Beyond
the Night
Author: wanderingsmith
apr 2014
Summary:
"The rangers warned me there was a dwarf patrolling the Wild, who
meant us no harm. But I'd like to know *why* you are doing so. The
rangers protect us because it is their task. Dwarrows.. I was
under the impression only protect their own, when they leave their
mountains at all."
"That is true enough. As for myself, I *am* protecting my own."
Fortinbras blinked, mouth dropping, "..You claim a hobbit as kin?"
Rating: PG13 (for now)
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to
pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em.
AN: not 'based on', but this song did cross my mind
Beyond The Night
Rachel Lutrell (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UpvWOlsAjx4)
Beyond the night, a rising sun.
Beyond the night the battle's won,
the battle's won.
Fear and shame now in the past,
Pain and sorrow gone at last
gone at last
Circle renewed peace will be found
Beyond the Night on sacred ground
River flows, led by the wind
First new breath her journey begins
her journey begins
Goto Chapter 2
Goto Chapter 3
Chapter one
His first memory on waking was of guilt. Of seeing countless
dwarrows once again laying on the bloody field of battle besides
orcs and wargs. Once again a generation felled for an attempt to
regain something lost by his family. How could he have let his
instinctive love of gold blind him to what truly mattered? Bard had
killed the dragon; Durin's people could once again dwell in Erebor.
If not for his damned pride and the old curse, they might have made
ready to face the enemy together and he could be in the home he had
dreamt of for so long. With his burglar at his side.
"Bilbo."
"I'm sorry, Thorin."
Thorin opened gritty eyes when he heard someone reply to the pitiful
whimper he had not been able to hold in.
Balin sat in a chair besides his bed, papers strewn on a nearby
table and his lap. And a sorrowful expression on his features that
left Thorin gasping in pained denial before he even heard his words,
"I'm sorry, lad. We looked everywhere for our burglar-"
Thorin turned his head away and Balin took the hint and went silent,
followed by rustling papers and the shuffle of tired feet. Leaving
Thorin to his grief.
"I'll just go and let everyone know you've awakened, shall I?"
"No." He knew it had been a rhetorical question, but the thoughts in
Thorin's mind were no longer hazed with madness, and a new plan was
forming out of the pain and endless regret now filing him. "Fíli?"
There was a suspicious pause before Balin replied in a careful tone,
"Lives. Injured, as are many, but all of the- all of we twelve will
recover."
I am sorry, my burglar. I am sorry Bilbo.
He turned to his old friend, shifting his body in tiny increments to
test the extent of the pain as he spoke, hardly surprised at how
dull his voice was, "Get the company, speak to no one else and make
sure they do not either."
He was still king; Balin could not ignore a simple command. But
still he was glad to see the old dwarf leave without an argument.
If only he could have beaten back that uncontrollable need for
Erebor's gold, even just enough to hear Bilbo's warnings for only a
moment. Even if all he had managed to do was send the hobbit away..
at least he would not have-
Thorin made himself sit up rather than finish that thought. That way
lay a different madness. There were things he needed to do; he did
not deserve the peace of insanity.
"What are you doing up, Thorin Oakenshield? Are you trying to kill
yourself?? And why did Balin refuse to disclose your condition?"
Of course the wizard would be the first to come. Thorin bit his
cheek to keep quiet as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
Several broken ribs. And some sort of large gash spanning his belly
and halfway to his shoulder. It would take unpleasant time to heal,
he knew from experience. But allowing himself to die was no way to
repay his betrayal of his shield-brother.
Once he'd caught his breath, he looked up to meet Gandalf's glare.
After all the dwarf had done, he could not find it in himself to
glare back, though the wizard had too often kept secrets for him to
be willing to apologize to him either. "Balin did as I requested,
wizard. I have my reasons."
For a few heartbeats, the eyes staring into his seemed to pierce
with a more-than-human light. When they were again those of a rather
tired old man, Gandalf seemed to relax, speaking quietly, "It no
longer holds you."
Thorin stared back, thinking of the mounds of coins and a cursed
jewel. Thinking of the soft body of a hobbit laying dead under a
mountain of orcs somewhere. Of pain-filled eyes staring into his.
His last image of his burglar, and Erebor's curse had robbed him of
so much as awareness of it!
"No. Nothing holds me." Only a ghost was left to hold his soul.
Gandalf started to reply, but the arrival of Ori and Dwalin
interrupted him. The rest of the company all filed in, variously
injured and variously worried and suspicious. The last were Balin,
with Fíli leaning on him, and Bofur and Nori carrying Kíli on a
stretcher.
Everyone had been far too quiet for a group of dwarrows, especially
this group. Thorin could see wariness of him in their eyes. And had
another reason to know his plans were right.
Balin, too-wise old dwarf that he was, had brought Fíli to stand so
that with a careful push on the bed, Thorin stood before his heir,
accepting his old friend's grasp on his shoulder to keep from
pitching to the ground.
His nephew was staring at him with a worried confusion almost
certainly born out of poppy juice for the bandages bulking his
chest. "Fíli," Angrily remembering the time when Erebor was still
the clean and shining memory that held his soul, even if it meant
his love for his sister and nephews always came second, Thorin
twisted hard to get the signet ring off the finger it'd sat on for
over a hundred years. "Son of Víli," He held the ring out on his
palm. "I am Thorin, son of Thráin. Take up the ring of the Throne of
Erebor, and with it the leadership of our people."
He waited, confident Fíli would not fail in his duties. Proud to
watch him finally take the ring and slide it on his finger. He
nodded solemnly, "Fíli, son of Víli, King Under the Mountain."
Chapter
Two
Having dealt with enough rangers to be aware of the dangers of
surprising warriors, the hobbit started whistling as soon as he saw
the glow of the fire an hour's walk from Michel Delving. And glad he
was of those rangers' news that the dwarf wandering the Downs was
friendly, because the tall, armoured and well-armed figure that rose
to greet him would have caused him a great deal of concern if he'd
encountered it un-warned.
"Master dwarf. I am-"
"Fortinbras, Thain of the Shire." The respectful bow of the dwarf's
head made Fortinbras' back straighten, well able to see the regal
bearing under the rough condition of the other. "I had not meant to
actually trespass on your lands."
About to comment, the Thain paused, frowning, "How do you know me?"
Even if the rangers had given the dwarf his name, there was no
reason for him to assume a hobbit approaching his camp alone would
be the Thain.
Seeming to relax, the dwarf gave him something like a sad smile, the
fearsomeness dissolving from those stiff features, "You were well
described to me, once."
Fortinbras sat on his side of the fire at the dwarf's nodded
invitation, staring at him thoughtfully. He doubted even the rangers
he'd met a dozen times could describe him well enough to recognize
from other hobbits. But the closed-off grief on the bearded face did
not invite curiosity, nor even a polite request for a name that
hadn't been offered, and a Thain learns to respect other races'
privacy, when he can. "The rangers warned me there was a dwarf
patrolling the Wild, who meant us no harm. But I'd like to know
*why* you are doing so. The rangers protect us because it is their
task. Dwarrows.. I was under the impression only protect their own,
when they leave their mountains at all." If the stranger knew of a
danger coming, the Thain needed to be aware of it; privacy did not
trump the safety of his people.
"That is true enough, though I would point out that the other races
do not protect dwarrows either. As for myself, I *am* protecting my
own."
Fortinbras blinked, mouth dropping, "..You claim a hobbit as kin?"
The dwarf's expression turned fierce again, flinty eyes staring at
the Thain, "Yes. I owe him life debt and friendship and failed to
keep him alive. All I may do now to honour him is protect his kin."
Life debt? Though the notion was right out of a faerie tale, still,
he couldn't deny that it fit the figure across the fire. "Very
well." Fortinbras handed over the coin-shaped shirriff token he'd
brought, "If you should ever need reinforcement, or any help, show
this to any hobbit. If they cannot help you, they will take you to
one that can."
Chapter
Three
The battle is won.
Erebor is freed. Dale will be rebuilt.
And Bilbo Baggins of Bag End had no place here.
He'd made the best choice he could see, and would have stood by it.
Even if he hadn't seen Thorin fall.
If he'd been nearer, he would have thrown himself at the dwarf's
murderer. If he'd been an archer, he'd have ripped a bow out of the
hands of an elf and made such an end of the orc that all of
Morgoth's creatures would remember.
But he wasn't a warrior, regardless of anyone choosing to call him
shield-brother. He was a simple hobbit who had left home behind for
the peace-disturbing Outside, foolishly thinking he could help a
king reclaim his people's home.
With pain and sorrow drowning his sight in night, Bilbo kept his
ring on and started walking. He avoided everyone, no matter their
race. The dwarrows he had betrayed; they would not have aught to say
to him. The Men he'd betrayed his friends for; he had no wish to
speak to them ever again. The elves he would not soon forgive for
their treatment of his friends. Though he could see the irony in
blaming the elves for a betrayal when he himself had done the same,
in the end.
He found the river and followed it. He had no place here; it was
time to return home.
It wasn't until he woke from his painful drowse in a tree that his
hunger became loud enough to overrule the dullness of his thoughts.
He looked around and saw tents beginning to go up a little ways
away. Climbing down, he walked away from the water, making extra
sure the ring was on his finger. When he got to the first tent and
saw an elvish warrior step away from his travel pack to speak to
another, he realized he had no way to pay for food.
He could beg on the help he'd attempted to provide. But he could not
help but remember these creatures had imprisoned his friends for
just such a request. And he had spent enough time with the dwarrows
that the idea of begging any of Thranduil's people actually made his
hand clench on Sting's hilt. "Ishkh khakfe andu null." He murmured
it, quiet so there was no one near enough to locate him from it.
Though he had no idea what the words meant, he remembered the voice
that had said them. The dwarf would not approve of tears and Bilbo
savagely swiped at his eyes before scurrying to that pack, trying to
remember how much food he'd needed for the journey.
In the end he came across an elf he remembered as having dragged
Thorin to his cell with more than necessary rudeness and he took
pleasure in stealing *all* of his food, and blankets besides. The
pack he'd first taken he left near the edge of camp, his general
anger at elves abating enough not to need to rob the stranger after
all, instead making do with a handful from several different
sources.
Looking up, he found himself looking at what had to be the Great
East Road. Hoisting the blankets he'd shaped into a pack for the
long-lasting elvish travel bread and waterskins he'd taken, Bilbo
started his long walk in the evil-tinged dark of the ring-world.
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