If this is to End in Fire: Hobbit Fan Fiction Skin-changer

Chapter 8- Our Home

The eagles dropped the company upon a tall, isolated rock. It was many, many strides high and the platform where they stood was be no larger than the width of Bilbo’s dining room. It looked like a temple or castle and reached majestically towards the sun, as it set below the horizon.

The dwarves and Bilbo hopped quickly to the hard ground, for they were not keen on flying, and Gandalf slid off of his eagle more smoothly. Thorin, helped by Fili and Kili, was levered to the rock and Lupine followed the group quietly. Despite shivering from the fear of heights and fear for her brother, she thanked her eagle for his smooth ride and bowed low to him.

All she wished to do now was run. She would get down from the rock, become a wolf and run to the orc caves. She would kill the pale orc and save Eorne.  

But she could not slip away quietly, for Thorin, striding through the company towards her began to shout loudly,

“You! What were you doing? You said you would protect this burglar- he nearly got himself killed! Did I not say you must leave us the moment I command? Did I not say you were careless?” then he turned to Bilbo beside her, “And you! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?!”

The dwarves looked horrified and the hobbit’s face opened into confusion and misery.

And then Thorin smiled and chuckled loudly.

“I’ve never been so wrong in all my life!” he cried, leaning forward and embracing the pair between his short arms. The dwarves cheered and slapped one another on the back. The blood of Thorin’s gaping shoulder seeped into to cuff of Lupine’s shirt and she watched it soak deeper and redder and further along the thin cloth. It moved slowly but steadily and with it rose the guilt in the skin-changer’s chest. She tried all she could to force it back down, but the blood would not stop until the dwarf himself drew away.

“I am sorry I doubted you.” Thorin said, stepping backwards and bowing first to Lupine and then to the hobbit, “You are neither careless nor our enemy and you are exceptional in battle, and Master Baggins, you will make a fine burglar.”

“No, I would have doubted me too. I’m not a hero or a warrior...nor a burglar.” said Bilbo and Thorin laughed.

Lupine remained silent.

 “I have something for you Bilbo son of Bungo,” he said then, pulling a thin and dimmed cloth from his breast pocket, “so that now you can be silent even when you sneeze.” He shook his hand and from it, opened a simple, square handkerchief.

Bilbo’s left eyebrow raised. The thing was so dirtied it was almost as grey as Oin’s beard. Thorin appeared not to have noticed, for he was so pleased by the gift, and the hobbit grinned at his ignorance.

“You need not give this to me.” he said, but took the handkerchief gratefully, contented at least, that no blood had stained it.

“I owe you more than a pocket handkerchief Master Baggins, but for now this is all I have to give, along with my promise of friendship.”

The hobbit nodded in deep thanks and, pocketing the gift, felt it strangely comforting beside his thigh.

Then Thorin turned to the skin-changer, who stood quietly beside Bilbo.

“And Lupine,” he began, lifting his hand inside his jacket and pulling out a second gift, “I have noticed that you fight not with weapons,” He opened his hands to reveal the glistening knife between them, “but you will find no finer dwarvish knife than this, as long you live.” He straightened his arms to her and she looked him in the eye. She was amazed he could not see her thoughts.

 She lifted the knife carefully and gripped it in her hand, sliding it over and over but saying no word. She had seen knives before but none like this. It was heavy and sturdy and the length her forearm. Its handle was made of a wood that faded from a deep, to lighter shade of brown. It had been made for a thicker hand than her own and was short and stout. The blade was set into it at an angle, so that the knife appeared to curve. A worn, golden metal held it in place and engraved upon it was a thin, deep line. The knife had been well-used but maintained it sharpened edges and its end was not pointed and symmetrical, but angular and shaped.

Thorin stepped towards her, a thick ribbon of cloth in his hand. With it, he wrapped the knife tightly against her upper arm so that it was out of harm’s way but ready whenever it should be needed. He then stepped back again proudly, for he could think of no greater way to show his respect. He had not done this much for any being in the whole of Middle-earth, ever before.

But Lupine did not see it this way at all. The knife dug uncomfortably into her arm and would stand as a constant reminder of her secret and her betrayal.

But maybe she would need reminding. Maybe it would force her mind back on path. Maybe this would prevent her forgetting her brother and her promise.

She looked at the dwarves as they smiled towards her and she nodded curtly with thanks and shook Thorin’s hand.

Then Dwalin said something and stepped away from the company, towards the setting sun.

“Erebor - The Lonely Mountain.” he said slowly looking to the horizon, “The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth.”

Thorin joined him and smiled.

“Our home.” he said.

The eagles screeched from where they circled high above, before swooping away in an elegant curve of the sky. In the gentle light of the evening, with a small wind on their cheeks and thoughts of gold growing in their minds, the company’s spirits lifted up to the great birds, and Bilbo, eyeing the distant mountain said,

“Yes. Yes, I do believe the worst is behind us.”

Lupine turned to him and he grinned at her.

But her face was bland and straight. Her mind was hidden from them, and if the dwarves had known her thoughts, they would surely have thrown clean over the edge of the platform.