Thorin had the last watch of the night, which he preferred. He enjoyed see the creeping colors of the sunrise make its way gradually across the sky. He enjoyed the silence of the dawn, with only the snores of his family and friends and the noises from the nocturnal creatures settling down to rest to keep him company. He enjoyed being able to clear his mind of yesterday's troubles and prepare for the following journey, to plan out a mental map of their road and calculate any obstacles that might occur. However, Thorin did not enjoy waking to a conundrum that had been tangling his mind for almost a week.
He felt unfocused, unprepared, and unsettled by Gemma's presence. And what she had brought along with her…the Arkenstone. The Arkenstone. It was finally within reach. After 150 years of only dreaming about such a possibility and the stone was mere steps away from his possession. But the Arkenstone came with unexpected baggage, an unwanted addition that left Thorin with a complicated problem and it left the uncrowned king exceedingly frustrated.
He should feel grateful, he knew, for half of his life-long goal had been accomplished. To take the Arkenstone from the serpent Smaug had been something Thorin was unsure could ever be done. Then this girl is dropped into their laps with the stone in her grasp, yet it was changed. The stone looked unusual by itself: a white rock with blue and purple streams of color running through that he never would have deemed worthy of all his people's hopes and dreams. But with Gemma's touch, it was transformed. A hundred years could not fade the memory of the Arkenstone from Thorin's mind. Its azure radiance called forth images of home and of kin that nothing else could. In Gemma's hands, the rock became something infinitely precious and upon looking at it Thorin felt something he hadn't felt since his time in Erebor: peace. Peace in the surety that there was a future for his people, for his family. Peace in the glow of the stone that would secure his right to lead, to rule. And Thorin was grateful for that feeling, but he wished it did not come with such stipulations. He wondered if he should not have been more specific when asking the Gods for the Arkenstone to be returned to him.
Gemma was of man and a female to make matters worse. A young, fragile, breakable being that slowed their voyage, something they could not afford if they wished to reach the Lonely Mountain by Durin's Day. She knew nothing of the road, of traveling, or of defending herself from harm. The girl was a distraction and a liability. If she was injured or she should perish, what would become of the Arkenstone then? Would it lie dormant as just a pale worthless rock? Would it even remain in Middle Earth, or would it go back to the land where Gemma called home? This lack of knowledge created a large blank space of unpredictability in his vision of the future.
And the visions the stone gave her? That was one of the most unusual aspects of the Arkenstone's return. His grandfather never mentioned any visions of the future, nor had Thròr claimed knowledge he had no way of obtaining. And the stone never appeared as it did now, a colorless false impersonation of itself. It was always a beautiful bright blue gem with purple accents that caught the eye of many guests and subjects that brought themselves before the throne of the king. A symbol of the steadfast line of Durin, a gift from the Mountain itself. The Arkenstone and Gemma were connected in a way that Thorin could not fathom and this fact drained Thorin of any comfort he might draw from the morning sunrise that was barely peaking over the horizon.
On the mountaintop, the morning sunlight graced the Company later than it had before. Not by much mind you, but Gemma felt the extra hour of sleep might have actually been worth the strenuous climb…that was until she sat up. Her neck creaked and her knee throbbed. She let out an involuntary groan of discomfort causing the dwarf next to her, who she thought might have been Dori based on the white-haired top knot sticking out from underneath the pile of blankets, to grumble sleepily. A few of the other dwarves were adding fuel to the embers left over from the night before, but most were still warding off the casual sounds of morning wakefulness that were gaining hold in the camp while they snored away.
Overtaken by the sudden urge to relieve herself, Gemma achingly climbed to her feet and ambled to a clump of bushes away from the camp. She looked around quickly, then did her business. She pulled her pants up quickly and knew she'd never get used to peeing outside; Gemma fervidly missed modern plumbing. The bush on her left rustled and Gemma shoved her tunic down over her pants frantically thinking it was a member of the troop, but it was only a small bird, twittering from one bush to another. Gemma let out a sigh, relieved she hadn't been caught with her pants down, literally.
With her arms stretched high, back popping, muscles straining, Gemma looked out into the world. The sun shined heavily on the valley below, skimming the tops of the trees and turning their leaves a glorious golden-green. She saw no sign of the hidden valley where Imladris resided, nor any sign of humanity at all as far as her eye could see. For a moment, she felt as if she was the only person in this strange place, a place that looked so similar to her world, but felt nothing like home. Gemma turned around and the grey mountains before her were a stark contrast to where they had started their path into the Wilds. They looked dark and bleak, as ominous as the dangers that lay ahead for her. She had foreknowledge of this whole tale and a stone that gave her prophetic dreams and yet she felt as lost and unsure about the future as Thorin did, though she would never know that.
She made her way back to camp and, seeing that the rest of the troop was awake and preparing for climb down the mountain, she folded her precious blanket and the extra tunic she'd worn to sleep in and placed them in her duffel. She checked her pouch that held the Ulunsuti and made sure the ties were snug. A bite of lembas bread and she was ready to go. She scrubbed her hands over her face while the dwarves finished their clean-up of breakfast and grimaced, thinking again of how long it could be before she would be able to bathe again. How long did it take the dwarves to travel from Rivendell to Beorns? She couldn't remember. It could be days or weeks. Certainly not months though. She was certain the book had been finished before winter truly came.
"Did you get to break your fast, Miss Gemma?"
Gemma startled, not at all expecting conversation from anyone after the way last night's confrontation had ended. She looked at the crease that was forming between Ori's eyebrows in concern.
She gave him a small grin, "I may be sick of elvish waybread, but I won't starve."
Ori nodded but the furrow of his brow remained as he made his way over to gather his rucksack. The dwarves filed out of their night's shelter with little discussion, Balin once again finding some hidden path among the rocky floor. Gemma heaved her bag over her shoulder and followed the group, once again bringing up the rear.
The way down was as monotonous and as cruel as the way up, the only difference was that Gemma was now even more likely to fall to her death. Going up, she didn't have to look down to acknowledge how far she was from the ground. She could fool herself into believing it wasn't that high. Going down, she had little choice but to view the distance and think about how long she would fall before she became a mere pancake scattered across the rocks below.
Her neck hurt from watching her feet constantly, but it was only one more ache among many. He legs had cramped for the first few hours of climbing and sliding, but after that they became numb and she could no longer feel the throbbing of her strained knee. Her whole body felt like one big muscle burn and while the numbness made the climb more difficult, Gemma couldn't help but be thankful for the slight reprieve.
The dwarves, too, seemed to be having more difficulty with this part of the journey. Bombur was huffing and puffing enough for Gemma to hear him from a few feet behind him. The rest of the dwarves were only doing marginally better, with Balin and Thorin leading the way as usual.
Gemma swiped a sleeve across her forehead to stop a line of sweat from dripping into her eyes. The air felt much warmer than last night and had taken on a wave of oppressive humidity. It smelled of ozone and Gemma had a sardonic thought that maybe she'd be getting a shower much sooner that she had guessed.
She was right. About midday, the sky had cracked open with a deafening boom and rain had followed soon after. It was no soft summer shower either. Torrents of rainfall soon had them all drenched and there wasn't any part of Gemma that was left dry. Her thighs chafed at the wet clothing and her socks squished unpleasantly in her boots with every step she took. It was no longer sweat that burned her eyes, but a cold, shiver-inducing deluge. The rain and the thunder drowned out any sound made by her companions and it was all Gemma could do to keep placing one foot in front of the other, scrabbling in the mud and the rocks hampering her passage down the increasingly narrow pathway carved, by beasts or by nature, into the side of the mountain.
The sky darkened sooner than it should have and Thorin called for a halt. Gemma nearly walked into Bombur, her eyes still on her feet which were practically indistinguishable in the mud. She stopped in time and looked up, rain streaming down her face. They were still on the small trail on the cliff side with no shelter around that she could see. Gemma poked Bombur's arm gently and he turned to face her, his beard flattened to his face and chest making him look quite comical.
"Why are we stopped?" Gemma yelled over the rain.
Bombur yelled back, "It's too rough to keep going. We camp here for tonight."
"Here?! We'll fall to our deaths in the night!"
The rotund dwarf shook his head, "We can't keep going and we can't go back! This is as good as it gets for now."
Gemma shuddered, both from the fear and the cold. The wind had picked up and gotten colder with the sun hiding behind the storm clouds. The group huddled side-by-side against the mountain wall so Gemma did the only thing she could and slid down to the ground, drawing her muddy legs against her chest. Her left side slightly warmed by Bombur's form next to her and her right side jealousy protested the lack of warmth with another shiver. Her blanket wasn't safe from the rain in her back and the lembas was soggy and quickly disintegrating from the wet. Cold, tired, and lonely, she buried her head in her arms and began to cry knowing the dwarf next to her wouldn't be able to tell the difference between rain and tears.
AN: Sorry this is both late and short, but I was sick all last week and still am this week AND I'm about to be fired from missing so much work so please forgive me if I don't update for a week or two. Also, sorry that this chapter was so depressing. The story took on my feelings of woe. This is not beta'ed all mistakes are mine. Please please review.
Love you,
Katie Moon.