A Sword and A Shield [The Hobbit X OC]

18 - A Good Omen

The sun just started to rise when my eyes struggled to open. It felt as though a pile of bricks had replaced my head. My mouth was dry, with the taste of blood probing my tongue. One rough gasp escaped my lips. Then, a second, followed by the first cohesive thought since regaining consciousness:

"Thorin!"

I shot up, instantly regretting the sudden movement as my back screamed in agony.

"Ah, she's awake!" cried a familiar hobbit before engulfing me in a hug.

"Bilbo? How did we ...?"

"You blacked out while we flew here. We landed, and Gandalf helped me drag you off the eagle's back. Don't ever scare me like that again, you hear?"

I laughed. "It was not my intent to scare you, but I suppose it might happen again— Argh!"

"Ah. Oh, right, your back. Just try not to speak, or move, or ... anything."

"Water," I croaked, and quickly had a waterskin in my hand. As I drank, I propped myself on a rock and gazed around.

The dark sky slowly turned a muted, pastel blue with hints of lavender and vivid red in the wispy thin clouds. The sun burst from below the horizon and bathed the rocky mountainsides in soft white light. It was quiet, aside from the flapping of very large eagle wings overhead.

The light caught in the eagles' feathers, who circled the giant rock we sat upon. Each bird came down for a moment to drop off the dwarves either clinging to their backs or their giant talons. Their wings created a chilly updraft that lifted my hair up.

"Where are we?"

"I imagine you should recognize it," chuckled a smoky voice.

At the wizard's words, I peered over the side of the rock. A thin trail worked its way in a spiraling pattern from the top of the spire to the ground level, where it met vast green plains fanning out in all directions. The top of the spire had a tiny protrusion on each side.

"The Carrock?!" I struggled to my feet. "The eagles carried us this far?"

"You mean, you're not scared by these heights," squeaked Bilbo, trying hard not to look down.

"Not really. Not after that flying ..." My voice trailed off. "Wait. If we're here, where's—?"

"Thorin!" someone called.

The eagle just began lowering the dwarf to the rocky surface, gently, so as not to arouse any of his injuries. The other dwarves gave the bird some space to comfortably rest its passenger. Once done, it returned to the air.

The sight of an unconscious Thorin made my heart sink down into my stomach.

"Thorin!" Gandalf dashed over to his side. "Thorin!"

Even though we had argued the last time we spoke, I desperately wanted him to wake. Then, I could give him the key tucked away in my pockets before he got a chance to process its disappearance, and explain how I retrieved it undetected, and also make sure that he could still manage after his fight with Azog.

I dreaded what he thought of me at the moment after everything that just occurred.

A small part of me wondered why I cared so much, both about him and his opinion of me. I reluctantly admitted to myself that perhaps the haughty, brooding king had worked his way into my affections over the course of the journey thus far.

Gandalf tended to Thorin with the company hovering anxiously over them.

As he finally woke, his first thoughts were jumbled. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was the brief image of red flames dancing amongst brown hair and the blades of two swords, the vague sensation of bloodied, dirty hands gentle on his face, and the faint whisper of my voice.