for all the gold || hobbit {completed}

chapter three - on the road

I must have been dreaming. One moment, I was sat, back resting against the wall, watching the fire in the grate slowly die out and listening to the deep snores of the company. Then, without warning, the room vanished; replaced by a dark underground cavern that spread out as far as I could see and with a ceiling as high as the main chamber at Ered Luin.

To make matters more interesting, I was completely naked. My smelly, travelling wear having mysteriously vanished to only Mahal knew where.

Just as I was beginning to acquaint myself with the situation - I was not cold and nobody was about so my nudity didn't entirely bother me - when, from far above, a loud crash sounded out. Thunder was my first thought, even though the main chamber itself was a good mile under Ered Luin. Whatever it was - explosion, avalanche? - the walls of the cavern shook and small fragments of rock fell from the ceiling; their collisions with the ground echoing throughout the deserted hall. Throwing my bare arms up over my head, I felt my body tense, sure at any moment that the roof would cave in, burying me deep under the mountain. Yet I needn't have feared. The ceiling was chipped, peeling, but it was still as sturdy as it had always been. Rather the fragments that fell merely turned into droplets of water as they rolled off of my skin.

This strange, indoor precipitation only grew, until I found myself beneath a downpour, but with water falling from stone rather than cloud. The water though was glorious: cool and refreshing to touch, puddling at my feet and falling into my open mouth as I raised my face towards the ceiling. But then, it all changed again: the droplets glowing, darkening, solidifying, until I was gagging and choking; the liquid congealing to my tongue and to the back of my throat. It was not a rain shower, I realised, as blobs of thick, dark gold spluttered from my mouth. Rather it was a shower of pure gold.

The gold, now solid enough to form coins, bounced harmlessly off of my skin; piling at my feet, and then at my calves, and then my thighs, until my hips were submerged in a sea of glowing money. Even the gold in my mouth was no longer an unpleasant occurrence. Instead it coated my tongue, hardening it, until I could taste nothing but the sweet, pure metal. I threw back my head and laughed; the sound of it echoing across the cavern as the great gold tide only rose further to meet me, the coins slipping as easily as grains of sand between my fingers.

My laughter was still echoing through my head, the metallic taste still fresh on my tongue, when a hand on my shoulder shook me roughly awake.

"Morning, lass." The sight of the strange dwarf's face, widened into a lurid grin and so close to my own, sent me flying backwards, pulling the small blade loose from my belt. This in turn only awarded me a sore head from smacking it hard against the wall and being laughed at by the rest of the room.

Bofur, at least, took no offence. "Morning," he repeated. "Easy with that," he added, admiring my dinner knife. "You almost had my eye out with that. Anyway we're leaving in a few so best get your things together."

Blinking again, I realised, with a sinking feeling in my gut, just where I was. This wasn't Ered Luin. This wasn't a hedgerow, or a bush, or up against a tree. This was a house, a hobbit's house. And, taking in the sight of the other dwarves all scattered around the room, either stretching or packing up their goods, this would be the first early morning of many.

"This is all that's left." Balin's brother scowled as he entered the room, holding only the remnants of a small loaf between his fingers. True, the thing was barely bigger than a roll. He dumped it sourly into the round dwarf, Bombur's, lap, before storming back out again.

"Hurry up," he barked, over his shoulder. "The sooner we leave, the further we'll reach today."

Standing up and stretching out myself, I could not place what had left me more dazed: the strange dream, the early morning bump to the head, or the drink still blurring my brain from the night before. Damn that hobbit beer was strong. Someone evidently didn't water theirs down, I concluded, gathering up my bedroll and shield from where I finally found it, stacked neatly away in the hobbit's cloakroom.