Chapter 12

The scent of parchment and ink had filled the room that was lit by the fading light and around half a dozen candles scattered about the table that Bilbo and Beth where working at. At some point in the day he had asked Gandalf for the paper and writing supplies and had been using them to the best of his abilities to teach a little of written words since he had known that some people learn better from the physical act of writing and memorizing than just identifying objects. He was one of those types of learners.

Bilbo however had not counted on Beth's inability to use a quill pen. She did not know how to strip the goose feathers efficiently, how to temper the quill in heated sand before cutting the angled tip with the sharp pen knife, not even to make the delicate slit in the tip end in such a way that it would not make unnecessary blots.

For how badly she also handled the quill pens the Halfling was halfway convinced she had not been educated in how to write as a child. But as she went on the letters quickly became better formed and the ink blots became less frequent, though Beth was still prone to try and write to quickly or move to suddenly and smudge a previously well written part.

Apparently Beth however had a different idea of what to use the paper for, she drew three columns. In the first she had Bilbo write the words she had been taught. The second she seemed to be writing down how to pronounce those words in the first with dashes and underlines that seemed to indicate inflections and the like. The final column he could only guess was the matching word in her language. The letters seeming to be a combination of Tengwar and some that had some little resemblance to Cirth runes, though seemingly evolved or changed so that none of the letters where exactly what he would have found in his own books.

At the moment they had moved from recording everything she had memorized the past two days, which surprisingly turned out to cover almost three pages, at least with her larger and clumsier handwriting. If it had been his tidy hand it probably would have half that but either way it did not truly matter how much paper they were using as long as it was helping her learn.

"Bilbo, what be call?" Beth asked with broken grammar, pointing to both the flame of the candle and the same in the fire place.

"What is it called," he corrected and then as he wrote down the letters in the first column. "Fire." Bilbo said as he wrote it down taking care to keep the letter forms were elementary as possible. Like those one would find in a hobbit child's alphabet primer or those illustrated children's books that where so expensive and now fashionable in the shire.

"Fiere," Beth said, her pronunciation a bit off but understandable none the less. She first scribbled down how to say the word before also writing down its equivalent in her tongue as her brows furrowed in concentration. As Bilbo got up to get a drink he could hear Beth muttering her words, a mix of simple terms, numbers and descriptors.

He laughed to himself at her determined scowl, it had been hard for her to start over with a new language and they had not even thought to start introducing her to their customs or manners. Gandalf had told them to take just one step at a time when Bifur had remarked earlier at her lack of manners.

"It is to be expected for her to not know their ways or know certain things that might give offense to their sense of propriety," Gandalf had said. "She is a long way from home and we cannot assume that all of her customs could possibly be the same as theirs."

This made sense to the Halfling, for even the difference between the dwarves and his kind confused him to no end. He could understand, at least a little, what it had been like for her so far in having to learn an entire way to interact with others and how to conduct herself. He could see hints of her true personality but he could tell that the human kept most of herself back, hesitant of this unknown world. However her show of bravado the other day and her stubbornness when it came to not giving up her unconventional clothing spoke to her seemingly obstinate will and tenacity.

Later that night when everyone had retired, Thorin Oakenshield was brooding per usual. Pipe in one hand while the other traced the drawn lines in his father's and grandfather's map. He had memorized every line and stroke and stain on that worn piece of vellum. Smaug still flew victoriously, defiantly over his home guarding the treasure within. The ink red as blood.

And much blood had and would be spilt on account of this monster, the blood of his people and that of the men of Dale had long been spilt upon the ground, bathing the stones of Erebor in scarlet turned to brown dust. To think that no more would bloodshed would happen whether they tried to retake the mountain or did not was foolish.

While the dragon Smaug had not been seen for many years but if anyone thought that they could just walk in and reclaim the treasure that was by right his people's inheritance, they would be sadly mistaken. Thorin and his men would not sit idly by and let any men or elves or even creatures of darkness such as goblins or orcs take what was theirs. They had suffered too much and been homeless too long to allow such an affront, he would die before letting his people go without their legacy. He had inherited this burden and he would either carry it out or perish trying.

As he thought over ways to kill the dragon without getting everyone killed as well, most ideas hinged on the hidden door they had yet to find a location for. As he reached over to move a guttering candle closer, so as to see better now that the sun had gone down well past the horizon, he noticed some sheets of parchment still laying on the table. The hobbit and the girl must have forgotten them, he mused silently as he sifted through them.

The first few where so riddled with blots and smears of ink that they where indiscernible to even the sharpest eye. However the writer quickly improved and soon Thorin came to the neat columns of three, he could read words in the first column. Written by Master Bilbo in Westron, the other two columns on the other hand he could not discern.

He had worried for a little while that not only would be have to drag a useless Halfling and now a human girl around but also that she would not be able to understand any of them. But she seemed to have more brains than many of the men he had encountered working as a smith. She could write and read, even if it was in a different tongue, rather odd for a woman of apparently no remarkable birth other than her relation to the Dunedin. But even the rangers were not known for their scholarly ways, they were more adept at the ways of war and staying hidden in the shadows than to be reading or the like.

The last page he saw was different than the others. There were no columns, and hardly any blotches. Instead it seemed to be more like one of Ori's journal entries, but entirely in her hand and tongue. Perhaps she wrote of the company or the elves, either way he did not care. So long as she did not write of the elves in an overly friendly manner.

She was quickly learning Westron and tomorrow he had already decided she would learn to be able to better defend herself as well. It was one thing to be light on one's feet and knock a balanced ball from another's grasp. In the wilderness such clever tricks could not be mulled over at length, you would be soon and rightly dead if you should. No, tomorrow the girl Beth would start her sped up lessons in using the short-sword and archery, for surely she was too slight of frame to use anything but those, he could practically see her toppling over if she ever tried to swing Orcrist much less even one of Dwalin's axes. No she would have to make use of her lightness of feet and speed if she was to have any hope of being not a burden in his mind.

Thorin could only hope she would be as quick as a learner in the ways of war as she was in languages. Though when he thought about it she had done rather well when they had first come upon her in the woods and then she had only had use of a wooden box and her own two hands. Maybe she would surprise him yet.