Forty Nine
How or when she finally drifted off, Billa didn't know. She recalled a minor age of sitting in the cold night air, snug against Thorin's warm body, savoring the aftertaste of a kiss like a gift from the sun. The next thing she was aware of was the sudden return to reality, that falling-out-of-bed, splashed-with-cold-water sensation that comes with waking too fast. It was at least midmorning, and sunlight spilled over the shoulders of the Mountain behind her. Not that she took any notice of it at first.
The hand on her arm, the cold air in her face, the terrifying memory of impossibly heavy gold and impossibly hot, red scales, under the baleful watch of a huge orange eye, ringed in fire. Billa was on her feet in a second, lungs fit to burst, reaching for her sword.
"Thorin!"
The dwarves all paused in their individual tasks and looked at her curiously. Billa blinked, the beginnings of embarrassment dawning on her. It was just a dream.
Thorin had been speaking in hushed tones with Balin and Fili, but was now looking at Billa, clearly concerned. Gloin had taken over the watch during the night, followed by Nori, and Thorin had been able to get some rest, but it was clear he was still tired.
"You're alright?" he asked, noticing the slightly flushed look about her face. Billa forced herself to rock back on her heels and glanced at Dori, who still had a hand out toward her. The neat dwarf looked worried, and so did a number of the others, now that she took a second glance. Clearing her throat, the hobbit averted her eyes.
"Ah... it was nothing. It was... why did you let me sleep so long?" A pathetic attempt at changing the subject, to be sure, but an attempt nonetheless.
Fili stretched, cracking his knuckles noisily. "You needed the sleep, Miss Baggins. And as long as you could, why not let you?" Settling against the rock again, he turned his gaze on his uncle. "I really think it's best to check on the dragon again before we make any further plans. See what he's up to. Let me go, Uncle. I'm the quickest and quietest of us, other than Billa herself."
Thorin hesitated. Fili was right, of course. When it came to making plans, it wasn't wise to leave a live dragon out of one's calculations. But to send his nephew, who had no ring to keep him out of sight...? Well, he wouldn't send Billa again if he could help it. He'd go himself if he thought the Company wouldn't practically riot at the suggestion. Finally, he nodded. He didn't like it, but it had to be done. "Very well. But I expect you to exercise extreme caution. Don't go any further than you have to, and return as quickly as you can."
Fili perked up, eyes brightening with excitement. "Thank you, Uncle-"
"Hold on just a minute." Billa was beside Thorin now, and had apparently gotten over her embarrassment. "I'm the one that can get in and out without being seen. Shouldn't this be my job?"
Fili gave the hobbit an injured look. "You can't do everything yourself, Billa. Besides, I'm better rested than you anyway."
"Better rested my ear," growled the burglar, and for a moment, the two of them stood nose to nose. It was comical, how the little halfling had to crane her neck and stand on her toes to be even with Fili's chin, and yet there was no doubt the two were facing each other as equals.
Thorin hated to admit it, but if he had to bet on one of the two returning unharmed, it would be Billa. And yet, he'd just gotten her back, had sworn to himself he'd not send her down again. In the end, though, there was very little contest. He had no reason, other than protective love, to prevent her going. He sighed. "She's the designated burglar, and therefore the expert in tasks of this sort. If she wishes to go... she has the right to."
"Ha!" Billa dropped back onto her heels, smirking triumphantly. Fili's expression of deep disappointment gave her pause, though. It didn't look like he was giving up a dangerous mission, but rather as though she were stealing something very precious to him that he felt he had little right to. She hesitated, feeling a twinge of guilt. A moment later, she steeled her resolve and looked away. It would be easier to stick to the plan if she couldn't see his sadness. Looking at Thorin was no better. The dwarf looked as grieved as the first time she'd gone- as though he were preparing to bury her with his own hands. This time, she understood a little better, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.
"Don't look so glum. I'll be right back," she assured him with smile she didn't quite feel.
Thorin put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to speak more in confidence. "Be careful. The dragon may have let you go once- for whatever reason- but I doubt he'll do so again." He swallowed, looking troubled. "Find out where he is and come back. Nothing else. Don't even set foot in the treasure chamber if you can help it. He recognizes your scent now, and if you linger too long- even invisible- he'll know you're there."
Billa met his gaze seriously, glanced at Fili, clenched her teeth and nodded. She shivered only slightly as she leaned up to kiss his nose. "Have faith in me, Thorin." With a bright smile, she turned and dodged past Gloin, through the door. Before anyone could say a word of protest, she was trotting into the shadows and out of sight.
"Are you sure that was wise, lad?" asked Dwalin gruffly, his eyes on the dark doorway. He was as stoic as ever, arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest, but there was a touch of concern in his dark eyes. Even he had gotten attached to the little burglar.
Thorin glanced unhappily at Dwalin. "I would've had better luck trying to forbid the raging sea from rushing up to greet the sand." He turned away from the entrance, schooling his face back to its usual composure. "Fili, stay just within the door and listen for anything unusual. The rest of you, pack up your gear, repair weapons, and do whatever's necessary for us to be able to move out in a hurry, should the need arise."
With nods and murmurs of agreement, the others turned away. Oin began making his rounds, changing bandages, adjusting splints, and re-applying ointments and salves. Balin approached Thorin as he ostensibly oversaw these activities.
"Water's running short. We can't stay here but another night at most without sending someone to fetch more."
Thorin nodded. He was frowning, his arms crossed, eyes distant. "Noted. For now, we stay put."
Tauriel paced restlessly from one end of the common room to the other. She couldn't sit still, even to apply herself to work. A dark weight rested over her mind, and she couldn't shake the feeling of imminent danger. The elf checked the windows and doors repeatedly, then went back to prowling silently from one wall to the other. Her bow leaned against the stool in the corner, along with her quiver. Occasionally, she glanced at them.
The red-haired elleth tried not to look at Kili and Ori too often. She knew her actions must be nerve-wracking for them, but the sense of danger that compelled her to keep moving seemed somehow linked to them. Would they be frightened if they knew? Should she tell them? After this had gone on for some time, Kili finally sighed, setting down the sword-belt he'd been repairing with a loud clatter.
"Tauriel, enough." He turned a pitying gaze on her, shaking his head slowly. "Go on. Go after them. We can fend for ourselves. I'd hate to see you go, but... I hate it more, seeing you so restless and unhappy. Go after them, Tauriel. You'll be more use with Uncle than here." The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. It was a forced smile at best.
Tauriel froze, every line and muscle tense. When he finished speaking, she turned to face him, her eyes flickering from him to the door and back again, as though illustrating the tremendous battle raging inside her. To go or to stay. To fulfill her duty as a protector, or to indulge her warrior's paranoia. At length, she crossed the room in five tense strides and sat stiffly beside him, her lips thin and white. Her entire body quivered, as though she were a bow string drawn too tightly. Though she was obviously forcing herself to relax, it didn't seem to make much difference.
"I can't. Or I won't." Her tone was clipped, her words short and efficient as she let her gaze pass briefly over each dwarf in turn. "I am needed here. I was ordered to protect you." And that's what I must do.
"My uncle gave that order because he was too proud to give you a place in his Company." Kili's words were spoken with equal conviction. "It was wrong of him. Besides, since I'm not with them, he's short an archer. You could go in my place. I'm sure once he got over his anger, he'd be glad to accept your service." Kili wasn't sure why it was so easy to plead with her to go when he wanted desperately for her to stay.
Ori was nodding in agreement. "As much as I've enjoyed your company," she said politely, "I think Thorin needs you more than we do."
Tauriel closed her eyes briefly. "I would never forgive myself," she said, slowly, and with forced calm, "if I, charged with your protection, allowed either of you come to harm. You," she glanced at Kili, "are injured, and you, no offence, Ori, aren't much of a warrior. While you wouldn't be defenseless, you're safer with me here." Tauriel shivered slightly, then shook her head, as though to clear it.
"I do not have the same gifts of Foresight that some of my kin do, but... I feel as though there were a great danger waiting for us. Whence or when, I know not- but it comes."
A miasma of fear settled over the room. Both Kili and Ori- if they'd looked confused before- now looked apprehensive and anxious.
"You don't think they, " Kili lowered his voice, "woke the dragon?" He'd been determinedly barring that possibility from his mind these past few days. Keeping busy had helped, but still... it gnawed at him, kept a constant cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Tauriel lifted her head, but her green eyes were haunted. "I think," she said, her tone confident, "if the dragon was awake, we'd know. There would have been some movement from the Mountain, if that were the case." She nodded slightly. Her fear wasn't of the dragon. The dragon, she could fight. But this unseen, unknown danger that hovered over her- that frightened her. So deeply engrossed was Tauriel in her own thoughts that when the knock came, she jumped. The chair clattered noisily against the floor behind her as she faced the door, dagger drawn.
"Master Dwarf? You have a visitor."
The door opened, and a little girl peeked in. She had unruly dark hair, and a pleasant face. Even finding an armed elf inside, the child seemed more curious than frightened.
"I heard some were left behind," said Bard's voice cheerfully, and he entered behind the girl. Another, a little older and with lighter hair, followed. The third was a boy not yet finished with his growth, and the last, an older girl, nearly of marrying age, who had flaxen hair and blue eyes- obviously unrelated. Possibly a neighbor or babysitter.
All four children regarded the dwarves and elf with some amount of excited apprehension. Tauriel had, by now, put away her dagger, and glanced at Kili with an eyebrow raised.
The youngest girl tugged at her father's sleeve. "Da', why're they so small? Is it 'cause they didn' eat their veg'ables?"
Kili burst out laughing before Bard could answer. "No, that's not it at all," he chuckled, pivoting in his chair to face their visitors. "My mother would've skinned me alive if I didn't eat my greens. And I still turned out puny. Isn't really fair, is it?" He winked at her. "Why, I'm so short, I could practically pass for a dwarf!"
Bard chuckled and ushered them forward. He seemed much more relaxed, much happier when he was with his little ones.
"You're looking far better than when last we met," the bargeman observed with a faint smile. "And your smaller friend, the one that disappeared inside my coat? I suppose she recovered?"
The oldest girl seemed both fascinated and somehow frightened by Tauriel. The elf was setting the kettle on and clearing some chairs for their guests (since most of the room had been taken over by their repairing projects).
Kili nodded, grinning. "That was Billa. Halflings can't be gotten rid of that easily. She was back on her feet and partying with the best of 'em the night of the feast." He made a sweeping gesture that included all the children. "So who are all these lovely young things?"
The middle girl, who couldn't be much older than twelve, turned pink and hid behind her father, though she peeked out at Kili and smiled shyly at him. The littlest one giggled and stepped forward, throwing out her chest.
"I'm Tilda, an' I'm five." She held up a hand with five fingers up, as proudly as though she were showing him a solid gold thing. Bard's gaze landed lovingly on the child, and his smile softened.
"Tilda is my youngest. This one," he indicated the girl hiding behind him, "is Addie, and her friend Signe." He nodded to the older girl. "And this," the bargeman clapped his son on the shoulder, lifting his head proudly, "is Bain. I figured you lot were probably bored out of your minds. Looks like I might have been wrong." Bard ran an eye over the piles of damaged fishing gear, armor and weapons that littered the room.
Addie slowly re-emerged from hiding, sidling closer to the dwarves. "Are you really... I mean... are you really going to live in the Mountain?" she asked hesitantly, eyes shining.
Kili laughed again, obviously greatly enjoying the change of pace... and the distraction. "You make it sound as though we were planning to live under a rock. It's an entire kingdom, actually. Inside the Mountain. So big and grand and beautiful, you could hardly believe it." He looked thoughtful. "I've never actually seen it myself, but my uncle lived there when he was Prince under the Mountain, and he's told me lots of things." He grinned, scooting his chair out a little more from the table. "Someday, when we have our kingdom back, you and your family can come and see it. I'll give you a special tour."
Ori nodded, looking a little more at ease now that introductions had been made and she realized she was no longer the shyest person in the room. "You'd all be quite welcome. I'm Ori, by the way, and he's Kili."
Addie ducked her head a little, averting her eyes. She seemed embarrassed at having the wrong impression about the home of the great Dragon. She imagined a series of huge, spacious caves, old burned-out lanterns and charred suits of armor, maybe the ruins of long tables and benches, mine carts and tools. Of course, she'd also imagined that dwarves were all surly, bearded little men with grubby hands and funny voices. Nothing like Kili, who was young and handsome and charming.
"I'd... like that," she murmured, studying her toes and scuffing her boots together nervously.
Little Tilda, who had tried to climb into Kili's lap while he spoke and had been removed by her father (who remembered that the dwarf's leg had been injured) now toddled over to Ori and climbed into her lap. "You got a funny name," the little girl observed, reaching up to play with one of Ori's braids. "Some people says I got a funny name. Was my mama's name. Was you named after your mama?"
Ori shook her head. "That's not how dwarven names work, little Tilda. My mother's name was Lis. We're usually named something similar to both our parents' names, but not the same name." She smiled down at the precocious little girl, surprised by how unafraid she was of them.
Kili noticed her interest in Ori's braids and grinned again. "You want a braid like that, too, Tilda? I'm an expert hair braider. My brother and I have been practicing our whole lives." He nodded seriously, ignoring the puzzled look Bard gave him.
Tilda's eyes lit up with excitement and she started to bounce energetically on Ori's lap. "Braid for Tilda?" she squeaked, apparently overjoyed by this concept.
"Of course!" said Kili, eyes gleaming happily. "Come here. I'll have six of 'em in your pretty golden hair before a cat can wink its eye. Have any more ribbon, Ori?"
Ori nodded, setting the little girl down and disappearing into her room. She returned a moment later, smiling, holding a ball of blue yarn. "It's not ribbon, but it'll work just as well."
Kili had Tilda sit cross legged on the floor before his chair, and with fingers as quick and skillful as he'd promised, braided pretty, four-stranded braids, interwoven with blue yarn, at intervals around her head. Looking remarkably pleased with himself, he glanced back at Tauriel, who was staring at the kettle. "Hey, is there a mirror around here somewhere?"
Tauriel nodded silently and disappeared into one of the rooms- the one that had been Billa's, as it happened. She returned with a small mirror that had been hanging on the wall, and handed it to Kili. Her glance, when it skimmed over Tilda's new braids, was admiring, but she said nothing.
Bard shook his head slightly, chuckling to himself. "Guess I never thought about it, but you would be pretty good at this kind of thing, wouldn't you?"
Tilda, still squirming, asked loudly if he was done.
Kili tightened one of the blue bows at the ends of Tilda's braids. "All done." He held the mirror so she could see something of the front and sides of her hair. "Pretty as a Mountain Princess, don't you think, Tauriel?"
A faint smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, and Tauriel nodded again.
Bard cleared his throat. "I have business to attend to today, unfortunately. Will you be alright having some company until I get back? Bain and Signe are as good as gold with them, so no worries about actually taking care of the younger ones."
Addie shot her father a mortified look, clearly wishing he hadn't classified her as someone who needed to be taken care of.
Kili relinquished the mirror to little Tilda, who was bouncing enthusiastically and beaming from ear to ear, enchanted by her new, dwarven appearance. "We welcome the company. It's been too quiet here."
Ori nodded heavily in agreement. "I'm sure they'll be just fine. They seem well behaved. Much better than my brothers were as younglings."
Bard eyed the still-silent elf for a moment, took a step toward the door, then hesitated again. Tauriel spoke at last, her voice low and serious.
"I hold no grudge against you, Bargeman, nor against your kin. These dwarves are my friends, and I'll do nothing to harm them or their guests."
Her words seemed to soothe his fears, and with a slight nod to Bain, the man left them. Bain watched the door for a long moment before he sighed faintly, his expression worried. Signe nudged him with her elbow, lowering her head slightly so she could look up into his face, smiling encouragingly. They were about the same height, though Bain was obviously the older, at about fourteen or fifteen. Bain reacted with a huff, and dropped his shoulders a little, making his expression relax into a smile.
Tilda nearly dropped the mirror in her excitement, but managed by some miracle to set it down without breaking it before she spun around, attacking Kili with an extremely enthusiastic hug. "Tilda a princess!" she squealed ecstatically. Addie looked a touch jealous, but said nothing, toying with a lock of light brown hair instead.
Kili squeezed Tilda with equal enthusiasm, and when the little girl ran off to twirl her patched, knee-length skirt in the more open space near the fire, he turned a smile on Addie. "Would you like some braids, too? As you can probably tell, I... really enjoy braiding hair." He still hadn't gotten up enough courage yet to ask Tauriel if he could braid hers, and with his brother gone, he hadn't been getting his usual fix.
Addie blushed crimson and mumbled something along the lines of "well, if you really want to," but sat down quickly in front of him, as though she thought he might change his mind if she dallied. Tauriel's green eyes sparkled with silent laughter, and the elleth wondered if this was how her fellows in the Guard had felt about watching she and Kili interact. If that was so, she was glad it had brought them amusement in such a dark time.
"My hair... used to be more blond. Like Tilda's," Addie explained, as though apologizing for the drab color of her slightly wavy locks. "Father says it'll probably keep getting darker, though, until it's the same color as his." The girl shot Kili a glance out of the corner of her eye, and secretly thought that maybe dark hair wasn't so bad.
Tilda had, by then, convinced her big brother to play with her, and Bain bowed extravagantly, suppressing a smile. "Your Majesty," he said grandly, "it's an honor to make your acquaintance."
"Dance!" commanded the little girl imperiously, lifting her arms in a clear demand to be picked up.
Kili had nearly finished a braid by the time Addie was done apologizing for the color of her hair, and he nodded sympathetically. "Take it from someone who was always jealous of his older brother's silky, flaxen locks as a child. It's really a matter of preference, and I more than make up for it with my endless charm." He chuckled, tying the braid with a bow of yarn and shifting his hands to a wide strand a few inches over. He really wasn't as vain as he let on, but it was fun to pretend he hadn't always felt slightly inferior.
Tauriel listened to their conversation with interest, taking down the hissing kettle and mixing tea leaves into the mesh basket under the lid. "It's a little silly to worry about the color of your hair," she pointed out softly. "You can't change it, any more than you can change the color of the leaves on the trees, or the phases of the moon. Besides, I rather like dark hair." She approached and offered Addie a mug of tea.
The girl shifted slightly and accepted the tea with a murmur of thanks. As Tauriel moved to offer the second mug to Ori, however, there was no mistaking the envious glance that followed her. Addie clearly thought that no matter which way you looked at it, Tauriel's hair was beautiful, and there was no reason for her to be jealous of anyone else's hair color.
Kili snorted. "This is rich coming from Miss Perfect-Hair herself." He winked at Tauriel in an indulgence-craving way, wondering somewhat hopefully if she might have been implying something else by her comment. "At least yours is healthy, Addie. I daresay you Lake-dwellers eat plenty of fish. Nothing better for the hair. Unless you're an elf, in which case, it doesn't seem to matter either way." He directed an impish look at Tauriel.
Tauriel's head lifted and she glanced at Kili with a queer mixture of disbelief and humor in her face. "My hair is not perfect." There was significantly more variation in her tone as she spoke now, as though she'd finally broken out of her servant's role and remembered that she, too, was a person. With a shake of her head, she tugged on one of the slender braids that hung by her ears and glanced sidelong at Kili.
"If only you knew what I had to do to make my hair presentable- you have no idea." There was, however, a hint of humor in the smirk that curved her lips- just enough of a hint that it might even imply that she was teasing him.
Kili turned fully in his chair to look at her, dark brows raised with surprise. She sounded strangely... playful. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe she was finally coming out of her shell. "Really?" he said, recovering, shifting back to continue with Addie's hair. "Could've fooled me."
Ori looked a bit puzzled. "I've never seen you touch it. It always looks... flawless."
Tauriel huffed softly through her nose, a sound reminiscent of laughter. "Do you think these braids stay in place without any effort?" The elf reached up, both hands now free, and worked out a piece of silvery wire in the form of a spiral from the end of each braid. They started to unravel almost immediately. She took the thicker braid at the back of her head, and from this one, too, she untwisted a heavier silver ornament that had, until then, gone unnoticed. This braid came undone as the others had. Glossy and smooth as the hair that hadn't been braided at all, the strands unwound from one another and fell around her shoulders and face.
"I suppose you'd like to know my secret. Legolas would be furious if he knew I'd told you." There was a distinct note of pleasure in her voice at the thought, as though she and Woodland Prince were still the best of friends.
Addie stared enviously at Tauriel's lustrous red hair. "That's just not fair," she muttered jealously.
"Tell me about it," said Signe, sitting down beside her and tugging at a lock of her thin blond bangs. "I'd kill for hair like that."
Kili tried not to reveal his discomfort at the mention of Legolas, but it wasn't easy. "Go ahead," he said, forcing a grin. "Tell us your grand secret. Let me guess: being elven."
Tauriel chuckled. From her ever-present belt pouch, she produced a small, round bottle, half-full of a thick, golden liquid.
"Oil?" asked Addie, incredulous. Tauriel nodded.
"In truth, I have to use it on more than just my hair. My skin's naturally quite dry." The elf shot a glance at Kili, a smile breaking across her pale face, ever so much wider and more open than anything she'd shown him before now. "Oh, don't look like that, Kili. I'm not flawless, no matter what you might think."
It was clear Kili's surprise was somehow doubled by this revelation, and he paused once more in his braiding. "That's Legolas's secret?" He chuckled. "I guess he isn't as perfect as he seems, then, either?" Still about as close to perfection as any being could be, though.
"I wish I had dry skin," murmured Addie enviously. Tauriel stowed her bottle away and gave the girl a serious glance.
"Don't. Oily skin is somewhat uncomfortable at times. Dry skin is painful and damaged. Trust me- having dry skin is not fun." With a slight nod, she moved toward the kettle again. "Bain, Signe, would you like some tea?"
Once those who desired a drink had been served, Tauriel folded her legs under her body and sank gracefully to the floor. Not that anything she did was ever less than graceful.
Tilda chose that moment, perfect as it was, to throw herself into the elf's lap and grin up at her. "Tell us a story!" demanded the little girl. Bain retrieved her with an apologetic grimace.
"Til, that's not how you ask. How do princesses ask for stories?"
"May we please hear a story pretty please?" recited the little one with exaggerated politeness.
Kili finished with Addie's braids, and she moved off to find the mirror. He was curious as to what sort of story the elf might tell. As much time as he'd spent with Tauriel these past few days, and off and on before that in the Elvenking's cells, he knew very little about her past. He hoped she might bring some of it to light, though it was a little disconcerting to think of just how many stories she might tell, having lived hundreds of years already. And how many of those stories might involve a certain elven prince. He turned his chair to face her, leaning forward, propping his chin upon his palms.
Tauriel glanced from one expectant face to the other and let out a low, resigned sigh. "Oh, very well. I suppose it can't hurt. What sort of tale shall it be?"
"A love story!" urged Signe, bouncing slightly. The elf nodded slowly. Shifting her position a little, she sat with her back very straight, and let her eyes close halfway, so a sliver of emerald green glistened from under a fringe of dark eyelashes.
Tauriel's story, rather than coming in the form of a fireside tale, was a song. In the Elvish fashion, she sang them one of the tales of old, swaying slightly to and fro as her voice wove lilting rhymes through the air. In the children's imaginations, battles and magic and sacrifice all came to life, each one as enraptured as the others. Even Bain, who had been disinterested in the concept of listening to a story as though he were still a babe in arms, found himself caught up in the grand adventure of a daring hero, who fought to rescue his betrothed love from the king who had stolen her away.
The subjects of the story were mortal, which was probably an effort on Tauriel's part to make them easier to relate to, but that in no way diminished the beauty of the epic. More than once, one of the girls averted their faces, casually drying tears on their sleeves. Even Kili seemed a little moist around the eyes a time or two. When the tale at last came to an end, the tea was cold, and the silence seemed much deeper than it had been. Not a one stirred for a long minute or two.
Kili was as moved by her singing as he had been the night of Ori's dream. It was truly like being swept up in the story, like seeing it before his eyes. Like being there. He didn't think he could ever grow tired of it.
The awed silence from the children endured a moment longer, and then Tilda piped up. "When I'm big, I'm gonna sing just as pretty as you!" She frowned in concentration, trying to count on her fingers. "When I'm this many," she held up ten fingers, "will I be big?"
Bain chuckled and cuddled his little sister with a smile. "You bet you will."
Tauriel slowly stood up, her gaze distant, directed toward the window. The lower slopes of the eastern side of the Mountain could just be seen, rising up and out of sight behind the solid planking of the wall. The elf's expression, which had been pensive, became very, very serious.
"Kili." She shot him a glance, and her green gaze was nearly afire with urgency. "The dragon."
