The Princess of Shadow

Chapter 5

Note: I keep forgetting to mention that this story is basically an AU of Little Swan Lost. When I sat down to write it I had two different plot ideas that, unfortunately, contradicted so I couldn't write them both. I really loved them, though, so I finally decided to just write them as separate stories. SO, what that means, is you may notice similar themes and ideas as they're both born from the same story, so to speak, but with very different plots! :D

Bilba thought she might pass out and, for once, not because of her clothing.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The guard that had tried to kill the Durin was still back at the pavilion, which was patently unfair. He was the one who'd decided to enact his own stupid plan, not her. She'd even tried to explain this to the Durin but had been roundly ignored.

At least they'd untied her hands. Trying to march her across the plain in her gown without allowing her to lift the hem had been next to impossible. Now she held bunches of the heavy fabric in her hands as Bard and the Durin held her arms and pulled her inexorably toward the front lines.

She really didn't want to go over there.

It was all that guard's fault. If he hadn't decided to go rogue, then she'd already be back safely in Erebor and...

Her brow furrowed as she recalled the order of events. The commotion at the front lines had drawn the attention of everyone at the pavilion. Even without the guard, would they really have let her just up and leave without first finding out what was going one? Especially when she'd been expected to engage in negotiations?

And what about that arrow? The Durin claimed it had been intended to kill her, but that couldn't be right. It had to have been a mistake. An overzealous guard, frantic to protect her and overly aggressive when he'd let his arrow fly.

That had to be it. Just a list of unforeseen complications that, together, had led to things going terribly awry. The Durin, Frerin, as he'd introduced himself, was lying to her to try and throw her off balance. Why he would ever expect her to believe him, rather than her own people, she had no idea.

Her thoughts turned to Ingram. He must be beside himself with worry. Maybe he'd launch a rescue for her? She held onto that thought and used it to try and rally the tattered threads of her own courage. Just hold on, she told herself firmly. Ingram wouldn't leave her to suffer at the hands of the barbarians, she was sure of it.

Images of what could happen to her in the meantime flashed through her mind and she fought back a wave of nausea. She risked a short glance toward Bard, who had his own gaze fixed ahead. There was a set look to his face that she recognized from when Sigrid was dead set on getting her way, and he was just as dead set on the opposite.

Sigrid was as headstrong as they came, but when her father had that look, she usually didn't win. Bilba couldn't fathom what the look might mean now. She'd always looked at the man as a father figure of sorts, but he had utterly betrayed her grandfather. He'd utterly betrayed her. He'd fought alongside the barbarians who, even now, were starving her people. If push came to shove, would he help her or leave her to rot?

She had a feeling the answer was the latter.

The front lines were nearly upon them and Bilba's stomach began to churn. Row upon row of humans, dwarves, and elves stared at her in silence. She could only imagine what they must be thinking about her, and none of it was pleasant.

Almost subconsciously, she held herself taller and raised her chin imperiously. She was a princess of Erebor. She represented her mountain, and its people in everything she did. The least she could do was show these barbarians, and the traitors who helped them, the strength and fortitude of the hobbits of Erebor.