The terrain of Vanaheim was mostly flatland, but the mountains weren't sparse either.
Looking at the map, the world's mountain ranges formed a rough capital "I" shape.
The northern bar, running west to east, started with the Blue Mountains where Thorin's people had been living the last hundred or so years. Then came the Orcs' homeland—Mount Gundabad and the Grey Mountains. And at the far east, the Iron Hills, ruled by Thorin's cousin Dáin Ironfoot.
Erebor was called the Lonely Mountain because it had nothing to do with the Grey Mountains or the Iron Hills. It was a single, abruptly rising peak in the northeast, isolated.
The southern bar held the White Mountains, which divided Rohan from Gondor, and the Ash Mountains and Mountains of Shadow that wrapped around Mordor.
The vertical stroke down the middle—what Bella's group needed to cross now—was the Misty Mountains. The chain ran north to south, splitting the continent into east and west. West of the range was mostly plains. East of it was mostly forest. Thranduil's Mirkwood, Galadriel's Golden Wood, and the Ents' Fangorn Forest all lay to the east.
Rivendell, the Mines of Moria, Isengard, and a host of other famous places all sat within this north-south spine.
For Bella and Thorin to head east, they had to cross the Misty Mountains to reach the Lonely Mountain.
The Misty Mountains were full of dangers. Trying to climb over the ridge was outright reckless. That was exactly why Elrond had built his city here long ago and held this gateway. He wanted to keep the corridor between east and west open, so the elves of those eastern forests could travel through the increasingly hostile range and reach the Grey Havens.
That corridor belonged to the elves. It didn't welcome humans or dwarves. But Bella figured if they were just passing through and asked nicely, it shouldn't be that hard.
Reality disagreed.
"Dwarves? Filthy dwarves? Leave Rivendell! Come any closer and we shoot!" the one who looked like the squad captain shouted.
"My friends and I won't enter Rivendell. We're only passing through. We won't cause Rivendell any trouble." Bella figured a road they'd worked so hard to maintain deserved at least a little courtesy.
"I'll say it once more. Leave Rivendell!" The captain raised his longbow.
The other elves drew their strings full, looking ready to start shooting at the next wrong word.
To be honest, Bella had always been pretty fond of elves. Beautiful faces, beautiful bodies. Old Círdan's selfless help had bumped that fondness up another notch. She'd been quietly leaning toward the elves' side. After this, though—forget it. These people had genuinely awful personalities.
By comparison, dwarves' obsession with gold and treasure was a surface trait. The contempt these elves held for every other living thing was bone-deep, written into them.
Looking at it now, the plain-spoken dwarves suited her temperament a lot better. The elves? Pretty to look at, that was about it.
"Fine. I'll leave right away."
She walked back to the dwarves' formation looking dejected.
Thorin Oakenshield seemed to have seen this coming. He treated her empty-handed return as nothing remarkable. No mockery, no cold look.
Bella was already turning the situation over in her head. She'd underestimated the problem. She wasn't Gandalf. She didn't have the reputation built up from years of wandering across the continent. Expecting elves to throw open the gates for her had been wishful thinking.
Nothing for it. To get over the Misty Mountains, the dwarves would have to ride economy class with the Gryphons.
Except when she proposed having the Gryphons fly the company over the Misty Mountains, every dwarf and the hobbit objected—everyone except Thorin, who got to ride on a Gryphon's back as a king. Being clutched in talons through midair was no fun. Given the choice, they'd much rather walk on their own two legs!
"There are still six months until Durin's Day, Thorin. We have time enough." Old Balin and Thorin's two nephews Fíli and Kíli all voiced careful objections.
Thorin would have grown wings and reached the Lonely Mountain in a single day if he could. The faster the better. Every day's delay was unbearable to him. But with everyone pushing back, he couldn't force the issue.
He glanced at Bella. Bella shook her head—she didn't mind either way. She sent the Gryphons back to Narnia. If they wanted to climb, fine, they'd climb.
…
Thorin and Company began the trek over the mountains.
The paths through the Misty Mountains were savage. There weren't really roads—just gaps in the rock. They also had to keep dodging Orc patrols and various foul creatures that crossed the slopes from time to time. They moved slowly.
Bella didn't slog through it with the dwarves. She was here to broaden her horizons, not to enlist for boot camp.
She rode the magic carpet, reading on her own.
Bilbo Baggins—her recent "old friend"—had warmed up to her. When he saw her stretch her neck and look up, he hurried over with food and water.
Magic was the one thing this company desperately lacked, the last line of defense if everything went sideways. So Bella enjoyed plenty of privileges with the group. She didn't have to stand watch, didn't have to hunt, could choose for herself whether to join the skirmishes along the way, and she got fed every day on top of all that.
For wilderness travel, that was a very generous arrangement.
Lately the hobbit had been her errand-runner, mostly because there wasn't much else he could contribute to the company.
Bella ate quickly, took a sip of water, and was about to go back to her book when her peripheral vision caught the hobbit hesitating, mouth half-open. She looked over.
"Mr. Baggins, is something the matter?"
The words came out of the hobbit before he could stop them. "Could you bring me my armchair from home?"
Bella looked at him strangely. Bilbo Baggins wanted to slap himself. What was that supposed to mean!
He stammered for a long moment. Seeing that Bella was still waiting for him to finish, he pushed through it. "…What I meant was, could you send me home? I'm really not much help to this company."
His voice was very low. The tone was bleakly defeated.
Bella wasn't an advice columnist. This wasn't her job. But Bilbo Baggins was a critically important person. She couldn't let him go.
This little hobbit with hardly any strength would carry the One Ring and resist its temptation for nearly a hundred years, then willingly hand it over at the end. That kind of willpower was second to none.
By Bella's estimation, Bilbo Baggins's will far outstripped his nephew Frodo Baggins's. Frodo had only stepped into his role because Bilbo was past his time. Otherwise the nephew never would have gotten his shot.
"Mr. Baggins, perhaps Thorin didn't make it clear. Let me explain again. Your task is critically important. We need you to steal a treasure from a dragon's hoard. I don't know exactly what this treasure is, but it must be priceless. It determines whether Thorin can take back his throne. Only you can do this. Do you still feel unimportant now?"