26I'm Baaaaack!
Flitting Through Pages:
A Reader's Odessey
Book II
The Two Companies
"It comes, Tharkun ." A graying face, alight with the eyes of those who have long known nothing but the dark. A withered hand, fingers bent and distorted, much alike to the talons of the Great Worms, reached out, grasping the hem of the muddy fabric. "Death, desolation, and the Eye. The Eye wreathed in flames. That which was lost shall be found. He gathers . . . and searches . . . He has t-taken-"
"What?" Cracked lips mutter urgently. Orbs of gray countenance pierces those of the dying and a voice akin a thunder rolls threatening across the tiny, decrepit alcove. "What has been taken? Answer me!"
Madden eyes flit back and forth in uncontrollable fits, seeing nothing of present yet, nonetheless, seeing something. The clawed digits fumble and scrape along its thick, swollen neck. "T-take them."
Frigid metal and fraying cord falls, echoing mutely as it meets the crumbling stone.
"M-my son." The taloned hand once more finds itself fisted in the hem of the cloak. "The M-Mountain . . . birthright . . . He searches . . . s-s-s-searchessssss -"
"No!" Worn hands grasp the stilling form; hat and staff are thrown aside with a rising clatter. "What does He seek?! What has He taken from you?!"
"L-leave me . . . Tharkun." The gleaming eyes pale, then flicker. "T-take them . . . save that . . . which I could . . . n-not . . ."
Breath flutters, then fails completely. The twisted form of a once great and powerful king, after nine years of imprisonment and torture, finally yields and succumbs. The body slumps and falls from ancient arms; a gnarled finger outstretched towards the prone objects.
"I hear you and take heed," The worn hand retrieves the cord, the metal object scraping harshly against the stonework as it is lifted. A pouch of leather hangs beside its iron companion, its contents, for now, unknown, for there is no time. "Sleep and know peace, Prince of Erebor."
It is only later, when the Shadows cease their reach for him, that he understands.
The symbol of the Prince's House, the last of the Great signets of the Dwarves, is gone.
Chapter One
In Which, there is the Crossing of Borders, Thunderstorms, and a Watch Tower
Pressing against the thundering rain, the three companions (one Wizard, a mare, and a small hedgehog) rode onward. The road West had not been kind, not in the slightest. Weather, if one could believe it, had been the least of their problems. Even now, Radagast the Brown would sooner deal with the foulest windstorm the North could bestow upon him if only to avoid further dealings with Orcs. He shook water out of his tired eyes and muttered an encouragement to the chestnut mare in her own Tongue. Her reply was nothing short of displeasure and he once more asked remorsefully for her pardon and forgiveness. A thread of lightning cut through the darkness of the night, alighting the sky with white hot fire and illuminating the dips in the plain ahead. He pulled them to an abrupt but appreciated halt. At least on the side of the mare's. He waited a beat more . . . and there it was.
The dip opened up to a rocky path, narrow and treacherous. Yet, it was the most welcome sign he had seen these past five days. At last, they were nearly there.
The Istar leaned over and offered the poor chestnut a small, reassuring pat on her neck. "Nearly there, my dear. Done well, you have."
Yes, they had done well to reach this far with no hint of discovery. He only hoped it would remain as such until further word could be sent.
"Forward, if you please."
With an insistent grumble that the promise of oats be kept, the mare obliged and guided them onward down the slope. She had quite enough of the blasted weather, the constant threat of Orcs running her down, and if that silly hedgehog started up another one of his far-sung stories about how he nearly was eaten by six giant spiders then she would quite simply have to bite off his ever-wiggling nose. Truly, six spiders?
"Miss Mare? Did I ever tell you the story about how I -"
There was nothing else for it.
"Master Sebastian?"
Did he think she was a colt and birthed last week?
"Yes, Miss Mare?"
One spider was more than enough, surely?
"Do be quiet."
It was going to be a long way until they reached the valley below.
Apparently, even if the air had been cleared between allies and friends, that did not mean the weather had any obligation to cooperate in the slightest. It was dark and the road awash with mud and water-filled holes which, on one occasion, nearly sent Minty into a fall that nearly had broken her ankle. Thorin had called a halt after that and the entire Company of Dwarves and the Company of One (for even Miss Martin, though light enough as she was, had to dismount out of fear her black beast would run a similar misfortune) had no choice but to continue on foot until some form of shelter could be reached. On they traveled this way, fighting the weather as it grew fouler and the sky grew blacker until there was no light at all and all had become drenched in the downpour. They were nearly at the point of complete exhaustion when a cord fire struck a tree close to the road (or what little had not been washed away). It burst into a raging flame; raining down burning leaves and branches which caught the changing winds, sending the debris flying in their direction.
They scattered. Pulling each other and ponies out of the line of the fire, the Companies made a dash for the opposite side of the road . . . which meant running straight into the thick underbrush. Shouts of warning echoed through the air, calling out to watch for a badger hole, a loose boulder, or downed tree. The scramble continued until they were clear of the growing flames and the tight confinement of low vegetation. By then, they had worn out the last of their strength and settled down on a grouping of rocks, trying to catch their breaths.
"Ow."
Óin glanced up sharply, hawk eyes focusing on the poor lady who was now bent over at the waist, clutching her side, and grimacing. At least that fire had one use; they could now see one another again. And now that he could see, it was made clear their injured had become even more so. In the mad dash for escape, they had forgotten she was unable to be as nimble or steady as the situation demanded. Yet, by some grace, she had not fallen behind. The cost, however, was now his primary concern.
"Lass!"
"Miss Martin!"
Bilbo, Bofur, Fíli, and Kíli all made a beeline for her even as all turned to see whatever the matter was. By the time Óin reached her side, Miss Martin was already being guided to sit by Bofur while the lads were offering her water and removing her pack from her shoulders. The hobbit was speaking poetry of some sort, a light and soothing refrain about trees and Elves in the attempt to draw her attention away from her bruised ribs and broken wrist.
"I'm alright." The lady glanced about sheepishly, still rubbing absently at her side. "It's just a stitch, really."
"Jus' let Óin take a look at ya, Lass." Bofur caught his eye, nodded, and reached out for the healer to come forth. "Best ta be sure, aye?"
She nodded stiffly in agreement but kept her eyes downcast. Clearly, she was trying to hide the embarrassment the situation had caused. He ignored it for her sake and, waving the lads away so he could work, knelt down to begin his own assessment. He frowned, hands pressing firmly against her ribs. She hissed lowly but that was to be expected. He encouraged her to take a breath, she did so, then once again. No change. That was good. He took her fragile wrist in his hands, gentle but probing, he checked both the bones there and the ones in her hand. Again, no further damage seemed to have occurred. Her ribs were still heavily bruised, and her wrist and knuckle remained broken, however that was the extent of it. Thank Mahal for small blessings.
"Very good, Lass." He offered her a small encouraging smile and rose to his feet. "Seems ye can take care of yeself when ye put yer mind ta it."
She met his gaze and returned the gesture, her lips turning up at the corners. At least she could see the humor in it.
"See?" Miss Martin turned to the others, her smile widening. "I'm not completely useless. Master Óin even said so."
"Careful, Lass," Dwalin raised a very skeptical, very bushy brow at this. His expression spoke of dire seriousness. "I wouldn't take tha' as much o' a compliment if I were ye."
Her smile fell in an instant, causing the Company to erupt into roars of laughter and barely controlled snickers glee. Dwalin grinned deviously at him over the top of Glóin's head and offered him a shrug which basically amounted to 'what? She left herself open'.
He himself found a grin tugging at the corner of his beard, though he quickly hid it. "Alright, lads. Quite yer fussin'. What are ye? Warriors or hens?"
This brought up a ruckus of denial and emphatic protest. As several of the Company refused admittance of being anything 'hen-like' in their entire lives, they offered sworn oaths to Óin that they knew where he slept. If he did not wish for anything unnatural to end up in his bedroll, then he better watch his words. The tactic worked, nonetheless. The lass was trying hard not to laugh at all the banter and thinly veiled threats. At the very least, she was no longer focused on her own pain any longer. He would have to give her a drought tonight if she was to get any sort of rest, however.
"Thorin!"
Cate jerked at the sudden shout, nearly falling off her boulder in the process. Catching herself before she could slip entirely (damn, this rain just wouldn't let up), she looked up to see Nori emerge out of the darkness wearing a very pleased expression. That in itself set her nerves off. Nori was still very much one of the Company she couldn't quite pin down entirely.
"I've found shelter." The Dwarf supplied eagerly, pointing towards the North. "It has the advantage of sight in all directions. It's weathered, but still fortified. Looks to be an old watch tower from long ago."
A watch tower?
"Ah!" Gandalf made a noise of equal excitement and hurriedly, made his way forward. "Amon Sûl! So, we are not too far off our path after all! That is splendid news indeed, Master Nori!"
Amon Sûl? Wait -
Cate bit her tongue hard enough to nearly draw blood. Taking a deep shuddering breath, she tried to steady her nerves. There wasn't anything to worry over. Not now. Not here. What they needed now, was to get the bloody hell out of this damned rain before they all caught their death. She was soaked and tired and sore (even if she didn't want to admit that to anyone present). She wanted to sleep and not wake up for at least three days. If Amon Sûl was the only place they could do that and be safe, then that was where they had to go. Feelings be damned.
"Lead on, Master Nori." Thorin was already rounding up the Company to move.
"On yer feet, Lass." Bofur was lifting her by her good elbow before the words were fully out of his mouth. He steadied her when her balanced wobbled for a moment. "We'll be out o' this rain before ye know it."
She offered him a small smile, flipping the hood of her jacket over her hair. "That sounds like the best thing in the world right now. Well, that and a fire and Bombur's stew."
"Now on tha' score, I couldn't agree more!" He grinned cheekily. "Hot food and a bedroll, that's all I need."
"Did someone ask for stew?"
Bifur and Bombur both appeared beside Bofur, grinning wildly. The large Dwarf in question hefted his pack higher on his shoulder and offered his cousin a knowing look. Bifur simply replied with an expression Cate couldn't quite hear but Bombur and Bofur must have found it equally amusing because they both shared a quick laugh.
"What?" She raised an eyebrow at the trio. "Something you want to share?"
"Not really for your ears, now, is it?"
Cate closed her eyes in exhaustion, her breath catching hard in her throat. She willed herself to inhale slowly, fighting for calm and patience. Forget how Nori made her feel uneasy. That was nothing compared to this. Trust Dori to ruin whatever good will she was forming with the rest of the Dwarves. She turned around. The Dwarf in question eyed her suspiciously with a twisted look of irritation upon his hard features. A great part of her felt intimidated by the Dwarf and, truly, she wanted to avoid being anywhere near him. Still, there wasn't much for it. She thickly swallowed a retort and merely bowed her head.
Don't say anything rash. You can't start picking fights again. Just cope with it.
"My apologies, Master Dori." She offered solemnly and with genuine consideration. "I meant no offense."
"You never do," he replied hotly, and Cate caught the scalding expressions of displeasure from the others out of the corner of her eye. Expressions Dori clearly was choosing to ignore. "You simply step wherever you please, without a thought, not caring about the consequences your actions bring to everyone else."
She froze, stunned at the anger and sheer bite in the Dwarf. And yet, she couldn't entirely bring herself to deny him his say.
"Dori," Bombur stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Dori's shoulder but the older Dwarf shook him off with a deepening scowl. "Enough."
"Yes! Enough is enough!" The older Dwarf emphasized, his tone darkening. "She," He pointed an accusatory thick finger at her. "Placed everyone in danger running off the way she did. And nearly killing our Burglar in the process, if I may add!" Then he turned to her himself, marching forward with a righteous anger. "My brother had to give chase and save you from Orcs and when they brought you back, Óin had to hold down your arms so you wouldn't be tempted to take a swing at anyone else! Not that it helped matters, you nearly broke Dwalin's nose when he tried to keep you from harming yourself! You broke Thorin's!"
"Dori, come on, ye've said yer piece." Bofur retorted, placing his own hands comfortingly on her shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze. "Leave it. Thorin sorted it out 'imself, ye don' need ta-"
"And you lot!" Dori rounded on Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur next, clenching one hand into a fist and pointing with the other. "Don't you care in the slightest?! She put our lives at risk! She could have gotten one of us killed! And here you stand talking of stew and warm fires and bedrolls!"
"There's been enough ill feelings goin' abou' without hav-"
"Ill feelings? Ill feelings?!"
"Master Dwarf, just take a moment-"
"I've had plenty of moments, you great lummox!"
"Oi! Who are ye callin' a lummox, now?!"
"I will since you lot clearly have taken leave of any sense!"
"Sense! Sense?! The only Dwarf here tha' seems ta be lackin' any sense, is ye Dori!"
"Oh, is that so?"
It was horrible. Cate hadn't quite seen an uproar like this, at least, not of a Dwarvish nature. The argument was heated, fingers pointing at chests, names and insults thrown about without a care. And the shouting. The sheer volume alone was enough to give her the beginnings of a righteous headache. She glanced about to see if any of the Company had in fact stayed back with them, but they were alone. An island of anger and heat in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. The only thing the Dwarves hadn't resorted to yet was fists and shouting in their own Tongue. Though, both those lines were clearly starting to fracture. All four Dwarves were so red in the face, it would have given Glóin's ruddy beard a run for his money.
Enough. This is enough.
God, she was going to hate this.
"Stop!" She leaped forward, putting herself in the middle, and placed her hands against Dori and Bofur's chests in the attempt to separate them. "Stop it!"
"I ought to hit you with one of my labels, I should!" Bombur was clearly riled and now in no mood to make peace.
"Move, Lass." Bofur grumbled and tried to brush her aside with one hand. "I've had abou' enough of 'is-"
"He isn't wrong, Master Bofur."
That did it.
That did it, indeed.
Bifur stopped halfway from throwing a hit at the graying Dwarf which, truly, would not have bothered him in the very slightest. In fact, if he could still manage to do so it would be very pleasing. However, the heavy resigned look on the lass' poor bruised face was enough for him to lower it. If only so he did not catch her in the crossfire. The Orc had done enough damage to her, she didn't need an uncontrolled Dwarf in a fit of temper to add to the sickening blue already growing on her brow. Of course, this did nothing to stop him from sending Dori a look of promise retribution for his words over her head. Bombur may be fat, but only family could take the mickey out of him for it. Not any other.
"Lass -" His cousin made a motion to placate her but did not get far.
"No, Bofur." She shook her head, hood falling away as she did so. Rain fell into her eyes, and she wiped away the water with the heel of her hand. "He's right."
Bifur, taking pity on her, reached over and flicked the hood back over. Not that it did much good. They were all soaked to the bone.
"Thank you, Master Bifur." She glanced up at him and offered him a grateful incline of her head.
He merely nodded, unable to offer anything more than that.
Dori, however, decided at that point to make another go at her. "Well, so the little lady can admit she's wrong, eh?"
Bifur saw a muscle move in the lass' jaw that hinted at the desire to say something that really would shut him up. He wished she would, it would greatly amuse him to see such a small lady tear down a Dwarf like Dori until all his pride and air had been utterly spent. He didn't like Dori. Not in the slightest. All his goings on about fine wine and good clothes and haughty this and that was enough to drive Bifur into further madness. And he had plenty enough of that thanks to the cursed axe in his head. What was fine and expensive things compared to being able to speak with others not of his own kin or race? It made his work as a toymaker all the more difficult. Unable to converse with other Free People, his constant need for his cousins' tongues was a weary and frustrating thing. Not that Dori would know anything about that. His tongue worked perfectly well.
Bofur opened his mouth to further argue but the lass reached up and placed a small, pale hand on his shoulder. His cousin looked confused, but she spoke something quiet and indecipherable to him that Bifur did not catch then raised her voice to Dori.
"Master Dwarf," Her tone was firm but respectable and she kept her voice strong but contrite. "I do owe you all a great apology. You're right, I did endanger your lives and Bilbo's. I was self-centered and selfish in wanting to get away from camp and that could have cost you more than just a half-day' worth of riding. I'm truly sorry. Really, I am."
And she looked it. Not just her expression but everything else as well. The bruised brow, the bandaged wrist, and the wrapped ribs all painted a sorry, pitiful picture of someone who had learned an important lesson the hard way 'round. It was a sorry thing indeed she had to learn it that way. And painful. Though, she would not so soon forget it and that was a comfort at the very least.
Not that Dori could see the sense in that.
"If you ever," the Dwarf growled angrily, jabbing a finger at her shoulder. "Ever, place any one of my brothers in danger again-"
"It won't happen." She insisted, not breaking eye contact for even a moment. "I swear it."
He had to admit, the lass did come across as a bit impressive. She was foolish but at least honest and that had to count for something.
"We need to catch up with the others," Bombur supplied suddenly and preventing Dori from adding anything else to the fire. "We've fallen behind thanks to this. If we don't get a move on the Company will be wondering where we've gone and send a search after us."
Bifur nodded and made a noise of agreement. This had all been unnecessary, at least at this time. The Company was without its strongest member and its only cook. This would not bode well for them when they caught up. Well, he would certainly supply Dori as the one responsible. Of that, there was no question at all.
"A bit late fer tha', lads."
He turned and found Dwalin, second son of Fundin, piercing them all with a look of barely shrouded disappointment and irritation. Not for the first time during this journey did Bifur curse Dori and his insistent need for attention.
Well, that went well.
At least, that was what Bofur would have liked to have said. Of course, the reality was a far different story. Nothing is perhaps more shameful than being marched into to camp, uphill, in the pouring rain, by an angry Dwarf Lord who most certainly would have liked to have been wrapped up in his bedroll right at this very moment and enjoying a nice hot bowl of Bombur's famous stew. Not that he could blame him, really. He didn't exactly find the current situation all that amusing either. And, especially, neither had Thorin.
Not in the slightest.
"Come on, Bombur, we are all hungry."
Bofur winced. By the tone alone . . . Oh, but Thorin was angry.
Tomorrow. It could wait till tomorrow.
For a time, there was nothing but the sound of the crackling fire and Bombur's usual preparation of the evening meal. Only, this time it was without it's usual cheerful flare and the entire atmosphere in general had delved into a similar state as the weather. No one spoke. No one sung. There was only the shuffling of gear, the unrolling of bedrolls, and the quiet smoking of pipes. The old tower offered a great deal of shelter, at least in the few spots where the roof still held, and the walls were not ready to give way. There weren't that many dry spots and the one they found was not very large. Everyone was grouped together with barely much room for movement or space. It was, however, rather spooky. Even the lass kept looking about as if in search for ghosts or spooks or whatever else liked to lurk in places like these. At the very least, with the confined space and all, she wasn't off by her lonesome. She would be safer sleeping alongside them and warmer for it too.
"What is this place?" Ori piped up from his place by the fire, his bedroll wrapped around him up to his chin. Poor lad was still shivering. Curse the blasted wind for causing such a ruckus. "What was it used for?"
Over in her corner, the lass' ears perked up and she sat straighter, further wrapping herself inside her own bedroll. Bilbo, who sat beside her, also showed signs of curiosity. Bofur, himself, could not deny his own interest. This place was grim and usually, grim places had quite a bit of a story to tell in order to explain why they were grim. A place couldn't be grim without a story.
"That, dear Ori, is a very complex story." Gandalf said quietly from the opposite end of the fire. Yet, he removed his pipe from his mouth nonetheless, and settled himself more comfortably. "It's not a very pleasant tale."
"Perfect for a night like this," supplied Kíli with enthusiasm (really, did nothing ever dampen that lad's spirit?). "It's miserable out there. If we're going to be miserable anyway, we may as well hear of it."
Bofur had to concede that the young prince had a point there. "Yes, go on Master Gandalf. Tell us the tale. Warts and all."
The rest of the Company nodded in approval and voiced their own encouragement. Anything to take their minds off the damp and the rain.
"Very well," the Wizard relented, and all fell silent as he began his tale. "This is a watch tower. The Tower of Amon Sûl it was called long ago though now it is commonly referred to as 'Weathertop'. It was built by the King of Men, Elendil in the Second Age. Elendil, as you know, fell at the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. The one who cut the Ring from Sauron's hand."
If all had been silent before, now it was even more so if that were possible. Bofur chanced a glance at his immediate kin and found that Bombur had paused in his ladling of the stew. Bifur had stiffened, his own spoon halfway to his mouth. All about the fire, the Company had paused as if holding their breathes. No one spoke of the Dark One much in conversation these past hundred years. His Name brought misfortune and death, or so Bofur had heard it said.
"The Tower served to protect these lands," continued Gandalf. "But, in 1409 of the Third Age, in fell to the wrath and ruin of the Witch-King of Angmar, his invasion of Anor, and the combined forces of Rhudaur. The reason for the Tower's destruction was not for its defense or its position. Though, I cannot deny it was once a place of reasonable defense. No, it once housed a tool of great power and there was a mighty fear that it would be taken by the Enemy. It was saved, however, and taken away. But for naught, for in the end it was lost to all."
The Wizard fell silent and spoke no more.
"That's all, then?" Bofur raised a brow, severely disappointed. "Some tale. Wha' about this 'tool', then? Ye said it was powerful, eh? Tell us about that, now."
"That, Master Bofur," Gandalf warned evenly, his own brow arched in challenge. "Is best left unsaid. There are others like it out in the world but, they are dangerous and not to be tampered with."
"Isn't that the way of it." Nori brought up from his place by the fire. "Always some story about some magical thing and how no one should use it. Right bit o' rubbish, if ya ask me. Why make a thing if ya don' ever use it. Jus' supposed to look an' coo over it?"
That earned the thief a right laugh from around the fire.
Gandalf huffed irritably, muttered further about the stubbornness of Dwarves, and rolled over.
In the process of doing some editing and cleaning up the format. Then, we shall pick it up once again!