You might have noticed that I haven't been posting chapters as regularly as usual these past two months, and while it was partially due to my upcoming exams (I passed btw!), I must confess that there was another reason. I was losing faith in my OC. My confidence was completely crushed to the point where I seriously considered giving up on the story altogether.
Luckily, I took to re-reading some of your lovely reviews (in a completely non-narcissistic way, I assure you ^^) and writing a detailed history for my character in order to reacquaint myself with her, and my inspiration returned.
All this to say thanks to those of you who have kindly reviewed my story, you really helped me regain my confidence. Now on with the chapter! (This one in nice and long to make up for the really short one I posted last week)
Of Brass Buttons
I don't know where I am.
Partial memories flicker hazily in my mind, too muddled and unfocused to draw any kind of conclusion. I look down at my palms and flex my fingers, observing with some surprise that my left hand is no longer mutilated. My brow creases as I try to remember… I think there is something I need to do… but what?
My surroundings seem familiar, yet alien at the same time. Four long tables stretch from one side of the hall to the other, aligned with perfect precision. The benches on either side are empty of occupants, but if I strain myself I can hear echoes of laughter and exited voices resonating off the walls. Faint figures dance at the corner of my eyes, disappearing before I can turn to face them.
A fifth table is at the end of the hall, facing the others on a raised platform. At its center there is a magnificent golden chair, far more imposing than the wooden seats on either side of it. Someone is sitting in the middle chair, unmoving.
I start forwards, footsteps ringing loudly in my ears, questions bubbling on the tip of my tongue. Each stride carries me closer to the high table and with every step, the laughter becomes fainter and fainter until it disappears entirely, replaced by oppressing silence. There is a tightness in my chest that pulses as I draw nearer. I feel I should be running in the other direction – whatever is waiting for me at the end of the hall can bring me only pain – and yet I keep moving.
The figure becomes clearer as I approach. It is a man I think, clad in dark robes. He sits tall and proud, staring straight ahead, hands clasped firmly around his wand. He turns his head as I reach the table, silently acknowledging my presence.
I stop and wait for him to say something – anything – that might explain why we are here, but the man only stares on blankly. The silence stretches until it becomes uncomfortable. I shift my weight from foot to foot, unable to hide my unease.
The man suddenly leans forwards and opens his mouth as if to speak.
I reel backwards as a fountain of blood pours from his gaping maw, blotches of crimson splashing across the table, dripping onto the stone floor. He smiles a red smile, flesh peeling from his face, revealing bone and muscle beneath. I can only stare in silent horror. Lidless eyes stare back, drinking in my fear. With a loud scraping sound the flayed man pushes the golden chair away from the table and rises.
My feet connect with something soft. I glance down and see that it is a body. He is sprawled across the floor, spine bent in an unnatural position, pale eyes blind to the world. I recognize the child's round and youthful face, his unruly mop of dark hair and I clasp a hand over my mouth.
There is another corpse close by, and another, and another. The previously empty hall is now full of cadavers. I stagger away, gaze sweeping over the ghoulish scene, pausing on familiar faces.
A door appears of the far side of the hall and I sprint towards it without hesitation, wanting to put as much distance as possible between myself and the morbid tableau. The dead child watches me go, empty eyes accusing. The echoing laughter has resumed, joyful and carefree. It mocks me.
I reach the door and barrel through it, slamming the solid wood behind me. I find the bolt and ram it home. For a second I stand there, my heavily panting and beating heart the only sounds to be heard. I slowly turn.
This new room is pitch-black. There is nothing to see but darkness. I take a hesitant step forwards, half expecting to drop off the edge of some deep yawning pit, but with a low thud my foot meets solid stone. The sound rings out, ricocheting off unseen walls and thrown back to my ears tenfold. Thud, thud-thud, thud thud… A drumming tattoo, prelude to some sinister affaire.
A low growl answers the call, rolling from the depth of the room. Something is stirring in the deep, shrouded in darkness, invisible to my eyes. I edge back, groping for the door, but my hand finds nothing. I am trapped.
The Thing approaches. I hear its body in motion, powerful muscles flexing and stretching, sliding closer. Something brushes against my arm. I freeze, fear grinding my feet to the ground, paralyzing me as surly as a body-bind-curse. The creature twists, slowly circling me. Suddenly, its springs, wrapping itself around my body like a serpent, wrenching a startled cry from my lips. I shout, struggling against the powerful embrace. I feel the Thing's body, and yet it seems as though it has no body. My mind reels, unable to wrap my head around the phenomenon. How can something be neither cold, or hot, or warm? Neither smooth nor rough? I am being suffocated by a creature with no corporal form, a monster of air made solid.
Hot breath tickles the back of my neck. "The She-elf cannot touch you," a voice murmurs in my ear. A cold hand clasps around my heart, squeezing painfully. "You are mine."
The coils contract and I choke out a scream.
"Mine…"
I was jerked into consciousness by a sharp pain in my left arm. Yelping, I swatted at the crow pecking my flesh. The startled bird beat its wings and took to the air, cawing indignantly. Squinting, I could see more scavengers circling the sky above me, little black dots striking a sharp contrast with the overwhelming blue. I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting against the glare of the sun, wincing as my abdomen flared up in pain.
"That's right, suckers," I croaked angrily, glaring at the birds through puffy eyes. "I'm not dead yet!" The words scraped at my throat, coming out hoarse and guttural.
My head swam as I tried to stand. The motion caused fresh pain to lick across my midsection and I bent over, placing my head between my knees, stifling a moan. Water lapped at my feet, soaking my buttocks. The sun felt hot and unpleasant against my skin. I glanced around and spotted a small cluster of trees a short distance away from where I was crouching. I half-crawled, half-dragged myself into their shade. There, I collapsed against the nearest trunk, pressing my back to the rough bark.
Fragments of my dream were starting to bubble to the surface, each more distorted that the last. I had been in… the Great Hall? A dark room? I shook my head sharply. The dream was fading away, slipping through my fingers like sand …Something stirring in the deep… I shuddered, cold fingers creeping down my spine. I reached for my cloak, wanting to wrap myself in the heavy fabric, and came up short. For a second I was confused – Where had my cloak gone? – then the memories came flooding back.
The bridge, the Stranger… the water.
Merlin's beard.
How long had I been out? Not nearly long enough given the state of my pounding head and overly sore muscles. The sun was at its peak in the sky, indicating that it was sometime after midday. So, what…six hours? Seven? My eyelids drooped. The prospect of sleep was incredibly appealing but my mind rebelled against it, urging me to stay awake. I couldn't afford the luxury of rest, not while the company drifted east, slipping farther away with each passing second.
My hand slid to my belt, searching for the short sword. The sheath was empty. The blade must have been lost in the current along with the rest of my belongings. For a second, I was gripped by the same sense of dread that I'd felt upon discovering I had lost my wand. My stomach started doing little backflips and I glanced around, suddenly wary of my surroundings.
It was with some surprise that I noted the river had actually brought me closer to the mountains. They loomed before my vision in a chain of peaks, their summits submerged in grey clouds. The air smelt of rain. My injuries were not severe, the most extensive being a huge purple bruise extending along my mid-section where I'd fallen on the bridge. It was tender to the touch and hurt to an almost unbearable level when I finally heaved myself to a standing position, but after a few tentative steps the pain dimmed to a dull ache. I found a solid-looking branch washed up on the bank and propped it under my arm, using it to disperse my weight.
There was no reason for me to linger by the river and so I started towards the mountains at a slow, limping pace, leaning heavily on my makeshift walking stick. It was essential that I keep moving. The Stranger might believe that I had drowned in the river but that didn't mean he wouldn't send out a search party to recover my body. And if he found me alive… well, I was fairly confident I wouldn't remain that way for very long.
My lips twisted upwards in wry smile. As bitter as I felt about the whole ordeal, the Stranger's logic was one I could understand: Anything unknown is a potential threat – no matter its age or gender. The encounter with the insane witch and wizard from my world had fortified Saruman's resolve to eradicate the danger before it became unmanageable, and if that train of action led to eliminating a eighteen-year-old witch whose only crime was having the misfortune of finding herself in the wrong place at the wrong time … well, it was regrettable, but it ultimately served the bigger picture.
I had to tip my hat to such a Slytherin frame of mind.
As the day progressed the sky grew darker. I could feel static in the air, a promise of later storm. The wind picked up, blowing through the tall grass of the plain I was crossing in rippling waves. I wondered if the company had passed this way – if we were even headed to the same location. During the past couple of nights Balin had taken to pulling out various maps of the surrounding wilderness and spreading them out beside the firelight, debating with Thorin on the best path to take through the mountain. They had both finally agreed on the High Pass, a navigable track situated somewhere in the center of the mountain chain. At first, Balin had been wary, pointing out that those parts of the mountain were rumored to be scouted by goblins after nightfall. He suggested the company try the Redhorn Pass. Thorin had rejected the idea, declaring that the detour would cost them too much time.
I trudged along in the general direction both dwarves had finally agreed on, hoping that the oncoming downpour would force the company to find someplace dry and stay put until morning. It shouldn't have worried me, but I had traveled with them long enough to know by now that the stubbornness of dwarves sometimes overrode their common sense. If Thorin decided to deviate from Gandalf's plan and cross the mountain that night in order to save time, then I might as well abandon the thought of ever catching up.
Hunger gnawed at my gut, constantly reminding me that I had skipped breakfast, lunch and – very soon – dinner. My stomach rumbled loudly and I rooted around in my pocked for another handful of dandelion leaves. I stuffed them in my mouth, tongue recoiling under their bitter taste, and forced myself to chew. The grassy plain was full of these useful weeds. My knowledge of Wild Mountain berries was too limited to risk poisoning myself, and so I had taken advantage of a short rest to collect as many leaves, roots and yellowed flowers as possible, well aware that such abundant food source would be scarce once I ventured into the rocky mountain landscape.
To keep my mind off the hunger, I let my thoughts stray to the conversation I'd overheard on the open-air porch – and the mine of information I'd uncovered.
Somewhere in this vast and unknown land another witch was hiding. I sincerely hoped our paths would never cross – Everything I had learnt about this woman screamed murdering psychopath and yet, somehow, it gave me hope to think that I was not alone in my situation. Had she also been killed? Had she too felt the cold hand clasping around her hart, forcing it to pump blood throughout her lifeless body?
Where there others like us out there? Witches and wizards hiding their magic, blending in with the inhabitants of this world, waiting for help to come?
And did this necromancer, this powerful sorcerer with the ability to manipulate death, have anything to do with our resurrection?
I had learnt a lot from eavesdropping on the council's meeting – more than I had in two weeks of puzzling and muddling through my own limited quantity of information, but instead of putting my mind at ease a thousand new questions were suddenly whirling around my head. It was beyond frustrating.
The grass around me thinned, giving way to hard soil and jagged rocks. I slowed my pace, searching the mountain for some hint of a pathway that the company might have taken. Finding nothing, I guessed that I must have strayed too far, and decided to try my luck a little farther south. A small knot of worry was beginning to build in my gut, gnawing at my already-thinning confidence. Before long I began second-guessing myself. What if something had gone wrong? Could it be that the dwarves and Bilbo had not reached the mountain? Had Balin managed to persuade his king to take another route, or had something more sinister befallen them? The questions piled up with alarming speed, fueling the doubt in my mind.
I was just starting to consider the idea of doubling back in the hopes of finding company's trail farther north when something caught my eye – a faint glimmer on the rock-strewn ground. I hunkered down, ignoring the rippling pain in my mid-section, and examined the object of my attention.
A neat little pile of pebbles had been gathered to form a pyramid, far too perfect in structure to be accidental. Balanced on the very top was a single brass button. I reached out and picked it up, surprised to find that I recognized the acorn engraved on the surface. I had seen buttons like this before, fastened to Bilbo's red coat – but what on earth was this one doing…?
A wide grin spread across my face as I realized what this meant. I leapt to my feet, wincing as the swift motion aggravated the bruise, and started walking at a slow pace towards the mountain, gaze sweeping across the ground for anything out of the ordinary. Sure enough, barely fifteen minutes into my hunt I spotted another button, this time sitting in the precise center of a large smooth stone.
I was caught between gratitude and exasperation at the hobbit's expense. If someone other than me had stumbled upon the glaringly obvious trail he was leaving behind then the company was in for another action-packed night. I hoped for both our sakes he at least remained discreet – I shuddered to think what Thorin would do if he caught Bilbo discarding his possessions so freely. Probably throw the hobbit into a crevice. After having skinned him alive.
Chuckling slightly, I plucked the small brass object of the ground and rose to my feet. A certain warmth had settled in my chest, chasing away some of my fear and doubt. It was heartening to know that at least someone had my back in this desperate hour. I slipped the second button in my pocket along with the first and resumed my hike, eyes peeled for anything else my accomplice may have left behind to help find my way.
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, throwing the path into sharp contrast. A moment later the night was filled with a deafening roar. I struggled against the gale, one hand gripping the jagged mountainside, trying not to think of the sharp drop three feet away. My hair was plastered to my face, cold rain dripping into my eyes, limiting my vision to a watery tunnel. I squinted, trying to make out the path ahead.
Bilbo's trail had led me through the lush grassy plain to the very foot of the mountain, leaving clues of his passing in extremely obvious places. I had to admire his determination and stealth – it was one thing to casually drop a button on a passing stone, another to then hoist said stone to the top of an earthy mound without arising the suspicion of his fellows. Once again I found myself reevaluating my previous opinion of our humble burglar – the little hobbit was truly full of surprises.
The path the company had chosen was a hard and dangerous one. In some places it was wide and I could walk without difficulty, in others it grew treacherously narrow, sometimes disappearing altogether where the stone had broken off. I was forced to jump these gaps, heart springing to my mouth at each leap, pulse racing in fearful exhilaration. I had left the makeshift crutch behind at the start of my climb, no longer needing it to support my weight. Up and up I went, temperature dropping with every step. Soon my breath was coming out in white puffs and I was rubbing my hands together, trying to recapture a little warmth. I regretted losing my cloak in the river and thought longingly of the thick green cloth, a sure protection against the bitter cold.
At some point Bilbo had run out of buttons to discard, and he had been forced to become creative. My pockets were soon filled with a number of small objects one might carry while traveling – that is, if one was a hobbit – A white handkerchief he had no doubt acquired in Rivendell, red string carefully tied around a gnarled tree branch, a thimble… The list went on.
My supply of dandelions ran out later that evening, but I was speared from going hungry when I found Bilbo's next clue: three sticks of dried meat tightly wrapped in grey cloth. I was flooded with giddying relief as I retrieved his offering from under the stone where he'd placed it, along with the small pair of scissors he'd left on the path, pointing in the food's direction. Dandelion leaves and roots possess many good qualities, and they are probably the most nutritious leafy vegetables you'll find, but my body was in dire need of something more filling. I immediately wolfed one down, swearing to never mistake the hobbit's kindheartedness for gullibility again.
All in all, I had been feeling fairly confident as the day waned away.
And then the rain had started.
At first it had only been a light drizzle, more an inconvenience that an actual hindrance. Things had rapidly escalated, however, and all too soon I was hugging the mountainside as the wind whipped around me in frightful force. I was high up in a narrow place, with a dizzying fall into a dim valley at one side of me. The rain pelted down, soaking through my tunic right down to my bones. I inched forwards at an agonizingly slow pace, clutching the stone wall like a life ring.
Lightening forked through the sky, illuminating the valley with blinding white light. I gasped as two colossal figures were thrown into focus, as tall as the mountains themselves. They crashed together, wrestling in a display of terrifying strength. A second later the stone giants had disappeared, swallowed once again by the all-consuming darkness. Thunder rolled across the valley, vibrating in my chest.
I forced my numb body into motion, very much aware of the battle being waged above my head.
My absorption with the heavens was such that I neglected to keep an eye open for more obvious dangers along the mountain path. Something crashed into my legs, knocking me off balance. I threw myself to the side, hissing as I landed heavily on my stomach. For a second I lay motionless, gasping at the throbbing pain in my midsection – then a hand gripped my hair, wrenching my head upwards. I felt the cool kiss of steel against my throat.
"Not one word," a familiar voice growled in my ear.
I craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the attacker, but a sudden weight pressed down on my spine, forcing me to the ground. The blade pressed harder against my throat in warning. "Don't move."
Another flash of lightning split through the sky, projecting our shadows against the mountainside. I heard a gasp.
"Fili, wait!"
All of a sudden the hold on my scalp slackened and the pressure left my back. I pushed up, twisting around to face the Durin brothers. Fili's sword was drawn, rain dripping down the edge of the steel. He held the weapon slightly raised between us as if he were still half expecting to have to use it. Kili stood at his side, clasping his brother tightly by the shoulder. I realized it was he who had pulled Fili away. Behind the two dwarves I could see was a narrow hole in the stone wall, impossible to notice from a distance.
There was a moment of startled silence. Thunder clapped in the distance.
The brothers shared a glance. Fili's eyes were tight, his expression a mask of displeasure that strongly reminded me of his uncle. Kili, on the other hand, looked thoroughly amused. He strode forwards with his hand extended, grinning boyishly. "Well, if it isn't our lady of the north! You're a long way from Rivendell, Miss Morgan."
I accepted his outstretched hand, smiling ruefully as he pulled me to my feet. "Did you miss me?"
Kili threw back his head and laughed. "I'm afraid we've scarcely had the time, Cassie." He gestured to the narrow crack, pulling me out of the rain. "Come on. Let us regain shelter before we catch our deaths in this miserable weather."
I ducked into the gap, grateful to be out of the storm. Fili followed wordlessly, and I noticed he still hadn't sheathed his sword.
Dwalin's booming voice reached my ears as I stepped across the threshold into the blessedly dry cave: "Well? Was it a goblin or not?"
"Not a goblin, no," Fili answered stiffly from my left. He strode past me and addressed the dwarf king, who was seated at the far side of the cavern. "We have a visitor, uncle."
Twelve pairs of eyes swiveled around to the cave's entrance. I let my gaze sweep over the faces, surprised at my own relief that no one was missing. Surely I hadn't been worried about anything other than myself… had I? The dwarves were scattered in bands of twos and threes amongst the packs and bedrolls, their expressions ranging from astonishment to disapproval as they took in my wet, shivering form. Thorin slowly rose to his feet, his dark eyes unreadable. There was a collective intake of breath as everyone waited to see how the dwarf king would react to my unexpected return. For a long while the only sound to be heard was the incessant beating of rain on stone and the howling of the wind.
"Cassie?" A confused voice broke the hush. Oin stepped forwards, bushy eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline. "Good heavens girl, what on earth happened to you?"
I glanced down at my clothes and noticed for the first time that they were coated with mud and grime. "I…fell into the river."
There was a second's silence – then the cave exploded in uproar. It seemed that every dwarf had an opinion to express on the matter of my reappearance – and not everything I heard was welcoming and friendly. I backed away, pressing myself against the stone wall and sliding down to the floor, watching as the scene unfolded before me. I spied Bilbo sitting a little apart from the group, watching mutely. The hobbit caught my eye tilted his head in a silent question. I nodded, pointing to my pockets where I'd stashed his belongings. He smiled a small, tired smile in response.
"SILENCE!" Thorin roared, bringing the argument to a sudden stop. "These mountains are home to many a foul creature. Do you wish to bring them down upon us with your meaningless squabbling?" He tuned abruptly and marched over to where I was sitting, eyes flashing in anger. He halted before me and I felt myself shrinking into the wall under the intensity of his stare. "How did you find us?" the dwarf king demanded.
In the corner of my eye I saw Bilbo shifting uncomfortably, fingers nervously tugging at his button-less coat.
I licked my dry lips and said, "I followed your trail from Rivendell."
A muscle twitched in Thorin's cheek. "Do you take me for a fool?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "You would have me believe you tracked our party down to this desolate part of the world by yourself?" His dark eyes zeroed in on the empty sheath attached to my belt. "And unarmed, to boot?"
I felt a small twinge of irritation at his words. "No," I snapped, "I flew here on the back of a giant pink pony called Twinkletoes. It had wings and farted rainbows. Ask your nephews if you don't believe me."
Thorin swelled up like a bullfrog. For a second, no one spoke. Then, unexpectedly the silence was interrupted by a load snort. "A giant pink pony?" Kili chuckled, leaning lazily against the stone wall, "Well, that explains it. I thought I saw something flying away through the storm." He dissolved again into laughter, this time joined by Dwalin.
"Aye, lad, that must have been something to behold!" the burly dwarf chortled, clapping Kili on the back and knocking the young dwarf off balance. "Good to have you back, lassie," he added, winking.
I said nothing, watching closely as the dwarf king's gaze found Bilbo, who was trying unsuccessfully to fade into the background. Thorin's eyes narrowed, leaving very little doubt as to whom he believed was responsible, and the hobbit's shoulders sagged ever so slightly in defeat.
"Miss Morgan," Thorin finally said in a flat voice, choosing to ignore my last phrase. "I thought I had made it perfectly clear during our last conversation that you were to remain in Rivendell. Are you so bold as to think you are above such commands, or did you simply believe this latest snub to my authority would change my mind?"
I opened my mouth – and closed it, realizing with some surprise that for all the time and effort I'd spent trying to find the company, I'd given very little thought as to what I would actually say if I ever caught up.
Fortunately, Oin chose that moment to intervene. "Thorin," the healer cautioned, "Miss Morgan isn't going anywhere tonight – not in this weather. We might as well sleep on the matter and reach a decision on the morrow."
Dwalin huffed. "What is there to decide? Has Cassie not already proven her worth? She managed to track us down in the middle of a storm, after all! Does that not show her resourcefulness?
"What it shows is her recklessness." Gloin gestured at my exhausted person. "I doubt she would have gone much farther had Fili not heard a disturbance along the ledge and brought her inside. Look at her – shivering like a cat caught in a rainstorm!"
Dwalin snorted. "And we are hardly better off. The road has been hard on all of us, as it would have been on any man." He turned to face Balin, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange. "What say you, brother?"
Balin toyed with the end of his white beard, sharp eyes assessing me – and I suddenly remembered that the old dwarf had been present on the balcony when in a fit of indignant anger I'd said those spiteful words to his king. After what seemed like an eternity Balin shook his head. "I am sorry lass," he said – and to my surprise, he sounded like he meant it. "You have shown resilience beyond anything I would have expected, but I fear our quest will only grow more perilous with each passing day. You have not the experience required to fully understand the dangers we will brave."
Dwalin scoffed. "I remember a time when you would have laughed in the face of danger. The years have not been kind to you, brother."
The old dwarf's composure loosened a little and he smiled at his younger sibling. "Perhaps," he said, "But they have gifted me with an old man's caution, for I have seen dragon fire and lived to tell the tale." His gaze became serious once more. "Erebor is no longer the great kingdom we remember it to be. Maybe you have forgotten Smaug's terrible power, but I have not, and therefore my opinion on the matter is set."
There was a brief hush during which the company considered his words, then Dwalin turned to the next dwarf. "Nori?"
My back straitened, a small crease appearing between my brows as I watched the scene more closely. Each dwarf had shuffled nearer, stepping over the packs and bedrolls until they formed a rough circle. I wasn't sure how it had happened exactly, but the conversation had shifted into something resembling a vote.
Nori shook his head. "I stand with Balin. The wilderness is no place for a girl."
Everyone turned to Ori and I realized with a jolt that there would be no sleeping on the problem as Oin had suggested. The matter was to be settled there and then, in the dimly-light cave while a thunderstorm raged around us. I quickly began counting the votes.
Ori smiled shyly and said, "I don't mind if Cassie stays."
Bombur shrugged, looking uninterested in the whole affair, but when Dwalin glowered the fat dwarf sighed and nodded, signaling his reluctant support.
The company turned to Kili, who grinned in a carefree way and said, "Why not? If we can find a place in our mists for Mister Baggins, I dare say Cassie should be given a chance as well. The more the merrier, I say!" There was quite a lot of eye rolling and silent head shaking when he said that last part, but no one contradicted him, and the vote went on.
"Well," Bilbo started to say when they reached his turn in the circle, "I think that Cassie should –," but Thorin's words sliced down on the hobbit's before he had even finished speaking. "Fili, what do you think?"
I frowned when the company averted their eyes, taking note of the sudden tension. For a second, I thought Bilbo might speak up to defend himself, but the hobbit merely dropped his head, shoulders sagging slightly. It dawned on me at that moment that something must have happened between the two of them when I'd been absent, something that had caused Thorin's opinion of the hobbit to hit rock-bottom.
Fili met his uncle's gaze and shook his head. Big surprise there. Then came Dori, who said yes, and Bifur, who said no (or at least, that's what I assumed he said, but being that he only ever spoke in dwarvish, it was hard to tell). Oin smiled and declared that my knowledge in herbal remedies would be a great help to him seeing as none of the other dwarves knew anything on the subject. Gloin refused flat out, stating that the company already had their hands full with Bilbo and didn't need to be burdened with another inexperienced member.
That left only Bofur, who had been sitting with his feet propped up on a rock throughout the whole exchange, puffing smoke rings across the cave. He grinned when everyone finally turned to gaze at him expectantly, obviously enjoying the attention. "Well, well," he declared into the heavy silence, "We are at a draw!" He slowly removed his hat and made a show of sweeping off an imaginary speck of dust. "It seems I must be the one to break the tie, but what should I decide?" He sighed dramatically and said, voice positively oozing with sarcasm; "Such a grave dilemma must be thought out carefully."
Thorin shifted impatiently. "Enough with your theatrics. Cast your vote and be done with it."
Bofur propped the hat back onto his head and fixed his king with an amused look. "Very well." He paused, allowing the tension to build, and finally declared, "I say she stays."
The air escaped my lungs in a great whoosh as I released the breath I had been holding. I glanced at Thorin, half afraid that he would override the dwarves' opinion and decide to send me packing anyway. The king met my gaze, his dark eyes far from content. "So be it," he said, his voice a low rumble.
And that was that. The dwarves all jumped to their feet at returned to whatever they had been doing before my interruption, as if the debate had never taken place. Dwalin clapped my arm in passing and Ori paused to ask whether I had sustained any lasting injuries on my hike from the elvish city, but other than that no one paid me the slightest attention. I stood there, shifting uncomfortable from foot to foot, unsure of what to do with myself.
Thorin strode to the far side of the cave without sparing me a glance and I wondered again why he had not put up more of a fight. If he objected to my presence so strongly, than why had he not simply ordered me to leave once the storm had passed? I slowly turned on the spot, watching the company closely. A band of homeless dwarves, I had called them. I suddenly saw that they were much, much more than that. They were a brotherhood, united not by blood, but by the goal they all shared, the all-consuming desire to take back what was theirs. Thorin had made their quest possible. He had given them hope that they might one day see their beloved mountain again and call it home. The dwarves followed him willingly, not by obligation to his name or title, but because the dwarf king had earned their trust and respect.
And how could Thorin risk losing it over something as trivial as me?
My thoughts were interrupted as someone cleared their throat loudly from behind my back. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Bofur had not moved. "You're welcome," he said and blew out a perfect smoke-ring.
I raised one eyebrow. "I haven't thanked you yet."
He grinned, not upset in the slightest. "No, but you were about to. I just saved your hide, Miss Morgan. Your debt towards me grows daily."
I crossed my arms, smiling despite myself. A sense of giddying relief had settled in my stomach, and for once, I was not tempted to cut the discussion short. "Really?" I snorted, "And might I ask why you felt the need to fly to my rescue?"
"Well," Bofur said matter-of-factly, "It seemed a shame to send you away after all the trouble our dear burglar went through to get you here. He thought he was being so discreet about it, bless him. I hope you were kind enough to retrieve all his belongings – I would hate to see Mister Baggins undergo the rest of our adventure without his pocket handkerchief." He hopped of the ground and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "And besides," he added, a spark of malice dancing in his eyes, "I wasn't about to let you out of my sight. If I recall correctly you still owe me money."
With that he collected his pipe and strode away, whistling tunelessly as he went.
Bilbo was sitting alone when I finally joined him, his eyes a little unfocused as he gazed into space. I plopped down on the stone floor beside him and rummaged around in my pocket, fishing out his buttons and other knickknacks, checking that no one was looking before handing them back to him. The hobbit jumped as if he hadn't heard my approach and wordlessly accepted his belongings, shooting a worried glance to the far side of the cave where Thorin had settled down for the night. I briefly considered telling him what Bofur had said but rejected the thought, deciding I needn't trouble him with the matter.
Bilbo shrugged of his coat and produced a needle from the inside of his pocked. He picked through the small pile of objects he'd left on the road until he retrieved the red string, the thimble and the brass buttons. I watched with some surprise as the hobbit then took to carefully sewing each discarded button to its rightful place on the coat, his movements slow and precise as if it were something he had done many times before. "I see you didn't follow my advice," he murmured without looking up.
It was a second before I realized he was referring to Gandalf and the fact that I hadn't waited for him. "Yeah," I said slowly, following the needle's movements with my eyes, "I tend to do that." I paused, then asked, "How did you know I wouldn't wait?"
A ghost of a smile played on the edges of the hobbit's lips. "Just a hunch."
We sat in silence for a while, lost in our respective thoughts. I half expected Bilbo to supply idle small talk as he had on previous occasions, but it seemed his heart wasn't in it. Whatever had happened between him and the dwarf king while I'd been away had struck his morale down to an all-time low, and for the first time since I'd met him, the hobbit looked depressed. It dawned on me then that I should probably say something to make him feel batter, something to uplift his spirits – it seemed only fair after all he had done for me – but I hadn't the faintest idea what. Frustration welled up inside me. I knew I should at least find some way to express my gratitude, but somehow I felt that simply saying 'thank you' wasn't enough. The words were superficial – just a series of sounds emitted from the mouth, bearing very little weight or meaning. I cleared my throat and waited for him to meet my eyes. Bilbo arched one eyebrow in question, needle hovering in space above his red coat.
"I…I just wanted to say…" I began, hating the awkwardness in my voice. I paused, licked my lips and tried again: "Gloin's right. I don't think I would have gone much farther if Fili and Kili hadn't found me on the ridge, but…" My voice faltered and I ploughed on, refusing to give myself the chance to chicken out, "…but I would never have even made it that far without your help. So…thanks. For helping me, I mean."
Bilbo nodded, smiling faintly, but his eyes remained clouded and distant. "Don't mention it," he said easily, and returned to his sewing.
I frowned. I could tell that the hobbit wanted something more from me, but I had had nothing more to give. I thought again about the way Thorin had dismissed Bilbo's vote, cutting across him as though had not even been there. Should I ask Bilbo whether or not he wanted to talk about it? That's what people did in these kinds of situations after all – they discussed their problems and worked through them together. It was one of those damned social rules I was so ill acquainted with. I had spent the past seven years of my life carefully avoiding all circumstances that might lead to such conversations, and I found myself shying away from this one almost instinctively.
"Right. Well… good night then," I said, avoiding his eyes as I turned away.
"Good night," Bilbo replied absently, his attention focused on the task at hand.
I hesitated, then sighed and strode away. Tomorrow, I reassured myself as looked around for a spot to lie down. I'll find the right words tomorrow. It's not like he will have disappeared overnight.
I had neither bedroll nor cloak to wrap around myself, but I was so tired I hardly noticed. No sooner had I settled down than a feeling of peace washed over me, bringing me closer to unconsciousness. In that moment I forgot about the giants waging war over our heads, about the mystery witch huddled somewhere in the darkness, about the Stranger and his resolve to end my life. I drifted off to sleep in seconds.
Somewhere close by, a hobbit sat alone, staring at the stone wall of the cave without truly seeing it. The red coat lay by his side, all but forgotten.
I think I can squeeze two more chapters out of this before stopping and waiting for the next film to be released. I absolutely ADORED Peter Jackson's portrayal of the dwarves, which is why I would rather wait than continue with the book (even though I love Tolkien's work as much as JK Rowling's. The Hobbit and Harry Potter are the two best books ever written in my opinion ^^).
I actually finished this chapter about four days ago but have been unable to find a Wi-Fi connection to post it online. GAAARH.
So, yeah… please review! As usual, I hope everyone stayed in character. Cheerio!
One last thing: I feel I should explain Fili's behavior towards Cassie. Thorin doesn't have any children, so that makes Fili next in line to the throne. He's probably under a lot of pressure from his uncle, unlike his brother Kili who is a lot more laid back and carefree. I thought it would be more interesting to have them react differently to Cassie's presence amongst them (due to the slight difference in their upbringing) rather than to just make them into dwarvish versions of Fred and George.