The Guardian of Erebor Chapter III

Chapter III: The Feast

“Begging your Majesties’ pardons all,” said Rhince, “but why not fall to while you’re discussing it? We don’t see a dinner like this every day.”

“Not for your life!” said Caspian.

“That’s right, that’s right,” said several of the sailors. “Too much magic about here.”

….

“I really think,” said Edmund, “they’re right… We daren’t eat the food and there’s no point in staying here for the night. The whole place smells of magic - and danger.” - From The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis.

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Thorin felt like he had just fallen asleep when he heard Dis whisper to him. “Thorin, you need to wake up. Something has happened. No one is hurt, but it is strange.”

He opened his eyes and got to his feet. “What is it?” Thorin asked.

“It’s easier if I show you,” Dis said.

Glóin had been the one on watch and he motioned to the treasure room. “I had just gone outside for a moment and told my brother to keep watch. Sometime when we switched back, that was there.”

Thorin squinted at the treasure and saw a sapphire resting on top of a pile of gold coins that was near the doorway that led to the rest of Erebor. “You woke me up because of a gem.”

“It wasn’t there when Óin and I switched,” Glóin said.

A silver coin was tossed next to the sapphire from the main entrance of the treasury.

Dis drew her ax as Thorin said, “Wake up! Someone else is here!”

The Dwarves were on their feet with weapons drawn in a moment… except for Bofur. “Where’s my hat? Someone stole my hat!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nori said, “Who would steal that ratty old thing?”

Bofur’s hat was tossed on top of the silver coin and the sapphire.

“Brazen, aren’t they?” Dis said.

“My hat!” Bofur cried out before pushing past Thorin and Dis to get to his beloved hat.

“It’s dangerous to go alone!” Ori said as he tossed Bofur’s mattock, “Take this with you!”

“Thanks lad. FOR MY HAT!” Bofur said as he went to grab his hat and chase after the person who had stolen said hat.

“Bofur get back here!” Nori said as he chased after the miner.

“Idiots, all of them,” Thorin mumbled as he led the rest of the Company to the treasure room to hopefully save Bofur from being killed.

Bofur snatched his hat and ran towards the tunnel. “Come back here thief!”

“I refuse to be associated with a hat theft!” Nori said. They both stopped at the tunnel entrance and were slammed into by the other Dwarves and Gandalf.

“Why did you stop?” Thorin said.

“There’s a trail of gems. Whole bunch of different ones. They go up the stairs,” Bofur said.

“A trail?” Frerin said.

“Well… this is a trap,” Kíli said.

“Can you see the thief?” Thorin said.

“I will not be associated with this moron. What thief returns what they stole?” Nori said.

“Fine then. Can you see the burglar?” Thorin said.

“No, we’ll have to go in,” Bofur said.

Dwalin took the lead with Nori close behind him. They walked two by two up three flights of stairs. There was a light coming from behind a doorway that was partially opened. A pile of gold was built into a little pyramid at the opening.

With a few hand motions, Glóin held the door handle and the rest prepared to enter the room. On the silent count of three, the Company charged into the room to find… a long dining table full of food.

Served on wooden dishware was a simple and large breakfast. There was fresh baked bread, scones, biscuits, pound cake, jams, cheese, butter, and a large bowl of oatmeal. The Company sans Gandalf moved around the table cautiously. The wizard stood by the door and hummed as he thought.

“What sorcery is this?” Dori asked.

“None save that from a good meal,” Gandalf said.

“If it’s not magic, it’s poisoned,” Dwalin said.

Frerin elbowed his elder brother. “Um, Thorin, I am going to guess that this is for you.”

At the head of a table on an empty plate was an envelope with the words “To Mr. Oakenshield” written on the cover. Thorin broke the seal with no insignia and read the letter out loud. It was written in Westron.

Dear Mr. Oakenshield (or whoever you might really be),

There is breakfast for you and your companions. You will find behind one of the doors a pantry and behind another a kitchen. There should be enough food for three days if your company eats like Mortal Men.

It’s not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, I would not ruin perfectly good food over it. No, I deal with thieves with much more… creativity, shall we say?

I do have a request. You are to go out onto the doorstep (how you first entered the Lonely Mountain) at noon. There will be certain ravens who shall confirm whether or not you are one of Thrór’s descendants.

If you are the one called Oakenshield… things will go well for you Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain. I shall return your home to you with no resistance.

If you are not Oakenshield and have stolen his name, then I will make you wish you had faced Smaug.

Enjoy your meal!

Sincerely,

Underhill

The last part of the note was written in Khuzdul.

P.S. Do you know how old the man who claims to be the wizard Gandalf is? Or at least as long as your people have known him?

“Our burglar is curious about you, Gandalf,” Thorin said.

Gandalf looked over Thorin’s shoulder. “Ah. An honest concern if the burglar is an older creature. I think he is listening in so you might as well say it out loud.”

“I have known Gandalf the Grey all my life, just as my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather knew him and many more of my ancestors,” Thorin said.

A small gold pendant smacked Frerin in the head. “What’s this?”

Gandalf held out his hand for Frerin to pass the pendant. “This pendant is based off of the agrimony flower.”

“Does that mean something?” Dwalin asked.

“Yes. Thankfulness. I think the burglar is thanking you for responding,” Gandalf said.

“That means he’s near!” Dwalin said drawing forth his axes.

“He would not have given us this if he thought that we could catch him. He is long gone,” Thorin said.

Ori wrinkled his nose as he thought. “Most Dwarves don’t know that much about growing things. Most know about medicinal plants and food. Some jewelers know about the different flowers because of commissions, but we don’t deal much with the realm of the Mahal’s Wife.”

“Yes, an interesting clue,” Gandalf said.

“I still think it’s a trap,” Kíli said.

“A possibility, though doubtful,” Gandalf said.

“How do we even test it? We can’t just eat it,” Fíli said.

Everyone turned to Bombur who already had taken a bite from one of the biscuits. “I’m good with dying if it means I don’t have to take another bite of cram,” Bombur said, “Besides, it doesn’t taste odd. No bitter almonds or anything like that.”

“It could be iocane power. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadlier poisons known to Free Folk,” Óin said.

Bombur looked at the oatmeal and then back up at the Company. “How long before I die?”

“If it is poisoned, we should know within a few minutes,” Óin said.

Bombur began filling up his plate. The Company looked on in horror. “What? If I’m going to die…”

Thorin, for neither the first nor last time, was grateful that Smaug seemed to be nowhere near them.

“We should check on the other rooms. Make sure there are no other traps,” Dwalin said.

“This is not a trap,” Gandalf said. He sat down at the table and also began filling his plate. “Go on then. I’ll be waiting.”

The kitchen and pantry were both small, but clean and stocked with enough food for roughly three days. Save for the cookware, all of the dishes were made from wood. The food was meatless, but was good. The taps from the sink could only bring cold water, but it was a good sign that the plumbing still worked and the water was clean.

“Are either of you dead yet?” Frerin said.

“No, and this oatmeal is rather good,” Bombur said.

Glóin said, “No wine, plenty of ale though.”

“These barrels have Erebor’s mark on them,” Dori said.

“Someone made ale here,” Óin said too loudly.

“You should come eat before the oatmeal is cold,” Gandalf said.

Óin shrugged. “If it was fast acting, they would be dead by now.”

“A slow death, wonderful,” Thorin muttered. He rubbed his eyes. “I will rely on Gandalf’s judgment and Bombur’s stomach. Bifur, Dori, take what food you need and go back to the passage. This may be a distraction.”

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“The food is bewitched, wizard,” Thorin hissed at Gandalf as they left the dining room. The Company set up a watch to keep track of the food. Bofur and Nori were in charge of the first shift.

“Why would you say that?” Gandalf said.

“It… it was too good,” Thorin said.

Gandalf chuckled. “Too good? You say that the food must have been bewitched because it was too good?”

“It sounds ridiculous when you say it, but yes. It was not a normal meal. I have eaten meals after starving, after battle, after joy, and after grief. None of them left me as content as that meal,” Thorin said.

“Yes, I think we have our host to thank for that,” Gandalf said.

“You know who or what it is?” Thorin said.

“I grow more sure by the hour. The note’s wording was also a hint. Have no fear. The meal will not harm you or your companions. It is simply a good meal for guests,” Gandalf said.

“And the request the burglar gave?” Thorin said.

“Reasonable if our host is not sure of who we are. The ravens would not betray the Dwarves of Erebor and yet they seem to know our host well enough to relay messages. A neutral and trustworthy party,” Gandalf said.

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“I don’t think you’ll be shot,” Dwalin said as he reentered the tunnels from the “doorstep” as the burglar had called it.

“Pleasant thought,” Thorin said, “Balin, Frerin, Dwalin, come. Everyone else keep looking for the Arkenstone.”

Balin, Dwalin, Frerin, and Thorin sat on the doorstep as the sun climbed overhead. Gandalf joined them soon after to smoke his pipe.

Balin spoke first. “This may work well for us. Ravens live many a year, and their memories are long, and they hand on their wisdom to their children. I knew many among the ravens of the rocks when I was a dwarf-lad. Ravenhill was called such because there was a wise and famous pair, old Carc and his wife, that lived there about the guard-chamber.”

As if waiting for his cue, a decrepit raven with a balding head descended amongst the Dwarves with two younger ravens at its side. “Greetings Thorin and Frerin sons of Thráin and Balin and Dwalin sons of Fundin. Greetings, Gandalf the Grey. I am Roäc son of Carc,” he croaked. “Carc is dead, but he was well known to you once. It is a hundred and fifty-three years since I came out of the egg, but I do not forget what my father told me. Now I am the chief of the great ravens of the Mountain. We are few, but we remember still the king of old.”

“Greetings to you, Roäc son of Carc. It is an honor to meet you,” Thorin said.

“You have many questions,” Roäc stated.

“We do, yes,” Balin said.

“Do you know of what happened to Smaug? And who it is who called this meeting?” Thorin asked.

Roäc nodded his head. “I must answer the second to answer the first. The person who sent us has no name known to us, but we call it the Guardian. It is a creature with no beard, but of similar height to the Dwarves. Its skin, hair, and eyes are golden and it even has scales, yet it is not cold like snakes or lizards.”

Frerin elbowed Thorin at the description. He mouthed, the woman. Thorin shook his head for silence.

The old raven continued without noticing Frerin’s side conversation. “The Guardian lived in the Mountain before we ravens returned about a decade ago. The dragon still lived then, but slept deeply. The Guardian told us around this past Mortal Men’s New Year that the dragon had died and his corpse was being dealt with.”

“The dragon is dead according to the Guardian,” Thorin said.

“Yes, and we believe the Guardian. The air is not as foul, though not many green things have begun to grow,” Roäc said.

“So Smaug is dead, but something else resides in the Mountain,” Frerin said.

“It there anything else you can tell us about the Guardian?” Thorin said.

“Nay, nothing else. It is very kind to us ravens, though it has told us that it will not give us any treasure as the gold belongs neither to us nor it. I believe you will find not a gold coin missing from your grandfather’s treasury,” Roäc said.

“A creature that wants no treasure,” Gandalf muttered.

“Roäc son of Carc, I ask that we restore the friendship of our people,” Thorin said, “Gold and other things shall be given to you as payment and, when living things grow again, some of our food as well.”

“Fine things indeed,” Roäc said, “And you want messages sent out?”

“Yes, to the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains,” Thorin said.

“Not to the Men of the Lake? The descendants of Dale reside there,” Roäc said.

“They can wait until known allies come here,” Thorin said.

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Bella sat at Ravenhill with a basket of treats and waited for the return of Roäc and his children. The sun was cooler than earlier in the year, but still pleasant enough to bask under. The Hobbit wanted to enjoy the sun as long as she could before it was too late.

A fluttering of wings alerted Bella to the ravens return. She smiled at the birds and set out on a wooden plate with some fruit. The ravens partook of their snack before giving their report.

“It is indeed Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain,” Roäc said, “I would recognize that beak to be of the Line of Durin even with my failing eyesight.”

Bella felt a twist in the area that used to be her heart. She ignored it and nodded to Roäc. “That is good news for Erebor and for the area that surrounds it. What of the Dwarf himself?”

“What of him?” Roäc asked.

“Is he… a good man? I mean, is he a good egg?” Bella asked. She looked down at her hands. “The tales of him speak of a Dwarf of courage and honor. One who cares for his people and not of his own glory. Tales are often wrong.”

“He has offered us payment and food. None of his companions seem wary of him. I am sure he will be kind to the one who cared for his home,” Roäc said.

That bird always understands things far too well.

“He… you were frightened of me. Why would they not be?” Bella said.

“They will find you eventually. It is better to do so now then later,” Roäc advised. He cackled. “Besides, the wizard might help you.”

“So he is a wizard? Is he Gandalf?” Bella asked.

“He is indeed. I have known him since before I could fly,” Roäc said.

Gandalf won’t remember a fauntling. I look nothing like I used to before… before Smaug.

“Thank you, Roäc,” Bella said. She took out some wrapped meat. “I had to slaughter one of my goats earlier this week. I pickled this if that is alright.”

“Meat! Thank you, Guardian,” Roäc said.

Bella got up and made the long trek back inside Erebor. She had an item to give back to its rightful owner.

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“Dis, Roäc son of Carc said that he saw the woman who saved us,” Frerin said when he reached Dis in the treasury.

“He said no such thing,” Thorin said, “He said that he saw someone with gold scales. It may not be the person who helped you.”

“But Thorin, how many people like that do you think there are?” Dis said.

Thorin sighed. “I know you wish to thank the woman who saved you as I wish to thank the one who saved my kin, but think for a moment of what it would mean if she still lived. She either worked for Smaug and had a moment of guilt or she has been his prisoner for almost two centuries. Would you wish that upon the woman who saved you?”

“I didn’t think of it like that,” Frerin said softly.

Thorin patted Frerin’s shoulder. “I know you meant no ill, Frerin. Let us hope that the person who saved you has had a good life and that this is someone different.”

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Thorin prepared to bed down for the night. They had heard nothing from the burglar since breakfast. It worried the Dwarven King and he wondered what the burglar was planning.

He frowned at his sleeping roll. There was a lump that had not been there before. Thorin opened it and found an oddly shaped package wrapped in paper.

“Long live the king,” the paper said.

Thorin unwrapped the package revealing a shining white jewel.

“The Arkenstone,” he said in quiet awe.

Frerin sat up from where he had been sleeping and ruffled his hair. “Thorin what… oh.”

“It’s the Arkenstone and all you can say is oh?” Thorin said.

“Well… give me a few minutes to wake up and then I shall be more eloquent.” Frerin slapped Thorin on the back. “Long live the king.”

Thorin smiled and slapped Frerin on the back as well. “Long live us all, brother.” He gently tapped Dis with his foot. “Sister, we found it.”

“Unless it’s a soft pillow, I’m not interested,” Dis grumbled.

“It’s the Arkenstone,” Thorin said.

“Hmm… very nice. Long live the king. Happy for you. Shut up and go to sleep,” Dis said.

Thorin laughed. Let it never be said that siblings could not humble even the proudest of kings.