Sam Smith is so perfect. TuT
Also, it's 11 in the evening and I feel so rekt. Just wanted to put this out before going to bed. Didn't want it to get any later.
All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson; except with my OC's and anything you might not recognise. They're mine.
As much as Fheon wanted to get at least an hour of sleep, it was impossible; so much so after what had just happened with Thorin. By then, her composure had recovered from the onslaught of the King's presence so close to her, and she was able to think straight again. So while she lay wide awake on her bed with her hands behind her head, her mind wandered.
Her feelings for Thorin had only just recently become apparent to her, but to the rest of the Company, she was not sure. It was a constant nagging feeling—when he looked at her and her at him, when he spoke, when he walked by her, when he chuckled—a yearning to be near him. It was enough to make her forget her sadness considering Elijah, if only momentarily.
During the early part of their journey, it had been obvious enough that theirs was a rocky start. But as the months passed, and as she eventually got over her original disposition considering the dwarves, she warmed up to the King Under the Mountain. She spoke to him more, trusted him more, just as he did her. She kept him and his kin from danger, and doing so, gained a more intimate outlook on them. She learned their stories, and they learned her and Elijah's. They accepted her as one of their own and trusted her with their lives—even now, with her brother gone and her having an injured shoulder. They shared in her grief and comforted her, gave her their blessings.
She knew that none of these things would have ever happened if their leader had not accepted her into the Company first.
Considering her feelings for him, she was yet to figure out exactly what it was—be it only an intense veneration, or something much more. She had never encountered such powerful feelings for anyone else but those within her family, but even that had been a bit weaker. She would never have looked at her father or brother as possible lovers, people she could give her heart to. When she was young, she had an admiration for one of the boys from their village, but he never noticed her. Now, with Thorin, it seemed there was a possible contender for her heart.
However, because there was yet to be a proper conclusion, Fheon was forced to ponder on what she was going to do about such sentiments. There were two possible outcomes. One, she would spend another few months in the Mountain, handle the forces that would oppose Thorin's rule, just as Thorin himself had suggested. Afterwards, she would cut off all her ties with the Company—whether gently or heartlessly, she was yet to decide—and then return to Eriador, where she would resume her post as protector of The Shire with Hiram. If the dwarves were to go chasing after her, it would be their choice.
The second choice was staying in Erebor for the remainder of her years, as a good friend of the dwarves, and therefore being able to help in keeping the dragon-sickness harmless. At the first opportunity, she would ride to Eriador and explain to Hiram how very complicated her situation was. Hopefully, he would let her be. If he did, she could take Caligula along with her back to Erebor, so she would be able to send messages to Hiram whenever she could.
Staring at the roof, Fheon had to admit that the second choice appealed to her much more than the first one.
For the remainder of the night, she thought and thought of the different possibilities, the constantly varying what-could-be's and what-could-not's. All the while, her gaze never wavered from the ceiling of her dimly lit room. Beside her head, the wax of the candle continued melting. When the string finally reached its end, the fire flickered as it sank deeper into the melted wax, until ultimately going out altogether.
Darkness came over Fheon's senses. She could hear nothing more but the sound of her breathing. She started tapping the top of her head, and then rolled to her side, facing the wall. She would have been content with counting the many flaws and markings and dust motes on the surface of the stone, but she could not see. So she closed her eyes and retreated deep into herself, focusing on the rhythm of her heartbeat.
She soon found that it would skip a beat whenever a thought of Thorin flitted by, and, despite herself, the prospect made her smile slightly.
It was a few hours after dawn when Fheon finally brought it upon herself to exit her room. Because there were no windows, she did not know that it was so late in the morning until she entered the dining hall and found the platters of food nearly empty, save for a few slabs of antelope meat and a single bowl of Bombur's familiar-looking gruel. Seeing as no one else was inside the chamber with her, she presumed that the rest of the Company had eaten their fill already, and then hungrily devoured the fare they had left for her. She drank from her water canteen until it was empty, and made a mental note to volunteer the next day for the food-hunting, so she could refill her container as well.
Afterwards, she strode to the treasure room and found half the Company already sifting through the mounds of gold. The other half was nowhere to be found, but they would take over the search at midday. Fheon scanned the dwarves who were currently searching, and was alarmed to find Thorin standing on a pedestal above, watching them. She turned around and resumed walking down the hallways again, determined not to let him see her. Not yet. She strove to gather her thoughts again and decided to look for Balin, for the pouch of medicinal herbs was with him.
She found him in the dusted remains of the library again, the same place she had seen him conversing with Bilbo about the dragon sickness.
"Balin," she said, making him turn around, "Have you got the mint?"
He patted his pockets and then said, "Aye," digging out the familiar brown pouch. Fheon took it from him and opened it to find almost no decrease in the amount of leaves within.
"No one else uses these?" she asked, and he nodded once. Sighing, she pocketed the pouch and bobbed her head to Balin in thanks, before turning around to leave.
Just as she was stepping out, he said, "Thorin visited you last night, did he not?"
She stopped in her tracks. Not turning around, she slowly said over her shoulder, "He did. How did you know?"
"I sent him there, lass."
She remembered that Thorin had mentioned such, but it had been lost behind the latter, more intimate conversation. She struggled to keep her composure, and barely kept from crossing her arms, as she said, "What about it?" There was a note of defensiveness in her voice that she loathed and deeply regretted afterwards.
"Know this, Fheon," said Balin in a hushed tone, stepping towards her. "I sent him to you because I am desperate to save him. Dragon-sickness is something very dangerous. It could undermine everything the dwarves stand for, and Thorin will be lost… But I know more than anyone about his feelings for you." (Fheon expected as such, for he was Thorin's right hand man, but she had hoped otherwise.) "Simple friendship will not do anything for him now. If there is anyone who can keep him from sinking deeper into his greed, it is you. So please, tell me, what transpired last night?"
Fheon heard him out, every word, and could not help but to be astonished at how strong Thorin's feelings for her must have been if Balin trusted her so much to bring him back.
Frowning, she took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering, "At my request, he told me about Frerin, his brother who had passed."
"He shares his memories of Frerin to very few people," said Balin.
"He told me of his certainties about the people who would look to the Mountain for wealth, and his plans on keeping them at bay. And then… he offered me a place here, in Erebor… a chance to live as a friend of the dwarves. He said that my story would be told far and wide by bards."
"It is a good offer, lass—and a generous one at that."
"I know that." Fheon thought for a moment and decided against sharing the latter portion of the night to Balin. It would not matter; he already knew about the King's sentiments regarding her. So, she asked, "What do you think?"
Balin sighed and then looked at her in earnest, a glint in his eye. "Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved," he said.
"And you are sure that I am the right solution for him?"
"Yes, lass." He nodded. "I am sure."
The dozens of hallways were quiet, and Fheon had several guesses as to where the rest of the Company were. Perhaps they were in their quarters, catching up on their sleep; or perhaps some of them had gone hunting for supper. Similarly, they could be in the kitchens trying to add more flavor to Bombur's gruel, if that was what they were going to have for supper.
As Fheon walked down a spiral stone staircase, she pondered on whether she should follow them out to the wilds, and this time she could bring all of the Company's water canteens in order to fill them up. It would be a sorry death indeed for them to die of dehydration when there was a freshwater stream not five miles from where they were.
Just as she was reaching a decision, she came across Bilbo, sitting on a stool by a pillar. He was looking down at something in his hand, but then seemed to notice Fheon's presence and turned his head.
"Oh," he said, not at all taken aback. "Hello, Fheon."
"Hello, Bilbo," she replied in kind.
"How are you?"
Fheon tried to get a glimpse of the object in his hand, already guessing that it was the enchanted ring he had found, but he was holding something slightly larger than that. "Nothing new," she answered. "If I may ask, what's that in your hand?"
He looked down and then jumped slightly, as if just understanding what she had meant. "Oh, it's—"
Just as he was removing his fingers from around the object, Fheon felt another presence step up from behind her. She stepped back and turned to see Thorin walking out of the shadows. He was garbed in the same clothes he had been wearing last night when he visited her, making her feel a sense of nostalgia. Yet the look on his face was something more dangerous, colder—no doubt from the effects of the dragon-sickness. He had been in the presence of gold for too many hours.
"What indeed?" he said, almost growling,
"It-it's nothing," Bilbo stuttered.
"Show me."
Fheon narrowed her eyes and forced a kinder expression onto her face, but then was torn. What did Thorin like about her? Was it her usual apathetic demeanor, or the gentleness she only sometimes showed? She had been thinking that her mere presence would have an effect on his mind, but he remained focused on Bilbo. Past the difficulty of the task, she was able to show a mixture of both indifference and kindness.
Bilbo unclenched his hand to reveal a small acorn resting in the middle of his palm.
Thorin's hard eyes lowered to the acorn and Bilbo said, "I picked it up in Beorn's garden."
A look of recognition crossed Thorin's face. His gaze softened, and so did his tone. "You've carried it all this way?"
"I'm going to plant it in my garden, in Bag End."
"It's a poor prize to take back to The Shire," said Thorin, smiling softly at Bilbo, and then switching his gaze to Fheon. After Balin's confirmation that he indeed had feelings for her, Fheon was able to discern the sparkle of affection in his eyes. She did what she felt was right—and what she wanted to—and returned the smile.
Bilbo looked back and forth between them, trying to decipher what may have been going on. Once Thorin returned his gaze to him, he said, "One day it'll grow. And every time I look at it, I'll remember… remember everything that happened—the good, the bad, and how lucky I am that I made it home."
A note of sympathy entered his voice, though Fheon made no acknowledgement of it. Thorin's smile widened, however, and he placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder before turning to Fheon.
"Have you considered my offer?" he inquired in a soft voice.
"I have," she said.
"And?"
Hesitant, Fheon let two beats pass before speaking again. "Thorin, I—"
And then she was interrupted by the gruff voice of Dwalin. "Thorin!" he called, his footsteps echoing down the hall to their left, and before long his massive figure came into view. "Survivors from Lake-town—they're streaming into Dale."
The bright smile on Thorin's face disappeared slowly until it was gone altogether, replaced by the previous taciturnity. He was still looking at Fheon too, and she threw him a pleading look. No change came upon him and he turned away. "Call everyone to the gate," he ordered, already walking away. "To the gate! Now!"
Dwalin rushed back down the hall to call the others—how, Fheon was not sure. As Bilbo was about to do the same, she tugged on his elbow and made him face her. She said, "There is still hope for Thorin, do you understand?" He nodded. "You will help me bring him back."
He nodded again. "Of course."
By unspoken agreement, they headed straight for the front gate, leaving Dwalin to call for the others. Thorin was there waiting for them already, with two lit torches in his hands. He handed each of them to Fheon and Bilbo, telling them to light the braziers outside. They did as they were told, and thankfully, there were flights of stairs that led them at least ten feet off the ground where the braziers were. They lit each of the braziers separately. Glancing down, Fheon found the figures of Kili, Fili, Nori, Gloin, and Bifur running below and past them into the citadel. She and Bilbo followed soon after to find the entirety of the Company there and waiting for Thorin's orders.
"Men," said the King, "The people of Lake-town are right outside our borders as I speak. I will not let them enter this Mountain and steal from us what we have worked too hard for. Gloin,"—he pointed to the red-headed dwarf—"grab a chisel and hammer. Break down the larger rubble outside, small enough to carry. Fheon, are you strong enough to help him?"
Reluctantly, she nodded. "Aye."
"Then you will stay with him. Kili, Bilbo,"—he gestured to each of them—"get a wheelbarrow and bring the pieces here. The rest of you bring out the pulleys. Use them to pile the stone up onto here, to cover the door we lost to Smaug." He pointed at the large hole where the front entrance had been. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work!"
They worked late into the night, and Fheon soon began despising her brain, which had been the cause of her losing sleep. Her limbs were strong enough, for they were well-rested, but her mind was muddled and disorderly. The job she had been given was easy enough, for it was simply a repetition of movements, but after a while she soon forgot what she was supposed to do and had to take a moment to herself to remember. It was frustrating.
She and Gloin were the only ones working outside. Kili and Bilbo came up to them from time to time, pushing a wheelbarrow and then filling it up with rock before returning into the Mountain, to bring the stone to the dwarves working on the gate within. Fheon's shoulder offered her no trouble, for she used her left hand to steady the chisel while her right arm pounded away. Gloin had found a hammer suitable enough for her stature, but it soon grew to be a tedious process, for she was not as strong as him. She used a bow and arrows, a sword, but did not carry battle axes or hammers into battle.
Not long after, she had to stop raising and bringing down the hammer, fearing that she would instead crush her left hand by accident. In the end, she was replaced by Dwalin, she replaced Kili with the wheelbarrow, and Kili replaced Dwalin with the pulleys inside the Mountain.
When Thorin noticed, he did nothing but grunt in acknowledgement. In this, Fheon tried to find relief, for at least he cared enough about her to not force her to stay on the hammer job. She shared her musings with Bilbo, and he agreed.
About three hours into the work, she heard Thorin's voice boom from within the Mountain.
"I want this fortress made safe by sun-up," he said. "This Mountain was hard-won. I will not see it taken again."
And then another, more youthful voice—Kili's: "The people of Lake-town have nothing! They came to us in need. They have lost everything."
"Do not tell me what they have lost. I know well enough their hardship." Thorin scoffed. "Those who have lived through dragon-fire should rejoice!" He said something in a more quiet voice, too low for Fheon to have heard past the bustling dwarves and Gloin and Dwalin's pounding. And then he bellowed, "Bring more stone to the gate!"
Frowning, Fheon shared a doubtful look with Bilbo, which soon disappeared when they reentered the Mountain. She watched as the dwarves piled stone upon stone, a pitiful excuse for a gate, but something that would defend them from horses and men.
Thorin helped in the piling fervently, and Fheon would not have felt so helpless if she had been sure that he was only doing so to protect his kin, not to protect his gold.
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