Chapter Six
A Tale by Firelight
The next three days passed without much incident.
Thorin led them down the Great East Road, keeping their ponies at a brisk pace and allowing them to stop only a few times during the day: once at mid-morning to pass water, once at midday for a short lunch and rest, and then at night to set up camp. The routine became automatic for Kate, and she soon began to go through the motions thoughtlessly, her brain on autopilot.
She hadn't made much progress with the dwarves except Bofur. He would occasionally drop back in the column to ride alongside her and chatter away, keeping her company through the dull ride. She learned a lot about him within those three days, including his mother's name (which had been Duna), what the birthmark on his calf looked like (a sparrow), what his favorite color was (blue), and the most pigeon pies he had eaten in one sitting (which was eighteen – Bombur, however, as he had told her, had managed to eat thirty-one and still held the record in Ered Luin).
She enjoyed Bofur's companionship and appreciated his kindness to include her, but she couldn't help but be disgruntled that the others did not show the same enthusiasm. She had caught the sneaking glances of several of them before, but they never tried to approach her, so she did the same. It was childish of her, perhaps, but at least her solitude granted her time to think.
Despite being in Middle-earth for five years, she had never thought of the quest much; survival had been her top priority, and living each day as if it could very well be her last did not give her much time to philosophize or plan ahead. Now, it was vital.
Mahal – that vague prick, she couldn't help cursing – had not given her much of an outline besides "don't die, and don't let the Durins die, either." She knew she had to change the ending of the story, but how much leeway did she actually have? Was she allowed to change other parts of the story, as well? What sort of repercussions would the future have if she changed something too much?
This last thought had occurred to her the night before, when she had tossed and turned in her bedroll, sleep eluding her in place of her jumbled thoughts. The only other person in the Company besides Bofur who didn't seem to hate her was Bilbo, and a sense of protectiveness toward the hobbit had begun to grow within her, which had led her train of thought to Gollum and the Misty Mountains.
Bilbo would find the One Ring there, and though it wouldn't come into play for another sixty years, what if it simply…didn't? What if she somehow managed to get rid of it, or – better yet – destroy it? Gandalf would believe her if she told him what the ring really was, and he would know what to do, wouldn't he? Or was that overreaching the boundaries of her "foresight?"
Stupid Vala, she had thought in frustration, not really caring if Mahal would bring lightning down upon her head within that moment. Why did you have to be so irritatingly unclear?
Either way, she knew Bilbo would have to get the ring. Leaving it in Gollum's hands was too dangerous for the future of Middle-earth, yet knowingly sending the hobbit into that cave made her stomach squirm uncomfortably. Unless she got the ring herself…
No, it has to be Bilbo, she thought. He'll need it more than I on this journey. We'll worry about the ring after.
She convinced herself to stick with The Hobbit timeline for now, and worry about The Lord of the Rings one later – besides, she would either be dead or too old to be of much use by the time those events would come to fruition, which was quite depressing to think about, and so she stopped.
On their fourth day since departing from Bree, the Company awoke to dark rainclouds and clinging drizzle, and the dwarves all cursed as they began to pack up camp, complaining about their soggy food and damp clothes.
Kate didn't much mind the weather; she had been forced to live in the open in worse conditions, and it was a summer storm, not a winter one. The drizzle was annoying but warm, and the low rumbles of thunder in the distance were beautiful, rolling and echoing over the plains in rich, deep music.
She rolled up her bedroll and secured it to the back of Molly's saddle, fixing the saddle blanket to sit over it and capture most of the moisture so she wouldn't be sleeping on wet cloth that night. She turned back to the camp, figuring she could at least be useful and help pack some more things but was nearly knocked flat on her back when she ran into Thorin.
"Shit, sorry," she said, managing to regain her balance at the last second while the dwarf king merely stared at her. "I'll just, uh—"
She gestured vaguely to the camp where the dwarves were still getting rid of all traces that they had been there, but Thorin shook his head.
"No," he said, jerking his head to the trees. "Come."
He started forward without waiting for her, and she followed after him, frowning. Thorin hadn't even looked in her direction since their first night away from Bree. She prepared herself for the worst as he came to a stop at the tree line, the Road stretching out ahead to the horizon and vanishing in the fog that choked the lowlands.
"What's all this about?" Kate said, waving her hand around them. "Finally come to see reason?"
His jaw tightened. "I still stand by my decision."
Kate scoffed, turning to march back to their camp, but his voice held her back.
"Why did Mahal choose you?"
Though she stayed where she was, she didn't bother to look back at him.
"I told you; I made a wish on a star, and the next thing I knew, I was here." She sighed. "I honestly couldn't tell you why he chose me. I've been trying to figure it out for the last five years, and I'm nowhere close to having an answer that would satisfy both of us."
He didn't speak, and when the silence stretched on, she snuck a glance over her shoulder. His head was bowed, mist and drizzle clinging to his raven hair and fur cloak. He seemed so weary at that moment that Kate suddenly felt the urge to take pity on him, and she walked until she was standing beside him on the ridge.
"Look, I don't know why I was chosen for this quest," she said, watching him carefully. "What I do know is that Mahal sent me to help you, Thorin, and I plan on doing that to the best of my ability."
"Do we fail?" he asked quietly, and Kate froze, although she made her face as neutral as possible when he looked at her. Her heart squeezed at the hollow desperation in his eyes, and she realized that her presence was taking more of a toll on him than she had originally thought.
She was shocked that he had worked through it so quickly, why she had practically been forced upon them by his Maker – but could she tell him about the story, about his own fate, and that of his nephews?
She knew the tales of people who saw their futures and set out to change them but fulfilled their self-prophecy in the end. Telling Thorin about his inevitable sickness and death would be like picking out the coffin already. She needed him to lead the quest, not doom it trying to prevent his own fate – besides, that was her job.
"No," she said, shaking her head, and his shoulders settled in relief. "Just think of me as a…guardian, of sorts. I may not be a dwarf, but Mahal still wants me here, however much you may not. My mission is to protect all of you and get you to the Lonely Mountain in one piece."
He studied her with startlingly blue eyes before nodding once.
"So be it," he said. "I have one more question."
"Shoot," she said, grimacing when he looked at her weirdly, but he only shrugged off her casual remark.
"That day in the inn, when I touched your mark… Mahal said something to me, besides telling me that you were an integral part of our quest."
"He said I was the Heart," she confirmed, making air quotes with her fingers and nodding when he looked at her incredulously. "I know; I heard him, too. Dunno why, but I did."
"Do you have any idea what that could mean?" he asked. "Did he mention anything to you about it?"
"Haven't the slightest clue," she said truthfully.
Thorin raked his eyes over her as if he could pick out any lie she hid just below the surface before finally nodding, accepting her truth.
"Then it seems we are both in the dark, Miss Miller," he said, casting one more look to the lowlands beyond before turning back to the trees. "Come; we must start moving."
She made to follow him but stopped when he faced her again.
"If you prove your loyalty to my Company and me, then I will reconsider my stance about you showing them your mark," he said. "Understand, Miss Miller, I do not give my trust lightly – but when you earn it, you'll know."
He strode back in the direction of the camp, leaving her to scramble behind him with the beginnings of a hopeful smile on her face.
Their ride was wet and uncomfortable. The drizzle had turned into a true downpour, and the thunder overhead was loud and booming, the force of it making the earth rumble beneath them.
Kate kept her head down, staving off most of the rain with the hood of her cloak, but she was still soaked through, her hair plastered to her neck and her sopping clothes chafing her inner thigh as Molly plodded along with the other ponies, mud squelching under their hoofs.
Fortunately, the storm began to move west as dusk approached, and by the time Thorin ordered them to stop, it had already faded behind them, leaving them in dusty twilight and sticky, humid air.
"We camp here for the night," he said, gesturing to an outcropping of rock perched above the ravine they had just struggled through for the last hour. The Company ushered their ponies up the slope before tying them off and beginning to set up camp, laying out bedrolls where the ground was driest and moving off in search of suitable kindling for the fire.
Kate sat back on her heels after settling her things for the night, surveying the quiet chaos of the camp. One thing she had noticed was that the dwarves moved in perfect tandem together, working as a single mind whenever it came to…well, anything, really. Hunting, riding, making camp; undoubtedly, they would work seamlessly in a fight, as well.
She spotted Bilbo sneaking off to the edge of the camp where the ponies were, a shiny red apple in his hand, and she smiled to herself; Bilbo and Myrtle had been inseparable these last days, and she wandered over to them out of curiosity.
Bilbo was shushing his pony as Myrtle chomped noisily on the apple when Kate approached, and she grinned. Thorin had made it clear that the ponies were only to be given feed or otherwise left to graze when the terrain called for it, but it seemed that the hobbit had taken quite a shine to his own pony if he was willing to disobey Thorin's orders.
"Got any more of those?" Kate asked, coming up behind Bilbo, and he spun around, quickly shielding Myrtle from view. However, when he recognized it to be only her, he gave a tiny sigh of relief.
"A few," he said, nodding to his pack where it sat near his bedroll by the fire. "Would you care for one?"
As dinner had yet to be started, and her stomach had been rumbling since noon, she accepted his offer gratefully, following him back to the center of the camp. He plopped on his bedroll and patted the space beside him, and she settled down, tucking her legs crisscross as he handed her a large red apple.
They watched the bustle of the camp around them for a moment, munching on their apples. Fíli and Kíli had drawn lots for the watch that night, and she saw them leaning against the outcropping of rock that sheltered their camp, smoking their pipes and talking quietly. Bombur sat at the fire, preparing a beef and vegetable stew, while the rest of the Company lounged about the camp, sharpening weapons, repairing damaged or darned items, or chatting merrily. The only dwarf who did not share in their companionship was Thorin, who had taken up post on the far side of camp, near the ravine's edge, running a whetstone along the curved blade of his ax.
Kate watched him thoughtfully, chewing her apple. She found herself entranced by the movement of his arm as he sharpened the ax and the rhythmic schick of the stone and iron together. She had stewed over their conversation all day, torn between relief that she still had a chance to gain his trust, and the old feeling of confusion that had plagued her since Bree.
She still had no idea what Mahal had meant by her being the Heart, and the question had come back to taunt her after Thorin had asked the same thing. Perhaps the Vala had been dramatic simply for the dwarves' sake, but she had a feeling that it was important, and that whatever it was, she probably wasn't going to like it.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a wild shriek tore through the night, echoing around the lowlands and silencing the camp. Bilbo stiffened beside her, and his eyes darted about the gloom warily. "What was that?"
"Orcs," Fíli said from his place at the rock, looking grave. Thorin had stood at the sound of the screech, and now he looked out over the ravine below, his shoulders tense.
"Orcs?" Bilbo repeated, his voice rising.
"Throat-cutters," the blond dwarf confirmed. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands will be crawling with them."
Kíli spoke seriously to Bilbo, adding, "They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams." He shuddered. "Just lots of blood."
"Oh, my," Bilbo said faintly, and the two brothers snickered, obviously having a laugh at the poor hobbit's expense.
"Oh, grow up," Kate snapped. "Only children make light of such matters."
"Indeed," Thorin's voice rumbled from behind them, and they all turned to see him stalking along the ravine's edge, eyeing his nephews warningly.
"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" he demanded. When they said nothing, only gazing to the ground, ashamed, he stalked away, muttering, "You know nothing of the world."
"We didn't mean anything by it," Kíli mumbled, and Balin came over to them, looking sympathetic.
"Don't mind him, laddie," he said kindly. "We all know that Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."
Bilbo leaned over to her. "What does he mean?"
"Listen, and you will learn," was all she said to him before getting to her feet and walking to where Thorin stood stoically as Balin began his story of the Battle of Azanulbizar.
Kate came upon the edge of the ravine, keeping some feet between her and Thorin as she looked down. The ground plunged away into shadow, the bottom hidden by mist and fog, and she imagined the many watchful eyes staring back at her from below, waiting to strike. She took her apple core and chucked it as far as she could, watching it vanish into the night. She didn't even hear it hit the ground.
Thorin had remained silent throughout her action, opting to stare broodingly into the darkness, though she could recognize the ghosts of memories flitting across his face as Balin recounted the death of Thorin's grandfather. Finally, when it became clear that she wasn't going back to the camp, he spoke.
"I thought Balin was a grand storyteller, yet you do not seem interested in his tale," he said, keeping his eyes trained forward, and she shrugged.
"It's a sad tale," she said. "Why would I listen?"
"Then you know of it already?"
He sounded surprised, albeit a little suspicious, but she nodded.
"I couldn't even begin to count how many tales and songs I've heard during my travels," she admitted. "But the sad ones always stay with me, more than any others." When he said nothing, she turned and faced him fully. "I'm sorry about your father and grandfather. The world was cruel that day when they were taken from you."
"Why would a human care about the plights of dwarves?" he asked, not rudely, but she understood his question.
"Because some of us have hearts, believe it or not." She smirked faintly to herself. "This world can be a hard, mean place, but it still has good in it, I have learned. It's much like my own in that sense."
"And what cruelties has your world seen?"
"Far too many," she said sadly. "War, plague, famine, slavery, terrorism, natural disasters… The list goes on, really." She frowned. "Except we didn't have orcs or elves or magic or any of that."
He snorted. "Then I imagine coming here was quite a shock."
She grinned at him. "The first time I saw a dwarf I fainted." She suddenly lowered her voice. "But don't tell anyone I told you that."
He finally turned to look at her, a hint of a smile on his face, but before he could say anything, a ripple of movement from behind them captured his attention. She was slightly disappointed as he turned away from her, but when she looked, the entire camp was staring at Thorin, awe, admiration, and resolve coating every one of their features.
"But the Pale Orc?" Bilbo broke in, effectively shattering the moment as Thorin's face turned dark again. "What happened to him?"
"He slunk back into the hole from whence he came," Thorin growled. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."
And with that, the story ended, and Thorin bid them all get some sleep.
As the Company settled down for the night, Kate remained by the ravine's edge, her thoughts cloudier than the fog scuttling below her. She thought back to the almost-smile she had gotten out of Thorin, and an odd feeling passed through her. The day had been full of odd revelations and shifting emotions, and she assumed that exhaustion was to blame. With that in mind, she retreated to her bedroll and turned in for the night, letting the glowing embers of the fire lull her to sleep.