✓GLITTER AND GOLD⁰ ━ the hobbit

two.

TWO | POISON AND WINE

WHEN I WAKE AT last, my head is supported by silken pillows and my body is no longer aching. I sit up, my head spinning as if it has not needed to work for a while. I am in a silver bed, but the rest of the room is painted in soft blue, not at all cold. The room is decorated in silver ornaments and I don't hesitate to push a silver-woven bookmark up my sleeve. I could sell this for a lot of money somewhere. 

My feet are unsteady, and it takes me a few moments to catch my balance. My stomach is aching, starving, but for once there is no ache in my throat, no constant reminder of my thirst. 

I tip-toe toward the door gently, opening it as slowly and cautiously as I can, grabbing a candle-stick on the way. I don't know where I am, it is better to be prepared. The door creaks, and I freeze. Nobody comes to check, so I relax again. 

The corridor is just as elaborate as the bedroom, if not more so. I am beginning to wonder if I was in the least ostentatious room of the house. It is designed to impress, each wall covered in ornaments and decorative jewels, so many that it even begins to look strange to me. I have never seen so much wealth in my life - I am tempted to try pocketing some of it, but I abstain. I have a feeling that the hosts might notice should I start pulling gems off their walls. 

I check the first door, hoping for the exit, and instead I find the kitchen, full to the brim with fine produce and a plate of bread and cheese set on the table, freshly baked and smelling divine. 

I should move on, I know. But I'm just so hungry that I can't resist darting across the kitchen to snatch the bread, before hurrying away. Hopefully nobody will notice that.

Tearing off a piece, I shove it into my mouth - it is delicious, the best bread I have ever tasted. I did not know that bread could even taste this good.

"It is polite," a cold voice says, and I freeze in horror, "to ask one's hosts before eating their food."

I turn, to see two men in blue staring at me. One is tall and slim, the other short and stout; one is glaring at me coldly, the other smiling warmly. I try to speak, but my mouth is full of bread and all I can manage is an incomprehensible grunt. 

"Leave her alone," the shorter says, watching my struggle with great amusement. "She's clearly starving, the poor thing."

I swallow, feeling hostility towards these two strange men. I am not a poor thing. "Where have you taken me? What have you done to me?"

They exchange glances, looking baffled. The shorter gestures vaguely; I can't understand him. "What do you mean? We found you like this."

I wonder if I am dreaming, for it would make much more sense. Yes, that must be it, I am dreaming, imprisoned in my mind. Or perhaps I am dead, and that is why the bread tastes so good. Real bread does not taste like this at all. "Am I dead?"

The taller scoffs, nudging the shorter with his foot. Is he a god? Am I really dead? Is my mother here? "Brilliant," he sighs, stepping forward to grab a plate of his own, and beginning to fill his plate, "she's an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you sit down, dear?" The shorter gestures to the table, which is set with three chairs, and a lot more food. I salivate, my mouth watering at the sight. "We can eat while we talk."