PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
Chapter III: The Company of Majestic Thorin
I told my story to Gandalf and the others as best I could—from the time I was six-years-old to the disappearance of Bonnie and Nick during my twenty-first birthday party. I don't think they believed me, and to be fair, it is a difficult story to believe. It didn't help that Thorin stood next to me the whole time, glowering at the dwarves for some reason.
"So, if you see a string-bean of a guy or a red-haired girl with a bad temper, let me know." I looked around to the wizard, the hobbit, and the dwarves hopefully, but none of them reacted to the descriptions of my friends. They continued to look doubtful, and some of the dwarves eyed my jeans with suspicion. "I'm telling the truth," I said, pointing to my clothes. "Does this really look Middle Earth style?"
I usually tried to wear wools and linens, clothing that could pass as belonging in Middle Earth if one didn't look too closely; however, today I'd made the poor choice of wearing dark jeans and a blue polyester shirt. The dwarves stared at the synthetic fabric in horror. It probably didn't help my case that women wearing pants were not common in Middle Earth.
"This must be some form of sorcery," said Balin, peering at my jeans.
"Perhaps it is of elvish make," added Dwalin. He glanced at Gandalf, as if hoping the wizard had the answer.
"It's not," I said. "I'm really not from this world."
"She's not," said Thorin, voicing his support (surprising, since I was pretty sure he hated me). "I knew her a long time ago, though I did not know she had survived Smaug's fire."
"See!" I cried, pointing at Thorin. "He agrees! That proves it!"
"That does not yet prove she is trustworthy," said Thorin. "She could be an elven spy."
Gandalf let out an exasperated sigh. The tension between the two leaders of the Company caused the dwarves and Bilbo to shift uncomfortably.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I cried, "You know what? It doesn't even matter. I'm just passing through."
"I think she is telling the truth," said Bilbo suddenly.
I smiled at the little hobbit; I was starting to like him.
Gandalf frowned. "I am curious about the burning city you saw."
"Minas Tirith?" I asked. "What about it?"
"Why was it burning?"
I paused. The morning sun sat low on the horizon. Pale orange light shone through the tree branches onto the backs of the stone trolls. Gandalf watched me, his thick, gray brows furrowed together.
No one had ever asked me about the future before. Should I tell him? Should I tell him the horrors that led to the destruction of Minas Tirith? Should I tell him that Sauron would win? Every time travel movie I'd ever seen told me that telling the truth was a bad idea. The future should remain unknown. But when I recalled the hoard of orcs rushing over the ruins of the White City, my stomach turned with dread. What could I possibly say?
"I can't say anything."
Gandalf looked thrown for a second. I don't think people refused to answer him very often. However, whatever anger had flashed through his eyes faded, and leaning on his wooden staff slightly, he asked, "Why can you not speak of this?"
I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Well, I can't because, well…I can't—oh my God! Look at that dwarf's beard!"
Everyone watched, dumbfounded, as I bounded over to an enormously fat dwarf's side and examined his beard, which had been sculpted into one thick, ginger braid that draped across his chest.
"My beard?" asked the dwarf (whose name, I later found out, was Bombur).
"It's fantastic!" I cried.
"Wait," said Gandalf, raising his voice only slightly. "You cannot escape the question."
The dwarves all looked from me to Gandalf as if they were unsure what to do, but then Bombur stroked his braid and said proudly, "It is rather splendid."
Bombur's words seemed to be the trigger, and the dwarves' reverence for Gandalf gave way to the importance of talking about beards. They all turned to me and puffed out their chests to help show off their facial hair. I was genuinely impressed by the art of beard-sculpting, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Bilbo stood at the edge of the group, listening with curiosity, while Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin hung back. Gandalf seemed to be wavering between frustration and interest, while Thorin was amused for some reason. I guess watching me be swarmed by boasting dwarves was an amusing sight.
"You have not seen many beards, little girl, if you are impressed by Bombur's," said Óin, who had a great gray beard that had been braided in the front so that it formed a sort of hairy bow.
I gasped. "Wow—that's one incredible beard. How do you braid it like that?" I ran my fingers through my tangled mess of dark blonde hair and said, "I can never do anything with this."
"It requires a great deal of practice," said Óin.
"My mother taught me," added Ori.
"She did a great job," I said.
I like to think all the beard talk stopped Gandalf from asking me about Minas Tirith, but knowing Gandalf, he probably decided that it would be easier to get the information out of me when we weren't surrounded by dwarves.
"Kíli!" cried Glóin (a ginger dwarf with too much hair to manage). "You do not even have a beard!"
"Can he even grow one?" asked Óin.
Kíli, the youngest dwarf in the company, lacked a beard—though he did have the short height and long hair to prove his dwarvishness. He crossed his arms and said, "I will grow a beard soon enough, and it shall be more magnificent than any of yours."
"He only wishes," said Glóin with a bark of laughter.
I laughed along with the rest of the dwarves, well aware that somewhere behind me, Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin were discussing my story. I smiled and nodded as the dwarves chattered, but all I could hear was the not-so-secret meeting.
"She is not an elven spy," said Gandalf. "But I fear she may be controlled by darker forces."
"Is she dangerous?" asked Balin. He trailed off, like he wanted to ask about these darker forces—and I wanted him to—but it seemed he didn't dare pry into a wizard's affairs.
"How can she be dangerous?" scoffed Thorin, who clearly didn't want to learn more about these darker forces. "She is a small thing for a human, and she does not even carry a weapon with her."
There was a pause, and though I couldn't see them properly, I figured they were all contemplating what to do with me and these "darker forces", whatever they were. I was probably not a problem any of them had imagined encountering on their journey to the Lonely Mountain.
Then, Balin said, "It is unnatural. Humans should not come and go as she."
"She is no spy of orcs or goblins," said Thorin. "She is from another place—one far away from ours."
"She told you this very same story when I met her in the Blue Mountains," said Balin.
"I did not believe her at first," said Thorin. "That she was the little girl who I had lost in Smaug's fires. But she appeared to me in the Blue Mountains a century later and had aged only a fraction of what a human would have. She is the same Ana."
"If you are certain," said Gandalf. There was something strange in the wizard's voice, but I didn't dare turn around to look at him. I pretended to laugh at some joke Óin had made. Chances were these "darker forces" referred witchcraft; that's usually what people assumed I was when they didn't understand the Skipping.
"But she might yet be an elven spy." At this point, I was beginning to think that Thorin got some twisted amusement from referring to me as an elven spy rather than actually believing it. "On our last meeting," said Thorin, "she admitted to knowing two elves. Elrohir and Elladan, she called them."
"Elrohir and Elladan?" repeated Gandalf. His exasperation with Thorin disappeared at the mention of the brothers and was replaced with curiosity. "Are you certain those are the names she spoke?"
"Elrohir and Elladan?" I stopped pretending to listen to the other dwarves and walked into the middle of the incredibly secret meeting. "We're BFFs."
"BFFs? What is that?" asked Kíli.
"She speaks in strange tongues," muttered Dwalin.
"Best Friends Forever." I turned to Gandalf. "You know those guys?"
"Yes."
"She admits it," said Thorin. "She is friends with elves."
"And so am I, Thorin Oakenshield," snapped Gandalf. "A friendship with elves does not make one their spy."
I nodded. "See, Gandalf knows."
"She does not seem all bad," said Bofur. "It cannot do us any harm to let her travel with us until we reach the next town."
"Travel with us?" repeated Thorin. I was pretty sure I saw a look of horror flash across his usually haughty face.
"She does seem rather lost," said Bombur. "A woman should not wander these lands alone."
Other dwarves in the Company were soon voicing their agreement—apparently, they liked short girls who appreciated the art of beard braiding. Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin had another quick meeting concerning my suspiciousness, presumably; this time the meeting was well out of earshot. Then, the three of them returned and grudgingly allowed me to travel with the Company for a short period of time. "It will be easier to keep an eye on you that way," Balin had said. "Best to keep enemies close."
I decided not to push my luck, and I quietly accepted my role as the stray the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had picked up on the road.
Gandalf then suggested that the trolls likely had a cave nearby where they hid from sunlight. The dwarves perked up at this news, since it was well known trolls kept gold in their caves.
The Company wandered through the woods, searching for any trace of the tolls' hideaway. I walked through the forest as well, but I had no idea what to look for and only pretended to search. As the dwarves scattered, Gandalf took the opportunity to approach me. I looked about, hoping there was a dwarf nearby who I could discuss beard-sculpting with. Unfortunately, I was quite alone.
"I cannot tell you anything more," I said before the wizard could even get a word out. "Rules are rules, and I'm supposed to keep some of the things I've seen to myself."
"I did not intend to ask about Minas Tirith," said Gandalf. "Though, to walk through time and worlds is a gift that has not been seen in Middle Earth for an age, and it would be a shame to let such a gift fall to waste."
The mention of a "gift" made me recoil. I opened my mouth to tell Gandalf just what I thought of this "gift", but my words were cut off by the cry of Glóin, "We found it!"
Gandalf sent me one last pointed look, full of meaning that I didn't understand, and then started through the forest to rejoin the Company. I stumbled after him.
Glóin and Óin had found some troll tracks at the base of a hill, and they'd made their way up to find a large boulder blocking the mouth of a cave. A small rockface had been formed in the side of the hill, as if someone had taken a slice out of the earth. At first, I was impressed with the dwarves tracking skills, because the thick branches of the forest trees kept the rockface well-hidden from view. But then, I noticed the broken branches that lay scattered about, and I realized that even an amateur tracker would've been able to follow the trolls to their cave.
It seemed the trolls hadn't bothered to be discrete about their lair, because they had another defense mechanism: a giant boulder blocked the entrance. The dwarves tried pushing the boulder out of the way, but it would not budge. Then, Gandalf brought out his staff. He muttered a few incantations under his breath, but even then, the stone would not move.
"There seems to be a keyhole," said Balin upon further examination of the rock.
"I did not think trolls were smart enough to use keys," muttered Dwalin.
"Perhaps this will work," said Bilbo. The hobbit held up a roughly wrought iron key that certainly looked as though it would fit in the door.
"Why did you not mention it before?" cried Glóin.
"I did not realize the cave required a key," said Bilbo as he handed the key over to Balin. "I found it at the foot of one of our stone trolls."
The key turned in the lock, and with the strength of the thirteen dwarves, the boulder rolled back to reveal the dark depths of the cave. We were greeted by the foul smell of decay, and I pinched my nose to avoid breathing it in. Sword drawn, Thorin led the way into the cave with Balin and Gandalf close behind and then the rest of the Company. Taking one last gasp of fresh air, I followed.
The cave wasn't large, just enough room for three trolls to sleep in during the day. The dark walls curved upwards, forming a ceiling decorated with small stalactites. Despite the foul smell, I thought it was a halfway decent troll cave…that was, until I noticed the bones. A half a dozen or so skeletons, their skulls broken and their bones scattered, decorated the cave floor. Pushed up against the dank walls were heavy chests and piles of molding clothes. Weapons, too, lay scattered about the cave, and Gandalf and Thorin moved to inspect two swords that lay side by side. Balin and Dwalin found some axes that would likely help them on their journey, while the other dwarves started digging through the chests.
"Gold!" cried Fíli as he and Kíli peered inside one.
"Let's get it out of this horrid stench," said Dori.
The dwarves carried the chests filled with valuables outside the cave walls. Bilbo watched them curiously, seemingly unaffected by the lure of treasure, and it was only when Balin called out to him that Bilbo hurried to help the dwarves.
I watched the chests with wonder, but the treasure that had caught my eye were the two swords that Gandalf and Thorin held. The blades were long and slender. The one Thorin held had a curve about the edge, while Gandalf's was straight and sharp. I'd never been a fan of weapons, but even I had to admit that the two swords were fair prizes.
The other weapons the dwarves carried seemed to be made of iron and were decent enough, but the only weapons that had been built with notable skill were Dwalin's twin battle axes, Balin's flat-bladed mace, and Thorin's own steel blade. The other dwarves had weapons that seemed thrown together at the last minute—Nori's knives were mismatched, Bifur's spear looked as though it was made for a smaller dwarf, and Bofur had a mining pick instead of an actual weapon. From what I'd seen, Fíli and Kíli's swords were designed with hard lines, much in the style of the dwarves, whereas the two swords Gandalf and Thorin had found had long, smooth lines that didn't remind me of anything dwarven.
"These blades were not made by any troll, nor any smith among men in these parts and days…" Gandalf glanced down at Thorin and said, "These swords are of elvish make."
Thorin scowled.
"You could not ask for a finer blade," snapped Gandalf.
Thorin said nothing, but he did strap the sword to his side. His gaze then lifted to mine. I quickly scurried away and found the hobbit, who had picked up a small knife and was inspecting it. Well, the blade was a knife to me, but on a hobbit, it made for a sword.
"Maybe I should find myself a weapon, too," I said. "It'll probably come in handy with all this Skipping."
Bilbo looked up from his blade. "I know not how to wield one, but to have one is better than to not, I think." He gestured to the pile of weapons on the floor, inviting me to take one of the knives.
After my encounter with some goblins some years ago, I'd debated buying myself a hunting knife or even a gun to protect myself, but I'd never been a fighter, and knowing me, I was more likely to shoot myself than my actual target. I'd decided to rely on the Skipping to save me rather than my own skill.
"I'll pass," I said.
Bilbo frowned but didn't push the matter. Thorin and Gandalf had started to exit the cave, and Bilbo and I followed. The rest of the Company was outside, sorting the gold and jewels into chests and finding a good spot to bury their treasure should they ever come back this way.
A few yards away, I overheard Thorin saying to Gandalf, "Where did you go to, if I may ask?"
"To look ahead," said the wizard.
"And what brought you back?"
"Looking behind."
Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Try to keep your secrets then, Gandalf." He glanced over at the dwarves, who still had two chests left to bury and were debating the best spot to hide them. Thorin raised his voice and said, "We must journey on before night fall."
At his command, the dwarves ceased arguing over the chests, reluctantly put the remaining jewels back in the cave, and retrieved their ponies from the forest where they'd scattered. Thankfully, the bags were still strapped to the ponies' saddles, and the dwarves mounted their ponies, preparing for the long journey. Only Gandalf, who was placed at the front of party, rode a full-sized horse. He looked back over the group of dwarves—and hobbit—with a rather amused look in his eyes. He must have felt like a giant amongst them.
Poor Bilbo struggled to get onto his pony, and Dori had to help the hobbit up. Once Bilbo was situated (though looking extremely uncomfortable), Dori settled himself on his own long-tailed pony.
As the dwarves prepared themselves for the road, I remained on the ground, for the first time getting a good look at the Company. It surprised me that even though I'd only been with them for a few hours, I was already able to tell most of them apart.
Two dwarves sat on ponies beside Dori, one had sculpted his hair to look like a sort of star while the other had short bangs with braids framing his face. The three dwarves had similarly round faces, so I figured they were related in some way. It took me a moment to remember that their names were Nori and Ori.
A little ahead of them were Balin and Dwalin. The two brothers didn't look much alike—Dwalin was a great, hulking dwarf, almost as tall as Thorin but built with more muscle, while Balin was short and white-haired—but as they rode, they spoke happily about the treasures they found in the troll-cave. From what I'd gathered from the fight with the trolls, the Company didn't have many warriors, but Balin and Dwalin were among the few who were handy with weapons.
Óin and Glóin, who sat near the front of the Company, were also warriors. They were both short and barrel-chested, though Glóin had fiery red hair while Óin had grayed. From what little I could gather of their conversation, Óin chattered on about some foretelling and the coming of Durin's Day.
Near the back of the Company, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur sat on chestnut ponies. Bombur's weight made his pony shift uneasily, but the beast bore the dwarf well, all things considered. Bifur and Bofur spoke in Khuzdul as they waited for the Company to start moving. It took me a moment to realize that Bifur had a small axe sticking out of his head. I looked about frantically at that discovery, wondering if I should ask someone to help remove it, but neither Bifur nor Bofur minded the axe so I supposed it was meant to be there.
With a shout in Khuzdul from Thorin, the Company urged their ponies forward. Thorin rode at the head of the Company along with Gandalf. Thorin somehow managed looked exceedingly proud and important despite there being a massive height difference between him and Gandalf. I decided not to mention this fact.
"Here," said Fíli. "Would you like a ride?"
I turned to see the blond dwarf on the back of a light gray pony. He offered a hand to me, and with surprising strength, he hoisted me up onto the saddle behind him. The animal let out a little whinny of protest but soon clattered on after the rest.
The dwarves chatted in loud voices—some of them discussing the comforts of home while others were still shaken from their encounter with the trolls. A breeze made its way through the forest, rustling leaves, and I shrunk against Fíli's back to block out the wind. The road we traveled was little more than dirt and rocks curving through the mossy forest floor, and I wondered how the dwarves didn't get lost underneath the expanse of trees. But Gandalf rode at the front of the Company, and I remembered that wizards should never be underestimated.
"Where are you from, then," asked Fíli, interrupting my thoughts, "if not Middle Earth?"
"A magical and mythical place called Ohio," I said. No one else got the joke.
"Is it nice there?" asked Kíli. His brown pony trotted up beside Fíli and me.
"It's all right," I said. "Not nearly as beautiful as Middle Earth. Ohio is much more, you know, modern, I guess. It's just different."
"Humans always think they are 'modern'," said Fíli.
Kíli nodded in agreement. "Whenever they come to the Blue Mountains to trade with us, they scoff and say that we keep our cities too secret. The world is opening up, they tell us."
"They do not understand dwarrows," said Fili.
"Well, yes," I admitted. "Humans say that in my world as well. Though I think they're talking about something a little different…" I didn't want to talk too much about my world, and in a desperate attempt to change the subject, I caught sight of Thorin sitting proudly on his pony and said, "So that Thorin—he's something, huh?'
Apparently undisturbed by my sudden mention of Thorin, Kíli nodded enthusiastically and cried, "Yeah! Our uncle is a noble dwarf."
"Uncle?"
"He is the brother of our mother," explained Fíli.
"Oh." I hesitated. "Then maybe I should keep my comments on Thorin's majesty to myself. I doubt his nephews want to hear about that..."
"Majesty?" Fíli glanced over his shoulder at me. "What have you to say of our uncle's majesty?"
I grinned. "He's just, you know, so majestic. Just look at the way he rides."
Fíli and Kíli slowly turned to stare at Thorin. He rode beside Gandalf, listening to Gandalf's counsel (they were probably discussing very serious matters). Thorin sat upright on his pony, back straight and head high. He brushed his long brown hair out of his face at the exact same time that the pony tossed its long brown mane.
Kíli turned around and grinned at me, smile stretching across his beardless face. "Uncle is indeed majestic."
I nodded gravely. "So is his pony."
"Do not pretend, Kíli," said Fíli. "You have said that you wanted to be like our uncle since the day you could first speak."
"He's a majestic wannabe," I said.
"What does that mean?" asked Kíli.
"It just means that you want to be as majestic as Thorin," I said.
Fíli laughed. "That is my brother." He mimicked Kíli's slightly higher voice and asked, "Have I achieved majesty yet, brother?"
I tried to make my voice deep and Thorin-like (I failed miserably at this task) and replied, "Shut up, Kíli. You're crowding my majesty."
"Uncle, you must watch this!" cried Fíli. He pretended to stare off into the distance with brooding expression on his face. Then, he turned back to me and asked, "Do I live up to your standards now, Uncle?"
We both doubled over with laughter, and the gray pony snorted irritably. Kíli scowled at the two of us.
"Your act does not do me justice," said Kíli.
"Doesn't it?" I asked.
"Yes," said Kíli. He switched his voice to a high-pitched version. "Uncle Thorin, I am awed by your majesty. Take me on as an apprentice so that I may study your ways."
"No," I said, still using the deep-Thorin-voice. "You do not have any majestic potential."
"You do not even have a beard, Kíli," said Fíli.
We were roaring with laughter when Bilbo's pony trotted up beside us. Bilbo looked from Fíli to Kíli to me before asking, "What amuses you so?"
"Bilbo!" I said, still using my majestic Thorin voice. "How splendid it is to meet someone with so much majestic potential—not as much majestic potential as me, but still, you have some—which is more than I can say for my nephew, Kíli."
"Fíli!" cried Kíli. "Surely this hobbit does not possess more majesty than I?"
Fíli sighed. "Kíli, are you going to ask that every time we make a new acquaintance?"
"I cannot help it," said Kíli. "My confidence wanes whenever I spend too long in Uncle's presence."
Bilbo stared at the three of us and then gave a weak chuckle, which of course only made the rest of us laugh harder.
I adjusted my seat on the pony, pulling myself up to my full height, and said, as majestically as I could, "This lighting is not very good. I need darker, more moody lighting for the full power of my majesty to be unleashed."
Kíli laughed. "Oh, Uncle, permit me to hold a torch for you so that your majesty may be fully seen!"
"Yes, Kíli," I said. "That would be good. But do not get too close—you might infect my majesty."
Fíli elbowed me in the stomach. "He is coming."
Kíli and I reeled around to see that Thorin had pulled his pony to a halt on the side of the road and was glaring at us. I wasn't certain if he had heard us or not—surely, he was too far away—but as we approached, Thorin said, "You find my majesty amusing, do you?"
Kíli looked embarrassed, while I smiled and asked, "Are you enjoying the road trip?"
Thorin's scowl was unmoving. "I should not have agreed to you coming along."
"But you did," I said. "And we're having fun."
After one final majestically murderous glare, Thorin turned his pony around and urged it forward so he could catch up with Gandalf.
"He's a real stick in the mud," I said, shaking my head.
"A what?" asked Bilbo.
"A, you know, someone who isn't much fun."
"Ana is inventing new phrases again," said Fíli with a grin.
"I'm not inventing phrases," I said. "They're common where I'm from."
Fíli shrugged as if to say that he was above arguing with me, which of course only annoyed me more. However, before I could respond, Kíli said, almost thoughtfully, "Uncle Thorin can be a lot of fun. You just have to give him enough ale."
Fíli roared with laughter. "That does not happen very often."
"He's too serious for his own good," I said. "But tell me, what does Uncle Thorin do when he's drunk?"
Fíli and Kíli exchanged excited glances, then Kíli leaned forward and said, "He likes to—"
Unfortunately, I didn't get to hear what Thorin liked to do when he was drunk, because at that very moment, eight giant rabbits pulling a sled flew through the trees. A little old man in brown furs clung to the wooden sled, yelling something indecipherable at the top of his lungs. I shrieked and cowered behind Fíli. The rabbits came to a screeching halt, and the sleigh skid along the forest floor, coming to a stop only when it slammed into the side of a tree. The dwarves surrounded the sled, their weapons drawn. Bilbo hung to the back to the group, though I noticed he clutched the small blade in his right hand.
"Hold on," said Gandalf, raising his left hand into the air to stop the dwarves. "This is Radaghast the Brown."
"Who?" I asked.
Gandalf shot me an irritable look but explained, "He is a wizard of my order." He turned to Radaghast and asked, "What are you doing here, old friend?"
"Gandalf," croaked Radaghast as he stumbled from the sled. The rabbits remained seated on the forest floor. One of them scratched its ear with its foot. "I was searching for you. The birds told me that I might find you here."
In all my visits to Middle Earth, I'd never heard of talking birds. I was getting some Disney princess vibes from this wizard—never mind that he had a thick gray beard, wrinkled face, and smelled of herbs.
"Why do you search for me?" asked Gandalf, who apparently didn't find the sudden mention of talking birds unusual in the slightest.
Radaghast opened his mouth to say something. Then he paused. He looked left, then right, then back to the left. He frowned and then said, "This kind of business is best spoken in private."
Gandalf glanced around the company of dwarves, his eyes coming to rest on me half-hidden behind Fíli. He nodded. "Indeed."
As Gandalf and Radaghast moved away from the Company, the rest of us dismounted from the ponies. The dwarves separated into groups, chattering amongst themselves. To my surprise, Thorin did not follow Gandalf and Radaghast but remained with the dwarves.
"You're not going with the wizards?" I asked him.
Thorin snorted (majestically, I might add). "Anyone with half a mind would not meddle in the affairs of wizards. Their business is their own and is often dangerous."
"It is true," said Bofur, joining our conversation. "While it makes for a good tale to hear afterwards, to actually be involved with wizards will often lead to death or much crueler fates."
"Ah." I looked at Gandalf, looked at Thorin, and then pointedly asked, "How's your adventure going so far, Thorin?"
Thorin glared at me. "We have already been put into sacks and almost eaten by trolls, if you must ask."
"And you've only just started your adventure?"
Thorin grimaced. "We departed the Shire some days ago, after hiring our little burglar."
"Burglar?"
Thorin jerked his head roughly in the direction of Bilbo.
I blinked and squinted at the little hobbit who looked as though he'd be much more comfortable sitting in an armchair than camping out in the woods. "Him? A burglar?" He was going to get himself killed out here.
"We asked that as well," said Bofur. "But Gandalf insists he is a burglar."
"Gandalf's mad." Though even as I said it, I remembered how Bilbo had managed to outwit the trolls.
"I will not doubt the wizard," said Thorin. "I trust his judgment."
I shrugged. "You're the majestic king, Thorin."
Thorin opened his mouth to reply when a grating growl resonated from the woods around us. My heartbeat picked up and I spun in a circle madly, searching for the source of the noise. Even if it'd been over a decade, I still remembered being chased through the Northern Wastes by white wolves. I'd had nightmares about it for weeks after I'd returned to Ohio.
"What was that?" cried Kíli.
"A wolf!" Bilbo clutched his little sword.
"Not a wolf," said Bofur. "There are no wolves in these parts."
Another deep growl, this time coming from behind. I spun around just in time to see a warg—twice the size of a wolf—leap down a hill towards Nori. Thorin stepped forward and sliced his sword through the warg's thick throat. The foul beast collapsed at Thorin's feet, while the rest of us looked on, speechless.
Another roar sounded in response to the warg's death.
Kíli strung his bow and released an arrow, which buried its head into the left eye of a second warg. The beast howled in agony, and Fíli stabbed it in the stomach.
"We are under attack!" cried Kíli.
"Really?" My voice was shrill. "I hadn't noticed!"
"Thorin!" Gandalf rushed through the trees closely followed by Radaghast. "Who did you tell about your quest beyond your own kin?"
"No one," said Thorin.
"Who did you tell?"
"No one, I swear."
If Thorin wasn't going to tell Gandalf that he'd told me about the quest, then I certainly wasn't going to. But it didn't matter, because Gandalf then rounded on me, his eyes flashing. "You! With whom have you been in contact?"
"Me?" I squeaked. "No one. I just kind of come and go. Nothing more."
"This cannot concern us now," said Thorin. "We have more pressing matters."
Gandalf shot me one last suspicious glare before he turned to scan the trees. "We cannot outrun wargs."
Radaghast appeared at Gandalf's shoulder and said, "We can use a diversion. I will draw them off."
"They will catch you," said Gandalf. "These are Gundabad wargs."
"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits." A slow smile spread across Radaghast's withered face. "I'd like to see them try."
I stared down at the oversized brown rabbits doubtfully. How fast could they be? However, a wicked smile crept onto Gandalf's face as well, and he nodded. "Be careful, my friend." He turned to the dwarves. "We must go secretly. The ponies can only hinder us. Quickly! Unload as much as you can off the ponies and let them free."
The dwarves hesitated, reluctant to leave their beasts of burden.
"Hurry!" roared Thorin.
At Thorin's command, the dwarves sprang into action. They loaded as much food and clothes as they could on their backs and then turned the ponies free. I tried to help distribute the supplies, but mostly I just got in the way. Thorin shot me irritated glares before Balin finally moved me to the side and told me to stay put. Meanwhile, Radaghast hopped onto his sleigh; a single word from him and the rabbits were off running. The brown wizard disappeared through the trees followed by the sound of wargs roaring and howling.
"Come quickly," said Gandalf. "We cannot waste time."
After the last of the ponies galloped away, leaving the Company on foot, Gandalf led us through the forest to an open plain. Wild grass covered the hillside with large rock formations emerging out of the ground. A blue sky stretched overhead with not a cloud in sight to block the golden midday sun. In the distance, on the slopes of the plains, I could see Radaghast on his rabbit-pulled sleigh with hordes of wargs and orcs on his tail.
Gandalf had seen Radaghast as well. "Quickly!" he cried as he sprinted across the grassy plain to take shelter behind the nearest boulder. The dwarves hurried after him as fast as their stout legs could carry them. I followed at the end behind Ori and Dori.
"Keep up," said Dori.
"I'm running as fast as I can," I snapped. I opened my mouth to complain about my short legs (that's what I did to get out of gym class in high school) but then I realized that I was surrounded by proud dwarves who would never use height as an excuse for anything. Even worse, I was taller than most of the Company.
Gandalf peered around the edge of the rock and, deeming it safe, sprinted into the dip between two hills. The dwarves raced after him. Thorin waited until everyone had passed before following himself. He was now at the end of the group, behind me, of course, because I was the slow one.
"Run faster," hissed Thorin.
"I'm sorry." I gasped for breath. "I'm not as fast as all you warrior dwarves." I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Thorin had drawn his sword. The elven blade glowed dimly in the presence of orcs.
"Whoa!" I said. "Put that thing away! Are you trying to make me Skip again?" I was having flashbacks to my visit to the Blue Mountains.
"Quiet," said Thorin as we hid behind the next huge rock formation. "It is in case the wargs detect us."
"Are you sure that's not for me?" I asked suspiciously.
"If you keep talking, it will be."
I did shut up after that, but unfortunately, it didn't matter. There was a deep growl from the rocks above us. Looking up, I saw a massive warg, baring sharp yellowed teeth, standing atop the boulder, with an armed orc-rider sitting on its back. The orc narrowed his white eyes, searching the surrounding plains for any sign of us. The dwarves, Gandalf, Bilbo, and I pressed our backs the base of the rock, hoping neither the orc nor the beast would think to look down.
I still couldn't be properly afraid for myself. Logically, I knew if they saw me, the warg and orc would try to kill me, but I found myself more worried about the Company. After all, I would probably just Skip away if attacked.
Thorin leaned forward slightly and nodded at Kíli. I looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to figure out what was going on. I trusted Thorin to do what was best for the Company; Kíli, on the other hand, seemed to lean towards the hot-headed side.
Kíli fingered the end of an arrow and then leapt out from the shelter, drawing his bow. He released the arrow and it embedded itself into the shoulder of the warg. The beast howled and toppled from the rock. Another arrow landed in the forehead of the orc. There was a flash, and before I knew what was happening, Thorin had slashed open the warg's throat with Orcrist. The beast let out a high-pitched scream—signaling to all the other wargs and orcs in the area our location.
I stared, wide-eyed, as the warg struggled on the ground for a moment and then released a low whine as it died. Oh God, it died. Right in front of me, gasping for breath as the life drained out of it, blood dripping from the wound in its neck. The beast smelled foul, like unwashed dog mixed with decay. I clasped my hands over my nose and tried not to breathe in.
"Now is not the time to be weak-stomached," growled Thorin. "Move."
He gave me a shove to follow the rest of the Company who had abandoned the shelter of the rock. I stumbled forward, almost tripping. I couldn't throw up. Not here. Not now. Not when the Company was running for their lives.
"They are coming!" shouted Gandalf from the front of the line.
The Company sprinted up a steep bank. I coughed and wheezed as I followed, trying desperately to keep up. Gandalf was headed for a large stone at the top of the hill. He seemed set on his course, refusing to turn left or right despite the rapidly approaching horde of wargs and orcs.
"We are surrounded!" shouted Kíli.
"You think?" I cried.
Thorin might have rolled his eyes as he sprinted past me. Kíli stood atop the hill, firing arrows at the oncoming wargs. I gasped for breath—running cross-country was never going to be my strong suit.
"Come on," said Fíli, hauling me along as my legs threatened to give out beneath me.
"I'm going to throw up," I said.
Fíli's eyes widened at something behind me. "Look out!"
I spun around just in time to see the face of a warg—drool, tongue, fangs, claws. The beast was practically on top of me, ready to tear my head off. I screamed and threw my arms over my face.
"Are you okay?"
I opened my eyes. It was late afternoon. I was sitting on the street outside Starbucks with one of the store employees standing over me—thankfully not the same employee from earlier. Her eyes were wide with concern and fear as she took in my dirty, disheveled appearance. The people sitting outside the coffee shop were staring at me in confusion. Some little old lady in a blue dress had dropped her cup of coffee. It had splattered all over the ground and on the hem of her dress, but she did not notice, too transfixed on the appearing and disappearing girl in front of her.
I blinked. "Um, hi."
The employee took a tentative step away from me. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," I said, getting to my feet and dusting off my jeans. "I just, you know, do that from time to time. For fun. Keeps me on my toes, you know." I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. "I'll just, um, being going now."
I walked away from the coffee shop as fast as I could.
A/N: I did not create the Majestic Thorin joke. It is something I picked up from tumblr and wanted to spread in the fanfiction community. Please check out the Majestic Thorin tag on tumblr for more jokes!