Star-Crossed

Chapter 65

"Is she alright?" He asked, peering through the open door. She seemed to be unconscious, whether she passed out or fell asleep none of them could tell. Balin took hold of the door easing it closed before turning to Bilbo.
"She's alive." The oldest dwarf said. "Alright seems..."
"Indelicate?" Bilbo finished.
"To say the least."
"Thorin will not come." Bilbo shook his head. "He's already got everyone in the gold hoard looking for the Arkenstone."
"You didn't find it did you?"
"No, of course not. Have seen it down there? It's a right disaster. There's no way they'll find it anytime soon." He folded his arms, shaking his head. "I can't believe him."
"Come laddie, let her rest." Balin took the Hobbit by the shoulder. "Dwalin will take first watch."
Fili grunted as he pulled the boat ashore, moving then to help Oin out. Kili and Bofur hopped out, both awestruck by the looming mountain. The youngest ran forward, his dark eyes bright with excitement. Bofur grinned, more excited to see his friends than the mountain. Oin, weary from the events that took place not but two nights prior, heaved a heavy sigh as he made for the mountain. Taking a step forward, Fili was overcome by a sense of dread. He froze, watching the mountain, like a jagged tooth, stare down at him.
"Brother!" Kili shook his shoulders. "Fili?" Fili shrugged him off, taking a step away from the Erebor. "What is it?"
"You don't feel it?" The blond prince questioned. His brother was usually much more sensitive to things such as this. Kili had learned it from their aunt, Fili supposed, who had always been keen to the feel of certain people and places. Kili looked at his brother inquisitively.
"Fili, I don't feel anything." Fili's brow furrowed, eyes never leaving the mountain. "Come on, Uncle is waiting." Fili reluctantly began to follow his brother as he led the group of four towards the mountain.
The had reached the city of Dale before Fili ordered that they rest. As they crested the overlook, Fili saw his brother shiver, his clothes damp from the slushy snow that had begun to fall about an hour ago. He'd left his coat with Sigrid, she'd begun to freeze after wrapping her own coat around Tilda. His blue eyes searching for a dry place to get out of the cold for a while, Fili pointed to a small stone structure about a mile outside of Dale. It looked sturdy enough, and the roof looked uncharred, perhaps this person had been lucky enough to escape the wrath of Smaug.
As they approached, Bofur hesitantly offered to enter first, to make sure nothing posed a threat. As he stepped inside, he saw the dust covered remnants of what used to be a very cozy cottage. There was wood-now damp and riddled with mold from a broken window-stacked neatly beside the fireplace facing two armchairs. A sun faded shawl was draped over the arm of one of the chairs, a pair of elven made slippers sat covered in dust bunnies below the seat. The home was tiny, it actually reminded Bofur of a doll house Bifur had carved once upon a time. Quaint, quiet, and altogether homey.
Kili stepped inside, rubbing his hands together in order to keep them warm. Something seemed familiar about this place. He wandered to the far end of the house, looking at a picture on the mantle of the fireplace. It was of a very fair woman, an elf most likely, her face sullen, eyes cold. He'd seen this woman once before, in another picture when he was a very young boy. Another frame laid face down just beside it, his numb fingers lifted the frame, a smile instantly rising to his face.
"Fili, come look at this." Fili in two long strides had crossed the room, peering over his brother's shoulder. "We're in Aunt Beuren's old home." The picture had been commissioned by Dis. For Beuren's birthday one year, she'd hired an artist to create a picture of the Furious Four, the Greatest Warriors in Erebor. And they were. Very great. Beuren had detested the idea, knowing full well that Dis thought nothing of it, having been the subject of a number of portraits herself because of her royal status. The others has taken it all in good laughs and inevitably she'd had fun with the whole experience. 

"I'm not wearing that." Beuren said pointedly. "I'm a soldier, not princess." Dwalin laughed heartily behind her.
"Fine, wear whatever, but don't braid your hair. I don't want your ears mucking up my drawing." The artist said annoyedly.
"My ears?"
"Yes, your ears, you are an elf after all. Putting you beside two dwarves was bad enough, but the Prince of Erebor...tsk." Beuren looked back at Thorin.
"You're here to draw a picture, not talk politics." Thorin reminded sternly. "It'd be wise to remember as such."
"Forgive me my lord." Thorin offered a wink in Beuren's direction.
"Charming one isn't he." Dwalin said, his fingers expertly weaving his hair into a braid. "He's the royal family's personal artist. Thror hired him to do Thrain's portrait years ago, hasn't been able to shake him since." Beuren smirked, rolling the clasp that Dwalin needed for the end of his braid between her fingers.
"Aye, he's been known to be fussy too, just remember to pack your patience." Balin remarked, clasping the end of his own hair. Beuren reached up, carefully pulling a single strand of white hair from his dark head. "Damn greys. I'm not even that old."
"Old enough." Dwalin grumbled in return running a hand over a full head of dark black hair to smooth out any strays.
"Piss off." Balin grumbled in return. Beuren began to tie the top layer of her hair back when the artist rushed over.
"No, no, no. No ears." He slapped her hands away, pulling her hair down over her ears and shoulders. It framed her face elegantly, its straightness nearly reaching her hips. Beuren was seated beside Bain, both being the shorter of the four. Thorin stood tall behind Beuren, his hand resting on her shoulder. Dwalin towered over Balin, his hand gripping the back of the chair. The four wore steely glares in the picture, but only they would know how many times they all burst into tears laughing at the awkward silence that befell them. 

"Look at how young Uncle Thorin looked. And how long Balin's hair was!" Kili chuckled. 

"And how much hair Dwalin had." Fili remarked. Kili laughed outright, showing the picture to Oin and Bofur. 

A few hours had passed, the snow had stopped, and the winds died down making the last leg of their journey through the cold much more bearable. Kili had pocketed the picture, fully intending on parading it around to everyone's amusement. As they neared the gates, the four froze. The gate was demolished and the bridge crossing the river had been damaged too. They all shared a look before bolting into the mountain to see what had become of their friends. 

"Hello! Bombur? Bifur? Anybody?" Bofur shouted. They'd been wandering for ten minutes now with no such luck. The pattering of bare feet on stone caught Fili's attention before the shouting did. 

"WAIT!" Bilbo came rushing up the stairs. "WAIT!"