000
Fate be Changed
Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse.
WARNING
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.
000
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR – By Any Other Name
War leaves it's trail
in moonlight so pale,
it's shadows they flow
in rivers, in rivers
so put on my mask
I'll go where they ask
so I might once again see the
Roses of May
(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19)
When folk thought about the line of Durin, it was to Thorin, to Dain, and to both Balin and Dwalin, that their thoughts turned. And for Gloin, son of Groin, that was fine by him. He had no care of fame, riches perhaps, what Dwarf did not desire riches? He wished to provide nothing but the best for his wife and son, they deserved nothing less!
He held family above all else, absolutely. His whole reason, his entire desire, for joining this fool's Quest had been for his cousins, for his brother, for the slim hope that should it succeed, his beautiful wife, and his clever, far too clever, and brave little boy would have a safe place to call their own. A place where perhaps his son would even find his One, where Gloin might even live long enough to meet his Grandchildren. A place that would see many more weddings, and many more Dwarrowlings, and his cousin, who sacrificed so much, who grew old before his time, who always tried to do right by their people, sat upon the Throne.
But now it was all sour, bitter, and wrong.
It had taken the look on the Hobbit lass's face as she turned away from them, her thin shoulders shaking, to hammer that home.
As if coming up for air after diving for pearls. He felt dizzy and light headed, the ache he hadn't realised was there suddenly gone. And then he realised the chaos around him. Fili and Kili were near enough feral. Dori was wrestling with Bifur who looked as if he were an inch away from tearing Thorin's throat out with his teeth – Nori had already gotten there first and smashed his closed fist into his face, breaking Thorin's nose before Oin could drag him off. Bofur and Bomber were struggling against Ori who was trying to chase after the lass, and Dain was trying to shout for order even as his son snarled at him.
He was too bewildered by what had just happened, what had seemed so... reasonable now seeming so... absurd!
And then Thorin locked himself into one of the meeting halls in the upper levels, answering the door to no one. Not even to Dain who joyfully hammered a fist upon the half-rotted oak doors, proclaiming that they had found the Arkenstone. Taking a look at the stone he stupidly thought was the Heart of the Mountain, Gloin could only scoff. A pretty gem it may have been, but the Arkenstone it was not. Nori and Ori vanished, sending Dori into paroxysms of worry as he practically tore the Mountain apart looking for them.
As for him, well, he had done Mistress Proudfoot a great disservice at the start of their journey. She had proved her worth, her loyalty, and her care for them time and time again, in this way or that, and he would never forget the sight of the wee lass laid out on Beorn's sheets, chalk white, sweating, and shivering under the grips of the Black Fever. With no one but a group of fool-hardy Dwarves to care for her. He would not, could not fail her again.
They would take her back, rescue her from those pointy eared weed eaters, just as she had rescued them.
Dain caught him in collusion, discussing an assault upon the Elvish camp with his son, Fili, Kili, Bofur, and Bifur. He would have thought the great Ironfoot approved, or at very least understood their worry over the lass – they had journeyed across half of Middle Earth with her, carried her, been fussed over by her, she was theirs. But no. One crack of a hammer across his back and Gloin found himself with an armed escort to watch him, under orders to keep him in the mountain and away from the young ones.
But he had never been the patient sort. And when Kili returned bearing a familiar, beloved locket he feared he would never see again, and his much beloved axe... He knew that lass was too good for the likes of them. Too kind. Too forgiving. This time, this time, he swore he would do right by her in return. She deserved no less.
The door between him and his stubborn cousin stood little chance against good Dwarvish steel. Especially in axe form.
000
The chaos she caused with just a few loud whiz-poppers was truly quite impressive from where she was sat beside a chortling Gandalf, a large plate of meats and cheeses in her lap. The Wizard had not been very impressed with her when he learned she had ignored breakfast in order to plunder the storage tents of their belongings, but could hardly hold it against her. Instead, she found herself at one of the Mannish camps with a full fry-up being presented to her, sausages, bacon, mushrooms, black pudding, and something they called Haggis, which was apparently Dwarvish in origin. She had eaten the lot, and then the chaos began as Gandalf handed her a second plate with cold meats, and cheese.
"There you are! Legolas exclaimed in relief, appearing behind her looking frazzled and anxious as another bang went off somewhere to the left, he nearly jumped and pulled his bow but thankfully restrained himself – she would have started laughing if he had. "You should not slip off like that!" he scolded, causing the Hobbit to crane her head back and scowl at him.
"I have been with Gandalf all morning," she grit out. "And what business is it of yours if I do?" she demanded harshly, "or does your father intend to adhere to the Easterlings' tradition of slavery?" she sneered, causing him to flinch.
"No - "
"Then he has no say in my actions," she declared primly turning away from him, "He is not my King."
Legolas looked beseechingly at Gandalf who merely smirked, sticking his pipe back between his teeth in mirth. The Elvish Prince would be receiving no aid from the Istari on the matter of stubborn Hobbits.
"Perhaps not, but you have been given to his care - "
"Care," she scoffed, "You mean imprisonment, Elf Prince. Imprisonment. Until I either purify your forest or die of old age within his Halls, for what is what he means to do. Oh he will do his best to see to it that I am content, perhaps attempt to even make me happy by trying to send those he feels may replace those I hold dear in my heart. But such things are not easy. As you should well know, Elf. We may not Fade, but that does not mean that we do not feel to the same degree. Please go away. You and yours have done me a great disservice, and upset me greatly. I do not wish to speak with you further."
"Well, that is too bad," Legolas bit out, frustration and guilt making him short, "My father has summoned you."
"I am not a pet dog to come when I am called. If he wishes to speak with me, he may come here and do so," she sniffed coolly as she cut through a chunk of cheese on her plate and coupled it with with some sliced ham on a piece of bread. If it were not beneath him, Gandalf was fairly certain that the young prince would have been grinding his teeth at her brazen disrespect and rudeness as the Hobbit lass primly ignored him, delicately biting into her Second Breakfast.
"Very well," he hissed out before turning and stalking off.
The moment he was out of sight, Willow unceremoniously crammed the last of the cheese and ham into her mouth and climbed to her feet, "I do believe it is time to see a Man about a bow," she declared, smirking a little at Gandalf who chuckled, puffing on his pipe.
"You are not behaving yourself, Mistress Proudfoot. For shame," he scolded merrily.
"Time waits for no Man, and Hobbits certainly aren't an exception either," she told him angelically before hurrying away as the Istari chortled. By the time Thranduil appeared, she was already on the other side of the encampment talking with Bard about getting a bow and some arrows made for her. She spent the rest of the day with him and his family, working and shaping herself an appropriate recurve bow out of a length of yew, while his daughters kindly made her a quiver out of a strip of leather and a number of arrows just the right length for someone her size.
When darkness fell, and her breath began to mist with the onset of the cold weather she left the kind Bargeman and his little family, but didn't return to her tent. Instead, she slipped inside one of the supply tents, and curled up in a corner, intending to pass the night there, out of reach and notice of Royal Elves who thought they knew best. Not her best idea she realised after an hour of shivering in her chainmail. She was going to have to steal something to wrap herself up in she decided as she rubbed some feeling back into her icy toes.
Sneaking back to her tent was easy, she had to press her ear to the canvas wall with care in order to check whether the female Elf assigned to watching her was inside. Thankfully not. She carefully slit open the canvas and slithered inside, looking around in the dim gloom offered by the torch lights outside filtering through the fabric. She gathered up a few of the furs, and her pillow, plus a reed mat, and slipped back out – after taking one of the juicy red apples upon the table.
"Not partaking in my King's hospitality?" asked a female voice. Willow stiffened and whipped around, relaxing some when she recognised Tauriel in the dim torchlight through the assorted tents.
"Decidedly not," the Hobbit stated. "And I am not confident in my ability to dodge him again should I sleep in the tent next-door," she admitted as she hefted the furs on her shoulder a little higher.
Tauriel shook her head in amusement, "Come. My tent is just down here, it is large enough for the both of us," she assured the Halfling gesturing at her to follow. "Kili reached the Mountain well enough, Masters Bofur and Bombur were on watch to greet us. They helped him bring all the bags, and blades in."
Willow nodded, smiling slightly, "That's good. I made enough of a pain of myself today for your disappearance to have gone unnoticed, though doing so I upset your King and your Prince a great deal," she admitted as she ducked into the Elf-Maiden's tent as she held the flap open. The inside was modest and plain, the same reed mats covering the floor but all of them plain and dyed in browns, and greens, her cot was covered in a few furs, and an assortment of weaponry were set to one side. There was not enough space for Tauriel to stand within the tent, but it was high enough for Willow to do so as she threw down her mat in an unoccupied space and settled into her furs.
"I would make a comment of ungraciousness in the face of my King's hospitality, but I cannot find it in myself to disapprove given the circumstances that have brought you here," she admitted softly as she knelt down and took the blades hidden upon her person off, and then the backpack that Willow hadn't noticed in the dark until now. She smiled at her as she set the bag into her lap, "Your dwarves are more fond of you than I first thought," she admitted as the Hobbit blinked down at the familiar backpack and pulled it open. "The majority insisted I remain until they returned with everything they felt you would need," she explained as the green eyed lass withdrew one of Fili's daggers from the pack, smiling in surprise.
Fili's dagger, Kili's rune stone – the one his mother gave him, Dori's ivory comb, Nori's lockpicks, one of Ori's drawings – carefully folded up, depicting the Company all together, Smaug dead behind them – Bofur's hat, a stone pot of Bombur's stew still warm from the fire, a carefully carved wooden medallion on a silver chain she recognised as belonging to Bifur, a leather pack of ointments and herbal smelling bandages from Oin, Gloin's embroidered coin-purse, that silly silver and emerald circlet that Balin had braided into her hair and... the papers, signed by both Dwalin and Balin, that would mark her as their kin, as Balin's daughter and Heir-Apparent, if she signed them. And right at the very bottom of the pack... A familiar coat lined with wolf fur.
"I am told on good authority, that Master Gloin took down the door between him and his King, and dragged him by the braids off somewhere for a stern talking to," Tauriel admitted, her voice somehow managing to be both solemn, and just shy of laughing as Willowyn dragged out Thorin's still dirty and stinking coat. That same damn coat that he had shown up to Bag End in.
Willow laughed, feeling tears brim in her eyes, "It still reeks of pony," she commented idly, almost impressed, as she set it to one side and turned her attention to the papers, her eyes tracing the words almost without seeing them in the dark.
A moment later, she had to throw a hand up to cover her eyes as a candle blazed to life beside her.
"What does it say?" Tauriel asked softly, leaning over.
Willow swallowed, "It says, in it's most basic form, that... upon the signing of these papers, Balin, son of Fundin, of the line of Durin, does take the Hobbit known as Willowyn Proudfoot into his Hall as his daughter and Heir-Apparent, due to the flagrant dereliction of duty of D-Dodo Proudfoot, Miss Proudfoot's father by blood. That by agreeing to the contract, Balin will be responsible for looking after my interests until such a time I am educated in their care and handling myself, that he will negotiate with courting males on my behalf, at my behest, and provide a ho-home to me until I decide it is time to l-leave," she explained, her voice cracking as she read the words, words that meant more to her than she ever thought they would.
Tauriel smiled, leaning over and winding her arms around the once again crying Hobbit, this time in tears of joy. The night would see her curled up under a stinking Dwarf coat, fur blankets, and clutching the papers bearing her signature close to her chest, surrounded by tokens from those she held dear.
000
My dear friends,
I write this now before I go to enact my foolish plan.
In case this does not work, I want you to know that
I love you all very dearly. As dearly as I do my kin
back home. Our journey has been filled with danger
and strife, but never have I known such kindness and
warmth than when I travelled with you.
Thorin, you are a great King, but even Kings are
people, do not forget to smile, or surely your heart
will wither.
Fili, Kili, you are both brave and wonderful, I hope
you will continue to live your lives to the fullest with
smiles and laughter and merriment.
Balin, you have been a dear teacher to me, thank you
for all that you have done.
Dwalin, you protected me come hell and high water,
you are a good Dwarf and a kind soul.
Dori, Nori, do not let your differences in opinion blind
you to the love you feel for one another.
Ori, you are brave, and you are smart. I enjoyed
our talks together, do not sell yourself short my dear
friend, you are greater than you think.
Bifur, I wish I could have come to know you better,
your kindness easily surpasses any barrier of language.
Bombur, you are a kind soul with a heart larger than
the sky, I am honoured to have called you friend.
Bofur, you cheeky stickybeak, you have made me
laugh until my stomach hurt, managed to make me
sing against my better judgement, you are one of my
bestfriends.
Oin, without your care I would not have
survived the Misty Mountains, keep asking
questions, seek knowledge where ever you tread,
and save many more lives with your herbal
inventions.
Gloin, you and I have not always seen eye to eye,
but you are brave, and loyal, and strong, and I
could think of no other that I would trust more than
you to protect these Dwarves that I hold so dear.
Tell Bilbo that I am sorry I could not return and
please make sure he is taken care of in my absence.
I worry for him.
I will go now. I plan to enter into negotiation
with Smaug, to trade my mother's necklace
for the white jewel. If I do not return, then
please do not allow another soul as reckless and
foolish as myself to attempt this avenue.
Stay safe.
I love you all.
Willowyn Proudfoot
Her words echoed and swirled back and forth in his head, she had not spoken them but he could hear her voice as if she were whispering in his ear.
Better the Halfling than the Arkenstone.
Very well. Take the Halfling and begone from my Halls.
Her name was Willowyn. And she wasn't Half of anything, thank you very much.
He had gone mad.
He... Gloin had torn open the old door he had hidden himself behind, a familiar axe breaking through and ripping chunks out until it was weakened enough that an iron capped boot could snap the rest off and out of the way. He had been hiding in the dark chamber, he was ashamed to admit, wrestling with himself as he tried to justify his decision, only to end up going in circles over and over again. The Hobbit, or the Arkenstone? And he knew that no Dwarf would blame him for his choice.
No Dwarf, but those whose opinions mattered the most to him.
And then Gloin roared into the room, and grabbed him by the braid atop his head and the back of his neck, dragging him from the chamber, roaring at him to return to his senses or that he would beat him until something resembling sense could be heard. They struggled as Gloin dragged him but the Firebeard's grip was tremendous and he had tight hold of Thorin's hair, they drew many stares as the King was man-handled by his cousin through the Treasure Hall, towards the back, where the secret passage remained just that – a secret known only to the Company.
And there he was thrown down, upon the steps leading into the passages.
'Read it! And know what evil you've done this day, Thorin, son of Thrain, and hope your ancestors do not spin in their graves with rage!' Gloin roared at him, jabbing a meaty finger down at the ground. The rich green stone... decorated with charcoal words written in Common.
What had he done?
000
The next morning, Tauriel awoke and found her tent surrounded by flowering Athelas, the frozen ground split with fresh green grass shoots, and the merry golden blooms of buttercups and white daisy buds. Stretching out for ten feet around her tent. Early rising Elves were staring and whispering at the sight of the fresh spring growth in awe and bewilderment. She could see more delicate alarmingly vivid green shoots splitting out from the earth even as she watched, it was as if Spring were in fast forward.
She ducked back inside and shook the Hobbit awake, "Miss Proudfoot, you must awaken," she whispered as the girl's dark green eyes cracked open blearily.
"Tauriel, what's wrong?" she mumbled tiredly, she had slept heavily the night before, no dreams, why was she so exhausted? Strangely so at that. And... What was that feeling? "Ugh, my stomach hurts," she murmured with a grimace, wrapping an arm over her middle.
"We have other problems. You need to leave, quickly," the elf whispered, "My King will be here shortly and... well, look outside, you'll see why," she suggested grimly.
Grumbling and shivering, because it was still frigid outside, Willow did as Tauriel suggested and crawled to the entrance, peeking outside, and blanching at the sight of the flowers and grass that greeted her. She yanked herself back inside, scrambling to the back of the tent, "Wh-what? N-no! That's – what happened?" she squeaked, looking fearfully at the elf-maiden who shook her head in equal bewilderment.
"I do not know. Perhaps your abilities are not as lost as you feared?" she suggested hopefully.
Willowyn shook her head, "No, I can't have done this. Hobbit magics are subtle. They don't work like that," she blurted, "True we must be happy. But we cannot... speed up the natural order of things! The seeds, and the water, and the time must be taken. We can grow things more plentiful, and delicious, and perhaps faster than other folk, but they do not grow this fast, nor out of season, from nothing! Whatever magic this is, it is not my doing, I swear!" she promised with a distressed shake of her head.
Tauriel nodded slowly, ruminating over the explanation, "Regardless, gather your things, if you wish to avoid my King we must make haste. Someone has no doubt run to inform him of this... incident," she said as she slid her own blades back where they belonged.
Willow worked quickly, tucking all the tokens the dwarves gave her back into the bag along with the stolen furs and reed mat, she shrugged into Thorin's coat, wore the necklace Bifur made, slipped Dori's comb into her pocket and slid her adoption papers under her tunic before following Tauriel out of the tent.
"Thank you. And I'm sorry if this causes trouble," the Hobbit said as she glanced nervously at the assembled elves, some of which were already kneeling at the edge of the grass, whispering in amazement, a few looking at her in undisguised awe.
"None that I cannot handle. My King knows of my disapproval," Tauriel assured her, "You are welcome here again tonight if you wish."
"I'll keep it in mind. Stay safe," Willow told her as she turned away, adjusting her backpack as she hurried in the direction of where she had spent the afternoon with Gandalf yesterday.
He wasn't there, so Willow gathered herself some breakfast and made her way to Bard's, eating on the way. She still had that odd pain in her stomach and she worried that perhaps her very delayed monthlies had returned at perhaps one of the most inopportune times ever (not even if she wore the Ring to vanish from Orcish eyes could she hide from them while smelling so strongly of blood). It wasn't until she ran into Sigrid working the stew pot that her stomach growled, loudly, a volume of which immediately set Willow's face bright pink with shock and embarrassment because... her stomach had not made any vocalisations since she was a child.
"I can see that someone is hungry! Would you like a bowl, Miss Proudfoot?" the young lass asked as she ladled some porridge out for her father.
Willow hesitantly sat, "If you have the food to spare," she agreed and was issued, in short order, with a bowl of her own – even if she had to pull up her sleeves in order to prevent getting wolf-fur in the oatmeal. She even rummaged a pot of Beorn's honey out to share, much to the delight of all present – save perhaps Sigrid herself as she was more partial to salt in her porridge than honey.
"That is a new coat," Bard observed, eyeing the fur that was practically drowning the lass.
She coloured a moment before smiling a little crookedly, "I am only borrowing it, I think. I shall return it once this war is done," she decided.
"Assuming any of us live that long," Bard's young son muttered.
His father nudged him hard, "Don't say things like that," he scolded. "We'll make it, we all will," he declared firmly, as if he could make it possible with sheer force of will alone.
Willow swallowed her food and set her bowl down, "Do you have blades?" she asked, she knew that the carts she and Thorin had rummaged up had been taken with them when they were told to leave, but it was the elves who took them – and she had not seen many Men with weapons or shields as she wandered through their camp. Many of them had 'make do' weapons as Nori would have called them.
"No. The City Master passed out the best of the Dwarvish Iron amidst his favourites. Hid away the rest," Bard explained shortly, a simmer of icy fury in his dark eyes.
Willow nodded slowly, "Give me a few hours. Could you watch my bag please?"
"Of course," the ever gracious Sigrid assured her.
"What are you going to do?" Bard demanded quickly, alarmed as the Hobbit climbed to her feet and shrugged out of her too big coat – a coat she quickly draped over the shoulders of his youngest who, try as she might, could not hide her shivering entirely from the sharp eyes of the Halfling.
She smiled, thin, and sharp, and full of teeth. It was not a pleasant expression. "To get your people some swords."
And then she was gone, melting between the tents as if she had never been there.
"Da?" his youngest, Tilda, piped up, "Look." She pointed at the spot on the ground that Miss Proudfoot had been sat with wide eyes, a spot now broken with shoots of green grass. Her wooden bowl cracked, a single root breaking through the hard packed earth even as a single twig with thin soft spines, unique to the pine trees it had been carved from.
000
It didn't take Willow long to find where the City Master had hidden the weapons and armour, the stupid Man. She scoffed as she threw her weight on one of the carts and pushed it out of the tent, stubbornly wheeling it through to the centre of the Mannish encampment. Climbing on top of the lip she whistled loudly to get their attention.
"Those of you without sword and shield, gather! Those with, I would seek your aid in distributing that which has been shared from Erebor! Those of you with training, look to the youngsters and teach them some of what you know! Everything helps! Now is not the time for quarrel!" she shouted over their heads as more than a few began to gather at her call.
She set a pair of the more liberally minded Guards to handling the swords, matching up appropriate blades to those who needed them (they could hardly hand a lad a Great Sword and expect him to bear the weight throughout the whole battle, she scolded in annoyance when she saw one such lad try to wheedle his way into getting hold of the biggest sword he could find). She took another four with her back to the tent where she found the carts and helped them push them into the clearing where even more Men had arrived.
Bard arrived with his son and daughters, the girls would be remaining in the camp, but none the less, Willow took some blades and taught them how best to defend themselves. There was always a chance that something could slip past the backline in all the chaos and seek to destabilise them from within the camp.
"What's all this! Where did you get these weapons? Who is handing them out!" the City Master blustered as he and his more loyal Men came upon the scene, "Braga, confiscate these weapons!" he ordered even as Willow straightened her back and marched forward.
"These weapons were to be shared out amongst the Men of Laketown as per agreed," she declared loudly as she stood in front of the revolting Man, the silence that suddenly swept through the clearing all but ringing as he looked around for her voice, and then down, almost spilling the crystal glass of brandy in his hand as he squinted through dull water eyes in bewilderment. "Do you truly intend to send the majority of your people out into a war against Gundabad Wargs, and Moria Orcs armed with whatever they could cobble together - "
"And just what are you supposed to be? Hm?" The City Master interrupted with a sneer. "Begone little... thing. Braga, stop standing there like a useless lump and get rid of it," he demanded, making shooing motions at the girl.
Looks were exchanged as Braga's face went positively grey, and even the ever oily and sneering Alfrid paled and took a step back.
"M-my Lord, this is Lady Proudfoot of Erebor, the Dragon Slayer," Alfrid coughed.
"What?! This little thing?! Well I should think - "
"That must be hard without a brain," Willow cut in shortly, her gaze narrowed as the City Master spluttered. "Return to your tent, City Master. Clearly you are of no use out here. Master Braga, your expertise if you please? And Master Alfrid, though I am sure your presence is most... appreciated by your City Master, perhaps you could share some of your knowledge of Laketown's citizens with us? It would go a great deal to deciding how to organise your forces when we must march," she requested, smiling graciously at the two men and gesturing them to join her. She was probably putting them in a very difficult position, and she both knew and accepted that, it was an utterly dick move to make them choose between their City Master and her like this. But underneath that, it was also the choice between the good of their people, or following their Master's command.
Braga nodded, "Of course, my Lady," he agreed, immediately abandoning his Master's side to join his men beside the carts, exchanging a few quiet words.
And, of course, the ever ambitious Alfrid smiled wormishly, "But of course, Lady Proudfoot, I am sure my Master and I will - "
"Just you," she interrupted coolly, a tiny cold smile on her lips as she looked up at them. "Your Master is not needed," she stated before turning and walking away, "I doubt he would be of any use," she mused idly, loud enough to be heard by all as she rejoined the folk handing out weaponry.
Unsurprisingly, Alfrid did not join them.
By lunch, all the Men and Elves in the camp knew the City Master had been unceremoniously put in his place after committing a huge faux pas to THE Dragon Slayer.
The tiny lass in the shining chainmail that left trails of fresh growing grass where-ever she walked.
000
Avoiding Thranduil became so much more difficult when everyone became aware that if you wanted to find her, all you needed to do was follow the grass trails throughout the camp. It got to the point where she had literally sprinted through the entirety of the Mannish side in search of Gandalf to no avail, and then very tentatively snuck her way through the Elvish side.
She eventually returned to Bard's family, following her grass trails so as to confuse anyone looking for her, and huffed, sitting down and glaring at the tiny pine tree growing out of her porridge bowl. Tilda had been watching it since she returned, dagger belted to her hip, in utter fascination.
"It's grown six inches already," she exclaimed in excitement.
Willow's smile was weak, "I am sorry about your bowl."
Bard waved her off, "You did not mean to, that much is clear," he said as he checked the progress of her bow. Given how most everything wooden she touched seemed to start sprouting leaves if she used it for too long, neither of them wanted to particularly risk her bow becoming a tree once more until after the battle. "No luck in finding Gandalf?" he asked sympathetically.
"None. He is probably at the Mountain, or perhaps searching for his cousin. Radagast resides somewhere within Mirkwood," she admitted, "A second wizard, even one not as predisposed to battle as Gandalf, would be of great aid. Especially within the healing tents." The athelas outside Tauriel's tent had been stripped away in short order, fresh flowering athelas was far more potent than dried grinds.
"I have heard of Radagast the Brown, we will find no aid there," Bard refuted with a sad shake of his head, "Addled by tainted mushrooms that one. He cares nothing for Man, Elf, or Dwarf. He will not involve himself with this battle I think."
Willow remained silent at that, she may have met the Wizard but it was a brief affair, and she knew he only intervened on their behalf to save Gandalf – not even he could have faced an entire Orc pack astride Wargs. But yes, as Bard said, she could not see the rather... flaky brown wizard willing to leave his woodland or his animals to aid them in a war that had little to nothing to do with him.
"Oh! There's another branch!" Tilda squealed, making Willow flinch.
Bard watched on silently as the delicate construct slowly reached out, thin spines uncurling. "Still no idea on why this is happening?" he asked softly, looking at the miserable faced Hobbit.
"No. Usually... we must be happy to do such magics. And yes, last night I was happy, joyful even. But this... it has filled me with nothing but dread. And yet it does not stop. We do not make things grow like this," she refuted as she glanced around her, the ring of grass that extended out from beneath her getting thicker, stretching further, buttercups, and daisies, athelas, even mushrooms in a few damp and shadowy areas. She sighed picking at one of the buttercups grimacing when the bud on the other stalk suddenly burst into bloom, "This did not happen until I left the mountain," she muttered resentfully as she dropped the buttercup to the ground and watched it sprout more and more flowers, the stalk pressing into the earth and taking root, much faster than any of its cousins it was a full plant again in the space of seconds, and growing a second stalk with – oh for the love of – white buttercups.
Bard chuckled, "Well regardless, if you look to remain in these parts, we may have to start calling it the Green mountain instead of the Lonely Mountain," he mused playfully, prompting a sour look from the Hobbit.
"It is not funny Bard," she whined.
"I mean no offence, Lady Proudfoot," he assured her with a small smile as Tilda squeaked in delight, another branch coming from her little pine tree. "But surely it is doing no harm, yes? I can see no damage done with the beginnings of new life in such a barren place."
She sighed, "Yes. Until Thranduil locks me up in his Kingdom and never lets me leave again," she scoffed, grimacing as the pain in her stomach made itself known. It was not her monthlies, that much had become clear but – she groaned and rubbed her stomach.
"Hungry?" Bard questioned.
Willow paused. Hungry? Was she?
"Perhaps," she admitted tentatively.
"Oh! I'll get something! Da, do you want something too?" Tilda asked as she got to her feet quickly.
"No, I'm alright sweetheart. You hurry on now."
Willow watched in amusement as the little Mannish lass ran off into the tent, Thorin's coat flapping around her ankles and trailing on the grass. She shivered a little and huffed before digging into her pack and dragging out her sleeping furs, wrapping them over her shoulders.
She spent the rest of the evening with Bard and his family, when the four of them bedded down, she remained outside watching the fire, once again in Thorin's coat with her furs wrapped around her chilled feet. Around her, the freshly grown grass and flowers slowly turning to frost as she huddled against the biting breeze that drifted up off the ice riddled lake to the south. She watched the cracking embers fly into the sky, following them with her gaze until she was looking up at the distant night sky, and its glimmering decoration of diamond-like stars.
Ealendil was bright tonight, she noted as her hand brushed against the bulge at her hip.
She never did get a chance to return the Arkenstone to Thorin.
The Arkenstone!
She stiffened, immediately scrabbling for her hip pouch and the stone within, drawing it out, and bathing the world around her with the light of a star, the endless turning of galaxies hidden within its depths. The light of Telperion and Laurelin. The source of the sun and the moon.
She held the stone in her hands, it felt warm, and...
"If you are the one causing all this, I should like to ask you to stop. It is hardly seemly, and it is causing a great deal of fluster," she complained to the stone, but, of course, enchanted or not, it remained silent and continued to shine. She huffed, "Oh how I wish I had thrown you at his head as I was leaving. You are nothing but trouble," she growled unhappily as she tucked it against her chest, hiding the glow from the curious gaze of a few passing Men.
She placed a hand upon the ground, "Grow," she commanded shortly, and lifted her palm to find nothing. Snorting she shook her head. "This isn't Hogwarts, silly girl," she muttered rubbing her forehead. Hobbit magics worked on happiness, like the Patronus Charm, it was a latent magic, and besides even if she stole Gandalf's staff there was little doubt she was about as able to cast any spell as a Dwarf was to fly without aid.
She snorted, "Oh yes Willow, steal the staff and start screaming Expecto Patronum at Azog. You'll probably die of shock before him if it actually works," she muttered to herself laughing and shaking her head at her own silliness. Magic. She had done without it well enough so far, she did not need this shiny rock trying to force it on her now.
"Ow!" she hissed, drawing her hand away from where it had been on the ground, and blanching as she looked down.
Thorns.
A fast growing patch of thorns splitting the ground apart.
"No – no, no! No! Stopit!" she hissed, wincing when she tried to stamp on it, flapping her hands and then trying to pull it out using Thorin's coat as hand protection but it was rooted in tightly. The thorns expended too quickly, they were already at her waist and getting larger and she didn't know how to stop it! "F-finite! Come on! Stop it! Finite!" she pleaded, waving the stone at them. If anything they just grew faster.
She stumbled backwards, her face ashen as she realised the thorn-thicket was now taller than her.
The Arkenstone was shoved into her pocket and she quickly snatched up her bag and furs, retreating fearfully. Oh please, Green Lady, don't let that thing animate like the Whomping Willow.
She was about to wake Bard, get him out of there with his children when she realised that the thorns had stopped growing now. They settled down, creaking menacingly in their odd horse high thicket, dark wood and hard shiny thorns about as long as her thumb, and when she hesitantly reached over to see if she could snap one off, harder than rock.
Weakly, she sat down staring up at the monstrosity opposite her.
At least Tilda's pine tree was okay.
000
The next morning, after a sleepless night, and being awoken by Bard's son, Bain, swearing violently in surprise at the sight of the thorn-thicket, now armed with deep vivid red velvet roses and shiny dark leaves to hide the arrow head like thorns, Yroc landed beside her as she ate breakfast.
"The Orcs have started to move! They are riding South!"
000
FINA-FUCKING-LY!
I almost threw up my hands about five pages ago and had Yroc show up with that message, but I had to stop myself because the thing with the Arkenstone boosting Willow's Hobbit magic needed to be explored, and I kind of wanted to give the City Master a kick in the balls, plus more Bard cannot be a bad thing in my mind, especially if you include the Bardlings.
Next chapter the Battle of the Five Armies should begin.
Barring the characters deciding anything differently. They're kind of writing themselves these days. Assholes. You need to stop taking over and then stopping when you have to make a hard choice you don't know how to deal with. It's rude and leaves me sat here going "The fuck am I supposed to do with this, dicknipple?".
Still, Happy New Year, enjoy your 9 page update. I'm off to eat poptarts and drink coke on my own because I don't do parties. 8DDD