Enjoy!
Kill Your Heroes
Chapter 3
She stumbled through the battlefield like a ghost. No one saw her, no one touched her, but she could feel everything.
She tasted copper in her mouth. She smelt metal in the air. She felt fire on her back. She heard the clanging of iron, the cries of war.
Smoke stung her eyes, but she would not close them.
Her eyes were locked on three figures in the distance.
She needed to run. She needed to hurry. She was almost out of time.
Her legs fought her, each step resisted like she was moving through sand.
Bodies tumbled around her, but all she could see were the three. Their swords glowed with the light of the fire above.
One fell. The other two closed in.
Tears wet her cheeks. She wouldn't make it.
The second fell.
She pushed with all her strength. She screamed with all her breath.
The third fell.
The noise dampened like a wall of water pressing against her ears.
She arrived and dropped to her knees.
She dragged the closest to her.
A bloody beardless face stared up at her, brown eyes unseeing. She wiped his bangs from his face.
"Kili—Kili, wake up. Kili, please" she begged. She slapped his cheeks. "Please, wake up."
She crawled and reached for the other. She turned him over and felt the warmth of blood seep onto her lap.
"Fili, come on." She smoothed the braids of his beard. "Fili, get up. I need you to get up." His eyes did not open.
A white light appeared. She turned and found an open door. Her brothers waved from the other side. Her mother smiled. Her father winked.
The door closed.
She screamed.
Marigold gasped and shot up. Her chest heaved, breath forming little clouds in the crisp morning air.
She dragged a hand down her face. That nightmare was not new. It had been on a steady rotation with a handful of others colored by dragon fire and black blood for as long as she had been in this world.
She shivered. As she thought back, though, she realized something in the dream had been different. In the past the people had been blurry, no more than mere shadows, impressions. The idea of them was there, but nothing else, like the afterimage left after staring at the sun too long. But this time she had faces to go with the names. Faces to watch die.
She preferred the old version.
Marigold looked up. The sky glowed a dim blue with the approaching dawn. It was early, but she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She surveyed the dwarves' camp instead.
Most slept soundly still, a mess of bodies circling the fire. A dwarf she believed to be one of the 'Ri brothers stirred a pot over the embers that had been stoked awake. He wasn't one of her bigger fans, edging away every time she had gotten too close as if her strangeness was contagious.
She absentmindedly counted bodies and marked three missing. After a moment of searching she found Fili perched on the cliff, eyes scanning the distance, but she could not find their wizard or leader.
She wondered how much sleep Gandalf even needed. Was he like the elves, resting while awake and sleeping with eyes open? He looked human, but he didn't age, an old man since he had arrived to Middle Earth. She wouldn't be surprised to find out he shared more qualities with the elves than men.
Her eyes traced the camp again, finding the last missing member in the shadow of the cliff face. The shape of Thorin Oakenshield was unmistakable even in the dimness of the morning. She could not make out his face, but the pulsing glow of his pipe showed him to be awake.
Did the dwarf ever sleep? No wonder he was in such a rotten mood all the time. They were relatively safe though, still within the borders of the Shire. Did he not trust Fili to keep watch? Or was it her and Bilbo he did not trust?
She scoffed. Well joke's on him. Bilbo wouldn't hurt a soul if it could be avoided, and she would sooner give up an arm before jeopardizing their quest. She was going to see them all safely to the mountain, save the brothers, and be sent home as her reward. Nothing would interfere.
She narrowed her eyes.
Especially not Thorin Oakenshield.
The morning past quickly. The rest of the company awoke within the hour, and a quick breakfast of bread and cheese was passed around with tea for those wanting it made by Dori, the name of the dwarf who had awoken early as well.
Gandalf appeared in time to have some tea and offered no explanation for his disappearance, though she watched Thorin narrow his eyes at the wizard. Maybe Thorin simply trusted no one save his own dwarves. She rolled her eyes. That attitude was going to get him killed. Literally.
In no time at all the company broke camp and were on their way, ashes of the fire the only evidence of their stay. They soon crossed the Brandywine Bridge, and Marigold let out a sigh of relief.
They had left the Shire.
Buckland stretched before them, but the Shire hobbits did not regard the hobbits there very highly. They treated them like the crazy Uncle at Thanksgiving, begrudgingly invited because he is family, but his opinions on everything from the turkey to chem trails were equally ignored. She doubted word of her disappearance would have been passed to these folk.
She pulled down her hood and sent the bridge and the land behind one last look. The Shire was beautiful. Green and lush, the hills and woods had been her home for thirty years.
She hoped never to see it again.
By midday they had reached the northern end of the High Hay, the border of Buckland and the Old Forest. Marigold leaned forward eagerly as the great hedge approached. From her spot in the rear, she noted Bilbo do the same. She supposed he had never traveled this far from home either.
The hedge loomed over the countryside, a great wall shielding the hobbits from the trees of the Old Forest. Marigold stood in her saddle to try to see its end, but it continued south without break as far as she could see.
In roughly sixty years, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin would use a secret entrance in the hedge to sneak into the Old Forest. It would be the first time any of them had left the Shire.
She fidgeted in her seat eager to catch sight of the trees.
"Impressive, is it not?" Gandalf said, making conversation with Bilbo.
"Yes, I never expected it to be so, well, large," Bilbo admitted. "Is it true what they say? That it was built to keep the trees out?"
Gandalf nodded. "That and the other wild things found in the Old Forest."
"Why would someone need to keep out trees?" Kili wondered loudly. He and Fili rode alongside Gloin and Dori that day just in front of Bilbo and the wizard.
"Because they're awake," Marigold answered without thinking.
The group peered back at her, as if just remembering her presence. She fought the urge to duck her head.
"Awake? How can trees be awake?" Gloin questioned, voice heavy with skepticism.
Marigold turned to Gandalf who was regarding her curiously. She pursed her lips and refused to say more.
"Our Marigold is correct," Gandalf confirmed after a beat. "The Old Forest is a remnant of the great forests of the First Age. The elves woke the trees and taught them to speak." He paused and stroked his beard. "Though without anyone to tend them, they have grown quite wild. The forest is no longer safe."
Dori shuddered. "Talking trees—its unnatural."
"Of course the damn tree-huggers would be responsible for such queerness," Gloin mumbled.
Marigold rolled her eyes.
"But they're not untended, are they, Gandalf?" Marigold countered.
He seemed surprised. "Whatever do you mean, my dear?"
Marigold faltered. Did he not know? "There's a being that calls that forest home."
"You don't mean the fairy tale?" Bilbo cut in. "Tom Bombadill?"
Marigold watched Gandalf closely. His face didn't so much as twitch at the name.
She hesitated. "Yes, I suppose that's one of his names."
"My mother would tell me stories of him when I was young," Bilbo recalled. "A small man with a bright blue jacket and yellow boots who charmed creatures with his voice. It was a nice tale, but only a tale," Bilbo maintained. "Right?" he asked, peering over at Gandalf.
Marigold bit her tongue.
"There are a great many mysterious in this world," Gandalf mused. "Far be it from me to lay bare all of them."
Bilbo squinted at him. "You can simply say you do not know."
Gandalf huffed and sent the hobbit a very cross look before spurring his horse ahead to join Balin and Thorin.
Bilbo's brows shot up, surprised at the strong reaction. Fili patted his shoulder. "Wizards, eh?"
Marigold struggled to withhold her grin.
Regardless of what Gandalf said, or in fact didn't say, once they crossed the Hay Gates, Marigold kept her eyes locked on the depths of the firs and pines to the south, searching for flashes of blue or yellow.
The day passed quickly, and soon night rolled out before them with the company making camp soon after. In no time at all, Marigold sat beside Bilbo and Gandalf in front of a warm fire eating Bombur's latest dish.
The conversation hummed around them, but the three had stayed mostly quiet that evening. Gandalf ate little and moved on to puffing his pipe contentedly, while Bilbo ate slowly observing the chatter of the dwarves over his bowl.
For her part, Marigold chewed with purpose, scanning the area furtively between bites. She looked for an area beyond the trees where she could have some privacy without completely losing the light of the fire.
Riding a pony all day had made her edgy. Her core was getting a hell of a workout but little else. She had worked so hard to build the little muscle she had. This body had resisted every attempt to harden, and she couldn't let it go to waste.
Finished eating, she gave her thanks again to Bombur and Ori, who had acted as sous-chef, and retreated to her bedroll set a purposeful distance from the rest.
She messed about with her pack, watching the group from the corner of her eyes. When she was sure their attention had returned wholly back to themselves, she moved. She grabbed her swords and slunk behind a copse of oaks.
The flickering light of the fire cast long finger like shadows through the trunks, enough to illuminate the ground but not enough to cast light upon her, making her invisible to others. It was perfect.
She rolled her shoulders and got to work. Over the years, the routine had become so second nature she could do it in her sleep: stretches to warm up; repetitions of pushups, squats, lunges, and crunches to build muscle, or to keep what little she had. And when her muscles began screaming, she picked up her short swords.
She went through the steps the twins taught her, as she had nearly every day for the last seventeen years. Two weeks of lessons repeated thousands of times like a rerun she kept watching because there was never anything else on.
It was the most she could do. There had been no one else to teach her and no one else to practice with. All she had was the familiar dance of imaginary strikes and parries.
She returned to camp sweaty but happy. If any of the dwarves noticed her disappearance and return, they did not comment on it. A couple already snored away on their bedrolls, but most still circled the fire.
Marigold splashed some water on her face and wiped herself with a spare tunic before going limp on her bedroll.
She watched the stars as she whispered.
"Marigold Bolger left her homeland for the first time when she was thirty years old. Jude Callaway went with her parents to France when she was eight. Since then she's traveled to sixteen different countries. She hasn't been able to travel since starting residency, but plans to go to Thailand when it ends."
They left the Old Forest behind that morning, and Marigold was sad to see it go. Searching the trees had given her something to do and given Storm, her newly christened pony, a break from her constant fidgeting. Storm didn't really seem to care much for her new name, though she didn't seem to care much for anything at all except apples.
The scenery on the stretch of road before Bree was far less enjoyable. In fact, Marigold did her best to avoid looking south if she could help it. The Barrow-Downs had always freaked her out in the book. Well, not the hills themselves, but the wights that hid within the barrows.
She shuddered just thinking of them.
The hobbits told stories of them, making them out to be a type of boogeyman: dark phantoms with cold eyes and skeletal hands that would hypnotize children who wandered too far from home. They would drag the kids back to their barrows never to be seen again.
The tales never had the effect Belba and Rudigar had hoped. Marigold knew there were no barrow-wights in the Shire. What she did know was that there were wights in those hills.
She might have a panic attack if they even considered making camp anywhere near them.
Thoughts filled with ghosts and tombs, Marigold missed the approach of Fili and Kili until they were nearly at her side.
She raised an eyebrow at their two innocent, wide grins. "Can I help you?"
The brothers were undeterred by her dry tone.
"So you can tell the future?" Kili asked bluntly. Fili's grin dropped, and he smacked his brother.
"What? We agreed to ask her," Kili defended.
Clearly one of the brothers lacked tact.
"Well, I wouldn't put it that way exactly…" she began.
"Can you tell the future of that tree?" Kili pointed at a large pine they were approaching.
Marigold nearly facepalmed. Of all the things to ask her… A thought struck her, and she leaned forward in the saddle.
"Let me get a good look at it," she began. She squinted and scrunched up her face in concentration.
"Ah, yes, I see," she declared after a few moments. "That pine will continue to stand there until sixteen years from now a man will run his wagon into it and knock it over." She tilted her head and then nodded. "The tree will take a whole year to die, and then a man will come along and chop it up and take it home to his family. His wife and two daughters will warm themselves by its wood all winter long," she concluded.
By the time she had finished most of the party had turned to stare.
Kili's mouth dropped open. "You know all that just from looking at it?"
She averted her eyes, lips twitching with the smile she was holding back, but Fili caught it.
He shook his head. "She's playing with you, Kili."
"Wait, you made all of that up?"
She shrugged, laughter hidden in the curve of her lips. "Who's to say? You'll never know either way."
"Not much of seer, is she?" Dwalin announced loudly to the dwarves around him.
Marigold's smile dropped. "Excuse me, Master Dwarf, for not knowing the fate of every living creature in Middle Earth. I do, however, know the fate of this quest and those in it. And that's why I am here. I'm not here to entertain you lot like some fortune teller."
"All I hear is that you still offer no proof of these so called abilities."
"Proof? Is risking my life on this quest not proof enough?"
"No," he said not even bothering to turn to look at her.
"Fine. You want proof?" She thought quickly for something inconsequential, some little tidbit to prove her point. "Rain. After we leave Bree, it will rain for nearly a whole week. Happy?"
"I'll be happy when I see this rain of yours."
She sneered at his back.
Her thoughts of throwing rocks at Dwalin's tattooed head were interrupted.
"Is it a good one?" A meek dwarf Marigold had yet to speak to piped up suddenly behind her.
She took a moment to consider him. He was one of the younger dwarves of the party and shadowed constantly by Dori. He had said little these last days, watching the other dwarves eagerly around the fire, but never joining. Her brow furrowed.
He turned red under her stare, averting his eyes. He fidgeted with a feather in his lap before finally blurting out, "Our fate? Is it a good one?"
Marigold felt as if the whole world had gone quiet. She didn't notice the tension that fell upon the company like a thick blanket. Or the caution painting Gandalf's face. Or the tilt of interest of Thorin's head.
Marigold saw hungry trolls. She saw snarling wargs and sneering orcs. She saw wet mountains and clawing goblins. She saw great eagles and a charging bear. She saw an evil forest and dark dungeons. She saw a burning town. She saw a bloody battle. She saw death.
Her vision tunneled. She saw a scared dwarf, and she knew his name.
She saw a tomb. She saw a rotting skeleton and a dusty book.
Her eyes grew sad. "It depends on your definition of good, Ori."
She retreated to the back of the company and would say no more.
"She's slunk off again." Kili nodded at the empty bedroll.
Fili followed his gaze and shrugged. "She's likely changing."
Kili shook his head. "She did the same last night. Was gone for over an hour. What do you think she's doing out there?"
Gloin overheard them across the fire. "That's just how lasses are lads. As the only one hear with any experience." The company collectively rolled their eyes. "I can say it's perfectly normal behavior. Why my Fraka gets in these moods and tosses Gimli and myself out of the house for the whole day."
He paused, brow furrowing. "Though she normally then invites Guzim's wife over, and they share their moans and such. By the time we return she is in a right better mood then before."
Kili and Fili rose identical brows.
"What I'm saying is that lasses require privacy. Don't be poking your nose where it doesn't belong," Gloin huffed.
A crease appeared between Kili's brows. "Shouldn't someone at least…check on her?"
Bilbo suddenly found himself on the receiving end of multiple expectant stares. He choked on his pipe smoke. "Me?" he coughed. "I'm sorry, you want me to check on her?"
"You are her cousin," Fili reasoned.
Bilbo sputtered. "Well, yes, but we—we're simply not close. Strangers, practically."
Horrified faces stared back at him.
Bilbo rushed to explain. "Her family lived a great distance away, you see, all the way in Budgeford. And she is much younger, twenty years my junior in fact. And she is, well, a girl," he finished lamely. He stuck his pipe back in his mouth, very much finished with explaining himself. He puffed it irritably.
Kili stroked his stubble before announcing, "Hobbits are odd."
Bilbo sputtered. "Excuse me!"
Balin interjected. "Don't take offense, laddie. Siblings, cousins, they are rare things for dwarves. What little family we have is treasured deeply. It is simply our way."
Bilbo's indignation fizzled, and he puffed his pipe as he mulled over his words. "I never considered it really," he admitted. "Hobbit families are typically quite large."
Fili considered that. "I suppose that makes more sense. Marigold does seem close to her brothers at least."
Bilbo's brows furrowed. "Brothers? Marigold does not have brothers."
"Yes, she does," Kili argued. "She told us so herself. Said we remind her of them."
"I think I would know if I had more cousins running around, don't you?" Bilbo replied.
The conversation had then gathered a full audience. Thorin narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to second his nephews, but Gandalf swooped in to the hobbit's rescue.
"I do believe that is enough gossip about our seer for one night, don't you?" Gandalf boomed with a hard stare that dared anyone to disagree. When no one did, his countenance turned amicable once again. "Now Bofur, that tune you were whistling this afternoon. Let us hear it on that fiddle of yours."
When Marigold returned later, a chorus of flutes, fiddles, and even a drum greeted her. As she wiped the sweat from her body, she listened to the dwarves take turns serenading the others.
The pull to join the warm fire and the good company had never been stronger.
She loved music. It had been one of the things she missed most from her world: access to music at the push of a button. When she got back home, she would never take it for granted again. She wouldn't spend another day in silence if she could help it.
And so she watched them enviously. They all seemed to be having such a good time. Even Bilbo was tapping his feet at the latest song Fili and Kili were fiddling. The brothers glowed in the attention, faces shining as they danced around the company.
Lifeless brown eyes and bloody blonde braids blinded her for a moment.
Nauseous, she turned her back to the dwarves and settled on her bedroll.
"Marigold Bolger was taught to dance by her mother at thirteen years old with no music except her father's clapping. She was forced to join dances at weddings and birthday parties down by the Water.
"Jude Callaway was never taught to dance. She followed her friends to school dances and clubs and tried to copy what everyone else was doing. She was absolute shite at it. But she never stopped trying."
The soft notes of a harp gave her whispers a tune.
Marigold vibrated with excitement.
That morning she overheard Bofur telling Bilbo that they would reach Bree by that evening. Marigold couldn't wait.
Bree was special. It was the only place in Middle Earth where hobbits and men lived side by side. It was home to the Prancing Pony, the inn where Gandalf met Thorin years back and planted the seeds to their quest, where Frodo and the other hobbits would meet Strider, and20where the Black Riders would attack and fail to recover the ring. She wanted to see it all.
Marigold kept her eyes glued on the road all day, and when Bree's hill and surrounding walls rose over the horizon, she fought the urge to nudge Storm faster.
The last mile crawled by. Marigold swore the ponies were somehow moving slower. She nearly cheered when the company finally reached the gates.
The dwarves began dismounting, and Marigold followed their lead, taking in as much as she could and nearly falling on her ass because of it.
A dike circled the walls and hedges enclosing the town with a small bridge crossing it and paving the way to the large gates. She wanted to call it a moat, but it was more just a muddy ditch. The town got brownie points for trying.
A breeze blew, and she gagged. That wasn't mud in the ditch. Maybe it was better protection than she thought.
She followed the others over the moat and through the gates and greedily took in the town.
The buildings crowded the street, tall enough to throw shadows over it in the late afternoon sun. There were only a handful of buildings in the Shire that were multi-storied, and none of them had been in Budgeford. But these buildings weren't just two-storied; they were huge. The thresholds were three times her size, the door handles at her chin, the window sills above her head.
Men in numbers she had never seen peppered the main street, guiding massive carts around potholes, appearing and disappearing through too large doorways, and chatting in groups alongside the road.
For the first time, Marigold felt truly small.
She was on the taller side for a female hobbit, and though she was clearly smaller than the dwarves that was more in terms of width than height. She had even dismissed her time with the elvish party; the Elves were so inhuman it was easy to pretend that they were simply other.
But there, standing in a town of Men, Marigold realized she was other.
A group of hobbits passed by, and she nearly relaxed. But then one of the hobbits turned back to usher his friends faster, and she caught sight of their faces. They were soft and round. They were children.
Even the children here were taller than her.
Something to the right of her heart cracked, its edges biting. Ice poured out, leaving her numb.
The color fled from her cheeks. Her breath quickened. She wasn't human anymore. She wasn't human anymore. She wasn't hum—.
"Girl, you are in the way," Thorin rumbled from behind her, but Marigold felt as if she was hearing him through ear muffs.
It had been easy to pretend when she was surrounded by other hobbits. Easy to forget she wasn't even the same species anymore.
Her stomach lurched. The ice had reached her toes.
Thorin lingered at the gates as the company marched pass. He carefully counted heads until all were accounted for and safely within the walls of Bree.
He eyed the gate's guards. They watched the party with distrust that Thorin matched. These men were not soldiers. They closed the gates at night and likely spent the night shift nodding away. Wolves were an occasional nuisance in these parts, but little else plagued the town except the occasional unruly visitor. These men had not faced combat. They had not seen war.
Thorin felt no safer behind the walls of Bree than in the wilds.
He turned his back to the gates and scanned the streets. He knew cities of Men could hold more dangers than the wild for his people.
He moved to march to the front of the company and lead them to the Inn when he noticed one of their hobbits had fallen behind and stood conspicuously in the middle of the street.
He huffed.
"Girl, you are in the way," Thorin rumbled from behind her, but the hobbit did not move. He bit back a growl. Would the hobbit not cease to be a stubborn mule at every turn?
"Hobbit, I said you are—" he shouldered past her, but paused when he noticed her shaking.
He quickly took in her pale face and averted eyes and tensed. He scanned the road to locate the source of her fear, but he could not find a soul even looking their way.
"What is the matter with you?" he demanded.
She glued her eyes to the ground and shook her head. "Nothing—nothing. I just need a minute, just a minute," she forced out between breaths. Her arms crossed tightly as if they were the only thing holding her together.
Thorin studied her with a hard stare. A thought struck him. "Is something about to take place?" he asked leaning in.
Marigold breathed out a laugh laced with hysteria. "No, no, nothing happens here. Nothing happens for a while." She did not stop shaking her head. "I just—I just need some air. Some space."
"Excuse me, Thorin," Gandalf appeared suddenly, throwing a shadow over the two of them. "I believe I can be of some assistance to our Marigold."
With a flutter of robes, the wizard steered the girl over to the nearest wall and guided her to lean against it, and Thorin found himself alone. He watched Gandalf direct the hobbit to take slow, deep breaths, which she ignored in her panic to speak to him. The thought that she dismissed the wishes of the wizard just as easily as his own gave him a small amount of satisfaction.
Thorin lingered, trying to overhear her words, but Gandalf noticed his attention. "You can return to the company, Thorin. We will join you all shortly." The dismissal was clear in his voice, and Thorin bristled.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the girl's watering green eyes caught his. Panic and fear twisted her features. But suddenly she seemed to recall who was watching her, and, like a gate falling, her expression closed. She turned to the wizard, hiding herself behind a mess of curls.
Thorin's fists clenched. He turned and marched back to the company.
She felt as if the air was suddenly too thin to breathe.
"Gandalf, I'm not human anymore. I'm not human," she gasped, fighting to put the pieces of herself back together.
"I know, my dear, I know."
"No! You don't know!" She shoved his arm off her. "I'm not supposed to look like this. I'm not supposed to be small and weak and just—not human! You don't know what it's like to not—not be yourself anymore. You don't understand!"
Gandalf looked wholly unimpressed. "If you truly know who I am, Marigold Bolger, then you know that is not true."
"That's not my name!" she shouted.
The sound of the road dimmed. Her yell had caused the hobbits and men around them to stop and stare. She ducked her head.
"Are you quite done?" Gandalf huffed.
Her nails dug into her palms, but she forced herself to nod. Warmth had begun returning to her limbs.
"You are no longer Jude Callaway. Jude has never known the Shire. She has never known Middle-Earth. You cannot be her."
Marigold gritted her teeth. "When I go home, I will be her again." She glared up at the wizard, defiant, but after a moment she added quietly, "Right, Gandalf?"
He peered down at her for a long time, expression unreadable. "When one leaves home, they rarely return the same," he said finally.
Marigold blinked. What kind of cryptic bullshit was that? She opened her mouth to tell him exactly that, but Gandalf began ushering her along. "Now we must catch up with our company, or I fear we'll be left without rooms."
He marched ahead, but kept a firm hand on her elbow, pulling her along through the narrow streets of Bree. She fought the urge to take in more of the town, worried she was one more human child sighting away from another panic attack.
"Ah, here we are. The Prancing Pony."
Marigold jumped at the name.
Gandalf regarded her, unsurprised. "You know of it, I gather?"
Marigold coughed. "Yes, well, its popular with hobbits. And dwarves, of course."
He rose a single brow. "Of course."
Marigold skirted past him and opened the too large door, eager to have an excuse to not put her foot in her mouth.
The Prancing Pony was everything she had imagined it to be: all dark wood, warm hearths, and a great, long bar, which is where she found the company of dwarves.
She arrived in time to see Balin pass over a bag of coin to a red nosed man behind the bar in exchange for a handful of keys. Their purpose became clear as he began handing them out to the families of dwarves.
"Gloin, Oin, here you are," Balin said working his way through the crowd of dwarves. "There are three beds to a room, hobbit sized, mind you, and dinner tonight is included."
Marigold had the faint impression of a teacher wrangling a group of children on a field trip.
"Master Baggins, a room for you and your cousin." Balin smiled pleasantly at the hobbit.
Bilbo turned red all the way to the top of his ears. "Um—excuse me, I believe there's been a bit of a mistake."
"Mistake?"
Bilbo fiddled with the pockets of his waist coat. "Yes, a mistake. It would be quite improper, I think."
"You think?" Balin was toying with the hobbit at this point, and Marigold couldn't find it in her to save him. Besides, she was going to let him take the fall for this fight.
"Why yes, I think it would be quite improper."
Balin smiled indulgently. "So you'd be willing to stay with one of the others, then?"
Bilbo blinked. "Pardon?"
"Well there's only so many hobbit sized rooms. You may join my brother and I in our room; otherwise, I'm afraid there isn't much else of a choice."
Dwalin glared darkly at Bilbo over Balin's shoulder. The hobbit gulped.
"Three beds you said," Bilbo coughed.
Balin grinned. "Yes, three beds. Plenty of room to ensure everything is proper." Balin gave him q good natured wink, clapping him on the shoulder before catching sight of Gandalf and Marigold in the threshold.
"Gandalf, I've taken the liberty of getting you a room," Balin called out. Bilbo spun, face reddening even more when he spotted her.
"Why thank you, Master Balin." Gandalf left her then, and Marigold found herself trading awkward stares with her cousin.
Poor Bilbo. This was likely the first time he had ever shared a room with a woman other than Aunt Belladona. The thought wiped any hesitancy from her face. She was going to have to be the adult then.
As she approached, Bilbo opened and closed his mouth many times but never seemed to find the right words. Marigold patted him on the shoulder. "I don't know about you, cousin, but I cannot wait to sleep on something other than dirt for a night."
Bilbo's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Yes, it will be nice, won't it?"
Marigold grinned and nodded toward the stairs. "A proper cuppa tea with breakfast too."
"You would imagine so? Of course, any fine establishment ought to," Bilbo reasoned, following Marigold up the stairs where the rest of the dwarves had disappeared.
As they emerged into a long hallway, Marigold shot him a sly smile. "And a night without Bombur's snoring."
Bilbo sighed deeply in relief before catching himself. He coughed lightly, walking past her to their door. "Either way, I do believe we deserve it after so long on the road."
He unlocked the door and stepped in.
Marigold's followed him, concerned by his words. "Bilbo, forgive me for asking, but you do know how far Erebor is, don't you?"
"Yes, of course." Bilbo answered her dismissively, staring critically at the room, likely thinking there was not enough space between the three beds to guarantee properness.
"It's just we've only been on the road four days. And we will not get to Erebor until November." She tread carefully, scared to spook the hobbit.
A moment passed, and Bilbo turned on his heel. He held up a finger. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say November."
Marigold regretted opening her mouth.
"Now, I distinctly remember Balin saying we would arrive by August," Bilbo explained a little too calmly. "I checked the maps myself. If anything July seemed more likely."
She really regretted opening her mouth. "Yes, well, traveling can be quite unpredictable—"
Bilbo took a deep breath. "Do you mean to tell me I will be away from home for nearly a year?"
Marigold winced. "Well…"
Bilbo's eyes widened. "More? More than a year?" he asked, voice strained.
She stood there frozen.
Bilbo turned away, took a few steps towards the window, before spinning and walking back. "You mean to tell me I have left my home for over a year with no explanation, no letter, not so much as an 'I'll be back soon'?"
Marigold opened her mouth.
"And you knew?"
Her mouth clicked shut. She remembered Bilbo would come home from the quest to find his relatives auctioning off his belongings, presuming him long dead.
He began pacing. "I may as well have handed over Bag End to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. I imagine she'll be moved in before Summer's End!"
Marigold watched the hobbit nervously. Bilbo hadn't even been this fired up when the dwarves had invaded and razed his pantry.
"Maybe you can send a letter?" she put forth.
"A letter?" Bilbo cried, throwing his hands in the air. "And just what is a letter—" He paused. "A letter, yes, actually that may just do the trick. A few letters to the right people—one to Fermumbas Took to ensure no foul play and one to Hamfast Gamgee to keep an eye on the property while I'm away. Yes, that might help mitigate some of this disaster."
She nodded along. Anything to calm him down.
He stopped and turned back to her. "So when will I return?" he asked, eyeing her expectantly.
"What?"
Bilbo huffed. "I shall have to write when I plan to return. When will I come back?"
Marigold averted her eyes. "Bilbo, I can't say—"
"Oh, confound your secrets! I shall just put a year!"
Marigold winced, as Bilbo brushed by her and shut the door quite forcefully behind him.
Well, she supposed his irritation was good sign. At least he wasn't avoiding her anymore.
After dinner Marigold tried to slink away to bed unnoticed. Gandalf, Bilbo and Balin were in an engaging discussion about pipe-weed, allowing her to excuse herself from the table with only a nod.
Unfortunately, the rowdiest table of their group had other ideas.
"And where are you off to, lass?" Bofur called out.
She looked over her shoulder and winced when Fili and Kili added their attention.
"I think I may just turn in for the night," she said with less surety than she felt a moment before.
"Nonsense! This is the last time we will have a hearth and roof over our heads before Erebor."
"And our last chance for drink!"
"Stay and enjoy yourself!"
Maybe it was the music coming from the corner, or the flush of the wine she'd had with dinner, or the warmth of four walls between her and the elements, or simply their smiling faces, but Marigold caved.
"Alright, one drink."
The table cheered. She squeezed next to Bofur on the bench, cheeks coloring.
"Get the lady a wine!"
Her head popped up. "Actually, can I get an ale?"
Fili and Kili froze half out of their seats. Matching grins split their faces, and the table cheered again. "An ale for the lady!"
Marigold sunk deeper in her seat, as heads turned at the noise.
Moments later, Marigold found herself with a pint of brown ale larger than her face. She raised an eyebrow at the brothers.
"T'was the only size they had," Fili explained with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Uh-huh, I'm sure," she replied dryly.
She took a sip and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. There was a faint hint of honey and strong taste of barley. It reminded her of light Guinness.
Three pints and an hour later, Marigold sat with an empty glass in front of her and a silver piece in hand. The three dwarves listened with rapt attention.
"The object of the game is to bounce the coin off the table and into the cup." She demonstrated, coin hitting the table only to bounce off the rim of the stein and plop sadly back on onto the wood. "I meant to do that," she said.
The three dwarves hid their grins.
"Of course," Kili agreed.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at them before grinning. "And when you miss, you drink!" She took a gulp from her pint. "If you make it, everyone else has to drink. So who wants to go first?" The alcohol widened her smile.
"I will!" Kili grabbed the coin and glass and set them up in front of him. He sent Marigold a cocky smirk and bounced the coin without looking away from her. It made a satisfying 'plunk' as it landed in the stein.
Her eyes widened. "Wait—what?"
"Beginner's luck," Kili offered, though he made no attempt to hide his growing grin, but Marigold was too busy staring at the bottom of the glass in shock to read much into it.
"Now I believe you all drink?" Kili chirped.
Marigold begrudgingly took a sip along with the other two dwarves.
It was Fili's turn next.
With a quick twitch of his hand the coin hit the table and arced perfectly into the glass.
Marigold squinted at his innocent smile.
"Beginner's luck," Fili echoed. Marigold sipped her pint suspiciously.
Bofur gripped the coin this time. With a cheeky grin he twirled the coin up and over his fingers, making it disappear and reappear down his hand before with barely a twitch the coin hit the table and sailed into the stein.
Her jaw dropped.
How the hell had he just—
"You owe me a sip, lass."
Marigold angrily took a gulp of her ale before snatching the glass away from him.
"Okay, my turn now." She lined up the glass and narrowed her eyes. She could do it. They were not going to beat her at her own damn game.
The coin bounced and overshot the glass entirely.
Marigold dropped her head to the table while her companions laughed.
"Damn dwarves," she mumbled into the wood.
Bofur gave her back a hard pat. "Cheer up, lassie. We'll choose a different game that will even the odds a bit more, aye lads?"
"I was rather enjoying the coin game," Kili said with a grin. Fili punched his shoulder. "Fine, fine" he cried rubbing his arm. "What did you have in mind Master Bofur?"
Bofur reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch, which he upturned. Six bone white dice tumbled out. Marigold reached for one and turned it over in her palm. Precise notches were cut into each side, denoting the number.
"The game is simple," he began with a cheekiness that made Marigold nervous. He reached for the empty stein and began pouring some of his own ale in. "There is a roller and a drinker. The drinker must finish the ale before the roller rolls a seven, eleven, or a double with two dice. If the drinker wins, the roller goes next. If the roller wins, they pass the dice and the drinker goes again." His smile was impossibly wide.
"I like it!" declared Fili pounding his fist on the table. Kili mimicked him, but nearly knocked his ale onto his lap with its force." "Yes! Who should go first?"
Marigold reached past him and grabbed the stein to see how much Bofur had poured. "This is nearly half a pint!" she cried.
Bofur shrugged innocently. "You may be the first to roll the dice," he offered.
Marigold knew this was going to be a bad idea, but scooped up the dice any way. "Kili drinks first," she declared.
Kili smiled smugly. "As the lady wishes." He bowed with a small flourish from his seat.
"I will destroy you," she deadpanned.
Fili laughed heartily at his brother's taken aback expression. "It seems our hobbit doesn't care to lose."
"Good luck, lad," Bofur said. "You may pick up the ale the moment she touches the dice."
Marigold hovered her hand over the dice as Kili did the same with the handle of the pint.
She gasped all of sudden. "Look there!" She pointed behind the brothers, mouth open in shock.
"What? What is it?" Kili turned in his seat. He scanned the parlor, but found nothing out of the ordinary. When he turned back, Marigold was already snatching up the dice for a second toss.
"What! You're cheating!" Kili cried.
Marigold scooped up the dice again. "Seven, eleven, or double, " she chanted, ignoring him.
Bofur was laughing too hard to speak. Fili was no better, but managed to nudge his brother and say, "I'd start drinking if I were you."
Kili did not need to be told twice. He threw up the glass and began gulping.
A moment later Marigold cheered. "Doubles!" A grin split her face. "I did it!" she whooped.
Kili lowered the glass. "That was low," he grumbled.
"Only because I thought of it first," she sassed back.
Kili's sullen mask cracked, and a small grin peaked through. "That may be true."
She pushed the dice over to Fili. "It's your turn to make your brother drink."
Fili smirked, "with pleasure."
Another hour and countless rounds, Marigold stood abruptly from the table.
"I need to go to bed," she announced. The others booed, but she brushed them off. It had been too long since she had been drunk. Never, in fact, in this body, and she had no desire to see if this body felt the need to vomit after her sixth drink like the other had.
"You have a good sleep, lass," Bofur said.
She pushed away and immediately stumbled.
They laughed at her, but Fili stood nonetheless. "Do you need help to your room?"
She waved him off. "It's just upstairs. I've walked farther and drunker to get home." She ambled off towards the stairs, missing the puzzled look that crossed Fili's face.
Her quick turn left her dizzy, but she focused intently on putting one foot in front of the other.
God, there was that one time her and Ally walked all the way from Breckenridge to their Airbnb up the mountain on Ally's bachelorette. They stumbled drunk through the dark for over an hour uphill in heels in the cold before tripping their way up the driveway. They had been convinced they were going to be eaten by a bear, though thinking back, any bear who had heard their screeching would have likely run the other way. She smiled to herself. She had forgotten about that night.
A hand grabbed her arm and stopped her from running into a body in the shadows. She jolted and caught sight of piercing blue eyes.
She rolled her eyes.
"I swear, Thorin. Do you just linger in thresholds waiting to ambush me?"
Throin's eyebrows shot up. The smell of ale hit his nose a moment later, and he narrowed his eyes, releasing her arm and stepping around her towards the parlor.
"I am here to gather my nephews before they regret this night and spend the morrow moaning," he said through gritted teeth.
Marigold looked at back at the table she had just left. Kili had Fili in a headlock, and Fili looked ready to launch him over his head to break free.
"That is a wise decision."
She stumbled past him, but he put out a hand to stop her.
"Bree is your last chance to turn back, girl," he warned, eyes boring into her. "The road beyond is harsher and wilder. You are not prepared. There are fouler things in the world than a town of Men."
Marigold's good mood soured instantly. A rush of adrenaline sobered her, like someone had dropped an ice cube down her back.
Ignorant to the growing hurricane in front of him, Thorin looked out at the parlor and continued. "There are hobbit caravans that travel between here and the Shire. You could make your way home without worry."
Marigold saw red.
She took a step towards him. "You would have to strap my dead body to the cart," she hissed. "The only way home for me is forward. Save your worries for your dwarves. And yourself." She shoved past him, but paused on the first stair. She threw him one last glare over her shoulder. "The road ahead is harsher."
Thorin watched her stomp upstairs with an unpleasant feeling gathering in his stomach he was determined to ignore. It felt something like dread.
Bilbo was sure that Marigold had planned to sneak quietly into the room she shared with him, but the plan was doubtful given how much she had had to drink.
She practically slammed the door open, jerking Bilbo awake.
He listened as she whispered quite loudly to herself, stumbling in the dark to her bed. "Damn Thorin-I-use-a-branch-for-a-shield. What a stupid name. What a fucking asshole."
Bilbo sat up and peered at the darkness where her voice sounded. He listened to her mumble curses and speak unintelligible nonsense under her breath for a time before he finally spoke up.
"Why do you hate him?" he asked.
Maybe it was the fog that still clung to his mind or maybe it was the darkness that gave him the courage to speak the question he had had since he watched her eyes narrow with hate at the dwarf in Bag End.
"Bilbo? What are you doing awake?" She asked, sounding truly surprised that he had awoken.
"Why do you hate him?" he repeated.
"Who?" Marigold played dumb.
"Thorin. You hate him. More than any of the others."
Marigold let out a large sigh. He heard a rustle of sheets and two loud thumps. She had sat down and kicked off her boots.
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Thorin."
Bilbo's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. He didn't want you to come on the quest."
"His choices are the reason I'm here."
"His choice to go on the quest?"
"No, the choices he will make."
Bilbo paused to think over this revelation carefully. "Wait a moment, you hate him for decisions he hasn't yet made?"
"Enough, Bilbo" she pleaded, exhaustion weighing her voice.
Bilbo laid back down. His mind would not stop turning. It was cruel of him, but he realized that this was his best chance to get any answers out of her. She was tired and not the least bit sober.
He asked another question that had burned his mind since he last stood in his own threshold.
"Will I return home?"
The question hung in the darkness for many moments.
"I can't answer that," she replied. Her voice had lost some of the exhaustion and gained the familiar steeliness it had whenever she was confronted about anything related to the future of the quest.
He changed tactics.
"Will you return home?"
This answer came faster. "I don't know."
Bilbo sat up again and turned to her bed, though he knew he could see nothing but darkness. "But I thought—"
"It doesn't work that way," she snapped.
Bilbo let a moment pass to let her emotions settle. Hopefully.
"Then how does it work?" he encouraged.
"The future was written a long time ago. But I was never in it."
Bilbo frowned. "Pardon?"
"I was never meant to come on the quest, Bilbo."
"Wait a moment, then why—"
"I'm tired, Bilbo."
"But you can't simply—"
"I'm done for tonight, Bilbo. I'm done."
The silence was final.
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