Author's Note: I want to thank you all for the favorites and follows since the last chapter. This chapter has a is mostly filler and relies heavily on a few book scenes but I tried to twist them to fit both with the movie and its characterization of the dwarves, with Laura added into the mix, in particular. Relationships are starting to develop between Laura and a few more of the dwarves, in both big and small ways, and I'm excited for them to unfold.
Second Author's Note: Whoops I added an extra 3K words.
The whole adventure had been a disaster, really. That was what I decided as we all sprinted, partly out of our eagerness to be out of that damn mountain and partly out of our inability to slow down, across the mountain's slope away from the goblin tunnels. It seemed at every moment some new obstacle jumped in our way. First there were trolls, then orcs, then mountain giants, then goblins (and falls and Gollum and a strange ring).
Soon we came to a halt and for the first time in what felt like a long time I was able to catch my breath. I'd stopped near Gandalf, who was busy counting us to be sure that no one was left behind. When he reached the number fourteen in his count we both sighed in relief. We had all made it.
I glanced up at Gandalf, only to find him already staring at me. "My dear girl," He said, so low that even I struggled to hear him, "you truly are extraordinary."
I could feel my face flush. I ignored the rush of pride that followed. I turned back to where we'd tumbled out of the mountain, then glanced back up at Gandalf.
"Those," I started, then paused. Gollum had said goblin, not orc when it had talked about its food. I shivered at the memory. Was there a difference?
"Goblins," Gandalf supplied, still standing close by. It was comforting after the cold, the dark, and Gollum.
"Those goblins," I repeated, shooting him what I hoped was a grateful look. "Should we be stopping?"
Gandalf made a considering noise, then looked up but not at the entrance to the goblin tunnels, to somewhere higher. At the sun, I realized a beat later. Or where it'd already fallen far below, so much so that there was only a stripe of orange remaining at the peaks of the mountains.
"An excellent point, Bilbo," Gandalf said. His voice was louder now, meant to carry over all of us. "Like their kin, they have no love of daylight. But we have little of that left to us now. We must hurry and make distance between us and them. With any luck, they will refrain from roaming too far from their caves."
That settled that. It was even more settled when Gandalf took my shoulder and started steering me across the slope, not up or down. I wondered if he actually knew where to go.
"Wait," Thorin said behind us. His voice was stern, like always. When I turned to look, our eyes met. Thorin's eyes were very bright, focused entirely on me. There was something else there too, in his expression but it was impossible for me to interpret. I only hoped he wouldn't pick up where he left of up in the mountains. I didn't think I'd be able to endure another round.
Thorin opened his mouth, and I braced myself on instinct for whatever came next. Only it wasn't from Thorin. It was a howl, from somewhere in the mountains but, close, close enough to make my hair stand on end as it filtered through the trees. It was a howl that even I could, unfortunately, recognize.
Wargs.
"Out of the frying pan," Thorin whispered with horror. I felt my own echo inside me. Was there no end to this bullshit?
"And into the fire," Gandalf finished, turning away. "Run. Run!"
It was a solid idea, enough that none of us hesitated. We picked up speed quickly thanks to the mountain's incline working to our advantage. The wargs were faster.
The dwarves put up a valiant fight. In my peripheral vision I could see Dwalin, Thorin, and yes, even Ori take out a warg as we retreated. But then there was nowhere to go. We'd reached a cliff that dropped off into a thick forest that was hundreds of feet below us.
Gandalf, thankfully, had already come up with a plan. "Up into the trees! All of you, quickly!"
I stared up at them. They looked like pines, their branches sparse and far too high up. Um, trees. Right.
My height put me at a disadvantage immediately. Though we were all, apart from Gandalf, quite short, I was by far the shortest of us all. And definitely the weakest. Maybe I could jump?
My problem was solved by Dori who stopped next to me. His arm shot out, his fist closed around the fabric between my shoulder blades and then he threw me into the tree. I barely managed wrap my arms around the closest branch he'd flung me into. There was a vague memory surfacing, of when my dad would toss me into the air as I screamed in laughter, before catching me in his arms again. I'd been so small then. A toddler. I felt the same swoop of my stomach, the same surprise that always followed it. I don't know how I'd managed to secure my hold on a branch that was, thankfully, sturdier than it looked.
Once I had my bearing, climbing the tree was easy. The branches were high up, but they were all quite close together and sturdy enough to hold me and the dwarves. Within moments Dori, Fili, and Kili were situated next to me. The rest of dwarves, I saw when I glanced around, had found safety in the other trees nearby.
Not a heartbeat later, the wargs and orcs arrived. Wargs and orcs who were led by a huge orc- whose skin was as white as paper, whose arm I could see was gone and replaced with a wicked looking blade- on top of a huge white warg.
Whoever this orc was, it was clearly the leader. And, if it pointing its mace at Thorin was any indication, it knew who we were. Or at least, who the dwarves were.
Great.
The pale orc spoke for a few moments in a grating harsh language that made me shiver. I couldn't understand most of it but what I did hear was "Thorin" and "Thrain."
This, I realized, was what Gandalf had meant, quite literally, in the hills after Bree.
"Azog," I heard Thorin say, even above the howling. He sounded stunned. Afraid. I felt my own fear creep up my spine. Thorin hadn't ever been afraid, not of anything thus far. Which meant we were in trouble.
The pale orc- Azog? -grinned, pleased, as if he heard Thorin. Maybe he did. The wargs were moving in. They snarled and snapped, surrounding the bases of our trees. After a few moments of howling, they began to jump. The one at the base of our tree snapped its jaws below my feet, so close I could feel its hot breath. I pulled my legs up against my chest, uncaring that I was now much more precariously balanced.
"Gandalf," I called urgently holding tightly to my branch as the impact of each warg's body against the tree caused it to shake violently.
And then, as if on cue, after a few more impacts, our tree began to fall, pushed over from the force of the warg's bodies hitting it. Desperate, the four of us jumped gracelessly into the next tree, scrambling over branches, and then the next when that one's roots began to snap as well. Finally, all of us were in the same tree at the very edge of the cliff.
I refused to look down. Fili had ended up on the branch across from mine on the other side of the tree's trunk. We exchanged a glance, and I knew from the look on his face that we had come to the same conclusion: we were on borrowed time. The tree wouldn't last for long, not with all of us and not with the wargs doing their very best to uproot this one too.
In my peripheral, a flash of fire passed by. I turned to follow its path. It looked like a tiny meteor. It streaked from the top of our tree to land at the white warg's feet and promptly explode into flames and embers, spitting out like little fireworks. The wargs scattered.
Whoa, I remember thinking. Magic.
"Fili!" Gandalf called, dropping one of the fireballs into Fili's hands. It was a pinecone. A flaming pinecone.
Thinking fast, I loosened a pinecone from the branch I was perched on and held it out to Fili who was tossing the fireball between his hands. Fili held his still long enough for mine to catch a spark before he threw his fireball with an impressive arch right into a warg's nose.
I grinned. Now this I could get behind. I didn't win all those midway baseball games at the fair as a kid for nothing. I threw mine alongside Dori and Kili, pleased to see my pinecone hit a warg's shoulder causing it to scream in pain before retreating. Pinecone after pinecone was thrown each with impressive accuracy to build a wall of fire between us and the orcs.
Azog roared in displeasure, the other orcs echoing it, as we cheered.
Our triumph was cut short by a lurch beneath us. Relief became terror so quickly it felt like whiplash as we began to fall. I'd just managed to glance down, just managed to see that the base of our tree had caught fire, when with a crash our tree landed. Or, sort of landed. There was nothing to land on. Below us was emptiness, and further down, the tops of more pine trees that looked the size of paintbrushes.
We were over the cliff now. There was nowhere to go.
"Mister Gandalf!" I heard Dori cry. I turned to look over my shoulder only for my stomach to drop. Gandalf was hanging from a precarious looking branch with Dori and Ori dangling from his staff.
I felt sick, my fear washing me in cold, my stomach rebelling. My breath was shaky, uneven, and growing worse by the second as the physical effort to keep myself from falling caught up with me.
I was halfway through adjusting my grip, resettling one of my elbows to hook over my branch, when Thorin past me. I didn't even clock it at first, not until my second elbow join the first, not until my feet stopped kicking fruitlessly into the air below me.
There was a battle cry. When I looked up, Thorin was running, charging, towards Azog, Orcrist raised. The flames surrounding him were bright, his figure a black shadow cutting through the orange and red. He looked fierce. Proud. Strong.
The warg leapt on him, the same way the first warg in the troll forest had tried with Dori. But this time, it was successful. Thorin, in the blink of an eye, had been knocked to the ground and was already valiantly rising to his feet. Azog was waiting for him. Before Thorin caught his balance, Azog was swinging its wicked-looking mace, catching on Thorin's face, his shoulder, and sending him right back to the ground.
I squeezed my eyes shut, panic enveloping me. I had to push it away. I had to do something. Anything. This was – he was going to- Thorin was going to die.
I hoisted myself up over my branch with no small degree of difficulty, icy terror gripping my heart. What could I do, what could I do? I was no fighter.
But, I realized, glancing over at where Fili and Kili were grappling with their own branches, maybe I wouldn't have to.
I scrambled my way across my branch as quickly as I could, crossed the trunk and straddled the next branch. I heard Thorin hit the ground again behind me with a cry, the sound of it cutting through the roaring of the flames and the screaming of the orcs. I thrust my arms down to where Fili was doing his best to pull himself up, his eyes locked on where Thorin must be, over my shoulder.
"Fili," I said urgently, waiting for his eyes to snap up and meet mine before continuing, "Fili, hurry!"
Fili didn't even hesitate, throwing one hand out into mine, letting me grab his elbow and do my best to help give him leverage. There were a few seconds that felt like an eternity, when I thought that my strength wouldn't be enough. And then, miraculously, Fili caught his foot over the branch and pulled himself up to me.
Behind me, Thorin was screaming. I couldn't bear to look.
Fili was already moving, sprinting with surprising grace down the tree, swords already drawn, towards where Azog was bearing down on Thorin.
I turned, desperate, to find Kili already waiting, arm outstretched. Thankfully it took even less time to get Kili up and back onto the branch. Kili moved just as quickly as his brother, knocking an arrow, and when it released, I heard the shriek of a warg and I knew it'd flown true.
For a few moments I watched, heart in my throat, as Fili and Kili stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons drawn, blocking Thorin from Azog's view.
And then a sudden cry came from behind me. I turned, terrified, and found Dwalin rushing past me, his two war axes in hand and jumping into the fray.
I tore my eyes away, scanning the cliff, searching desperately for Thorin.
I was on my feet and running down the tree before I was even sure it was him. As I grew closer, there was no mistaking him – Thorin was crumpled, unmoving, the fires around us highlighting the bright gleam of blood on his face, in his coat.
"Thorin," I called desperately, as I stumbled to kneel next to him. Behind me I could hear the ringing of blades meeting, the screams of dying orcs, the snarling of wargs. I was shaking.
"Thorin," I said again, bending close, leaning over him and sliding a trembling hand over his coat to his neck. I could feel the wetness of the blood that was clinging to the fur of his coat, darkening it and the fabric beneath it.
There it was, I thought as my fear ebbed just enough to let relief wash over me, the fluttering of a pulse beneath my fingers. Thorin was stirring, head turning in my direction. His eyes flickered open, dazed and unfocused.
"Stay with me," I urged Thorin, moving my hand gingerly to his shoulder. His coat was wet with blood, I could feel it, see it, on my hands. Thorin's eyes were starting to focus as he fought to stay awake. I felt more than heard him make a soft painful sound. His arm moved slowly, to reach up and wrap his fingers loosely, as if it took so much strength to do so, around my upper arm.
Thorin's face was changing now, his eyes trained on my face. It took me a moment to pin his expression, then another to process it. Confusion was there. Disbelief. Thorin began to pull away, as if to get a better look at me. Hurt cut through me. I knew that Thorin hadn't thought much of me. He'd made it very clear. But surely it couldn't be that surprising, could it? That I'd at least try to help, even if I knew it wasn't much.
I felt my breath catch first, then the sting of my shirt cutting into my throat as I was wrenched back. Thorin was gone, and it was only the painful impact of hitting the ground that focused me again.
An orc. An orc had gotten close, snuck up on me in my panic, had pulled me back and thrown me away from Thorin. I was a few feet away now. The orc was closer to Thorin than I was. Its blade was already drawn.
I don't know how I managed to think of it, much less successfully draw out my little sword. But it was suddenly in my hand, the soft blue of it bright even against the orange-red flames. It was strange, the relief I felt when the orc turned to me, not Thorin.
That was short lived though, as the orc stepped closer. Just one. But I knew, even as terror began to claw at my chest, my lungs, my throat, that it was on purpose. That there was no fear in the orc. No hesitation.
Its mouth split open, revealing yellow pointed teeth, the same color as its eyes. Its pupils were slitted like a cat's. Then it made a noise.
It was laughing. It was laughing at me.
I scrambled to my feet and only just managed to raise my sword to block its first strike. It hurt. Pain was shooting up my arms. My little sword fell away and it took too long for me to bring it back up again.
The orc didn't mind. It laughed again, low and guttural. Behind it, just off to the left, was Azog and its white warg. Their eyes gleamed in the firelight. Azog was grinning too.
I'd never know terror like this. How all-encompassing, how suffocating it could be. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. All I could I could do was watch as it waved its sword, almost playfully, at me.
The orc struck again, its blade coming so close, I flinched. My sword didn't make it more than halfway before I felt it. There was a sudden burst of pain, flaring brightly just above my right eye. I couldn't see. I could feel hot blood running down my face, my eye stinging.
I stumbled, hand half-raised to press against the pain but I was too slow. A hand was wrapped around my throat now. I could feel its claw-like fingers flex, the pressure against my windpipe causing me to flail and panic. I only barely registered it raising its sword, black and dull against the night sky before suddenly I could breathe again.
The orc was screaming, its blade clanging against the rock at our feet. I only managed to stumble to mine as it fell, suddenly limp at my feet. A short sword was sticking out its back. I recognized it immediately. I'd seen it plenty of times as it was sharpened meticulously at many campfires.
Fili was already turned away, running one of his swords through another orc before turning and pulling its twin from a warg carcass. A new orc was halfway through lunging for him.
I barely registered the hot breath of the white warg before I was back on the ground again. I'd somehow managed to keep my little sword in hand, fingers wrapped painfully tight around the hilt. It had pushed me with its snout, I realized. Azog was leaning over its head, malice glittering in its eyes.
They stood over me and I knew without looking there would be no help this time. I was alone.
This was it, I remember thinking, even as I fruitlessly tried to wipe away the blood on my face with the sleeve of my free arm. This was how I would die. I'm sorry Bilbo.
But then came the shrieking. It was a different sort of noise, different from the wargs and orcs. Different from the dwarves' battle cries. It was higher in pitch and sounded almost like an-
Eagle.
I saw it only as a great shadow overhead. Its wingspan was huge, as wide as two wargs in length, its talons outstretched and as long as daggers. A second followed it, then a third. They dived in closer, one of the eagles sinking their talons into a warg before picking it up with its rider still on its back, and dropping it into the dark forest over the cliff. Even over the flames I could hear them shrieking on the way down.
More eagles join it, picking off the wargs one by one. Another swooped in, pushing burning trees down upon those that were left on the cliff.
They were beautiful, I thought, even though my fear hadn't quite left me. I blinked hurriedly and was relieved to find that I was able to see again out of my right eye. It still stung, but I could see. They were perhaps the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.
An eagle dipped low, wings spread wide, so close to me that I could swear I felt its feathers brush against my cheek. I turned to watch as it slowed behind me and hovered in the air for a moment, picking Thorin up and flying away. Another eagle did the same to the dwarves still stuck in the tree, this time one in each claw.
I looked back to Azog, its face contorted with rage. My fear spiked as the white warg turned back to me again but there was another shadow overhead. I had only just enough time to watch as the white warg stumbled, Azog ducked, before I was lifted off the ground.
I fell. Again.
It was like the goblin caves all over again and I couldn't breathe. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a second or two I landed, letting out a soft groan as my body flared with pain again. I opened my eyes to find myself surrounded by brown feathers as long as I was tall.
I was on an eagle. I was riding an eagle.
After a moment of dizziness, I turned my head to look behind me. I could see more eagles swooping in towards the blazing cliff, catching dwarves and depositing them onto each other's backs the way they did to me.
The flames were growing smaller, the remaining eagles becoming much more normal sized, and it finally came to me that this was a rescue.
We were safe.
The others were shouting around me as the last of the eagles joined us. There was no real order to them, that I could see, not like the V-shape other birds followed. They were scattered across the dark sky, some so far away it was only because of the stars disappearing behind them that I knew they were there.
To my left I could hear Fili shout Thorin's name fearfully. I squinted my eyes against the wind to try and spot Thorin only to stop breathing. He was limp in the claws of the eagle. Limp and unmoving.
We traveled with the eagles for I don't know how long, but it was enough for the sun to rise almost completely over the horizon, streaking it purple, pink, orange, and yellow. I managed to find my balance enough to re-sheath my little sword. I had enough time to begin trying to clean my face in earnest. The blood had dried quickly and itched terribly. I was hopeful that I'd gotten most of it and avoided looking at my coat's sleeve. I didn't need to see the evidence of it.
I found myself burying my face into the eagle's feathers as we began to descend. My stomach flipped uncomfortably and it took me several breaths to gather courage and look down.
A huge rock outcrop that stood almost like a lone mountain in a wide valley that had a river snaking through it. I knew that must be our destination.
"Thorin," Gandalf was already shouting, as his eagle came close to the outcrop. I could see Thorin had been safely deposited by his eagle, "Thorin!"
By the time I had made it onto the rock- my eagle was surprisingly patient with my wobbly dismount and I made sure to breathe out a thank you just in case - Gandalf was bent over Thorin's prone body, mumbling a few worlds- a spell maybe?- with his hand hovering over Thorin's eyes.
And then, I could see as I drew closer, Thorin took a shuddering gasp as his eyes fluttered open.
I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding.
Thorin was truly awake now, and whispered something to Gandalf as the rest of the dwarves were dropped off and crowding together behind them. Gandalf shoulders went very still, and was quiet for a long moment before he shook his head and said, "It was Bilbo, Thorin."
Thorin pushed to his feet, shrugging off the helpful hands of Kili and Dwalin. Then he turned to me, assessing.
"You," He growled. There was a half-question in his voice.
Uh-oh.
Thorin said nothing for a long while, eyes roaming over me ceaselessly before stopping to meet my eyes. We stared at each other silently. I tried very hard to ignore the headache that had slowly been growing behind my eyes. Whatever cut the orc had managed to leave on me was still spiking painfully.
I didn't want to fight.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Thorin spoke, "Master Baggins."
It was his tone that struck me. It wasn't impatient or dismissive the way he had always said it before. This time, it was soft. Slow and thoughtful. Puzzled, almost. I resisted the impulse to look away.
"I was mistaken," Thorin said so suddenly, so forthright that I resisted the instinct to flinch. He didn't seem to need a reply as he continued, "You are a valuable member of this Company and I am sorry I did not see it before. I will never doubt you again."
I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Thorin didn't seem to mind, which was another new oddity. He watched me patiently. Behind him, I could see the others, almost comically, looking like they were holding their breath.
Finally, though not without a crack in my voice, I managed to tell him, "You have every reason to doubt me."
And it was true. I mean, I doubted me most of the time.
"No." And that was more like it, like the Thorin I'd gotten used to. The word was said with so much conviction, strong and unwavering like stone. Then he repeated, just as sincerely as before, "I am sorry, Master Baggins."
I couldn't shake my hesitation as I offered, "Perhaps we could try," I swallowed nervously, hope blossoming, "Again?"
Thorin's mouth quirked up at the corners. It was almost a smile. It took me longer than it should've to recognize what it was mostly because it was the first time I had ever seen something like it on Thorin's face. I could feel a smile pulling at my face now too, and, if anything, it made his own smile grow and wasn't that something?
Thorin nodded, looking satisfied, before moving closer. I froze, eyes wide, flashing back, to of all things, Dwalin and Balin greeting each other back in Bag End. I didn't want a headbutt. It, I had a feeling, would knock me out completely and send us back to square one.
But Thorin didn't headbutt me, though he did stop very close, close enough to only feed into my fear. Instead, suddenly, I could feel his hand squeezing my shoulder, heavy and warm.
I stared up at him. Thorin was still almost-smiling, and I knew he meant it. I could see it in his eyes. Tension was finally leaving my body, my shoulders falling, both in relief and due to the weight of Thorin's hand. I could feel my smile coming back. I didn't try to stop it. Warmth was blooming in my chest now, alongside relief. It was almost startling. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I mirrored Thorin, placing my hand on his shoulder in return.
In a sudden burst of noise that made me flinch, the dwarves cheered.
Thorin seemed content to stay as we were, even as the others began speaking around us. I gave into the urge to lift up my free hand and grasp tentatively at Thorin's raised forearm. Before, it would have made me uneasy, I think, to know just how much larger Thorin- and really all the other dwarves- was than me. But, I was shocked to find, it didn't come. The calmness between us remained. I wondered if things would truly be different now. I hoped it would. This felt – nice.
A sudden burst of movement behind Thorin startled me, causing me to break eye contact. Thorin turned to look too and we pulled away from one another. The eagles were still surrounding us, no longer quiet but screeching.
Gandalf, of course, was unfazed and raised a hand and called out in reply, "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks."
We all watched them soar off, turning towards the sunrise. I heard Kili murmur behind me, sounding awestruck, "Can it be?"
Everyone went very quiet. All I could hear were the echoes of the eagle's last goodbyes and the wind through the trees far below. I turned to Kili to follow his gaze and then back to the horizon. I gasped when I finally saw it.
I mean it had to be. It fit its name to a T. Even at a distance it was gorgeous. A single peak, stark against the sky and blending seamlessly along the horizon. With the sunrise behind it, it was stunning.
"Erebor," Gandalf confirmed for us all a moment later, "The Lonely Mountain. One of the last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth."
"Our home," I heard Thorin breathe out next to me.
Home, I thought. A pang of longing shot through my chest. My home was an apartment with sloping floors and a draft I'd never figured out the source of. It was my grandma's kitchen. My dad's study. It was Haley's childhood bedroom, with stains on the carpet from the many bottles of nail polish we'd tipped over. And I had no idea if I would ever see any of it again.
But maybe, reaching Erebor was my chance. Our chance, together.
Seeing it now, somehow, felt like a sign. Like hope.
We all stared at the horizon for a very long time, long enough for the sun to completely rise halfway into the sky. Then, by mutual agreement, we all decided it would be best to get down from wherever it was that we had been dropped by the eagles.
"It is called the Carrock," Gandalf told us as we slowly descended, mindful of both the steep incline and of Thorin's not unsubstantial injuries. Whoever had been here before us had been thoughtful enough to carve rough steps that coiled around it.
"We are still some miles north of our intended path," Gandalf continued, using his staff to keep balance with one hand while his other brushed the stone, "And very few live in these parts but there is someone I know of who lives not far away."
"Do you know this someone?" I called from the back of the group. Dori- who seemed to have come to the conclusion that I couldn't be trusted to climb trees or descend tall stone towers on my own which, honestly, was fair- was close behind with his arm outstretched at the ready.
Gandalf hummed in response, irritatingly neutral. Finally, he admitted, "Of him. Radagast knows him far better than I."
That was super reassuring.
"But we are in desperate need of help," Gandalf reminded me and I realized I must had let some of my feelings show on my face as his tone was sharper after he glanced back, "And so we are left with little choice."
And that was the last any of us said for the rest of our climb. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached flat ground. The dwarves began to spread out immediately, collapsing together in pairs and trios in the soft grass.
Gandalf, on the other hand, turned to me. His eyes, as usual, were sharp as they roamed over me. When he moved closer, I didn't bother to respond with a step back. Gandalf was slow as he stretched out a hand, like I was something skittish he wanted to keep calm. I was too tired to be annoyed.
When his fingers trailed carefully along my temple, then closer to the pain above my eye, I barely felt them. All I could focus on was the cool tendrils beneath my skin that were numbing the pain, of both my eye and my headache. I couldn't resist letting out a stuttering sigh even as I shivered. Magic.
Gandalf didn't move away by the time I opened them again, though his hand was back at his side. His eyes were soft now, with a warmth I only saw sometimes from him.
"How brave you are," Gandalf murmured, looking satisfied as he leaned against his staff.
I could feel myself blushing. Gandalf's expression softened further into one of unmistakable fondness. It made my heart flutter, made my own fondness for him bubble up.
Gandalf hummed thoughtfully and turned to the dwarves who, I noticed when I turned too, were all unabashedly staring at us. They didn't even bother to pretend they hadn't been. I didn't know whether to roll my eyes or glare.
"It would be best," Gandalf said slowly, though he raised his voice to carry over all of us, "for you all to remain here. I will go ahead and find us a place to make camp. I will not be long."
As one the dwarves turned to Thorin, who looked, in a word, terrible. Even sitting up looked painful and a bruise was already forming across his cheek. The cut across his nose hadn't faded from an angry red. There was still blood on his neck and coat. I could only imagine the state of him underneath it. I had no idea how he was still awake. I resolved not to question Gandalf's magic again. It was borderline miraculous.
Thorin nodded slowly. I hoped it didn't hurt. The others let out murmurs of agreement. It seemed even dwarves had their limits.
Once Gandalf left us, we all decided to do a quick inventory check. The results weren't much to celebrate. Almost all the dwarves' belongings had been either lost or taken by goblins during our time in Goblin Town. Whatever they had was what they kept in their clothing at the time, which wasn't much at all, and their weapons that they had retaken from the goblins. Oin was especially displeased, having lost most of his medical supplies as was Ori who mourned the loss of most of his papers and ink. His journals, at least, were still intact.
I'd settled in next to Nori, who was a few yards away from his brothers. Once I had my pack on my lap, I began shifting through my belongings. I was relieved to see that my book had survived my many falls. I even still had my pocket knife, waterskin, two extra shirts and an extra pair of suspenders. At the very bottom, I was surprised to see, was a small wrinkled apple and the half-full canister of ointment Oin had bestowed upon me at Rivendell for my hands.
Oin, when he spotted it in my hands from across the clearing, was not pleased.
"I told you," Oin bellowed, louder than usual, and stomped over. Whether it was because he was genuinely angry or because his ear trumpet had been trampled in the scuffle with the goblins, I didn't know. "To use all of that!"
I winced, raising my hands in a desperate attempt to show Oin that they'd healed fine on their own. "Look!" I shot back, wiggling my fingers, making the pink scars move in the morning light, "They're perfectly fine and now you can use that for someone else's injuries."
It was at that point that I shot a meaningful look at Thorin.
Oin muttered in dwarvish for a few more minutes- which I chose to believe wasn't about me- but finally dropped the subject when I offered my extra shirts for makeshift bandages. His attention turned to Thorin. I didn't envy him.
We all sat quietly listening to Oin turn his full ire onto Thorin. No one seemed especially interested in conversation, probably because most of us were only a few moments from passing out.
Next to me, Nori made a miserable sound. I looked over at him, curious. The look on his face was one of abject despair.
"What's the matter?" I asked him, worry seeping into my tired mind, "You're not injured, are you?"
Nori pulled himself out of his misery just enough to scoff at me. "No."
I blinked, confused, my worry abating already. If he had an attitude, it couldn't be that bad, surely. "Then what is it?"
Nori let out another mournful noise. "I lost them."
"Lost what?" I wanted to know, hoping I didn't sound as impatient as I felt. I reached up to absently rub at my neck. It was itching terribly and I had a feeling I hadn't managed as good of a job cleaning it as I did my face. When I glanced down at my hand there were flecks of dried blood. I swallowed as I settled my hands back over my pack.
"Everything!" Nori hissed out. "All my goods! Gone! Taken by those," It was here that he said what was undoubtedly a swear word in dwarvish, "goblins. They took everything I'd liberated on this venture."
Liberated. I grinned incredulously, unable to stop the giggle that bubbled out of me. I raised a hand to try and smother it, holding up the back of it to my mouth. I blamed the exhaustion and adrenaline crash. I laughed loudly for a few seconds only to be set off again into gasping giggles by Nori's look of betrayal, clutching this time at my chest.
Once I had finished, I realized uncomfortably that the rest of the dwarves were staring. I couldn't quite parse through their expressions. I hoped I hadn't committed a faux pax.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly, ducking my head.
After a few more moments of staring, the dwarves finally turned away back to their own devices. Relieved to have the attention off me, I turned back to Nori.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I told him as gravely as I could.
Nori no longer looked dismayed but instead was staring at me in what I would almost call fondness. It didn't last long, though, Nori's eyes turning sharp as he looked me over, thoughtful.
"Saw you fall," Nori said quietly, causing my chest to clench. "With the goblin."
I stared at Nori and took a few short breaths. After a few moments Nori added, just as quietly, "How'd you manage that?"
I knew what he meant because even I didn't quite understand it. Could it have been the light that came to me that saved me?
"Luck, I think," I finally managed to get out, "I really don't have much else."
Nori let out a snort, shaking his head wryly, "Luck indeed."
Luck, yes. It was luck that I didn't die from the fall, that Gollum found the goblin first and not me. Lucky that I found the ring in the dark.
But why didn't it feel like luck at all now that I was looking back? It felt worse.
Nori and I sat in companionable silence for several long moments before I glanced up at the rest of the Company. They all seemed, thankfully, uninjured from the goblin tunnels, and Thorin was at least was well enough to climb down the Carrock unaided.
To my surprise when my gaze moved in his direction, I found him already staring back.
Thorin had a frown on his face, though not one of anger, exactly, more of frustration. As if I was a particularly difficult puzzle that he couldn't quite figure out. I glanced away quickly, unsure. Our heart to heart on Carrock had felt like we had settled into place together. What more could there be?
I didn't have to dwell on it long- which was just as well because I'd come up with nothing- as shortly after Oin wrapped up his assessment Thorin's injuries, of which there were many more than there appeared to be, Gandalf returned.
"Oh, good, you're all still here." Gandalf said, looking over us all as if he had expected one of us to have run off while he was gone, which, given our history, wasn't so off-base, "Come along, now."
"And then?" Thorin asked, looking over Oin's head to meet Gandalf's eyes.
"We will rest there for the night," Gandalf told us evenly. "We are safe in these lands but our destination is still a good day's walk from here. It would be best for us to rebuild our strength before we move on."
It was a testament to our exhaustion when not even Thorin argued. Soon we were back on our feet with only a few groans and following Gandalf deeper into the forest.
Gandalf didn't make us travel far. Soon we came to a stop at a small clearing surrounded by leafy trees and undergrowth, perfectly suitable for a hidden campsite. I even heard the sound of water, albeit far in the distance, probably the river I was remembering now that we'd flown over with the eagles.
I nearly leapt for joy. A river meant a bath.
We all took part in setting up camp while Oin did a more comprehensive examination of Thorin's injuries. After we had all identified a good sleeping spot, collected firewood, investigated the river's rocky shoreline, and dug a shallow pit for a fire, Oin's assessment was complete. He wouldn't start to patch up Thorin's injuries until they had been cleaned thoroughly to which the dwarves cheered and made towards the river.
I made to follow, planning to make sure they would all arrive safely and then slip away unnoticed to bathe alone, when I heard Gandalf call after me.
I stopped abruptly, the rest of the dwarves pushing past me as they exited the clearing. I caught Thorin glancing over his shoulder to watch me but he made no move to stay back.
Gandalf and I waited quietly until the dwarves' loud conversations faded as they moved further away towards the river.
Finally, after he judged the dwarves to be an appropriate distance from us, Gandalf said, "Laura there is matter that we must discuss."
I could feel butterflies in my stomach. That didn't sound good. "What is it?"
"It is Thorin," Gandalf admitted to me, coming to stand closer. "He said something unusual atop the Carrock."
I frowned as dread settled low in my stomach. I knew Thorin's staring had been weird. "What kind of something?"
Gandalf paused, deep in thought. Then he said, far too calmly for my taste, "He asked about a young lady that he had seen amidst the battle."
My stomach dropped completely. "What?"
Gandalf's expression was solemn as he explained, "He asked where the woman was that saved him, the one who went to him, called to him after he had been struck down."
That was me. It had to be. But how?
"Gandalf," I breathed out, panic settling into my voice, "How could he have known? How could he have seen me as, well, me?"
Gandalf looked pensive and I didn't miss the worry in his eyes. "I'm afraid I cannot answer that with certainty. Though I believe it may have something to do with Thorin's brush with death. When one is that close, much falls away. In the final moments, much becomes clear."
"But I'm Bilbo," I said, unsure. Hadn't that been what Gandalf had said? But now it sounded like it was something different. An illusion? A mask?
"So you are," Gandalf answered, and I surprised myself with how much comfort I found in that. I didn't think I should. "But you are also Laura. Your mind. Your spirit. Both are sheltered within Bilbo."
"Can you see me?" I asked as it suddenly occurred to me. Gandalf had to, right? He'd seen through me at Bag End, before I we'd even introduced ourselves.
Gandalf smiled, his eyes glittered with humor, "But of course, my dear. Though, more at some times than at others. I can assure you I have never forgotten you are there. You shine very bright."
I could feel warmth blossoming in my chest. That felt like a compliment. I couldn't linger on it for too long, though, as much as I wanted to.
"Thorin," I said, doubt creeping back as I turned my thoughts back to the matter at hand, "It was only the once. At the Carrock he. He wasn't."
"No," Gandalf agreed, nodding. "When he was pulled back, the world closed in."
I stared up at Gandalf. That wasn't as reassuring as I'd hoped. "So, it won't happen again?"
Gandalf took so long to answer that any confidence he might've instilled in me with his words was back down to zero. "I should think not."
I didn't like that one bit. Those orcs had tracked us all the way from Rivendell. Even before, at the troll forest. Would they really give up now?
Gandalf, to his credit, picked up on it, "It is nothing for you to worry over. We are quite safe. These lands border those of the Mirkwood, which is the path we will take. They cannot follow us there."
I nodded. That sounded simple enough. Easy enough, provided we didn't run into anything else unexpected. Though that seemed to be the rule of this entire adventure so far.
"As for Thorin," Gandalf continued, voice dropping into something more grave, "I will speak to him. And assuage any concerns he may have."
Better Gandalf than me. I wouldn't even know where to start.
"Thank you, Gandalf," I said, and I meant it. For this. For the eagles. For looking after me.
I turned back to the forest, in the direction of where the others had gone. I could hear them, shouting, laughing, splashing. I wasn't looking forward to it.
"To your left my dear," Gandalf offered behind me. I could hear the smile in his voice, "If you wish for privacy."
I absolutely did. And I did precisely that. Once I lifted a hand in goodbye to Gandalf, I moved at a sharp left angle away from the directions the dwarves had disappeared, walking through the trees until I found the river.
It was wide. Its bank was rocky, not sandy, and the water was slow moving. It had a bend farther down where I could hear the others' voices echoing, out of sight. When I shuffled into the water, letting it cover the hairy tops of my feet – and that would never stop being weird – it was lovely and chilly.
The fire on the mountainside felt far away now. The goblin tunnels even further.
I paused and found that my hand had risen to my waistcoat pocket without my realizing. I could feel the impression of the ring against my chest and hand.
Slowly I dipped my fingers into my pocket and pulled out my prize.
It was just the same as it had been in cavern far below the goblin tunnels. Yellow gold, unmarked, plain, like a wedding band. It gleamed in the sunlight but not any more or less than any other gold, I thought. I thought back to Gollum's spindly fingers, then eyed Bilbo's. They were stouter than mine, the nails more square. But Gollum had had the ring before me. Probably for a very long time. And yet when I put it on, it fit perfectly.
It had done something, when I'd put it on. Gollum, who had seemed so perfectly suited to the dark of the cave I'd found it in, had lost me. My vision went grey, the shadows had seemed to dance and I didn't think it was a trick of my mind. And I'd heard the dwarves fall, so far away.
Magic. It had to be.
Then, a second conclusion came to mind, in my grandma's voice. It was an expression that she was fond of using: If something is too good to be true then it probably is.
There was something off about my ring. Something not quite right. The way that Gollum had spoken of it, the violence I knew it would've taken if I hadn't had my sword – had still tried to take- felt strange.
The way I had thought about hurting Gollum – killing Gollum – was even worse.
I had to tell Gandalf, I told myself, resolved as I tucked my ring away. About the ring. I couldn't, wouldn't, use it again without his approval. And about the strange light, too. I'd have to be careful, now that Thorin had seen something he shouldn't. I'd have make sure no one would overhear.
But for now, a bath.
I still felt awkward, getting undressed. I kept my eyes on the sky until I was able to ease into the water, almost entirely submerged. Then I got to work.
I scrubbed myself clean first, using the sand at the bottom of the river as a makeshift exfoliant. I watched the clouds pass by, careful not to let my eyes drift down. When I reached my neck and face, I sighed. I felt cleaner already, getting rid of the last of battle. I hissed in pain when I pressed too hard on the bruises along my back, and my jaw where I'd gotten clipped by a dwarf during our first fall. When I reached my eyebrow, I used only my fingers, gently pressing along the edges of the cut, until I was reasonably sure it was clean.
After that, I moved onto my clothes. I winced at the blood stains, grateful that Gandalf had chosen a burgundy jacket and a dark green waistcoat, and accepting defeat that Bilbo's shirt would forever carry reddish-brown stains.
If I kept one hand closed tightly over my waistcoat pocket, well. Losing something so strange to a river would be disappointing.
As the sun dipped back down into the sky, I spread my clothes out on a nearby boulder to dry in the heat of the afternoon. And then I spent the rest of my time in the river, using the cold water to soothe my aches and listening halfheartedly to the distant echoes of shouts and laughter from downriver.
It felt good, that afternoon. Almost like a reward. And something I would've never asked for back home.
When the sun began to dip lower and lower in the sky, I finally scrambled out of the water, my fingers pruned but cleaner than I'd been since Rivendell. I'd just finished pulling my suspenders over my shoulders when I heard my name being called.
I called back absently as I slipped my arms through my waistcoat. When I'd finished the last button and patted a hand over the pocket where my ring was, Fili and Kili were pushing through the last of the forest underbrush.
"Bilbo!" Kili called, as if he wasn't only a dozen or so feet away. His voice was bright, his face even more so.
"There you are," Fili said, at a much more reasonable volume as the two of them closed the distance between us. I turned to my drying-boulder to collect my jacket and my sword. "Alright here?"
"Yes, thank you," I answered, pulling on my jacket. I didn't bother fastening my sword back around my waist, holding it loosely at my side instead.
"All alone? You should've joined us, Bilbo," Kili insisted, turning back towards the forest.
"No thank you," I said before I could think better of it. I regretted it immediately when both Kili and Fili turned to look at me. I couldn't read their faces. I wondered if I'd wandered into a misunderstanding.
"Why not?" Kili asked, sounding a little hurt.
Ugh, I did in fact wander into a misunderstanding. I mulled over how I could explain that I very much did not want to see any naked dwarves. And I didn't want anyone to see me naked. I didn't even want to see me naked. It still felt – intrusive.
Fili and Kili were both shifting uncomfortably now and I wondered if they were feeling the same regret.
Finally, I settled on, "Modesty, Kili. I cannot recommend it enough as a virtue."
That seemed to be enough of an answer for them, thankfully, though I didn't miss the look they exchanged.
"Is everything alright?" I finally asked, mostly to stop their looks. I took a step forward and both of them took it as a cue to start walking back too.
"Oh, Uncle," Kili explained cheerfully, falling into step on my left. I felt my heart drop. "He was worried when Gandalf said you'd gone off alone."
I made a soft noise which caused another look between the two of them. This time though, I could read it. It was one of amusement.
Well, I'd take it.
Fili and Kili matched my pace back to camp. By the time we stepped into the clearing, the rest of the dwarves had already settled into their own activities. Gloin and Balin were sharpening their weapons. Ori was meticulously checking over his recovered journals with Nori next to him, cleaning his fingernails with a dagger. Dori was glaring murderously at Nori halfway across the camp with Bombur and Bifur next to him engrossed in conversation that consisted entirely of hand-signs while Bofur was apparently sleeping, slumped against a tree his hat over his eyes. Oin was finishing bandaging and lecturing Thorin with equal attention on both, as Dwalin sat nearby clearly overseeing the whole thing. Whether it was out of concern for Thorin or Oin, I wasn't sure.
And then there was Gandalf puffing away at his pipe looking for all the world like he belonged exactly where he was: sitting on a fallen log in the middle of a forest surrounded by thirteen dwarves while smoking weed.
I made a beeline straight for Gandalf eager to collapse beside him and sleep until morning. I had almost made it too, only to be intercepted by Oin.
"And where," Oin demanded as he physically hauled me over to sit next to Thorin, "Do you think you're going?"
I didn't bother to answer, realizing it was pointless. Oin either wouldn't hear me or wouldn't care for my answer. Instead, I turned to nod in greeting at Thorin and Dwalin. Dwalin, at least, nodded back. Thorin continued to stare at me as if I were a particularly complex problem. Or maybe a fork in the road. It was not at all subtle, which did track with what I'd learned of the dwarves so far.
Oin was brusque as he moved around me, but his hand was gentle as he turned my face side to side, to look over my cut and my bruised jaw. He tsk'd when he turned away to his pack before pulling out the same ointment cannister that I'd given back to him.
Oin was as careful as Gandalf had been. Whatever Gandalf had done continued to keep the pain at bay and I only felt the heaviness of the ointment as it was applied over the full length of my cut. It felt as if it had gone almost dead-center through Bilbo's right eyebrow. I knew I was lucky I'd gotten away with something so minor, even as Oin said the same thing.
When Oin seemed satisfied, he turned away to tuck away the cannister into his pack. "Any other injuries, Master Baggins?"
I thought of my back. Of the fall that I'd taken, talking light or no. I thought if what that would mean I'd have to do to let Oin look me over further. I stared out into the forest as I answered, "No."
Oin straightened, pack abandoned. Next to me Thorin and Dwalin, who'd began talking quietly in dwarvish almost as soon as Oin had started looking me over, fell silent. I didn't have to look over to know they were staring at me.
"I will ask again, lad," Oin said, his words so flat I knew that it was a real warning. "Any more injuries?"
I was going to stand my ground on this one.
"No," I said again, this time meeting Oin's eyes squarely. Over my dead body was I going to take off my shirt.
There was a long stretch between us all in which none of us spoke. Neither Oin or I were willing to look away first. Oin was very obviously debating whether or not to call me out. I was a little surprised that there was any hesitation at all.
"Will it scar?" I finally asked, hoping to settle the matter by ignoring it completely.
Oin squinted at me, not quite a glare, but he didn't refuse to answer even if all I got was, "Yes."
I let out a measured sigh, disappointment settling in. It still felt like a failure, despite surviving, despite knowing how truly lucky I was. This wasn't my body. I'd wanted to keep it safe. I could only hope Bilbo wouldn't mind when he got back.
"You will come back to me tomorrow morning for one last application," Oin continued sternly, making sure he caught my eye. I didn't look away, nodding. I could give Oin that much, since I'd gotten my way. "I cannot spare much of it but one more application should protect it from festering. We will watch it carefully."
Oin watched me closely, searchingly. Then, slowly, emphatically, he added, "Wounds dealt out by orcs are a danger even after the battle is long over. We will be keeping an eye on you, Master Baggins."
I nodded. Just another reason added to the list, at this point.
"I understand." I replied, moving to my feet. I was proud I didn't stumble. My exhaustion was creeping in again, slowly but steadily. "Thank you, Master Oin."
Oin grunted. Thorin and Dwalin were still watching me. I offered them a tired goodbye. Thorin actually returned it.
Gandalf, of course, hadn't moved. When I reached him, a soft ring of smoke floated in my direction, as if in greeting, even as Gandalf raised an eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes at him, turned, and then collapsed against his side letting his warmth wash over me.
I was safe, I told myself, pressing even closer into Gandalf. He didn't seem to mind. We had survived the goblin tunnels. We had survived orcs.
Orcs.
Unbidden, the burning trees, the smell of smoke, the orc screams, the fear came roaring to the front of my mind. I shivered.
I could have died on that mountainside. I would have died. Bilbo would have died.
I thought of the orc. Its pointed teeth, the gleam of its yellow eyes. How strong its grip had been, pulling me closer. The silhouette of its blade, raised high above us both. I had never felt fear like that, not even with the trolls. It was so strong, so visceral. I couldn't think. I couldn't escape.
I could have died.
I didn't notice how ragged my breathing had gotten until Gandalf ran a careful hand through my curls. My eyes were stinging, my face hot.
I didn't know what to say. I couldn't find the words. Gandalf didn't seem to need them.
"Let them fall," Gandalf said encouragingly. His voice was so soft, barely above a whisper.
I felt more than heard Gandalf exhale. A moment later, a great cloud of grey smoke encircled us, obscuring our vision of the others. And, I realized, theirs of us.
The kindness of the gesture wasn't lost on me. It was, in fact, what tipped me over the edge. I took Gandalf's advice and let my tears spill over, curling closer to him.
I was asleep before they stopped.
I woke up the next morning with my mind spinning. Gandalf hadn't moved an inch and I found myself in the same position I'd fallen asleep in, curled up against him. I blinked the last of my sleep away, frowning as I took in my pounding heart. I had dreamed last night, the first time since I'd arrived in Middle Earth. And while I couldn't remember what they were about, the fear they'd stoked was still lingering. And I still felt tired.
When Gandalf looked down at me, eyes full of concern, I offered the only explanation I had, "Nightmares."
Gandalf sighed, his face awash in sympathy. He waited patiently as I got my bearings, then as I got to my feet before he too moved to stand.
The dwarves were already packed and eager to move out. Above me, Gandalf began to count us. I seized the opportunity to approach Fili.
Fili saw me coming and stepped away from where Kili was taking stock of his remaining arrows. Thorin and Balin were speaking together a short distance away. They both gave me a nod when they noticed me, but didn't pause in their conversation.
"Bilbo," Fili said amicably, adjusting his pack.
"Fili," I answered back. I took a moment to rally myself and then said, "Thank you."
Fili looked surprised. I added quickly, "You saved my life. That orc," I swallowed thickly, my mind already turning it over again. I didn't want to think about it. I barely registered Fili's expression quickly morphing into one of understanding. "It was going to. To."
Fili watched me, considering. His eyes were very green in the morning light. His voice was soft, gentle, when he said, "You were very brave, Bilbo."
I let out a huff, almost a laugh, before I could stop myself. I hadn't felt brave then. I certainly didn't think I was now, looking back.
"Thank you, Fili," I said again. Fili reached out and laid a companionable hand on my shoulder. I found that I appreciated it more than I could say.
Gandalf called out over all of us that it was time, and so we began our day's journey.
It was an easy hike compared to what we had been through so far. We slowly made our way through the dense forest and then onto wet grasslands which was for the best. Thorin and I might have been the most injured but the others were still exhausted from the goblins and our battle with Azog. We moved slowly but steadily, wary of whom exactly we were calling upon for help.
Gandalf refused to answer any questions, annoyed very early on in our walk when a few of the others – namely Thorin, Dori, and Balin – tried to ask them. Gandalf gave short, sharp replies that I was grateful not to hear at the back of the group. Once everyone accepted that Gandalf wasn't going to change his mind, they talked amongst themselves, falling into their habit of swapping stories and singing songs to pass the time. They were exactly what I needed to shake off the last tendrils of my dreams, lulling me into an almost-calm.
Gandalf didn't let up on his bad mood for the rest of the morning and well after the sun dipped behind us. While I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Gandalf's theatrics, I realized that this was my chance to catch him alone. I weighed my options. While I could run to try to catch up to Gandalf, there was no way I could keep up with his pace and that would mean we'd both be in a bad mood. And it would put our conversation at risk of being overheard, or even cut short, if any of the dwarves caught up to us. No, Gandalf would need to come to me.
I sighed, pushing back the uncertainty of whether Gandalf would acknowledge me at all, took another deep breath, and called out over the others, "Gandalf?"
Seven dwarf heads swiveled to look back at me. Behind me were the rest, including Bofur who whispered, "Alright, Bilbo?"
"Yes," I assured him, though I realized it was probably not very convincing. I wasn't panting exactly but I was certainly out of breath. "Thank you, Bofur, I'm fine."
Pleasantly surprised, I watched as Gandalf stopped immediately, stepping to the side of the marching line we had made.
"Continue on," Gandalf said sternly, leaving no room for argument. He stretched out the arm holding his staff in what I assumed was the direction we were meant to go, "Keep east, all of you."
There wasn't grumbling, exactly, but Gandalf didn't escape the looks that each of the dwarves threw at him as they passed. Some were outright curious, like Kili and Ori, others were wary, like Thorin and Fili, and a few were outright unimpressed, like Dwalin and Oin.
Finally, it was my turn, and I came to a stop next to him. Gandalf appeared to be in no hurry as we waited. It wasn't until he seemed to judge that the last of the dwarves- Bombur, Nori, and Dori- had moved out of earshot that he ruffled my curls and gestured for us to continue. To my relief, Gandalf matched his pace to mine not the other way around.
"Laura," Gandalf acknowledged me, far more pleasant than he had been when giving the dwarves orders. It was almost funny.
"Sorry," I said, adjusting my pack as he made a dismissive sound, "but there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Hm?" Gandalf murmured, eyes flashing with curiosity. "And what might that be?"
"I met someone or something in the goblin tunnels," I told him. "I think it was one of the Valar."
Gandalf's full attention turned sharply to me, though to his credit he didn't stop walking.
"Tell me everything," Gandalf instructed, quick and serious. "Leave nothing out."
I did my best: I explained how I'd woke up surrounded by light, that I'd felt no pain but that something had been talking to me inside my own head. I repeated what the light had told me as best as I could remember it, watching Gandalf's face closely.
Gandalf's expression didn't change as my story unfolded, remaining one of unwavering interest. After I was finished, he was quiet for a long time. I waited as patiently as I could, watching the dwarves – who had turned into dots in the distance – instead of Gandalf in hopes of a faster reply. I wanted answers.
"Fate unraveled," Gandalf, finally, repeated to himself slowly, "Weaving. Darkness."
I nodded in confirmation but Gandalf wasn't paying attention. He was silent for a few minutes longer before he finally seemed to pull himself out of his thoughts.
"Tread lightly, Laura," Gandalf advised, breaking our silence.
I waited for a beat for Gandalf to continue. When it became obvious that was all he was going to say on the matter, I repeated, "Tread lightly? That's it?"
Come on Gandalf, throw me a bone.
Gandalf's eyes focused on me and then narrowed. "Yes, and you will do well to remember my advice," Gandalf said firmly, "The world's fate has unraveled and you have been caught in the thick of it. Your actions will likely affect us all."
"Oh, is that all?" I shot back sarcastically, my stomach knotting uncomfortably.
"Such burdens are never easy to bear," Gandalf replied, his tone an echo of my dad's when he would try to comfort me. It was more effective than I expected. "But it is believed by Vairë that you will influence the world for the better and so that is how it must be."
But I didn't want to influence anybody.
I shook my head, unhappy with Gandalf's conclusion. "And what about Bilbo?"
Gandalf went quiet. Then, "Perhaps you have come to protect him."
"Protect him," I repeated, disbelief washing over me, "But how? He's not even here!"
"And that is likely for the best," Gandalf replied firmly. "'A great and terrible darkness that has ruined others.' If the world's fate is being rewoven, it is possible that Bilbo may have been among them."
My heart sunk. Oh, no.
"Which is why," Gandalf continued, "You must tread lightly, my dear. If you are not careful such a darkness may ruin you in his stead."
"But what darkness?" I asked nervously. "You said they were gone."
"No," Gandalf countered impatiently, "I said they were weak. They were waiting. And now they are stirring again. It is possible that he could return, now more than ever."
He. Who was he? Before I could demand that Gandalf elaborate, he cleared his throat loudly. I glanced up from where I had been watching my feet and found Balin and Thorin, clearly waiting. The rest of the dwarves, I noticed, had stopped a bit further ahead, at the top of a hill.
Accepting that that was all I was going to get out of Gandalf that day, I asked, "What is the name of the man we're going to stay with?"
Gandalf shot me a knowing glance, not acknowledging the dwarves waiting a few steps ahead. "His name is Beorn and he is no man but a skin-changer."
Gandalf and I stopped when we reached Thorin and Balin. I offered Balin a smile, which he returned, before I turned to Thorin and we exchanged nods. I eyed the thin sheen of sweat along Thorin's brow. His injuries were taxing him. Not once, not in all the long hot days on that journey had I ever seen Thorin break a sweat. Not even with all his ridiculous furs.
"A skin-changer," I repeated as Thorin and Balin began to walk with us, "He can become different people?"
"No," Gandalf corrected as we reached the bottom of the hill. I winced as we began to climb. It was no mountain, sure, but it still required more effort than I wanted. "Sometimes he is a huge black bear, sometimes a great strong man."
"And why," Thorin wanted to know, "should we trust this skin-changer?"
Gandalf turned impatiently to Thorin. "Because an orc pack is not far behind! We have no food, baggage, or ponies. And I fear without his help we will not last long nor we will never make it to Mirkwood forest."
Balin sighed, acknowledging Gandalf's point with a tip of his head. "We will bow to your wisdom on this, Gandalf."
Gandalf sniffed in reply. "Good, we have arrived."
We had joined the rest of the Company. The crest of the hill overlooked huge fields of flowers and, if I wasn't mistaken, beehives. In the distance I could see a set of enormous buildings surrounded by stone walls and wooden fences.
"Now I must warn you all," Gandalf said, remarkably serene for someone who only a moment ago was ready to get into an enormous huff, "Beorn has a terrible temper when angered. He will either help us or," Gandalf paused dramatically, "he will kill us."
The dwarves erupted into shouting.
"What choice do we have," I heard Thorin snap over the noise of the others. The dwarves fell quiet again.
"None," Gandalf said with certainty, unbothered by the sudden, if short-lived, outburst that had ignited around him.
And if that didn't sum up this whole adventure so far, I didn't know what could.