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The Loudest Silence
Chapter Three
My arm was neatly wrapped again after being cleaned off, and I pulled my sleeve back down hurriedly, giving an uncomfortable nod in thanks. I grabbed my sneakers, which were mostly dry now, from their spot by my bag and slipped them on. These guys really were being wonderful to me, given that I was just some kooky girl they found washed up on a rock.
"That should hold up until ye can get a proper healer to have a look, though I can't help but wonder what kind of a mess ya got yourself into last night," Bofur announced, changing the subject when he noticed I was uncomfortable (but I could tell the tattoo questions would come sooner or later) and standing. I made to do the same, until he put out a hand for me.
I took the offered help with my good arm, once again being weirded out by the reality of these fictional characters' existence. I don't think I'll be getting over this anytime soon, I thought morosely as I stood on shaky legs. My limbs were much more drained from my swim than I knew, so it took me a second to actually steady their wobbling. Bajeezus, I was so out of shape. Not to mention short. I mean, I knew I wasn't the tallest person around, but I only had maybe two or three inches on these guys once I was standing, and they were Dwarves. I mentally cursed my tiny ancestors, knowing I would totally get a complex after this realization.
Not noticing where Bifur had gone off to, I was mildly surprised to see him pop up next to me with my oversized hoodie in tow. He made some hand movements followed by words that I didn't completely understand, then passed the item of clothing over to me. It was dry as well, though as I slipped it back on, I noticed the massive hole Jean had left when he sliced my arm open. Jackass. I hoped his bite mark would get infected.
Bifur went over and gathered his pack, putting it on as Bombur had already done with his own, and grabbed a giant, familiar spear of some kind which had been sitting against a tree. Bofur was the last of them to hoist his bag onto his person, picking up the mining mattock I remembered from the films, though hadn't noticed when we were sitting. He leaned against it thoughtfully.
"We're on a bit of a schedule, you see, but we don't want to be leavin' you here by yourself, what with your arm and all," Bofur began seriously. "That kind of a wound wasn't an accident now, was it?"
I shook my head, scowling at the memory.
"Exactly. There's no tellin' who's out there, and we Dwarves aren't ones to let a lass wander off and get herself killed. We're travellin' over to Hobbiton for… well, doesn't matter what it's for, but we're headin' that way, and we thought it'd be best if you came along with us for now," he finished, taking his weight off of the mattock and heaving it onto his shoulder. "The Shire's full o' friendly folk, and I'm certain we'll find someone who can patch that arm up for ya. That is, if you haven't got any other place to be?"
…Travelling to Hobbiton? Were they on their way to meet with the others at Bag End, to begin their mission to reclaim the mountain? Did I land right at the beginning of The Hobbit then? Was I right in my guess about changing the ending of the story?
I perked up instantly at the offer, knowing this had to be what the woman in the forest had been speaking of when she mentioned a task; the quest for Erebor. No, I don't exactly have anywhere else to be right now, I thought amused, shaking my head with a slight smile. I grabbed up my backpack, shouldering it as they had their own, just to show my preparedness to head out. After all, if my speculation was correct, then going with them was the only way to get my voice back.
"Well alright then!" Bofur declared exuberantly, grinning. "Looks like we're hittin' the road!"
Bifur made a hand movement that reminded me vaguely of a fist-pump, adding, "Fel nalim!" When he suddenly started sauntering away though, Bombur reached out and grabbed his coat sleeve, stopping him abruptly. He looked around, mildly puzzled. Within the same second, he repeated the phrase and the gesture, but went the opposite way this time.
"Poor Bifur gets his directions confused more an' more," Bofur murmured to me as we started walking with the other two.
I just gave a slow nod, observing the afore mentioned dwarf,
"Ever since the… ah," he paused, tapping his forehead beneath the hat, "He's had a bit o' trouble gettin' back into the swing of things. Occasionally we'll catch him stickin' toads in his pockets for no reason – we always get 'em out when he's not payin' attention, mind you – but he's family, and we love 'im all the same."
Not too long after we began hiking up a slight incline, the land evened out and there was a path, obviously well-travelled. This must have been the road they were taking to Hobbiton before they stopped to camp, because they continued onward without hesitation. The trees slowly thinned out, becoming more dispersed as the trail went, and I found myself grateful of the nice weather. Compared to the humid, wet-blanket atmosphere that I could never stand at home, it was a welcome change.
It had maybe been fifteen minutes before the inevitable topic sprang to life.
"That kind of tattoo ordinary where ye come from, lass?"
Fuck.
I remained passive, since they didn't actually know the real origin of the tattoo yet, and gave Bofur a half shrug, half nod. I mean, technically speaking, tattoos were very common where I came from, but there were so many different styles that the question was really too vague to answer. Maybe someone had one similar to it somewhere on Earth. Considering how famous Tolkien's stories were, not to mention the success of the movies, it was highly likely.
I was thankful when Bofur only used the subject as a foothold for more conversation. (I mean, even if he did ask me the tattoo's purpose… What would that get him? More nods, shrugs, and bad lip-speak?) He went on to tell me about how Dwarven tattoos were much different from what I had on my arm, leaning more towards the bigger bolder side, involving sharper lines and intricate patterns. I briefly recalled such tattoos on Dwalin in the movies and how much their culture involved this type of art in general. Everything was very edgy and strong in appearance, getting as far away from the delicate swirls of Elven society as possible.
"Usually more of a warrior thing – intimidation, ya see – though I 'ave run across the odd miner with a bit of ink on 'em," he continued on pleasantly. "Made the mistake of tryin' ta get one myself, after a few too many ales. Some dwarrows can sit through it, and then some dwarrows are me."
I cracked a smile, imagining the cheery Bofur attempting to get a tattoo and failing. That must have been a sight. Then again, their tattooing techniques were no doubt more painful and drawn out than what I had to deal with in the modern world.
"Bifur has a few of his own, though he got 'em when me an' Bombur were just knee high. Little trouble makers, we were. Always causin' a ruckus for him," he said. For a moment, his face turned wistful, but then it was right back to its normal beaming optimism, recounting tales of dragging a tiny Bombur from various food related situations. Despite being the youngest, Bombur had apparently always been too large for Bofur to carry, straight from the get go. "So there I would be, tryin' ta heave my lump of a brother out of the nobles' kitchens – not even knowin' how he got there in the first place! – when Bifur here comes barrelin' through. Picks us up like we don't weight nothin', and ohh, do we get the scoldin' of a lifetime. It was nigh a few months later when Bombur did it again! Only by that point, he'd already grown so much, neither of us could pick him up!"
He laughed pretty hard at the memory, while his sibling had something of an embarrassed, yet proud expression. I giggled silently at my companions, having more fun in the past hour alone than I'd had in the past year.
It must have been a little over midday when our surroundings began changing. The trees became even more sparse, though the ones that we did see were large and strong. The shrubbery and forest was quickly replaced with rolling green hills of grass, and I realized that we must have crossed into the Shire at some point. In the distance, I spotted areas that appeared populated and felt excitement burble up. I could barely discern little round doors in the hillsides and I was already having a stroke, so I really didn't want to know what would happen when we got right up next to them.
Unfortunately, that had to wait until after we stopped for lunch under the shade of a tree. It was a brief thing, just enough for us to rest our feet, chowing down on some biscuits combined with what I assumed was a type of dried deer meat. It was confirmed when Bofur – ever the conversationalist – told me a quick story about how a deer had jumped out of some bushes once, scaring Bombur and causing him to go rolling down a hill. He'd bowled into some poor farmer's fence and left a massive hole. They stayed to help fix it, of course, but kept away from that town for a while.
As we finished up our food and gathered ourselves to continue onward, the three Dwarves must have noticed my anticipation. I really couldn't stop fidgeting with my hoodie sleeves, and glancing towards the Hobbit holes every few seconds, so it was no wonder.
"Ya ever seen a Hobbit before, Miss Hollander?" Bofur questioned.
I shook my head quickly. Technically speaking, no – I hadn't seen one in person anyway.
"They're mostly harmless, from what I've heard," he said. "Never had much reason to be around 'em myself, seein' as how we've only passed through the Shire a handful of times."
I gave him a curious look, hoping for elaboration – and more stories, since I really couldn't have a dialogue exchange myself. He glanced over at my expression, and mentioned it was for trade of some kind while we kept going on our path. The topic eventually veered into their mining jobs and Bifur's toy creations. The trail began to weave through little neighborhoods as I only halfway listened, distracted by what surrounded us.
Let me tell you, the movies do no justice to actually being there in the Shire, feeling the breeze, watching the Hobbits do their thing in such a wholesome atmosphere. Their tasks varied from tending gardens, to hanging laundry, to chatting with neighbors. I could practically hear the trademark 'Concerning Hobbits' theme as we strolled along. God, I was a nerd… The Hobbits would stop their chores for a moment, staring when we passed, but no one kicked up a fuss or anything. My outfit and my hair (or lack of) stuck out like a sore thumb I realized, making me suddenly self-conscious. The Halflings were likely just curious or looking for something to gossip about, no doubt, and the Dwarves didn't seem fazed by all the attention, so I tried not to let the stares bother me either.
I knew the Shire was relatively spread out though, so it didn't surprise me when we had to make camp several hours later on the outskirts of a large neighborhood. Bofur had pulled out a map as Bombur cooked dinner, informing us that we were passing through Westmarch, and still had another town to go through before reaching Hobbiton. They were kind enough to lend me the blanket again as we settled down for the night beside a massive tree. Using my backpack as a lumpy pillow, I had my first true taste of sleeping outdoors… And it sucked.
Sure, the ground was grassy and should have been soft, but when you have big hips and are used to a mattress, it is so not the same thing. I had never truly gone camping in my life, and as such, never had to experience this lack of comfort.
But as I lay tossing and turning all night, I thought about the Dwarves of Erebor after it was taken by Smaug, about the living conditions that they had to deal with when they were thrown out into the world with nothing. All that had really happened here. I had no right to complain about one night of sleeping on the ground, much less when I knew I should use this opportunity to try and get used to it. There were many more nights like that to come, if I was meant to go on this quest, and very few would be safe like the Shire. So I silenced my mind as the moon passed its peak, falling into a restless sleep, wrapping myself like a burrito in the blanket that smelled of dirt, leather, and somehow Bofur.
By the time morning arrived, I was stiff and sleepy, but more than ready to get moving again. We ate a simple breakfast and were on the road before the early chill had even dissipated. It took two days of this – passing through several Hobbit communities, Bofur regaling me with silly tales, and enjoying the pure scenery of the Shire. I had no idea this place was so big, but then again, the map of Middle Earth plastered on my wall could only capture so much.
The sun was high overhead, shining through thin layers of clouds, when Bofur brought up my silence issue.
"So about ya not bein' able to speak… Has it always been like that? I mean, it's none of my business of course and ye don't have ta answer if you don't want, but I can't help noticin' that ye don't seem quite used to it," he admitted.
This puzzled me. I raised an eyebrow in question to what he meant, mouthing, 'How…?'
Apparently the gist was clear, because he answered, "Well, ye seem to forget that ya haven't got a voice half the time. You'll start to say somethin' and then ye get this look on yer face, and you'll close yer mouth right back up. It's rather obvious, if ye don't mind me sayin'."
I stared forward for a minute as we walked. Had I really been doing it that often? I mean, I'd caught myself a few times, like when I tried to convey my need for a potty break (mortifying, by the way), or when I saw Bifur wandering off the trail behind us and had to inform the other two. And maybe when I tried to say my name… and also that other time. And then when…
Huh.
"Ye can see what I mean though," Bofur continued, watching as the realization crossed my face. "So yer bein' speechless is a recent thing then, eh lass?"
Hesitantly, I nodded, still befuddled by my own slip ups. It wasn't as if I had to keep the Valar-taking-my-voice thing a secret though, right? They might think I was crazy or something if they found out somehow, but I couldn't see any real other consequence behind answering honestly. (Did they have insane asylums in Middle Earth? I hoped not, for my own sake.)
If the hatted Dwarf was interested before, he was truly curious now. "If ye don't mind my askin', what happened exactly?"
Oh boy.
All three of the Dwarves were paying attention at that point, and I debated for a long moment with myself, the awareness making me pick at my nails uncertainly. In the end, I finally just went for the lame, 'It's complicated.' Bofur had been telling me all these stories about their antics and their lives, so it made me feel kind of guilty for not spilling, but at the same time I still was unsure of how they would react to the truth. I mean, I still didn't even believe it one hundred percent, and I was the one who experienced the whole damn thing.
The ever-kind Bofur seemed to understand my want for privacy on the matter, though he still appeared a bit let down, as did Bombur. Meanwhile Bifur was quickly distracted from the conversation by a butterfly flittering past his face. It was endearing, in an odd way.
"Well, I'll be set to hear the tale when yer ready to tell it," Bofur assured me, though the fleeting look he gave my shoulder was not missed. "I'm sure it's an interestin' one."
With that, the subject faded off and I gladly let it.
It was the evening of the second day, and I had noticed we weren't stopping to make camp anywhere. Just as the sun rapidly disappeared behind the hills, taking the orange light with it, I came to the realization that we had just entered Hobbiton. It was only moments later that I began recognizing landmarks like the Party Tree. If it weren't for the lanterns dispersed across random parts of the community (on porches, in gardens, along little sections of pathway) it would have been incredibly hard to travel. As it was, the lamplight combined with the moon to give a feeling of comfort, while crickets serenaded us on our walk.
"Shouldn't be too long now, lass," Bofur commented, though no sooner had he spoken, than I spotted the tallest hill with its round little green door, some ways away.
Of course, they had never mentioned their final stopping point. I wasn't supposed to know they were headed for Bag End, but I was relatively sure Bombur already noticed my staring. By the time I averted my gaze from our destination – trying to look like I had no clue what was going on – it was too late. In my peripheral, I could see the ginger-haired Dwarf's attention was on me.
I glanced over. Mistake. We made eye contact. His eyes widened slightly. My eyes did the same without my permission, and I could tell he knew something was fishy. Then we rapidly returned to staring straight forward. Awkward silence. Oh Hell's bells, I had to be more careful. I was suddenly glad he didn't talk much when several minutes went by, and nothing was said about my odd behavior.
Not long after this exchange, I noticed a larger group heading to the same Hobbit hole, though from a different path. They were still some ways away, but judging from the tall silhouette with the pointed hat, I knew exactly who we were about to meet up with. Something akin to hope tried to spring to life in my chest. It was extremely wishful thinking, but maybe Gandalf could convince the Valar to give me my voice back? Better yet, send me home before I got eaten by a Warg? I mean, surely they could trade me out for a Tolkien fan who does cross country or something? It wasn't that I didn't want to help; it's just that I was more likely to bite the dust myself than to stop any dust biting.
Bofur called out a, "Hello there!" as we closed in, to which there were many joyful replies. I counted five Dwarves in the other cluster as our two groups converged in front of Bag End, the Brothers Ur greeting everyone individually as I stood back, waiting awkwardly. I took in the sight of Ori, with all his adorable knitted outerwear, and his older brothers Dori and Nori on either side of him. I recognized the other two Dwarves as Oin, holding his ear trumpet up to hear all the chitchat, and his brother Gloin.
Gandalf the Grey however, waited to the side like I had, watching the proceedings with an amused expression. He looked exactly like I knew he would – just disheveled enough to pass for a hobo with a Snuggie, but with an aura of power and mystery that made you question this. In the dim yellow light coming from the Hobbit Hole's windows, he noticed me, and his eyebrows rose a bit in curiosity. Or in knowing. I truly was not sure.
It was at that point that Dori, who had just finished greeting the others, became aware of me standing a few feet away. "So who's this then?" he asked, not unfriendly but not quite in a soft manner either.
"Ah!" Bofur turned my direction, ushering me over with a slight nudge on my backpack, announcing, "Well this is Miss Jenna Hollander. Kind lass we fished out o' the river, half drowned and injured to boot. We couldn't just leave 'er there, ya know, and she isn't from around these parts, so we decided to let 'er tag along. Mind you, the lass can't speak, but don't worry 'bout that too much – she gets 'er point across just fine."
I gave an embarrassed smile at Bofur's preamble (though it probably looked more like I had just stepped on a nail), as he introduced me to each Dwarf, listing off names that I had memorized many years prior to this debacle. Too much attention made my cheeks heat up despite the cool night air. With each new face came a different reaction to my presence, ranging from indifference, to curiosity, to distrust. Dori was really the only one who didn't seem quite on board with my being there, though Gloin was probably a close second. Not that I could blame them. I mean, it was supposed to be a meeting for a secret mission, after all, and I suddenly hoped the brothers Ur wouldn't get into any trouble for bringing me along.
Before Dori or Gloin could question my presence further though, Gandalf stepped up, staff in hand.
He tilted his chin downwards to give a meaningful look, saying calmly, "I would introduce myself as well… except that is rather unnecessary. Is it not, Miss Hollander?"
I found myself fiddling with my jacket sleeves nervously, shaking my head and trying to keep a poker face. Did he know my whole story, of how I got here and why? Or only part of the story? Or was he just making wizard guesses and trying to freak me out?
I risked a peek at the Dwarves, my eyes meeting Bofur's, and he gave me an inquisitive look, probably wondering exactly who the heck he brought to their shindig. I offered an apologetic shrug for my secrets, though as I turned to the group, I was saved by the sound of loud voices inside Bag End. The others shifted their attention to the Hobbit Hole, and Gandalf used that to change the focus.
"Ah, well… these matters can be tended to after dinner. I have no doubt you are all tired and hungry, and I'm sure that our unforeseen guest won't stir up too much trouble," the wizard supplied, standing up a bit straighter, and giving me a clever smile. "Let us join the others, shall we?"
AN: Not much happening yet, but we'll get there. ;)
Thank you once again for reading! Don't forget to comment and let me know what you think so far!
