PART TWO: ANAMNESIS
Chapter IV: The Adventures of Anren and Thorin
When Balin departed for the Coldfells the next morning, Thorin made certain to escort him to the borders of Bree. Thorin claimed it was to ensure his safety, but really it was to make sure none of the Bree-folk approached Balin and started talking about "Ana". Thankfully, Thorin's glare scared away any of the chatty Bree-folk, and soon enough, Balin was on his way none the wiser.
It seemed that, with Balin's misunderstanding, I had become Anren, and that I would be Anren for however long I remained around dwarrows. Now, I just had to get used to responding when people called me by that name. Just that morning, Balin had bid farewell to "Anren", and I hadn't reacted until Thorin elbowed me.
Only a few short hours after Balin departed on the East Road, Thorin and I began the process of leaving. Which consisted of us finding people to take over the smithy and to buy our belongings. The journey east and the war itself didn't exactly allow for furniture, so we had to sell almost all of it as well as clothes, food, and weapons. One of Thorin's apprentices was willing to take over the smithy, we sold off almost all of Thorin's decorative weapons to a southern merchant, and we found some hobbits from the Shire who wanted to reuse the material of our clothes. Within a week, our home was empty, and we were packed, ready to make for the Coldfells.
The next part, of course, was the actual process of leaving Bree. Thorin and I were no strangers to this. In fact, you could say that Thorin and I were experts in the art of leaving. I had twenty years of randomly Skipping, and I'd even left my family and friends in Ohio for the sake of Middle Earth. Thorin had been forced out of the only place he truly considered home by a fire-breathing dragon, and then he'd left the Longbeard settlement in Dunland out of reluctance to be their future king. Compared to all that, this was nothing, and the whole process of leaving Bree was little more than another stage in our lives to us.
The people of Bree, on the other hand, didn't take the news nearly so well.
"Who will eat my pastries now?" asked Lucy, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
"I'm sure Longshoe will be more than happy to," I said, patting her on the shoulder. "He always tells me that your pies are the best in all the land, and I agree with him wholeheartedly."
Lucy cheered up a little at this. She still cried when I said goodbye for the last time, but at least she was willing to let me go. Burberry, on the hand, was inconsolable, and he kept asking me who would talk about Kol with him.
"I'm sure you'll find someone," I said with an encouraging smile. "You might not know it, but half of Bree is secretly curious about when Kol will finally grow a brain and tell Shannon he loves her."
"Must you travel south?" asked Burberry. "Dunland does not need you nearly as much as Bree does." What he really meant was that no one would love gossiping about me nearly as much as Bree did.
"Thorin's grandfather has passed away," I said, sticking to the half-lie, half-truth that Thorin and I had agreed upon. Telling the Bree-folk that we were going to war was probably not the wisest choice. "And someone needs to take over as the settlement's blacksmith. Poor Thorin's grandmother is all alone and needs someone—us—to look after her." I tried to look a little teary-eyed, and it must have worked, because Burberry patted my arm and told I was a good granddaughter-in-law.
Longshoe was the last one I saw. He didn't come around to the smithy until Thorin and I were packed up and ready to start the journey east. I was sitting on the doorstep, waiting for Thorin to finish giving instructions to the new blacksmith of Bree, when Longshoe trudged up the road with a sad, puppy-dog expression on his face.
"You finally decided to stop by," I said with smile. "I was worried I wouldn't get to say goodbye to you."
Longshoe glanced at the open front door and then said, as if he was lead actor in a tragedy, "You truly are departing."
"Yep." I was ready for the road. I wore leather armor over my wool clothes and a gray traveling cloak that was still spotless from its lack of use. A rucksack sat on the ground at my feet, full to bursting with clothes and food. There was a quiver of arrows strapped on one side and my crossbow on the other. I'd complained when Thorin had insisted I carry the weapon, saying that it would throw me off balance and I would fall down at least a hundred times on the journey to the Coldfells. Even if my words were true, the crossbow had to come with us, and Thorin certainly wasn't going to carry it for me.
"You could stay," said Longshoe.
"I can't," I said. "Where my hubby goes, I go. But I'll miss you, and I'll definitely try to make it back here for a visit sometime." I glanced down the main street at the bustling life of Bree and smiled. "Bree is the longest I've been without Skipping."
"Skipping?" repeated Longshoe with a frown.
"Traveling," I said quickly. "Bree is the longest place I've lived without traveling. Two whole years." I grinned up at Longshoe. "For that, Bree will always be special to me."
Longshoe looked as though he wanted to say more, but in the end, he just said, "Promise me that you will return."
Considering I was about to go to war and I wouldn't have the Senturiel to protect me, there was absolutely no way I could guarantee that I would make it back. However, I wasn't such a noble person that I believed my promises were absolute, so I carelessly said, "I promise."
Of course, I did end up keeping that promise, but not in the way Longshoe or I expected. In fact, these tearful farewells would be the last time any of the Bree-folk would have positive feelings towards me. In the end, I couldn't just leave a home like a normal person—no, I had to go out with fireworks and a blaze of glory. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Right now, I was in most of the Breefolk's good graces.
Just as I finished saying goodbye to Longshoe, Thorin emerged from the house. Like me, he was ready to travel. He had strapped on his armor over his tunic and wore a dark blue traveling cloak. Unlike me, Thorin was armed to the teeth. He had a broadsword strapped to his side, a bow and quiver on his rucksack, a knife at his belt, another knife in his right boot, and a third knife in his rucksack. He gave Longshoe one hard look before nodding in farewell. Then, he turned to me and said, "The road awaits, wifey."
With a gasp, I asked, "Did you just call me wifey?"
Longshoe scowled. I never did understand his dislike for Thorin. I mean, I do know, but at the time, I certainly didn't.
"It is the swiftest way to get your attention," said Thorin. "Come, we are already late. I told Balin would arrive in a fortnight."
"That only gives you six days to reach the south of Dunland," said Longshoe. "You will need more time than that."
Thorin shot Longshoe a scowl, less irritated with Longshoe for catching his mistake, and more irritated with himself for making it. "We are meeting other relatives before we reach the settlement."
I beamed at Thorin as I got to my feet. He had an impressive poker face when lying; something I could only dream of achieving. I usually only managed to sell my lies by overacting.
I slid the straps of the rucksack over my shoulders, careful not to hit myself with the crossbow, and then I said, "Already, hubby, let's hit the road."
Thorin looked as though he already deeply regretted calling me "wifey" moments before. However, with one last look at the house, he started up the main road towards the gates of Bree. I said goodbye to Longshoe once more before scuttling after Thorin.
"You called me wifey," I said cheerfully. "Next thing I know, you'll be singing to me."
"It will not happen," said Thorin.
"Balin said the war songs are a dwarven tradition," I said. "You have to uphold dwarven traditions."
"Still will not happen."
Some of the Bree-folk waved at us as we passed. I smiled and waved back, and Thorin inclined his head in acknowledgement. He was too majestic to wave like a normal person.
"My mean hubby won't sing for me," I muttered. "You should be honored that I chose you out of all my potential hubbies."
"What potential hubbies do you speak of?" asked Thorin.
"Well," I said slowly, "it's less of 'hubbies' and more like one person. Less of 'one person' and more like a ghost."
Thorin snorted. "I did not know the ghost king was a contender. He does not yet know you in this time."
"Don't be so jealous, hubby," I said with a grin.
"We are about to step through the gates of Bree," said Thorin. "After that moment, you can call me 'hubby' no longer." He glanced at me and then sighed. "From now on, you must be Anren, and I must be Thorin, heir to the line of Durin."
Right as he said those words, I came to a halt. We had, in fact, reached the gates of Bree, and the East Road loomed before us. Behind me, I could sense some of the Bree-folk watching, hoping for one last story about the woman who wears pants that they could share at the inn. Despite the active rumor mill that followed me everywhere, I would miss Bree. It had been my home for the last two years—the forest had been my training ground, the dusty street had been my walk home, odd mixture of people had been my company. I would miss it.
"You do not have to come," said Thorin.
I glanced to my right and saw that he was watching me, a guarded expression on his face, as if he was afraid of what I might say.
"You have seen enough of war," said Thorin. "Perhaps you should remain here."
"Anyone who's seen one battle has seen enough of war," I said. I adjusted the straps of my rucksack before meeting Thorin's gaze. "I'm going with you. I've been stuck in one place for too long, and I'm ready for another adventure.
"In one place for too long…" repeated Thorin thoughtfully. He looked over his shoulder at cluster of two-story buildings that made up Bree.
"You don't get that feeling?" I asked. "That itching feeling whenever you stay in one place for too long. That feeling where you want something to happen. You don't want to spend every day accepting pastries or buying fish. You want to move, see somewhere new."
"I know that feeling," said Thorin. A soft breeze ruffled his black hair, and his blue eyes matched the morning sky. I smiled at him, appreciating this last moment where he was still Thorin the blacksmith, my husband. Then, he took a step forward and another a step and soon he passed under the gates of Bree. He said, "We have a long road ahead of us."
I grinned and raced after him. "Wait for me, hubby!"
Thorin glared over his shoulder at me.
"Sorry," I said, grinning from ear to ear. "Last time, I promise. As of now, we are both officially single again."
The sun was still low in the sky as we continued eastward. It was beautiful weather to start a journey with, not a cloud in the sky. Though I didn't know if that was a good or bad omen. I felt like it should be good, but knowing me, bad things were sure to happen. Still, I would rather good weather than bad, and if I had to cross any snow-covered mountains on this journey, I was not going to be happy—
It hit me again, the feeling of being watched. A shiver ran down my spine, and I looked over my shoulder. I half-hoped that some Breelander would be watching us from afar, but there was no one as far as the eye could see. No one but the bright sun, the blue sky, the green hills, the thick trees, and the glint of something red.
Something red?
I stared at the gap between two trees where I had seen something small and red glittering in the sunlight. However, whatever it had been had disappeared.
No. No. No. I had to be imagining it. I had thrown it away, into the fires of Mount Doom. There was no way the Senturiel could survive. No way. I was imagining things. I was crazy after everything I'd seen, afraid that after all this time, the Senturiel would somehow find me again. No. It was gone. I was safe.
I shook my head and turned to Thorin with a smile. "And so it begins, the Adventures of Ana and Thorin."
"Anren and Thorin," he corrected immediately.
"Right," I said. "That's going to take some getting used to. The Adventures of Anren and Thorin!"
"Thorin, I hate midges."
We were about two hours deep into the Midgewater Marshes, and the swamp showed no signs of ending. Midgewater was well named; there were more midges than water. In the last two hours, I had walked through several clouds thick with buzzing insects, and my exposed skin was now pricked with little red bite marks. To make matters worse, with each step I sunk deeper into the soaked ground, the murky water seeping into my boots and filling my socks. Thorin, on the other hand, was relatively dry and seemed completely unaffected by the midges. He had traveled through Midgewater before, and he knew a path through that allowed us to not wade through the marsh water. I followed as closely behind Thorin as possible, trying to step only where he stepped. However, while Thorin moved with ease, I sludged through the swamp, battling the bugs, slipping into the water, and sweating from the humidity.
"Thorin, I really hate midges."
"The midges need to eat too," he said as he stepped over a fallen tree branch. When I tried to do the same, my foot snagged on a patch of weeds. I stumbled forward, and Thorin caught my elbow before I went crashing head-first into the swamp water.
"Why do we have to travel through frigging Midgewater?" I wailed as I regained my balance.
Thorin released my arm and started forward again. He ducked under the blackened branch of a tree stump and carried on along the edge of murky, brown swamp water. "I told you," he said, not looking back. "This is the most direct route to the Coldfells. We will cut through Midgewater and then cross through Weatherhills. We can spend a night under the shelter of Weathertop before we continue north. If we keep up this pace, we may still reach my father's camp in a fortnight."
"I've been to Weathertop before," I grumbled. "Frodo almost died."
"Yes," said Thorin grimly, "I remember your story. The nazgûl have not been released from their prisons yet, so you need not fear them. We will be safe there."
He hopped on a log to avoid touching the soggy ground and then lightly leapt back onto solid ground. I tried to copy his movement and missed the log entirely. My left foot sunk into the mud, the wet grass clinging to my pants.
Thorin grasped my upper arm and hauled me out of the ground.
"You have not improved in the slightest," said Thorin.
"You didn't know me before," I said as we started walking again. "Boromir had to carry me everywhere. Honestly, you have it easy. After all those archery lessons, I'm much more coordinated now than I used to be."
Thorin snorted. "I have a newfound admiration for Boromir."
I smiled at the memory of my best friend, pushing away the shadow that usually followed thoughts of him. "Boromir was—will be—a great man."
"The world could use more good men," said Thorin.
"And a few less arrogant elves," I said with a quick grin. And then stopped. I almost tripped again but managed to catch myself. As quick as I'd seen it, the flash of red in the corner of my eye had disappeared.
I was imaging things. Imagining. It was because I was on an adventure again. I'd been safe and stable in Bree, so I hadn't thought of Senturiel, but now that I was on the move once more, I was imagining that the Senturiel was back in my life. I needed to stop. It wasn't real. The Senturiel was gone.
"Ana?" asked Thorin from a few paces ahead of me. "Have you fallen into the mud again?"
A midge landed on my neck, and I slapped it, snapping myself out of whatever trance I'd been in. "I frigging hate midges!"
He regarded me for a second longer before saying, "We will leave Midgewater soon."
"How soon?" I asked eagerly.
"We have made it to the halfway point," said Thorin, gesturing to a decrepit oak tree covered in moss. The trunk of the tree had been marked with the carving of an X. "Soon, we will reach Weatherhills. From then on, our journey will have fewer midges."
"What happens after we reach your father's camp?" I asked when I'd caught up with him.
"We will greet my father and introduce you." Thorin glanced at me. "And then we will march with the army."
"Introduce me to your father," I murmured. "That's not going to go well, is it?" My habit of rambling when nervous didn't exactly make me authority-figure friendly.
"No," said Thorin, "I think not."
"Will it end with me being beheaded?" I asked.
"I would think not," said Thorin. "If I present us to my father as one cannot join without the other, then I think my father will accept—begrudgingly—your presence."
"And if that doesn't work? Do we have a Plan B?"
"Leave," said Thorin. "I suppose we will find a settlement in Dunland that is in need of a blacksmith."
I blinked, surprised that he was willing to leave his father if staying meant abandoning me. While the thought made me happy, I couldn't let it happen. "But you need to be a part of the War of Dwarrows and Orcs. You have to be the one to defeat Azog."
Thorin scowled at me. "I know. You have told me this."
"But that means even if King Thráin doesn't want me around, you need to stay and fight. The fate of Middle Earth depends on it—"
"Do not remind me that the fate of Middle Earth depends on it," snapped Thorin.
I jumped a little at the sudden harshness in his tone. Then, I bowed my head and silently cursed myself. I'd forgotten that a few days before Thorin had told me how much he hated knowing the future. Throwing "the fate of Middle Earth" at him probably wasn't the wisest thing to do on my part. The future hurt. I knew that better than anyone. I couldn't just go around saying how people who hadn't even been born yet were going to die. That kind of information was best kept to myself. And now I was going to an army where I knew certain dwarrows would perish and certain dwarrows would join the Company. I needed to learn to forget about the future…quickly.
Another midge landed on my arm and took a deep bite of my pale skin. I smacked my arm, the sound snapping through the thick swamp air, and the splatter of midge was left in the palm of my hand. After a moment of debate, I tried to wipe the midge off my hand using the back of Thorin's cloak.
"If I find any amount of midge of my clothing," said Thorin, not breaking stride, "I will tie you to the oak tree and let the midges have their fill of you."
I glanced at the midge remains on my hand and hastily used the side of my rucksack to wipe it off.
"Watch out for the tree stump," said Thorin, sidestepping a gnarling, molding stump. "Do not look at it."
"Why?" I asked.
And then I looked.
There it was. Big. Eight-legged. It was about the size of my hand with dozens of beady eyes staring at me. And it was furry.
I screamed. "Spider!"
"I told you not to look."
The journey through Midgewater was like one of the levels of hell for me. The midges devoured me, I tripped over everything, and there were spiders. I'm sure I drove Thorin insane, and it was only day one of our adventure.
Again, something red appeared in the corner of my eye, but I refused to look. If I didn't look then maybe it wasn't real. Childish thinking, I know, but at that point, I was getting desperate. The more the Senturiel appeared at the edge of my vision, the more I began to worry that I wasn't going insane and that the Senturiel might actually be stalking me through Midgewater.
We reached a spot where a fallen tree had been turned into a makeshift bridge across a patch of deep water. Thorin crossed first, walking over the trunk without much trouble. He wobbled once and that was it. I, on the other hand, crossed like a slug. About half way over the log, I gave up on grace and decided it was safest to wrap my arms and legs around the tree and inch my way along until I safely reached the other side.
When I stood on solid ground again, I breathed a sigh of relief and brushed the stray pieces of wood and moss off my pants. Thorin stood next to me with that look in his eyes. You know what look I'm talking about. I know it well.
"What?" I asked.
Thorin turned away from me and continued walking.
"What?" I asked again as I scampered after him. "Are you judging me?"
"Does it look that way?" asked Thorin.
"Yes," I said, stumbling over a rock hidden in the weed. "You have judgy eyes…"
I stopped. My chest tightened. There was no mistaking it now. To my right, a golden chain hung from the branch of a knotted tree. At the end of the chain, a golden locket was open, revealing the red gem inside. I blinked, and the necklace was gone.
It was unmistakably the Senturiel now. No longer a blur seen out of the corner of my eye, it was real and solid. The Senturiel was here. It was really here. It hadn't been destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, and it had come back to me.
I suddenly found hard to breathe, and I leaned on a tree stump for support. The images flashed before me—three arrows finding their way into Boromir's chest, Dorthin lying amongst the bodies of elves and orcs, glass shattering around me, hobbits' blood dripping onto the black land, Thorin raising his sword against Azog.
"Ana?"
Thorin's voice dragged me from the memories. I stood there for a second, gasping for breath. I was in Midgewater. It was over. The One Ring had been destroyed. Sauron had been defeated. Thorin was alive. It was over.
"Ana, what is troubling you?" asked Thorin. He took a step closer, his blue eyes watching me carefully.
"There was a spider." I regretted the lie as soon as it came out. Not ten days ago, I'd snapped at Thorin for lying to me about the War of Dwarrows and Orcs. No lies, no secrets—we'd promised. I took a deep breath and said, "It's back."
"Ana…"
"The Senturiel's back."
Thorin immediately looked around, searching for the red gem. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword as if the blade might somehow protect me from the Senturiel. He seemed to realize a second later that his sword was useless, and his hand dropped back to his side.
"It's already disappeared," I said, still holding onto the tree stump for support. "But it'll be back. It's been following me all day."
"And you only decided to inform me now?" asked Thorin, his voice sharp. He stopped himself and then said, much more calmly, "When did you first see it?"
"As we were leaving Bree." I stared at where the Senturiel had been hanging. "I didn't want to admit that it was back. I was hoping I was crazy."
Neither of us spoke for a minute. I still couldn't take my eyes away from the tree branch. I hated myself for being consumed by the old nightmares as soon as I saw the Senturiel. I was stronger than this. I was going to join the War of Dwarrows and Orcs; I couldn't be collapsing at the mere sight of the rock. So what if the Senturiel was back? It hadn't destroyed me the first time, and it certainly wasn't going to destroy me this time.
I looked up and saw that Thorin was watching me, a hard expression on his face. When he saw me move, he snapped out of whatever he'd been thinking and asked, "What do you want to do?"
A midge buzzed around my head and I swatted it away. "Get out of this frigging place, and never see another midge as long as I live."
An hour later, we finally escaped from Midgewater and started the journey through Weatherhills. Steep hills stretched across the landscape, and our path curved through them as we traveled through the dips, crossing shallow rivers and climbing over broken, stone walls. The sky darkened the further we ventured into Weatherhills, and I began to wonder if we would make it to Weathertop before the sunset. Though, I wouldn't complain if we spent the night on the grassy slopes. As we drew closer to Weathertop, I became—how should I describe it?—twitchy. Frodo had been stabbed on Weathertop, surrounded by nazgûl. And even though, I knew that Sauron was still a distant memory in Middle Earth at this point in time, the thought of nazgûl still sent shivers down my spine.
Of course, I being stalked by something far scarier than a nazgûl.
The damned Senturiel would not leave me alone. I'd seen it twice more since Midgewater, and both times, I'd tried my hardest to ignore it. The nightmares stayed away, and I'd walked past the damned rock with my head held high. Whenever I did that, Thorin gave me an exasperated look, saying there were other ways to deal with this, but I was hoping that the good old ignore-it-and-it-will-leave-you-alone technique would work.
Just as the sun was setting, we reached the base of Weathertop. Thorin led the way up the steep slope, and I trudged behind him, huffing and puffing. All the archery practice had kept me passably in shape, but that didn't mean I was prepared for the long trek to the Coldfells. My entire body ached, and my legs felt as though were they about to give out at any moment.
"Can't we just sleep in the grass?" I asked.
"Shelter will be a better night's rest," said Thorin. "We still have four days before we reach the Coldfells."
"So far, the Adventures of Ana and Thorin have been pretty lame," I grumbled. "Walking. Walking. Walking. Midges. Walking. Walking. Stalked by a magic rock. Walking."
Thorin snorted. "What do you think the Fellowship and the Company did while you were not there on their adventures? When you had the Senturiel, you missed most of the walking."
"And it's at times like these that I almost miss the Senturiel." I looked around in case the rock had heard me and thought it was wanted. "And then I remember that it made my life hell and suddenly I'm willing to do all this walking." I glared out at the hills and shouted, "Find another victim to drag through time and space!"
It was a relief, after a walk day's hike, to finally reach Weathertop. Thorin led the way under the arched entryway, and I stumbled after him into the cover of the gray stone ruins. Weathertop was by no means a five-star hotel. It was what it was supposed to be—the ruins of an old watchtower. All that remained of the watchtower were parts of the once strong walls and the traces of decorative architecture. There was half a pillar to my right, pieces of carved arches, and the faded remnants of a painted tile floor. Weathertop was a ghost of what it once was, but it provided enough shelter for two travelers to spend the night and that was all we needed.
Well, three travelers if you count the Senturiel.
I found a seat-sized rock to collapse onto, dropping my rucksack onto the ground. I dozed off within minutes, but my sleep didn't last long. I woke, restless, to dreams of the Senturiel and the Battle of Five Armies. Sitting upright on my rock, I looked around the ruins. Thorin regarded me for a second, knowing exactly what the nightmares were about. Then, he turned back to the low burning fire over which he had set up the one metal bowl we'd brought with us. It seemed Thorin was cooking dinner. He'd gathered herbs as we walked through Weatherhills, and now he was making stinging nettle soup (meal choices are limited on the road, and apparently cooking stinging nettles takes out all the sting).
"Are you certain you wish to travel to the Coldfells with me?" asked Thorin, not taking his eyes away from the simmering soup.
"Stop asking me that." I sounded snappy to my own ears, and I rubbed my face before saying, "Sorry. But seriously, stop asking. I've made the decision to come with you. I know what I'm getting into with this war, and I won't change my mind. Where you go, I go. That's the rule. I just, you know, didn't expect the Senturiel to show up." I leaned back on my seat-stone and sighed. "Why won't it leave me alone? What did I do wrong in my previous life to deserve this?"
"You did throw the Senturiel into the fires of Mount Doom," said Thorin.
I groaned. It was possible the Senturiel wasn't happy with being thrown in to volcano. Still, if the Senturiel wanted vengeance, why did it wait until I'd left Bree to start showing up again? "You would think," I said through gritted teeth, "that the same lava that destroyed the One Ring would also destroy the Senturiel, but no. The Senturiel just had to be difficult."
"You said the Senturiel is a gift from the Valar," said Thorin. "I would hope their craftsmanship is better than that of Sauron."
I had to admit Thorin was right. A gift from the Valar probably couldn't be destroyed by any means that existed in Middle Earth. Which meant I was screwed. "What am I going to do?"
"I do not think we can prevent it from following you," said Thorin. "If it survived Mount Doom, then I doubt burying it beneath the earth or sealing it away would deter it."
"So then what do we do?" I asked, sounding more desperate than I wanted.
Thorin shook his head before giving the soup one last stir. "Dinner is ready."
He removed the soup from the fire, careful not to touch the metal with his bare hands. I grabbed the two spoons from his pack and moved to sit next to him on the stone floor. We traveled light, bringing as few utensils and dishes as we could, and so we shared the same bowl of soup. We ate in silence—Thorin thinking deeply, probably about what we should do, and me fearing that the Senturiel might show up in a spoonful of the bright green soup.
Thankfully, the Senturiel didn't appear in our soup bowl, and so after we'd finished eating, I took the dishes and headed to the well to wash them. I didn't get more than two steps away from Thorin when the Senturiel decided to reappear. On the ground. Right next to my left foot.
I stared down at the red gemstone and golden locket for a moment, trying to ignore the pounding fear in my chest. Then, slowly, softly, I said, "Thorin, I see the Senturiel. What should I do?"
And Thorin, being the reliable Thorin that he was, asked, "Would you rather have it in your possession, or would you rather it continue to follow you around?"
The answer was easier than I thought it was going to be. The saying goes "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." Well, the Senturiel was definitely my enemy, and the last thing I needed was the stupid rock popping up in the middle of meeting King Thráin or during a battle with the Misty Mountain orcs.
I set the dirty dishes down on a rock and then crouched beside the Senturiel. I glanced over at Thorin. He had gotten to his feet and was slowly moving closer. When our eyes met, he gave me an encouraging nod.
Taking a deep breath, I repeated to myself, "I survived the Senturiel before. I will survive it again." Then, I picked up the golden chain and, carefully, snapped the locket shut. The necklace sat my hand, looking as harmless as any other piece of jewelry.
"I got it," I said, hardly believing it myself. "I actually got it. I thought it'd Skip away from me."
Thorin grimaced. We both knew what that meant. From the very beginning, from the moment I'd left Bree, the Senturiel had wanted me to keep it.
Slowly, I pulled the necklace over my head and let it fall into place. It felt frighteningly comfortable there, and for a second, I wanted to wrench it off my neck and throw is across the ruins. Never again. I never again wanted to go back to that life.
I had survived the Senturiel before. I would survive it again.
Thorin placed a hand on my arm, and I looked up at him. He tried for a reassuring smile, but it came out more of a grimace. He knew what this meant to me. He knew how difficult this was.
I gave him a weak smile. "The Adventures of Anren and Thorin just got a lot more interesting, huh?"