Homeward Bound Part One: An Unexpected Journey

Chapter Sixteen

Everything was so quiet.

The Dwarves were staring at her; she could feel their eyes boring into her from various spots on the ground.

Thorin wasn't. He was attempting to clean the gore off the blade of his sword, griping under his breath about the travesty of defiling a good, Dwarven blade with something so foul as Troll blood.

Bilba bit her lip as a near hysterical giggle burbled up her throat.

The feeling faded. Behind it came melancholy, dragging at her with harsh and greedy fingers.

She was tired.

Her body felt heavy, her muscles sore and aching. Her head throbbed in time with the wounds on her hands and leg and she was coated head to toe in grime and blood.

But she couldn't lie down yet, there was still one more thing to do.

Her shoulders sagged and she turned to make her way back down.

Upon reaching the shoulder of the creature she looked to see Fili below her, his arms raised. Bilba managed a slight smile for him. She sat carefully and pushed off without hesitation.

His hands caught her around the waist and he spun her in a circle, setting her gently on her feet facing the Troll she'd just leapt from.

He let her go and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, fixing her eyes on his chest. "I'm fine."

He started to say something else but she pulled away from him. His hands fell from her shoulders and hung limply at his sides.

A shadow fell over her and Bilba looked up to see Thorin standing on the Troll's shoulder, sword held loosely at his side.

He looked about like what she felt, but still managed to pull off an air of royalty. Bilba shook her head lightly, trust Thorin Oakenshield to look majestic covered in Troll blood.

She turned away again, walking through the camp. Around her the Dwarves busied themselves, looking away each time they accidentally caught her eye. Dwalin went to help Thorin down, without seeming like he was helping, while Fili moved to check on Kili standing nearby.

Oin was making his way about checking on injuries, while Gloin and Balin were helping Bombur get his clothes put back on. The rest were in various states of getting their armor on or retrieving they weapons.

She caught a glimpse of Gandalf and looked away quickly; she didn't care what he was doing.

Her feet carried her out of the camp, back through the trees and up the hill to their own camp.

She stepped back in quietly, her eyes tracking over the hastily cast aside bedrolls, the half turned over pot of stew, the guttering embers of the nearly dead campfire.

The others were behind her at the Troll camp, alive, hale, probably laughing and making up outrageous stories already about their own part in the tale.

It could so easily have gone the other way and ended with her walking back to the camp, leaving only silence and death behind.

Her stomach WRENCHED. Acid clawed up her throat and suddenly she was stumbling a few feet to the side. Her knees hit the ground hard enough to send bright sparks of pain up her legs, and then she was heaving, her entire body seeming intent on emptying her body of everything she'd eaten in the past month. Tears leaked from her eyes and she felt blood rushing to her face, raising a sweat even as the rest of her broke out with a cold feeling.