Gimli looked up at Gandalf. "Time to talk," he repeated. "Very well. To whom will I be talking?"
Gandalf frowned. "To Lord Elrond, and to myself," he said. "There is something suspicious about your dreams and we intend to find out what it is." He crossed his arms, hiding his hands in the folds of his robes. He was not carrying his staff, and Gimli did not see it nearby. That, more than anything, made him narrow his eyes.
"You're scared," Gimli said, realizing it as he spoke. "You're scared and yet you leave your staff behind. What is happening, Gandalf?"
But Gandalf's frown only deepened, and he gestured for Gimli to walk before him. Gimli spared a glance up at the balcony, but none of the Company was watching. With a deep breath, Gimli moved, and Gandalf fell into step behind him, placing a deceptively strong hand on his shoulder.
"Many things are happening," Gandalf said softly, once they were down an empty path. "And I fear there are ears everywhere, and not all of them friendly--not even here. The world is in motion, son of Gloin, and your Uncle is not the only one to read portents."
Gimli thought back to the geode, the image of wealth spoiled with sickness. "You fear the return of the Enemy," Gimli said. "You fear the consequences if Smaug is in the mountain when the Enemy rises, and you fear that no one will hear you until it is too late." Gimli looked back at him. "That was why you went to Thorin; only he would dare brave a dragon on its horde. That is why Radagast's words shook you so."
Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "And did your dreams tell you that?"
Gimli scowled. "I don't need dreams to tell me what my eyes can see," he snapped. Gandalf stopped and pulled Gimli to the side of the path.
"Then you are far more perceptive than your kin," Gandalf snapped, "or I would not need to fight with them as I do. Now tell me: what, exactly, do your eyes see?"
Gimli met Gandalf's eyes properly for the first time since they met in Bag End. He stood tall as was his right as a Lord, and let the weight of his memories come forth. Gandalf leaned back, surprised, but Gimli leaned in close. "They see a world headed for war," he whispered intently. "You are not alone in your fears."
Several emotions crossed Gandalf's face -- surprise, worry, fear, annoyance -- and Gimli crossed his arms and waited. A shadow moved, down the path, and his eyes flicked to see. "Lord Elrond approaches," he said, and Gandalf turned to look.
"Lord Elrond," Gandalf greeted warmly, all trace of his earlier mood gone in a flash. Elrond looked at him as if he knew exactly what shift took place and why.
"Gandalf," he greeted, and then looked to Gimli without a trace of surprise. "Gimli," he said.
"Lord Elrond," Gimli said, and bowed. So Gimli would be telling him after all. Good. Elrond had a way of tempering Gandalf, adding a cooling strength to his more passionate plans. Elrond nodded to him and began to walk down the path, Gandalf walking in step. Gimli once again followed behind, and listened to what they had to say.
"So," Elrond said. "Were you planning on telling me of your plans at any point?" Gimli bit his lip to hide a grin. Elrond sounded like his Ma when Gloin did something foolish, like agree to going on a quest against a dragon without consulting her first.
"Of course I was going to tell you; I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I'm doing," Gandalf said, rather testily.
"Do you?" Elrond said, raising his eyebrow. "That Dragon has slept for sixty years! What would happen if your plan should fail? If you wake the beast?"
"What if we succeed?" Gandalf pressed. "If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East will be strengthened."
Elrond was silent for a moment, and Gimli realized with a start that Elrond agreed with Gandalf. (And, also, that they had pretty much forgotten that he was there, which was rude, aye, but he would let it slide this time). Elrond knew there as a growing need in the world, that the darkness was returning, but it was still not enough to move him to action. Gimli glowered at the ground. Elves! he thought. Pah! They're so afraid to make the wrong move, they won't make any moves at all!
"It is a dangerous move, Gandalf," Elrond said at last.
"It's dangerous to do nothing!" Gandalf countered. "The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright. What do you fear?"
Elrond stopped Gandalf, and leaned in close, dropping his voice in an effort to hide his comments from Gimli. It did not work: Gimli's body was still young enough that his ears had not dimmed through long exposure to the cacophony of the mines.
"Have you forgotten?" Elrond hissed. "A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness." In his passion, Elrond's volume slipped and he grew louder. "Can you swear that Thorin Oakenshield will not fall?"
Gandalf was silent for a moment, and Gimli spoke. "It's true, isn't it?" he said, and they turned to look at him, as if surprised to see him there. "There is a curse on the line of Durin, and well do we know it. We are not blind, as so many believe. But what else are we to do?" He planted his fists on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Since our Father made us, we have been beset on all sides, but he made us strong to endure and so we have." He glared between the two of them. "The rings of power have not corrupted our kings as they had the kings of men, but neither were they kept clean of his darkness, and slowly have they poisoned our minds where they could not reach our bodies, turning what is sacred to us to profane lust. We know this," he said again, and shook his head. "He and his dark master hated us so that they created dragons, dragons to destroy us for the simple sin of existence. We, who have been long punished for crimes that are not ours, that are not crimes at all, will stand it no longer. We will take back our home from that which was sent to burn us, and Erebor will be our shining kingdom once more!"
Gandalf turned to Elrond. "You see?" he said, and Gimli rolled his eyes. All of that, and once more they speak as if he was not there. He wondered, if he appeared to them as he saw himself in his own head, would they dismiss him so easily?
"With or without our help, these dwarves will march on the mountain. They are determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels that he's answerable to anyone." Gandalf paused, and added, grumpily, "Nor for that matter am I."
They had reached the top of the steps, Gimli a few paces behind, when Elrond turned and said, "It is not me you must answer to." They passed through the doorway, and Gandalf stopped.
"Lady Galadriel!" he said, surprise and pleasure warring in his voice.
"Mithrandir," she said. "It has been a long time." Oh! Her voice was even lovelier than he remembered. Gimli froze. His Lady! His hand went to the gift and it felt warm beneath his jerkin.
"Age may have changed me, but not so the Lady of Lorien," Gandalf said smoothly, and Gimli was frozen by the warring desires to hide and to throw himself at her feet. "I did not know Lord Elrond had sent for you?"
"That's because he did not," said a voice, familiar for a very different reason, and Gimli's stomach filled with anger. "I did."
"Saruman," Gandalf said, and Gimli clung to the shadows.
Saruman! Of course, this was before Gandalf knew of his treachery. He'd have no reason to suspect--
"You've been busy of late, my friend," Saruman said, with some wry humor in his voice, and Gimli wondered. Could this be before? Could the White Wizard have not yet fallen to the Enemy's council?
Elrond looked to Gimli, barely moving his head, and indicated for Gimli to remain out of sight. Gimli nodded and crouched in the shadows. He could just see the light of dawn cresting beyond the council, and in its rosy glow, the members of the White Council.
The Lady Galadriel was even more radiant in the light of morning.
"Tell me, Gandalf," Saruman began. He had standing just out of Gimli's sight, but as he spoke, he walked closer to the table in the middle of the room. Gimli nearly didn't recognize him; here before him was an Istari of full power and control. Gone was the cracked madman they had met in the ruins of Orthanc. Suddenly, Gimli could see why Gandalf had deferred to his council. "Did you think these plans and schemes of yours would go unnoticed?" Saruman sat in a chair, sighing like an old man.
"Unnoticed?" Gandalf shook his head, a look of exaggerated innocence on his face. Gimli hid a snicker. Had that look ever worked? "No, I'm simply doing what I feel to be right."
Galadriel walked in slow, measured steps around the room, and she spoke in her deep manner, "The dragon has long been on your mind."
Gandalf sat at last, and with a weary acceptance that belied the confidence of his words. "This is true, my lady. Smaug owes allegiance to no one." He leaned forward and tapped his fingers on the table. "But if he should side with the enemy, a dragon could be used to terrible effect."
"What enemy?" Saruman scoffed. "Gandalf, the Enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never regain his full strength."
Elrond stepped forward, earnest. "Gandalf, for four hundred years, we have lived in peace. A hard-won, watchful peace."
"Are we?" Gandalf asked, turning to look at him. "Are we at peace?" He looked back to the Lady and Saruman. "Trolls have come down from the mountains. They are raiding villages, destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the road."
Elrond shook his head. Gimli frowned. Elrond was on Gandalf's side: why did he not side with him? "Hardly a prelude to war."
"Always you must meddle, looking for trouble where none exists," Saruman said, like a father to a wayward child.
"Let him speak," Galadriel said, eyes flashing. Never did she cease her motion, but when she walked by where Gimli hid, she hesitated for a brief moment, and Gimli felt her in his mind, the quickest of brushes.
Gandalf nodded at her in thanks, and steepled his fingers together. "There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug. Something far more powerful. We can remain blind, but it will not be ignoring us, that I can promise you. A sickness lies over the Greenwood. The woodsmen who live there now call it 'Mirkwood' and they say..." He trailed off, and Gimli smacked his forehead then froze. Did they hear?
"Well, don't stop now. Tell us about what the woodsmen say," Saruman said, and Gimli rolled his eyes. There it was, that air of smug superiority. Why did Gandalf listen to him?
Gandalf sighed, as if bracing himself, and said, quietly clearly, "They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol Guldur, a sorcerer who can summon the dead."
"That's absurd," Saruman said. "No such power exists in the world. This...Necromancer is nothing more than a mortal man. A conjurer dabbling in black magic."
Gandalf nodded. "And so I thought too." He leaned in, "but, Radagast has seen--"
"Radagast?" Saruman interrupted. "Do not speak to me about Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow." Gimli's eyes widened. Did Saruman not like Radagast?
"Well, he's odd, I grant you. He lives a solitary life," Gandalf said.
"It's not that," Saruman said, shaking his head. "It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms." Gimli's jaw dropped. His what? "They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth. I warned him, it is unbefitting of the Istari to be wandering in the woods..."
Radagast was a bit odd, sure, but Gimli thought that no reason to speak of him as such. Was he not a wizard, like they?
But it was soon clear to him that not all felt as Saruman did; the Lady looked to Gandalf and he nodded his head. She smiled, the barest sliver, but it's brightness shone like the very sun. Gimli sighed.
Gandalf lifted Radagast's package and dropped it onto the table with a dull thud.
"...or I'd think I was talking to myself..." Saruman said, then stopped, staring. For the first time, he looked genuinely unsettled.
"What is that?" Elrond asked, coming closer and reaching out to touch the outer wrapping.
"A relic of Mordor," Galadriel said, her honey voice full of horror. Elrond stopped, drawing his hand back as if he had just realized the flower he was reaching for was home to hornets. He hesitated for just long enough for Gimli to really see him hesitate, and ripped the cloth open with a strong flick of his hand. They all looked in shock at what was on the table, but Gimli in his hiding place could not see what that object was. He only knew that he could have happily lived a thousand lives without seeing that look on his lady's face.
"A Morgul blade," Elrond said in a dreadful whisper.
"Made for the Witch-king of Angmar," Galadriel confirmed, and, to Gimli's dismay, she faltered as she spoke. "And buried with him." She shook her head slowly, as if it could deny the truth of what she was seeing. "When Angmar fell, men of the North took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the High-Fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rock they buried them, in a tomb so dark it would never come to light."
"This is not possible," Elrond said. "A powerful spell lies upon those tombs; they cannot be opened."
Saruman leaned back. "What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?" he asked, and Gimli closed his eyes. Agent of the Enemy or not, Gimli knew that tone from those nobles at court who decide on a truth with little reason, and then stand by that decision no matter what was told to them. They cannot be convinced, because they refuse to agree that there is an issue.
"I have none," Gandalf admitted.
"Because there is none." Saruman said, and Gimli hoped that it was simply denial, that he was refusing to believe because he did not want to believe and not because he knew the truth and was deliberately misleading him. For Gandalf's sake, let Saruman be yet untouched by evil. "Let us examine what we know. A single Orc pack has dared to cross the Bruinen. A dagger from a bygone age has been found. And a human sorcerer, who calls himself the Necromancer, has taken up residence in a ruined fortress. It's not so very much, after all. The question of this dwarvish company, however, troubles me deeply. I'm not convinced, Gandalf; I do not feel I can condone such a quest. If they'd come to me, I might have spared them this disappointment. I do not pretend to understand your reasons for raising their hopes..."
Gimli stopped listening. There was no point any longer; if Saruman wouldn't listen to Gandalf, then Gimli wouldn't listen to Saruman. Once again, The Lady was watching Gandalf's face as if they were speaking, and Gandalf must have made some sign, because Galadriel's face filled with such mischief.
Elven steps on the stairs behind him, and Gimli sank further into the shadow of the shrubbery. It was the steward, Lindir.
"My Lord Elrond," Lindir said, crossing into the room and interrupting Saruman. The White Council stopped and looked at Lindir, who faltered only slightly.
"The dwarves," he said. "They've gone."
Gone! Gimli nearly stood and broke his cover. And they left me behind? Impossible. Father would never willingly let me stay in an elven household. There has to be some plan, even if I was not privy to it.
Elrond left with Lindir, and Saruman stood as well. "I hope this has put any worry out of your mind," he said to Gandalf.
Gandalf bowed. "Of course," he said, but Gimli knew all too well what that "of course" really meant. Saruman, however, seemed to miss the clue. He held out his hand and his staff rushed to him. Gimli reared back; he had no idea! Wizards couldn't—Gandalf didn't! His mind seemed to stick on "how?", and it played on repeat as Saruman left the chamber.
Alone in the room, the Lady Galadriel smiled like Gimli remembered from Lothlorien and held out her hands. "Mithrandir," she said again. "It is good to see you."
Gandalf took her hands and kissed her knuckles. "It is good to be seen by you," he said.
Galadriel hummed. "You are not the only one to share that privilege," she teased, "though I have not yet seen the other with my eyes." She looked up and seemed to meet Gimli's eyes through the verge. "You may come out, now," she said. "The others have gone."
Gimli swallowed, a knot in his throat sharp and cracked like granite, but he stood and walked around the pillar next to him to enter the room.
"May I present to you Gimli, son of Gloin, of the Royal Line of Durin," Gandalf said, and Gimli bowed low. "He is from Ered Luin, and of the Dwarves that fled Erebor and the fires of Smaug nearly two hundred years ago."
"I am familiar with that family," Lady Galadriel said. "I remember well the battle on the plains of Azanulbizar, and earlier still the thriving might of Khazad-Dum in the golden days of the first age." She stepped forward. "Rise, Gimli Gloinul, and be well met on this fair morn."
Gimli, heart full, bowed even deeper, and said to her once more the words he had at their first meeting. "Yet more fair is the Lady Galadriel, above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth." He saw on her face a look of wonder, and of recognition.
"Those words," she said. "I have heard them before, deep in the waking dreams of my kind."
"It is not the first time I have said them," Gimli confessed. "Though it is the first time you have heard them from my own self."
Gandalf frowned. "You have not met the Lady before," he said.
"On the contrary," Gimli said. "I have known the Lady Galadriel for many years, and she me, though she has not yet met me."
"Speak plain," Gandalf demanded. "What do you mean?"
Lady Galadriel raised her eyebrow. "He means what he says," she said, that glimmer of playfulness in her eye. "Though I would love to know how."
"It is done," Elrond said, coming back into the room. "Thorin and his Company passed over my borders at dawn." He paused, looking at Gimli. "All except for present company, that is."
"Good," Gandalf said. "Gimli and I must be off soon as well, if we are to meet them in the mountain."
"They won't be there," Gimli said. He looked over. "They won't wait," he said. "They will push on, and fall down the Goblin's back door."
Elrond crossed his arms. "You seem very sure."
"I am sure!" Gimli said.
"But how?" Elrond demanded, elven reserve cracking at last. "I have thought on this and thought, and even my own gifts fail me; foresight does not work this way!"
"No," Gimli snapped. "But memory does!"
Gimli had grown used to Gandalf the White, his joys higher and his anger hotter, and then again to Gandalf the Grey as he was with Bilbo, wise and kind-enough and constantly nearly wong-footed—so to have this Gandalf the Grey and weathered like the granite of the mountainside--look at him, eyes piercing and achingly familiar, raw and worldly from under his bushy brows, hit him off guard and he had to stop and breathe for a moment.
"Speak, son of Gloin," his Lady said, drawing his attention to a power more beautiful, but no less terrible. "I much desire to hear your tale."
How could he say no?
"The simple truth," he began, "and all that I know, is that nearly three months ago, now, I closed my eyes for what I believed to be the last time as a very old dwarf. I held the hand of my husband in our home-" Here he paused. Should he tell them of Legolas? No, not yet. Nothing of that without Legolas with him. "I opened my eyes in my childhood bedroom in Ered Luin, once more a young dwarf of sixty-four, on the eve of the quest for Erebor that I was too young to join the first time 'round. All that remained of my life before were my memories, held so dear...and this."
With a flourish, Gimli pulled the Lady's Gift from his pocket, removing the cloth wrapper with a flick. The gem flared and glowed brightly in the dim light of evening--a twinkling light like the stars above, and all were silent with awe.
"Is it...?" Elrond breathed. "Can it be?"
"No," Lady Galadriel said, her pale face white as death. "And yes. Or rather, as they could have been."
"No," Gandalf breathed. "Lady, your hair?" He looked at Gimli. "How did you get this?"
"I made it," Gimli said, puffing up. He was proud of his work and had spent years perfecting his skill before he had even attempted a mockup. The implication that he had somehow taken it made his blood boil. "I crafted the setting out of the finest mithril; it took many months and I had to relearn much of the art that was lost to us. I set the lock myself, in ways secret to our people. And the hair," he paused, "your hair, my Lady, was given to me at the end of our first meeting, a generous gift to a weary traveler who asked for nothing, his heart already full with gratitude at unsought kindness." He bowed his head and watched the light play in the facets of the pendant. "It is a symbol of peace," he said, his voice softening. "A new peace between our two people, and cherished by my house as a reminder of the kindness you had shown me." He bowed again. The elves who had seen the Lady's Gift always reacted oddly, but had never been quite willing to tell him why. He wished they had, as now the Lady was staring at him and it was most uncomfortable.
Lady Galadriel placed her hands on his shoulders, and encouraged him to stand tall. "There is no lie in your heart," she said. "And the evidence you bring is hard to deny. But tell me; why have you traveled thus?"
Gimli shook his head. "Is it not obvious?" He asked. At their blank looks he went on; "I am here because of this very quest." He turned to Gandalf. "You spoke to Thorin out of a desire for a stronghold in the North. You fear the return of the Enemy, and do not trust King Thranduil to hold, not the way Erebor can. You are right to act: Erebor will serve as the stronghold on the North, and it will hold."
"Hold against what?" Elrond asked.
"War," Gimli said, and looked between the three of them. He sighed. "The Company will reach the mountain, and in doing so, will wake the dragon. That is the sad truth. But in waking him, and setting him loose on Laketown, he is slain for good. Yet, the destruction of that worm is not the true danger of this quest." He looked to Gandalf, and willed him to believe.
"Thorin's Company is headed deeper into the Misty Mountains; they will not wait for you. Already, Thorin doubts your commitment to his cause, and will seek to go against your advice when he can. By nightfall, there will be rain upon the mountain and the rock giants drive them to take shelter in a goblin cave. There, in the depths beneath even the roots of the mountains, Bilbo will find something." He paused. "A ring. The tiniest of rings, unadorned and made of shining gold, that turns its wearer invisible."
"No," Lady Galadriel whispered, backing away. "No, that ring was lost long ago."
Gimli braced himself. "It was found," he said. "Years ago, by a creature known as Gollum. He lives his wretched life under the Misty Mountains and you," he turned to Gandalf, "have sent Bilbo Baggins right to him."
"Then there is no hope," Elrond said. "There will be war. The Dark Lord returns."
"The Dark Lord returns," Gimli said mildly, "but so too does the King of Men, and the Dark Lord is no match for him."
Elrond narrowed his eyes. "The heir to that throne is no more than a boy, one with no desire to become king."
"I've met Estel," Gimli said, dryly. "Aragorn son of Arathorn is one of my dearest friends. He is well grown by the time the War is inevitable."
Gandalf closed his eyes, face pained. "Oh, dear Bilbo," he whispered.
"Aye," Gimli said. "Dear Bilbo, but do not fret, Tharkun. Bilbo Baggins is made of stern stuff; for sixty years he keeps the Ring hidden and safe, not knowing what it is." He spread his hands. "He used it to hide from the Sackville-Bagginess and other unwanted visitors." He bared his teeth. "The enemy of the free peoples did not account for Hobbits, and that will prove to be his undoing."
"Tell us no more," Lady Galadriel said, sharply, then softened. "We are not meant to see such events before they happen."
"Truthfully, my Lady," Gimli said. "I am not sure how much it will matter. Already, I have seen events change from what happened before, and events that I meant to change have still come to pass."
Elrond raised an eyebrow. "This is why foresight is limited among us here."
"And well I know it," Gimli grumbled. He sighed. "I have not asked for this, and I do not want it, but I am here, and I will do what I can to reclaim Erebor and prevent what tragedies that I can along the way."
"What tragedies to you mean?" Gandalf asked.
Gimli met his gaze. "Erebor will see war before the Dark Lord's return. Sick with dragon gold and twisted further by the will of the Ring, battle is joined by the armies of men, elves, and dwarves for the treasure history of our people. It is a petty fight, and many good people die. I would stop such battle if I can."
"Be wary, traveler," Lady Galadriel said. "For while some events cannot be changed, more too should some that can change not be changed, for they set in motion events that map our futures."
Gimli nodded but remained silent. What could he say? He would not let his cousins fall.
~*~
"Come, Gimli," Gandalf said. "If what you say is true, we have little time."
"I speak truth," Gimli grumbled, but hurried after Gandalf all the same. Gandalf's horse had been readied, but Gimli's pony had been taken with the others. Once more he found himself required to ride pillion, and while Gandalf's current steed was no Shadowfax, he also was no Arod.
"You will ride with me," Gandalf said, mistaking Gimli's hesitation for confusion. "Bredun will bear us both."
Gimli sighed. "Of course he will," he muttered to himself. He turned to nearest elf. "I hate to ask, but if you have not noticed, that horse is quite a bit taller than I."
The elf's expression never changed, but there was an air of definite resentment when he crouched to help Gimli take his seat. Gimli touched his hand to his brow, nodding his head. "My thanks, master elf," he said, and then they were off to the mountains.
~*~
They rode hard, and Gimli soon found even his dwarven endurance taxed when the skies darkened above them. The rain came down in sheets, blinding as the wind blew, and Gimli clung tighter to the wizard.
The path was in shambles, and sleek from the rain besides. They had to move slowly, and a few times had to dismount and climb over boulders or around gaping holes. Gandalf looked into the distance.
"The rock giants are active tonight," Gandalf called.
"Wonderful," Gimli called back. "I am so happy for them!"
Gandalf stopped and looked around, shielding his eyes from the rain and lifting his lit staff high. "We should have met up with them by now," he said.
"I told you," Gimli said. "They never planned on waiting for you. They've been taken by goblins by now."
"Then we must make our way inside the mountain," Gandalf said. He turned and said something to Bredun, and the horse whinnied, thrashing his head. Gandalf took his pack, and Bredun turned and disappeared quickly into the storm. "He will make his way home," Gandalf said. "And he has a far better destination than we. Come! This way!" He led Gimli to a shallow cave. It was empty, which was odd for a cave in the mountains in the rain.
"A cave," he said. "Lucky."
"It is not a cave," Gandalf said. "It's an entryway to the Goblin City, and I fear the answer to what happened to your company."
Gimli looked around. "They wouldn't dare make camp at a goblin door--" He cut himself off when he saw it, trapped among the rocks. He picked it up, looking at it closely while Gandalf examined the back of the cave. He nearly dropped it when he realized; it was his father's pipe.
"Gandalf," he cried, and held it aloft when Gandalf turned to look. Gandalf's already grim expression turned even more dour.
"We are running out of time," he said, and hefted his staff high. He called out a word of power in the ancient tongue, and the floor opened beneath them.
Down, down they tumbled, and it was only the shock of it that kept Gimli from screaming the whole way. He hit the side of a tunnel and rolled. He tried to keep his head tucked in, but the force of impact flung him about, and made his eyes star. The darkness was absolute save for a growing ring of red like fire down below. The Balrog! Gimli's mind screeched. Durin's Bane has come!
But no; it was Balin's colony that woke the Balrog. These were goblin fires, seen at the end of a long tunnel. Gandalf, next to him, had his limbs spread in freefall, as if with enough will he could fly.
"Hold on," Gandalf cried.
"To what?" Gimli tried to say, but before the words could be spoken, Gandalf angled his staff down and let loose a blast of energy that blew them both back, slowing their descent. Three more blasts, and Gimli finally toppled down onto a rickety platform made of scrap wood and bone. He picked himself up gingerly and brushed the dirt from his clothing. He had made it down, pack intact, and when he looked, Gandalf was already up and ready.
"Ready your axe," Gandalf said, and Gimli did without hesitation. Now that the ringing in his ears had stopped, he could hear the resonating drumbeats in the deep. "The Goblin King is holding court," Gandalf sneered. "Come!" He took off, leaving Gimli to scramble behind.
Gandalf was fast, for an old man, and Gimli had to give his best effort just to keep pace. He was quiet, too, much quieter than Gimli's stomping books, and was often forced to kill a goblin guard from behind lest he notice them and warn others of their coming.
They came at last to the main audience chamber of the Goblin King. None paid them mind, as all were focused on the King's wailings.
"I know that sword!" He cried. "It is Orcrist, the Goblin cleaver!"
"Well, we found them," Gimli muttered, only to be shushed by Gandalf.
"Murderers! Elf-friends!" The King wailed, and really, Gimli thought, Thorin was not going to like that. "Kill them!"
"Now," Gandalf whispered, and thrust up his staff. At once, every fire burnt out, pitching them all into darkness. The Goblins began their horrible chatter, and Gimli could just make out some Dwarven voices in the fray.
The darkness was broken by a beam of blue light--no, not a beam, a sword! Gandalf's sword, Glamdring, held aloft and burning blue. The Goblins fell back, screeching. "Take up arms!" Gandalf cried out to the company. "Fight. Fight!"
And then there was no more time to think. A goblin came from his right, and Gimli blocked, easily sweeping its feet from its legs in one clean stroke. Another jumped at him from behind, and Gimli spun just in time to take its head clean off its shoulders. Gandalf killed two of his own before the Goblin King got his voice back.
"He wields the Foe-Hammer, the Beater, bright as daylight!" He cried. "No!" He cowered back from the blade, forcing himself backwards on his hands and rolling some of his subjects beneath him.
Dwalin and Dori get to the pile of weapons first, Nori and Bofur right behind them, and they begin tossing weapons to each other with only the barest regard for whose weapon belonged to whom. They could sort it out later, once they were free. Gimli fought his way closer, scooping up a piece of flattened metal as he did. He knocked a goblin loose with the butt of his axe and helped Oin to his feet. "Here," he said, and handed Oin his squashed trumpet.
"Oh," Oin said, blinking at it. He didn't try to put it to his ear, however, and tucked it away in time to catch his staff from Nori. Gimli saw Ori run by, Dwalin's war hammer held easily aloft. Gimli exchanged a look with Oin and shrugged. No, he hadn't known Ori had it in him, either.
Meanwhile, the Great Goblin had regrouped and picked up his mace. He charged them with a cry, and Gimli raised his axe, but the blow was blocked by Thorin, spring-boarding off of Dwalin's back, and the Great Goblin staggered backwards and off the edge of the platform.
Still, however, the goblins came at them.
"Follow me," Gandalf shouted. "Quick! Run!"
Cutting down another goblin, Gimli turned and ran towards Gandalf. The rest of the company did the same, killing what goblins came close enough as they went.
Unlike Dwarven cities, which were built with some kind of plan, of sense in mind, Goblin cities were like a hive, filled with twisting tunnels that lead to nowhere and rickety suspensions that nearly sent them all reeling. Gimli wondered just how often Gandalf had been through these tunnels, as he led them unerringly through them, a horde of goblins chasing behind.
"Quickly!" Gandalf cried.
"Faster!" Balin urged, running up alongside Gimli, sword in hand. "Gimli, good to see you."
"Cousin," Gimli said, grinning fiercely.
Dwalin called out behind them, "Post!" and Gimli dropped back as he saw a clutch of goblins coming at them to head them off. He swung his axe, and between he, Dwalin, and Kili, they cut a massive guardrail post and held it before them like a giant spike.
"Charge!" Dwalin cried, and forward they went, swinging the rail before them and sweeping goblins clean off the path until a small goblin jumped and landed atop the rail, running towards them. Dwalin dropped the rail, pulling his axes, and knocked the goblin aside, splitting him in two. Gimli dropped the rail as well, and the company pulled their weapons once more. The goblins were coming more and more quickly, attacking from all angles, and Gimli was forced to spin in circles to keep them off of him. He slashed forward, separating one from his head, and heard one cry out behind him as Ori squashed him with one mighty swing of Dwalin's warhammer. Balin was at an intersection, wielding his sword in smooth loops, his movements as graceful as any dance and his expression peaceful. Beyond him, Thorin spun, his hair and clothes flying out behind him as he cut a path forward.
Thorin pointed out to the abyss. "Cut the ropes!" He cried, slashing at them as more goblins swung towards the company.
An arrow hit the rock next to Gimli's head and he jumped back, looking for the source: a team of goblins had targeted Kili, and he was stuck, deflecting arrows with his sword. Fili fought his way towards his brother, and grabbed the back end of the ladder Kili grabbed as a shield. Gimli nearly smacked himself—who uses a ladder as a shield? —but it was working, so Gimli wouldn't question it. He grabbed the other end, and together they rammed the goblins coming towards them, forcing them back and off the path where it came to a sudden end.
"Bridge it!" Someone called out, and they dropped the ladder, letting it swing forward to connect the paths. It was not the narrowest bridge Gimli had ever crossed, that honor went to Lorien, nor was it the most perilous, for that went to the fellowship's flight from the Balrog, but it was certainly narrow and perilous enough, that later Gimli would barely remember the steps he took to cross it, though Ori would say he moved so quickly he barely touched the ground. Dwalin, the last across, broke the ladder behind them.
And so, they fought, the paths and goblins blurring together until Gimli was aware only of his next step, his next strike, his next opponent. He had reached the meditative peace of the warrior, when the active mind surrendered to the body's memory. His pace quickened, and his motions smoothed until his axe was an extension of his arm. Under his breath, he began to count.
"Twenty-three, twenty-four," he muttered, and then Gloin was calling his name. The path before them broke once more, the chasm spanned by a spinning bridge, and as it swung towards them Gimli leaped and ran, riding the pendulum to the other side. He watched as the bridge swung back, half their Company still on board, and this time joined by goblins. The piece swung to the side as it returned, but still the rest of the Company managed to make the distance, the goblins falling by the wayside.
"Quickly!" Gandalf cried, and turned only to stop short when the path before them exploded upwards and the Great Goblin jumped onto their path. Their way was blocked and, as they stood, they were surrounded.
"You thought you could escape me?" The Great Goblin cried, swinging his mace at Gandalf, who staggered back, nearly falling. "What are you going to do now, wizard?" The Great Goblin taunted.
Gandalf sneered and leapt forward, striking the Great Goblin in the eye with the end of his wizard's staff. The Great Goblin clutched at his face, crying out with pain. So distracted, he did not see Gandalf move again, slicing Glamdring across his belly, sliding easily through layers of fat and exposing stinking entrails.
The Great Goblin clutched at his stomach. "That'll do it," he said, sounding nearly resigned, and then he fell backwards, landing with a resounding crash on and through the path. It was too much, and it crumbled beneath his weight, taking all of them, dwarves, Gandalf, goblins, and all, down with them.
Some luck was with them, and their section of the bridge slid down the side of the cavern in mostly one piece, and the company rode it down, screaming. They landed in a pile of dead timber, half-buried in the wreckage. Gandalf was the first to his feet, and carefully, the dwarves poked their heads from their dusty pile.
"Well," Bofur said, disgustingly cheery, "that could have been worse."
"Oh no," Gimli said, and then a great weight landed atop their wrecked section of bridge; the corpse of the Great Goblin stinking and sinking further down as his great mass settled.
"You've got to be joking!" Dwalin cried out, straining with the effort of lifting a beam off of himself.
"Gimli," Gloin cried. "Gimli, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Da," Gimli said, and for the most part he was. The siege-state had receded, and he was aware of any dozen minor hurts, but he was still small enough have been kept mostly safe from the wreck, and he was able to slither free with little difficulty. He climbed over to his father, pulling bits of timber off of him until Gloin was free and together they worked to free Oin.
"Gandalf!" Kili cried, suddenly, voice trembling. Gimli looked to Kili, and followed his pale-faced gaze up to see what looked like every living goblin in the mountain rushing at them.
"There's too many!" Dwalin cried, picking Ori bodily from the wreck. "We can't fight them."
"Only one thing will save us," Gandalf said. "Daylight! Come on! Here, on your feet!" He righted Dori and ran. The rest of them, still dusting each other off, ran after, close at his heels.
They encountered no more goblins before them, and after a few twists and turns, emerged into a blinding golden sunset. Blinking spots from their eyes, they ran down the side of the mountain, sliding from tree to tree to slow their peeling descent. They had made it through the Misty Mountains.
They were some ways down when they finally slowed, Gandalf counting off heads. "...Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and...Bilbo. Where is Bilbo?" He cried out, spinning on Thorin. "Where is the hobbit?"
Thorin just stared back, and after a moment, turned that stare on Gimli. Gimli frowned, what had he done?
"Curse the halfling!" Dwalin said, and Gimli could hear the worry under his bluster. "Now he's lost?!"
Next to Gimli, Gloin shook his head. "I thought he was with Dori!"
"Don't blame me!" Dori said. He had Ori pulled in close. Dwalin's warhammer rested easily in Ori's hand.
Gandalf spun on Dori anyway. "Well, where did you last see him?"
Nori spoke up. "I think I saw him slip away, when they first collared us," he said, faltering at the last.
"What happened exactly?" Gandalf demanded. "Tell me!"
Gimli stiffened. There was something wrong, something familiar about this. For some reason, he thought of Boromir, noble Boromir, picking up a chain on snowy Charadhras, and felt dread pool in his stomach. Not again, he thought. Please, not again.
"I'll tell you what happened," Thorin growled, and Gimli closed his eyes. No, no.
"Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door!" Thorin gestured, dismissing. He shook his head, disappointment settling over his shoulders like a mantle. "We will not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone."
"No, he isn't," Bilbo said behind them, and Gimli spun to see Bilbo step out from behind a tree. It may have only been a trick of the light, but Gimli could have sworn he saw Bilbo appear behind the tree, as well.
Gandalf let out a harsh breath of laughter. "Bilbo Baggins!" he said, relief flooding his voice. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!"
Bilbo walked—no, that was nearly a strut. Bilbo strutted towards the company, greeting Balin with a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"Bilbo, we'd given you up!" Kili said.
"How on earth did you get past the Goblins?!" Fili asked, and the company turned as one, eager to hear his answer.
"How, indeed," Dwalin asked, clearly not believing that Bilbo, genteel elf-loving Bilbo, could have fought his way alone, not when the goblins nearly had them so many times.
Bilbo laughed, holding up a finger like he was going to instruct them, but did not say anything, simply put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. Gimli saw a flash of gold disappear into the faded brocade, and looked at Gandalf, who looked disturbed, like he had seen it too.
"Well, what does it matter?" Gandalf asked. "He's back!"
"It matters!" Thorin demanded, and Gimli silently pleaded for Thorin to let it go. He was not ready to learn of the ring, not when it was so clear to Gimli that Thorin would be the one most affected by its influence. He may never be ready to know of the truth. "I want to know: why did you come back?" he demanded, standing too close to Bilbo and staring down. Gimli blinked. That was not what he thought Thorin would want to know. He cocked his head; maybe he was being premature, doubting Thorin.
"Look," Bilbo said, obviously nervous but staring down Thorin anyway. Gimli raised his eyebrows. Thorin at full glower was intimidating, no matter who you were. To face it without flinching took a new kind of courage. "I know you doubt me," Bilbo said. "I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End." Around him, the dwarves looked to each other and away, for all of them had thought such and thought it weakness. "I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that's where I belong." Bilbo pointed to the ground. "That's home." He looked around. "And that's why I came back, because you don't have one." He looked about, watching as one by one, the dwarves looked back to him. "A home," he clarified. "It was taken from you." He stood a little taller. "But I will help you take it back if I can."
Thorin looked gob-smacked, and Gimli wished he had better skill with a pencil to capture that look forever. Never underestimate the kindness of hobbits, he thought to himself.