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Mending the Broken Pieces	By : LadyLaran Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 13613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own "the Hobbit" nor do I make money from this story. Tolkien and Jackson are the ones who own the characters and world.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note - Everyone’s response to the last chapter has been incredible. I can’t thank all of you enough for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. You guys are really inspiring!

Disclaimer – I do not own “the Hobbit” nor do I make any money from this tale.

Chapter Thirty-seven – Into Erebor

Kili was the one who finally spotted the stairs that had been cleverly carved into one of the massive statues, hidden in plain sight. In truth, Hawthorn wasn’t surprised he’d been the one to find them given just how good the dwarf’s eyesight was and she gave him a small hug, murmuring her praise in his ear. Thorin and Fili were right behind her, doing the same once she had released him, and causing the younger dwarf to blush a bit.

The company headed to the stairs, pausing when Oin looked up and then back at Thorin with an expression of concern on his face when he realized something rather important.

“We’ll need someone to carry Hawthorn to the door. With her hip and leg, there’s no way she can make it up so many steps,” he informed the group. “I don’t want her aggravating that old injury if we can avoid it, especially since she’ll be needing to move as silently and carefully as she can once we get the door open.”

“We’ll divide it up into shifts and carry her up,” the king-in-exile stated, grateful Oin had said something to remind them of their hobbit’s difficulties.

“I’ll go first,” Dwalin volunteered, handing his pack to Ori and his ax to his brother to carry. “Let’s use some rope after she’s on my back so she won’t run the risk of falling.”

Hawthorn knew better than argue with the overprotective dwarrow, handing her staff to Kili before getting onto Dwalin’s back. She stayed still as she was tied on by Nori and while she waited, she wrapped her arms around the warrior’s neck.

“Comfortable, lass?”

“Somewhat, the armor is a bit uncomfortable to lean against but my hip and leg aren’t hurting too badly so this is a good thing to me,” she replied, making him chuckle.

“That’s what we were hoping for,” the youngest son of Fundin stated. “Last thing we want is to have that old injury of yours act up.”

“Thank you for carrying me,” the hobbit told him, smiling when he just patted her hand in acknowledgment of her gratitude.

“All right, time to climb,” Dwalin commented, starting up the stairs with Dori behind him so the strong dwarf could ensure neither of them fell.

By the time they had reached the small landing, Hawthorn had been carried by four members of the company and she was grateful to all of them for ensuring she made it all right. She helped situate the packs before settling down to wait for the sun to set on Durin’s Day the next evening.

That night and the next day passed with stories quietly being shared, and Thorin often talked about different things that could be found within the mountain. He and Balin described what they could remember of the treasure room, trying to give as much information to Hawthorn as they could.

“I hate that we can’t go in there with you,” Kili said about an hour before sunset. “It’s not right that we have to send you in alone.”

“I don’t like going alone,” she answered truthfully. “But you needed a hobbit because Smaug won’t be able to recognize my scent so that means going in without all of you with me. I just hope he stays asleep but knowing our luck, that probably won’t be what I’ll find.”

“Let’s hope you’re wrong there,” Bombur stated, looking grim and worried. “We could use a change in luck for the better right now.”

“From your mouth to Mahal’s ears,” Dwalin grumbled. “We got here in time and in one piece so we should be grateful.”

“I am,” Thorin said quietly. “We’re almost home, and I am certain Mahal and His wife have been watching over us. Just this last bit to go.”

There was an odd flapping sound, and a raven came to rest in the center of their small camp.

“I have been ordered to ask if one of you is of the line of Durin,” the bird asked, making Hawthorn jump slightly in shock.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,” the king-in-exile answered.

“I am Karc, grandson of the chief of the ravens,” the raven told him. “You are here to take the mountain back?”

“We are,” Thorin replied gravely.

“Is there anything we can do to aid you,” Karc asked. “We remember our bond with the dwarrow of Erebor and wish to keep it continued.”

Thorin’s eyes met Hawthorn’s, realizing what was needed and glad the ravens had sent someone to their little campsite.

“My betrothed will be entering the mountain soon to determine if the dragon still lives and to find the Arkenstone. If Smaug’s weak point can be determined, we need someone willing to take this information to Bard of Laketown so he can strike if the dragon tries to destroy the town.”

“I will go with her and take the information to this Bard. He is known to us due to his friendship with the thrushes,” the bird shared.

“I would be glad of the company,” she told him, still a bit rattled by the talking bird but managing to stay calm.

The rays of the setting sun soon struck the mountain and the thrush soon made itself known, trying to break a snail open against the stone. Thorin slipped the key into the keyhole, opening the door for the first time in well over a century.

The company was quiet, reverent as they took in the stone walls in the hallway that was revealed to them after the door was opened.

“I know these walls,” Thorin whispered, laying a gentle hand against the cold stone. “Remember it, Balin?”

“I do,” the adviser answered, voice choked with emotion. “You did it, Thorin.”

“Not yet but soon,” he said, unashamedly turning to Hawthorn with tears in his eyes.

“Soon,” she answered, walking towards him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I promise, fy anwylyd, the dwarrow of Durin’s Folk will roam these halls once again. Karc?”

The raven flew to her shoulder and she headed down the corridor, replaying the instructions in her mind as she did so. Her small figure soon left the dwarrow behind, and she murmured softly to the bird.

“I have a ring with me that turns me invisible,” she told the raven. “I hate wearing it, but it’ll be useful while down here so the dragon won’t see us if he’s still alive. If you duck under my coat, it should keep you hidden. I’ll try not to squash you.”

Karc agreed, tucking himself into her coat as she donned the ring. He made a sound of dislike, not enjoying the way everything looked, and she murmured quietly to him.

“Now you see why I don’t like it,” Hawthorn told him. “I hope Mithrandir can do something about this wretched thing when things calm down enough for him to do so. Now, we’re close to the treasury so we’ll have to be extra quiet.”

The two made their way to the steps, and the hobbit looked at the mess in the treasury in dismay. Navigating this disaster would be difficult much less trying to find a rock in the heaps of gold. How was she to do this?

There was something else, a sound that made her heart pound faster in fear. The sound of deep breathing filled the huge room, carrying a message that the hobbit was not alone in this room and a certain squatter was certainly alive.

Hawthorn sighed, pulling herself together before stepping carefully out onto the gold. She had to step slowly, using the staff to help her keep her balance as she made her way across the piles of treasure. How had one dwarf accumulated so much or was this something Smaug had managed to bring in too? She wasn’t sure but one for certain, once they got rid of the dragon, the gold would need to be taken care of so as not to draw in another pest problem.

Her foot slipped against something round, and the hobbit was able to catch herself by bracing against her staff. In her mind, she begged for help from Mahal and Yavanna when she heard the change from the rhythmic deep breathing to something slightly faster.

“I hear you, thief, and I smell you. There is a faint scent of dwarf around you, but you are no dwarf. What manner of creature are you?”

Hawthorn swallowed, trying to calm down and think. She would have to be careful here; the books she’d read in Imladris about dragons warned that the beasts could manipulate people into sharing too much information. She would have to be clever and do her best to keep from being outwitted by this ancient creature.

“No, Smaug the Magnificent, I am no dwarf nor am I a thief,” she said to him, hands shaking as she gripped her staff.

The hobbit took several careful steps back, bracing herself against a stone pillar as a giant head lifted itself from the pile of gold it had been buried under. Her throat went tight, and she bit down on her lower lip to stop the scream of terror as the beast’s head tilted in an effort to find her.

“No, I wonder at your claim of not being a thief when you carry something that is not fashioned by dwarves,” the dragon observed. “Wood and mithril, carrying elvish magic, is not something that was in my hoard. Mithril is rare, and it is rarer still when an elf grants a magic imbued gift to one who is not an elf.”

Blue eyes widened as the realization sunk in. Smaug not only knew what was in this ostentatiously large hoard but also recognized other precious metals even when it wasn’t part of this hoard. As much as she needed her staff, she knew she should have left it back with the company.

“It was crafted for me after an accident I had when I was much younger,” she said. “I am an elf friend and consider one an uncle of my own heart.”

“Your words make me even more curious; step into the light so I may see my uninvited visitor,” the dragon ordered.

“You already have me at one disadvantage, good sir,” the hobbit replied, hoping he would take the bait. “If I did as you bade me, I would be at another as I see only part of you.”

As she had hoped, Smaug took the bait and pulled himself out of the piles of gold he’d slept under. The hobbit took a few steps back, murmuring to her avian companion as she did so.

“Now we’ll see if there’s a weakness to be found,” she said in a tiny whisper, eyes growing wide as he took several steps forward.

The dragon was massive, and she remembered him being considered lesser than the dragons of old. If the others had been bigger, she was grateful that none of them had come to Erebor. Smaug was too big as it was!

His wings unfolded, flapping several times and forcing her to brace herself to keep from being knocked over. She looked up in time, spotting the weakness over his heart where something had damaged the scales and knocked one loose.

“Do you see it,” the hobbit whispered to the raven, carefully drawing him out of her coat.

“I do,” he answered in a very soft voice.

“I’ll distract him; you must warn the dwarrow he lives and then tell Bard of the weakness we found,” she stated. “Be safe, Karc, and Yavanna watch over you.”

Hawthorn set the bird behind the pillar she was leaning against, and her voice was strong but gentle as she addressed the massive creature ahead of her.

“You are much bigger than I imagined,” she said, fingers gripping her staff tightly. “I’ve read stories of dragons over the years, but my imagination created poor representations now that I have a live dragon in front of me.”

All right, apparently dragons could preen when flattered and she would have to remember to make note of that in a small essay on dragons to update the books already written on them. Hawthorn was caught between laughing and crying so she allowed the compliments to continue in hopes of keeping Smaug’s attention on her.

“The books I read didn’t speak much of fire drakes like yourself,” she said. “I will admit to being disappointed that I cannot sketch you so others can see how magnificent you are. I’ve no drawing implements with me.”

“You are well spoken for such a guest,” he purred, ignoring the small bird that flew out of the room when he settled in a resting position. “Now, you must speak of yourself. What are you?”

“No one of any importance,” Hawthorn told him.

“You must be of some importance to carry elvish enchanted mithril,” he insisted.

“I am outcast by my own kind, taken in and loved by another,” she answered, putting as much thought into the description as she could. “I come from under the hills and have crossed mountains and forests, sometimes walking unseen.”

“Riddles,” he growled. “I seek answers, not riddles.”

Blue eyes widened when he shifted and an orb of light was revealed, uncovered when the gold slipped away. That had to be what Thorin needed to call upon the other dwarf lords for aid!

A plume of fire blazed not far from where she stood, and she struggled to get out of the way of the heat. Hawthorn tugged the ring off, dropping it into her pocket as she tried to stay steady on the uneven ground. She was hoping that the sight of her might distract him enough for her to escape; her being invisible only seemed to agitate the drake further, and she needed him to stop trying to set the room on fire in an attempt to find her.

“So there you are,” Smaug observed, watching as she leaned against the staff.

He edged closer to her, making her back up until she made contact with another pillar. The scaled face was too close, and Hawthorn was fighting her terror as she had no way to escape or fight. She could sense Thorin’s concern and then resolution, and she screamed when her staff was sent flying by one of Smaug’s front claws. Her wrist ached from the impact of the blow, and the hobbit pulled it against her belly to try to keep it safe.

“That is mine now. I will accept it as both tribute and payment for trespassing in my home,” he purred at her, sniffing deeply. “Outside of the faint human stench on your clothes, I recognize the scent lingering on you. Durin blood so you must be connected to one of the surviving members of the royal family. You’re not a bed warmer, at least not yet as I can still smell the purity on you, but you are very close to one of them.”

The terror kept building up as he pushed her hard against the pillar; the angle she was in, there was no way she could reach for her blade. Not that the small sword could do any damage against the tough scale and hide of the creature in front of her.

There was a soft whistling sound that was heard before the dragon pulled back slightly with a loud roar, and she noticed an arrow in his eye. She drew her blade, plunging it into the other eye in hopes of evening things out for them. Hawthorn barely managed to keep her grip on her sword as Smaug shook his head hard, and she went flying. The hobbit landed against the wall, sliding down it to rest against the treasure, and her vision was all out of focus.

She heard the war cries of her company as well as the soft voice of her father before everything went dark.

Author’s End Note – I think I’m going to hide in my bunker now because I have a feeling people are going to want to hunt me down for the cliffhanger. I hope you all enjoyed it! Check out my tumblr under ladylaran. See everyone next time! ~Laran
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Mending the Broken Pieces