Gandalf got up from his chair and walked over to the front door. Andrea followed him, hovering by the wall. Bilbo followed as well (rather more indignant at the prospect of a new guest) and all the rest of the Dwarves, looking out into the foyer with great interest.
Taking hold of the knob in the very center of Bilbo's lovely round door, Gandalf opened the door to reveal a dark-haired Dwarf who looked nothing like Richard Armitage. But then, none of the Dwarves had looked like their actor counterparts thus far.
"Gandalf," said the Dwarf who could only be Thorin Oakenshield. He stepped over the threshold with all the pomp of a person who knew that he was incredibly important, eyes glittering with something like wry pride. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he continued, looking over the faces of his Dwarves watching him from the hall. "I got lost, twice."
He began to remove his cloak, saying, "I wouldn't have found it at all if not for that mark on the door." He folded the cloak over his arm and set it aside, revealing beneath it an impressive garment lined with furs that Andrea couldn't help but admire.
"Mark?" Bilbo exclaimed, marching over to the door. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!"
Gandalf hurried to shut the door before Bilbo could see his ruined door. "There is a mark," the wizard said swiftly. "I put it there myself." He clasped his hands and quickly changed the subject. "Bilbo Baggins, may I introduce you to the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield."
Andrea looked nervously to Gandalf as Thorin stepped forward to assess the poor Hobbit. But Gandalf only smiled and shook his head, as if to say that her introduction would come later. Judging by how Thorin was treating Bilbo, Andrea knew such an introduction would come too soon.
"I thought as much," Thorin said upon hearing that Bilbo's combat skills extended to little more than fisticuffs and some expertise at 'conkers' (Andrea had never found what exactly conkers was). "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."
The rest of the Dwarves chuckled.
Then Thorin's eyes fell on Andrea, tucked into the corner.
"Is this your companion, Gandalf? You did not tell me your companion was a woman as well as a Man." Thorin turned to Andrea and, to her complete surprise, bowed just so. "Thorin Oakenshield," he said, saying nothing of service as his nephews had– but then, he wasn't the sort to be in the service of anyone.
Andrea affected a stilted bow. "Andrea Chen," she said, a half-formed 'my lord' on the tip of her tongue.
Thorin was already speaking again. "Perhaps you may tell me what brings you into the companionship of a wizard, Miss Chen." His voice was low and baritone, perfect for singing, Andrea thought. The look in his eyes belied his courteous words, however; a far more matured version of the calculating wariness Andrea had seen earlier in Fili.
Andrea didn't know what to say. She looked to Gandalf. Was she supposed to lie? Or tell the truth? Andrea knew her lying skills to be fairly good, but lying about something so profound as 'I'm here to join your Quest and save your life' likely wouldn't go over well.
"Perhaps we may speak further once you have eaten," Gandalf said diplomatically. "You must be weary, Thorin. Some food, and tell us how your journey went."
Thorin grunted and nodded, turning down the hall. His Company split before him like a sea.
Andrea darted off to the pantry, taking the plate she'd left there not long ago. Her tread was quiet on the well-worn wood of Bilbo Baggins's home as she made her way over to the dining room.
Thorin was sat at the head of the table, his Dwarves seated elsewhere either at the table or around the room. They all had Bilbo's wooden beer mugs in their hands, drinking more sedately than they had during the raucous dinner earlier, and more than a few had pipes in their hands. Andrea set the plate before Thorin, placing the cutlery with a few small clinks that sounded far too loud in the expectant quiet of the room.
"Thank you," Thorin rumbled, taking up the knife and fork and setting about eating his dinner with as much grace as a king ought to have.
Andrea only nodded mutely in reply, fading back against the wall; Thorin's gaze was a heavy one, and his presence heavier still. It was a little too much for Andrea's anxious habits. What adjustments she'd made to the company of Dwarves were gone now, leaving her in an unsure, introverted silence.
"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" Balin asked, watching his leader eat. "Did they all come?"
"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin said after a moment of chewing and swallowing. No Dwarf with such an upbringing as Thorin would speak with his mouth full, Andrea thought.
The table was swept with satisfied "Ahh"s and "Very good"s.
"And what do the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin asked. "Is Dain with us?"
Thorin frowned, looking about the table solemnly. "They will not come," he said at last. Sighs and murmurs filled the air until the Dwarf king spoke again. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."
"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo said quizzically.
The Hobbit's question broke the spell of silent disappointment. Gandalf said, pulling something from his sleeve, "Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light."
Gandalf had a small space cleared on the table before Thorin. "Far to the east," the wizard said. "Over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak." He laid out a folded piece of paper that soon revealed itself to be a map.
Andrea crept from her corner, stepping as close to Thorin as she dared in order to see the map. Her eyes ached with the effort of seeing without proper light, but once Bilbo's candle drew near, she could read the aged ink quite well.
"The Lonely Mountain," she whispered under Bilbo's more hesitant reading.
Thorin's head turned towards her sharply, his gaze flicking up to her face. Andrea flinched back. The Dwarf's attention turned back to the map within moments, leaving Andrea's heart beating a tad too fast.
"Aye," grumbled Gloin. "Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time!"
Oin nodded firmly. "Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it as foretold! 'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end'."
The beast. The dragon. Somehow, Andrea had managed to completely forget about Smaug. And there was more than just the dragon between the Company and their Mountain. Goblins, elves, even orcs if this played like the movies. Was Andrea expected to make it all the way through that and save Thorin and his nephews' lives? Hell no.
"What beast?" said Bilbo from the doorway.
"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible," Bofur said casually. He went on to describe the dragon in creative detail, to the discomfort of literally everyone in the room.
"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo said, interrupting Bofur.
Ori leapt to his feet, cried something about Dwarvish swords and anuses, before his brother dragged him back into his chair. Balin said something about the futility of their mission, given the sound idiocy of current company. Indignant exclamations rang out, but Andrea wasn't listening. She was too busy panicking.
She was a woman. A female. A person with girly bits. And their path would take them, most assuredly, into the way of goblins. Would she survive that? Would they simply torture her or… do something worse. Everyone got out alive in the stories, but unscathed? That was something certainly left up to chance, moreso with Andrea's butterfly wings flapping and changing things. Her heart beat a rabbit's rhythm. She felt a little light-headed.
Then someone shouted something in a language Andrea didn't recognize, startling her from her panic. It was Thorin, having gotten to his feet to quell the uproar that had risen up. What had happened? Andrea tried to remember what the others had been saying, and found her mind was blank.
"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?" the Dwarven king said, exuding such presence that Andrea took a few steps back into the shadows. Thorin's words had cast a spell of solemn silence over the table.
Andrea didn't want to be here anymore. The warm light of the candles seemed too bright, and Thorin's voice seemed too loud. Andrea recognized the symptoms of a panic attack when she felt them.
She slipped from the room, blood rushing in her ears and drowning out whatever Thorin's next words were.
Bag-End held a great many rooms, Andrea knew distantly. She found herself in one of them, curled in the dark and pressed against the cool wood of what felt like a dresser or desk. Her breaths were shaky. She felt tears on her face.
The darkness embraced her like a blanket. She couldn't hear much more than her own heavy breathing and the conversations down the hall, reduced to a mere murmur.
Goblins and elves and orcs and Azog the Defiler, who most certainly did not get that title from defiling alters and holy places. Andrea wouldn't be able to handle it if… if anything that bad happened. And nothing, not even the lives of three people, was worth the risk of that happening.
It took Andrea a while to ground herself– breathing in deep and trying to identify the smells, listening hard and identifying noises. By the time her panic attack was over, Andrea felt wrung out. She needed sleep, badly. And more than that, she needed away from all these people.
Andrea wasn't sure how long she was in that little room, clinging to herself and taking comfort in the shadows. By the time she uncoiled and crept back, scrubbing at her eyes to make sure no trace of her weakness remained, she estimated it had been about fifteen minutes.
Had they finished their round-table discussion already? Had the key been presented to Thorin, the contract to Bilbo? The house was quiet. Andrea tried to remember how things had gone in the movies, because hell if her memory of the book would help her here. A child's story she hadn't read in years, a few movies she'd only watched a few times each. Could she really do this?
Up ahead, Andrea heard low voices. She stepped nearer to the wall and quieted her steps. After a few moments, she was near enough to recognize them. A few moments more, and she could make out words.
"-to my father, this has come to me," came the low rumble of Thorin's voice. "They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland."
Andrea looked around the corner and saw Thorin, holding the key to the mountainside door. Balin stood before him, a sad, solemn air about him.
"There is no choice, Balin," Thorin said softly. His eyes shone in the low light of the candles, agony writ across his face. "Not for me."
Balin sighed, long and slow. "Then we are with you, laddie," the old Dwarf said. "We will see it done."
Silence fell between them. Andrea took a step forward, rounding the corner. The two Dwarves looked at her. Balin looked sad. Thorin looked guarded.
"Miss Chen," Thorin said. "Perhaps it is time you explain your presence here."
Andrea wondered what she looked like to them– a scared woman just coming back from weeping out her terror in a darkened room. Creeping back like a thief in the night.
"That's a better question for Gandalf," Andrea said in a voice little more than a whisper.
Thorin shook his head. "No more of the wizard. He has already presented me with a burglar who faints at the thought of death. Why has he brought you here, into my council? Why do you stand in on matters that do not involve you?"
Andrea took a breath, cold against her aching lungs. "I'm not sure how to answer you."
"Truthfully." Thorin took a step towards her, anger knitting his brow. "Answer me truthfully, woman."
"There is no reason to be rude, Master Thorin." Gandalf drew the attention of all three of them. He braced his hand against the rafters, leaning over them. "I have brought Miss Chen to join your quest."
Thorin looked at Gandalf. Andrea couldn't see his face, until his gaze turned on her. He looked so monumentally furious that her heart skipped a beat.
"I will not ask what you think she could possibly bring to my Company, Gandalf, because it does not matter." Thorin's lip curled, and his face turned to the wizard. "I will not bring a woman on this quest."
Gandalf frowned. "Miss Chen has a great deal to offer, Thorin Oakenshield, more than you kno–"
"I do not care what she has to offer." Thorin took a step towards Gandalf, his hands in fists at his sides, his back to Andrea. "It is a treacherous road to the Lonely Mountain, wizard. If we are somehow taken, who is the first that our captors will look to? Who will suffer at their hands? It is bad enough you attempted to saddle me with a Hobbit who cannot fight, but a woman?" Thorin looked over his shoulder. His eyes met Andrea's. She saw something in them besides anger, but no less dark. "You may be willing to risk her life and body, Gandalf, but I am not."
"It is her own choice to make," Gandalf said firmly.
Balin spoke up. "Then perhaps we ought to let her make it." He turned a kindly look on Andrea. She wished she had enough courage to ask for a hug from the old Dwarf– some modicum of grandfatherly comfort.
All three of them were looking at her. Andrea took a shuddering breath and shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered. "I'll journey with you a time. I don't have a choice about that." But she would take her leave when they reached Rivendell. She didn't want to go any farther than that.
"I cannot control where you walk, eat, and sleep, woman," Thorin said, turning fully to Andrea. "If you ride beside us and camp with us, so be it. But I will not be held responsible should a darker fate befall you."
"I understand." Her voice came out as barely more than a wordless exhalation.
Thorin turned and stomped away. Gandalf only sighed and left, muttering under his breath.
A hand touched Andrea's elbow. She flinched away from it, turning her head quickly to Balin. He smiled at her, small, mournful, and reassuring.
"You've courage, lass," he said. "I can see it in you."
Andrea had no more courage than a mouse. But she smiled anyway in thanks. Balin nodded to her and walked away.
Andrea found herself a place in a nearby sitting room just off the main hall. She blew out the candles lit there and dragged an armchair into the corner. Hugging her bag (which she had retrieved from the chair she'd left it on in the kitchen) Andrea curled up on the soft cushions. Moonlight and starlight filtered through the window not far away.
She thought about things. About this, about that. About the task Gandalf had given her that she didn't even want. About poor Bilbo with all these unwanted guests. About Thorin and his sad, dark eyes.
Their voices wove through the dark to her. Voices in harmony, low and mournful. She didn't turn her head to it, but stared out the window at the rolling hills and trees of the Shire, at the unfamiliar stars of Middle Earth.
"Far over the misty mountains cold,
"To dungeons deep and caverns old.
"We must away, ere break of day,
"To find our long forgotten gold."
She heard Thorin's voice in the melody. She'd been right; he was a good singer. The voices of Thorin and Company twined through the night. They sang of deep places, golden hoards, and the craft of Dwarves. Their song rang through Andrea's soul, pulling something out from deep inside her. It felt a little like fear, a little like love, a little like mourning. It resounded within her as they sang of fire and smoke. Tears filled her eyes as their pain flowed through her very soul.
Their voices swept her away into terrifying dreams, soothed only by a single, lonely voice.
"Far over the misty mountains grim,
"To dungeons deep and caverns dim.
"We must away, ere break of day,
"To win our harps and gold from him!"
A/N: thank you to HardyGal, Ultidragonlord, and Mara Gin for reviewing! This chapter is far more copy-paste than the previous one, which my soul weeps at. I know Andrea seems very passive right now, but just remember that she's still half-convinced this is all just a coma dream. She's only been here for a few hours, after all. A single review goes a long way for a writer, but even if you don't review, thank you for reading :))