Chapter Text
The great battle ram sunk up to his belly in thick vegetation as he stepped down onto the green grass covering the small hillock appearing as a wooly ship afloat on green seas. The pale rider gave the long grass a disgruntled look as Murdêl carefully wound his way down the side of the hill. The aggressive abundance of greenery in the Shire seemed overdone in his estimation - as if the Shire was mocking the rest of Middle Earth by being even more verdant than rumoured. The grass finally gave way to a well manicured lawn as a round door came into view.
Death glanced at the stones on his wrist cuff and nodded in satisfaction. The little white star in the center of the sapphire had migrated across the face of the gem to clearly point in the direction of the small door and the large cat's eye was nearly fully dilated. It was almost time and definitely the place.
The battle ram trotted to a halt just beside the path and allowed Death to slide off his back. He affectionately patted its shoulder, speaking as he drew the hood of his cloak up to obscure his face. "We're a bit early, my friend. Why don't you take advantage of the greenery while I collect our charge?"
Murdêl blew out a heavy breath, thick with the scent of hay and seed, and then trotted off towards the shade of a large oak tree perched off center, atop the hill.
Death watched him go for a minute before he turned back to the round door. Taking the knob in hand, he pushed his way into the front hall. No door could bar him - not that this one had even been secured in the first place, Death noted with a shake of his head. Death had had many occasions to visit the Shire but he still marvelled at the level of security they presumed.
The star on his wrist pointed towards what appeared to be a front sitting room off to his right. He entered quietly to find his charge slumped in an overly small arm chair, clothes rumpled and long white hair partially obscuring his face. There were worse ways to pass than in one’s sleep, he knew all too well. He drew close and extended one gloved hand.
Before he could connect however, an unexpectedly large hand shot from the confines of the grey robes and fastened tightly around his wrist. "Stay your hand but a moment, Death," a tired voice asked.
For a moment, he stood frozen by the strength of the old Man's grip before instinct kicked in and he wrenched it away. Stepping back out of immediate reach, Death drew his sword from the scabbard across his back. "I spare no one," he rebuked, the weight of his angry words straining the air around them.
"Nor do I ask it of you, Thorin.” The Man replied in a vexed tone that sounded worn thin. “I ask only a moment." Death was, as a rule, not in the business of treating with mortals but the method of address caught him off guard. It had been nearly a century since anyone in Middle Earth had called Death by name.
"Who are you, to know that name?" His voice rumbling from the deep confines of his shadowed hood.
"You know me, Thorin, though perhaps it has been too long since we last spoke." The figure rose from his careless sprawl to reveal himself to be not a Hobbit or a Man but a Wizard, tall and thin, and in possession of a beard half as long as he was tall.
"Tharkûn?" Death asked startled. Indeed it had been more years than he could readily count since he'd last seen the Grey Wanderer. It was odd to think that a Maia would have need of his services, but he supposed that in the end he too was mortal.
"Will you not put off your hood and let us speak as friends?"
Death lowered his sword slowly but did not re-sheath it. With a free hand, he pushed back the hood of his cloak, dispelling the magics that allowed him to pass unremarked upon through the mortal world, recognizable to only the most keen eyed of the living. Without the magics, he was just a Dwarf, slightly past his prime with crows feet around his eyes and silver threaded through his hair. Only his shortened beard and relative lack of jewelry would set him apart from any other of his kin.
"And is that what we are, Wizard?” Thorin asked cautiously. “Friends?”
Tharkûn huffed an annoyed breath. "I had thought so, yes, all things considered but perhaps I was too hasty."
At the less than subtle reminder of his history with the Wizard, Thorin guiltily resheathed his sword and pushed the edges of his cloak back over his shoulders.
"Will you grant us a few moments more?" Tharkûn asked with a pointed glance at Thorin’s hand.
The ring allowed him the power to freeze time, a useful tool in navigating chaotic scenes safely. He’d even on occasion used it to speak with a frightened client to ease their passage. Never, however, had anyone specifically asked him to use his ring to grant them additional time. Suspiciously, Thorin twisted the heavy silver ring on his finger with a sharp turn to the right. The clock on the mantel stopped ticking; its hands frozen in place.
"All things considered? By which you mean the favor you have neither let me forget nor let me repay,” he grunted. “And now it appears to be too late. Even I do not have the power to ignore the Weaver's pattern, Wizard."
"Perhaps not and yet..." Tharkûn murmured with a small private smile. He waved Thorin's protestations off before he could further voice them. "You are correct in one thing at least. I have finally found a way for you to repay my favor, Thorin Deathless, though not in the way you may imagine.”
A small spark of hope kindled in Thorin’s chest. He had been living under his debt to the Wizard for longer than he cared to remember. He’d long since despaired of ever finding a means of rebalancing the scales.
The Wizard continued on but his shrewd gaze implied that he knew very well what Thorin was thinking. “I do not ask you to stay your hand, Death. My time has come because it serves my purposes to go, but there is one I leave behind in need of a protector."
Thorin’s thoughts ground to a halt. A protector? It wasn’t an entirely unheard of request; Dwarves were respected as formidable warriors. But to ask this of him, as if there were no easier options, was odd beyond the telling. It was possible to use a sword as dinner knife, but only a fool would hire a swordsmith when a blacksmith would do.
Repay his debt? Nothing with the Wizard was ever so straightforward. Thorin was not sure why this should even surprise him. "I would be a poor guard. You know I have duties I cannot ignore."
"Yes, yes, quite so, but you need not be here specifically to serve your purpose. The Shire is its own sort of protection. I only ask for you to keep an eye on him and, if needed, intercede on his behalf."
"Intercede how?" Thorin asked, his obvious suspicion coloring his tone.
"However needed.”Tharkûn replied with careless shift of his shoulders. “You shall know when the time has come, I am sure."
Thorin rubbed the arch of his brow. Once, long ago, Tharkûn had been a regular visitor to his Grandfather’s court, showing up every spring on the heels of the first thaw. The burden of attending the Wizard had fallen primarily to Thorin’s father, but Thorin had sat in enough council meetings before his passing to well remember the unique pleasure of treating with a Wizard.
"You wish me to protect someone in some way you can't explain, on the promise that I will know when I'm needed,” he spoke just to ensure he had the whole of it.
The Wizard smiled enigmatically.
“And then my debt is repaid?"
"Exactly."
Thorin took a calming breath and decided to humour the Wizard for a moment more. There was no time lost in listening to the Wizard’s proposal and it was perhaps the last and only chance for him to repay his debt. "And who exactly are you asking me to protect?"
"Didn't I mention?” Tharkûn spoke as if to himself. “No, I suppose I hadn't, at that." He strode past Thorin and out into the main hallway without further explanation, apparently confident that Thorin would follow. Thorin did so but ensured his grumbled comments on the highhandedness of certain people were just loud enough for the Wizard to overhear them.
The hall Tharkûn lead him down was broken up at regular intervals by rounded doorways, some with doors and some just simple archways. From one of these many openings, a Hobbit had been caught frozen in time; emerging into the hall with one foot firmly behind and one just coming to rest over the threshold. In his hand he clutched a heavy mug with frozen curls of steam rising from it.
"A Hobbit?" Thorin asked with surprise. Not that it was odd to see a halfling in the Shire, but one that would need Thorin’s protection was. Thorin somehow couldn’t imagine a mob of Hobbits armed with farm implements marching on this well appointed home beneath the hill.
Tharkûn nodded sagely. "As you see."
"What sort of trouble could a Hobbit be in that would warrant the protection of Death himself?"
In reply, Tharkûn only looked troubled. "I do not know, my friend. And that is why I arranged to meet you here and why I must leave. Foul things are at play but from where I cannot seem to uncover. There are those in the West that may help unravel the mystery."
Which made no sense to Thorin. “The Undying Lands are not some waystation to be entered and exited at will, Wizard. Once you pass that way you will not be able to return. How do you propose to solve this mystery if you are barred from Middle Earth?” he asked, but decided in the next moment that it hardly mattered what the Wizard planned. Regardless of his answer and how much Thorin would like to repay his debt, he could not help him. The duties of Death were not lightly put aside.
“No, I cannot do what you ask Tharkûn ,” Thorin demurred.
Tharkûn sighed. For all that the Grey Wizard gave off an air of agelessness, he seemed tired to Thorin. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with the time he’d spent on Middle Earth and everything to do with whatever mystery plagued him.
“Have faith, Thorin. I would not leave this to you if I didn't believe that you were the right person for the task."
“No, Tharkûn," Thorin insisted. It was ludicrous to think that he had time for such a venture, let alone that he of all people should be given the responsibility for another’s life. “There are others who could more easily perform this duty.”
"This is my price, Thorin.” The Wizards tone brooked no further argument. “A favor owed for a favor granted."
Thorin ground his teeth in frustration. The Wizard had the right to demand this of him, no matter how much Thorin may protest and well he knew it. That he should use his leverage on what appeared to be such a small matter was all the more reason to look upon the opportunity with suspicion. Thorin floundered for a moment trying to marshall another argument and failing.
Tharkûn took his frustrated silence as acceptance and stepped back with a satisfied grin and a nod to Thorin. "And with that, I believe we are out of time," he said with a glance at Thorin's ring.
The world suddenly reanimated as if released by the Wizards words - which of course wasn’t the case. The ring offered a finite amount of time but far be it from a Wizard to not take advantage of circumstances to further their own reputation.
The Hobbit finished his aborted motion and stepped into the hallway, straight into the Wizard who now stood in his path. He startled at Gandalf’s sudden appearance and nearly lost his mug. He desperately juggled the crockery, which was saved by the Wizard who snatched it from his slack fingers and deposited it on a nearby table. "Oh! Gandalf! I didn't see you there!"
"Quite alright, Bilbo. Do not concern yourself. I have simply come to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" the Hobbit asked with some confusion. “No, certainly not. You’re not well. Let’s get you back to the front parlor where there’s a nice warm fire. A cup of mother’s tea is just the thing to set you straight again.” Here the Hobbit placed a finger alongside his nose and gave the Wizard a conspiratorial smile. “The secret is to use dark red rose hips and a bit of honey. Don’t go sharing that with anyone, mind you.”
Tharkûn smiled down at the Hobbit. "I'm afraid even the esteemable Belladonna’s tea will not suffice in this instance, my friend. It is most certainly my time but, as promised, I have asked a friend to look after you."
For the first time, Bilbo’s eyes landed on Thorin. Under the weight of the Hobbit’s stare, Thorin keenly felt the loss of the protective cover of his cloak and hood. He so rarely went without these days that he suddenly felt strangely naked standing before the Hobbit as nothing more than the Dwarf he had once been. He suppressed the faint urge to shift on his feet beneath the Hobbit’s surprised gaze.
"A Dwarf?" Bilbo blinked in confusion.
Thorin bristled at the Hobbit's implied censure. "As you can see," he huffed through his teeth.
A deep blush of red stole across the Hobbit's cheeks. "I'm very sorry, Master Dwarf. I meant no disrespect. I’m merely surprised. When Gandalf said he had called a friend to meet him here, I assumed he meant one of the rangers or an Elf."
Thorin acknowledged the apology with a stiff nod. It was certainly well known that the Grey Wizard had close ties to both those peoples.
Gandalf raised his arm as if to lay his hand on Thorin’s shoulder but moved smoothly to a more expansive gesture under Thorin’s reproving look. "Thorin has agreed to look in on you from time to time. Ensure that you are safe," he announced with a beatific smile; as if Thorin was a Dwarfling to accept everything his eyes told him.
The Hobbit appeared equally unswayed. "As I have said before Gandalf, I do not need anyone to look in on me. Really, I am no longer some adventurous tween," he ended with a huff of annoyance.
"Of course, Bilbo. But one can never have too many friends," Tharkûn interjected smoothly. Their exchange had the feel of an old argument traveling deeply worn paths. And apparently Bilbo noted the futility of it as well because he just shook his head and refused to engage further.
"As you say," he grumped.
Tharkûn smiled in triumph and refocused on Thorin. "Bilbo Baggins, may I introduce to you my good friend, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, once King of the Longbeards. Better known to Middle Earth as Death."
Bilbo visibly startled at the introduction. Although whether it was the reference to his grandfather or his title, Thorin couldn’t say. Had the Wizard allowed him to introduce himself he would have claimed neither. He fought the urge to rub at his temple again and instead, inclined his head in a formal greeting. "At your service."
"Death? That’s a bit of an odd name to adopt." Bilbo smiled tentatively as if to soften the jest.
“More of a title, really,” Tharkûn corrected dryly with another innocent smile.
The Hobbit looked rapidly back and forth between the two of them as if searching for the source of the shared joke. Upon seeing none he spluttered out, "Surely, you jest, Gandalf. Death is not a dwar.... er, person."
Thorin's hackles rose at the narrowly adverted second slur. "I can assure you that I most certainly am."
The Hobbit shot him a singularly unimpressed look. "Now see here, Gandalf," he continued, ignoring Thorin entirely to focus on the Wizard. One long finger was raised to point imperiously as he prepared to launch into what Thorin could only assume would be a lengthy telling-off.
Tharkûn however had had enough of the conversation. "Bilbo Baggins, if I say Thorin is Death than Death he is!" The light in the hall dimmed as if a passing cloud bank had blotted out the sun. The moment however, was broken almost immediately as Tharkûn stumbled a few steps back and leaned heavily against a paneled wall. "And I would thank you to not argue about it," he commented in a more subdued tone.
The Hobbit looked immediately contrite. "Of course, Gandalf. I'm sorry. Can I get you anything? Why are we all standing in the hall and where did I put that blasted cup of tea?" The Hobbit fretted turning completely about once on his heel in search for the abandoned mug.
Tharkûn waved him off with a small smile. "No thank you, my friend. I believe it is simply my old bones reminding me that it is time for me to depart," he added with a pointed look towards Thorin.
Thorin was suddenly reminded of the reason he had journeyed here. He glanced guiltily at his silver cuff to see the cat’s eye had been engulfed completely in black; Tharkûn’s time on Middle Earth had indeed been fully spent. "My apologies," he said gruffly, stepping forward. "I did not mean for you to suffer."
Gandalf merely shook his head. "No apologies needed, Thorin. It was good to see you again, even under these circumstances,” he said as he stumbled over to a chair, his energy quickly leaving him. Thorin nodded solemnly and reached out his hand to place it gently on the Wizard's shoulder.
The Wizard turned his attention to the Hobbit, offering his final farewell. "Goodbye, my friend. Trust in Thorin. And trust in yourself." The last was addressed to the Hobbit but the Wizard’s eyes had come back to rest on Thorin with an odd sort of intensity.
Bilbo reached out with an open hand but startled back in shock as the Wizard collapsed into the chair. A strangled gasp escaped him as a deep blue glow suffused the form of the Wizard. It grew in strength until the Hobbit had to shield his eyes. Then it flickered out abruptly and Thorin was left with a softly glowing stone in the palm of his hand and no Wizard in sight.
"Is that...?" Bilbo stopped and started again, his wide eyes fixed on the grey stone in Thorin's palm. "What just happened here?" he asked in a terribly affronted voice. The slightest of trembles edged his words, giving away his true shock.
Thorin looked for a long moment at the stone in his palm. It was warmer and lighter than any ordinary stone that size had a right to be and the color seemed to flow across it in grey swirls of mist. It was both breathtakingly unique and entirely as expected.
"That is what happens when a Wizard dies," he offered with a melancholy twist to his tone. The other races of middle earth had the decency to pass with less fanfare but such was the way of Wizards, he supposed.
"But..."
Thorin glanced up at the Hobbit. He seemed suddenly pale and he swayed on his feet, his eyes riveted to the stone in Thorin's hand. Thorin carefully closed his fingers over the stone to hide it from view. As if released, the Hobbit mumbled a few nonsensical words and then fainted dead away at Thorin's feet.
Thorin just shook his head in exasperation. He pulled a thick felt cloth from his pocket and carefully wrapped the Wizard's soulstone within it before tucking it away. He then bent to heft Bilbo over one shoulder and move him to the overly-ticked couch back in the front parlor. Mindful of his head and feet, Thorin laid him out and then went in search of a bit of parchment and quill to pen a quick note.
He left the note and a small ruby sitting on the low table by the couch where the Hobbit would hopefully see it immediately upon waking and then let himself out. With a petulant twist of his hand, he locked the door solidly behind him.
Murdêl came trotting quickly down the side of the hill and Death was mounted again in short order. A glance at the cat’s eye showed very little time before his next appointment. The ram pulled strongly on the reins, turning them east and headed off at a smart clip. The small stone tucked next to his heart weighed heavily on his mind as Death headed off but he had other appointments to keep.