For two days the boats rowed up the Long Lake. It had become a slow, nauseating experience for Éla: one she decided she did not like.
During those long couple of days, she thought about what the bowman had said in hopes of taking her mind off her topsy-turvy stomach. Nights were far worse as they made little progress against the strong current. It seemed to have slowed them even more. Though it was all a figment of the imagination, she still felt somewhat cheated that not one other had succumbed to the rolling waves' hypnotic illness.
As much as they all wanted their home freed from the dragon, she had no authority over Thorin's decisions. There were no supplementary doubts that he wouldn't listen to what she had to say; however, his judgement would forevermore remain final. The more time she spent thinking, the stronger Éla's realization portrayed itself before her: she would follow Thorin until the end, just like everyone amidst his company.
The rocking reminder of the boat left the female wanting to be far away from these wooden vessels and even farther away from large bodies of water.
On the third evening, preceding the torturous biliousness for a select few, the rowers drew up towards the left bank and debarked the company of dwarves near ponies and provisions as promised by the Master of Esgaroth. Éla and Bilbo were of the first to land their feet on solid ground.
"Finally." Éla nearly stumbled over her boots upon walking down the plank extending to shore. She had grown accustomed to balancing her body mass against the tipping of the boat, so it took a moment to regain some former composure in standing firm. Bilbo walked passed, quickly inspecting his surroundings before facing the rest of the group filing one by one down the stilted beam.
"That wasn't so bad." He proclaimed rather cheerfully. Éla gauged his mood, knowingly aware of the hobbit's gloomy expressions towards the mountain when he thought no one was watching. Bilbo sensed her holding stare and tried to shed some light. "You haven't fallen ill which I may point out, is a good sign."
"I suppose." She gave a half-suppressed laugh. Being in the continuous company of a hobbit seemed to keep her mind at ease. They were very laid-back folk, complete opposites to dwarves. Bilbo had a gentle soul, regardless of the dread hidden behind those grey-blue eyes. "Now I just need to shake off the upset feeling in my stomach."
Bilbo nodded, shielding his hands from the cool temperature in the front pockets of his waistcoat. "I'm sure it will pass over soon."
Balin watched the dwarves, his eye fixed more so on the female accompanying them, then turned towards Thorin who waited for the rest to make it to shore. The elder leaned closer for a reserved conversation as the men busied themselves with the mechanisms of their craft.
"It is not too late."
Thorin faced his friend in question. "For what?"
"Éla." Balin looked over their surroundings uneasily, although he voiced his opinion in a calm, steady fashion. "This is her last chance for safety."
"I already spoke to her on the matter." Thorin's gaze narrowed upon settling on the silhouettes ashore. "She does not want to be left behind."
Balin became momentarily speechless, his mouth slightly agape and unsure how to proceed with what he had just heard. Not in one hundred years had he heard such an excuse come from his king. He quickly recovered and moved to fill Thorin's sight with himself. "If the worst befalls us all, namely you, then she will be."
As his advisor, he was obligated to make Thorin see all options available to them, when given the opportunity amidst their present standing. Dwarf women were highly valued due to their slow re-population rate and low numbers. Balin knew it as did Thorin, but to willingly allow Éla to continue forth over an inane cause - he wanted to make certain that Thorin fully understood the gamble they were taking.
"Balin, I would be dead before I left her in a town of men. She would not be safe there."
"Nor will she be safe once we reach the mountain!" The white-haired dwarf piped down as the bowman approached within earshot.
"We will go no further. From here you are on your own." Bard eyed Thorin coolly. "Once you disembark, we will take our leave. Necessities have been stored under a tent for your needs near the ponies."
Balin gave his thanks and followed an ill-tempered Thorin to shore.
The men did not stay long once the sails were repositioned. They made quick work to get out of the mountain's shadow looming over their location. The dwarves watched in silence as the boats faded out of view. None were inclined to sort through the provisions right away, for the last signs of life vanished along with a setting sun.
With night vastly approaching, each member was assigned a task and set to work to make camp off shore. Bilbo was last to turn his back on the river where the wooden craft disappeared some time earlier. Every minute that passed felt like a loop as time stood still. Up one end of the river, he knew it was safe, on the other end was all unknown to him. He counted his blessings that nothing would surprise them in the night.
Bombur plunked himself on a mossy tree log in front of a cooking pot with a butcher knife in hand. He unwrapped one package of meat, carefully pealing each corner one at a time as if it were a delicate flower. A twinkle could be seen in the corner of his eye as he ogled his work. In no time, the plump dwarf began slicing the red meat into bite-sized pieces for a stew. Bofur poured some water into the pot and transferred it over the crackling fire to bring it to a boil, since his brother's focus was infested over the food. He too sat next to the cooking fire and started working on some vegetables to add all while whistling a merry tune.
Éla came over with Bilbo shortly after the first round of meat was dumped in the pot, their arms full of varying lengths of wood for the fire.
"Need help?" She asked gallantly.
Bofur searched frivolously around the makeshift table on a stump and boulder before catching the flame's reflection of Bombur's cooking utensils sprawled out on the ground. He snatched the extra knife and handed it to her.
"Here ye go. The sooner we get these vegetables peeled and prepped, the sooner we can eat!"
Éla took the knife and sat between the two and followed the dwarf's direction, leaving the hobbit on stirring duty. "What's on the menu for tonight?"
"Stew à la Bombur."
The two suppressed glances while holding back a laugh over Bombur's enthusiasm for food. The dwarf didn't know how to take their reactions and appeared embarrassed for saying anything. He quickly distracted himself with another package of meat, unraveling the thick slice with the same amount of care as the first, letting his sight falter from possible humility.
"Any cooking from you always turns out delicious, Master Bombur." Éla added for encouragement. He really was a good cook for someone who could eat more than he could chew.
Bilbo looked at the round dwarf and could've sworn a light tint shaded his cheeks from the compliment. "Thank you."
"I mean it Bombur. If not for you or Bofur, or even Master Baggins," she surveyed those around her, smiling at Bilbo in the dark, "we'd probably starve ourselves."
Bofur gave a hidden wink before resuming his whistling as if their small talk never happened. Éla lined up a potato with the knife. As the blade dug into the skin, slowly lifting its outer layer away from its core, she caught wind of a smell mixing in with the earthy aroma. After a moment, she smelled the air with an attempt to not make the three bodies closest to her suspicious of her actions. The nauseated sensation returned, steadily building within the pit of her stomach.
Éla mentally inspected with the aid of her eyes, anything and everything that gave off an odour. It didn't take long to pinpoint the source: raw meat. Bombur happily chopped away at the final pieces. The mild wind soon changed direction, blowing the aroma from the fire over them as Bofur got up to stir the contents in the pot. Éla paused and put down the knife, her stomach churning from the new smell. She closed her eyes to try and focus on the cool breeze in hopes that it would settle any agitations. As Bombur stood, he placed the last bit of food into the pot with a splash. The new items sizzled within the heated water, the aroma intensifying.
"That smells awfully good."
Her stomach flipped as Bilbo spoke, the sensation overpowering her gag reflex. In one shaky breath, she rose from the ground and nonchalantly walked away from the cooking fire in-behind a small patch of oaks. Éla felt sickened by the meat and wanted to get as far away from it. She stumbled a little ways further from camp just in time as the contents of her stomach emptied behind a tree. A foul taste was left in her mouth. Grabbing the flask tied to her belt, she took a mouthful and swished the water around before spitting it out.
At least the swaying motion disappeared and Éla felt better slumping to the ground, forehead resting on the cool leather of her arm after wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
"You alright, lass?" Bofur rounded the edge of the trees and knelt down to her level. He grew concerned when she disappeared, leaving him and his Bombur so suddenly. They had been huddled around the fire one minute, and when he turned around, Éla was nowhere in sight.
She raised her head to meet the winged hat and funny mustache peering at her so closely. Éla couldn't help herself from chuckling. Bofur unknowingly took on an appearance of a curious child when he was worried.
"The waves finally caught up with my stomach." She gave a half-hearted smile before he laughed at her. "I'll be fine."
"That was hours ago." The dwarf looked down at the wretched mess between them expanding over the soil like thick liquid.
He offered his hand for her to get up. "Funny ye can stomach a river of rapids over small waves in a boat."
"I had control over my barrel." She protested, adding to his amused visage. "My nerves just got the better of me."
"If ye say so."
Bofur guided her back to camp where she took up a position near the ponies that was a safe distance from the blowing smells. With the nausea gone, her stomach began protesting hunger. Ori soon joined the female in quiet solitude, his quill scratching away in his book. Éla smiled at the young scribe; he would become an amazing storytelling one day, or even a recorder. There would be plenty of work available to him once the quest has been fulfilled. Many opportunities would be presented to all of them should Thorin remember rightfully so. It was one more perk to look forward to should they all survive. In the meantime, most had their thoughts swarming around sleep and the last leg in their journey.
After a quick meal, the dwarves gathered around the fire to keep warm from the cold, weary night. Not much was said as their spirits fell, giving in to the gloomy sky and low howling of the wind. Éla did her best to remain positive, but even she could only pretend for so long. Dori was given first watch and so the company huddled their bedrolls near the fire. She watched them settle before sitting down on hers. Thorin placed himself next to Éla, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down with him. She pressed her back against his chest. It was not the same having armor barricading her from him, but she was content for the gesture and silence.
End of Ch23 + 24 was edited to fix the structure of conversations.