Disclaimer: I don't own any of the rights to the Hobbit, and make no money from this.

Chapter 35: Sudden and Complete Realization

There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.

–Arthur Conan Doyle

War was like a different world, and in it, Gemma felt like an entirely different being. It was continuous movements, one long stream of simple thoughts (run, slash, jump, aim, shoot), and emotional numbness. It was like going for a long run, when the mind is stuck in the present moment and adrenaline is pumping. Exhaustion, pain, and horror would come later, but right now Gemma's sole focus was to stay alive and kill some orcs. And yet, one thought kept leaking through into her brain; an entirely unwelcome distraction.

Gemma had lost sight of Bard, then found him again, then lost him, and then found him. This time, when she spotted him, she shot the orcs around him in a hail of rifle bullets, swung down from her perch on a roof, and ran towards him. Grabbing the back of his coat, she all but dragged the man away into a building that was blessedly free of orcs. She brought him to the second floor, just to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted. The orcs had abandoned their rooftop surprise attacks completely, in favour of a brute force, head on assault, leaving the buildings clear, luckily for Gemma.

She spun around and stalked towards the bowman, who looked completely baffled. "Gemma…?"

"What the fuck was that back there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm fine with hugs. But then you pulled away and… and we were… And now I keep thinking about it and it's very distracting!"

Bard moved closer to her, smiling almost shyly. "I cannot stop thinking about it either."

Gemma's eyes widened. "No, that's not what I–." She was cut off when Bard's lips crashed against hers.

For a moment, she was simply too shocked to control herself, and her lips responded instinctually to his kiss. It wasn't even a bad kiss, in fact, in different circumstances, she might have said it was quite good. And it wasn't that she didn't find Bard handsome. He was. Bard just wasn't…

Gemma regained her senses and pushed Bard away. She had just made a startling realization. She hadn't known for so long what it had all meant, but she did now. She didn't know if it would even matter anymore, but now that she understood, she needed to at least try one last time.

"Gemma…"

She refocussed on Bard. "This isn't… I… What?"

Bard reached forward, and Gemma stepped back. "I feel… such a strong pull towards you, Gemma LaRoche."

"You don't even know me!" she said incredulously.

"I know that you are brave, and the strongest woman I have ever met. I know that you are wonderful with my children, and that they adore you. I respect you. We have not known each other long, but I feel as if I do know you."

Gemma shook her head. "Believe me, you don't." She ran a hand through her hair. Bard had no idea about where she was from, or about her past and her mental illness. If he did, he would not be so accepting. Not like… "Are we really doing this right now? There's a battle going on. We might be about to die!"

Bard actually smiled. "Exactly so. There might be no other time to do it. And besides, you were the one who brought me up here, alone. I thought…"

Gemma held her hands up in front of her and shook her head furiously as she realised exactly what he thought this was. "Oh no. No, no, no. I wasn't… this isn't… Bard, I've just realised something vitally important. And you're right, we're probably going to die, and there might be no other time to do this." She looked out the window, at the Lonely Mountain and the war raging all around it. "It just isn't you," she told him sincerely, and then ducked out the window and crawled up onto the rooftops, suddenly very aware of exactly where she had to be.

She ran until she found herself by the bridge leading back to the mountain. The area was nearly overrun with orcs, cutting off her route to Erebor. Gemma, perched once more on the roof of a building, took a moment to catch her breath and figure out exactly what she was going to do.

A sight at the bridge's gate distracted Gemma from her thoughts. Thranduil, charging through the gate on his elk, suddenly tumbled from its back as the animal was shot. The elf king rolled and landed with extreme grace in the middle of a hoard of orcs. How he managed to recover with such elegance was beyond Gemma, and she was quite aware of her clumsiness as she moved across the rooftops to get closer.

Thranduil was certainly a brilliant warrior, but he was completely surrounded and there were no other elven soldiers in his proximity. Gemma reloaded the sniper rifle, lined up the shot, and took out the orc behind the elf king, and then another to his right. She slung the rifle on her back, swung down from the roof onto the building's balcony, and then dropped from it onto the shoulders of another orc. Her trench knife slashed its throat. Gemma rolled off the body and took out her handgun. The brass knuckles of her knife connected with the next orc's skull, and the creature was finished with a point-blank shot to the chest. By this point she was soaked up to her elbows in black orc blood, and panting heavily, but no other orcs came her way. Thranduil had finished of the six or seven other orcs that had surrounded him with his dual swords, which he twirled expertly as he backed up towards her. The area was silent, and they were granted a reprieve, for the moment at least.

"You make for the mountain." It was more of a statement than a question, but Gemma nodded anyway. "Your strange weapon is even more impressive against living enemies," the king continued, and then, after a pause, "as are your own skills."

Gemma straightened up and looked at Thranduil as if he had gone insane. "A compliment, my lord?" she said as a tiny smirk formed on her lips. Slowly, it grew wider. "Don't hurt yourself."

Thranduil furrowed his impressive eyebrows at her, clearly surprised by her forwardness and already regretting his words. He turned and began to stalk away. Gemma reached out to stop him. Before she could even touch him, Thranduil had whirled around and leveled his swords at her. "Do not touch me," he hissed.

Gemma raised her hands and stepped back. "I just wanted to say… well, I know you don't like me, and you sure as hell hate Thorin. But your son and I came to a sort of understanding. We've developed some sort of trust, in the short time since we've met, on account of all the things that have happened since then. I don't expect the same from you, but I was hoping we could have our own understanding. I have nothing against the elves, truly. All I want is to save lives, if I can. And I think, in the end, that's what you want as well."

Thranduil was quiet for a long time and then asked, "Where is my son?"

"He's following a lead... or rather, um... scouting, I guess." She was, in the end a copper at heart, not a warrior, and she still spoke like one. "He and Tauriel followed... some orc guy to Gundabad. We were operating on the theory that Azog is being controlled by a greater power, which obviously has turned out to be true. If he's not back yet... it must mean they've found something." There was another thing that it could mean, of course, but Gemma wasn't cruel enough to suggest it to a father, even if that father was Thanduil.

The king nodded solemnly, probably understanding her unspoken thought. He looked past her into town, where the cacophonous sounds of battle blared, and then to the bridge that led to Erebor, over which a whole new wave of attackers were preparing to cross. "What you said is true; I have no love for Oakenshield and his ilk, nor much for you. But," he said with a wave of his hand, beckoning a passing contingent of elven warriors, "I wish you luck none the less." He spoke to the warriors in elvish, and elves marched towards the bridge.

Gemma's mouth gaped in surprise for a second, before she collected herself. There was a suspicious prickling in her eyes, but she would be damned if she let Thranduil see her cry over his actions. "Thank you. Really." She turned to go, then turned back and said, "Those gems of yours in the mountain. I can't make any promises, but... I'll see what I can do."

Thranduil's eyes shone. "I suppose that's all I can ask." He paused, and then, seeming to surprise even himself, he told her, "They belonged to my wife."

Gemma understood. The things people did to hold on to someone that they… that they… she really, truly understood, but she didn't know how to tell him that. So she nodded, squared her shoulders, and ran towards the bridge, into the fray once more.

There were no more rooftops to hide on, and her rifle was useless. If Gemma had had the time, she would have been terrified. As it was, she just kept moving forward and fighting to stay alive. She slashed with her knife, punched with the brass knuckles, and shot when she could manage to properly aim. She eventually was separated from the elven warriors, and then she was on her own in a sea of enemies. She swerved and ducked and ran as fast as she possibly could. Her arms became patterned with scratches, and her legs burned as she ran. Blood dripped down her face from a cut she had gotten at some point; she wasn't really sure when.

It was only when she made it to the gate of Erebor once more that she chanced a look behind her. A trail of destruction lay in her wake, though there were still an overwhelming number of orcs swarming the battlefield. And it didn't make any sense. Gemma wasn't trained in this kind of combat. No matter how much she tried, she wasn't a warrior. She wasn't even wearing proper armour. The odds of her surviving a foray through such a massive battle were virtually non-existent. By all rights, some foe should have killed her during that sprint, based on the orc's sheer numbers alone. Yet they barely seemed to pay her any mind, unless she was right in front of them. Gemma had stopped believing in luck; it had never been on her side before. What was going on?

She didn't have time to question this too long. Shaking the thought from her head, Gemma continued her way around to the side of the mountain, where the hidden door was. With the front gate sealed off and a war raging below it, this door was the only way she could get back into the mountain. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, the door was locked, making it invisible. But Gemma knew she was in the right place. She'd just have to get someone to open it for her.

Gemma raised her fist and then hesitated. She'd run from the mountain, and Thorin now considered her a traitor. Yet, barely two days after her flight from Erebor, she was trying to get back. She could say it was because the Ironfist dwarves were desperate. She'd seen it in the field, and she knew they could not hold out without help. They needed someone to rally to. They needed Thorin, the old Thorin. But that wasn't it. That was an excuse that she would not hide behind. The real reason, which she had realized when Bard had kissed her, was that she… well, she… It was the fact that she needed him, the old Thorin. She needed him more than anything.

She raised her fist again, and banged on the hidden door.

Thorin sat on his throne above the treasure hoard, safe from the sounds of battle outside. In the silence of the throne chamber, the gold below seemed to sing to him a siren's song. He closed his eyes and let it take him, wiping the pain of Gemma's betrayal from his mind. For hours he sat there, while outside the battle swelled.

The silence of the chamber was brought to an abrupt end when the door at the other end crashed open and Dwalin walked in. "Since when do we forsake our own people?" the dwarf asked him as he approached the throne. "Thorin, they are dying out there."

Thorin couldn't listen to this. In his mind, Dwalin's gruff burr morphed into a feminine voice, one that haunted him. Instead of acknowledging Dwalin's words, he said, "There are hall beneath halls within this mountain, places we can fortify." Yes, yes, this was a good idea. "Shore up, make safe. Yes. That is it. We must move the gold further underground, to safety." The gold seemed to hum its approval.

"Did yeh not hear me?!" Dwalin demanded. "Dain is surrounded. They're being slaughtered, Thorin."

A small part of Thorin thought he should feel something at those words, but he did not. He felt nothing. "Many die in war. Life is cheap. But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend!" Dwalin looked at him in surprise, grief, and fury. It was an expression Thorin had seen on another face not so long ago. If that person had been here now, she would have been enraged by his words. Good, Thorin thought to himself angrily.

"You sit here, in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head... and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been."

It was so similar to something she had said to him not too long ago, that it felt like a physical blow to Thorin. So he countered that blow with rage. "Do not speak to me as if I were some lowly dwarf lord..." His anger melted into what could only be called sorrow, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. "As if I were still Thorin... Oakenshield." Hadn't she said that to him too, that she didn't know who he was anymore? That he wasn't Thorin? Well, she had been right. He was so much better now than what he had been, wasn't he? "I am your king!"

He could hear her voice whispering in his ear. You are no king, she said to him.

She's wrong, he thought. She's wrong.

Dwalin looked at him with sad eyes. "You were always my King. You used to know that once. But you cannot see what you have become."

It was too much for Thorin. He wasn't sure if he was truly speaking to Dwalin or somebody else when he said, "Go. Get out... before I kill you."

Gemma had been pounding on the door for ages now, and she was starting to worry that she would never get into the mountain, after all this, simply because no one inside could hear her. So when the door finally flew open, she fell to the ground in surprise. Looking up, Gemma was met with the end on a longsword. But when her eyes met the wielder, the blade was immediately retracted and she was scooped up from the ground into a tight bear hug. This was quite surprising too, as Dwalin was not one for hugs. Or any physical contact really, if it was of the friendly nature.

"Mahal bless you, my dear. You came back," he exclaimed, still squeezing her tightly. He stepped back and held her at arm's length, looking at her in disbelief. "Thorin has… he needs you Gemma. I spoke with him, but I do not know what to do."

Gemma nodded solemnly, resting her hand on top of his on her shoulder. "Take me to him."

Thorin took a walk, replaying his conversation with Dwalin in his head. It troubled him, even when the gold whispered to him to pay it no mind. In his head, it was not Dwalin but Gemma who stood there, accusation and hurt in her eyes.

He ended up in the hall that they had flooded with molten gold while battling Smaug. It seemed ages ago, not only a week gone by. The entire floor was gold, and radiated a golden aura so intense that Thorin could feel its heat, as hot as dragon breath. He wandered to the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle, then commenced pacing to and fro.

Memories of the past months rose up from the depths of his mind. Her voice was the most prominent, louder than the other whispers, even the taunting whispers of gold, which filled his ears until he couldn't think. You are not your grandfather, her voice echoed over and over. I want to hear you say it. He spun in a circle, trying to get his bearings and block out the voices. In the reflection of the golden floor, he saw the snaking tail of a dragon, twisting and wrapping around him.

Thorin clutched his head, praying for it to end. The floor sank around him, as if it was about to swallow him whole. He closed his eyes tightly.

When he opened them again, she was there, far up above him.

AN:

A late night update, but I wanted to get this out. This chapter was actually much longer, but I kept adding more and more to it and eventually decided to split it into two. The next chapter is… well, if you like Gemma/Thorin, you'll like it. Speaking of which, sorry for the Bard kiss. A lot of you said that you didn't mind the little Bard/Gemma moment last chapter, and that it felt natural. But that was just a moment. I have a feeling you won't be so forgiving this time. Don't worry; I'm still firmly Gemma/Thorin, as I think you can see in the rest of this chapter. Also, Thranduil is finally doing something other than being an asshole in this chapter! Yay!

Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. You guys keep me going, and if it weren't for you, this wouldn't have turned into what it has become. And thanks for all the well wishes for my zoo trip with the kiddies. I didn't lose anybody! Well, one kid ran off, but we found him right away, just in time for him to have the mother of all temper tantrums. I'm talking kicking, screaming, throwing himself to the ground, end of the world stuff. Don't worry, my pay check just came in, and it made me feel all better.

Tomorrow I'm taking them to the aquarium. I'm actually quite excited for this one.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, so drop me a review.