Something in the Night

Chapter Three

When I get home, I am staying home.

Thorin Oakenshield scowled as they slogged along a road that was more rut than road, thanks to the rain that'd poured over the last twenty-four hours. It had only just stopped a short while ago, and that made for messy travel. "Why are we doing this again?"

Dwalin, his most trusted lieutenant, scowled. "Take it up with yer sister when we return home."

"Oh, believe me, I will."

They were on their way to Rivendell, to thank their king Elrond for offering his healers in the days following the Battle of the Five Armies not quite a year ago. Without them, Thorin and his nephews would probably not be around for Dís to order about as she was wont to do whenever the occasion arose.

Unlike their previous visit to Rivendell, this journey had been calm and dull so far. It was just him and Dwalin, as the Company as they had been called, had be told to remain in Erebor to oversee the rebuilding that had been going on since the end of that battle, with his sister there to make any decisions in his absence. It was a nice change, really. Unlike the last time, when an orc pack chased them practically into Rivendell itself, they had very little trouble. No orcs, no wargs, no Azog the Defiler. Thorin had dispatched the scarred pale orc who'd hunted him for years on an ice floe on the River Celduin. Never again would he trouble Thorin, Fíli, or Kíli. Azog was gone. His son, Bolg was gone. Leaderless, the Gundabad orcs scattered throughout Middle Earth, their numbers diminished enough to the point where they would give no more trouble to anyone.

Still, that didn't mean Thorin wished to travel anywhere. He'd been grievously wounded in his battle with Azog—run through twice by the pale orc in addition to other battle wounds inflicted by wargs, orcs, and goblins. This was the furthest he'd ventured from Erebor since that day, as Narnerra, Erebor's healer, was loathe to let him out of her sight before these recent weeks, no matter how much he complained about being there.

They were almost there now, after traveling for nearly a month. He was tired and weary and, if he was totally honest with himself, not quite his former self as yet. They'd had to pass the night at inns more times than he cared to think about, as he always preferred to simply push through until exhaustion threatened to end him. Those days were gone now, and Narnerra warned him how he might never be as he once was—his back pained him more often than not, and he still had a bit of a limp, but considering how close he'd come to dying? Neither of those things troubled him much.

After so much time in a saddle, he looked forward to a long soak in a hot bath upon his arrival in Rivendell. Although dwarves and elves were not by nature overly fond of one another, Thorin had not only earned Elrond's respect, but the elf king held Thorin's grandfather, Thrór in high regard as well. It might not be home, but Rivendell wasn't the worst place he could find himself, either.

Dwalin's hand shot out, his paw wrapping about Thorin's forearm to halt him and his pony. "Wait," Dwalin whispered, his voice only barely audible, "there's something ahead of us."

"It's probably only a fox or wolf."

"No." It was a nightfall, but the silvery light offered by the full moon made it possible to see Dwalin shake his head. "It sounds bigger." He paused. "Perhaps not bringin' the Company was not so wise."

"I need no entourage. I'm perfectly capable of traveling without being surrounded by warriors."

"And look where that's gotten us," came Dwalin's dry response.

Tightening one hand on the reins, Thorin instinctively reached with his free hand for the Orcrist, returned to him at the Battle of the Five Armies, although he didn't know if Legolas of the Woodland realm did so purposely or not, nor did he care. It was his and he planned to keep it that way.