Ya'll... I just gotta say...
Mockingjay Part 2 was freaking sensational.
Me after watching it: Now everybody's dead~~ (Listen to Robbers - The 1975. You won't regret hahaha)
FINNICK AND CASTOR AND PRIM THOOOOUGH
All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson. Except for Fheon and my other OC's. They're mine.
The sun had already broken on the horizon when they finished fortifying the front entrance. Fheon's legs were sore from walking back and forth, and pushing against such heavy loads. The turkeys Kili, Fili, Nori, Gloin, and Bifur had caught the day before had not been eaten yet, and so Bombur cooked it for a hearty breakfast—their reward for their hard work.
Fheon's hand shook as she brought up a piece of meat into her mouth. The turkey was nice and fatty, and she licked the juices from her lips. Beside her, Bilbo was eating with equal vigor, and so were the dwarves. Gloin stared up at the wall of stone as he ate, and after a few minutes, Fheon heard him say to Oin, "Not a bad night's work."
She smiled slightly and could not help but to feel proud as well, for she had never before built anything in her life like the barrier they had assembled overnight. It was not perfect, with diamond gaps in the stone upon every stack, but it would have to do.
For some reason, the dwarves that had finished eating were sharpening their axes and swords. The sharp sound of grinding metal pierced Fheon's eardrums, making her uncomfortable. She was finished with her food as well, and watched with confusion (and perhaps slight dismay) as Fili sharpened his axe with a whetstone. She opened her mouth to ask why he was doing so, if only to confirm her suspicions, but stopped herself when Thorin strode past her.
"Come on," he said, and then climbed the boulder-staircase up the front gate to the overhang above. The dwarves hastily followed after him, but Fheon trailed behind the group with Bilbo. They seemed to be the only ones not looking forward to a conflict with the people of Lake-town.
Once atop the gate, Fheon was startled to find row upon row of warriors standing on the ruins of Dale. Armed with spears and shields, the sunlight bounced off their golden armor as if they were made of water. They were elves; of that, Fheon had no doubt. They stood too still, were too disciplined, for them to be dwarves. And it was not the people of Lake-town either, for there was no way they could have been able to salvage such flawless armor overnight.
If she had to guess, it was the army of King Thranduil that was standing before her, for his was the closest kingdom apart from Rivendell, which was thousands of miles away.
The sound of horse hooves reached her ears, and soon a white horse appeared, running down the road leading to the Mountain, with a man riding it. Clouds of dust trailed behind it as it ran, stopping just before the stone gates of Erebor. Now that they were close enough, Fheon was able to discern the familiar face of Bard, who was, in fact, the one riding the horse. Her skin bristled as she remembered what their last encounter had been like—her panic, her vulnerability. It was not an experience she wished would repeat itself.
"Hail, Thorin, Son of Thrain!" said Bard. "We are glad to find you alive beyond hope."
Thorin ignored this attempt at mature conversation, much to Fheon's displeasure, and called back, "Why do you come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?"
"Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in, like a robber in his hold?"
"Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed!"
"My Lord," Bard continued with the same tone, "We have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement." His horse shifted beneath him. "Will you not speak with me?"
Surprisingly, Thorin then inclined his head as a gesture of acceptance. But before he climbed down the steps, he said to Dwalin, "Send the raven."
Fheon watched as Dwalin whistled, and then a pitch black raven settled on his thick forearm. He pulled out a considerably large slip of paper from his pocket, rolled it up, and tied it to the raven's leg with a twig, like how Elijah would do it. Then he muttered something in Khuzdul to the animal, before letting it fly off.
"To whom did you send it to?" asked Fheon, staring after the raven.
"Thorin's cousin is the Lord of the Iron Hills—Dain," Dwalin answered. "He will come and fight with us, if war is inevitable."
Her stomach clenched.
Following suit after the Company, she and Bilbo climbed down the stairs with light steps. Perhaps the dwarves wanted to hear what Thorin had to say without him knowing that they could hear. She only hoped that he would not be too upset afterwards. When they reached solid ground again, they found Thorin standing by the wall of stone, speaking through one of the diamond-shaped gaps. Bard, presumably, was on the other side.
"… your threats do not sway me," Thorin was saying. His voice was calm, but judging from his stance and the way his hands were clenched into fists, he was feeling much more anger than he dared to show.
Bard's shadow blocked the sunlight that would otherwise stream through the gap. His voice echoed down the hole faintly. He said, "What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help. And in return, you brought upon them only ruin and death."
"When did the men of Lake-town come to our aid but for the promise of rich reward?" Thorin snapped.
"A bargain was struck!"
"A bargain? What choice did we have to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom?" A shudder ran down Fheon's spine, for Thorin proved a point. His voice dropped to almost a whisper, and he tilted his head. "You call that a fair trade? Tell me, Bard the Dragon-Slayer"—a faint gasp came from the other side of the wall—"why should I honor such terms?"
"Because you gave us your word," said Bard. "Does that mean nothing?"
Then slowly, as if in a trance, Thorin peeled himself away from the gap and leaned against the wall. Bard's face entered the view of Fheon, small and far away, blocking out the sun. Fheon met the bargeman's eyes with her hard ones for only a moment, before looking to Thorin. He raised his head, somewhat cautiously, and looked at the Company grouped before him. Only a mere second afterward, he seemed to come upon his decision.
Tilting his head slightly so that his voice would travel easier to Bard, he said, "Be gone! Ere our arrows fly!"
Bard's face scrunched up in anger and he pounded his hand against the stone wall, before whirling around and mounting his horse once more. Fheon, Bilbo, and the dwarves watched through the gap as the horse trotted back down the dirt road until it and Bard were but specks in their vision. Exasperated, Fheon whirled on Thorin only to find him already climbing back up the wall.
She thundered after him and, while they were still the only ones on the overhang, demanded, "You would go to war?"
"Yes," he replied without looking at her. He seemed to be glaring at the army of elves hundreds of yards away.
"We've only thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and me—even Gandalf is no longer in our ranks."
"My kin from the Iron Hills will come."
"Is theirs an impressive amount of warriors?" She stepped up to him, and he finally met her steely gaze. "Those are elves, and several hundred angry fishermen. I am not certain the army you have sent will be enough to take them down, much less make them doubt themselves. We're outnumbered, Thorin."
To her annoyance, amusement crossed the King's face. He stepped up to her, getting them as close as they had been the previous night, and murmured, "I shall tell you this, Lady Fheon: you should never underestimate dwarves."
Then, he wrapped an arm around her waist—much to her surprise—and gently made her turn to look at the familiar dwarf faces that had gathered before them. She found Balin among their ranks and noticed a gleam in his eye.
"We have reclaimed Erebor," said Thorin. "Now, we defend it."
His hand, which rested above her hip, tightened slightly. Heat rushed up Fheon's neck, and while she was able to keep a composed expression on her face, the redness on her cheeks was undoubtedly very obvious to the dwarves standing in front of her.
She told Thorin that Thranduil's army, if their leader had any sense, would lay siege to the Mountain at dawn—followed by another statement of doubt considering whether or not the dwarves from the Iron Hills would arrive in time. He answered her in the same manner he did before, albeit less intimate, and even then, she gained no reassurance. But he ordered as well that the remaining hours of the day would be spent trying on armor and readying their weapons. Fheon followed the agenda, though within her head, she was thinking of ways on how to stop the war.
If she could not stop it, then she would stall it, but what good would that do?
The dwarves raided the armory just as the people of Lake-town were surely raiding the armory of Dale. Whatever armor they found had collected dust and cobwebs over the years, losing its shine. The weapons were in very much the same state, but it would be harder to regain its sharpness and the temper of the swords. Fheon stood back and watched the dwarves try on different pieces of armor, looking for the ones that fit them perfectly, and gripped battle axes and swords, searching for the ones that would serve them seamlessly. Bilbo stood beside her, and she tried to coax him into looking for his piece of armor as well, for he had abandoned the helm and breastplate that he had gotten from Lake-town.
"I will if you will," he retorted.
She scoffed lightly and said, "I'm not daft. Do you think the dwarves had forged armor for women? And even if they did, a dwarf's build is very much different from my own. Even their children are larger than me."
"You don't have to look for armor, just come with me."
"Would you like me to dress you as well?"
He sighed in exasperation. "Look, I'm going to look just as stupid as you would if you go looking for armor in there. I'm a hobbit! I'm not meant to wear armor and hold a sword. I can't even imagine myself wearing that." He gestured to Kili, who had slipped on a chainmail hauberk and was holding a glistening iron breastplate to his chest.
Fheon imagined Bilbo wearing such a thing, and could not help but to agree with his reasoning. "Do you plan on staying here inside the Mountain, then, while we fight the battles outside?"
She raised a challenging eyebrow, and he looked at her as if she was mad. Nevertheless, he said, "Fine," and then marched straight to Bofur (who he had gained the favor of) and asked him for help in looking for armor. Fheon watched them walk off, disappearing behind the minor mass of bustling dwarves, before turning around to return to her room, where her hauberk was. Knowing that it would be her only piece of armor on—except perhaps for vambraces and greaves—was not a very exciting prospect for her.
When she turned, however, she found her path down the hallway blocked by the figure of Thorin. He was still several feet away, but even from that distance, she was able to tell that he was looking right at her. And dangling heavily by his hands was a piece of glinting armor.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she approached the Dwarf King warily and stared at the bodice in his hands. The closer she got, the more she was able to discern that the thing in his hands was not just any piece of regular dwarvish armor.
Just looking at the two slight upward curves at the chest, she comprehended that the armor had been made for a woman. It seemed to have been forged to fit a slim body—slim by dwarf women's standards, at least. It was sleeveless, and seemed to be a single piece. The spaulders were made of leather, which she thought was admirable. The cuirass would cover front and back, held together at the spine by silver cords that might have been stronger than they looked; the cuirass travelled continuously downwards until Fheon realized that it was connected to the faulds, which would cover the waist until the higher portion of the thighs. The faulds did not seem to be completely iron, however, for when she brought a hand out to touch it, it bent beneath her fingertips, yet were as hard as steel.
Curious, she rubbed one of the silver cords between her fingers and asked in a quiet voice, "What is this?"
"Many centuries ago," said Thorin, "there was a female dwarf named Gokukara. She was the only dwarf woman in history to ever see battle, and considering how rare our women are, it is most impressive. This was her armor." He raised it higher until it was in front of his face, like he was offering it up to Gokukara, which he might have been if he had not nodded to Fheon.
Hesitantly, she took it and looked down at it in wonder. "She lived in Erebor?"
"Before the time of Thror, but yes, she was a dwarf of Erebor."
She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "And you're giving this to me?"
"Gokukara believed that all women should have the chance to fight in battles, if they wanted to. She despised the women of her generation—the human ones—for she knew that they did nothing but cook and clean and follow around their husbands, which she also believed were useless activities." He nodded. "Yes, I think she would be more than happy that you be the first to be handed down her armor."
Surprise flooded her for a moment, followed by a sense of pride, but she was wise not to show it on her face.
"Try it on," said Thorin. "I am positive that it will fit you perfectly."
She nodded and then met the King's gaze for a short moment, before striding past him and making for her room. There, she slipped on her mail hauberk, and was about to wear the armor as well when she realized that she had absolutely no idea how to put it on.
Thinking of what she hoped to be a successful solution—but one that, when she thought about it, would have looked very foolish—she sighed and hoped that it would work.
Uncertainly, she untied the cords at the back of the cuirass (which only travelled as far as her lower back) and then opened it as wide as it would go. Then she put first one foot, then the other into the armor; through the faulds as well. She placed her feet close together and then tugged the one-piece bodice up her waist until the cuirass was in the right position. She slipped her arms into the holes at the sides, thankful that the hems of the armor were not as sharp as they looked. She did not even try to redo the cords at the back, for she knew that it would be futile. She could ask help from Bilbo when the time for fighting came.
For another minute or two, she shifted here and there; holding the back of the cuirass together as she rolled her right shoulder, made swinging movements with her arm and even pretending to draw a bow, for the possibilities were endless. Once she was satisfied that the armor, in fact, fit her perfectly, she dropped it back down to the floor and carefully stepped out of it.
"Thank you, Gokukara," she muttered to herself, admiring the craftsmanship of the dwarves.
What could Gokukara have done to become so renowned? Fheon thought about it for a moment and acknowledged that dwarves admired strength more than any other race, so Gokukara must have been very strong. Yet looking at her armor, she could not have been much larger than Fheon. Perhaps it was her arms and legs that were strong?
When she returned to the armory, she found Bilbo wearing a thin-looking white hauberk over his jumper. It could not have been any thicker than her own— which she had not yet removed—and she started questioning the sanity of the dwarves for having given him such a useless piece of clothing. It did not seem as if it would protect him from a human's teeth.
Frowning, she strode up to the hobbit and asked, "What the bloody hell are you wearing?"
"I know, I look stupid," he replied almost immediately. "But Thorin said that this was made of silver steel—Mithril—and that no blade can pierce it. So I thought, why not? Might as well take all the protection I can get."
"No blade can pierce it…" Fheon mused. "Would you care to test that?"
Bilbo hopped away from her, and she managed a smile. He gestured to her and asked, "How about you? I saw Thorin approach you earlier. Did he give you Mithril as well?"
She remembered that she had left Gokukara's armor at her room, finding it tedious to have brought it back to Thorin when he was just going to tell her to keep it. "No, he gave me one of their female warrior's armor," she replied. "Nothing special."
"Oh? Did it fit you?"
"It fit me perfectly—disturbingly so. You'd think it had been made for me and not the dwarf who'd worn it hundreds of years ago."
"He favors you—Thorin."
"You as well, if you hadn't noticed."
Bilbo's lips twitched up in a smile. He opened his mouth to say more, but then closed it again, his eyes flickering to something behind Fheon. She turned and saw Thorin standing there, a kind look on his face. No doubt, he had heard everything they had said, and Fheon was not sure whether she approved or not.
"They are gifts, tokens of our friendship," said the King, and then he threw what seemed to be a wary glance towards the dwarves in the armory. "True friends are hard to come by." He placed each of his hands onto Fheon's and Bilbo's shoulders and led them farther away from the armory. Once the rest of the Company was a good ways away, he spoke urgently. "I have been blind, but now I begin to see. I am betrayed!"
"Betrayed?" said Bilbo, but Fheon was able to notice the brief lapse between his and Thorin's speech. She dared not glance at him questioningly, however, fearing that Thorin would see it differently than she.
"The Arkenstone… One of them has taken it," Thorin hissed, a look of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, which quickly turned to anger. "One of them is false."
Beside her, Bilbo gulped almost inaudibly. "Thorin, the Quest is fulfilled," he said. "You've won the Mountain. Is that not enough?"
Fheon knew by the way he had immediately changed the subject that he had something to do with the Arkenstone. She would speak to him about it later, but not with Thorin nearby, for his wrath would be inevitable.
"Betrayed by my own kin…" said the King, shaking his head slightly as he looked at each of them in question. It touched her that she and Bilbo were the two people he trusted enough to tell them of his doubts, but it should not have been this way. He had been closer to Balin and Dwalin and Fili and Kili even before the Quest started, and now it was not so.
Bilbo continued to reason. "You made a promise to the people of Lake-town. Now, is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin—I was also there. I gave my word."
"And for that I am grateful. It was nobly done, but the treasure in this Mountain does not belong to the people of Lake-town." He finished with a bite in his voice. In a single second, his gentle tone and kind eyes were replaced by the coldness of greed. "This gold… is ours… and ours alone." His breathing became shallow, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. "By my life, I will not part with a single coin." He took slow steps away from them, hunched over like a man who had grown up fumbling with a tiny silver piece. "Not one piece of it!"
He glared at them from across the hall as the rest of the Company passed by them, completely armed and holding their weapons, partially blocking their view. Fheon narrowed her eyes at Thorin. The dragon-sickness, she knew, had become worse. He returned her gaze as he melded into the Company, and only looked away when they had to turn a corner.
Even though they were far enough away to not hear her, she ducked her head and said to Bilbo under her breath, "You have it," which was both a question and an observation. Either way, he nodded his head once, and she pursed her lips in seriousness. "Hide it well, Bilbo."
"I will."
"I will speak with Thorin tonight. Perhaps I can change his mind."
"Perhaps," the hobbit agreed, and he must not have had any other ideas, for they drifted into a grim sort of silence.
Oooo, I wonder what'll happen in the next chapter? Huehuehue...
This story is lacking in reviews... Who wants to change that? ;)