It was a strange camp that night, stranger than any Gimli had yet had with the company. When the Fellowship had lost Gandalf, Gimli had been too lost to grief to pay that night's camp any attention, and it is hard to feel that kind of sorrow in the Land of Lorien. And then, when his own fellowship had splintered, the Three Hunters had given chase to Merry and Pippin with no camp, and Gimli had not had to make camp again until the strangeness of their new party had faded.
Here, however, the second night with nearly a third of their company left behind, and the rest refusing to see how very wrong that was—Gimli sat and tended the fire, staring into the flames as if they held the answers.
Bilbo sat with Thorin, Thorin's cloak wrapped tightly around Bilbo's thin shoulders and tucked around his arms to keep them free as he poured over Thror's map. He muttered to himself as he looked, looking up occasionally and peering into the darkness. Thorin, on the other hand, never looked away from Bilbo.
Someone sat next to Gimli and he started. Bifur. The older dwarf nodded at him, and pulled out a piece of wood and a small knife. Gimli returned the nod and watched as the block of wood swiftly took shape in Bifur's skilled hands. The fire snapped and crackled as Bifur fed to it the small shavings of wood.
The block grew a head and shoulders, and long legs that were braced in graceful boots. Broad shoulders were flexed as the figure drew back a bow and its hair was caught in an unseen wind. Its face, his face, was rendered in exquisite detail, and when Gimli turned back from adding another log to the fire, it was done.
Bifur held it out to him, the delicate image of his husband and One love. *For you, on a lonely night,* Bifur signed.
Gimli took the figure gently, and turned it over in his hands. "Thank you, Bifur," he said, and looked up into eyes that were only mostly there. He wondered, not for the first time, what exactly it was Bifur saw when his eyes didn't see the here and now. It wasn't always war. "How did you know?"
*I lost my Westron,* Bifur signed. *Not my ears. Not deaf like your uncle.*
"Aye," Gimli said with a small laugh. He signed back, *Were we that obvious?*
Bifur shrugged. *Only to those who know to look.*
Gimli nodded, and Bifur clapped Gimli on the shoulders and then patted his own forearm with his hand. Gimli returned the gesture for respect.
"'Stand by the grey stone,'" Bilbo said, musingly like he was reading aloud. Gimli and Bifur turned to look. Bilbo grunted in frustration, speaking quickly to himself. "We are, and it's there, to be sure. But what help does that bring on a night like this? At least there isn't snow." He shook his head. "'When the thrush knocks, and the last light of the setting sun of Durin's day will shine upon the keyhole.'" Bilbo growled. "That's what we did! What am I missing?!"
*That Durin's Day is tomorrow* Bifur signed. Gimli blinked at him, then, more tired than he'd been an ages, and he began to laugh.
~*~
Kíli groaned, all sense of place lost to fever.
"Please," Fíli said, nearly begged, and Tauriel could only look at him. "Isn't there anything you can do? Elves are supposed to be grand healers."
"I—" Tauriel said, and froze.
The door burst in, startling everyone inside. Tauriel had spun, her knives at the ready, but it was only Bofur, weatherbeaten hat falling over one eye, and holding a fistful of green aloft. "I've got it!" he cried, and shook his hand. The green look wilted, half chewed, but there were still tiny white flowers sticking to the green. "I found it!"
"Athelas," Tauriel breathed, and grabbed the plant. "Athelas.". She brought it to her nose and breathed deeply. "You're in luck," she said. "With this, I can try what you wish. I will heal him."
"Excellent!" Óin cried out behind them, finally lowering the footstool he had grabbed. "I've always wanted to see elvish medicine."
~*~
Legolas followed Bolg across Laketown, ignoring, for now, the faces that peered out to stare at him, the elven prince running headlong past their doors, for seemingly no reason. Bolg stuck to the roofs when he could, the shadows when he couldn't, and much faster than any orc should have been able to run. Legolas alit on a small bridge and fired an arrow at Bolg's head. Bolg swatted it away with his hand, never slowing, and Legolas growled. He should have caught up to him by now.
He stopped by an open doorway, looking about him; Bolg was gone. He growled, low in his throat, but before he could turn and return to the others, he was struck from behind.
Legolas had his knives up before he had regained his balance, and he turned swinging. Bolg swatted his strikes aside like flies and Legolas kicked out. Bolg staggered back and unslung his bludgeon from his hip. Legolas sprang at him, not wanting to give him a chance, but Bolg had other ideas. His bludgeon caught Legolas in the chin and Legolas fell back, stunned. When he finally cleared the stars from his eyes, cursing at his inattention, Bolg was gone.
Legolas followed his trail to the edge of Laketown, and saw, on the far shore, Bolg making his way north. There was only one place he could be going in that direction.
"Gundabad," Legolas said to the wind. He had to be sure; if the enemy had managed to resurrect Gundabad, then Gimli would need to know.
"Is that where he's going?" Bard said from behind, and Legolas spun. He hadn't heard the bowman come behind, but he must have followed him from the house. That meant those inside were safe; Bard would not leave his children in danger.
"Aye," Legolas said, softly. "That is my fear. Tauriel and I will travel to Gundabad, once Prince Kíli is healed."
Bard nodded, and eyed the dark shape of the mountain in the distance. "Why bother, then?" he mused. "Why would Bolg bother with Laketown?" He shook his head, and turned back towards his home.
Legolas watched him go. Because they were here for you, he realized. Kíli was a an excuse, a bystander. To save the dragon, kill the dragonslayer. But Bolg had failed, and Bard still lived. What new devilry awaited them?
"Meleth nin, I pray I am wrong," Legolas said, and went to follow Bard.
~*~
"Hold him down." Óin ordered, grabbing Kíli's legs, and Fíli braced his brother's shoulders against the table. They'd lost the pillow in the scuffle, and his brother's hard head was now pillowed on a bag of walnuts. If—when Kíli lived through his, Fíli would never let him hear the end of it.
Tauriel began to chant over her kingsfoil poultice, the words dripping off her tongue like molten silver—no, he thought, like river water—icemelt on the first hot day, sharp and soothing at the same time.
Kíli seemed equally enraptured, though Fíli did not think Kíli saw truly. His eyes were open, staring with wonder. His dark eyes were pinpricks, and Fíli wondered what light he saw.
At length, Kíli gave a small cry and slumped back against the bed. Tauriel stepped back, off balance and a bit glassy eyed. Whatever it was, it was over. Fíli brushed Kíli's hair from his sweaty forehead. Already, color was returning to his brother's cheeks, though he still looked far from hale (and carried with him the stink of illness and rot. His brother needed a bath, and soon.)
"I've done what I can," Tauriel said. "The poison no longer spreads, but his wound may yet plague him as the years pass."
Fíli looked up to meet Tauriel's eyes. "But he will have those years," he said. "Thank you."
Tauriel nodded at him, ducking her head in a way that, if she wasn't so tired, she may have flushed. She seemed reluctant to leave Kíli's side and, after a moment, Fíli stepped back.
Óin was at the table, packing away the supplies he could, with the help of Sigrid. "I've heard tell of the wonders of Elvish medicine. That was a privilege to witness."
"Tauriel," Kíli said, his voice barely a breath of air, and Tauriel placed a hand on his arm.
"Lie still," she said, but Fíli could have told her it was useless trying to tell his brother to do anything when he was well, let alone when he was drifting on a fever.
"You cannot be her," Kíli said, looking away. Fill felt his heart ache for the longing in Kíli's voice. "She is far away—She is far far away from me. She walks in starlight in another world. It was just a dream." He closed his eyes. "Do you think she could've loved me?" He asked, breathless and plaintive, and Tauriel was looking at him with stone-struck shock – but not disgust. Confusion, maybe, and a bit turned inwards, and Fíli had to close his eyes. It was bad enough that his damn fool cousin was married to an elf – must he really witness his brother's courtship of one?
(For he knew his brother, and had been ignoring the signs for too long. Kíli had fallen for the fire-haired elf, and if Fíli was any judge, it seemed Tauriel was realizing she had fallen as well.)
Mahal's balls and beard, he needed an ale.
Where ale was not available, however, busy hands could quiet busy minds. The eldest daughter, Sigrid, was beginning to pick up the pieces of their home. Her brother seemed to be keeping watch at the wall, and she seemed disinclined to ask him to stop. Little Tilda was with Bofur, laughing as the kindly dwarf "pulled" a coin from her ear. He was good with children, Fíli knew, and with Bombur's get he certainly had the practice. He seemed to genuinely like children, too – even the ones that were as tall as he.
A corner of blanket slipped from Sigrid's hands for a third time, and she stopped, breathing through her nose in frustration. She looked near tears, her knuckles white with the strength of her grip.
Fíli was by her side in an instant, picking up the fallen corner. She opened her eyes, clearly expecting to see her sister when she startled, and nearly dropped the rest of the blanket.
"Easy," Fíli said. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to frighten you."
"I'm not frightened," Sigrid said, but she hadn't moved more than an inch. Behind him, Fíli knew he had the attention of her brother. "Those orcs were frightening, and you, Master Dwarf, are no orc."
Fíli flashed a quick smile. "Thank the Maker for that, eh?" He said, and after a moment, Sigrid returned his smile, however hesitant. She tried to take the blanket back from him then. "Please," he said, before she could speak. "Let me help?"
"I—" Sigrid said. Poor girl, she was clearly out of her element, though she rallied quickly. "Yes. Thank you."
Fíli grinned, and together they folded that blanket and the rest, putting them back on the shelf from which they had been pulled. Sigrid began next collecting a basket of thread and other small tools—her sewing kit. Fíli began righting what furniture that was still intact. They had lost a chair and one of the table-benches, though the table itself stood firm under Kíli. There were broken bits of pottery, Man-hewn earthenware and wood, from where Tilda had mounted her assault.
He was considering some quick fixes, not ideal, but they would hold until something better could be made, when Bard returned, Legolas in his wake.
Bain sprung from his position at the window. "What news?" he asked, eager, and Bard pushed him back, laughing. The sound was rusty, as if from disuse.
"Enough," Bard said with grim humor, clamping a hand down on Bain's shoulder. "You'll get your fair share of fighting soon enough, no reason to go running to meet it." He looked up at the others. "The orcs have fled north, to Gundabad." The room stilled: even the night noises outside felt more quiet than before.
"Gundabad?" Fíli said, surprised. Gimli had mentioned nothing about Gundabad.
"Aye," Legolas said. "I know. Ill tidings, to be sure." He met Tauriel's eyes for brief moment, and then Fíli's – they were dark, filled with thoughts of dark things. "It will be no mere siege of mountain goblins this time. I fear the might of the Enemy is set upon the mountain."
"Impossible," Óin said. "The Enemy was defeated long ago."
"He has returned," Legolas snapped. "His darkness is insidious, and it spreads, filling the cracks of this world with his foulness. Already, his evil has been at work, or did you think my father not capable of keeping Spiders from his kingdom? My father, who has kept the Greenwood clear and safe without the crutch of rings of power, for centuries. My father, who feels the coming darkness like a creeping terror, and who clings, then, all the tighter to what he holds dear? Has there been nothing on your quest that has made you wonder?"
"Gimli," Fíli said, and Legolas's eyes snapped to him. Óin turned, as if betrayed. "Gimli spoke of a darkness coming. He said that he returned because evil had."
Legolas nodded. "Aye, and I with him."
Óin shook his head. "What do you mean, returned?" The Healer looked old, tired.
Legolas shook his head. "The Valar have seen fit to return him, and by him me, to this time." He looked between them. "This is not the first time the dragon Smaug has been defeated, nor the first time battle was waged on Erebor in it's aftermath. I fear, this time, the Enemy will not let the opportunity of battle pass him by."
Fíli sat, heavily. In the corner, his brother slept, unaware. What he would give to keep him thus, and happy. What he would give to have him awake. "Is there no escaping it, then? War?"
Legolas looked weary. "I fear it is not. My father's mind is full of fear and shadows, and every minute that passes draws Thorin Oakenshield further under the spell of dragon-gold. No, Prince Fíli. War is coming, and it is exactly what the Enemy wants."
~*~
It was a grim company in Bard's house that evening. Kill remained deeply asleep and Legolas could sense that it bothered Tauriel—she had been around so few mortals in her life, she was unused to the depth of their repose, particularly dwarves who slept still as stone themselves. There had been many nights with the Fellowship where the only sign that Gimli still lived was his raucous snoring.
Tauriel had allowed herself to be coaxed away from her patient for a late-night supper. It had been well past dinner time when the orcs had attacked, but between the arrival of the dwarves and the skirmish in their kitchen, they were all quite hungry.
Dinner had been a simple soup, a staple of winter life in Laketown, and one that could easily be fed to Kíli as well, were he to wake. Sigrid had done the cooking, aided by Óin, who seemed to want as little to do with the rest of them as possible. Sigrid seemed a bit taken aback by the older dwarf, but took his suggestions readily. "I'm no Bombur lass," he had said, "But I know herbs, and it's a sad bachelor who cannot feed themselves."
There were no longer enough seats at the table, and Legolas easily gave up his seat to little Tilda. Tauriel stood, as well, to better watch over her patient.
It was good soup, though the broth was thinner than Legolas preferred, and rich in flavor. He raised the bowl to his lips to more easily drink it down.
"So," Bard said, between mouthfuls. "The Dragon lives."
Legolas paused, and slowly lowered the bowl once more. He licked his lips. "Aye. Smaug lives, yet."
Bard nodded. "Laketown will burn."
"It did the first time," Legolas said. "But I have hope that Gimli will—"
"Will do what?" Óin snapped. "He's just a lad! Even if all this is true, even if he's not the Gimli I remember, it doesn't change the fact that he's sixty-four, and a single dwarf besides!"
Before Legolas could say anything, Fíli spoke in Gimli's defense. "Gimli isn't just anything," he said. "You should know that—you campaigned harder than anyone to get him on this quest."
Óin scowled. "Well, that was before I knew, wasn't it? True dreaming—that's one thing. But memory? Memory fades, warps like wet wood. Even Gimli's!"
"That may be true," Legolas said. "But Elven memory does not fade, nor warp. I remember everything—especially Gimli. I would not underestimate him. He has proven himself canny enough more than once."
"How did the beast die the first time?" Bard asked, drawing attention to himself.
Legolas stepped back—he hadn't realized he'd stepped in close, as if to physically guard against a threat. "A black arrow to the heart," he said. "Your black arrow."
Bard paled, even as his children turned on him.
"You have a black arrow?!"
"Da!"
"Daddy's going to kill the dragon!"
Bard held up his hands. "Wait, wait!" he cried. "How?" he asked. "A dragon's hide is impenetrable."
Legolas shook his head. "I do not know. I," he blushed, then. "I'm afraid I never asked. The tales all tell of a weakness, but I know not where nor what kind. I am sorry."
Bard raised an eyebrow. "So I'm supposed to kill a Dragon with a weakness that no one knows about?"
"Sounds about right," came a weak voice from the bed.
Everyone turned. "Kíli!" Fíli cried, and sprang from the table to his brother's bedside. Kíli smiled weakly at him, gripping back as best he could when Fíli took his forearm, and let his eyes slipped closed when Fíli gently knocked their heads together. "Brother," Fíli said, nearly whispered.
"Brother," Kíli answered. "I'm alright, now. I'm alright."
Fíli pulled back, and Legolas lowered his eyes at the sight of something shining in Fíli's eyes. "Don't you ever scare me like that, again," he said. "I don't know if I could survive losing you, and I know I don't want to try."
"I'm not going anywhere," Kíli said.
"Well, you're right about that," Óin said, and pushed his way, though. Kill submitted to Óin's poking and prodding just long enough for Óin to declare that Kíli wouldn't be going anywhere for a least a week, if they had the time, which they didn't, so three, maybe two, days until he could move enough to ride.
"What?!" Kill exclaimed.
Óin grunted. "You took a Morgul arrow to the knee lad, Elvish healing aside. That takes time to heal, Dwarf or no."
Kíli's face set like he would growl, but his eyes flickered over to Legolas nonetheless. Legolas raised his eyebrows and looked significantly at Tauriel, who stood still and staring. Watching. Kíli's own eyes widened, and he sat back in the bed, staring back. Fíli looked between them, and rolled his eyes.
"Try to get some sleep tonight, brother?" he said as he stood.
Kíli nodded. "I've slept enough," he said, however his voice was distant—a token protest at best. Fíli shook his head and came over to stand with Legolas as Tauriel went to join Óin at Kíli's bedside.
"I need a smoke, an ale, and a long bath," Fíli said, weary. "I don't care what order they come in."
Sigrid coughed. "I can't help with the first two," she said, "but we've a bathing room, and fire to heat the water."
"Bless you," Fíli said, with feeling, and ran a hand over his hair. His golden locks were mussed, his braids awry and the hair flyaway. Legolas remembered Gimli speak about his golden cousin's vanity, and thought to himself that Fíli must feel quite horrified at his own appearance. Legolas ran a hand over his own hair. His braids were coming loose again, he was sure.
There was a hand at his elbow, and Legolas jerked to look—but it was only Fíli, looking at him and assessing. "He always braided your hair didn't he?" he asked, quietly.
Legolas felt the tips of his ears flush, and he nodded, unable to speak. It was always a joy between them, to braid each other's hair. An intimacy beyond intimacies, to be so tender with each other when they were so wild in the eyes of the world.
"You're smeared with orc," Fíli said. "Come wash with me. After, we shall see about your braids, hm? If you wish, I will braid yours as I braid my brother's, and Gimli's." He raised a questioning eyebrow, and Legolas was sure he was staring in surprise. He nodded, stunned, and followed Fíli to the back of the house.
There was a little room, and from the way the wind sounded it must stick out over nothing—a later addition to the building. It was colder in the room, but there was a large tin tub and a pump for water. Next to the tub was a small fireplace—no, it was the back of the kitchen fireplace. Legolas could hear the low tones of the others in conversation. Hooked to a wench and rod was a bucket that could be moved with ease from the fire to the pump.
Sigrid showed Fíli how to pump the water to the bucket, how to move the bucket to the fire, and how to pour the hot water into the tub without burning his hands. Fíli thanked her, and Sigrid took her leave, with only a hurried glance at Legolas as she left.
Fíli worked efficiently, filling the buckets quickly and heating what he could. He did not need the gloves provided for the bucket, touching the hot metal with his bare hands.
"Gimli does not need protection from fire, either," Legolas said, for lack of anything else. Fíli seemed to move with ease in the silence, but to Legolas it felt uncomfortable and he disliked being wrong-footed.
Fíli nodded, not looking away from his work. "We call it the Fire Touch," Fíli said. "I was born with the ability. Some, like Gimli, can learn over time. Others, like my brother, will never have the ability." He looked up. "It took Kíli several years of blisters, and the threat of no longer being able to draw his bow, before he finally learned."
"Why did you offer?" Legolas asked. Fill did not seemed surprised by the sudden change in subject, and instead answered in an the same tone as he offered the story of Kíli's hands.
"Because you are my Cousin's Husband, and that makes you kin," Fíli said. Legolas knew from his talks with Gimli that dwarves' modesty with their braids stopped at close kin, but was surprised to hear Fíli call him thus. The dwarf hadn't seemed to like him much. "Kin is important to any Dwarf, and the we Durins treasure it dearly, for fate has a way of taking us early in life." He poured the last bucket and began to strip himself of his tunics. He glanced up at Legolas, his fingers in the ties. "I will think nothing of your staring," he said, "but would others?"
Legolas shook himself and looked away. "My apologies," he said. "I was lost in thought."
"Hmm," Fíli said. "If you say. I am an attractive dwarf—I am aware enough of myself to know this. I would not fault you for looking—as long as you only look."
"You—!" Legolas bit himself off, turning to glare at the blond—who was now fully immersed and hidden in the water. "You doubt my loyalty to your cousin? I love him with all of my being—he is more to me than myself! I have followed him though shadow and flame, back through time itself and you think a pretty face is enough to make me stray?"
Fíli raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm pretty?" he said, and then held up a hand. "I apologize. I am only teasing you, Legolas, for you seemed lost in your own head, and I went to far. I do not doubt your loyalty to Gimli. In truth, you have nothing to fear. My life is dedicated to my craft. I will take neither husband nor wife." He ducked under the water and stayed for a long moment, giving Legolas time to compose himself. When he came back up, his hair had darkened with water, and was slicked back from his face.
"I have been lost much as of late, and I tire of it." Legolas said. "I will be better when I have my Gimli with me."
"So will we all," Fíli said, and grabbed his comb from the floor, working the knots from his braids. "I have heard his side of the tale," he said. "Will you tell me yours?"
Legolas leaned back against the wall, settling in. "The tale of us, you mean?"
Fíli nodded. "Aye," he said.
Legolas thought for a long moment. "I have spent many centuries in the Greenwood," he said, at length. "But only in the Greenwood. I remember the rise of Erebor, the bountiful reign of Thror, King Under the Mountain. I remember her fall—but for all that I had watched dwarves, and treated with dwarves, I do not think I knew one until I met Gimli. He seemed to me, then, pigheaded, stubborn and slow—but even from the first, never stupid. Rash, yes, but steadfast as well. We...did not get on at first," Legolas said, delicately, and Fíli laughed.
"I can imagine. You weren't wrong about him, you know? He is all of those things."
"I know," Legolas said, dryly. "But he is also wise and kind, thoughtful and big-hearted. He is a poet, and a romantic, and funny. He is brave—near fearless—and though quick to anger, he is quick to forgive."
Fíli ducked under again, and when he rose, he said. "It's odd to hear you speak of him, thus. He is still my baby cousin."
"And Tauriel is my little sister," Legolas said. "Yet that does not seem to stop Kíli."
Fíli snorted. "Aye," he said, and sighed. There was more he seemed to want to say on the matter, but instead he nodded at Legolas. "Go on?"
Legolas pressed his lips together. "We did not see eye to eye until the long walk through Moria. I pulled him from his darkness, there, but it wasn't until we reached peace in Lorien that we were able to speak of it. I realized, then, that everything I knew of dwarves had been twisted through old fears and conflict, and in Gimli I saw truly for the first time. We walked together, often, and I delighted in his joy—seeing the world as if for the first time through his eyes. I fell in love with him then," he said, and Fíli's eyes widened, as if he had not expected Legolas to admit it. "Though, of course, I would not realize this until much later. We were besieged—three nights at terrible odds. Gimli and I were separated. When I couldn't find him—" Legolas stopped. Gimli had been well. They had their centuries together. Gimli was still well, there was no need for him to react thus.
"You realized just what you had to lose," Fíli said, and Legolas nodded.
"Aye. I had much to lose. I told him thus, in the quiet aftermath. He looked at me, and there was such love in his eyes! 'Fool elf,' he said. 'I have loved you ever—you were written on my heart from my very first breath. Forgive these eyes that were too slow to see.'"
"'My love,' I said. 'There is nothing to forgive.'" Legolas smiled softly to himself. "It seemed nearly obscene, at time, to be fighting such a dark war and to be so in love. But I wonder, now, if that wasn't the point—if we didn't need such brightness to get us through the dark times." He looked up, and Fíli was staring at him. "What?" he asked.
Fíli shook his head. "If any doubt your love for my cousin, I will set them straight. There is no doubt that you are his One, nor he yours."
Legolas nodded. "Aye," he said. "And I thank the Valar every day." He looked up, out the tiny window to where the moon hung low over the mountain. "I would give anything to be with him, once more."
"You will be," Fíli said, and unstopped the drain to let the water fall. "Here—I'll not make you bathe in what I have just scrubbed from me. It won't take long to get hot again." He stood to get a towel, and Legolas stood as well.
"Cold would be fine for me," Legolas said. "It would be most refreshing."
Fíli wiped the towel down his face and stopped, looking at Legolas overtop. "I cannot see Gimli getting used to cold baths," he said.
Legolas grinned. "He did not," he said, and Fíli threw his head back to laugh. He clapped Legolas in the shoulder. "I like you, cousin," he said. "You're good for him."
Legolas had to close his eyes for a moment. Cousin. Such a simple thing, and yet so much. "And he for me," he said.
"Aye," Fíli said. "Now get that filth off of you. I've been itching to straighten your braids since the damned dungeon!"
~*~
Dawn broke gently, and found Gimli looking out across the lake. He could just make out the night-fires in distant Laketown, and he found himself wondering how his cousins faired. Had his uncle listened to his warning? Did he find the kingsfoil for Kíli's leg? Had Legolas yet arrived? He had many questions, and no method to answer them.
The camp stirred awake, and Gimli set about making a pot of morning kafé. It had been months since he had woken to the bitter aromatics of the brewed drink, but the men of Laketown still traded for the bean, and had kept the tradition where the rest of the lands seemed to rely on teas alone. Still, he had gone longer. There was no kafé in the undying lands, after all.
Bilbo was the last up, reluctant to remove himself from the nest of furs and blanket that he and Thorin had cocooned themselves in at some point late the night before. It did not help that Thorin held him fast to his chest, pinning Bilbo with a thick arm. Bilbo, for his part, didn't seem to mind as long as the map was within reach.
By the time breakfast had been eaten, the others were beginning to get restless, and they began exploring along the ledges.
Contrary to popular opinion, Dwarves were quite decent climbers—if they were climbing on good, steady, sensible rock, rather than flimsy tree branches. Legolas had once likened them to the cliffside goats—the same goats Dain trained for his army—quite nimble even on near sheer rock face, even though the looked at all times quite peculiar and precarious.
There was no other way in from up here, if even that was what they were looking for. Gimli did not know, nor did he wish to stray too far from Thorin and Bilbo.
So, around Mid-morning, when there was nothing left to clean from the morning and it was not yet time for mid-day meal, Gimli sat on the ledge overlooking the valley and Laketown beyond, and pulled his pipe from his pocket.
Here they were, at Erebor. The Dragon lay sleeping inside. Fíli, Kíli, Óin, and Bofur had been left behind in Laketown, and Kíli was sick with a morgul wound. Legolas was quite possibly trapped in his father's realm because Thranduil had given in to his paranoia, and Thorin...
Thorin had taken to eyeing Gimli with active distrust, for no reason that Gimli could see other than that Gimli would talk to Bilbo—coveting his attention. Now, he was trying to get Bilbo to pay attention to him, in return.
And what was Gimli doing? Nothing. He was sitting here, smoking his pipe, because there was not a damn thing he could do! This was not a problem he could swing an axe at, or even talk his way through.
Suddenly, Bilbo snapped. "You said sitting on the doorstep and thinking would be my job, not to mention getting inside, so I am sitting and thinking." In truth, it appeared to Gimli that Bilbo was thinking of little save for the snails that seemed to crawl over the rocks. Once, ages ago now, it seemed, but it was only a few weeks before, Bilbo had told Gimli of a Hobbit delicacy, snails cooked in butter with herbs, that he had tried once in his youth. "I'm afraid the dish is quite out of fashion, now, but it was quite tasty." They had no butter, and less herbs, but Gimli didn't think that mattered much to Bilbo at the moment.
No, Bilbo wasn't the only one who needed to think. Gimli needed to figure out his next course of action—and soon.
The door would open at sundown, and then would be the Dragon.