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Chapter Six
Thorin was unsettled. His thoughts charged past one another, jostling to the forefront of his brain, demanding his attention, before slinking away like mist from the brow of a hill at dawn. It irked him, the presence of the strange woman, and his temper was not improved when he observed the Company's apparent attachment to her, especially in such a short while. He could understand the younger Dwarves falling under her spell, due to their naivety, but even Balin seemed to accept her into the group. He was unsure as to the origin of her magic, but he was convinced of its existence; how else could she captivate their attention so?
His mind strayed to the image of her face, with the resolute jaw line and the soft eyes; he had caught himself mentally tracing the planes of her face in moments of weakness during the day, for that was what it surely was, and he despised himself for it. That witch thought she had him under a spell! His teeth ground together as he mulled over what he knew of her, which amounted to very little.
Damn that wizard and his schemes! All he had divulged was the simple notion that she would be of use to their campaign, and as such, Thorin was to keep her with them, and to keep her safe. He had not wanted the Hobbit to tag along with them, let alone this oddity! He had no idea as to her lineage – she was too refined to be a Dwarf, and yet her height suggested that she was no Elf either. She was certainly not of the race of Men, as even Thorin could admit to her beauty, albeit grudgingly. So his mind had formed the opinion that she was a witch – a sorceress! – and not to be trusted.
"Thorin," Dwalin rumbled, piercing the King's angry reverie with his deep voice, "What troubles you so?"
He did not answer, choosing instead to cast his eyes over the Company, who were settling into their bed rolls for the night and slowly beginning to unfurl their tightly wound nerves. He felt the responsibility rest heavy on his shoulders; he could see the trust and loyalty in their eyes, and the silent expectation that he and he alone would be the one to lead them into battle, to reclaim Erebor and their birth right.
"I do not trust the woman," Thorin replied, keeping his voice soft and low to thwart eavesdroppers. He searched the sleeping forms for a flash of her auburn hair, and was faintly surprised to see her sleeping so close to the fire, next to Dori. Another Dwarf won over by her mysterious charm.
Balin sighed, clapping a hand to the King's shoulder, "I think that Gandalf would not have insisted that she remain with us, if there were no good reason. We must trust in him, Thorin. She may yet prove herself as part of our Company."
Thorin curled his lip in disgust, shaking his head and causing his braids to whip about his face angrily. He could see no use in the woman, and he cursed the wizard again for saddling him with her. In moments of danger, he had caught her clasping that toothpick of a sword with a shaking hand, and he snorted derisively at the memory; surely she did not think that she could fight! He had visions of repeatedly snatching her from the clutches of disaster during their journey and sighed, before her face flashed before his eyes once again. Her arched eyebrows framed those gentle eyes – too gentle for the wilds of the world, he thought – and her mouth, with the bottom lip which looked almost too full as it bowed over her teeth in a small smile. Her hair curled about itself in a tumble of autumnal colours, reminding him of falling leaves, and he had noted, somewhat absently, that her tresses held no braids. He would have expected at least courting braids, due to the fact that she was a woman more than anything, but also because of the loveliness of her face. Then his mind clicked, like a lock opening. Perhaps she were not courting due to her beauty, for it was not a Dwarven splendour which graced her; she was too fine for a Dwarf. Perhaps others had noticed this and slunk away with trepidation, as Dwarves do not trust easily, and do not like to be fooled. An errant thought – I would not leave such a countenance to be snatched up by another – curled about him cautiously, before he dashed it away and returned to his earlier tirade against the tiresomely tricky wizard.
Balin and Dwalin watched as he paced in front of them, evidently upset. They had known him since he was a boy, a young Dwarfling who hung on the words of his elders as if they were speaking the words of the great Aulë himself. He had been idealistic and passionate, and had possessed the same rambunctious yet impossibly adorable nature as his nephews, the sons of his sister Dis. It pained both the brothers to see their King consumed by anger and hatred, his handsome features twisted into the sour expression he always wore; he was yet young, and they feared that the burden of his title was beginning to take its toll.
"I think we should away to bed laddie," Balin touched his forearm gently, and motioned to the carefully placed bed rolls which still lay empty, before heading towards one himself. The old Dwarf lowered himself down to the ground and flicked his blanket over his legs, casting a look over the still-upright Dwarves before rolling over and closing his eyes. It was not in his nature to allow his King to suffer, but this conundrum of the mysterious woman was one which Thorin would have to puzzle through on his own.