Chapter 3: Confluence

I saw, then, the Light that bound us, fate like the fabled red strings of stories.

There was a time I began to teach the scribe Ori how to speak and read in English. A pointless past time, perhaps, but one we both enjoyed regardless. There was merriment to be had over teaching Ori to say things that have no direct translation into Westron—such words we make in English! Such ways we have learned to speak and understand it! Ah, that is something to miss when I write as I do here today. There is perhaps nothing odder than trying to translate the way I speak in English into Westron and Cirth, but nevertheless I persist, if only to amuse myself.

Westron is a different beast of a language. There was the Common Speech, that was spoken mostly in Gondor; by-and-large it was the language most I met in my travels spoke. However, there still were several dialects according to region. Hobbits such as Bilbo, for instance, spoke a kind of dialect of Westron, Hobbitish, that eschewed all the deferential pronouns of the language, in return for using all familiar pronouns instead. This is a little of what created the initial rift between the hobbit and the dwarves.

Well do I know how over-familiarity with a stranger can cause offence.

Meanwhile, the people of Dale speak a type of Westron that is a blend of Westron and Rohirric, known as Dalish.

It is from Dalish, whence comes the 'names' of all the dwarves. An odd tradition, but then who am I to argue with the traditions of Durin's Folk and their kin?

It was hard. I'd explained there were two tales, and it had been so long since I'd thought of either. I wasn't sure how well I recounted them. Some things, I misremembered, only to correct myself at a later point. Sometimes, I came to a point in the story and realised I hadn't known how or why they'd gotten there. I did my best with what I recalled and found myself apologising multiple times for my poor memory. The mess was made worse by Thorin's memories and opinions disrupting mine. I couldn't fathom that Kíli would betray his Uncle and his people by falling in love with an Elf of all things, but no, I was sure that happened—

Of the Ring, I said nothing, mentioning only that Bilbo became separated from the rest in the Misty Mountains, but rejoined them later. Events that required Bilbo to use the Ring, I attributed only to his bravery and skill and quick thinking. It was not a bridge I was willing to cross. If Thorin noticed my omission, he gave no sign.

I was thirsty when I finished talking. Thorin proved himself an attentive listener over again and did not interrupt me—even when I spoke of him succumbing to Dragon-Sickness. The closest he got to interrupting was when I said that his nephews would die. Then he made a strangled exclamation and surged to his feet. After a moment, he only said, in a low voice full of pain: "Continue."

When I finally brought my story to a close, Thorin's face was drawn into a frown, tension humming along our bond. I tried to remain quiet so as to not distract him from his thoughts but coughed a little in the dry air. Thorin distractedly offered me his flask, eyes staring into the dark as if it would hold all the answers.

"Tell me again how my sister-sons die."

I wiped my mouth and handed Thorin back his flask. "Either they die in battle defending you when you're grievously wounded. Or you go to Ravenhill and they're killed by Azog."

"Can you tell me nothing else?" Thorin said, a hoarse, desperate plea. "No other detail?"

"No, I wish I could, but that's it," I said apologetically.

He paced, and I felt his anxiety war with his resolve.

"This was a story in your world?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm telling the truth about this."

"I do not doubt it," he said, almost absently. Thorin continued to pace while I watched him. He was a storm of emotions, and none of them were kind.

"Thorin?" He glanced at me but continued to pace. I tugged on my necklace nervously. "I would like to go to Rivendell."

"Rivendell," Thorin said, voice heavy with realisation. "This is why you wished to go there. To hide."

"Sure. I'm definitely a coward, never gonna argue that," I said flatly. "It's the safest place for me. Plus, if there is somehow a chance for me to get back home, the elves would know. And if there's no chance, I'd much prefer being out of the way, with little to no chance that me and my foreknowledge falls into the wrong hands."

Thorin finally stopped pacing to look at me, his frown going deeper. "I go to meet my kin tomorrow. You wish to accompany us?" His incredulity leaked into his voice. I grasped the problem instantly: It was one thing to excuse the need to escort me to Bree, another entirely to travel past that point.

I shook my head instantly, panicked at the idea. "No, no, just—no. That wasn't what I meant. I'll travel there myself, in my own time. Just, y'know, if you can spare provisions, a map, or directions, coin or something, that'd be cool. But if you can't, no biggie, I'm sure I can manage. I really don't want to jeopardise your quest more than I already have, what with the whole, 'here's your future, try not to die, figure it out' thing."

A crease formed in Thorin's brow as he sorted through my babble. "So. You would travel alone."

"You gotta do what you gotta do, right?" I said, resigned, but determined. There really wasn't much of another choice. With the Ring and most of Sauron's plans for the War of the Ring in my head, I knew better than to idle in a town on my own. "Thorin, please. I need your quest to succeed. It's—" I stumbled, trying not to think about Erebor in the hands of the Enemy, Bilbo not finding the Ring, and Smaug surviving to be a problem in the War of the Ring. "It was an important part of my childhood, knowing you reclaimed your home," I said, and I knew that it was a foolish thing to say, but could think of nothing else. I rushed to add, "And for that I absolutely can not be a part of the events of this story."

He considered me, stacking my words and weighing their value. "I do not trust the elves. You know this," he said at last.

"I trust them."

A long silence at that, and I sensed his virulent distrust, and yes, not a little hatred. Then: "We will discuss this in the morning. I will consider what must be done." His tone was final. There was dread in his heart as he looked upon me, twisting through him like sickness.

I did not feel that I could sleep after all the heavy truths laid out before us, with the future so uncertain; but no sooner had I lay down than I slipped backwards into darkness.

—

In my dream, there were two lights, warm and cold. Silver and gold.

I reached to touch them and they shattered.

The twin lights became the light glinting off Steve's glasses as we danced at our friend's wedding, under the moonlight.

The lights became the stars overhead, the dew of the Two Trees, then the two Silmarils that had been lost.

The lights became Thorin and I, regarding one another.

The lights became Fíli and Kíli, Frerin and Dís. Thráinand Thrór. My brother and I.

The lights became the fluorescent lights of the hospital, then the morgue.

The lights—

They were blotted out as my father stood over me, then he fell down, and it was Thorin instead—

—

I blinked into the pre-dawn light, gasping for breath.

Thorin's voice came rumbling from the dark. "I have decided. You will accompany me."

My dreams were a tangle that receded slowly, my thoughts jumbled and heart racing—but Thorin's words jolted me. "What?" I said eloquently. I wiped my face, trying to force my blurry eyes to focus.

Thorin was barely visible in the light of the false dawn, and the smouldering remains of our fire, but it seemed like he hadn't even slept, still sitting, legs akimbo, turning over his unlit pipe in his hand. His resignation gnawed at me.

"When I go to reclaim Erebor. You will need to be with me."

I stared, utterly bemused. Thorin merely returned my look calmly.

"But..." I cleared my throat. "I wouldn't want to endanger your quest."

"It is because of my quest, that I take you with me," Thorin said. "You have knowledge of our path, where we are to travel, what we are to do. I cannot risk you speaking of these things to others. The elves—" And here he spat that word. "—Are not to be trusted. Less even, than the Men. I know you wish to go to Rivendell, but I cannot allow it. One slip, in the wrong ear, and you could end this whole venture."

"I—I wasn't going to just tell anyone! I just needed to talk to Elrond to..." I was still waking up. I realised the flaw in my words, even as triumph and a sick certainty gleamed in Thorin's eyes.

"Fine. Leave me in the Shire. I'll mind Bilbo's house."

"A woman living in a hobbit hole? They would throw you out. Then what will you do?"

"Die, I guess," I said blandly. "Then I would be out of your hair."

His disbelief and annoyance mixed. "Self-pity does not become you."

"Whatever. What about Bree?"

"There is a price upon my head," said Thorin relentlessly. "Enemies look for even the barest trace of my whereabouts. You think they would not track you down?"

I gaped at him. "That didn't worry you before!"

"I did not know you knew of the quest before," he said levelly.

"Okay, fine. Send me to the Blue Mountains," I said desperately. "I'll hang with your kin."

He snorted. "They would not let you reside there."

"What, you can't send me with a letter with a signature or some shit?"

"Letters can be forged," he said wearily. "And I cannot spare a single member of my Company to escort you, not if the quest is to be as perilous as you have said.

"But, but—shouldn't I be away from the danger then?"

"The greater danger is you giving our path to my enemies," he said. "Gabrielle, I have thought of all this already."

My mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Walls closed in, a noose winding around my neck. I was being trapped, as surely as if chains were clapped on my wrists to drag me along. A hundred arguments died on my tongue when I looked at him, brimming with conviction.

"This is the legacy of my father, my grandfather. I can take no risk that it may be halted or hindered. I must do this, despite all the risks, despite—" he closed his eyes, the thrum of grief echoing through him. He continued, voice tightly controlled "—despite what may come to pass."

For some time, neither of us spoke. I examined Thorin. He was not looking at me, and his face was lined with his troubles. I felt his worry and sorrow keenly. Perhaps it could have been mistaken as for himself, his doom, in all the ways he had feared. But I knew better. "Why not just forbid them to accompany you on the quest? You're not just their uncle, you're their king."

"I did. As did Dís. But they claimed 'Uhgar Shektar."

'Uhgar Shektar. The Right of Kin. By calling on it, Fíli and Kíli had gained the unassailable right to join the quest by virtue of their blood. And in return, had turned over their service and duty, to their Uncle. It was a coming-of-age, of a sort, declaring themselves adults, not just in the eyes of their people, but before Mahal too. It was absolute in ways that were perhaps indescribable to others outside of their race.

For a moment, I was struck by the clear memory of a throne room, crowded with dwarves. Dís's sharp breath of shock. My hands clenched upon my throne. Fíli and Kíli staring up at me; one serious, the other with an easy smile. I had met my sister's eyes and she had looked back at me with such despair, hidden beneath her fire. She blamed me, still, for Virfir and now I would be taking her sons too.

I blinked and I looked at Thorin's graven face once more.

He continued, and I sensed that he justified it to himself, more than me: "They are my sister-sons and it is their birthright. They have pledged to help me reclaim Erebor." He sighed, and his eyes were as dark as the sky above us, but without even the faint glimmer of the cold light of stars. "They are not children to be coddled. They are Durin's Sons, my heirs, they are not so easily turned aside."

Yet, I seemed to recall that Thorin had managed to turn them aside at one point, had he not? I didn't dare sort through my memories in that moment, wary of tripping over Thorin's once more. Perhaps it would return to me as we travelled.

At my silence, Thorin stood to pace restlessly. After a moment he said, "I must take them with me and I must hope to steer them away from that end. Perhaps you will remember more in the days to come as we travel."

His words neatly echoed my thoughts, and I jolted with the shock of it. "I don't believe I actually agreed to come with you," I said peevishly, to hide my disquiet.

"I do not believe I gave you a choice," Thorin said, a hint of frost in his voice, crossing his arms.

"I don't believe you have that right." I could not stop my irritation from turning into needles. It was, of course, the worst tack to take with the dwarf king.

"If you will not come with me, where would you go?" He stepped forward, and I scrambled to my feet so he could not loom over me. "You are ill-prepared for travel, and no map to aid you. And even if you had all the provisions in Arda you would not find your way to the closest town with no true woodsman skills to claim as you own."

My face flushed, for Thorin was right: What he'd managed to impart on me in the seven days of travel was not near enough. And I knew Thorin's supplies, meant only for himself, had been sorely stretched between the two of us. I could not leave his side, even if I wanted to. Not if I wanted to live.

I carefully set aside the small voice that whispered that maybe I didn't.

I took a breath to argue, then breathed out and tried to keep my voice level. "I've told you everything that would happen on this quest that I could possibly remember; there are so many dangers. You're right, okay? I'm not a fighter, nor do I have any true woods skills. But that makes it worse for me to accompany you. As you said, Thorin—" and his face shifted at my gentler tone "—I would either die, or cause someone to die."

"You think that I could not protect you?" said Thorin incredulously.

He was dangerously arrogant.

The words burst from me. "No, you really can't! You die at the end of this quest, Thorin. In a few months' time, you will die!" I gasped for air, finding my lungs were suddenly empty, and pressed shaking hands to my mouth. After a moment, I was able to continue, the words brittle. "So you'll excuse me if I don't have faith in your ability to protect me. You can't even save yourself."

To my surprise, Thorin gave no response to that. He looked at me then, mouth tight, brows lowered while the roiling sea of his emotions settled into a perplexed curiosity, then into something else I refused to acknowledge. I turned my back to him and hugged myself. Everything was such a mess. His emotions, mine, mixing together into even more volatile combinations.

Despite my initial decision to leave Thorin to his fate, I'd still caved and armed him with foreknowledge. It had taken less than a week for my resolve to crumble.

I had to get away from him, as soon as I could, before my resolve crumbled further. I would not, could not watch someone die with me helpless to stop. I refused to be the bystander, resigned to a fate outside of my control. I would never again let myself hope for the uncaring universe to give me mercy and grace. Not again. Never again.

"Gabrielle!" Thorin's voice cracked out like a whip and I flinched, my heart thundering in my ears, my hands raised to shield myself.

In front of me, an unmarked path into the dark, the wilds, out and away from Thorin—

He came to stand in front of me as I stood there trembling. I refused to meet his eyes, my hands dropping to my side and clenching tight.

Again, I saw a hand gone to bone, shaking slightly, and then still, cold and wax-like atop white sheets—

"Sit," he ordered, and the steel in it had me moving automatically back to my cloak—Thorin's cloak.

I hunched over and very carefully counted everything I could see around me.

Grass, wood, fire, stone, leaf—

After a long moment, I was able to raise my head and look at Thorin. He paced, restless.

"What will you tell the Company about me, when we get to Bag End?" I asked, my voice very calm.

He looked at me sidelong. "I had not considered."

"Shouldn't you? Shouldn't we? They're not just going to let me tag along, on your say so are they?"

"They will."

I waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "Not that I don't think you're persuasive, I hardly think you saying it's okay will make everyone hunky dory with me."

Thorin didn't reply at first. Then he sighed, exasperated. "Your tongue is so strange."

"Bloody 'struth, mate," I said, leaning into a broader Aussie accent than normal.

Thorin's lips turned up. Just a little. I felt an answering quirk of my lips. The tension, ever present, eased slightly.

"You didn't answer my question," I said.

"It does not matter if they do not want you to accompany us. As their lord, and leader of the Company, they will accept my word."

There was something else. Something he would not say to me. To be so attuned to his heart—it was impossible to lie. I tasted his fear, his desperation, and the edge of anger and shame.

"They won't be happy about it," I said softly. "They'll think I'm a burden. They'll think you're crazy."

A sharp, unfurling of fear, like a weed in a garden. I sensed how deeply rooted it was. If I'd aimed to do great injury, to shake his conviction, I'd more than succeeded. "They will have faith in me. For I will not become my grandfather," he said ponderously. He went to say more, and stopped himself, breaking eye contact to stare into the East, and the light growing there.

Despite what he said, I was sure I could find a way to Rivendell from the Shire, by myself. I had to. I'd already interfered with the fate of Arda enough.

A snide voice clamoured for my attention. It pointed out that I had chosen the coward's path: a token attempt so I could pat myself on the back, say that I tried, and absolve myself of responsibility when Thorin and his nephews died.

So what if they died? The Ring was destroyed. A glorious Fourth Age.

I bet the doctors said they tried too.

I stood abruptly, snatching up my staff, and moved away from the fire to go over the previous night's lesson, Thorin watching me with eyes of stone.

—

We set out with the sun, as we had done every other day. The both of us were silent and distracted, barely exchanging a single word.

For my part, I was busying myself with worrying. Plans upon plans circled through my head: I could make a run for it now. But no, Thorin was too fast. I had to leave when he was distracted, then. Perhaps when we met his kin. Perhaps then in Bag End? But then that meant I had to meet the dwarves. I was not anticipating a warm welcome. I knew dwarves were loyal, but surely not so loyal that their King could say, 'accept her' and that was that?

Another: Thorin knew of his fate, and that of his kin. I had made the decision impulsively last night. But in the cold light of day, doubt was creeping in. What would Thorin do with his foreknowledge? Would he change their path so much that the outcome of the quest would change? What if they no longer reclaimed Erebor because he made a different choice? Or, what if they still succeeded, and everyone did live? What difference would the living sons of Durin make on the events to come?

I knew Dáin was able to defend Erebor unto his death. Could Thorin or Fíli or Kíli do the same? What if they died before the events of the War of the Ring anyway, but they had children? Could their children defend Erebor?

Thorin for his part, made no attempt to broach the silence either. He too worried.

I could sense that keenly, whether I drew my attention to him or not. He was a bright-edged presence in my mind now, like I could see him with my eyes closed. I also knew he kept a thread of attention on me, such that when I looked to him, it invariably pulled his eyes to meet mine.

Something had changed. Where before, it was like waves lapping a shore, now he was. A constant, like a radio turned low, but not able to be completely muted.

If Thorin was in the same boat, he did not speak of it.

My anxiety came to perch on my shoulder.

What if telling him his fate wasn't enough? What if he still died?

No, the best I could do for Thorin was get out of the way. I had to believe I'd done enough.

The more I repeated it, the less I believed it.

And over, and over, the little voice growing, the doubt that gnawed that reminded me of every doctor, of every specialist we'd been able to afford, all of them promising they tried, and they did their best, and then Mama, in church, over and over, endlessly, please God, please, another prayer, another plea to an empty house and a deaf god—

We stopped for a short break, just off the road, in a little gap between the trees not big enough to be called a clearing. With preternatural awareness, Thorin had guided us off the trail to a covered well. It was old, but seemingly well-used, for the lid had few leaves, though the floor around it was covered. Thorin gave me a piece of dried meat that I took, but I hadn't any stomach for. I pretended to pick at it all the same.

"You will need a name," he said abruptly.

"I have a name. It's Ellie. Which you refuse to call me, but whatever—Gabrielle is fine."

Thorin shook his head. "Gabrielle sounds elvish." There was a sneer of contempt as he said it.

"Yes, and therefore, I really like my name."

Thorin ignored me. "You could be Heith."

I wrinkled my nose. "Ug, no, why though?"

"Names are important. My kin will trust you less if you come to them with an elvish name. What is the matter with Heith?"

"I dunno. It's weird." I frowned. "You dwarves don't even use your real names, I didn't think you put that much stock in what people are called."

Thorin crossed his arms. His eyes looked me over, but it seemed like he wasn't really looking at me. "Gullveig."

"Gesundheit?"

"No, Gullveig. That name will suit you better."

"Hey, you know what suits me better? My name. Which is Ellie. Just a thought."

Thorin looked at me darkly. "Do you not wish to be accepted by my kin?"

I'd prefer to not be involved at all. But aloud I only said, "Where'd you pull Gullveig from?"

"It is an old name."

I waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. Eventually, I sighed. "Look, if I'm choosing between 'Heith' and 'Gullveig', I'm going with the latter. At least there's a 'G' at the start."

Thorin nodded, and I knew he considered the matter settled. Strange how a name could mean so much. My dad had picked my name. He and my mum had debated my name for the entire time leading up to my birth, I'd been told. They'd nearly called me Remedios, after a famed Filipina military commander ('Remy!' Dad had said. 'Good, strong name.' While I would roll my eyes surreptitiously). But once I'd been born, or so the story went, my dad had taken one look at me and said 'Gabrielle', and that was that.

Steve had called me Gabby, something that I'd disliked, but then grew to like and love. Something that was ours—

"You feel so deeply. Is this normal for the race of Men?" Thorin's rumble broke into my thoughts.

"I guess? I have no basis for comparison. Do all dwarves feel as deeply as you?"

"I have no basis for comparison," said Thorin dryly.

I nodded absently. Then froze. "I—did you just make a joke? You just made a joke!"

"I apologise. I seem to have offended you. I will make no more henceforth," he said very seriously.

"You did it again!" Thorin had, not once, even tried to return my banter before. To hear him do it not once, but twice made me laugh.

"We should continue. I wish to reach this 'Bag-End' before night closes in." Thorin turned and made for the road.

"What, no, wait!" I skipped after him, catching his hand.

A flood: Warmth. Acceptance. Fear. Oh such fear. I knew it, as well as my own. That such a physical touch would heighten our connection such that it was. He longed to be rid of me. A worm that had burrowed into his core. But also that he could not. Just as I could not.

It was standing in a roaring river and trying not to be swept away. The rush of pure knowing, acceptance, belonging. There was no room for doubt. We hovered for a moment, balancing on the edge of—something. A truth so pure and absolute.

I tore away from that.

A pause. Long silence. Heartbeats.

The road—I needed to get back to the road.

I skipped over the roots, ignoring the storm behind me to return to the dirt of the road and started walking. I barely managed a few steps before I heard the crunch of boots on the dirt behind me.

"I shouldn't have," I said, without turning. "I didn't think—"

"Gabrielle, stop."

"Ellie," I corrected absently, but despite myself, I did stop. When I met Thorin's eyes, they were shadowed with knowledge. He hesitated then, and I watched him struggle to find the right words. Finally, he simply held out a hand. An invitation—if I wanted it.

"No." I was shaking my head even as my hand reached out. "NO." I snatched my hand back and stared at Thorin with wide eyes. "Why are you—I don't understand."

"I will not live in fear," he said darkly. And then more gently: "Did you not feel it?"

"I did," I said softly. "It felt—oh gods help me, it felt—"

"Right." Thorin finished for me, certainty and understanding and a twist of something darker that lay beneath but I could not discern—

I shook my head, shutting my eyes, forcing back the sudden vertigo.

I do not know how long we stood there, in that terrible, wonderful silence, with the roar of a river in my ears, in my heart, but when I opened my eyes once more, Thorin's eyes were on the tree line and sinking sun.

"Come. We lose the light." And so saying, he turned and kept walking, leaving me to trail after him, feeling again the sense of balancing on the edge of a precarious truth that I could not fathom, and could not voice.

—

What was it that connected us so? A Bond. An inexorable link, forging two hearts as one. Winding us together as thread is woven together on a skein.

Perhaps, if I had the eyes to see such a thing, I would see the red string that connected us.

Thorin had grasped something, a truth that only he knew the full import of.

I fumbled at the edges of it. Here were the pieces: A touch. A light. A knowing.

So: what could Thorin have gleaned from the connections we'd made? Nothing. Nothing. Unless what he experienced was different—

Or perhaps he knew already—

Did I know—?

And here my mind shied away. There was truth there, and I was not ready for it.

—

As the sun crept to the horizon, we passed many hobbits who very openly stared at us, some with disapproval, some with shock, and all with curiosity. Thorin hadn't been given clear direction, outside to look for a mark upon a door, on the home of one 'Mr Baggins', who lived in a hill. It seemed a maddening choice by the wizard, as the directions were suitably vague to apply to any number of hobbit homes if you didn't know what to look for.

Thorin, was of course, too proud to ask for directions. But I had no such scruples. My Westron was... strange, to say the least. And many hobbits either seemed to not understand me, or just dislike my attempts. I was embarrassed, yes, and had Thorin not been there, glaring at some of the ruder hobbits, I might have given up entirely. Yet, I persisted, aware that quite soon I would be among the Company, none of whom I shared a Bond with.

"I am going to Bag End, to meet a dear old friend, Bilbo Baggins—do you know him? But it has been some time since I have been there, and it seems I have quite forgotten the way!" I tried a few variations of that lie while Thorin watched with bemusement. Most shook their head at me, professing not to know, before making excuses and walking away rapidly.

I finally succeeded with a rather young girl-child, dressed in a pale blue dress with golden curls, who giggled and gave me directions in a high piping voice.

"I hope you arrive in time for supper with Mr. Baggins!"

"Thanks, kid. Uh, I mean, child."

No sooner had I said that than a very matronly, pinch-faced hobbit woman came storming out the house to snatch the girl's hand and pull her indoors, all the time watching us with gimlet eyes.

I turned to look at Thorin, who returned the look with raised brows. I shrugged. "Knew it would work eventually."

"At a close cost to your life. That woman looked ready to do battle with you," he said drily.

I bit back a smile. "Well good thing you've taught me well. I think I stand a chance. My stick versus her frying pan."

Thorin almost smiled.

By the time we found it, the sun had well set, and we passed several hobbits returning home, and to my surprise, lamplighter hobbits, who nodded to us, gave a double-take, then hurried along, little lamps in hand, set on their task.

I squinted and made out a familiar silhouette in the dark. Bag End and the tree above it. It was almost like the movies, in the same way Thorin was, but still somehow different. A copy of a copy of a copy. Yet even in the encroaching dark, there was no mistaking it. Hobbiton was actually quite well-lit, even at night. The Party Field was encircled by lamps on the outset, and there were two that bordered the tree itself. Of Bag End, I saw one lantern lit out front, with the light from the windows making clear circles in the distance.

As we approached, I found myself growing nervous. Thorin was one thing—our inexplicable connection had made our meeting and subsequent companionship difficult and complex, but it had meant he'd not had a choice but to accept me, at least to some extent. I would soon be meeting twelve dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard, and none of them would have some mysterious magic forcing trust and companionship with me.

The sounds of merry voices and deep laughter were clearly audible as we approached. The dwarves. The Company. Squirming black dread punched holes in my heart, most of all at the idea of explaining myself to the other dwarves. Thorin's plan to just tell the dwarves to accept me seemed like it left me open for a great many questions, none of which I was willing to answer.

I ran hands down my face, with a groan, and met Thorin's eyes. He was a few paces ahead of me, already waiting by the door to Bag End. His impatience to meet with his kin was clear, yet he still stopped and looked at me.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." I waved him off. He kept watching as I came up next to him and stared at the round green door. Gandalf's mark glowed clearly in the dark. Another burst of laughter and muffled cheers, and my heart clenched. I tugged on my necklace, running the pendant up and down the chain to listen to the reassuringly familiar zipping sound it produced as the pedant ran up and down the chair. I turned and glanced back the way we'd come. Perhaps I could still make a break for it? Thorin couldn't be that fast, surely? But he was still watching me.

"What?" I snapped.

"I have told you before: there is little point lying to me about how you feel," said Thorin evenly.

"It's fine," I repeated stubbornly and waved at the door impatiently. "Let's do this shit."

Thorin looked like he would argue, but half shrugged and turned away.

"Wait!"

Thorin paused mid-step.

"Do I look okay?" I said frantically. "Like, am I gonna make a good impression, you think?"

Thorin turned a speculative look on me. I flinched back from his raised hand, but he only pulled something from my hair. A twig.

"Oh. Well, that helps. Thanks." I twisted my fingers glancing between the door and Thorin. "So, Thorin, uh, this may not have occurred to you, but you know I'm actually a huge fucking introvert, and I have that crazy high social anxiety, and I don't handle meeting new people, or gatherings, or parties, or what-have-yous, very well at all, and I still don't know what your plan is here, I mean, are you seriously just going in there and saying, 'hey, check out this random girl I found, she has no useful skills and I'm totes gonna bring her along on this incredibly important quest that decides the fate of my people!' and you think they'll be cool about it, because I'm not sure they will be—"

Thorin's brows had climbed nearly to his hairline. "Gabrielle. Breathe."

"I am breathing," I said.

"Breathe more."

I let out a frustrated sound. "Thorin, what'll you say?"

"As you said, I will say you will be accompanying us."

"They'll want to know why. "

"So I will lie."

That made me frown. "You wouldn't. Not to your kin."

For a second, his resolve wavered. Then: "In this, I must."

He strode ahead and gave three firm knocks upon the door while I gaped at him. There was a sudden hush.

I forced myself to move closer. I took a deep breath in. Another clench in my heart. Breathe out.

"What if it's not just you?" I burst out. "The Bond," I said, through a tight throat. "What if I touch another member of the Company and then I Bond with them? Or anyone? What if this keeps happening?"

Thorin said, quietly, and with great certainty. "You will not."

"But. How do you know?"

"Gabrielle." Thorin suddenly turned and took my hand. The shock of that was enough to knock me out of my spiralling thoughts. I braced for the flood, the overwhelming sensations but—

No, his hand was merely warm in mine, calluses rasping against the palm of my hand. He'd removed his gloves. He'd removed his gloves and touched my hand and the contact hadn't broken us, sent us spiralling into each other dizzyingly. Perhaps my sense of him was stronger—determination, anger, fear—but I did not drown, I was still me, and Thorin was still Thorin.

And it felt like—

No, it was—

I saw again, my father, Thorin's father, with pride in his eyes as I won my sparring matches, I giggled under the long table of the second hall with Dís and Frerin as we waited to see if the Elf delegation would emerge from their rooms tarred and feathered, stood behind and beside Thrór's throne, bathed in the light of the Arkenstone, so like the stars of Durin's Crown that was the mark of our family—

Erebor burning, the glimpse of Smaug as he had taken not just my home, but my family, my pride, my people, the ashes that coated my skin, and smell of charred flesh that had clung to me for days afterwards, and sometimes I would wake with it in my throat—

I knew Thorin's conviction, his love of his family, and yes, his pain too, the ache that settled over me as I waited to greet my irakdashshat, knowing their fate was to die, and I was the one to lead them to it.

Thorin, whose love and pain and longing matched mine, for our family and home and the illness of our fathers, all of it—

My eyes met Thorin's, finally, and I realised his eyes were not black, but blue, like the sky over the mountains, clear and endless and certain.

What was the truth of it, the Bond we shared? There it was again, that truth, that mote of knowledge dangling tantalisingly out of my grasp. And I would know it, could know it, had once known it, and if I asked Thorin now, he would tell me—

I bit my lip. My grip on his hand tightened. His eyes widened.

"Thorin—"

And of course that's when the door opened.

A/N: Almost, almost getting to the rest of the Company. They're right there! Behind the door! Next chapter, I promise.

Heith and Gullveig are both taken from the Voluspo, which is the primary source of Tolkien's dwarf names in the Hobbit. They are both from different translations of the same text, so technically, I should be using Heith and Gollveig, or Heidi and Gullveig, but I went with what sounded better.

Tolkien Lore Stuff:

All the languages mentioned at the top are really part of Tolkien's world. Westron is the 'English' translation of its true name, 'Adûni'. I originally had a spiel at the start of the fic about 'Adûni' and then realised that wouldn't make sense because we're reading Ellie's Westron writing in English, so any instance of her saying 'Westron' would already read 'Adûni' and then my head kinda broke thinking about it. Anyway, I wish there was a greater sample size of Adûni/Westron but we only have a handful of words (like Bilbo=Bilba, Rivendell=Karingul etc) and I'm no good at expanding on conlangs, so I have tentatively chosen a mixture of Old French and Old English for Westron and Rohiric respectively, with Dalish as Swedish on the off chance that I do need to use them in the story! For instance, I've translated Thorin Oakenshield into 'Tordôn Ǣċheaðulind' and Gullveig into 'Gyllenestyrkâ'

Ellie mentions the Two Trees which were once the source of all light. Their dew was collected by Varda, one of the Valar and turned into stars. The Silmarils were three great stones made by the legendary elven smith Fëanor to contain the light of the Two Trees and they became the cause of much sorrow in the First Age. One became a star, mentioned previously and two others were lost to the sea and a volcano respectively.