Read on, my lovelies!

Chapter Ten

In Which, Fortune is Forsaken

Now free of dust and any old tattered bits of yarn that may have clung to the fabric of her clothing, Cate felt her discomfort return. This man, Bofur, was still a mystery to her. His true intentions and motivations remained unclear. Why he helped her out of the barrel, she didn't know. Even though his actions seemed like out of genuine kindness, she did not feel it was enough for her to blindly trust him. With that in mind, it suddenly hit her that she had given the strange man her name! What a stupid thing to do! And not just her nickname either, no she had to tell him her full name! Well, that summed everything up in a nutshell, she was hopeless. Officially, completely, and utterly hopeless.

She inwardly sighed and cursed herself for being so stupid. If Abbey was here now, her sister probably would have given her the biggest Gibbs-slap of her life and she most likely would be lying in a hospital bed suffering from brain damage from it too. Cate wished her sister was here with her now. Abbey could function under pressure, she could not. Abbey would have some sort of plan or idea. She, on the other hand, couldn't even fight her way out of a paper bag without hurting herself in some way.

Why did Cate always have to be the one to find herself in messes like this? Wait, she took that back, she had never been in a situation like this one before. This was a whole new ballgame. For the first time in her life, she had to deal with a fairly large challenge on her own. Without any help whatsoever from those she could count on. She was completely alone in a strange world, with strange people chasing her, and with not a damn clue what to do.

"Lass?"

Bofur's cautious tone abruptly broke through her thoughts, startling her. Her head came up so fast that the left side of her neck gave a small spasm and a bolt of lightening shot upwards at the movement. Cate gasped in pain and clutched a hand to the muscle just under her ear, as if the action would bring some sort of comfort. After a moment of two, the pain passed and she rolled her neck out to make sure it was not seriously hurt. She hated it when it did that. One would think she would have learned by now that jerking her neck like that was painful. But she always seemed to forget and she would probably be reminded of several other things before the day was through.

"Yes?" She replied tightly, rubbing away the last of the soreness just under her ear. She was just a bit irritated at the moment and didn't feel like talking until her muscles had returned to normal.

"You alrigh' there, Lass?" Bofur asked apprehensively, clearly looking apologetic for startling her and causing her pain.

Cate was really getting tired of him asking. It was starting to irritate her, but that was also in part due to the sudden twisting of her neck. It did nothing for her mood however, which was slowly deteriorating. Instead of fear dominating her emotions, anger was starting to filter through. Understanding that anger was just another cover for her fear, Cate knew that by trying to keep that fear under control, her other emotions were running rapid just underneath the surface. She was an emotional bomb ready to go off at any moment and if she didn't try to keep some level of control over herself, she would burst. Probably not in a very pleasant way.

"Peachy." She retorted, her tone clipped. She inwardly wanted to smack herself. Taking her feelings out on him wasn't right, even if she didn't fully trust him. "I'm fine, just . . . confused."

The strange-hatted man nodded thoughtfully to himself and raised a gloved hand to rumble the fuzz on his chin. "Perfectly understandable."

Cate resisted the urge to snort.

How any of this was understandable, she had no idea and how he made any sense out of it was even less. Perhaps he was just saying so to make her feel better. If that was the case, he was doing a very poor job of it. The only thing that would make her feel better at this point was to suddenly reappear back in the comfort of her living room with Kyo and Arya, and her nice, big four-poster bed. That would most certainly make her feel better. However, she had the distinct feeling she wasn't going to see her bed or cats for quite some time.

There was no sign of the intruder in either the bedroom or study and the lack of productivity was slowly eating away at Dwalin's mood. For the sake of Thorin's, he hoped the others had more success. If not, then everyone's mood was soon to be in dire straights. Though, he most certainly could understand and relate as to why Thorin felt so irate. Dwalin himself felt it quite equally. The intruder was putting everything they worked so hard to achieve at risk. If the little bugger knew of their plans, he could tell anyone.

Then, an even blacker thought entered the warriors mind. What someone outside of their kin already had knowledge of their plans prior to this meeting? If that was true, then was the intruder sent here as a spy?

Dwalin was not going to pretend he understood what the lights were that brought the intruder falling down upon them. That sort of thing fell more in line with Óin, who was always reading prophecies and finding some sort of symbolism for the simplest affair. The only thing the lights meant to him was trouble. And where there was trouble, he would stand at the ready, twin axes in hand. Not to mention a very wonderful, well-crafted war-hammer Balin had given him fifteen years ago as a gift. Oh yes, the hammer was most certainly one of his favorites.

Shaking his balding head, Dwalin returned to the task at hand. Now was not the time for such things, he had a duty to preform. He had not failed Thorin once before and he most certainly was not going to begin now. His loyalty far extended beyond the dwarf's blood right as King Under the Mountain; not just in battle or on the training field. Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin II, son of Thrór, had been a second brother he never thought to have. They shared many similar pains and gains; both losing loved ones on and off the field, enjoying interests of craftsmanship and weapon wielding, and even their rough, dry humor was the same in nature. When Thorin allowed himself to show it, at least.

The burly Dwarf took one last glance around the bedroom then turned on his heel and headed for the door. Perhaps Bofur, as strange as the dwarf was, had better luck than he. Might as well check in on the dwarf's process, if only to make sure he wasn't slacking off or doing something foolish. He enjoyed a good laugh but when a task was put before him, Dwalin dedicated everything to it. Bofur could use a nudge in the right direction every now and then, even if the miner was very good at deduction.

As the warrior reached the doorway, he caught the unmistakable sound of voices coming from the storage room. Was that not where Bofur had been searching? He instantly recognized the miner's cheerful tones but the other was completely foreign. Without any further hesitation, Dwalin hurried down the hall. Of all the dwarves in the company, it had been the miner to find the intruder.

The lass had gone uncomfortable again, Bofur frowned to himself.

Every time he thought to be making progress, she would raise her guard and her mistrust would outweigh any positive influence he might have had. It was challenging, to say the least. He had no inkling of how to go about earning her trust, knowing she needed someone to help her. The problem was convincing her he really didn't mean her harm. So they stood there in the doorway, each staring at the other with measured caution and uncertainty. However, before he could try a different approach, Bofur caught the sound of fast approaching, heavy booted footsteps.

He was out of time.

The owner of said footfalls came rushing around the corner before he had the opportunity to warn the young lady. Dwalin stood before them, his massive form almost filling the entire width of the doorway. His thick arms crossed over barrel of a chest, expression blank and unreadable. Out of the corner of his eye, Bofur saw the young woman go as stiff as a plank of wood and her face drained of what little color she had managed to recover. He saw her hands begin to shake.

"Good," The burly Dwarf rumbled gruffly, looking the lass up and down yet still not moving from his spot in the door. Bofur noted that her eyes widened at the sound of his companion's voice. Well, at least Dwalin had not drawn any of his weapons. "'Least one of us caught 'im. Thorin'll be impressed, Bofur."

The miner grimaced at the compliment yet kept his eyes on the warrior, not daring to look at the lass. He could almost feel the betrayal rolling off of her. Yes, of course Thorin would be impressed, though it had never been Bofur's intention to gain any sort of favor from the king. He rather liked being left as is as far as the politics of kings were concerned. Messy business and all, in his opinion.

"Er," Bofur struggled for some sort of decent response but, for once, words seem to fail him. "Right. O' course."

He offered a polite nod in Dwalin's direction, who just offered him a barely identifiable smirk and took a step towards the lass.

"Yer comin' with me." The warrior grunted, fixing her with a hard, unyielding gaze. "There's some questions tha' need answerin' and if ye know wha's good fer ye, ye'll answer 'em truthfully. The king doesn' take well ta liars and spies."

This time Bofur did manage to catch a glimpse of her. The lass' face was pale, making the dark spots on her cheeks stand out in drastic contrast to her skin; her blue eyes were stretched wide in unmistakable fear and her hands were gripping the hem of her coat so hard, her knuckles turned white. It was quite obvious that Dwalin scared her far more than he had and Bofur wished he could say something to put her at ease. However, if he opened his mouth, he would only do more harm than good at this point. He felt somewhat guilty all this was happening to her, for she seemed to have a good disposition. She did not look like a spy, or act like one either, but then his cousin was always going on about looks being deceiving.

Perhaps, after taking her to Thorin, they could discover a little more about the lass and find out why exactly she was here. If she even knew herself.

The moment Cate saw the man, she immediately panicked. Everything about him was large, thick, and seemingly immovable. Each of his arms alone were about as thick as her one of her thighs, his shoulders had to be twice that of her own, and he was a good head taller than she was. Dark brown hair seemed to cover every inch of his face except for the top of his head, which was bald. However, the sparse cranium was highly decorated with geometrical shapes tattooed into the skin in dark blue ink.

The shapes were arranged in a design probably significant to him in some way but completely unknown to her. The backs of his hands sported similar treatment (once she managed to see past the pair of very wicked looking knuckle-dusters) but, rather than shapes detailing his skin, it appeared that runes of some sort had been used. Cate would place a guess the runes were their language in written form. After all, she had read plenty of books offering examples but, these were unlike any she had seen before and she didn't recognize the language in the slightest.

Aside from the strange tattoos, the man wore a faded green undershirt covered by a dark brown jerkin, followed by some sort of furred garment that she couldn't quite place. Slung over the furry piece was a harness constructed of thick, heavy leather attached to a large metal ring in the center. She couldn't tell if the harness carried anything at the present but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the device was meant to hold weapons. Very large ones judging by the state of it. Tearing her eyes from the harness, Cate took note of the large leather belt tied about the man's waist. Different sets of knives and daggers hung from the leather piece and still several more strapped to his forearms. Overall, he struck a quite imposing figure, one she most certainly did not want to anger.

However, following him anywhere could very well not be in her best interest. That left her with two options. One, she could do what he said and end up dying for whatever reason they had in mind, or two, she could try to run again and find a way out. If she chose to run, she knew she wouldn't be able to outrun the two of them for very long. But then there was the option of going with them and possibly being killed right off. So, die now or die later?

Cate spared a quick glance at Bofur, who did not so much as look her way. A bubble of hatred welled up from somewhere deep in her stomach. He had kept her preoccupied while his friend here could try and box her in. He had been nothing but a distraction and she chided herself for ever thinking of trusting him. It scared her too. Wherever she had ended up, there seemed not a soul that cared or honestly wanted to help her. She was on her own.

Fine then. If they wanted her, they would have to catch her; if they caught her, then she would continue to fight until her body lay beaten and broken. She wasn't going to lay down and die. Not on her life.

Swallowing back bile, and mentally trying to shake out ragged nerves, Cate took a deep breath. "Sorry boys, not a chance."

And she turned and bolted towards the back of the room.

A thick hand reached out to snatch the hood of her jacket but, she swerved at the last minute to avoid it. There was a roar of anger from the larger of the two and the thunderous sound of footfalls indicated they were both in hot pursuit. She darted for the exit to her right, which led into what might have been a pantry. The increase of pounding of feet behind her signaled they were gaining and Cate responded by pushing her legs faster; praying that she would find a door that led out of this beehive.

Leaving the pantry behind, she emerged and met a rather long hallway that led off in two different directions. Cate immediately made a hard left and very nearly tripped over a woven rug as she did so. Quickly regaining her balance, she pushed on; the sound of heavy boots not far behind. She passed a kitchen, which was quite a mess if she did say so herself, but one quick glance told her that it was not a room that would save her and kept going. Down the hall she continued to run until a light in one of the rooms ahead caught her eye. Thinking it may very well in fact be her salvation, she put whatever strength she had left in her into her legs and made a beeline for it.

But, as she approached, Cate took the turn too fast and, this time, she did trip. Her foot connected hard with the corner's baseboard, falling headfirst into the room; her face meeting the wooden floorboards with a terrible smack! She groaned in both pain and frustration yet forced herself to her feet, abet unsteadily. She staggered, reaching out for anything to stable herself, and her hand met something that felt like the back of a chair. Pulling herself fully upright, Cate saw for the first time just what sort of room she had fallen into.

"Oh, shit."

The room was full of men. Some tall and short, others large and small, one or two broad and thin, and just about every single one of them had beards. A few were smoking; others clearly polishing weapons. Some seemed startled; many angry. And all of them had turned to stare at her.

Silence hung in the air like death as she fully took in the scene before her. She blinked. Then blinked again. Her throat went dry in an instant and she suddenly felt quite lightheaded.

"Dear Lord above," Cate whispered as she took in fifteen unknown faces staring back at her. "Spare me."

BAM! Weren't expecting that now were you? This was so much fun to write! I hope you all enjoyed it.

* First Revised 1/23/16