Loyalty, Honor, and a Willing Heart

Chapter 31 - Compromise

Now that they were home and dragon-less it was time to work. Roäc and his ravens kept them informed of what was happening in the vicinity, and for the moment all seemed to be calm. Thorin took his time to search for the Arkenstone, the hearth of the mountain of old, the heirloom of his family. Óin warned him that a dragon-lain hoard could be dangerous, but the king didn’t care, he waited for too many years to get there and would not listen to any advice.

In the meanwhile, the Company managed to cleanse the whole house and the main paths, so that their trampling would not carry dust back home. It was strange to call a place home after so many months of wandering, after so many years of exile.

Fili and Kili did themselves the cleaning of their uncle’s chambers, and greeted him when he came back from the hoard with the smile of ones who accomplished a big mischief. They didn’t even say anything and he already guessed there was something coming up.

“Now, what are these sheepish smiles meant to?”

With a flourish of their hands, the boys produced a golden harp, complete and tuned, Thorin’s personal knot engraved at its shoulder. His eyes got moist, but he held the knot in his throat not to show.

“My father gave me this harp when I was a lad. My mother made me learn to play it. Now they are gone to the Halls of Waiting, and this harp has waited for me to sing again.”

He sat and touched the strings lightly, bringing them to life once again. Lily went to him with a mug of warm tea, which he drank some sips to break to chill of the late winter afternoon, then he fingered the harp with more assurance, and begun to sing in his rich baritone voice, soon to be followed by the humming dwarves. It was the same melody Bilbo heard him sing first time they met, ages ago at Bag End, but some verses were different.

Far over the Misty Mountains Cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ere break of day

To seek our pale enchanted gold

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep

In hollow halls beneath the fells

Goblets they carved there for themselves

And harps of gold; where no man delves

There lay they long, and many a song

Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The bells were ringing in the dale

And men looked up with faces pale;

The dragon's ire more fierce than fire

Laid low their towers and houses frail.

Far over the misty mountains grim

To dungeons deep and caverns dim

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!

With this Thorin’s spirit uplifted and they sang until late, making Erebor’s halls pulse with their renewed joy in life.

***

Next day news were not so good. Roäc came informing of a troop of elves coming from Mirkwood down to Lake-Town, and he heard that they sought for revenge for their escape. Thranduil’s twisted words had been able to poison Men’s ears and make them believe the dragon had been sent upon them on purpose, so the dwarves would not have to pay for the supplies and necessities they took. Bard and a few others, including the horseleech healer, were still uncorrupted, but unable to change the tide, as the Master of the Town himself made more and more gossip to make his people greedy for the dwarven gold. Thranduil bought even more twisting in the matter offering help as if the Men were completely forsaken instead of well prepared thanks to the dwarves’ frankness and donation of gold. Then someone had the stupid idea that the dwarves could be dead, and it was only a matter of getting to Erebor and take what they wanted.