Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been hours since she had woken up, the sun was high overhead where it had been much lower before, and she hadn’t moved. Well, not much anyway. When she first woke, she had found herself in a clearing. There had been a road only a short distance away and, at a loss for anything better to do and with no idea where she could possibly be, she settled for following the age-old advice of staying put. Of course, she had moved to the road to do her staying-put, it wouldn’t have made sense to wait where no one would see her.

It had been hours, yet not a single car had come passed. Well, it was only a dirt road, if it was busy it would have been paved, or at least gravel. It only made sense that there wouldn’t be a lot of cars on it.

At first, she had stood around, peering down the road and trying to see around the corners where it curved out of sight in each direction without leaving her spot. Then she had paced. When she grew tired of pacing, she sat against a tree. When her butt got sore from sitting on the ground, she stood up and repeated the process over again.

It was comfortably warm out, which she supposed was a good thing. She was dressed for a brisk fall day in a buttoned cardigan and cargo pants, and would likely have been freezing if she had woken to the same weather. Unfortunately, that was probably the only up-side. She had no idea where her phone was, and her wallet was missing for all the good it would have done her. After hours of waiting for something to happen, she was both thirsty and hungry, but didn’t have any food or water.

She spent her time trying to focus less on the fact that she had absolutely no idea where she was or how she had gotten there, and more on trying to figure out what she had been doing before she found herself in the woods in the first place. It was a weekend less than a month into the quarter, so she wouldn’t have been in school, that was one thing she knew for sure. The fact that she was wearing proper clothes meant that she hadn’t been lounging around her apartment in her pajamas, but she could’ve been dressed to go anywhere. Errands, to her parents’ house, out for a walk, it could have been anything, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

Unless she had been kidnapped and her kidnapper had put her in clothes before bringing her… here. Which would have been weird and really creepy.

It was almost like she was one of the guys in Dude, You’re Screwed, except she hadn’t been left with any of the stuff they got and had absolutely no idea about anything. They were all survival experts doing it for fun.

So she sat and waited. She had even managed to get herself far enough away from panicking that she was staring off blankly into space.

It came as a surprise when two boots stepped into her line of sight snapped her back to the present.

Her head snapped up and she found perhaps the most intimidating man she had ever seen standing over her. Bald head with tattoos crossing his scalp, long dark beard, dressed in fur and leathers, and by the looks of it, heavily armed with knives and what appeared to be the handles of two large axes strapped to his back.

Not the kind of help she had been hoping for. She almost tripped and fell in her hurry to scramble away.

“Easy,lass,nothingtabefrightenedof.” He raised his hands, but any reassurances meant were negated by his fearsome appearance. “Didn’tknowthereweredwarvesaroundhere.”

And with that the panic she had managed to keep at bay the whole morning came rushing back. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head. As she sank to her knees, she could feel herself beginning to shake.

His eyes widened and he took a step forward. “Yeallrightlass?”

“What did you say?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

He frowned and spoke again. If it was possible, he sounded even more unintelligible this time.

Shaking her head, horrified, she said, “I can’t understand you.” When he dropped into a crouch in front of her and reached out a hand, she jerked away.

“Easy,Iain’tgonnahurtya.” He lowered his hand and studied her, still frowning. He spoke again, slower this time, “ThenameisDwalin.” He jabbed a thumb at himself on the last word. Repeating the gesture, he said again, “Dwalin.” He watched her for a moment longer before pointing at her. “Andyouare?” Despite the language barrier, it clearly sounded like a question and it dawned on her what he was trying to say.

“Rebecca,” she said, pointing at herself for added clarity, before gesturing towards him. “Dwalin.”

He nodded and stood, looking down the road in the direction he had been traveling. “Iknowsomeonewhomightbeabletohelp. Matteroffact,Iwasonmywaytomeethimalready. NotthatyecanunderstandwhatI’msaying.” His tone was level and he didn’t look at her until he had finished speaking. When he did, he held out a hand to her.

She stared at it for several moments, weighing her options. Everything about him looked dangerous, she had no idea what his intentions were, but what if this was her only chance at help? It would be stupid to turn it down, there was a good chance that it could be stupid to accept it. The thought of having to spend hours or days in the wilderness settled the matter. Hesitantly, she took his hand and he hauled her to her feet.

He- Dwalin waved his hand down the dirt road and said, “Thisway,lass.” Without looking back, he set off walking. If he was going to try kidnapping her, it at least seemed he wasn’t going to do it forcefully.

Still unsure if this was the best decision, although currently preferable to the other, she followed, trailing a few paces behind.

-----//0\\-----

They continued to walk hours later, having only stopped for a brief meal of dried jerky in the middle of the afternoon. At the time, Rebecca had savored the rest more than the food, although as the afternoon progressed into evening she began to appreciate having something, no matter how little, in her stomach. They had eaten in silence and she hadn’t wanted to push her luck by trying to ask for some more jerky from Dwalin. As it was, the few times she had glanced at him during their break his gaze had been firmly on her and she had quickly looked away. That stop was the only time he had acknowledged her presence since they had set out.

The forest had eventually opened up into rolling fields and afternoon was fading quickly into night when she noticed the flickering lights of a village up ahead. It was hard to tell in the growing shadows, but she couldn’t see any sort of recognizable skyline to the village, just lights scattered amongst the hills. Drawing closer, she began to notice other things that didn’t seem normal: there were no cars, no telephone poles, and apart from a few forms moving in the distance, they still hadn’t seen anyone else out, either.

Maybe it was just some remote farming community, one that was either so impoverished or isolated that it retained its historic appearance. It could explain Dwalin’s almost medieval mountain-man appearance

That still didn’t explain how she had gotten to be somewhere like that, in an area where she couldn’t speak the language.

By the time they had arrived in the village, it was hard to make out anything beyond the light spilling from round windows onto gardens in front of the homes. Homes who’s outlines were impossible to make out from the surrounding hills. They wandered through the village for some time and she was beginning to wonder if they had gotten lost in the dark, when Dwallin took a sudden turn onto another road and lead the way up a gentle slope. Apparently having found what he had been looking for, he swung open a gate and walked up the path to a home overlooking a good portion of the village. He rang the bell and stepped back to wait with his arms folded over his chest.

Rebecca hovered near the gate, unsure what to expect. Up close she noticed that it wasn’t just the windows that were round: the door was too.

They stood there, waiting, as the seconds stretched on. Dwalin turned and looked at her over his shoulder, although she couldn’t make out his expression in the dark. She was beginning to think no one was going to answer and was wondering if he was thinking the same thing when the door finally swung open.

From around Dwalin, she could see the man’s look of surprise as he opened the door. Despite the difference in fashion, she was pretty sure he was wearing pajamas and a robe. Was it possible that they had come to the wrong place? They had certainly wandered through the village enough and, as far as she had been able to tell, all the homes had looked alike.

“Dwalin. Atyourservice.”

The man inside stuttered and fumbled to tie his robe closed. Whatever the case was, he certainly hadn’t been expecting them. “BilboBaggins… Atyours. Doweknoweachother?”

Dwalin stepped inside, passed the man. Looking down at him, the height difference was really rather amusing, he said, “No,” and turned back, gesturing for her to follow him in. She hesitated, anxiety that she had made the wrong choice in following Dwalin beginning to rise, before she followed him inside, skirting around their host warily. He didn’t seem entirely pleased to have company but she didn’t want to be stuck outside when his hospitality ran out. “Whichway,laddie? Isitdownhere?”

“I-iswhatdownwhere?”

“Supper. Hesaidthere’dbefood. Andlotsofit.”

Dwalin walked deeper into the house as if he owned the place. Reluctance to follow warred with reluctance to stay behind and be left on her own again. Even at twenty-five and several years into college, she didn’t like being out of her depth. Finding herself in a strange place where the people spoke a language she couldn’t understand was about as far out of her depth as she could get. Coupled with the mystery of how she had gotten there… The stress of it all had her rooted in place as Dwalin disappeared around a corner, nearly trembling from the tension.

Their host gave her a look before apparently deciding that Dwalin was the bigger concern and hurried off after the larger man saying, “He-hesaid? Whosaid?” That broke the moment’s indecision and she followed them.

Their host was standing inside the doorway that Dwalin had disappeared through. A kitchen, she realized, a really old-looking kitchen. The way Dwalin rummaged around and helped himself, he didn’t seem to care that he was in someone else’s house. Perhaps the two of them knew each other, and they had simply arrived unannounced? But that was unlikely, she was pretty sure she had heard Dwalin introduce himself when the door first opened. So then what was going on here? And what had she gotten herself into?

Dwalin sat down at the table and held out a plate of bread and cheese he had found to her. She fervently shook her head, hoping the motion was universal. Her appetite had evaporated the moment she had stepped inside. He frowned, but set the plate on the table.

“Andwhatofherthen?” Their host looked decidedly grumpy when she glanced at him.

“Shedoesn’tspeak.” Unless she was mistaken, it sounded like more of a grumble than when he usually spoke, and ‘grumbly’ was a good way to describe the way he had sounded the few times he did say anything.

Their host harrumph-ed under his breath, before crossing to a chair in the corner. He looked between Rebecca and Dwalin, and settled on watching Dwalin eat, still looking cross.

“Verygood,this. Anymore?” Both Rebecca and their host startled and he looked around. Jumping back to his feet and stuttered something, he grabbed a plate of biscuits from a shelf. His eyes flicked from the plate, to her, and to Dwalin again. When he offered the plate to her, she shook her head. Unlike Dwalin, their host seemed to relax marginally at the refusal, and put the plate on the table near the larger man, who immediately took one.

Noticing that she had begun tearing at a nail, Rebecca shoved her hands in her pockets and fisted them there.

“It’sjustthatum… Iwasn’texpectingcompany.” If his posture was anything to go by, their host was uncomfortable, rocking and bouncing on the balls of his-

Giant hairy feet? That was weird. Like, really weird. It was Rebecca’s turn to frown slightly.

The bell rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Dwalin rumbled something and she stepped quickly away from the door as their host left the kitchen to investigate. Focused as she was on breathing deeply around the lump that had formed in her throat, she didn’t realize that Dwalin had gotten up, and only barely registered the scrape of a chair against the floor, until he was standing in front of her. “Sit,” he said, pointing at the chair he had placed at the table. She stared at him blankly. “Sit,” he repeated, jabbing his finger towards the chair again.

Oh. She hurried to comply, perching on the edge of the chair, far to tense to sit back any further. Apparently satisfied, Dwalin turned and began rummaging around the kitchen again. Rebecca wiped her now-sweaty palms on her pants before pressing her hands flat against her thighs to stop them shaking.

This time she managed to not startle quite so badly when a new voice exclaimed from the doorway, although she did still jump a little. She turned to see another man with long white hair and a matching beard, strolling into the room.

“Bymybeard,youreshorterandwiderthanlastwemet.” She didn’t at all like the way Dwalin seemed to be sizing the new arrival up, but he at least sounded far less grumbley this time.

“Wider,notshorter,” the new arrival said, lightly. He didn’t seem concerned, and she took another long, deep breath in an effort to relax, even slightly. “Sharpenoughforbothofus.” Both of them laughed and cracked their heads together. There was a gasp from the entrance and she glanced over to see their host marching away. “Andwho’sthisthen? Afriendofthehobbit’s?”

“No. Saidhernameis Rebecca, orsomethinglikethat.” She looked over at the sound of her name. “Doesn’tseemtoknowanyKhuzdulorWestron. Foundheronmywayhere. Seemedtobelost.” The new arrival was frowning at her, although not with the same intensity Dwalin had.

“Didshesaywhereshe’sfrom?”

“No.” She was beginning to recognize that one. He always said it in the same tone, too. “Doyoureallythinkshe’d’veunderstoodmeifI’dasked?”

“Ah,butthere’salwaysanotherway,bother.”

Dwalin grunted. “Goaheadandtry,then. Figuredyoumighthavebetterluck,anyway.” Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest while the other one stepped forward, smiling gently.

“Hello,” he said. “I’mBalin.” He emphasized the last word, and put a hand over his chest while giving a slight bow while he said it. Was that his name, Balin? Straightening, he tugged the chair Dwalin had used closer and sat, dropping a large pack at his feet. Rummaging through it, he produced a folded piece of yellowed paper. He flattened it on the table and slid it towards her. It was a map.

A map that she didn’t recognize. There was a long coastline to the west, several long mountain ranges, including one that nearly cut the map in half down the middle. There were rivers, forests, and lakes. Words written in letters she was sure she had never seen before. She stared at it, hoping something would jump out as seeming familiar, but nothing did. Maybe the coastline could have been of somewhere she wasn’t familiar with, or oriented strangely, but the mountains were all wrong. The ranges looked to big to simply be ones she didn’t recognize. There was something really wrong.

Swallowing tears of confusion, fear, and anxiety, she looked up and shook her head. Balin and Dwalin traded a look. Struck by a thought, when Balin looked back she leaned forward and quickly mimed writing.

“Seebrother? There’salwaysanotherway,” Balin said, digging through his bag again. This time he removed another sheet of paper, a pen, and a pot of ink. Of course it wasn’t going to be a regular pen. Resigned to the fact that this would be harder than she first thought, she took the pen and very carefully dipped it in the ink. Making a mess was almost innevitable, and although she had very little experience using any kind of calligraphy or dip-pens, she knew that most weren’t made for left-handed use.

With only a few wayward drops of ink, several smudges, and a good number of places where she had to retrace the same line trying to get the pen to cooperate, she managed to produce a rough approximation of the United States. She put a bit more detail into the north-west, before turning the new map to face Balin and pointing to Washington State. Even before he picked up the map, dread was growing. Everyone should recognize the United States, it was just one of those things.

But, no. Balin examined it for far too long, eyes going over every inch of the thing. She wiped away the first of the tears that fell, dampening the cuffs of her cardigan. More continued to fall and she found a handkerchief being offered. She accepted it from Dwalin and wiped at the tears, to no avail. Balin patted her gently on the shoulder, “It’sallright,lass. There’sonemorepersoncomingtonightthatmightbeabletohelp.” Whatever he said wasn’t as reassuring as he had probably intended.

She closed her eyes and forcefully swallowed the lump that had continued to grow in her throat. A few more deep breaths and she was able to open her eyes again without another cascade of tears. She roughly dried her face and offered the handkerchief back to Dwalin. He shook his head, refusing to take it.

Then the bell rang.

This time she didn’t jump out of her skin.

Balin and Dwalin shared a look at the sound of the voices from the hall. Dwalin immediately left and reappeared ushering two younger men past the kitchen, speaking lowly to them. The three of them were followed by their host, now dressed.

“Ah,masterbaggins,ifyoucouldkindlyshow-” Whatever Balin was saying to their host, Rebecca was on her feet before he could finish, and fled.

Chapter Text

It was rude to hide in someone else’s house, especially in their office, but at the moment she didn’t think she could stand to be around anyone else. Especially not if more people continued to show up. She was well and truly lost, and she didn’t even know how to begin going about making it make sense. Unless she had somehow found herself in some rural community centuries in the past, then the only other option, as impossible as it sounded, was that she wasn’t… what? On earth? In her own reality? Her own universe? Time or distance, whichever it was, she was a long way from home.

The bell rang for a third time and a commotion rose somewhere else in the house. There were many voices, each talking over the last.

Drawing her feet up onto the chair, she wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face in her knees, and cried, no longer worried that she would be overheard.

-----//0\\-----

“Fíli, Kíli… Óin, Glóin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori… Ori, ah, Dwalin, Balin. I believe we are one dwarf short.”

“He’ll be here,” Dwalin grumbled, as the rest of the Company finished setting the table for their feast.

“But before he arrives, I have something I’d like you to take a look at,” Balin said. The two of them were left with Gandalf, standing in the front entrance to Bag End.

“Oh, yes? What might that be?” Gandalf asked, ducking to avoid another knock against the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Balin produced a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to the wizard. “Don’t suppose you recognize this?” Gandalf unfolded it and examined the map scribbled across the page, turning it this way and that.

“No, I’m afraid not. Where did you get this?” At that, Balin crossed his arms and looked at his brother.

“Found a young dwarrowdam on my way here. Doesn’t speak Westron, and drew that when we showed her a map.”

Gandalf frowned at the map, examining it again. “How intriguing. Where is she now?”

“Hiding in my study, if you must know,” an irritated Bilbo exclaimed, appearing at Gandalf’s elbow and glaring at the two dwarves. “What did you do to the poor girl? She’s absolutely distraught!”

Dwalin returned Bilbo’s glare three-fold, but it was Balin who replied. “The lass is lost.”

“And you wanted to know if I recognized the map so that she might be sent home.” Both dwarves nodded. “Perhaps I should speak with this girl.”

“As I said, she doesn’t speak-”

“I know more languages than just the Common Tongue, Master Dwarf,” Gandalf said sternly, cutting Dwalin off. The dwarf glared at him darkly.

“I don’t think she’s interested in talking to much of anyone just now,” Bilbo supplied.

“Then I shall go once she has had time to calm down. As it is, I believe our companions are ready for dinner.” Almost as if in response, a roar went up from the dwarves gathered around the table. Dwalin grunted and followed the wizard to the hall-turned-dining-room.

The meal passed and Dwalin, mostly ignored by the others, managed to ensure there were two plates of food left by the time it was finished. One was covered with a napkin for their wayward king, and while the others began making a game out of cleaning up, he took the other plate in search of the hobbit’s study. It wasn’t hard to find: a door ajar and a dark room beyond. Dwalin snagged a candle from a nearby shelf on his way passed. He nudged the door open with his boot and the girl, Rebecca, looked up from where she was curled in a chair.

In the candlelight he could see that her eyes were red and swollen, testament to the hobbit’s claim she had been distraught, but her face was otherwise clear. He could see his handkerchief clutched in her hand. The lass couldn’t have been much past her coming of age, no more than 50 years old, he would bet on it. Likely never been out of her father’s home, either, and to suddenly find herself so far away. He could remember seeing a similarly lost look on the princes when they had lost their father all those years ago.

He set the plate and candle down on the desk in front of her and scowled down at her. If he had known he would be understood, he would have ordered her to eat. As it was, she whispered something in that strange language of hers and picked up the fork. Satisfied, he nodded and left.

-----//0\\-----

Óin, as the Company’s medic, saw Bilbo comfortably recovering from his faint in the sitting room and the rest began to dispersed. Thorin remained at the table, brooding, with Dwlin and Balin lingering. Gandalf returned from looking over the hobbit and met Thorin’s scowl evenly, before looking at Dwalin. “Perhaps now would be a good time to discuss our… guest,” he said.

Thorin’s scowl followed Gandalf’s gaze to Dwalin, where it turned thunderous.

Balin, quick to head off the brewing storm, spoke while Dwalin rose to fetch Rebecca. “My brother found the lass on my way here.”

“A dwarf?” Thorin demanded. “There are no dwarves living near here.”

“No,” Balin agreed. “It appears she is quite far from home. She is from no place I know, and Dwalin says he did not recognize her language.” Before Thorin could respond, Balin produced the map he had shown Gandalf and passed it across the table.

“She could be lying.”

“I believe she was quite sincere.”

A hush preceded Dwalin’s return with Rebecca. He bade her sit and resumed his original seat. Her eyes landed first on the map, then moved over the rest of the table’s occupants, lingering the longest on Gandalf. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat, but no longer quite as distraught as she had.

“Her name is Rebecca,” Dwalin said without preamble, drawing her attention to him, then to her he named Gandalf and Thorin, pointing to each of them in turn. She gave a slight nod and hunched back into her chair, drawing into herself and fidgeting with something beneath the table. “I had intended to seek the wizard’s help determining her home.”

“Might I borrow your map?” Gandalf asked. Thorin sent the wizard a sharp look, easing when he saw the wizard speaking to Balin. He spread the map of Arda beside her drawing and slid them both in front of Rebecca. Leaning forward intently, he began pointing and naming various locations. After several he looked at her, she was watching him intently. He pointed at her drawing. “Where is this?”

The muscles in her face tightened as she processed what he had said. After a thoughtful moment she said “Theunitedstates.”

“You are from here?” Gandalf asked, pointing first at her, and then the map. He received the same thoughtful look, although this time she responded faster.

Pointing at the north-west corner, she said, “Washington.”

“Washington… I am not familiar with these places,” Gandalf said, almost to himself.

“So then what would you propose we do with her?” Thorin asked, turning his scowl on Rebecca. She sank back, but otherwise met his gaze without flinching. “It’s too dangerous for a child to go on this quest.”

“Hardly a child,” Gandalf said softly.

Ignoring him, Thorin continued. “I am sure Dís would take her in, but we cannot have any unnecessary delays.”

“How would you propose we see her to the Blue Mountains?” Balin asked, playing the role of adviser. “As you say, we cannot take the time to escort her ourselves. The hobbits do not travel so far. We could enlist the Men of Bree. Perhaps there will be rangers there when we pass through.”

“Leave her with the hobbits. She is not one of ours, we do not owe her what the Men would demand for their escort.”

Balin’s brows rose. “You would trust one of ours with the Men?”

Thorin deflated somewhat. “No. She cannot come with us. It is dangerous and she will slow us needlessly.”

Balin looked briefly toward where Bilbo had been left. “If our hobbit joins, it will not be so much better for him,” he said in a low tone.

Throughout this exchange, Rebecca’s attention bounced between the two of them. Dwalin, however, was watching her, brows furrowed. He spoke up suddenly, four sets of eyes turning to him. “I will take responsibility for the lass.”

“You intend to bring her?” Thorin demanded.

“You would leave her?” Dwalin returned. “The lass is lost, and far from home. You would leave her with strangers, who aren’t even her own kind? She will be no more of a burden than the hobbit, should he come. Perhaps less, even. I will take responsibility for her.”

Thorin stood, staring down at Dwalin. “Very well,” he said after several moments. “I expect you will find a way to explain where we are going.” With that, he turned and left. The hobbit, Bilbo, had left the sitting room, and Thorin joined the others who had found seats there.

Dwalin grimaced and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry, I don’t think it will be so bad as that,” Balin said with a chuckle. “You will have a very attentive audience.” Indeed, Rebecca was looking between the two of them wearing a look of confusion.

Dwalin sighed. He glowered briefly at Balin, who seemed content to watch and looked rather amused at the turn of events. A glance at the wizard revealed no help would be coming from that direction either, as Gandalf was lighting his pipe and looked to be making himself comfortable. Grumbling in disgust at the two of them, he squinted at Rebecca. She shifted while he watched her, perhaps discomfited by his grumbling. He forced his expression to clear and turned the map to face him. She at least seemed to catch on quickly enough.

“We are here,” he said, pointing at the Shire. He frowned and started again, giving an all-encompassing gesture, “we’re here. The Shire.” She was watching with the same intensity she had when the wizard brought out the maps.

“The Shire,” she said, softly. Her accent was atrocious. Dwalin suppressed a snort of laughter at what the others might think of that.

When she looked up at him, he gestured again. “We are going,” he traced a finger across the map, “here. Erebor.” Home. She nodded, repeating the word again and he wondered how much of it she was understanding, if she could tell they would be traveling there. His eyes fell on her map, poorly drawn as it was. “You,” he pointed at her, “are from here. Washington.” He pointed at the map. “We,” another gesture, “are from here.” Erebor. He sat back, waiting to see what she made of that. Wishing there was a way to know if she understood.

Rebecca continued to examine the map for a moment, head cocked to one side, before she looked up at him. She was frowning slightly. Thinking?

“Iamfrom Washington,” she said, copying his motions, pointing. “Youarefrom Erebor.” Her frown deepened. She glanced at him and back to the maps. “Washington ismyhome. Home.” She jabbed her finger at the map, emphasizing the last word, and looked at him. “You,” she pointed at him, “Erebor. Home.”

“Home?” Dwalin echoed. The word felt strange in his mouth. Then it dawned on him. “Home,” he said in Westron. Repeating it as he pointed to Erebor. He watched her eyes widen in understanding, and she nodded emphatically, repeating the word. That had been one barrier more easily passed than he had anticipated. The barrier it left, however, was bound to be much higher. How was he to explain a dragon? Let alone the fact that they were going to attempt to retake Erebor from it. Their home.

Her gaze met his, intense and determined. If she met every challenge with that same ferocity, perhaps she wouldn’t be the detriment to their quest that Thorin expected. Even amongst the dwarves he knew, not many would face the odds she had found herself up against with the same determination.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a cloud of smoke, blown from the wizard. It took the form of a dragon, very much like the worm that had taken Erebor, and flew between them. “A dragon,” he exclaimed, surprised by the apparition. A look told him that Rebecca was staring at the dragon, eyes wide and mouth agape. Shocked, though not as bad as she had been earlier. Perhaps tinged with a bit of awe. The dragon took a turn, flying between them again before losing its distinct form. “A dragon,” he said again, “is in Erebor.” Her eyes fell to the map. She whispered the words, almost testing them. Dwalin was as surprised as she looked when her head jerked back up.

“There’sadragonin Erebor.”

Dwalin nodded. “Aye, lass.” The point had gotten across. Really it wasn’t so different from when he had been learning iglishmêk as a dwarfling: lots of pointing and gesturing to get an idea across. So he began the process again, “We are traveling to Erebor,” all-encompassing gesture, trace their path, tap on the mountain. That earned him a disbelieving look. “Aye, you aren’t the only one to think that,” he said with a chuckle. “So. You travel to Erebor. With us. Or you stay here. In the Shire.”

She watched him, head tipped slightly again as she worked through that one. Gandalf and Balin were still watched the exchange. The wizard wore a ponderous expression, while his brother was absolutely smug. No doubt he’d be hearing about this for a long time to come. Rebecca turned back to the map. He could see her eyes tracing the path he had indicated, from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain, where they lingered. Possibly thinking of the dragon. Smaug. He would not blame her if she refused to come, after all they were the only thirteen crazy enough to have committed to it in the first place. It was her choice, though Thorin would likely be happier if she stayed.

The longer she thought, the more he started considering other options. He had volunteered to take responsibility, yes, but if she chose not to come he couldn’t very well abandon the quest over a single lost dwarrowdam. Not that the idea of leaving said lost dwarrowdam sat with him any better. Perhaps a letter to Dís, sent from Bree. In the morning he could arrange lodging for her with the hobbits of the Shire until dwarves could arrive from the Blue Mountains. Knowing Thorin’s sister, she wouldn’t refuse to help one in need.

Then Rebecca looked up, meeting his eye. She held his gaze as she pointed to the map, wearing the same intense expression she had worn only minutes earlier. He looked at the map: her finger had landed on Erebor.