On the Road Again

Do you know what is more awkward than a person who has never ridden on horseback forced to travel by pony? Two people who have never ridden on horseback forced to travel on the same pony. I stifled a groan as I visualized the cramps I would have when we finally stopped for the night. My back and behind ached, the insides of my thighs felt raw from the friction of my skin against the saddle and I stank. I took a whiff under my armpits and gagged. I hadn't felt this filthy in months.

Bilbo wasn't faring so well either. I wasn't very big and his slight figure meant that we easily fit into the same saddle, but he cringed away from me the whole time, which must have made things extremely uncomfortable for him.

I was in no mood to feel sorry for the little hobbit. On the contrary, when I had spotted him running up the path behind us several hours earlier, heavily laden with traveling gear and waving his signed contract for everyone to see, I had even felt a little annoyed.

"Wait!" he had puffed, clutching his sides. "Wait! I signed it!" The company halted and Bilbo handed the parchment to Balin who held it up for closer inspection.

"Everything appears to be in order," the old dwarf concluded brightly. He smiled warmly at the hobbit. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield!"

I grumbled quietly to myself as the dwarves laughed. I wasn't the only person who appeared to be put out by this sudden arrival; Fili looked none too pleased as he rooted around in his bag, and I remembered that I wasn't alone to have bet against Bilbo's change of heart.

Thorin barely spared the hobbit a glance. "He will ride with Miss Morgan." Ignoring my protests, the king urged his mount forwards and the company followed, pausing only when Fili and Kili dumped the startled-looking Bilbo unceremoniously on the pony with me. The hobbit went rigid and for a moment I thought we would both topple off, but he steadied himself just in time to cling onto the saddle as the pony lurched into motion.

"Come on Dori, pay up!" Oin called, looking smug.

The dwarves began settling their debts, extracting coins from their pockets and tossing them to one another. Bofur twisted around in his saddle with his hand outstretched, gazing at me expectantly.

I flushed and grumbled, "Pay you back later," wishing I'd been sensible enough to refrain from gambling when I'd had the chance.

Bofur grinned with the air of a cat cornering a mouse. "With interest," he said and spurred his pony to the front of the line.

"What's that about?" Bilbo asked when he had gone.

"Oh, they took wages on whether or not you would turn up," Gandalf replied as his horse came level with us. "Most of them bet that you wouldn't."

"Really?" The hobbit seemed a little offended, glancing over his shoulder to stare at me accusingly. "You bet against me?"

I shrugged moodily. "'Course I did. Can you blame me? You don't exactly strike me as the type to drop everything and run off into the blue."

He didn't dignify me with an answer, turning instead to face the wizard. "And what did you think?"

Gandalf chuckled as a fat purse of coins landed into his outstretched hand. "My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second."

And so the company journeyed on – riding at first through neat hobbit-lands that reminded me strongly of the English countryside. We passed a few cozy looking cottages and an inn or two on our way, but as we pressed on these became scarce and the land took on a wilder tone. The rolling green hills and small twisting rivers gave way more desolate landscapes, and soon we were forced to leave the path. From time to time we would spot a stone structure in the distance and the inhabitants would watch wearily as we passed them by. We were no longer in hobbit territory - that much was certain.

The dwarves passed the time cheerily enough, singing songs and laughing at one another's jokes. They didn't seem capable of remaining serious for more than a few minutes. As the day progressed however, the mood dampened slightly as if the enormity of what we were about to attempt was suddenly brought into focus by the dreary scenery.

The dwarves paid no attention to the hobbit or me as the day wore on. Gandalf and Bilbo kept on a string of conversation, talking about everything from pipe weed to the weather. They attempted several times to include me into the discussion, asking me innocent questions about family and friends, but I was in no mood to join in, and eventually they stopped trying and let me sulk in peace.

The pony ride was turning out to be a nightmarish experience in my opinion. More aggravating was the fact that the dwarves stopped for nothing, not even lunch (which came in the form of long strips of dried meat). By the time the sun was setting and the king finally called for a halt my rear was throbbing, my legs felt stiff, my back was aching and I was ready to murder someone.

"Daylight is waning," Thorin stated as he dismounted. He glanced at our surroundings. "We will set up camp here until morning. Start unloading the ponies."

The location he had chosen was a flat stretch of land in the crook of the mountain side. It offered a clear view of the valley below and would give us a nice advantage on anyone trying to sneak up on the company during the night.

The dwarves started setting up camp, heaving heavy packs of food from the ponies' backs. I grabbed a couple of bedrolls and brought them over to where Oin was starting up a fire with the help of his brother Gloin. Bilbo, who seemed to understand that the more we made ourselves useful, the less grief we'd get from Thorin later on, hastily followed my lead.

I was not in the best of moods. I didn't know how long it was going to take for me to get used to this way of traveling, but it had better be sooner rather than later, or someone – Bilbo, no doubt – was very likely to have their head torn off in the near future. I didn't have anything against the hobbit per se (other than the fact that he had already cost me three pennies and that his constant cheerfulness was like a cheese grater to my nerves) but if the dwarves insisted on us riding together, then he would be the most convenient target to vent my frustration on.

Oin seemed to sense my bad temper and said nothing as I dumped the bedrolls next to the flames, but his brother wasn't as wise.

"When will supper be ready?" he asked, looking pointedly in my direction – To which I replied rather sharply that I wasn't his freakin' housemaid and that the day I'd cook dinner for the company would be the day hell froze over.

"I'm gonna get wood for the fire," I finished, turning my back on the dwarf's nonplussed expression and storming off into the forest.

The minute I was out of earshot I let out a stream of curses, stamping my foot childishly on the ground. I couldn't explain for sure why I felt so angry. Maybe it was my way of coping with the stress of the past twenty-four hours (I realized with a jolt that barely a day had passed since I was stuck by the killing curse). Self-indulgence was not my style. In Slytherin, it is considered a weakness, and Salazar's noble house does not tolerate the weak. No, I much preferred to fume my anger away privately rather than indulge in self-pity.

So I kicked at the ground for a bit and threw a couple of stones against the trees, muttering under my breath the whole time. Once I had vented my frustration, I closed my eyes, took a deep, calming breath and stretched my hands out in front of me, palms facing outwards.

"Inflamare."

I wasn't particularly surprised when nothing happened. Wandless magic was turning out to be a pain in the ass.

By the time I'd gathered enough firewood to last us a couple of hours and made my way back to the camp, most of the bags had been unpacked and Bombur had started the preparations for dinner. He nodded when he saw me approach and pointed to the ground besides him. I dumped my load close to the fire, keeping a long twig that was suitable for the task I had in mind.

I went to my pack to fetch the small bunch of feverfew flowers and a tightly wound ball of string lent to me by Balin, then set to work tying the plants by their stems to the piece of wood. When I was finished, I returned to the fire and planted the stick at a safe distance, the flowers dangling upside down, hoping it would be enough to dry them. They were already looking a little withered from the long day's ride.

Oin, who was seated close to the flames, looked at me with interest. He leant closer to examine the flowers. "Feverfew?" he asked.

I nodded and he grunted in approval. "Aye, a useful plant, that." He reached behind and produced a small leather satchel from one of the packs. "I hear you know your way around herbal remedies?" he asked as he opened it up for me to see.

I peered inside curiously. The satchel was divided into several compartments, each filled with a number of small pouches and bundles of roots. A strong odor of dried herbs wafted from the bag, reminding me of the storage room in the back of the Apothecary.

"Are you some kind of healer?" I wondered out loud as I examined the herbs more closely. I recognized a few of them from my work with Mr. Mulpepper, but several of the dried roots were completely unknown to me.

Oin chuckled. "You could say that." He produced an ear trumpet from his pack and started scrubbing at a patch of rust absently. "I've always had a certain fascination for medical practitioners and their art. Dwarves are not prone to illnesses the way Mankind is, but I prefer to ere on the safe side." He winked at me. "It never hurts to have a healer close at hand."

For the next few minutes he quizzed me about my knowledge of herbs and remedies, asking me questions fifteen to the dozen. I answered as best I could and was surprised by how much I remembered from my schooldays. Some of the other dwarves listened in on the conversation at first but grew bored after a while and wandered away. Ori and Gandalf stayed however, voicing their opinion every now and then, but mostly listening as Oin and I exchanged information. Bilbo had fallen asleep.

"How did you lose your fingers?" Ori asked finally at a lull in the conversation. He pointed to my left hand where both my ring and little finger were missing. "Was it in a battle?"

The dwarves who were still awake looked up in interest at his question. I gazed around the circle at their expressions (ranging from curiosity to cynicism) as they waited for me to answer. They had accepted the wizard's word when he had said that I could fight the previous night, but it was obvious that none of them really believed it. I couldn't blame their skepticism. I certainly didn't look like a warrior, and strictly speaking I wasn't. Not by their standards anyway.

That didn't mean that I hadn't lost my fingers in a fight. In fact, I'd splinched them by aparating during a fight, so I suppose that kind of counted as a battle wound. But there was no way in hell I was explaining that.

"Nope," I lied smoothly. "I chopped them of in a kitchen accident. I can't cook to save my life. And frying eggs doesn't count as cooking," I added as Ori opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that I'd helped him with breakfast that very morning.

He might have denied my statement, but at that moment the discussion was cut short as a loud screech sounded across the valley.

Kili looked up from the knife he was sharpening and I sat a little straighter, my hand automatically twitching towards my right pocket. What the hell was that?

"What was that?" Bilbo asked nervously, echoing my thoughts as he scuttled back from where the ponies were being kept (I hadn't noticed him get up).

Kili frowned and cocked his head slightly to the right, listening intently. "Orcs," he breathed.

"Orcs?" the hobbit looked alarmed as he hurried back to the fire. Thorin stirred from his seat by the rock, his hand slipping to the hilt of his sword.

Fili nodded as he puffed on his pipe, cool as a cucumber. "Throat cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The low lands are crawling with them."

I glanced tensely at Gandalf who was smoking his pipe nearby. He'd never said anything about orcs. What were they? Shouldn't we be getting ready for trouble, or at least taking cover in the woods? I licked my dry lips and reached for my short sword, cursing silently under my breath. I'd really been hoping that I would have recovered at least a little of my spell power before we ran into trouble, but it looked as if I was going to have to find a way to survive without my magic. I didn't fancy the odds.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep," Kili pressed on, oblivious to the effect his words were having on Bilbo, who had turned a nasty grey color. "Quick and quiet – no screams – just lots of blood."

As the hobbit turned away to glance nervously down the side of the mountain, the brothers shared a look of mischief.

Those little gits!

I couldn't believe it. They were having a laugh.

I glared as Kili caught sight of my defensive posture and elbowed Fili in the ribs, smirking. "Something the matter Cassie?"

The brothers snickered.

"Do you think that's funny?" Thorin asked sharply as he rose to his feet, putting an end to the mocking. "Do you think a night-raid by orcs is a laughing matter?"

It was my turn to smirk as the brothers shrank back into the rock under the intensity of their uncle's cold stare.

Kili looked downcast. "We didn't mean anything by it –"

"No. You didn't." Thorin's disappointment was almost palpable; it seemed to roll of him in waves. Then, suddenly he turned his accusing stare on me, as if I had somehow had a hand in this prank. "You know nothing of the world."

The king moved away to the edge of the cliff and stared out at the darkened lands of Middle-Earth, unable to look at his nephews any longer.

I smirked at the Durin brother's dejected looks. "Serves you right."

Balin hushed me as he approached the flames and leant against the side of the mountain. "Don't mind him, laddie," he told Kili sympathetically. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

I could sense a story coming along, so I leant back against my bedroll in an effort to find a more comfortable position, and listened closely as Balin began his tale:

"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, king Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler."

Besides me, Bilbo shifted, turning to shoot a glance at the Thorin's retreated figure.

"The giant orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king." Balin's eyes were glassy as he stared into the flames, and I realized that he had been at Thorin's side when Azog had murdered the dwarf king's grandfather.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to rub some warmth back inside my limbs. This story was reminding me of another battle, one that had claimed many lives. I closed my eyes as Balin pressed on. The dancing fire created patterns of red behind my eyelids, and for a moment I saw the blackened crumbling ruin that had once been Hogwarts castle, alight with flames.

"That is when I saw him." I opened my eyes to see that Balin was smiling, a victorious look upon his face as he gazed towards his king. He had the proud expression of a father describing the triumphs his son. "A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc. He stood alone before his terrible foe, his armor wrecked, using nothing but a broken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated." Balin sighed and suddenly he looked very old, as if the burden of the years lay heavily on his shoulders, crushing him beneath their weight. "But there was no feast nor songs that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then: There is one who I could follow. There is one I could call king."

There was a hush as the dwarves all clambered to their feet to gaze at their leader, awe and respect etched across their faces. Thorin turned away from the cliff edge and slowly made his way back towards the company.

"But the pale orc?" Bilbo whispered as the king passed us by, "What happened to him?"

Thorin paused and answered before the old dwarf could. "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Gandalf's eyes flitted towards Balin's and between them passed a look charged with meaning. I got the distinct impression that they knew something the king didn't.

I crawled over to the wizard's side.

"What's an orc?" I whispered, shooting a glance over my shoulder to assure myself that no one was listening.

Gandalf looked surprised. "There are no orcs in your homeland?"

"Would I be asking you if there were?"

The old man puffed on his pipe and seemed to consider how best to answer my question. Finally, he blew out a long steam of smoke and said, "They were once elves, long ago. But torture and mutilation has corrupted their hearts and given way to some new twisted creation. Now they are a separate race entirely."

I pondered this. Elves? This world had elves? Well, orcs couldn't be very big if there species was an alteration of house-elf genes.

"Do you think we'll see some on our journey?"

Gandalf smiled mirthlessly. "I hope not. But as Kili said; the low lands are crawling with them. I dare say we shall encounter a few before our task is done, and with a bit of luck, perhaps a few rough orcs is all we shall have to face."

How wrong he was.

Phew! One chapter down, a hell of a lot more to go.

Please review! I'd really love to know your thoughts. Do you have thoughts? What are those thoughts? Will you tell them to me? Any thought at all will do. If you have 'em, I want to hear 'em ;)

Next chapter, Cassie has her first encounter with a Tolkenish monster (if you've read the book or seen the movie, then you know what I'm talking about. I you haven't, then WHY?)