How I Leave You

The Beginning of the End

I do not know how long Thorin has been gone for when Bilbo barges in through the front door. Hours. Or perhaps only minutes.

"Ilwien," he says, clearly out of breath. "Come-- come quickly. There's trouble at the-- at the Master's house. Fili and Kili, they..." Taking a deep breath, Bilbo tries to get it together. "I'm afraid they might murder Alfrid if we wait even a moment longer."

"What?" I say, already headed for the door. "Alfrid? Who's Alfrid?"

"The Master's servant, I believe."

We begin walking, and I have to remind myself to slow down so that the halfling can keep up. In the back of my mind, I remind myself that I need to give Bilbo the ring that currently rests around my neck. In case trouble arrives and I am not there to greet it for him, he should be able to disappear if he cannot defend himself.

The yells reach us before we've even entered the Master's house. Inside, Dwalin is holding Kili back, while both Fili's arms are outstretched by Oin and Gloin. This isn't stopping the brothers from lashing out verbal attacks, though, and they aim profanities at who I take to be Alfrid: an ugly man with sleazy hair and horribly crooked teeth and sleazy hair.

How lovely.

"What is the matter?" I ask, trying my best not to scan the room for Thorin's presence in it.

He's not here.

"This imbecile won't let us see the Master," Kili says, still wriggling to get out of Dwalin's grip.

"The Master," Alfrid proclaims with a voice so shrill it almost cuts my ears, "is terribly busy at the moment."

I take a deep breath and let my presence grow.

"Why, surely not too busy for a meeting with Thorin Oakenshield?"

I slither closer to the hideous figure in front of me.

"A stranger is a stranger, regardless of who he proclaims to be, or what inheritance may or may not befall him."

"But don't you see, dear Alfrid," I say, leaning close enough to touch his shoulder, "that any wealth which falls into the hands of the King under the Mountain will trickle into the streams of Laketown?"

"That may be so." Alfrid's barrier is still up. He wants to impress his Master more than he wants me. "But no Oakenshield has ever sat on the throne beneath the mountain. How are we to know he is no cheat?"

"Because," I start, moving behind him so that I might whisper in his ear, "he is a son of Durin. No matter how little you wish to see it, Alfrid, you cannot deny what is plain in front of your eyes. Thorin Oakenshield bears the blood of the Durin line. He is the son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and he will be the King Under the Mountain, even if you are not fond of the thought. So the question just remains..." I move in front of him again so he can look into my eyes and the gold that flows within them, "...of whether you will allow his wealth to flow into Esgaroth, too."

Finally I withdraw, though I leave a hint of my power on his person. Just enough to make him reconsider.

"Fili, Kili," I say, motioning for the other dwarves to let the young princes go. "Let us not embarrass ourselves in front of our most noble and generous host."

Only they get to see the wink I send them. Luckily, they get ahold of the smile on their lips before Alfrid notices what might have been so amusing.

"Why," Alfrid says, taking a step in my direction, "if you were the one to go speak to the Master, I believe we might find the time."

At this, I halt. Thorin's pride would never let him live that down, me speaking on his behalf. But why should I care? He was never my king. Only the leader of the company I am part of. Nothing more.