Chapter Text
16.
To Bilbo's great sadness, Midsummer's Day was only hours away. He'd gone through the last days of his stay in Rivendell with mounting anxiety, completely unprepared to set out into the wild once more. Although he had pulled back the curtain of Elvish perfection and he'd seen the shadows beneath, still, Bilbo loved their tranquil home and would always long for the loveliness of it. Having to organize his belongings and plan ahead for weeks, perhaps months of scant provisions and life on the road only deepened the Hobbit's gloomy mood.
He was called to assist the second reading of Thorin's map, with Balin and Gandalf there, as before. Lord Elrond took them to a spectacular cave, curtained by a waterfall and there, beneath the right kind of moonlight, Thror's map revealed its final clue. It set Thorin in motion, almost bringing him back to life after so many days of self-imposed patience and restraint.
The night was growing late, but no one in the company slept. They were busy with the last arrangements for departure, packing heavy bags that Bilbo wondered how anyone could possibly carry. Especially since the route Thorin had chosen at Gandalf's and Lord Elrond's advice would be uphill and over the High Pass. But he had learned some things about the strength and stamina of Dwarves, which only made Hobbit sorry for his own poor feet.
While the others were bustling about, Thorin had pulled the table in his room out on the balcony and sat with Balin there. Dwalin leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his scarred face. His eyes did not stray from the two Elves seated across from Thorin. Dwalin had still not come to terms with Thorin's change of heart and he still regarded Fëanor with a great deal of suspicion.
It gave Bilbo a modicum of hope as he went to stand by the warrior's side, although Dwalin barely acknowledged him and didn't care much for the little, defenseless Hobbit. It had hurt Bilbo at first, but he had also learned that under Dwalin's gruff exterior, there was a heart of gold and Thorin could not wish for a more loyal and a more protective friend. Bilbo resolved to steel himself against Dwalin's reproachful looks and keep close to him when they set out on their journey.
"As you know, we are leaving Rivendell tomorrow," Thorin was telling Fëanor and his eldest son. "Do you still mean to follow us?"
The Elves nodded.
"There is no way to dissuade you from this?"
Father and son shared a small smile and shook their heads.
"And they yell at me for the stubbornness of Dwarves?" Thorin grumbled, but there was no anger in his eyes.
"You may have found your match in that respect," Fëanor laughed.
"Undoubtedly. Well, then… Since you mean to stalk our company no matter what I say, we might as well do this right. But first, you must be truthful with me," Thorin said.
Fëanor nodded in agreement.
"I have been trying to pry it out of you for weeks now, but to no avail," Thorin shook his head at the Elf. "The debt that you and yours owe, you must be truthful about that if I am to accept you as our companions in this quest."
Father and son exchanged a brief look and Bilbo bit back a scream. They were going to spout more lies and there he stood, bound and gagged by their threats, unable to do anything about it.
"What exactly do you feel you must pay for, possibly with your lives, if you really mean to face the dragon at the end of our journey?" Thorin insisted.
"Blood, Thorin. We must pay for blood, with our own, if need be," Fëanor told him.
"Somehow, I knew you would say that. I had expected some hideous crimes in your past, you have the look of one who's conscience would keep him from rest at night," Thorin closed his eyes and sighed.
Fëanor grimaced, but he did not deny it and Bilbo felt Dwalin shifting at his side, most likely looking for a weapon.
"You are very perceptive, Thorin Oakenshield. And you are right about the hideous crimes. My sons and I… Surely you have heard about how our people fled the Blessed Realm against the will of the gods. And how we need ships to cross the Sea."
"You murdered your own kind for those ships?"
"I'm afraid we did," Fëanor sighed and for a moment, Bilbo thought he would finally speak the truth. "When our host reached the harbor of the Teleri, there was already battle on the piers. Fëanor and his people were manning the ships and fighting off the mariners. When we saw our kinsmen put to death and cast into the Sea, we rushed to their aid and stained our own hands with innocent blood. But we didn't know it at the time, prince Fingon saw only his uncle and his cousins beset and he charged to their rescue without a second thought. We are kinslayers, Thorin. And that is a crime no amount of repentance can ever make up for."
Silence fell over all of them and Bilbo was grateful for the railing at his back. The enormity of what he'd heard made him want to tear his hair out and he clutched the smooth stone so hard his fingers hurt.
"We were cursed after that and the gods fenced their lands against us," Fëanor carried on. "Tears unnumbered we were promised and we shed them. We have been punished, make no mistake, and death was our lot, not merely tears and grief. But even now, after I am reborn and given a second chance, I do not feel that I am done. I would not have been sent back here unless more were expected of me and my sons."
"You crime was that of defending your own people," Thorin said, his eyes searching the Elf's face in an intense scrutiny.
"No, our crime was defending theft and murder."
"But you did not know it. And later, you told me yourself that you were repaid with betrayal."
"That is true. Fëanor betrayed us. Those motherless bastards left us to die on the Grinding Ice."
"Father, I cannot!" Maedhros threw back his chair suddenly. Bilbo watched Fëanor grab his wrist and squeeze it painfully. He saw the younger Elf's jaw clench. "I cannot stay here anymore. There are still things I must see to if we are to be ready for departure."
"Go then," Fëanor said gruffly, releasing him.
Head bowed, Maedhros hurried back into the house.
"Well, Thorin, now you know what our debt is," Fëanor turned his attention back to the Dwarf king.
"Yes," Thorin nodded. "Although I can't say I understand the depth of your sorrow because of it. But how does aiding me lessen the burden?"
"That I do not know myself. Perhaps it is not aiding you, but riding the world of a plague. Your dragon is one of the Enemy's most terrible creations. If I help you destroy it, perhaps part of my duty will be done. Although I know that forgiveness cannot be quantified and bought with good deeds. "
"You may be wrong about that," Thorin said, his eyes lit with sympathy. "We shall see. I cannot stand in the path of your redemption and I find that I no longer want to."
"Thorin," Bilbo saw Balin put a hand on his friend's arm, but Thorin would not let him say anything.
"If you believe that this is what you must do, I cannot tell you otherwise. You would not listen, anyway," the Dwarf gave Fëanor a small smile, prompting him to reach across the table and clasp Thorin's arm.
"We will go with you to the Lonely Mountain and whatever end awaits us there," Fëanor said.
Thorin nodded and returned the clasp, sharing a moment of silent understanding with the Elf. Bilbo's heart sank further than it had ever sunk before and, beneath the smile he'd forced on his face, he wanted to cry.
"Thank you," Fëanor whispered. He cleared his throat and made to sit up, but Thorin motioned him to wait.
"I may rue it later and wonder what possessed me to agree to this, but since we will be travelling together, there are some things I must tell you. You know about my Grandfather's map, do you not?"
"I had hoped you would show it to me," Fëanor said.
Ignoring Balin's second attempt to dissuade him, Thorin brought forth the map and laid it on the table.
"Here it is. I presume you also know I have a key to this secret entrance," Thorin pointed the X marked on the side of the mountain.
Fëanor leaned closer and examined the glowing script at the bottom of the old map. It could still be descried, but faintly and it disappeared completely when a cloud obscured the moon.
"I know about your key, yes," the Elf said.
"Aaaaah, is there nothing safe in this world?" Thorin grumbled. "Not from you, I suppose."
Fëanor smirked but did not look up from the map.
"That script…The moon runes… what do they say?"
"You cannot read them?"
"I'm afraid not."
A small, triumphant smile fleeted across Thorin's face.
"So there IS something you do not know! Well, here it is. The moon runes say: Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole."
Fëanor pondered the message for a few moments.
"I am sorry, this is nonsense to me. Is the grey stone some kind of marking for this secret door?"
"I believe so," Thorin nodded.
"But 'when the thrush knocks'? And when is Durin's Day?"
"Perhaps we can ask your son to catch a thrush and ask it," Thorin said, making the Elf chuckle. "As for Durin's Day… it is the first day of the last moon of Autumn on the threshold of Winter. We still call it Durin's Day when the last moon of Autumn and the sun are in the sky together."
"I see. Well, that is not very specific. It seems you have a riddle on your hands here."
"Perhaps. Durin's Day is less than four months from now. I cannot tell the exact day, but the wizard says there are signs to be read. It is clear to me that we must reach the Lonely Mountain and find the grey stone that marks the door before the sun and the last moon of Autum can both be seen in the sky. We don't have much time left."
"We will get there," Fëanor told him.
"Once we've left the safety of this house, we will venture into the wilderness. It is a perilous road and there will be delays, I am certain. The northern part of the world is not a safe place anymore and you have seen it yourself, we are being hunted."
"All the more reason for us to travel together. You have my word that we will defend you on your travels. Your pride will shout that you not need protection, but if it offers you a speedy passage now, when you say time is short, then it is folly to refuse it," Fëanor said.
"Did you not hear me before?"
"I heard you."
"Then it is agreed. We've no need for further debating. It is already late into the night and we will set out tomorrow at dawn."
"Gandalf will tell you that you will not leave before breakfast and a proper farewell to your hosts," Fëanor left his seat, folding the map and returning it to Thorin.
"And what will you tell me?"
"Just give the word. We are ready."
Thorin looked up at the Elf with a pleased smile.
"Perhaps after breakfast is not an unwelcome suggestion. We still have to present Lord Elrond with our little project, in payment for his hospitality."
"And I assure you, he will treasure it long after the dust has settled on this adventure. But I will leave you now. I too must rest and take counsel with my sons."
Bilbo watched the two bid each other a fair night and then Fëanor left. Heart heavy in his chest, Bilbo could no longer strain himself to smile.
"Come now, Master Burglar," Thorin walked over to him, patting the Hobbit's shoulder. "You needn't look so glum. I know it is difficult for you to leave behind the beauty and the comfort of this place, but take heart. We'll still have some of these Elves with us!"
And it will be our downfall, Bilbo would have said, if there were any strength left in him to speak the words.