Saving Durin {Hobbit/Thorin}

Chapter 14: Gandalf, the satyr

Chapter 14:

Gandalf, the satyr

My wishes for a full-night sleep is, once again, destroyed by the rustling of blankets and tinkering of gear. I guess it is favorable to a nudge in the ribs or a shaking of the shoulders, but still, I am annoyed at the interruption. Peeking my eyes open to the still dark cave, I recognize the figure of Bilbo tip-toeing over the sleeping dwarves. Almost immediately, I recognize his intentions, so I make to get up when Bofur speaks:

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to Rivendell," Bilbo responds to Bofur in an equally quiet whisper. Despite their low volume and the churning storm outside the cave, my ears pick up their conversation.

"No, no, you can't turn back now, you're part of the Company. You're one of us," Bofur tries to reason with him, but it comes to no avail.

"I'm not though, am I? Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins, I don't know what I was thinking. I should never have run out my door," whispers Bilbo. My eyes catch an unusual movement in the opposite corner of our cave. Looking over to investigate the disturbance, I notice that Thorin is taking too rapid of breaths to be asleep. His eyes open, glittering blue in the low cave light. They hold a look of thoughtful wonder at Bilbo's words.

"You're homesick; I understand," Bofur reasons, but Bilbo denies the claim, shaking his head.

"No, you don't, you don't understand! None of you do ­ you're dwarves. You used to ­ to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere," replies Bilbo. The grimace that flashes across Thorin's face mirrors the look upon my own. It is true that I often ignore my own emotions for the sake of my inner sanity and external trouble, but in this instance, I let the pain paint my facial features. His words hurt, for they bring back memories I'd rather forget.

I do not have a home. At least, not anymore. But is a home really a physical location or a place of inner safety? Is a home with a roof over your head, or is it the residence of your heart? Thinking about all of this now, I realize that my home may not be extinguished. For, as long as my heart beats, I will have a home somewhere or with someone. The scary notion, I realize, is that I may be finding a home in the King Under the Mountain.

"I am sorry, I didn't..." Bilbo apologizes.

"No, you're right. We don't belong anywhere. I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do," Bofur replies, hurt present in his voice. At his words, Bilbo advances towards the exit, passing me in the process. Bofur notices at the same time as me that Bilbo's sheath is glowing. And that can only mean one thing.

"What's that?" Bofur asks as I jump to my feet. The scuttling of feet and the whirring of machines under the sand we sleep upon only confirms my fears. As it turns out, Thorin recognizes the danger as well, standing and shouting at the dwarves:

"Wake up! Wake up!"

That is, of course, when the floor decides to collapse beneath our feet, sending the dwarves down a funnel of sorts. At their screams of surprise and terror (though, I believe Kili was shouting in joy), my instincts kick in, my body elongating into a Phoenix. Swooping out of the winding twists of the "slide" the dwarves find themselves on, I send a call to the company. I can only hope that it reassures them of my rescue intentions. Our only chance of survival is in Gandalf, and thus, I set out to find him.

Rocketing out of the hole in the cave floor, my wings take a sharp turn, forcing my body out of the cave and into the storm. If anything, the storm outside hasprogressed to an even more dangerous level, though no stone giants are visible now. The rain pelting my back becomes painful as the minutes progress, so I can only hope Gandalf is close.