It was nearly midday by the time the company resumed their journey, grateful to be back on the road, but displeased with the delay. Their quest, after all, was one of haste.
Mirela shifted uncomfortably on the saddle. It had been almost ten years since she had ridden a horse; her avoidance was the result of an unfortunate accident with one. While the pony was certainly a lot smaller than a horse—therefore making any falls less hazardous—she still felt a little uneasy riding it. She didn't like the bouncing as it walked or the fact that she had no control over it. A pony is nothing like a car. A car won't launch you out when it comes across a snake. Bilbo sat in front of her, holding the reigns stiffly in his hands. Occasionally, he'd fumble trying to make the pony turn with the rest of the group, causing her to step off the trail before he was able to steer her back on track. He neglected to tell Mirela that he was also novice pony rider, but she had already guessed that was the case.
Additional discomfort came from the dwarves, who passed frequent glances in her direction. She tried to ignore them but their curious and suspicious looks made her feel like even more of a peculiarity.
"They're not very subtle, are they?" said Bilbo, quietly so only she would hear. "I've gotten many looks from them, too, on the first days of the journey, though most of them were doubtful. Some still think I'm a burden and I shouldn't be here."
"That sucks," Mirela said.
She didn't need to see his face; she could tell her wording confused him by his tone of voice. Apparently, on top of being fictional creatures, they had no knowledge of modern colloquialisms. She would have to try to be more careful when she spoke to avoid odd looks and having to rephrase what she meant. Bilbo seemed to understand what she meant, though. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it does…'suck'."
"So it's not common for a Hobbit to go adventuring with thirteen dwarves?" she asked.
"It's not common for a Hobbit to go on an adventure at all," Bilbo said. "No, Hobbits are quite unadventurous. We prefer a simple, quiet life."
"I hate to break this to you, Bilbo," Mirela said with mock seriousness, "but you're on an adventure."
"Oh, dear," he replied, joking along with her, "I'm afraid that escaped my notice."
"Why did you decide to adventure with them?" Mirela asked quietly, avoiding the 'd' word for now—she noticed that some of their strange companions were eavesdropping on their conversation. "Like no offense, but some of them seem like seasoned warriors and you kinda…don't… Sorry."
Bilbo waved it off. "It's quite all right. I'm no warrior. I'd much prefer reading about battles than taking part in them. It was by Gandalf's persuading—mind you, it took a lot of persuading before I took a step out my door—but now I'm here. I decided I was in sore need of an adventure."
There was a brief moment of silence between the Hobbit and the girl.
"How did you end up in the clearing?" Bilbo asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him. When the girl didn't answer for a few moments, he thought he had upset her. "I'm sorry. I should have realized—."
"It's fine," she interrupted. Then, after taking a deep breath, she relayed the story of how she ended up in the clearing to Bilbo, leaving out the major details involving Robert's plan (which made her sick to think about) and her escape (which she was still struggling to cope with). After finishing, she shrugged it off as if the situation was of no importance.
Bilbo, obviously, thought it was of some importance. He was shocked at nonchalance of her tone, mistaking it for strength of character. "That's horrible! But you seem to be in a better state than you were when I found you." State obviously being mental.
"I'm compartmentalizing."
The Hobbit was about to ask what that meant and how she came to be so far from home in the first place, but the clipped way she said it indicated that this conversation was over. Any awkwardness in the air was quickly dispelled when Myrtle decided to stop to munch on grass. Despite Bilbo's pleas for the pony to keep going, she ignored him and continued to do as she pleased until one of the dwarves clicked his tongue at her. The Hobbit's sighs of exasperation at the pony's disobedience made Mirela crack a smile and chuckle quietly.
Camp was set up late afternoon. They had only been traveling for a few hours, but Mirela could not wait to get off the pony. There was a mild aching in her thighs from riding, adding to the soreness she already felt everywhere else on her body. The first thing she did after helping Bilbo unpack was take a seat on a log, a little isolated from the rest of the group. She unlaced her boots for the first time in almost five days and slipped them off, wincing as pain shot threw her foot. When she pulled back her socks, she noticed, not particularly surprised, large blisters forming on her ankles and bottoms of her feet.
"Awesome," she said. She hoped it wouldn't be much longer before they reached a town so she could get her feet taken care of. She noticed that the company was still following the same small stream. Grabbing her boots and socks, she walked to creek's edge, keeping her weight mostly on her toes, since they were the least blistered.
There was a sharp intake of breath when her toes touched the icy water, but after submerging her feet, she was relieved as some of the pain went away. It was also nice to wash her feet. She scrunched her nose up at the thought of how disgusting the inside of her boots—which were her favorite boots, by the way—had become.
Mirela allowed herself to relax. If she tuned out the sounds of the dwarves setting up camp, taking in only the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the murmuring of the crick, the singing of the birds, she could pretend she was on a camping trip with her father and they had just gotten back from a arduous, but rewarding, hike. The ache in her body became oddly pleasant—a sign of her body's achievements, rather than evidence of an attack against her. The smell of smoke evoked memories of roasting marshmallows and sausages over hot coals. She never minded that sitting too close to the fire made her stink; she liked going to bed with the smell of burning pine or cedar still clinging to her clothes, skin and hair.
The spell of nostalgia was broken too soon, unfortunately. She heard footsteps approach her and sat up suddenly, realizing that she had begun to doze off on the grassy shore. She had expected it to be Bilbo, or maybe Gandalf, since they were the only two in the company that were willing to communicate with her, so she was surprised when she looked up and saw one of the dwarves approach. She recognized him as the one that grabbed her as she ran, and gave her food and water in the clearing—what was his name again? Mili or Fili or something like that. She wasn't paying much attention when she heard it, being too preoccupied with the revelation that dwarves and wizards actually existed. He looked younger than the rest of those in his company—though she didn't know how dwarf aging worked. Most notable about him was that, instead of a beard, he only had a light peppering of stubble on his face. He was kind of attractive—scratch that, he was very attractive, but Mirela squashed that thought as soon as it surfaced.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Supper is ready."
"I'm not hungry." That was only half the truth. The other half was that she didn't want to socialize with thirteen other men of a race that shouldn't exist. It was rude and antisocial, yes, but she figured it would be better for her mental health in the end if she isolated herself for now. When she looked over at the dwarves surrounding the campfire, they were loud and boisterous, laughing and chatting together like old friends—which they all probably were. She liked talking to Bilbo, partly because he was a lovely person to talk to and partly because he also was the odd one out in the group. She saw him sitting with the dwarves, occasionally and awkwardly contributing to the conversation. She imagined she would be in a similar boat, except there would be more staring and awkwardness. Plus, she still wasn't sure she could trust them. She had been tricked before, and she wasn't going to let it happen again. Yeah, she wasn't hungry.
"I find that doubtful—you've eaten hardly anything today."
She frowned and looked up at him. "Have you been keeping an eye on me all day or something?" she snapped, the stress of the past week catching up with her. Plus, what he was saying wasn't exactly true—she had been snacking on the food he gave her earlier, and, while it wasn't much, it was enough to tame her hunger without upsetting her stomach too much. She didn't want to risk getting sick again. "Look, if you were dealing with the same shit I'm dealing with right now, food would be the last thing on your mind."
"I suppose this is all very frightening to you," he said carefully, eyes wide at her word choice. He was about to leave; she was clearly upset and he never liked dealing with distressed women.
She went on, "You have no idea. I don't even know what's going on. I feel like I just woke up and all of the sudden my life became Alice in fucking Wonderland, except without tea parties and talking rabbits, there's dwarves and wizards! And I have nothing against you personally, but I'd take Wonderland over this place any day. If I were in Wonderland, I could just wake up and it would've all been this messed, insane dream..." She trailed off, figuring she should just stop her rambling, since he would not have any clue what she was talking about. The dwarf was staring at her, brows furrowed, probably thinking she was the oddest thing he had ever encountered. If his shock at her language could grow, it certainly did once she finished her rant.
"I apologize for disturbing you, milady," he said, turning away to leave.
She sighed, immediately feeling guilt set in. This guy comes up to her with only good intentions and she swears and scares him off. She could hear her mother scolding her: Where are your manners, Mirela? "No, I'm sorry. I didn't even bother learning your name before forcing you to become my shrink."
"I don't know what you mean by 'shrink'. If it's in reference to my size, I'm must say that I am in fact taller than you," he said, frowning.
"Barely," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. She forced a small smile and said, "I'm Mirela. Mirela Fierro." She offered him a hand, which she dropped when he gave her another odd look.
"Kili," he stated. "Your name is odd."
"It's Spanish."
"I don't know what that means either."
She rolled her eyes, not particularly surprised. Any reference to her world was met with blank stares. "Don't worry about it." She noticed his gaze fell on her bruised neck, evidence of her strangulations. She covered it self-consciously with her hand. He blinked and turned his eyes toward the ground.
"Will you come to supper?" he asked again.
She shook her head. "No, I told you. I'm not hungry." She was planning on getting up soon, drying off her feet, and going to bed. The entire day was physically and mentally exhausting. She had to at least try to get a good night's sleep, though she doubted she'd be able to do anything but roll around on the ground, her stubborn brain still running at a million miles per hour, picking through every detail of the day.
"Very well, if you insist." And with that Kili returned to the fire, where the rest of the dwarves had already begun digging into the pheasant and potatoes Bombur cooked. He took a seat next to his brother as Bifur handed him a plate of supper.
"Will the lass be joining us?" asked Bofur.
"She said she wasn't hungry," Kili replied. The dwarf shrugged—more for the rest of them.
"I'll never understand humans—they eat so little, you'd think they'd all be paper thin," the other dwarf remarked.
"In comparison to dwarves, I suppose," muttered Bilbo, obviously still sore about finding his pantry completely bare after the unexpected gathering of dwarves. His grievances went largely ignored. "I believe all the excitement of the day may have spoiled her appetite."
Conversation about the newest addition to the company dropped; most of their speculating already happened early on the road. The dwarves all wondered aloud who the girl was and where she came from. There was some discussion about what she was, too—Her height was that of a dwarf's, but her build was far too thin. They figured "very short human" was the best answer. Some figured she was a lost farm girl, since there were many farms around. However, her clothes were strange, unlike anything you'd see a farm girl in these parts wearing. The more they thought about it, the more questions arose and the more confusing her presence seemed. So, at dinner, there was a silent mutual agreement to talk about other things, since conversation about the girl was spent and got them nowhere.
Fili, however, seemed oblivious of this agreement. He nudged his brother, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "You were awfully eager to fetch her for supper."
Kili frowned, and replied quietly, keeping the conversation private, "She has hardly eaten today. I figured she might be hungry."
Fili raised an eyebrow at his brother's claim. He had noticed her budding friendship with the Hobbit and figured Bilbo would volunteer to call her for dinner. "She must be quite lovely, under all that dirt," the blonde dwarf observed, "for a human. Surely it had nothing to do with that?" Kili's frown turned into a glare. "Don't give me that look; I saw you staring at her as she spoke with Bilbo."
"My interest was nothing more than curiosity," Kili said, growing defensive. "Aren't you curious about her? Who do you think she is? Have you seen her clothes? And she speaks in the strangest manner, rambling madly on about someone named Alice and a world called 'Wonderland'. She swore, too, you know. Twice."
Fili laughed. "You always had an odd taste in women."
Kili felt his face burn. He punched his brother roughly on the arm, which hardly fazed Fili. Luckily, it went unnoticed by the rest of the company, who had grown used to the brothers' roughhousing. "I told you; I'm not interested in her. Why would I be? She's human. She doesn't even have a beard."
The blonde dwarf quieted his laughter. "Relax, brother, I'm only teasing you." There was still a dark blush on Kili's face as he went back to eating. Fili couldn't help but say, "Though it's alright if you think she's lovely. No one will fault you for that."
Kili kept his attention on the pheasant, lest he punch his brother again.
After Kili left, Mirela drew her feet from the water. Her toes were starting to wrinkle and it was starting to get cold now that the sun had set. When they were nearly dry, she begrudgingly and carefully put her shoes and socks back on. She had no plans on joining the dwarves for supper; her mission was, instead, to find the wizard. And she did find him a short ways away from the company, smoking his pipe at the base of a large tree. He seemed lost in thought, but upon her approach, he smiled in a way that reminded her of her grandfather and waved her over.
"How are you feeling?" Gandalf asked.
Mirela shrugged in response, "As well as I can be, considering the circumstances." She took a seat on flat rock across from him.
"That's good, I suppose." He took a puff of his pipe. "Though, I didn't see you at supper."
"Yeah," she said, feeling like she did right before her mother launched into a lecture about how she should take better care of herself.
Gandalf was not her mother thankfully, but he frowned at her nonetheless, so she felt compelled to add: "Bilbo snuck me some food a little while ago, so I'm fine."
"I hope you won't rely on the hobbit for all your meals," he chided gently. "If you fear the dwarves, I assure you, no harm will come to you by their hands."
"Sorry," she said. "With all my luck it seemed safer to be a little distrusting. You can never be to careful, you know."
"Distrust tends to breed only more distrust," Gandalf cautioned. "But you did not come to me to be convinced of the dwarves trustworthiness. You came for answers."
Mirela raised an eyebrow. "Do psychic powers come with being a wizard?" she asked.
He chuckled. "While there are some that possess the gift of foresight, I am one of them. You have the hobbit for company, so why else would you come to an old man unless it was for his wisdom? Unfortunately, I don't have the answers you seek. 'New York' and 'Inverness' are as foreign to me as it seems Middle Earth is to you."
She frowned. While she waited most of the day to speak with the wizard alone, she wasn't sure what she expected him to say. Perhaps she was hoping for some glimmer of hope. "I feel like if I remembered what happened right before I woke up, that'd help. I've been racking my brain all day, but the last thing I remember is going out with my friends Carmen and Eric. It started snowing, so we went into a pub for drinks. And then nothing after that." She wished she could remember more. That night in the pub was only their second night in Inverness. She remembered earlier that day they had planned on taking a drive into the country—Carmen had read about some ruins and wanted to see them—but the weather suddenly turned bad.
After what seemed like an age of silence, Gandalf spoke again. "I may not be able to help you find your way home, but that doesn't mean there aren't others who can."
She perked up at this. "Who?"
"I have friends older and wiser than me—if there is a way to return you to your home, they may know of it."
This is great, Mirela thought, even though she couldn't imagine anyone older than Gandalf. Finally, someone who can help me. Those thoughts halted suddenly. "Wait," she said. "Does this mean you believe me? I mean, I've been spouting off the names of random places you've never heard of. Why don't you think I'm crazy? Heaven knows that Thorn-dude and everyone else in his merry band think it."
The wizard chucked again. "Thorin," he corrected. "Dwarves are stubborn and rather close-minded. It's too easy to dismiss someone's claims as madness without investigating them first. If your homeland exists in this realm, then it is only a matter of finding it on a map."
"What if it doesn't?" she asked. What she was implying with that question seemed ridiculous, but she knew that her home, her Earth, didn't exist on the same plane as Middle Earth. There was no way it could. The fact that she had landed in an entirely different world was daunting and impossible.
Gandalf looked a little disturbed at the thought, which made her stomach drop even more. "Then," he finally said, "finding your way back home may prove to be much more difficult."
After their conversation, the wizard told Mirela to rest, since she would need her strength for the following day. Although she was exhausted, both physically and mentally, from the events of the past week, she could not stop thinking about what Gandalf told her. Even if he didn't outright imply it, part of her knew that she might never be able to return home. When she was younger, she always dreamed of adventure, to leave her family's cramped apartment and explore new and exotic lands, to travel where she could see the stars, someplace untouched by human hands. She supposed it was all those camping trips with her father that fueled her adventurous side. Her trip to Scotland was her first time away from New York and family, but she planned to return home after two weeks. The thought that she was probably stuck in this strange place for the rest of her life depressed her, and she only hoped that Gandalf was right in saying he knew people who could help her.
She replayed the night in the pub over and over again in her head. She drank a little too much and sat on a bar stool, giggling as Carmen and Eric tried to dance. A snowstorm raged on outside, but the pub was warm and jubilant. She was in love for a few moments with a man that was a couple years older than her. She got to kiss him—something sober Mirela would never do, but she was happy and drunk and his accent made her melt—and then Carmen and Eric dragged her away.
There was nothing odd about the memory, no hints of magic, only a few young adults enjoying themselves. She groaned. If only she could remember what happened right before. People don't just randomly wake up in other worlds, right?
The next morning began with dark clouds over head and a light sprinkle of rain. It was a scramble to pack everything away before it started pouring. The bedrolls and blankets were wrapped up as tightly as possible with leather tarps to prevent them from getting soaked. Breakfast was just as rushed, but Mirela took some pride in approaching one of the dwarves for some food, even if it was the standard bread, cheese and dried meat—she was seriously starting to miss fruit. The dwarf she talked to, Bombur, seemed friendly enough, but neither of them were really sure how to communicate with the other. So, she got her breakfast without much conversation, gave him a quick thank you and scurried off to her and Bilbo's pony. By the time everyone got on to their ponies, the rain beat down on them, drenching every member of the company.
Bilbo and Mirela were the worse off, neither of them having cloaks that could provide at least some protection from the storm. Mirela's jacket was faux leather slightly waterproof, but was mostly designed for style rather than practicality. Her head had nothing protecting it and she grumbled as she had to repeatedly peel her soaked hair from her face.
"I hate the rain," she grumbled.
"To think it will be nearly June," muttered Bilbo, equally as unhappy. "It's nearly tea-time."
She frowned. June? It was almost Christmas a week ago.
"Gandalf," called Dori. (After they set off, Bilbo started naming off the dwarves for her. Mirela could only remember a few, since all of them basically rhymed with each other.) "Can't you do anything about this deluge?"
The wizard huffed. "It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, then you had better find yourself another wizard."
Bilbo perked up. "Are there any?" he asked.
Gandalf turned his head lightly to hear the Hobbit better. "Any what?"
"Other wizards."
He nodded, the tip of his pointed hat bobbing up and down. "There are five of us. Saruman the White is the most powerful in our order. Then, there are the two blues..." He pondered for a moment. "Though, I have forgotten their names."
"And the fifth?"
"That would be Radagast the Brown."
"And is he a great wizard or is he more like you?"
Gandalf paused for a moment, slightly offended at the Hobbit's suggestion. "I think he is a very great wizard," he said. "In his own way. He is a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals as opposed to humans."
"He sounds kinda like a hippy," Mirela commented.
Gandalf frowned, not entirely sure if what she said was meant to be an insult or a compliment.
"So, if you can't change the weather, what can you do?" Mirela asked.
"Oh, I know a few spells here and there," the wizard answered.
She waited for him to elaborate, but after a moment it was clear the wizard was going to remain vague, much to her disappointment.
"His real abilities lie in fireworks," Bilbo said. "The finest fireworks ever seen, in fact. Old Took used to set them off every Midsummer's Eve. They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons of fire and twinkle in the twilight."
The rain forced the company to retire early, much to Thorin's displeasure. The road was muddy and slippery, nearly causing a few accidents with the ponies, so the going was slow. Mid-afternoon they came upon a river and traversing it proved to be hazardous. The water was nearly chest-deep for most of the company, save Bilbo and Gandalf. Dwalin hoisted Bilbo onto his shoulders, despite the Hobbit's protests. The water was too deep for him to safely cross on his own; it had to reach at least to his chin. Gandalf would be able to cross with the most ease, seeing as the water level was barely to his hips. Myrtle, the poor thing, had suddenly lost her footing halfway and was swept down stream by the current. Since Mirela had been the one leading the pony, the girl was dragged some ways down the river before she managed to untangle herself from the reins. She was able to pull herself back to shore, coughing up water that had entered her lungs. The trip downriver was short but rough, and she was undoubtedly sporting new bruises from when her body hit the rocks.
She was also disoriented, so she supposed it was lucky that Kili had gone to find her to bring her back.
"Where's Myrtle?" was the first thing she asked.
"Fili has gone after her," he said. Fili, that's the blonde one, she remembered. "Are you alright?" His tone sounded careful, but given her outburst the last time they spoke, she didn't blame them.
She nodded. "Yeah, I think so, apart from freezing and the huge bruise that I'm going to add to my collection."
He didn't say anything else in response—which made Mirela feel slightly ashamed that he had to come find her after the river fiasco. Although she didn't care to with the dwarves longer than necessary, a sentiment they also probably shared, she didn't want to burden them either—her pride and independence wouldn't allow it. She was caught between her general distrust of them and feeling bad for causing unnecessary trouble. Maybe if someone else were leading the pony, Myrtle wouldn't have ended up halfway down the river. She shook this thought from her head; perhaps she was just being irrational and letting a moment of weakness damage her pride. Several moments of weakness, she reminded herself. She ignored Kili's hand when he offered it to her and stood up on her own, thankful her feet found purchase on solid, stable ground. There was loud splashing as Fili lead Myrtle safely out of the river. Once the pony's hooves touched solid ground, she instantly relaxed.
Kili seemed to forget about her a rush to Fili. "Are you alright, brother?" he asked. "You look like a drowned rat."
"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Fili said, grinning. In truth, Kili was really no drier than his brother.
Mirela was about to offer Fili help with Myrtle, but decided against it. The pony was significantly calmer, much more manageable, so Fili would have no trouble. Instead, she let the dwarves have their little bromance moment and walked back in the direction Kili had come from.
She stumbled upon the dwarves unpacking their ponies quite a ways upriver. It seemed everyone else had crossed without problems and with the storm and Thorin had reluctantly decided they would take refuge from the storm in the trees. He sent Oin and Gloin to collect firewood, though it would be a miracle if they found any dry enough to burn. Mirela was praying for that miracle; a fire would be the perfect solution to quell her shivering.
Bilbo was the first to spot her. He jumped up from the log he sat on and Mirela was touched to see relief on his face. "Miss Fierro," he said as she walked up to him, "you're all right."
"It takes more than a river to crush me, Bilbo, and I told you to call me Mirela."
"But the cold might do you in." He offered her his blanket. "Take this."
She shook her head. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine. I didn't get nearly as soaked as you. Besides, I have spare clothes." He suddenly remembered that his pack had been on Myrtle, and was probably lost down the river. "Well, I had spare clothes. No matter, I insist you take it."
Mirela relented. "Fine, but once I'm dry, you're getting it back. No buts."
Regardless of whether Oin and Gloin managed to get a fire going, she knew she had to take off her clothes, at least her jacket and wool sweater, which had to be at least ten pounds heavier due to all the water it soaked up. After Fili and Kili returned with Myrtle and Mirela helped Bilbo unpack (Fili had also managed to save the hobbit's bag, though the whole thing was dripping with river water), she stalked off into the trees in search of a private place to change, giving Bilbo a "be right back" over her shoulder.
Once she was far enough away from the group, though still close enough to hear their chatter, she placed the blanket she got from Bilbo on a relatively dry rock and began stripping down to her tank top. She got the sweater halfway off, which was its own challenge since it was sticking to her like a second skin, when she heard a surprised gasp and a rush of apologies.
The noise just about gave her a heart attack and she jumped and turned to see who had disturbed her. It was Kili, who was standing motionless in shock some ten feet away with his hands covering his eyes.
"What are you doing?" she asked, once the surprise wore off. She was less disturbed about him walking in on her changing than she was about him sneaking up on her. The sight seemed to bother him a lot, though, and he didn't move nor remove his hands from his face, even after she pulled the sweater back down. The situation almost made her laugh; she didn't realize how proper these dwarves actually were.
"I was—uh—well, walking and I heard a noise—I didn't realize it was you. My apologies," he stammered.
"It's fine. It's not like my shirt was all the way off," she said, nonchalant. "You can look now. It's safe."
He slowly dropped his hands to his sides. Even in the dark, she could tell his face was beat red. She had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked. "It isn't safe."
Despite her past run-ins, she figured she'd be all right as long as she remained within earshot. She was sure the people behind her were long gone, and in any case, knew it would be impossible to track her down in the rain. "I'm changing," she answered. "I guess taking a swim today wasn't such a good idea after all."
"Evidently not," he replied, raising an eyebrow and looking from her soaked jacket to her shivering form. "You'll catch cold if you wear those."
"I know. Hence why I'm changing," she repeated.
"Wait here," he said after a moment and hurried back to camp.
She furrowed her brow, wondering what he was up to, but obeyed nonetheless. Kili returned quickly with a dark blue bundle in one of his hands.
"Wear this," he said as he gave it to her. "It's big, but at least it's dry."
She examined the shirt. It definitely was too big, but like he said, it was dry and actually clean. She was a rather confused at this display of kindness, since she was fairly sure the dwarves either ignored her or held her in suspicion, and wondered if he wanted anything in return. She studied his face for a moment, but it looked sincere. "I'll give it back when my stuff dries."
"It's no worry," he assured her. "It would be wrong of me to watch you freeze."
"Well, thanks," she said. He nodded his head and went off to camp.
Mirela hung the blanket up on a branch as a screen incase anyone else decided to walk in her general direction. She took off both shirts, gasping as the cold bit her bare and still damp skin. After drying her arms and stomach with one end of the blanket, she wrung out the tank top as best she could before putting it back on; even though she was still in her bra, she didn't want to possibly make things awkward when she returned Kili's shirt by wearing nothing under it, and given his reaction when he saw her removing her sweater, she guessed in would be very awkward.
She was practically drowning in the shirt and the material was thin, but it nice and dry and somehow still warm. When she gathered her things and returned to camp, she felt a little better. She hung her clothes on a branch near the fire and was about to scurry away without a word, when one of dwarves stopped her.
"Where are you running off to? You haven't got supper yet." It was Bofur, the Scottish one who reminded her of Pippy Longstockings.
Before she could make to excuse that she wasn't hungry again, the dwarf beckoned her over with a friendly smile. "Don't think we haven't noticed your avoiding us. We aren't bad and you don't have to be shy. You're naught but skin and bones, lass, and no one can turn away Bombur's cooking."
The large, round dwarf in question glowed with pride at the compliment.
"Alright," she relented, since she was hungry and didn't have it in her to refuse the friendly dwarf. "But don't start with that 'you're too skinny' talk. I get enough of that shit from my grandmother."
She forgot for a moment that she had to be careful of her word choice, recalling how scandalized Kili was with her language. There was a collective silence among the dwarves as they looked at her with surprise. She would have laughed at their expressions, especially Bilbo's, whose mouth was gaping open like a fish's in shock. Instead, she smiled sheepishly and apologized that she had let it slip.
After her mishap, which actually seemed to break the ice, the dwarves officially introduced themselves. Altogether there were Bofur and Bombur and their cousin Bifur; the brothers Dwalin and Balin; Dori, Nori, and Ori (also brothers); Oin and Gloin (brothers, shockingly, and the cousins of Dwalin and Balin); Fili and Kili; and, finally, Thorin, but he didn't introduce himself formally like the others had. This time she could remember more of their names, although her head spun as they explained their relations with each other.
The dwarves chattered amicably, mostly with each other, but sometimes included her. She spoke very briefly about her family and home (a conversation that basically amounted to giving the names of her younger brothers, Bash and Victor), but it became obvious that this subject was uncomfortable, so it was dropped before she was forced to either say she was probably from another world or make something up. She was starting to like Bofur, especially when he started singing folkish songs and telling stories. Her eyes fell on Kili more than once, and at one time, she caught Fili nudging his brother and whispering something in his ear, something that made the dark-haired dwarf blush. She quickly forgot it when Bofur reached the climax of the tale he was spinning.
After Mirela had gone to bed, bidding them a goodnight with the odd phrase "hit the hay", Bofur spoke, "She seems like a nice lass. A bit odd, but nice."
"Do not get too used to her," Thorin warned, speaking up for the first time during supper. "She will not be joining us for the entirety of the journey. And be wary what you say around her. She must not know of the quest."
"You think she's untrustworthy?" asked Bilbo, although he wasn't surprised. He caught the wary glances the dwarf sent her. He also knew the distrust wasn't one-sided.
"This quest relies on secrecy," he said. "The fewer outside the company who know about it, the better." He cast one last look at the girl sleeping; he had far too many dealings with humans to not be the least bit suspicious. It certainly didn't help her case when she showed up speaking about made-up places.