A Bounder's Vow
Chapter 9: News of an Old Enemy
He'd just been punched.
By a hobbit.
His fingers touched his nose, coming away red. Lifting his gaze from his hand, they narrowed on the hobbit that stood before him.
Back ramrod straight, the hobbit regarded him arrogantly, chin lifted.
His lip curled slightly, grip settling on his sword's hilt. How dare this soft-bellied-
"Raise your blade, and you'll find yourself and your company on my doorstep." Gaze hard, the hobbit spoke cooly. "I do hope I won't have to behave as impolitely as you have."
Thorin snarled. "Try if you wish, you-"
Shock, brief but strong, pulsed through him when Balin stepped in front of him, offering a small bow to the hobbit.
"Forgive our leader, Master Baggins. Our travels have been long and arduous, as I'm sure you can understand."
Master Baggins' eyes settled on Balin. "I do hope you don't always have to apologize for your Master." His eyes flicked back to Thorin. "One would think a dwarf of your years might know how to apologize."
Rage burned in Thorin's chest as he made to move forward again, but was stopped quickly by a large staff and a gray cloak.
Gandalf's voice boomed through the entry. "Since our introductions have been made, why don't we move to the dining room to discuss why we're here?"
Thorin bit his tongue, glaring at the back of Master Baggins as he turned on his heel and left the entry. The dwarrow slowly filtered back into the dining room until it was just Gandalf and him left.
Gandalf's eyes regarded him. "If I may offer a word of advice, Thorin Oakenshield?"
Thorin looked up.
"Please do not antagonize Bilbo. It will end poorly for everyone involved."
He sputtered. "I was not the one who physically assaulted someone!"
Gandalf hummed. "Bilbo was not in the right either, but that does not excuse your own actions. You are a king, a leader of this company - they look to you for direction."
Thorin gritted his teeth. Of course, the wizard was on the hobbit's side. "If you wish to be biased, you shouldn't display it so blatantly, wizard." He pushed past Gandalf, following the company.
Scraping a chair from the head of the table, Thorin sat down heavily, wiping the remaining blood from his nose. Those seated were silent, and Thorin swept his gaze across them. Dwalin seemed to share Thorin's feelings, his gaze narrow on the hobbit that stood in the entryway of the dining room. Fili and Kili seemed to find some humor in the situation, unable to disguise their smiles from him.
He would have to speak with them later.
The rest of the company sat in stunned silence, their gazes shifting between Thorin and the hobbit behind him.
Balin was the only one to act as if nothing had happened, leaning forward in his seat. "What news from Ered Luin? Did they all come?"
And there was the problem of the Ered Luin.
His jaw tensed. "Aye. Envoys of all seven kingdoms."
An excited murmur ran through the group, but Thorin was deaf to it, the memory of sharp laughter and mockery echoing in his ears.
Dwalin's voice rumbled through the room. "What did the dwarrow of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"
Thorin looked at his friend. The edge of Dwalin's lip was tilted the way it was whenever he was hopeful. The others leaned in close as well, eyes bright with anticipation.
How could he tell them of the ridicule their quest had received?
He paused. "They will not come."
As if a flame had been blown out, the light in the company's faces dimmed, groans and exclamations sounding.
The next words were bitter on his tongue. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."
His jaw hardened. They had dismissed what they'd barely understood.
It would be their folly. He would go back victorious; the mountain claimed from the foul beast that fattened itself within Erebor's mighty halls.
"Surely you didn't expect them to join in such a dangerous quest?"
The rage that had quelled as he'd spoken stirred again at the hobbit's words.
He turned slowly to the hobbit.
"How much of your quest is centered on certainty? From my understanding, you have none." The hobbit's eyes were hard; his arms folded across his chest. "You march towards a mountain that contains a calamity you are unsure of, as to whether it's alive or dead."
"No one expects a soft-bellied creature such as yourself to understand," Thorin said sharply, anger roiling again in his gut. "You are far too accustomed to these rolling hills to comprehend the need for our quest."
The hobbit's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you are right, Oakenshield. I see no purpose in you leading twelve innocents to their death."
Thorin's hands slammed against the table, chair screeching out behind him. His jaw clenched in anger. This creature had no right! "We came here upon Gandalf's recommendation, but now I can see even servants of the Valar are wrong at times!"
He glared at the creature, but the hobbit only narrowed his eyes in response.
Thorin’s hand sought his blade at his side -
There was a boom through the room, the candles flickering and darkening. Gandalf's voice boomed through the small space.
"Enough! I have brought you together to assist one another, not to squabble like petty children! Sit! Both of you!"
Tension was thick in the air as Master Baggins sighed, pushing away from the wall. Thorin reluctantly lowered himself back into his seat, his anger still roiling in his stomach.
Gandalf gestured towards the table. “Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light.”
With a lamp placed on the table, Gandalf continued. “Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”
Thorin looked at the ink drawing of Erebor and the small red dragon circling the mountain.
Screams echoed in his ears, the acrid stench of dragon-fire burning his nose. The terror of that day remained embedded in his bones – faded, but present.
There had been signs before the fell-beast’s arrival. Warnings were given to his grandfather of the greed that pooled in the heart of the mountain.
His grandfather’s decline had been obvious to all, but none felt it as sharply as Thorin. His father’s shouts still echoed in his ears.
Thorin stood behind his father in the throne room, the area empty save for the three of them.
“We must vacate the mountain!” Standing at the throne’s base, Thráin pointed to the wall. “Can you not hear the stone cry? There is something wicked within our mountain; such things will only bring further madness!”
Thrór’s fist slammed against his throne. “Silence yourself, Thráin!” He stood from his throne unsteadily. His hair was tangled, the crown slipping slightly. “I am king! I make the decisions! We will not evacuate for some petty concerns!”
His grandfather had been slipping – he was gaunt, his eyes shining with a fire Thorin feared to name.
Something had taken hold of his grandfather.
The Arkenstone shimmered above his grandfather; its glow casting sharp shadows.
Thráin’s jaw clenched. “Very well, my liege.” He bowed stiffly, turning on his heel and walking from the room.
Thorin followed his father, looking back as the doors were shutting behind them. His grandfather had pulled the Arkenstone from the throne, hands caressing the jewel.
His stomach twisted, the name of what had taken his grandfather wavering on the tip of his tongue.
Madness.
Thorin was pulled from his memory by shouting.
Gloin's voice was fiery. "We may be few in numbers, but we're fighters. All of us, to the last dwarf!"
An agreeing cheer rose through the room, the dwarrow pounding against the table
"And you forget, we have a wizard in our company! Gandalf must have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”
The corner of his lips pulled up at his company's eagerness. They were good dwarrow - the best. Yet...
Thorin shook his head. The quest would be a success; the fell dragon was surely dead after so long, if not incredibly weakened. Birds had been seen returning to the Lonely Mountain; it was time for the throne to be reclaimed.
His eyes were drawn to their host in the corner. Something flickered in the hobbit's eyes as they surveyed the party, pausing only when he met Thorin's eyes.
Lip curling, the hobbit moved from the dining room, lifting a glass from a side table.
Thorin's jaw twitched. Just one night, then he'd never have to see the horrid hobbit again.
---
The parlor was quiet. The dwarrow had settled in their respective rooms, their snoring barely muffled through the thick doors.
The fire heated his skin, tipping near on the cusp of unbearable. His glass of unfinished Black Draft sat on the small table next to his armchair. His gaze was solemn as he looked at the wizard sitting across from them.
"You would send them all to their deaths, encouraging such a senseless quest?"
Gandalf didn't respond, gray eyes studying Bilbo's face instead.
The wizard was infuriating. He pushed further. "These dwarrow have a course and nothing else. They have no plan of attack if the beast is still alive within that mountain. They have no preparation for unexpected enemies or fights."
Gandalf puffed a small circle of smoke from his lips. "Few things can truly ever be planned, Bilbo."
Bilbo shook his head, lifting the cup to his lips. "It's beyond me as to why you would have supposed I would join something like this. You know me better than that at this point." The drink burned down his throat.
The wizard paused, eyes turning towards the fire. "There is another reason."
Another reason? He looked at Gandalf curiously.
"There have been sightings of a white orc."
His blood turned to ice, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened.
The scent of decay and wet fur stirred in his mind, empty places on his foot burning.
His now-empty glass hit the table hard, his throat dry. "Impossible. I was told the filth died of his wounds. Elrond's scouts saw it."
Gandalf watched him with pitying eyes.
"Don't look at me like that, wizard." Bilbo's voice was sharp.
Waiting for a response, Bilbo paused. His ears twitched as he heard steps outside his house – hurried and clumsy. He stood quickly, moving to the entry and opening his door.
Matthias stood at the entry, cradling his arm, blood seeping from a cut on his temple.
Bilbo drew him inside immediately, crouching to the Bounder's height. "Are you alright?"
Matthias nodded. "They're at the bridge," he rasped. "Nobody saw them coming, Master Baggins."
His jaw tightened. "Go to the parlor. Gandalf will care for you." He reached for his cloak, lifting his weapons from the rack.
"I can go back, Master Baggins -"
"Stay here." Bilbo's tone was sharp, allowing no room for argument. He'd not let an injured Bounder back into battle.
Stepping outside the quiet comfort of the Shire pressed around him – lamplight in windows, the scent of evening bread, the gentle rustle of the leaves.
And orcs at the bridge.
His jaw tightened.
The cool air quickly became warm as he raced through the quiet Shire roads.
He heard the clashing blades and cries long before he saw the scene.
Arrows whizzed through the air, orcs howling as they pierced their skin. Coded calls from the Bounders sounded as they carried out their attacks.
Blades shrieking from their sheaths, Bilbo lunged into battle.
He dragged his blade through an orc's leg, black blood spurting from the cut, and with another slice, the orc was silenced.
Movement ingrained into his veins pushed his body faster, quicker, more brutally.
Black soaked the earth as Bilbo slammed his foot into the inside of an orc's knee, a sharp crack echoing through the ground as it crumpled. Bilbo leveled his blades at its neck.
"Why have you entered my lands?" Black speech fell heavy from his tongue.
Laughter gurgled from the orc's throat. "Our Commander was right - the small one still lives."
Bilbo narrowed his eyes, pressing his blade harder under the filth's neck. "If your commander wishes to confirm his suspicions, tell him to come and fight me himself."
The orc bared his teeth in a sharp smile. "The Pale one says he'll await you at the mountain. Come, lest you wish to see your peaceful land razed to the ground."
With a swift stroke, Bilbo dispatched the orc's head.
The air was finally quiet - devoid of the ugly noise of Black Speech.
A heavy weight settled in Bilbo's chest as he sheathed his blades.
Gandalf was right.
Azog still lived.
He scoffed. He should never have been so hopeful. Such evil would not die quietly.
"Commander Baggins?" Daisy's voice was hesitant.
Bilbo turned. "Where did the attack come from?"
Daisy sighed heavily. "We won't know for sure until our scouting parties confirm it, but it seems they came from the Northeast. Their path in is unsure since no one saw them before now."
He gave a curt nod. He didn't need a confirmation. He knew where they came from. "I want you and Hamon to lock down the borders of the Shire. Limit travel and double patrols."
"Is something happening?"
Bilbo looked at the Bounders dragging the orc bodies into a pile, setting them aflame. "Not here. But there is something I have to finish."
One more time. Then the Shire would be safe.
---
Candlelight flickered across the room Thorin had been given. He stood near the window, peering into the dark garden.
Balin stood across from him. “It’s a difficult journey. Without reinforcements, I worry…” he trailed off, unspoken words hanging in the air.
“If you worry so much, perhaps you shouldn’t come.” Thorin’s words came clipped. Worry had no space within the members of his party – he’d deal with anything that came up.
Balin was quiet.
Thorin sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I apologize, Balin, I should not have spoken so. Especially not to you.”
He felt Balin’s gaze flicking over him.
Balin clasped his shoulder. “We could all do with a good night’s rest. We can talk more in the morning.”
Nodding tiredly, Thorin opened the door, saying goodnight as Balin left.
A soft murmuring caught his attention. He paused on the edge of the bedroom door before pushing away, walking towards the sound.
A young voice came from the parlor. “I should have gone with Master Baggins. What if –“
“Hush, Matthias,” Gandalf’s voice was reassuring. “You have done your part.”
Thorin scoffed. It seemed their host had chosen to abandon them. But what should he have expected from such a volatile being?
He stepped into the parlor.
Gandalf was crouched in front of the large, red armchair, hands lifted upwards, touching something on the chair.
"Weren't hobbits supposed to be the meaning of hospitality?" Thorin snarked. "Imagine my surprise when I found he had left."
Gandalf arched a brow.
"Or perhaps he's running away so he won't have to be pressured into facing danger."
There was a cry of outrage.
Gandalf sighed as a small hobbit rounded the armchair.
Thorin had to tamp down the surprise he felt. The hobbit appeared even younger than Fili and Kili, baby fat still clinging to his face.
A white bandage was wrapped around his head, and he steadied himself with the armchair, eyes lit with anger. "Don’t you speak that way about Master Baggins! You have no idea what he's-"
A tired voice cut the hobbit off. "That's enough, Matthias."
Thorin whirled around, hand flying to his empty waist. He shifted uneasily, not having heard the hobbit enter.
Bilbo Baggins stood just outside the entry to the parlor. Dressed in a dark green cloak, the hobbit regarded the room with a heavy gaze. Two others stood behind him - a male and female hobbit, dressed in the same attire.
Something dark streaked their cloaks, shiny and wet. Thorin narrowed his eyes.
Matthis bolted from his seat, beginning to place a fist over his heart, only stopping when Bilbo waved a hand, gesturing for him to sit.
Stepping into the room, Bilbo moved to crouch next to the small hobbit.
"How's your head?" Master Baggins' voice was soft.
Matthis squared his jaw, and Thorin recognized the gleam in his eye. It was the same Kili got whenever he told Thorin he could still spar. "I'll be okay."
Bilbo's lips pursed together. "I want you on bed rest for at least a week. Hamon and Daisy will help you back."
Helping the small hobbit, Master Baggins escorted the three hobbits to the door, coming back as soon as they were gone.
The firelight flickered across his features, giving the hobbit a far hollower appearance than earlier. Something dark streaked his cloak, and Thorin narrowed his eyes.
Sharp green eyes focused on him.
"You have yourselves your 'burglar' as you will." The words fell in the quiet of the room, even the crackling flames seeming to still.
Strange enough, there was no trepidation wavering the words as Thorin had expected. Rather, the hobbit sounded resigned – grim.
With one last glance towards Gandalf, their host left the room.
“Surely there must have been another hobbit available to be a burglar,” Thorin grumbled.
"I believe you will find Bilbo and yourself far more similar than you think, Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf's voice was soft.
Thorin snorted. If he were similar to that hobbit, he'd have no right to be called a king.
All he could hope was that the hobbit would be able to keep up on the journey.
