Torn Between

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

As soon as we end our 'negotiations' with Bard, Thorin herds us all to the old armory, where the shining coats of mail are still intact and the shields and swords are gleaming in the firelight, though coated with dust and cobwebs.

A few of the stronger dwarves stayed back and pried the head off one of the huge stone statues guarding the doorway, collapsing it into the bridge that led to the Gate. So much for a way out.

I had a feeling that the Men of Dale were preparing for war also, though I knew that it was our doing. Innocent lives were going to be lost, all for the sake of one, stubborn dwarf.

My mind kept drifting back to my dream, though every time it did I forced it away. I didn't need these thoughts distracting me when it was nearly time for battle.

The dwarves took the old armor still sitting on holders and posts and strapped it onto themselves, golden breastplates, silver helmets, thick sheilds made for princes. Bilbo and I stayed back, none of the dwarvish armor would fit us, and we were already equipped with all the weapons we needed.

"Master Baggins," Thorin says, standing at the entrance to the armory. "Come here. You too, Miss Amariel."

We step forward tentatively, walking towards Thorin. He's holding something-one thing in each hand. When we reach him he holds the objects out to us.

"You're going to need this," he says gravely to Bilbo, gifting him a shirt of mail. Bilbo looks at it like strangely, almost not sure what to do with it.

"Put it on," Thorin speaks, and again Bilbo hesitates, but shrugs off his outer jacket and shirt and Thorin slides the mail onto him. "This vest is made of silver-steel. Mithril. It was cored by my forebearers. No blade can pierce it."

 While Bilbo puts the shirt on, Thorin turns to me, holding out a necklace, wrought with silver and a purple gem enclosing the center.

"It's... beautiful," I whisper. "But I cannot accept this."

Thorin smiles, and in his eyes I see a glint of the Thorin I used to know, the loyal, brave, Thorin. He ignores my last comment and clasps the necklace around my neck. It sits just above my collarbone, the silver cool on my neck.

"I am sorry I cannot give you a more useful gift," Thorin says softly. "I'm afraid this won't protect you in battle, but there is no armor here that would fit a woman's stature."

"Thorin," I start, but my words die in my mouth. Bilbo and I stand before him, and all the other dwarves cease what they're doing and admire our new gifts.

Bilbo speaks the same moment I do.

"I look absurd! I'm not a warrior, I'm a hobbit!"
"There is no way I can deserve this!"

"They are gifts," Thorin explains. "Tokens of our friendship."

The others turn back to what they we doing, and Thorin glances at them before returning to his greedy self. "True friends are hard to come by."

Then he grabs our shoulders and drags us away from the armory, down the stone hallway. I don't have any idea what's going on, but Thorin's first words give me a clue.

"I have been blind, but now I am beginning to see. I am betrayed!"

Bilbo looks terrified, and my face must look the same. How did Thorin find out?

"Betrayed," Bilbo squeaks.

"The Arkenstone," Thorin growls. Bilbo and I hold our breaths, ready for his lash out at us.