Believe in Me
Disclaimer: Well, I own my passport, for one, I mean, that's pretty important, right? That's about it, though, and sadly my passport does not make a cameo appearance here.
A/N: Looks like I got another update in after all! :D Slightly longer, and boy is it jam-packed. This one is a right proper gem, to me. I shall miss you all terribly, but never fear - I'm taking along my writing notebook with me, complete with what used to be three pages' worth of notes on upcoming plot points/raging/ideas/weirdness that's now condensed to size nine font with like point-zero-one spacing and the margins expanded to the max while remaining just barely printable.
We've hit the 50th review mark! :'D Not to mention the traffic flow has literally been making my jaw drop. I LOVE YOU ALL. SO. FREAKING. MUCH.
Super-duper-thanks goes pretty much right up to current time due to the short interim update period (heh), to: Iamborednow, Guest (Thank you! Oh I shall ;), Crazyhyper09, TheHorseLady, feather-of-an-angel, Belliwing (thank yooooou :), Hiding in the Shadow (teehee, thanks), i am a Fire-jay (FUN FACT: you were the 50th reviewer :3 Ooooh, how awesome! You have fun as well! You'll be so busy you won't even notice you've been away from home :) Good luck!), MagicLover16, AemiKili (Aw, thanks! Glad you like both of those :), superloudean, yoohoo2202, Pyrassion, danamarie1995, Syrena Swift, devilsrose27, and allllll the readers!
Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Review? :)
Chapter Nine
In Which There is Much Communication
She woke in the morning to a hazy light that she assumed meant she was up early again. Then came the worst realization for anyone sleep-deprived: she had in fact overslept, and the dimness was caused by the thick clouds that were still pouring rain down.
Beginning an ill-tempered survey of the squished camp, she gradually came to the realization that she felt much better rested than she had lately, despite probably having slept less the previous night than any other. Which was puzzling. Their location was not exceedingly comfortable, nor any safer than those before. She hadn't been exceptionally exhausted aside from staying up a bit later than usual after supper— Ah. The stew. That must have been it. Perhaps she should make a habit of consuming more of Bombur's cooking.
She had hardly even moved in her sleep, so she was closer to Kíli. Personally, she didn't fault him or Fíli for still lying there asleep, since they'd been on watch last night. Thorin, on the other hand, was glaring at those still sleeping with decreasing patience, as if he could will them to wake just by striking fear into their hearts with his stare. To save the brothers from having holes burned in them courtesy of Thorin's glares, she began to nudge at Kíli's shoulder, willing herself not to blush at the impropriety of sleeping so near to the two young dwarves (never mind between them).
He grumbled and eventually opened a dark-lashed eye, and once the eye focused on her, Eisa said "Good morning, sleepyhead" quietly, so as not to aggravate him. She, for one, despised being woken by loud noises and confusion.
"Morning," he lamented, but struggled upright all the same.
Satisfied, and guessing that they were probably almost as used to life on the road as she was, Eisa turned to the brother on her right, but he was already stirring. She chalked it up to a fraternal bond thing and went to go grab a few bites of breakfast for the road, careful to sufficiently test her injured leg before walking on it. She was just barely reduced to limping, and made a worthy effort not to call anyone's attention to it, especially if they were of the line of Dúrin.
"I almost forgot. How do you feel?"
Well, so much for that attempt. "It's just fine, I think," Eisa said breezily, turning to Kíli with a smile.
"That's a relief!" he chirped brightly. "We wouldn't want you incapacitated, would we?"
She had to mull over what he meant by that, and concluded that all in all it was better to be useful than semi-useless.
And still he insisted on following her along from mere inches away, right up until when she finally mounted Daisy for the day. Getting him to carry on with his own business after he was so adamant about helping her onto the pony had practically required her pulling a weapon on him.
If possible, the rain had come back even heavier after the previous day's clear spell. "At least we were dry for the night," Eisa heard Dwalin grunt once they were on the road. Deciding to take it as a backhanded compliment, or at the least a small vote of approval from the surly dwarf, she grinned to herself under her hood and immediately wondered why she felt so accomplished. However, the thought was swiftly overtaken by one of food. Her stomach gurgled pleadingly, and she bemoaned her swift metabolism. It was tempting to scrounge for something in her pack—she still had days' worth of food in there—but that would be rude and she would feel selfish. Besides, she didn't know how long her private supplies might have to last her, once she left.
Once she left.
The thought had to be spelled out stubbornly.
She didn't want to leave, and she knew it. There was no fooling herself; not by now, after so much time spent with only herself as company. She knew herself well, very well, but what she couldn't put her finger on was one of the reasons for her reluctance to part ways with the Company.
One reason, plain and simple, was that the ragtag troop was wonderful. She had never traveled in a group like this, but she was certain that it was an exceptional gathering of rather exceptional people. They were all so intriguing in their own unique ways; she couldn't even describe it. Nonetheless, she knew that her companions themselves were the main pull.
Second came the thrill of the adventure, and not only because of their fire-breath-avoiding, death-defying end goal. Oh yes, she had picked up on that. It wasn't difficult to figure out, what with the talk of wizards and a quest with a hidden purpose coupled with her little epiphany concerning the identity of the Company's leader. Not to mention Kíli's minor slip-up about the dragon. All in all, it made for some rather exciting prospects down the road that she was hardly inclined to shy away from.
There was a third reason, too, but that was what wouldn't quite surface. It was irritating her like an itch in the middle of her back that she couldn't quite reach, but she supposed she would figure it out before too long. So she wiggled her shoulder blades around and didn't waste time worrying about it.
"Eisa? Have you some free time?"
Eisa looked up at Kíli, who was standing over her with a look that reminded her a bit of plot-forming. They had made camp for the night, and she was indeed unoccupied. "Of course. What is it?"
"It's a secret," he whispered loudly—in other words, he just wanted to aggravate her—and held out a hand to help her up. "Come on."
"Fair enough," she agreed warily, letting him pull her to her feet (even though her ankle had actually stopped aching for the most part) and following him out past the edge of the camp. "Kíli, what are we doing?" she sighed as he settled himself on the trunk of a fallen tree.
"I'm helping you with your Khuzdul. The only thing is that the hobbit and technically the wizard can't hear us. Which is why we're out here!" The brunette grinned and spread his arms expansively, referring to the secrecy inherent in the use of the dwarven language.
Speaking of which, it took Eisa more than a moment to work through his words in her head. "Oh, this shall be fun," she muttered in the common tongue, taking a seat on the log to cross her legs underneath her and face Kíli. "I listen and I understand a lot better than I speak it," she then warned him in Khuzdul.
"We'll have to fix that then, will we not?" Kíli smiled invitingly. "Go on, talk about anything you like."
She decided to talk about what she had done while staying in the Shire: a good, safe topic. But fifteen minutes later, it was apparent to them both that Eisa was having some trouble. Kíli was secretly very impressed both with what she had learned in such a short period of time (he had had continued schooling for years on end) and what she had retained despite the lack of practice. But she had either forgotten or had never been taught some nuances here and there, and her Westron accent often slipped through.
"Ah, no," he corrected her. "'Tabadumum' is to climb up, remember? 'Tabadif' is to climb down."
"I've always confused those," Eisa groaned. Kíli was a decent teacher, she supposed, if entirely too enthusiastic about the whole thing.
"And your pronunciation isn't quite right. Here, watch the way I say it: ta-ba-dif."
She'd admit it; she was a bit jealous. He'd had a proper education, probably tutored alongside his brother as they grew into their tween years. His vocabulary was clearly not a thrown-together mishmash of whatever he could pick up, and he formed the words with ease, his usual accent somehow meshing perfectly with the cacophonic sounds.
"Ta-ba-dif," she repeated obediently.
"Good. Go on. What happened the next day?"
"Well, I'd been told to seek a…a…food-and-drink-place…"
"A beer-hall? A tavern," Kíli provided.
"Yes, a tavern. And it was called the Green Dragon. So I went—it wasn't difficult to find—and I met the most amusing folk there," Eisa chuckled. "All the way to dawn I spent there, and I didn't even realize it until the sun began to come in through the windows to the east."
Kíli laughed: a bright, warm sound. "You see, I knew you had it in you to have some fun."
"And what does that mean?" Eisa crossed her arms and mock glared at him, but she was honestly a bit curious.
"You just seemed so…straitlaced, at first." He shrugged, unperturbed. The look on her face fell just short of comprehension. "That means, uh, upright. Proper. And really polite. Friendly, but, I don't know…too dignified?"
"Your point being?"
He was definitely digging himself a hole. "No, no, what I mean is…you didn't seem like you'd be much fun. But you are. Fíli and I think you're interesting. That's what we told Uncle, you know, that first night."
The dwarf maid's eyebrows rose. "You did? That was…kind of you."
"Well, it's true," Kíli justified innocently. He watched with self-satisfaction as his words set in, and smiled widely before getting back down to business. "Now then. Can you repeat the word for dawn again?"
"Abkûnd?" Eisa wrinkled her nose, wondering what she had done wrong this time as she tried not to blush from Kíli's sideways compliments. It didn't help that he had taken to staring at her intently whenever he was concentrating particularly hard on what she was saying.
"Say it like you mean it," he teased her.
"Abkûnd."
"Nope," he declared, but without judgment. "Abkund. You're making it plural."
She huffed. "What's the difference?"
"The plural has a circumflex." He got another blank look and started motioning with his hands. "You know, the little pointy thing above the 'u'?"
"Ohh, of course, of course!" She snapped her fingers in comprehension. "And it makes the sound, um…longer, or shorter?"
"Which do you think?" He smiled indulgently. "Abkund, or abkûnd?"
Sighing in resignation, Eisa found herself focusing closely on the way his mouth moved. It was probably just her slight envy talking. Still, she couldn't help but take notice of his full lower lip and the endearing little bow to his upper. And he had such a charming smile.
"I'm going to say…the longer is the plural."
"Well done," he congratulated her. "We'll make you fluent yet!"
And so they went on, each learning a new thing or two.
"And then there came this horrendous wailing, from what sounded like the deepest part of the mines. It was a horrible screeching, and it echoed all round the caves and down the passages," Balin told his captivated audience two nights later around the campfire. "We were sure it was goblins; it wouldn't be the first time, after all. So Thorin gathered a troop of us and we scoured the mines, but suddenly…the noise had gone." Snowy eyebrows lifted ominously. "We were on our guard. And just when we were nearly out of our skins with anxiety, Thorin heard a sound. There was a quiet noise, a whimpering noise coming from a mineshaft. He approached cautiously, suspecting trickery. The darkness was too deep, and he threw a torch down the chute to seek out what was waiting at the bottom.
"But all he found," the old dwarf smiled knowingly, "were two very surprised, very frightened little dwarflings."
Most of the dwarves made amused noises of comprehension, but Eisa didn't get the joke.
Balin went on, "The sons of Dís had ventured a mite too far into the mines that night. And could you imagine why?" He looked right at Fíli and Kíli, almost beginning to shake with laughter. "They didn't want to take their baths."
Fíli protested that it had all been Kíli's fault while Kíli spluttered and his cheeks grew pink. Eisa, meanwhile, burst out laughing. To think that it had all sounded so dangerous and serious, while really it was just another misadventure of the young princes.
"I didn't like baths," grumbled Kíli, crossing his arms childishly.
"What do you mean? You still don't!" chortled Fíli at his brother's expense.
Thorin should have been chuckling at the plight of his nephews, but instead, his mood was rapidly deteriorating.
He wanted to see Kíli and Fíli happy. More than anything, he wanted them safe and sound. They should be laughing together, poking fun at one another, whispering together as only brothers who were best friends could.
And they were. If you ignored the presence of their little tagalong, that is.
The three got along alarmingly well, now riding in a trio during the day. They would often have their heads together and seemed to have developed their own private jokes. Around the fire, they always sat together, and took their meals by each other's sides. The brothers even slept near the girl, which would have been completely improper even if they had not had a royal duty and a degree of integrity to uphold.
And what was more, the two were only smoothing the way for the girl to become better acquainted with the other members of the Company. Thorin couldn't give two coppers about the hobbit, but his Company of dwarves was not to be infiltrated by some too-friendly mutt. It led him to wonder if he was the only one left with a sense of decency anymore.
At the moment, as the Company was gathered around the campfire listening to old stories, he couldn't help but begin to fidget uncomfortably (although he was a king and would never admit to succumbing to such a nervous habit). He would have had to be both blind and deaf to miss the way that the three young dwarves were interacting, and even then he thought he might be able to feel it in the air. It was companionship. And he was sure that his nephews were looking at the girl the same way they had looked at that neglected mutt years ago. They watched her with a bit of intrigue and a touch of curiosity, but mostly companionable affection.
If he didn't know better, he would say that Fíli and Kíli had made friends with the stray traveler.
No; the king was not pleased at all. And that night, it didn't take long for it to just become all too much for him to handle.
"Miss Eisa." He had refused to drop the formality. "May I have a word?"
It was a command, not even a request, and Eisa stood quickly from her seat on the ground next to Kíli. "Of course." She brushed at the fronts of her breeches absently, wiping away imaginary dirt, and followed Thorin a ways when he began to walk away from the campsite.
When he finally stopped and turned on her, he didn't give her much time to collect her thoughts. "Why do you stay?" he demanded.
Why do I…what? "If I've caused any undue inconveniences, I was unaware, but allow me to apolog—" she began in confusion, ever striving for the appropriate politeness.
"You distract my nephews. Do not think I have not taken notice," he said accusatorially.
"And you need not worry about that, sir," Eisa frowned, a bit affronted. "They are good companions and nothing more. You told me yourself that they were good lads." It probably wasn't wise to try and corner him, but she couldn't help herself. Wasn't it a bit late to be throwing grievances around?
"...Indeed," Thorin gritted out. "They are. But they are becoming too comfortable, and as for the matter of comfort, our quest is no place for a woman." He did that thing again where he stretched out his spine, like he was trying to make his already impressive frame even more intimidating.
She swallowed and struggled to keep her words measured. "Do you think I fear the way through the Misty Mountains or the darkness of Mirkwood? Or perhaps the fiery breath of Smaug? I know your goal," she enlightened him, trying to keep from seeming condescending.
His eyes had widened considerably, and he advanced on her. "Who told you?" he barked, already preparing a mental tirade against Kíli.
"No one told me," she replied, genuinely surprised. "I simply figured it out on my own." He looked like he didn't believe her for a moment, so she went on. "Thorin Oakenshield, the rightful king of Erebor, traveling eastward from Ered Luin with a faithful Company of dwarves with the addition of Gandalf the Grey and a hobbit who's been referred to as said Company's Burglar? Did you think I would not realize?"
"I did not consider it," the king acknowledged grudgingly. Now he was in a right mess. If the girl left, who knew whom she could tell? No one beyond his kin was to know, and although he did not like to admit it, he hadn't in fact thought that the vagrant might work out their journey's purpose on her own. Although, he reminded himself, she could still be lying. "And this does not deter you from the road ahead? There is nothing for you to gain by following along with us. It is more likely that you meet your death first," he predicted harshly.
He also didn't appreciate how this didn't seem to faze her much. She shrugged unassumingly. "I have no larger commitments or purpose in my life. Is it so wrong that I should desire to be of help to you on your quest?"
"And what makes you think that we need such help? Any of which I doubt you could offer," he added scathingly, looking her up and down.
"I do not mean to insult you, Thorin Oakenshield," Eisa said exasperatedly. Her patience was dwindling, and his needling wasn't helping. "I realize how important this is to you and your folk. Your purpose is your birthright; it is in your blood. And I cannot explain my wish to do whatever I can to aid you in that, because I myself have never had a home or belonged anywhere in my life!"
Thorin drew himself up to his full height, not all that much taller than her in reality but achieving the desired effect. It was unlikely that he detected the sudden bite of bitterness in her words, and even if he had, he would not have taken the time to try to understand it. His dark blue eyes snapped dangerously as he warned her in a low growl: "Do not presume to speak to me of having no home."
"But you did have one," Eisa said, her voice suddenly soft, as though she was speaking about something too beautiful and precious for words. "It never left from inside of you. I can see it." Her own gaze hardened, and she couldn't rein herself in. "Although I don't know why, since I have never had a thing."
"And what is worse?" the king challenged, stepping closer to her. "To have never known something at all, or to value it more than anything in the world only to lose it?"
"I cannot answer that question either way without doubting what I say," she replied stiffly and altogether honestly. Her chest had begun to heave with things contained, and if she had been entirely in command of herself, she would have noticed the angry heat that was spreading up her neck to her cheeks. Then she did something that she couldn't control: she reciprocated the king's step forward and got right up in his face, a sign of aggression that almost no one would dare to make. "But I will say that in your loss, at least you've had each other," she ground out in a hiss, tearing off the end of each word and spitting it out.
And with that, she spun on her heel and stalked away from the king, breaking into a run when she hit the trees.