The Green Witch

Chapter 2

Murmurs spread through the crowd of dwarves like the startling of small birds. Words like “Witch!” and “Legend,” and “Died off,” speckled the air and filled up the breeze that swirled around the now very tense scene.

Eskamë led Gandalf’s horse by the reins, and with a flick of her wrist behind her back, all of the ponies slowly made their way behind her. The dwarves stopped their oppositions for a moment to look positively terrified. Thorin stepped towards Gandalf sternly.

“We will not take any help from her, Gandalf. We did not agree to this,” he said, and the rest of the party agreed behind him.

“Thorin Oakenshield, hold your stubborn tongue for half a moment. She has useful knowledge valuable beyond your reckoning!” he half-bellowed at the surly dwarf. Thorin wasn’t about to be intimidated.

“I am not about to take advice from any witch!” he yelled, turning his head to glare at the woman. Eskamë didn’t acknowledge the hateful speech.

“I don’t like the way you spit out that word, dwarf,” she said with her back to him, her attention elsewhere. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder.

“The bridge is there, when you’d like to make your way back the way you came,” she pointed behind them, “in case you’ve forgotten,” she said, inviting them to leave her.

Thorin marched toward his pony, whistling as he did so. The small horse stopped, and Thorin grabbed his reins. One by one, the rest of the dwarves did the same, leaving just Bilbo and Gandalf standing still. Thorin was ready to mount his pony when the witch spoke up again.

“That is- unless you were wanting to hear about… dragons,” she said, allowing a small grin to dress her face. Thorin did not turn around, but he did stop. He clenched his jaw and wished he could stop running into these questionable people. He didn’t sign up for this.

“Thorin, you are in the presence of someone who is, perhaps, the most knowledgeable person to advise you on dragons,” Gandalf spoke up first. His tone was as even and he could manage. “I beg you to see reason.”

There was what seemed to be a very long silence before Thorin quietly turned himself and his horse back towards the witch. He wordlessly put the reins in her hand and turned to walk slowly away. Reluctantly, with little choice in the matter, the rest of the company did the same.

Eskamë let the ponies trot past her and into the field, taking the reins off of each of them. The last two dwarves to walk back were the younger looking ones. One had dark hair and hardly any beard to speak of, while the other had golden hair and a neat beard with braids in his mustache. She met the eyes of the darker haired one first; he did not seem hateful as the other dwarves, just curious and intrigued. Then her eyes shifted to the blonde, the more handsome of the two, she thought, though also the shorter.

There was less curiosity and a more closed off feel to the blonde one’s eyes. He did not hold them open all the way, he dared not leave too much of himself open and vulnerable. And though he was in fact shorter than the brunette, he carried himself somehow above the other dwarf. Truly he held himself higher than many of the other dwarves.

“Brothers…” Eskamë said, making the connection between the two intriguing dwarves. She smiled at the brunette, who offered her almost the hint of a smile back, but then her eyes when back to the steel blue ones of the blonde dwarf. That hardness, she thought, sinking deeply into his eyes. Where does that come from?

“Nephews…” she added, then looked over to Thorin. “Of an uncle,” she said, and then shut the gate behind the last pony and whistled. Her huge dog trotted over to her side. “Of a king,” she stated last, making her way back to her cottage, expecting the company to follow her. She felt better, felt clearer, once she could make these connections. As if some piece of the puzzle had already been put together.

The dwarves waited on Thorin to move first, and eventually he did, though he would not meet Gandalf’s eyes. He’d had enough of the wizard for one day.

In the rear of the company, Fili still wore a puzzled expression. It had softened somewhat after looking at her, true, but her remarks made him uncomfortable. He rejected many forms of “magic,” chalking a lot of things up to coincidences and illusions. So, no doubt, he was skeptic of this witch, as well as very distrusting. He didn’t like the way she walked about, seemingly underwhelmed by the rest of them. He didn’t like the command she seemed to show over animals, as if she was some innocent little nymph. And he didn’t like her eyes.

They were too green, too swirly, and they made his stomach do flips.
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