Hello, everyone! It's a bit later in the day than I usually upload, but it's here! The experimental chapter that I hope still piques your interest. :)

But first.

To Megan VR: LoL! Martin is absolutely hilarious. Gotta love that guy. I'm glad you're still finding Jenna entertaining, and that you like the way I'm portraying Thorin so far. It really puts some pep in my step to hear that. Thank you!

To Guest (Oct. 3): It makes me happy to hear you're enjoying the OC. Sometimes they do get a little obnoxious, unfortunately. I'll try my hardest to keep it as 'refreshing' as you say it is! Thank you so much!

And a big thank you to the other guests as well! The pinky promise seemed to be a real winner. XD

Anyway, here we go. Enjoy! :)


The Loudest Silence

Chapter Thirteen


Thorin Oakenshield had seen a great many things in his life. Possibly more than anyone should see, at any rate, and after all he had experienced, very few could surprise him at this point in time. He wasn't sure if he wanted anymore surprises, but to be fair, the majority he received so far had been rather disagreeable.

That is, of course, where Miss Hollander saw fit to step in.

The atmosphere had been slightly off when he'd entered the Hobbit's home that night. It wasn't overly clear what it was and likely wouldn't even have been noticeable at all, but then again, he was more attentive than most. (One too many encounters with Orcs could do that to a person.)

There was a sense of anticipation, and he automatically assumed it was because of the quest. Thorin sat to eat the soup they had saved him – some bread would have gone nicely with it, but he was sure that had vanished long before he even reached Hobbiton – and realized that their attention was divided, ever so slightly. It was just small glances to the dining room's entry every so often, from the miner, Bofur, and his kin. Though Thorin began to notice a glance to the hallway and a small wrinkle of the brow from Balin too, and that was odd indeed, considering the importance their conversation held. It was as if they were expecting someone else to walk in, but that could not be right. Everyone was already present.

Or, so Thorin believed.

The ever-mysterious Gandalf revealed a map that Thorin had been completely unaware existed, then continued to baffle him even further by producing the key to a hidden door which said map portrayed. That evening had simply been one surprise after another.

Bilbo Baggins was a link of that chain, for certain. Thorin was unsure of what he expected when a strange wizard told him that he already had a "Burglar" in mind for this mission. In hindsight, he should have asked more questions before agreeing to have their meeting at the Hobbit's home. The fact that it was a Hobbit of all creatures should have given it away, besides, but it was much too late for that. The contract was brought forth and presented to Mister Baggins in a less-than-gracious way.

Their Burglar – though Thorin was loathe to call him such a thing – found himself growing increasingly ill at the thought of eradication via Dragon. Given, most would find the idea unappealing and would prefer to avoid a firedrake at all, if possible, but to actually faint? Thorin was… displeased, to say the least.

And thus, the night took yet another unexpected turn.

In stepped someone who Thorin immediately mistook for a young, heavyset boy. This was mostly due to the obscenely short hair though, for upon closer inspection, their attributes were much too soft to be male. She looked… squishy (for that was certainly the word that came to mind), and he realized the gender misconception was furthered by her baggy black coat. It made her already-small chest seem practically flat, while also doing her curved lower-half an injustice. Ignoring feet, she was too big to pass for a female Hobbit, she was too fragile and lacking in hair to pass for a Dwarf woman, and the thought of this girl having any relation to those willowy Elves was laughable. So Man it was, then.

When she finally looked his way, her face matched everything else – all round cheeks and wide, green eyes, though there were considerable dark circles beneath them. Her bottom lip had a tiny raw dot from obvious biting and her uncertainty in meeting his gaze spoke volumes about her confidence in this situation, despite her attempts to seem steadfast. These features combined with short stature made for quite a young image, and he would have guessed she was in her teens, although the ages of her kind were often hard to judge.

Forget Orcs or Wargs; this girl would not even survive an encounter with a raccoon, much less an actual foe.

Of course Thorin barred her from joining the expedition, for what sane man would not? Fifteenth member, indeed. This… Miss Hollander would be dead before they even reached the halfway point, and his expectations for Mister Baggins weren't much better. What in Mahal's name was the wizard thinking? This was the most important undertaking of Thorin Oakenshield's entire life and here Gandalf was, offering up two of the most helpless creatures known to Middle Earth as additions to the Company. One of them unable to even speak, at that.

"That wizard's lost it," Dwalin grumbled, as they left the dining area behind.

Balin gave a slow nod, raising his eyebrows briefly while he sighed. "It's plain to see she's not from around here, but another world is reaching a tad far. Even for one of the Istari."

"Does it matter where she's from anyway?" Dwalin questioned. "Ye saw the lass. I'd give about two days before she's callin' it. Three if it's fair weather."

Thorin 'Hm'd in concurrence. They ambled through one of the warm halls as he said, "Gandalf has chosen his burglar, as was agreed. Involving the girl would be senseless."

"Aye. Much as I'd like to believe in books and their covers, I'm not sure it's worth such a risk to find out the contents," Balin surmised, coming to a stop. "She'll do well enough in the Shire. If there truly is nowhere else for her to go, this would be a safe place to start, I think."

Of the many existing lands, the home of the Hobbits was the most peaceful, by far. Thorin was sure Miss Hollander would find a way to either settle in Hobbiton, or make the trek to Bree some ways down the road if she decided upon it. A town of her own kind might have been more appropriate, but he knew Men did not view womenfolk as equals, and without a voice, the girl would be especially vulnerable there. However, the inhabitants of the Shire – while fussy and wary of outsiders – were not the violent sort.

That settled it for Thorin. Miss Hollander would survive just fine in Hobbiton, so there would be no reason whatsoever to bring her along. The Company's count would not include this young woman, they would leave on the morrow, and nothing could change his mind on this.

Nothing, certainly, except for a map.

Thorin was a difficult person to shock and generally took pride in that fact, so having his jaw slacken with surprise when he saw the tattoo was most annoying. Having her point it out with her eyes – however unconsciously – was even better. His expression was corrected with the discipline he'd learned over the years, but only just. Surely no one could begrudge him a dash of confusion at the scenario.

The first thought was of Gandalf. Obviously the tattoo was conjured with magic to sway Thorin's decision, though to what end, he wasn't sure. The extra sentence at the bottom of Miss Hollander's version of the map did not necessarily make sense for this theory either. If Gandalf wanted to get such a message across, he would have simply said it to Thorin's face – he was not shy about such things.

'If more of us valued food and song and cheer above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.' Kili described the statement as being 'oddly specific', and he was correct. Thorin felt something along his spine tingle. He did not like it.

The Grey Wizard persisted in his denial of any magic tricks, returning once again to his statement of the Valar having brought Miss Hollander there themselves. If it was true (and that was a colossal IF), then what were they hoping to achieve? What could this girl do, other than get herself or one of his Company killed? She was no fighter. Even a blind man could have seen that much. Had Mahal seen fit to send aid, then it would have been someone with skill and understanding of the world, not this inexperienced blip of a child.

Balin was right, though. This was more than coincidence. For Miss Hollander to be found, mere days before their congregation at Bag End? Days before a meeting that would mark the start of their journey to reclaim Erebor, the very kingdom depicted on her shoulder?

The Valar had a very twisted sense of humor, that much was certain.

For Thorin's home to be secured, then the map illustrating the secret entrance must also be – though for that, then Miss Hollander would have to be protected as well. As harmless as the Shire seemed, there was always the chance of her leaving and getting caught, or of some Halfling finding out and starting a gossip chain as long as Arda was wide. Leaving her behind was out of the question.

No… There was only one way to be absolutely positive the map stayed out of the wrong hands, and that was to bring her along. Thorin was not fond of the idea, nor were several others, but short of separating the arm from the person, there was no other choice. (He didn't feel that lobbing off a strange girl's arm would be very civil, no matter the reason.)

And strange Miss Hollander undoubtedly was. They had set off that first early morning, without a Burglar, and she decided to bet with the rest of them that Mister Baggins would still join the party. Which he did.

Thorin didn't know how, but she knew. As soon as the Hobbit began sniffling and halted the Company to whine of forgotten handkerchiefs, she pulled one from her coat pocket. This in itself would not have been odd. The oddity came from the fact that it was initialed 'B.B.', obviously belonging to Bilbo Baggins. The owner of the handkerchief was just as surprised to see it, and Miss Hollander had a hard time keeping a smirk off of her face. She knew he would leave it behind. Her impish look wilted when Thorin pinned her with a stare of suspicion, giving the appearance of a child caught doing something they shouldn't.

Thorin would have to keep an eye on this one. Not only did she know of their quest, and obviously of the map and whatever secrets it held, but she showed her hand with the handkerchief incident as well. She was hiding something more and he would find out what it was.

They made the right decision in bringing her along, however, as her injury spoke of a propensity towards getting herself in trouble. Knife wound of some kind, Oín told him later on, and bruising fingerprints on her wrist which had already begun to fade. Bofur didn't know the origins either, only that she had needed help and as per his nature, provided it, so Thorin could only wonder what happened.

The young woman was decently polite, if a bit meek. She was more comfortable around the Ur family (which was expected, considering), and around Fili and Kili (also expected, given their openness). She did show some spark of attitude around them which mostly stayed behind common courtesy when Thorin was involved. Mostly being the key word. There were no signs of true hostility or antagonism however, so likely whatever trouble she ran into beforehand was not of her own instigation.

This assumption was further proved when he met the ones accountable.

Honestly, Thorin tried to avoid the settlements of Men if at all possible, though as a leader this was not always a viable option. Their stop in Bree was only sensible – they still had need for some supplies they were unable to purchase elsewhere, and Miss Hollander was sorely underprepared. Bofur was happy to lend her a blanket, those first few days on the road, but she would need more than just that for this quest.

Fili and Kili would have gladly helped Miss Hollander to buy what was needed. However, he was not sure how far their knowledge of… female requirements reached. Thorin had travelled with their mother, his younger sister, Dís, enough times to know the true horror of a woman angered by lack of necessities. Dís had always been very straightforward and more informative than perhaps he would have liked, but it was just as well. Miss Hollander had no way of explaining these needs, and Thorin did not particularly feel like giving a talk better left to Dís, so he sent Balin to assist instead. A simple resolution.

Simple until, of course, a terrified Miss Hollander came dashing through the streets of Bree, no Balin in sight. The reason for this panic made itself known shortly after, as two furious Men appeared in dogged pursuit behind her. Bofur and Bifur did not hesitate to put themselves between Miss Hollander and the unfamiliar pair, already quite defensive of the girl they had pulled from a river.

When first the trouble arrived, Thorin had truly been set to call for the arm-lobbing option – it had only been a few days since they started out, and already she had attracted unnecessary attention. He was absolutely livid, without question.

As soon as the younger, fair haired Man opened his mouth however, Thorin found himself siding with Miss Hollander on the matter. Insulting his entire race, right from the get go. In addition, the eldest of the two strangers was not only disrespectful, but radiated treachery; the kind that suggested he'd sold out a family member for a loaf of bread at some point in his life.

The intent behind a chase of this kind could only be malicious, and while Thorin did not want an altercation at the very beginning of his quest, he could not simply allow these men to achieve whatever goal they had in mind. Miss Hollander was horrid at controlling her expressions, thankfully, allowing Thorin to see just how shaken she was by the ordeal. He was still rather furious at her for bringing such a mess upon them, but could not lay blame for the idiocy of Men solely on the girl. He had to agree with Bofur. Miss Hollander likely dealt the injuries in self-defense.

As their confrontation dissolved into an argument, Thorin let the statement fly that she was part of the Company. The moment the words left his mouth, he hoped she wouldn't read too much into them. While she was technically travelling with the Company, he still was not sure where she landed on the membership scale, or if he even wanted her to land on it at all. This thought was quickly drowned by the turmoil trying to erupt.

Thorin was having a difficult time keeping his anger in check, and just as he was convinced Dwalin, Bifur, and Gloín would pummel these brainless oafs into a fine powder (he wasn't sure if he would have stopped them, really), the Wizard showed up.

The two Men eventually chose to back down, recognizing that they were outmatched. The eldest one's parting words to himself and Miss Hollander left a bad taste in his mouth, and though he did not believe them to be any real threat, he knew not to underestimate anything that could jeopardize the quest. The thought of the expedition being in danger from something so infinitesimal made his irritation rise.

The girl cowed down as she always did, though managed to explain how her arm came to be injured, and why she was found in a river to begin with. Self-defense had been the correct guess on their part. Self-defense, and extreme measures to escape. Thorin found his frustration with her dwindling and, regardless of who the blame landed on, knew she would have to be watched more carefully as the label of 'trouble magnet' proved accurate.

The idea to test her writing skills came when Balin subtly relayed the information to him about her journaling supplies. Gandalf wanted to meet with them for this test, though he did not think writing would be possible for the girl. Not from any fault in her literacy levels, but from the Valar's intervention, and unfortunately, he was correct. Thorin did not miss the message she attempted to form, following the quill's movement and making out the first few of her snarky words with surprise at her attitude. She likely would not have wrote such a sarcastic thing had she known he could still read it. The rest was jibberish, however, with this method of communication just as inconvenient as her poor attempts at mouthing words. (It made him wonder as to what accent would make her pronounce things the way she tried to.)

Already having had enough trouble in Bree, and with no desire for further interruption, Thorin decided that Miss Hollander would room with him that evening. He was even more unsure of her age after that, seeing as how one moment she was acting as carefree as Kili and the next, she appeared as though the sky might collapse with some invisible stress she was under. Her naivety combined with this weighty aura was puzzling.

While he knew sleep would be near impossible for him that night, it seemed as though Miss Hollander was having the same difficulty. Likely for different reasons, but it would certainly explain the dark circles she wore, if this was a regular occurrence.

Where had she come from? Thorin did not truly believe she was from another world entirely. Though she was strange, with her brightly colored bag and her clothing made of strange material, and holding herself differently than any woman he'd encountered, there was no possible way for her to be a resident of any other place. There was a map of The Lonely Mountain on her shoulder. There was only one Lonely Mountain, unless he was terribly mistaken.

Eventually, the girl dozed off, allowing him a brief, light sleep. Brief and light described most of his sleeping, really, but come morning, this let him wake before the others and begin rousing everyone to depart.

Miss Hollander was sleeping so soundly, he was sure nothing could wake her. She must have been exhausted, obviously unused to any sort of travel, so he allowed her a few extra minutes of sleep, since this would be the last chance for her to do so, while he placed his sword and his battle axe back onto his person. Once they were on the road again, he would not be so lax.

Thorin only left her for a moment, trudging downstairs to make arrangements for the Company's breakfast. Of course, it was within that moment that Bofur woke Bombur none-too-gently, causing a massive thud to resonate within The Prancing Pony as he rolled from his bed in surprise. Thorin knew if that did not disturb Miss Hollander's slumber, then he would have to do so himself.

He made his way back upstairs after dealing with the food situation, making a mental note to collect the youngest Ri brother's writing tools at the same time, and was abruptly reminded of one of the many reasons why having a female in this Company was a bad idea.

Females required different rules. One of those rules being: always knock.

He did not knock.

Miss Hollander was awake, yes, but… she was also missing her shirt.

Well, no, it wasn't missing. It was lying on the bed, as she had obviously been in the middle of something, but that was hardly what drew his attention. Her arms were crossed over her small breasts in such a way that unwittingly squished them together, and it was… incredibly distracting. Thorin was correct in the assumption that her baggy clothing disguised most of her curves; some of those curves being the actual slope of her hips and some of them being tiny rolls on her sides that pudged out just above her waistband.

The girl's mouth was slightly open in what would have been a warning, could she only speak, and her face was nearly the same color as the small image of Smaug on her shoulder. That was about when Thorin remembered the map, and of course, who exactly he had been ogling. Not to mention the fact that he still hadn't the slightest clue how old she was, making him feel twice as terrible for even the small glance he did catch, though he managed to rip his gaze away and vacate the premises all the same.

Miss Hollander would likely be embarrassed with any interaction they had for some time, so he allowed her space. Having her clam up due to this incident would not help him garner any new information. She was already a nervous person, and while she did have her outspoken – so to speak… figuratively – moments, most would be bashful after such an encounter. He was not so keen to meet with her again anytime soon either, but he chose not to admit that.

Fili and Kili were eager when he told them to watch over Miss Hollander as they travelled. They were interested in this odd newcomer just as the rest of the Company was, but had fewer inhibitions about befriending outsiders. Thorin knew how his nephews worked. He knew their strengths laid in softening hearts and this task would kill two birds with one stone – quelling Fili and Kili's curiosity about the girl, and causing her to relax her guard. Disguising the task as 'guard duty' managed to double as a confidence boost for the young Dwarves. That was an amusing plus.

It really could have been anyone who walked in and saw that tattoo, however. Thorin realized the secrets of his quest were not being guarded as carefully as he would have hoped, and became exasperated once again at whatever the Valar had planned by throwing this girl into the mix. They must certainly be unwell to allow someone so careless to bear his grandfather's map.

Who was she? Why her? Why not one of Durin's folk, at least?

None of it made sense.

The questions that Thorin posed later that night only served in muddying the waters. If anything, the mystery surrounding Miss Hollander's tattoo worsened, and he began to wonder if she was not misleading him somehow. None of her answers lined up with any sort of continuity. Deception was not her strong suit, and though he had no idea what kind of purpose lying about the map would achieve, something needed to change. Soon.

As Thorin told the Halfling their story afterward, something peculiar happened. He realized Miss Hollander was only partially paying attention to his words. Strangely, the rest of her attention was on Master Baggins, watching his reactions expectantly as each part of the tale came around. Smaug's initial siege, Thranduil's disregard for their misery, the Dwarves of Erebor surviving only on their strength of will. She looked to the Hobbit right before an event was voiced, as if she already knew where each word was leading, the same way she knew to quiet his rambling about Elves.

But how? How did she know of this?

After nearly knocking herself out on a tree the next evening (Mahal help them), Miss Hollander vowed that her answers bore no falsity. She performed an odd pledge by linking her smallest finger with his, assuring him that the truth would be known, though when or how was not clear. Without even being able to verbalize it, she seemed to beg for his trust on the matter, eyes wide and reflective of the honesty she was trying to express. Her face was an open book. While her vow's ritual was flimsy and seemed childish, however, he dared to hope she was actually there to help them.

This made everything that much more complicated.

Going by her (metaphorical) word, she was apparently telling the truth – from a world with no Dwarves, yet on her body held a map of his homeland. Knew of the hostility between Elven kind and his own, and of Erebor's downfall, though had never met a Dwarf and had only been in their world but nigh on a week. Worse, she gave her promise that no other Dwarves had been involved.

When Thorin first realized the implications behind her tattoo, a small hope rose in his chest at the thought that maybe, just maybe Miss Hollander was the answer to finding his father, but that hope grew further and further away. She tried to keep composed when asked about other Dwarves and, while he received no information on Thrain, she did wind up introducing a giveaway of hers.

Tiny lines, in the dark circles beneath her eyes, signaled the tension in her face. These lines had appeared when he asked her why she was sent on this quest, and they appeared once more, as she shook her head in response to his inquiry of a previous Dwarf. Thorin was not yet sure what their significance was, but these lines meant something.

Later, Bofur approached them with an idea so outlandish that he was sure Balin would keel over at such a suggestion. To teach an outsider any part of their language system, to share their secrets with what amounted to a complete stranger? Thorin had not known her for very long and Bofur only just a few days ahead, so at first this idea appeared to be lunacy. It went against everything they knew about keeping their culture secret.

However, their situation was not ordinary by any means. Thorin stared at Miss Hollander as he weighed this option, and she stared right back while trying to puzzle out what they were saying, unconsciously worrying at her sleeves again. (Another tell of her nervousness, though hardly a specific one – she was almost always nervous.)

"I won't say it's never been done before, because I know it has," Balin pointed out, "But with much more deliberation and consultation on the matter."

Thorin took his gaze from the girl, and back to the two before him. "We do not have time for deliberation, Balin. If she can tell us what that map says, we must know before we reach Erebor, and teaching the Iglishmêk will be a lengthy task. Though…" he paused thoughtfully, taking a look around the camp, "consultation may still be offered."

"Consultation from who, exactly? If ye don't mind my asking," Bofur said. "We've just got the Company out here."

"Then the Company must be enough," stated Thorin, becoming more and more sure of this decision.

"These things are normally dealt with by a council, not just what's on hand. From what I've seen of Miss Hollander, I don't believe the lass would be one to abuse the privilege, but…" Balin trailed off while giving him a look of concern.

Thorin knew where his friend's worries laid at that point, and merely answered, "Should there be fallout from this, I will deal with it myself when the time comes."

Balin put his hands back on his hips, knowing there was potential for dissent from other Dwarven clans without the proper arrangements. The likelihood was slim, but it was never a bad thing to be cautious where their traditions were concerned, and this warning was reasonable. Eventually though, he sighed and nodded, "Aye, alright. We shall put it to a vote then, I'd imagine?"

And so they did.

Thorin understood Dwalin's hesitance, and Dori's as well. If there were any other choice, such a thing would not even be in consideration, but that map was of utmost importance. Even if they had not needed the information from the runes – which he now knew she was capable of providing – then there was still the mystery of how she came to have this tattoo in the first place.

Miss Hollander needed a proper means of communication. Given that the Valar were set upon making their lives as complicated as possible, the Iglishmêk was their only option.

The young woman was genuinely astounded when Thorin delivered the news of what she was to learn. Blinking several times, her mouth came open as her head bobbed backwards a little, showing that she obviously knew just how significant this was. He was correct once more in regards to her innate, impossible knowledge of Dwarves. (He did not rule out the possibility that she really was a witch and just didn't know it yet.)

"Balin will be your teacher," Thorin told her, "though you will learn more quickly by practicing with others as well."

Bofur nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Ye'll have plenty of help in that area. At first the language was for us miners to speak over the noise of excavatin', ye see, but it's developed long past that for those who need it – like our Bifur! He's been relyin' on the Iglishmêk for years. Helps him speak in complete thoughts when his tongue don't work right."

A smile was slowly forming on Miss Hollander's face, after the initial shock wore off. He wasn't sure if he had seen her smile this big up until now, he realized, as he watched her chubby cheeks push her eyes into the shape of tiny crescent moons. The isolation of her silence had obviously been getting to her, and the prospect of being able to converse brought her great relief.

She glanced to Bofur and he grinned right back, then she turned to Thorin as well, mouthing, 'Thank you.'

This relief was contagious, it seemed. He felt himself relax the slightest amount and gave a small dip of his chin as acknowledgement. The decision had been made.

Of course, this decision didn't solve all of their problems.

Thorin watched from afar the next morning as Balin began the first of the lessons over breakfast. The older Dwarf seemed to realize there was an issue with the teaching style when Miss Hollander's face gradually became more and more befuddled, until her upper lip was curled and her brows were at different levels.

Clearly they didn't account for the origins of the Iglishmêk. It came from Khuzdul, incorporating the symbols of their writing and the organization of their words, which were much different from that of Common Speech. Balin was forced to switch tactics, going for a more fragmented approach. While this was slower, it was more effective, and would allow her to at least get a foothold on the sign language until she could better understand how it worked.

Miss Hollander was giving a genuine effort to learn, though, and that was all he could ask.

The basics were set out for her. Upon Balin's request, Ori even drew up a small sheet of hand positions and their corresponding sounds in Common Speech for her to study. Given, only a few of the signs had simple enough translations for this to be possible without the Khuzdul middleman, but their scribe accomplished more than most would have. He was a bright young thing, and they were grateful for his enthusiastic involvement.

The available time to practice per day was despairingly short, and in an effort to keep the lessons going, they attempted while travelling. Unfortunately, the girl had neither the balance nor experience to ride a pony without keeping her hands on the reigns to steer. This seemed to upset her a decent amount, a sharp decline in her mood apparent for several days after. However, Thorin had a hunch that it went deeper than just the slow Iglishmêk progress, but said nothing towards the topic.

He caught Miss Hollander studying the sheet of hand signs one night while the others dozed off, apparently trying to make up for the time lost on the road. While Thorin was not technically on watch duty, he often woke several times per evening, and this happened to be one of those times.

She chewed on her lip as she studied, unaware of how much she was nibbling until a tiny dot of blood came forth. Thorin watched with amusement as a scowl appeared on her face when she tasted it. Dabbing a finger at her lip, she sighed before wiping it away and continuing to pour over the notes.

Her focus was palpable. The girl was putting effort into this, and whether that was simply because she wanted to speak, or because she wanted to explain certain things to him was unclear. Both, he hoped. If her promise was anything to be counted upon, then her effort was appreciated, for that meant answers were growing closer.

Patience was key. It truly was the only thing that could help him in this.

About the third evening after their resolution concerning the Iglishmek, Miss Hollander was acting rather skittish when they halted to set up camp. They chose a clearing nestled at the edge of a cliff, with a wall of mountain beside it, and forestry surrounding the remaining two sides. The light of the setting sun showed off the vast expanse of land below them, though it was mostly just trees and dipping valleys.

Thorin gave the word and dismounted, the others following his lead. When he glanced back to make sure all were present and accounted for, he noticed the green eyes of their only female were quite larger than usual. Her gaze darted around the clearing, as if the area was unsettling to her. Mahal only knew what it could have been. Her brows were furrowed and then suddenly they weren't, her mouth popping open to form a tiny 'oh', like one does when they remember something.

There wasn't much time to contemplate the meaning of this expression, as it fell away into a smile of familiarity when she was addressed by Balin, and the two settled off to the side of camp to resume their lessons. Ori was brought over to make further notes on any particularly important details for Miss Hollander, and Thorin left them to it, awaiting dinner as the sun dipped beneath the horizon.


Screeching. The disturbing shouts of creatures best left in the dark.

"What was that?"

They were here. Why were they here?

"Orcs."

He needs his sword. Why is not in his hand?

"Orcs?!"

Thorin opened his eyes to quickly sit forward, heartbeat thumping painfully. The rock he dozed on was still at his back, most of the Company still sleeping peacefully, and there were no enemies that he could see.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there," Fili said from beside the campfire, as he sat smoking his pipe. "The lowlands are crawling with them."

Gradually, Thorin's pulse returned to normal as he realized what was happening, and sighed deeply in exasperation at his nephews. The sounds he heard were not just part of his nightmare, but were obviously too far away to be concerned about. Balin was awake, as was Gandalf, and had it been a real threat, they would have roused them.

"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep," Kili explained in a hushed tone. He was sat beside his brother, trying to spook the Halfling, of course. "Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

Master Baggins looked thoroughly worried at this point, picking his way across the camp to them, and Thorin expected Miss Hollander to have a similar look. Despite her obvious fatigue, she was still awake, seated on Kili's other side next to the warmth of the fire. There was no fear or any sort of concern though, exasperation showing through in its place when Kili started to snicker at his joke, and she gave a light back-hand to his arm with a sour face. The young prince seemed startled and a bit betrayed by her lack of amusement at his humor.

"You think that's funny?" Thorin stood, finally speaking up as he came closer to the group. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" he questioned, irritation flaring.

Fili and Kili had the decency to look ashamed. One would hope so, at the very least. Even Miss Hollander understood this was not a subject to be taken lightly, and she'd probably never seen an Orc in her entire life. Thorin thought his sister-sons, of all people, would know better.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili tried to amend, lowering his gaze.

"No. You didn't," Thorin snapped. "You know nothing of the world."

Aggravated, the Dwarf King trudged away from them. Beside the drop-off at the edge of their clearing, he stopped to calm himself, looking out over the valley below. He loved the boys dearly, but moments like this reminded him just how young they actually were. They had not experienced the same horrors, and though he wished they never would, he knew better than to hope for such a peaceful life for them. They did not understand how easy it was to lose everything at a moment's notice.

"Don't mind him, laddie," he heard Balin say, trying to alleviate the tension. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."

He assumed this anecdote was a good reminder to Fili and Kili, even if he did not particularly want to hear it. Perhaps it was because he did not speak of it often enough, that those two could take an Orc attack so lightly, and that was his own fault. If anyone should be aware of such things, it was his heir. Dís may have told them stories, but she had a tendency to leave out the more gruesome aspects of these tales. Her need to coddle would never fully dissipate, and that required Thorin to be the stricter of them, to balance out the influences in their lives. If the world was different… perhaps he could have afforded some lenience.

Balin's words drifted across the campsite. Hands going cold, Thorin remembered the battlefield where last he saw his father and grandfather, where he last saw his brother, where he realized the world was not yet through with its brutality. His life was drastically altered once more when that pale monster

Sweat stung his eyes as he realized what Azog was holding. He couldn't breathe. Thror had been there moments ago, slicing through Orcs with the same fervor as any true descendent of Durin. This wasn't happening. They should never have done this. They should have…

His metal shield was thrown from his grip with the force of the attack, his arm stinging, and the world spun as he tumbled. This Orc was stronger than the others, so much stronger. He was going to die. But he couldn't. He couldn't, not yet. Not yet. He needed time, he needed a way to protect himself, protect his people. Protect…

The horrid scream. An arm hit the ground, noise lost amidst the cries of its former host. The murky blood of their kind spilling, so much of it, he knew Azog could not possibly survive this. The rest of the Orcs swarmed to retrieve their injured leader, pull him back to the darkness. The kingdom would not be reclaimed, but Thorin felt a renewal of purpose. Much was lost, but not all. There was still hope for those left. They fought onward upon his war cry, rallying one more time…

After so long, after so much. The ground nearly invisible from the litter of bodies. More than he believed possible. Some recognizable, familiar faces he had spoken to a mere day ago, some sooner than that. Brave, kind Frerin, lost. Gone, like their father. Where was Thrain? How would he tell his sister that their family was gone? They were gone…

"We few had survived," Balin resumed, the memory difficult for him as well.

Thorin swallowed hard. It had been many years since then, but no less painful to remember. Now was not the time, though, to let himself fall to pieces. Not now, not ever.

There was a long pause from Balin, before he concluded, voice full of admiration, "And I thought to myself then: 'There is one who I could follow. There is one… I could call King.'"

Thorin felt a bittersweet mixture of pride swell at this faith in him. He turned back to face their campsite again, having heard the stirring of others. The entirety of the Company, in fact, had awoken in time to hear of his actions at the Battle of Azanulbizar. They were simply the actions of one trying to survive. They were not heroic, they were necessary, and yet the others now looked upon him with the same awe and respect that Balin had relayed in those finishing words. Perhaps he would never quite understand it, but he would accept it with the grace of a leader all the same.

Making his way back into camp, Thorin passed each member of his Company, reminded once again that they chose to put their lives on the line for this quest. They believed in this mission, as they believed in his leadership. He could not afford to let them down.

Kili was looking upon Thorin with wide eyes, full of emotion and regret for his joke, and while Fili was trying to maintain a strong façade, there was no doubt he was just as moved. Maybe this would be a reminder for them.

"And the pale Orc?" inquired Master Baggins, from his seat taken to listen to Balin's tale. "What happened to him?"

Only the Halfling.

"He slunk back to the hole whence he came," Thorin responded severely as he walked past. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

He proceeded on, headed back towards the boulder he had previously dozed against. Sleep would not come easy after being woken in such a way, but he would have to try, for a sleep-deprived King was hardly what this group needed.

On his way, he caught a glance of Miss Hollander, fiddling with her sleeves again as she stared into the campfire. When he looked over, she met his gaze with a face full of trepidation, seeming faintly startled. Her hands froze upon her sleeves, as though she had not wanted to make eye contact with him, but had accidentally nonetheless, and he noticed those lines were there. Those tiny lines, lingering in the dark hues beneath her eyes.

What did they mean?


And that's it, folks! That's the last of it until I can get the next chapters written. It may be a while, but please be patient with me. Everybody's got a life, even if all we really want to do is write fanfiction. LoL!

I plan on dispersing these Thorin chapters pretty evenly, but I wanted to get the story really going before I put in this first one. Let me know if it felt Thorin-y enough, or if there was something in particular you enjoyed seeing from his perspective, or just anything in general!

As always, thank you from the depths of my heart~!

Until next time, whenever that may be! :)