Bilbo cried out, “Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do! Escaping goblins to be caught up by wolves!”
“Up the trees quick!” Gandalf called.
“Come along,” said Dori, who was closest to me, and put his hands together to boost me into the tree. I didn’t need any of that though and didn’t want to slow him down, so I said a quick ‘no thank you’ and launched myself up into the lowest branch on the nearest tree. My hands wrapped around it and I used my momentum to twist myself up over the rough, crackling branch, and from there jumped up to the next. Dori watched me for a moment of shock, before recovering himself and climbing up after me. After we all clambered into our trees like overlarge, overstrange birds, I was the one who was highest among them, being the lightest. It did not make me feel any safer though.
“You’ve left the burglar behind again!” Nori shouted at Dori, looking down, to where Bilbo was scurrying back and forth, unable to reach any of the branches.
“I can’t always be carrying burglars on my back,” fretted Dori, “down tunnels and up trees! What do you think I am? A porter?”
“He’ll be eaten if we don’t do something,” Thorin said over the encroaching howls. “Dori! Be quick, and give Mr. Baggins a hand up!”
Despite his grumbling I knew Dori was in truth a very fine fellow, merely scared out of his wits and frustrated. He clambered down to the very lowest branch but still Bilbo could not reach it, despite being my same height, or an inch or two taller. He wasn’t accustomed to this sort of thing, as I was. Dori had to climb out of the tree, let Bilbo scramble up by way of his back, and climb back up himself—and only just in time! As the first wolf exploded onto the clearing and slammed shut his jaws on the last scrap of Dori’s cloak. In seconds every tree was surrounded by wolves. I later learned that this sort of wolf—unnaturally large and terrible—were called Wargs.
It felt like hours that we clung to our creaking perches. More and more Wargs arrived by each quarter-hour, but the clearing never seemed to overfill. I later learned, too, that the Wargs were speaking to each other. The largest and grayest of them stood in the center of the clearing, snarling to different groups of them, passing commands, waiting for one of us to fall out of our tree.
Gandalf, listening to them and understanding their rumbling speech, was becoming very afraid. The Wargs had planned on meeting the goblins in this place tonight, as the Wargs and goblins on occasion assisted one another with their various nefarious deeds. Thinking swiftly, he snatched down a large pinecone from his tree and, muttering into his beard, set it into sparkling blue flames, and threw it down at the leading Warg.
“Here!” he shouted, and half-lit one in red, tossing it to another tree, where Fili and Kili used it to alight several more before adding them to the spreading blue flame in the leaves on the ground. Gandalf passed a green-flaming pinecone to the tree in which Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin and myself were hiding, and we did the same. The dwarves didn’t reach up to hand me any pinecones though, and it was just as well: my aim had never been sure, and there were too many branches between me and the Wargs as it was. Handing them to me would have been a wretched waste of Gandalf’s efforts.
“Nice throw!” I complimented Oin, and he grinned briefly up at me. The leaves strewn upon the ground had turned to tinder in the late summer’s heat, and alit as though they had been waiting for an excuse to do so. The wolves, some of whom had caught fire in their long fur, began to flee. I grinned, and the dwarves cheered.
But then the goblins appeared. We hadn’t heard their excited shrieking until the howling of the scorched Wargs began to diminish. Our grins dropped as the goblins stamped through the scattered fires we had created, saw us lurking up in the high boughs of the trees, and began to sneer. With horror we watched as the goblins, who were not so fearful of fire as Wargs, stamped out the most widespread of the fires, and kicked up needles and leaves against the bases of the trees we had taken shelter in, then guided the fires in to feast.
Smoke began to coil up into our branches. I heard the dwarves below me coughing and watched as the grayness began to envelop me as well. I tucked my face down into the top of my dress, my eyes already swimming. The goblins below us set up a great clamoring and snarling, awaiting the moment when the trunks of these dry trees crumbled to the flames, or we died of suffocation and fell.
They were taunting us, the goblins. Calling for us wee birds to lift off and fly away. Gandalf bellowed back his own insults, proving his own bravery if not ours. We could hear the lower branches creaking; those who were clutching to the bottom halves of the trees scrambled to climb as high as they could. With their added weight into the slimmer limbs the tops of the trees began to sway. I slipped, squeaking with a moment of fear before wrapping my arms around the trunk and steadying myself.
But I heard their laughing voices more clearly a moment later, when those who were not goblins arrived, astride Wargs who had not been burned. Orcs. The palest among them had his teeth bared, eyes alight with a devilish mirth.
I heard a crack and a rustle as Thorin threw apart the branches before him, staring out in horror. “It cannot be,” I heard him say, though I was too far to have heard him clearly.
The pale orc began to laugh, and pointed an arm ending in an iron claw up toward him in defiance, and challenge.
A high squeal erupted at the base of our tree, and I jumped to cling to the trunk of the tree even more tightly. The fire still eating away at the base of the tree, the entire structure began to sway, lurching from side to side, until it crashed down against the edge of the cliff, with all of us high enough to be hanging over the air.
I screamed once, wrapping my legs around the trunk and twisting around until I was on top of it. The dwarves, who were clearly not climbers, were in lesser shape than I was. I hastened to climb down the trunk to Gloin, who was closest. I locked my legs around the trunk, leaned over the space Gloin was struggling not to fall into, and extended my hand. His wide eyes stared at me for a moment, likely judging me too weak to be of any use in hauling him upright, but I was desperate, and so was he. He locked a wide hand around my wrist; I tightened my own as best I could around his, stiffened my back, and hauled, teeth bared.
Gloin scraped up, and I kept my hand fisted into the shoulder of his tunic until he was secure enough for me to move on. I stepped over him to Oin, who was nearly atop the trunk but not quite, and hauled him upright as well. Down I went until all of them, Bilbo included—though Bilbo hadn’t needed my help—was as safe as could be suspended over a cavern in a burning tree.
The second tree we had taken shelter in crashed down to our left, and then the third to our right. They were too far for me to help though. I was afraid to pass the flames at the base of the tree to reach the other two trees, and afraid of the orcs, goblins and Wargs.
The pale orc was laughing. He was still pointing at Thorin, and said something I couldn’t catch beyond the thrashing of the flames.
Thorin slowly stood. He had his sword in his hand already. My mouth opened in horror, and the pale orc spread his hands as though to invite Thorin’s advance. The dwarf was running now, sprinting around the protruding branches, down the trunk, leaping through the flames. He raised his long sword, teeth gritted in concentration, face carved by fury.
The orc on his Warg leaped forward, and his beast’s front paw caught Thorin high in his chest.
Thorin collapsed as the beast landed behind him, then rose as he came about. The orc passed him again, slashing across his ribs with his carved iron club. The Warg sniffed over Thorin’s bleeding face, lowered his jaws over his body, lifted him and threw him aside, where Thorin lay still.
What the orc said to one of his comrades wasn’t clear, but the other licked his lips, fisted his sword and strode gleefully forward. As Thorin stirred, he lined up his blade with Thorin’s throat, the dwarves cried out, and he lifted the blade to bring it down.
I hadn’t even realized that Bilbo had left the tree until he threw himself into the orc about to kill Thorin. The two of them toppled sideways, the orc snarling and Bilbo howling as he stabbed and killed the orc with a blue-glowing blade.
The pale orc regarded him with a furious stare. He started forward.
There came a great screech then, and a pointed shadow spread directly over Gandalf, stretched out a claw, and swallowed him up. The dwarves and I all cried out with shock and fear, until the shadows returned, grew feathers in the light of the flames, great wings fanning them toward the furious goblins. Carefully I stood, one hand still on the trunk, to watch in fascination as the massive eagles scratched their claws down the goblins’ faces and backs.
Hard claws wrapped unexpectedly around my waist and yanked me off of my branch and out of the tree. I cried out once, before realizing one of the eagles had grabbed me and was now following the one that had taken Gandalf. The eagles plucked up those who were highest in the trees first, waiting until the dwarves below hastened up to certain heights, and then took them also. My hair flew out around my face, obstructing my vision, but I watched as all of the Company were summarily gathered and carried away, glad to see that no one was left behind.
Comforted, I ran my hands over the overlapping, off-yellow scales of the claws that were wound around my ribs and legs. I could see the grooves and scratches in the eagle’s talons where they had grown and been gouged. But said claws were pressed hard into my stomach in such an uncomfortable way, I shifted, trying to settle into an easier traveling position.
“Don’t squirm,” said the eagle who was carrying me. “I should hate to drop you.”
I blinked up at him in astonishment, scraping hair out of my eyes. “I should hate for you to drop me too,” I called through the wind. “I’m sorry.”
I decided not to talk after that. I wanted to know where we were going but so long as I was brought with everyone else I found I didn’t particularly mind. The wind was as chilly as a high mountains spring this high—through the darkness surrounding us I couldn’t even see the ripples of the ground—and I squirmed once more, though the eagle glared at me for doing it, to wrap my arms around myself in an effort to hold some of my natural warmth in a little bit closer.
Sometime in our long flight I collapsed into some shadowy form of sleep. I didn’t rouse again until hard stone bumped my dangling feet and head, and I realized I was being laid out gently onto stone. I flinched away from the cold, my arms clamping around me, and ached slowly onto my knees to look around.
We were on a long stretch of rock, surrounded by trees, whose tops just barely brushed at our toes if we were brave enough to walk to the edge. The indigo horizon surrounded us entirely. A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder and I turned with a jump, looking up into Gloin’s sooty face.
“You’re all right, lass?” he asked, voice gravelly with the remnants of the smoke.
I nodded. “Yes,” I replied hoarsely. “I’m fine. You?”
In answer all he did was look past me to where Thorin lay.
Gandalf leaped down from a higher stretch of the rock and dropped to his knees at Thorin’s side, sharply repeating his name. When Thorin made no indication of hearing him, Gandalf spread a hand over his face, closing his eyes, and murmured quietly to himself, expression strained.
Thorin sucked in a great swell of air and turned, breathing hard, to see himself surrounded by his kin. With Dwalin’s hand around his forearm he wrested himself unsteadily onto his feet, the blood on his face having ceased and dried, and cast about in search of one of us. His gaze settled on Bilbo.
“You!” he nearly shouted, voice even more abraded than the rest of them, for he had been among the fires. “What were you doing?”
Bilbo’s mouth dropped open, and he fumbled. “I—”
“You nearly got yourself killed!” Slowly, he approached the wan hobbit. “Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild, that you had no place amongst us.”
My insides felt tiny and cold at his words. I could understand how Bilbo felt, though I, rightfully, had no place here, where as he did.
Thorin shook his head. “I have never,” he said, “been so wrong in my entire life.” And with that he threw his arms around the startled hobbit.
The dwarves laughed, cheering, and Thorin was beaming over Bilbo’s shoulder, his eyes closed. When he released him he stepped back, his expression one of remorse. He left one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, looking him quickly over for signs of injury. “I am sorry I ever doubted you,” he finished.
Bilbo shook his head, face having smoothed from one of regret to one of gladness. “Oh no, I would have doubted me too. I’m not a hero, nor a warrior.” With a significant look to Gandalf, he added, “I’m not even a burglar.” He sighed.
We turned when one of the largest of the eagles settled a small distance away from us, gaze fierce. Gandalf, who had been the one benefitting from the flight of this eagle, smiled and dipped his head in greeting, as the two apparently were long acquainted.
“Gandalf and I have spoken of your plight,” the Lord of the Eagles spoke, and I crept a step or two backward, away from his immense bearing. Someone put his hand on my shoulder and I saw that it was Oin, who also looked unsettled by the eagles’ size. “We will not take you anywhere near the lands of men, as they would shoot at us with their great bows of yew, for they would think we were after their sheep. And at other times they would be right. No! we are glad to cheat the goblins of their sport, and glad to repay our thanks to you,” he said to Gandalf, “but we will not risk ourselves for dwarves in the southward plains.”
“Very well,” replied Gandalf, unperturbed. “Take us where and as far as you will! We are already deeply obliged to you. But in the meantime we are famished with hunger.”
“I am nearly dead of it,” Bilbo whispered. I found him standing at the side Oin wasn’t occupying and gave a tiny smile. I knew that feeling well.
“That can perhaps be mended,” said the Lord of the Eagles, and lifted his wings and soared away.
It was well into morning by the time the eagles returned, with their talons full of dry wood, hares, and a few mountain sheep. Oin and Gloin brushed back their sleeves and in no time at all had a hot fire reflecting off the high rocks. I was no help at all with the skinning and cleaning of the animals, but I was glad to cut the pieces with a dagger Kili loaned me, and to spear them on sticks and keep an eye on them while the others discussed in further depth their respective adventures within the goblins’ mountain.
“Mistress Mabyn,” Nori said suddenly, “where could you possibly have learned such climbing as you displayed in the mountain, and in the trees?”
I drew my legs up against me and watched the flames, once terrifying, now serving to feed us again. “I was an acrobat in my homeland. I traveled frequently with a company of other performers. We put on small shows in each town or village we passed through. I can climb nearabout anything, and there are very few places that can keep me from getting in.”
Bifur harrumphed in an appreciative manner. “That there may be useful.” At Thorin’s scowl, he amended, “At least until we find you some other town to settle in.”
Bombur, who was sitting as close to the food as he could get without scorching, saw the way I sat with every bone pressed up tight, flicked off his wide cloak and tossed it over my shoulders with a smile. I smiled back warmly to thank him. All these strange folk made me feel so shy.
“You say you’re a Dwarf in your own lands?” Thorin asked. “You hardly resemble one.”
I settled my chin onto my knees and watched him with concern. “I am afraid what I am is very difficult to explain. I’ve said I am not from anyplace nearby, and we define our races differently than do you. By your terms I am a Dwarf, but in appearance I am more similar to Men. I am older than I look, but whether or not I am an adult varies depending on who I am speaking to, and who is judging.”
“Why did you leave your homeland?”
“I was the last of my kind. I was lonely, looking for others who were like me. Even here I am hard-pressed to find anyone.”
“Whom else did you travel with?”
“Just myself. No one else could come with me.”
“Why not?” He didn’t trust me, and I wouldn’t trust me either, were I him. I couldn’t take that suspicion from him, and in my opinion he was welcome to it.
“They all had their own homes already. I couldn’t take them away from that. I was the one that had no place to go.”
One by one the Dwarves bowed their heads; they understood being homeless, too.
Thorin let out a long breath, glancing out over the forests surrounding us, then back to me. “You will likely have to travel with us a great distance before we come across a place safe enough for you to be on your own. Is there any reason we should concern ourselves over your presence, or anything else we ought to know?”
I’m dying. Whether or not you grow to like me you’ll never be able to stop it. I watched him calmly, clear-gazed. “No. But please understand that I am not accustomed to your world or your culture, and there are many things I may not understand. I would be glad if, in the proper time, someone could explain them to me. You are welcome to tell me if I do something wrong, or if there is any way I can be of assistance. I am stronger than many of my kind, but not as strong as you. I cannot fight, but nor will I allow you or any of your Company to place themselves in harm’s way for my sake. My life will not be missed, and I am glad simply to be no longer traveling alone.”
He regarded me a moment longer, then nodded. “We will do our best, Mistress Mabyn.”
“Just Mabyn is fine, if you’ll allow it. My people did not use titles.”
He nodded again. “Very well.”
I told them then that the meat was done, and we all crowded in. I was hungry as well, but less hungry, I suspected, than the Dwarves and Bilbo, so I sank back and let them all have their first portions before taking any for myself. Bofur told me I couldn’t survive on the meager rations I took for myself but I only smiled. “My stomach is unsettled, and I would hate to take anything away from you that I might not be able to hold onto.”
He chortled. “Whoever and whatever you may be, at least you’re not a fool.”
“That has yet to be proven,” I agreed, amused. He threw his head back and laughed. Bofur and a few others wanted to know what was so humorous, and he told them, and they laughed as well.
The next morning Bilbo shook me awake. “Looks like we’re to be carried off again,” he said, eyeing the eagles nervously.
“Oh, right,” I mumbled, still tired even though we’d slept through the majority of the day before and the night in between.
Gloin passed out chunks of hare and mutton left over from the day before, and I took two strips, tucking one into the top of my dress and eating the other while I waited to find out how the eagles planned to transport us.
“Isn’t that tunic of yours a bit poorly suited,” Dori said, appearing at my elbow as I watched the eagles rustling their feathers and preening. “You know, to traveling?”
“It is,” I admitted, “but thieves took my belongings not long before the goblins took me, and I had to steal this when my own clothes were ruined.”
“What could you possibly have done to ruin your own clothes in so little time?” he asked.
I hesitated, but the solution provided itself. This world may not be real, but I wanted very much to pretend that it was. “They were torn irreparably when the goblins caught me and I fought them even though I don’t know how to fight.” I allowed a tiny smile. “But I slipped away from them once, before they managed to imprison me, and I found a room into which they’d tossed a bunch of rags and riches they had stripped off of other people. I took what I needed, which was this….tunic. It’s better than I’m used to.”
“Looks fine enough,” he agreed. He shifted, fidgeting, and glanced over his shoulder at Oin, who was busy tending to a few burns and bruises of the dwarves. “Oin….told me to ask you if you need anything. Anything at all. He might be able to get it for you.”
I guessed by his thick blush what might be driving his question, and I ducked my head, wrapping my arms around my waist. “Please tell Oin, and only Oin, that I am not healthy enough to need such female accommodations, though I am healthy enough to not need anything else.”
Dori spared me one surprised, concerned glance, then bobbed his head and hustled back the way he’d came. I passed the time until we left combing my fingers through my hair and braiding it. It was still awfully long braided, so I wrapped and wound the thick braid until it settled in a heavy knot at the back of my neck.
Not long after I finished this chore Gandalf reappeared—I hadn’t even realized he was missing. “Right,” he said. “Up we get, nice and easy, and settle yourself between our generous carriers’ wings. Be very careful! Pulled feathers will not be appreciated.”
I eyed the eagle I approached with concern, just as he eyed me. But after hitching Bombur’s cloak up and around myself, out of the way of my legs, I was able to clamber up with far more ease than any of the others, and then the eagle and I sat and waited while everyone else got situated. The eagle gave me no warning before plunging off the stone outcropping, but I was holding on so I didn’t mind. My face split in exhilaration as the wind whipped up around me and the ground tried to catch us.
The eagle snapped out his wings, and I bent as we leveled our course. I couldn’t help laughing as I loosened my careful grip on the feathers at the back of his neck.
“Do most Dwarves enjoy flying?” the eagle wondered.
“I have no idea,” I replied, “I’m not a Dwarf.”
“You have the right opinion of flying,” he decided, and for the rest of our flight said no more.
(pg35)
Last Edit: 22 December 2014