Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit, obviously.
Chapter 23: The Time for Talk
"Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting."
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns
Thorin was not happy with the weapons. Gemma could see it in his eyes. "Thorin," she said, trying to be mollifying, "let's just take Bard's offer. They're better than nothing. Let's just leave now." The dwarf nodded his head, but the glint in his eyes told a different tale. She did not like where this was going.
"You aren't going anywhere," Bard said, gruffly. "There are spies watching the house. You must wait until dark." This earned some grumbles. Gemma saw Bard slip out the door. Seconds later he returned, whispered something to his son, and then left again. Gemma caught the expression at his face before he disappeared, and it set her nerves on edge. Something was wrong.
"We need better weapons." Thorin was at her shoulder, his voice startling her from her thoughts. "We're going to make for the town armoury and then leave for the mountain immediately after," he whispered.
"We'll be caught," Gemma replied, but even she knew that they needed better weapons if they were going to face the dragon. Hell, even she was unarmed now, and it made her feel anxious. Maybe that was what was making her paranoid about Bard. No, she knew it was more than that.
"It's already decided. Are you coming?"
"I… I'll meet up with you," Gemma told him, looking to the door Bard had left through. "There's something I want to look into."
Bain had tried to stop them from leaving, but what could one boy do against thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a particularly stubborn woman? Gemma broke off from the group, heading towards the market she had seen earlier. She scoured the crowd for a tall, dark bargeman, keeping her head down. As she walked, she heard whispers in the crowd. "Dwarves, a whole group o' them. Never seen anything like 'em," one woman said.
"Why would dwarves be in these parts?" another townsman asked.
"It's the prophecy," said an old man. "The prophecy of Durin."
Gemma found her target in a tent-like vendor's stand which sold textiles and other knickknacks. His back was to her and he had not seen her enter. He spoke to himself in a low voice, so that Gemma could barely hear him. "The Lord of silver fountains, the king of carven stone, the king beneath the mountain, shall come unto his own." It was the same rhyme Gemma kept hearing throughout the town, but he added on an extra verse. "And the bells shall ring in gladness at the mountain king's return, but all shall fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn."
"Bard." He looked up at Gemma when she called his name. They stared at each other long and hard.
"He cannot enter the mountain." The look in Bard's eyes was imploring, almost begging.
"I don't think there's anything that could stop him."
"You could."
Gemma thought about that. Could she? Definitely not. Probably not. No, definitely… "Maybe," she said, "but I won't."
"Please, you must."
"That mountain is Thorin's home. I cannot take that from him."
"My people will die."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"I'll go with them. I will make sure that doesn't happen."
"You can't promise that." He was right. She could not. It made her sick to her stomach, to think that these people could be harmed. But she could not deny the dwarves their home either. How could she ever do that to them? She loved them all too much to make the right decision.
"You would side with the dwarves against your own people?" Bard demanded.
Gemma looked at him hard. "They are my people."
So maybe Thorin hadn't quite planned this whole raiding-the-armoury thing too well. In his mind he'd imagined sneaking in and out, being gone before anyone even knew they were there. He seemed to have forgotten that the Company comprised almost entirely of dwarves, who were not exactly the best when it came to stealth.
He should have known that Kili was more wounded than he'd let on. Mahal, he was supposed to be looking out for the boy. If something were to happen, forget about dragons and orcs, Dis would be out for his head. Kili's slip had sent a dozen swords clanging down the stairs. The sound broke the fragile silence, seeming as if it were loud enough to wake Smaug all the way in Erebor.
The guards were on them in seconds, and soon they were being hauled before the doors of the Master's home. The Master himself, a plump oaf of a man with a comb-over and a snaggletooth, came out to demand what was going on. Thorin tried to see if Gemma was hidden in the crowd that had gathered around them. Perhaps she could get them out of this mess.
"A desperate bunch of mercenaries if ever there were, Sire," a weasel of a man proclaimed of them from the Master's side.
"Hold your tongue!" Dwalin hissed. "This is no common criminal. This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!" Thorin wished Dwalin had not said that. Gemma was still nowhere to be found. He would have to talk their way out of this. Thorin much preferred their odds if it were Gemma negotiating.
"We are the dwarves of Erebor," he declared to the Master, setting the crowd abuzz, "come to reclaim our homeland. I remember this town in the great days of old, when this was no forsaken town on a lake, but the prospering centre of all trade in the North! I would have those days return. I would see the river flow with wealth from Erebor!" This brought on cheers from the crowd of desolate citizens. He could already see this town in what it would become; the lively, vibrant trading hub. Perhaps he wasn't so bad at this after all.
"Death!" cried a voice from the crowd. Thorin turned to see Bard, their smuggler, pushing his way to the front of the group. Behind the man was Gemma. Why was she with that slippery bargeman? Thorin's eyes connected with her own, sending a questioning look her way. She looked troubled. "That's all you will bring. Dragon fire and ruin!" The bargeman cried. "If you awaken the beast it will destroy us all."
"You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this. If we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain." Another cheer rose from the crowd. Thorin saw Gemma smile at him. It made his knees go weak, and he nodded back to her. "You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!"
The people cheered, but suddenly a voice asked, "Why should we take your word? Who here can vouch for your character?" It was the weasel, Alfrid.
"I can." Bilbo stepped forward. "I have travelled long and far with these dwarves, and if Thorin Oakenshield gives his word, then he will keep it." Thorin grinned again. Never in his life would he have thought that the hobbit he had met way back in Bag End would become such a great friend. Never in his life.
"Have you forgotten what happened in Dale?" Bard cried. "Have you forgotten all those who died in the fire storm? And for what? The blind ambition of a mountain king so driven by greed that he could not see beyond his own desire!" Thorin was fuming now. How dare that bargeman?! But a small part of him sunk with fear. Was he just following in the footsteps of Thror, driven by dragon sickness?
"Now Bard, let us not forget that it was your ancestor who failed to kill the beast!" the Master cried, shaking his finger at Bard. This was news; the bargeman was a descendant of Girion. Bard looked down as the people muttered, and Thorin almost felt bad for him. Then the bargeman approached him, towering over Thorin the same way Gemma would when they argued, in an attempt to intimidate and threaten.
"You have no right to enter that mountain."
Thorin stared him straight in the eye, unyielding. "I have the only right."
Thorin turned his back on the bowman, towards the Master. "I speak to the Master of Esgaroth. Will you share in the great wealth of our people? What say you?"
The Master stroked his chin, a cringe-inducing gesture. "I say to you, welcome, King under the mountain!"
And the people rejoiced.
"Right then, here we are," Alfrid said, leading Thorin and the others into what was once probably a beautiful inn, but had now been weathered and left to disrepair. "There're warm beds upstairs for all of you. We'll send food and firewood and clothing shortly. Just don' burnin' down the inn. Oh and the Master's plannin' a big feast for ya' tomorra'. Wear somethin' nice," He leered at Gemma on the last sentence, and then slunk off.
Night had fallen and the entire Company seemed exhausted. With muttered "good nights", they each found a room and readied for bed.
Thorin had just finished changing into the nightclothes that had been left for him when there was a quiet knock at his door. "Enter," he called, and Gemma slipped into the room, wearing only a nightdress. Thorin felt his ears go red at the sight, though he supposed he'd seen her in a greater state of undress than this. He found that he missed her otherworldly clothing. Not to say that she did not look beautiful. "To what do I owe the pleasure, mi'lady?"
"Oh please, just because we kissed doesn't mean you have to get all sappy on me," Gemma grinned. "I just hoped we could talk."
"About?"
"I don't know," she said, perching at the foot of his bed, "things." Thorin joined her. "I'm… worried. Bard..."
"That man. What were you doing with him?"
"I saw something was wrong. I was afraid he'd reveal us to that slimy Master. Ugh, I can't stand that man, you can just tell he's screwing all these poor people over. Anyway, I followed Bard and we talked. He's a good man Thorin, he just wants to protect his people."
"He would have us abandon our quest for Erebor. Would you suggest the same?" Thorin raised his voice slightly.
"No," Gemma said, taking his hand and intertwining her fingers his. "I told him as such. I could never ask you to do that. I'm just… worried, is all. You promise you'll help these people when we take back the mountain? And that nothing bad will happen to them?" Gemma suddenly seemed very small, oh so vulnerable.
Thorin pulled her close. "I promise. You should not worry."
"There's also the whole fire-breathing thing," Gemma said, burying her face in the crook of Thorin's neck and inhaling deeply, in a way that made Thorin's face flush once more. "That's got me a bit on edge. I mean, you saw what a mess I was back on the pine cliff. All it would take is one puff of dragon's breath, and I'll be reduced to terror and insanity."
Thorin stroked her back, "I won't let that happen. You could wait here for us, if you need."
Gemma pulled back and raised an eyebrow, "Nice try, but that's not happening. You're stuck with me, Grumpy."
They sat there for a while, holding each other, and Thorin felt the sudden need to know everything about the woman in his arms. So Gemma began to talk aimlessly, about things from her home, and pushed him to tell her things about himself too. Thorin loved the way the words rolled from her lips, and the way, sitting so close, he could feel her breath against his skin.
It continued on like this. Thorin found out that she used to visit her father's hometown in the mountains of Quebec every winter as a child to go skiing, that she had been a bit of a rebel as a teenager and had once protested outside a big oil company for nearly three days (she claimed she was a real "treehugger" back in the day, whatever that meant),that everyone thought she was a reckless driver but she really wasn't (he wasn't sure if he believed her, but he really had no other references, so he just took her word for it) and that she absolutely hated any and all clear liquors ("It's like getting drunk on water!").
Something tugged at the back of Thorin's mind as they spoke. He wasn't normally one to share, but then neither was Gemma, he knew. It just felt so good to talk to her, and he knew she would understand, so he said, "Something's been worrying me as well. When that bargeman mentioned the greed of my grandfather… back in Rivendell, I told you of Thror's sickness. I had just overheard Gandalf talking to Elrond that night. The elf said that the sickness runs in my family and I…" He petered off unsure how to express how terrified he was of the prospect of falling to the same fate as his grandfather.
Gemma seemed to understand. She took Thorin's face in her hands and lifted it up to her eye level. "You are not you grandfather."
"Yes, I know but..."
"No," Gemma cut him off. Her eyes held a deadly seriousness to them. "I want to hear you say it."
Thorin took a deep breath, exhaled, and then said, "I am not my grandfather." It felt good to say, expelling some of the worry that was burrowing into him.
"That's right, you're not, and if you do happen to lose your mind and succumb to some sort of gold lust when we enter Erebor, I'll be there to drag you, kicking and screaming, back to sanity." Gemma pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Thorin's mouth. "That's a promise."
Thorin never could have imagined, when they met nearly two months ago, that he and Gemma would ever be here; sitting in bed talking about the most personal things, and pressing tiny kisses against each other's skin. Here was a woman who, at one point, he had deemed so infuriating that he could barely breathe the same air as her without the two of them starting an argument. That feeling, like a buzzing in his stomach, which he had felt all those weeks ago in Rivendell, and which had never really seemed to leave him since, suddenly reached a crescendo, morphing into the deepest of desires. Thorin pulled back from Gemma, searching her face, trying to memorize every detail.
Gemma interpreted his look the wrong way. "Is something else wrong, mon chéri?" Thorin knew that she had spoken in that other language that slipped out sometimes. He didn't know what she'd said, but the words rolled out in a melodic way that sent him over the edge.
Thorin growled and pressed his lips against Gemma's roughly, pushing her down to lie on the bed. Through their kisses she laughed, a smoky alto sound that, to Thorin at least, was pure seduction.
It was going to be a long night.
AN:
You can interpret that ending however you like ;)
I'm not going to be continuing with what happens that night. The next chapter will be about the next day. Please don't ask me to, I'm just not that kind of writer. Also, I know their relationship is moving a bit fast, but as I mentioned, the next major event in this story is coming up (next chapter, actually) and this little turn of events is going to make it so much more impactful.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was a bit of a struggle. Gemma's definitely having some moral troubles, and her conversation with Bard has given her an unsettling feeling of foreboding. Again, things are coming soon.
Thank you for reading and leaving all those awesome reviews. We're so close to 200! I think I missed a few people when I was replying to reviews, so if I missed you, I'm sorry and thank you for leaving your beautiful comments.