White Blood ➵ LotR/Lord of the Rings

iv.

04
Rivendell

Travelling with Thorin Oakenshield was... uncomfortable, to say the least.

Ninimben sighed and glanced over at her Dwarven companion, who was apparently very interested in the carving between his hands, so much so that he resolutely had not looked from it since they decided to stop travelling for the night. There was a tightness to his neck as though it were locked in place, and the way he refused to move was unnatural. It was as though he was made of stone.

Ninimben lay on the ground, her hands clasped behind her head. She cursed Gandalf a little under her breath.

This had been his idea, after all.

Thorin had agreed to Gandalf's initial proposition for aid in taking back Erebor, as they suspected he would. It was when they both got up to leave that Gandalf cheerily proclaimed that he had a colleague for this quest, and they should meet now before their Quest was started.

Thorin looked like he had bitten into food he was expecting to be sweet, but instead was horrendously sour.

There'd been accusations and words like knives, and Gandalf had stayed frustratingly cheery throughout it all, while Ninimben was left wanting to bash her head against the wall. Thorin eventually relented, though Ninimben suspected it had been more to do with the combined force of her and Gandalf's stubbornness, the promise of her fighting capabilities, and possible ability to keep other Elves off their back than wanting her to join the quest.

And then, of course, Gandalf proclaimed that perhaps they should travel together to Ered Luin, because if Ninimben was to be apart of whatever Company Thorin was able to gather, then shouldn't she be introduced and everyone made to feel at ease around each other?

It was part of the wizard's own brand of logic that made sense even when they didn't want it to.

So here they were now, three days out from Bree, not a single word uttered between them.

Ninimben closed her eyes. She knew Thorin would have been averse to having her accompany them. Not only was she an Elf, but she was from Mirkwood... And she was Thranduil's daughter. He wasn't shy of expressing the fact. He walked silently, a permanent frown on his face, and looked at anything that wasn't her. It was as though she didn't exist.

She tried not to begrudge him for it – her father hadn't given him much reason to love Elves – but she wanted his trust. Needed it. If she was going to belong on this journey, then she needed to be accepted and not treated like she was a traitor, an outsider.

For three days now they had travelled together, headed to Ered Luin to meet with the other Dwarves and announce the intended mission. Ninimben was tired of the silence.

And there was something on her mind that had been bothering her for some time, and she hadn't felt able to utter until now.

"I was there, you know," she said quietly.

She didn't check to see if Thorin was listening, but she heard his actions slow down a fraction. Her words had started him, at least. She sighed and tilted her head all the way back. She spoke as though addressing the stars. If Thorin happened to listen, then all the better.

"I still close my eyes today and see it," Ninimben continued in a whisper. Her voice cracked. "Hear it. The smoke and the fire and the screams – the desperation. All of it. I could feel it just looking down at the scene. I wanted to help. I had already drawn my bow and nocked an arrow, ready to face the dragon. And then my father ordered us to turn around and do nothing."