Chapter 50
Tossed and Turned
The barrel escape. It has often been described as the most original way to exit an elvish palace against the owner's wishes. It had never been done before and to my knowledge it has never been done after, not in the last place because Thranduil started to guard that unlikely exit the way a dragon guards its plunder. I have this from a very reliable source, because I never felt the need to go back and see it for myself. Despite the fact that we are not at war with Mirkwood and we have reasonably well functioning trade relations – note the use of the word reasonable – it would not be a wise idea to actually show our heads there. In my world people would say that we were persona non grata, but that language is not actually in use in Middle Earth. Let's just say that we are less than welcome guests. And of course we were never too keen on visiting ourselves.
So yes, I have heard our barrel escape being described as original and daring. It was both, but if I should be looking for the correct way to describe it, I would call it reckless and completely insane. I don't know what Tolkien was thinking when he wrote that part of his book, but I started to doubt his sanity. Could he not have thought of another way to have the company escape that horrid place? A secret tunnel would have done as well. Of course that would not make for a very exiting chapter in a book, but by the time we were about to escape in those blasted barrels I did not care for excitement. Boring and mundane sounded like heaven, so naturally it didn't happen.
But that too is one of the things that never made it to your bedtime stories. And for this we might be forgiven, I believe. Because you were children and you liked to hear epic tales of heroic deeds and daring escapes, so that was what we gave to you. And you loved it. I can still see you begging Thorin for that story, even when you could tell it better than we could by that time. Of course your father never minded telling it, since he was rather fond of it himself. I have a lingering suspicion that he banished the unpleasant details to the back of his mind.
Maybe you even loved it too much. This particularly occurred to me the day my two eldest sons decided to recreate the story by trying to sail down the River Running in unused mead barrels you had stolen from somewhere. Thoren, Thráin, I don't think you were aware of the danger, but Mahal knows we were. You could have gotten yourself hurt or even killed doing that, had Duria not chickened out of the plan at the last minute and run to us to inform us what was going on.
I think the two of you were already in the barrels, trying to roll yourselves into the current when we came out. Yes, I know we shouted at you and I don't think that was a particularly wise thing to be doing, but oh dears, did you scare me that day. I think a few of my hairs turned grey instantly because of that one event.
We had of course forgotten to add the don't try this at home warning when we told you the story – consider it given now – but maybe the account of the real event as we experienced it, will tell you why we were so upset when you tried to copy it…
Kate
Kate was having a minor panic attack the moment Bilbo closed the lid over her head. Her barrel was filled with a lot of straw to protect her from the impact of the shocks and bumps she was bound to experience in the coming hours, but this also meant that she was sitting in a cramped position and could hardly lift a finger. That was more terrifying than she was ready to admit. And then there was the fact that she could not see a thing. It was as dark around her as it had been in Mirkwood at night and that forest did not hold many fond memories at all.
Get a grip on yourself, girl, she ordered herself. You're a grown woman and this is the only way you'll get out. Stop being such a big baby.
Her mental scolding helped, but only a little. Because Kate Andrews had never been a hero. She was not one of the world's biggest cowards – because the biggest cowards did not call wargs nice doggies and didn't knock out orcs with wooden shields – but she did come close. And she wanted out, consequences be damned. She had never been really terrified of the dark and she had never been claustrophobic, but then, she had not been afraid of heights until she took a flight by eagle either. This journey made her feel a lot of things she had not experienced before, it would seem.
But getting out now was not an option. Kate listened intently to what was going on outside her barrel and at first there did not seem too much noise. Most of her friends had already been packed away in barrels by the time she had finished her confusing conversation with Elvaethor and Bilbo did not have a lot of work left to do.
She did wonder about that elf, did wonder what he was up to. Elves, she had come to learn, never revealed all their plans to the world and Elvaethor was probably no exception. All that inane babbling about love of happy endings was probably no more than that: babbling. Elves always were up to something.
If she had not known better, she'd have said that he wanted Erebor restored to its former glory, because helping Thorin escape certainly indicated that. Not that this made sense at all, because elves did not like strong dwarven kingdoms in their backyards. Not that they liked dangerous dragons any better, but Smaug had not shown his ugly face for nigh on sixty years. It would be a logical assumption that they would not be troubled much by him. So what did Elvaethor want?
Thinking about it probably was not going to help her very much. Who could ever know what was going on inside an elvish head anyway? Only time would tell, but that was not something Kate liked very much. She liked certainties in her life and the fact that she knew next to nothing about Elvaethor unnerved her. And the book was not a great deal of help either. The book never even named him.
She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of happy voices coming into the cellar. 'Where's Galion, the butler?' Kate heard one of them ask. 'I haven't seen him at the tables tonight. He ought to be here now to show us what is to be done.' The voice sounded a little annoyed, displeased with the butler's absence. Of course Galion was not absent at all. Just in mind, not in body.
'I shall be very angry if the old slowcoach is late.' Another elf sounded even more annoyed, possibly because he had been dragged from the feast while he just wanted to have fun. His next words only confirmed that. 'I have no wish to waste time down here while the song is up.'
These elves reminded Kate of the Rivendell elves: silly and song-loving. They were apparently not too different from their kinsmen on the other side of the Misty Mountains. The only thing in which they really differed was their treatment of dwarves. When amongst their own, they were just as fond of music and feasts as the Rivendell elves. And Kate remembered that Tolkien had described the Mirkwood elves as good folk, just a little more suspicious than others of their kind. It was just because Kate had been on the receiving end of aforementioned suspicion that she had not seen them for what they really were. Or rather, she had seen them for what they really were. She had just not seen all of it. But she doubted she would ever have seen this side of them had she not been hidden in a barrel. Her association with the company of Thorin Oakenshield had made sure that they would never see her in a better light.
'Oh,' someone else said. Well, it was more like a yawn than an actual word. Kate imagined the owner of the voice just stretched and then took in his surroundings, but she could not see a single thing. All she had to go on was her hearing. She sorely missed the additional information her eyes could have provided her with. But it could not be helped. She was locked up in this bloody barrel and that might last for quite a while.
'Ah, did you begin a little feast of your own, Elvaethor?' the first elf asked.
Elvaethor had been the one to "wake" now? Galion the Butler must still be asleep then. Oh, this really was a messed up version of the book, but Kate did wonder to what extent this was just the book messed up. If she was thinking correctly, the captain of the guards played a large part in this as well.
'We had to do something to pass the time while you fellows drunk and made merry up at the king's palace,' the red-haired elf retorted. 'I'll wager you almost forgot your tasks, maybe even on purpose.' There was an underlying tone of stern disapproval, as if he was lecturing the elves that had just arrived. 'It's a small wonder we fell asleep.'
'Small wonder when wine stands close at hand in a jug!' the second elf laughed.
'Watch your tongue, Cenion,' Elvaethor's voice said. He sounded stern, the true captain of the guards who reprimanded his subordinate. There was no trace now of the dreamy and happy-ending-loving elf now. That did not necessarily mean that that had been a mask. Elves could be both silly and dead serious, Kate had come to learn. It did make things ridiculously confusing and the elves themselves unpredictable.
What the company advisor was rather sure of though was the notion that Elvaethor would not betray their presence to these new arrivals. Whatever his game was, it was not to stop the company from escaping the dungeons. That at least was a relief.
'I beg your pardon.' Cenion sounded somewhat apologetic.
'I should hope so. Be off with you. You know what to do.' Elvaethor sounded rather icy, a lot like Thorin actually, and Kate started to realise why he was captain of the guards. At first she had not understood that at all, because if anything the elf seemed like the elvish equivalent of a village idiot, but apparently he could do stern and commanding as well.
One of the elves groaned. Again Kate wished she could see something, anything at all. She had heard only two besides Elvaethor, but that did not mean there could not be more. It was utterly dark in here and elves could move so softly they would never hear them coming at all.
Her wondering about the number of elves quickly vanished when she could hear the sound of barrels being moved about. Suddenly the thought that she was going to be rolled down a trap door into a cold and swift-flowing river was all too present in her mind. Kate had never liked rollercoasters and something told her that this was going to be a lot worse than that. Water might come in, fill the barrel, sink it and she would not be able to get out. She would be alone in the dark, drowning and no one would miss her until Lake-town and by then it would be far too late for help.
The panic was trying to work its way into her head and Kate had to work hard to keep herself from voicing that panic in a scream. No one would thank her for doing that, the company least of all, not when the prison break had been extremely successful thus far.
Get a grip, Andrews, she told herself sternly. This is your only chance to get out of here, so you will not act like a baby. This realisation helped some, but not much. Her mind knew this was the only way she would ever get out of this place and if she did not want to spend the rest of her life in that dark, claustrophobia-inducing dungeon, then she would keep quiet and stay in this barrel until they were far, far away from this horrible palace and its king.
This did not make her dread what was about to happen to her any less though. All around her barrels were being moved and it wasn't long before she heard the first one fall into the water below the cellar. That might be one of her friends in that barrel. Her stomach tied itself into tight knots.
'Elvaethor, I am sure that this wine has addled your wits,' one of the barrel-pushing elves remarked. 'These are the full casks you have us pull out, not the empty ones, if there is anything in weight.'
Kate imagined that the captain of the guards unleashed an icy glare on the elf who had spoken. 'I'd rather think the wine may have addled yours. The consumption of it has weakened your arms. These are the ones to go and no others. Do as I say!'
There was some grumbling, but no one apparently dared to protest out loud anymore, for which Kate was grateful, for as much as she dreaded this journey by river, she dreaded being found out even more. Because if that happened, she would never see any daylight again and if she was certain of one thing, then it was that she had seen quite enough of that horrid dungeon for the rest of her life. She wanted her freedom back.
'Very well, very well,' the addressed elf muttered. 'But on your head be it if the king's full butter tubs and his best wine is pushed into the river for the men of Lake-town to feast on for nothing!'
'I assure you that the king will not find any of his butter or his wine missing,' Elvaethor said confidently.
Dwarves however are another matter altogether, Kate thought, hoping and praying that it would take a while for the elves to discover what had happened. Dori had more or less admitted to knocking out several of the guards and Kate knew that her adopted brother had a lot of physical strength. She had seen it only recently when he had used it to knock out Galas. And Dwalin did not seem like the type to take half measures either. Those guards would be well and truly out for a while. With a bit of luck it would only be when the next shift came in that their absence was noted. That could take another few hours or so. They might be very lucky.
That was if they would not get killed by barrel first. The company advisor had hardly finished the thought when her barrel was taken up, turned over and then she was rolling over the floor. Her heart was beating so loud that she could swear the elves must hear it. This kind of movement was already inducing a slight nausea, although that could be put down to nerves as well.
'Down they go!' the elves announced. That was the only warning she got. She could hear the sound of elves complaining about the weight and the sound of the river and then she was in free fall. And she was terrified. It was ridiculous, she told herself. The book stated that all of them would be all right in the end and that should have reassured her. Normally it scared her that the book was so often accurate – and she feared that, especially when it came to the ending – but now it helped her in not panicking to such an extent that she would scream.
The Hobbit described the barrel escape from Bilbo's point of view and while the prospect of swimming in such an icy river, holding on to some barrel or other for dear life, was o tempting prospect at all, at the moment Kate would choose it over her current predicament. Because there was one thing Tolkien had absolutely forgotten to mention and that was how terrifying it was to be trapped in a small enclosed space in complete darkness, knowing that you were on a river with a very strong current and that you could just drown if a lot of water came into aforementioned enclosed space or you could die if the barrel crashed upon some unseen rock or other. It was hell.
Admittedly, it was a very different kind of hell than the burning forest had been, but it was hell all the same. She had plunged into the water and for a moment was afraid that she had gone below the surface, but she could still hear the elves, who had now burst out into a very Tolkien-sounding farewell song to the barrels – why did elves even have to make songs about everything? – very well and if she had been under water they would have sounded different.
This was a relief, if not much, because she was tossed about as the barrel itself was tossed and turned in the stream. The river was running strong and wild in these parts and for a moment Kate wondered why this transport system was even in existence. It hardly seemed like a good way to her. The way things were going it felt like she could crash and her barrel would break in pieces. But the system was still used, so most of the barrels must make it to Lake-town in one piece.
Of course, most of them is not all of them, that annoying voice in the back of her head commented.
Definitely the worst thing about this was the complete isolation. No matter how bad things had been, all the other trials had been endured with her friends nearby. The warg attack that had brought them to Rivendell had been horrible, but Dori and Thorin had been there and with the latter she had even exchanged something that with some imagination might pass for a joke. The stone giants had been more or less the same and that was true as well for their encounter with the goblins. They had been able to draw strength from the presence of companions. In both fights with Azog's merry band of misfits it had been the same. It had been frightening beyond belief, the last time even more so than the first, but she had not been alone and that was worth a lot.
Now there was nobody. She was trapped in here, all alone. Her companions were somewhere nearby, but she had no way of reaching them, no way of communicating with them. She could not even pinpoint where exactly they were. Frightening.
'Pull yourself together,' she growled. Saying it out loud made the fact that she was here alone a little less obvious. It was not really silent here, with the noise of the river almost deafening her, but it was good to hear a voice, even if it was just her own. Kate did not know why, but it helped. 'One day. You need to hold out one day. You can do that. You've seen much, much worse.'
And that was true, even if that was not a truly happy thought either. And Kate did find that it went better eventually. This was not a thing one would ever be able to get used to and she was sure she would come out with more than one bruise, maybe even a concussion after she had bumped her head against the lid after a rather unexpected series of turning over and over again mid-stream. Bilbo had provided her with a lot of straw that was supposed to keep that from happening, but Kate had known in advance that it would be no good.
Strangely enough that was not the worst thing. After a while the stream quietened down a bit and she was not tossed about as much as previously had been the case. What she needed to worry about now was something else entirely. By her reckoning it had been early in the evening that she had been let out of the cell she had shared with Thorin and they had been pushed in the water about an hour or two after that, counting the journey out of the dungeons, the trip to the armoury and the time it had taken them to get into the barrels. In here it was impossible to measure time, but Kate reckoned that a good few hours must have passed since then.
The best indicator in this conclusion was the state of her bladder. She had not relieved herself since before she had gone to sleep in that blasted cell, she realised. Of course it had been the last thing on her mind when Dori and Bilbo came to free them and the same could be said for their escape and those first hellish hours in the river. The adrenaline had kept those concerns safely stored away in the back of her mind.
But now the adrenaline had gone and the more trivial matters presented themselves to the company advisor. The hunger and thirst were doable for the moment. And they paled in comparison with the absolute and very embarrassing need to empty her bladder, the sooner the better. That was yet another thing Tolkien had never written a thing about in this book and now she herself was stuck in that barrel, it seemed like a grave error.
'Shit,' she muttered under her breath. 'Shit, shit, shit!' Why were it always those thing nobody ever thought about that proved to be of the most hinder? It had been the same with her monthlies early on – although the elvish painkiller and the supplies she had gotten from them had ensured she had not needed to bring that matter to her companions' attention since, and thank goodness for that – and the blisters on her feet after running through Goblin-town for what felt like hours on end. None of that stuff was ever mentioned in novels and by now Kate seriously started to wonder why. If authors aimed for realism, their heroes should really be bothered by these things as well.
But she was not going to embarrass herself by relieving herself in this barrel. She did have some dignity and she had not wet the bed since she was four. If it was up to her she would not be reviving that bad habit now.
Her resolve lasted for about an hour longer. The river was still flowing swiftly and Kate still found herself frequently being tossed about as if she weighed no more than a tree's leave that had been set adrift on the wide ocean, but strangely enough she could no longer be bothered by that now that she had a far more pressing concern. Who'd have thought that this was the biggest problem one could experience on such an escape? It was as unexpected as it was embarrassing.
They were pushed now into what Kate suspected were shallower waters. She could hear the shouts of men as they went about their work. Momentarily the fear of discovery made the bladder-problem take a backseat, but her concern was unnecessary. It would seem that the people tasked with binding the barrels together would like nothing better than going to bed or grabbing a nice drink before going to bed and they made swift work of their job. Things might be different in the morning, but for now at least they were safe, leaving her mind and body far too much time to remind her of that bigger problem.
'Hello?' She was distracted by the voice of the burglar, who was calling out in a hushed voice. 'Are you there?'
It seemed not a smart thing to be doing in here, because who knows who was watching, but it was actually a relief to hear another voice, and a friendly voice at that. 'Here!' she called back, knocking on the barrel to indicate which one she was in.
'Kate?' Bilbo sounded nearer by now, and a bit hesitant too.
No, Bombur, what'd you think? Kate thought sarcastically. 'Yes, it's me.' Bilbo had risked a lot for all of them and his journey could not have been pleasant at all. It would be the Right Thing to be a little bit nice to him. They owed it to him they got out in the first place. 'You all right?'
'I have b-b-been bet-t-t-ter.' A violent shiver interfered with his words. 'How are you?'
Kate grimaced, something the hobbit fortunately could not see. 'Can you get me out of here for a few minutes?' She tried and failed not to sound pleading.
'Kate, that's dangerous!' the hobbit whispered forcefully. 'I know it's cramped in there.' No, you have absolutely no idea how bloody cramped it is in here. 'But we can't risk it.'
'It's not that,' the advisor informed him. 'It's my bladder.' For some reason it was a whole lot less embarrassing to discuss this when she could not see the person she confessed this to. 'Bilbo, just a minute?' Oh yes, she was definitely pleading now, although she hated that very notion with a passion.
'There's one man on watch duty,' the burglar informed her. He did sound uncomfortable. The lack of sight did nothing to help him, it would seem. 'He'd see. You… you ehm… You need to do it in there.' The embarrassment was too obvious to miss now. 'I need to go and find out about the others.' Kate could hear the sound of splashes as he moved away.
And the advisor thought she might just die of shame. The point was that there was wisdom in Bilbo's words. There was still a long way ahead before they reached Lake-town and there was just no way she could delay the inevitable that long. And so she closed her eyes, prayed to God that no one would ever find out about this and then followed Bilbo's advice.
Thorin
Thorin had slept uncomfortably for a great many times during his life. It was the natural result of living so many years in exile. The dwarf had slept under the stars on floors that made his back and neck hurt, in shacks, in haystacks, small holes in the ground – that were nothing like the cosy hobbit-hole that was Mr Baggins's residence – and on mattresses that were so thin that they did absolutely nothing to mask the fact that underneath was a very hard and very cold floor. Exile meant that he had grown used to discomfort. He knew how to deal with it and could sleep despite the fact that things were so bad.
He only wished the same could be said about his current sleeping arrangement. Barrels were promptly promoted to the first place on the list of most uncomfortable sleeping places. The dwarf king had obtained a rather large barrel with quite a bit of straw, but the fact remained that those barrels had never been intended to be used to transport any living beings in. And dwarves may not be the largest creatures to walk this earth, but the barrels still were rather cramped and Thorin's muscles ached, protesting against the very notion of being forced into the same position for hours and hours on end.
At first it had not been too bad. And he had been tossed and turned too much in the river too much to pay any attention to that kind of discomfort. He was battered and bruised and the injuries were starting to seriously bother him. He would even admit, if only to himself, that he had been afraid that he would drown more than once.
But so far everything had gone exactly according to plan, the way the book had led him to believe things were supposed to go. It was a strange thing to see for himself how events followed that accursed book of Kate's while said events were still unfolding. Thorin prided himself on having a good memory and he could have sworn that some of the things that the elves had said before they were pushed out of the door had been exactly the same as in that book. In a way it was unnerving.
They had bumped down the river until they had come to this place, where they, according to the book, would wait for the remainder of the night until they were transported to Esgaroth. Until then, he would have to remain quiet. These men were still elves and if they discovered their cargo, they would send them straight back to where they came from. And Thorin Oakenshield was not about to let that happen while he still lived and breathed.
Mr Baggins had come to him, asking if he was still all right and had then left again, only to report that all the members of his company were accounted for. Thorin had demanded to know and although the hobbit had not felt very much like complying with that request, he had done it all the same.
It put Thorin at ease enough to try and rest while he could. It was not a comfortable position, but he knew enough of life on the road to know that he needed to rest when he could, because only Mahal knew when he would have the chance again. And he would not be any help to anyone if he kept himself awake, wondering about the others. No one would benefit from that and so he all but forced himself to sleep.
He woke up to the feeling of aching muscles and the sound of shouting men. For a moment he feared that they had been discovered and that their plan had failed, but then he listened closer and he realised that the elves were binding the barrels together now, making a raft of it that they could easily steer down the river.
'It's not right,' an elf near Thorin's barrel muttered. 'This is a heavy load! Look at some of these. They are never empty; they float too deep.'
Thorin felt that someone softly kicked his barrel to indicate which one floated too deep. The dwarf could feel his heart pounding in his ears. If the elves did suspect something was amiss, they might open the casks to see what was in them and that would be the end of their daring escape. And while he was a warrior and knew how to defend himself, he was not in the ideal position to attack or to defend. He had a small hunting knife at hand. It had been taken from him when they had first been taken, but he had stolen it back last night. It was small and fitted in his boot. It was also the only weapon small enough that he could wield from his current position. He did not think it would be much use against the elves, though. It did not mean he was not prepared to fight for his life and his freedom should the situation ask for it.
But they were trying to pass unnoticed and so he controlled his breathing and tried to lie as still as he possibly could while the elf prodded his hiding place.
'If they had come ashore in daylight, we might have had a look inside,' another elf said.
'I still think we should open them now,' the first elf, the suspicious one, insisted. 'The king won't be pleased if they have disposed of the empty casks and sent the full ones to Esgaroth for its inhabitants to feast from.'
This was wrong, Thorin knew. He could not for the life of him remember if this had happened in Kate's book as well, but he somehow seriously doubted it. The elves in the book were not that insistent about opening the barrels to see what was in them.
But he also knew how foolish it was to rely solely on that book. He had heard Kate complain about it more than enough to know that it was not always truthful, that the real events did as they pleased most of the time and that there was no guarantee at all that they would unfold as the events in the book. They did unfold like those predicted events often enough, but not always. Thorin had studied The Hobbit himself and knew that she was right. Normally he was grateful for it, because those loopholes could just prove his salvation, but it could also mean that his quest would fail, because some nosy elves could not stop themselves from checking their cargo.
'No time for that now!' the second elf all but snapped – because elves, except Galas, just did not snap – impatiently. 'The day is wearing on and we need to go.'
His companion muttered something that might be consent, but he could not be really sure. He did catch the last words, though. 'On your head be it.'
'That is fine by me,' the other one said, wholly unconcerned. Thorin did not think he could keep up that attitude when he eventually found out that his load had been more than empty barrels and accidentally disposed apples and butter. 'Shove off!' he then called to someone else.
Thorin exhaled in relief. He did not know how close he had been to being discovered, but he could tell that it had been very close, closer than he was comfortable with. And if it had come to that, then he would not have been able to do anything about it. It was frightening. He was not used to sitting and waiting while others decided his fate. And Thorin's fate was, for the moment at least, in the hands of a hobbit with a magic ring. Frightening that was in a way. Thorin could not even get out of this cask himself. He was not in the right position to push the lid away, because he could not lift his arms over his head and push. He truly was trapped this time.
But the elves seemed to have forgotten about their too deep floating load altogether now. They were chatting, gossiping and laughing as they steered the barrel-raft downriver. Thorin paid attention for a while, to find out if there was anything useful to be learned. It could well be that news of their escape had already reached the place where the barrels had been gathered, if the messenger travelled fast on a good horse. If that was the case, they would need to be very careful.
But Thorin imagined that if that news had reached these two elves already, they would not be gossiping about the pretty elf maidens of the court or singing ridiculous songs about their beauty. The news of dwarves escaping from a dungeon that no one else had ever escaped from, that would be the news of the day and these two did not seem concerned with that.
He stopped listening to them then, instead directing his thoughts elsewhere. Their escape would be discovered by now. Thorin imagined it had been found out hours ago. He wondered what Thranduil would do. The elf king would know immediately in which direction he would have run, would likely send men after him to stop him from going anywhere near the Mountain.
The thing was that he was not entirely sure how willing the men of Esgaroth were to obey Thranduil. He was not someone to be trifled with and his fear of Smaug would make him all the more determined to get his prisoners back. With the elves being good trade partners of the town, the people there might just be inclined to listen.
On the other hand they had been hoping for the return of the King under the Mountain. They might not be as willing to give that hope up as Thranduil might like. In this case, again, he was not entirely sure how the real events and the book events were linked. It was sometimes just too easy for the real events to do as they chose, not heeding the what-was-supposed-to-be element of it all.
It was dark in this barrel and there was water coming through as well. It wasn't much, not nearly enough to get him into danger of sinking and drowning, but more than enough to leak through the straw and make him feel cold and wet. The summer had mostly gone now and the chill was already back in the air. This autumn might be a cold one and the winter would probably come early. Thorin remembered several years in his youth that it had been like that. Those would not be the ideal conditions to complete this quest, but he had not come so far to turn back now.
But he feared the coming events as well. At Beorn's house he accepted Kate's oath to stand guard over his mental health and then had banished the matter from his mind. There was a lot more that needed his attention and Mirkwood was the first and foremost of those matters. From dawn till dusk his mind had been on the forest, on finding ways to get through it without any problems. Of course the without problems part of his plan had not quite worked out, but he had spent a lot of his time thinking about how to get his company out of it on the east side.
And now that task was more or less done. Mirkwood need not bother his thoughts for much longer and then they would need to make those last miles to the Mountain. And then he would have the gold lust to fear. The very thought made his stomach twist in knots. He was not even sure how much one person could do against an illness of the mind. Thorin remembered his grandfather all too well. Whenever someone as much as hinted at him not being in his right mind, he had slapped them down and those people had not dared to protest any further, fearing the king's wrath.
But Kate was not like that. She would probably tell him to stop being such a pig-headed buffoon and whack him over the head to get him to listen. Something about that was infinitely reassuring and Thorin found he needed that reassurance, because he feared the gold lust more than anything else in the world, more even than the dragon he would surely have to fight. But he could not leave now and abandon the quest. His people needed their home back and even if they were sceptical about the success of his quest – Thorin had heard it being compared with Thrór's attempt to retake Khazad-Dûm – he owed it to them to try.
His thoughts wandered to Kate now. It was not something Thorin wanted to spend time thinking about, but he was trapped in a barrel now, dependent on others to get him where he needed to be. His thoughts were the only thing he had for company and they were taking on a life of their own.
Kate was confusing at the moment, a person he did not know what to do with, which was the very reason why he did not want to think about her for the moment. He needed to be focused on the quest, but his mind increasingly disobeyed him and relived memories of nights with her sleeping in his lap, in his arms – even if it had only been an act – and more than once the kiss as well.
The advisor was becoming a distraction, more so every day. But he could not leave her behind in Esgaroth, as part of him longed to do, to be rid of the one thing that kept his mind from what he needed to be focusing on, because he needed her. And she had made an oath to protect his mental health, for which she needed to be present in person. She would tag along anyway.
And a far too large part of the dwarf was glad of the need for her presence. He had come to the conclusion some time ago that telling himself that he did not feel a thing for the woman from the other world would not be fooling anyone, not even himself. There was something between them, something Thorin feared was very much one-sided. Kate had voiced her opinion about the two of them together more than once. She saw him as a friend, but not as something more than that.
And how he wished that was the truth. Because what Thorin felt for the advisor was, to phrase it with Thranduil's words, unheard of. It did not happen. Marriages between two races did not happen, especially not when dwarves were involved. Thorin knew his history and knew of two examples of marriages between elves and men, back in the First Age, but dwarves had never married someone of another race. They kept to their own, as it was meant to be.
And maybe he would never have thought about falling for a human woman when he had not been more or less forced together with her, thanks to Gandalf and his cursed meddling. Oh, the wizard had not brought her here to mess up Thorin's feelings – even if he would probably be overjoyed to learn of it, knowing the old man – that was what she had done all the same and now things had escalated to such an extent that it could no longer be put down to a simple friendship. This was more, stronger. And it had become utterly impossible to ignore, especially after that kiss in the dungeon.
And that was why he needed to talk to her as soon as he found the time to do so. Things had become awkward between them, to a point that Kate hardly dared to look at him. And that could not continue. This needed to be out in the open.
Thorin remembered that Dori had more or less ordered him to do right by Kate, before they had entered the dreary place that Mirkwood was. And if he was to do right by her, he needed to speak out. It made him almost more nervous than the prospect of having to fight a dragon, but it needed to be done. She would reject his attention, as she should, but if he wanted to prevent Dori from going after him to give him what he had privately dubbed the Galas-treatment, then he needed to do it. It was the right thing to do and maybe her rejection would give him closure in a way. Then he could at least let it go and concentrate on the mission that needed doing.
He had just reached that conclusion when he noticed that the barrels had come to a halt. Time was impossible to measure in here, but he suspected that this meant they had arrived at their destination. Thorin would be glad of it, because his muscles were aching more than he had ever felt before. He wanted out of this place. He had already spent far too much time alone with his thoughts and they did not make for very pleasant company. And it was dark as well. It reminded Thorin all too much of the nights of Mirkwood. This dark was quite similar. It felt equally restricting, weighing down heavily on him. He could hear well enough, but his sight was denied to him.
'Well met!' the elves called out to someone Thorin could not see.
Voices further away responded, but the dwarf could not make out the words. They were too far off and the wood of the cask did not do anything to help him either. He did assume that it was an invitation to come and join them or something else very much like that, because he could feel the elves starting to move. They had been right on top of him for most of the journey, but the weight now disappeared from the barrel. He could feel that he did not float as deeply as he had before now that they disappeared.
He heard voices for a while, but after some time they died away and then only the sound left was the sound of gentle waves against the barrels. The water was still in these parts and Thorin did remember something about there being a quiet bay near the town and he guessed that was where they were now. In this regard it did help to have a book. He was not completely clueless. He knew what was going on.
It was only then that he realised that the escape had been successful. They had made it out of the dungeons and had then managed to outwit several other elves. He was free again and even if the men of Esgaroth decided to send him back, he could fight again. That had been denied to him before and he was not in a hurry to be in such a situation anytime soon again.
He was pondering this when he became aware that someone was cutting the ropes that tied his barrel to that of the others. For a moment his heart nearly stopped, but then he remembered that the burglar would do this once men and elves had left. He was close to being freed and that was not an excessive luxury now.
Thorin could hear the hobbit's laboured breathing, interrupted every now and then by a loud sneeze. Mr Baggins must have caught a cold while he had been lying in the icy river. The dwarf was not too surprised. If the little water that had leaked into his cask was already giving him cold shivers, it had to be worse for Bilbo, who had not had straw to keep the worst away.
The barrel was rolled onto the shore and came to a halt a little distance away from the water. Then there was some struggling with the lid before the thing suddenly gave way and the bright light of day chased away the darkness.
Thorin had to blink a few times to let his eyes adjust to the sudden influx of light, but then he found himself staring at a very miserable looking hobbit. But the burglar's predicament had to take a backseat for a while. For now the dwarf just felt triumphant. They had done it. They were free again.
From Kate's notes: I'll never ever do this again. I have no idea what Tolkien was even thinking when he wrote this, but I am seriously starting to doubt his sanity.
Chapter 50 already. I have no idea when this story became so huge. And now I had them spend a whole chapter in barrels. I have seriously no clue as to how that even happened, but it did.
Next update will not be this Sunday, but the Sunday after that because I'm going away with friends for a week this Friday and I most likely won't have access to internet then. Probably just as well, because I fear I might be coming down with a mild case of the dreaded writer's block, so hopefully the holiday will help with that.
Anyway, until the next time and reviews for this would be lovely. I really like to hear what you think, as always.
