Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters
Chapter Eight
The day had continued much as the ones before, with the Dwarf Company keeping to themselves and recovering from their journey as it had been so far; only Miluiel felt comfortable in this ethereal place, and had taken to wandering during parts of the day. But never again was she able to find the small, cluttered room of Gandalf's, despite feeling a strange pull in her chest which seemed to want her to explore the dusty tomes he had within.
It had come to early evening time, with the group amassed around their fire and talking in low voices between themselves. Miluiel had noted that none of them spoke in Khuzdul, for fear of the elves hearing it; Dwarves were notorious for their protective instincts towards their own language, and Balel had often told of Dwarves who would rather remain speechless than reveal a single word of the ancient tongue.
"We'll be leaving with the dawn," Balin whispered softly to Miluiel as they sat by the fire. She cocked her head at him, a question darting over her features, before Bilbo shook his curly head.
"We're leaving? So soon? But… What of Gandalf? Should we not wait for him?" The triumph that lit his eyes made Balin grin, before shaking his head to answer.
"No, Master Hobbit. Thorin wishes to leave as soon as possible; time marches on, and we must reach Erebor before Durin's Day." The white haired Dwarf heaved himself from the ground with a soft creak of old joints, before joining another small group of their company to inform them of the newest plan from the Dwarf prince. Miluiel watched him leave with a wrinkled brow, before snorting in derision.
"Leaving so soon with only take us half of the way on this blasted quest of theirs, and end with us having no supplies I'll bet! And then of course, there's the idea that we leave behind a wizard. Of all things to discard so readily as spoiled fish, a wizard should not be one!" Her russet curls shook as she snorted again; she began stuffing her clothes into her pack angrily, all of which had been kindly laundered by the elves of Rivendell. She felt a heavy sense of disappointment and regret settle in her stomach at the thought of leaving the city without so much as an inkling of their plans being made plain to their hosts. In her mind, the Dwarf prince was doing nothing to dispel the almost universal opinion that Dwarves were a selfish and inconsiderate race, with no regard for the feelings of others. It bothered her, like a fly on a summer's day bothers the grazing cattle, that they could not say goodbye to those who had been kind enough to take them in, despite their less than stellar arrival. The company brought an Orc pack to the borders of these soft creatures, who welcome them with kindness and compassion, and yet they were to slope off into the coming dawn like wolves into the shadows, with no thanks being given.
"This plan irks you, Miluiel?" Bilbo put a hand softly on her arm, his brown eyes large in the coming darkness.
"Does it not you?" she replied, her grey eyes narrowed as she surveyed the group, no doubt trying to pick out the silhouette of the prince, with his furs draped around his shoulders, to better convey her annoyance with a hearty glare. She shook her head again, her curls bouncing about her face. She flapped her hand ineffectually at them before tucking a few strands behind her ears, which Bilbo noted were tiny and delicate, much opposed to those of the Dwarves around him.
"Supper is served!" Bombur called, gesturing to the gently simmering pot over the fire. Tendrils of steam floated over the surface, and the herbs and spices hung in the evening air. Fili and Kili jostled to the front of the quickly-forming queue, holding out their wooden bowls with glee. Their faces mirrored each other as they began spooning the stew into their mouths, their eyes glazing dreamily as they ate. Bilbo and Miluiel waited until the others had taken their fill, before approaching the pot and ladling smaller portions into their own bowls. Something Bilbo had realised during his short time with the Dwarves was that however much others assumed that Hobbits ate; Dwarves could knock it into a cocked hat with their healthy appetites.
Miluiel noted somewhat absently that Balin had disappeared from the group, and both Dwalin and Thorin hadn't been seen all afternoon. She assumed that the three of them were off somewhere secluded discussing the journey ahead, their plans concerning the dragon Smaug, and of course their undoubtedly low opinions of their Elven hosts. She sighed through her nose, causing Kili to glance at her and cock his head. Fili looked to his brother and followed his gaze before he began to smile. They both rose as one and dropped themselves down either side of Miluiel, smacking their lips over the last of their meal.
"What makes the fair lady frown so?" Fili asked, jostled her left arm playfully.
"I fear it may be our dear uncle," Kili grinned, his eyebrows almost touching his dark hairline as he jostled her right arm. She looked between the two for a few moments, before quirking her lips into a smile and dropping her spoon into her now-empty bowl with a clatter that made a few of the Dwarves look over. Bilbo smiled; he liked watching the young brothers interact with Miluiel, as he saw their genuine kindness and jollity. He preferred it to the wariness from some of the other Dwarves, the stony silence from Dwalin, or the haughty derision of their leader. Her grey eyes lit up when talking to the mischievous brothers and her mouth was more often curled upward.
"I am simply cautiously anticipating the rest of our journey," she replied, her curls bobbing with her words. She tucked the errant strands behind her ears again, sighing softly as they simply fell forward again.
Kili looked past her to Fili, and then back at Miluiel, his brow furrowing. "Has no one ever braided your hair for you? It seems to be bothering you, just loose as it is."
"No, I've never learnt how to braid; my mother refused to teach me and simply drew it back for me with a leather strap. However, when Gandalf arrived as he did, my first thought was not to ask for a moment to preserve my vanity," she grinned, flicking the mass of autumnal colour over one shoulder.
"What about your friends? Did they not braid your hair for you?" Fili looked flabbergasted, as if he could not imagine anyone not having many friends with whom to while away the days of childhood.
Miluiel shrugged her elegant shoulders and made a face, "There weren't many children who wanted to play with me when I was young, so I amused myself with my grandfather's work. I spent much of my time in his forge with him, and as soon as I was strong enough to wield a hammer, he taught me his trade. After that, I didn't really have enough time to appreciate my lack of social interaction."
Fili and Kili both looked at each other dramatically, their eyebrows pulled down and eyes widened to give them an air of melancholy. They seemed to converse between themselves with barely a look, before turning back to Miluiel in unison.
"We shall braid your hair," they pronounced together, both of them appearing exceptionally pleased with themselves.
Miluiel looked sceptical as they rearranged themselves to sit facing either side of her head. She was instructed to keep her head still, to ensure that the braids would stay tight.
"Will Thorin not ask who braided my hair? Isn't this a fairly important thing to Dwarves?" she asked, her eyes wide as she tried to glance from one brother to another. They both steadied her head gently and began to select pieces of hair, before running them through their fingers.
"He probably wouldn't notice Miluiel, and it must be annoying with all this hair hanging in your face! Especially in poor weather; we ran through a patch of terrible rain before meeting you, and with a wizard in our midst! He did nothing to quell the raging sky, I can tell you!" Kili sounded so indignant that Miluiel let out a gurgle of laughter.
Her shoulder shook as she tried to quieten herself before replying. "Oh Kili! Wizards are powerful surely, but no one can control the weather! And who would want to? The changing seasons bring the weather that is needed for the earth to replenish itself. Did you tell Gandalf that you wished for him to command the rain to stop?" she giggled again, trying to picture the company of outraged Dwarves being told that rain is a law unto itself. The younger of the brothers simply huffed in reply, before reaching around the back of her head to join his braid with Fili's.
"There you are!" Fili said, looking pleased with their creation. "They will show that we are friends of yours now, see? We've tried to make them look a little like ours!" And he flicked his finger under the braids in his beard, causing them to bounce gaily as the beads caught the light of the fire.
She cautiously raised a hand and felt along the plaited hair to where it met behind her head and she smiled, another laugh escaping from her lips and causing the brothers to grin happily. They then both turned as one being and looked at Bilbo, their eyes lit wickedly by the dying embers.
"Oh brother, we would not want our burglar to feel that he was not our friend," Fili began, shifting his body with ill-disguised glee.
"Of course not; he is as much a part of the company as we are; it's in his contract!" Kili agreed, beginning to rise from a cross-legged position. Bilbo eyed them both with barely concealed terror, before leaping to his hairy feet.
"I'll just go and wash the bowls then shall I? Hmm, better had, wouldn't want the stew to congeal," he said, his voice chattering through his teeth as he tried to get away from the laughing trio.
Their merriment caught the attention of Thorin as he returned with Balin and Dwalin. He stared across as his nephews laughed and talked with the girl and the hobbit, both of whom he had deemed unnecessary and unworthy for his quest. It irked him that the boys were so easily won over by a pretty face, for he could not deny her beauty, however much he cursed it. Then something caught his eye as she turned her head, and it caught his breath in his throat.
Her hair had been braided.
His stomach plummeted as he tried to assess the intricacy of the plaited hair from a distance, but between the deepening dusk and the dancing embers of the campfire, he could not distinguish the patterns. He strode over to the four of them as they sat cross-legged on the ground, and stood until he had their attention. A hush fell over the courtyard as the other Dwarves saw Thorin, his hands on his hips as he waited for silence from his nephews, the Hobbit and Miluiel.
"Ah Uncle, we…" Kili's voice faded away as he saw the anger flash in Thorin's eyes. From his vantage point above her, he could ascertain that the braids were in fact of the friendship variety, and that both of them were similar but slightly different. The brothers must have done one each, and then brought them together at the back of her head. If he hadn't been so angry, he might have appreciated the way that the difference in the braids mirrored the differences in the brothers, and yet despite their differences, they were always found to be together in the end. As it was, it was all that he could do to contain his ire.
"You should all rest, for we rise early on the morn," he snapped; his voice held a quality of silk being pulled over coal, rough and yet smooth.
The brothers rose as one and bowed to Miluiel, before turning to Bilbo and tipping their heads at him. Bilbo excused himself away to his bedroll which lay a few feet away, which he crawled onto without looking back. Miluiel, however, continued to stare up at Thorin just as he stared down at her, their expressions of annoyance mirrored in the other's eyes. It was Miluiel who broke the frosty silence, as she sighed softly and dropped her eyes to her lap, before uncurling her legs and staggering to her feet. She had spent longer than she thought with her legs crossed beneath her, and as a result, her limbs had forgotten how to cooperate with her brain. Thorin simply stared after her whilst she moved to her bedroll, situated between Bilbo and Bofur.
He supposed that he would never understand the stubbornness of women, and he snorted at the very notion that he would wish to understand anything about the young lady, regardless of how mildly intriguing he found her small features, or how faintly absorbing she was to watch as she talked. No, he had decided that she was to be of no use to the company, and until something drastic happened that meant she could alter this opinion, it was how he would think of her. Perhaps he would try simply not thinking of her at all.