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Beneath the Stars
THREE
Many months passed while Tauriel traveled with the small company of dwarves. She never quite felt at home among them, but she trusted them not to turn on her.
Balin remained polite and kind, though he was still a dwarf at heart and rude on occasion. Dwalin accepted her as a comrade, but made no attempt to befriend her. For that she was relieved: she was still mourning Kíli, and felt she would be for the rest of her life, and she needed distance. Dwalin understood that. He had lost his king, a close friend, and he needed space just as she did, to grieve.
Only Glóin remained a thorn in her side. The red-bearded dwarf mocked her at any given chance, much to her irritation. At first she ignored his rude remarks, but eventually it became too much to bear. She snapped, and began giving him retorts in return after each of his callous jibes.
The three dwarves and the elf traveled around the Misty Mountains and through Eriador with little trouble. Mostly, they camped on the side of the road, but occasionally they ran across some mannish civilizations where they could spend the night in an inn.
On one such occasion, Tauriel was hungry enough to eat with her companions in the main room of the inn. Normally, she did not like to call attention to herself in such places. She wore an elven cloak, covering her vibrant red hair with a hood. Her height alone would make her conspicuous, especially compared to that of the dwarves.
"So you decided to join us, elf?" Glóin jeered as she set her place across the table from them.
"I was hungry enough to lower myself to endure your presence," she said coolly.
Dwalin snorted into his food. She glared at him, not sure if he was amused by Glóin's look of frustration or disappointed in the feebleness of her comeback.
She daintily cut her food, watching in distaste as the dwarves devoured theirs using only their hands. Tauriel smirked, thinking of what the elves back home would think of their messy habits. That wasn't to say that the mess hall of the Guard had never gotten a bit rowdy, but at least they used forks and spoons.
"No need to be discourteous," Balin said wearily. "We're all friends here."
"So, Balin, what's this town called again?" Dwalin asked, his mouth full. Tauriel sighed, rolling her eyes and resisting the temptation to tell him to chew with his mouth closed.
"It's Bree," Balin said. "We're not at all far from the Shire, actually."
"Really?" Glóin said. "Ought we to stop and give Bilbo a visit?"
"If he's home yet," Dwalin added. "He and Gandalf took a different route."
"I'm sure he's back by now," Tauriel said. "They left before we did."
"Only by a few days," Glóin countered.
"If he is back, he'll be settling back into his old life," Balin said. "We shouldn't drop by and suddenly change things for him again. We'll visit at a later time."
Glóin shrugged. "All right."
They ate for a little while longer, before Dwalin asked another question. "How much longer to Ered Luin?"
"I'd say another month," Balin estimated, "since we're going around the Shire and not through it."
"I will be leaving your company after I return the stone to Lady Dís," Tauriel informed them quietly.
"Can't stand to stay with us dwarves any longer?" Glóin blustered.
She shook her head. "No. The dwarves can't stand to stay with me any longer."
"Tauriel, friend, that's not true—" Balin lied virtuously.
Tauriel cut him off with a forced laugh. "It was very kind of you to invite me to come along, and I am grateful you did. But even after months of travel with you slow folk, I do not feel welcome, though perhaps this is my fault and not yours, kind Master Balin."
"Balin, did you say?" a gruff voice said from behind them. The company turned to see a tall man with an angry looking scowl leering over them. Tauriel frowned at him and his three lumbering cronies.
"Look at this!" the man jeered. "Three dwarves, and—bless my bunions, you're no dwarf, nor a man, either. I haven't seen an elf in a long, long time, and never in these parts. How are you traveling with this ugly lot and not tearing each other apart?"
Tauriel looked at him coolly. "What I do in this place with my companions is my business, not yours, countryman."
"We-e-ell!" the man said, leaning back a little. "A female elf. And is this your escort, m'lady? Needed some knives to watch your pretty back?"
Tauriel, highly offended by the implication that she could not take care of herself, swiftly drew an arrow out of her quiver and shoved it in his face. "This arrow and its friends are not for show, countryman. I can take care of myself."
"All right, all right," he grumbled, pushing the arrow away. Tauriel slowly lowered her weapons, glaring at the impetuous man.
"I am Balin," the old dwarf said, nodding to the man. "Have we met before, good sir?"
"Yes, we have," the tall man growled. Tauriel noted with some concern that he was fingering his knife hilt. "Good Master Balin, who cheated me in selling me a sick pony!"
The old dwarf looked at him quizzically. "I'm afraid I don't recall the occasion. Perhaps if you gave me your name, it would jog my memory."
"Brekk," the man sneered. "In Ered Luin, near two years ago."
Balin frowned, tapping his nose as he thought. One of Brekk's cronies pulled out his knife, casually cleaning dirt out of his fingernails. Tension hung in the air as everyone waited for Balin to answer. Tauriel subtly drew some knives of her own, her eyes on Brekk's companions. She didn't think this meeting would end well.
"You know, that does ring a bell," Balin admitted. Beside him, Tauriel could see Dwalin and Glóin preparing for a fight in a more obvious fashion. "If the pony was sick, Master Brekk, it was not my fault. I took good care of her. If she fell ill after the sale, I'm afraid it was your doing, Master Brekk."
Brekk's pasty skin flushed red in rage. He screeched out, "Liar! Cheat!" Apparently he had reached the end of his patience, for he drew his knife in a flash and threw it at Balin.
The old dwarf, expecting it, ducked, and the knife went flying over his head and into the wall. Brekk's cronies jumped forward, attacking their small group alongside their leader.
Tauriel stood up and quickly disarmed the larger of the two bulky men, before hitting him on the head with the hilt of her dagger. She was careful not to kill him. These were not orcs, but men—ugly, dishonest men who meant no good, but they were the children of Ilúvatar nonetheless. He fell unconscious the ground.
Dwalin and Balin had Brekk well in hand, leaving Glóin to deal with the ugly merchant's second cronie. Tauriel jumped over the table and on top of his opponent. The big man grunted in surprise as his knees gave out under the pressure of her body.
Glóin swore at her. "I was taking care of him!" he shouted, lifting his axe and hitting him on the head with its hilt.
Tauriel smirked, jumping off the man and throwing her knife into the throat of Brekk's third cronie, who had been about to drive a sword into the red-bearded dwarf's head. She regretted having to kill him, but when it came down to his life or Gloin's, the choice was easy, even though Glóin continued to be a thorn in her side.
"But not the other one," she pointed out.
He scowled, watching as his would-be killer's sword dropped to the ground and the man himself fell backwards, dead.
Tauriel looked around. The bar was wide-eyed and fearful of the fighters, its inhabitants pressed up against the walls in order to avoid the brawl. Dwalin and Balin had cut off Brekk's hand and tied him up while he wailed in pain and protest. The proprietor of the inn, the Prancing Pony, shook in his boots.
Tauriel walked up to him. "I'm sorry this happened," she told him, her mind still buzzing in the aftermath of the battle. "I would suggest that the local authorities clean up this mess and take these men into custody. They attacked us first, so you'll find any consequences of their actions are not our fault. We're sorry. We will be leaving now."
The innkeeper nodded fearfully. Tauriel gathered up her possessions and watched as her companions did the same, albeit begrudgingly. She, too, would rather have spent the night in the inn, but she didn't feel quite safe there anymore.
After they left Bree's walls, Balin stopped in the road and turned around, looking a bit cross.
"Tauriel, have you forgotten that I am the leader of this company?" he asked her, sounding annoyed. "I agree with your actions, but it should have been me who spoke with the innkeeper, not you!"
She shrugged. "You were busy with that orc-spawn Brekk."
Balin shook his head. "Tauriel—"
"Oh, leave her be," Glóin burst out. Surprised, Tauriel looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"She's just trying to keep us alive," he continued. "It was the right thing to do."
"Why so fond of our elfmaid all of a sudden, Glóin?" Dwalin asked. Tauriel was thinking along the same lines. Why defend her now when he had been so critical of her before?
"She saved my life back there," he said simply. "I'm expressing my gratitude."
"You're welcome," Tauriel said, smiling to him. "Will this attitude of kindness continue, or shall we go back to being nasty to each other?"
Glóin sighed, a bit ruefully. "Very well, Captain Tauriel. I guess you're not that bad after all. We shall be courteous to each other."
"Good, Master Glóin," she said, nodding. "You aren't that bad, either. I suppose." She smirked at his bemused eye-roll, then looked back to Balin. "Lord Balin, I am sorry for overstepping my bounds, but action had to be taken. I will wait for you, next time."
Balin nodded. "Good." He sighed and looked around the wood, his mind moving over to other matters. "I guess here is as good a place to stop for the night as any. Let's set up camp."