Chapter Text
Waking up in a strange place, with little to no memory of the events of the day before, had sent you into a panic.
When things started coming back to you like second nature - your name, places, how to do things and live - you figured, maybe, this wasn’t something to be so worried about. Maybe it happened often?
You wandered a lot, and on your wanderings down in a place called the Brown Lands, you met someone. Not a man - a wizard - Gandalf was his name, somehow you knew it without him even telling you. You trusted him easily, as if you did know him already - something deep inside told you he wasn’t going to hurt you, that he was good - so when he gave you a map to the Shire - to Bag End - after a meal you shared, you took it with a nod.
The place you needed to go wasn’t far away, a few days of swift travel on horseback and you could be there - but you had no horse - and from what Gandalf said, it would be quite the dangerous journey. Weapons that would’ve been needed were not something you had on hand either. So you stayed in that small town working your arse off in order to have enough favors to pull to get you the resources needed - sturdier clothes, a bigger travel pack, food that could last, a sword, and a horse.
It took you less than two weeks.
You picked out a study mountain horse, with a dark coat and lighter colored mane. His owner said his name was Phar Lap. He was perfect.
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You soon found your way over the mountain ranges that lead towards Bree, and by the time you'd made it to Bag End on the night Gandalf said you should be there by, you had already quite a journey and story under your coat to tell.
You’d tied up your horse, and let yourself into the Hobbit-Hole. The door was left cracked open, and no one answered when you lightly rapped against the window.
Ducking in and making your way through hall into the atrium outside the dining room, the dwarfs in your eyeline went silent.
You were relieved to see that everyone Gandalf said would be there had arrived already. The hobbit in front of you followed their gazes and looked over at you, as did the dwarf sitting at the table’s head and Gandalf. The other dwarfs moved to try and see you better.
“And who might you be?” The Hobbit - Bilbo, something in your mind whispered - asked, already irritated from his unexpected guests, but by the dwarfs reaction he guessed you were definitely uninvited, and therefore was even less pleased.
“I invited her, she shall be our number fifteen.” Gandalf said, taking a blow of his pipe. “She’s here to help.” he added and sat back up.
“To take back the mountain, Erebor. Gandalf told me much about your journey already, I’m more than willing to help you.” You said. Something about being in this situation had you giddy. Like you’d been waiting much longer than you knew to be able to meet them - and help them.
“Why might we need your help?” The dwarf at the head said. Thorin, that same voice told you. He quickly ruined your pleasant mood and stood to emphasize his protest - even though he just reached your chin when standing at his full height, he was still making you want to shrink in on yourself. “You aren’t a dwarf, and yet you’re too small, too weak. You’re no Hobbit burglar either. What could you possibly do to help us?” You eyed Thorin, weary, but wondering if he could really be so hostile to a stranger who was offering their help.
“I know things. I see how events play out in dreams.”
“Oh and what use is that exactly?”
“You’re asking me that? You willingly have a wizard in your company, and you’re asking me how visions of the future would help you?” You were very quick to bite back at him, to match his hostility. “I wouldn’t have travelled all the way from The Brown Lands to help you if I doubted if the visions were true. Gandalf wouldn’t have told me to come if he thought I was too weak or small.” All eyes then turned to Gandalf, of which was pretending he hadn’t quite heard you.
“I already told you she’s here to help. I’ve spoken, if you wish to ignore me that will be your fault.” He said promptly after seeing too many eyes on him.
“I don’t mind her coming!” A young blond dwarf said, a smile cracking onto his face as he playfully hit the shoulder beside him - his brother, Kili- on the shoulder. “We could use a pretty face among all the ugly mugs here.”
You looked over at the two younger dwarves bitterly, as the others erupted in laughter. “I’m well aware I’m the only woman here, but I won’t be reduced down to just a pretty face.” A quiet fell into the group as the laughter died down, your stern eyes receiving nods, and mutterings of ‘fair enough’.
“I don’t wish to sound like I’m doing what you just asked me not to do,” A dwarf who looked much too young to be among his associates stood, “But I want you to know that I think you are really, really pretty.” You took in a deep breath, and sighed with a smile.
“Thank you, Ori.” you blurted. You hand even covered your own mouth at the surprise you had for knowing his name. The Company themselves went into an uproar - partially out of annoyance that Ori was the first to tell you his thoughts and get away with it - and partially out of confusion as to how you knew Ori’s name even though you just got here.
“Who are you?” A rough shove to your arm brought your attention back to - Thorin, “And tell me what else can do you, or do we have to still protect you despite your ‘visions’?”
You told him your name. “I can use a sword well, quick thinking - I can hold my own very well in a fight -”
“Fight? Against what? A measly elf?” You felt your eye twitch. He was frustrating you more and more. If he kept this up, your anger would win over how much you wanted to help them. And you wanted that so dearly. You felt anger bubble inside you, ready to burst, but Gandalf interrupted, ducking his head into the conversation.
“Not elves, but she has had more than her fair share of orcs. Even a troll or two.” he said as you turned away to regain your composure, missing the flash of knowing hurt and regret on Thorin’s face before he spoke.
“I didn’t know.” He said.
“You couldn’t have, you don’t know me.” You replied, giving a small smile to let him know it was alright. For now.
“So is she coming?” Bilbo asked, popping himself into Thorin and your conversation much like the wizard did. “Because I would feel more comfortable coming if there was someone who knows what’s going to happen coming along.” He finished. Thorin took a few more moments to think, looking you up and down as he did so.
“I suppose so. The worst she can do is die.” And just like that, the anger was back.
“I can see how grateful you are to my offer of help, Thorin. I shall take my leave instead of staying around and helping the likes of you.” you said and made your way back out of Bilbo’s house and into the crisp night air. Bilbo himself came after you, almost pleading with you to stay a join anyway, or make everyone else leave with you.
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“You will need to go after her, Thorin.” Gandalf said, peering down at the dwarf. “You have to bring her back here.”
“Why should I? She’ll be nothing but trouble, even if she can hold her own in battles.” Thorin said, his stubborn irrationality kicking in again. He just couldn’t see why he needed you.
“You yourself noted she was neither Hobbit or Dwarf. What business do I have inviting an ordinary human on this journey?” With Gandalf’s question Thorin seemed to slowly understand. “To tell you the truth, unknown to herself, she is not of this world. She was sent from another specifically to help you reclaim Erebor, to keep those close to you safe until then with her visions - memories.”
Gandalf took a puff of his pipe, and Thorin blinked, letting the words sink in.
“She’s suffered quite enough at the hands of this world’s darker forces to be able to be here tonight, if that alone isn’t enough reason to let her stay with you then you have a denser skull than I remembered.” Gandalf had a point. Thorin was being unreasonably mean. Even when his own kin were unwilling to help, you were here.
Thorin looked over at Balin, who was sitting and listening intently to Gandalf's words. He nodded at Thorin to go after you. Thorin clenched his jaw, let out a yell of frustration, then stormed out. He reached past the front door, pushed past Bilbo, and stomped angrily towards where you went.
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A call of your name had you turning on your heel.
“Wait.” Your eyes almost flashed in the darkness under the fur of your hood, daring Thorin to insult you again, but instead they widened at his changed declaration. “You will come with us as Gandalf is advising, and… I’ll try to act more agreeable towards you.”
He couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, though. Instead taking a great interest in the hem of your coat.
“You mean less like a jerk, and more like a king?” your head tilted, trying not to let a smirk reach your lips - though somehow you thought he wouldn’t have seen your expression anyway.
“I suppose so.” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “Especially if you decide to be nice in turn.”
“I’m only nice to those who give me reason, your majesty.” you mocked. Thorin felt his frustration rise once more. He sensed you’d be the death of him - of he of you - if you both kept this up. You smirk widened - although there was no joy behind it - as you started walking past him. “Careful there, you might turn ‘unagreeable’ again.”
“If you want to keep vexing me, I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” you turned, facing the equally angry dwarf, of which was now eye-level to you from the hills slope. “You’ll let - no - force me to leave and let your fate, and the fate of the rest of the Company reach the same end that I’ve seen? Trust me - you don’t want what’s coming.” Your voice was quiet, eyes even darker in the night. You watched as his jaw ticked, nose flaring in an effort to keep himself under control. “You do not want more dragon-fire. More lives slain at the hands of orcs. I’ve seen death, blood shed. I see it each and every night when I sleep, Thorin.”
“Well, what choice do you give me now?” Your eyes locked in a fierce hold. Your words hurt Thorin. Gandalf said you were here to help and keep those of the Company safe - you knew their future. If you were saying these things, saying you were to help keep them away from such a horrible fate - one he’d seen bestowed upon many before him - who was he to keep you away?
That alone made him more lenient. You must’ve seen it in his eyes.
“Fine.” You said with a huff. “You may be a king but that doesn’t mean you can be pardoned for acting so horrendously. Even so I will strike a deal with you.”
“Like what?”
“We try not to speak to each other, not to be near each other. Try to stay as far away from each other as possible so we don’t have to fake being civil.” You started, meeting Thorin’s blue eyes once more. They almost looked like they were glowing in the moonlight.” I think I’d be able to bear you much more if I didn't have to speak to you so often.”
“I’d have to agree.” He rumbled.
“We have a deal then?” you asked, sticking your hand out for him to shake. He grabbed hold of your hand, holding it a little too tight.
“Deal.”
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Days passed, slowly turning into weeks, and for what it’s worth your plan had worked. Mostly.
You could easily assume Thorin’s temper flared against you just as often as it would’ve if you hadn’t agreed on a deal at all. Honestly yours did too - but only ever to meet his. You tried your best to be civil. But banter turned to bickering, and bickering - when given the chance - would turn to arguments. Tension was building, and often you didn’t know what kind it was exactly.
The Company had stopped for the night to rest under a rocky crevice. Thorin was set to start on the first watch with Fili and Kili before you took over with Dwalin and Ori. You decided to stay up with them. Balin often told stories, and the story Balin would tell tonight would be one you decided not to miss.
Tonight was the story of how Thorin gained the name Oakenshield. Balin told it very well. He often had you enraptured with his decade of tales - you soaked them up like a sponge. Instead of staring at the storyteller to take in every word, you watched Thorin, as everyone did, and found yourself standing with the rest of the company out of respect for your leader and king.
You knew orcs, they'd caused you pain, physical and emotional. Fighting one was enough for you, but an army would take being possessed by the spirits of a thousand warriors. They'd left scars on you - also physical and emotional - and too those wouldn't go away.
You’d always respect Thorin for what he went through, what he did - even if he chose to act like a jerk to you.
With the story told, the night lulled. Dwarves curled up to snore each other to sleep, and you rolled up in your blanket to sleep.
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Trees framed your dream.
They peeled back, revealing where you were resting. You knew there were other vantage points where you could see your camp from, you didn’t know how you got there though.
You moved further back, and beside you were wild, vicious beasts. Wargs. Atop them were Orcs. Their eyes flashed in the dark, speaking in tongues you didn’t understand. They turned away, seething, but pleased.
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You shot up, reaching a hand for your aching head. Now awake, you took your eyes over a turn of the group. Everyone was here. The bile that rose in your mouth quickly went away.
You were safe, for now.
You looked back at Gandalf, of which had sensed your dream and was keeping a keen eye on you as you woke. Your face had gotten dull, he was worried, but he’d come to understand that some things couldn't be shared.
“My my, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bofur said from a way across the camp. Unlike Gandalf, the Company didn’t yet fully understand the lengths of your visions. You often had to make up reasons as to why you suddenly looked so shocked, or somber.
“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.”
“Must’ve been something pretty scary. Perhaps you could spin a tale of sorts?” Bofur prodded, some of the other Company soon turned to face you. Apparently less of them were sleeping than you thought.
“No. No, I’m no good at telling stories.”
“What about a song? It doesn’t have to be a scary one.” Bofur took a puff of his pipe, smugly pushing his agenda. “We haven’t heard a single tale from you yet, I think it’s about time if I do say so myself.”
“Maybe another time, Bofur.” He looked at you, watching as you shoved your hands under your blankets, folding your knees to your chest. He seemed to take the hint, and left you alone, instead now humming a tune of his own.
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Thorin looked over to watch you as you settled down again. He’d never seen you wake from a vision before. He never realized exactly what they did to you.
He kept looking between you and the fire to try and make it look like he wasn’t staring. After your waking, it was almost as if he saw you in a new light. Like one switch of many was suddenly turned on inside his mind which enabled him to really see you.
Sure, he’d seen you before, but only superficially, not like this.
This was deeper.
It suddenly occurred to him that - even if you didn’t know it - you had a life back where you came from. A family, friends, maybe even a lover or children. You’d been through hell to get to Bilbo’s that night you first met, only for him to treat you like you were nothing.
Now, he felt pretty bad about it, regretted it even, and felt the strange need to make it up to you.
The problem was he didn’t really know how.
He didn’t know what you liked. Mahal by his pride he wasn’t going to apologize - and he figured from your character you wouldn’t think it meant a whole lot anyway.
He thought about getting you something Dwarrowdam’s liked, pick something up for you on your travels as a gift - but you weren’t a dwarf. The chances of you liking what he’d find you were slim. He then seemed to be hit with an epiphany. Even if you didn’t know where it was, you wanted to go home - a place you’d be sent back to once your purpose was fulfilled.
You wanted the same as him, to return home. He’d help you fulfil your purpose. He’d help you to go home, and be with those who you’d want to be with the most.
You’d forgive him after that. Surely. Even without an apology.