"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."- Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare
He was passing a shaky hand over his sweat-drenched forehead. He had once more dreamt about his grandfather and Erebor. It was still the early hours of morning and the sun had just started to rise in the east and the deep blue shade of the night sky was retreating to give way to agrey pallor, with a slight tinge of red. None of the others in his company were awake, but him and Nori, who had taken the last watch for the night and he used this time to reflect on his reasons for this quest, for reclaiming Erebor. He remembered the day of Smaug's invasion and he thought that he wished to avenge this day, which had not only caused him to lose all that had been promised to him, all that he had prepared for his entire childhood, but symbolized the beginning of the downward spiral that his life had become, the beginning of the monotonous, wrath-filled, bitter days that constituted his being. No, he liked to believe that if everything he had lost had been material, that he would have been able to overcome this virulence that seemed to rule him. He liked to believe that he had grown to become such a bitter and angry man, because Smaug's siege on Erebor symbolized his grandfather's death and all the plights Thorin and his people had had to undergo until now. That the taking of Erebor had put a curse of misfortune on the line of Durin and their subjects.
Oh Erebor! He felt longing rise within his chest only at the mention of his old halls. He could still recall the vastness and the immensity of the fortress. He liked to believe that he was undertaking this quest not only, because of his desires, but because of his people. Because he longed to give them a home, to enable them to once more be a part of that proud and strong kingdom that had been Erebor. He wanted to believe that he was doing this, so that his once mighty people that had been brought so cruelly low could reclaim their home and could revert to those days of peace and plenty that Thorin had lived through in his childhood. That he wanted to provide a home to his subjects, whom he felt he owed so much due to his incapability to protect Erebor and fend off Smaug on that fateful day and that he no longer wanted his people to wander Middle Earth like a pack of displaced, homeless hounds, like vagabonds, when he himself had experienced their wealth and had reveled in it. He wanted to believe that he undertook this quest, so that his eldest nephew, so that Fili, who he had been teaching and grooming to be a just and valiant leader, similarly to the way Thror had done with him in his youth, so that his nephew, who already displayed characteristics needed in a leader, could have a worthy hall to reign over, so that he could look forward to his inheritance, so that the line of Durin once more recovered their due. He liked to believe that he was doing this because it had been his grandfather's and then his father's dream, that the two patriarchal figures in his life had longed to see their people reinstated in Erebor and receiving what was rightfully theirs. That he was doing this, because he had failed both his grandfather and his father, when he had been unable to prevent their death, or who knew what fate his father had suffered, under the hand of that orcish filth. That he had been unable to stop that vile, heinous creature before he had taken them from him. He wanted to believe that this quest was amends for his shortcomings toward both Thror and Thrain. He wanted to believe that he was doing this for more than the gold he knew lay in Erebor.
He refused to believe that his dreams of the mountains of riches and gold that he knew inhabited each and every hall in Erebor had anything to do with why he was undertaking this quest. He refused to believe that the streams of gold that ran through the stone of Erebor was the reason why he felt the need to go reclaim his halls. That he was only doing this, going on this quest because he longed, he wanted, he needed to be king under the mountain. He refused that this whole undertaking had only sprung out of his want for power and for his kingdom and for the gold he could still vividly paint before his mind's eyes and which he had dreamt about for so long. He refused to believe that this quest was only a means to satisfy his avarice. And he was a stubborn dwarf. He refused to believe that while he knew of the menace of Smaug and of the Devastation he could cause and he was still leading this company... His company knowingly to this place, where that beast no doubt still festered. He refused to believe that he knew that his company of thirteen tradesmen, tinkers, toymaker and two little, weak Hobbits was ill-equipped to go on this quest, since not even the entirety of the royal guard, the best warriors of Erebor had been able to stop Smaug that day. He refused to believe that he was leading this Company of men, who had so faithfully come forth when he had called upon them, only because he still dreamt of the gold in Erebor's halls. Because there would be too much connotation in that belief. Because it would have meant that he had become too much like his grandfather... Not the man, who had taught him during his youth all there was to know about a just and fair leader, not the man whom he had thought to be the best king there had ever been, the man he had idolized... No he would have become too much like the Thror he had seen in the days leading up to that firedrake's invasion. The man, who had spent uncountable hours in Erebor's main treasure hall, wandering between the vast mountains of precious, shiny rocks with a crazed and delusional look on his face. Thorin refused to believe that he was likely to become sick, that the same disease that had festered and fertilized within Thror might also slumber within him. He did not believe that he could be corrupted like his grandfather had been, that he could blinded by his love of gold and that he could be ensnared by the sickness that had trapped Thror, because he knew that where sickness presided only bad things could follow.
He refused to believe that he was leading this Company of men, that had last night after Balin's tale, looked upon him with such awe and trust, that he was willing to lead these men into certain death, the same men, who had given their loyalty and utter faith to him so trustfully. He refused to believe that he was willing to risk the lives of his nephews, the only family that he had left and whom he valued, despite their mischief and their sometimes youthful, immature behavior. He refused to believe that he was willing to risk the life of the last of his kin, his predecessor simply for his want of gold. That he was willing to risk the life of his oldest friends, of Balin and Dwalin, the former who had been his tutor, his companion for the majority of his life. He did want to think that he was willing to risk the lives of all of these men for his avarice. That he was leading them to Smaug for reasons that were not completely honorable. He did not want to think that he was leading them to Smaug. That he was leading her to the beast.
He blinked his eyes as that last, particular train of thought assailed his mind and he looked up and his eyes were drawn to that distinct shock of bright red hair. He saw that she had just woken up and was sat up with that wild mass of untamable curls like a mane around her head and was owlishly blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He did not know what caused him to watch her more than he did with the others when he found himself alone, so transfixedly. He watched her as she looked down to her right at the still sleeping burglar, who he now knew was her cousin, yet whom he still thought to be almost disconcertingly close to each other. He watched her as she smiled beatifically and tenderly down at the man, who he had gathered was her best friend and how she rubbed the burglar's arm to wake him.
As he watched the caring interactions of the girl and the Halfling, he questioned how it would feel to have her soft and delicate fingers tenderly caressing his skin like the lighest and warmest of summer breezes; how it would feel to awaken to that, to her loving smile.
He shook his head and stood up in frustration at the direction his thoughts had taken. In an attempt to dispel these most disconcerting thoughts, he quickly moved away from his previous sleeping place, away from where he could continue watching her as she teased her cousin for his disheveled appearance, and proceeded to wake his company. He should find her an inconsequential creature, who was so beneath him that she warranted no other thought than her use for this quest. He should have established her as a naive, suburban young Hobbit girl from the Shire, who would no doubt be more trouble to him and his company than she was worth. But... Unwillingly, he had found her to be more than that... To be... Interesting... Surprising. What he could have easily construed as naivety was now viewed by him and he suspected also by most members of his company, as... Innocence, kindness, gentility.
Since Thorin had lost the mountain and had been forced to take work, wherever he could find it, he had quickly learned that all people had a purpose and that kindness, altruism only sprung from that need, was only a tool in the selfish pursuit of their self-crafted goals. He had quickly dispelled any beliefs in genuine kindness and selflessness. This had been another thing that had caused him to become even more embittered. But she... What purpose did she have to come on this quest? Of course, there was the gold and the profit, but that had not been of interest to her the night of the council. He doubted that she had been thinking about the gold both her and her cousin would receive after they had reclaimed Erebor, when she had stood before him and his company and had asked for forgiveness for the fact that she and her cousin had initially been reluctant joining them on their quest. When she had told him that what he had seen that night, as she had stood before him like a condemned prisoner was not pity, and she had looked up at him through her thick, long lashes and with her eyes shining she had told him that she felt compassion toward him. He had never pondered on the difference between compassion and pity, previously he would have thought them to be the same, yet now... He was no longer so sure.
What reason, what concealed and under-handed selfishness had she had, when she had gone up to the contemplative and reticent Bifur, whom he had expected to be the last person she would have ever talked with or sought out? When she had courageously offered her company and her friendship to the silent dwarf, when she had commended him on his silence and had apparently longed for it? What purpose had she had when she had smiled so brightly and genuinely that for a second Thorin had thought that she had rivaled the sun in its splendor and he had felt her joy, when Bifur had accepted her company? What reason had she had to look at him last night with disbelief and shock and... Another emotion that had caused the warmth in his chest, the sensation he now attributed to her to become almost unbearable in its intensity? What reason had she had to look at him the way she had looked at him last night, with self-deprecation, sadness and if he had to categorize it, something akin to beseeching?
Balin had just walked off in the direction of the camp fire, when he saw out of the corner of his eyes, that his still drowsy nephews had joined the company of the girl and the not completely lucid burglar, who sat by her side and smoked his early morning pipe. He saw how she smiled warmly and welcoming at them and they sat down beside the girl and Fili handed her a bowl of breakfast, which she thankfully accepted before attentively listening to something his youngest nephew was telling her. He felt resentment rise within him. Resentment at the fact, that the girl was proving to be a distraction to his nephews that she had hindered their entire attention being focused on the purpose of their quest and that his nephews' little attraction was distracting them. He was not blind to the lingering looks and touches of his nephews and to the attention they paid to the girl's well-being, and he knew what they meant.
It was not unusual for younger dwarves to be attracted to feminine members of other races, especially because that was one thing that dwarven women lacked. They lacked femininity and it was not unheard of, that they would be mistaken for men by non-dwarfish individuals. He expected her beauty to be the first thing that had ensnared his nephews' attentions. Her softness, which was so opposed to the hard and stony features of dwarfish women and her unmistakable femininity and delicateness. If that had been the only thing, Thorin would not have spent time pondering, worrying over his nephews' newest attraction, because during their lives he knew that his nephews thought female companionship to be of the biggest value. Yet in this case two things worried him, one was that both his nephews seemed enthralled by the same girl and he knew that out of this affair at least one of them would be hurt. The second thing was that he had seen the admiration in his nephews' eyes, aimed at her kindness and he feared that the same gentility that left him... Confused was what he would call it, wanted call it... Had deepened the relationship between the three of them. And he resented the girl because of that. Because she proved to be a distraction and she was proving to cause more trouble than he knew she would ultimately be able to solve.
Yet as he watched Kill pass a tender hand along the girl's cheekbones, the same biting feeling and causticity arose, that he had experienced when he had seen both her and the Halfling together, that he had experienced when he had thought her to be married; and he was not sure if this could be attributed to his resentment toward the girl.
Gandalf turned his back on the proud and arrogant expression of the dwarf king and, with resentment and annoyance coursing through him, he stalked away from the stubborn dwarf king. His gait hinting at fierceness, he strode past a puzzled Laurel and he decided to put as much distance between himself and the dwarves' camp as possible, as he needed to be alone for the moment, especially as he had a premonition, a caustic feeling concerning the choice of shelter that Thorin Oakenshield had found suitable for the night. He knew that there was something wrong about the place and that tonight would not carry the same pacifistic and mellow undertone, as the previous they'd had the fortune of experiencing.
He had exploited that ill feeling and had suggested to Thorin Oakenshield that they seek the council and advice of Lord Elrond and would use the opportunity and the hospitality the elves of the Valley of Imlandris would offer them to rest and recover from the exhaustion from the first leg of this journey.
But Thorin Oakenshield had decided that he would none of that. His resentment, his prejudice and hate toward the elvish race had reared its ugly head and had left the future King under the mountain blind to the needs of his company and to the benefits that seeking out the elves could have for them. Thorin resented Thranduil so much for his actions that day during Smaug's siege that he believed all elves to be selfish and unhelpful and intent to stop him. No, Thorin Oakenshield would never willingly seek out the help of a member of the elvish race, eventhough Gandalf was most assured that only Lord Elrond would be able to find the hidden clue about Erebor's secret entrance in the map. But Thorin despised elves with an intensity that was destructive and that hindered him from achieving the best for himself.
And then Gandalf thought about Laurel. He had spent many years on Middle Earth and he prided himself on being wiser than a few. Perhaps others had not perceived it, but he had seen the way that the red-haired girl and the invulnerable king under the mountain had regarded each other last night and before that he had spied the numerous times that Thorin's eyes had been on Belladonna Took's niece, at perhaps a frequency that even Thorin was unconscious to. He thought about the disastrous effects it would have not only on Laurel, but also on Thorin if it was found that Laurel was a half-elf. What would Thorin think if he knew that this girl was a member of the race he so despised?
"Where are you going, Gandalf?" Bilbo asked him as he strode past both him and Balin, who were following the wizard with their eyes. "To seek out the company of the only person with some sense here." he huffed. Bilbo looked contemplatively at that and asked with curiosity: "Who would that be?" "Myself, Master Baggins!"
She was crouching down beside Bombur and looked on as the chubby, red-haired dwarf proceeded to fill the bowls with the stew he had cooked for the night. "When do you think Gandalf will come back?", her Cousin asked with concern tinging his words and he was wringing his hands nervously. After Gandalf had left their company agitated and infuriated a few hours back she had been most disconcerted and had felt grieved, because due to her elvish hearing she had been able to make out the reason for Thorin and Gandalf's disagreement. Yet she had not said anything and she had been withdrawn and reserved, even when her cousin had questioned her quiet behaviour she had simply waved him off. Yet she felt similarly alarmed that night had long ago fallen and Gandalf still persisted in being gone.
"He's a wizard, he goes off at times and there is nothing you can do about it. Take these to the lads, will you burglar?" Bofur said in an attempt to dispelled Bilbo's concern for the elderly, wise man and handed him two bowls with stew to take to both Fili and Kili, who were also not present in the camp, because they had been charged with watching over the ponies. Eventhough alarm was still prominent in his features, Bilbo acquiesced to the demands and Laurel watched him as he disappeared in the prescient woods. She felt Bombur also handing her a bowl of stew and with a small smile and a nod at something behind her right shoulder, he stated: "Will you take Thorin's dinner to him, lass?" She licked her lips nervously at the request, but wishing to be of some use, she nodded her head and made her way to the brooding dwarven king.
To be of use. She would be taking herself for a fool, if she insisted that this was the only reason for her acquiescing to Bombur's request. Since she had found out that Thorin was the same man she had been dreaming about for almost two decades now, her curiosity toward the leader of the company had increased and she longed to find more about him, if she had been right in her assessment of him, as the most courageous of men, filled with integrity. She thought she was, especially from what she had witnessed, the respect his company showed toward him, their loyalty to him. She also wished to know, why he despised elves so much. She actually wished to know why all dwarves did so, but in his case, she was especially curious.
She handed him his dinner with an unsure smile on her face and then he looked up at her, when she did not leave as he had expected but continued to stand before him, pondering on how she could phrase what she so wanted to ask him. Wringing her hands in a similar way as Bilbo, she said in a thin voice: "I could not help, but overhear your and Gandalf's conversation." She did not allow herself to be deterred or discouraged by his scoff at her words and raising her head in confidence she asked him: "Why do you not wish to go to Rivendell?" He glared at her indignantly and asked her: "Did Gandalf put you up to this, girl?" She did not flinch, having expected this exact reaction from him and she felt her obstinacy and fiery spirit return within her and she was determined to not leave without an answer to her question: "No, he did not. I do not require of Gandalf's requests to act, to question. I simply wish to know why you would deny your company shelter and accommodations, that are not the road, simply because the place that offers them is Rivendell." He looked at her impassively, but still with a glare and spat in a low tone: "It would do you well to not question my decisions. What assistance could elves offer me after their king so valiantly refused to help us when we were exiled from Erebor. When the dwarves needed elvish help none come, and none has come ever since." She looked disbelievingly at that and questioned the truth in his words, yet what reason would he have to be dishonest with her? She could not truly believe that he had made up what little explanation he had given to her and it would explain the resentment of the company towards elves.
Yet she still shook her head and stared at Thorin Oakenshield in disbelief. From what she had gathered he had only been wronged by a single individual, not by an entire race, he had generalized the elves and she asked him the question that now weighed heavily on her, because she knew that if they found out about her parentage they would condemn her and now she was aware that the reason would be most unjustified, because she had not abandoned them, she wouldn't have ever thought about it: "Would you truly judge an entire race, condemn innocents for the mistakes, the crimes of one individual?" Had she not been so absorbed by her question and her disbelief at the source of his prejudice, she would have delighted herself in the fact that Thorin, whom she thought nothing could disconcert, had furrowed his brows in response to her question, as if it was the first time this had been brought up to him and for a fraction of a second his eyes had widened in confusion and he had looked taken aback. But then his mask of impassiveness and superiority returned and effectively dismissing her, he said: "I do not expect you to understand anything, girl. You know nothing of the world beyond your Hobbit hole." She averted her gaze then and with indignation at Thorin Oakenshield and his arrogance, she pondered whether to continue this quite pointless discussion or to depart and seek out the much more agreeable company of Bifur. Yet before she could reach a decision, she heard Thorin state warningly: "Stay away from my nephews. You do them no favor by providing them with a distraction." She looked up at him and furrowed her brow at his solemnity. "They have more important things to think about than you." She felt a pang of hurt at his words and then she spat bitterly: "I simply offer them my friendship. Forgive me if that offends you." Without allowing him to respond to her words, she whirled around and took off in the direction she had seen her cousin depart to previously. Pained at Thorin's callousness and admonishing of her.