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 4: None have seen but we alone
There are storms in this world that spark fire in your soul and storms that leave you in the dark.
Jenn Satsune, a shell in a storm
"And what manner of thought has caused such a face?" Gandalf harrumphed as he eased down beside Éofara. Thorin had agreed with her suggestion to camp for the night near a small creek run off. Taking all of the Company's saddles, she set about oiling them one final time before they were completely stranded in the wilds of Middle Earth. The itinerant wizard had settled himself on a smooth rock near the creek's edge where she was rubbing down Oin's saddle with a saturated rag. The jar of oiling mixture sat beside her bent knees.
"My face always looks as such." She replied moodily, not meeting his gaze.
"How unfortunate for those of us who must behold you for the many months to come." The greybeard shot back, his expression mildly affronted and chiding in the way that was solely Gandalf.
Sighing, Éofara dragged the rag one final time across the bow of Oin's saddle and leaned back to fully recline near the wizard's seat. The sun was setting, bleeding the sky red and orange and yellow and pink. It was as if someone had taken Holdwulf's wife's bright paints and spilled them all together across a canvas. She could hear the more jovial members of the Company laughing and sharing rambunctious stories as they prepared camp for the evening. Bilbo was wading in the creek some distance away, stubbornly working his coat between his hands underneath the water in an attempt to scrub out the dirt and stain of travel. Éofara could not stop a weakly amused grin as the wind carried some of the hobbit's frustrated mumblings.
"My dear girl, what on earth is troubling you so?" Gandalf said around a mouthful of smoke.
"Memories, wine*, just memories and ghosts." Éofara scoffed, flinging her hands rapidly to rid them of water.
Expression softening, Gandalf leaned back slightly on his perch in understanding. Éofara gave him a sidelong glance. "You told them nothing?" Her question was voiced like a statement.
"It is not my story to tell."
She nodded. "Thank you for that. Though I believe Thorin does not appreciate being left ignorant to the pasts of his companions."
"And neither are you or I companions to make Thorin Oakenshield happy." Gandalf replied snippily. Éofara chortled and shook her head.
"He wanted to know about my family, and in a moment of madness I obliged him. I revealed more than I wish." Éofara admitted after a long moment, keeping her eyes downcast.
"And now it is fresh on your mind." Gandalf supplied softly, voice full of understanding and sympathy. Taking another puff from his pipe, he offered it to her. "It will help calm your nerves." He even had the manners to wipe it clean with the ends of his beard.
"I believe I can make do without." Éofara tried to refuse politely, stifling her chuckle. "I will be perfectly well, Gandalf. It is a pain that is hard to heal. I do not believe I will never be without it, I merely wait for it to fade to a dull ache."
"That is no way to live!" The wizard protested with all the fervor of a person who truly cares. "I remember them well, and I cannot believe your husband and son would wish for you to live in such a way."
"Don't," Éofara looked up sharply, her voice rough and breaking and full of heartache. Gandalf was surprised to see tears in her mismatched eyes. "Please, Gandalf, please don't."
Taken aback by her visceral reaction, the wizard leaned forward to place a reassuring, warm hand on her shoulder. "I will say what your brother has already; this will be good for you, my dear. Distance often has a way of… changing our sights."
Éofara snorted in disbelief, it was far too bitter a sound in the wizard's opinion.
"Perhaps if you would stop looking over your shoulder, you could turn and see what lies ahead you."
"And what is that, Gandalf?" She asked, hopeless.
The wizard hummed thoughtfully to himself, turning without her notice to pin Thorin with a hard look. Throughout their exchange Gandalf had felt the dwarf prince's gaze on he and his companion since their conversation began. Returning the other's potent look, Thorin refused to break first and grunted when Gandalf moved his attention back to the sole woman of their company.
"I've never known you to be scared of a lass, laddie." Balin chortled, thoroughly amused with his leader's behavior. "Though you've always been quite lady-shy."
Thorin nearly snarled. "I am not scared. I am merely curious as to the nature of who we allow to know of our quest."
Sucking on his teeth, knowing this was not the time to argue with him, Balin did not reply to Thorin's rebuttal. In truth he found it almost endearing in how the dwarf prince was pubertally intrigued by the Rohirrim woman. The older dwarf had known Thorin for many, many years. He had watched the last of Durin's kings grow from a young man into the fearless leader he followed today and he had never known Thorin to be this interested in a woman, dwarf or any other race. In fact, the only female he could ever recall Thorin speaking well of was his sister.
"She's a nice enough girl," Balin argued at length, unable to continue watching Thorin spy on the bright haired woman. "If she were out to harm us I'm sure she could have led us off one of these steep ravines by now."
His king scoffed at that. "That is what worries me."
Balin, despite his diplomatic nature, was no stranger to the realities of the world. All of the pain of his people he had personally witnessed, he was no fool. However, a small part of him was pained by the bitterness that grew in Thorin's heart. "Not every person is out against us."
"She lost a child, Balin." Thorin lowered his voice so that only the white haired dwarf could hear his admission. "Does it not make you wonder? What could possibly motivate her to join our quest?"
The older dwarf was visibly startled at this new information. Sympathy and pity constricted his chest as his gaze shifted from his lord to the topic of conversation, the knowledge changed his perspective now as he observed Éofara caring for their supplies in the waning light. Where before her silence had made her seem remote and unapproachable, now her expressions seemed tight with grief. "Perhaps she agreed so out of deference for Gandalf. They seem quite close; it could be as simple as that, just like Master Baggins' presence."
"Our Burglar," Thorin cast a stifled, scornful glance in the hobbit's direction. "poses no threat, even if he does deceive us. The woman is a separate matter entirely. We rely on her in a way we do not on the halfling."
Mumbling incoherently, Balin looked away from Thorin and rifled through the pack tied to his belt for his pipe. The dwarf prince raised an eyebrow at his old friend; it was quite early for the white haired dwarf to be indulging. Glancing over, Balin's lips twisted. "All of these conspiracies are bad for my nerves."
A light, unexpected chuckle worked up Thorin's throat and he thumped the other dwarf on the back heartily. Later that evening, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, he drifted unconsciously toward the loose circle of equines. The Company had just finished devouring Bombur's stew – more lavish than usual as Kili had managed to shoot down two wild birds that afternoon. The lads had all cheered uproariously when his youngest nephew had emerged from the woods, covered in bramble but his grin bright and triumphant – and were lounging near the fire with satisfied stomachs.
If Thrain's sole surviving son was perfectly honest with himself – and Thorin was, in a secret, dark corner of his heart – he walked that way because he felt he had acted dishonorably during his last interaction with Éofara. Thorin had felt loss, painful and debilitating and spirit crushing.
Throughout the evening of and the whole day after he had reflected on his thoughts and behaviors, it would probably surprise many in fact, that he did so. Most thought him insensitive and brash, however it was Thorin's belief that his struggles had made him very perceptive to the thoughts and feelings of others.
Perhaps I cleaved open wounds that had not fully healed. Thank Durin that he was childless; he did not know how he would recover from that death.
"You are about to step in manure, fearless leader."
Heart jerking behind his ribcage, decades of battle instincts took over his limbs to avoid the pile of animal waste inches from his boots. Glaring, his agreeable mood souring, Thorin turned stiffly to pin the woman with a potent look. Lips thinly twisting into a humorless grin, Éofara glanced back to the leather bridle in her hands. Thorin recognized it as Bifur's. The cheek piece to his pony's bridle had broken during the afternoon and he could not help but wonder just how many replacements she had stowed away in her packs.
"We may move on from that socially awkward moment and directly to why you approached me."
Is she directing me? Thorin's disbelief was mixed with indignation. "I aimed to offer an apology, but with your attitude, I've changed my mind."
Éofara stared at him in astonishment for a long moment before her expression broke apart in laughter. Thorin stared at her, wary, pondering the merits of turning on his heel and returning to the safety of his kin and the warm fire. The dwarf prince was well aware that his brusque and brooding manner was quite offensive to the fairer sex, the sole exception being his sister. He had expected shrieks and bruised feelings.
"You, Thorin Oakenshield, are an absolute delight." Shaking her head lightly, Éofara could not silence another mirthful sound before she rose to her full height and shimmed between Gandalf's dozing gelding and one of their ponies. He heard her snigger loudly once more. "'I've changed my mind'!HA!"
At a complete loss – a heavy, sinking sensation in his stomach told him she was mocking him – Thorin scowled into the deepening darkness and stalked back to the firelight. Both his nephews were inspecting their weapons with a critical eye. Kili tugged at the string of his bow every few moments, gauging its tautness. Fili, one leg bent at the knee, methodically smoothed a whetstone down the length of one of his many knives. Both of their gazes automatically flittered to Thorin's as he approached, as did the others, an unspoken instinct commanding them to recognize the presence of their king. With a barely discernible shake of his head, the dwarf prince slowly walked around his Company, quietly observing as they returned to their conversations.
Bilbo, knees drawn up to his chest to preserve as much warmth as possible, eyed their leader as he paced – despite his deceptively relaxed stance the hobbit could see that Thorin's shoulders were stiffer than usual. He was perhaps the only individual aside from Gandalf to even notice Thorin had walked off toward where Éofara was hidden behind ponies and darkness. The dwarf prince had an almost pensive expression on his face, but when he returned it had shifted to moderate belligerence. What can Éofara possibly do to him? Bilbo wondered. The mortal woman was able to affect Thorin's sentiments with relative, unknown ease.
What must he think of her? The unobtrusive, observant hobbit wondered.
The Company had been traveling from sunrise to sunset for many days, and the stress and exhaustion were beginning to set in. Thorin could see the warmth of the fire beckoning his fellow dwarves to slumber, eyes glazing over and half lidded. Quietly but sternly ordering them to bed in order to get some much needed rest, Thorin moved to sit upon the smoothest rock he could find. A tall, wide tree stood at the rock's base and provided a satisfactory recline – it was a welcome relief for his body. He was unused to riding for such long hours, the muscles in his legs and back tender and sore.
Dwalin, before he had bedded down, mumbled a vague, weak threat of bodily harm if Thorin did not wake him to take the second watch. Periodic glances over his shoulder at the dying fire assured him that the gentle rise and fall of his Company's bodies were not false.
"You should not be embarrassed, it is an admirable trait."
Thorin scowled as he recalled Éofara's words. The race of Men was a frustrating breed. He had not asked for her presence, and yet it was hers that had become his most significant irritant. Bilbo Baggins, at least, was inconspicuous. He must concede however that she minimized her burden to him as much as was in her power. She never spoke ill of their predicaments – even when his own kin vocalized their evident displeasure with the weather, lack of food, or whatever else they could consider, her commitment to caring for their mounts was inconceivable, and her knowledge of the roads and paths was thorough.
She is of no consequence. He thought, the twitching fingers of his dominant hand the only reaction to a sudden, sharp call of a bird taking flight. Despite her silence, Éofara managed to wheedle herself into his thoughts. She is an ambiguity and I despise what I do not comprehend.
The object of his thoughts melted from the thick darkness, her bright hair twisted into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder as her body turned to observe the slumbering Company. Horse hair covered the lower half of her body, the whites and light beiges and browns contrasted sharply against her leggings. Having shirked her jerkin before running a stiff brush over all of the equines' coats earlier in the evening, Thorin thought her appearance seemed slightly more vulnerable. Her grey tunic was a rough, common spun type of material and he could tell she wore it often. The dwarf was mildly taken aback by the plain, leather arm greaves laced from her wrists to her elbows. Much like the sword she kept hidden, he maintained his reoccurring thoughts were rooted in his relative ignorance of her.
Meeting his gaze with her own mismatched one, a surprisingly self-conscious smile pulled at her lips. Thorin was taken aback and openly stared at her for a long moment. The expression was one of the few genuine, exposed looks he had seen since their journey had begun. The years and darkness of her son's death seemed to vanish from her haunted eyes with that smile.
"It has occurred to me," She lowered her voice to a quiet pitch, ensuring that their conversation would not wake the others. "that I have perhaps treated you with scorn you have not warranted."
Wary, Thorin inclined his head, encouraging her to continue.
It did not escape Éofara's notice that, from their relative positions, she felt like a courtier begging for a lord's favor. Back against the tree and kept warm by his fur hemmed coat, Thorin easily captured the raw, wild presence of a ruler: noble, controlled and distant. Much like his Lonely Mountain, she thought suddenly. Yes, that place will suit him very well indeed. She, however, found that the lengths his pride drove him to amusing beyond reason. She sensed that much lay beneath that pompous veneer. Shielded by that haughtiness was a dwarf who possessed a painfully strong reverence for the duties he believed his position required. What a willing heart he must have…
"I should not begrudge you some curiosity. Your quest is sacred to you and your people, and I directly affect its success or failure. Also it was unreasonable of me to hold you to an expectation in regard to… prohibited topics of conversation."
Exhaling slowly through his nose, Thorin could not halt the movement of his hand as his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Durin save me woman, speak your mind."
Her expression rearranged to a chiding frown. "I am apologizing, but now I am beginning to question my resolution."
A long, tense moment passed where mortal woman and dwarf prince evaluated the other. Each came to the realization they were both proud individuals, and admitting fault was a difficult acknowledgment. Éofara wondered if perhaps Thorin's guard weakened as her own was beginning to. Despite outward appearances, she did not wish to dislike the dwarf prince. In fact, she would be delighted if by the completion of this quest, they parted as friends. Unlike most of the Rohirrim, Éofara was agreeable to the prospect that her prejudices of dwarves to be disproved. The years she spent traveling Middle Earth with only Rána and her grandfather allowed her to become acquainted with many people. Despite her quiet nature, Éofara thought herself as a personable individual, eager to learn all she could from any willing to spare a song or a tale.
"I…" Clearing his throat awkwardly, Thorin settled for nodding stiffly but the look in his eyes softened. "Thank you. And I also am sorry."
Content, Éofara nodded and turned back toward her equines but Thorin's voice froze her. He could not reason why the question escaped his lips. "What was his name, your son?" Thorin very nearly winced, but he stifled the urge.
Éofara turned to stare at him as if he had carved her heart straight out of her chest. With baited breath, Thorin did not break his gaze from hers. A sudden, unbidden thought struck him like lightning as he stared into her contrasting eyes. While many in his Company had viewed the loss of Erebor with their own eyes – the others raised on the tales since their births – none had the same look in their gazes and faces that Thorin's possessed. However, he recognized the expression in the way Éofara's gaze darkened with grief, in the lines crinkling her eyes and mouth. They were kindred spirits in a manner he had least expected, nor desired.
"My boy was called Éadig," Her voice was soft and breakable; eyes glistening in the misty moonlight. "And my husband was called Framwine." A dark, bitter chuckle suddenly escaped her lips and she shook her head slowly. "We have far more in common then you could possibly imagine, Thorin Oakenshield. Fire has taken all from us, but left us unscathed." He started, speechless at her admission. "It is one of the tragedies of life, is it not? The dead cannot feel pain. We, the survivors, must search for a path to exist with it."
"That path," Thorin managed after some time, stunned by her words. He recognized her admission for what it was. Éofara gifted him what he had demanded, knowledge of her. "we do not walk for our own sake, but for the others who survive alongside us."
Éofara's breath hitched, a watery smile splitting her expression. Both dwarf and mortal woman felt as if a fresh wind had blown between them, shadows banished.
"Sleep, Tamer of Horses," Thorin moved his gaze to the forest, unable to feel culpable at ignoring his duties for such a long period of time. "Our road is a long one."
An: Part 4, whew! It's been a long couple of days, I've still been sick and between work and graduate applications and all that blargh kind of stuff. I hope all of you lovely readers had a great New Years! (Mine was quite relaxing) Now to get right to the point! A helpful reviewer asked this question (which I will address in individually in the review reply section) but I did want to say this specifically to all of you. The wonderful and obnoxiously talented Tolkien created many languages for Middle Earth and I do pepper some of those languages through this story. That being said, I do try very hard to conduct research before I utilize or commit to any word/phrase. That being said, there are many resources with great dictionaries and language guides. However some can be conflicting, and if after 30 minutes of researching if I cannot find a strong consensus on something I merely go with a gut feeling or try and find inspiration from the root, original language Tolkien used.
Therefore, if I incorrectly word or phrase something, please let me know. I will not be offended as I do not claim to be an expert and will be more than happy to fix it. I would be more than happy to utilize any knowledge any of you have to offer! :)
Translations:
Wine: Rohirric. "Friend."
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: My dear, you are a consistent reviewer and I kind of love you for it. It's a little amazing how perceptive horses can be to the emotions of people, their sensitivity is one of the reasons why I adore them so much. I couldn't resist the tail flick, Rána knows who the boss is and no one messes with his boss haha. I hope this chapter gave you some extra teasing to her past, all will be revealed in good time, that I can promise you! Thanks so much for your comments!
LittleFlatts: Thank you very much for taking the time comment, my friend! I greatly appreciate it! I also hope that this story continues to please you!
Vanafindiel: Thanks a bunch for taking the time to review, I am very grateful! It is totally understandable, especially when you worded it that way! I admit I was a tad wary of using the term 'heterochromia' for that exact reason but I was afraid using the words 'mismatched' and 'contrasted' would grow tiring to the reader after a while (and at that exact moment those were the only synonyms I could think of haha). But you did make a good point so I'm going to take it as a writing challenge to avoid using 'heterochromia' :) To answer your specific question about the term of Eorlingas, I have been attempting to find out if that is the plural and Eorling is the singular. I've read a couple conflicting guides and resources that all say a different thing so I kind of just went with a gut feeling on it. However if someone does definitely know for sure I would be more than happy to edit all previous and future chapters to correct it! Until then I will continue to try and figure it out! I'm really happy you like the story so far and I hope you continue to read!
Thank you to all who review. You make my life.
