Chapter 9:
The next three days followed the same pattern. Mara took turns riding with different dwarves, and it rained…non-stop. Mara could hardly remember the last time that she was dry. On the third day of rain, she was riding with Thorin again, and a breeze picked up to match the continually falling rain. She sat there huddled in her completely soaked through cloak shivering, refusing to lean back on Thorin and to soak the front of his tunic with her wet clothes.
Thorin's voice broke through her musings of hot apple cider, roaring fires, warm fuzzy blankets, and good books: "Are you cold, lass?" Mara could only nod and draw her wet cloak more firmly around her. "Take off your cape," he ordered.
"What?"
"Take off your cape; it's completely soak through, Mara." She did as she was asked, and Thorin pulled her towards him stopped when he felt her soaked tunic. "Your tunic is soaked through as well!" he gasped.
"Yeah," Mara shrugged. "My cape isn't waterproof."
Thorin stopped his pony and yanked a tunic out of his saddlebag. "Quick, change into this behind the trees," he ordered.
She looked at him quizzically, but complied. When she came back and hurriedly flung herself back up onto the pony, Thorin pulled her in to his chest and wrapped his coat around her so that they were both engulfed in the same coat. Thorin tied her cape and plaid tunic behind the saddle, and they continued on, Mara slowly warming back up in the dry tunic and the warmth of Thorin and his fur-lined coat.
It must have been a comical sight, seeing the head of both a dignified dwarf and a young woman poking out of the same coat collar, but for the first time, Thorin Oakenshield did not care what the others thought. Yes, it was true that the girl had few skills that would aid them on their quest. She was another mouth to feed. She was a liability if battle arose. She was practically another piece of baggage. Yet, Thorin had never felt so…at peace…so content, as he did when this lonely, abused, troubled girl, who was wearing his tunic and sharing his coat, was in his arms.
Mara rode with Thorin for the rest of the day. He was concerned for her; after three days of riding and sleeping in wet clothes, she developed a sniffle and her face and lips were growing pale again. He sincerely hoped the rain would stop soon. She had hardly slept since it began, he suspected. Hours later, when it finally stopped, he breathed a sigh of relief, and Mara seemed to relax too.
All too soon, she began to nod off. She tried to stay awake, but the rain finally stopping and the warmth of snuggling in Thorin's coat back into the dwarf himself called her into the slumber that had eluded her for the past several nights as she shivered in her wet clothes. She felt Thorin's chuckle at her nodding rumble deeply in his chest.
"Sleep, lass,' he said. "'tis no wrong in it."
"But I've slept so much recently. You all must think I have a sleeping-sickness."
"No these last few nights, you haven't," Thorin countered gently.
"But—"
"Sleep. That's an order, Mara," Thorin firmly insisted.
"Yes,…milord," Mara yawned with a slight grin and promptly fell asleep.
Gandalf chuckled heartily all of a sudden at Thorin's side.
"What, wizard?" Thorin growled.
"To think I've lived to see the day that Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under The Mountain, cuddled a young lass in his own coat…" Gandalf trailed off with a laugh.
"It's not cuddling," he denied. "However, she'll grow ill if she is not kept relatively warm and dry; I fear she already feels the effects of three days and nights in wet clothes." He continued. "The last thing we need is a sick lass on our hands."
"Is that what you keep telling yourself?" Gandalf asked, looking at Thorin out of the corner of his eye knowingly.
