NOVEL WEB Chapter 105: Chapter 105: Dain has arrived
[General POV]
-Bilbo-
The blazing hall of gleaming armor filled my vision. The torchlight illuminated the fine armors, polished by the passage of time. Cobwebs still adorned the corners, and small specks of dust clung to the shelves, slightly dulling the shine of the pieces. Yet, the absence of dust on the armor suggested that Thorin or one of the dwarves had carefully cleaned the most important pieces.
"Mr. Baggins," I heard Thorin say. He had his back to me as he retrieved something shiny from a chest. Its gleam was so striking that I instinctively stepped closer to see what it was. The glow was like a dazzling shooting star that still held its brilliance.
"This is a gift," Thorin said after standing and turning around gracefully, presenting me with a finely woven chainmail shirt.
The metal, shining like stars, glimmered faintly depending on the angle it was viewed from. At first glance, its size seemed perfectly tailored to me. The soft silver accents around the collar made it even more eye-catching.
"What a marvel!" I exclaimed instinctively, prompting a chuckle from Thorin.
"Take it, Bilbo. It is my gift," Thorin said, extending it toward me. For a moment, I was stunned, even more so when I saw the clarity in Thorin's eyes. It was as if his sanity was in constant battle with his madness. This gift was probably an attempt to soothe his conscience. Aldril's words must have made him reflect, and now he sought to compensate me, to free himself from some of the regret for the way he had treated Aldril.
"Thank you, Thorin," I replied after a few seconds of silence, a silence Thorin interpreted as astonishment. As I took the mail shirt, I felt the lightness of the material.
"It's so light," I murmured aloud, testing it and feeling the delicacy with which it had been crafted. Without a doubt, the smith must have poured great love into creating such a beautiful chainmail.
"Light as a feather," my monologue was interrupted by Thorin, who was still smiling. "It is mithril, a beauty that neither tarnishes nor stains, harder than tempered steel. Nowadays, very few pieces like this can be found," he concluded.
Thorin's explanation struck me like lightning splitting a tree. I stood stunned, torn between accepting such a masterpiece or returning it. Thorin, aware of my hesitation, gestured with his hand. "Go ahead, take it. It is a gift of our friendship, Bilbo."
It was then that I noticed: the clarity in his eyes was waning, overtaken by madness. The best solution I could think of to help my dwarven friend now was to "give him the Arkenstone."
----
The ruined streets of the valley buzzed with the hurried voices of the men of Lake-town. A good night of recovery had allowed them to regain their strength after Smaug's attack. Now, only the determined and resolute faces of every man could be seen, men ready to die.
They had already heard of the orcs' approach, further fueling their determination. They were the last line of defense against the enemy. If they fell, their families, sheltered in Mirkwood, would be slaughtered. "If I am to die, it will be standing tall, serving as a shield for my family," some declared in motivational speeches.
Amid their shouts, a horse as dark as the night galloped swiftly toward the town hall, or what remained of it. Like a nocturnal predator, it moved with grace, leaving only a black blur in its wake. "The dragon slayer," some whispered, recognizing the figure astride the magnificent creature.
It wasn't long before Aldril arrived at the tent serving as King Thranduil's base. Dismounting Shadow Star, who neighed in irritation, Aldril gave the horse a firm pat. "Go on, big guy, get some rest. I fear you won't have another chance," he said as he entered the tent.
"Let's position a group here and here," Aldril heard Thranduil say as he pointed at the makeshift map of the valley's ruins. "Orcs are fools. If we take out their general, they'll be left defenseless and won't know what to do," he stated.
Only Gandalf, nodding repeatedly, noticed Aldril's presence. With a slight motion of acknowledgment, the wizard asked, "How did it go?"
Spurred by Gandalf's voice, both Thranduil and Bard looked up.
"I managed to reach an agreement with Thorin," Aldril said, much to Bard's relief, who let out a deep sigh. Even Thranduil's calm demeanor faltered, as he accidentally knocked over a wine goblet with his arm. "You managed to reason with that stubborn dwarf?" he asked, incredulity plain on his face.
"Go on, Aldril, tell us, what did Thorin say?" Gandalf, the most eager of the group, prompted him. If the dwarves joined the battle, victory would be within reach.
Nodding, Aldril stepped further into the tent until he reached the table where everyone waited intently. "Thorin agreed to meet with us," he began, casting a glance around the group. "When his cousin Dain arrives, we'll meet at nightfall with his army. There, we'll arrange how to face the orc invasion."
"When Dain Ironfoot arrives?" Bard repeated, perplexed. He was familiar with the dwarf, and how could he not be? In the past, trade with the dwarves of the Iron Hills had flourished, only to be severed due to conflicts, particularly caused by the corrupt governor's exploitation of the dwarves.
"I doubt they'll arrive in time," Bard muttered to himself, only to be interrupted by the thunderous sound of a horn.
"I suppose those are the dwarves," Thranduil said with his usual noble air, lifting his head and signaling to a nearby elf, who nodded and hurried to draw back the curtain of the tent.
They all stepped outside, gazing into the distance where an army of dwarves marched in perfect formation. Their armor, glinting like polished metal, shone even from afar. Like ants returning to their nest, they headed for the entrance of Erebor.
"I suppose it's time to prepare," Thranduil said with poise, turning back to his tent. Inwardly, he began steeling himself for the rude behavior he knew he would soon endure from the dwarves.
----
In Erebor, a grand celebration was underway. The dwarves of the expedition cheered with joy, raising their hands high. Some embraced one another, while others shed tears at the arrival of Dain, who rode his war boar with great jubilation.
"Thorin! Thorin!" he shouted with delight. "I have arrived, my king!" His booming voice caused the army of dwarves behind him to roar in unison:
"We have arrived, our great king!"
Thorin lifted his gaze with pride, though his trembling hands betrayed the depth of his emotions. There it was, his army! He had achieved what many thought impossible: he had freed Erebor, reclaimed his home. Yet his thoughts faltered. A cheerful figure loomed in his mind, like a shadow marring his triumph. No, Aldril had helped them reclaim their home. What was he doing? He was not his grandfather; no, he had to resist. But his sanity wavered, the madness once again seizing control.
"My cousin, Dain Ironfoot!" Thorin shouted with an air of grace and power. "I welcome you and your warriors to our home!" With that, he signaled to the dwarves, who, with great effort, managed to clear a small passage through the accumulated stones. Don't ask how they did it, their ingenuity made it possible.
The army of dwarves received the welcome warmly. Dain was the first to step inside, followed gradually by the others, making their way into their ancient home. Among these dwarven soldiers were many descendants and refugees of Erebor, which is why so many of them wept with joy upon entering. Others remained outside at Dain's command. Thorin had mentioned a meeting with the elves and men, and he didn't want them to set foot in his home. Thus, a tent was set up on the outskirts.
As Thorin joyfully welcomed his cousin, embracing him with heartfelt affection, Bilbo moved quietly, hidden from the dwarves. He had come to the conclusion that the best way to help Thorin was to give him the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain.
**
Filthy orcs! Here's your food. Remember to support me with reviews and power stones.
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