mithril

XVI.

— XVI —

I stand between the many Elves of Thranduil's army, Gandalf at my side. The Dwarves of Erebor are standing on the ramparts, watching us with cautious expressions. I have the cowl of my cloak pull over my head, the shadow deep and hiding my tell-tale hair and the mithril armor I wear. I watch Bard and Thranduil walk through the ranks of Elves, each line parting for their horse and stag mounts. I grind my jaw as Thorin draws his bow and fires a warning shot at the Elvenking, the arrow hitting the ground just before the cloven hoofs of his stag.

"I will put the next one between your eyes," he calls out. The Dwarves around him cheer. Their triumph lasts for only a moment before Thranduil's hundred of archers react in unison to the threat on their king. They draw their bows, making every Dwarf along the ramparts, save for Thorin, duck for cover. The Elf holds up a hand, signaling for the archers to disengage. Again, they move as one unit, their movements resounding and fluid. A well-oiled machine.

"We have come to tell you payment of your debt has been offered, and accepted," Thranduils calls to the Dwarves.

"What payment?" Thorin demands. "I gave you nothing. You have nothing."

Bard reaches into his coat. He removes the glittering gem and lifts it into the air. The Arkenstone casts a hundred reflecting lights across the ground as the sunlight hits it.

"We have this. And..." he gestures. "We have your Silver Wolf." I balk as the Elves part for me, but Gandalf leads me forward. Bard slides from his horse. He steps to my side, his free hand rising to pull my hood down.

Thorin's bow lowers slightly. His eyes are wide, filled with conflict. I know what this looks like. I know the part he believes I have played here.

"Thieves!" Kíli cries out. The other Dwarves chorus in agreement.

"That stone belongs to the king!" Dwalin chimes in.

"The king may have it, with our good will." Bard hands me the stone. His hand goes to my shoulder, leaning against me slightly as he smirks up at the Dwarf. I watch Thorin, for my eyes will look nowhere else. "But first, he must honor his word."

Thorin shakes his head, turning to his company.

"They are taking us for fools. This is a ruse. A filthy lie. The Arkenstone is in this mountain. It is a trick!"

He doesn't believe that. He knows the truth. And now he thinks I've done it.

"I-It's no trick." My knees almost give out at the soft voice. Thorin's eyes go wide with shock. With bewilderment. Disbelief. "The stone is real. I gave it to them, and I convinced Léra to journey with me for protection. I left Dale without her. It's my fault she's down there and not here."

"No," I whisper, starting to surge. Bard reaches for me, his hands closing around my arms. Thorin turns to Bilbo, his face a dark and surging storm.

"You?" Thorin asks. "You would steal from me? You would take ghivashel from me? You would put her in danger?"

"I did what I thought was right. I'm willing to let the stone stand against my claim."

"Your claim?" He scoffs. "You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!"

"I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to. Léra even tried to convince me you should have it, but–"

"But what, thief?"

"You are changed, Thorin. The Dwarf I met in Bag End would have never gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin! Would never have chosen gold and gems over her," Bilbo whispers the last bit. My knees wobble again.