Chapter 9:
He calls me savior, "That's not my name!"
It is later that night, closer to dawn than midnight, when Gandalf and I return to the camp ground. In these hours of separation from the dwarves, we have been inspecting the road ahead, only turning back when we have a simultaneous gut feeling: the company is in trouble. But are we really surprised? I'm not.
Just as expected, the camp is empty of all activity and dwarves. The remnants of their belongings show no sign of a fight, but a rush to leave the camp. Clearly, you cannot leave dwarves alone for a few hours without them making trouble.
"It is probably nothing. They most likely just ran out of food and went searching, in a frenzy, for more," Gandalf speculates. I have to disagree. My intuition tells me that one of the company must have been kidnapped by the monsters I sensed earlier, prompting the company to rush out of the camp to save him.
Following the tracks of the dwarves, we come across a clearing in which three trolls are roasting members of the company. The remaining dwarves and burglar sit, tied in bags, at the edge of the camp as the trolls rattle on about the best way to cook dwarf. Trolls are dumb, that much is for certain. But the fact that the dwarves have been caught by them shows their own idiocracy. I sigh at the situation.
Our plan, that is mine and Gandalf's plan, consists of me stalling while Gandalf waits for the sunrise. He will then crack the boulder on the east side of the clearing, releasing the awaiting sun onto the trolls, who will turn to stone. As it turns out, Bilbo has a similar plan in mind:
"Ye-yes, I'm telling you, the secret is ... to skin them first!" I roll my eyes at the ridiculous excuse, but am glad that the hobbit has the same idea. He will make my plan work all the more smoothly.
"Tom, get me the filleting knife," Bert demands. I know their names as I have been listening in to the conversation.
"If I get you, you little," Gloin stutters angrily at the small burglar. Dwarves can be very dense.
"I won't forget that!" Dwalin adds.
"What a load of rubbish! I've eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all," Tom says. Clearly, he is the smart one of the group, though that does not say much. My guess is that he is the leader of the trio.
Bilbo's head turns to see my head poking out of a bush, twenty yards from him. His face reflects shock before falling into a look of desperation. I nod at him in a reassuring way, though it doesn't seem to give him any hope.
"He's right! Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy," William the troll says before grabbing Bombur, the fattest dwarf. He makes to throw the dwarf into his mouth when Bilbo, once again, speaks up: "Not-not that one, he-he's infected!"
"You what?" Tom replies. Ignore my previous comment about him being the smart troll; they are all dumb.
"Yeah, He's got worms in his ... tubes," Bilbo asserts, causing the troll to drop Bombur in disgust. To my joy, the dwarf lands on Thorin.
Consider that payback for earlier. Thorin deserves punishment after his rude words.
I stay silent as I step out behind the bushes, making my way closer to the scene while still remaining hidden by the shadows.
"In fact they all have, they're infested with parasites. It's a terrible business; I wouldn't risk it, I really wouldn't," I speak up, coming into visibility. The dwarves look shocked at my appearance, though angry at my insult. In fact, Dwalin's expression can be described as murderous. And, of course, the trolls are just confused.
"Oi! Where did ye come from?" Tom asks, approaching my small but deadly figure.
"I've been here the whole time! What? Has the dwarves' smell gotten to you? Or are you just that dumb?" I question, purposely trying to rile them up. From experience, I know that it is easier to fight creatures whose heads are swamped with anger.
"Oh really?...she's a pretty one, Tom, can we keep her?" Bert asks, clearly falling for my lie. I roll my eyes at his stupidity.
"Don't fall for it Bert. William, grab her!" Tom commands, sending William towards my prepared body. His hand swipes out to grab me, but I dodge, running up his arm instead. Before he can even react, I jump into the air, using his head as a launch pad. My body shifts at that moment: my luscious pale skin elongating into fluffy, wine-colored feathers. My legs compress into talons as sharp as dragons' claws and my tailbone extends, forming a amber tail. My human head becomes that of a bird's, skin becoming an angry flame of red, yellow, and blue tendrils. My eyes are a sharp yellow that can pierce the soul of any creature. The transition into a human-sized predator seems to take hours, though it happens within the blink of an eye. Pain courses through my body, though I ignore it, as I have not changed form in years.
From corner of my eye, the dwarves gape at my aviary beauty, as I duck under the arms of the irritated trolls. My beak opens to spew flames onto Tom's face, quickly doing the same to Bert and William. I take turns, perching on their shoulders as I peck at their eyes. My speed is my greatest advantage, as I can do all of this in a matter of seconds. While weaving between them, I scrape my claws against their backs , breaking through to bone. It ought to be a gruesome sight, but I have no time to care.
I check to make sure the dwarves are safe, giving Tom the opportunity to backhand me towards a pine tree. As my bird form is flung away, I look to see the stunned face of Thorin. The pine tree knocks my thoughts away as I slam into it before crumbling to the ground.
"The dawn will take you all!" Gandalf exclaims to everyone's shock but my own. I grumble at his impeccable timing, only coming to rescue us once I am violently thrown into a tree.
"Who's that?" Bert asks.
"No idea," Tom says.
"Can we eat 'im too?" William questions, for a final time as Gandalf breaks the boulder, letting the long-awaited light shine upon the trolls. Their skin takes upon a dusty shade like that of an old sword as their bodies visually clench up. They became like the boulder that has been cracked, moments before, sealing their fate. I release a breath that I have unknowingly been holding. We are safe for the moment. Gandalf scans the area for hiding enemies, before freeing the dwarves of their baggy bonds. He knows I am fine, for Phoenicians have amazingly durable bodies, almost unbreakable to be sure. My form returns to that of a dwarven size, regaining the human-like features that I have grown accustomed to. Gandalf seems pleased as he looks upon the statues, as if they are a piece of art. My peripheral vision sees Thorin run up to my still-crumpled form at the base of the pine tree.
"Rue? Have you been hurt!?" Thorin asks, though not waiting for my response before calling Oin over to check my "wounds."
"Thorin," I say as I sit up slowly, slightly wincing at the bruises forming on my stomach, "I assure you that I am fine. Better than fine, actually. I have not had that much fun in a long time. Phoenicians are unbreakable."
"Your cheek is bleeding," Thorin says, making this a bigger deal than it needs to be. I roll my eyes as I stand fully on my feet. I pull Thorin up with me, hoping to assure him that I am perfectly healthy. It isn't until I look back up to his face that I realize we are very close.
"Thank you for your concern, my king, though I promise that I am unhurt. Your compassion is very refreshing," I tell him. His eyes reflect my image, showing the true horror of my current appearance.
"There is no need to thank me, for you are our savior. I will be forever grateful for your bravery," he says before kissing my dirty hand. His lips linger on my skin as we stare deep into each others eyes. My heart is quickly accelerating in pace and my breath is becoming more ragged.
I hear a cough come from behind me, causing us to jump away from the close contact. The look on Gandalf's face shows that he is pleased, though I am not sure what he is pleased about. I sure hope it doesn't stem from the moment he just saw, if you can even call it that.
"Where did you two go, if I may ask?" Thorin questions us, though it is more addressed to the wizard.
"To look ahead," Gandalf replies vaguely.
"What brought you back?" Thorin continues his question, slightly irritated about having to do such.
"Looking behind. Nasty business. Still, they are all in one piece," I reply to the King Under the Mountain.
"No thanks to your burglar," Thorin exclaims, clearly reluctant to give Bilbo praise like he has given me.
"He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that," I remind him before turning my back on the conversation and walking away. Thorin does not deserve my attention if he is going to be proud, but a quick look back shows his apologetic face. I don't give him an opportunity to talk, but I think to myself:
The King Under the Mountain is losing his hard shell.
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I do not own The Hobbit. All credit goes to Peter Jackson and J.R.R. Tolkien.
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