Comes Around Again (Gigolas & Bagginshield)

On the Doorstep; In the Town

Gandalf looked up, eyes wide before the dark flame, the name of the Evil falling from numb lips. "Sauron."

He screamed, then, and for a long time.

~*~

It was already pushing the late side of midmorning when Gimli looked out over the assembled crowd, but he still saw no sign of the Bowman. (Or of Legolas, for that matter. Where is that blasted elf? It did nothing to ease the gnawing pit of worry growing in his gut).

His father was helping the others load their boat, a supposed goodwill gift from the master, with the supplies gifted to them by the people of Laketown. All of the Company was helping load the boat, adding their dwarven sense of space to the lake-men's sense of boat craft in an effort to fit fourteen in addition to their new gear, weapons, and supplies. Only Thorin stood separate, watching with an odd gleam in his eye. Gimli knew that, were they father from the mountain, Thorin would think nothing of helping them, would have insisted on taking his fair share of the load. That he stood apart now, put Gimli ill at ease. It was worse, still, that nobody seemed to notice.

"You do know we're one short," Gimli heard, and looked to his side where Bilbo stood. "Where's Bofur?" Gimli looked around, and sure enough, he could see hide nor hat of Bofur. Well, it looked like Gimli wasn't the only one still using his eyes.

Nor was he the only one who could hear Bilbo.

"Last I saw, he was sleeping it off under a table," Glóin said, laughing as if he hadn't been as deeply in his cups the night before.

"If he's not here, we leave him behind," Thorin said, as he walked past, his voice ringing with royal decree.

"Behind?!" Bilbo said, rearing back. "What's the point of coming all this way just to leave him at the last?"

"We'll have to," Thorin said, and Bilbo mouthed it back at him, incredulous. "If we're to find the door before nightfall, we can risk no more delays." He strode forward, then, and held up his hand to Kíli's chest, blocking his path to the boat. "Not you," he said. "We must travel at speed.You will slow us down."

"What." Gimli said, flat, but nobody heard him. In fact, except for Fíli, the others in the boat seemed to be suddenly as deaf as his Uncle.

Kíli reared back as if slapped. "What are you talking about? I'm coming with you."

"Not now," Thorin said, and Kíli's pale face darkened.

"I'm going to be there when that door is opened," Kíli said with some force, but when he stood, he paled and turned pleading as the little strength he had was drained from. "When we first look upon the Halls of our Fathers, Thorin.

"Kíli," Thorin said, and his voice was softer now, affectionate. If Gimli didn't know better, he'd say it was honest and fully meant. But Gimli had heard enough liars spin their tales to know that it was an act, a simulacrum of care. He shivered. "Stay here. Rest. Join us when you're healed."

Óin sighed and clambered from the boat. "I'll stay with the lad. My duty lies with the wounded," he said. As Chastisements go, it was genuine, but not very strong.

"Uncle," Fíli said from his place on the boat. "We grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him!"

"Fíli." Thorin said, and Gimli recognized what he was seeing in Thorin; this was the benevolent tyrant, the King whose twisted words made punishment seems like reward. Was this the madness that took him, in the end? Already? But they hadn't even made it to the mountain. What could possibly—

Gimli looked at Bilbo, at where his fingers were fiddling with his waistcoat pocket, and the ring within.

Fíli was not about to let his brother remain behind. "I will carry him if I must!"