Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from The Hobbit. The late JRR Tolkien, New Line Cinema, and a bunch of other people with a LOT more money than I have do, and I'm just borrowing them to have a little fun and I'll put them back when I'm finished. I'm making no money from this, it's for entertainment purposes only, so please don't sue me. Annabelle is my creation, as are a few of the other original characters in this series. Please consult me before you use them in your own fics; I'll probably say yes, I just like to know where my babies are.
Archive permission: If you want it, take it. Just tell me where you're putting it so I can stop by and visit. Thanks.
Special thanks to: SerenLyall for all her research into the timeline. Ithil-Valon for characterization. Lindarielwen from Council of Elrond for a sounding board. And PirateColey for encouragement and Dwarf drooling at all hours of the day and night. And ALL OF YOU ladies for brainstorming, tweaking, brainstorming more, and helping me to finally get it right! You guys ROCK!
Dedications: To Evendim, who has given me such great pleasure with her own AU series and graciously given me permission to play in hers any time I wish. She has the same permission from me. Without her, I would never have gotten started; she gave me the courage I needed to post that first story, and for that I am forever grateful. To Ithil-valon, who has provided tireless beta-services and been the best friend anyone could ever ask for… I love you for it, hon, don't ever change. And finally, to my beloved AJ, without whom my life is poorer and less bright. Rest in peace, my darling. We'll see each other again.
My apologies for the late update! I can only plead overwork. ~sigh~ Anyway... should be back on schedule, at least one update per day and probably two! Enjoy!
Oh, and the reviews are simply LOVELY, my dears. Keep them coming!
Part Fourteen
The months they had been traveling wore at Annabelle. Dwalin had been harsh and cold to her since that night, insisting on treating her like the royalty he considered her and refusing to use her name any longer. She was always "princess" to him now and she hated it.
There had been more incidents with hunters, but they had discovered very little more than they already knew. Someone who kept to the shadows had put a price on their heads and apparently the purse was a handsome one. It had to be, for the number of assassins looking for them.
They were coming close now to Laketown and possibly some answers. A day or two would see them within its walls, if Dwalin chose to face the danger head on. Annabelle simply went where he told her now without protest or comment of any sort. She worked with her dagger, she worked with her sword, but he had little to say. A grunt of acknowledgment when she did something right, a growl when she didn't. He had barely spoken to her at all, unless necessary.
She, in turn, had attempted to make things right. She continued to see to his comfort when they stopped to make camp, but he simply accepted it and went on. She had nearly despaired of them ever being friends again, or even cordial to each other.
He reined in suddenly, within sight of the gates, and she stopped next to him. "You will do exactly as I say, princess, and without hesitation or question, is that clear? If I tell you to run, I expect you to be miles away before I'm finished talking." The harsh words burned in his throat. He didn't want to treat her like this, but he had to. He was far too taken with her for anything else. She was his friend's wife, and she was his princess. He had no right to that familiarity they had found before, no right to want her as he did. No right to court her as he wished, to find his fingers once more in her hair perhaps with a bead of his own. She was Kili's wife. She would never be his.
"No fear, Dwalin," she replied, her voice deceptively soft. "Nothing would keep me near if you told me to go." Her words were uncharacteristically barbed, double edged. He knew without a doubt that she would run if he asked... and that she would not return after without dire need. She seemed to hate him, and while it was necessary, it tore at him.
"Then let's see if we can find some answers here." He rode down into the town, marking the way everyone stared at them. It was more than just a Dwarf and a human traveling together – he could feel the morbid curiosity in those stares, the sense of something waiting to happen. He hoped he hadn't made a mistake bringing them here.
They swung down outside one of the inns and went inside, going to a table in the back and asking for food. They would wait here, now, until something or someone gave them a hint as to their predicament.
It wasn't long in coming. A Man slipped into a chair at their table, regarding them curiously. "Aren't you afraid to be here, Dwarf?" he asked softly. "There are many interested in your heads. Not so much yours, really. Hers."
Dwalin took a long swallow of his ale before speaking. "And why is that?" he asked, getting right to the point. "What could anyone possibly have against this mouse? She's helpless without me."
Annabelle thought to protest but subsided quickly. He knew what he was doing and if he wanted their unknown enemy to think she was helpless, then she could play that game. And after all they had been cold to each other for months, she still trusted him. He would never allow any harm to come to her.
"She will never live to reach your mountain," the Man returned quietly. "And even if she does, she will never be out of danger. His reach is long, it's said, and his purse endless. He speaks no word of why he wants her dead – only that he does and is willing to go to great lengths to see it happen."
Dwalin blinked. Was this Man one of the hunters, or was he helping them? This was getting confusing. He wasn't used to intrigue like this. Give him a straightforward fight any day. "Why tell us this?" He wanted to kick Annabelle under the table to keep her quiet, but it didn't seem it would be necessary. She was following his lead quite well.
"Because unlike some, I care not for gold or jewels." The Man's voice was soft but strong. "I do have a care for those who cannot protect themselves and wish no harm to befall them." He gave them a small smile. "It seems she has an able protector, however, so I shall take my leave, with a final word of warning." His features grew grim, what they could see in the dim light under the hood of his cloak. "Trust only those who have earned it. Be wary of false friends."
"Can you get a message into Erebor?" Dwalin asked quickly. Was this one helping them, or was he setting a trap? "I've need of my kin if I'm to protect her properly, to get her safely to Dain."
The Man regarded them steadily, as though assessing them. Dwalin returned the stare in turn, noting the careful way the Man kept himself ready while not appearing to. He also noted the bow at his back and the sword at his waist. Ranger, he decided quickly. Why would they care if Annabelle lived or died? Finally he spoke again. "I cannot," he said slowly, "but I know someone who can. Give me the message and I will see it delivered."
"Your name, Ranger." Dwalin wasn't going to take chances. He was marginally encouraged that this Man hadn't tried yet to kill them, and seemed to have their safety in mind, but he wasn't going to trust on faith.
The Man let something sparkle in his eyes for a moment that might have been laughter. "So serious, Master Dwalin," he said simply. "You do well not to place your trust in those you don't know. I am Halbarad."
Dwalin nodded. He had heard the name before leaving the mountain. One of the Rangers that was helping to patrol the northern wilds, hunting Orcs and other such evil. He quickly withdrew a piece of parchment from his belt and scribbled a quick note. "This must go to Balin, no one else. He is the only one I trust."
Halbarad nodded and took the message, glancing at it only long enough to recognize it was written in Khuzdul and approving. No one else but a Dwarf would be able to read it. That there were Dwarves hunting them wasn't lost on the Ranger but this message would not reach the wrong hands. He would see to it.