The Light that Wakes [Bagginshield]

A Dream of Fire

Far over to the East, beyond the Misty Mountains and the Elf realm of Mirkwood, the Lonely Mountain rose dark in the night over the valley of Dale. Sieged by a fiery dragon for over a hundred years, the Mountain was now the home of the Dwarves of Erebor again, at least of some of them who had fought to drive out the dragon. And with them had come an unlikely creature who was not used to living under mountains, a Hobbit from the Shire, named Bilbo Baggins.

On this night in late March, Bilbo sat awake in his room, by a low-burning fire, lost in thought and running his fingers over a golden ring which he held in his hand. He had found the ring during the quest, in a foul cave inhabited by goblins, and he had told no one about it, although he could not have said why. Over the winter months spent in Erebor he had not given it much thought. He had been consumed with Thorin's ill health, and all his hours had been spent caring for him, but now Thorin was better, and Bilbo had much more time to himself. He had even found it more appropriate to have his own room, which meant that his nights were spent alone with his own heart.

He did not know when exactly he had begun spend his evenings in that solitary fashion, watching the ring, nor had he thought it was something to worry about it. Perhaps it was simply something small for him to rest his gaze upon when he was tired from the day. After all, his world had grown much bigger than he had been accustomed to, and he lived in a big place now, thinking about big things over the course of his days. It certainly brought him a kind of peace to spend his evenings quietly peering at that perfectly round circle of gold, which looked so small and truly insignificant in that kingdom full of the greatest treasures that Middle Earth had seen. And yet, those quiet evenings had begun to feel hollow, like the nothingness inside the ring, empty of things both sombre and happy, like sleep without dreams.

Bilbo found it harder and harder every night to break himself away from these quiet moments by the fire and just go to sleep. He found that time was lost within the ring, and that more and more hours passed by without his even noticing before sleep took over, and his bed would remain untouched more nights than he actually used it. Even though he had to fight the urge to sleep during the day, when he had things to do, it was better than spending his nights lying awake in bed, eyes pinned to the ceiling of his room, which had once belonged to Thorin's sister, a whirlwind of worry and questions without answer storming in his head. Anything that could silence those voices that came to trouble his nights, he would have embraced, and staring at a golden ring did not seem like much harm.

The following morning, he was not quite so sure about that any longer. He woke up in the armchair near the fireplace, where he had fallen asleep once again some time during the night. Judging by the jolting pain in his head, it must not have been many hours before.

He stood up with his head in his hands, and went to find a mirror in order to straighten himself out for the day that was beginning.

He certainly did not like what he saw there. In fact, it quite frightened him to look into his pale, gaunt face, two pools of darkness under his eyes, his lips cracked and livid. He wondered how he would show himself to the others, and to Thorin, in such a state. On the other hand, everyone was rather busy lately with the restoration of the city, so, if he just stayed out of their way, it was possible that he could go unnoticed at least for a good while.

Bilbo walked out of his room, and allowed his steps to take him wherever they wanted, not even a hint in his mind about stopping by the kitchens to get something for breakfast. He just wanted to wander around and not think of anything in particular.

With little sense of the passage of time, he found himself walking into the throne room of Erebor. It was bathed in the azure light of late morning. Wide milky rays fell upon the remade throne, making it glow in a kind of green mist and the Arkenstone, set back in its mount, radiate in a rainbow of colours. It was like nothing he could have imagined if he had stayed in the Shire, even if he was gifted with a more curious nature and with more imagination than most hobbits had.