Ch.14: What Is Mine
Kili's back had stiffened in his step, "What gold chain?"
Fili was a master at hiding his more inconvenient reactions, as all future kings must be. And it was only thanks to the years of grooming under his uncle's practiced hand and his instinct to protect his brother that he was able to recover his astonishment, masking it deftly in an amused disinterest.
Kili's thick dark brows had wrinkled in pain and uncertainty, his nostrils flared slightly as his brown eyes instinctively sought his brother's for comfort and explanation. Fili could already see Kili's tender heart falling in his expressive eyes; its fear of rejection, and worst of all the fear of inadequacy and foolishness that had grown there since Kili was old enough to sense the difference others saw between his brother and himself.
It made Fili's heart ache with guilt. Guilt for taking pleasure in Kili's courting difficulties.
But more than that, and indeed more shameful, was the guilt for the alarm that crept unbidden down into his core at the possibility that Eily had already accepted a suitor, and the discomfort at who it must be.
Fili knew the chain had to have come from Thorin. There was no other explanation. Other than Bilbo Fili had been closest to Eily on this journey and would have seen it had she been carrying it from the start. Had she been carrying such a valuable object she would have been careful to locate and keep it safe after their run in with the river. But she had worried only for her axe and knife. And she had only been away from him a few short times since their arrival in Imladris.
But on the night she returned to the circle with Thorin, she had it then.
Had his uncle been… did he…
No.
Fili didn't have the time or leisure to deduce what his uncle could be thinking. He was over twice Eily's age, and she was a member of the company, under his charge, it was inappropriate. She had no family or house to look after her interest, no fortune or claim that merited this action. It all seemed so, so strange and out of character for his uncle to be thinking on courtship when Erebor lay ahead.
And Fili could not ignore how predatory it seemed for the king of the dwarves or Erebor to be consorting with a disgraced lady, no matter her magical origins.
Had it not been for the evidence he'd seen with his own eyes he never would have believed it. He couldn't comprehend it, he could barely process it.
He knew only that Kili must be protected from it.
"The one she keeps in her belt pouch, I thought you had given it to her," Fili smiled easily, forcing a wave of casual unresponsiveness over his features. He arched his eyebrows slightly; his lashes batting quizzically at his younger brother in the blind hope that if he acted like it was nothing Kili would believe it as he had believed so many times before.
Kili's frown deepened at one of the corners of his mouth, but his stare dropped from Fili's, trying to hide his eyes.
Kili always had such readable eyes.
Fili pretended to be curious for the sake of the illusion, "You mean you didn't? I had thought it a gift the way she kept it in her belt. But perhaps it is a bauble she bartered for at some point."
Kili's shoulders seemed to loosen a bit at that, and Fili knew that his word alone would settle the matter.
"I suppose it must be that, for she had it when we were swept away by the river."
The deception made Fili's toes curl in his boots, but his face endured it. Kili believed.
Relief and a flush of embarrassment at his silliness colored Kili's cheeks as his dark eyes squinted into an infectious grin.
"Of course," Kili beamed, "So are you hungry?"
Fili didn't think he could stomach anything at the moment, but Kili did not wait for him before turning to stride away towards the kitchens.
By the time Eily awoke she was disgusted by how late she had slept. Though there was really nothing for any dwarf to do in Rivendell she always felt guilty for wasting daylight in sleep. She now cursed herself for not exerting the self-discipline to force herself up, even if she would have only gotten two or so hours of sleep otherwise.
By the shadow in her room it was near noon, and Thorin was sure to be up and swaggering about with every air of superiority he could muster for the sake of insulting their elven hosts.
She may not have felt she had much (or anything) in common with the lanky immortals, but she couldn't help but note the childishness in purposefully being contrary with them. She could just picture Thorin, his thick dark mane tossing, cold eyes surveying and assessing relentlessly. Trusting nothing, weighing and measuring with acuteness and a mind bent for purpose.
Everything for a purpose.
Recruiting a hobbit: purpose.
Stealing the Arkenstone: purpose.
Claiming her title and womb under the unspoken threat of exile and eternal dishonor: purpose.
Her hands flexed, tense with ire as she strapped her belt across her hip, sticking her axe and knife into their places at her side.
It was the first time she had armed herself since arriving in Rivendell, but she no longer felt safe. She was on all sides surrounded by elves and their poisonous words, a king and his grasping ambition, and the dwarves that would die for him.
Would kill for him.
Kili may have fancied her, but she doubted he knew of Thorin's determinations for her. She could not predict whether he would defend her if such a dark moment arose that she had to fight herself free from the company.
And Fili…
She had thought Fili a confidant, for he knew what it was to live in the looming shadow of a mighty lineage. But moreover she could sense that he knew what it was to take oaths to the ones most loved and not be sure you could live up to them.
Yet his loyalty lay with Thorin, with his family, to his own oaths.
As her loyalty must lay with hers.
Elves believe dwarves to be an ungainly and raucous race, but to the ears of men and other less acute beings they are capable of moving quite silently and are probably the most sure footed when in their home mountain ranges, possessing as they do such a bond with the stone. So while the closest of elves would have heard Eily slip from her window and maneuver the surrounding terraces and rooftops, her company did not.
All through the night and into the morning Gandalf found himself in the lord Elrond's private library pouring over a series of letters, maps, and old lore, none of which told him anything he wanted to hear.
He had not slept, not even smoked, for he knew his nerves could not be eased with such a small remedy.
It must have been because of his frayed nerves that he did not hear Eily approach. That or the elven floors had aligned to her, muting her steps. For though she lacked the knowledge to translate it, the stones had sung sweetly to her, and had chirped warnings of the King Under the Mountain, but Gandalf lacked the skill to hear it.
"We must speak Gandalf," Eily said, taking a seat next to the old wizard in front of his table of tomes and scrolls. Even had she been tall enough to see onto the table she could not have read a single one, so she simply rotated the chair to face Gandalf instead.
"A…" she struggled for the word, "situation, has been brewing Gandalf. Thorin Oakenshield has proposed himself as a suitor for me." The old man did not react, but she had adjusted to his abrupt way of conversing, and continued.
"This is unacceptable. He sees me as a means to an end. He does not love me, or I him, in that fashion. It will interfere with the quest, and I am not in any way a suitable match. I am dishonored, and I have no house, wealth, or family. Courtship would interfere with my purpose, I cannot be distracted from the restoration of mine and my mother's honor Gandalf. And… If I bind myself to Thorin he would only…"
She chewed gently on the inside of her lower lip, if she explained to Gandalf why Thorin's advances were truly so frightening he may think her hysterical, but the words rolled out of her regardless.
"I think he believes he can use me to unite the seven kingdoms under him. He thinks I can grant him wealth as my mother did his forefathers. He thinks I am…"
"He thinks you are your mother's daughter," Gandalf muttered.
This struck Eily dumb.
Of course she was her mother's daughter, but what Thorin thought was something else entirely.
"No Gandalf, he thinks…" she sighed in frustration, but continued, "I am just one dwarf Gandalf, not Erebor itself or the divine jewel, my value does not approach such treasures no matter my birth! Yet for some reason Thorin believes me to be of more value than I am. I will do all I can for him but-"
Gandalf sighed, heavy and miserable. For an instant it made her want to support him as one would an aching old man.
But Gandalf the Gray was not an aging mortal, and she was used to him knowing more than he let on.
"I know you offer all that you are to the service of this quest Eily. But I am afraid what the lord Elrond told you last night is correct, you cannot swear any oath to Thorin Oakenshield, not under any circumstance until… until the last of your mother's curse is utterly swept from this earth."
Perhaps Gandalf really was a senile old man after all, and Eily could not reign in her frustration, "My mother is dead Gandalf! I go to reclaim her honor in the afterlife so she may go into the arms of Mahal the Father!"
Gandalf was not angry, he did not snap, "No Eily, not entirely. She left something behind."
Eily's heart rose and sank simultaneously. Her mother, the benefactor of her first and deepest bond of love and the subject of her most sacred vow to honor, was yet alive. This was glorious news.
Yet something in her knew this to be wrong. She had felt her mother fade from existence. A child knows when a parent passes into the next realm. They feel their absence as the most wracking and insufferable loss along with their lingering manifestation; the memory and essence of that parent which has been inexorably linked to every fiber of that child's being. And Eily knew, deeper and colder than any fear and greater and warmer than any love, that her mother, her mother, was gone.
"Word has reached the lord Elrond from his woodland kin; they say the evil that has loomed under the mountain grows deeper still under reign of the dragon, that the remaining light of Erebor has been sapped, a reference I believe to the season of your birth. This evil reaches; they feel the tiny tendrils of its influence cross over the woodlands and into the mountains."
"Tendrils?" Eily's words were not above a whisper, and she realized now she had stood to take ahold of Gandalf's billowed sleeve, "Are dragons capable of such magic?"
"Perhaps I have forgotten all that an old Drake can do. It is possible he contorts the power of the stone to his dark imaginings. The light of the Arkenstone is tainted, and he may revel in its wicked light, yet I am not so sure. It is my belief he sleeps unaware of its darker machinations."
"How can a gem be tainted Gandalf?"
"It is true you were sprung to life from the light of the Arkenstone, from the life of the mountain's heart, the purest energy she could gather in herself. To offer as clean a beginning as she could for a child destined for such a bloody purpose as the reclamation of a kingdom. But it seems you were not made from every thread of magic Mahal wrought into that stone. Some remained, and now I fear without your mother's essence it has been turned to a darker purpose, though by the will of the Drake or another I cannot say."
Eily took staggered breaths. This was beyond imagining. For nearly two hundred years now her mother's body, the very halls of the great kingdom Erebor, had been ravaged by a serpentine beast. Now in her last attempt to give life to a daughter, her last gift to her people in the hopes that Eily would harken them home she had somehow made way for even more darkness to creep into the mountain, to usurp the light of the sacred Arkenstone and contort its power for ill uses..
Would her mother's torment and degradation never end? Now she was not simply the betrayer of Durin but also one who in death gave arms and strength to the darkness?
All Eily could manage was: "Why?"
Finally, Gandalf moved, shaking his head in a sickened tension, "Evil will always seek a foothold in this world. Whatever power lies unclaimed will always eventually be claimed. I cannot imagine what its intent might be. I dare not venture to say, only that the taint in it would contort the possessor of that jewel; create a sickness in them beyond a simple lust for its beauty. From what you tell me it seems to be content to call the line of Durin back to the mountain, I do not know why, but it cannot be for good. You are right to say that Thorin does not value you. Rather, he values the Arkenstone, which is groping its way to you and holding on tightly."
"Holding to me? Gandalf you're making no sense."
Gandalf paused, pulling a map close to Eily to see, placing a dirty finger onto the Lonely Mountain and tracing a line across the Greenwood and into the Misty Mountains.
"The tendrils of ill will, when the wood elves wrote to lord Elrond, they did it to warn him. It was moving to Rivendell… to you. The closer we come to The Lonely Mountain, I fear, the stronger its influence may become… until we destroy the stone."
"DESTROY THE ARKENSTONE?" Eily shrieked in outrage, "HAVE YOU GONE MAD?"
"We both know that what remains in that stone is but the atrophied shell of your mother's power, but it is enough to corrupt the minds of any who treasure it, especially the line of Durin, who have more cause to crave and love it than any."
"Then why-" Eily paused; she no longer wanted to refer to the Arkenstone or the mountain as her mother. Her mother was dead and she would do well to remember it.
"Why would Thorin seek to court me?"
"I believe this business with Thorin is a side effect, the evil in that stone has shown its hand, but not through any design of its own. You are bound to the stone Eily, it was your womb. And your mother is the destined mate of Durin, the deepest love of his heart. Since her cheating of Mahal's designs all those ages ago… the line of Durin has been one of great loneliness. I say this not to cast blame but to warn you. The sons of his line will be drawn to you as the embodiment for their desires. It is a reflection of the evil will that will seek to undo them. The jewel will plant a seed of avarice in each of them, be it for gold or glory or otherwise so that they will be drawn into darkness… It has already begun. You have felt it."
"The Arkenstone will use them, drive them mad?"
"Or simply lead them to their deaths."
At this Eily took a step back and buried her hands in her braids. Gold lust (or a lust in any sense unchecked) was a severe and potent disease in dwarf ethos, as serious as death. Dwarves were creatures created by the loving hands of Mahal, the most generous of the Valar, and so wrought from an eager and misguided affection they were equally prone to an overly keen sense of love, devotion, and obsession. If that twisted power within the Arkenstone truly was able to seep into Thorin's mind, it could drive him mad with a paranoid greed. It could whisper in his ear, contort his good intentions into wickedness.
It could mean the end of her people, for kingdoms had broken forever under much less than a mad king.
Eily was frightened. For friends and the people that she hoped to someday join in honor.
There should have existed a fear for her person, a fear of Thorin and the power he had over her as king, instead there was an even more selfish fear.
That Fili was not her friend at all, and that Kili's eager heart was betrayed by some trick of the mountain.
That she was wholly unloved in this world.
But even still, the pangs of the devotion she was so eager to exchange sprang up in her, and she turned to Gandalf now in desperation.
"Then you must keep me from them! You must act as my proxy Gandalf! If-"
Gandalf merely lifted a palm to silence her, "Eily, I cannot act as a proxy in matter of family. No dwarven council would accept it. You can only seek representation with another dwarf."
"But no dwarven member of the party is impartial in this! They've all been sworn to Thorin!"
She paused, thinking frantically, "I can destroy the stone Gandalf! I can shatter it before Thorin sets his hands upon it!"
"No!" Gandalf's voice rose urgently to quell her panic, but fell sharply, becoming gentle, "No you cannot. You must wait; wait until Thorin has summoned the armies of the other kingdoms to him. It is the only way to kill the dragon and restore the dwarves of Erebor."
"But to wait is to risk Thorin's mind, maybe even his life! My people need their king Gandalf! And what of Fili and Kili? They are endangered by this also. What future is there for the dwarves of Erebor if the line of Durin is compromised?"
Gandalf looked down on the little dwarf girl softly, pity in his eyes.
She shifted her weight from side to side, feeling like her organs had been replaced with blocks of ice, heavy and jagged and cold.
She sighed, placing a palm atop the axe that rested at her belt, thumbing the dwarvish iron for comfort.
"What would you have me do? I cannot let more harm befall my people on my mother's account."
Gandalf finally rose from his seat, leaning down to place a hand on each of her shoulders, "Be cautious, and bind yourself to no one until this is over."
Eily nodded lamely, it would seem that she was not destined for the friendship or family she had so dearly prayed for.
"I swear on the eye of the mountain Gandalf, I shall bind myself to no one, I will see the Arkenstone destroyed, and the Drake dead, lest Mahal close his arms to me in the afterlife."
Gandalf's eyes turned from hers, and she wanted to ask him why he could not look at her as she swore an oath to him.
She wanted to tell him that he was a fool, that she would never allow the stone to corrupt Thorin's mind and shrivel his heart. That he was too important. That she would find another way to kill the dragon, one which needed no dwarven army.
But when words are useless, why waste them?
Despite his mischievous nephew's interruption Thorin had rested deeply, slumbering with a comfort he rarely achieved, so he was quite at his leisure for most of the day. He sat with Bifur exchanging anecdotes and recollections for much of it.
Thorin quite enjoyed Bifur, as he was the very best storyteller Thorin had ever met.
The telling of imaginary tales was more an entertainment of men, the older races finding they had plenty of memory from which to draw true accounts of heroism, sorrow, or foolishness. But Bifur had the rare gift of weaving words so that even bald fiction was a delight. Were the dwarves of Erebor blessed with comfort or any ease of life Bifur's talent for words may have been his full profession, but as it stood no hands could go unutilized if they were to continue to keep their dwarrowlings fed and their pouches filling with coin. There was a certain tragedy in that, but it was only one small waste stacked upon the bodies of the dead and the humiliations of the living, so it did not bother Thorin as it may have otherwise.
It was as Bifur was reaching the punch line to one of the many tales he concocted about his fictitious friend Haddor when Gandalf approached. Thorin offered a very subtle nod and gestured Gandalf to join them as both were reclining on cushioned settees encircling a very small fountain. Gandalf joined them but his stance and steps were tight. Thorin noticed immediately though Gandalf laughed loudly as Bifur came to the amusing conclusion (an obvious deception as the wizard did not speak enough Khuzdul to have caught even a quarter of it).
Before Bifur could continue into another installment of the tales of Haddor Thorin very politely asked that he and Gandalf be left alone to discuss their route. Bifur smiled and with a courteous goodbye left promptly, seeming not to have sensed any tension whatsoever.
Once Bifur was a fair way from earshot Thorin turned to Gandalf, one thick dark eyebrow arched with both endurance and indictment as he reclined calmly, as though to convey with posture: "what is wrong with you now?"
Gandalf was in no mood to entertain the arrogance of kings, so he came out with it promptly, "It is unwise to mix matters of the sword with matters of the heart Thorin Oakenshield. I must advise against any action which may distract from the true purpose of the quest."
Thorin did not seem particularly interested; indeed he must have assumed that Gandalf would hear of his advances towards Eily given the wizard's talent for learning things that Thorin considered wholly unrelated to his business.
Still, Gandalf was wise enough not to attempt to dissuade or forbid Thorin from pursuing her, nor did he caution Thorin as to the Arkenstone, its sickness, or Eily's connection with it.
For Eily was right in believing that Thorin valued the Arkenstone above all things, and would risk no harm to it. To reveal why he could not court Eily would trigger a chain of justifications that would inevitably lead to the necessity of the stone's destruction, and Thorin would never allow that. It was safer simply to caution against romance.
"I think," Gandalf began, slowly, "that given the incident with the river, we should consider leaving the lady Eily behind."
At this Thorin's deep chest rumbled, and his thick muscles tightened and bulged as he spun his head to glare darkly across the twinkling fountain into the eyes of the old man, who seemed now to be playing contrite.
"That is out of the question! If you have issue with her safety, then you should know better than to propose I leave her amongst elves."
Thorin had nearly spat the words, but Gandalf did not attempt to match him in severity.
"Thorin, if indeed you intend to take a mate, honor binds you to care for her above all others; you cannot deny the peril we journey towards. This is foolhardy."
Thorin leaned back into the cushions again at that, glowering. Though Thorin himself did not fully understand his connection with the young dwarf, he knew that he could not allow harm to come to her, not out of love, but something which pulled and whispered at him. Thorin was still under the belief that he alone knew of her value and influence, though he could not have truly articulated either with any sort of poignancy, as he was in truth the most ignorant.
"Very well Gandalf… you are right. But I cannot leave her amongst the elves. I shall have to split the company, divide it so that I shall reach the mountain first, and she may follow in safety."
Gandalf could not hide his astonishment: could the dwarf king's brain be so addled?
"Thorin that is imprudence at its worst! We set out with this number for a purpose! Had we the option we'd preferred to have a few more! We cannot risk the quest by whittling down our numbers further! You are blinded!"
Thorin had nearly propelled himself from his seat; leaning forward and glaring at the wizard with his temper barely in check.
"Then what would you have me do? You said it yourself she must be protected!"
Gandalf released a dusty, aged snarl from under his thick gray beard. It had not been his intention to doom Eily to appease Thorin.
But the Drake must be checked.
"She cannot follow forward, and she cannot stay here. It seems the decision is made," Gandalf wheezed, cryptic and dripping with a rasped self-loathing.
Thorin's gaze became less ferocious, his fists unfurling slowly.
The smallest smile leaked into his eyes.
"She shall go to my house."
"And these, these here are what we in the Shire call 'bachelor's buttons,' they come in many colors but I do prefer the blue ones myself," Bilbo clucked happily, snipping the heads from a few of the flowers, handing them to Eily, near giddy.
"Oh and those are yellow begonias! My mother so loved those! Here," he handed her the small shears he had been using to trim and gather flowers, "You snip us a few more of those buttons, any color you like, while I inspect these begonias."
At that the hobbit padded away gingerly, bending down and wriggling his little nose between the many cheerful blooms and taking large whiffs.
Eily smiled softly at the cheery halfling and dutifully began to inspect and cut the stems at varying lengths as she'd been instructed. Dwarves had no natural hand at growing things, or even harvesting them, but she could gather a few flowers, even if it seemed like a pointless task. She supposed the bright colors of the blooming petals could be approximated for gemstones if one squinted hard enough.
But she couldn't imagine squinting that hard for very long.
As she cautiously clipped at the plants and Bilbo began to coo over some other herb Eily could hear the murmurs of the passing elves. She did not understand elvish, but gathered much from them in the common tongue. No small amount of comments focused on how odd she was:
How unfortunate she is; why those ears! So big and round! She could only be a dwarf with ears such as those! And her hands! Look how robust they seem! What a shame. And look how she fusses with flowers like the hobbit does! Perhaps he shall take her to be his burly wife?
Then the giggles and the whispers, the mumbling about how strange a dwarf she is to rumble about in a flowerbed.
Perhaps the others do not want to be near her. Yes, after all her face is as delicate as the hobbit's!
She should not have cared what elves said or thought (and in truth she did not). But this business with the Arkenstone had made her feel like an outsider from the company all over again.
She knew that any kindness she received from the company was due to Thorin's good graces. If he denied her, cast her out in rancor no matter the reason, the friendship of the company would vanish. They may still care for her as a sister and daughter, but none would go against Thorin, whom they loved too dearly to trespass.
And Gandalf…
Gandalf she knew would spare her pain if possible. But she also knew that he had his own motivations, which surpassed the needs of any one creature in the whole of Middle Earth. If it would serve his aim he would have abandoned her to the wrath of the dragon, let alone Thorin Oakenshield. She had known this from the beginning.
No, in truth she had only Bilbo.
So she would pick flowers, and gaze on statues, and lounge in gazebos, and admire fountains because it made her dear friend Bilbo happy. Bilbo, who was the only creature in this world she could believe honestly concerned himself with her happiness.
It was in these dark ruminations that she heard the familiar low purr that had begun to make her skin crawl.
He must have come to hear her decision on her proxy.
"Lady, I did not think to find you here, frittering away your time amidst flowers."
Thorin's voice was amused and patronizing. Clearly he realized she had no real interest in flowers and was here solely for Bilbo's benefit, and yet again found an outlet to belittle the hobbit.
Eily found she had to bite her tongue, for otherwise it would lash out against Thorin for his presumptiveness, thinking himself somehow entitled to belittle her friend to her face.
She offered a low nod rather than a bow, turning her attention back to the flowers in false interest,
"How can I be of service to you?" she asked passively, "Or do you come to wander the gardens also?"
Thorin waved away the veiled sarcasm, of perhaps did not notice it in the first place,
"Of course not. I come to speak with you."
"You have my ears," Eily was being particularly discerning about which flowers she chose to cut, dragging out the task to avoid Thorin's gaze.
Thorin seemed aware of what she was doing, but was the opposite of annoyed by it. He straightened his back and pulled his shoulders taut, making himself seem larger and his chest and arms more powerful than they already were, proud of his ability to have an effect on her.
His normally piercing eyes were satisfied and amused, reveling in the discomfort of the young lady.
"Will you look at me Eily?"
Her stomach felt heavy and tight as a stone, but she could produce no reason to refuse, rising to meet his gaze with her own.
Indeed Thorin's form was robust and tall for a dwarf, arms crossed across his broad chest. The nostrils of his strong nose flared slightly when she looked at him and his delicately formed lips had curled into the subtlest of smirks.
She hated to admit it, but he looked handsome and uncharacteristically well rested.
"What would you like to discuss?"
Thorin tightened his chest reflexively under the young dwarf's gaze, taking her in carefully.
Had he been asked when he first met her over a month ago he would have explained that he found her plain (diplomatically of course). Yet though she was still quite unattractive each time he saw her she seemed more fitting.
But more important than that was her scent.
At the moment she reeked mostly of pungent flowers, the whole area did, but he could still smell the stone on her under the reek of the impractical things. He wanted to breathe deeper, wanted to bask in it. But he knew better, so he kept his face composed and concentrated on keeping his breathing even.
"I sought you out to tell you I have decided it would be best if I postponed my offer of courtship."
The girl seemed confused; she was shifting her weight to and fro,
"Postponed? So my proxy?"
"Is no longer required," he explained with a sanctimonious nod, "Attempting to court you now would be counterproductive to our quest. Understand me, it is not my desire to do so, but it is necessary."
Her eyes seemed bright and lively, he hoped it was with an eagerness for him.
"I am delaying any decisions or actions relating to courtship until after the retaking of Erebor. I think we can agree that it is for the best, given the element of danger we have encountered, and are sure to encounter again."
The young girl's face lit up.
"Yes! Yes I agree completely."
She was smiling brightly even as she pressed the bouquet of flowers to her face, concealing it in what Thorin judged to be flirtation.
"Good. I am glad you are capable of seeing reason, not every dwarf your age is so sensible."
Thorin smiled approvingly; glad she was being so accommodating and even more certain now that sending her into the care of his relatives was best.
"I have made arrangements through lord Elrond," he said softly, though soft for him was more a low rumble, "my kin will make for Rivendell as soon as they receive my message, which should be in two days."
The flowers had concealed most of Eily's relief at Thorin's decision. She wanted to believe that if he would simply give her space until they reached the mountain he would abandon this notion of courtship once she destroyed the stone, its spell over him would be equally shattered.
This would workout. Everything would be fine.
But what was he talking about? Had he decided he wanted more of his kin to accompany them on this quest? She knew the dwarves of Erebor had not recovered in strength enough to march on the mountain, else they would have already, and adding to the party would only delude its advantage of secrecy, one did not burgle with a platoon.
She licked her lips, choosing her words carefully.
"Why would you summon your kin to us Thorin?"
He did not even possess the kindness or forethought to her feelings to pause.
"They shall come to gather you, and take you back to my house in the Blue Mountains. You shall wait there, until Erebor is reclaimed, until I call for you."
Eily's free hand went instinctively but delicately to her axe.
Who did this impertinent dwarf think he was to her? He was not her kin, lover, or husband to order her about here or there. He assumed he owned her already, thinking he could send her to his home, to be guarded by his kin with no rights or honor of her own to make her way in the world. If she was trapped in the Blue Mountains how could she be certain that the stone was destroyed before the line of Durin came to harm?
And suddenly the words bubbled up, unbidden but loud and confident as Elrond had uttered them.
He was not yet any king of hers.
"Thorin that is out of the question, my place is with the company, fighting for Erebor, for my mother and my honor!"
Thorin was quick but not rash, uncrossing his arms and pointing at her with authority as though he were instructing a loyal pet to remain at home while he went to market.
"Your place is with me, but where I go a lady cannot follow."
He really was a brazen, selfish dwarf. To presume she desired him when she gave him no indication of it. To presume he could shuffle her off at a moment's notice to await him at his house like a goblet in a cupboard.
Her, the daughter of Erebor itself: whose blood was as ancient as his own (if not so venerated).
She could not allow Thorin's blind lust for his throne to waylay her from destroying the Arkenstone.
"I do not follow you, I would have redeemed the mountain were you going or not. Your quest was convenient, but the prospect of returning alone would not dissuade me. You do not order me Thorin, son of Thrain; I am no lady of your line to be cloistered away on your whim. It seems you have forgotten just who it is I am. Perhaps Gandalf can-"
Thorin's eyes were stormy, "Twas Gandalf suggested you break from the party! And who do you think you are exactly my beardless lady? Mine is the blood of undying kings, but please, regale me on the tales of your line? What great battles have you won in the name of Erebor? What fell beasts' befoul the air no longer thanks to the song of your axe?"
Eily's face was a twisted scowl. Gandalf truly had abandoned her for the sake of his own motivations.
And though she was not surprised, she was disappointed despite herself.
Thorin's delicate lips had curled over his teeth, and his words were pain incarnate,
"Or perhaps we should look to your mother for song? Oh yes, the traitor of Durin, harlot to Smaug-"
Eily did not think, she could not, words failed her utterly. Her dwarven blood could endure no more.
A high voice pierced the air, and wide quiet footsteps and small frantic hands rushed to fill the few feet that stood between Thorin and herself.
They had quite forgotten about Bilbo, who had heard all.
"STOP!" he screamed in panic, "what are you doing? Dealing these horrible blows to one another? Is not our goal the same?"
"Yes Bilbo," she sighed tightly, fighting the shame and sorrow triggered by Thorin's words, "yes, you're right."
Bilbo's curls bounced tightly as he turned to look at Thorin, plainly demanding an apology with his eyes.
But he need not. Honor, propriety, (and most importantly for Thorin), practicality and purpose demanded he attempt to undo the damage.
Thorin took a long breath, he had grown whitish and shame faced, and he cast his eyes directly to her.
They were pale and sincere, making her feel even worse about her disgust for him.
He truly could be good and noble, when he allowed it of himself.
"I was wrong to say such things. I… I apologize. But for those words only."
But then he ruined his own progress.
He straightened, and his voice once again boomed through the peaceful garden,
"I am King Under the Mountain, and if you think yourself a dwarf of Erebor, you shall do well to remember it. For I know what is rightfully mine in this world, and nothing will keep me from claiming it."
At this he took his leave, and neither Bilbo or Eily were sad to see him go.
She allowed herself to collapse into the grassy flowerbed, casting off the bouquet next to her, lying flat on her back, feeling utterly defeated. Thankfully for her the tall shafts and greenery of the flowers obscured her from sight, for she did not wish to be looked on just now.
For the sake of his mission Gandalf had abandoned her to Thorin, whom she had no means of defying. She could only wait now to be collected by his kin, locked away in his house until the quest went ill or Thorin wrote to claim her, the Arkenstone twisting him into a vacant, greedy, jealous thing until he no longer resembled the great King Under the Mountain. For she knew that once such a thing as greed took hold of a dwarf it did not let go. Gandalf could try to take the stone away after Thorin had used it to rally their people.
Oh yes, he could try.
And her fate?
Gilded cages onto the ending of her life: dishonor and a death eternal. Exile from the loving arms of the Father Mahal for her and her mother both for bringing down the noble house of Durin.
She could feel Bilbo plop to the ground next to her.
"You don't love Thorin do you?" he asked quietly.
Eily laughed outright, of course she didn't.
"No Bilbo, I do not. I do not even wish for him to court me."
Bilbo's little nose wrinkled a bit, "Then why does he seem to think you will accept him?"
Eily sighed, knowing she could not burden her only friend with the full truth, "Because he wants to think so, because I cannot refuse him without risking exile. My position with the dwarves of Erebor is tenuous Bilbo, I am disgraced, and I have no family. Thorin would need little excuse, no excuse really, and he pushes his advantage."
"And now he wishes you to go to his house… a rather compromising position for an unwed lady I should think. They'll keep you under guard I imagine, everyone will know your Thorin's… if they even let you outside."
"Yes Bilbo, I do not need reminding… or your filthy imagination to fill out the blurred edges."
Bilbo scoffed the joke away,
"Then why do it?"
"…excuse me?"
Bilbo shifted onto his knees and leaned in close, a bit of an excited flush to his cheeks, "Why go to the Blue Mountains at all?"
Eily sighed with a forced good nature, "And what else can I do Bilbo?"
She looked up to meet the hobbit's warm earthy eyes, he smiled impishly.
"Run away with me."
**Author's Note: Uuugggh, this chapter was a huge thorn in my side, so I hope it isn't absolutely awful (if it is, be gentle, because as it stands I fumbled over the thing for far too long, transitional/explanatory chapters can be such a pain).
As always big thanks to my reviewers and followers! I hope the story is/remains on par to expectations of quality (bear in mind I've no beta reader) and as always suggestions and comments are welcome!
Also, to those interested/upset by the relationships in the story (I was cautioned that I could be getting close to Mary-Sue territory in a private message, which doesn't bother me because the reader was genuinely concerned, but I want everyone to rest assured we're not going there). I can assure you Thorin is NOT a romantic possibility, (if anything, he's a hurdle) and I hope this chapter makes that clear.
So stay tuned for secret plots, courtship gifts, snuggles, and stealing from elves!**