Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Middle Earth, nor do I make money from this work for fanfiction.

Chapter 15: Hard to Bear

"When you don't talk, there's a lot of stuff that ends up not getting said."

― Catherine Gilbert Murdock, Dairy Queen

Gemma finally calmed down, and was mortified to realize that she had been crying on Thorin Oakensheild. She might as well have been sitting in his lap. This was just great. Everyone was staring. Just fucking great. "Okay. Okay, alright, I'm good…I'm fine." She pushed herself to her feet, with Thorin's help. She examined a gash on her arm where a tree branch must have cut her. It wasn't bleeding, but it hurt like hell. Gemma focused on that, trying to erase what had happened from her mind.

"Gemma, lass," Bofur started, "are you sure you're alright? I mean, you were out cold and…"

"I said I'm fine," she snapped harshly. Bofur raised his eyebrows, and Gemma felt bad for snapping at him. "Sorry," she grumbled. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, not now. Maybe not ever. So you should all just forget that…that… ever happened. Alright? Now, we should get off this fucking rock, seriously, this is the worst place we could be with a bunch of killer monsters after us. They'd see us from a mile away. Might as well put up some flares and light up the Bat Signal or something." She was being a jerk and she knew it, but she really did not want to talk or even think about her meltdown.

So the Company made their way down the Carrock to the cliffs below. There was a rock wall to their right which gave them some cover, so they traveled along that for the rest of the morning. It was cold, as they were up in the mountains, high enough that frost could be seen coating the ground, but they pushed on. Along the way Gandalf approached her. She had been reluctant to talk to him, but he had only wanted to heal her injured shoulder. Gemma was thankful that he was respecting her privacy, at least for now. She knew eventually the others would want answers, but she didn't feel like she could give them.

When they finally took a break for lunch, Thorin asked Bilbo to climb up the rock wall and look for their pursuers. It was a smart move, Gemma thought, as Bilbo was small and quiet enough to not be seen if they were being followed. Something seemed to have changed between Thorin and Bilbo while she was passed out, and whatever it was, Gemma was glad. The hobbit was finally coming out of his shell, and Thorin wasn't being such an asshole anymore.

Gemma found a spot a little bit away from the rest of the group. They kept staring at her, and they weren't very discrete about it. She had not planned on having this conversation with any of them, but then, she had not planned on still being here. She had been doing so well too, but obviously the situation on the pine ridge had been too intense for her to handle. She rummaged through her bag, hoping to find some of her old prescription pills left. She had not taken them in a few months because she had been feeling better, but she figured she needed to start again. They weren't there. She popped an Advil instead, and the group moved on once Bilbo returned.

And that's how it continued for several days. They walked and walked, attempting to maintain the distance they had gained between them and the orcs. Each day, Gemma withdrew more and more from the Company, until it came to the point where she barely spoke any words to them at all. She was completely closed off, but inside she was dying.

That first night after the battle was the first time the Company heard the noises. In the middle of the night, Thorin was pulled from his sleep by a yell. The rest of the Company was woken too, and they soon discovered the source; Gemma lay trapped in the throes of some terrible nightmare, like she had earlier that day on the Carrock. She moans and sobbed and yelled and spoke garbled words, often in that foreign tongue she sometimes used. Thorin didn't know what she said, but the way they were spoken, in fear and desperation, chilled him to the bone.

His nephews were perhaps the most affected. They had come to look up to Gemma, admiring her strength and wit. There was nothing more terrifying than seeing someone you look up to so broken. Seeing her that way filled Thorin's own heart with fear.

That night, Fili had risen from his bedroll and knelt beside Gemma, attempting to wake her from her terrors. The Company had watched as the woman, in a crazed and terrified state of half-awareness, pounced on the young dwarf and attempted to strangle him. Dwalin quickly pulled Gemma off and held her until she regained her sanity. She had looked absolutely mortified, and apologized profusely to Fili, who insisted that he was fine. Gemma then retreated to the far edge of their camp area, away from the rest, before anyone could attempt to speak with her.

In the days that followed, Gemma grew increasingly distant, and increasingly exhausted. Each day, a few Company members would attempt to ask her what was going on, but none had success, not even Bilbo or Gandalf. On a good day, she would yell and curse at them, or insist on outright denying that anything was wrong. On a bad day she would say nothing at all, only shake her head and hold it in her hands. Thorin grew more worried each day.

Each night, from the edges of the camp, the Company could hear the sounds of her nightmares, now muffled by the distance she put between them and the sweater she used as a pillow. There was nothing they could do. They could only continue trying to reach her when she was awake; when she had at least one foot still planted in reality, not trapped in whatever hell filled her dreams.

It was lunch time, nearly a week later, when they stopped to rest, still following the rocky ridge, though they were now mostly through the mountains. The sky was cloudy and dark, as if a storm were about to burst. It had been like that all week, yet no storm had come, not yet. As per usual, Bilbo scampered up the hill to look for the orc pack. Throughout the week the orcs had steadily closed the distance between them, and the Company knew that the lead they had gained was all but lost. Gemma took up her now customary position several feet away from the group, and leant her head back against the stone wall, closing her eyes. Her spotty, nightmare-dominated sleep this past week had left her absolutely exhausted, and put her in an even fouler mood.

Seconds later, Gemma heard footsteps approach right on schedule. The Company members continued to try to speak with her, despite the fact that she'd only push them away. The footsteps were heavy, clearly dwarf feet, and their owner moved with purpose, though somewhat gingerly. She didn't have to open her eyes to know who it was. He had not come to see her yet, but Gemma had often caught his worrying gaze during the past week. It unsettled her. "What?" she asked bluntly without opening her eyes. She didn't really care that she was being a bitch. It had been days since she'd last slept properly, and she'd just recently had a mental breakdown. Gemma figured those were pretty good reasons.

"You know, you were right about Bilbo," Thorin said. "He saved my life. I told him that I was wrong, that he has a place in our Company." She felt him place his hand on her knee, slowly, warily. "Gemma, you have a place in our Company too; in my Company. If there's something wrong, I would hope that you would tell me."

"Well, keep hoping. Besides, I'm fine, nothing's wrong." Gemma didn't need to open her eyes to know that Thorin was looking at her in disbelief, but she opened them anyway, and saw that he was.

"Gemma, I don't wish for that to happen to you again. I was there, I was right beside you. You were fine one moment, and the next you were shaking and squeezing my hand and breathing hard. You looked terrified. Please, tell me what is wrong."

Gemma finally snapped. "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?!" she yelled.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong, the truth. Didn't you tell me back in Goblin Town that discussing one's problems and worries with another was important?"

She scowled at him and straightened up to her full height, standing right in front of him so that she looked down at him. "Oh yeah, throw my words back in my face, see if I care. You know what? Fuck you, Thorin. Why don't you mind your own goddamn business and stay the fuck out of my personal issues!? Why can't all of you just leave it alone!? Why do you even care? Just because you're the leader of this Company doesn't mean you can force me to tell you. Besides, we hate each other; I think we've both made that very clear. We're not friends!"

Thorin's eyebrows knit together, and Gemma felt a bit bad, but only a little bit. "I do not hate you," he told her. "I did at first, but I've come to respect you, just as I have come to respect Master Baggins." He looked her straight in the eye. "I was worried about you. I care about you."

Gemma didn't know what to say to that. She turned her head away from him. He cared about her? What did that mean? Just thinking about it made her head hurt, so she chose not to think of it. Instead, she considered her options. For some reason, talking to Thorin made her feel different that talking with the others had. She felt like she owed him an explanation, which was not true. She didn't owe anyone an explanation, not about that. Yet she found that she wanted to talk to him about it, which in itself was new. She hated talking about it, because it forced her to relive it, and even though her therapist had told her that was a good thing, that it would help her get over it, she didn't find it helpful or therapeutic. It just made her feel like she wanted to curl up and hide.

"Bilbo's back," Balin called to Thorin, and Gemma heard him sigh in defeat and stand up. She realized then that she was seeing a completely new side of Thorin, a soft and caring side that didn't seem to come out too often. He truly was looking out for her, and she had turned him away. "Thorin," she said, turning to him to see his retreating form pause. He did not turn back to look at her, he just stood and waited. "I… it's a long story, and we don't have the time now. I'll find you tonight once the others are asleep, and we can, um, talk then. But you must promise not to tell anyone else, not yet. I really don't like to talk about… it."

She saw him pause, nod, and then continue walking away. For some reason, Gemma almost felt like smiling. Maybe a part of her did want to talk about this after all. After a second, she too made her way over to the group to hear Bilbo's findings, feeling a little less horrible than before.

"How close is the pack?" Thorin asked the hobbit.

"Too close, no more than a few leagues away," Bilbo said as he scampered down. "But we have a bigger problem."

"The wargs have picked up our scent," Dwalin guessed.

"Not yet, no, but there's something else…," Bilbo began.

"Did they see you? They saw you, didn't they," Gandalf interrupted.

"No," Bilbo said in frustration, "that's not it." Gemma just shook her head. They should really just let Bilbo speak. Honestly, men. Or rather, dwarves. Jeez, this stupid noun game was too confusing.

"What did I tell you, quiet as a mouse," Gandalf boasted of Bilbo, and the dwarves began to chatter in agreement and praise, Bilbo earning a few slaps on the back, which nearly knocked him over. Gemma was determined to break that habit of theirs if it were the last thing she did. A friendly dwarf slap hurt way too much to really be considered friendly by any other creature. Dwarves.

Gemma caught Bilbo's eye and gave him an imploring look. Shut them up, it said. Bilbo sighed, and nodded. "Will you just listen?!" he said, "I'm trying to tell you that there's something else out there." That certainly did the trick.

"In what form? Like a bear?" Gandalf asked, suddenly quite grave.

Bilbo did a double-take, surprised. "Well, yes, yes, but much bigger. How did you know?"

Gandalf turned away, not giving an answer. "I say we double back," Bofur suggested.

"We'll be run down by a pack of orcs," Thorin vetoed the idea.

"Yes, I vote no orcs," Gemma said. The others seemed somewhat surprised that she had spoken, as it was the first time in a week that she had contributed to any group conversation.

"There is a house not far from here, in which we might take refuge," Gandalf finally said.

"Who's house?" Thorin questioned. "Are they friend or foe?" Gemma could tell he was thinking of the wizard's detour to the elves, and did not fancy a repeat of that event.

Gandalf wiped his brow. "Neither," he said. "He may help us… or he may kill us."

Well, not the worst odds, Gemma thought. In the distance, a warg howled, the sound too close for comfort.

"What choice do we have?" Thorin said.

There was a loud roar from behind them, which, by comparison, made a warg's howl sound like the yelp of a pup. Thorin's question had been rhetorical, but Gandalf decided to answer. "None."

The Company ran down the hillside, into the forest below. They could hear the orc pack behind them, close. The brutes had caught their scent. Another earth-shattering roar sounded. They broke out of the trees and into a field, in which a quaint little house stood, surrounded by a high fence. "To the house, quickly now," Gandalf called.

Gemma stayed at the back of the group with Gandalf to shepherd the dwarves towards the cottage. She continuously checked over her shoulder. Their enemies, and whatever that bear-thing was, were not in sight yet, but they were close. She could feel it.

Unfortunately, they had another problem up front. Some of the dwarves had reached the door to the house, but they could not get it open. As they approached the house it was quite clear that it belonged to someone much taller than them. The heavy crossbar on the door was above their heads, and the dwarves could barely reach it, never mind swing it open. Gemma lengthened her stride and picked up speed, using her long legs to propel herself to the front of the group. Gemma was fairly tall by human standards, and stood a head taller than Thorin, the tallest of the dwarves. But the crossbar still came up to her chin. Whoever lived here must be absolutely massive. She pushed the heavy thing over and heaved the great door open.

From the doorway, Gemma caught sight of a huge bear leaping from the woods, charging straight for them. "Quick, inside. Close the door!" she yelled. The dwarves pushed, just as the bear came to the other side. The creature wedged its head inside, but the dwarves continued pushing, fighting against the beast's strength, and managed to close and bar the door.

"What the bloody hell was that thing?" Bofur asked, panting.

"That was our host," Gandalf answered, to incredulous looks from the group. "His name is Beorn, and he is a skin changer."

"Wait, wait, wait, skin changer? What the heck is that?" Gemma asked. People seemed to continue to forget that she was from a completely different world. A world which, compared to Middle Earth, was severely lacking in the terrifying-creatures-that-want-to-rip-out-your-guts category.

"Sometimes he is a bear, sometimes he is a man," Gandalf explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The bear is unpredictable. The man…can be reasoned with. However, he is not very fond of dwarves."

"Wow, that's wonderful," Gemma said sarcastically, turning to the dwarves. "Seriously, is there anybody who likes you guys?" The dwarves ignored her. They'd learned to disregard her ribbing, as it usually just meant Gemma was nervous. They actually seemed quite happy that she was at least speaking again.

"Get away from the door," Dori said to Ori, "This isn't natural; it's obviously some dark spell."

"You fool," Gandalf said, "he's under no enchantment but his own. Try not to mention anything about dark sorcery in his midst. In fact, I think it's best if we leave the talking to me again. Now, let's all get some sleep. You'll be safe here tonight." The old wizard looked around, and then said under his breath, "I hope."

Wow, thanks for that, Gandalf, really makes me feel safe, Gemma thought. Still, she made her way over to one wall and rolled out a blanket on the wood floor. Hay made her sneeze, so she figured it probably wouldn't be best to sleep in the barn-like area where the others were making their beds. She also wanted a quiet area that was a bit removed so that she and Thorin could have their talk. Plus, there were mice over there. Gemma didn't like mice.

Thorin made his bed in the hay with the others, but he kept glancing at Gemma, as if to make sure that she hadn't forgotten their promised talk. As if she could forget; it had been on her mind since she had agreed to it, despite all that had happened in between then and now. Would he understand? Would he think her weak? She had only ever talked about this with her colleagues and friends at work and of course with her therapist. But even they didn't know the details. Thorin would. She would tell him everything, because something told her that once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. Part of her wanted to spit the words out, and another part still wanted to swallow them down and keep them secret. But that first part had grown stronger, until it was an aching need.

The others finally settled in, and soon snoring could be heard from all corners of the house. Gemma lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, thinking and waiting. She envied the dwarves' for their easy slip into slumber. It almost always took Gemma an hour to fall asleep, and of course, as of late, sleep rarely came at all. She heard footstep, and wondered if maybe she could pretend to be asleep so as to avoid the conversation. No, she thought with a smirk, he would probably wake her up. Gemma pushed herself up so that she was sitting against the wall, and Thorin joined her there.

"So, er, how 'bout this bear thing, eh? That was crazy," she tried. Thorin just looked at her, clearly not impressed by her awkward attempt to start the conversation.

"Alright, alright. I… well, I don't really know where to begin," Gemma ran a hand through her hair and sighed. If she was going to do this, she would do it right and tell Thorin everything.

"You can't tell anybody about this ever, okay? I'll tell the others soon, but not the details that I'm about to tell you."

"You have my word," Thorin told her seriously. That meant something, it really did. Gemma knew that Thorin Oakenshield would keep his word.

"Okay... Alright. Well… it happened about a year ago in Stamford, Connecticut, only an hour away from the largest city in my country, which happens to be where I was born: a place called New York." And so she began.

AN:

Thank you so much for the amazing response last chapter, I'm so glad that you guys like where this is going. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote this chapter, and it still doesn't seem quite right. I think I'm too picky. Anyway, Gemma's finally opening up to Thorin, after stubbornly pushing everyone away and being a bit of a bitch all chapter, not to mention a hypocrite. I particularly enjoyed writing the part where she yells at Thorin "We're not friends" because it shows that they actually are starting to become friends. The nightmare part was added in only today, but I think that turned out pretty nicely too. Tell me what you think by leaving a review! Also, did anyone catch my pun in the title? I couldn't resist.

The next chapter is going to be written a bit differently. It will mostly be in the first person as Gemma tells her story.