Something in the Night

Chapter Seven

By nightfall, they'd set up camp at the base of the mountains, nestled among the rocks, on a bit of a rise so any trouble would be seen before it became a problem. Thorin sat back against a smooth slab of stone, staring off into the distance. It was most likely his imagination, but he thought the lights that shone as pinpricks on the horizon might be the lights of Rivendell. It was hard to know for certain, as the Southeast Passage twisted and turned, rose and fell, until if it wasn't for the sun's dependability, he would have no clue as to where exactly they were.

A small fire crackled softly, taking the chill from the night air. They'd had a simple supper of hunter's stew that the Rivendell kitchens had sent with them and now Dwalin dozed in his bedroll across from where Thorin sat.

Nina sank onto the slab beside him and nodded toward the sleeping Dwalin. "Your friend does not like me."

"He is gruff, is all."

"Gruff?" She shook her head and he didn't miss the hint of a grin pulling at her lips. "Gruff is not what I would call it. I'm surprised he didn't jump up and lunge at me the moment I sat here."

"He is my second, and watching over me is part of his job." Thorin shrugged, looking down at the scraggly tree branch he had been in process of stripping. Bark curled away from it, revealing the soft green shade of wood that had broken from its tree only recently. "He sees himself as my keeper as a result."

"I have to admit," she met his gaze directly, "I should think a king would travel with more security."

"I probably should," he nodded, "but to be honest, sometimes, it is suffocating, always being under someone's watchful eye."

"True. But you're their leader."

He peeled off another strip of bark, which curled as it hit the dirt at his feet. "For what it's worth, yes. But there are times if I wonder—"

She waited a moment, her eyes glittering like emeralds in the firelight, and when he just stared down at the stick, she said, "You wonder what?"

"It is of no matter," he told her, tossing the stick to the ground before getting to his feet. It wouldn't do to confide in this woman. She might have saved his life, but he knew nothing about her, nothing he could verify anyway, and although gruff was Dwalin's baseline, even he normally thawed much more quickly than this. So, he would do well to follow Dwalin's lead and eye Nina with at least a little suspicion and distrust.

With that, he climbed back down from the rocks, waiting for her to call out to him and ask him where he was going.

But she didn't. Good. He hardly felt like talking any longer. Instead, he move down away from the rocks, toward a gentle slope where hearty pine trees refused to cry quarter. A hint of pine hung in the air, and with it, a hint of smoke.

He hated the smell of smoke. It brought rushing back memories he'd rather let rot in the deepest, dankest recesses of his mind. Even fire bothered him to a certain degree, although the fire crackling softly back where Dwalin slept was not about to consume them or the mountains or anything other than the sticks, brush, and leaves that made up its fuel. But, he didn't like to sit too close to the flames, and it didn't take much for even the heat to irritate him, before it gave him the urge to stand and move as far away as he could from it.

But that wasn't all that troubled him. As he moved closer to the line of conifers, he felt Nina's eyes boring into his back, just between his shoulder blades. It wasn't the first time since they'd left Rivendell he'd had the feeling she watched him. And not only watched him, but studied him.

Then there was that feeling he had seen her somewhere before. Each time he glanced over at her, the feeling grew stronger. Trouble was, he couldn't figure out where he might have seen her. She was no dwarf, nor was she an elf.