She Walks In Shadow

Chapter 14

There was a part of Bilba, a very real part, that never made it out of the crypts. Dwalin might have forced her to physically leave, but he couldn't prevent a piece of her from being left behind. She could almost feel it sometimes, a near wraith-like presence wandering amongst the dead.

Perhaps it still followed the path of that long, agonizing procession they'd taken, past each slab as if to drive home the point that the King Under the Mountain and his heirs were gone. That no amount of shaking, shouting, or pleading would make them open their eyes, sit up and demand to know what all the fuss was about.

All three had received mortal wounds in places easily covered by clothing, simple to hide and pretend they had simply passed away quietly in their sleep. Bilba had thought it sick. Their deaths had been anything but peaceful and pretending otherwise didn't change a goddamn thing.

She'd been the angriest about what they had done to Fili. His clothing had been pristine, eyes closed and expression somehow almost serene. No sign of the blood and dirt from the battlefield, the gaping hole in his back and chest, or the pain and fear in his eyes during those final moments before he'd been thrown to the rocks below.

Her anger hadn't stemmed solely from the fact that they'd tried to erase his suffering, but also the idea of someone touching him, cleaning his wounds and dressing him in fresh clothing. That should have been her job. Not some stranger.

Jealousy was an ugly look, and an even uglier feeling. It had settled like a weight in her gut, twisting her insides and bringing a flush to her face despite the coldness of the cavern.

Ironically enough, it had been the first time she'd felt true jealousy over him. There'd been no cause for it before then. The relationship between her and the Crown Prince of Erebor had developed in a box of sorts, separate from the world at large. There had only been his family, and the rest of the Company, and she'd never felt any jealousy toward any of them demanding his attention. They'd known him far longer, had far greater claim and the only feeling she'd had was gratitude that they were so willing to share him with her.

No, the closest thing she'd gotten to an emotion even approximating jealousy had been when they had stopped in Bree that first time around. Thorin had wanted to take advantage of the last habitation of any size they'd be seeing for a long time (or so he'd thought), stock up on supplies and give them one final opportunity to sleep on real beds before they were relegated to bedrolls for months on end.

The barmaid at the Prancing Pony had barely warranted a note in Bilba's memory from that first trip. Bilba had been sitting alone at dinner, feeling sorry for herself when Fili had dropped onto the bench across from her. It had startled her, and even more so when he'd engaged her in conversation.

It had been nice, and marred only by the attention of the barmaid, a sultry vixen with a plunging neckline, a too-tight corset and an obnoxious habit of nearly draping herself over Fili every chance she got. Bilba hadn't been jealous so much as irritated at the woman's repeated interruptions and could recall an almost vindictive sense of satisfaction when Fili had been oblivious to the other woman's advances.

Such a faint, unimportant memory in the overall tapestry of the quest, or at least it was until Bilba stepped through the doorway of the Prancing Pony for her second go round.

It was surprising just how quickly she was able to pick the other woman out, and just how wrong her memory had been on almost every aspect.

Almost every aspect.

The girl looked nothing like the image in her mind. In place of a provocatively dressed vixen, stood a young girl barely into adulthood by the standards of Men. Her clothing was neither too tight nor too low and the open, happy expression on her face spoke more of innocence than anything approximating a seductress.