Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or any material associated with Middle Earth.

Chapter 25: In All the Ways That Matter

Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great.

– Roger de Rabutin

Thorin thought about her all the way to the mountain. It was torturous, but he couldn't stop himself. Part of him wanted to hate her (he could barely even think her name). How could she leave him now, after they had just realized their connection? After the night they had just shared? Did he mean nothing to her? Did all of them mean nothing?

Another part of Thorin blamed himself for believing they could ever have loved each other. Gemma had never been a sure thing, had never been stable in the least. He should have known, should have remembered that there was the possibility that she would leave. Perhaps she had never even held feelings for him. But no, he couldn't believe that, not when he had felt the passion between them. Perhaps if he had realized the nature of his feelings sooner, if he had confessed his love to her, then she would have stayed.

And part of Thorin worried for her, even after she had abandoned him. What must she have been feeling to flee like that? He should have realized that marching toward a fire breathing dragon would have her properly terrified. He should have been there for her, demanded that she let him help.

Why did he have to fall for Gemma LaRoche? Why did he have to realize it the moment she left him forever? Fate was cruel.

None of the Company said a single word throughout the march to the mountain, still reeling from the news of Kili's impending demise and their unexpected loss of Gemma. In all the ways that mattered, Gemma LaRoche was dead, never to be seen again by the Company who had come to love her. The journey was uneventful. Thorin didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He could use something, anything, to distract him from the turmoil in his mind. In an effort to distract himself, Thorin conjured memories of Erebor before its attack; of the high ceilings, the bustling markets, the ornately decorated halls. And the gold, oh the gold, like an infinite sea of riches. The memories entranced him, and the pain of Gemma's loss was dulled slightly.

They found the place where the door was said to be in perfect timing. In less than an hour the sun began to set, and the Company prepared to open the door. The only problem was, they could not find the key hole. In his fragile state, Thorin nearly snapped. "Find it, keep looking!" He looked to the fleeting sun sinking below the horizon. "We're losing the light!"

Slowly, the sunlight dimmed to non-existence. This wasn't right; this couldn't be. What had they missed? It couldn't all be for nought. But the last light of Durin's Day was gone, and with it any hope Thorin had left in his heart. He surrendered to despair, hurling the key for the hidden door at the empty stone wall before him in his anguish. Silently, he made his way back towards the stone steps that would lead them down from the mountain. If he could not reclaim their homeland, then he at least would be at his nephew's side. The other dwarves, equally despondent, hung their heads and followed.

"Wait!" The cry came only a moment later, as the last moon of autumn peeked out from the clouds. It was Bilbo, pointing excitedly to said moon. "The last light of Durin's day; it is moonlight!"

If Gemma had been there, she would have rolled her eyes at Thorin and given him a look that said "obviously". No, he shouldn't think about her now. Think about the kingdom and the gold… the gold, the gold, the gold. The moonlight shone on the stone wall and illuminated a tiny hole, perfectly shaped to fit his key. Bilbo handed him the iron key and, unintentionally holding his breath, Thorin inserted the key and opened the hidden door. It opened; opened!

With awe, the Company entered the halls of Erebor for the first time in an age.

As Balin took Bilbo to the side to explain his task, Thorin sat beside the door and stared up at the ceiling. Even this dusty old hidden passage seemed beautiful beyond belief. "I know these wall… these halls… this stone." It all felt unreal, but somehow nothing like he'd imagined. Here he was, in the home of his ancestors, and all he could think of was the woman who had left him. And of course, in his mind, his two nephews had been beside him as they entered Erebor. But no, he had to think positive. They had made it into the mountain. The treasure (the gold, the gold, the gold) was almost within their grasp.

Bilbo and Balin disappeared down the passage, and the rest of the Company could do nothing but wait. Thorin trusted Bilbo; he did. He had ever since the night they had faced Azog on the pine ridge. Gemma had been right when she said Bilbo would surprise him, would prove his doubt wrong. If only she were here to tell him I told you so. She had never been above saying it, a trait that had once annoyed him to no end. No he longed to hear her say anything in that silky alto voice, or see her quirk those expressive eyebrows at him, or grace him with a smirk. Mahal, why him, why her, why now?

Balin returned alone, and now it was just a waiting game. Several of the dwarves soon drifted into slumber, but Thorin did not join them. He sat ramrod straight against the stone wall, thinking. To deter his wandering mind from travelling down an inevitable path, Thorin again pictured the treasure hoard of Thror sitting deep within the mountain. Eventually he fell into a stupor, not quite asleep, but not fully present. He was snapped from his drifting when a great rumble shook the mountain. "Was that an earthquake?" one of the dwarves asked.

"That, my lad, was a dragon," Bain replied, and Thorin's worst fears were confirmed. Gemma would have mentioned something about her crippling bad luck spreading to the Company. She probably would have thrown in a swear word or two as well.

"Let's away from here!" a dwarf cried, but Thorin wasn't paying attention. He was staring down the hall where Bilbo had gone.

"What about Bilbo?" Ori asked.

"Give him more time." Thorin trusted the hobbit. He would not fail. He mustn't.

"Time to do what?" Balin demanded. "To be killed? Thorin… I fear for you. A sickness lies upon that treasure hoard; one which drove your grandfather insane!"

"I am not my grandfather," Thorin muttered. Gemma had made him say it, that beautiful night back in Esgaroth. She had made him say it, and he had believed it fully, because she had told him so. But she had also said she would be here beside him now, to drag him back to sanity should he fall. That had been a lie, so how could he believe anything else she said?

"Well you aren't yourself. The Thorin I know would not hesitate to go in there." Maybe that was because the Thorin that Balin knew was gone, the day his love had left the world.

"I won't risk the life of this Company for one burglar." He couldn't lose any more friends.

"Bilbo. His name is Bilbo." And Thorin looked up, to his old advisor, and knew he was right. He couldn't lose any more friends. Bilbo Baggins was indeed a friend.

He sprinted down the passage, following twists and turns as if he had only just been in these halls yesterday, until he arrived on a landing above the treasure chamber, and cast his gaze around the vast room, searching for Bilbo. Instead he was met with the sight of gold. Some much gold; he could feel its aura, like a wave of heat against his skin.

Bilbo suddenly appeared, scampering up the stairs and nearly crashing right into him. "Thorin…," he panted, out of breath, "Smaug… behind… leave..." He gestured towards the door but Thorin stopped him with his sword.

"The arkenstone; did you find it?"

Bilbo looked at him with mild disbelief, and then mumbled, "Er… yeah… let's go."

"Did you find it?!" Thorin demanded louder, pointing his sword straight at Bilbo. His voice sounded almost distant to him, like he was speaking underwater.

"Thorin…" But Bilbo stopped, eyes widening in terror. Thorin turned slowly, already knowing what was behind him, but hoping he was wrong. He wasn't; Smaug the Terrible was headed directly towards them, the stuff of nightmares. Of course, this was the exact moment that the rest of the dwarves burst onto the landing. When the Company caught sight of the great beast before them, they were momentarily frozen in shock, before regaining their wits and diving off the landing to avoid Smaug's fire. Thorin ushered the dwarves into another room, narrowly missing being burnt to a crisp by the billowing flames aimed at them. His coat caught on fire and he rolled, extinguishing the flames. At this moment, he was glad Gemma was not here; Smaug's fire would destroy her even if it did not touch her, trapping her mind in a nightmarish place from which she would not return. He would not ever wish that for her, but some small selfish part of him still wished she was at his side, if only to give him the strength to continue. Gemma had always been a driving force, the thing to push him into action, even if it meant giving him a good hard shove herself.

Slowly, Thorin led the Company to the western guard room. It was the only place he could think of which might offer them a way out, if they could reach in without alerting the dragon, whom they seemed to have left behind for the moment. Wrong; Smaug was directly above them, though he did not seem to realize they were below. The Company crept forward again, not daring to breathe. They made it out of the main chamber and into a protected hall, which they followed right to the guard room.

But there was no way out, the door covered with rumble from the long-ago destruction. Instead, the room held bodies, the bodies of his kin. Here lay the dwarves of Erebor, the ones who had hoped to escape through the same door they sought. But it was in vain; like these folk, they would not escape, they would perish the same way. No escape, no hope. I'd given up on hope, Gemma had told him, but that didn't mean I stopped fighting. I wasn't going to give the bastards the satisfaction of beating me completely. I had no hope, but I still had the strength of will and stubbornness.

"We could try the mines. We may last for a few days," Balin said dejectedly.

"No. I will not die like this; cowering, clawing for breath. We make for the forges." He held no hope, but damn it all if he wasn't just as stubborn as Gemma LaRoche. He would not give Smaug the satisfaction of beating him completely. "If we split up, some of us might make it. Lead him to the forges. We kill the dragon. If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together."

They actually made it to the forges, all of them. Of course, Smaug, who had nearly incinerated Thorin, was right on their heels. But that could be used to their advantage, he realized, as Balin reported that they could not light the furnaces. "I did not think you would be so easily beaten, worm. You have grown slow, and fat!" The others looked at him like he was insane, but Thorin knew the plan would work. It seemed like something Gemma would do, though she would probably have better insults in her repertoire. Sure enough, Smaug's fire streamed into the forges, the Company only shielded by the great metal framework which kept the beast out. The furnaces ignited, and Thorin called out orders to the Company rapidly. If this plan was to work, they had no time to spare. The beast soon forced his way into the room, and Thorin called for Bilbo to open the water spouts, which thankfully still flowed. Smaug was driven back temporarily, and the turbines began to move, the rusted mechanisms of the forges creaking to life.

Smaug didn't stay away for long, and soon Thorin was fleeing in a metal wheelbarrow along a river of molten gold, heading for the Chamber of Kings. "Keep going," he urged to the others, who, with any luck, would lead the great worm to the chamber. He came out at the massive statue of Thror, which was still encased in its stone mold, having never been completed. The gold poured in, ready to fill the mold and overflow.

"You think you can deceive me, Barrel-rider?" a menacing voice filled the chamber with echoes as Smaug entered the other end of the hall in pursuit of Bilbo. "You've come from Lake-town. This is some plot hatched between those filthy dwarfs and those miserable lake-men, those snivelling cowards with their longbows and black arrows," he boomed. "Perhaps I should pay them a visit!"

"No, wait! You cannot go to Lake-town!" a voice, tiny compared to Smaug's earth-shattering boom, yelled.

"You care for them? Good, you can watch them burn!"

Thorin had not forgotten that his nephews currently resided in said town, as well as Bofur and Oin, and the humans who, while not entirely selflessly, had helped them none the less. "Here!" he cried, praying that the gold was ready, and that his plan would work. "You witless worm! I am taking back what you stole!"

"You will take nothing!" the great snake hissed. "I destroyed your warriors of old! I instilled terror in the hearts of men!" If Gemma had been here, she probably would have made an offhanded remark about Smaug being cocky. "I am the KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN!"

"This is not your kingdom. These are dwarf lands. This is dwarf gold. And we will have our revenge!" Thorin signalled to the dwarves, and the restraints on the stone casing gave way to reveal the magnificence of the giant golden statue beneath.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then the statue burst, molten gold pouring out as if it were a sea breaking free from a great dam that had held it at bay. Thorin swung himself away to safety, and watched with the others as Smaug was hit with a tidal wave of gold. The beast thrashed and stumbled and was eventually swallowed up as the chamber was flooded. He disappeared into the depths, and Thorin could not help but pump his fist in success. His feelings of joy were short-lived.

Gemma had often bemoaned the fact that she had absolutely terrible, horrible, dreadful luck. As Thorin watched Smaug rise from the golden bath unharmed, he couldn't help but think that it was another thing that they had in common. The dragon spread its wings and burst through the gate, taking to the sky and heading in the direction of Lake-town.

Gemma popped back into existence in the alleyway outside of her apartment building. Nothing could ever be easy, could it? Last time, the spell had sent her right back to her living room, but this time she was stuck outside. On the bright side, the moonstone necklace was doing its job, as she had yet to feel that horrible ripping sensation in her stomach that meant she was being cast back to Middle Earth. Gemma made her way to the fire escape at the other end of the alley, and climbed all the way up to the sixth floor. She was glad that she had an apartment that connected directly to the fire escape, because she had used it more than once, though usually the reason was a forgotten key, not her return from another dimension.

The window stuck a bit, but could not lock, so with a little effort she was able to jimmy it open and slip inside. She examined her apartment for a moment. It was a bit surreal; nothing had changed at all. The flat was spacious (one perk of living in an older building: she got more space for less money) and minimalist, with pale green and white walls and dark brown furniture and hardwood flooring. The flowers she had left on the island in the kitchen (white lilies) weren't even entirely dead. Gemma snatched the TV remote from its place on the couch and turned on the local news to find the date. October seventh! If that were true, she had been gone only a few days, despite the fact that she had spent months in Middle Earth. She supposed the magic portal thing didn't stick to a linear timeline. If she had an interest at all in physics, she would probably be trying to figure out how it was even possible. But Gemma honestly didn't given a shit.

She sat down on her leather couch slowly, like it was going to disappear. There had been something she needed to do, something important, but the images on the TV screen had wiped all thoughts from her mind.

"The funeral for two F.B.I agents took place here in Washington today after they were killed in an explosion while on the job in Pennsylvania," reported channel eight news anchor Claire Waters (If Gemma had been able to think, she probably would have laughed at the name. Claire Waters? That had to be fake). "Agents Patrick Chang and Gemma LaRoche were pronounced dead three days ago, though their bodies have not been recovered. The F.B.I has not released many details, but there is speculation that this was part of a small terrorism plot gone awry, as both agents were part of the Counterterrorism Unit. We will continue to provide coverage of this tragedy as new details…" Gemma turned off the TV just as images of her and Pat filled the screen. She sucked in a deep breath, held it for one, two, three counts, and then exhaled. It was a shock to the system, one that she doubted even someone with the most stable and healthy mind could handle (and she certainly did not have a stable mind).

For all intents and purposes, Gemma LaRoche was dead.

AN:

So Gemma is back in her world, and Thorin is pretty hung up about her. We're seeing a little bit of the gold sickness coming through now, so that should be interesting. And of course, you're all wondering when and how Gemma will get back to him (if she gets back, mwahaha). Next chapter is pretty short and set entirely in Gemma's world, but I think you're going to like it. I'm throwing a new OC into the mix, who I think is one of my favourite characters that I've ever created.

I know some of you kind of hate me after that last chapter. I almost didn't post this one, I was going to wait, but I thought that would be a little too evil. I'm glad you guys are so emotionally invested in my story though. It makes torturing you so much better. But I just want to say, I love you guys to bits. We passed 200 reviews! Thank you so much!