Chapter 3 – Gilded Plumbing Fixtures
Zed didn't complain about the weather but was obviously annoyed by it. She had an eye-wateringly yellow hooded coat that was made of a thin substance that seemed incapable of absorbing water, but the odd garment didn't cover her legs; although Bifur shared his cloak with her, she, like the rest of the company, could not keep from getting at least somewhat damp in some spots and completely sodden in others.
When they stopped to make camp on the first night of rain, she took the bright blue sheet of strange, slick, crinkly fabric that she'd been folding up under her sleeping mat and "sleeping bag" on all the previous nights and finally unfolded it completely. With a bit of colorful cord and two closely spaced trees, she quickly constructed a little triangular shelter that almost entirely sealed out the persistent wetness from both above and below and on all but two sides. She stuffed her sleeping mat and "sleeping bag" inside and then crawled through to join them. A few moments later, her small hand poked out and began flinging pieces of her wet outfit over the cord, which was apparently to act as both tent support and clothesline… Actually, it quickly became obvious that she wasn't trying to dry the clothes, which would have been impossible; she was just using them to block the two open points in her construction, giving herself a bit more protection from the wind and rain.
She didn't emerge for the rest of the evening, and when Bifur tried to give her a ration of cram and dried meat (efforts to light a fire had been unsuccessful, so they had no stew to warm them), he reported that she was already asleep, burrowed into the "sleeping bag" and draped with the odd not-metal sheet.
In the morning, they all put their wet clothes back on, broke camp, and set out again.
The next week passed with a fairly similar routine: wet, miserable days and wet, even more miserable nights. The only variation in the monotony came on the third day, when Miss Zed's fever, which had been stubbornly present yet very mild until that point, spiked with a vengeance. She shivered constantly and didn't seem particularly aware and slept even more than she already had been, occasionally mumbling or weakly crying out for "Lem" or "Lemmy."
They managed to camp against a large boulder, which meant that her waterproof blue sheet could be reconfigured to shield more than just herself from the persistent downpour. Sleeping with her father on one side and the hobbit (threatened within an inch of his life but the only one who would fit in the remaining space) on the other seemed to help the girl warm up overnight, but any progress was ruined during their wet slog through the following day. They weren't as lucky with subsequent campsites, and she shivered through those nights alone in her shelter, still warmer and drier than the rest but suffering far worse.
Three days later, when the rain finally stopped, Thank Mahal, she was looking distinctly ill—mostly pale but flushed bright red in the cheeks, coughing and wheezing and rasping the few nonsensical words that she could force from her obviously sore and swollen throat. Her face seemed gaunt even from just a few missed meals, and she had looked far too frail to begin with. She tried a few more times to beg them for a doctor and a hospital but quickly gave up, apparently resigned to her fate and thinking them cruel for refusing to help her escape it.
Oin did his best to ply her with remedies, but nothing had much of an effect; some even seemed to make her worse. Her breathing was growing more and more labored, and she'd immediately vomited their last several attempts to have her drink medicinal tea or even water.
When Gandalf took Thorin aside and brought up the prospect of making for Rivendell, the dwarf king paused and thought on the option a lot longer than he normally would have.
On the one hand, he wasn't about to let a young dam die or even suffer unnecessarily for his hatred and stubbornness; there was only so much Oin could do for her in the wilds, especially if the weather turned again, and elves were renowned for their healing abilities.
On the other hand… elves.
"We can go no farther tonight regardless," Thorin finally decided, glaring into the remains of the burned farmhouse. "We will see if an evening of warm food and dry clothing puts her on the mend. If not, we will make for the elves' lair in the morning."
Although his expression remained sour, the wizard agreed, "Reasonable. I hope she is none the worse for the delay… I will go tonight to give warning of our potential visit. Perhaps I can return with a tonic or even a healer, at the very least a guide for the rest of you so that I might take her on ahead."
Thorin nodded. He certainly didn't like the strange girl any better for putting him in the position of potentially having to make nice with pointy-eared tree-shaggers, let alone ask for their help (which part of him still expected them to refuse to provide). But he also hadn't missed his nephew's infatuation and morose pining and near-frantic worry (despite the fact that between Fili's lingering embarrassment about their encounter about the pony and the girl's illness, the two youth hadn't spoken at all). If the girl died, Fili would never be the same. More importantly, Thorin had not forgotten the voice that his nephew had heard, possibly that of their Maker, warning them to keep the girl close and protected or else meet the destruction of the Durin line.
Thorin and the wizard returned to camp and announced the decision; the wizard departed soon after with little fanfare, though much gratitude from the Broadbeams amongst them. On horseback, he would likely make good time and return well before daylight, if he didn't dawdle over some weeds with the spindly cretins.
There was nothing left to do but their normal camp activities, with much more tension than usual. Thorin tried to distract his nephews with pony duty; however, Fili refused to be parted from his lady love, and Kili refused to be parted from his brother (despite rolling his eyes at said brother's fretting and hovering). Ultimately, Nori (who despised being around sickness) and the halfling (who was especially twitchy without the wizard's presence) were assigned the task, with a promise from Ori that he would deliver dinner to them as soon as it was ready (although he lost himself writing in his journal, so such delivery was unsurprisingly delayed).
"A far more eventful beginning than I would have liked," Balin observed as he sat down beside Thorin at the edge of the dim clearing. The white-haired advisor took his time lighting a pipe and then observed, "I'm beginning to wonder if she'll be safe traveling with us."
Thorin growled and fished out his own pipe, the familiar action of readying it a balm to his scattered thoughts. "What else would you have me do?" he muttered. "Leave her with the elves? Send her to Ered Luin? Either way, I would likely lose at least Bifur to the endeavor, if not both his cousins as well. To say nothing of my lovesick nephew and his loyal brother. And I cannot forget the voice that Fili heard-"
"The lad was near-enough struck by lightning," Balin argued. "I'm unsure how much weight we should give to anything he thinks he heard-"
"Fili has never been prone to flights of fancy," Thorin insisted. "He would not have told me unless he was certain. I trust his judgement… And the look he wears now when he gazes at her… I know that look. Frerin and I tried for nearly a decade to beat it off of Vali's face."
They shared a bittersweet chuckle, lost in memories of simpler times when the lads' father and Thorin's own brother still lived to make everyone else's lives more difficult yet ultimately brighter.
Eventually, after much silence and many smoke rings, Balin drawled, "Perhaps it is that I do not want to believe it. Doom for the line of Durin is… And averting that catastrophe rests on the shoulders of…" He sighed. "Thorin, I'm not entirely convinced she's sane, let alone capable of helping anyone, even herself."
He huffed, "I'm not certain it's fair to judge what we've seen of her so far. She still thinks we kidnapped her and… who knows what else… Her world is clearly different from our own." With a smirk, he sagely observed, "Perhaps her behavior is perfectly normal there." Though he liked to believe that insulting a person and threatening to strangle him with his own hair was frowned upon everywhere.
It had not been the least bit amusing at the time, and only his shock at being spoken to in such a way kept him from immediately responding in kind. However, he'd come to appreciate the fact that she must have mithril in her spine to unflinchingly shout down over a dozen warriors, one of whom was a king, all of whom were armed when she was entirely not.
She and Dis were either going to adore each other or kill each other.
Some small part of Thorin was a bit gleeful to watch the carnage; it would be fitting payback on his sister and his soon-to-be niece.
He didn't doubt that Fili would manage to woo her (everyone adored Fili; he was golden in every sense of the word), which meant that Thorin had to start resigning himself to a crass half-dwarf from another world as Erebor's next queen.
Well, they would hopefully have many decades between his coronation and Fili's to instill some semblance of acceptable manners into little Miss Zed.
If she didn't die.
Thorin would be greatly annoyed if she died.
He'd had enough doom for one lifetime.
Approaching footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see Nori slink out of the woods and into the light of the fire. He had a strange look on his face and cautiously drawled, "Don't wanna alarm anyone, but three huge mountain trolls are stealing our ponies."
There was a moment of frozen horror and surprise.
And then everyone turned to stare at Miss Zed.
Who had repeatedly mentioned trolls—specifically, three huge mountain trolls—and the company's fate of almost being eaten by them…
xxXxx
She felt like shit, like a lifetime of almost never getting worse than the sniffles had caught up to her all at once.
And some soon-to-be-dead asshole had yanked her upright and was trying to shake her awake.
Which she very much did not want to be.
"Fuck off," the girl slurred, shoving clumsily at the large hands gripping her arms and shoulders.
"Lass," the gruff voice of one of her kidnappers barked, "Tell us about the trolls!"
She whined and squirmed for a few more seconds but quickly exhausted herself, with nothing to show for the efforts. So, she went limp and croaked out, "William, Bert, and Tom. Go'way. I don' wanna play Tolkien trivia. Won' even get any beer if I win, so wha's the point?"
After a brief beat of confused grumbling, the voice demanded, "What happens with the trolls? How do we defeat them?"
"Hobbit cooking tips," she yawned, finally forcing her eyes open and blinking blearily at Dwalin and Nori, who were crouched on either side of her and helping her clearly distressed "father" hold her up. "Oh," she added, "And parasites."
"What?"
"Ey?"
"Parasites?"
"Who's got parasites?"
"Do trolls get parasites?"
"Imagine the size of a troll's parasite! Huge!"
"Maybe they keel over from their infections!"
She struggled to track who was speaking, getting even more dizzy if she moved too much. "I guess Gandalf helped, too," said Zed, pawing around for the scrap of cloth that Bofur had sacrificed to her as a snot rag. "Snot rag," she giggled, mopping up some of the mess dripping from her nose. "Aw, poor Bilbo."
"Where is the hobbit?"
"Nori! Don't tell me you left him with-"
"He's just keepin' watch while I get reinforcements! Soft as he might be, he can't hardly screw that up!"
"The wizard is gone! If we need the wizard to defeat the trolls-"
"Go fetch the halfling before he does something stupid-"
That was when her brain decided that, nope, it wasn't dealing with anymore larper BS and promptly turned itself off.
xxXxx
She passed out again, head lolling forward and weak body going limp. They attempted to rouse her several more times, but all they got from the infuriating girl was quiet muttering about squirrel shit and dwarf panties.
Of all absurd things.
They weren't even sure whether her fever was causing her to hallucinate and babble delirious nonsense or…
Thorin felt a vein throbbing painfully in his temple as the camp continued to devolve into chaos and shouting while the company readied weapons and argued plans of action.
Nori helpfully pointed out that a forward charge wasn't likely to work. "'This is exactly how you almost get eaten by trolls,'" he recited. "That's what she yowled at us when we barged in on her in the woods, yeah? I ain't gettin' et by no troll, so let's be a bit smarter about this-"
A distant war cry signaled that Fili and Kili, who'd been dispatched to collect the halfling, had obviously found cause to mount a direct assault. By themselves. Against three huge mountain trolls.
By Mahal's hammer, if they lived through this, Thorin was going to kill them both. At the very least subject them to a long, frank lecture on who did and did not warrant such risks to their own lives.
Discussion ceased as everyone raced off to rescue the idiot heirs of Durin.
Yes, everyone. There was confusion about who had been instantly elected to stay behind with the girl. Dori and Nori pushed their brother down beside her, but Ori didn't get (or perhaps ignored) the hint. Bifur and Oin shared a significant glance, each thinking that the other would (obviously) remain but not bothering to stick around long enough to check…
xxXxx
Someone was shaking her awake. Again. But thankfully not pulling her upright, so she quickly mustered the resolve to crack open her gritty eyes. It was still dark out but slightly less dark than before, maybe just slightly predawn, the fire down to embers. "Dumbledore," she grunted at the wrinkled visage looming over her, "Fuck off. Seriously. Don't you have a long hard staff to keep you busy?"
The "wizard" gave an affronted huff and deepened his scowl when a melodic voice laughed, "Oh ho! I do believe I like her already!"
Zed turned her head (more like let it fall slightly to one side) and found herself staring into a strangely beautiful face. Check that: disturbingly beautiful face, like the dude (she was pretty sure it was a dude) was CGI or at the very least heavily photoshopped.
He also had pointed ears.
"Dope prosthetics," she murmured, slowly reaching up to poke one of the appendages, which actually felt real, warm and everything, so maybe it was actually a creepy body mod. "You're s'posed to be an elf, right?"
The very blond, very fey but somehow also kill-you-with-my-thumbs individual grinned crookedly and agreed, "I am often told as much, yes. How are you feeling, tithen pen?"
She paused to take stock of herself and was happy to note, "Better than earlier, actually. Still shitty though."
With a thoughtful and sympathetic hum, the blond reached into his stylish but rugged jacket and produced an ornate metal flask, which he offered insistently. "Some of this will have you further improved, at least for the time we need to get you into hands more capable than my own."
Although Zed was generally down to party, she couldn't shake the instinctive response of "No drinks from strangers, dude. Them's the rules."
Despite a brief flash of confusion on his eerily pretty face, the blond still smiled and (although he was on one knee at her side) somehow pulled off a very elegant bow. "I am Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," he reported. "Well met, daughter of Aule."
Furrowing her brow made her headache worse, so Zed tried not to do so. Instead, she stared blankly at the "wizard," who had just finished stoking the fire back up to a respectable level, and demanded, "The fuck? Pretty sure Glorfindel wasn't in the book or the movie. If you're goin' that far off script, why can't you just break character and get me a goddamn helicopter? I have really good insurance. I swear." She blinked. "Ok, that's a lie. My insurance sucks, but in my defense, I only got it for tax purposes. Before now, I hadn't needed a doctor in almost seventy years."
She realized a second too late that she done fucked up.
"Almost seventy?" The "wizard" drawled, seeming amused. "That would place your age at at least almost seventy. I'm sure young Fili will be happy to learn such information."
With an awkward chuckle and a thick cough, she backtracked, "Did I say seventy? Clearly, I meant seventeen. Psh. Dude, what are you smoking that you thought seventy made more sense than seventeen?"
The "elf" made a vague choking noise, but the "wizard" merely arched a bushy eyebrow, leaned heavily on his staff, and teased, "Well, young Fili will be significantly less happy to learn that. However, my dear, we must save such discussions for later times. Can you perhaps inform me where the company is? You seem to have been left alone for quite a while, and I find that rather odd."
Happy for the subject change, resolving to plead literally effing dying if pressed on the issue, Zed croaked, "Um, I think they're doing the trolls? I remember being grilled about trolls…" She sniggered and, in her best troll voice, added, "Sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage!"
She got more confused looks, but Gandalf ultimately replied, "Perhaps I will just follow the footprints. Rest easy, Miss Zed. You are safe with Lord Glorfindel. If I and the company do not return shortly or if your condition worsens, he will see you to safety."
"Mhmm," she hummed, snuggling into her sleeping bag and profusely thanking her past self for springing for the absurdly expensive 20-below model. (She usually ended up sleeping on top of or halfway out of it but had figured better safe than sorry.) The self-inflating sleeping mat wasn't too shabby either, as far as implements for comfier ground-sleeping went.
The old dude and his long hard staff (and his other assumed staff of unknown qualities) were gone just a few minutes later, leaving her alone with the Glorfindel, who repeatedly nudged his flask into the side of her head until she grabbed the damn thing (the flask, not her head).
"Fine," she snarked, absolutely done with absolutely everything and completely unconcerned about her fate. She managed to roll over and push herself up onto one elbow and screw the top off before adding, "But if this is a roofie, there's rubbers in my bag. Be a gentleman and use 'em and make sure to clean up after yourself. It's not a trauma if I never know that it happened, savvy?"
For a few seconds, the "elf" looked confused. Then, he looked horrified. Then, he snatched the flask out of her hand.
Rude.
He stared at her for a long moment before making a show of taking a big gulp. When he was done, he vowed, "Until you are convinced that I am not trying to rape you-" he said it with abject disgust "-you will have none of this."
For the first time since waking up in Narnia (or where-the-fuck-ever), Zed felt cowed and maybe a little ashamed of her behavior. "I'd say I was joking," she replied, exhausted and meek, "But it's been a concern. And being sick and held hostage apparently does weird things to my sense of humor." Not that it was all sunshine and lollipops even on a good day, but he didn't need to know that. "I don't suppose you'll call me a helicopter?"
There was another period of thoughtful frowning before the "elf's" visage shifted to understanding and pity. "Mithrandir was correct," he said. "You do not comprehend your situation."
"I don't comprehend your face," she sighed, no heat in the stupid quip. (Honestly, she still didn't comprehend his face, which seemed far too perfect to exist. He even seemed to glow, damn it—a lit-from-within luminosity that every cosmetics company would kill to bottle.)
Again, she caused him confusion. He took the opportunity to sit rather than kneel beside her and then strip off his glove and feel her forehead, which was still hot but not quite as scorching as it had been just a few hours earlier.
"My flask contains miruvor," he patiently explained. "It is a cordial that will restore warmth and strength. Your condition seems much improved from Mithrandir's description, so you do not need to drink if you do not wish to." He still offered it again.
Zed grabbed the shiny object and laughed, "Ooo, reverse psychology. Aren't you a clever girl?" After a contemplative pause, she sighed, "Ok, might as well. I really need to be unconscious right now, and the dwarves haven't delivered on the free beer. And alcohol kills germs, right? I definitely got some germs that need killing." Without waiting for a reply, she toasted the "elf," muttered, "Skol," and gulped down a large mouthful.
The drink was sweet, slightly floral, and oddly but not unpleasantly syrupy. It coated her tongue and her throat on the way down, easing the dryness and pain. As soon as the liquid settled in her belly, warmth did indeed spread outward into the rest of her body, which was suddenly feeling a lot less terrible. She barely tasted the alcohol, but it clearly packed a punch. "Dude," Zed said, looking down at the flask and plotting how to keep it and its contents for herself, "That's some good shit."
He chuckled, "The place you are from must be very strange indeed if comparison to excrement is considered praise."
Although she rolled her eyes at him, Zed explained, "Shit is a very versatile word, I'll have you know. There's good shit and bad shit and the shit and tough shit and holy shit and shit out of luck. Plus, talking shit, having shit for brains, knowing your shit, being a shit-stirrer, being scared shitless, giving a shit, not giving a shit-"
A bright laugh cut off the rambling diatribe, and "Glorfindel" observed, "I bow to your obvious expertise in the matter."
"Damn straight," she grumbled, yawning and snuggling back down into her sleeping bag. Even the single belt of his excellent booze, which she was not giving back and was in fact snuggling against her chest, was making her feel quite relaxed and cozy.
For several long minutes, they shared a companionable silence while Zed sort of dozed and "Glorfindel" fed the fire.
She could've sworn she heard a few far-off roars but couldn't bring herself to be too concerned. It was either nothing or a bear coming to put her out of her misery—regardless, a welcome development.
"Why do you not want your companions to know your age?" the "elf" finally wondered, disturbingly pretty face solemn and blue eyes somehow very, very old.
Zed shivered and insisted, "Obviously, I don't want anyone narcking to social services and getting me stuck in a group home for the next few months."
His perfect brow furrowed in a perfect manner, and his head did a confused-puppy tilt that would make the masses swoon. Eventually, he said, "I do not understand, but since that was clearly a lie, I will not waste any effort in the attempt."
She narrowed her already barely opened eyes (which probably made her look more delirious or constipated than threatening, but whatever). "Where I come from," she casually observed, "Calling someone a liar is a good way to get your ass kicked."
"You already admitted to one lie," he argued, grinning quite boyishly despite the lingering old, old, old aura about him, "Making you already a liar. And I do not claim that you do not have a good reason to lie, or at least what you believe is a good reason to lie. Perhaps it would help you to know that dwarves are considered children until the seventieth year and do not fully come of age until the seventy-seventh year."
She blinked at him for a long moment before falling into a fit of giggles that quickly became coughs. "So, in larper terms," she summarized, "I declared myself jailbait twice over. Oh, that is just… priceless… and totally typical. Fuck. Story of my life. Apparently, I will never not be jailbait…" Then, Gandalf's strange previous comments registered, and she muttered, "Why the hell would Fili be upset? He thinks he's ready for all this jelly?" She gestured rather sarcastically to her short, stocky, currently disgustingly sick and unwashed frame.
Too bootylicious for ya, babe.
"Glorfindel" arched a #perfectbrow at her and drawled, "I have not yet met the dwarf, so I cannot answer your questions. Mithrandir did mention that a prince of the Durin line had found his One in the child of two worlds, which is you, so-"
"I need to be drunker if you expect me to play along with this," Zed announced, sitting up still mostly zipped into her mummy bag and taking another healthy swig. After, she frowned down the neck of the flask, muttering, "Is this getting me drunk at all? I just feel better, barely even tipsy or anything, and I haven't eaten in like a day, so I should be close to smashed…"
He smirked and reported, "For all that it is technically a spirit, miruvor is more restorative than intoxicating. When you have recovered from your illness, perhaps we will share a few flagons of wine… although at either of your reported ages, you might be a bit young for such activities."
"Them's fightin' words, Dobby," she replied, reluctantly finding herself growing fond of the unfairly tall, unfairly pretty nerd. "I already owe you an ass-kicking for pretending that medicine was booze. Very uncool."
"And another for calling you a liar, regardless of your admitted lie," he teased.
Balancing her elbows on her raised knees and her head in one hand while the other dangled the flask, Zed warned, "Be careful. Three ass-kickings will get you a demerit."
With a wide grin, he chuckled, "And pray tell, what does a demerit entail?"
"Let's put it this way," she recited, not quite sure that he was getting the joke, "You do not want to receive three of those."
Before they could continue the conversation, which was becoming a mangled recitation of The Office (because her response to being held captive by cosplayers was apparently to muddle their canon to the point of absurdity), a distinct and much louder roar pierced the gloomy night.
"Don't suppose you'll rummage through the dwarves' packs for me?" Zed inquired, keeping a steady eye on the nearby tree line. "Idiots took my bear mace."
"Glorfindel" blinked at her in confusion and earnest interest, eagerly wondering, "A mace just for bears? What makes it especially suited to bears? I would think that a long-range weapon would be far more effective."
She blinked back at him for few seconds before snorting, "Not that kinda mace." Gesturing with her hands, the girl promised, "It's a black cannister, 'bout yay big. If you find it for me, I'll explain all about it." She probably wouldn't mace him in the eyes and run away cackling—he'd been fairly nice, after all, and she wouldn't get far in her current state anyway—but once again having the option to do so would make her feel a lot better. Oh, and in case of actual bears, too…
He wasn't down to poke through the "dwarves'" piles of gear, citing that the enmity between their race and his would undoubtedly be exacerbated by such an action, even if it was done at a fair lady's behest.
Zed decided she was whatever about it, especially as she noticed that the sky was starting to lighten, which meant that the troll episode was likely over. She could get back to being pestered by her usual bunch of larpers rather than the too-tall, too-pretty babysitter they'd given her as a stand-in.
Whether he was there to protect her from bears or prevent her from escaping—or both—was impossible to determine.
xxXxx
There were three huge mountain trolls and sage and squirrel shit and dwarf "panties" (which they figured to be underclothes), not to mention discussion of hobbit cooking tips and parasites, followed by a timely rescue from Gandalf.
At the end of all that, Bofur and his brother and cousin were left shocked but mostly just… really not liking the speculative looks on Thorin's and Balin's faces.
Bofur (and he could tell his brother and cousin as well) would break a thousand contracts and at least as many royal skulls before letting anyone harm Zed, and that included exploiting whatever… gift or sense she had that let her know the future.
No wonder the poor thing was half-mad! In every story about every seer or oracle or soothsayer, that sort of knowledge always drove folks mad!
"We will break camp and then search for the troll hoard!" the king declared, perhaps forgetting his promise to set out for Rivendell. But Gandalf had apparently brought back an elf he'd conveniently met before even arriving at the actual valley to see to Zed's health, so a short delay would probably be fine.
When they arrived back at camp, they did indeed see a rather tall blond elf seated beside Zed, but before anyone could comment on his presence, the girl greeted them by waving an ornate metal flask and proclaiming, "Yo! Get me something from the troll hoard! Your pretty-boy pal pretended that medicine was booze, so I def deserve a nice souvenir!"
Everyone, not just her kin and her would-be suitor, appeared visibly relieved to see her awake, alert, and back to her usual antics.
Thorin regarded the dam with a curious but mostly blank expression and challenged, "And what do you expect us to find in this supposed hoard?"
Before Bofur (or his brother or cousin) could warn her to stop talking, Zed smirked and replied, "Fancy elf swords, gold, and bad smells. Maybe other stuff, too, but I don't think that's canon. Still, gotta be something interesting for me, right?" She nodded in agreement to her own statement before her pretty face scrunched into an unpleasant but still somehow adorable expression. "I'm kinda remembering something about a severed head, too," she muttered. "Was that an extended scene or just something from fanfic? Well, either way, I'll pass on any and all body parts."
Bofur had a brief moment of despair, remembering that, actually, Zed had already mentioned fancy elf swords over a week before, rather shortly after they first met her. If the company found any such swords, there would be no persuading them that she wasn't clairvoyant (not that he currently had much hope of doing so).
"Ask her how she's feeling," Bifur demanded as he threw himself down beside her and carefully drew her into an embrace and sighed with relief, "And if the elf has treated her well."
"Guys," Zed chirped, flashing a tired but cheerful grin and gesturing at said elf, "This is Gloryhole Fingersmell-"
"Glorfindel," the elf amended, somehow both annoyed and fascinated.
"He likes golden showers-"
"Of the House of the Golden Flower," the elf corrected.
"But I told him I'm not into that-"
"I don't even know that is," the elf insisted mildly. "Sounds very dwarvish."
Zed sniggered and then swiftly started coughing, which just about made Bifur lose his mind with worry. Thankfully, the girl quickly got her breathing back under control and shakily chuckled, "Well, I guess it is a bit easier if one of the participants is kinda short-"
"What are you going on about, lass?" Balin inquired, quite perplexed but also intently focused on interpreting all her strange words. "I haven't seen a golden shower since Erebor, and I've certainly never known any elf to prefer such fine indulgences-"
Whatever he'd been planning to add (probably something about all the gilded plumbing fixtures throughout the royal wing, which were clearly not what Zed was hinting at) was drowned out by another round of bright laughter followed by hacking coughs that left the girl slumped exhaustedly and wheezing in her father's arms.
Looking close to tears, Bifur squeezed her tighter and pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead. Finally, he sighed, "Ask the elf how fast he can get her to Rivendell."
"Are you sure?" Bofur replied. He personally didn't see much point in hating and mistrusting all elves just because Thranduil was an oath-breaking blowhard, but the idea of letting any stranger ride off with his sick and vulnerable little cousin made the miner's heart hurt.
Bifur was clearly disturbed by the prospect as well, but he still nodded. So, Bofur asked, "How far is Rivendell? Can you get her there quickly?"
Also watching Zed with careful concern, the elf answered, "For my horse, only a few hours, but your ponies won't be able to keep up at that speed."
"We just want her there as fast as possible," Bofur explained. "We'll follow behind. Zed needs to be somewhere warm and safe."
"Hey, wait," the girl complained tiredly, more than halfway to passing out again. "I can't go yet! I wanna see the giant bunnies! And someone's gotta tell the wizard about the shit on his face! I don't think he even knows!"
"Delirious, obviously," Balin muttered, although his expression betrayed that he couldn't help being concerned about her predictions, strange as they sounded. (He definitely took a long, careful look at their wizard to confirm the lack of shit on said wizardy face.) "Poor lass. I suppose if we must go to Rivendell, it's best for her to get there sooner rather than later."
Nodding graciously, the elf agreed, "I will see her swiftly and safely into the healers' hands and watch over her until you are reunited."
"Gloryhole!" she squeaked, creaky voice crackling loudly. "I thought we were cool!"
"We are cool," the elf insisted with an indulgent smile. "Your family undoubtedly values your well-being over your desire to see giant bunnies."
"And to tell the wizard about his shitty face," Zed pouted. Eventually, she sighed, "Fiiine. What's your horsie's name?"
"Asfaloth," said the elf, already standing to begin gathering the few belongings he had strewn around their campsite.
Zed pouted harder and insisted, "I'm calling him Coconut." Under her breath, she muttered, "Ass-Fell-Off. Psh. Nerds shouldn't be allowed to name things."
Within minutes, they were gone, galloping urgently toward much-needed medicine.
xxXxx
When the brown wizard appeared—on a sleigh pulled by giant rabbits and with his face streaked in bird droppings—Balin nearly keeled over in shock. The "fancy elf swords" in the troll hoard had been very convincing evidence of the girl's abilities but still might have been explained away—somehow. (Most elf swords could be called fancy (or ridiculously and impractically ornate), and trolls who routinely captured, robbed, and ate travelers were bound to have caught an elf or two, especially so close to a major elven settlement.) (The severed head had been disturbing but also an obvious guess for what one might find in the lair of murderous beasts that snack on travelers.) However, the newest development was far too absurd to chalk up to anything but crystal-clear foreknowledge.
Thorin immediately began barking commands at the company, doing his best to get them up and moving and urgently rushing to rescue their seer from elvish hands. It would be just like those damned weed-eaters to hold her in a gilded cage to deny her kin the advantage of such Mahal-given gifts.
The company performed admirably and were shortly all standing at the ready beside their mounts—the Broadbeams and Fili and Kili had actually been ready since shortly after the elf left with Miss Zed (who'd barely been able to keep her eyes open long enough to tell them to "have fun running your furry little butts off while I ride the Coconut Express") and had been growing increasingly annoyed at the others' lack of urgency as they mined what they could from the troll hoard and buried it securely. Unfortunately, the wizards were still huddled together in a deep (and in the Brown's case, almost hysterical) discussion, and they refused to be rushed.
The appearance of the wargs was unexpected and set off a rather unfortunate chain of events. At the sound of a nearby howl, the ponies, which had been standing restlessly among the group, spooked. In the commotion of trying to get them under control (and losing more than half in the process, during which Balin took a flailing hoof to the side), the dwarrow almost missed the first warg as it crept into the clearing and readied itself to pounce.
For whatever reason, it chose Dori as its target.
The others were seconds too late to prevent him from getting a set of claws raked down his chest, but the warg was properly dispatched shortly after.
Fortunately, Kili was able to take down the second warg before it could do more than lunge at Thorin's back.
"Warg scouts," growled their king, "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."
"Orc pack?" the halfling demanded, sounding more affronted than afraid at the concept.
Gandalf chimed in with "Who did you tell about your quest? Beyond your kin?"
"No one," Thorin insisted, mainly ignoring the wizard in favor of watching Balin and Dori as they were fussed over by Oin and their kin. Neither injury looked too terrible, but given the current circumstances, both were possibly or even likely fatal. Anything that slowed them down or drew attention to them as they fled the orc pack was potentially disastrous for not only the sufferers but also the entire company.
"Who did you tell?!" Gandalf continued to bluster.
"No one, I swear," Thorin growled in reply. "What in Durin's name is going on?"
"You are being hunted," said the wizard, voice and face grave as death.
Dwalin bellowed, "We have to get out of here!"
"We can't," Ori reported, grunting as he helped Gloin and Bifur restrain their five remaining—still frantic—mounts. "We lost nearly all the ponies! They bolted!"
Radagast volunteered, "I'll draw them off."
"These are Gundabad wargs," his gray brethren declared. "They will outrun you."
"These are Rhosgobel rabbits," the brown wizard boasted. "I'd like to see them try."
He was off before anyone could come up with a response, but that left the rest of them with the issue of having only five ponies for fifteen people, one of whom was too large to ride such small beasts, two of whom were injured, one of whom was bleeding and therefore practically a dinner bell to the incoming wargs.
"We will have to split up," Dori proclaimed, sharing a grave but resolute look with Nori, who of course had already come to the same tragic conclusion as his brother: that said brother was unlikely to survive and likely to cost the rest their lives if he stayed with them. "I can take the ponies and make a run for Rivendell's borders while the rest of you sneak along in our wake. With any luck, I will make it far enough to alert whatever guard the elves have in place."
"What?!" Ori demanded, expression wide-eyed and appalled… and then heartbroken as he, too, realized the problem—and lost another of the blasted ponies in his distraction and grief. "Dori, no!"
"Perhaps," the halfling piped up, unsure but obviously determined to weigh in, "There's another option…"
xxxxxxx
I honestly despise fanfics that end up being line-by-line recitations of the source material. Bruh, if I wanted that, I'd just read/watch the source material. So, I threw in some butterfly farts. You're welcome.
Comments, questions, predictions, and suggestions through reviews or messages are much appreciated and encouraged. Just keep in mind that I can't respond to guest reviewers.
Oh, also, I'm not super fond of the title. It was a working title because I couldn't think of anything better. However, I would love to rename this story. Submit your ideas, please and thanks :)