Star-Crossed

Chapter 38

The sun fell fast, quicker than yesterday. A stew had been prepared, bowls were passed around, cheerful conversations were being held, and then there was Bilbo. He was being his usual worrisome self. On several occasions, Dwalin had tried to coax Beuren into speaking to him in Elvish, if it calmed down infants and grown Dwarves; it had to work on Hobbits. Though she always refused, after a good laugh of course, she presently was considering it, at least to get him to stop pacing; it was putting her on edge. He did however when Bofur occupied him with delivering two bowls of soup to the princes who were watching the ponies just past the tree line.

Beuren chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. She had been deep in thought, mostly about the argument between Thorin and the Wizard, how Thorin had been so negative in his talk of the Elves. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way about her. Did he find her as irksome as the fair creatures of the West? It had been nagging at her ever since he’d said it. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him about it, as angry at him as she was, she didn’t want to fight with him. But he had a lesson to learn, and she hoped that he learned it quickly, because she was getting lonely.

Balin saw Beuren frowning at the kindles of the fire. He wanted to know what she was thinking so hard on. She was smart; she usually didn’t have to put that much thought into anything. Beuren acted on impulse, but always spared just a moment to think. He stood from his spot beside Gloin and paced towards her. Even as he sat down again next to her, she didn’t move her gaze.

“What troubles you?” She was still, silent, almost not breathing. Then taking a deep breath she spoke.

“You speak to Thorin on a regular basis; tell me, how much does he hate me?” Balin couldn’t help but smile just a bit.

“He doesn’t actually.” He replied, moving his eyes from the fire to her.

“Don’t soften the blow.” She groaned, leaning back against the wall of the building.

“I’m not.” Balin, patted her knee. “He couldn’t hate you, no matter how utterly hard he tried.” Then he paused, waiting for her to make eye contact with him. “And neither could you.” Beuren shifted her eyes to the dirt below them. “You’ve been brooding over this for many years; at this point you are sure you could hate him. But deep down, you know you…”

“They got Bilbo!” Fili breathed, sinking to his knees. Beuren rushed to his side. It was obvious that he’d been doing a lot of running.

“Who had Bilbo?” Bofur questioned, taking up his weapon.

“The Trolls.” Beuren hauled him to his feet, and then scooped up her bow, slinging the quiver over her shoulder and taking off into the woods. The company followed in close pursuit, weapons drawn, ready to rage war. Though, none of them could quite properly keep up with Beuren, her agile movements permitting her to scale fallen trees in a single bound and weave to and fro out of the trees and thick shrubs.

She leapt out from between two shrubs just as Bilbo was thrown at Kili, taking him off his feet. Beuren drew back her arrow, releasing it, unfortunately not fast enough. Her aim failed her, and she hit the Troll’s arm, sending the arrow ricocheting off of its tough hide. A great battle cry echoed and the rest of the company rushed forward.

Thorin instinctively took to her side. Beuren knew he would, reaching to his hip and drawing his axe. They charged forward, she went left to help Bifur, keeping a makeshift knife from causing any further damage to the dwarf. 

The Troll let out a great roar, stabbing at her; she easily dodged his clumsy attempt, laughing out loud. Only then she knew that was a mistake. As another troll stepped backwards, his heel hit her, knocking her to the ground. The first troll brought down the knife aiming for her throat. Why do they always try to decapitate me, she questioned herself, blocking the blade with the handle of the borrowed axe. It seemed like for some time she struggled to push away the blade, but this creature was too strong even for her. Her arms were getting tired, hands cramping. Beuren had to think of something, and quick. The elf racked her brain, finally settling on the only plausible idea.