Onward, friends!

Chapter Thirty-Four

In Which Amends are Finally Made

"You know, if you carry on like that, you're liable to bring the whole tree down."

He twisted about, alarmed. In part, that someone could come upon him without him hearing; the other, the owner of the voice itself. For there, upon a nearby fallen log, under the cover of a great fur tree, sat a small figure wrapped tightly in a coat much too large.

Thorin blinked, his eyes not believing what could not be denied.

"Miss Martin?"

For several long moments there was nothing but the sound of rustling leaves in the gentle summer breeze and the songs of birds nesting safely within the boughs of the trees. Cate shifted, a bit awkwardly, and shuffled her feet in the effort to shake off the growing feeling of unease. She almost regretted speaking at all.

Almost.

"Nice throw," She nodded at the dagger still deeply embedded in the trunk of the tree. Thorin's eyes followed her line of sight but, otherwise, made no further move to free it. "I couldn't do that to save my life."

She winced as soon as the words left her, realizing they hadn't been the best way to start off the conversation. Though, considering all the other topics that could gently broach the subject, maybe it was best to just dive right in. Dwarves seemed more like the kind that liked to get to the point and hash it out, in any case.

She shook her head and chuckled humorlessly, "I forgot I had a knife the entire time. Pretty ridiculous of me, huh?"

A sudden thought came to mind and, deciding for once not to hesitate, swept aside the folds of her borrowed coat. Reaching with her uninjured hand, Cate dug the weapon in question out of her pocket. She hit the switch and the blade released. Flipping it over, she admired it for a moment, then offered it to Thorin, handle first.

His immediate reaction, as she predicated, was instant wariness. He merely eyed the weapon and she could tell by how his shoulders stiffened slightly, the offer seemed to unnerve him. It was meant to, in a way, but not for the obvious reason.

"You could have left me, you know." Cate's words were soft, unassuming, and carried no hint of blame. Despite the coldness of his eyes, she kept her gaze fixed upon his, unwilling for her words to lose any sort of meaning.

When still he made no move to take the knife, she rose to her feet and came a few paces towards him. His posture instantly changed, becoming more guarded, and she caught the shadow of the warrior which lay beyond in his cool, blue eyes. Stopping halfway, without her eyes ever leaving his, she crouched down, and thrust the blade deep into the soft earth.

The expression, once so sure and solid, cracked slightly; a hint of confusion and bewilderment touching those unsettling orbs. Though intrigued by this sudden, if minor, display of emotion, she said nothing. Choosing instead to ignore it, she stood up, slowly, and returned to her place on the log.

"But you didn't," she continued seriously and with a hint of awe. "You brought me back and treated me. After all the trouble I've caused, you still saved me." Cate felt her words catch and fought back the urge to ring her hands out of nervous habit. "I don't deserve that kindness but, I want you to know that I'm truly grateful for it."

She ducked her head and played with the cuticle of her thumb, her words spent. She, at the very least, had steered the ship in the right direction. Now it all depended on whether or not the exiled king wanted to actually address and acknowledge her. Nothing more could be solved if Thorin did not want to converse.

To say that Bilbo Baggins was feeling horribly guilty would not be the correct, or accurate, description. In fact, there wasn't a being in all of Arda at that exact moment who was feeling more so than he. The poor hobbit could barely hold his breakfast, he was feeling so ill placed. He sighed morosely, judged the sun's position for the sixth time in the last five minutes, before slipping off his boulder and picking his way back towards camp. His watch was over but, that news alone brought him no comfort. The memory of his harsh and overly-critical words whispered bitingly in his ears.

Thorin Oakenshield, as he had discovered, was a Dwarf who displayed himself as a hard leader who relied upon his pride. Perhaps a bit too much. Nonetheless, he truly cared for those he deemed under his watch. He showed it in small ways and did not allow much in way of deep emotion, yet it was there regardless. And what had Bilbo done? He had taken the truth and all but threw it at the Dwarf king in the pitiful attempt to open his eyes to the damage he had caused. It was a low blow, even for a Took.

And even more so for a Baggins.

He should have reined in his Tookish temper. He should have allowed all of Thorin's verbal barbs to past through him. However, his own sense of pride had overstepped and the end result was the brief expression of pain which had touched Thorin's once ever stony facade. Bilbo had meant for the exchange to be one of quiet revelation and understanding. Miss Martin would have appreciated that much, at least and certainly not what it had actually become. He could not fight injustice with injustice; it would only succeed in causing the rift between them to grow.

Bilbo had not wanted to hurt Thorin, but only to make him realize that his actions were hurtful. Yet, the Dwarf was stubborn and prideful and a tad bit vain. He did not easily welcome suggestions that were not offered first by his own people. Bilbo had only wanted to be useful and, as he came to learn, so far his uses were few and far between. So, when Miss Martin was suffering so under Thorin's treatment, he quickly acted upon what he viewed as a way to be of service to someone.

Only for it to backfire spectacularly.

"There ya are, lad! Been wonderin' where ya been off ta!"

The poor dejected hobbit's curly head jerked upwards, surprised to find Bofur standing beside the treeline. "Master Bofur!"

"Jus' Bofur, lad." The strangely hatted Dwarf waved a mitt covered hand in indifference, a wide smile pulling at his mustache. "No need fer all tha', 'Master' business. Best save tha' fer Thorin and Balin."

At the mere mention of the Dwarf king, Bilbo's expression promptly fell. "Er, yes. Too right, you are."

Bofur's grin faltered a moment, his bushy brow's almost knotting together in the center out of puzzlement. Then he offered a small expression of understanding. "Ah, ya quarreled with 'im didn't ya?"

"Well, that is, we did have a misunderstanding of sorts." Bilbo admitted rather shamefully, ringing his hands anxiously. "It was a poor moment on my part, I do admit. I acted rather . . . well, not exactly fitting, shall we say?"

Bofur merely chuckled and shook his pigtails. "'Tween you and the lass, poor Thorin'll be up ta his ear in disagreements. Ah, but don' ya worry, Bilbo. Things'll be clearing up."

"I don't quite see how, Bofur." The hobbit sighed sadly. "I believe I really -"

"Well, with the lass speakin' ta 'im an' all," the Dwarf cut across gently. "I'm sure she'll put in a good word an' all. Don' seem like the kind ta leave a friend in mortal peril."

Bilbo's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Miss Martin's in audience with Thorin?"

"Aye, lad." Bofur nodded solemnly and gestured to a spot just beyond the trees. "Jus' over there. They've been talkin' fer a while now. Don' know how long they'll be. Rather hope they take some time, ya ask me. Don' wan' any more delays and such." His smile returned, "'Course, be nice if we could get ta know 'er better withou' Thorin up an' arms every time we so much as look a' 'er."

"Miss Martin's a perfectly respectably lady." Bilbo said rather defensively, drawing himself up as he straightened his coat smartly. "Wonderful at conversation."

The strangely hatted Dwarf only grinned, "Aye, lad. Had a bit of a talk with 'er just now. Seems righ' fine ta me. Jus' a tad bit skittish, is all. Thorin'll set it righ', no doubt."

Curious, and in a rather Tookish moment, Bilbo leaned around a tree, searching for a glimpse of Miss Martin or Thorin.

A hand reached out and settled on his shoulder, giving him a firm shake.

"Come on, lad." Said Bofur quietly. "Best leave it ta them ta settle things. They need ya, we'll know."

The poor hobbit sighed, "I suppose you are right."

Bofur offered him a comforting smile. "Have a bit o' faith in Thorin. He'll treat 'er fine an' Miss Martin, she's got a fine head on 'er shoulders. Once those two put things aside, it'll be jus' fine. Ya'll see."

Slowly, the two made their way back to camp, hoping that things, would indeed, be alright.

Eyeing the strangely foreign weapon (a small dagger whose blade appeared to be forged from some strange sort of black ore), Thorin could not decide if Miss Martin was mad or vastly naïve. Why, by Mahal's great beard, would she offer him the only protection she owned? It was the only physical solace she possessed. Separating herself from that comfort was nonsensical. Unless . . .

Thorin stooped down and freed the knife from the moist earth, a second revelation dawning.

"You are a curious woman, Miss Martin," He turned the weapon over in his hands (a distraction he secretly welcomed as he found Miss Martin's gaze far too unnerving for his liking), his fingers taking note of the sharpness of its edge. If she had managed to use it, it certainly would have left its mark. "From the outcome of your misadventure, I've come to realize that your wit is not the only attribute that causes misfortune."

He raised his head in time to see Miss Martin lower her own, her all-too-knowing eyes hidden by wild curls. It shamed him to admit that her redirection allowed him to feel a bit more at ease.

"I suppose you're right." She murmured, her tone solemn. Her attention flitted to the tree-tops, where a bird of some sort began its song anew and a rare glimpse of a wry smile touched her lips.

Thorin noted it did not reach her eyes.

"Indeed." He agreed too quickly, his tone bordering on biting.

He clenched his teeth, cutting off any words which may have followed. Reminding himself of his previous concept of handling situations such as this one only ended with ill feelings, Thorin focused his attention on the weapon in his grasp. The blade was all the physical proof of Miss Martin's true intentions. No warrior relinquished his sole means of defense unless that warrior trusted, truly trusted, his life in the hands of another.

And, perhaps somewhat apprehensively, the young woman before him did place some level of trust in him. In them.

Thorin felt his jaw relax and his fingers loosen. "Miss Martin."

Her gaze immediately found his own, her expression unreadable but for the vast vulnerability in her bright eyes. Eyes that had seen far more than could ever be prepared for and yet, glinted with underlying determination.

"For a first battle," Thorin inhaled deeply, forcing the normal gruff and curtness from his voice. "You did considerably well."

As quickly as it had come, the vulnerability vanished, replaced by thoroughly shocked cerulean orbs. He did not blame her for such a reaction, for his behavior thus far did not speak kindly of him.

So, with strong, careful strides he approached. Miss Martin's eyes shifted once again, instantly becoming more wary, and Thorin did not miss the way her uninjured hand unconsciously curled into a lose fist upon her lap. However, despite being prepared for signs of defense and such unconscious distrust, he could not help but feel slightly injured. Baggins had not been wrong in saying that she feared him and he would have to tread carefully indeed so as not to inflict anymore emotional damage.

Something in his expression, no matter how slight, must have relayed his awareness of the observation because she suddenly made a small show of flexing her fingers, as if stretching the muscles to check for tenderness. Her gaze flitted to the side, avoiding eye contact for a brief moment, before finding his once more.

"Despite having forgotten this," here his thick digits fingered along the edge of the small blade. "You managed to wrestle a fully grown Orc into unconsciousness with only the use of your bare strength alone. In doing so, you saved the life of my Burglar and, I must admit-" Thorin paused, his pride welling to the surface yet, with no less than his greatest effort, he swallowed it. "I owe you a great debt, one that I cannot overlook."

If possible, Miss Martin's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. Then she shook her head, as if in confusion, "What? No, wait - I-I mean - t-thank you but, you don't owe me anything. Bil-Master Baggins is a friend. Of course I couldn't let that thing - that is - he saved my life! If he hadn't, well, we both would have been dead either way, right?"

Her complexion by the end was so red with fluster and embarrassment that Thorin found it suddenly difficult not to raise a brow in inquisition. Or in amusement. She most certainly seemed uncomfortable with the idea of praise, even that which was rightly earned. But, perhaps, it had more to do with him than the actual praise. He hadn't been exactly warm and so, his previous image was all Miss Martin had to go by in way of experience.

Well, he would have to amend that.

"Miss Martin," Thorin began gently, finding it more easier to actually look at the young woman now. "My previous behavior has been considerably less as of late. My actions do not reflect well and for that, I offer you my deepest apologies. Your actions last night have proven many things to my Company and myself. All of which speak highly of your character. I do not wish for you to feel as if your well-being is in question. I assure you, you have nothing to fear from us." With great care, he turned the weapon over in his hands; catching a quick glance at an odd symbol etched into the metal handle. Curious, but not overly so, Thorin extended it, handle first, to its rightful owner. "A good weapon. Perhaps you should invest more in its use."

Miss Martin blinked at the offered weapon, then carefully reached out and slid it from his fingers. "Thank you, Master Dwarf."

As she spoke, Thorin noted that the words carried more weight than necessary for the simple act of returning a belonging. He suddenly felt humbled by them, something he most certainly could not claim to being in a very long time. It seemed Miss Martin was far more than what her outer most appearance led to believe.

High in the treetops, a bird resumed its song. While not a Dwarf who dabbled in the arts of Elves and their nature-loving ways, Thorin found the song pleasant in its own way and oddly, rather fitting. Not that he believed in Fate or Destiny or any sort of rubbish pertaining to the two, however, it was fitting that these past few days of bitterness and unease come to an end with something much more cheerful. Even more so when he caught, out of the corner of his eye, how Miss Martin smiled up at the feathered thing.

This time the act reached her eyes.

It suddenly occurred, rather startling, to Thorin that he had never witnessed the young woman smile genuinely before.

He frowned inwardly. Bitterly, he admitted it must be so; for he could not recall a moment in which the young woman had shown such ease. He had been well aware of the fact that the current atmosphere had not been ideal or even pleasant, yet had he been so blind that Miss Martin had not even remotely shown any sort of emotion other than cool politeness and quiet anger?

"Unacceptable," he growled under his breath, voice rumbling.

"Sorry?" Miss Martin's attention shifted from the bird to him, her expression melting from one of quiet joy to weary puzzlement.

Thorin clenched his teeth and made a point of not meeting the young woman's gaze. Those eyes disturbed him in a way he didn't quite understand. "'Tis nothing. Come, we have been away long enough. No doubt the wizard is fully aware of this conversation despite his lack of presence."

While her expression did not truly change, her face did relax slightly. "True enough. I'm a bit starved since I never finished Bombur's stew."

"You did not eat?" Thorin's head whipped about so fast, his braids clacked audibly against his mail vest. "You need your strength for the road ahead, Miss Martin. I can't have you falling from your horse due to your lack of care."

For a moment, the young woman merely gazed at him, eyes wide. Yet, before he could recall his words, she offered him a half smile and said gently. "I wasn't exactly up to eating at the present moment. I was a bit deep in thought at the time."

Of course she was. One didn't simply wake up after an event such as last night and eat to one's hearts content.

"My apologies once more." He offered, slightly off balance by her lack of anger. Though, he reasoned, she most likely did not have the strength for it. Perhaps, for that, he should be thankful.

"No need," Miss Martin replied smoothly, carefully rising to her feet. "Perfectly reasonable. I'm not going to be much use to anyone if I don't take care of myself. Least of all to my own well-being."

She winced halfway through the act of drawing her coat about her. The article, judging by the size, might have belong to Glóin.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "How are your injuries?"

"Well, it could have been a lot worse." Miss Martin returned, half grinning, half grimacing. "Its just some smarted ribs and a broken wrist. Some bumps and bruises, nothing to worry over."

He wasn't at all convinced with the explanation. Especially not the 'nothing to worry over'.

"As I have said, you displayed some extraordinary bravery."

She made no further reply, instead choosing to focus solely on the path in front of her. For a brief moment, Thorin felt as if he had committed some offense in asking after her health, yet decided not to dwell over it. If Miss Martin no longer wished to speak of the matter further then he would honor the silent request.

As they slowly made their way back to camp in silence, with Thorin leading and sweeping aside brush and fallen branches, he could not help but notice, despite her previous instance, her wounds were causing her inconvenience. Perhaps if he shifted the focus to something else, a different topic of conversation for instance, then she would not notice the pain as much.

"What was it that had you so enthralled this morning in which you could not remember to eat?"

Apparently, it was the very wrong topic indeed.

Miss Martin nearly tripped over her own feet at the clearly unexpected inquiry, stumbling sideways. He reached out a hand to steady her but, there was no need. The young woman regained her own footing.

"Wha- ?" She stopped, then appeared to pull her thoughts together. "I think you would find it rather ridiculous, Master Thorin. Naive, even, I believe is your term."

"Even if it is 'naive'," Thorin supplied evenly, "I believe human women cope with traumatic experiences best if they speak of what unnerves them. Or am I wrong?"

He truly had no idea what possessed him to push the issue. Something nagged at him from the back of his mind, whispering that this, in particular, was crucial. He did not so easily ignore his instincts as they very rarely led him astray.

Miss Martin merely glanced at him wearily, looking for all the world smaller than she ever had before. That in itself caused him to question his decision. The young woman did not appreciate appearing less than capable.

She remained silent for the longest time, then sighed heavily and marched forward. "From where I'm from, Master Dwarf, its very rare for anyone to have to fight if they don't have to. Most confrontation is committed in verbal arguments, but it can turn physical depending on the situation. Even then though, the fights don't end in death. At least not most of them. It happens of course, from time to time, but my people don't usually kill one another without good reason. Do you understand?"

Thorin took a moment to ponder over her words before supplying, "I believe so. Your land must live in great peace."

Miss Martin's smiled tightly, "Not as much as you think. In my land we don't fight from within, but from without."

His brows furrowed at the statement but she merely shook her head.

"It's is a very complicated topic that doesn't really require a great deal of thought. What you do need to understand is that one isn't in danger of dying by simply walking about in the woods. We aren't likely to be attacked and then killed on a daily basis. I carry a knife not as a necessity like you do. Rather, I carry it as a precaution. In case of the off chance that I could be attacked. I can and know how to use it but, I've have never been put in the situation where if I didn't use it I would die. My life has never before been caught between life and death."

Miss Martin paused to catch her breath while Thorin remained silent. He believed he was beginning to understand.

"When Bilbo and I were attacked, I admit I passed out." She glanced away, as if in shame. Thorin did not interrupt. "When I woke up, I was a bit confused. Then I saw the Orc go after Bilbo and pull a knife on him. It was ready to stab him right through the heart. That's where things get fuzzy. I remember being very scared and then, extremely angry. I never thought to use my knife, but before I knew it I had thrown myself at the damn thing and suddenly we were fighting tooth and nail to win."

Here she physically stopped, looking off into the trees. Her hands, clenched at her sides, were shaking. "I'm not an angry person, not really. I'm not prone to violence, I promise. But, in that moment, I think . . . I think I was prepared to kill it."

Thorin halted abruptly in his steps a few paces ahead. Turning carefully, he took her ridiculously bundled form in. A small young woman with very little survival skills trying to make her way to Mahal-knows-where, attempting to find her way back to a foreign land where life was safer and, most likely, easier. She wasn't used to fighting for her life every minute of every day and here she would be expected to do just that in order to live. Her previous values would be challenged and even broken, if only for her survival.

It was the harsh reality of the situation.

However . . . Miss Martin did not shy away from work or hardship. He had watched as she built her own fire, watched as she rode through torrents of wind and rain and mud, had seen her stand against Master Baggins mistreatment, and he had seen a fierce young woman try her hand at combat to which she had very little experience. And survived. Perhaps, all these things were done with more, or less, grace than could ever be expected of yet, here Miss Martin still stood. Alive and breathing, despite the odds.

"Death is only another part of life, Miss Martin." Thorin remarked carefully, but somewhat firmly. "All beings die, whether we wish it or not. However, if it puts your mind at ease, I was the one to kill the wretched creature. Not you."

The young woman's eyes found his own and he saw there a deep fear he had not seen in a very, very long time.

"I don't want to kill," she said quietly and her hands trembled as she spoke. "I don't want to be a murderer."

Thorin was silent for a time, mulling over the words in which he wished to say and those he needed.

"Miss Martin," he announced softly, gently. "There is a great deal of difference between a murderer and a killer. Remember that. For now, you are neither."

"And later?" She asked hurriedly, sounding near desperate. "What then?"

"I know not," he replied. "We shall see what you make of the Wild." Then he offered her a rare thing: a small, half-sided, shadow of a grin. "Or perhaps, we shall see what the Wild makes of you."

With that, he stepped closer and offered her a silent arm. Miss Martin glanced at the appendage, then his face, and must have realized something there that he did not understand because she smiled and took his arm. It was a sad sort of smile yet, quiet determination lay behind her bright blue eyes.

"Then, would you mind if I traveled with you a while longer?"

Thorin eyed her out of the corner of one deep blue orb, careful to mind a nearby tree. "If only to prevent you from further harming yourself, then I believe I shall bear the burden of your presence."

Miss Martin threw back her curly head and laughed, openly and boisterous. "Likewise, Master Oakenshield, likewise."

3/31/16