Status: You don’t know what it’s like to not know who your parents are, and then find out, and find out why people always avoided the topic of them, you find out what you are, and realize that you wish that you never knew who or what you were ~Eleniel All rights go to J.R.R Tolkien
Falling in Love With a Necromancer...
On The Doorstep. {Part 1.}
The next morning, I felt the hot sun on my face. I blinked several times, before I opened my eyes. The dwarves had started a fire, and they all seemed to be packed, and ready to go. I sat up, and I stretched. After a small breakfast,we set out again. I was sitting with Kili again, and after what I had told him the night before, I found that his grip had tightened ever so slightly. Bilbo and Balin rode behind, each of them, leading another pony, that was heavily laden with supplies beside hi,. We had picked a slow road, since there were no other paths to go on. We made out towards North-West, and we slanted away from the River Running, and we drew ever nearer and nearer to a great spur of the Mountain, they seemed to be flung out southwards towards us.
It was a weary journey, and a quiet and stealthy one. There was no laughter, and the pride and hopes which had stirred in our hearts at the singing of old songs by the lake died away to a gloom. The Dwarves knew that we were drawing near to the end of our journey, and that it might be a very horrible end. The land about us grew bleak and barren, though once, as Thorin told us, it had been green and fair. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree, and only broken and blackened stumps to speak of ones long vanished. We had come to the Desolation of the Dragon, and as Kili had said that we were coming to the waning of the year.
We had reached the skirts of the Mountain all the same without meeting any danger or any sign of the Dragon other than the wilderness he had made about his lair. The Mountain lay dark and silent before us and ever higher above them. We had decided to make our first camp on the western side of the great southern spur, which ended in a height called Ravenhill. On this there had been an old watch-post; but it had seemed that none of us had dared not climb it yet, it was too exposed.
Before setting out to search the western spurs of the Mountain for the hidden door, on which all our hopes rested, Thorin sent out a scouting expedition to spy out the land to the South where the Front Gate stood. I think that for this purpose he chose Balin, Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and myself. As we walked, one hand rested on the hilt of my sword, the other was incased in Kili's hand. We walked under the grey and silent cliffs to the feet of Ravenhill. There the river, after winding a wide loop over the valley of Dale, turned from the Mountain on its road to the Lake, flowing swift and noisily. Its bank was bare and rocky, tall and steep above the stream; and gazing out from it over the narrow water, foaming and splashing among many boulders, we could see in the wide valley shadowed by the Mountain's arms the grey ruins of ancient houses, towers, and walls.
“There lies all that is left of Dale,” Balin said, almost as if he was imagining what Dale looked like before Smaug came, and destroyed it.
“The mountain's sides were green with woods and all the sheltered valley rich and pleasant in the days when the bells rang in that town.”
He looked both sad and grim as he said this. I had learned from Thorin, due to listening in on one of their conversations, that he had been one of Thorin's companions on the day the Dragon came.
It appeared that none of us dared to follow the river much further to. wards the Gate; instead we went on beyond the end of the southern spur, until lying hidden behind a rock, we could look out and see the dark cavernous opening in a great cliff-wall between the arms of the Mountain. Out of it the waters of the Running River sprang; and out of it too there came a steam and a dark smoke. Nothing moved in the waste, save the vapour and the water, and every now and again a black and ominous crow. The only sound was the sound of the stony water, and every now and again the harsh croak of a bird. Balin shuddered.
“Let us return!” he said.
“We can do no good here!– And I don't like these dark birds, they look like spies of evil.”
“The dragon is still alive and in the halls under the Mountain then-or I imagine so from the smoke,” Bilbo said.
“That does not prove it,” said Balin, “though I don't doubt you are right. But he might be gone
away some time, or he might be lying out on the mountain-side keeping watch, and still I expect smokes
and steams would come out of the gates: all the halls within must be filled with his foul reek.”
With such gloomy thoughts, that followed ever by croaking crows above them, we made their weary way back to the camp. Only in June we had been guests in the house of Elrond. Now that I think about it, it was where I had told Kili how I felt, and all that, and though autumn was now crawling towards winter that pleasant time now seemed years ago. We were alone in the perilous waste without hope of further help. They were at the end of their journey, but as far as ever, it seemed, from the end of their quest. None of us had much spirit left.
I'm not sure if any of the others had noticed, but I thought that Bilbo was starting to act very strange lately. He would often borrow Thorin's map and gaze at it. He was probably pondering over the runes and the message of the moon-letters Elrond had read to them. It was Elrond that made us begin the dangerous search on the western slopes for the secret door. We moved their camp then to a long valley, narrower than the great dale in the South where the Gates of the river stood, and walled with lower spurs of the Mountain.
Two of these here thrust forward west from the main mass in long steep-sided ridges that fell ever downwards towards the plain. On this western side there were fewer signs of the dragon's marauding feet, and there was some grass for their ponies. From this western camp, shadowed all day by cliff and wall until the sun began to sink towards the forest, day by day we toiled in parties searching for paths up the mountain-side. If the map was true, somewhere high above the cliff at the valley's head must stand the secret door. Day by day we came back to our camp without success.
But at last unexpectedly we found what we were seeking. This time, it was Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and I. We went back one day down the valley and scrambled among the tumbled rocks at its southern corner. About midday, creeping behind a great stone that stood alone like a pillar, Bilbo came on what looked like rough steps going upwards. He came to Fili, Kili and I, and he told us what he had found. Intrigued, we followed him, and to our surprise and delight, we found traces of a narrow track, often lost, often rediscovered, that wandered on to the top of the southern ridge and brought them at last to a still narrower ledge, which turned north across the face of the Mountain. Looking down we could see that we were at the top of the cliff at the valley's head and were gazing down on to our own camp below.
Silently, clinging to the rocky wall on their right, we went in single file along the ledge, till the wall opened and they turned into a little steep-walled bay, grassy-floored, still and quiet. Its entrance which they had found could not be seen from below because of the overhang of the cliff, nor from further off because it was so small that it looked like a dark crack and no more. It was not a cave and was open to the sky above; but at its inner end a flat wall rose up that in the lower part, close to the ground, was as smooth and upright as mason's work, but without a joint or crevice to be seen.
No sign was there of post or lintel or threshold, nor any sign of bar or bolt or key-hole; yet they did not doubt that they had found the door at last. They beat on it, they thrust and pushed at it, they implored it to move, they spoke fragments of broken spells of opening, and nothing stirred. At last tired out we rested on the grass at its feet, and then at evening began, we started the long climb down.
There was excitement in the camp that night, and the next morning we prepared to move once more. Only Bofur and Bombur were left behind to guard the ponies that we had brought with us from the river. The rest of us went down the valley and up the newly found path, and so to the narrow ledge. Along this, we could carry no bundles or packs, so narrow and breathless was it, with a fall of a hundred and fifty feet beside them on to sharp rocks below; but each of them took a good coil of rope wound tight about our waist, and so at last without mishap, we finally reached the little grassy bay.
This was where we made their third camp, and we started to haul up what we needed from below with their ropes. Down the same way we were able occasionally to lower some of our more "fit" members, such as Fili, to exchange such news as there was, or to take a share in the guard below, while Bofur was hauled up to the higher camp. Bombur would not come up either the rope or the path.
“I am too fat for such fly-walks,” he said.
“I should turn dizzy and tread on my beard, and then you would be thirteen again. And the knotted ropes are too slender for my weight.”
Sorry, if this was a quite boring chapter, but things will get more exciting in the next few chapters. Thank you for being so patient with me! Love you lots! But, once again.
Feedback?
It was a weary journey, and a quiet and stealthy one. There was no laughter, and the pride and hopes which had stirred in our hearts at the singing of old songs by the lake died away to a gloom. The Dwarves knew that we were drawing near to the end of our journey, and that it might be a very horrible end. The land about us grew bleak and barren, though once, as Thorin told us, it had been green and fair. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree, and only broken and blackened stumps to speak of ones long vanished. We had come to the Desolation of the Dragon, and as Kili had said that we were coming to the waning of the year.
We had reached the skirts of the Mountain all the same without meeting any danger or any sign of the Dragon other than the wilderness he had made about his lair. The Mountain lay dark and silent before us and ever higher above them. We had decided to make our first camp on the western side of the great southern spur, which ended in a height called Ravenhill. On this there had been an old watch-post; but it had seemed that none of us had dared not climb it yet, it was too exposed.
Before setting out to search the western spurs of the Mountain for the hidden door, on which all our hopes rested, Thorin sent out a scouting expedition to spy out the land to the South where the Front Gate stood. I think that for this purpose he chose Balin, Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and myself. As we walked, one hand rested on the hilt of my sword, the other was incased in Kili's hand. We walked under the grey and silent cliffs to the feet of Ravenhill. There the river, after winding a wide loop over the valley of Dale, turned from the Mountain on its road to the Lake, flowing swift and noisily. Its bank was bare and rocky, tall and steep above the stream; and gazing out from it over the narrow water, foaming and splashing among many boulders, we could see in the wide valley shadowed by the Mountain's arms the grey ruins of ancient houses, towers, and walls.
“There lies all that is left of Dale,” Balin said, almost as if he was imagining what Dale looked like before Smaug came, and destroyed it.
“The mountain's sides were green with woods and all the sheltered valley rich and pleasant in the days when the bells rang in that town.”
He looked both sad and grim as he said this. I had learned from Thorin, due to listening in on one of their conversations, that he had been one of Thorin's companions on the day the Dragon came.
It appeared that none of us dared to follow the river much further to. wards the Gate; instead we went on beyond the end of the southern spur, until lying hidden behind a rock, we could look out and see the dark cavernous opening in a great cliff-wall between the arms of the Mountain. Out of it the waters of the Running River sprang; and out of it too there came a steam and a dark smoke. Nothing moved in the waste, save the vapour and the water, and every now and again a black and ominous crow. The only sound was the sound of the stony water, and every now and again the harsh croak of a bird. Balin shuddered.
“Let us return!” he said.
“We can do no good here!– And I don't like these dark birds, they look like spies of evil.”
“The dragon is still alive and in the halls under the Mountain then-or I imagine so from the smoke,” Bilbo said.
“That does not prove it,” said Balin, “though I don't doubt you are right. But he might be gone
away some time, or he might be lying out on the mountain-side keeping watch, and still I expect smokes
and steams would come out of the gates: all the halls within must be filled with his foul reek.”
With such gloomy thoughts, that followed ever by croaking crows above them, we made their weary way back to the camp. Only in June we had been guests in the house of Elrond. Now that I think about it, it was where I had told Kili how I felt, and all that, and though autumn was now crawling towards winter that pleasant time now seemed years ago. We were alone in the perilous waste without hope of further help. They were at the end of their journey, but as far as ever, it seemed, from the end of their quest. None of us had much spirit left.
I'm not sure if any of the others had noticed, but I thought that Bilbo was starting to act very strange lately. He would often borrow Thorin's map and gaze at it. He was probably pondering over the runes and the message of the moon-letters Elrond had read to them. It was Elrond that made us begin the dangerous search on the western slopes for the secret door. We moved their camp then to a long valley, narrower than the great dale in the South where the Gates of the river stood, and walled with lower spurs of the Mountain.
Two of these here thrust forward west from the main mass in long steep-sided ridges that fell ever downwards towards the plain. On this western side there were fewer signs of the dragon's marauding feet, and there was some grass for their ponies. From this western camp, shadowed all day by cliff and wall until the sun began to sink towards the forest, day by day we toiled in parties searching for paths up the mountain-side. If the map was true, somewhere high above the cliff at the valley's head must stand the secret door. Day by day we came back to our camp without success.
But at last unexpectedly we found what we were seeking. This time, it was Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and I. We went back one day down the valley and scrambled among the tumbled rocks at its southern corner. About midday, creeping behind a great stone that stood alone like a pillar, Bilbo came on what looked like rough steps going upwards. He came to Fili, Kili and I, and he told us what he had found. Intrigued, we followed him, and to our surprise and delight, we found traces of a narrow track, often lost, often rediscovered, that wandered on to the top of the southern ridge and brought them at last to a still narrower ledge, which turned north across the face of the Mountain. Looking down we could see that we were at the top of the cliff at the valley's head and were gazing down on to our own camp below.
Silently, clinging to the rocky wall on their right, we went in single file along the ledge, till the wall opened and they turned into a little steep-walled bay, grassy-floored, still and quiet. Its entrance which they had found could not be seen from below because of the overhang of the cliff, nor from further off because it was so small that it looked like a dark crack and no more. It was not a cave and was open to the sky above; but at its inner end a flat wall rose up that in the lower part, close to the ground, was as smooth and upright as mason's work, but without a joint or crevice to be seen.
No sign was there of post or lintel or threshold, nor any sign of bar or bolt or key-hole; yet they did not doubt that they had found the door at last. They beat on it, they thrust and pushed at it, they implored it to move, they spoke fragments of broken spells of opening, and nothing stirred. At last tired out we rested on the grass at its feet, and then at evening began, we started the long climb down.
There was excitement in the camp that night, and the next morning we prepared to move once more. Only Bofur and Bombur were left behind to guard the ponies that we had brought with us from the river. The rest of us went down the valley and up the newly found path, and so to the narrow ledge. Along this, we could carry no bundles or packs, so narrow and breathless was it, with a fall of a hundred and fifty feet beside them on to sharp rocks below; but each of them took a good coil of rope wound tight about our waist, and so at last without mishap, we finally reached the little grassy bay.
This was where we made their third camp, and we started to haul up what we needed from below with their ropes. Down the same way we were able occasionally to lower some of our more "fit" members, such as Fili, to exchange such news as there was, or to take a share in the guard below, while Bofur was hauled up to the higher camp. Bombur would not come up either the rope or the path.
“I am too fat for such fly-walks,” he said.
“I should turn dizzy and tread on my beard, and then you would be thirteen again. And the knotted ropes are too slender for my weight.”
Sorry, if this was a quite boring chapter, but things will get more exciting in the next few chapters. Thank you for being so patient with me! Love you lots! But, once again.
Feedback?