Chapter Thirteen
Fairly Certain This Wasn't What Artemis Had in Mind
Senga felt as though she was perched on a ledge, held high from the fall. Apparently it was necessary for the Company to remain in Imladris for a whole fortnight – which was decided after dinner the third night, though the precise reason was a bit sketchy to her. They were waiting for the moon from what she gathered (it had something to do with reading the map). Unfortunately Thorin's mood towards her had gone from bad to worse in only a few hours and her desire to apologise had all but vanished.
On the bright side, Kili was fawning over the new bow (clearly even dwarves deferred to elves when it came to bow-making) and it was a beautiful thing. The prospect of a sword as well left her practically giddy. Her leg, for its part, was healing ludicrously fast, and by the fourth day the peace was setting in.
Like a family holiday.
"Balin and Dwalin are yelling again."
"Wha's tha' you've go', Kili?"
"Um…Mr Dwalin's ale horn?"
Oh yeah. Family holiday.
On the fifth day, Senga realised she'd never had anyone like Fili and Kili. They talked to her, kept her company, and when she was with them it was easy to forget the spines she'd so carefully built about herself. They laughed, played games; practiced bowcraft (both refused to let her fence until she was fully healed).
And yet…
She found herself alone on that fifth night. The brothers were away causing mischief someplace, leaving her in silence. For the first time in days. Elrohir would probably have kept her company, but he was (tactfully) keeping his distance. Her leg twinged annoyingly. In the end, she ran a bath that left her smelling as if she'd turned into a lily covered in Five Spice and tumbled in to bed for an early night. For want of something better to do.
Anger.
Bitterness.
An empty room.
An empty house.
But it was different this time. Images and sounds tried to superimpose themselves on the scene, but it was as if they were being caught in a net. Funnily enough there was a dream-catcher on the wall, all blue and pink and yellow with feathers and wind chimes. It was enough to calm her boiling spite, if only a little.
That…wasn't supposed to be there.
"I told you to do what your heart tells you to do."
"Wha' if I don' kno'?"
Her Great Uncle chuckled.
"Then why not act without thinking." The serene tones of the Lady floated on a sudden breeze.
"'cos we all kno' how well tha' turned ou'!"
The walls crumbled away, leaving an open space as cool and clear as if at the top of a mountain.
"You must learn to act beyond these walls you see."
"Screw you."
"Only when you do will you see the path laid out before you."
"I don' kno' wha' my hear' wants, I keep tellin' you!"
The sky stretched suddenly above her head, a wind roaring in her ears…
She woke wanting to scream. Actually scream.
She didn't know what was worse – not knowing what she was supposed to do, or having someone cause her to doubt who she was supposed to be.
How she was supposed to feel. What she was supposed to understand.
What everyone – apparently – expected of her.
How dare they!
Fuck them!
The hell they were allowed to fiddle with her life like she was some doll-damsel out of a comic book – she was a Scot for god's sakes!
With a kick, she shoved her legs out from under the sheets, rolling, fuming, out of bed. Her thigh twinged. FUCK IT! She was going in search of a fucking drink…and something to make dents in because there was really no way she was getting back to sleep after this. Her leg continued to be a bastard all the way out the door, but sod it! Yes, it was the middle of the night and, yes, it would be simpler to just let happen, but why the hell should she?
Oh, and that was just the very worst bit, wasn't it? That she still didn't actually know how to break out on her own will. Not knowing what she wanted was part of it; feeling disgustingly weak and dependant was another. Bugger it!
Gandalf. Gandalf would have wine! Two birds with one stone! Because she was fucking done blundering about, pretending to know what she was doing. Fuck everything!
"Bollocks!" She sucked her teeth as her leg spiked on the stair. "Buggerin' hell on the arse o' –"
"Do you require assistance?"
She stopped.
There were no exact words for 'piss off' in Sindarin, which was a pity. Like she was in the mood for this again! She braced a hand against the wall, turned, and glared hard enough to induce combustion.
"No' –" Elrohir stared back in surprise. "– unless you can fin' me the berk in the fuckin' pointy ha'."
"You are upset."
"Upse'? Hmm. Maybe. Actually, I thin' jus' fuckin' annoyed would cover it. Ostensibly hacked-off."
"You feel put upon." It wasn't a question. And the almond eyes were surprisingly soft. But quite apart from easing her down, the statement called in a fresh wave of anger.
"Yeah, you kno' wha'? Believe it or no', the las' thing I need is some stuck up bastard tellin' me wha' I do an don' feel! Or…or tha' I am or aren' ready!" She pushed off the wall breathing hard, nose flaring as she snarled. "So unless you actually wan' to help, you can jus' go an' –"
"I do as it so happens." He said quickly. Senga stared. There was something off about the way he approached. Almost a challenge and scrutiny at once. And ever curious, almost as if he –
It took her longer than it should've done to realise.
"Oh. You're…Elladan. Aren' you?"
The elf gave a short, flourishing bow.
"Nice to meet you." Senga responded tonelessly.
"As it is to meet you." He came out of the bow looking oddly smug. "I have heard a great number of things about the enigmatic young Senga, but have yet to appraise them myself. More's the pity, in that respect."
In any other context he might have looked lascivious, but there was nothing provocative in the way he stood, politely looking her up and down. Mostly down. Tall git. Senga raised an eyebrow as she wondered what to make of him.
"Did you want something in particular?"
"Myself?" He continued in perfect English. "No. In fact, I have been told that it would be inadvisable to participate in these affairs, but I can, at least, empathise with your frustration. My grandmother can be…insistently unforthcoming."
"So you're the pity-party then?" Senga said sarcastically.
"Not quite."
Senga narrowed her eyes as he descended past, taking a lamp from its sconce. He held it aloft like a torch before opening a side door concealed in the wall and, with a sly look, gesturing for her to follow. Senga's brow deepened to a frown, apprehensive even as her instincts remained quiet. She allowed him, after a moment, indulging Elladan as he led them out and across a walkway. Beyond the lamplight it was black as pitch: the moon, usually a wonder of the elven kingdoms, was hidden behind a cloud bank and there were only a few lanterns left lit. But, this apparently didn't deter the elf lord. They descended the tiers to the sparring yard without either saying a word.
After fixing the lamp to a convenient bracket, Elladan turned at last to face her.
"Since you were restoring so well," he gestured vaguely to her half-healed and now fully closed wound. "I thought perhaps you would like to explore more deeply into the art of fencing. In as much as my experience can offer."
"No'?"
"Why not? I have always found exertion to be an excellent antidote to a troubled mind."
He said it so reasonably that Senga was left gawping for a full few seconds. Then she snapped her mouth shut.
"Fine."
The elf grinned.
"I took the liberty of fetching my old practice blades," he smirked. "I see you have with you your knife."
Senga glanced reflexively at her hip. Since her own trousers had mysteriously reappeared yesterday, she hadn't tempered the habit of arming her belt. She looked squarely back at Elladan.
"That is good." He commented suddenly. "You have no discomfort carrying a weapon. If you cannot trust your blade, you cannot trust your arm. And vice versa."
From his robes he drew thus a matched pair of longblades (adolescent length) sheathed elegantly in unadorned black leather.
"This is Aesuidhiel," he indicated the first, a feather etched onto the pommel. "My Little Bird. And this is Draug."
"Wolf." Senga asserted as she looked them over. They were highly frequented, though of course well cared for. The leather was old and the grip just a little worn. The metal shone like moonlight.
"I'll assume you know the basic motions and ask for you to demonstrate your skill."
"You wan' me to use these?"
"Indulge me."
He held out the swords. As soon as she'd (hesitantly) taken their weight, he swept off his outer robes to reveal the neat tunic beneath, own blade already at his belt. He waited patiently as she selected Draug, drawing it, and then sunk into a stance. She was reminded forcibly of a cat lowering to pounce, wiggling its bottom before launching into motion. He just needed a tail…
"Now," his voice had fallen with his posture and Senga tried – refused – to think of it as a purr. Her fingers tightened automatically, feet sliding further apart, eyes fixed on his.
"Defend yourself."
He moved deliberately; obviously. Yet it still took a startled burst of speed to meet him in time. The clang echoed around the yard.
"You are out of practice."
"O'?"
Senga disengaged with a smooth flick, then dived under his guard. The sword hissed as it accelerated, slicing the air, but this itself nearly threw her off balance. It was much lighter and much, much faster than she was expecting, forcing her to follow it forward. Elladan met the move with as close to casual effortlessness as it is possible for an elf to achieve, deflecting her to the side with a flawless riposte.
She didn't stumble. She was solid on her feet, so, no, she didn't stumble. What the elf had done, however was expose her flank. Purely by instinct – and without sparing a thought to the sudden pain of springing from a crouch – she grasped the hilt of her knife and spun.
The clang was louder this time.
It had been an awkward move to draw with her left hand from her left side, but the crossing block did its job, mildly jarring though it was. She smirked triumphantly.
"Curious."
Elladan disengaged only to change direction and come around from the right.
"You are familiar with this style?"
"I' comes to me," Senga caught a languid move deftly with the short sword. "Bu' I never learn' i' properly."
Elladan dodged out of Draug's path and tilted his head to the side.
"Are you becoming fatigued?"
"Fuck off! I'm jus' getting' started!"
"Well then…"
"Bloody tree-shaggers. Up at the crack o' dawn."
Gloin snorted humourlessly.
"They were down there a wee while before tha', cousin."
Dwalin froze in the act of ambling into their make-shift common room, bleary scowl deepening.
"Aye," Oin (usually deaf as a post) shook his head unhappily. "Kept up tha' racke' in the wee small ones."
Dwalin's eyes flickered to Thorin in the corner, as the sleep-roughened cogs turned. He took in the expression on the face of his king – which couldn't have been tighter if it'd been sutured on – and he knew. He knew who it was banging away outside as the daybreak blueness lifted. He also didn't have to do a headcount to know who she was with.
"Well isn' tha' –"
"If you've got nothing nice to say there, Dwalin, I would suggest your not saying it out loud at all." Bofur cut in crisply.
"Aye," The older dwarf gave a look back to cut stone. "You kno' already wha' my opinion is. If she's so happy to jump into bed wi' them, why no' let her? She's no one o' ours."
"Now, Mr Dwalin, that's 'arsh!"
"Still defendin' her, laddie?"
"Yes!"
"Well i's abou' time you starte' thinkin' wi' your head, an no' your –"
"Quiet!" Thorin barked icily. "Both of you!"
Silence fell. It was thick. Poor little Ori shuffled uncomfortably and Kili tried to match his glare. It felt like they were standing over a pocket of gas ready to go. Of course, it would be Oin who broke it –
"Eh, you migh' wan' to work harder on her attentions, laddie, if the pointy-ears' pricked her fancy!" The old mad bastard chuckled dryly. Kili went red.
"Oi! I've told you! There's nowt going –"
"Shazara!"
The silence this time was baptised with a room-wide wince. Kili stoically kept the glare, but ended up more petulant than not before seeking Fili. Balin tried to meet his eyes. Dwalin gave Thorin a long, significant look, before striding from the room, glower never leaving the wall.
"What on Ardra was he thinking?"
"He was curious," Elrohir shrugged hopelessly. "But I believe it was when you specifically ordered him not to interfere that he decided to act."
Elrond groaned softly. A dignified groan, to be sure. Gandalf on the other hand threw daggers at the ceiling before sweeping roughly out of the room, muttering to himself as he stomped from the library. As if things could get more ridiculous!
Thump.
Thorin sagged back onto the wall, heart rabbiting. The dwarf king was certain his face was currently the colour of a peculiar kind of red yam they used to sell in Dale when he was a boy.
Oh. Bloody. Hell.
14 minutes and 15 seconds earlier…
"Stop! Stop, we have done enough!" Elladan laughed breathlessly. Senga paused mid-swing, swaying as gravity overtook the momentum.
"Gettin' tired?"
"Ah, but 'tis not the owl, nor nightingale, but the cock that crows – 'tis morning already!"
"Yeah?"
The implied 'so what?' was plain to hear, but even Senga found it hard to deny the way her limbs were shaking. She pulled her arms down as a wave of aching hit her.
"I shall find us some seedcake," Elladan said smartly, sheathing his sword. "If you are amenable to the idea." He casually slung his robes over one arm (looking ludicrously unruffled as if he hadn't just spent three hours sparring vigorously) and watched her expectantly. Despite the anger that'd started their match – or, rather, lesson – Senga laughed, chuckling heartily as she saw to Draug, Aesuidhiel and her short sword.
"Na, I'd probably jus' drop dead away on the table. 'ave some sen' to my room an' I'll have 'em when I ge' up."
"As you will."
It took Senga a few seconds to register the oddness of 'ordering to her room', but she couldn't be sodded thinking about it now. Waving vaguely to the lanky lordling, she turned and half limped, half meandered back up the staircase.
She felt good.
Not drunk good, or fucked-up good, but that fuzzy, post-adrenaline high. Even the strain on her leg, worse as the numbing effects of the hormone wore off, couldn't dampen it as she lurched up the walkways. She stumbled into her rooms, fumbling with the door. The short sword dropped to the bed with a bounce. Ahhh. She stood at the bed's foot for a minute or so considering whether or not to simply follow it down. But it wasn't urgent – still a sort of fog at the back of her mind – and she did (on a more urgent level) feel mildly grimy.
Fuck it.
It wasn't as if she was on a timetable or needed to rush and be ready for anyone. Without further thinking about it, she tugged sluggishly at her shirt and pants, stripping off completely as she tripped and shuffled in the direction of the bathroom. Already there was a bath run, perfectly balanced for a temperature after exercise (Elladan, you cheeky prick) and there was a pleasant gingery-and-passion fruit smell wafting through the air. Easily emulating the knowledge that she had all the time in the world (and screw everyone else) she yawned and took time to pick at her face.
Then she turned and flopped into the waiting water in one, smooth movement. The pool-bath welcomed her body like a cloud, guiding her to the deep bit in the middle. It felt…freeing. She floated…then rolled and dived to the bottom. Fuck it felt good!
The eerie, pressing silence of that oh so mysterious realm descended on her ears, shutting out everything else.
She needed a talking-to.
Mahal knew this had gone far enough and, although he didn't share Dwalin's opinion that she should be left behind when they departed (coloured by some hostility he had yet to understand) he certainly agreed she needed sorting out.
Like a bloody errant child! She was incapable of rational action, and now she was indulging in trysts with an elf?
Despite what the others thought, it was not jealousy he felt boiling up through the depths of his blood. No – no because he had every other reason to feel angry! She was no dwarf and he had assured himself and her of her position as an outsider (since she was forced on them, after all) and yet he had begun to think of her as 'theirs', despite everything. There seemed no sense in denying it. Not that she belonged to them, but she damn well associated with them. She was part of the contract. She had fought with them.
He felt betrayed.
By a foolish, abrasive, stubborn, irrational, slip of a girl whom he would not pander to any more. Not even for Balin's sake.
Thorin glared at nothing in particular as he reached her door, thinking of how much of a pain in the arse she'd been. And since when did dwarves knock? So, confidently and unapologetically, he marched into her room.
Her very well furnished room.
No wonder she'd been acting spoilt if the tree-shaggers were coddling her so – blimey! With a mote of disgust, he looked about quickly and acknowledged the lack of Senga. Oh, great. She'd probably gone to tea with the elf because he batted his long, elvish lashes at her. Effeminate bastard. All the more reason to put a stop to this –
– and get her out of his head. He'd allowed her to remain for far too long and, despite the feeling of somehow being bound up in her fate, this was real life and he had no intention of abandoning it for a petulant, human girl. Even one as pretty as her. He was a king of the dwarves and he'd do the right thing.
He noticed at last a half-camouflaged door standing ajar. Something within splashed. Without thinking (and, to be fair, he hadn't had a lot of sleep) he strode through the dainty door with opening rebuke on his lips.
Tiles.
Purple – why in the name of Durin was there so much purple?
Wash basin.
Time stopped.
His thoughts scurried into one another and died. What muscle control he had dissolved into white noise, leaving him rooted to the spot. Which was how Thorin Oakenshield first saw Senga in all her naked glory. Yes she was underwater, but his maverick eyes picked out with ease the round of her bottom as it completed the sculpture of her legs. How had he failed to notice it before? How curvy she was – skinny, undoubtedly, but –
She rolled, undulating luxuriously.
Oh. Oh, Mahal help him, this picture of her would remain with him until the end of his days.
The swell of her breasts.
The slight parting of her knees.
Her eyes shut tight against the water – and oh Mahal he was still standing there shitshitshitshit! In a split second, he snapped brutally back to his senses and did the most intelligent thing of that morning.
He legged it.
Two flights of stairs and an out of the way corridor later, Thorin leant panting against an alcove. Red yam. Very red. Oh, BUGGER! So much for getting her out of his head – the images just kept coming, pressing behind his eyes.
The pale, endless skin.
The soft flare of her hips.
The intimate cleft between her legs.
What had he done to be tested so? It seemed the scene became more detailed the longer he wrestled with it – the twin peaks of darker skin speckling the zenith of her chest; the modest fuzz covering her most private parts, reminding him (along with her height) that this was Senga – their Senga – and not a water nymph out of the human myths. Not that he could imagine a nymph being more perfect –
Nonononono! No, holy bollocks, no! Bloody and (Balin would've scolded him for that one) hell!
But all the swearing and stubbornness in the world wasn't going to help his rather prominent problem.
Not even for a dwarf.
Oh, he cursed the gods in spectacular fashion as he pressed a palm roughly to the front of his trousers, knowing that he'd have to look her in the face after this and willing it to go down. The exiled King Under the Mountain took a few moments to work himself with dispassionate detachment. Mechanical movements. Then he could go back to giving her the overdue lecture on conduct.
Suddenly from deep in his throat there came a long, low hiss.
"Can I come in, lass?"
"I was abou' to drop into bed, bu' yeah you migh' as well."
The dwarf siddled into the room, taking in his surroundings, and sat tentatively on the bed.
"Did this up all nice for you, didn't they?"
"Was already like this." Senga muttered as she sank down next to him. She was wrapped in a violet silk dressing gown that was two or three sizes too long, hair still dark with moisture, and Bofur couldn't help but stare at her bright, slightly flushed face. What he could see of her face, anyway. The damp locks were obscuring the scar she was endlessly trying to conceal. He tried not to think too much on what might have been the cause of it; what her life might have been like. She looked so young here. Perhaps she had a right to stay, away from the horrors of the world, but that was besides the point.
"Did Thorin speak to you, lass?"
"No' unless he was here while I was in the bath."
"Ngggh! Hmmn…oh swe…sweet Mahal…"
"Oh. Well, he was going to."
"Abou' wha'?" She asked dully.
"About how you've been acting lately lass." Bofur tried to think of the best way to put it. "And it's not that we don't understand you were upset about what happened, but –"
"Fuck wha' happened!"
"Ahhh – Ghhhhuh – fu –"
"You don' trus' me!"
"We never said that, lass!"
"Oh, aye, an' you haven' been tip-toin' roun' me like I'm a bomb abou' to go off either!" She stood suddenly as Bofur's heart sank, turning agitatedly. "Okay, so tha' bi' I can understan' an' I am sorry abou' bein' a bomb, bu' – aaarg!"
She threw up her arms (sleeves sliding down off her hands) and Bofur groaned internally at what his next words would be. But, really, he had to ask.
"What's a 'bomb'?"
"Oh – Ooooooh…fuck…oh gods forgive me..."
"Somethin' tha' explodes." Senga mumbled, deflating somewhat.
"Ah."
Well that explained things better. Still, Senga paced, shaking her head tautly.
"Jus' because –" she turned sharply back. "You show up here after I spen' time wi' Elladan…an' it's no' like I don' kno' wha's still bein' said abou' me an' Kili! You all ac' like I'm some sor' o' Vestal Virgin –"
Bofur threw up his hands in protest, but she ploughed on.
"– or like I'm a snake an' it's my job to embarrass youor rob from you! An' as for the elves, I DON' CARE WHA' ANYONE THINKS O' ME!"
"You care what I think."
"An' is it really such a big deal to you tha' I've finally foun' someone willing to offer help?"
Bofur paused.
"No, but there's a difference between proper self-respect and pride. I thought Balin told you as much?"
Senga growled, face distressed, before spinning and flopping back next to him.
"Tha' depen's on your definition o' self-respect. I'm no' a blushin' little innocen' girl!" She bit, glaring at nothing. "I use' to smoke po' behin' the bike sheds and wake up in pools o' my own vomi'. You thin' i' really matters to me to have a reputation?" The toymaker didn't need to watch the flash of pain as it appeared over her suddenly worn face. She seemed to lose herself in the dark memories for a time, and he had to resist the urge to reach out to her.
He watched her expression harden.
"When di' I stop bein' one o' the guys?"
"Might have been when you wore the dress!" Bofur joked, trying for a reassuring smile. To his disappointment, the aforementioned expression barely changed at all. Save, perhaps, for the slight twitch of a grimace.
"Crap."
Oh and there was the oath never to wear a dress again – which would've been a pity, it had to be said. Certainly she looked unhappy and the dwarf shuddered to think of why it would be so exquisitely painful to imagine herself innocent. But that didn't mean she couldn't have some measure of dignity as a young lady, surely? Besides, the conflict she wrought was driving each of them mad and there had to be a reckoning.
An offer of humility.
Thorin felt the patina of sweat cool as he pressed his forid to the statue he'd…hid behind. It took longer to extract his hand. It was still shaking slightly. Lord knew it had been too long. What in the name of Durin had this girl done to him?
Maybe Dwalin was right. It'd be for the best.
"He keeps sayin' wha'?"
"He's the only one says it seriously! The rest of us –"
"He's been tryin' to kick me ou' since we lef' the Shire!"
"And Aulё knows he's been unfair to you, we all know, but –"
"Fuck him!"
"I don't think that would help, lass. He's never shown any interest in me."
"Aaarg!"
"You need to see his point of view, lass. Make a compromise."
There was a pause, during which Bofur felt hopeful.
"'is poin'o' view?"
"Aye, lass!" He said encouragingly.
"Righ'."
Another pause.
"Lass?"
"Righ'!"
Senga, for all her traits, minor and major, was not known, by anyone, for deciding to be reasonable. Occasionally she would listen to advice or accept help (however begrudgingly at the time). And when she was in a good mood, she even went so far as to rely on others. To trust others. But that was digressing. Perhaps she was getting better, but in the main she still couldn't have described herself as the sort of person who sat down and reached a compromise.
Maybe she never would.
No, fuck that, she went down kicking and screaming for what she thought. Hence why – despite Bofur's panicked protests – she found herself pulling her clothes back on, re-strapping her sword and hunting through the nightstand drawers. She would've stormed downstairs in the dressing gown, but in between the sudden burst of clarity and starting to move, she'd had a better idea.
"Lass, I'm telling you, don't do this, please!"
"What's going on?"
"So she finally shows up."
"YOU."
Without dallying about, she stopped squarely before Dwalin and threw one of the leather riding gloves (the ones she'd just spent ten minutes hunting down) at his feet. A deathly silence fell over the Company. Dwalin stared intently into her face as if trying to spot the trick.
"Are you challengin' me, lassie?" He asked quietly, the deadliest of calm cradling his voice.
"AYE."
"An' wha' are the accusations levelled a' me?"
"THA' YOUR TREATMEN' O' ME HAS BEEN WITHOU' HONOUR!"
That unfroze the dwarves. Fili, Kili, Ori, Dori, Bombur and Bofur looked for each man utterly horror-struck, the brothers as if they'd spotted an entire orc pack on the horizon. Oin, Gloin and Bifur, though, looked almost as angry as Dwalin who'd flushed an alarming shade of beetroot at the insult.
Even Bilbo, hovering near the door, could sense the fuse she'd just combusted.
"Is tha' wha' you think?" Dwalin snarled, face contorting. "An' wha' o' you? You who ac' as though you have a righ' to our history! Our gold! You who have no honour, nor decency, DARE to challenge mine?"
"YES!" Senga clenched her fists at her sides to stop from simply decking him there. "AN' WE'LL SEE WHO'S RIGH'!"
Dwalin glared thunderously, then broke suddenly into wolfish grin. He nodded sharply and barked out a phrase in Khuzdul that (apparently) left no one in any doubt.
"Shoul' you lose…you'll no' follo' us any longer." His grey eyes bored into hers. "You'll remain here when we leave, an' you'll no' burden us any more. Is tha' understood?"
Senga squared her shoulders. There would be no backing down from this. She returned the nod.
"AYE."
Thorin's storm eyes snapped between them as if he couldn't quite believe how thoroughly infuriated he was at the pair of them. The door was thrown open without a word spoken to either, and although Senga tried to meet his eye, he didn't so much as glance backwards as he lead the horribly silent procession out to that same, bloody sparring yard. She felt like she was about to do a straight, head forward dive off a cliff.
She wasn't a dwarf. These weren't her traditions.
She held her head high, riding the anger.
Because without that she would've been terrified. There was no way this could end well.
And yet, in the back of her mind, something held fast. This was meant, not simply because of her hitching with the Company. It ran deeper than that.
"Senga!" The brothers were spontaneously at her sides, Kili leaning urgently to her ear. "You don't 'ave to do this!"
And in that moment all was as calm and clear as winter sunshine.
"Yeah I do." She took three strides to the centre of the yard. Eyes that felt sharp as steel sought Dwalin's and there she stared him down.
"Fili?"
"Yes?"
"Min' if I borro' one o' your swords?"
The heir of Durin was pale as a ghost. He nonetheless obeyed, still silently pleading as she took the weapon. Yet it was as if they'd all seen the truth in her stance and backed up out of the way to watch. Thorin (not that she cared) had picked a spot behind them to look as he, grimly balled a fist. The brief look they were each afforded was filled with disgust and resignation.
"Balin – will you also witness?"
The white-haired dwarf looked all but distraught, but seemed at least to have made up his mind. He nodded firmly.
"Aye. Though it pains me more than I will ever say."
Thorn was clenching his teeth so hard it looked like he had lockjaw. He was also…blushing? Wait, hang –
"You starte' this, lassie!" Dwalin shouted, raising an axe.
"Heghlu'meh qaq jajvam!"
"Wha' the hell does tha' mean?"
Senga dropped down, growling ferally and feeling so alive.
"Today is a goo' day to die."
She charged.
The world narrowed to the twin axes – she wondered absently what their names were – and her body crunched to take the impact. What the hell she was doing, she hadn't the foggiest, but before she could fully decide, she slammed into him like a brick wall.
Or rather, he was the brick wall.
She would've bounced off like a rubber if not locking their weapons together. Dwalin grunted, obviously surprised, and in a moment of inspiration, she kicked him in the shins. Hard. Teeth bared proudly.
The dwarf growled.
Suddenly she was being shunted to the side, swords now a liability as she fought to escape the momentum. No sooner had she swerved away when the axes were being brought down again – and again. Elladan fought like a dancer with dual whips; Dwalin was like a king cobra, striking forward and down, grappling until she nearly buckled. Fighting axes with swords was difficult enough at the best of times, and she'd only learnt the technique one afternoon in the mud and rain, come on!
Maybe this was what it would be like to meet a cassowary – before it got on to disembowelling her, anyway. Dwalin roared as he drove her back, eyes on her legs lest she try to use them again, countering with a fury she barely managed to block.
"Is tha' all you go', lassie?"
Senga yelped and tried for his side, moving erratically to try and catch him off guard. Instead, he caught her arm, flinging it outwards to expose her chest.
Her breath left in a whoosh.
Then the pain started, the back of the axe having hit her ribs with a crunch, and she couldn't help but scream as she scrambled to bring her arms back up. Her right side was on fire. Her lungs had vices clamped about them, and again the axes came battering down. Keeping her relentlessly on the defensive, Dwalin started aiming at her legs, finally hooking her left knee out from under her. Her body collapsed brutally onto the joint, and she felt it twist.
"Aye," the bastard wasn't smug, but…disappointed. "Jus' as I though'."
She had to move. She had to move. But try as she might, she couldn't get her chest to inflate properly and her knee wouldn't take her weight. It felt like a stone had lodged in her kneecap.
"Go home. You've no place here."
And he left it at that, walking away as she wrenched in a breath.
Home? What was home? The weight of the locket pressed her skin. Home? She thought of Fili and Kili, and Bofur, and Balin, and...Thorin. All watching. Home?
"Pathetic." Dwalin muttered with same, quiet, disgusted, disappointment.
"OI!"
Where that strength came from, she didn't find out until a long time afterwards, but right then it didn't matter. All of a sudden the pain was happening to someone else and the rest was consumed in a column of blinding rage. She was on her feet without memory of having got there, swords raised. Almost before he had a chance to turn back, the blades were flying towards him, her right behind. This time there were no axes as the momentarily shocked dwarf was forced to block, knocking Fili's sword away whilst dodging out of the path of her knife (which promptly glanced off the pillar next to his face).
Then came Senga.
The weapons jerked from his grip as she collided with his midriff, sending them both to the floor. A chorus of yelling started behind her, but she couldn't give a flying fuck. She punched, kicked, scratched and elbowed every part of him she could reach, twisting out of the way of Dwalin's retaliation even as he caught her injured ribs. She couldn't breathe anymore, but it didn't matter. She rolled away just enough (feeling the sting of a blow to her ear) and aimed right there, bringing up her knee.
Dwalin howled, clutching his bollocks as she threw her weight on his collar.
"D'YOU YIEL'?"
The old warrior flung forward: first his head, which connected with a flash of pain to her nose, then with the rest of his body, knocking her off. Senga staggered, forced back into the wall as Dwalin surged up. Fortunately this was the perfect position to lean back, bring both her feet up, and bash them into his stomach before he could do anything about it. His agony was plain to see (and hers as her knee jammed) but he didn't let go, pressing a forearm to her throat.
"Do I yiel'?" he hissed incredulously.
She spat, throwing her head forward as he'd done. He avoided the strike easily, leaning back, but this was just what she needed to jam a fist to his diaphragm. He wheezed harshly, arm easing as he curled. Her vision was really dissolving now, but in her current position it was hard to miss. She drew her head back.
It was hard to say who was hurt more by this as their skulls cracked – logically, it should've been her since he was the dwarf with the thickened bones. Nevertheless, the cry came from both of them and she felt the arm leave, even as her vision spun. She breathed, but couldn't keep her eyes open. They'd stopped working properly anyway. Following the sound of Dwalin's pained groans, she lurched…forward would've been too generous. In a half circle would probably have been a better description. But she actually managed to move a few feet, which was something.
"Swee' bloody Mahal!"
"YOU – gah, fu'." Apparently there was the wall. "YOU!"
She swung a punch, but it wouldn't have been all that powerful had it hit. From how Kili described it, she'd been surprisingly close, though, and she opened her eyes a crack to see Dwalin actually backing up.
"GE' BACK HERE!"
"You inten' to bleed on me, lassie?"
"GE' FUCKED!"
Senga managed to take a step and a half towards where he was slouched against the pillar.
"YOU GIVIN' UP?"
"Oh, don' try i', Senga!"
It registered vaguely that this was one of the few times he'd used her name.
"SO YOU ARE GIVIN' IN!"
He swore tremendously before managing to get to his feet. Vision still swimming, she made it to stand before him once more.
"Well?" She spat something off her lip that spotted redly on the stone. Dwalin looked her up and down as if not quite believing his bruised eyes.
"You're still goin', lassie?" He sounded somewhere between concerned and impressed. Senga wondered if she'd hit her head harder than she'd thought, but no, he was bowing his head, scowl unusually soft.
"I yiel'." He said quietly. She felt as though the world had just fallen through the floor. Air rushed in her ears and she stumbled backward into two pairs of waiting arms.
"Come on." Kili's voice murmured breathlessly in her ear. "Up the stairs."
"You do know you're face is covered in blood…"
For the second time in so many days, she found herself sat between the boys with Oin, Elrond, Bofur, Balin and Bilbo hovering over her. Except this time, no one was saying a word as the rest of the dwarves appeared in the doorway, parting to allow Dwalin inside. He gave Fili and Kili a look, and when they moved aside, he sat down beside her on the cot, still with that soft scowl. By unspoken consensus, the Company was utterly silent, watching the pair.
By the looks the elves were giving them, Senga realised they must look a real mess. Someone, however (she suspected a not-to-be-named meddling wizard) had clearly told them not to say a word either, despite their having probably woken half of Imladris.
Dwalin paused for a moment, during which a bird fluttered in the branches of a tree beyond the window, even it silent as it listened in.
"Why?" She found herself asking. The floor shimmered with midmorning light.
"You're no' one of us." He repeated harshly. Thirteen pairs of eyes snapped to him.
"Bu'," he continued, stony tone tempered by a brief wince as he clutched between his legs. "You've go' balls, I'll gi' you tha'. You don' give up."
"No."
He nodded, as if this answered something important.
"Aye. Well, you defende' your pride. Your…honour, such as it is." Senga stared intensely at the floor, heart hammering as she waited for him to continue. "You've proved you're no' jus' words."
"Thank you."
The dwarf gritted his teeth, stoically maintaining nonchalance as he rose, gingerly adjusting his trousers. He paused again, before looking over his shoulder.
"You do wha'ever the hell you wan'."
He looked nearly…surprised? Satisfied? Impressed, even?
Good god.
He and Thorin nodded at one another, the dwarf king solemn (though that might have been lack of sleep – again). She found herself almost smiling, briefly distracted by how quickly things with the dwarves could go from throat-ripping to astonishingly peaceful; by how Thorin in particular could stand suddenly apart and oh Jesus she was still in the Company!
Suddenly the silence broke a thousand different ways and her vision was obscured by a mass of brown hair.
"Well done! By Aulё, our Senga!"
Though it hurt, she returned the fierce hug, and wondered oddly what she might have said, mere weeks ago, if she'd ever seen this coming.
A.N: So here it is - long chapter for a long wait! And almost entirely written out of a notebook whilst on campus (really should get onto writing my BIOSCI 210 evolution report, but this is more important!) Just one or two things: the title I thought up ages ago and thought it would be quite appropriate for the situation given Artemis herself. Also Dwalin's line comes (obviously) from "What are you going to do, bleed on me?" out of Monty Python's Holy Grail.
This chapter represents my desire to move forward with this story. The problem so far has been that the characters needed to be in the right stages of interpersonal conflict, mental stability, infatuation and general skill (in Senga's case) and I think I've managed to flesh it out for this purpose.
Oh, and there are two scenes from fanfics I need to cite for being inspired: The first (and god forgive me I've forgotten both fic and author!) is a scene where the protagonist and Thorin end up beating the crap out of each other - really good fic, just can't remember which one! And the second is Thorin getting aroused in The Ballad of Flora Brandybuck (by 0_wanderlust_0).
As always, love the reviews, and thank you to everyone who's still following the story! Rest assured, I have not abandoned it, my lovelies, and will continue to write when I can. I REGRET NOTHING!