AN:

I'm doing a short author's note now, rather than at the end, so my rambling doesn't detract from the incredibly important ending of this chapter. It's a big one, and I think you guys will hate me a little bit. Enjoy, and thank you for reading and continuing to leave those wonderful reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit.

Chapter 24: Gone

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late

–William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor

Gemma slept in late, so that when she woke up, Thorin had already left the room. She snuck back to her own, where some fresh clothes and tea and toast sat at the foot of her bed. Gemma changed quickly into the new dress, which was a deep green and a bit more ornate than the smock she had borrowed from Bard. She would have to return that dress to the bowman, and attempt to talk with him once more. Gemma liked Bard, and she understood where he was coming from. She just couldn't go against Thorin. Still, she would try her damnedest to make sure nothing happened to the good people of Lake-town.

Also, she wanted her old clothes back.

As she finished changing, Gemma fingered the moonstone pendant which still hung around her neck. It had been ready for use since Mirkwood. All she had to do was hold it tight and will herself home. The enchanted metal would do the rest, and the stone would keep her there. She tucked it back under the neckline of her dress, pushing the thought of it to the back of her mind.

Exiting her room, she quickly found Fili, Bofur, and Bilbo siting around a table in the lounge area of the inn downstairs. They informed her that Thorin was meeting with the Master to secure supplies and transport for tomorrow morning's departure. That disgusting excuse for a man. Gemma did not envy Thorin. How the dwarf king could be diplomatic with that oaf was beyond her. She knew for a fact that all her training and composure would go out the window if she were to try.

She joined the three of them at the table, settling into a plush, though rather old and worn, armchair. Of all the Company men, these were the ones she'd grown closest with throughout her journey. Yet there was one missing from their little group.

"Fili, where's your brother?"

The blonde dwarf took a long draw on his pipe before answering, "Upstairs still, I think. His leg wound has been bothering him."

In all the events of the day before, Gemma had nearly forgotten Kili's wound. It had only been a flesh wound, and Oin had declared that it would heal up nicely, but Gemma was still worried. "I think I'll go check on him," she declared, standing and making her way back towards the stairs. "And Fili, don't you remember what I said about smoking? Keep that up and your lungs'll shrivel up and turn black and you'll die." Fili put down his pipe.

Gemma made her way to Kili's room, knocking softly on the door. When no one answered, she quietly pushed it open and went inside. Kili's room was nearly identical to hers and Thorin's. The dwarf in question was still fast asleep in the big old bed in the centre of the room, his bad leg propped up by a pillow. The curtains were closed, so Gemma opened them. "Kili, wake up." There was no answer, but the dwarf's breathing hitched and he groaned. In the new light, Gemma could see that his bed sheets were tangled and twisted around his body, a sign of a fitful night's sleep. She approached Kili's bedside and gently shook him, but quickly recoiled when she touched his skin. The dwarf was hot, as if he was beginning to develop a fever. She shook him harder. "Kili, wake up!"

He did with a groggy groan. "Gemma? Wha… whatimesit?" he slurred.

"I dunno, late. Kili sit up, you're burning up." She felt his forehead again. "I should find Oin."

"No, no, I'm fine," the dwarf insisted, a little more alert.

"Yeah sure you are, tough guy," Gemma said, not buying it. She found a washcloth and a pitcher of water on a table by the window, and dampened the cloth to wipe Kili's forehead. He closed his eyes as she pressed the cool cloth there.

"You should rest today if you want to even think about leaving for the mountain tomorrow," Gemma told Kili firmly. "I'll try to find someone to bring you some soup, and I'll track down Oin to take a better look at you. Hopefully this will pass, but the best chance you have of that happening is staying in today, which means no going to the feast tonight, got it?" Kili didn't look too happy about that, but he grudgingly agreed.

Gemma stood from his bedside. "I've got to do some things before the feast, but I'll be back to check on you tonight. Rest up." She patted his shoulder gently. Gemma had come to care for the young dwarf and his brother very much; it was funny, she'd never really wanted children, but spending time with the Company had brought out a maternal nature that she'd never known she'd possessed. Fili and Kili clearly looked up to Thorin as a sort of father figure, so perhaps they could one day see her as…

But no, she was getting ahead of herself. She hadn't even decided if she was going to stay in Middle Earth. Last night had made her think hard about it, but she still missed home. A bit.

She slipped from the room, leaving Kili to sleep, and went in search of the kitchen. Instead, she found a maid in the hallway, who assured Gemma that she would bring Kili some strong broth and tea. Gemma grabbed the clothes that Bard had lent her, and made her way back downstairs, but Oin was nowhere in sight. So she left the inn and headed in the direction of Bard's home, hoping that she would encounter Oin at some point in the day.

The town seemed livelier with the good news Thorin brought, but Gemma feared it would not last for long. She just had a bad feeling, had had it ever since her talk with Bard. Now, she found herself at the doorstep of the bowman's home. She knocked lightly, and the door was answered by the eldest daughter, Sigrid. "Is your father home?"

The girl moved to let her father into the doorway. "Milady," Bard greeted her, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Gemma smiled sadly. "Just Gemma, remember? I've brought these back for you," she said, holding out the neatly folded dress and overcoat that she had borrowed from the bargeman. "I was hoping I could get my own back, if they're still there."

Bard paused, then nodded, and moved to let her in. Gemma's clothes were still draped over the wooden chair on which she had left them the night before. They were dry now, and she quickly changed into them in the privacy of Bard's bathroom. When she remerged, Sigrid was pouring cups of tea, offering one to Gemma. "Thank you, but I did not mean to stay. I wouldn't want to intrude." Bard dismissed this, gesturing for her to sit down at the kitchen table. They stared at each other in silence, and Gemma had to resist the urge to squirm under his intense gaze.

"You love him, don't you? That is why you will not stop him?" Bard finally asked.

Gemma did not know how to reply. Did she love Thorin? "I…" She was interrupted by a tiny body plopping down on the bench beside her and wrapping its little arms around her.

"Hello Tilda."

"You remembered my name!" the girl exclaimed, excited.

"Of course I did. I never forget an important name," Gemma replied, ruffling the girl's hair. She couldn't help it; Tilda was absolutely adorable.

"Da said you love someone. Who is it? Is it that big grumpy dwarf?" Goodness, even little Tilda had picked up on it. Was it true?

"Tilda that's enough," her father said, but Gemma just laughed.

"It's all right. Thorin is rather grumpy, isn't he," she said to Tilda. Sigrid and Bain joined them at the table with bread and cheese, and the five of them had a quick lunch.

"Do all women wear trousers where you're from?" Gemma turned away from Tilda, who had been telling her about her doll, Mrs. Tubber, to speak with her sister.

"Often, I guess we're not quite so picky about what women or men wear. And pants are much more comfortable that dresses, in my opinion."

"And where is that? Where are you from?" Bard asked.

"Oh, far, far away from here, a land quite different from this." She didn't really want to explain it to them. Bard disliked her enough; Gemma didn't want him to think she was a witch or a mental patient, even if the last one was kind of true.

"Can you tell us a story from there?" little Tilda pulled Gemma from her thoughts once more.

"Hmm, a story you say? My people do love stories. We have so many books and… plays, it would be hard to choose just one!" Gemma stroked her chin as she thought, making the little girl giggle again. Yes, she thought, maybe I would like to have children. "Oh I know. I'll tell you a story I once heard about a girl named Mulan, who pretended to be a man so that she could go to war and protect her father." Mulan was probably her favourite Disney movie of all time, and she figured the story would be fitting, as it did not involve anything that could suggest she came from a world so unlike Middle Earth. And she felt a strong desire to tell these young girls that they were capable of being brave and fighting for themselves. If only she could sing, she would be belting out the movie's soundtrack. Gemma talked and talked, and the sun dipped lower on the horizon. The children listened with rapture, and Gemma noticed Bard listening as he moved around the house, though he tried not to show it. "And the Emperor told him, 'the flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.'"

Finally, she finished, and the children all clapped. Gemma gave a mock little bow, and then noticed that outside, people had begun to move toward the town square, to the feast. "I think I've overstayed my welcome. I should be going." Bard walked her to the door.

"You have a way with children," he told her, standing at the doorway as she prepared to leave.

"Do you think so?" Gemma asked.

He nodded. "I know we do not see eye to eye, but you are welcome in this house. My children have not known a strong female presence since the loss of their mother."

"Bard, please understand that one way or another, those dwarves will enter the mountain. You said I could stop Thorin, but truly, I do not think God himself could stop him if he tried. If I were to try, I think Thorin would only become angry with me, and leave me behind. And it is better if I am there, because then I have a chance of protecting this town. I will try my best to protect this town. I am sorry I cannot do more than that." She truly believed that, and despite her growing connection to the little town, she stood by her decision not to stand in Thorin's way. It was a tough decision, probably not the right one, but there really was nothing she could do. Her principles had been thoroughly compromised.

Bard nodded, still seeming bitter, but less so. "If you cannot," he said, pulling a large black arrow from its hiding place above the door, "I will be ready." Gemma didn't know exactly what the arrow was, but by the way he said it, she could guess the beast that it was meant for. She just prayed that Bard would not have to use it. A sinking feeling in her gut suggested that this would not be so.

With a wave to the children, Gemma hurried from his house back to the inn. She barely had time to freshen up and change, as she was already running late. She put on the green dress again, and tried to tame her hair, which had frizzed wildly from the dampness in the air, into some semblance of a bun. She left a curl on either side of her face. Then she threw on the black overcoat that had been left for her and hurried to the feast.

In her hurry to get out the door, she nearly collided with a dwarf. "Oin!" she exclaimed as she steadied the healer. "I've been looking for you."

"Looking for who?" the old dwarf asked. "My trumpet's still wrecked lass, you'll have to speak up."

"For you. I've been looking for you, Oin," Gemma said louder, moving close to his ear. "Kili's got a fever, I'm afraid something is wrong."

"Oh dear. I'll go check on the lad. You go to the feast, and tell Gloin I might not show up. This could be worse than I thought."

"Alright. Send someone for me immediately if it's something bad. I want to know."

"Will do, lass, but don't worry too much. You enjoy the feast."

They parted ways, and Gemma almost sprinted to the town square. Which was difficult in that awful dress.

"Feast" might not have been the right word for it. There was liquor and food sure, but Gemma could tell that even for a King and his company, the Master had skimped. The bread was stale and the meat was tough, but no one seemed to mind too much, because the wine, while not the best in quality, was good enough to get them all sufficiently tipsy. A small bad played happy music, and many townsfolk had chosen to leave the long tables set around the square in favour of dancing.

Gemma found the head table where the Company sat, and was pleased to see that Thorin had saved her a seat beside him. He rose when he saw her approach, pulling out her chair and pushing it in for her once she was seated. Gemma was certain that her face must have gone tomato red, and hoped that the dim light hid it. She glanced over at Thorin; she hadn't seen him since last night, and that thought only made her blush harder. Pull yourself together, you're no prude. He looked good, in his new clothes. He still wore that lovely fur coat, but had a deep red tunic and new grey trousers, both of which were hemmed with silver thread sewn in intricate patterns. "I missed you today," he whispered in her ear.

"Didn't I tell you not to get all mushy on me," she whispered back, but she couldn't help but grin. "You sound like one of those guys in the cheap rom-coms the play constantly on Lifetime."

"I don't know what that means," he whispered back, "but I shall pretend it was a compliment." He kissed her cheek.

The rest of the meal was spent, unfortunately, making polite conversation with the Master. Well, no that wasn't technically true. Every time the man, if he could be called such a thing, tried to make conversation with her, Gemma took a long drink of her wine so that she wouldn't actually have to talk. Of course, she couldn't keep that up much longer, else she'd become piss drunk. Thankfully, Bofur came to the rescue, requesting that she join him for a dance, to which she happily agreed.

Bofur was quite the dancer, which was lucky, because Gemma was not. She could hold her own on the floor, but only just. They danced a few fast ones, and a few slow ones, laughing and talking all the time. Bofur was just so fun to be around, and it seemed she wasn't the only one who'd noticed. The eccentric dwarf had caught the eye of a few ladies of Lake-town, and soon Gemma was steering the two of them over to the bunch, and swapping herself out with a shorter woman who seemed to have had one drink too many. She cast Bofur a sly wink, and then slipped off into the crowd.

Presently, Gemma felt a hand wrap around her waist, coming to rest on the small of her back lower than would be deemed polite. She turned to give whatever drunkard that had the nerve to think he could touch her like that a piece of her mind, but instead came face to face with Thorin. Her chest tightened as he led her into a slow dance, holding her close. "Damn you, Thorin Oakenshield," she whispered in his ear, "You've turned me into a lovesick teenager." Thorin just chuckled and pulled her down into a kiss.

Thorin wasn't quite as skilled a dancer as Bofur, but that hardly mattered. Gemma lost count of how many songs they danced together, but finally she had to stop, as her feet were killing her. She kissed Thorin's cheek and said, "I'm going to take a break." Thorin made to follow her, but was suddenly pulled into conversation by the Master, who was even more of a mess now that he was drunk. He shot her an apologetic look, and Gemma just made a face. Of course, they had to indulge the great slob to ensure that they weren't suddenly thrown in prison the night before Durin's day. She was honestly surprised that Thorin had held himself together about it this whole time.

Gemma found Bilbo sitting by himself a little ways away, watching the dancers. She pulled a chair up beside him. "Not dancing?" she asked.

"No. I fear my feet are too big, I'd certainly trip," the hobbit replied, gesturing to his sizable appendages. Gemma chuckled at that, and soon the two of them were engaged in a delightfully light conversation about all sorts of things. She enjoyed talking to Bilbo; the hobbit had a calming presence and was an excellent conversationalist.

She hadn't even realized there was a large torch standing behind them, which really was an accomplishment on her part. Usually Gemma was hyper-aware of any and all fire within her surroundings. Maybe the pleasurably numb buzz the alcohol had brought on had distracted her. Whatever the reason, it only made her more terrified when one party-goer knocked over the torch, sending it crashing down upon the two of them, the flames only narrowly missing her. Quickly, two men appeared and stamped out the fire, which had just begun to spread across the wooden floor. As quick as it had come, the fire was gone, but Gemma could barely move. She scrambled backwards and clutched the edge of the table beside her, breathing hard. The damp smell of Lake-town was almost the same as the smell of the cellar, and she could see the men leaning over her, looking so real she felt certain that any moment she would feel an unbearable burn on her chest.

"Gemma, are you alright?" It was Bilbo, at her side looking concerned. She mentally latched onto the blurry vision of him, pulling herself out of the horrors. I will not have a flashback, I won't.

When she could breathe well enough to speak, Gemma shakily replied, "I'm… fine Bilbo." She scoured the crowd around her, but could not see a certain dark-haired dwarf she so suddenly and desperately wanted to find. So she said, "I think I'll head back to the inn, it's been a long night. If you see Thorin, would you tell him where I've gone?"

Gemma left quickly after Bilbo assured her that he would. The downstairs lounge area of the inn was empty when she arrived, as everyone was at the feast, so Gemma felt isolated enough to curl up in an armchair and dissolve into a shuddering, blubbering mess. It had only been a small torch, but the effect was nearly as bad as it was after the Company's encounter with Azog on the pine cliff. The size of the flame didn't matter; after all, her captors had used cigarette butts and matches to burn her.

Gemma wasn't crying. She was shivering and hyperventilating, but she wasn't sobbing, and she wasn't blacking out. It was incredibly depressing that she considered those facts successes. Still, Gemma knew that she was hanging on to her sanity by a thread. She'd finally ignored and filed away so many of her problems that her mind was fixing to burst. Any moment now, there'd be suppressed memories all over the place, bombarding her, each like a slap to the face.

Gemma drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them. She clutched her pounding head, fingernails digging in hard enough to draw blood, and screamed. The sound was muffled by her knees, but in Gemma's head it was deafening. It was all just too much, and she almost felt like fleeing this whole place. On top of the still existent and untreated trauma of her imprisonment and torture, and the accompanying mental disorders, were the more recent events; Patrick's still-fresh death, being stuck alone in an entirely new world, her new found feelings for Thorin which she still didn't quite understand, Kili's injury, and that fact that she, with her crippling pyrophobia, was about to face a fire breathing dragon. Yup, any moment now– twang! – The threads would snap and Gemma would catapult into insanity. She really hadn't realized how badly she needed professional help until this moment.

Potentially-life-saving epiphany or not, Gemma wasn't going to sit around and wait to lose her mind. There were things she could be doing in the meantime. She'd check on Kili, she decided. Yes, that's what she needed to do.

Oin was nowhere to be found when she arrived at Kili's door, which Gemma found somewhat odd. It was even stranger considering what lay beyond the door.

She knew it was bad as soon as she stepped inside. Kili looked grey, and his sheets were tangled around him like he'd been thrashing about again. He was shaking like a leaf. "Kili?" No answer, no acknowledgement. She approached the bed. "Kili!" Gemma turned him slowly and stumbled in her shock. The young dwarf stared back at her as if he were looking right through her. His lips were moving in silent words, tongue lolling out to the side slightly. He was delusional; he was out of his mind.

This can't be happening. No more. No more death. I can't be here. But Gemma didn't leave the room; she instead slowly unwrapped the bandages around his leg. The sight of the wound nearly made her puke. It had not healed, it had become worse, a lattice of black veins spreading from its centre. "Poison," she breathed in fear, "no, no, no."

Suddenly, Kili made a sound halfway between a moan and a scream. It was the sound of sheer, unbridled pain.

Gemma stumbled from the room in shock, crashing right into Oin, who must have heard Kili scream. "Lass, are yeh alright?"

"Poison," she said again, barely audible. Somehow, the near-deaf dwarf heard, or maybe just correctly assumed, what she said.

"I know," he said solemnly, "and I am not skilled enough to heal him." Kili gave another cry of agony. "Perhaps I could, if he were not in such pain. The healing would make it unbearable. He would not survive it." Oin spoke as if Kili had already died, and Gemma could not take it anymore.

She knew what she had to do. Without a word she fled from the room, sweeping down the hallway towards the privacy of her own.

She fingered the glowing moonstone which still hung from her neck as she went.

Once Gemma left, Thorin stopped enjoying the feast. After their dance, he had gotten another drink for her and went looking for the dark beauty. His mind slipped back into the memories of the night before, just as it had when they were dancing. Truth be told, he was having a hard time keeping him mind off of it. Things between them had moved too fast, he knew. They had barely even kissed before, never mind courted. Granted, the attraction between them had been growing steadily through their months together (though neither had known it), but it just wasn't customary before marriage for dwarves to...well... Thorin couldn't really find it in him to regret it. He felt as if he knew her all the better, not because of their... physicality, but because of the intimacy; the fact that he had seen all her scars, and she had seen his. She had been afraid of what he would think, and truly, they were horrifying to him; not because of their appearance, but because of the terrible pain they indicated Gemma had suffered. He had kissed each one.

These thoughts and the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach made Thorin feel quite dizzy. He excused himself from whatever boring conversation he had been trapped in, and decided it was time to head back to the inn. Several of the other dwarves were doing the same.

He half expected Gemma to be waiting in the lounge area, but she was not. Instead, the dwarves were greeted by screams from upstairs. He recognized their owner, and he flew up the stairs on the heels of Fili.

Thorin was greeted by a horrific sight; his nephew lay in bed, pale as a corpse and thrashing wildly in pain. Oin sat at his side, attempting to calm him. The healer looked up when Thorin and Fili approached, the others behind them. "It is poison," he told them gravely.

"Can you heal him?" Fili demanded.

Oin shook his head. "I fear even trying will cause him to die from pain."

Kili stopped shouting and thrashing, instead just shivering. Thorin could barely look. "There must be something." He wracked his brain, and the memory of a story Gemma had told, back when they were barely on speaking terms, surfaced. She had been shot in the leg, a flesh wound, nothing serious, but it had hurt a great deal and she had required a lot of medical treatment. The medical technologies she had described had been mind boggling, to say the least. Surely, she could do something for Kili, with her otherworldly knowledge. "Where is Gemma?"

"She was here before. Looked mighty shaken up. Ran to her room, I think," Oin told him.

Thorin raced down the hall, throwing the door to her room open. No one was in there. He left the room and checked his own, just in case. A sinking feeling formed in Thorin's stomach. There were no staff around to ask about Gemma's whereabouts; they were probably all at the feast. "She's not there," he told the others when he returned.

He looked to Bilbo, the last person to have seen Gemma at the feast. "Did something happen at the feast when you were with her?" He didn't know why he asked, he just had a bad feeling.

"No. Well, this one man knocked a torch over and it nearly hit us. It wasn't much, but Gemma did seem a bit shaken by it. She left right after."

Good Mahal. The woman must have been having a panic attack, and coming back to find Kili like this...

The sinking feeling became more like the feeling of plummeting into a great abyss, and somehow Thorin knew.

"She's gone."

It was morning– early, still dark– and the Company, minus Kili, Fili, and Oin, were making their way to the boats that would take them across the Lake to the mountain. Bofur was missing too, though Thorin couldn't really find it in him to care anymore. The townsfolk cheered and celebrated their departure, but Thorin could not feel happy, even as they neared the home he had waited to go back to for so long. He stood at the bow of the boat, watching the mountain grown on the horizon, and thought about the events of last night.

Kili was dying. He had almost stayed behind, but Fili had all but insisted he leave. "Kili would not want this to be for nothing," he'd said.

And then there was the fact that Gemma had left, gone back to her home world. The feelings that evoked were not too different from the ones he felt about Kili's imminent demise. After all, in all the ways that counted Gemma was dead, to him at least. It sparked a painful burning in his chest.

He had always thought that it would feel different than this. He had heard stories, about dwarves that just looked at each other and knew. That had not been the case; far from it. He had not known immediately. In fact he had not been sure until this very moment, standing at the bow of this little old boat, feeling like his heart had been burned to ash.

Thorin Oakenshield was in love with Gemma LaRoche. She was his one.

Too late. If only he hadn't been too late.