You guys give me so much motivation, I swear. :'D
This chapter is lengthy compared to the others, but I'm iffy about how it turned out, so a bit of extra feedback would be much appreciated if you could spare the time. I think it's just because of there being so much Thorin in this one. I'm always so nervous about writing him! Haha just let me know what you think. :)
(Also more info about updates at the end.)
Enjoy, my lovelies~!
The Loudest Silence
Chapter Eleven
I was not lucky enough for Thorin to let me avoid him the entire trip.
In fact, that evening as dinner was being prepared, I was setting my belongings down next to Bofur's when I made unfortunate eye contact with Thorin. He was on the opposite side of the camp and I would have gladly gone back to ignoring his existence if he hadn't given the head tilt that plainly meant 'come here'. I was grateful for the distance he had given me over the day, whether for his own sanity or for mine, I really didn't care. Now, though, it was time to face the music. The awkward, blush-inducing music.
It took every bit of willpower I had to be an adult about this and not shy away.
For all the body image issues I had, showing skin in front of others did not usually bother me. It was some convoluted mix of my free-spirited Aunt's way of thinking, and of being convinced that I had no sex appeal whatsoever. My chest wasn't even all that big, like most people thought chubby girls were automatically endowed with (chubby does not equal 'busty', thanks), but I did have my butt. I mean, that definitely existed.
I guess it was just the thought of Thorin Oakenshield of all people, having seen any part of my less-than-stellar physique. It's not like they didn't already know I was out of shape, (hell, my leg muscles were only just beginning to adapt to riding and it had almost been a week since we started out) but for him to actually see the complete potato he brought along? Like, yeah – as if he needed reminding that I had never picked up a sword in my life, much less used one.
None of that meant I wasn't still embarrassed as hell. I was only human, after all.
Somehow, though, I put up a mental brick wall, conjuring a semi-professional face. My retail employee face, if you will. After dropping my bag, I made my way over to where the Dwarf King was waiting, knowing full-well that the rest of the Company was incredibly curious about the conversation to come. They pretended to be doing other things, of course, except for Gandalf and Balin. Those two were blatantly staring and talking. Nosy geezers.
Thorin was aware of the extra ears, and picked a spot far enough from the others that it gave some semblance of privacy, but not so far that it felt outside of the camp's invisible boundaries. He chose to sit in front of a tree, leaning his back against it, while I stood there for a moment like a dummy. It was only after receiving a look of mild impatience that I realized I was supposed to be sitting as well. I plopped down so fast that it kind of hurt my tailbone, but I hid my wince behind a polite smile as I criss-crossed my legs. I hoped it was polite, anyway.
My apprehension about this was already a mile high, so the long pause while he thought on what to bring up first did not help one iota. Last time, Gandalf had been with us. Now it was just me and Grumps McGee over here. Just act like he's a coworker, I told myself. Yeah, a really brave, sexy coworker, with a voice that could break the Richter scale.
I'm pretty sure my relief was palpable when he finally started talking.
"You cannot speak. You cannot write. You cannot provide any information about where you've come from or how the tattoo came to be," Thorin began carefully, as if it were a grocery list of upsetting things. "Given the circumstances, you understand why more questions are in order."
Obviously, I thought, nodding. I leaned forward a bit to signify that I understood and was open to (certain) inquiries, hoping he would recognize that I was trying to be cooperative. Or at the very least, that my ears were functioning.
He did, in fact, notice my shift in posture, and finally allowed his eyebrows to ease up a bit. Now he only looked somewhat irritated instead of completely irritated. What an improvement.
Thorin waited another moment, assessing me, then turned back to stare at the fire again. "That map did not just turn up on your arm," he stated. "Something like that on your person, I assume you know a great deal more than appearances would suggest."
My lips came together in a thin line. Why did that sound mildly offensive? I glanced down to where my accursed tattoo would be if it wasn't covered by a hoodie, and I played with the edges of my sleeves as he continued.
"Gandalf guarantees that he had no hand in its making. Do you swear this?" he asked, ignoring my tiny frown.
I nodded, watching as Thorin tried to spy any deception on my face. It didn't seem to be that he outright thought Gandalf was a liar, but more like he would rather it be magic than some other elaborate mystery. There was a small nod from him in return, a statement accepting the reality of the situation. He understood this was going to get complicated.
As such, I resigned myself to a Q&A session that would span half the bloody trip.
"So you did meet him for the first time at the Halfling's home?" he double-checked. A nod from me, verifying what the wizard already told him. With Gandalf's words confirmed, and with no one else to prove their authenticity, Thorin moved on.
The next question seemed to cause him some pause, and I was vaguely confused as he asked slowly, "Have you come across any Dwarf before who held that map?"
It took me a good moment to realize why his expression was so rigid for this specific issue.
When I did… Oh.
I shook my head with caution, well aware that his thoughts were on his father. That's how Gandalf received the map and the key after all, so it would have been an obvious connection in Thorin's eyes. Thrain had the map before Gandalf, and if Gandalf had nothing to do with my tattoo, that left Thrain – who Thorin had been searching desperately for. Of course that would be at the forefront of his mind.
I was certain that this did not look good for me, but after I answered, Thorin's gaze focused on something unseen as he started mentally crossing off more possibilities. I had never met Thrain and I had never met Gandalf prior to Bag End. What a conundrum this was.
"You have seen the map itself before though, I presume? I don't understand how you would have that tattoo had you not," he said.
I shifted uneasily. That was kind of a loaded question. On one hand, yeah, I had seen the map before, but on the other hand, it wasn't his actual map – just copies and images in my own world. They were only ever remakes of the original, which meant, no, I had not technically seen his map. Except that I had? Oh my aching brain.
He waited, noticing my hesitance, and came to his own conclusion. "So you have seen it before?"
My nose crinkled as I wobbled my hands in the air, shrugging a little. How the hell do you explain this?
"So you have not?" Thorin asked, tilting his chin down to glower at me, getting a little peeved at my indecision.
I frowned at him directly then, trying to convey my frustration. Could he just give me a second? I put only one hand out, wobbling it back and forth very sharply this time while mouthing, 'Sort of.' He finally realized my more deliberate reply was the answer he would get.
Thorin appeared dissatisfied with my less-than-specific response – not to mention my attitude. "You have seen it then? In some way?" he questioned severely, tilting forward away from the tree.
I was finally able to nod without feeling like I was lying, but my previous calm was gone. He was already making me a frazzled wreck. My hoodie sleeves were suffering as I twisted the fabric between my fingers again, slouching defensively without realizing.
I wasn't aware of my nervous ticks going off all over the place until his eyes shifted to my hands. Glancing down as well, I ceased their movement when I realized, clasping them together tightly. While I forced my spine to straighten a bit, I looked back to see Thorin exhale sharply through his nose. It was almost like a sigh of annoyance that died halfway through. This was followed by him leaning against the tree once more, though he clearly wanted to be a looming presence while questioning this weird outsider. He had an intimidating aura, and he was probably used to using it.
Obviously that tactic was just going to make me pee my pants, not answer questions.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause before Thorin tried again, reaffirming, "So you have seen the map, though not outright – somehow. The wizard had nothing to do with it, and the Valar… sent you here, to go on this quest."
He waited for me to deny anything, especially the last part. When I didn't, and just blinked at him, he resumed his evaluation of the predicament.
"Why…?" he murmured, then more directly asked, "Do you yourself even know the reason?"
The inflection in his tone made it obvious that he didn't expect me to. A tiny grimace cropped up before I could squash it entirely, hoping his eagle vision didn't see, but of course it did. The Dwarf King was back to being suspicious and I wondered how quickly I could suffocate myself with my hoodie before the subject wandered further into dangerous territory. Why couldn't I be an aspiring actress? This would've been so much easier.
"You do know, then." It wasn't a question this time.
Purposefully, I stared straight ahead, not trusting my face to shut up. I watched Bombur stirring the big pot over the fire and Bofur preparing the bowls, so I assumed dinner was almost ready. Thank goodness, too. I could feel the laser beams of judgment turning me into Swiss cheese as Thorin examined me. Trying to be calm and honest with him was harder than I expected, but he would catch it in an instant if I tried lying. My deception skills were terrible and he was no dummy.
I took a deep breath, nodding with some reluctance.
"Why?" he asked shortly.
The downfall of Durin's line flashed through my mind and I stared harder at the campfire, forcing myself not to look at the members of said bloodline. Without a doubt, he would have noticed and this whole thing would go to hell in a hand basket. His eyes were boring into me, waiting, and I shook my head forcefully. I wouldn't answer that question in any form. That was final.
Eventually, when he understood that I would not budge regarding that decision, relented on the subject. Of course, he wasn't thrilled about conceding, but there wasn't much for it when I just kept staring forward to not give myself away.
A long silence followed my refusal to respond to this particular query. When I felt it was safe, I peeked back over to him. Again, he was thoughtful, probably trying to draw conclusions that were basically impossible to draw from the information I was giving.
"Are you a Witch of some description?" Thorin asked. He really was trying to touch all the bases, wasn't he?
I stared at him incredulously. My mouth popped open a tiny bit before turning into a nervous half-smile, and I shook my head in answer, amused by the idea.
Thorin was serious though when he questioned further. "You have no… otherworldly abilities?"
Another big 'ole nope.
"An unusual aptitude for healing?"
Unfortunately not. That would've been extremely helpful, though.
"Experience with dragons?" he asked in the most dubious tone I'd ever heard.
Ha. Also a definite 'no.'
Shaking my head, I watched his brows draw downward, though not in anger this time. He was thoroughly perplexed. Probably the most perplexed he'd been in a while. If me and my unexplainable tattoo were not on his Top Ten list of weirdest shit to ever fall into his life, then my name was Ron Weasley. Why did the Valar send this particular chick if she didn't have any unique talents, he was probably wondering.
Good fucking question, pal.
At about that moment, Bofur made the call for supper, and I could feel myself melt with relief. The members of the Company hopped up and started meandering over for the bowls that Bofur was passing out, and I waited for Thorin to make the first move. I didn't want to be rude and assume he was through with the questions, but… food.
I glanced back and forth a few times between him and the small cluster of hungry Dwarves. Eventually, he realized that I had not budged or made any other movement towards dinner.
"Go," he said in a borderline discontented way. "We will continue later."
Another word was not needed, as I was on my feet and scampering over to the automatic line that had formed next to the cooking zone. I had to remind myself not to actually speed walk away from the King, relaxing significantly once I could feel the warmth of the fire. And of course, a certain welcoming aura.
"Everything going alright, lass?" Bofur asked quietly, glancing over to Thorin for clarification when I stepped up.
I gave a wry smile, widening my eyes and staring at the ground dramatically. My shoulders lifted a bit. What did he count as 'alright'?
The hatted-Dwarf understood my ridiculous face, sharing a grin of his own as he handed me a bowl. "Could be turnin' out much worse, I'd imagine," he encouraged. "Here ye go."
I took my bowl, mouthing a quick, 'Thank you.' Before I moved from the line, though, I spotted Thorin in the same position I'd left him. I wondered what he was waiting for. These guys could put away some food, and he knew that just as much as anyone. He looked distracted though (probably thinking of a dozen more questions) and an idea came to mind.
Bofur was happy to oblige when I jutted a thumb in the direction of the King, and then held out my hand. My request was easy enough to understand, so moments later, I was ambling back over to where Thorin was, carrying two bowls instead of one. I was going to show him I was nice and trustworthy, dammit.
Obviously, if Thorin was expecting someone to come back over there after our chat, he didn't think it would be me again. (Considering my eagerness to escape his presence, it was no wonder.) He looked up at the sound of footsteps on the grass, his sharp eyes questioning when they met mine. Until he saw the second bowl, that is, and then his face went back to being guarded. Did he think I had a menacing ulterior motive by bringing him din-din? Honestly…
I offered him the bowl of stew, and after a tense moment – good Lord, my nerves could not handle this uncertainty – he accepted it. Thorin took the dish, giving me a nod, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"Thank you," he said. His posture was more relaxed, even if his face was not, so I took it as a good thing.
A genuine, non-anxiety-ridden smile crept up on me as I nodded back. I made to go eat my stew with the others, but didn't get but about two steps.
"I do apologize for this morning," Thorin said before I could leave.
My hoodie was suddenly too warm as I remembered what he was talking about. I'd almost succeeded in repressing that memory, so thanks a ton, your Majesty. I could only stare at him, half-turned as I held my bowl, waiting for anything else related to my earlier mortification.
"Admittedly, I should have knocked," he offered, and met my gaze while adding sternly, "and you should have used more caution."
My brief good mood was pushed off a cliff. Well I mean, you're not wrong, but –
"As the only woman here, I expected you to already know that, but there happens to be a very crucial part of our quest on your shoulder. Seeing as how we were not the inn's only visitors, the need for prudence should have been clear, Miss Hollander. Use your head next time," Thorin said, more than a little condescending. He stared me down for a heavy moment, before shifting his attention from me to his bowl without another word, obviously through talking, and I just stood there.
Amazing. My mouth scrunched up like I'd just drank pure lemon juice. I bring him food, he gets onto me for possibly exposing the map to others. Others who probably wouldn't even have a clue what to do with said map, much less know anyone who could read it. If anything, his words made me want to throw my shirt on the ground in pure rebellion, but out of respect for the rest of the Company and respect for my non-existent dignity, this would not happen.
I trudged away then, allowing him to eat – and maybe choke on – the stew I brought him. Like I was going to deliver his food ever again.
The tension in my body eased up eventually as I left Thorin's general vicinity, arriving back in the circle of camp. My smile still had not returned though. Curious eyes watched as I made my way over to where I saw Bilbo last and sat down between him and Bofur, who had finished divvying out dinner a few minutes ago.
Bilbo was a smart cookie, and said nothing about my unhappy face. Instead, he commented on the food like a proper Hobbit, saying, "This is quite delicious for what it is. Simple, yet filling. Very enjoyable."
Of course, Bofur found this amusing. "It's the same thing ye had two days ago."
"Well, perhaps I thought its quality was worth mentioning again," Bilbo informed him. Turning to the other Ur brother sitting a few feet away, he said, "Thank you for the stew, Master Bombur. Truly – I could have this for weeks and likely never tire of it."
I choked on a laugh mid-bite, coughing. I was not the only one though, as several of the Company wound up chuckling too, confusing the poor Baggins. Bofur slapped my back a few times as I tried not to suffocate, and despite nearly choking to death, I was grateful for the distraction of our friend's unintentional humor.
"I'm being honest. A Hobbit would never joke about his food," Bilbo said, looking a little cross.
"Oh, we know, lad. We know," Bofur told him with a grin. "That's what makes it all the better."
"Let's just say you'll have plenty of time to appreciate the fare," explained Nori when Bilbo had still not ceased in his puzzling. "Much worse things we could be stuck eatin', though."
"Yes, I agree," Dori piped up. "You could be doing the cookin'."
"Hold on there now! I make a fine brisket, if I may toot my own horn for a moment," said Nori, puffing his chest out. From beside him, Ori bobbed his head in concurrence, causing the other to grow even smugger. Dori sighed at his siblings and brought up a time that Nori made half the neighbors ill from a dinner party.
I watched with a smile as Nori blamed the market he bought the food from and mild bickering ensued, forgetting all about my Durin troubles. That was, until my peripheral caught the King joining Balin and Gandalf closer to camp, in their little geezer club. I briefly wondered what he would say to those two concerning my weirdness, and if Gandalf knew even more about me than he was letting on. He knew about my writing, he knew about me coming from another world, and yet he didn't know about my tattoo. Continuing to finish off my food, I chose to ignore these niggling thoughts, focusing instead on the friendly Dwarf who had just addressed me.
"Do ya cook much, Miss Hollander?" Bofur asked, trying to include me in the conversation.
I shook my head with wide eyes, having horrible flashbacks to a flaming pot of bowtie noodles. Oh, boy. Absolutely not. Unless it was to construct a sandwich, I should not be allowed in the kitchen.
"That's a shame. I would've liked to try some dishes from… wherever ye're from," he replied. "I don't doubt there's a few interesting ones, considerin'."
'Considering?' I mouthed softly, curious.
"No offense – as always, lass," he said with a slight laugh, causing me to smirk at the often-used words, "but if you yerself are so strange, with such odd belongins' and clothes and demeanor, I can only imagine what food in your world is like."
I cringed as I thought of McDonald's and Taco Bell, and the varying degrees of unhealthiness that came from such places. Cheap, affordable, and delicious, maybe, but not the best for your heart. The food here was incredibly different. There were definitely no genetically engineered, chicken-flavored-paste bites, for one.
Shrugging, I gave a look of flippancy. I didn't particularly miss it, maybe aside from the occasional Starbucks and certain candy bars (and pizza, and French fries, and ramen, and… Oh man, yeah, okay), but it would be better for my health in the long run. I pointed to my bowl and offered a thumbs up to the Dwarf, nodding to convey my fondness for the grub here.
"You mean there's no food you'll miss, being away from home?" Kili spoke up from halfway across camp. I shook my head, and he looked surprised.
Fili leaned forward, stretching one leg out as he said, "We've only just begun and already I miss the way amad could fix a steak pudding."
I nearly gagged. What in the name of literature is a steak pudding?
My look of disgusted confusion was not missed, and Fili raised an eyebrow, asking, "Have you never heard of steak pudding? It's very common amongst… well, Dwarves." He seemed to realize then, why it sounded so odd to me.
I heard Bilbo mutter something that sounded like, "Even Hobbits have never heard of such a thing… Steak pudding…?" His monologue and subsequent expression made me giggle.
"Unless she's been around other Dwarves before, it's no wonder she's never heard of it. Men ain't got the taste," Nori added. "It happens to be one of my favorites."
From the little group off to the side, Balin suddenly seemed intrigued and joined the discussion. "Well, Miss Hollander… Have you been around many dwarrow?"
I shook my head in a definite no, wondering why this warranted interest. A slight shift of my vision revealed Thorin to be watching as well, probably stowing information away for future inquiries, while Gandalf beside him was not nearly as tense in his observation. I did my best to disregard the hawk eyes of the King.
"Are we the first you've ever met?" Kili asked eagerly. With my nod, a grin sprang to life and his eyes lit up like I'd just handed him a plate of cookies.
His brother was in a similar state, practically glowing in satisfaction at the news. "In that case, we should work even harder to make a good impression," Fili said.
Their preening was making me laugh, little puffs of air replacing actual noise. Bofur was chuckling as well as he shared a look with me, knowing he had them both beat in the first Dwarf department. We let them have their fun, though. It wasn't a contest.
"Do ye still have Dwarves back home though? Even if you've never met 'em?" Bofur questioned as he stood up and took my empty bowl to stack onto his. He grabbed a few more from others who were finished, glancing back to me for a response. Bofur wasn't the only curious one though, and as the rest of the group waited, I grew nervous.
Oh dear. No, not Dwarves in the sense that you're thinking, friend. I gave an apologetic look before I stared down at the grass I had begun to fiddle with, shaking my head a bit morosely. There were a few noises of distress at this – a murmur from Gloín, some incoherent whine from Ori, and an unrestrained "What?" from Oín. (I wasn't sure if it was because he really didn't hear or if he was just surprised.)
"There are no Dwarves where you come from, whatsoever?" Balin asked, disbelieving, as the Company grew silent.
I shook my head warily, earning another curious stare from Thorin. He looked like someone had just insulted him. Or like a crazy girl had just made the mystery surrounding her twice as complicated.
"Just haven't gone far enough out of your home to find 'em, is all," Dwalin said boredly. The suggestion of my foolishness was not lost on me, and I shook my head once more while meeting his gaze, brows lowered. There were mumbles again, though Dwalin wasn't the least bit bothered by my irritation.
There was a shuffle from Kili, as he sat up straighter and exclaimed, "Well that – that just doesn't make any sense! How can there not be Dwarves in your world?" The poor prince looked as if he were a child who just learned Santa wasn't real. But I mean, this was his entire race, not just some fantastical, jolly old man.
I gave him a shrug. Same reason we didn't have Harry Potter phaffing about, I supposed.
"But… the map! The tattoo?" he continued.
Fili glanced over and understood where the train of thought was going, saying, "Good point, Kili. How could you have a map of a Dwarven kingdom without having the Dwarves themselves?"
Oh my God, there were so many questions that I just couldn't answer! I was back to slouching as I stopped trying to give definite replies, channeling my inner hermit crab. Maybe if I curled up enough, I could just disappear, never to worry about dwarrow ever again.
"Perhaps you received the tattoo after ye came to our world," Balin speculated, and before I could deny it, questioned, "How long have you even been here for, might I ask?"
Still partially curled up, I held out my hands to show them seven fingers.
"Seven… weeks? Months?" Balin tried for, and I kept shaking my head, even more so when he asked, "Years?"
There was a long pause, until Bofur figured it out. "Ye hadn't been here but a day when we found you, lass?" he realized. I nodded to him, and wondered why he looked so bothered at this information, until he said, "And already ye'd been attacked and nearly drowned. Not exactly the warmest of welcomes, that there."
I huffed a sardonic laugh of agreement, rolling my eyes and nodding. Preach.
"Wait, so – seven days?" Kili asked, a little behind the Miner.
Balin made a troubled noise when I confirmed it yet again, and surmised, "She's had the tattoo for a while then. Wouldn't be nearly as healed, had she gotten it a scant few days ago."
There were definitely some curious looks by that point. I mentally groaned, wondering how this conversation about food went downhill so fast.
"So… do you at least have Hobbits? Back home, I mean?" Bilbo asked tentatively, like he was afraid of what my answer might be.
When I gave him a 'no', his round little nose did some kind of twitch as he sniffed, frowning. Bilbo thought for a minute before asking, "Well then – what about Elves?"
There were a few grumbles amongst the Company, mostly along the lines of, "Why would ye even want to know?" or "Blasted pixies," mixed with a few profane things that I blinked at. When I shook my head, there was troupe-wide glee.
"What about Dragons?" Ori chimed in, then glanced over to Gandalf, "Or Wizards?"
"Orcs?" Dori wondered as well. "Goblins?"
When these were all answered with negatives, a short laugh rang out from Gloín as he said, "Aside from the not havin' dwarrow part, it sounds like paradise to me."
"I think I could handle the Men just fine," Dwalin said, seeming to believe my words a bit more, "if it meant no Orcs or Dragons, and especially none 'o them pointy-eared bastards."
Gandalf heaved a sigh, choosing to puff on his pipe and pointedly ignore this conversation, whereas Bilbo… Just, chose to be Bilbo.
"I find that more than a little offensive, Master Dwalin, considering we Hobbits share that particular trait," he started up, and I cringed as he continued, "And besides, Elves can't be all that bad."
Oh, honey no.
"I've read many books about them. While I've never had the pleasure of meeting one, they're supposedly wise and clever, but also generous beings," Bilbo said, like some kind of Animal Planet host gushing facts about giraffes.
Oh my God, the looks he was getting. As the Hobbit stared halfway skyward with a hand on his chin, trying to remember a certain quote about Elves by some unknown author, I glanced around. Most of the Dwarves resonated with a flaming hatred, though some of the younger ones were just scrunching their faces in disgust. Thorin, however, looked ready to kick the Hobbit to the curb and find a different burglar. Or simply strangle him. Either way.
I started panicking. Did they ever talk about Elves before reaching Rivendell? I couldn't recall anything like that happening. Had I just caused a conversation that would potentially ruin Bilbo's future relationships with these guys? There were some strong bonds formed over the quest, and if this created some kind of premature rift, then shit could hit the fan real quick.
"…though it may have been in the volume prior to that, there was another section which – wha – Miss Hollander, I-I beg your pardon?!"
Honestly, my brain does not do well under stress, which is what led me to lick my finger and stick it into his ear. He recoiled instantly.
"Why that… was… quite horrible!" Bilbo exclaimed in between rubbing his ear, desperately trying rid it of leftover spit. He looked at me as he finished, probably worried about my mental state. "Might I ask what that was about?"
I did nothing and just stared at him, waiting, trying to see if he would figure it out on his own. Which he did, eventually. The Hobbit looked around to see if anyone else witnessed my insanity or if he was just going crazy, and I watched his expression change slowly from befuddlement to awareness.
"Did I… say something?" Bilbo asked carefully. "Of course, I've heard there's a history of tension between your races, but I never – "
"Master Baggins," Thorin began loudly, cutting the other off with purpose. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back, in a similar fashion to what he did in Bag End while playing vulture. (He really liked doing that, didn't he?) A few deliberate steps were taken towards us as Thorin stared at something unseen, and continued, "You have joined this mission to reclaim Erebor from a dragon. Naturally, this means there must've been a day when said dragon first overtook the mountain."
Bilbo was completely silent at this point, as were the rest of the Company. And I mean, so was I, but that wasn't exactly new.
"Your books and your collections could not have portrayed the Fall of Erebor with any amount of accuracy," Thorin said, blunt and steely-eyed. "Had they done so, you would not hold such a high opinion of Elves."
Enraptured at the intensity of the King, Bilbo waited, now thankfully keeping his literary prowess to himself. I had a pretty good idea where this was going, and I glanced to Gandalf. He was apparently thinking along the same lines as he met my concerned look, and though his expression was not happy, it was not overly-worried either. I took a small amount of reassurance from this, patiently returning my attention to Thorin.
A long pause. Then the inevitable.
"Tell me – are you familiar with the name Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm?"
I don't know why it never occurred to me. The small panic I had over the subject of Elves was for nothing, I realized after the fact.
Of course Bilbo had to learn of Erebor's fall at some point, otherwise, how would he ever have the information? How would he ever hear about Thranduil's lack of assistance to the Dwarves, both during and after the dragon's attack? Bilbo would've needed to know these things to write about them whether I was here or not. It was a conversation that would've happened, regardless, and I relaxed significantly upon realizing that I hadn't messed anything up.
I was going to worry myself into an early grave if this kept on.
Bilbo had been attentive, if a bit concerned, as Thorin spoke of the day Smaug took the mountain. It was plain to see from the faces of the Company that this story didn't get any easier to hear or tell over time, and the previously good-humored atmosphere disappeared in the wake of Thorin's bitter words. This was an ordeal that several of them had been alive for, and that the younger ones had heard about since the day they were born. It wasn't just a story, at this point, and that made it all the worse.
"Thranduil turned his back on my people in their time of need. When we were suffering, he looked on without remorse, denying even the scarcest of aid," Thorin growled. "No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since."
I blinked at the recognizable words. Thorin continued, telling the Hobbit of how they had no one to depend on besides their own, how they had to make their own way in the wilds, as I pondered the familiarity of his sentence. Had Bilbo directly quoted Thorin in his book? Had this tale stuck in his mind so vividly, that he remembered those exact words after all those years, and put them in?
Feels came to sucker-punch me in the gut, on top of the already disheartening story of Erebor. I fiddled with my sleeves to hide any emotions I may have been showing, picking at the same loose thread as the tale was winding down.
"So, forgive me if I cannot appreciate the wisdom and generosity of Elves," Thorin finished as he stopped pacing, and glared at the Hobbit, "for I have seen none of it."
Bilbo was sitting quietly, and was still doing so long after the story had ended and the order was given for sleep, Thorin now in a right awful mood. I let Bilbo be for a few moments as I organized my bedroll beside Bofur's out of habit.
No doubt, our Shire friend was probably feeling like a bit of a dunce, but it wasn't really his fault. How was he supposed to know just how personal this was for Thorin? Hobbits didn't have gruesome stuff like that. They were tiny folk who smoked pipes on their porches, and had vegetable growing contests, and ate eleven times a day. It wasn't like they could Google catastrophes and see the headline, 'Worst Elf King ever? Ereborians think he is! Read more about Thranduil's bad neighbor skills here.'
If Bilbo had known any history about The Lonely Mountain, I doubt he would've been so confused during the meeting at Bag End. Even if he'd read something about it in passing, then like Thorin said, it couldn't have been very accurate. The Hobbit had a fascination with Elves, so whatever his books contained was probably geared towards an Elven bias, which was not the best information to have bouncing around your brain in this Company.
He was still sitting, staring ahead thoughtfully with a slight frown when I came back over. Everyone else was pretty much done getting their sleep gear laid out and were settling down, save for Gloín, who had first watch. I crouched beside the Hobbit, giving his shoulder a pat to snap him out of it. This worked, even if he did jump about a mile, and looked to see who gave him a spook.
"Ah – yes, right, sorry," Bilbo murmured, upon realizing the camp status. "Thank you, Miss Hollander."
As he wandered away to prepare for bed, I returned to my own, sitting down beside the Ur family and adjusting my blankets one more time. I glanced over to Bilbo and pouted as he set up farther from the Dwarves than usual. Not half a mile out in the wilderness or anything, but just enough for me to notice and feel mildly upset about.
I waited for Bilbo to somewhat be turned my way before patting the massive space of empty ground beside me. The sound amongst the shuffling of the group wasn't enough to grab his attention, so I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth without really thinking about the noise, and patted the ground again. Bofur was already laid down, glancing over to see what on Earth I was doing. He wasn't the only one, as a few others turned their heads briefly at my loud 'click.'
Bilbo also finally looked at me. I repeated the patting action, waiting as his vision shifted from me, to behind me at the Dwarves, then rested on someone in particular. This specific person caused him to blink, turning back to meet my gaze with a small shake of his head. It was very casual, with a 'don't worry about it' face and a tiny wave of his hand that would have normally been very believable had his brows not been quite so low.
I looked over to the person he'd paused on, and wasn't surprised to see Thorin sitting there. No doubt he was still thinking about Erebor and Elves and shit all over again, and that was probably not the most enjoyable, but this was just unnecessary drama. Bilbo didn't know about Thranduil's ass-hattery and now he did. Ta-da!
Thorin realized I was staring at him and met my concerned look with the same agitated expression that came pre-installed. I was still not extraordinarily happy with the way he handled that warning against indecency, so his handling of the Hobbit didn't earn any bonus points. Hot tamale or not, he needed to find his chill.
I quirked a troubled eyebrow at him, wondering what he thought pushing his would-be Burglar away was going to accomplish, which only earned me a pair of narrowed blue eyes. Thorin wasn't exactly thrilled by my resistance to the group thought process, and evidently lumped me into the 'ignorant little girl' category, if I was reading that face right.
Well, I wasn't exactly thrilled to be stuck with fifteen dudes for half a year, so he could just go build a bridge.
With a huff, I broke eye contact with Thorin and stood up before Bilbo could get situated. I strode over, grabbing the blankets and dragging them over next to mine while ignoring his little squeaks of protest. Then I sat, waiting expectantly and also a bit creepily for him to lie down. He paused for a long moment and stared at me, wiggling his fingers in that odd manner that signaled uncertainty, while Bofur chuckled.
"She seems a bit determined. I'd just go with it, if I were you, lad," the Dwarf said tiredly.
Of course, Bilbo went with it. Hesitantly, and a little worried about King Broods-A-Lot, but he still went with it. I smiled as he got settled, feeling satisfied.
As an act of peace that I didn't think I could actually muster and mean it, I offered a genuine smile to Thorin as well. A nice one for once, with no sarcastic intent. My way of saying that the Hobbit was a good little dude and he shouldn't be shunned for not having all the knowledge in the world, but also to say, 'Hey, this doesn't mean we're enemies.'
Thorin was thrown off a bit by that attitude, obviously having expected belligerence or something equally hostile after our previous chat. His face was not quite so rigid then, and I waited anxiously for a reaction. I saw his chest rise with a deep breath as he looked away, exasperation still a gentle presence in his bearing, but he wasn't angry per say. Probably thought I was a dumbass, but that was fine.
'Kill 'em with kindness,' my Aunt told me once. I kept that in mind for many years after, especially when I got a job and was actually required to be nice to people who weren't the most pleasant to be around. It was a good enough motto – suitable for situations I would never have guessed – and I hoped that it would be applicable here as well.
A light snickering caught my attention before I could lie down entirely, and I peered over to see Fili wiping his ear quickly, glaring at his brother. Kili, the source of the laughter, was immediately pushed to the ground. Fili then proceeded to cover his finger in saliva and stick in his brother's ear, repaying him for the wet-willy he'd obviously just received. I wondered briefly if I would regret letting them learn that.
Even if this quest felt as though a guillotine was hovering over my head (and three others), I would try to stay positive. Given my recent bout of depression, this was probably going to backfire horrendously and end with me crying in a ditch, but no one would be able to say that I didn't try. Maybe if I kept up good spirits, then it would rub off on a certain cranky royal. He would figure out I was here to lend a hand. Eventually.
Kill 'em with kindness. Yeah. I would do that, but the opposite of the first part.
Of course, things were always easier said than done, especially when Dwarves are involved.
And there we go. :D
I definitely want to hear from you guys about this chapter. Was everyone in character? Did it flow okay? What was your favorite part? The usual nonsense that feeds my soul. Please let me know what you thought!
As far as my updates go - this is the last chapter I have fully written and ready. I'm currently working on 12, and it looks like I'll be able to maintain the same schedule through that one at least. We'll just need to see how it goes after that.
Again, you guys are such a huge part of my motivation. It's incredibly helpful to hear what specifically you liked (or didn't!) about a chapter. Fanfic writers are needy people, because we only get paid in your love. :')
Anyway, thank you all so much for reading! Your support is so very appreciated.
Until next time~!
