Ch.8: Mahal's Devices

Eily awoke the next morning in a guest bed of Bag End.

A natural early riser, she was up with the sun and before much of her company. Which not surprisingly included Bilbo, who had vowed to her the night earlier that he 'absolutely would not' rise early to cook the audacious dwarves their breakfast 'whether Thorin preferred his six eggs fried not poached' or no.

She slid from the plush mattress and quickly bathed herself using a rag in the wash basin, pulled on her boots, and headed to the kitchen where some of the dwarves were awake and groggily (and no small amount disappointedly) attending to their own breakfast.

They seemed intent on completely emptying Bilbo's stores before setting off.

She was surprised to find most of the company in varying states of undress, only one of them showing any decorum about it, noting Ori scurrying around the corner out of modesty, rushing to fully clothe.

She wasn't maidenly enough to blush at the sight of Bofur in only his trousers, (as a rule dwarves did not possess the same prim habits as other races) but she still thought she should be treated with the sort of courtesies befitting her station, even if she was technically disgraced. So she chose to give him a long judgmental stare until he grumbled and made as though to put on a few more layers.

Kili was at the end of the table, shoveling an assemblage of scrambled eggs, various meats, and maybe a pickle into his mouth simultaneously, he couldn't really tell. Being so young his appetite often got ahead of him and his face was now barely an inch off his plate as he enthusiastically consumed breakfast in anticipation of the beginning of their quest.

Luckily for him he managed to catch sight of Eily mid scoop and stopped, standing abruptly as she took her seat (as his mother had so dutifully nagged him about when ladies sat at table) and then sitting back down with his back straightened, staring directly at her with an unblinking intensity he was sure would impress.

Dwalin's upper lip curled in exasperation at Kili's concentrated stare. Maybe he was trying to seem older or more solemn by gawking like that. Or perhaps a little more cultured than he actually was, for standing when ladies approached table was more a custom of men observed by the royal family only on special occasion, but leave it to the lad to misapply the only manners his poor mother had managed to drill into his thick skull.

He supposed Kili felt that his expression resembled that of Thorin's commanding dignity, but it came off more like intestinal discomfort (especially since the lad still had egg clinging to his fledgling beard).

Luckily for the lad the girl did not seem to be paying much attention, distracted by the half-naked Bofur as she took a seat and accepted a plate from him. She stared flatly at him and he gave a mock insulted face,

"What? Fine, I'll put more on!"

Bofur reached around the corner to reveal his trusty cap, placing it atop his head in a mock coronation,

"Better yes?"

She rolled her eyes and then promptly averted them from his hairy bare chest as he handed her a fork.

As he exited Bofur's eyes swung to Kili and his brows knit together with concern.

"You alright there lad?"

Kili turned to Bofur with a stone serious stare,

"Of course," he said, adding some gravel into his tone.

Yes, Dwalin grinned to himself, definitely inspired by Thorin.

"Cause you look like you maybe need to break some wind?" Bofur suggested with genuine concern.

"If you're suffering an upset tummy I've some chalk in the cupboard, it's good for indigestion," piped the hobbit on approach from his bedroom, his housecoat tied tightly around him,

"You're not feeling feverish are you? I won't have myself setting off when a fever is going about. It won't do!"

The hobbit wrinkled his nose disapprovingly as he made to place a palm on Kili's forehead to confirm his theory.

Kili frowned deeply, swatting Bilbo's tiny hand out from his vicinity, probably looking for words to protest as Dwalin rose to wash off his plate, hiding a rolling chuckle under his beard.

He couldn't decide if it was because Kili's 'resolute' stare resembled constipation or the way the hobbit said 'tummy' that he found most entertaining.

Thorin was one of the last to rise, though he lay awake for long minutes in what Bilbo had declared 'his very finest guest room,' so when he heard the door begin to open, he closed his eyes, resigned to begin the day despite lack of proper rest.

Since she was already washed, dressed and fed before most of the dwarves Eily was sent to deliver his breakfast, a task she volunteered for. If Thorin was anything like the rest of them, he would appreciate a hardy breakfast, and she very much wanted to please him since his approval could be the deciding factor in finding a place among her people.

She placed the heavily loaded plate on the bedside table by his head, believing that the smell of the hobbit's spiced sausages would surely rouse him in a pleasant way.

However, since he had been in and out of fitful sleep (and indeed, awake when she had entered) he responded to the quiet clank of the plate, rising groggily and running his fingers over his beard to smooth it.

"Good morning," Eily said steadily, cautious of her voice sounding too chipper, too loud, too flat, anything that may have had the ability to agitate this clearly ordinarily late riser.

Thorin nodded and picked up the plate as he threw his legs over the other side of the bed, turning his back to her and pushing his feet into the boots he'd left there last night.

It seemed he had nothing to say as he took the plate into his lap and began to eat unceremoniously.

Eily had started to exit dutifully when he finally spoke, his voice a bit husky from sleep,

"For the affliction you carry, I am sorry."

Eily stopped, turning back into the room but otherwise unmoving, believing it polite to wait a moment and not interrupt.

Thorin's voice was cool and even as he methodically cut a sausage in half with the side of his fork,

"I apologize for our treatment of you last night… especially myself. You are dishonored by actions that were not your own. Your blood is of an ancient and most noble house, yet you are a pauper…"

Thorin's voice sounded tight in his chest now, "I had thought these my burdens and mine alone. But it seems we both are ensnared by the mountain."

"I am hardly ensnared, she is my mother."

"As she was mine," he added wryly, looking over his shoulder for only a moment, his pale blue eyes locking with her face, "It seems our houses were destined to be intertwined."

There was a pregnant pause, which Eily broke quizzically,

"By this quest you mean?"

Thorin turned back to his plate, and then drew his eyes up and out the hobbit's window, past the porch of blooming flowers; the Shire's rolling hills, fixed onto something far away.

His eyes were a frozen fire, his voice a deep catlike purr.

"Of course."

Dwalin groaned to himself, fixing his exasperated eyes over his shoulder at Bilbo,

"I may strangle him before we reach the mountain if he keeps this up," he mumbled to his brother.

"Take a few breaths Dwalin," Balin chided calmly, "the lad means well. And look how happy the lady is. He's probably just excited by the prospect of burgling a dragon. I imagine it's quite a mark of professionalism in his trade."

Truth be told even Balin himself was slightly irritated, they had been walking for about an hour (on a trip that should have taken half that) and from the moment he'd stepped from his hole the hobbit had prattled and delayed them endlessly.

At first it had been entertaining, even interesting as the hobbit was an amusing creature who had thus far kept his thoughts mainly to himself, but the well of novelty quickly ran dry as the halfling began to lecture on a veritable lexicon of herbs, foods, flowers, hobbitish… things (and let us not forget stopping to greet each and every Shire neighbor as they went, introducing the lady Eily and explaining that he would be absent from Bag End for a short while, but not to worry).

Obviously such topics were little more than fiddle faddle to dwarf ears, but the hobbit's endless nattering seemed to amuse the lady Eily, and dwarves can tolerate much in the interest of one another's enjoyment.

Balin knew that many of the others already could not understand how Eily (who should have had similar disinterest) could stomach it; even enjoy it for indeed she had chosen to keep a leisurely pace behind the company right next to him (which served to slow them down further).

But Balin supposed he could understand it in the abstract. After ninety years of living in concurrence with another mind, indeed sharing everything in one simultaneous stream of consciousness, having her own mind to conceal and store herself in must have been a startling and exciting novelty.

Moreover, those apart from her must also have their own mental vaults as it were, ready to be opened to untold treasures of remembrance. It must have made conversation and the motivations of others endlessly fascinating for her.

But no matter how much she enjoyed conversation it was painfully obvious to the elder dwarf that she had very little to tell about herself. Her mind, though matured, had experienced so little of Middle Earth, and it seemed that she was something of a sad story all things considered.

So it seemed the hobbit took it upon himself to impress upon her her own impressions.

This was as puzzling, and tedious, as it sounded.

Truth be told the only male dwarf who fully enjoyed the walk to Bywater that day was Oin, who had taken to keeping his trumpet in his belt, passing his time in blissful quiet.

"Lucky deaf bastard," Nori mumbled to Balin and Dwalin as Bilbo began to verbally catalog the vegetables he most enjoyed when pickled, and if Eily had tasted any of them, and her impressions of that, and did her impressions match his impressions.

And so on.

Once the company reached Bywater they went directly to the Green Dragon, where their bundles, bags, mounts, and traveling paraphernalia awaited them. Bilbo again began to fall silent, the realization of his commitment setting in as he was handed the bridle to a shaggy looking pony.

"Bilbo and the lady shall ride together, they make the lightest load," Thorin declared as he settled into his saddle.

Bilbo was very uncomfortable with this announcement: he was not an experienced rider and therefore did not want to sit in front of Eily for fear of misguiding the pony, but he also did not know where the proper place to keep his hands would be should be sit behind her (on her waist? No! Shoulders? That couldn't be right).

As he fidgeted with this predicament Gandalf approached on a fine looking white horse, having left before all of them that morning to arrange for travel.

"Well get up onto your mount Bilbo, we've not all season to watch you roll around on your heels!"

"Well…" Bilbo stalled, "perhaps maybe Eily would prefer-"

"Oh don't worry Bilbo," Eily piped, "you're not offending me. Gandalf knows I don't actually know how to ride anyway," she beamed at him with absolute trust.

"You were saying?" Gandalf asked with a teasing veneer to his tone.

Gandalf's taunts slid off the hobbits back like water on a shingle, again that oddly heroic Tookishness flared up in him and he (miraculously) mounted the pony in a single sweeping movement.

The lady Eily's trust would not be misplaced in this burglar, no sir.

However, once she was safely propped up behind him his face drained of blood as he tried to mask his frantic miming of Gandalf's movements as they all began to file out of the village, hoping that horses and ponies followed the same type of directions.

Ahead of them the youngest heir of Durin groused under his beard, or more accurately behind a strategically tossed section of hair and slumping shoulders. Kili had hoped the hobbit would slip off the pony onto his arse, meaning that Eily would have to be placed behind the next lightest rider.

This by sheer happenstance would have been him, naturally.

For her own safety of course.

Thorin scrutinized the scene from the head of the party, displeased by the display in itself; his burglar was becoming less and less impressive as the day progressed. Still, better that the girl ride with one who was less aware of her value to their goal. He pinched the sides of his pony skillfully between his heels and veered off ahead of the group, eyes steely with design.

But the dwarf king's resolute stare and inner deliberation did not completely escape external attention.

Ever the practiced observers Fili and Gandalf both surveyed the spectacle about them with careful observance: their conclusions could not have been more radically opposed.

Fili had thought little of his brother's trivial infatuation with the lady Eily. There was always the distant possibility that she was in fact his One, but it seemed unlikely.

Kili had always been more intemperate than the average dwarf.

In fact his younger brother's short attention span was the stuff of legend in the Blue Mountains due to his tendency to throw his affection this way and that between craft and pretty object.

And that's what she was really, a pretty object, a glittering novelty.

Or so Fili had assumed.

He had nothing against the girl of course; she seemed as well intentioned and dedicated as any of the others, and her blood was as noble and invested as his own.

Her origin and beardless face may have been shocking, even jarring, but as she laughed and doted on the hobbit and his chatter Fili could see her certain appeal.

But his uncle's interest in her was telling to Fili. His uncle was not the type to show interest in others who were not his kin or of immediate use, as was his prerogative.

Either his uncle was suspicious of her, or he had some use for her he had yet to reveal. Either way it was now Fili's unspoken duty to keep watch over her to ensure his uncle's intent, trusting without question.

He did not appreciate the extra task, but at least if his brother kept trailing after her like a baby duckling he would be able to keep a pair of eyes on her without drawing attention.

Gandalf picked up speed to trail just behind Thorin, lighting his pipe and enjoying the splendid May weather. Even from the front of the column he could hear Bilbo and Eily laughing and conversing, and it gladdened his heart.

The hobbit was working out splendidly and would soon win over the remainder of the company, of this he was sure.

Thorin however, troubled him deeply.

He knew that Eily would prove useful to their aim, and that the blessings of Mahal and the Lonely Mountain hung about her. But it seemed her mother's destiny was creating a distraction in the mind of the King Under the Mountain.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to introduce Eily so bluntly, but how else could he explain her inherent majesty (or her lack of beard without opening her character for accusation)? As the direct descendent of a First Mother there was a kind of reverberation around her, a deep inadvertent magic and a purpose Gandalf did not claim to truly understand, for she was the pawn of gods and the elder lines.

These burdens came to her naturally, just as the sons of Durin did.

The wizard had expected this as a possible side effect of course, too much of her mother lingered on her, but the devices of Mahal were proving more immediate than he could have anticipated, and he worried that they would work against the quests intentions.

For the line of Durin was one forged in loneliness and marked by clawing desire and unconquerable greed.

**Author's Note: Firstly, deep gratitude for the two kind reviewers: Sirenescence, and Luinwen-2013. I sincerely hope the story ends up meriting your encouragement!

Secondly, I would like to cite and give credit to The University of Waterloo for their Hobbit timeline/chronology (which is the timeline I will be using for its basis in the book, which is always my first choice for material) which can be found with a quick Google search for those who are curious.

Thank you very much for your time and I hope you've enjoyed (and will continue to enjoy) the story as it progresses**