She dreams of Golden Hope

Oh and it's breaking over me

„Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, I must, each day say o'er the very same, Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. So that eternal love in love's fresh case weighs not the dust and injury of age."-Sonnet CVIII- William Shakespeare

The morning had dawned earlier than she'd expected. She hadn't slept. At first she had been unable to and had gone out into the night and then when she'd run back into the sanctuary of her room, she had long given up any hope of rest for the night. Sooner than she'd wished for the morning had dawned grey on the horizon, announcing the arrival of Durin's Day. It had been a morning like any before, the dawn had greyed on the sky, the sun had risen on the east and the chill of winter had remained lying on the land. All undeterred by her accusing gaze and her silent wishes that night would stretch itself into endless eons of time. She didn't believe that she had ever longed for darkness, the dusk of night as greatly as she had done, as she did, at the moment.

She looked up at her reflection in the looking glass, as she fastened the last lace of the dress the Master had given her. Looking at her weary and defeated expression she exhaled deeply and gave an inaudible sigh. She had never thought herself a great beauty, despite what her aunt had told her. The young hobbit fauntlings had taunted her for her appearance and its eccentric nature ever since her arrival at Hobbiton. How could she truly believe that she was beautiful when she looked so different from Bell and from Aurelia, who were considered particularly attractive hobbit lasses. Yet she knew, no matter how indifferent or even unhappy she had been with her previous appearance, that it could not compare with her state now. The bruises she'd received from her captivity had healed, yet there were deep dark rings beneath her eyes and her skin was ashen in its colour. With a dull sense of regret she recognized the shade as the one her mother had sported during her last few days. Her hair looked almost blindingly bright against her expression. In vain did she try to search for the hopeful sadness that Bard had seen in them. But all she saw in her tired eyes was a jaded sense of defeat.

Putting on the green shawl that had been provided for her, she looked up when a knock sounded on her door. Not paying mind to who could possibly be the visitor and to which extent she may not wish to meet him, she mumbled loud enough for him to hear: "Enter."

In the reflection, she saw the heavy wooden door open and the face that had brought her so much comfort during her childhood, a feeling which now was dulled and muted and she could only feel faintly, was brought into her sight. She looked into her cousin's warm eyes and saw him smiling at her with a sense of excitement clouding his eyes. With effort, she made the corner of her lips rise and gave him a small smile. He came towards her and let himself down on her bed, all the while not saying a word, not taking his eyes off her form as she studied herself in the mirror. He was wearing a new blue overcoat, having given up his tattered old coat from the Shire and seemed to brim with anticipation and excitement. And it caused great disapproval in her, but then she reminded herself that Bilbo still believed in this quest, still believed that Thorin Oakenshield reclaiming his home would be the best for everyone. Oh how she wished she could still share his views!

She looked down and closed her eyes as visualizing the possible repercussion for the Laketowners caused her eyes to sting painfully. Perhaps she was naive and innocent to so readily believe in the words of a stranger, because he had seemed noble and had been kind to her. Yet she could not help but feel that she had, albeit unknowingly, put forth a series of events which would only bring pain and heartache. It had only been because of her hunger for adventure, her fancy. Had she listened to Bilbo, had she been reasonable like the Baggins's household she had been brought up in she might have spared herself so much pain. Perhaps she should've relied on Gandalf's assurance and his belief in the necessity of reclaiming Erebor, but after their secret conversation on Beorn's she could not help but doubt the wizard. She knew, she had always known, that her thirst and need for adventure would have never brought her any good.