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The Lonely Mountain rose from the Long Lake like a beacon of hope for all the dwarves of Arda. Erebor under the rule of Thorin Oakenshield grew strong indeed. After the defeat of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur by the Lady of the Golden Wood and the Council of the Wise, it was to be hoped that none now living among the dwarves would need face Sauron. And yet, more than ever before, Gandalf the Grey was certain that Sauron would come back to power before the end of the Third Age.
It was a comfort to know that the Lonely Mountain was held by the children of Aulë instead of a dragon of Morgoth. The stubborn dwarves would never again be taken in by the Deceiver. Even greater comfort could be found in the fact of Thorin's kingship. For his true gift was to inspire his people. When he did not ask them to face impossible odds or follow him into the den of a dragon, they attacked the challenge of rebuilding their kingdom as though it was such a trial. After only a year, the desolation began to heal. Gandalf doubted it would have been so under a different king.
Visiting Erebor was no pleasure jaunt, however. Gandalf the Grey did not preen over past victories, only considered possibilities. Such as the possibility of Thorin Oakenshield, who had a certain fondness for Rohan after his years wandering in exile, offering some of that dwarven strength to the lands of men. If Erebor did not rise alone, but lifted the other peaceful kingdoms of Middle Earth as a tide might raise an armada, then there would be hope enough for the inevitable war.
Having the ear of a king in such matters was a blessing. Given their many adventures together, Thorin was more inclined to listen to Gandalf than any other dwarf would have been. Even so, knowing the isolationist ways of dwarves, Gandalf deemed it prudent to enlist Bilbo's help as well. One should never be overconfident. Happily, Bilbo was already very friendly with the Rohan delegation. His presence softened Thorin, though less than Gandalf expected.
Prurient, Mithrandir the Wise was not. The personal affairs of his friends were just that, and no concern of his. That said, it was a little surprising to see that the King Under the Mountain did not love openly over a year after finding his heart. Since it was likely to affect Thorin's mood, because he felt a measure of responsibility for Bilbo's happiness, and, perhaps, as he was somewhat curious, Gandalf asked the hobbit about the nature of their relationship.
Poor little Bilbo was most distraught when he admitted to offering Thorin his magic ring as a courting gift in the dwarven style and being rejected. Given what Gandalf observed of Thorin's behavior, that sounded strange. So when he was quite certain that the king was within ear shot, the wizard offered to see the hobbit home. Insistent as the dwarf was that Bilbo's belonged at his side, there was no doubt about his feelings. Although it was equally clear that he would not speak of those feelings openly to Bilbo.
Tharkûn the Wanderer was not one to tolerate foolishness. Mortal lives were short. Thorin loved. That much was obvious. Choosing to suffer—forcing Bilbo to smile politely through his heartbreak—was ridiculous. Gandalf resolved to correct the matter before he left Erebor. Provided, of course, that doing so did not interfere with the Rohan Treaty.
And maybe even if it did. He was very fond of Bilbo.
Asking around to discover the extent of the confusion was the work of an hour. Dwarves did not discuss love, the hearts of others, or the customs of their own people with outsiders. They were, however, prone to passionate, eager speculation with companions, an intimacy Gandalf attained long ago. By way of such prospecting, the wizard was able to learn that Thorin had given Bilbo two or three courting gifts already, though armor worn in an urgent battle did not count any more than a frying pan. No one seemed to know that Bilbo had offered one of his own.
“And what are the odds on Bilbo wearing the final present? This amulet you speak of.”
“They were practically all in favor on the day,” Nori admitted. “I wouldn't give anyone better than ten to one. Couldn't cover both sides of the spread. Now, well. There's a pool on when. Heavy return, though no one wants to bet against the occasion entirely. My money's on two years out.”
“Oh, I think it will happen sooner than that.” Gandalf smiled to himself. The barest nudge seemed necessary, but nothing more. Olórin the Pilgrim was in Middle Earth to give advice and consolation to its people, after all. If it would bring his two friends happiness, there was no harm in slightly more direct action. “What wager will you offer against my proposition that matters come to a head tonight, on the Day of Amending?” There was no real harm in taxing the dwarves for their neglect in properly educating Bilbo regarding their customs, either.
“Ten thousand crowns,” Dwalin said at once. “Ten thousand crowns says the hobbit doesn't wear his courting gift tonight.”
Nori stared at the great warrior aghast. Gandalf simply shook his head. “Too rich for my blood, Master Dwalin. And you cannot buy my services with gold, if that is what you have in mind.”
Grunting apologetically, Dwalin looked away. “Worth a shot.”
“Your desire to see our friends happy is a credit to you,” Gandalf said. “I assure you, I share it. However, my wish is simply to buy into the betting pool as other members of the company have done.”
And so he did.
Actually nudging Thorin in the right direction at that evening's gathering was made laughably simple when Dis co-opted the obviously hungry hobbit into assisting her with some performative sewing. Gandalf steered the king over to the food, and then guided their conversation along a suitable path.
“Your Culinary Guild has made quite an effort tonight.”
“Bilbo's guild,” Thorin said, pointedly reminding Gandalf that the hobbit had a place beneath the mountain. For one unwilling to confess his love, the king was very vocal about Bilbo’s happiness.
“Indeed. Yet he is not partaking of those labors. And after we deprived him of tea, as well. Poor fellow.”
Thorin's gaze turned toward the hobbit thoughtfully.
“I suppose he is used to missing meals, living among dwarves. Your ways are very different from his own in that regard.”
Thorin's mouth set in a firm line. While Gandalf felt a deep and abiding affection for his friend, it was all he could do to refrain from laughing aloud. The wizard took several of the stuffed mushrooms for his own plate, drawing the king's attention to the way they dwindled on the platter.
“Those are Bilbo's mushrooms,” the dwarf observed. “He would prefer that dish to the others available.”
Gandalf snorted. Millenia of practice meant Thorin did not hear the chuckle this expression concealed. “Will you ask everyone else to stint themselves waiting as the food goes cold, Your Majesty? Bilbo might have his hands full now, but he has been feeding himself for fifty-two years. I assure you that he can look after his own concerns in this regard.”
“His friends may also look to his interests without harm.” Taking more of the mushrooms, Thorin went over to Bilbo, whose hands remained occupied. Poor Bilbo! He did not have the willpower to resist food offered from the hand of one he loved. Nor did he have the presence of mind in that moment to hide how affected any hobbit would be by such a gesture from one they desired.
If the dwarves previously suspected Bilbo felt more than mere friendship for Thorin, they now had confirmation. In fact, the hobbit was bold enough to try to kiss the king, which would have resolved the matter neatly enough. Then Dis interferred. This was reasonable. Societies would break down if their own kings did not follow the standards of polite behavior. None of the dwarves moved to explain the nature of their customs to Bilbo. This was unreasonable. Gandalf very nearly went himself despite how unwise it would be to reveal the trove of dwarven secrets within the realm of his understanding.
Fortunately, Tauriel was not as hesitant as the usually bold dwarves. Pleased with her gentle explanation, Gandalf allowed Thorin to shout and rail angrily at her for making the disclosure as the hobbit raced away. The more vitriol the king loosed upon the elf, the greater his debt to her would be. Indeed, when Bilbo returned not half an hour later with all of Thorin’s gifts prominently displayed about his person, the king realized his obligation at once. Dwalin’s ten thousand crowns were as a single seed pearl to what Thorin would have paid one who could encourage Bilbo to wear the courting gifts.
The honorable fool did not race after Bilbo at once. Instead, he turned to Tauriel and apologized as magnificently as the Day of Amending required. Asking her to name what she would have of him in recompense, he was not surprised by her request. So it was that in helping to bring the king together with his love, Tauriel won for herself a wedding to the king’s nephew. The first wedding between an elf and a dwarf to be recognized by either of those people would take place on Durin’s Day, the Rohan treaty would be signed, and matters between Thorin and Bilbo were finally sorted. It was not overconfidence to believe that all was well Under the Mountain.
Unfortunately, it was not the truth.
“I’m sorry to hear that you’ll be leaving again so soon,” Bilbo said two days later. His smile had not dimmed once during their whole conversation, despite the fact that he’d been badly poisoned only the day before. Gandalf suspected Thorin made an adequate caregiver by hobbit standards, and an excellent one by Bilbo’s. “I hope you have time to take tea with me privately before you go.”
As it happened, Gandalf did not have time. He wanted to beat Theodwyn and her riders to Rohan to soften the king there before she arrived with a much more expansive treaty than he expected. The arms deal was more valuable than he could possibly anticipate, but the mutual defense pact might be difficult to accept. A few choice words before her arrival might ease the ratification process considerably. Still, the wizard was charmed by the hobbit’s obvious happiness.
“I can spare a few minutes.”
Hobbit hospitality was not to be underestimated, and the tea Bilbo served was an elaborate affair. “I do want to thank you for whatever it was you did to help Thorin and me, and I know you did something, though Thorin denies it. However, I must admit to an ulterior motive for asking you round.”
“You needn’t thank me, my friend. I am very pleased to see you so happy in Erebor.”
“Yes, well. I should be happy in a wasteland so long as Thorin was with me, and Erebor is hardly that.”
“As to your ulterior motive?” Gandalf sipped his tea. The cup was relatively large for a hobbit or dwarf. Bilbo must have purchased it in Dale for visitors.
“Ah, yes. An academic inquiry of a sort. Since magic is your field of study, as it were, I wondered if you might take a look at something for me.” Rummaging about in his desk, the hobbit found a slip of paper and passed it to the wizard. “You know that magic ring of mine? The one I tried to give Thorin as a courting gift? Well, I, er, well I dropped it into the fire. Quite on accident, I assure you. Anyway, when I took it from the ashes later, these words were glowing along the band. Usually it is lovely and smooth, so I was wondering if the fire harmed it in some way. The script is Elvish, but the language is not Sindarin or Quenya. Can you read it?”
Gandalf stared at the transcription.
“The magic still works just fine,” Bilbo said. “And the words have gone now. Indeed, my ring is as beautiful as ever, but I am worried that I have done it some irreparable hurt, for it is precious to me.”
Pinning the hobbit with his gaze, Gandalf tried to see through the depths of his eyes and into his soul. There was no corruption in Bilbo Baggins. But there was something. Something that might match the hold of a ring with an inscription such as the one Gandalf now held in his hand.
“I must go to Minas Tirith.”
“What?”
Putting down his teacup, Gandalf leaned forward. “You say Thorin refused this ring?”
“Well yes.” Slowly, Bilbo told the whole story of his flower crown and the confusion over courting gifts and payment. It made sense. As susceptible as Thorin might be to the lure of gold and power, dwarven hearts were iron at the core. For love alone could he have refused such a thing. There was great strength in that. Indeed, sometimes it was easier to be strong for others than for one’s own soul.
“If your ring is what I believe it to be, Bilbo Baggins, then a hearth fire did no harm to it. Alas, I suspect it is capable of doing harm.”
“Whatever do you mean? It is a useful little trinket, but it is only a ring, Gandalf.”
“Only a ring! My friend, you know better. Have you not noticed how it weighs on the mind?”
“Well.”
“Truthfully now, Bilbo, isn’t that why you offered it to Thorin? Because you believed he could not refuse it.”
The hobbit coughed once, looking ashamed. “I suppose it is.”
“So you know in your heart that this ring is dangerous to the dwarves, even as the golden treasure hoard of Smaug was.”
“Oh!” It chaffed Gandalf not to reveal the whole of his suspicions at once to the hobbit, but this was clearly the superior path. At once, Bilbo straightened his spine, looking resolute and determined. Gold had never been much of a temptation for the little fellow, only something to protect his companions from. The Ring was a different matter entirely, but Bilbo would resist it on behalf of his friends far more than he would for his own sake. “My goodness. What can we do?”
“Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Do not draw attention to it by carrying it with you, using it, or looking at it overmuch. Only hide it carefully.”
“Of course!” Any ring of power would encourage its possessor to treasure it, this direction was well within the realm of that influence. Fortunately, Gandalf could trust the hobbit’s will to keep him from using the ring, especially if he believed doing so would hurt his friends.
“Remember. Even the thought of it could begin to work upon the minds of the dwarves,” Gandalf said, very carefully. “So you must try not to forget about it as well. Put it away and busy yourself with other things.”
Nodding, Bilbo swore that he would keep the ring from notice, and do everything in his power to protect his friends.
Which was the best answer the wizard could receive. At least Bilbo seemed sincere, and it might be that a new romance would distract him from brooding over the ring. Perhaps the archives of Minas Tirith would have a more promising answer to the riddle of the magic ring. Something other than the one Gandalf feared. Perhaps it was only a dark trinket, easily destroyed, made by some servant of Sauron in idolatry.
The wizard dared not take it into his own hand to test.
Leaving Erebor was difficult. In his heart, Gandalf knew that the ring was Sauron’s, and that he left a great evil behind in the stronghold of his friends. Yet if any could resist the lure of such a thing it would be Bilbo Baggins, who desired neither wealth nor power and would soon acquire more of both than he cared for by wedding Thorin Oakenshield.
In that light, it was almost encouraging. Of all the creatures beneath the Misty Mountains, a hobbit from the Shire was the one to bear the Ring hence. Even fate was not that whimsical. There was a melody to the music, perhaps especially when it sounded discordant to the untrained ear. Gandalf was not alone. His task was not impossible. Under the Lonely Mountain, there was hope.