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Hahaaaaaa I really like this chapter, its just so.... gah. Cuteness, Thorin and the reader lowkey acting like a couple already, and trolls. What a lovely concoction; please enjoy ~ Error
Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, PTSD, Thorin being a simp for the reader, soul-crushing cuteness, Gandalf being a little shit, injuries, mentions of nausea and broken bones, etc etc
That night there was singing. The dwarves had gathered by the hearth, each staring hauntingly into the fire. They sing of that day, when Smaug came and destroyed Dale, when he destroyed the mountain… that day… The more time that passed since then, the more I remembered. In dreams I saw things more clearly, I saw what really happened. I saw the fire, buildings falling all around me, bodies piled in the streets… Nightmares were a recurring problem, and I knew some small things that helped, but they never really went away. Over time it just got… easier. It was better to rationalize that everything I saw was in the past, that it couldn’t hurt me, that it was all over. But it never really was over. It’s never over when Smaug is still alive.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke with someone’s hands lightly patting my arm. I had to blink several times to clear the blurry haze of dreams from my eyes, but when I was finally able to focus, I looked up to see Thorin. He gave me such a soft, sad smile before telling me they were getting ready to leave. Nodding blearily, I began mentally preparing to leave when I noticed daylight had only barely glinted through the windows.
Navigating through the small space full of dwarves, I made my way back to my stuff tucked away in a corner. As I situated my bag on my back, tucking my satchel to my side, I noticed that Bilbo was missing from within the mix.
“Thorin…” whispering, not to draw too much attention or disturb anyone, I held my hand out to motion him towards me. “Is he not coming with us?” Thorin sighed heavily, his eyes closing.
“No, I do not believe so. We are down to 14 members.” I sighed. Our odds weren’t great, even with Bilbo. But at least we had the element of surprise because he didn’t smell like a dwarf. Now,
we have nothing, nothing but brute force and maybe Gandalf if he didn’t leave us halfway through.
“Then we leave… maybe he will catch up, change his mind,” Thorin rolled his eyes at this, and I lightly hit him in the chest. “He might! He deserves the chance to change his mind. He’s not like you and I; I came here for you, and you had no choice but to go on this quest for your people. He has a choice; he has a life here that means something to him. And if he stays, if he chooses not to come with us, then we respect his decision.” He tilted his head as he listened to me, watching me with mock offense and astonishment. In truth, no matter how much he’d act like he was upset with me, he knew I was right. And besides, I doubt he could be upset with me for long.
“We are leaving now. If he joins us, then so be it. If he stays here… I will do as you ask.”
Within the hour we had loaded our ponies up with bags and sleeping rolls, and slowly made our way out of Hobbiton. While neither Gandalf nor I rode here he assured me that he told a few of the company members to bring two extra ponies for us, and I was not disappointed with my gray one. She was sweet, clearly well into her age, a bit snappish at the boys but she got on well enough with Myrtle and Minty. Balin called her Fenen. Morning had broken and covered the woods of the Shire in beautiful golden light, flittering down through branches, warming my back.
“Wait! Wait!” The young hobbit came running up behind the group, “I signed it.”
“Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”
“No, no, no, no. That…that won’t be necessary. Thank you. I’m sure I can keep up on foot. Yeah, I…I’ve done my fair share of walking holidays, you know? Even got as far as Frog Morton once.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a frog named Morton, but as I looked back to the hobbit, he was lifted off the ground and placed on a pony. It was like they had practiced it; the action was so precise and seamless.
“What’s that about?” Bilbo road up beside Gandalf and me.
“Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you’d turn up. Most of them bet that you wouldn’t.”
“And what did you think?”
“Well…” He paused as a small pouch flew in his direction. He caught it effortlessly, gauging the amount by the sound of the coins clicking together, “My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second.”
Days passed, and with them the beautiful peace of the shire. We went east, across open plains stretching for miles, the golden hills tumbling ahead, and the land faded into thick pine forests and sharp juts of stone. Night hung heavy over the company. We were tired, not to the point of exhaustion, but definitely tired. We had climbed up a small cliff side, settling ourselves on a vantage point looking over the treetops. While the ground was covered in pine needles, I found a way to roll out my bedroll and lay down without dragging any in with me. I laid on my stomach, cloak rolled up as a makeshift pillow under my chest, my mother’s spell book open in front of me as a flick through the pages. Along the margins, little scribbles, tips, and doodles littered the pages, all in my mother’s handwriting. Time had faded the paper yellow, and the ink was gray instead of black now. The leather cover was faded, the edges worn down and fuzzy, the latch on the front no longer closing completely. I missed her, in a deep, strange way that only comes with losing a parent you loved. I don’t know what drew my attention to him, but I looked up to see Bilbo silently walking up to his pony Myrtle. He gave her an apple, smiling fondly at the small horse and I couldn’t help but grin. No wonder Gandalf loved Hobbits so much; if all of them were like Bilbo, the Shire must be an absolutely wonderful place to live. In the darkness beyond, howling echoed in the distance, disrupting the peaceful silence, and turning it tense.
“What was that?” He looked to Fili and Kili, a bad choice of informants in hindsight.
“Orcs.” Kili whispered, as if merely saying their name would call them to us.
“Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there.” Fili built off the tense atmosphere his brother had created. These two will be the death of me, I swear.
“The lone lands are crawling with them. They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood.” Bilbo was afraid, and these two couldn’t seem to get enough enjoyment out of it. They laughed as Bilbo glanced around, terrified that the orcs were closer than they sounded. As cruel as they were for making it out to be a joke, I knew there was some truth to what they said. It had been years, 20 something to be not-so-exact, I had made to mistake of traveling east along the forest river to get to Framsburg, a small town on the edge of the Misty Mountains. It was abandoned now, long since, when the Éothéod left to make their home in the Calenardhon. I didn’t make it far outside the Greenwood before I was attacked. I don’t remember much about it, but there were a lot of them and only one of me. I tell myself I did what I had to, and that’s the truth no matter how you look at it. It was ugly, THEY were ugly, I barely got home afterwards.
“You think that's funny? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?” Thorin spoke up, and I was suddenly reminded that the orcs weren’t close, and that as far as we were concerned, they weren’t our problem. My eye shot up from where I had been staring at the ground. Thorin was pacing across the camp, making his way to the edge of the cliff.
“We didn’t mean anything by it.” Kili lowered his eyes, guilt written across both of their faces.
“No, you didn’t. You know nothing of the world.” He was being harsh, and I don’t blame him, but it reminds me how much he’s changed. I always see him as the young prince sneaking through the city, desperately trying to swoon the naïve little witch he’s guiding. It’s not fair to him, I know. Thorin has grown as a person and a king, to see him as anything less would be an insult.
“Don’t mind him, laddie.” Balin spoke from his place by the fire. “Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began...by beheading the king.” For the first time, I was hearing the story that started it all 56 years ago. “Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed...we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf prince facing down the pale Orc.” This wouldn’t have been too long after Dale. He still would have looked the same as before. “He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. And our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then ‘there- there is one who I could follow. There is one...I could call king’.” A stunned silence followed, a reverence for everything Thorin had done for all of us, for his people. Bilbo broke the silence, finally.
“And the Pale Orc? What happened to him?” I looked to Thorin before looking to Gandalf. Something about the way the old man’s eyes darkened told me that we didn’t want to know.
“He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago.” Thorin walked back to his bedroll, passing mine as he did, and he looked down at me with tired eyes. He swept the foot closest to me out to the side, gently brushing my elbow as he did, and I smiled only a little. I guess that was enough because he also began to smile just a little too. That night, the darkness around us seemed alive, violent, like the air itself was trying to crawl into camp and suffocate us. The next couple of days consumed us in thick pines and narrow paths. And rain. So…much…rain. I was never a fan of being IN the rain. Sure, it was beautiful, and quite peaceful at times, but being IN the rain, freezing and dripping with a runny nose and no feeling in my fingers, this was not ideal.
“Here, Mr. Gandalf? Can’t you do something about this deluge?” Dori piped up from the near end of the party trail. We were all soaked, hoods up but not doing much anymore. I wish I had done something, cast a spell to keep us dry, or perhaps enchanted our cloaks to keep us dry, but little could be done when it rains for 4 days straight.
“It is raining, master dwarf. And it will continue to rain until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.” Gandalf was far ahead, riding near Thorin and Dwalin in the front.
“There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, The White. Then there are the two blue wizards. Do you know, I’ve quite forgotten their names.”
“Well, that would be Radagast, The Brown.”
“Is he a great wizard or is he…more like you?”
“I think he’s a very great wizard, in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forestlands to the East, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world.” He slowed his horse to ride alongside mine. He lowered his head, leaning over to whisper.
“My dear, I must ask something of you.” By his tone, I immediately looked over to Thorin. He was far ahead, leading us forward, and there was little chance he’d hear us from back here.
“Mithrandir, why are you whispering? There is no secret worth keeping from him, you know that.”
“Yes, well, this is more of… a favor. Because we both know how stubborn he can be, and his distaste of Elves will be a hindrance soon enough.” Now this caught my attention.
“What does this have to do with the Elves?” He pulled the map to the mountain from his pocket.
“I may or may not… have asked for Bilbo to borrow this from Thorin last evening. You still read Sindarin, Quenya, and some ancient Dwarvish, yes?” I was fluent in the common tongue as well as Sindarin, the dialect of the Elves of the Greenwood, however my Quenya was iffy at best and I could only read ancient Dwarvish, not speak it.
“I don’t understand what that has to do with this, it’s written in modern Dwarvish, not any dialect of Elvish.”
“Yes, but there are hidden pieces to this map, and I believe there may have been some Elvish tricks used to hide them.”
“So, you want me to try and decode this? Wouldn’t it be better to stop at Rivendell? It’s along our way and would make things a lot easier.” He sighed.
“Thorin will not go to Rivendell, not of his only volition anyhow. No, it would be best if you could decode the map yourself.” I sighed, tucking the map into my cloak.
“I will try, but I make no guarantee of success.” He nodded, seemingly pleased, and rode ahead. This felt like going behind Thorin’s back, but the more I thought about it the less harm I found there. I was helping, I had convinced myself, and as long as I was helping and not hindering then maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. That evening we stopped at an abandoned farm some miles up the hillside. Moss and vines had grown wild over the broken stones, the roof heavy with shattered wooden planks.
“We’ll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.”
“A farmer and his family used to live here.” Gandalf muttered, examining the remains of the house. If I didn’t see the house for myself, I would have thought he meant recently.
“Oin, Gloin, get the fire going.”
“I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the hidden valley.” I knew Gandalf would try to convince Thorin to go to the Elves.
“I’ve told you already. I will not go near that place.”
“Why not? The Elves could help us, we could get food, rest, advice.” I placed my things down on the ground, kicking my bag to keep it from tipping over. I wouldn’t mind going to see Elrond, I had not seen him in a long long time.
“I do not need their advice.” Never mind.
“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.
“Help? A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing! You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father.” I felt a punch in my gut at that. Thranduil was the one who abandoned him, not Elrond.
“You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past.”
“I did not know they were yours to keep.” Gandalf left in a huff, stomping away without a word of where he was going. Thorin moved on from the conversation entirely. He kept giving out assignments, making sure food was going, the ponies were taken care of, etc. My legs were killing me from the ride, but I approached him all the same.
“Ara nín…” He turned to me, and his eyes lit. The way he had to look down slightly to meet my eyes gave me a chill. I need to stay focused.
“You heard us then,” I nodded. “I know the elves are like kin to you, but I cannot go to them. They will try to stop us…”
“Or they will aid us.” He rolled his eyes at me, but I ignored it. “Gandalf is trying to guide you to Rivendell, to Lord Elrond. He is a good man, a great man even, who has aided others in Middle Earth so many times. He was a good friend of Durin the 4th, he knew his children and his wife, Disa. Elrond is my friend, he will be yours as well, but you must trust me.”
“My Lady…. I trust you, but I do not trust elves.” I felt the conversation slowly die and I knew I could not convince him… so I pulled the map from my pocket. His eyes went wide with confusion and shock, but thankfully not anything close to betrayal.
“Don’t be alarmed, Seronil, Gandalf had Bilbo lift it from you a few days back. He asked that I investigate it, try and find its secrets that may have been invisible to the eye. Thorin…” He was so close to me, a few inches between our chests, and his eyes were soft again as I looked up at him. “There is hidden text, but I cannot see it. I know you hate them, but if there is a chance we come across the Elves, even by accident, I beg that you take advantage of their tools and knowledge. I could not do it, but maybe they can.” He sighed but lifted his hand to brush my jawline with his knuckles.
“I will do what you ask, but do not hold it against me if I retain my distaste for them.” I sighed with a smile. Only a dwarf could be this stubborn, truly.
“Is he coming back? He’s been a long time.” We turned to look at Bilbo, who was watching in the direction that Gandalf left with growing anxiety.
“He’s a wizard! He does as he chooses. Here. Do us a favor, take this to the lads,” Bofur reassured him, but I saw it didn’t ease Bilbo’s nerves in the slightest. Quicker than a flash, Bofur turned and smacked Bombur’s hand away from the pot, “Stop it, you’ve had plenty.”
“C’mon,” I laughed a little, “Lets eat. There will be time for talk of your distain for elves later.” He smiled, and it was a tired, happy smile that I could imagine seeing only late in the evenings, after a long day. The kind that I’d look up and see as he crosses the doorway into the room, his eyes brightening as he sees I stayed awake, waiting. Heat moves up my neck straight to my ears. I’m getting too ahead of myself. Far, far too ahead of myself. We sat together, eating and speaking of times we lost while apart. I spoke of my times in the forest, dedicating every moment I could spare to expanding my abilities. I elected to keep the fact that I became a horrible recluse during that time to myself. He spoke of his time traveling with his people, moving from place to place, working where he could. He spoke highly of many of those he met along the way, those who helped his people where they could or offered them work for decent pay. The other members of the company recalled their own stories, and even reminisced about their families they would return home to see. Then, Balin began recalling Erebor, the great city under the mountain, the glittering emerald halls, the mines burning so bright you could feel the warmth from anywhere in the city, and the beauty that the dwarves dedicated to their homes. I found myself lost in the wonder of what Erebor must look like, and suddenly felt sick. I felt robbed, without having a right to feel robbed in any way. Erebor must be such a glorious place and it was taken and destroyed before I ever got to see it. I wonder if Thorin would have walked with me through the thousands of halls like he did in Dale. I wonder what kind of people we might have been if Smaug had never shown up. I would have continued to wonder, if not for the sound of Fili and Kili dashing into camp.
“Trolls!! Irak’Adad! Irak’Amad! Trolls have taken the ponies!” Thorin was on his feet within seconds, and he rallied the others as well.
“Weapons! Now!” time felt like it was moving too fast, and suddenly we were all running at three, very large, trolls. Ducking past Dwalin as he swung his ax high, I moved my hand in a sweeping motion, starting from holding it straight out in front of me and ending directly to my side. A small blade that had been dropped to the ground stuck itself into the ankle of the troll closest to me. He stumbled back, shrieking and making a weird squealing sound, and in his flailing he knocked into one of his brothers. I didn’t see it, in hindsight, but I probably wouldn’t have been able to avoid it either. An arm the size of a large horse hit me and knocked me into a tree, crushing my ribs and causing my head to snap forward into the bark. Rolling to the ground, the stillness that followed was soothing in a way. Nothing moved, and not moving was preferable. After a few seconds, the stillness became nausea became the dizzy spinning sensation as I tried to push myself off the ground.
“Lay down your arms! Or we’ll rip his off!” Bilbo was above the fire, arms pulled out in either direction, and with a great huff every dwarf threw down his weapon. Still holding Bilbo hostage, they picked each one of us up and put us into what looked like Potato sacks. I was still trying to stand when a large hand grabbed the back of my head and lifted me up in the air before dropping me into a sack. Being dropped like that made my stomach turn and my head hurt way worse. They didn’t have enough for everyone, but I was lucky to get my own. I was tossed down onto the ground near the others, and if I tilted my head back far enough, I could just barely see Thorin. Everything was still so blurry, and my chest hurt when I tried to breathe.
“Don’t bother cooking ’em! Let’s just sit on 'em and squash ’em into jelly!” Gross. Gross, gross, gross. I tried to stop listening, tried to think of a way to get out of this. If I could, I’d cut our binds, but even moving my shoulder hurt.
“Wait! You are making a terrible mistake.” Bilbo was standing in his own potato sack, hopping around and talking with the trolls. “I mean with the…uh, with the…with the seasoning.” I understand he’s trying, at least he’s putting up the effort to be cunning in the face of being turned to food. But arguing about the type of seasoning was not a good start.
“What about the seasoning?”
“Well, have you smelt them? You’re gonna need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up!” This was hardly the time to be offended, but nearly every dwarf, including those spinning on the spike above the fire, began yelling about how they don’t smell and how rude Bilbo was being. I couldn’t bring myself to disagree with him though. I had spent weeks with these men, and I could attest to the nasty smell we were all slowly accumulating.
“What do you know bout cooking dwarf?”
“Shut up, and let the…uh, flurgerburbur-hobbit talk.” I felt shock, like my heart was falling into my stomach but in reverse. Maybe they would listen to him.
“It’s, uh…” No… no don’t hesitate now.
“Ye-yes, I’m telling you. The secret is…to…skin them first!” Oh, Vanar help us. He was going to kill us faster.
“Tom, get me filleting knife.”
“What a load of rubbish! I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scoff ’em I say, boots and all!”
“He’s right! Nothing wrong with a bit o’ raw dwarf. Nice and crunchy.”
“Uh…not…not that one, he…he’s infected!”
“Yeah, he’s got worms in his…tubes.” That… was worse. That was so much worse, it’s a wonderful plan, but the concept of worms in tubes was just… worse. “In-in fact, they all have. They’re infested with parasites, it’s a terrible business, I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t.”
“Parasites? Did he say parasites?” Oin spoke up from behind me. The others began protesting loudly, contradicting Bilbo’s claims, and I felt hope die a little inside me. If the stubborn pride of dwarves is what kills me today, I swear I’ll never forgive any of them. Suddenly they all stopped talking altogether, and after a quick pause began agreeing with Bilbo.
“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!”
“Mine are the biggest parasites, I’ve got huge parasites!”
“What would you have us do then? Let ’em all go?” The largest of the trolls asked, wiping his hand under his nose.
“You think I don’t know what you’re up to. This little ferret is taking us for fools!” Damn it, this one actually had some brains. Our transformation into tonight’s dinner began again and the shouting and jostling was making me sick.
“The dawn will take you all!” Looking up, Gandalf was standing atop the great stone behind the trolls, his staff raised. He brought it down into the stone and cracked it in half, light glaring though the two halves. The trolls screamed in pain, trying to shield themselves from the sunlight as it turned them to stone. In seconds the trolls were nothing more than statues, and the danger had passed. Wiggling out of our potato sacks was a slow process, and I elected to sit and try to fix myself. I heard Gandalf walking near and looked up just as he kneeled beside me.
“If I could lift my arm, I would smack you.”
“Ah,” he chuckled, “Let’s see what’s the matter.” He lifted his hand with his palm towards me and let it hover where my collarbone would be.
“What is wrong, is she hurt?” Thorin was on the other side of the mayhem and he still managed to notice that I wasn’t standing like the rest of them.
“Just some cracked ribs and a small head injury. How in the world did you manage this though?”
“I was thrown into a tree. Where were you?”
“I had gone to look ahead.” He wheezed as he stood to his full height. Thorin walked over and offered me his hand. I wrapped my hand around his arm, crossing our forearms together, and he pulled me to my feet.
“Sanâzyung…” He moved his hand up to my shoulder, looking down at me as he assessed what he could not see. He turned to the wizard. “What brought you back?”
“Looking behind,” He went to poke one of the stone trolls with his staff. “Nasty business. Still, they all are in one piece.”
“No thanks to your burglar.” I kicked Thorin’s foot with barely any effort.
“He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that.” He was right. Without Bilbo we’d all be dead, made into barely tolerable food, being eaten by barely tolerable trolls. At least we weren’t dead.
Some translations for you:
Ara nín = Sindarin for “My King”
Seronil = Sindarin for “My love” yes I added this in, Thorin doesn’t speak Sindarin hehe
Irak’Adad = Khuzdul for Uncle
Irak’Amad = Khuzdul for Aunt
Sanâzyung = Khuzdul for “Perfect Love”
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