for all the gold || hobbit {completed}

chapter nineteen - enemies within and without

There was no way I could face telling Oakenshield about the refugees, no more than Fili and Kili dared to. It was to Balin we turned to, finding him sat alone with only the hobbit for company in what must have once, a long time ago, been some clerk's office.

"He'll have to know. We'll have to tell him," he said, once we had finished. He must have caught my expression as he sighed: "I know what happened up in the throne room was-"

"Was what?!" I found myself snapping at him. "He would have thrown Fili off of the edge if we hadn't arrived when we did!"

Fili, ever the diplomat, despite his bloodied and bandaged knuckles, said, "He is not himself." That was putting it lightly.

"I know, lad, I know," Balin said. He sniffed and that was when I realised the older dwarf had been crying, tear stains running like snail tracks down his cheeks. The sight made me uncomfortable in ways I could not describe. If Balin was losing hope in Oakenshield, the prince he had so willingly followed, so lovingly talked about in his story of Azalnulbizar, then what hope was there for the rest of us?

"How many survivors were there?" Disconcerted as he was, Balin was as practical as ever. "How many did survive?" 

I thought then to the people crowding on the beach, the angry townspeople who had lost everything in a night and a blaze of dragon fire. I thought then to the bodies and the debris in the lake - too many to count, too many to put a name to.

"Enough," Kili, the one who had spotted them reaching Dale, answered. "A hundred maybe. Two hundred more likely. They were struggling. Many were injured."

Balin nodded. Sometime in all this the hobbit had left the office and Dwalin had appeared, leaning against the doorframe, watching us and his brother.

"Brother," Balin called, not even having to look to recognise Dwalin's presence. "Inform our king that the survivors from Laketown are coming into Dale. A few hundred of those who lived."

Dwalin let out a low whistle, but did as he was told. Balin leant back in his chair and folded his arms.

"And now we wait," he said, as much to himself as to the rest of us.

"To the gate! To the gate!" The roar of the dwarven king, not too long after, brought us all back to the then and now. I didn't know how long we had stood in that office in silence surrounding Balin, arms folded, each absorbed with our own thoughts. Enough time for Dwalin to have reached Oakenshield and shared the bad news.

Fili and Kili both started at their uncle's voice. As if responding to some natural instinct, they moved towards the door, instinctively following their elder's orders. Before he could slip from my reach, I grabbed Fili's arm, careful to avoid his sore hands.

"Don't go to him," I whispered. "Don't do what he says. Not after what he did." I had kept my eyes low until then, scared to see how he would respond to my concern, but then I took a peek. Perhaps it was anger that I had hoped to see - even if it was anger directed at me for making such a suggestion rather than anger rightfully targeted against his maddened uncle - but what I saw was scarier still. Fili gazed down at me in complete resignation, before pulling himself free from my grip.

"I must," he replied. "He's my uncle."

I should have screamed then - Mahal knew I wanted to - at his stupid obedience. But who was I to stop him? I was nothing to him, whereas Kili and Oakenshield were his family, were his life.

I watched him leave in silence, following his brother, following his uncle. I had forgotten that Balin was still in the room, until a gentle hand settled on my shoulder.