The Ranger ➵ Kili Durin

PART 2 : CHAPTER 11

Bilbo stood by and did nothing while the one person he could call his best friend lay on a kitchen table, dying slowly. The poor hobbit began to breathe heavily, tears clouding his eyes as he sat down quickly. Fear and worry overtook him. He knew that he could handle himself well, but since he left his little home in the Shire, the Scarlet Ranger had always been there to make sure he was alright. The thought of losing her created a whirlwind of panic within him.

And Bilbo was not the only one. Almost silently, the entire company watched. Despite Thorin's mistrust of her, the rest of the group valued her and her company. Balin shed a few tears, and Bofur removed his hat. They were solemn faced, ashen, with worn and tired looks. Thorin stood by the window, looking out on the lazy town with an impatient gaze upon his face. Dwalin came to his side.

"What do we do now?" he asked hesitantly. Thorin stood silent for a moment.

"We cannot risk this mission for the sake of a she-elf," he whispered feverishly.

"She's not just some she-elf," Fili turned from his place by the mantle to look at his uncle. "You know that as well as any of us." 

"It doesn't matter. Durin's Day is upon us, and I promise you, I will be up there when the door opens." It was as though his speech gave him life again. "Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur, Bofur, Balin, Fili, Kili, Bilbo," he spoke each of their names as they turned to gaze upon him, "we need to go."

Bard had left his house an hour ago, in search of some medicine for his sick friend. By the time he came back, defeated and empty handed, his house was empty.

"Da, I tried to stop them but-" Bain said frantically.

"Where are they?"

A loud crash was all it took. Thorin stupidly had given the weapons to his nephew whose leg had not yet been tended to, and Kili had fallen with the weapons in hand. The crash echoed through the weaponry they had broken into and throughout the small town for that matter. Quickly, footsteps approached and they all look around warily. The dwarves outside tried to run but soon came face to face with the weapons of the guards.

Inside, Thorin commanded them to grab weapons, but a dagger held tight against Kili's throat and the threat of being stabbed himself made him drop everything in defeat.

They were dragged to the very center of town. A circle around them was formed as practically everyone in the town watched on. The Master of the town and his "trusted" companion, Alfrid, made their way outside due to the commotion, still trying to fit his arms in his winter coat.

"What is the meaning of this?" he splutters, spit spraying from his lips. A guard beside Thorin decided to speak.

"We caught 'em stealing weapons, sire."

"Ah," the master replied, "enemies of the state then."

"This is a bunch of mercenaries if ever I saw, sire," Alfrid pitched in, his forked tongue peaking through his rotting teeth.

"Hold your tongue!" Dwalin shouted, despite a warning poke from a guard behind him. "You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!" The crowd around them began to murmur in amazement.

"We are the dwarves of Erebor," Thorin spoke up, stepping forward as was his duty as the King. "We have come to reclaim our homeland," he said, glancing around. "I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the center of all trade in the North!" he spoke with passion, and the people began to nod in remembrance and agreement. "I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!"