Whoop whoop, part 3 is up! We've been handwriting everything then typing it up, so our hands are cramping up like a motherf- anyway, hope you enjoy!
(By the way, we love reviews, positive and negative. Constructive criticism helps us develop our story better. We love it like we love cake pops from Starbucks and long walks on the beach and food and shoes and okay I'll stop.)
CELIA
"Get up!" I hear, feeling the light nudge of a muddy boot. I don't have to look to know that harsh voice belongs to Dwalin. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion. I don't remember when I fell asleep. It feels like five minutes ago. Even in the morning this forest is dark. I manage to sit up. I wish I had a toothbrush. My usually straight, chestnut hair is in tangles that I don't bother trying to undo.
The campsite is busy. Some dwarves are packing up their gear, others are sitting down, eating what smells like left over stew. Mmmm…
Just as my stomach starts to growl, Bofur, the whittling, hat-wearing dwarf, comes over to me holding out a steaming bowl. His braids stick out as wide as his smile.
"Here you are," he lightheartedly says, kneeling down. His kindness catches me off guard. I look at his offering and as much as I don't want to take anything from them after what my people did to theirs, my hands grab the bowl and I ravenously start shoving large spoonfuls into my mouth. Filthy, tired, sitting on the ground, I enjoy the best meal I've ever had. "I hope you slept well." With a genuine smile, he pats my shoulder twice and walks away. I continue eating, not giving myself time to swallow. I just keep shoving, and as I reach the last few sips my spoon won't hold, I place my flushed lips on the bowl's edge and drink.
As I tilt my head back, I notice Thorin regally standing in front of me. The only reason he's not disgusted with my eating habits is because of how I saw the dwarves eating last night. This is nothing out of the ordinary to him. He looks at me, then at my fellow prisoners, Rabastan and Rowan. They sit a few feet away from me, licking their bowls clean.
"Bofur!" he calls with that deep, haunting voice that spoke of sleepless nights only a couple of hours ago. Bofur looks over. "Pour these three another helping of stew. They'll need it." He storms off.
I look to my left and realize there are only six horses, one for each of the five dwarves, and the sixth for their deceased friend. Kili and Gloin took the other two. I'm guessing since we were not offered the riderless horse, we shall be traveling by foot. I give a light smile to Bofur, who hands me another bowl. This time I don't even bother with the spoon. I just drink, my eyes closed, enjoying the only pleasure I will have until the next meal.
Satisfied, I look over at Rabastan and Rowan. Rowan looks as if he's barely awake enough to lift his spoon. I'm still not used to him with long braided hair. Rabastan, next to him, empty bowl by his side, glares at the dwarves, furious. Evan was a good friend of his, even though he was a few years older. I pray he doesn't act on his anger, but it's pointless to hope. He is a Death Eater.
My hands are tied to a rope that hangs around the neck of Bofur's horse. Rabastan is tied to Fili's, and Rowan to Dwalin's. Thorin is in the lead and Ori at the end. We're off.
I feel like every step we take, the crunch of the leaves under our feet has just woken a sleeping beast somewhere in the bushes. I wish I had my wand. I don't feel safe without it. Is this how muggles feel all the time?
"Where are we going?" Rabastan angrily asks. No answer. "Hello?" he impatiently barks. He stops walking in hopes that it'll stop Fili's horse, but Fili just yanks the reigns, sending Rabastan flying forward. He and Dwalin laugh. Ori sneezes.
"Bless you!" Rowan and I say in unison. All the dwarves look at us, except Thorin. Oh, crap. Do they not say bless you here? Luckily they don't question it, and look back ahead. I turn and look at Ori. I try to smile at him, but he just looks away. He hates me, and I feel terrible. He was so sweet to us strangers, he probably feels like it's all his fault.
"Don't worry, he'll come around," Bofur quietly says. My confusion takes over.
"Why are you being kind to me?"
"I'm able to let go of my anger a lot quicker than my friends," he says with a thick Irish brogue. "I saw what happened, and you didn't hurt anybody, including Ori. I saw you two in the forest. You could have killed him but didn't. I can tell you have a good heart." A Death Eater with a good heart? Is there such a thing? "And I had an arrow pointed at your head the whole time, so I'm glad you didn't," Bofur says, half his face filled with a cheerful smile. I can't help but to laugh.
Thorin turns to us, a scowl taking over his face. I immediately shut up. After a few minutes of silent walking, I try my luck again with Bofur.
"You said that you saw me in the woods spare Ori's life?" I nervously ask. He's being friendly, but I'm not sure if it's alright for me to do the same. I speak so quietly, I'm surprised he hears me.
"Yes," he answers.
"Did you see my sister? Which way she went?" I murmur. Bofur thinks. He has such an exaggerated face, I can read his emotions and thoughts so clearly.
"Last time I saw her, she and Kili were crossing swords and heading into the trees." I know she can hold her own, but Kili's talents with his sword surpassed Freya's. Nerves fill my veins. Sensing my concern, Bofur adds a bit of optimism. "But not to worry, young lass. I don't think he would harm her. I noticed he took quite a liking to her at dinner and she did tell your friend to stand down. She tried to stop him. Kili will remember that once he stops seeing red. You know he's Thorin's nephew?" I shake my head. I can now see somewhat of a resemblance. They both have dark hair and an intense gaze. I barely spoke to Kili, but he did seem to have a good head on his shoulders. He was kind and funny, much kinder than his uncle. I like Bofur a lot. His smile is contagious. I walk on with a little less worry on my shoulders.
The grey haze of Mirkwood is something I'm getting used to now. Dreary as it may appear, rainy, cloudy days have always been a favorite of mine. I loved sitting near the big window in my room that overlooked the backyard, sipping hot chocolate, curled up in blankets, escaping into whatever world my books placed me. I always felt safe there. The dark skies made me feel invisible, like I was in my own world. Though it is not raining out here, the air is crisp and the bits of sky I can see are grey. I pretend for a moment I'm walking around on my own, or with the good company of Bofur, not tied to a horse, but free to explore this vast land that is all too new.
"Halt!" Thorin shouts, jerking me out of my fantasy. He dismounts and walks towards a tree. He pulls a handful of coarse brown hair off a branch and inspects it. He turns and looks at Dwalin. "Orcs have come through here not long ago."
I hear Ori gasp. I desperately want to know what Orcs are and what danger they hold, but I don't dare ask. I have to start putting some effort into seeming like I'm from here. I hope Rabastan and Rowan do the same.
"What are—" I hear Rabastan start to question. I quickly turn my head and give him a death glare. No words need to be spoken, and he understands.
"What was that, boy?" Dwalin asks, suspicious.
"I didn't say anything," Rabastan replies, avoiding Dwalin's stare. Dwalin exerts a huff, and loyally turns back to Thorin.
"We won't make it out of Mirkwood for at least another two moons," Thorin says knowingly, throwing the Orc hair to the ground. "All we can do now is be ready in case they attack, which, if they've picked up our scent, is likely. Let this not disrupt our travels. Let this not disrupt the justice that we owe Farin's family," he coldly says. He glances at me momentarily before mounting his horse and riding off. The others follow. I begin walking again, not realizing how nice it was to stand still, even if only for a few moments. Thorin's icy stare still burns in my mind.
"We'll rest here for the night," Thorin decides, dismounting. The others follow suit. After securing the tired horses, Bofur unties us three prisoners and my wrists take a well deserved break from the itchy rope.
"You," Dwalin says, pointing at me and my fellow Death Eaters. "Sit over there and be quiet." Rowan and I walk over to where he ordered us. Rabastan doesn't move.
"Rabastan!" I hiss, wanting to avoid unneeded trouble.
"What are you doing, boy?" Dwalin asks as he walks closer to Rabastan. "I said go sit over there." He won't move. I'm scared to death of Dwalin, so it takes every ounce of courage I have to walk over to him and grab Rabastan.
"Come on!" I plead. He finally gives in and follows me. We sit on the ground. Now that the show's over, the dwarves stop staring. I see Fili let go of his sword. Once the dwarves are occupied with setting up their shelter and cooking a large pot of stew, I take the opportunity to speak with Rabastan.
"You really have to calm down," I quietly say. "I know you're angry, but we can't provoke them until we have a plan to escape."
"They killed Evan," he says, staring at the ground, his fists clenched.
"And Evan killed the dwarf first," Rowan adds. "I know he was your friend, Rabastan. He was a friend to all of us. But Celia's right. We have to sit tight until we have a plan to escape. Evan's mistake is affecting our mission to retrieve what the Dark Lord asked of us and you know we cannot disappoint him." No, we cannot.
"Thorin said we'd make it out of Mirkwood within two moons," I say, hoping the dwarves can't hear me. "I think we should wait until then, until we're out of the forest. It'll be easier to get away and not get lost in this place. We can walk to the next town and figure out where to go from there."
"Now there's a plan," Rowan agrees.
"And what about Freya?" Rabastan's words sting. "Will we wait for her if we make it to a nearby town? We might be waiting for a long time." I don't speak because I need to use any strength I have to hold back tears. I've been trying not to think about Freya. It's been almost 24 hours since I last saw her, and with each minute that passes, I grow more and more nervous.
"She'll catch up," I manage to say with a controlled tone. I can't start crying or I won't be able to stop.
"How can you be so sure?" Rabastan smugly asks. I have no answer for him. I honestly don't know how sure I am, but I can't say it out loud. That'll make it all too real.
"I can be sure. I can make sure we get away and find Freya and kill the bastard dwarf that killed Evan." He has my attention now. I look at him with a furrowed brow as he pulls the tip of a wand out of his boot. I shove it back in as soon as I see it.
"How?" I ask in a loud whisper.
"Wouldn't you like to know," he smirks. I slap his arm. He looks around to make sure no one is listening. "When we first ran into that little dwarf—"
"Ori," I interrupt him.
"Yeah, whatever," he continues. "And he invited us for dinner, I was nervous. If they found out who we were and what our wands could do, they'd take them, so I put a stick in my pocket as a decoy. When they captured me, they mistook it as my wand and broke it," he finishes with a mischievous grin. He is a very smart wizard.
"You can't use that, boy. Not now, anyway," Rowan carefully says, trying not to provoke the young Death Eater.
"And why not, old man? You really think her plan will work?" Rabastan glares at Rowan, daring him to answer. "You two are fools. If I have to get the Stone myself, I will," he says with a hint of entitlement.
"Please, Rabastan," I beg. "You really think you can take the dwarves alone? Even with your wand, you won't be able to kill them all. They're skilled fighters, and you're outnumbered. We cannot draw more attention to our magic than we already have."
"I take orders from no one but Voldemort," he says, feeling his wand through the rough material of his boot.