A/N - So, I am, admittedly, a little late to the "Thorin Oakenshield/Richard Armitage" is hot party, as I just saw the two Hobbit films over the weekend. Part of me was very reluctant to see them, because I love the books, and I didn't think the movies could do them justice. Needless to say, I was very very wrong and very very inspired. Enjoy!
Disclaimer - I, in absolutely no way, own anything to do with the characters or setting of this story, and I make no profit from it—I'm just a fangirl with a crush.
He trekked carefully but quietly through the abundant mud, his shadow leading the way as the sun began to set behind him. The forest was thinner here, alongside the lake shore, and he chose the path because it allowed him to keep his bearings. His target was easily missable, but if he kept the water to his left, he knew that he would eventually find it.
A huge oak with gnarly twisting roots stood ninety paces to his right, a landmark that he recognized from his years of wandering in the Hills of Evendim. These lands had become his stomping grounds, and he knew their markings very well. Years ago, there had been a hunt for game in this area, and he had, by chance, stumbled upon the simple hut near the lake. At that time, he had dared not go any nearer to it, for he had heard the rumors; but now, finding it was his goal.
In his years of exile, he had heard much gossip tinged with fantasy and fear, mostly over too many flagons of ale. He normally paid it no heed, but, he was growing desperate, a need for revenge, for reparation, forcing him into action. He required knowledgeable counsel on his mission, and if there was any to be had, it would most certainly come from the Grey Wizard; but the man might as well had been myth for all the luck he had in finding him. It was difficult, for a dwarf in his position, to put stock in any unknown, but he knew that Gandalf the Grey existed and he suspected he knew the whereabouts of someone who could help him find the wizard.
He paused under the boughs, steadying himself while drawing his axe and sword. Yes, he was close, and now, the anxiety of his situation hit him like the swing of a mountain goblin's club. He forced himself to take slow breaths, picking his way carefully through the saplings and underbrush. Crossing over a gully, he caught a glimpse of a familiar rocky hillside before it disappeared behind more trees. He pushed on, carefully, and stopped when he found the edge of the wood. He peered out, sliding the branches out of his view.
A hovel more so than hut, and clearly, the years between his visits had not been kind to the structure. Vines, shrubs, weeds—all sorts of greenery covered the building, and he could barely see the wood boards that were dilapidated and rotten, the glass of windows shattered and missing. No smoke billowed from the half-standing chimney, and no firelight emanated from within. It looked convincingly abandoned, and anyone else would believe it so, leaving the forgotten relic to waste away. But not him, and not on this evening—he needed answers, and he knew where to collect them.
He approached slowly, on guard for any sort of trickery or ambush. A door, if you could call it that, barely remained on its hinges in front of him, and he knocked upon it, feeling foolish. Receiving no response, he put his shoulder against it, and it swung open easily. One, two, three steps he took inside, but he dared no further.
It was a common room; he recognized the large open space and fireplace for what they were, but every surface was covered with a layer of cobwebs and dust so thick that he doubted any of it had been used in years. Off the main area, a hallway led out of sight, and he moved cautiously towards it. His foot met the floor, and in that instant, the door slammed behind him, but he held his stance. He had suspected as much, and it would take more than magical tricks to unsettle him.
The tidy corridor was deceptively long, and at its end he could see a faint glow. The unkempt exterior had been an illusion, he surmised, a ruse used to keep inquiring folk at bay and extraneous proof of the inhabitant's skill. No doubt, he was in the domain of a formidable spellcaster, one who clearly wanted to maintain his privacy. Down the hall, he painstakingly approached the open doorway at its end, and nearly smirked at the accuracy of his prediction. The room was filled with soft lantern light and the scent of honeysuckle; it looked relatively clean, clearly lived in. Books and pots covered a counter, and papers of all sorts were visible on almost every surface. He couldn't make out much more without stepping further, and so he moved in.
Around the doorway wall, he spotted another table and chair, a dresser, and a bed, furniture meant to make a home. His eyes scanned over each quickly, and froze upon the mattress—a woman with creamy skin, as white as mountain summit snow, lay slumbering. Seemingly unending, golden curls cascaded down onto her shoulders and pillow, the muscles and vertebrae of her back creating a wanton display of grace and strength. A flimsy, transparent sheet laid at her hip, barely concealing her lower half from view, and the rhythmic movement of her flank implied that she was deep asleep.
He stared at the unexpected scene, he knew not for how long, trying to decide his next move. The stories he heard, they had painted a different picture, and he wasn't sure he had found his mark. He started to back away, lifting each foot hesitantly, when a voice made him freeze.
"See something you like?"
Before he could respond, the woman rolled over languidly in the bed, her limbs barely managing to lift the sheet across her chest. She leaned up, propped on elbows, securing the modest material while returning his stare as she eyed him from head to toe. She smiled, a sickly grin that made every one of his hairs stand on end. Every instinct he had told him to run, but for some reason, he held his ground as she spoke again, "A dwarf with no tongue...I didn't know such a wondrous thing existed."
He lowered his weapons and narrowed his eyes, the woman's flippancy irritating him. He had no time for ridicule. "I have come looking for the Mage of Evendim. Where is he?"
The feminine cackle echoed as if they were in a cavernous hall, and he realized his folly a moment too late. Like any rumor, there was only a bit of truth weaved into the words he had been so certainly told. "He is not here..."
Murmuring, he could not comprehend the noises she made, but he knew that he could no longer move, his arms and legs unresponsive. Sapphire blue robes flew to her from some corner, and they hid his view as they enveloped her form. She strode in front of him, using her fingers to lift his chin, "...Or anywhere. Tell me your name, dwarf. That I may ensure that it is uttered as a warning to any who dare enter my home with axe and sword at the ready."
"Thorin."
"Why did you come here, Thorin? What trifling cause brought you beyond my doorstep?"
It was too much. The longing he felt for revenge, the desire he knew to return to his home, his true home, left him shameless, almost ready to beg. "I am Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King under the Mountain. I come to ask the Mage of Evendim for assistance in contacting Gandalf the Grey."
More laughter, and he had to suppress the urge he felt to scream. "Why would I help you? You are a meandering idiot...you know nothing of those whose aid you seek."
"It is true that I knew not your gender…" he conceded, "and it was a very stupid mistake. But, I do know that you have helped others before…"
She paused, peering at him through thick eyelashes, "Yes...a select few who were worthy. But, they did not make the arrogant assumption that a mage must be a man."
He let his head hang, in both defeat and deference, and she continued, "Nor did they come bearing blades drawn. A brazen display on your part, but also foolishly courageous, and one that makes me genuinely curious. So, you will tell me everything of you, Thorin Oakenshield, and why you seek the Grey. And after I hear it, I will tell you whether or not I will help you."
The story of his people, the loss of his kingdom, the deaths of his father and grandfather before him—every terrible memory poured from him like the waters of the Brandywine. He gave every detail of his own volition; a spell may have bound him in place but desperation loosened his lips. He needed the mage, even if he wished it otherwise.
Her eyes watched him closely, and when he finished, she whispered more chants. He felt the release, and his limbs were once again his own. Wistfully, she spoke, "Your story is truly sad, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and you mean me no harm."
To prove the point, he slowly put his axe and sword away. "Will you help me find the Grey Wizard?"
Hesitating, he could tell she was considering her words very carefully. "I could, but will I? You risk much for a slim chance at success, and I would risk more by abetting."
Harsh, he knew his anger was misdirected, but he was a dwarf of little patience. "I need not hear how the odds are against me...I am more than well aware. All I can tell you is that I would rather die in this quest than continue living as I am."
"A desperate soul seeks the aid of a stranger. Do you even know who I am, or what I require in payment?"
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. At least he knew the first answer, "You are the Mage of Evendim…"
She nodded, eyebrows raising in consent, "That is one of my names, though a more recent addition, but it will do I suppose. If I give you my help, you must return a boon to me."
Another detail that was suspiciously absent from the tales he had been told. "Such as?"
"I know not yet. But, what I can tell you is that I will most definitely collect it."
He grimaced, "You cannot expect me to blindly agree to something so vague as that…"
"I do expect your agreement, because you really have no choice. If you had any other means to reach Gandalf, you would have used them. You are here because I am your only option. So, my offer is what it is, take it or leave it."
His eyes narrowed in defeat, "If you will help me find Gandalf, I will accept your terms."
"Then, we have a deal, Thorin. One that we shall make a upon a gold-oath."
He could not suppress the look of surprise on his face, "That is unnecessary."
"So you say, but it was not a request. The gold-oath is required, since I plan on fulfilling my end of our bargain, dwarf, and you and I share no history. I will not be shirked out of my payment."
His voice was incredulous, filled with wonder, "What do you know of gold-oaths?"
She shook her head briefly before continuing, "In my time, I've seen much, and learned more, about the many creatures that live in these lands. You dwarfs are no different to me than the sparrows or the hyenas or the trees...I've forgotten more than you will ever know."
Two small coins appeared in her right hand, and she tucked them into her palm as she offered it out to him. He took her hand reluctantly, noticing that her hand seemed dainty but her grip was like iron. She waited, he knew, for him to start, and then she echoed his words, "Gold bound, our agreement is set in stone and shall be fulfilled. Should I fail in my duty, then the debt will be settled with my life."
She let go of his hand, turning hers palm side up to allow him one of the pieces. Until both sides had completed their end of the agreement, each had to carry the reminder on their person. He plucked one carefully, slipping it into his waist pocket.
"Now that our business is settled, I'll begin my work."
He nodded, "Once you reach Gandalf, bring him to the compound in Ered Luin. That is where I'll be waiting."
She laughed again, "I'm afraid that's not possible, King under the Mountain."
A chill ran through his bones, and he tried to ignore the shiver, "What do you mean?"
"No one can simply bring Gandalf the Grey to you. We must go to him..."