painless wounds ;; the hobbit

the offer ;;

Thranduil had accepted the Arkenstone, and after that Gandalf had told Bilbo and Cyrille to get some sleep. He told Alfrid, the weaselly hunched suck-up, to bring them to a tent, and make sure they didn't suddenly leave. The wizard was just concerned for their wellbeing, because Thorin would surely kill them if he knew what they had done. They slept in a small tent, Bilbo on the tiny bed (Cyrille wouldn't be able to fit on it anyway) and Cyrille on the floor, curled up on a cloak.

Alfrid left them, muttering about how "he's only needed to care for the racy scum" and how "the new master is a disgrace."

Cyrille woke up when the first rays of sunlight were filtering through the cloth. She twisted on the cloak, which was tangled around her legs. The rough gravelly ground scratched at her cheeks. She stood up, brushing pebbles from her tunic. Alfrid came in, carrying a bowl full of an unrecognisable substance and saying something along the lines of "let's get you two something to eat."

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Cyrille already up, and the empty bed beside her. The weasel's eyes darted around the room. "Where is the halfling?" He said. Gandalf would surely blame him for this.

"I don't know." The elleth said worriedly, already walking out of the tent.

"Gandalf, where's Bilbo?" She said to the wizard, who was waiting outside for some reason.

He frowned at her, his face unreadable. "I knew he would leave."

"You did now? Okay. Okay. So he's with Thorin, and he just betrayed all of the dwarves' trust, and he's what? He's with Thorin!"

Gandalf just nodded.

"He'll get himself killed!"

"Well, we'll see."

___

"They're taking us for fools."

Cyrille stood at Feren's side, the substitute Captain of the Guard. She had only agreed to stand there, in before the Kingdom of Erebor, with the Elven soldiers, with minimal armour on her breast. Thranduil and Bard stood slightly in front of the large army, comprised of elves and the Men of Laketown, brandishing rakes and poorly crafted swords. The company of Thorin Oakenshield stood high up the mountain, staring down at them. It was dawn.

When the army had first approached Erebor, The dwarves had spotted Cyrille standing side by side with the elves, and they all stared at her with looks of betrayal, sadness, and disbelief. Thorin especially. He never should've trusted her.

Cyrille assured herself they would realise, what she and Bilbo did was for the best.

Thranduil and Bard had called for Thorin, the Elvenking riding his elk and the Master riding a white mare.They said they had something he wanted. They had held up the Arkenstone, and for a brief moment, Thorin looked enraged. But he calmed himself, and told himself it was a fake. It was not, Cyrille knew. But he wouldn't believe it.

"This is a ruse." He glared at Bard. "Filthy lie." He raised his voice. The wind blew hard, causing his hair to fly sideways. "The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a mere trick!"

"It- It's no trick."

No. No. No! Bilbo, You're going to get yourself killed! Cyrille thought.

Bilbo waddled his way to Thorin, speaking up. "The stone is real. I gave it to them."

Thorin slowly turned to Bilbo, expression darkening, if that was possible. "You?"

Bilbo sighed. "I took it as my fourteenth share." The hobbit stared at the floor. The dwarves looked at him.

"you would steal from me." Thorin said slowly. His anger was bubbling up, but he kept it contained.

"Steal from you? No. No. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I'm an honest one. I'm willing to let it stand against my claim."

"Against your claim?" Thorin almost laughed. "your claim. You have no claim over me. This not right!"

"I-I- was going to give it to you. Many times, I wanted to. But..."

"But what, thief?" Thorin practically growled.

"You are changed, Thorin." Bilbo said angrily. "The dwarf I met in Bag-End would never have gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!"

The king prowled towers the hobbit. "Do not speak to me of loyalty." He looked at his companions. "Throw him from the ramparts!"

Cyrille gasped.

No one moved.

"Do you not hear me?" Thorin said, grabbing Balin's arm and pulling him towards Bilbo. Balin pulled back and stood there defiantly.

"I will do it myself!" Thorin rushed to Bilbo, grabbing him by the waist and lifting him off the ground, getting ready to drop him. "Curse you!"

All the dwarves surged towards the pair, trying valiantly to stop him. "No, No!" Fili said.

"If you don't like my burglar, the please, don't damage him. Return him to me!" A deep, wise voice came from the crowd. Cyrille felt Gandalf brush past her and Feren, trying to get to the front. He stopped when he was standing beside Bard. The wizard looked up at Thorin, still holding Bilbo.

"You're not making a very splendid figure as King Under The Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain."

Thorin stopped moving. He put Bilbo down, and the hobbit quickly went to get a rope, and lowered himself down from the ramparts the way he came up as Thorin spoke. "never again am I dealing with wizards, or Shire rats, or Elves!"

Cyrille knew he was talking to her.

So then Bard said, "So what do you say? Will you have peace, or war?"

"I will have war."