Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.


Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang

Chapter 3: With a sigh, you turn away

There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice


"What is that there you're doing?" Bofur's voice questioned somewhere above her bent head, loose blonde hair obscuring her peripheral vision. The light was fading quickly, and Éofara hastened to complete her care of the Company's mounts before settling herself in for the evening. Their campsite was heady with the scent of Bombur's modest, yet hearty, stew seasoned with the most wonderful spices that caused her stomach to rumble quietly.

Stifling a groan as she stretched her strained, bent spine the Eorling eased to her full height and slanted her mismatched gaze at the dwarf. Twirling the curved, metal tool in her grip she held it out handle first to Bofur. Mustache twitching, he took the proffered item and examined in with the intensity of a master craftsmen.

"A horse, my dear dwarf, is only as strong as the legs upon which he stands." Éofara deadpanned with a quirk of the lips, although the mirth did not quite reach her eyes. "It merely takes one jagged edge of a misplaced stone to fell even the Mearas."

"Show me?" He asked with a sheepish grin.

Nodding, Éofara gestured for him to follow her to Thorin's pony, the last to be checked. Leaning against the pony's left flank, she urged him to lift his back hoof to bear to her inspection. Blindly holding out her hand for Bofur to hand back the hoof pick, she used the long, curved thin point to scrap out the packed earth, twigs, leaves and pebbles from the pony's hoof. The dwarf bent down beside her, a safe enough distance away from the equine to avoid possibly getting kicked but close enough to peer and observe her actions.

"You must be careful when cleaning this area here." The hoof clamped between her bent knees, her shoulder pressed into the pony's flank, Éofara lightly traced a line down from the top middle of the hoof with the tip of her finger. "This is the frog of-"

"The what?" The hat on Bofur's head jiggled from the sharp movement.

Éofara's nose wrinkled in amusement. "The frog of the hoof, do not ask me why it is called that. I'm sure Gandalf could concoct some ridiculous tale explaining its origins if you really wish to know."

"Now, the sole of the hoof here," She began thoroughly scraping the pick along the edge of the frog and down into the majority of the hoof. "is quite tough, so you can really dig the pick to get all the gunk out. The frog however is very sensitive so you must be gentle when cleaning it."

Bofur nodded along and hummed as she continued her murmuring lesson. Releasing the pony's hoof, Éofara straightened as the pony's leg dropped to the ground. "Would you like to try?"

"Me? Why no!"

"Come now, Master Bofur," She chided with good humor. "I will not be with this Company forever. Perhaps this skill will save your life someday. And dwarves are a hearty folk; you cannot be daunted by a mere pony, can you?"

Straightening, the dwarf twirled the pick between his hands and shuffled to the pony's other back leg. Éofara grinned, her eyes lightly crinkling as she quietly watched Bofur, with much bravado, finish picking the pony's last hoof with her subdued encouragement. From the campsite nearby, Thorin monitored his kin cajole with Éofara, Balin watching the prince watch her.

"I like her." The white haired dwarf exclaimed quietly to his brooding companion.

"Gandalf's reasoning must have abandoned him." Thorin rumbled in reply, arms crossed severely over his chest as he continued his observations. Bofur was waving his hands, gesticulating, whatever he said making Éofara genuinely chuckle. It was a deep, throaty sound that pleased her speaking companion immensely judging by the flush Thorin could see on his cheeks even from this distance. "Women are a distraction, a thing we cannot afford."

Balin tutted. "I disagree, the presence of a woman I believe will soothe the lads in the difficult times to come."

The two dwarves fell silent as Bofur and Éofara joined the rest of the company. Gandalf was puffing happily on his pipe; hat pulled low over his eyes however Thorin did not doubt the wizard observed every movement. Bombur handed Éofara a bowl of stew, hastily turning away to wipe down the last spoon with a strip of cloth before handing her the clean utensil. Her quiet thank you fueled the round dwarf's beaming smile for minutes on end.

"She is a quiet thing, I will give you that." Balin groaned quietly as he shifted in his seat, old bones creaking and protesting at the movement after the day's long, hard ride. "And as calm as the surface of a still lake. She must be an excellent mother."

Thorin frowned, finally turning his gaze away from Éofara to stare at his long time friend. "You think her a mother?"

"Oh aye," Balin responded easily, nodding his head sagely. "You don't get a calm like that unless you've got a small one or two running about. And the way she instructs us on those ponies, I can tell she's used to guiding."

"And why would a mother leave her child for a dangerous quest such as ours?" Thorin questioned.

Balin blinked. "Why, I do not know, laddie."

Thorin fell silent once again, Balin humming to himself as he polished his weapon absentmindedly. The dwarf prince could not get his friend's words to leave his thoughts. Éofara, a mother? Was it possible? Watching her again, Thorin attempted to see any similarities between the mortal woman and the memories he had of his own mother. Or even his sister, Dis, the mother of his two nephews and heirs. He supposed Balin's words had some merit. The hushed, tranquil reassurance he could hazily remember from his mother's presence was alike to Éofara's. However he could find very little resemblance to his sister. Dis was loud, outspoken, and jovial. Éofara was almost docile in her silence.

He could see how that would be appealing, to some men. However he was not in agreement with that. There was nothing attractive about helplessness. She may not be, as he had glimpsed flashes of the pommel of a sword she kept hidden underneath her pack attached to her saddle. Possessing a sword did not imply skill, though. Thorin could only hope that Gandalf's eccentricity would not haunt him in the future.

Bombur is quite talented at making even the most stringent rations appetizing. Éofara, oblivious to the thoughts of the Company's leader, was focused on far more superficial matters. Her stomach now comfortably full, the Eorling stretched languidly before meandering back toward the mounts for a final inspection. While many commented on her near obsession with the horses and ponies in her charge, Éofara could not bring herself to care about the scorn of others. These graceful creatures were her closest friends throughout her entire life. She trusted them far more than men, dwarves or elves.

Horses, unlike others, are not creatures to be willfully, purposefully cruel.

"Is that normal?" Bilbo asked from a foot or two behind her.

Éofara turned to stare at the hobbit. I did not even hear him move. "Is what?"

"You and that horse," Bilbo gestured with a finger between her and Rána. "You have the same eyes."

Running the stiff brush in her hand through her steed's long forelock, shifting the strands away, Éofara stared at his great head. As Bilbo observed, Rána's right eye was a bright, icy blue while his left was a dark brown, nearly black. "Indeed,"

There was a long pause. "So that's normal then?" Bilbo was dubious in his incredulity.

Éofara shook her head, a quiet smile on her lips. "No, Rána and I are quite strange."

Bilbo waited silently for her to continue, sensing there was more she wanted to say but some of the heaviness about her was making her pause.

"When he was foaled," She began quietly, not looking at the hobbit, rather focusing her attention on her horse, who was dozing happily at her ministrations, hip cocked and head drooping. "My brother, Holdwulf, and I had been apprenticing with our father."

"What does your family do with horses, may I ask?" Bilbo folded his arms across his front in an effort to stave off the cold.

"Horses are very important to my people." Éofara replied, running the bristles of the brush over Rána's tail to smooth out any tangles before braiding the long, course hair. "Even our name, Rohirrim, means 'people of the Horse-Lords'. I would be hard pressed to find a way they are not a part of our lives."

"My father's family has been the best breeders in the land for many, many years. The kings long past were so pleased that they charged us with caring for the Mearas, the wild horses ridden only by our kings. When Rána was foaled, Holdwulf and I were learning from our father. It was our first time caring for birthing mares and we were both terrified." Her lips twitched in a real smile at the memory. It had been raining hard that night, but the moon had been full and heavy despite the storm. She and Holdwulf had been absolutely petrified with their responsibility, rushing throughout the barn and shrieking at one another.

"My grandfather and grandmother came late in the night to bring us something hot to drink. Rána had been born minutes before and he was shakier on his feet than most foals. My grandmother saw his eyes first and when she returned to the house demanded that my father swear not to gift him to anyone but myself."

"Because you have the same eyes?" Bilbo asked, tilting his head to the side.

Éofara nodded, just finishing the long braid of her horse's tail and twining it off with a loose strand. "She believed it meant he was a missing part of my soul, two sides of the same coin if you will. She told me I would not find a truer friend then him, and she was right." Scratching the sensitive spot behind his ear, Rána nickered happily at the attention.

"I'm going to be honest," Bilbo exhaled loudly. "That is a strange story."

Soon after the hobbit bade her good night, rolling out his bedroll beside an already snoozing Bombur. Fili and Kili sat together near the fire, conversing quietly and sharpening their weapons. The other dwarves were either preparing for bed or checking over their supplies, Gandalf overseeing it all through a haze of pipe smoke.

"You seem to place the needs of that horse above your own." A deep voice rumbled somewhere above her head from where she was bent near her saddle pack. Looking up, she was surprised to see it was Thorin who had come to address her. Well, it appeared to her that he had approached the loose herd of horses to search for a quiet place for solitude and nearly stumbled into her.

"You do the same for your Company, don't you?" Éofara retorted coolly.

Thorin blinked.

"When we camp for the night, you are always the last to eat and to lay your bedding down." She continued. "You value the needs of your kin over your own. These creatures are my kin, so I care for them first."

The dwarf prince was surprised at the insight, her observations into his actions and character seeming almost intimate. Éofara had not shown much interest in any of the Company – least of all him, their conversation at Bree had been the last and longest between them – or their quest.

When he did not reply she turned to fully face him. "Or did you say that as a criticism?"

"No, I-" Thorin stopped himself, uncharacteristically intimidated. No, not intimidated, he amended mentally. Unnerved is the proper word. The dwarf prince wondered if this was divine retribution. Throughout his life he had utilized his daunting, silent presence against enemies, politicians, and even unruly servants. A silent, stern look was far more effective than shouting all the breath in his lungs. Éofara utilized the same piercing charisma. Her intense, mismatched gaze bright with quickness seemed to stare through him.

Thorin Oakenshield, dwarf prince of Erebor and descended from Durin himself, would rather walk out into Long Lake and drown than be cowed. And by a woman from Rohan no less.

"You tease me, yet again." His rumble was soft with understanding and he slanted his gaze at her with some chiding scorn.

A quick grin dimpled her cheek. It may have surprised the dwarf prince to learn that Éofara's thoughts were quite similar to her own. She noted that his blue eyes had depth to them, fathomless in their intense introspection, which she found quite singular to him. Their gaze was almost enticing, making her wonder what thoughts caused such a somber light. "I do, but it does not make my words any less true." He made a move to protest, but she shook her head quickly to stop him. "You should not be embarrassed, it is an admirable trait. They are fortunate to have a leader who truly cares for their wellbeing in the way that you do."

Unsure what to think, Thorin cleared his throat. "I believe that was a compliment you just gave to me."

"It was indeed, Master Oakenshield." Éofara's eyes crinkled with her smile. "I told you my insults would be easily recognizable, I applaud your sharp observational skills."

Despite his best efforts a small, amused exhale left his lips. "You tease me still."

Rána, who had been watching the exchange between his master and the dwarf quietly, shook his head and huffed loudly. "You make it easy." The Eorling turned away at the bidding of her stallion, who did not quite like being ignored for a dwarf and began snuffling her hair.

That horse just glared at me. Thorin thought with all the trepidation the dwarf people could muster when it came to equines. He watched her quietly murmur to the large dappled grey horse, amazed at how the beast actually seemed to understand her words. "Do you have two footed kin?"

Éofara glanced over her shoulder at him, assessing. "I do," She paused for a long moment, enjoying Thorin's increasing frustration with her reticent answers. "My elder brother's name is Holdwulf. My father was called Holdfara, his family breeds horses. My mother was called Éowine, and her father is Halgon of the Dúnedain."

Thorin began to understand Gandalf's selection of this particular woman. He also took particular note of the changing tenses as she referred to each family member. Only a brother and grandfather remaining. "A Ranger?" Éofara nodded. "So how old are you then?"

Incredibly, she audibly choked on air and stared at him, disbelieving. "What?"

Flushing, the dwarf prince looked away quickly at the edge of the woods, the night sky, anything other than the woman in front of him. "I…"

The awkward moment seemed to stretch on for eternity, both taciturn individuals unsure how to move past the tension hanging between them. Munching on grass loudly in the silence, Rána eyed the two with a gaze as mismatched as his master's. Sensing the guilty party, the stallion flicked his braided tail at Thorin, catching the dwarf on the arm lightly.

The tension shattered, Éofara chuckled quietly and pat her mount's thick neck. "I will be forty-six on the third of June." She said with all of the confidence of a woman who appeared no older than twenty-five.

Thorin frowned in thought. "That is days away."

"Indeed," She acquiesced easily.

Sensing her indifference to her own birthday, the dwarf prince pursued his previous line of questioning. Éofara was oddly conversational and open this evening and he planned on taking advantage of her loose tongue. "Tell me about them."

"About who?"

"Your family," Thorin settled himself against the trunk of a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest.

Éofara peered curiously at him. "Why do you wish to know?"

He shrugged. "I wish to know more about the people I allow within stabbing distance of my back." His words were slightly forceful with a chilled heat.

She found his wording and reasoning extremely telling. In a moment of whimsical abandon, because she could admit at least to herself that the displaced dwarf prince intrigued her, Éofara settled on obliging him. He was unlike his kinsman in many ways. He was a quiet, introspective creature with an intense depth she had never encountered before. The weight of the world – his kinsmen, the honor of his family and the fate of his people – was reflected in his gaze. Despite his silence, his presence was larger than life and demanded attention from all within sight of him.

"Very well. Where would you like me to begin?" She was amused by his posturing.

"Tell me about your brother." Éofara glanced up at his question, hearing a strange tone in the sound. His voice sounded slightly strained, as if he were remembering a past pain. His eyes looked haunted.

"He is a gentle soul, always seeking to make those around him laugh." The bright haired woman began, speaking as she moved her saddle, pack and bedroll away from the herd. Kneeling barely a foot away from the dwarf prince she began settle herself in for the evening. "People mistake that gentleness for weakness, they are surprised when they attempt to take advantage of him that he has a harsh bite. He is the friendlier of the two of us; people enjoy his company far more than mine." Her lips quirked as she smoothed out her bedroll. "Many times when we were younger he needed to come to rescue me from incurring the wrath of the older children."

"He is a good elder brother then?" Thorin asked, voice a rumble in the encroaching darkness.

"Yes," She could not keep herself from smiling as she thought of Holdwulf, his light blue eyes bright with merriment and shoulder length blond hair windblown from a long day in the pastures. "Aside from my horse, he is my closest friend."

Thorin cleared his throat, although now it was not to dispel an edgy silence. "Surely the two of you cannot run a breeding business on your own?"

"No, we have very loyal and talented help. Some of them have been with us since my father's father was alive. My nephew is old enough now as well to begin his apprenticeship."

Thorin could not stop a soft smile as he thought of his own nephews, laughing and joking within earshot. "How old is he?"

"Wulfgrum is fourteen. He has his mother's looks and our father's mannerisms. He rushes in too quickly, but he is sensitive and feels deeply for others. He has his father's gentleness."

"And what does he get from you?" Thorin asked.

She grinned in the twilight, but the dwarf saw little warmth in it. It was too sharp; he was waiting for her mouth to bleed. "Obstinacy,"

Thorin snorted, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with Éofara after hearing that answer. "And what of you, Tamer of Horses? Have you passed on your obstinacy to your own children?"

The silence from her hesitation was knotted tightly. Something emotional and devastating and hot was entangled so thickly in it that Thorin could feel it searing his bones. It was the night Erebor was set aflame. It was the hopelessness that weighed him down like a grave before the gates of Moria with his grandfather's head at his feet and his father ripped from his life. It was the dirtied and despondent faces of his people as they looked to him during the winter for shelter and food. It was the crushing and overwhelming responsibility of a crown from a mad, murdered king of a stolen kingdom.

"I-" Éofara's voice cracked, the sound caught somewhere between fury and a sob. Stifling the sound, Thorin could hear her struggle to calm her breathing in the darkness. The two horses and ponies had stiffened, ears pricked forward and flanks taught with tension as they sensed her emotions roiling. Burying the emotion that gripped her, Thorin cursed the lack of a moon as he could not clearly see her expression in the darkness. "My son was always seeking to ensure the joy of every creature around him."

"Was?" The dwarf prince prompted haltingly, awkwardly.

"Yes, was, Master Oakenshield." Éofara snapped. "And I beg you not to question me any further on this topic. Good night," Turning from him, the bright haired woman's curt dismissal of the dwarf prince would have, normally, irritated his vision to a blinding red. Now, however, he was acutely aware that he had inadvertently ripped open the worst of wounds. If any understood the bitter, sharp and lasting pain of loss it was Thorin.

"Good night," He murmured, leaving her to her solitude the only apology he was willing to give.


An: Here is part 3! Hopefully you guys are enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it! I've been dreadfully ill with a really nasty cold so between the holidays and basically quarantining myself in my room I've been working on this a little bit every day. It may be another week or two until I update again since I need to wrap up my other story. I'm really excited about the amount of views/favorites/follows with only two chapters up and having just published this story! Let's go through this journey together!

I will now be replying to individual reviews so if you don't want to read them you won't be missing any vital news!

Celebrisilweth: Oh thank you for reviewing again, my dear! I was very excited to see it! Writing the interactions between Thorin and Éofara I must say is one of my favorite parts of this story, thus far at least. I've taken a lot of inspiration from the interactions of Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, as well as Jane Eyre. I personally view Thorin as a bit of a tsundere and find a lot of amusement ruffling his feathers so to speak. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Borys68: Firstly thank you Borys for taking the time to review! I greatly appreciate it! Haha, yes, I admit I really find heterochromia really interesting. I actually did it for my other story as well and I was on the fence about it here, but hopefully this chapter was a good explanation for it. Typically the breed of horse I imagine Rána is do not have heterochromic eyes (usually American paints do, for instance) but, hey, there are walking and talking trees in this world so why not? I kind of liked the idea of the myth of connected souls between horse and rider and kind of ran with it since it will be a large part of her personal character as well as the story. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Thank you to all who review. You make my life.