Jolting awake as she suddenly found herself in motion, Poppy's eyes snapped open. Squeaking, she sat bolt up to realize that Moira had awoken and was munching away on a very early breakfast. At some point during the night Bella had moved, placing her head at a more comfortable angle. Shivering at the lack of warmth, Poppy slipped down from her perch, stretching her cramping legs. Perhaps sleeping atop a pony had not been the most prudent idea. Smiling at her own foolishness, she glanced upward to try and judge the time. The moon had shifted, causing its beams to create longer shadows, and the sky was a deep purple. Dawn was an hour or so off. Yawning mightily at how early it was even for her, she ran a hand through her messy curls and walked toward the fire, hoping to take a moment to warm up with no one else awake.
Everyone was asleep, most snoring blissfully away with no indication of stopping, except for Fili. He sat on the edge of camp, a fierce war hammer at his side, two swords and a whetstone in his lap. He didn't notice her even as she approached closer, standing near where Gandalf had decided to sleep sitting up. Even though her toes and fingers were still cold at not sleeping with a blanket, she suddenly felt her stomach warm up considerably.
Poppy was a solitary being; at least she had become one. She got nervous when around too many or when forced to interact one-on-one with someone she didn't necessarily know. That was how she was. She was quiet and nervous and shy. Realizing that all of those usual faults hadn't reared their heads when the idea of keeping Fili company shot from her heart up to her mind, she had to smile.
Ignoring the way the dew on the grass tickled her toes, she silently stepped over his companions and sat beside him. Jumping at her appearance, his hands immediately went to the two hilts and his whole body tensed. "Mahalu-me turg!" The phrase in Khuzdul that she decided was not exactly how one would speak in front of one's mother came out of his mouth when he realized his mistake. His hands immediately dropped both swords.
Grimacing slightly as she made herself comfortable, she offered, "Sorry."
Heart still beating rapidly, he questioned in a breathless whisper, "How do you do that?! You're like a blooming ghost."
"Perhaps dwarves are just too loud." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, a shy almost embarrassed smile following right after.
Almost not catching the teasing in her small voice, he stared at her for a moment in surprise before grinning back, "Fair enough. But I still don't think you're normal."
"I am quiet," she conceded, giving him a sideways glance when he snorted. "Fine, I'm very quiet." Smiling faintly, she added, "Sneaking up on Bilbo is rather fun. He drops his book and spills his tea."
Snorting again as he glanced at the sleeping hobbit, he grinned before returning to sharpening his weapons. "You're cousins, right?"
She nodded, for whatever reason feeling incredibly comfortable at that moment in time with that warm little knot in her stomach. "Our mothers were sisters. We've been best friends since we were little. We did everything together." Looking to the sleeping body beside Bilbo, she continued, "A bit like you and Kili, I think."
"I've never known a time Kili wasn't my best friend. I'm only five years older so I can't remember life without him." From someone else, the pure love and devotion in his voice would have surprised her, but she, like any other sane person walking that earth, could see the bond between the brothers.
Looking up, he noticed she had turned her blue-eyed gaze from his brother back to him with no indication of looking back. A little piece of his stomach that he hadn't noticed felt sick suddenly felt much better. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you and Bilbo? He feels older than us, but you don't live as long, right?"
"Bilbo is 51. The oldest hobbit to live, my great-great-great," she trailed off, trying to remember how exactly Bullroarer Took was related to her. Giving up, she shrugged, "My something was 130 when he died. We come of age at 33 and he's not far past. So Bilbo isn't old yet… He just worries like a ninety-year-old woman."
Running the stone down the length of the blade, Fili chuckled, "With that in mind, Kili is twenty-six years older than him. Who would've thought?"
He grinned at her and she felt her face warm up as one spread across her features, too. "So, that makes you, what, 82?"
"Aye. Though, I'm going to go out on a limb and say I'm far spryer than your average 82-year-old hobbit."
Thinking of Bilbo's terrible and rather round cousin Lobelia who was about that age, she giggled, "That limb isn't so dangerous a place to sit. Also," she smiled brightly up at him, "I know you and Kili aren't old."
They sat in companionable silence as a few of the earliest rising birds began to make their presence known. Fili continued cleaning his swords and she lay back on the ground, looking up to see the few remaining visible stars through the leaves. Looking over at the movement, he smiled. She just seemed comfortable, like the hesitant Poppy didn't even exist. It made him inexplicably happy that being with him made her so. Noticing his gaze, she looked ready to speak, but he beat her to it. "So did you sleep well? I didn't realize that Moira doubled as a bed."
Giggling despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, she shrugged, "Pony is incredibly comfortable. They also serve as wonderful blankets." Her slight humiliation fled promptly at how he laughed, a deep, genuine sound.
"I'll bear that in mind when I'm sick and tired of riding her in a few weeks."
Sighing, she looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, just think of me and my walking when you start to get cranky."
Feeling it best not to go further on that avenue of conversation—Fili had no desire to dislike his uncle for her sake or vice versa—he glanced down at her feet. Frowning, he asked with sincere curiosity, "How do you and Bilbo walk like you do? Do hobbits never wear shoes?"
"No. I haven't the faintest idea what good them being abnormally large does, but our feet are tough. Journeys aren't our cup of tea, but we walk quite a bit. Ponies' affinity for me is rare, so we stay on the ground."
Thinking of the depths of the mountains and the harshness of winters he'd lived through in Ered Luin, Fili wondered, "Don't they ever get cold?"
"Oh yes…" she replied earnestly. "The Shire is warm for the most part, but once you leave it and winter comes, they get cold. Most just never leave, so never have to worry."
Poppy suddenly became quite self-conscious. There she was, lying there, and talking with Fili about feet… For the first time in her life, she felt incredibly unattractive and actually minded. Dwarf women probably had proportional, not terribly hairy feet and hair that didn't knot into itself instead of curl. Of course, it was said they also had beards, but… Trying to disregard the stupid train of thought, she turned her attention back to the blonde and boot-clad dwarf beside her when he spoke.
"We never really get cold, but then we're never really hot, either."
It took a moment for the comment to soak in, but as soon as it did, she remembered a tidbit from long ago. Brightening with an exuberance that made him smile, she asked hurriedly, "Do you really not need anything in the forges? Does the fire really not hurt?"
"No, not really. We'll singe a beard maybe—Kili did that once—but we aren't harmed. We can survive dragon-fire, you know."
"That seems oddly fortuitous," she said with a placid smile, not wanting to go into the tragedy of Erebor if he didn't want to. She wasn't sure how exactly Fili felt about Smaug and the loss of his home. Thorin understandably would have struck her dead with his very gaze at that comment, but Fili just nodded. "So how exactly did Kili go about burning off his beard?"
Chuckling so loudly he had to check himself lest he wake anyone up, the elder brother explained, "All of us learn the basics of how to smith when we're around age thirty. That's when we come of age. We get to be grown-ups longer," he added playfully, smiling wider at her subsequent melodramatic sigh. "Uncle had been teaching me; he's a skilled smith. Kili had been upset for years because he didn't get to learn with me. He just had to watch. So, when he turned thirty and it was his turn, he decided he knew everything already. He'd just gotten his beard grown into something more than fuzz, too. Within an hour of firing up the forge for the first time, he'd gotten it too hot, made a nice little fireball and caught his chin on fire."
Poppy had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her laughter quiet enough.
Chuckling to himself at the memory and how her face had gone red with held in laughter, he concluded, "Uncle about died laughing. Kili's never regrown one since, nor has he tried. He's an archer, though, so it makes more sense."
Without taking her eyes from the hazel ones above her, she commented, "I can't really picture him with a beard."
"Neither can any of us anymore and we're dwarves."
She returned his smile for a few moments. Turning her eyes up toward the sky, a decided element of sadness in her voice, she said quietly, "We had a dwarf-forged sword once. I never knew why, but it hung above our mantle. Mother loved that thing. She was so proud of it. Bilbo and I used to take it and carry it when we pretend adventured. It had to be a really good adventure, though, because we would get into so much trouble when it was discovered missing."
Glancing up at him and the look he was giving her—one filled with interest, curiosity, and a vein of concern—she smiled soothingly, "Bilbo and I were quite rebellious, you see. Though, I guess it was my fault more than his. I was an ornery child. But we killed many a goblin."
"Kili and I killed many an orc and I can guarantee we were far ornerier. Our orneriness is practically legend. " Poppy gave him a fleeting smile before gazing upward again, melancholy hanging about her features. For the life of him, Fili couldn't figure out why, though he supposed she was allowed her secrets. Sliding his swords back into his scabbard, he pulled the knives from his gauntlets before asking lightly, "If you had a sword, why did you bring a staff?"
Laughing, she put her small arms straight up for him to see, "I could barely lift the thing, let alone swing it." As he smiled at that and she let her arms cross across her chest, as if holding herself together, she added sadly, "And…I don't know where the sword is anymore. I went home once and it was gone. I didn't have the heart to ask where."
"Well, I know that Bombur is quite happy you brought a staff. Better to be felled by it than a sharpened sword…"
As he had intended, she grinned at that as she blushed bright crimson. "I really didn't mean to! When he broke into my room I just reacted. I was asleep and all of a sudden he was there! Actually hurting him was pure luck."
"Aye," he smiled, "lucky enough to hit the one soft spot we've got on our heads."
"I said I was sorry!" She moaned with embarrassment so woefully, covering her face with her hands that he started laughing again. Seeing him shaking with laughter, she grinned and smacked his arm. "Oh hush, it's not funny!"
"A hobbit that's not more than three and a half feet tall being sorry about felling a dwarf a foot taller and probably four times her weight is the very definition of funny."
Widening her eyes and taking on a look of deepest sadness, she protested crestfallenly, "You think he's only four times bigger?"
If this spirited creature was what Poppy was like without her hesitance, he could more than deal with it. Narrowing his eyes with mock seriousness that was becoming incredibly hard to keep up without laughing, he replied with an eyebrow raised, "I plead the racial differences of humor."
"Sure. Now you decided to be scholarly."
His glare deepened, reminding her some of his uncle though she wasn't the slightest bit scared, and she laughed. "Also, just so you know, a lesser dwarf would have been extremely offended by that."
She kept grinning up at him. "It's good for me you're not a lesser dwarf then, isn't it."
Clearing his throat nonchalantly as she continued to giggle, he queried, "So, where did you learn to sing, Poppy."
She abruptly choked on her own incoming breath.
Coughing harshly, attempting to regain the ability to breathe, she looked up at him with wide eyes, "I was singing?"
Grabbing her arm and pulling her up in attempt to get her to stop coughing, he felt slightly guilty for surprising her so. He hadn't expected her to react that strongly. Without removing his hand, he repeated, "Aye. We all heard you earlier. Gandalf said the song was Elvish. It was amazing. I don't think any of us moved an inch the whole time." He didn't mention how he, Kili, and Bilbo had watched her. "Bilbo was beside himself, wanting to know where you'd learned it."
"You all heard?" she breathed, her face sheer white instead of an embarrassed red.
"Aye. What's wrong with that?" Smiling, he added, "You've got a nice voice, Poppy."
Red immediately colored her cheeks, that little warmth in her stomach igniting a bit more. Caught between horrified and confused, she latched onto it. Bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she allowed a small smile of thanks in his direction, "Thank you. I…I've just never sung that with anyone around. I didn't realize I was… I-I feel kind of naked now… Something tells me your uncle likes me even less, if that were possible."
Sighing, wishing that the situation were different on that front, he squeezed her shoulder, "He comes off as harsh, but he rarely does anything without a reason. He probably just doesn't want you to get hurt. I mean, he doesn't think Bilbo will be able to make it, let alone a girl."
"Even rabbits fight back when they have no choice, but—"
Cutting her off, Fili commented, "Aye, and the rest of the time they run. That's what he's worried about."
Laying her cheek on her knees to look up at him, she smiled, "I was going to say that I stopped being a rabbit a long time ago."
Shuffling with slight discomfort, he refused to look at her for a few moments, uncomfortable with the tightrope he was already beginning to walk between her and his uncle. Dwarves were an unfailingly loyal race. Loyalty meant everything to him and his kin. Having to pick one or the other was not something he wanted to do, especially since he knew he'd pick Thorin.
Softly pushing his arm, she got him to look back at her. Her blue eyes were warm and slowly he mirrored the smirk on her face. Seeming to completely understand his dilemma, her expression clearly said she wasn't looking for him to take sides.
Retaking his knives in his hands, he finished cleaning them. He wondered if the oddly content feeling he had in the silence was how Bifur felt whenever they just sat in silence. Though nothing was better than joking around with Kili, sitting in the silence with Poppy in the dark had its merits…
Setting his work aside when his weapons were spotless, he turned to fully face her, "What does it mean then, the song? Gandalf said it was a lament."
Frowning for a moment, considering that, Poppy finally nodded, "Yes, it is. It's different, though. They're sad to be leaving but excited at the same time. From the time they're born, they have two homes in their hearts. The one here that they live in and the one across the sea. So, they're sad but…It-It's difficult to without understanding the words."
Glancing back behind them, double and then triple checking that no one was awake but them, she offered in a voice so tiny she barely heard it, "I can sing it in Westron if you want."
Poppy refused to look at him at first, incredibly embarrassed, disbelieving that she'd just offered such a thing. Seeming to understand her troubles, or at least the bright blush on her face, Fili smiled kindly, "I'd like that."
Though he'd said his kin never got hot, he felt as if he'd just walked up and stood in a white hot forge when her brightly smiling face turned to him. She didn't say a word or look away for a moment before she began to softly sing the melancholy melody.
Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander there
Amid the world of woven trees!
Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright is breath.
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea!
O Stars that shine in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by thee were sown.
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!
O Elbereth Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.
Aside from a few birds that had taken it upon themselves to add a morning chorus to her voice, there was absolute silence once she'd finished. Poppy felt her face go red as Fili continued to stare at her, his mouth slightly open, but she couldn't bring herself to look away.
She had to admit, having him stare at her was a far from unpleasant experience, no matter how shy she normally was. Though their silence was not uncomfortable, Poppy was the one to finally break it, looking down as she stretched her toes. "Why do you all hate the elves so much?"
Gathering his bearings, Fili sighed. He'd always been a fairly moderate soul, disliking disliking people in general. Kili had inherited Thorin's temper, not him, which Thorin had occasionally joked was a good thing. Elves, however, were the exception. It was going to take a lot for him to forgive them for what they'd done to his people. Even then they raised his ire, "You were teaching Ori about our history earlier. I thought you'd know."
"Gandalf told me those stories when I was ten or so. He didn't confuse a child with hatreds and prejudices she was too innocent of the world to understand."
Smirking slightly as his anger calmed, he nodded, "Bofur's like that too. The kids all love him because he manages to keep things simple but still trick them into learning something."
Her smile ghosted across her face. "He and Gandalf should make a day of it if we ever get to rest." Voice lowering again, she continued, "It's just strange to me, is all, your people's hating them so. They…" she trailed off, unsure whether or not to finish that thought.
As she fought with herself, Fili distracted her with an answer, "Uncle hates them so much because when Smaug came, when Erebor was taken from us, the elves came too. They came but they did nothing. Thranduil didn't even help our refugees."
A deep, saddened sigh escaped her. "I know have no room to talk and it changes nothing," she commented quietly, glancing back at the dwarf king who disliked her so, "but they aren't all like that."
"And how do you know that? Have you met one?"
Fili's voice was harsh and his movements so jerky they made even his braids swing angrily, but Poppy knew his anger wasn't directed at her. Voice shaking, almost not believing what she was doing, she replied, "Yes, I have. They taught me to sing, to answer Bilbo's question."
He could feel his neck creak and protest at the speed with which he turned his head to look at her. Sighing heavily, she waited, as if morbidly prepared for him to ransack her with questions and demands to explain why she knew the forest and elves and wights and why she wasn't just normal. She was prepared for him to hate her for whatever reason.
Fili merely looked at her, catching her scared blue eyes with his. After a while in which neither said anything, he just said the first thing that popped into his head. Afterwards, he wouldn't even remember what it was. Not wanting to be the reason for that fear in her eyes, he just started talking, rambling on wherever his mouth took him in a way most unlike him with the birds and Bombur's snoring for answers.
Quite suddenly, there was a snap of a twig amongst the trees, incredibly near to them. Abruptly quieting, Fili had both his swords in his hands within a moment, telling himself he was ready for anything. However, a gentle hand on his arm made him jump. Grasping his sleeve, Poppy explained in a whisper, "It's just deer. There's a herd that lives near here. They come around when I sing."
"Oh…" was all he said before silence resumed. Hazel eyes glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't speak.
With a sudden wave of some swelling emotion she couldn't quite name, Poppy realized she had underestimated the dwarf before her. He wasn't going to ask, not if she didn't want him to, even with many of her oddities spread before him. For whatever reason, she wanted nothing more than to explain it to him because of that. Maybe he'd hate her and shun her and never look at her with a shred of anything but dislike again, but she'd tell him anyway.
It taking a few tries to get any sound out, she asked, "Fili, did you and Kili ever run away as children?"
"Aye, a few times. We never made it very far."
"I did. I ran away four times and the fourth time, I made it here." Tears gathering at the corners of those blue eyes, she breathed, "I lived here in this dell for almost fifteen years. That's what was wrong with Bilbo. I disappeared off the face of the earth for almost two decades without him and this is where I was. He's so worked up with protecting me, he didn't know how to react. This place, this grass, these trees, those birds, and those deer, it was all…home."
Tilting his head slightly to make it parallel with hers, he asked softly, "Why?"
It was then that she finally looked away from him and turned her eyes to the infant dawn in the east, refusing to answer.
Watching as pain crept into her eyes as she turned away, some things suddenly made an immense amount of sense to Fili. Whatever happened to her had happened and she'd come there and she'd made herself belong. That little glade, with all its animals and plants, had loved her. Going back away from that safety to be surrounded by an entire race of people who didn't seem to understand would make him hesitant about life, too. And after fifteen years, she and Bilbo were still close because they were like he and Kili. They needed one another, no matter the time, the space, or the history. She had come along because Bilbo was home, not their little hobbit hole with its round green door and terribly small cups.
He got the feeling she was too proud or too scared to bother telling anyone but Bilbo because they wouldn't understand anyway…except for him. The very thought made him happy. Two days it may have been but she already trusted him for whatever reason.
Leaning over and bumping her shoulder with a grin, he commented airily, "Well, you certainly could have picked worse places…"
He watched as her body slowly began to heave with laughter and tears, though he didn't comment on those. If there were two things he knew about women, it was do not comment on their weight—which he'd already failed at, apparently—and only acknowledge they're crying if they do first. Something told him he shouldn't be worried, though, as she began hiccupping with laughter.
Abruptly standing as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, she declared, "Come with me."
She held out a hand to him and at the first sign of movement from his, she grabbed it and hauled him upright. Without another word, her grip tightened and she hauled him forward into the trees, grinning with abandon.
A/N: Well hello there! So...this is a bit of a behemoth. We all know a bit more about Poppy now. Yay! Also, they're not head over heels in love with one another, but we've got a continent to cross and plenty of time. I don't know about all of you, but I dislike rushing things. Either way, the romance is beginning... :) So, thanks so much for reading, leave a review if you could, and I hope you enjoyed. See you on Sunday. :D
