the wastes of the north with no murmur of complaint and still yelled defiance in the very face of death. He owes us--he owes me--nothing, and I have no right to ask anything more of him. And so, when we reach Rivendell, you will use your influence with the Lord of Rivendell to secure him safe escort back to the Shire."

"Thorin." Gandalf's voice was grave. "I tell you that if Bilbo Baggins is not with you, you will fail."

"I have failed him enough already!" Thorin's voice sounded raw with some emotion Bilbo couldn't place. "I will not drag him into further danger on the vague say-so of some wizard. He deserves to be safe. He deserves to go home. Promise me that you will convince Elrond to get him safely back where he belongs."

There was a long silence, and Bilbo heard the wizard sigh. "Very well, Thorin," Gandalf said. "I will do as you ask. But I feel you are making a mistake."

"It will not be the first," Thorin said, his voice bleak, and Bilbo realized with horror that the conversation was drawing to a close and at any moment they were going to come around the corner. He beat a hasty retreat, then began to walk back toward them, this time whistling a loud and cheery Shire festival song. Their voices broke off and he called their names, coming around the corner.

"Oh! You're both here, together," he said. "How convenient. Dwalin is looking for both of you."

Thorin brushed by him without a word; Gandalf shot him a sharp glance with his eyes narrowed, but swept past him as well.

Bilbo stood for a time in the flickering darkness, frowning into the shadows. Slowly, his face cleared and he nodded to himself.

When he followed after Thorin and Gandalf, he was whistling to himself once more, but this time it was a travelling tune.