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Chapter Six

The Tale of the King

Alison had never read a Tolkien book besides The Hobbit. When she had asked her friend Kyle if she should read The Lord of the Rings trilogy several years back, he'd looked her dead in the eye and said, "Not if you want to read hundreds of pages about really detailed walking." She'd thought he was exaggerating, but as she awoke on the third day since departing Hobbiton, she realized that he had been right, in a way—adventuring was a quite tedious and boring thing, and not at all comfortable.

Her joints creaked as she hauled herself into a sitting position atop the extra bedroll Fíli had let her borrow, and she winced when the aching in her muscles started up again. Her thighs, butt, and back were all incredibly sore from riding on her pony for hours at a time, and her boots were giving her blisters as she hadn't had a chance to properly break them in yet.

The dwarves were already awake, packing up their camp and readying their ponies for another day's travel. No one said anything to her as she laced on her boots and tramped into the surrounding trees, but she had grown used to their lack of acknowledgement the past days. The last conversation she'd had with any of them had been two nights ago, a day after they'd left Hobbiton, when Balin had approached her with a contract and a quill already dabbed in ink.

"Evening, Miss Ashburne," he'd said politely, nodding at her where she sat on the ground before their fire after listening to Bilbo—yet again—bemoan his dreaded horse allergy.

"Master Balin," she'd returned, just as cordial. The title was strange for her to use, but if he was going to be formal with her, she'd do just the same.

"Here is your contract," he said, handing her the parchment and quill. "After you have read it thoroughly, please sign with your full given name and return it to me—"

He'd cut off abruptly as she'd taken the contract, skimmed over it, and signed her name at the bottom in sloppy cursive, having to balance the document carefully on her knee in order to write, before giving it back all in the space of his sentence.

"Something wrong?" she asked when he gaped at her.

"You didn't read it," he said, baffled. "How do you know what you just signed if you didn't read it?"

She shrugged. "I've never read the Apple Terms and Conditions, either, but nothing bad has happened yet. Unless you put in some fine print about having to give up my firstborn child or something, I think we're settled on the matter."

The dwarf had looked more and more perplexed with each word out of her mouth, until he finally seemed to resign himself to his fate when it was clear she did not intend on reading the contract.

"Very well," he'd said, rolling up the contract before making to walk away. He'd turned back to her at the last second, and there was a tiny grin on his face as he'd said, "And not to worry, Miss Ashburne. You don't have to give up your firstborn child—only your second."

There had been a beat of stunned silence before he winked, and she had laughed. That had been her last encounter, though—with Balin or any of the other dwarves. Even Fíli, one of the nicer ones, had barely had time to speak to her, for it seemed he was always either discussing things with Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, and Kíli, or going off hunting with his brother. Everyone else was content to leave her to her own devices, which left her with only Bilbo and Gandalf for company, though she'd given up on the wizard pretty quickly once it became clear he was not the most stimulating conversationalist. Bilbo was nice enough, but he never seemed to understand her humor, which had left her quiet and isolated for the past three days.

After she had relieved herself (desperately wishing, not for the first time, that she had toilet paper), she trudged back to the camp they had made in a small clearing off the Great East Road, as Gandalf had called it, and began packing her things. Once she was finished and her supplies had been loaded onto her pony, she meandered along the edge of the clearing, re-braiding her hair as she went.

It was difficult working through all the snarls and tangles, but she had to make do without a hairbrush or mirror. She hummed tunelessly, just managing to secure the end of her braid with her hair tie when Kíli emerged from the bushes behind her. He came up short when he saw her, but upon realizing it was only her, he simply nodded his head shortly before walking past, heading for where his uncle and brother stood.

Sighing and wondering again why the Valar had to choose her specifically for this task, she swung herself into the saddle of her pony on Thorin's command, preparing herself for another miserable day.


It was nearing midday when Alison received a pleasant surprise in the form of Fíli drawing his pony even with hers, a wide, friendly grin on his face that was half apology.

"Fancy seeing you back here with the rejects," she said, indicating herself and Bilbo, who fortunately was too busy talking with Gandalf to hear her. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"You have Thorin to thank for that," he said.

"What? Are you not allowed to associate with a lowly commoner such as myself?" Her tone was teasing, but her face must have betrayed her annoyance, for he frowned at her.

"Don't jest like that," he said, his eyes serious. "You are far from being a commoner." His frown deepened. "And I am not that kind of prince. I don't discriminate against birth or station."

"I'm sorry," she said, guilty. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." He smiled tightly at her. "But I do apologize for my absence. It was not my intention to leave you alone for so long."

"I wasn't alone," she protested. "I had Bilbo, and even Gandalf sometimes."

One of his mustache braids twitched. "I am sure the wizard provided you with exhilarating conversation."

"He did." She sniffed. "He even told me all about his fireworks at one point."

She tried to maintain her haughty attitude, but when Fíli's mouth twitched again, she couldn't help but laugh, the dwarf prince following soon after.

"All right, so perhaps he was a little…dry," she said. "But I'm sure he said very many important things about this world that I should've been listening to rather than falling asleep in my saddle."

Fíli laughed again.

"You know, we dwarves aren't such bad company ourselves," he said. "You should join us sometime rather than keeping to yourself back here."

Alison bit her lip, looking down to her lap and fiddling with a piece of her pony's hair before answering.

"It's not that I don't want to," she said. "But I don't think your companions are too keen on having me here in the first place. I don't want to cause any unnecessary tension."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She lifted her shoulders halfheartedly. "I mean, I was kinda forced on you guys. And I know Thorin agreed to let me come and all, but…some others don't seem too happy about that."

"They'll come around," he assured. "Even Dwalin can't stay so sullen for that long."

She rather disagreed with him on that point; Dwalin had done nothing but glare at her since they had left Hobbiton, and he gave no indication of relenting anytime soon.

"And your brother?" She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. "Will he ever come around?"

Fíli scratched at his cheek. "'Course he will. It's just something he'll have to get used to."

"I just don't understand." She sighed. "You've been nothing but nice to me ever since Bilbo's house, and he acts like the mere sight of me offends him."

The dwarf prince shifted in his saddle, casting the others a brief glance where they rode ahead. Kíli rode side-by-side with Dwalin and Bofur, laughing at something the latter had said. It was the first time she had seen him look even remotely happy, but she turned back to Fíli when he spoke again.

"I would appreciate if you kept this conversation between us," he said. She nodded, gazing to him in bewilderment. "There's a reason Kíli is acting the way he is—not that this justifies anything," he said hastily, "but maybe it can explain his…coolness."

"He already told me," she said. "You don't have to betray his secrets to me." She shook her head. "I know what this looks like, believe me. The Valar send you all some random girl who doesn't know anything about being a warrior despite being descended from one with the task of helping you reclaim your own homeland, which she has nothing to do with. It looks bad, like the Valar don't have faith in what you're doing. I'm like their own divine intervention, basically."

She shrugged. "I don't blame anyone for their behavior. Not even your brother. Though I do want to know why you don't seem to fear me as much as they do."

She glanced to him questioningly, but he merely grinned.

"It's not everyday you meet someone from another world," he said. "I am curious, though. What is your world like?"

She raised her eyebrows. "So, you believe me?"

"Why would I not?"

"Why would you, though?" she said. "All you have is my word and Gandalf's. There's hardly any proof."

"Miss Alison," he said patiently, "I've lived in this world over eighty years. I have seen all manner of dwarves and Men. Believe me when I say that I could spot you as a foreigner from a league away." When she appeared utterly lost, he grinned. "Have you not noticed how different your speech is from the rest of us? Your dialect and accent are like nothing I've heard before. Sometimes it's impossible for me to understand you. And that's only on the surface."

Alison sat, stumped. Now that Fíli had mentioned it, she understood what he was talking about. Though fortunately the Common Tongue of Middle-earth was quite like English, the dwarves did have accents that made it more difficult for her to discern certain words when they spoke. And not to mention that they had their own language to speak as well that was unlike anything she'd heard before.

"Maybe you're right," she said reluctantly. Her mind then snagged on a piece of information she hadn't registered before. "Wait, what do you mean, eighty years? You're eighty years old?"

"Eighty-two," he corrected with a shrug.

"Excuse me?" Alison gaped. "How are you not ancient?"

She could tell he was amused by her outburst, and a little smug as well when he smirked. "Dwarves age differently than Men. We have longer lifespans than you."

"By how long?"

"A couple of centuries, give or take."

Alison glanced over her shoulder, dropping her voice. "How old do you think Gandalf is, then?"

"Easy. At least five hundred. He's a wizard."

"Really? I think more along the thousand-year mark."

Fíli turned to her, his eyes sparkling. "Are you suggesting a wager, Miss Alison?"

"Perhaps, Prince Fíli," she said mischievously.

He grinned, holding out a large hand. "Whoever loses has to buy the winner a round of ale in the next village we stop in."

She shook on it. "Deal."

Now that their bet was on, Alison and Fíli waited until Gandalf and Bilbo had caught up to them before Alison started casually, "So, Gandalf…"


Neither Alison nor Fíli had won their wager when the Company stopped to make camp for the night, which the two were sorely disappointed by. The wizard had been unforthcoming despite their many attempts to trick him into revealing his true age, and they had finally given up, dejected, after Thorin called for a halt.

The night was clear and starry by the time their camp was set up, the large cookfire in the center of their clearing casting flickering shadows against the large outcropping of rock that sheltered them from the chilly northern breeze. Fíli and Kíli had drawn the first watches for the night, and the two brothers claimed their posts against the rock while everyone else unpacked supplies and Bombur began to cook.

Alison sat on her bedroll, rubbing her sore feet and wincing at the blisters that had cropped up on her heels from her boots. She felt quite useless just sitting there, but anytime she offered her help to the Company she was merely waved off and sent away with a grunt, so she had stopped asking.

She peeled off her sweaty socks and dribbled some water from her water bottle on the blisters, hissing when the cool liquid hit her skin. She would have given anything for a bandage right then, if only to keep the blisters from getting worse. If these were the result of simply riding a pony, then she shuddered to think what would happen once they had to start walking.

"Mahal above, lass, what'd you do to yourself?"

She looked up to see one of the older dwarves, Óin, staring down at her feet with wide eyes. The small ear horn he always carried was held to his right ear to hear her answer, and she refrained from hiding her feet beneath her blanket as she cringed.

"Gandalf bought me these boots a few days ago," she explained. "I haven't had the chance to properly break them in yet though, so…"

She trailed off, shrugging, but the gray-haired dwarf only studied her for a long moment before striding away. Awkward now after his abrupt departure, she went to pour more water on her smarting blisters before he came back, carrying a small leather pouch.

"Let's see 'em," he said, pointing to her feet when she blinked back at him, uncomprehending. Hesitantly, she stretched out her legs and he grabbed her ankles, lifting them and observing her heels carefully before he pulled out a jar of salve and a roll of bandages from his pouch.

"See me mornin' and night so I can dress these," he said, indicating her blisters. "Hopefully you'll be fine within a few days. In the meantime, try and break those boots in, aye?"

She could only nod, too distracted now by sweet relief as he slathered the salve over her blisters. He wrapped a small amount of the bandaging around her feet before gesturing for her to put her socks back on, and she did, her pain already reduced to nothing but a slight twinge.

"Thank you, Master Óin," she said sincerely, looking up at him.

He grunted. "Óin."

She nodded, surprised, before he gave her a brief smile and walked away to rejoin the other dwarves.

They ate dinner in a circle around the fire that night, feasting on the rabbit stew that Bombur had cooked with the morning's catch provided by Kíli, who was apparently quite handy with a bow. She sat in between Fíli and Bilbo, eating in silence while the dwarves laughed and bantered around her. They were all obviously very close, as depicted by their inside jokes and stories, and even though Alison wasn't entirely comfortable being in their presence yet, she still found herself grinning into her bowl every now and then at something they'd said.

She had just taken a bite of stew when Fíli clapped a hand on her shoulder, causing her to inhale sharply and begin coughing, startled. Heedless to her choking, however, he only said, "You should've seen the look on this one's face when I told her my age! I thought she was going to keel backwards off her pony!"

Alison rubbed her throat after managing to swallow her bite, though her face was now red as she garnered the attention of the dwarves.

"Yeah," she rasped, floundering for something to say instead of just sitting there like a mute. "I was just surprised you hadn't turned into dust yet, considering you're practically a fossil."

There was a beat of silence around the fire, and Alison began to panic when no one said anything, only staring at her with unreadable expressions.

Shit, she thought. Was I not supposed to say that? Fíli was the Crown Prince, after all. Had she just insulted him? Thorin? Shitshitshitshit—

Finally, the silence was broken by Fíli himself, who began to guffaw loudly from beside her. Some of the others began laughing as well. Bofur and Fíli seemed to be the most enthusiastic, but others like Nori, Ori, and Bombur were chuckling, too. Bilbo huffed nervously on her other side, and Gandalf looked slightly amused. Even Balin held back a small grin. The only ones who weren't laughing were Thorin, Dwalin, Kíli, and the ones named Glóin and Dori, who only watched her disapprovingly.

"How old are you then, Miss Ashburne?" Bofur asked her from across the fire. His smile was wide and dimpled, and she found herself unintimidated by it—it was just too friendly.

"Eighteen." She scraped the bottom of her bowl with her spoon, only looking up when she noticed that the camp had gone silent again. The dwarves watched her with a mixture of shock and disbelief, and she frowned. "What?"

"But—you're a wee lass!" said Bofur, his smile gone.

"Uh, not really." She glanced around the circle. "I'm literally an adult." When they still said nothing, she huffed out an annoyed breath. "Dwarves and humans age differently, right? Shouldn't you all know that already?"

"We know," said Fíli. Even he was looking at her as if she had sprouted a third arm. "But we didn't think you were that young, even by the standards of Men."

"Well, surprise." She wiggled her fingers, acutely aware of all the attention she was receiving. "Anything else you'd like me to unpack tonight?"

"I think that will do," Thorin said, standing with his empty bowl and glancing to her coolly. "We should all get some rest. We set out at first light."

Upon his order, the circle dispersed, cleaning their utensils and readying for bed. Fíli and Kíli resumed their posts underneath the outcropping of rock, lighting their pipes and talking in low voices, but Thorin remained awake with them, settling himself on a boulder near the ravine their camp was next to and beginning to sharpen his axe with a whetstone.

Alison laid down on her bedroll, snuggling under the wool blanket and listening to the nighttime noises of crickets and other creatures, wondering if she would ever get used to the sounds. She had just closed her eyes when a vicious shriek tore through the night, and she sat up quickly, seeing that the only ones who had reacted to the sound were Bilbo, the two brothers on watch, Thorin, and herself; everyone else was asleep.

Bilbo, who had been standing near where their ponies were tied up for the night, scuttled back over to Alison, his eyes wide in his white face. "What was that?"

"Orcs," said Kíli, his dark eyes raking the mist-covered landscape beyond. Bilbo gulped nervously.

Fíli met Alison's gaze across the camp and gave her a reassuring smile. "There's nothing to worry about. The lowlands are crawling with them, but they wouldn't dare attack a company as large as ours."

Alison nodded, hoping he was right. She'd rather not have to face an orc just yet. Preferably never.

Bilbo still looked quite worried, but he stretched out on his bedroll all the same, his exhaustion clearly overriding his fear, for he was asleep within minutes. Alison attempted to follow his example, but found quickly that that was going to be impossible. She was too anxious now for sleep, and she kept fidgeting on her bedroll, her imagination conjuring up images of bloodthirsty orcs waiting in the shadows, ready to slit her throat once her eyes closed.

After nearly an hour of this, she sat up, scrubbing her face and silently cursing herself for her stupid fears. The fire was burning low now, and their camp had become more shadows than light as she looked around. Thorin had finally gone to sleep, but Fíli and Kíli were still on watch, playing a quiet card game to keep themselves occupied during the long hours. As if sensing her gaze, Fíli looked up and saw her, gesturing for her to join them.

Hesitating only briefly, she obeyed and dragged her bedroll over to them, sitting cross-legged and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as she watched them play, ignoring the irritated glance Kíli had sent her way upon her arrival.

"Can't sleep?" Fíli asked her in a low voice.

"Hard to close your eyes when you know there's orcs nearby," she said.

Fíli nodded, taking a drag from his pipe. "I know what you mean." He put a card down and Kíli cursed.

Alison watched them for another moment before speaking again. "Have you ever seen orcs?" When Kíli's eyes flickered in her direction, she added, "Either of you?"

"Aye," Fíli said. "We've fought in a few skirmishes with them back at the Blue Mountains when they've strayed too far into our territory. Nasty little buggers, they are. Ugly, too. And foul." He made a face. "Why do you ask? Have you never seen one before?"

She shook her head. "No. Honestly, I didn't think they ever existed until now."

Fíli frowned. "Do you not have orcs in your world?"

"No," she said again, and grinned slightly at the look of shock that flitted across his face. "We don't have anything like you do here. No orcs, no goblins, no trolls, no elves." She jerked her head to where Bilbo was sleeping. "No hobbits, either."

"What about dwarves?" Fíli asked. He had abandoned his cards in favor of listening to her, but even Kíli was watching her now, his eyes dark and inscrutable.

"There's dwarves, but not like you," she said. "They don't dwell in mountains or anything. They're just…people. Like me."

"Are you saying that your world…is nothing but Men?" said Fíli in astonishment.

"Well, there's animals, too," she said. "But yeah. Just regular old humans. No magic or anything. Just…normalcy."

"A world of only Men and no magic," said Kíli, speaking up for the first time since she had joined them and scoffing. "Yet somehow your ancestor ended up in it."

Alison narrowed her eyes at him. "Maybe he got tired of being surrounded by orcs and dwarves."

Kíli glared right back at her, but Fíli broke in before his brother could retort.

"I know something that'll make this night go by a whole lot faster," he said cheerfully. "Have you ever heard the story of how Thorin got the name Oakenshield, Miss Alison?"

She racked her brain, trying to recall if she'd read about it in the book, but she couldn't remember. "Can't say I have."

"Excellent," said Fíli, settling himself in against the rock more comfortably. "You're in for a treat, then."

"Do you have to tell it right now?" Kíli said, sounding very much like a whiny child. "I've heard it so many times I can probably recite the damn thing in my sleep."

"Too bad," Fíli said. He cleared his throat. "After the dragon Smaug took the Lonely Mountain, King Thrór—Thorin's grandfather, and our great-grandfather—led a campaign to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. Only the thing was, Moria had been taken by legions of Gundabad orcs, led by the vilest of all their race: Azog the Defiler, the Pale Orc. There was a battle then, one they call now the Battle of Azanulbizar. It was bloody and long, waging from night to dawn. It seemed that the dwarves were finally gaining an upper hand until Thrór faced down Azog one-on-one. He fought valiantly, but in the end, the king was beheaded by the Defiler."

Alison found herself entranced by the story; even Kíli seemed to forget to glare at her as they listened to Fíli.

"Thráin, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing—taken prisoner or killed, no one knows. Even our uncle Frerin—Thorin's younger brother—was slain." He frowned, his eyes sad. Even Kíli was subdued. After a moment, Fíli went on. "Balin tells it that next, Thorin charged the Pale Orc, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the Line of Durin would not be so easily broken. With Thorin's victory, the dwarf forces rallied and drove the enemy back, though there were too many still to take back Moria. But ever since, Thorin has been known as Thorin Oakenshield, because of the shield that had served him in the defeat of the Pale Orc."

"Holy shit." Alison whistled. "That's…intense."

Kíli snorted. "That's an understatement."

"You're an understatement," she retorted childishly, if only to see his reaction, and she was not disappointed when he turned on her, affronted.

"Oi, knock it off, you two," said Fíli. "Either learn to get along or stop talking altogether."

"He's the one who has a problem with me," she said between gritted teeth.

Kíli's eyes flashed in the gloom, his expression morphing into anger.

"My problem is not you, Miss Ashburne," he snapped. "My problem lies with the Valar and their unwanted meddling that brought you to us."

"Do you think I asked for this?" she hissed, jabbing a hand around their camp. "To be taken from everything I know and end up here, bound to some ridiculous Oath because my ancestor a thousand years ago agreed to it?" She shook her head, feeling angry tears well in her eyes.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to," she choked out. "You all chose to leave your families and homes behind to be on this quest, but I didn't get that choice. And if I die then no one from my world will ever know what happened to me. I won't be mourned." She sniffed angrily. Fíli watched her sympathetically, and even Kíli had the decency to look slightly abashed. "So don't blame me for the actions of the Valar. I'm just trying to go back home, same as you."

And with that, she dragged her bedroll back to the other side of the camp before throwing herself upon it and bringing the blanket up to her chin. She did manage to sleep that night, thankfully, but only after she had cried herself into submission.


Until next time!