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NOVEMBER 9, T.A. 2941
News reached us that Smaug was killed by Bard the Bowman on October 26, Laketown is in ruins from the damage Smaug caused. I’ve not read much about dragons, but from the terrifying experiences I myself had with Smaug, I can assure whoever may be reading this that it would be dreadfully difficult to kill a beast as large and cruel. Bard must have been very brave.
While I do not know much about dragons, Balin told me about a malady that has befallen the line of Durin before Thorin. Dragon Sickness, he calls it. He says that it comes from cursed gold. Gold that has stayed too long in the presence of a dragon. It is known that dragons are greedy and constantly yearning for riches and gold, and hoard that which they possess. If such gold or riches come into the possession of a race of Aule’s creation, says Balin, the greed of a dragon shall have negative effects on this person. They’ll thirst after gold just as much as the dragon who possessed it, forgetting what actually matters, forgetting all that they may have cared for before. Yes, this is good information to keep at hand, but let me get to the point: Balin fears that Thorin, our Thorin, will succumb to this sickness. I think Balin knows that I have the Arkenstone. And I think he wants me to hide it from Thorin. I don’t want to. Thorin’s will is strong, and he knows of this sickness that was the bane of his forefathers. He is not selfish (though he has admitted to coveting the Arken above all else), and though I am never quite clear of his opinion of me, I know he cares deeply about his kin. He would not forsake them for gold… right?
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Bilbo put down his quill and set aside his small leatherbound notebook. He looked around the dimly lit corridor, feeling oddly nervous, like a child that could not find their parents in a sea of strangers. He was just outside Smaug’s hoard, where Thorin and his company sorted through all of the treasures of old. Bilbo did not feel the urge to join them. He had no desire to be in Thorin’s company; he would never be able to predict what degree of favor he would fall into with the dwarf, for one moment he could be a genius to Thorin, the next a fool. One moment he was a member of great value to the company, and the next, bait for Smaug. Bilbo sighed quietly to himself, fidgeting with the ragged ends of his jacket. It was clearly made for a child, but Bilbo had learned by now not to complain about what he wore, as long as it remained on his person and without significant damage. How he missed his needle and thread. He could make a coat much warmer than what he wore now. He huffed quietly and hugged his knees to his chest in a futile attempt to stay warm. The inside of a mountain during the first frost was not a pleasant place to be, and nobody had dared lighting a fire with the memory of Smaug still fresh in their minds. He felt the weight of the Arkenstone in his breast pocket. He looked around him quickly, making sure there were no waiting and watchful eyes, and then pulled it out, gazing at it with curiosity. It was a clear crystal, but seemed to reflect an eerie blue light. One that made Bilbo uncomfortable. He found it so very strange how so many could covet such a small thing. How something so small could determine things as important as leadership, as prosperity… as death. Somehow it could turn even the purest of hearts, the most noble souls, into evil and corrupted things, blinded by greed. He was lost in this train of thought until he heard the heavy tread of footsteps approaching him from behind, and he jumped in fear, slipping the Arkenstone into his pocket in one quick motion, whipping around to see who it was. And there was Thorin Oakenshield. More fittingly King Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. The dwarf had all but abandoned his previous title. Bilbo assumed that he had found some finer furs among the treasure, for his sky-blue cloak was either hidden by a darker one, or altogether disposed of. He did look kingly, Bilbo supposed, except for the wild anger in his eyes and the rage written across his face. “What was in your hand?” he said in a terrible voice. “Show me.” “Thorin,” Bilbo responded, making a pointed effort to keep his voice civil. He did not wish to entertain Thorin’s paranoia, justified as it was. “Hello.”“Show me what you had!” Thorin roared, taking a menacing step towards Bilbo. “I won’t have you turn on me like the rest of them have!” Another step closer, and Bilbo suddenly didn’t like how the dark blue cloak Thorin wore made his eyes seem all the more empty. The harsh light of gold had dulled the light of the sun that once resided there. Now all Bilbo saw was dragon’s fire. “Show me now,” he said, his voice rigid and cruel, unlike anything Bilbo had ever heard before. “Thorin!” Bilbo stammered, wrapping his hands around his stomach defensively, his hands fishing around his trousers’ pockets, hoping there would be something else, anything else for him to reveal. It took but a second for him to find an acorn, and he pulled it out. “Goodness! It was just this!”Thorin took a step back, stunned. The fire in his eyes seemed to disappear nearly instantaneously. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, forgive me, Bilbo. I did not… I thought I saw something else.”Bilbo let out a laugh disguised as joy, the air escaping his lungs in one heavy gust. “Just an acorn. I picked it up from Beorn’s garden.” Bilbo paused for a moment, hoping his explanation would suffice, before adding, “It’s one of the only things on this journey that hasn’t tried to kill us.”Thorin then smiled, and it was not the smile of greed Bilbo saw as he sorted through the treasures, tossing aside without a care the diamonds that King Thranduil of Woodland Realm coveted so, was willing to battle for. It was not the crazed smile of vengeance that he bore when news reached that Smaug was dead, nor was it the cruel smile of a greedy king watching Bard plead before him. It was a smile of unbridled joy, a window of happiness flooding through the stone walls of Thorin’s heart. “An acorn? Would you not have me make you something more grand to take home to The Shire?” he said, placing a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, the weight heavy but comforting. “This will do,” Bilbo said, trying to ignore the sharp stab of guilt in his throat. “I’ll plant it in my garden, and it shall grow to be tall, strong, and I shall look at it and remember the beauty of this journey. And the peril. And how lucky I am to have lived through it.” At this Thorin let out a soft sigh, his smile fading. A hint of panic thrummed through Bilbo, only to be assuaged as Thorin’s hand gently moved to the junction of Bilbo’s neck and shoulder, the warm hand against Bilbo’s cool skin sending shivers down the hobbit’s back. “I’ve been awful to you, haven’t I?” Thorin asked softly. Bilbo raised his eyebrows by a fraction of an inch. “Awful?” Thorin sat down where Bilbo was sitting, and motioned for him to sit next to him. Bilbo did so, wincing at the cold stone. The King under the Mountain took one of his furs and carefully wrapped it around Bilbo, as if the need to keep Bilbo warm was something so obvious and simple. But the action made Bilbo shiver involuntarily once again. “Would you lend me your ears for a moment, Mr. Baggins?” Thorin sighed. “There is much on my mind.”Bilbo felt heat rising to his face as nodded. “I’m listening..” “Thank you, Bilbo,” Thorin sighed, and even that seemed to take a burden off of Thorin’s shoulders. “I’ve just been… it’s like I feel that nobody believes in me anymore. Like everyone has turned against me. Even Kili and Fili, they’re behaving like they don’t even know me! The sons of my own sister, cowering from me as if I’ve turned into some sort of tyrant!” Thorin leaned against the wall, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “Have I truly become such a tyrant, Bilbo?”Bilbo sat up nervously, scrambling for an answer that would appease Thorin -- but luckily he did not have to answer with a lie, for Thorin continued without a response from the hobbit. “And everywhere I look I see the Arkenstone, but it is never truly there! And I have the most horrid premonition that someone dear to me has taken it. I ought not to believe it, but it’s almost as if the thought is controlling me. And just now! I’d have never been so cruel to you if I were in my right mind. I’ve never been able to fathom my own kin betraying me until I entered Erebor.” Thorin sighed heavily, slouching forward, his dark hair falling around his face, creating a curtain-like barrier that hid his expression from Bilbo. “Something about me is changing, and I fear it is for worse. I cannot take this throne if I prove to be no different than Thror, can I? That would do no justice to my line, to all we have fought for.”Bilbo sat silently for a moment, letting what Thorin said sink in. Thorin knew about what was happening to him, but he couldn’t control it, nor did he know exactly what it was. Bilbo thought it wiser not to mention the Arkenstone, for he feared the mere mention of it had the potential to send Thorin spiraling into a fit of rage again. He wasn’t sure if it was smart to call this malady for what it was: Dragon Sickness. “Listen, Thorin,” Bilbo said, hesitantly placing his hand over Thorin’s. “Everybody in this mountain thinks of you as their king. They all love you enough to follow you to the death. Do not doubt your companions’ integrity. If they have gone this far with you, they’ll follow you ‘till the end. I think perhaps…” He hesitated, biting down on his lower lip before continuing, speaking his mind as delicately as he could without accusing Thorin of madness, “the intensity of these past few days are finally catching up to you, and that is what is changing you. The threat of Smaug is now gone, but I can understand if his voice may still linger with you and speak falsehoods. That’s what can happen to warriors sometimes, or so I’ve read.”“So I’m going mad?” Thorin asked, his voice low and bitter but not angry.“No!” Bilbo exclaimed. “But you’ve trapped yourself here with the stench of Smaug for nearly two weeks. Some fresh air ought to do you some good.”And with this he stood up and took Thorin by the hand, and dragged him all the way out the rock door that was the entrance to Erebor. He then started clambering up the mountainside, and motioned for Thorin to follow. He had found a nice little precipice some days ago, high enough that they could see everything, from Dale to Laketown and beyond. There, Bilbo sat down and Thorin knelt down as well. There was a cold but refreshing winter breeze blowing in the air, and Thorin inhaled deeply. “The air is sweet,” he said, smiling. “Told you!” Bilbo said, laughing with exhilaration from both the climb and the wind in his face. “Sweet mountain air and such a lovely night! Look at the stars.”They both looked up at the sky, which was cloudless and clear, the new moon making the stars shine even brighter. Bilbo felt close to them as he lay on the rocks, closer than he’d felt before. Perhaps it was because they were so far north. The sky seemed to linger just out of reach of his fingertips. Thorin lay on his back and looked up at them. Bilbo followed suit. “I know stars are more honored by the Elves, but they truly are beautiful,” Thorin murmured, raising his hand up like he was tracing patterns in the sky. “I spent many nights as a child looking at them from places like this.”“They’re like little lamps in the night,” Bilbo said with a smile, caught up in his own little fantasies, “lighting the way for those consumed by wanderlust. Just pick a star and follow the light, see where it leads you.” “They make everything more beautiful,” Thorin murmured, now looking at Bilbo, who was still looking up completely unaware. Bilbo, in the back of his mind, heard something about, “you,” “more beautiful,” “and stars,” and his body went still, cursing his own wandering thoughts that had distracted him from whatever Thorin had said.“What did you say?” he asked, his voice almost too eager.“Nothing important,” Thorin responded hurriedly, and the silence that followed indicated that the dwarf had closed the subject entirely. “Alright.” They stayed there in silence for a while longer. Perhaps five minutes, perhaps an hour. But their peace was interrupted by trampling footsteps and clanking of metal, causing Thorin to dart up from the stone. Bilbo, who was now nearly asleep, jolted up groggily. “What is it?”He looked to Thorin, and his heart sank to the pit of his stomach when once again that uncharacteristic look of wrath on his face. “How dare they?” Thorin growled, standing up, his eyes lit with a fire of rage. “How dare they flood my kingdom!” “Thorin! What is it?” Bilbo asked, now worried as he looked down at the lake. He could make out small lights moving across the water and into the ruins of Dale, like little ants. The people of Laketown, Bilbo realized. “A thousand curses upon the greed of men!” Thorin bellowed, hands balled into cruel and tight fists as the wind whipped about his dark head. Bilbo felt sick to the stomach as he watched Thorin quickly descend from the shelf in the rock and storm angrily back into the mountain, his footsteps hard and echoing like those of a giant. It was at that moment that Bilbo realized that Dragon Sickness had killed Thorin Oakenshield, his Thorin Oakenshield. All that remained was the King Under the Mountain.