Hello again! I want to thank WackyWillow for supplying me with a new term for Dwarves: Dwarrows. Which I was very familiar with but not, however, familiar with the apparent female usage of dwarrowdam. Now, I'm not sure whether or not these terms are to be capitalized or not, so here, they are not. If this changes, do inform me and I will correct it.

Now, on with the show!

Chapter Eleven

In Which, Dwarves are Observant

At the sound of fast approaching footsteps, Thorin immediately tore his brooding gaze away from the flickering flames of the fireplace.

And was met by a rather comical sight. Well, it would have been if the goings on were not so stressful and very dire. A blur of black, auburn, and charcoal suddenly flew into the room and tripped rather gracelessly over the corner baseboard, falling head over heels. The figure hit the floor, his face slamming hard into the unyielding wood and filling the room with a terrible, wincing smack! Thorin felt himself physically cringe yet, was taken so aback by the figure's entrance, he made not a move to either restrain or to assist.

The figure let out a low moan then slowly struggled to force himself to his feet, swaying precariously and clutching at his forehead in obvious pain. With his free hand he reached out for additional support, gripping the back of one of the hobbit's high-backed armchairs and pulling himself fully to his feet. With such slowness, the stranger lifted his head. He seemed to pause for a moment, staring blankly at the crowded room as if he did not fully understand. His eyes blinked rapidly then abruptly widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Oh shit."

For the second time tonight, Thorin heard the stranger speak. Yet, for the first time, he noticed the sheer foreignness of the voice, which also did not sound entirely male.

The stranger continued to gaze about the room, his face growing paler and paler as he did so. A moment passed. Then another. And, just as quickly as the stranger had arrived, Dwalin and Bofur rounded the corner. Though, thankfully not in the same manner. They both had enough sense to stop without falling over but Bofur almost ran smack dab into the larger dwarrow and his strange, fur-lined hat nearly fell from his braided head in the process. The air in the room had thicken to an almost unbearable weight and a silence so deafening, seemed to thunder in Thorin's ears.

"Dear Lord above," Again the stranger spoke, but something about the way he sounded only seemed to put Thorin even more on edge. To which only served to heightened the dark-haired king's suspicions even more. "Spare me."

Every muscle in his body tensed, like the way a cat will bunch it's muscles in preparation to pounce or fluff it's fur in order to make it look far larger than it actually was. Thorin's gaze flickered once to Dwalin, who was too fixated on the stranger before him to even met the king's gaze, and concluded that he had been the one to drive out the bloody fool. Who now stood before him looking about the room in obvious, and quite fearful, despair.

"You." Thorin's voice rumbled darkly, his eyes narrowing in uncontrolled rage; becoming so thunderous, Balin sent him a cautioning glance from the corner of his eye.

The intruder, who had been staring unseeingly in Nori's direction, suddenly sprung to life, his petrified orbs finding Thorin's stormy blue ones. Instantly, he seemed to shrink. Growing smaller and smaller beneath his withering gaze. If it was at all possible, the intruder's eyes grew even larger.

"M-me?" He squeaked sharply, reaching a pitch that was most uncomfortable for Thorin's ears.

Thorin took a step forward, crossing his arms firmly over his barrel chest. Immediately the intruder took a step back, as if prepared to fly from the room yet, as he did so, collided with Dwalin's torso. The warrior reached over and clamped his hands down tightly upon the intruder's shoulders, preventing him from moving. The intruder closed his eyes slowly and could only stand still as he began realized that any chance for escape had long since passed. Thorin himself would see to that.

The dark-haired dwarrow carefully approached, causing the intruder to shrink ever more against Dwalin's burly form. Terror plain as day shone brightly in his eyes but Thorin paid it no mind. He had brought this upon himself. Thorin was not going to take any chances, especially not since such a small thing had been able to take advantage of him. He could almost feel his nose twitch unpleasantly at the memory.

Tearing his mind away from it, Thorin finally took in fine details of his little 'spy'. At most, he was around his own height, perhaps even a little taller (a fact that did not sit well with him at all). He wore a pair of black trousers that fitted more to his shape rather than hanging loosely about his person. His shoes were also black and were made of some unknown material. The deep charcoal coat with its metal track and pull, short front and long tail, with clenched waistline, and wide hood. His eyes finally stopped at something he had not noticed before.

The intruder's waist was drawn in a touch too much, allowing the figure to look more curved than stout. His features about the face were too fine and delicate, the eyelashes exceedingly cared for and lips far too shapely to be male. His fingers, though short and blunt, were trimmed and well groomed about the nails. His hands were lightly scarred, and slightly worn through obvious work yet, did not seem rough or overly large in the slightest. As Thorin's gaze drifted center, he felt as if a bucket of cold spring water had been dosed upon his head. The intruder had a very prominent swell to his breast that could not be denied.

Thorin took an abrupt, halting step back from the figure clamped in Dwalin's hold. This was not a male who stood before him. No. The intruder was female. And the look of absolute terror within her pale blue eyes struck him with such force, he felt as if he had been burned by a smoldering iron.

"Who are you?"

Cate was so utterly confused, not to mention right out terrified, by the question.

Well, perhaps not exactly by the question itself. More like the man(the very same one who tried to kill her)'s sudden change in demeanor towards her right before his sudden, strangely worded question. Just a moment ago he looked right about to murder her (for the second time, no less) yet, for some reason she wasn't going to pretend to understand, he stopped. His eyes widened slightly, as if seeing her for the first time, and he backed way like she had spat in his face or something. Cate wasn't even going to comment on how much of a leech he was, what with the fact he had been looking her up and down and paying more attention to certain features than was necessary. When men did that it didn't usually bode well for the young woman being held physically against her will.

She blinked.

Was he serious? Did he really expect her to answer? How the bloody hell was she supposed to do that?! She couldn't stop her hands from shaking or get her heart to calm down, let alone talk! This guy just scared the living hell out of her, not once, but twice now, and he was expecting her to talk to him?!

Cate wasn't sure what to do. Her mind was racing at the speed of light, the muscle beating in her chest beating so fast she feared it would just up and give out on her, and, on that matter, was it even possible to die from fright? Could her heart just give out on her because of all the stress and fear and adrenaline? If so, how long would it take? Would it be painful? Would she die instantly or would it take a few minutes? Why in the world was she thinking about dying?! She had to stop all these panicked thoughts before they really did end up killing her! But, Cate didn't know if she could; she felt far too gone to do anything other than panic.

"I-I . . ."

She wasn't sure if she was trying to speak or just making noises like a dying fish. The shaking was becoming worse, she felt it travel from her hands all the way up her arms and down to her feet. Panic was beginning to claw at her throat again, growing tighter and tighter. With all the running and the hiding and the strange men and knives, coupled with this overwhelming fear and . . . and this particular dark-haired man standing in front of her, demanding things that she wasn't sure she could give. She couldn't breathe. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her. Her eyes began to wander the room again, taking in roughly fifteen men who looked about as rough as anyone could get.

It happened so fast Cate wasn't sure how it did happen.

She dropped to the floor like a stone, her knees buckling under her weight. Sitting haphazardly with her legs thrown off to the side, she continued to stare at the dark-haired man with wide eyes. What she was looking for, she didn't know. Perhaps a sign that he might put another knife to her throat? That would be understandable. She remembered vaguely that she thought of herself as a ticking emotional time bomb ready to go off with no warning. Well, it appeared her fuse had finally run out.

Without any warning whatsoever, Cate, from her place on the floor, surrounded by men who were most likely going to end up killing her despite all else, burst into tears.

When Dwalin hands first clamped down on the intruder's shoulders, he nearly released them immediately. They did not feel like the shoulders of a male at all. True, there was strength and muscle there yet, something about those shoulders did not sit right with the warrior. They seemed far too slim, like that of a . . . Realization as strong as a war hammer hit him square in the chest and he had to fight the urge to reel back out of pure shock.

In fact, Dwalin was so stunned, he never noticed the figure in his hold beginning to shake and rather violently at that. His own eyes remained fixed upon Thorin, who stood before him seemingly as lost and confused as he felt himself. But when the little thing dropped away from him and landed on the floor in a small heap, the warrior could not help but notice. Especially when the little creature began shaking so badly that he could visibly see the movement. Dwalin's large hands still clutched at open air, as if he still held his (no, her) shoulders in custody. Before he could even think of lowering them, or doing anything for that matter, the poor frighten creature buried her head in her hands and began to sob.

Now Dwalin did reel back. The full weight of reality, crashing about his ears. How he had missed the fact their intruder was not a man at all, but a woman? He did not understand. Had he been so caught up with the prospect of their quest being at risk that he failed to observe who exactly Bofur had caught in the first place? Had he not noticed the obvious fear in his (her) eyes? Had he not seen the slender form? The delicate face?

That was his first mistake. His second was addressing the woman (who he went under the assumption that she was a he) with such a hostile and formidable approach. That, he realized, was what had caused her to flee from them in the first place. He had threatened her.

Dwalin was many things. A warrior, shield brother, friend, confidant, mentor, and even, if he so chose, a lord. He was not, however, a barbarian. He was never one to threaten the well-being of a woman. Among his kind, there were too few of them. A great many of them already married and what few remained either held the wish to never marry, as they were far too dedicated to their craft, or they had become widowed. Even some of them had fallen in love with dwarrows who were already wed and spent the rest of their lives pining after them. Dwarrowdams were renown and respected because of how few they were. Giving birth to one was a cause for celebration even more so than birthing a son. At least, outside of the lines of royalty were sons were imperative in order for the line to continue.

Dwarves valued their women, even more so than Elves or Men. They were of equal status with dwarrows, unlike those among the race of Men who had their women play more subtle and quiet rolls. If one could call a dwarrowdam quiet, they often were very much like their men in personality with even more stubbornness if one could imagine it. Those who choose not to become wife and mother often found work that fit their interest, whatever it may be. They were encouraged to become whatever they pleased, as long as it stayed within the laws of their kind.

Dwalin had never before acted with such a brutish and disrespectful manner towards a female. He always spoke politely and refrained from anything short of crude in their presence. Despite his size and the intimidating air he gave off, most dwarrows forgot he was a son of a lord and because of his position, he too was brought up with the highest respect for those of the fairer sex. His own mother had seen to that. And while it was true that Balin was the more at ease with words then he was, Dwalin was perfectly able to respond diplomatically too. He, on the whole, just wasn't comfortable with it. He was more of a dwarrow of action than words.

However, his actions towards the poor sobbing creature before him had been nothing short of deplorable. What made it all the more unforgivable was that no amount of pretty words could ever make his actions excusable.

Bofur, ignoring the thoroughly startled forms of Thorin and Dwalin, immediately took action. Carefully squeezing past the burly Dwarf (who would have backed right into him if Bofur hadn't stepped back himself), he knelt slowly before the weeping woman. He hesitated to touch her, afraid he would startle her and cause a reaction that could ultimately injure her or himself. Yet, he felt he could not just sit here and do nothing. The poor thing had been through enough as it was.

"Hey now," He cooed softly, barely above a whisper. "Hey now, don' cry. Oh, please don' cry Lass. It's alrigh'. No one here's gonna hurt ya."

Bofur glanced behind him and sent the room a scolding expression, as if daring anyone to disagree with him. Dori and Nori exchanged glances incredulous in nature and Ori sat near the bay window, seemingly too wary by the situation to approach. Glóin and Óin merely stared, much in the same manner as Thorin and Dwalin, too shocked at the revelation to even consider the implications. Balin merely motioned at the miner to continue the soothing gestures in the hopes of calming the woman while Fíli and Kíli looked more intrigued than startled, leaning around the older dwarrows for a better glimpse.

Balin, noticing the youngsters less than polite behavior, knocked a loose fist against their ears in reprimand. Bofur's own family simply cautioned him with gestures of concern and of encouragement. Even Gandalf, who had since stowed away his pipe the moment they had made their entrance, stood close to observe with curiosity clear in his gray eyes. Yet, the wizard seemed content for now to watch for the time being.

Nodding at the room in appreciation for the concern and encouragement, Bofur turned back to the emotional young woman.

"See Lass?" Again he kept his voice gentle and soothing, speaking with careful tones. "No one means ya any harm. We just want ta talk is all."

For several moments the woman, who had now curled in over herself with her knees drawn up to her chest and head bent over, did not respond. Yet, slowly, her muffled sobs began to fade and her shoulders eventually ceased their shaking. Bofur heard her take a careful yet, shaky breath before removing her hands from her face. Again she took another deep, unsteady breath but, instead of tentatively raising her head to speak to him like he imagined, her short curly head came up so fast he had to lean backwards to avoid a nasty collision.

Her face was red from crying, the once pale skin now a shining blotchy red. Her pale blues eyes were alight with a fire he had never seen before, pinning him down almost instantly the moment their eyes connected. Bofur found he could not look away.

"Talk?" She spat lowly, a quiet-like anger coloring her tone. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Bofur could feel the anger bubbling just under the surface. "Talk? If talking is all you wanted then why did he," Now her voice was slowly raising and she extended an arm in Thorin's direction, who immediately reacted to being addressed. "Put a knife to my throat?! If all you wanted was to talk, then why did you chase me?! What the hell is wrong with all of you?!"

She suddenly sprung to her feet and Bofur shuffled backwards before he too, rose to his feet, his hands held out before him in a placating manner.

"Lass, wait a moment. Calm yerself before ya hurt-"

"Shut it!" She snapped, turning her fierce gaze back towards him and silencing him quicker than he thought possible. She turned her gaze to Thorin, who had stepped forward to stand beside Bofur, and narrowed her pale fiery orbs.

"As for you," She began slowly, crossing her arms to mirror Thorin's stance. She even stood a little straighter. "If you have something to say, then you can talk to me like a normal person. I don't respond to men who decide to start pointing knives and chasing people around. If that's the kind of way you talk to people, then you're ill in the head."

First Revised 1/23/16