Chapter Two: Unanswered Questions
"Do you even know what you have in your hands? Where did you come across such an object?" Gandalf questioned.
"It was my father's and it's none of your business."
"The Arkenstone only belongs to one person and I am certain he is not your father."
The Arkenstone? Gemma hesitated, holding back a snarky reply. More Tolkien then? Was the man talking in code? "I don't care what you call it," she told him warily, taking another step away from him. If he tried to take the stone, she would run. Gemma glanced behind this self-proclaimed Gandalf, searching the tree line for other people, for any other signs of humanity. She looked back at the wizard, sizing him up. He was tall and he carried a long wooden walking stick, but he seemed weary and didn't look like he could do much to hurt her should he try. Worst case scenario she would kick him in the nuts and then bolt. "The stone is mine."
"Hmm," Gandalf looked at the purple glow of the stone and the matching hue of Gemma's eyes, which were looking from the forest and then back to him. "I think you might be right. In any case, we best be off. You're almost to the Trollshaws and I have a feeling there is more than one nasty thing lurking about in the dark.
"The dark?" Gemma asked, confused, but when she looked up to the sky, she did not see the sun. There was the moon descending and so many stars that she gasped. It was like something she had only seen in pictures. Thousands and thousands of bright spots littered the dark sky, twinkling and creating more constellations than she had time to look for. She could barely draw her eyes away from them. She wanted to lay back in the grass and stare for hours. Such beauty made her think, for just a moment, that she really was in a different world. But she quickly snapped her eyes back to Gandalf as that thought crossed her mind. He was right though, it was dark. However, she could see him perfectly fine, her vision just as clear as if the sun was at its peak. She could see the tree and flowers distinctly, too. This, she thought, is one of the strangest things that's ever happened to me.
"Can…can you see in the dark, too?" she asked him, almost afraid of his answer.
"Well enough to do what needs doing," Gandalf said briskly. And with that, he walked right past her, heading to the trees that were behind her. Gemma felt a sense of relief and she stood there watching him leave until her turned back to look at her, and called out, "There's a house some hours from here. It is the safest place for days in either direction. I will take you part of the way." He swung back to the trees and continued on walking. Gemma had taken at least five steps towards him before she completely questioned herself. If she followed him, he could be luring her somewhere less safe than the field she was in. Did this weirdo have nefarious motives? Or was he telling the truth about the house? Could whomever lived there help her get back home? And if they could help her, would they? She could go the other direction and look for someone else, but then again if she did find someone else, who's to say they would not be a worse sort than the old man? She had lost sight of Gandalf now and she quickened her pace.
When she reached the woods the wizard had disappeared into, she slowed a bit. The trees were thick and her shirt was caught easily on the surrounding branches. She would have lost her way immediately in the dark forest, had it not been for the uncanny fact that she could now see in the dark. I have always been nocturnal, she thought and snorted at herself. She refused to question it any further though. It was damn convenient right now and she had bigger problems to focus on. She would worry about possibly being a mutant/superhero later.
Gemma finally saw Gandalf in front of her and he looked back to see if she was following, nodding when he saw that she was catching up quickly. Gemma's joints still ached with an annoying ferocity and she was certain a huge bruise lingered at her hip where her bag, still hanging over her shoulders, had hit her several times during the whatever-it-was-that-happened to bring her to where-ever-she-was-now. "How far did you say the house was?" she asked her traveling companion.
"Almost a day's journey from here, not too far."
"Not too far? You said hours!"
"Yes, it will take us several hours to get there," Gandalf said reasonably. Gemma scoffed and missed the quick upward twitch his lips made before his face relaxed into his calm, fragile façade once more. A whole day? She'd never walked that far in one trip before. Looking down at her feet, she sent out a quick "thank you" to whomever was listening that she had changed out of the pinching dress shoes she'd worn to her father's funeral.
And there was the ache in her stomach again. Would it always be like this? A memory and then a kick to the gut? She did not remember how long it was after her mother died that Gemma was able to think about her without feeling pain. She always missed her, always longed for her, but she could remember the happy times, too. Now that both of her parents were dead though, would she live long enough to see the ache fade into nostalgia? She didn't know and only time could tell. Time seemed to always be relative, though.
Like right now, for instance. How long had they been walking? "Do you know what time it is?"
"The sun will rise very soon."
Sunrise, okay. So that meant around five, six in the morning? How long had she been unconscious for? Assuming that her father's funeral had only been yesterday, that meant about ten hours. Had it taken her ten hours to get here, or had she been asleep for ten hours? It certainly did not feel as if she had been sleeping that long. If she happened upon a bed right now, nestled amongst the trees, Gemma would drop into it without hesitation. Her eyes felt dry, like she hadn't slept in days. It reminded her vaguely of her time in college and so she assumed it had taken her ten hours to get to this so-called "Middle Earth" and had been unconsciousness for only a little while. She hoped that was true and shuddered. Who knows what would have happened had she actually laid in that random field for so long.
Before she could scare herself with the many awful scenarios forming in her mind, most containing spiders, she heard a deep craggy voice not too far away. Gandalf grabbed her arm, stopping her from going further. She looked at him and he made a shushing motion, crouching down to go around a low hanging branch. He moved slowly, so Gemma did the same. After going around the tree, she saw a light some fifty feet in front of them. She had stopped at that, but Gandalf still had a hold of her and he tugged her arm gently before letting go. They crept closer to what she now saw was a fire and three large shadows hovering around it, making all sorts of awful racket. It was a wonder they hadn't heard them before now. It took a moment for Gemma to notice the putrid stench that slowly made its way to the pair of them. When she did, though, she had to hold back the urge to vomit. "Ugh, what is that retched smell?" she whispered in Gandalf's direction. He turned from the fire to look at her, his eyes were wide, shining a bright blue, "Trolls," he replied quietly, drawing out the "o" in emphasized warning. Gemma didn't quite understand his underlying message though. She tried to make out the hulking figures, but the fire cast shadows so fiercely she could only see large lumpy silhouettes. Gandalf continued to creep nearer to the loud group of rumbling voices, slowly and completely without sound. If Gemma had not been so overwhelmed with the task of keeping down the bile in her stomach, she might have wondered at the mysterious way Gandalf achieved this.
They had stopped behind a tall boulder that Gandalf could peek over, but Gemma couldn't see anything; she was too short. "Trolls?" she asked in a faint breath, "what do you mean?" They were tall, taller than any person she'd ever seen, that much Gemma knew from the size of their shadows, and stunk to high heaven. Gandalf did not reply however. He continued to watch what was happening over the large rock they were hidden behind. Gemma was wary, taking cue from Gandalf's actions, but she wanted to see what had him so spooked. She knelt on the ground and tried to peer around the boulder. There was a dense, leafy bush in her way so she parted its branches. One gave way with a loud snap! Gemma froze hoping it had gone unnoticed.
It hadn't though. She felt the ground tremble under her and before she could move, a large hand grabbed her about the middle and pulled her from her hiding place. She blinked and her eyes felt as if someone had thrown a curtain over them. She could see only shadows now. Her super convenient night vision had stopped working and Gemma's poor stomach gave another lurch. She was not a fan of roller coasters and the swinging motion with which the thing hauled her up was, funnily enough, quite similar to one. The large hand squeezed her too tightly and she could not gain enough breath to scream with.
"I thought I smelled somefin female," the hulking thing carrying her grumbled in a nasally voice. It took lumbering steps away from the boulder, each one jarring Gemma inside the giant hand wrapped around her waist. They reached the fire now and she saw that the large shadows had, in fact, been trolls. There really was no other word for them. There were two sitting by the fire, one stirring a giant pot full of boiling liquid. They were terribly ugly; wrinkled, grey creatures that looked like pieces of a mountain come to life. And they were gigantic, larger than any animal she had ever seen. Surely they were animals, no human could ever become something that huge or that horrid. Were they some sort of genetic experiment? A crossbreed, or something, gone awfully wrong? This was like some terrifying King Kong nightmare. Had Gemma's first guess been right earlier? Had she truly gone mad?
The hand that held her far above the ground tossed her onto a mound of wriggling burlap sacks. The stench surrounding the group had reached way past Gemma's level of tolerance and the smell mixed with pure terror in her gut. Acid filling her throat, she rolled off the squirming pile to heave up what little was in her stomach.
"That was close," one of the sacks said near her face, "thanks for getting off of me first, lass." Gemma shrieked when she saw that there was a head sticking out of the burlap sack covered in shadows that moved with the fire. It had a funny beard and wore a floppy hat that seemed about to fall off his head.
"I—I…" she stuttered.
"Did that come out ya hooter, too?" The largest troll said, in a condescending tone, to the one that brought her to their pit. All three trolls had come closer to Gemma, who was still hunched over on the ground. The one that had nabbed her blew into a handkerchief, trumpeting into a nasty cloth that was as long as Gemma was tall.
"Nah, Tom, I found it hiding in a bush."
"I like females," the third troll said, and gave Gemma a rough poke that shoved her into the ground. "Much softer than dwarves for sure. Easier on my teef."
"How do you think she'll taste with sage?" the sickly troll asked.
The troll named Tom grabbed her by the legs and brought her up to his face. While he peered at her, Gemma got a good upside-down look at him, something she was not thankful for in the least. This one had rotted yellow teeth and dark dangerous eyes. A rough patch of hair tried to spread itself across the trolls chin, but it was so mangled and filled with disgusting things that it was only mildly successful. "I think we should boil her first. Stick 'er in the pot with the fat one and make a nice stew," Tom suggested.
"Well 'urry up, we ain't got all night. Dawn ain't far away."
The nasally troll looked down at the writhing pile, "Maybe we could boil 'em all?"
One of them replied, "We save the rest for later. Let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone." At that, the nasally one picked up the biggest sack and handed him to Tom. The big sack gave a muffled yelp that died when Tom squeezed it with his meaty paw. Gemma in one hand, and the sack in the other, Tom began to trudge towards the boiling pot when a small voice shouted, "Wait!"
Tom swung back around, both of his burdens swinging violently with the motions and Gemma gave out a moan. She was getting terribly dizzy. In her fear, it was hard to think of a way out of her certifiably-insane situation and, with the blood rushing to her head, she was helpless.
"You are making a terrible mistake," the voice called again. It was a small child, Gemma saw, wrangled in one of the sacks, hopping towards them.
"You can't reason with them," another sack said. "They're half-wits!"
The bearded man with the hat said, "Half-wits? What does that make us?"
Had Gemma been upright she would have kicked him. They were about to be eaten! This was no time for joking!
"I meant with the, uh…with the seasoning," the small hopping thing continued.
Tom halted, "What about the seasoning?"
"Uhm, well have you smelt them? You'll need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up."
The pile of sacks started to voice their outrage at his comment and the largest troll asked, "What do you know about cooking dwarf?"
Tom interrupted him, "Shut up. Let the, uh, flurgabuburhobbit talk."
"The what?" Gemma squeaked, but Tom gave her a rough shake.
"Alright. The secret to cooking dwarf is, umm…"
"Yes," Tom said, "go on."
The small thing stuttered, "I-it's, uh—"
"Tell us the secret," cried the nasally troll, before he blew his nose again into his increasingly dirty handkerchief.
"Yes, I'm telling you. The secret is…to…skin them first!" the tiny sacked thing yelled, as if excited. The disgruntled cries from the struggling pile behind him picked up, clamoring into a loud din.
"Bert, get me fileting knife," Tom demanded. The sacked thing held besides Gemma said, "I won't forget that!" Gemma turned her head to look in the direction of the sack that now issued a string of threats towards the person that was coming up with cooking ideas. There, just off to the side in the trees, she saw a familiar-looking shadow move.
"Eh, nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!" Bert argued and snatched the big sack from Tom. The troll tilted his head back and held the sack over his gaping maw, "Nice and crunchy."
Gemma couldn't stop herself from yelling, "Stop! Not that one!"
Bert paused and looked at her, sneering. Still hanging upside-down, she said, "Uhm, I think it's infected.
Tom shook her and Bert said, "You wot?"
The small be-sacked thing on the ground picked up her plan, "That's right! She's right! He's got worms in his…tubes."
Bert gave a disgusted moan and threw the big sack into the pile. When he landed, the other sacks let out muffled groans at the weight of it.
"In fact, they're all infested with parasites. It's a terrible business," the little childlike being gave a pitying shake of his head at the thought. "I wouldn't risk it. I really wouldn't."
Gemma heard a few voices from the mound of sacks cry out, "We don't have parasites! You have parasites!" She wished she could tell them to shut up. How could they be so dense?
Tom stepped closer to the small thing that was trying to talk their way out of this disaster and said, "Do you think I don't know what you're up to?" The troll gave him a hefty poke.
Another troll grabbed the tiny thing and his small face was thrown into relief by the light of the fire. It was not a child, but rather a grown man! His face was lined and mature, but he was so tiny! "This little ferret is taking us for fools?"
"Ferret?" the tiny man protested.
"THE DAWN WILL TAKE YOU ALL!" cried a powerful voice and the trolls all turned to look at Gandalf standing on a boulder, his walking stick held above his head.
"Who's that?" asked Bert.
"No idea," answered Tom and Gandalf swung his stick down towards the boulder, piercing it in half.
Sunlight, glorious, beautiful rays of sunlight, flooded into the pit and the trolls let out booming shrieks of pain. Their skin sizzled in the light and quickly turned into stone. If Gemma would have blinked, she would have missed it, but she saw the whole thing and she still couldn't believe it. The pile of sacks gave out shouts of relief and laughed at their near-death experience. The hand around her feet was still gripping her tightly when it became a solid structure and she squirmed, trying to free herself. She was so focused on trying to reach her feet, trying to yank them out of the now immovable troll, that she did not notice all of the once-sacked things on the ground free themselves from their burlap confinements. They had helped the poor tiny man down from the statue that was once Bert, with the help of Gandalf, and were now congregating under Gemma as she continued to struggle.
One of them cleared his throat. Gemma stopped, stretching up towards her feet, letting out a huff of air as she swung in the stone-trolls grasp. Even though she was still upside-down, she could see that there was a group of dirty, hairy men watching her attempt at freedom. Some had amused looks on their faces, others curiosity, and one or two wore stern glares. "Uh, hello."
One of the men let out a small chuckle, "We should help her down."
"Aye, I agree," another said, this one had a long white beard, "she's just a little thing."
Gemma would have been insulted. She could be scrappy when necessary, but she was dizzy and exhausted. "Please. My head is killing me and I can't feel my toes anymore," she said. "I would really appreciate your help."
The man with the funny hat started towards her, but the glaring one said firmly, "No. We don't even know who she is. She could be a spy."
"What?!" Gemma shouted down at him, "I have no idea where I am or who you are and I could really care less! Please, just help me down."
The stern-faced man continued to glare at her, but another man besides him asked in a curious voice, "What's your name miss?"
Gemma huffed again. She would much rather answer questions when she was right side up. "My name is Gemma Halvard. Does that satisfy you?" she asked, frustrated, "will you help me now?"
Gandalf walked towards her and brought his walking stick down in a swift crack! That broke the stone arm holding her. Gemma let out a yelp as she fell to the ground, the rest of the stone encasing her feet breaking on impact. "Son of a bitch! A little warning would be nice next time," she growled, lying flat on the ground. She sat up and rubbed her aching back.
"We don't even know where she came from, Gandalf," the glaring one said suspiciously.
"Neither do I, but you might be more interested in what she has in her possession," he replied, his head tilted towards Gemma where she was still on the ground, cataloguing her aches and pains, murmuring about rude hairy men.
The man that had laughed at her earlier walked to where she was sitting and held a hand out for her, "Need a little help?"
Gemma grabbed his hand and muttered, "Now you help me." He hauled her to her feet and she said, "Thank you, uhm…"
"Fili, at your service," he said with a bow. Now that she was standing she noticed how short he was. He had long blond hair the same shade as his beard that was braiding intricately on both sides of his face.
Gemma stepped back. "Uh, right back at ya."
Another man, even shorter than Fili, laughed at that and shoved Fili aside good-naturedly, stepping up in front of her. He was blonde as well, but had barely any hair on his face, just a tad bit of blonde scruff. He bowed as well and said, "I am Kili, at your service."
Gemma had to hold back a giggle. Fili and Kili? she thought, what kind of names are those? They both looked very similar. They must be brothers, she decided. They wore long dirty leather coats over some sort of tunic and brown leggings she guessed were made of wool.
Before any more of the group could introduce themselves, the tallest of the group, the one who had not relinquished his glare this whole time, looked at the pair "Alright enough. Go and grab the rest of our gear." He then looked at Gemma, glaring more fiercely, if that was possible, and demanded, "Now tell us where you came from and what you have that Gandalf thinks is so important."
Gemma put her hands on her hips, "I don't have to tell you anything. It's none of your business." The man was being so rude and she was so tired. She had little strength left for niceties.
"This will go more smoothly if you show him the stone, Miss Halvard," Gandalf said gently, not really sure if his words were true.
Her eyes went wide and she looked down at her hands, realizing for the first time that she was missing something. Gemma looked down on the ground, searching in circles around her feet. She must have dropped it, but where? Was it when the troll had tossed her none-so-gently into the pile of men in front of her? Or was it before that? Yes! She must have dropped it when that stupid troll had found her behind the boulder.
Gemma swung around and ran into the trees, hearing, but not caring about, the shouts behind her. She had almost found the right rock when a firm hand grabbed her arm, stopping her abruptly.
"Where do you think you are going?" a deep voice said snidely. She turned to him and gave the stupid glare-er a ferocious glare of her own.
She yanked her arm out his grip. "I dropped my things over there," she pointed at the big rock that she and Gandalf had hidden behind before the trolls came. "I'm going to get them," she said, daring him to stop her. He didn't, but he followed her to the rock and watched her pull back the branches of several bushes.
Gemma found her bag wrapped stubbornly around a branch in the first bush she went to, but she had yet to find the stone. After several minutes of looking, she glared at the man who was just standing there, hovering so insolently. "You could help me look, you know?"
The man let out a sigh, "How am I supposed to know what you are looking for?"
Before Gemma could describe it to him, however, she spotted it in the tangles of weeds not two feet away from him. "Aha!" Gemma scrambled towards it and bent down on her knees to grab it, but paused when she noticed it was no longer glowing. "Huh," she muttered.
The man came up behind her and looked at the dull gem on the ground next to her. "What is that?" he questioned. Gemma didn't answer him. She was still wondering why it had stopped glowing. She was actually sort of relieved. It was one less thing to worry about; one less question she would need an answer for.
The rest of the troop had now caught up with them, including Gandalf, who made his way to stand by Gemma. He, too, looked down at the stone. "That," he remarked, "is very strange."
The small, child-sized man peeked around Gandalf's legs. "What are we looking at?"
Gemma looked up to answer him. He was so much friendlier than the glaring man and he had caught on to Gemma's plan with the trolls very quickly. Though, now she noticed that he had on a cloak where he didn't before. The rest of them, too, had bags and weapons all attached to their bodies in one way or another. Surely she would not have missed something so…so medieval before. The sharp blades some of them carried made her nervous. Gemma tried to convince herself that perhaps they were woodsmen, or trappers and hunters. That would make sense right? But when had anything about this place made any sort of sense so far?
Gemma swallowed thickly. She was just going to grab the stone and walk away, something she should have done in the first place. Why had she followed Gandalf into the forest? She picked up the stone and heard a collection of gasps and a few swears. The glaring man whispered, almost reverently, "By Mahal, it's the Arkenstone."
Gemma clutched the now glowing crystal to her chest with both hands. Something inside her felt whole again, like she had lost an essential part of herself and had finally found it. Her body ached a little less and she felt marginally less tired. She thought it was all an overwhelming sense of relief at not having lost her last connection to her father and tears formed in her eyes. Gandalf put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. When her eyes met his, Gandalf's brow rose several inches. Gemma's eyes, unbeknownst to her, were glowing a distinct powerful purple again, the same shade as the stone in her hands.
"Very strange indeed," Gandalf said.
A/N: First, I want to say thank you to the people that favorited, followed, and reviewed my story. It's sickeningly ridiculous how often I checked (and continue to do so) my email for updates on who's faved/followed/reviewed. I so desperately want this story to be good. I love the characters so much and I really want to do them justice. It truly warmed my heart to get those updates. To me, they're little encouraging whispers that suggest perhaps my writing is not total shit. Please let me know if you see any mistakes or if you have suggestions!
Special shout out goes to my dear friends: Porpisha, who is basically my beta (let it be known that all mistakes are my mine), the lovely Christina (who "doesn't really read fanfiction," but is still so willing to let me bounce ideas off of her brilliant mind), and my Beasley Bunny.
Most of the conversation between the trolls and the tiny man (who is Bilbo, if you haven't figured it out yet) is taken directly from the movie which I don't own.
Thanks for reading, you precious peaches.
-KM