Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE.

My dear Frodo, 

You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And, although I can honestly say I have told you the truth… I may not have told you all of it.

I am old now. I am not the same Hobbit I once was. 

And I think It is time for you to know what really happened. 

It began, long ago… In a land far away to the east. In the likes of which you will not find in the world today. 

There was the city of Dale. A paradise. It’s markets known far and wide. Full of bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous. For this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth. Erebor. 

Stronghold of Thror, King Under the Mountian. Mightiest of the Dwarf Lords. Thror ruled with utter surety… never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson. 

Erebor was built deep within the mountain itself. The beauty of this fortress city was legend. Its wealth lay in the earth in precious gems hewn from rock and in great seams of gold running like rivers through stone. 

The skill of the Dwarves was unequaled in fashioning objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald ruby, and sapphire. Ever they delved deeper, down into the dark. And that is where they found it. The heart of the mountain, the Arkenstone. 

Thror named it, “The King’s Jewel”. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him. Even the great Elven King, Thranduil.  

As the great wealth of the Dwarves grew, their store of goodwill ran thin. No one knows exactly what began the rift. The Elves say the Dwarves stole their treasure. The Dwarves tell another tale. 

They say, the Elf king refused to give them their rightful pay. It is sad how old alliance can be broken. How friendships between people can be lost. 

And for what?

Soon the days turned sour and the watchful night closed in. 

Thror’s love of gold had grown too fierce. An evil sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind and where sickness thrives, bad things will follow. 

The first they heard was a noise like no other, loud like a hurricane coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind. It could only mean one thing. 

Dragons. 

Dozens of firedrakes from the mountains. No one had seen a hoard like them in thousands of years.

They took to the skies above Dale destroying the city tenfold, leaving nothing but rubble and fire in their wake. The screams were unmatched, from children and their families as they sought what little shelter was left in the red sky. 

Although small, their stature could not compare to whom led the thunder. The largest of them all, Smaug. 

Such wanton death was dealt that day. For this city of Men was nothing to Smaug and his army for the drakes eye, and his eye alone was set on another prize. 

For Dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire. And Smaug's greed for the mountain's riches unmatched his own kin and they too, were lost in their own burning flames. Their bodies lay rest in the one thing that was their downfall… jewels, silver, and gold. 

Erebor was lost that day. For a Dragon like Smaug will guard his plunder as long as he lives, no matter the cost. 

Thranduil stood watching the destruction and did nothing. For he would not risk the lives of his kin against the unmatch wrath of the Dragons. No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since. 

Robbed of their homeland, the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. A once mighty people brought low. 

The young Dwarf prince took work where he could find it laboring in the villages of Men. But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon. The trees like torches blazing bright. For he had seen Dragon fire in the sky and a city turned to ash. 

And he never forgave… and he never forgot. 

But far away, in another corner of the world, Dragons were only make-believe. A party tick conjured by wizards on midsummer's eve. No more frightening than fairy dust.

That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in. 

It was the beginning of an unlikely friendship, that has lasted all my life.

For, quite by chance, the will of a Wizard, and a strange company of Dwarves and two mortals, well that's what we thought at the time but yet fate decided I too would become part of this tale. And well, it began as you might expect. 

In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. 

Chapter Text

1999, April 24^th

I.

Of all days, Joseph chose this moment to dash off to the neighborhood park. You hoped he would soon outgrow this phase of running away, but it was clear the boy had no intention of stopping. And every time he did, you followed. To him, the chase was nothing more than another mere game.

Out the door and past the crumbling steps of the rotting house, you ran. Each time, your frustration grew, knowing you'd always have to go after him. His imagination put yours to shame, he saw wonder in everything. Your brother's mind was just simply wired differently.

You however were good at math, the logistics, real-world shit, and frankly, far too busy being the overprotective sibling. The two of you were quite the pair, and could easily conquer the world even, perhaps the universe, if it let you. 

And in that moment, it did. 

Fate had remembered you, and it never forgot. Today, you started rewriting your own story. Your unexpected story. 

With your knees buckled, you watch as Joseph's small figure sprint into the thicket, disappearing behind the veil of tangled branches and leaves. A chilled breeze rustles the veins of brown and green that shroud him.

Still gasping for air, you hear a raspy voice call out, “Are you alright, ma'am?” A stranger, his beard matted and grey, watches you with concerned eyes. An old mustard-yellow beanie barely tames the unruly hair peeking out around his ears.

In an alarmed mess, your head flings to the side facing the elder man with heavy shoulders. 

"Yes." You cough awkwardly, having trouble finding anything else to say, and look further on, past the trees before you, swallowing. 

The stranger's gaze falls to a puzzled look, confused as to why you had been so severely out of breath on the edge of the path, just simply staring deep into the forest with a distant look. 

He was silent in thought for a further second, "Alright... If you say so. Good day, to you."

Wearily agreeing, the man shuffles back around to the path, "And take care." He politely waves goodbye, scurrying off to continue his walk with a slight drag of his feet. 

Your head falls, mumbling, "Of course."

Exhaling you march onwards towards the trail of your brother. 

Squeezing past the rusted reserve gate, you pay little notice to a giant map to your right, not that you could read it anyway. The guide is covered in mold and littered with a thick webbing of dead bugs and spiders.  

A dozen minutes passed with no sign of  Joseph. In search of him, you look behind every nook and cranny, by all means, whatever is in your sight. For his age, the poor boy hasn’t yet seemed to hit his growth spurt quite yet, he could practically be anywhere.

Aimlessly skimming the rounded metal pole with the tip of your finger you halt upon coming round to one of many opened pastures.

At the moment, the park seemed almost abandoned in its entirety. Only the wildlife perched on wooden benches and bins munching away on scraps. Although upon noticing you, in a frightened state, the parakeets fly away.  

"Joseph!” You all through the silence. But the only response is the rustling of leaves and the birds' chorus in the treetops. “Where are you?”

Again you call, waiting for a few moments. You grow steadily anxious, taking your lip in between your teeth, and walk on into the pasture. 

However, unbeknownst to you, a shadow had been stalking your every move. Holding their breath waiting for the perfect moment. 

"Ah ha!" The voice cheered, their hands raised jumping onto the balls of their feet behind you. 

They give you a surprising fright, shocking you from thought. When you turn you notice in one hand, they hold a stick prodding you with its sharp point.

"I got you good didn't I?" They laugh. 

"Joseph, what are you doing?" Shouting, you lift your hand gripping the end of the stick. 

“Breathing the fresh air. Being outside,” He lists with a smirk, “Having fun. You should try it, you might enjoy it.” 

“Hilarious,” You say dryly, tugging the stick from his hand with more force, you try to pry it from the boy's palm, “Give me that.” 

Joseph resists, but with a sharp sting, the stick slips from your grasp, and he resumes poking at your arm with glee. A thin line of blood beads on your skin, turning the area a pale pink. Your eyes narrow at him, clearly unamused.

"Joseph, stop." 

However, the young male has other plans, swatting you again with the tip of the twig. The sharp point barely missing the corner of your eye and it tears in defense of the object. 

Barking, you again attempt to reach for the weapon, "Jesus! Careful where you swing that stick!" 

Finally latching onto the twig again, you give it a firmer pull, loosening it from your brother's hands, and hold it above your head. He flails around trying to reach it. 

"Ah– hey!” He wines, “That's mine! Seriously, let go!"

You remain unphased by his pathetic jumps and pleas only further teasing the young boy when you let him grab a hold of it but this time keep your hand firm and tight around the stick. You rock just slightly, a smile creeping on your features. 

"Are you done?" You ask. 

Joesph cries, "Fine. I’m done." Defeated, he stops pulling altogether.  

You huff, beginning to pace back down the path, “Good. Come on, we’re going.”

Joseph steps behind you only quiet for a few moments before his brain ticks over in excitement. 

“Wait!” He calls you back over, “Can we play a game?" 

Completely stunned, you stop dead in your tracks. Half curious and half dumbfounded by his silly request. But at the back of your mind, you know exactly what he wants to do. 

"You are joking, right?" You exclaim, "I'm taking you home. No further questions." 

The boy is quick to tackle your arm, thrashing it desperately around in circles, "Oh come on! You’re no fun anymore. Remember, like old times?" He goes quiet with a pregnant pause, eyes pleading, before he continues again, "Please."

The look you share is unmatched. Both stared into each other's eyes, neither sibling backing down.

You speak first, almost daring the boy to answer back, “Joseph.” 

“Some boring sister you are.” He states, taking a few teasing steps back, stretching his shoulders. Your eyes roll, scanning the area, and that's when he knows who had won.

You give him a final look before starting your counting, 

"One...
Two..."

He grins, hurdling past you, surprisingly back in the direction of home.

You cover your eyes with your elbow, hearing the rustling of leaves and grass slowly fade behind you.

"Three...
Four...
Five..."

Joseph’s jacket flutters behind him as he sprints down the path, but suddenly stops, eyes widening as he notices something ahead. He’s found a gap along the fence line.

"Seven
Eight...
Nine..
Ten... "

The thrill of the chase settles in. Joseph takes the sharp left off the trail, darting under the rusted steel, weaving through the underbrush with practiced ease. The chill of the afternoon air nips at the skin, and his warm breath exhales in visible clouds of mist, which swirl upward, getting lost in the branches above.

But then, something catches his eye. A dozen or so colourful birds, are perched on the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree, stare at him with curious eyes. The birds begin to chirp, filling the air with a lively, rhythmic melody. Joseph watches, entranced, tempted to try and whistle along.

However, upon further inspecting the tree he took note that it very clearly stood out against its brethren. Towards the center of its torso, long, thick branches drooped low against the ground, vines, and moss covering it in layers. It feels ancient, as though it doesn't belong in this reserve at all. Joseph holds his breath, afraid that if he blinks, the tree might vanish.

Suddenly, from the tree's base, a rabbit bursts from the undergrowth, its legs carrying it over the tangled roots and the boy freezes. His eyes locked onto the creature.

They both don’t dare move. 

The rabbit twitches its nose, sniffing the air. The animal stands tall on its hind legs, much taller than the boy, then thumps its foot—a warning.

Joseph inches closer, one careful step at a time. His voice drops to a whisper as he speaks to the animal, "Hello, girl."

The rabbit, unafraid, inches closer, its ears twitching as it listens. Its dark eyes blink rapidly, almost as if it’s considering whether or not to approach. Joseph squats on his knees, staring at the rabbit in awe. 

He holds out a hand, fingers barely brushing the earth, "What are you doing?" He murmurs. He gives a quiet whistle and a few soft clicks with his tongue, coaxing the large rabbit closer.

"Twenty...
Twenty-one...
Twenty-two..."

The rabbit snaps his muzzle towards the sound of the noise. It’s ears twitch in scared movements, pulsing and turning in all directions. 

But before Joseph can do anything else, your voice carries through the air, calling his name.

"Joseph!"

The rabbit bolts, its matted fur flashing as it dashes back into the brush from where it came, knocking over the boy in its mad scramble. 

"No! Wait, come back!" He calls, rushing to the tree, digging through the underbrush in a futile attempt to find where the rabbit disappeared.

In his frantic search, he uncovers something. At the base of the tree, hidden by the tangled roots, is a dark opening—a hole, a tunnel.

Joseph leans forward, peering into the blackness. A cold wind rushes from inside, carrying with it the faint sound of something scraping along stone. He chews at his cheek, weighing the strange pull of the tunnel against the sense of caution that’s still whispering in the back of his mind.

His body is buzzing with adrenaline. The decision feels inevitable, and before he knows it, he’s on his hands and knees, inching toward the hole. The walls feel tight as he wriggles forward, and with every move, it seemed to only grow smaller.

His ears ring and his lungs feel as though they could give way at any second but he soldiers a little further in hopes of finding an exit, and an exit he finds. 

You finally finish counting, dreading the inevitable of finding your brother once again.

You uncover your eyes, blinking away the blur. The world around you is still and quiet. So quiet, you could almost hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the low moan of the wind.

“Alright, let’s get this over and done with,” You mutter to yourself.

Your feet quickly find the path as you march down it, leaving the park behind. Joseph’s footsteps are easy to track in the sand, the only fresh prints on the path are his anyway. 

A chill breeze skims your neck, making you shiver. You hug your jacket tighter, trying to find some warmth in the biting air. The last of the light filters through the trees behind you, casting long shadows over the path. You’re running out of time.

"Joseph?"

No response. Not even the wind answers you this time. 

Your eyes narrow, and you follow the trail, but his footsteps suddenly stop. Then, they veer off the path, heading into the brush.

You curse under your breath. Without hesitation, you leap over the fence, ignoring the sting of branches that slap your arms. They tug at your jacket, the rough twigs scratching your skin as you push through the thicket. A spiderweb catches your face, and you nearly scream—fighting the rising panic, “Fucking hell! Disgusting…” Swallowing, you force yourself to keep moving. 

Finally, you break free of the undergrowth and find the trail again, leading you deeper into the woods. The footprints continue, further than they should’ve to begin with. 

"Joseph!" You call out again, this time more desperate,

You trudge on, pushing forward until you emerge into a small clearing. In the center stands a massive oak tree, its gnarled roots stretching across the ground like the fingers of some ancient creature.

You swear under your breath, “Holy... shit.”

Everything in this clearing leads here, yet your brother is nowhere to be seen. 

You crouch down, scanning the ground. There are shoe prints, along with another set of larger, heavier prints that don’t belong to him.

A heavy weight presses on your chest as you step closer to the tree. You study the prints more closely, and your gut twists.

"Joe, seriously?" You mutter, pulling apart some leaves near the tree’s base. Beneath them lies a long, dark tunnel, its entrance barely visible in the fading light.

You double, and triple-check around the area,praying that Joseph hasn’t done something ridiculously stupid.

You lean in closer, trying to get a better look but your hand slips in the mud, and you fall forward, eating a mouthful of dirt. Pain lances through your head as you hit it hard against the ground, hard.

You spit out the dirt, gagging, your throat burning from the taste.

But the tunnel looms before you, and the awful taste in your mouth is nothing compared to what lies ahead.

You look down into the dark void of the tunnel, feeling an unsettling sense of dread—then something catches your eye. A small patch of cloth, fluttering in the dim light. You want to reach for it, but your body refuses to move.

A hot wind gusts into your face, and you freeze, caught in a strange trance.  

“Joseph?” 

Instead of what you’d much rather hope for, something does answer back. 

A feminine voice. Soft and pleading, in a language that you don't quite understand. However, the cry doesn’t last long before it transforms into a chorus of screams, overlapping and rising in pitch until they fade into silence.

Your heart races, but something about it feels—wrong. You don’t feel the panic you should.

It wasn’t until a loud, roaring animalistic noise unlike no other that pulled you from this trance. You scramble back a step, your pulse pounding in your ears.

But a sudden burst of courage, you snatch the cloth hanging in front of you. You clutching it tightly in your hand, “Joseph, don’t move! Stay there!” You shout, but there’s still no response.

You step forward, your shoulders tightening as you begin to crawl into the tunnel. The walls are too narrow, forcing you to move like a worm through the dirt. Each motion a struggle as your body aches.

Your breath is labored, each inhalation painful, each exhalation a rasping effort. You consider calling for help, but your throat is tight, your voice too weak. So, you rest your forehead against the cold rocks, your eyes slipping closed in exhaustion.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. Sweat drips down your face, mixing with the dirt as your body screams.

Finally, you force your eyes open. The faintest sliver of light shines ahead. You claw at the dirt, your hands raw and bleeding, but you dig harder.

Finally, you break free, tumbling out of the tunnel and onto the soft earth. The bright light above you is a shock—blue sky, puffy clouds drifting lazily by.

You blink, confused. It was dark before. How is it suddenly daylight?

Your head spins, thoughts racing too quickly to make sense of anything. You can’t even process how much time has passed.

You roll onto your side, curling into a ball, desperate for sleep. Your body is sore, your mind foggy.

Then, a voice cuts through the haze.

"Are you dead?"

You groan, irritated at the intrusion. The voice is familiar, but you can’t focus enough to make sense of it.

You turn your head, squinting through the fog of exhaustion. And then, you see him—Joseph.

“I could kill you right now,” You rasp.

He smirks, eyes twinkling, “Sure. Says the living corpse.”

With that, he flops down onto you, his body pressing into yous, and you both laugh, the tension evaporating for just a short moment.

“I was looking all over for you,” Joseph says, his voice full of worry, “You’ve been gone for hours. I thought I was lost for a while.”

You sit up with effort, “Hours?” You ask, confused.

“Yes! It’s been, like, half a day. I followed a rabbit to the tree, and then I went into the tunnel to hide. And you… well, you were dumb enough to go in after me. Lucky, though.”

His words don’t seem to register, “Joseph, wait... I’ve only been gone for, what—ten minutes?” you ask, staring at him.

His eyes widen with confusion. “Really?”

You nod, “Yeah, really.”

“Huh,” He says, scratching his head, “That doesn’t make sense. I came out of here this morning—at least that’s what they told me.”

"That’s impossible. It was dark just seconds ago,” You say, your voice tight with growing unease. “Who told you that?”

Joseph’s face lights up, “Gandalf! He helped me out. I’ll show you, he’s not far away, I think.”

A chill runs down your spine, "Who?”

“Gandalf!” Joseph repeats, grinning, “He’s funny, you’ll like him. He dresses like a wizard. But… I think he is actually.”

You wait for the punchline, but none comes, "Joseph, that isn't funny."

“It’s not what you think. I promise,” He says, his voice full of conviction.

“Well, it definitely sounds like it,” You reply dryly.

Joseph’s excitement falters as he looks over your shoulder, spotting something—or someone—approaching.

He grins, waving with excitement, "Gandalf!"

You turn, and the figure approaching is unmistakable—tall, leaning against a staff, a friendly smile spreading across his face. The stranger's eyes crinkle with amusement offering a warm, welcoming chuckle.

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Thrimidge 4th

II.

"Hello, dear,” A voice greets.

Although Joseph’s shout of excitement moments ago had already put you on edge, this new voice makes you spin around abruptly, your body instinctively moving to shield Joseph. Your arm stretched behind you protectively, keeping the boy close as he bounces on his toes, eager to greet this stranger but unable to move past your guard. 

“Who are you?” You demand, your eyes narrowing.

The man chuckles softly, unfazed by your tension. He shifts his weight and fiddles with his staff before offering a polite nod, “Oh! Pardon me,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting, “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I… am Gandalf.”

Silence blankets the clearing, broken only by the rustling of leaves. Joseph tugs at your arm, and speaks in a hushed whisper, “He’s a friend. He’s the one who helped me!”

The tightness in your chest loosens slightly as you take in Gandalf’s appearance. He stands about your height, maybe a touch taller, due to the tall, pointed hat that sits atop his head. His dark gray robes drape down to well-worn black boots, the hem trailing in the dirt, stained from travel. A silver scarf peeks from beneath his long bushy white beard.

But you still don’t speak yet. 

Although Gandalf’s smile remains, as gentle as ever, “I mean no harm. I only wish to help. Your brother, Joseph, was fortunate to cross my path. Had our fates not aligned, he might have found himself in real trouble.”

Joseph’s face lights up, “See? I told you!”

Gandalf smiles and inclines his head again. “You are very welcome, young one.”

There's a pregnant pause before you start again, Finding your voice, you manage a terse, “Thank you sir, for helping my brother.” 

The man interjects, “Just Gandalf, will do fine, my dear.” 

Your gaze remains wary and dry, “Yeah, right.” You chuckle, just a single noise escaping your lungs, “Thank you—but we should get going.” 

“But!” Joseph cries, pulling at your hand.

“Joseph, we’re going.” You stand your ground, giving an awkward smile to Gandalf, who only looks confused, even disappointed. 

Joseph attempts to wiggle out of your grip in protest, frustration laced in his voice. “No! You don’t get it,” he gestures out to the open forest, “This isn’t the same.”

You nod along, trying to feign agreement. “Okay, sure. Let's go–”

Gandalf steps closer, his gaze sweeping the clearing as the breeze picks up. The trees rattle softly in response, as if they, too, are listening, “I’m afraid your brother is right,” Gandalf says, his tone serious now, “You may need to stay a while.”

The wizard could sense something in the air, a quiet humm only he could hear. A voice of sorts, and the more you denied staying, the louder the hushed whispering got. 

“I can help you, if you like,” Gandalf adds gently.

Every part of you screamed to leave, yet something in Gandalf’s eyes held you in place for just a heartbeat, “We’re okay, thank you,” You respond firmly, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

You glance around, trying to remember the direction to the main trail. It could be either way—behind or in front of you, up or down, but it comes to you shortly, and you hastily turn away, heading in the opposite direction of the great tree and its tunnel.

Joseph protests behind you, but you keep moving, pulling his hand along with you. His small voice rings out, but soon enough, he gives up, understanding that at least you’re heading the right way and not deeper into the forest.

In the end, the two of you come to a path, but it is not the same path as you remember. There’s no steel fencing, no disgustingly muddy footpath. Instead, a wide sand and gravel road stretches before you. What’s even more surprising is a horse grazing across from you, nickering and snorting as it chews on the pasture, her bags jingling softly with each step.

Joseph’s eyes light up as he recognizes the pony, “Nara!” He calls out, yanking his hand from yours to rush forward, his small hands patting the animal’s furry shoulder. The horse raises her head, ears flicking forward at the sound of her name.

You stand dumbfounded, trying to process what exactly you are seeing. The path, the pony—everything is out of place. Before you can collect your thoughts, Gandalf’s voice comes from behind you, “Are you still certain you don’t need my help, dear?” He steps closer, nudging your shoulder lightly with his staff.

You try to respond, but the words stick in your throat. This place couldn’t possibly be part of the park, could it? 

Gandalf’s gaze sharpens as he watches you, “Come now,” He says, moving to stand beside Joseph and giving the pony a gentle pat, “I’m sure we can help each other if you would most allow it. You will find it difficult to travel alone come nightfall.”

It was all happening too fast.

Questions swirled in your head, and a growing headache surged in pulsing waves, each beat pounding harder against your temple. The sunlight pierced through the trees, relentless against your skin. The birds’ song, once a peaceful background, now felt too loud. 

“Where am I?” The question forced itself from your lips as the world around you seemed to slow. 

“Now we’re getting somewhere, dear. And that, I can start by helping you with.” Gandalf laughed, helping Joseph onto Nara and mounting behind him with ease. 

“We must reach Hobbiton by tomorrow. There is a lot that needs to be done, and a lot needs to be said.” 

The horse, Nara, whinnied with lively excitement as Gandalf clicked his tongue, setting her into motion without a hint of struggle under the extra weight. You hesitated before trailing after them.

“Where, sorry?” You ask, brow raised. 

The stranger's eyes glimmer as he looks down, “Hobbiton, The Shire– Just west of Old Forest near Bree to be precise. We’re off to see an old friend of mine.”

“Hobbiton?” The name feels strange on your tongue, unfamiliar, and almost laughable, “I still don’t know where that is.” 

Gandalf sways in the saddle, pulling out his pipe and taking a slow drag. Smoke curls lazily in the air, “You are quite lost then, aren't you, dear?” He pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “But tell me, where are you from?”

You attempt to explain, naming familiar cities and towns, but Gandalf’s face grows more puzzled with each word. Finally, he nods as if confirming a private thought.

“Ah, quite peculiar indeed,” He murmurs, “Well, it’s for certain then. You’re not from any known village in Middle-earth. How curious.

The wizard’s face holds a mystery of its own, and though stumped, he seems somehow unsurprised. For days before he had an inkling something was coming, whether it was good or evil, he could not tell. 

Fate had truly intertwined Gandalf with the mortals.

Gandalf hummed thoughtfully, “I believe all our answers will come in time,” He said. “For now, let’s continue heading West.” He clicked his tongue, and Nara obediently picked up her stride.

“What answers?” You plead, the uncertainty tightening your chest. “You’re not making any sense.”

Gandalf tips his hat, “Well—there is a reason why you two are here. There’s always a reason. You will just have to wait.”

Joseph, who has been quiet, hunches forward and pats Nara’s shoulder with a weary sigh. “I guess we are lost then.”

His shoulders slump, and you see the weariness in his eyes. You muster a small, teasing smile to try and lift his spirits, “Because of you.”

Joseph snaps his gaze up, affronted, “How was I supposed to know that a tunnel would take us somewhere else?” He thumps a hand against his chest. You gave the boy a clear, unamused look which led him to continue, “Okay–maybe I thought it was a good idea because of the huge rabbit that went in first.”

“A rabbit?” Gandalf’s eyes crinkle with interest.

Joseph’s face brightens as he twists to face the wizard, holding his hands wide, “Yes! It was huge! I’d dare say it was as tall as me.”

“Rhosgobel rabbits,” The man hummed, scratching at his beard with one hand, “Clever creatures. Not often do they stray so far from home. I wonder why they would have traveled all the way down to Bree for.” 

“Rhosgobel?” You echo, rolling another odd word around in your mouth. Today had been full of strange names.

“Indeed. A very large species of rabbit. They’re quick, sharp-witted, and fiercely loyal animals.”

Joseph’s smile turns wistful, “Maybe I’ll see her again.”

Gandalf nods, “Perhaps you will, one day. They have excellent memories.”

The conversation eases the tension, and the three of you continue down the path, trading laughter and stories. But when Nara suddenly trips over her own hooves, Joseph’s yelp splits the air. The pony stumbles, regaining her footing, and snorts in surprise, trotting a step forward.

“Joe, easy,” You hush the boy, “If you’re going to ride, be quiet.” Joseph nods, embarrassed into silence.

Though Gandalf offers to let you ride, you decline, your legs aching too much to even consider hoisting yourself into the saddle.

The path finally breaks as the forest thins, revealing snowy mountains stretching into the misty blue sky and a winding river that shines a bright blue beside the road. 

“It’s beautiful,” You murmur, half to yourself.

“Ah, yes,” Gandalf says, a warm grin spreading across his face, “Welcome to the Shire.”

The three of you continued walking throughout the day, pausing occasionally for breaks wherever Gandalf chose, but night fell quickly. The three of you set up camp at the end of the path, feasting on crackers and bread to fill your empty stomachs.

With his pipe in hand, he blew rings and shapes of smoke that danced in the air. At first, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you, but the smoke from Gandalf's tobacco twisted and morphed into small, delicate butterflies that fluttered away with the ash of the fire.

“How are you doing that?” You ask, eyes skeptical. 

“Doing what, dear?” Gandalf replied. 

You waited until he exhaled another shape—a small bird that flitted down and perched lightly on your hair. “That,” you said with a breathy sigh, tilting your head as far back as you could to see the bird. 

It hopped lightly, balancing on your head. You reached up to touch it, but before your finger made contact, it puffed into a soft mist.

Gandalf coughed politely into his hand, “I am a wizard, my dear. I can do many things.”

You clasped your hands together, shaking your head. “Wizards aren’t real.”

“I assure you,” Gandalf said, meeting your gaze with a solemn look, “They are.”

You blinked, the warm glow of the fire casting flickering shadows across Gandalf’s face. A wizard. The stories from home came to mind—tales told to you as a child. Yet, this felt so different, so real. 

Joseph stirred beside you, eyes wide with sudden excitement. “I knew it!” he blurted, a grin spreading across his face. But when no one matched his excitement, he shrank back, muttering sheepishly, “The hat gave it away…”

Gandalf’s hearty laughter filled the camp, and soon he launched into tales of his past, “There was a time when I went by another name. Not just Gandalf the Grey, the wandering Wizard…” He began, his voice weaving stories of starfall, fierce battles between good and evil, and the many allies and foes he had met across Middle-earth.

What captivated you most were stories of the Elves, beings from the heavens—the Quendi. Graceful, wise, and deeply connected to the earth, they were both delicate and formidable, masters of art and war.

Joseph had drifted off, and you followed soon after, exhaustion weighing down your eyelids. Gandalf’s voice softened as he continued, more to himself now. He traced symbols in the dirt with his staff, but by then, the siblings were fast asleep, embraced by the warmth of the fire and the mysteries of this new world.

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Thrimidge 5^th

III.

This morning, the trio arose at the crack of dawn, bright and early.

The birds were chirping, waking from their slumber as well and all seemed well until Gandalf decided to continue on his trek onwards, towards the peaceful town of Hobbiton.

You felt sluggish, with your stomach empty as there was only little to eat for breakfast, thanks for the bread Gandalf had kindly offered. But it still did not quench the ache held in your stomach and the noise that comes from inside you growls painfully.

Joseph on the other hand was plenty excited, happily up and ready to go. He even took it upon himself to help Gandalf ready Nara.

“Alright, we seem to all be ready.” Gandalf mused giving an encouraging pat on Josephs' shoulder, thanking him for his efforts. With a sigh, you also take your stand readying yourself for the trek ahead.

The two take their place back on top of the steed and as soon as they're ready, Gandalf calls out to you, “Come along now, dear.”

With that, you bid your campsite farewell and soldier on into the day ahead.

The start of your travels was silent and it seemed all three of you were enjoying the steady click and clomp of the horses' shoes as Nara trod forward.

As the day went on, the three of you made brief stops, letting the mare take drinks at puddles and streams on the side of the road. During this, Gandalf would take the time to readjust her saddle back to where it should be more comfortable for his companion.

However, now it's long into the day, and watching the mare slurp up the crystal water has made you suddenly very thirsty as well. The dryness in your throat itches, and you let your instincts flood your body.

With little care for checking if the water was even drinkable, or even asking someone for a flask, you kneel at the stream, scooping up the liquid to your lips and drink.

Feeling the water rehydrate your mouth lifted your spirits, and after taking one more drink you cleanse your arms and neck of dirt and alas feel a little cooler as well. 

Feeling a little dehydrated, Joseph instead checks over the saddle bag finding an empty bottle in the pouch. 

You see the boy joining you beside the stream with a bottle in hand, scooping up the clear liquid into the metal cup before taking a sip. 

Joseph suddenly stops drinking the water, giving you an odd look. 

“What?” He asks. 

You must have also been giving your brother a rather sour gaze as your eyes flick back and forth between him and the metal flask. 

Joseph extends the flask out in front of you, “Do you want some?” 

 “Give me that.” You snatch the bottle out of his hands and scoff down the water. 

The boy stands with his arms sprayed in defense, “Okay, calm down!” 

Wiping away the drool from your mouth, you snarl back at him, “Joseph, I am so thirsty. And I’ve been walking this whole time with no water!”  

“I can see that.” He snidely answers. 

Instead of continuing the banter, you take another gulp of the flask, finishing it once more.

Hearing the bickering between the siblings Gandalf chuckles, petting his steed. Lifting a hand to his hat he shifts to look above him for sun and then back down to the sandstone path ahead.  

Relaxing, dropping he beckoned over the two mortals once again, "Come along now. We should be near town soon."  

The two are quick to silence themselves, whipping around to the wizard. Joseph takes his lip between his teeth skipping back over to Nara who happily snorts.

Now with Gandalf and Joseph on their merry way once again, you flatline.

By this point, your legs are burning similar to running a marathon and you feel if you take another step, the joints in your knees will crumble beneath you.

All day Gandalf has been saying that Hobbiton is around the corner, and you are beginning to have your doubts if you’re even close at all. 

Just a few more quick strides and you are caught up with the pony. But it's not long before Joseph's voice breaks the silence, pondering the same question. 

"Gandalf," He wines, "Are we nearly there?"

Gandalf comments taking a puff of his tobacco, "I believe I just told you a moment ago. Yes, we are nearly there, young boy. In fact, it's just over this field if my memory perceives me to be correct,” the man lets out a short laugh, “Although, It is getting a bit bad in this day and age.” 

You don’t take the man's jest lightly and instead respond back with flare, “I think your memory may be taking us the longest way possible, Gandalf.”

Gandalf was quick to answer, "This is actually the shortest road there is to the place we are headed to. Do you have such little faith in me?”

Taking a deep breath you bite your tongue debating how to respond, "Depends how long it takes to get to where ever it is we’re going." 

"Hobbiton?"

"Right, that." 

Now after stomping up a long hill, you finally reach the top. 

Layed out below were labyrinths of pasture as far as the eye could see. Bright golden truffles of wheat and other crops that gently swayed along with the breeze.

Amongst these farms was the first sight of proper civilisation. Men, women, and their children were hard at work watering and tending to the garden. They wave, laughing to greet neighbors and friends from across fences.

To the field on your right stood a herd of brown cattle and they mooed happily, chewing on cud.

Striding with Nara, you hear her stomach grumble. The pony eyeing a bale of hay next to a fence. She stretches down to steal a mouth full for the road scaring off the baby goats that had been nibbling on the straw. 

"Now, are we there yet?" An impatient soul asks again. 

"You will be the first to know when we arrive, Joseph.” Gandalf grins. 

“This isn’t Hobbiton?” 

"No, my dear. If you had been listening to me yesterday you would know we are heading to the center of The Shire. Once there, we will be walking to Bag End." Gandalf sterned with another inhale of smoke, his patience slowly dwindling. 

"The Shire is a large region divided into smaller quadrants, each with its own villages. Hobbiton is in one of these four quadrants called the Westfarthing , which we are currently crossing. Does that make sense, dear?" 

Nodding, you somewhat agree, "As much sense as it can make, yes.” 

”Perfect. I wouldn’t prefer to explain it all again, dear.” 

After passing a few more houses country had begun to rapidly change around you, becoming more dense with housing. 

The road morphed to cobblestone and gravel and you seemed to have traveled to a sudden monument. The trail widened around into a circle and what stood in its middle was a giant stone with symbols and markings all around it. 

Quickly the road led to another village and with a hand on Nara's shoulder, you stood close squeezing past wheelbarrows stacked with an abundance of colorful fruits and vegetables.

But what was strange now you were up close and not rather at a distance, was actually the people. 

Looking like they had just come straight out of some fantasy novel, they all dressed in farm-like slacks and cream blouses with velvet green and yellow vests. The females wore similar colouring, however with thick cotton dresses and skirts. 

But not only were they small, barely reaching your torso, but the size of their feet was just as fascinating.

With no shoes, they all seemed barefoot. And their feet were double the size of any normal foot armored with hard leather skin and bushy hairs on their toes almost long enough to braid.

One of these men bowed his hat at Gandalf with a bright greeting but when they looked over at you, they scurried away faster down the path turning his head around a final time to watch you disappear with the elder man. Many others did this as well in which you also gave an odd look back to them.

"They're so small." You state mindlessly. 

"Why these are Hobbits! Don't let their height fool you though," Gandalf laughed bowing to another Hobbit, "They are very friendly, my dear. Some are just a bit shy is all, they don't usually see children of men around here."

Joseph feeling giddy, waved at the mother with her child who she quickly took to run down another cobbled path, avoiding the oncoming group. The kid, however, excitedly waved back to Joseph with a smile before being ushered by his mother.

The first among the two villages was relatively secluded, with only a few stone buildings running along with the narrow stream. One of these builds was long and curved being banked up by a bunch of Hobbits. Two of them smoked rather unique-looking pipes under the straw roof and a green-inked sign and laughed happily to one another blowing smoke rings. 

Not even five minutes down the road to the next area had you all suddenly been swamped with people again. 

Hobbits were shouting and laughing, hauling cows, and even walking pigs on leashes! They traded coins and vegetables at stands from rows of markets all storing a variety of different platters, all of which smelt amazing. 

There was a whole store dedicated to cheese and you were tempted by the smell to pick up a slice when you strolled past. The neighboring store had all assortments of fish and seafood which also look interesting. 

You laughed at its sight. 

It sent a warm feeling through your core to observe and watch this vastly different culture. The music was upbeat and everyone was either laughing or cheering. 

The energy and upbeat tunes tempted you to join the small group of Hobbits who danced in circles, clicking feet, spinning, and singing. 

But of course, there was still a handful of curious townsfolk who stared at you and your brother, whispering amongst themselves.

"Can I say hi, mommy?" One little girl in pink quizzed. 

Her mother knelt down pulling her close protectively, "Oh no, dear,” She hushed, “They are children of men, best to stay away from them." 

"But I want to say hi to Gandalf and the other people!" 

"You can say hello to Gandalf later, sweetie." The mother continued shuffling her away into another store after the little girl tried to wave back at you. 

Feeling guilty as you walked past her, you shyly waved and then the younger girl beamed waving back. 

Following the stream, the three continued down the path leading into a great blue pool towards a narrow stone bridge.

Joseph watched a small fish jump out of the water, frailing over a white waterlily and landing back to swim off again downstream. It seemed your brother was too enchanted by the beauty of the town, taking in the little things as well. 

It wasn't until Gandalf had guided Nara off the side of the trail where another Hobbit stood alongside two grey ponies were you snapped back to earth again. 

Sliding off the saddle, Gandalf spoke, "Stay here you two. I shall be back in just a second." He said, walking up closer to the local with a cloud of smoke from his pipe.

Agreeing, you gaze upon the land ahead of you, once again getting lost, gawking at the scenery.  

Rows of houses were rooted into the many mounds, chimneys poking out the tops of each grass hill. Each entrance was pathed with a beautiful garden of flowers and vines, all leading to cute colorful doors, not one looking the same as their neighbor. 

Rather than the loud market square, these hills were much quieter and you humm in tranquility. 

"Hello?" Joseph calls you, reaching to tap you on the shoulder from atop Nara. 

Drifting to him, you turn your head to the boy responding to his attention.

"Yes?"

"Can you please help me down?"

Instructing the boy, you guide his hand onto Nara's mane who stood patiently and put his other hand onto the saddle. 

Shifting around beside him you start, "Now swing your leg over." 

Doing what he was told, he lowers himself down, careful of his jelly legs. But Joseph tumbles back, straight into you once he lets go of Nara, painfully colliding with your blistered feet. 

Grunting, you moan out, "Joseph."

He mumbles an apology while you push him away in grief. 

A few feet away, Gandalf still was talking to the merchant who waved his hand around in your general direction and then at Nara. 

The Hobbit wearily laughs with a heavy nod turning and giving the wizard a firm shake before they both stroll over. 

The man takes Nara with her reins in hand, turning to bow at Gandalf with a lift of his hat, "And good day to you too, Mr. Gandalf!" He rushes, scurrying off cringing when you look at him. 

You wait a moment until the Hobbit had left, returning back to the other ponies, "What was that about?" You place a hand on Joseph's shoulder, "Since we arrived everyone has been looking at us… funny." 

You feel horrible, and you don't think you’ve done anything wrong.

"Do you ever listen, my dear?" Gandalf said in a tired voice, "Hobbits don't converse with outsiders very often, especially in their hometown. If you deem it strange, take time to imagine how strange it is for them." 

“Come. Where we need to be going is just up this hill.” Gandalf breaths, starting to hike himself up the hill with the help of his staff but not before he was suddenly stopped by two children who held out a little bouquet of yellow flowers. 

He graciously took it thanking the girls who giggled and ran back to their parents.

“Well. That's not fair, is it?” You jest to no one's ears but yourself. 

Joseph, however, decides to pull your strings as usual, "You know… Gandalf is going to leave us for dead if you keep asking the same questions." He teased. 

"Joseph, shut up." 

He laughed, starting his climb up the hill, "Come on!" Waving you on, Joseph continued up the hill to Gandalf, smiling and waving to the two young ladies. 

They snickered to each other, their cheeks turning a dusty pink. One of the two little girls strolled out to Joseph shrugging of her mother's firm hand and shoving a single yellow flower into his chest. 

Joseph was warmed, flustering red at her action watching her run away into a door. Her mother ran after calling her name with a sour look. 

Talk about being a ladies' man. 

Marching onwards you catch up to Gandalf and Joseph who laughed. Handing Joseph his own flowers the older man gently swung the side of his stick into Joseph's arm mumbling a sentence his way.

This made Joseph go shy and his ears reddened slightly looking back behind him to the house with the family but you push him forward before he gets too carried away.

Reaching the lip of the hill was another house and what made this house seem more special was on its peak, a tall bushy tree standing proudly. 

Gandalf stopped at the front of this house, finding his destination, and luckily for him, the owner was basking in the sun on a polished timber chair humming to himself.  

The Hobbit's eyes were closed, enjoying the melodic peace and quiet, far away from the busy streets of the market and in which unbeknown to him, he will not get to see again in a long time. 

He gave a little cough in his throat from the smoke he was inhaling, but still rested quietly with his eyes closed tight.

Gandalf spun to gaze upon the two mortals with an all-knowing look, and mischief twinkling in his eye.

"What's he doing?" Joseph asked.

"I'm not sure." You answer back, watching Gandalf pace closer to a wooden gate that sat between him and the hobbit.

As the infamous Hobbit blew out another ring of smoke, the mist glided towards Gandalf, and in a blink of an eye the smoke merged into a butterfly from nothing but the wave of his hand. 

It was a hard debate to fight whether you were in awe or shocked at the butterfly that fluttered around Gandalf's head back behind him and flew in front of your face. But either way, no words could make it from your mouth. 

The butterfly flew around a while longer before futtering itself right onto the rounded tip of the Hobbit's button nose. As it lands, the smoke puffs onto the Hobbit's cheeks, disappearing into the air, and with a twitch of his nose, Bilbo wakes up from his short slumber.

Chapter Text

IV.

The Hobbit steadily grew anxious caused by the throaty cough of the tall man before him. He fidgeted under the pressure, his eyes avoiding everything but his gaze in a pregnant silence.

What do they want? He thought. Most importantly, why are there two mortals at the foot of his doorstep as well?

This part of Hobbiton usually never gets uninvited guests but against all odds, here they are. Plus, the older man feels extremely familiar, like he could have seen him once or thrice in the village, or somewhere else.  

Hacking at the silence, the Hobbit starts wearily, "Good morning?" His brows knit, taking a curt inhale of the pipe letting the smoke blow down his nostrils. 

The tension is tight, and it weighs around you uncomfortably whilst you rock on the balls of your feet.

"What do you mean, 'good morning'?" Gandalf questions, "'Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?"

The Hobbit does not respond, shifting in his seat again, pipe hanging from his mouth with confusion. 

Gandalf then riddles, "Or perhaps you would say to me that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on? Hm?"

The Hobbit ponders, stumped smacking his lips together trying to form a sentence. 

Joseph, on the other hand, finds the riddle amusing and lets out a single chuckle that morphs into a cough to cover it. 

Peering down at Joseph, you give a stern look swatting at his head, "Shut up." 

Joseph swats you away with a roll of his eyes. 

The Hobbit's brows furrow, hearing the siblings bicker. 

"All of them at once, I suppose," He finally answers Gandalf, "It is quite a very fine morning for a pipe outdoors."

Gandalf's face falls into a frown, his sight shifting to that of a serious look. Sliding his hands up to the top of the wooden staff, he leans back humming with his answer.  

Taking another hit of his pipe, he continues, "Can I help you?"

"That remains to be seen," said Gandalf, "I am looking for participants to share in an adventure that I am arranging." The wizard's brows rise. And he almost teasingly gives you a strange side-eye over his shoulder with a smirk.

You perk at the gesture, intrigued with the next words Gandalf says. 

Did you not just go on a whole 'adventure' just to get here? 

"At this moment, we have only- two participants," Gandalf paused smiling giddily down at your shocked figure and then to your brother, "One participant, if you will." Gandalf's eyes roll back to the Hobbits, a brow twitching as he mumbles out the last sentence.

"An a-adventure?" The Hobbit was taken aback.

"Gandalf?" You mouthed. The older man didn't even seem fazed by your plea for his name and just continued to smirk.

The Hobbit could feel in his stomach a sort of bubbling pressure. His mouth agape the pipe dropping onto his lap, "No, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree," Bilbo points out down the path, "Would have much interest in your 'adventures'."

The Hobbit leaps from his seat, marching down towards a dark barrel with a rusted silver lining, and you soon believe that's his mailbox as he starts shuffling cream letters in his hands after slamming the lid back down in frustration. 

"Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things!" He lists, "Make you late for dinner. Heh!” Placing the cigar back in his mouth, Bilbo skims over each letter with a click of his tongue. He looks up at Gandalf and then at the other two waiting for them to move from the front of his garden. 

Noticing they did not fact move an inch, he continues, "Well- ah," Fumbling with the wood in his hands, he waves one last time, "Good morning!" Spinning on the balls of his feet, Bilbo started to race up the stone stairs.

Flabbergasted you leap to Gandalf in turmoil, "What was that? I think on our two-day mile hike you left out the part where were going on an 'adventure'? That wasn’t the adventure?"

"Please my dear, I will explain," He rushes a response, frustrated as he watches his old friend skip up the hill, "Just give me a moment." Gandalf hushes you with a wave of his hand.   

Before you can open your mouth to shout something insensitive, Gandalf calls to the Hobbit one final time, "And to think that I should have lived to be ‘good morning’ed by Belladonna Took's son. As if I were selling buttons at the door!"

"I beg your pardon?" Bilbo whips around to Gandalf hearing his mother's name just before he can close the door. 

"You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End."

Pointing the blunt end of the pipe between Gandalf, Joseph, and yourself, Bilbo gwaks, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" His voice was laced with anxiety. 

How could have this man known his family?

"Well-" The wizard's eyes widen as he pauses to lean closer to his staff stamping it on the mossy cobble, "Well, you know of my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I am Gandalf! And Gandalf means... me!" 

Bilbo’s face morphed into realisation, "Gandalf?" Bilbo tests the name with a roll of the tongue, "Gandalf! Not the Wandering Wizard, who made such excellent fireworks? Oh- goodness me!" He beams with a joker's grin. Perhaps, if he acted like he showed interest, the quicker they would leave him alone, "Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve!" 

They both had a little laugh, Gandalf humbly giving a little bow.

However, the joy was short-lived when Bilbo rambled out his thoughts, "Heh, no idea you were still in business." 

You hiss from the awkwardness, sucking in the air through your teeth, cringing. 

"And where else should I be?"

"Where else? Ahem!" Bilbo stuttered shutting himself up with a throaty cough.

The little Hobbit's heart raced a million times a second just from the sheer look of Gandalf. He took a few quick inhales of his pipe in hopes of reviving his flustered cheeks.

Gandalf frowns, muttering under his breath, "Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me. Even if it's only my fireworks."

"Can I see his fireworks?" Joseph whispers. 

You tut, "What? No."

“Of course, you can, dear. One day…” Gandalf grins down at the boy before coughing, starting again, "Well! It is decided!" He exclaims.

"It will be very good for you and most amusing for me!" As if a lightbulb went off in the wizard's head he grins, introducing you and your brother, "Oh! Here are my two starting protégés. I'm sure we will all get along well indeed." Gandalf hummed to himself.

As quick as a deer caught in headlights, you face Gandalf in disbelief, "What?" You answer, eyes wide. 

Joseph had rather the opposite of his sibling, boiling with excitement. He jumps on the spot, taking his lip between his teeth to hide a squeal. 

Of course, the young boy would want to learn magic and have another adventure, who wouldn't for that matter? He wanted to see all the wonders of this world and see all the stories Gandalf talked about and Hobbiton was just a taste of it. 

"Indeed," Gandalf said, "I shall inform the others!" 

"I-inform the who?" Bilbo shuttered, catching himself as he nearly took a tumble down the stone step in shock. The Hobbit's face said it all. Although his eyes were wide, his mouth was even wider, jaw hanging low.

The poor Hobbit definitely did not sign up for any of this nonsense! He was in no mood for pranks of any kind.  

He swiped the thin end of his pipe between the group, eyeing each individually, "NO. No. No- wait!"

The kettle in his head was about to boil. Steam poured out of his ears which were flustered in an angry red color. Bilbo bolted up to the last step of his pathway in front of the green rounded door.

Slamming his fist down towards his feet with a roar, he begins with a final bid, "I'm sorry- but we do not want any of your adventures here, thank you!"

"Not today! Not- I suggest you try Over the Hill or Across the Water! Or you should come back for some tea- any time you like it's on the house- how about tomorrow? Why yes, actually, uh- come tomorrow!" Bilbo rambles, his voice slowly ringing out into a quiet mumble that doesn't quite reach your ears. 

Gandalf's chin lifts into a high grin watching his old friend deny the inevitable. 

You swallow for the Hobbit, sharing a smiler shocked state. Lips parted watching Bilbo make a sort of awkward eye contact with you, embarrassed with his outburst. 

He coughs, fidgeting with the collar of his blouse, "Lovely to meet you all," He backpedals, "Good morning." Bilbo rushes to push the emerald door aside and slides back into the comfort of his Hobbit hole, taking a deep breath once he disappears from view. 

The wizard cuts the tension with an amused laugh bobbing his head, "What a funny little fellow my friend is now. Definitely, not the same Hobbit he once was, indeed."

“That's who we came all this way for? You’ve got to be joking, Gandalf. He doesn't even know you!” You exclaim in the midst of your pent-up frustration and anger.  

The elder man only chuckles again. Gandalf lifts his robe to start climbing towards the entrance of the home, "I have known the Hobbit for quite a long while now. But people change dear, It’s been a while. Forgive Bilbo for he is kind, I promise." 

Although you do feel bad for Gandalf. Perhaps in any other situation you would even show remorse if your stress levels weren't going through the roof as to what Gandalf mentioned before. 

And with that in mind, you continue with Gandalf's questionable desire to have you and your brother join another undesirable adventure. 

“Anyway, Gandalf. What were you talking about before? Is this man coming as well?” 

“Yes, dear. I was here, on my way to rally participants for an adventure that had been planned. Getting here was not really an adventure. What lies ahead is really the adventure I believe, but this was a good tester,” Gandalf riddles with a cheeky grin. Now at the top of the staircase, he starts scratching a strange, blue symbol onto the wooden door. 

It glows a bright blue for a moment before fading back into the green, however, the embedment of the sign still ghosts on the wood. 

You stare, mesmerized by the blue glow and all its magic until Gandalf starts talking again. 

“Worry not, my dear. My friend Bilbo will come around in due time. And, so will you."

Scoffing you twist your spine, throwing your hands out in defeat, “Come around to what? I’m tired of these riddles, Gandalf. We did what you wanted, we came here and you said you would help us home.” 

“Perhaps… we can help each other, dear,” Gandalf twitches, squinting his eyes leaning on his staff, swaying slightly, “I will help you get home. However, you must trust my guidance. I do believe you might have been brought here for reasons other than what your young mind can even fathom. Beyond even my power.” 

Your eyes sag, downcasting to the dirt and you pause in thought. Glancing down to your rugged counterpart who sits crosslegged at the fence line playing with some flowers and butterflies, overwatching you arguing with Gandalf again. 

“Do we have a deal, dear?”

You don't answer him just yet, weighing your decisions "What about Joseph?” You whisper, “If he gets hurt, you don't want to know what I'd do."

"The youngster I don't think should be your main concern, my dear." 

Hearing him say this causes a coil to tighten in your throat, anxiety seeping through your mind and you play out every horrible possibility in your head. Of course, Joseph is your main concern, it has been for the longest time. But on the other hand, there's no other option but to trust this man. 

Gandalf knows what your answer is, your silence speaks volume and he laughs skipping back down to the gate, “Well, It seems daylight is running away from us. I must set out again for a short while. I will see you later, dear. I shouldn't be long.”

You don't have long to ponder over your thought though, now scurrying to follow Gandalf down the path, "Where are you going?"

Joseph stands as you whisk past him saddened by the fact that a blue butterfly flutters away over his head. 

Gandalf pivots, facing you through a single lock of grey, wavy hair, "Don’t worry. For now, feel free to take refuge with my dear friend. I'm sure he will not mind." 

In a final gesture, he grins turns back around, and starts humming a soft melodic tune while he strolls away and back down the path and into the distance over behind the green valley.

"Shit." You groan. 

“Fucking old man. Don’t know why I bothered asking.” A quick and hard nudge interrupts your thoughts as Joseph shoves you from your lower hip and into a wooden pole behind you.

Gritting your teeth, your hands are quick to plaster your hands at the impact of the sharp object, "What was that for?"

"Language!" Joseph cries throwing his palms at you in a fit of rage. But you're quick to stand your ground, only slightly swaying against the second shove, "And that's for all the times you were rude to Gandalf!" The boy huffs, crossing his hands and clenching to a pale white, facing you with a disappointed frown. 

“Joseph…” He doesn't listen you to, looking away from your eyes, “Okay, I’m sorry.”

"Mmhm." 

Copying his pose, you too cross your arms and further wait for his side of his apology, "And?"

"Sorry, I pushed you."

"Thank you." Accepting his response, you look out into the far beyond distance the land, watching the clouds part as they merge over the tall white mountainous. 

You give his left shoulder a few firm pats of forgiveness before taking a deep breath, thinking hard about what you should do moving forward, "Okay. God, I don’t know what to do."

Joseph thinks for a moment before opening up, "Gandalf did say we can stay here, with the man, until he gets back, right?" Your head bobs, slow and unsure but nods, anyway, "So, why not stay here?" the boy suggests. 

Considering how the man just acted, your positive he would not want any visitors, "Joseph, I'm not sure…" 

"Where else are we going to go?" Joseph has a fair point, "It will only be while Gandalf is away. And he said he would be back later." 

You give in, defeated. Trailing up the stone stairs with Joseph in tow, you brace against the porch ceiling with a slight hunch of your neck. 

You both freeze. Waiting for one another to do or say something. Waiting for a few more seconds to pass you speak up, "Are you going to knock?" 

Joseph's brows knot, looking up at your uncomfortable, hunched form, "I was waiting for you…"

"Is that so?"

"Well- I don't want to knock! Good joke."

"Fuck me…" You hunch under the ceiling even more giving three solid knocks in the center of the emerald wooden door. 

There's silence, not even the sound of feet can be heard approaching. Joseph leans, placing his ear up against the rough wood surface, quietly listening for what is nothing.

He looks towards you shaking his head and shrugging. You start to reason with Joseph, "Maybe this isn’t the best time…"

"May I help you?"

The door opened quickly, revealing a confused Hobbit. The curls of his hair bounced in strange directions as he looked up and darted his head between both of the siblings. His face contorted, realizing who had approached his door, "No! No- I said no! I do not want any of your adventures today! Thank you!"

Bilbo was fed up with all this socialising and went to slam the door straight away but you were quicker. Shouting a plea, you did the first thing that came to mind. 

Swiftly blocking the door with your foot, you bit your tongue. You didn’t think this Hobbit would have much strength behind him, but boy were you wrong. 

Bilbo stands dumbfounded, his jaw clenching at your pain, "Oh my... I-I am terribly sorry."

"Are you okay?" Joseph cringes when you moan back to him, already feeling the bruise starting to bubble its way to your big toe. 

“Well… hello,” You put on your acting face and smile through your teeth, “I’m sorry for Gandalf Mr?”

"Baggins," He swallows, "Bilbo, Baggins." 

"Right. I’m just going to cut to the chase here. Gandalf just left us... he said he would be back but we don’t know where we are. Can you help us, please?” 

Bilbo's nose twitched in thought. The whole incident with the wizard, it put Bilbo in a mood. The Hobbit had wanted today to be a relaxing, peaceful evening with a quick smoke outdoors before settling in for supper. He had no time in his schedule for guests. 

But even if it wasn’t completely his fault, he did just slam your foot in his door and with the sun setting in the distance, the two mortals would be left on the roads and it would eat him up if anything happened. 

Bilbo thumped his foot a few times before fixing his composure with a cough, gripping the sides of his vest. 

Nodding he agrees to help, "Ahem- I suppose you two can stay for the rest of the evening." He says scanning you both over and noticing the dirt and grime that smudges itself in the layers of your cheeks and hair.  

Bilbo opens the door to its extent, inviting the two in, "Oh- come in." Grinning, you walk into Bilbo's home with Joseph. 

Once limping into the middle of the doorway you are finally able to stand upright and thank Bilbo for his kindness, "Thank you.” 

"Of course ma'am, no harm done," Bilbo closes the door. 

It’s been a while since Bilbo has had guests, and it seems the Hobbits has completely forgotten his manners, letting an awkward silence manifest in the room until he remembers to introduce you to his Hobbit hole.

"Oh- right…I'll show you the living room. This way." Bilbo paces through the labyrinth and you have to keep ducking and weaving under doorways to follow him. 

But soon he takes you and Joseph to a beautiful room with a large green velvet lounge and a cozy fireplace.

It's a wide rectangular room built right into the curve of the hill allowing the sun to pour in creating a warm, homely feeling deep within your chest.

Set on the far side near the windowsill was a long, wooden dining table with paper and piles of books and artifacts. It seemed as though the Hobbit loved to read, and when you turned around there were even more books stacked on shelves with an assortment of inks and feathered quills. 

You noticed a candle lit beside the window as well, a lavender woodland sent misting through the air and it started to make you feel drowsy. 

"You can sit if you want." Bilbo fumbled with his hands unsure of what to do with them after gesturing to the couch. 

Joseph was lightning quick to find comfort in the cushioned seat upon Bilbo's invite. He was giddy, stretching all over the lounge like he owned the place. 

You thought it rude for him to act such a way, and rouse his name. Joseph got up all confused but when he looked down at the dirt and grime littered the clean cushions he realised his mistake. 

"Oh- No. No. You can sit if you want, it is okay. I'll clean the couch later…" Bilbo was good with his poker face, and the sight of his clean furniture now dirty made him even more annoyed than before. 

"Sorry about your lounge, Mr. Baggins." You start snarling at Joseph, “I wouldn’t want the rest of your couches getting shit over. We can stand.”

Bilbo's ears flush a deep peachy red, “Oh! Do not worry about it!" Bilbo chuckles, double-taking your mucked attire, pausing with a thought, "Excuse me for one moment, will you?"

Nodding, you watch the Hobbit skurry down into one of the hallways and once you are sure that Bilbo had walked into whatever room he had gone to, you growl with gusto, "Are you serious Joseph?" 

Frailing your arms you shout to the boy, "He was kind enough to let us in. Now you go in and destroy his couch!" 

"I didn’t know that would happen!”

“Look at yourself, Joseph.” Grabbing some of his shirt you show him the sweat and muck. Joseph gets all sheepish realising his big mistake, and his cheeks flush red. He apologies but you tell him he needs to apologise to Bilbo before he can be forgiven by you. 

Before you can keep throwing insults at the boy, a pitter-patter of feet echoes down the hall. 

Bilbo rounds the corner with fresh garments in hand. There’s tension in the air when he walks in but no one says anything about it. 

The Hobbit strides closer passing you and Joseph each a pile of folded clothes, "I remembered these old things in the back. Thought you might need them," Yours is a cream-white blouse with long sleeves and Joseph’s a washed-out, softer blue fabric, “I’ll show you the washroom as well.”

"Now, we both don’t need to worry about the dirt," Bilbo's eye twitches, "And of course now you will both... well, look the part as well." Bilbo sighs, drifting over your torn attire. Bilbo tries to recall where he would have seen clothing like that, but nothing comes to mind. 

“Thank you, honestly.” You smile and Joseph joins you to thank Bilbo's hospitality as well.

At the end of the day, Bilbo showed the mortals the washroom to clean themselves up, and to say you felt revived would be an understatement. Your second wind came as you felt the water run down your spine, and you called your shower over when you had cleaned all the filth from your roots and could run your finger through it completely. 

It was a joy to slip on your new blouse and trousers and feel like you were wearing clean, new clothes. Laughing and talking with Joseph and Bilbo by the fire concluded your afternoon in the warmth of a Hobbit hole, with Gandalf's deal still tense on your mind. 

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Thrimidge 6th

V.

It was the next day, and yet there was no sign of Gandalf. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon soundlessly sleeping away in Bilbo's Hobbit hole, greatful for a warm and cozy place to spend the night. You didn’t eat, but you don't mind, far too tired to even notice your roaring stomach. 

But it did not matter, because by the time you woke, it was already midday, the perfect time for Luncheon. 

Bilbo had taken Joesph down to the markets earlier that morning to gather various assortments of foods and vegetables and when they got back, the Hobbit had started cooking which meant great things for you. 

With a full stomach by lunch, and dinner swiftly approaching, you decided to sit by the fireplace in and watch the sunset in the distance. 

The sky quickly turns to a beautiful pink and red, waltzing behind into the green valley revealing her darker sister in the horizon. 

It wasn’t often that you would take the time to watch a sunset, but you should get more into it. 

Behind you, the fire creaks and crackles softly. Its heat pulses in waves that radiate through your system sending you to sleep, but you reframe, not willing to spill the boiling herbal tea in your hands. 

You take small sips careful not to burn your tongue. 

Joseph also sits close by, huddled in the amber glow. 

“Where's Bilbo?” You ask, curious as to where the Hobbit may be. 

Joesph takes time with his answer yawning a lazy response, “I'm not sure. Maybe in the kitchen?”

Humming, you clasp your mug tighter and lift as you stand on your feet. Your shoulders crack and stretch with the movement. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, letting in an aroma of delicious smells that have you hungry again. 

"I'll be back then." You bid yourself off, following the smells through the labyrinth of a house.

Indeed, your nose does take you to the kitchen and you find Bilbo singing to himself, mixing and chopping away at some carrots and potatoes. 

You cough to tell him of your arrival, but he doesn't seem fazed by your presence far too busy working his culinary magic. You pause again before speaking, “Bilbo?” 

The Hobbit startles, clearly not expecting any company to wander into the kitchen with him. 

“Your cooking again?” You ask, leaning on the doorframe. 

“Of course!” Bilbo promptly fixed himself, wiping his hands on a towel, and surveyed the ingredients before him,  “I am cooking dinner. Can’t have company going hungry, can we? Shouldn’t be long now.” 

You chuckle, taking in the chaos of the kitchen, “It looks like you’re making quite the feast.” And he was, no corner of the room was left untouched. 

“Well, I do love a good meal. There’s something comforting about cooking… reminds me of home.” 

You settle to come closer to the Hobbit, “Thank you, Bilbo. Sorry to be such a burden, I’m sure Gandalf will be here soon to get us and we will get out of your hair.” 

“Please, don’t worry. I haven't had guests for quite a while. It’s well— quite refreshing.” Bilbo says smiling. He dices more carrots and sweet potatoes placing them into a silver bowl. 

You were fine with watching Bilbo cook, even feeling a bit guilty about not helping. But it got to a point where your instincts told you to step in when Bilbo picked up a fresh trout from the ice bucket, not bothering to skin the scales or cut his fins and head away. It sizzled and popped, and its guts oozed out from under it making you feel sick. 

“Are you going to do something with that… fish?” You say in a sort of stunned state. 

"I'm sorry what? The fish?" Bilbo's nose twitches in confusion while he sprinkles herbs and salts onto the cooking trout, "Of course, I’m going to cook it mind you. It was one of the few left at the store. Thought it would be nice to add it to the table as something extra." 

That's when you hear a splash from the bucket. The poor trout's friends eagerly tried to escape the ice bath, wiggling and worming stuck between the few other fish in the bucket. You felt sorry, wanting nothing more but to put them out of their misery. 

“You're not going to cut its head off?” You said bluntly, feeling the mug start to slide out of your hands from the sweat building in your palm. 

“It’s a delicacy! The best part mind you.”

Your brows raise, “Bilbo there's still bones and guts in it. You're telling me you would still eat it?”

“Around it- yes I would! I am no savage, I would usually take out the bones as I go… and so would everyone else I believe.” 

A gag bubbled in your throat of having to pick the bones and intestines out while you eating.

"Ahem— what in Middle-earth are you looking for in my cupboards!" 

Finding all that you needed, you stopped searching through Bilbo's cupboards, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of your lips. With a small bundle of herbs and a bottle of olive oil in hand, you turned to face Bilbo, who was standing a few feet away, peering at you curiously.

"Have you ever filleted a fish before?" You asked. 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and mild offense, "Yes, obviously," he stated matter-of-factly, "But what does that have to do with my trout? It’s perfectly fine the way it is."

"That's good because I haven’t," you replied with an apologetic grin, turning your attention back to the fish that wiggled in the bucket beside you, “And that means, your going to help me.” 

As the night wore on, there was more bickering between the two of you, playful jabs and witty remarks exchanged as you continued to work side by side in Bilbo's cozy kitchen. Bilbo, under your guidance, took charge of prepping the rest of the meal. Despite the banter, it was clear that both of you were enjoying yourselves.

With the rest of the food prepared Joseph decided to finally crawl out of his nest of blankets and politely began to set the table. 

Bilbo artfully plated the food onto the worn wooden table, arranging each dish with care.

"Ah, there we go," Bilbo said with satisfaction as he stepped back to admire the table.

With everything in place, the three of you gathered around the table, taking your seats with contented smiles. The soft glow of the lanterns illuminated the room, casting a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

And so, you all began to savor the meal that had been prepared with full stomachs for once again.

But just as Bilbo had brought his fork to his lips for his final bite, a tremendous ring came from the doorbell, and everybody paused. 

You and the Hobbit shared a similar look of shock and uneasiness. 

But it was Joseph who was the first to speak, "Could it be Gandalf?" The boy questioned with a hard swallow. 

Bilbo lifted himself from his seat, in an irritated manner, "I'll get it! Not to worry." 

Bilbo had wanted nothing more but to enjoy your company for a while longer and if this wizard had come to take you away all so suddenly, he would not be a happy Hobbit. Bilbo for most of the time kept to himself, and for once in his boring life he was happy conversing with an outsider.

Your gaze followed Bilbo's fast, annoyed pace around the table disappearing behind the corner that meets the lounge room, "Stay here, Joe." You stand wearily in pursuit of the Hobbit with curiosity. 

"But if it's Gandalf, I want to see him too!" Joseph exclaimed with giddy excitement, his eagerness almost lifting him off his seat. You swiftly ushered him back down with a firm yet gentle push on his shoulders.

"Joseph, I'm not telling you again. Stay here," you admonished, your voice carrying a note of sternness.

Determinedly, you marched away from the dining room. The loose fabric of your white blouse billowed slightly at your elbows with a breeze accompanied by your steps.

However, your brisk pace came to a halt as you reached the hallway, your hand instinctively finding perched on the curved interior wall of the Hobbit hole. Your brows knitted in confusion, lips pressed together in a tight line as you contemplated the situation.

At the entrance, Bilbo held the round door partially open, much like he did on the day you first arrived in the Shire, though this time his expression was far more vexed. Peering over the irked Hobbit was a man just taller then Bilbo, his bare head adorned with a peculiar symbol-like tattoos. A green hood draped over his form, obscuring most of his attire, and a striking blue beard framed his stern face.

"Dwalin, at your service!" The man boomed with a low bow, his Scottish accent thick with his voice.

"Hmm, uh—" Bilbo stumbled over his words, hastily adjusting his gown and securing it around him, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours." His reply was accompanied by a frustrated huff as the man forcefully squeezed his way through the doorframe, "Do we know each other?"

Dwalin cast a cold, dismissive glance toward Bilbo, "No."

With an aura of authority, Dwalin strode toward you, his gaze raking over with curiosity as he stopped just short of your feet. A slight shiver coursed through you, but you straightened your posture, gathering your composure.

"Although you, lass," Dwalin began, his voice carrying a weight that matched his figure, "Must be whom the great wizard mentioned, er?" He leaned back, folding his arms over his broad chest and resting his hands on the golden belt that encircled his waist. His expression remained neutral, giving you little insight into his thoughts. Despite appearing taller from a distance, now that he was up close, he barely reached the height of your neck. Yet, his intensity remained, making him all the more intimidating.

"Possibly?" you squeaked, introducing yourself, "Pleasure to meet you." Your voice caught, and you involuntarily twitched under his intense gaze.

His eyes remained locked on you, their piercing intensity seeming to delve into the depths of your soul. Dwalin took your palm rather firmly, and you let out another involuntary high-pitched sound, a mix of surprise and discomfort.

"Dwalin. And the pleasure's mine, milady," He declared, his head bowing slightly as he released your hand. The sensation returned to your palm, pins and needles fading away as you shook it slightly to revive the circulation. With a gust of cold wind, Dwalin started to stride off, his steps echoing with his stride.

Bilbo's brows knitted in confusion as he approached you. You could only shrug, shaking your head. This encounter was as baffling to you as it was to Bilbo.

"So, which way, laddie?" Dwalin's voice roared out, the force of his words filling the room. "Is it down here?"

Bilbo stammered, his eyes wide as he faced the imposing man. Flushed with anger and turmoil, he managed to stammer, "I-Is what down where?" Bilbo's voice wavered as he recoiled, shrinking back into the curved embrace of the doorframe as Dwalin approached him.

"Supper!" Dwalin bellowed, coming back to the entrance and abruptly and drops his heavy coat into your hands. The weight caught you off guard, and you stumbled backward into the wall. Bilbo's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly intervened, reaching for the coat to relieve you of the burden. "He'd said there'd be food and lots of it!"

With purposeful stomps, the man continued into the lounge room to make his way toward the kitchen.

Bilbo's voice, filled with concern, broke through the tension. "Are you alright?"

A sigh slipped from your lips, your shoulders sagging as you nodded. "I'm fine, thank you," you reassured, your fingers absently flicking away the dirt from your blouse. The gesture was a subtle reflection of your distracted state amidst the unfolding situation.

"Unbelievable." You muttered under your breath, a mixture of irritation and disbelief tingeing your tone.

With determined steps, you strode into the lounge room. Bilbo's gasp echoed in your ears as he scrambled to hang the man's coat, a clear indication of his flustered state.

"Wait! Wait!" The Hobbit stumbled, trying to hurriedly hang the coat on a rack.

In the dining room, a peculiar scene was unfolding. Dwalin's deep voice resonated, a stark contrast to Joseph's wide-eyed astonishment. "And who might you be, young one?" Dwalin's gaze bore down on Joseph, who appeared torn between sheer terror and an urge to let out an airless scream. Instead, a small squeak escaped him as Dwalin leaned over him.

With a sigh, you maneuvered around the imposing figure, sliding onto the bench beside your brother and gripping his shoulder. Joseph seemed transfixed by the towering Dwarf shadowing him.

"He's my brother." You interjected, your tone carrying a note of protectiveness.

Dwalin offered a nonchalant hum as he took a seat, the wood creaking under him. Joseph jolted at the vibration, sliding off the bench and retreating to the windowsill where you and Bilbo were seated, no one willing to join Dwalin at the table. Bilbo wore a baffled expression, seemingly caught off guard by the ordeal before him.

Dwalin made quick work of the plates, devouring the leftover portions with an almost aggressive hunger. The dwindling interest in the meal seemed to taint the once-happy company, and Bilbo offered is extra portion of trout to Dwalin, who eagerly dug into it without hesitation.

"Hmm..." Dwalin hummed contentedly, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. "Very good, this. Anymore?"

"Pardon? Oh, yes, yes!" Bilbo scrambled to his feet, hastily reaching for a bowl of scones beside you on the windowsill. The Hobbit had wanted to save the scones for supper and feeling guilty, he grabbed two from the batch and holding them behind his back to hide them. "Just help yourself!" With a flourish, he set the scones on the table before Dwalin.

Dwalin's fingers closed around two scones, and before the plate could touch the table, he took a ravenous bite from one, eliciting a delighted moan. Crumbs scattered in every direction, and bits of pastry tumbled to the floor like confetti. You perched precariously on the windowsill, your mouth was clamped tight in an effort to stifle the involuntary gagging that threatened with every audible crunch that punctuated Dwalin's enthusiastic feasting.

Bilbo hovered uneasily behind Dwalin's shoulder, a faint tremor evident in his posture. "It's just that we," Bilbo glanced at you, then back at Dwalin, "We weren't expecting company so soon..."

The sound of the bell rang out once more, causing both you and Bilbo to tense, your gazes flickering down the hall.

"That must be the door," Dwalin remarked, turning his head toward Bilbo with an air of warning, while the Hobbit visibly swallowed his apprehension.

Bilbo inhaled sharply, his movements slightly hurried as he shifted to face you and your brother. "You two wait here. I won't be long," he instructed in hushed tones, taking a step to depart but then turning back abruptly. "Oh! And take these with you," he added, taking your hand and placing two of the pastries in your palm.

With a nod to Dwalin, who was chuckling softly as he savored the remaining crumbs, Bilbo swiftly left to attend to his new visitor.

As Bilbo disappeared around the corner once more, you held the scones in one hand and clasped Joseph's hand with the other. Your gaze shifted from the treats to your brother, then finally to Dwalin who remained at the table. Summoning your courage, you cleared your throat softly before addressing the Dwarf, "Excuse me." With that, you led Joseph toward another vacant room down the hallway, your grip on his hand gentle yet reassuring.

You burst into the room, the door slamming open with a sense of urgency. Your swift movements bring you to his eye level, and you offer the scones to his smaller hands. "Joseph, can you do me a favor? Stay here for a little while, alright?"

His reaction is immediate, arms flailing in protest. "No way! I'm not staying here!"

A scoff escapes you, your eyes narrowing slightly. "You are, Joe... come on, don’t make this difficult." The volume of your voice drops, the seriousness emphasized as you grip his shoulders firmly.

His objection falters, but he still tries to voice his concerns. "But—"

"Listen, if there are more people coming, It’s better for you too stay here," You sigh, your gaze locking onto his as you lower your head to his level. "I'll be back. Alright?"

A faint sniffle resonates through the room, his teary gaze mirroring his comprehension of the situation.

His question, simple yet seeking reassurance, hangs in the air like a fragile thread when he asks for your vow of return. The soft word you offer in response holds a world of commitment. 

You duck under the door frame, a fleeting glance back his way. "Stay put," you insist, pulling the door partly closed before quickly reopening it, "And don't touch anything!" Joseph rolls his eyes, offering an exaggerated 'okay' as you gently close the door, letting out a sigh as the door clicks shut.

Casting a sidelong glance down the corridor, you rolled your shoulders in a subconscious attempt to ease the tension that had wound its way into your frame. Your steps carried purpose as you moved along the eastern hall, gradually slowing your pace to a measured walk upon sighting Bilbo stationed by the olive-hued door.

Positioned before the Hobbit was an elderly man, his appearance marked by tufts of fuzzy white hair and a flowing beard that gracefully curled at its tips. An intriguing scarlet hood adorned his head. He took a decisive step closer to Bilbo, hands clasped together with a hint of formality, his voice resonating with a sense of both warmth and authority, "Am I late?"

Bilbo's brow furrowed with bemusement, puzzlement lacing his response, "Late for what?"

The elder man's gaze shifted past Bilbo's shorter stature, fixing his attention on you. Swiftly, he moved to Bilbo's side, presenting himself with an affable introduction, "Ah, Balin, at your service, ma'am!" His smile exuded politeness, in stark contrast to the other man who emerged from the kitchen upon hearing the voice.

You nod your head respectfully, offering your name in acknowledgment.

Balin's eyes lit up with recognition, a gleam of familiarity in his expression. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance." His grin was infectious, a gesture that conveyed both friendliness and a hint of humor.

Balin's attention shifted, his gaze catching yet another figure emerging from behind a wall. "Oh! Ha, ha!" He exclaimed in a hearty laugh, his steps carrying him purposefully toward the taller figure. Dwalin held an emptied jar, presumably once filled with biscuits, and his presence garnered Balin's attention. "Evening, brother!"

A shared chuckle reverberated between them, the sound filling the hall. Dwalin's laughter, robust and booming, echoed down the corridor as he teased, "By my beard—" he began, a smirk tugging at his lips, "You're shorter and wider than last time we met."

"Wider, not shorter," Balin corrected with a grin, looking up at his towering brother. "But sharp enough for both of us." He punctuated his words with a wink, setting off another round of hearty laughter.

In an impulsive gesture, Dwalin grabbed Balin's shoulders, their bodies hunching slightly before their foreheads collided in a resounding thud that sent vibrations through the walls.

However, Bilbo's puzzlement soon shifted to alarm as he poked his head outside into the crisp, cool air, scanning his garden doorstep for any additional arrivals. Finding none, he jerked back inside, his attention drawn to the lively interaction unfolding before him.

leaning into Bilbo's side, your voice a hushed whisper, you asked, "Are you sure you have not met them before?"

Bilbo's eyes widened with a mixture of exasperation and bewilderment. "No, absolutely not! I've never laid eyes on these Dwarves before in my life!" His urgency carried him closer to the brothers who were still in the midst of their exuberant reunion.

As you lingered in the doorway, a mix of emotions played across your face—confusion, surprise, and a subtle touch of apprehension. The unfolding interactions had left you with a slight throbbing in your temples, a physical manifestation of the befuddlement that had taken hold. Your hand found its way to your forehead, a gentle press meant to soothe the impending headache. Your voice carried a note of incredulity, an involuntary utterance born from the bafflement that had settled within you, "Dwarves?"

Little did you know, this was just the beginning of a journey that would plunge you deeper into the unknown.

Chapter Text

VI.

Amidst the uproar of the Dwarves' uninvited intrusion, Bilbo's voice cut through the chaos, trying to maintain a sense of order.

"Excuse me!" Bilbo called out, his finger wavering between the two Dwarfs. His voice was polite, but there was a subtle tone of hesitation, "Sorry, I hate to interrupt. But the thing is, I can't help but wonder if you might be in the wrong... house."

However, the Dwarfs seemed entirely unperturbed by the interruption, as if Bilbo were nothing more than a persistent, bothersome insect. Their heavy boots stomped through the halls, tracking mud and dirt wherever they roamed, leaving a trail of disarray in their wake. With each resounding thud of Dwalin's footwear, it was as though the ground itself had transformed into a trampoline, amplifying the noise to a level that almost had Joseph bouncing in the air in the next room over.

Their insatiable appetite had led them to devour every crumb that once adorned the table, leaving nothing behind but scraps that had now been dislodged onto the floor. And now, driven by their stomachs, they embarked on a mission to uncover a hidden treasure—a barrel liquor, tucked away in the pantry.

In pursuit, Bilbo darted after them. You followed, navigating the space to avoid being caught in the stray splashes of wine and beer that danced in the air as the Dwarfs laughed and cheered.

"Have you eaten?" Dwalin's deep voice rumbled as he turned to his elder brother. Balin responded with a contented smile and a hand placed on his stomach, indicating that he had indeed indulged with food already. Dwalin's response was marked by a hearty thump of his fists against a cabinet, his smirk pronounced. "Well, if you insist, brother, that just means more for my ravenous stomach!"

With an awkward stammer, Bilbo continued, "It's not that I don't appreciate visitors..."

"What is this?" Dwalin's hand snatched a piece of cheese from a platter, his gaze wary as he handed it over to Balin.

"I-I don't mind guests, really," Bilbo's voice held a faint strain as he attempted to reason, "I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit."

"I'm not sure... looks like cheese that's gone blue?" Balin's tone conveyed his skepticism.

You couldn't help but let out a soft sigh, frustration tugging at your patience. Before you could voice your concerns, Bilbo gestured for you to hold back, indicating that he had the situation handled. Your brow furrowed in response, uncertainty flickering in your gaze.

"But I do prefer knowing our guests beforehand... the thing is—"

"It's practically riddled with mold..."

The Dwarfs continued to pay little heed to Bilbo. They went on with their playful discourse, examining each cheese and fruit slice before nonchalantly discarding them, showing a blatant disregard for Bilbo's hospitality.

This audacious behavior triggered a spark of irritation within you. How could they be so insolent? A few minutes ago, Dwalin had crashed into Bilbo's home, disrupting supper without an inkling of an invitation, and now they were ransacking his pantry!

Seeing Bilbo's defeated expression, you decided to take action. Perhaps, by asserting yourself more firmly, they would be more likely to listen. After all, it wasn't that Bilbo lacked assertiveness; you just hoped that your approach might yield different results.

With your arms crossed firmly over your chest, you let out a surprisingly resounding, throaty cough, and the effect was immediate—the duo abruptly ceased their chatter, pivoting their attention towards both Bilbo and you. Astonishingly, they fell into a rare moment of silence.

"You should hear what Bilbo has to say," You suggested, your voice carrying an air of authority. "After barging into his home. A moment of his time shouldn't be too much to ask."

Although their expressions betrayed traces of annoyance, particularly emanating from Dwalin, the brothers begrudgingly exhaled in a combined sigh. Balin shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, his posture leaning slightly forward, while his younger counterpart leaned against the pantry cupboard, arms crossed over his chest, his frustration palpable.

Bilbo cleared his throat delicately, eyebrows raised as he took the reins of the conversation. "Thank you," he managed, his fingers brushing the side of his coat as he shifted his weight from heel to toe. He mustered the courage to make his plea one last time, "T-the thing is, I don't know either of you... not in the slightest! And I—well, I feel compelled to speak my mind."

His hands motioned forward as if carving a path through the tension. "I'm sorry," Bilbo interjected, his tone sincere.

The brothers exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them before their attention oscillated once again between Bilbo and yourself.

Balin nodded in acknowledgment. "Apology accepted," he replied with a gracious inclination of his head. With a subtle flick of his brows, he drew a deep breath, then pivoted towards Dwalin, who held a glass beer aloft, retrieved from one of the higher shelves. "Now, fill it up, brother, don't stint!" Balin's tone carried a blend of amusement and he went back on his apology, continuing with his antics.

You let out an exasperated scoff, turning to Bilbo and lightly gripping his shoulder. "Could we have a moment?" You asked, a note of urgency in your voice.

"Of course…" Bilbo's eyes shone with understanding, and he excused himself with a polite smile, offering a quick retreat from the unusual guests. "Just a moment, please."

Stepping away down the corridor, you found a brief respite behind a wall. Despite the distance, the echoes of the Dwarfs' bickering and the clattering of objects they tossed around in Bilbo's kitchen remained audible.

"What's your plan here? You're just going to let them rampage through your house?" Your voice carried an undertone of frustration and genuine concern as you spoke in hushed tones, your eyes reflecting your unease.

Bilbo's shoulders slumped, a sigh escaping him as he relented. “I’m trying my best, their not listening to me! I just don't know what their doing in my house!"

"Bilbo, you need to take charge! Apologizing to these strangers won't do you any good." Your words carried a firm yet compassionate tone, offering advice with a sense of authority.

Bilbo's expression morphed into one of utter bewilderment. It was true, even he wasn't entirely certain about the extent of his apologies. Could it be that you were onto something? Maybe he had no valid reason to be apologizing in the first place.

"They have utterly no respect towards you. And the fact you let them get away with it, isn't helping your case."

The thought made Bilbo wince, "I appreciate your help. But I assure you, I do have things under control." He stammered, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and defensiveness.

"Bilbo-"

The ringing of the bell sliced through the air, cutting short your conversation. Bilbo's face drained of color, a gasp escaping his lips as if caught in an unexpected whirlwind. His ears reddened, standing out starkly against his pale visage because he knew what would come if he answered that door.

"I got it!" Both of you exclaimed simultaneously.

You quickly intervened, a determined glint in your eyes as you placed a reassuring hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "No, Bilbo. I'll take care of this. Why don't you focus on the others?" Your voice conveyed a sense of confidence and willingness to tackle the situation.

Bilbo's frown eased, a hint of relief in his expression as he nodded. "Alright." He agreed.

With a brisk nod, you hastened down the corridor, maneuvering under the archway to avoid hitting your head.

Summoning a breath of determination, you pushed open the wooden door ahead.

"Fíli,"

"And Kíli,"

"At your service, ma'am!"

Your thoughts momentarily went blank. In the doorway stood two more figures. Both of them appeared quite youthful, which came as a bit of a surprise given the other Dwarves you'd encountered, assuming they too are Dwarves that is.

The man on your left introduced himself as Fíli. His blond hair cascaded in long, curly locks that framed his face and beard. His posture exuded confidence and maturity, hinting at a sharp intellect beneath.

Your attention was though was immediately drawn to Kíli on the right. A slightly taller figure adorned with a cascade of dark brown waves that framed his features like a windswept mane. The faint dusting of stubble along his jawline added a rugged and alluring charm to his appearance. His eyes, however, were the true revelation, dancing with a mischievous glint that held a promise of playfulness and perhaps a hint of flirtation.

As Fíli exchanged a brief look with his brother, you sensed an unspoken connection between them.

A confident smile curved Kíli's lips as he stepped forward, his eyes locking onto you, "Ah, I know of you," He said, "Master Gandalf did mention that a fair maiden would be gracing us with her presence on this journey. It's an honor to finally meet you, my lady."

Your cheeks warmed in response. His gaze holding your attention with an alluring intensity.

Fíli, standing beside his brother, leaned slightly to catch your gaze as well, "We're eager to embark on this adventure. Might you have any news of the rest of our party?"

Kíli's gaze, however, remained fixed on you while his enthusiasm bubbled hearing his brother, "Absolutely, brother! Let's not delay any further and join the throng!"

Pausing to collect your thoughts, a soft chuckle slipped from your lips before you responded, "You know, I don't think everyone has actually arrived yet..."

The word "throng" lingered in your mind, leaving you with a slightly uneasy feeling. The possibility of more arrivals seemed much more plausible, now.

Kíli's brows ever so slightly furrowed as a faint frown touched his lips, "Then who made it before us?"

Your hum carried a thoughtful tone, interrupted by a gentle poking sensation that fluttered against your back. A chorus of 'excuse me's accompanied your movement to the side, allowing Bilbo to pass. His frustrated twitch of the nose suggested he was still grappling with the situation.

Kíli's grin rekindled, his voice dripping with playful charm, "Ah, and you must be Mister Boggins! At your service, indeed."

"Wait! No, you can't come in! You've got the wrong house!" The Hobbit interjected, moving to shut the door.

Bilbo's reaction seemed oddly resonant with what you had mentioned earlier. A work in progress, to say the least.

Kíli's reflexes were swift, his hand catching the door before it closed. "What? So no ones really here yet? Was it canceled?" he exclaimed, disappointment lacing his words as he approached you and Bilbo.

"No one told us." Fíli chimed.

Bilbo's head shook in bewildered denial, his gaze shifting between you and the Dwarves, "Canceled? No, nothing's been canceled there are other Dwarves here…" Bilbo clarified with a mix of confusion, but he had made a mistake telling the young pair of the others.

A mischievous gleam ignited within Kíli's eyes, a flicker of amusement as he glanced at you. "Well, that's a relief."

Taking the opportunity, Kíli breezed inside, sidestepping Bilbo as you moved along the wall to avoid being caught in the rush. Fíli followed suit, his gaze taking in the surroundings.

Bilbo, now seemingly in a state of shock, took his time to close the door once again, this time locking it in place.

Fíli, wearing a sly grin, turns his attention towards you after slinging a few items off his back, "Mind being careful with these?" He teases, tossing several long and heavy objects your way.

Caught off guard, you manage to grasp them just in time, your surprise evident on your face. "I just had them sharpened," Fíli continues playfully, his eyes locked onto yours. As if that wasn't enough, he then reaches into his coat and deposits a few more shiny objects into your hands, his gaze lingering a bit longer than necessary. "And these, too, if you wouldn't mind."

After dumping the items with a wink, Fíli struts away down the hallway, leaving you bewildered. The weight of the objects in your hands adds to your surprise.

Bilbo, stands beside you observing as the Dwarves leave a trail of dirt and mud behind them on his once-clean carpet. He lets out a resigned sigh, mentioning something about needing a drink from the pantry.

Turning to Bilbo, you're at a loss for words. "Bilbo, your patience right now is... impressive."

Defeated, he hunches his shoulders, his eyes squeezed shut, "I c-closed the door—" Just as Bilbo's voice trails off, a sudden, echoing crash reverberates through the corridor, followed by an unmistakable shattering of glass. The sound pierces through the air, jolting both you and Bilbo to attention.

Your eyes meet Bilbo's, and without another word, you both rush toward the source of the noise, your hearts pounding in anticipation of what new chaos awaits you now.

Chapter Text

VII.

Kíli and Fíli began to explore the entrance corridors, their eyes roaming over the odd assortment of bits-and-bobs that adorned the walls. To Kíli, everything seemed strangely familiar yet it was different, perhaps more delicate. It reminded him of the libraries back in the village where he studied with his brother and mother.

Kíli's excitement grew and he swung his arms a little too enthusiastically, his hand brushing against a flowered vase. The vase teetered on its perch before shattering into a symphony of glass. The Dwarf winced, exchanging a sheepish look with his brother.

You and Bilbo exchanged a quick glance, your eyes widening as the sound of the breakage. Bilbo's lips formed a tense line, and you could see him trying to suppress his frustration.

When the Hobbit found Kíli he only shrugged with a lopsided grin, "Sorry about that."

Bilbo grits his teeth looking down at the pile of broken flowers and glass. He ushered you away when you came a little too close to the mess as you followed him in tow, not wanting you to get hurt by the glass.

"Oh shit." You muttered under your breath, observing as Kíli dismissed Bilbo's distress and continued his exploration with an air of nonchalance.

Kíli's voice from the end of the corridor caught your attention, "Nice, this place is! Did you do it yourself?"

"No, it's been in the family for years," Bilbo replied. He then quickly followed Kíli's movement with a distressed shout, tripping over his own feet to reach the brunette just in time to stop the Dwarf from causing more damage, "No- wait! That's my mother's glory box!"

Kíli, somewhat reluctantly, removed his feet from the box, refraining from wiping the mud off his shoes, which prompted a soft chuckle from Fíli.

The Dwarves' left you taken aback, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as you observed the chaos. As the commotion settled, Kíli's curiosity got the best of him, and he shifted on his feet to face you, "How long have you been here?" He inquired.

"Since yesterday." You answered bluntly, an unnecessary sharpness in your voice.

Fíli continued after his brother, "We were told by the wizard, Gandalf, to meet by sunset. From where we were, we deemed it would be smart to ride on horseback through the valley," He smiled, his eyes flickering towards you, "I'm quite impressed. Did you bring a pony with you?"

“I came with Gandalf,” You start, a brow raising for his question, “He had a horse— but I didn’t ride.” Your legs quiver with the memory of walking all the way here.

Fílis’ braids danced along his face as his head tilted slightly. A playful smile tugged at his lips as he talked, "Might've been a smart decision to bring a pony yourself. Might I ask, from what village did you come from? Forgive me for prying, my lady, but you don't appear to be from around here. You certainly don't look like a half-ling yourself. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with Hobbits, of course."

Bilbo, clearing his throat as he shifted his stance, ready to intervene with a well-intentioned defense for his fellow Hobbits.

Just as Bilbo was ready to speak, a sudden burst of energy and loud noise filled the air. From around the corner came another Dwarf, his drunken laughter reverberating through the halls as he smuggled the two new arrivals under his arm.

Fíli was shocked and pivoted quickly in fright to face Dwalin and beside him, Kíli, who was also dragged under the bold Dwarf's broad shoulders. Although the eldest Dwarf bore a wide grin as the trio bellowed in laughter.

"Dwalin, brother! It has been a long time coming hasn't it?" Fíli spoke, now in realisation of who had trapped him in the strong grasp.

The trio made their way down the hallway, their cheerful banter echoing off the walls as they headed back toward the dining room. As they reached the entrance, Balin's figure came into view, standing just to the side of the doorway with a smile.

Fíli barely had a chance to adjust himself as Dwalin playfully shoved him forward, a quick exchange of glances passing between him and you before he disappeared behind the archway.

Beside you, Bilbo sighed heavily, his breath coming out in a rough huff as he leaned against the wall, "I-I think I need to sit down for a while." He stammered, his hand moving to rub his forehead.

Your mind struggled to keep up with the whirlwind of events. The corridor was now a symphony of voices, laughter, and footsteps and made it challenging to process everything around you.

You deeply considered joining Bilbo in his pursuit of a brief moment of relaxation which seemed like a great idea. It was also a chance to check in with your brother, who had hoped was quietly sitting in his room still.

With a nod of agreement, you were both about to round the corner when Bilbo came to a abrupt halt. His breath was caught in his throat for another time when he watched the Dwarves started to move parts of his furniture around.

"Where do you want this?" Dwalin's voice quizzed.

Balin replied with a nod, his hand gesturing in the direction outside the hallway "Better just shove this in the hallway. Otherwise, we'll never get everyone in."

"Everyone?" Bilbo's exclamation reverberated through the corridor. The poor Hobbit's bewildered question was on the brink of being answered when the resonating chime of the bell rang out yet again, marking it the third time it had echoed in Bilbo's ears that evening, "Oh no..." He sighed in a mixture of exhaustion and distress.

You empathized with Bilbo's frustration, your own breath wavering slightly at the sound of the bell.

Kili's voice piped up with excitement, his words accompanied by a swinging motion that almost knocked Bilbo off balance when he loomed over the Hobbit to look at the door. The brunette flashed a bright, toothy smile at both you and Bilbo, his energy seemingly endless, "That should be the rest of the four! We saw them coming along behind us in the distance!"

Your heart went out to Bilbo as you observed him clutch his head in his hands once more. His exasperation was evident, and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him.

However, Bilbo wasn't about to take things lying down. With a fiery determination, he surged forward, passing by you in a swirl of emotions, "No-," His voice cracked with a mixture of frustration, "There's nobody home! Go away... a-and bother somebody else! There are far too many Dwarves in my dining room as is!"

There was tension in the air, and you wondered how the evening would unfold now that the unexpected guests had become more than just a handful.

"If this is some clot-head's idea of a joke, I can only say it's in very poor taste!" His voice wavered between maniacal laughter and mumbled curses.

Bilbo made his way toward the pile of objects that you dismissed, Fìli’s random clutter strewn across the floor. He began to kick and shove the items aside, clearing a path near the wall to vent his frustration.

Feeling a pang of guilt, you approached him and gently urged him away with a murmured assurance. As the only helpful guest, you decided to take responsibility for the scattered objects. Kneeling down, you carefully gathered them into a somewhat organized pile, ensuring they were out of the way.

Just as you were focusing on this cleanup, the doorbell chimed yet again, this time louder and more persistent.

"I'm going to open this door," Bilbo declared with determination, and he continued, "And whoever is out there is going to tell me how funny this was! Oh- to see the look on this rascal's face when I do—“

As Bilbo pulled the door handle, the door swung open on its own accord. To his surprise, not just four Dwarves, but a fifth as well had gathered at his doorstep. They tumbled in one after the other, like a series of falling dominoes, a chaotic jumble of limbs and voices.

"Move, you big oaf!"

"Get off my leg!"

"That's my arm, Nori!" Their voices overlapped in a chorus of protests.

You couldn't help but rise from your spot, observing the scene.

But besides the mess of Dwarves lying before you, someone else stood out from the rest behind them.

"Gandalf..." you breathed, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as if your friend had materialized just in time to rescue Bilbo and yourself from his bewildering nightmare.

Your eyes met his, and a mischievous smile tugged at his lips. With a casual grace, Gandalf approached, bowing slightly as he leaned on his staff.

Bilbo, however, appeared far from impressed seeing the wizard. He shook his head in disbelief, his attention shifting to the elder man as your sigh reached his ears.

One by one, the Dwarves managed to regain their footing, each offering a bow. Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, and Glóin introduced themselves in a flurry of activity. The events unfolded so rapidly that you struggled to keep track of who was who amidst the whirlwind. Meanwhile, Gandalf had slipped inside, his presence a blur as he seamlessly joined the commotion.

Before you knew it, you found yourself holding two purple hoods and a single white coat, the items were thrusted into your hands yet again in a rush. Bilbo, on the other hand, was given a gray and a brown hood, completing the peculiar ensemble.

You hurried to hang the last hood. The Dwarves were bustling around, their energy and noise filling the Hobbit hole.

Bilbo's figure was lost in the crowd, his protests barely audible in the clamor.

"E-excuse me-! That's my wine!"

"Put those back!"

"Put that back! Oh- Put that back-! No!"

They didn't seem the care about Bilbo's though, continuing to bring a plate of scones they found in the kitchen, dishing them around the table between each other all while tossing and sliding a large jar of raspberry jam around as well.

You ducked quickly, trying your best to avoid a full head-on collision with a mid-air splatter of jam that had taken off from the glass casing.

"Jesus." You murmured under your breath, your hands instinctively shielding your head as the jam splashed against the wall.

Resuming your determined course through the labyrinth of Dwarves, you darted between them, determined to navigate the chaos unscathed. But a gentle pull on your shirt interrupted your progress, and you found yourself being guided by Bilbo into a quieter alcove. Here, away from the clamor, you watched as Bilbo paced back and forth.

"Oh!" Bilbo's voice was a muddled mix of emotions, his hand massaging his scalp as if trying to alleviate a headache, "This is an absolute disaster! I want them out of my house! They're leaving dirt all over the rugs, flinging food on the walls—my food! They're guzzling down every last drop of my wine and ale. At this rate, I'll have nothing left for months! It's as if we're the only sane people here!"

You offered an understanding nod, though the chaos around you made it hard to entirely agree if only the Hobbit could see himself, "I understand, Bilbo. But remember, Gandalf is here now. I'm sure he will have everything under control in a moment."

You reached out to touch his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but Bilbo shrugged off the gesture. He gestured towards the doorway with a dramatic flair, "Gandalf? Don't even get me started on him. He's the one who brought all of this upon us! He's sitting there, enjoying himself and sipping my last glass of tea!"

You held your hands up, palms out in a placating gesture. "Hey, calm down. It's not my fault," You said, almost defensively.

Bilbo's anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by a heavy sigh. "You're right. I apologize. It's just... overwhelming. I can't handle any more of them. My kitchen is an absolute mess, and I don't even want to think about what they did to my pantry."

You chuckled, a wry smile tugging at your lips. "Well, I did manage to get a glimpse of it."

Bilbo joined in your chuckle for a moment before you changed the topic.

"Look, you haven't seen Joseph, have you?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. "I haven't been able to make it past everyone. If he comes out here, he's going to get trampled."

Bilbo's brows furrowed in concern, "What? No, I haven't seen him for a while. I've been too busy trying to manage this chaos myself, as you can see."

You let out a thoughtful hum, your worry growing. Even if Joseph did manage to navigate through the sea of Dwarves and chaos to get here, he'd likely disappear in the crowd. The thought of him getting lost or hurt in the commotion troubled you deeply.

In the midst of this fleeting silence, a new disturbance shattered the calm. Instead of the familiar ringing, heavy knocks reverberated from the Hobbit's green door. The rhythmic pounding didn't cease; it paused for a moment, as if someone was listening from outside, then resumed with even more determination.

Bilbo's frustration manifested in a groan, "Ugh, no! All I wanted was a quiet night! Is that too much to ask for?"

"Bilbo…" You muttered, trying to calm him with your voice.

"I'll leave them outside! Good riddance, I won't tolerate any more of this!"

The knocking continued, growing more urgent with each resounding clang against the door.

"I don't think they'll stay outside for much longer... they might just let themselves in."

Bilbo scoffs, "If you're implying they'll break down my door, I'll break these Dwarves into two!"

He hurries past the room's archway, nearly tripping over his own feet in his urgency to reach the door again. Genuine worry propels him, as he fears that you might be right. The thought of the door buckling under the weight and force of the Dwarves pressing against it isn't far from his mind.

You follow his lead but choose to split from your friend at the last second, determined to navigate through the mess hall of traffic to find your brother.

You follow the wall closely, you deftly moving around the bustling Dwarves. You spin, sidestep, and duck to avoid split drinks, crumbs of all sorts, and plates of platters that seem to trail from the pantry like a line of ants.

Just imagining finding a lone apple at the back of the cupboard seems like a victory within its self. Your stomach rumbling in response to the thought of a snack.

"Excuse me," You exhale, squeezing past one of the newly found members of the party. He turns toward you, his white hair giving him an air of distinction. Though his features tense for a moment, they quickly soften, and he moves out of your way with an open arm and a bow.

"Oh no! Excuse me, milady," He speaks with a warm smile, making way for you to pass.

You offer a half-smile in return, "Thank you..."

"Dori. At your service, of course!"

You nod in appreciation, and Dori responds with a slight tilt of his head.

Just as you begin to navigate your way out of harm's way once again, a loud and booming voice thunders behind you, "Oh! There she is!" Kíli throws himself around you, your body bearly fitting under his arm, as you are an inch taller than him and you have to hunch slightly under his weight. But his grip is nevertheless firm. With a slight stumble, you manage to loop one of your arms around his for support, and a chuckle escapes your lips, "Decide to join the festivities now? Come along!"

With Kíli leading the way, his large steps causing him to barge through the bustling crowd, you shuffle along hastily, determined not to trip over your own feet.

"We've discovered whisky... and scones!" Kíli announces enthusiastically.

The unmistakable scent of alcohol lingers in the air as you catch a whiff from his breath. You also notice jam that clings to his beard, with even some crumbs tangled in his mustache, catching your attention as you glance down at him.

You respond with an acknowledging hum, "Mhmm... I see."

Guided by Kíli's firm hold, you continue to move through the house, his grip ensuring you don't stray. Suddenly, he comes to an abrupt stop, causing you to stumble slightly forward in your steps. You quickly catch yourself, remaining steady in his sturdy grasp.

Both of you observe as three more Dwarves' enter the scene. The trio nods in your direction with friendly smiles, acknowledging you and Kíli as they eagerly head toward the pantry cupboard.

Kíli leans in subtly, his voice a hushed whisper in your ear as he introduces the trio, "That's Bifur," he gestures, "Bofur, and Bombur. Good-hearted lads, they are. Bofur and Bombur are brothers, and Bifur is their cousin."

A hint of amusement colors your voice as you inquire, "Is everyone here related in some way?"

"Somewhat," Kíli chuckles, his breath tickling your ear. "But enough of that, let's join the throng!" With that, he leads you back into the bustling mess hall with determined strides.

The room is filled with an overwhelming roar of laughter, a tangible energy that seems to vibrate in the air. As you step further in, the cacophony becomes almost tangible, like a wave of sound threatening to sweep you away.

The majority of the group is gathered around a long wooden table, engaged in animated conversations in a mix of playful bickering annd laughter. They're enjoying an array of foods, from biscuits to more extravagant dishes, all washed down with an assortment of drinks—ale, whiskey, wine, coffee, and beyond. Others stand beside the table, clinking their drinks together before taking hearty swigs.

Amidst the crowd, something catches your eye, causing your expression to shift to one of surprise.

"Kíli!" Bofur's voice rang out, followed by his enthusiastic call for you, "And you there, lassy! Join us will you?"

A gasp escaped your lips as your eyes widened, disbelief washing over you. The sight before you was almost surreal.

"Come meet the little laddy, Kíli! Now that I think about it, the two of you do look quite similar. Reminds me of your younger days, lad!"

Besides the man who called out to you, sat a young boy who waved you over eagerly, his face smeared with jam and a wide grin. Before him sat a mountain of scones, adorned with raspberry jam and topped with a generous dollop of white cream.

It was the exact scenario you had hoped to avoid.

Chapter Text

VIII.

The scene unfolded before you, with Joseph's mouth watering at the delectable desserts, stealthily snagging a treat or two while he sat at the table.

His newfound companion, Bofur, a Dwarf who had taken a liking to the young lad, decided to adopt Joseph after finding him wandering about. Their bond was quickly made over scrumptious foods once Bofur led the boy to the table.

However, what started as a friendly exchange of stolen treats seemed to escalate into a full-fledged food fight between the two. Crumbs of scones and pancakes soared through the air, creating a messy scene.

You managed to escape from Kíli's grasp at some point, finding refuge in a wooden chair nearby to Joseph. Your hands clung to the chair's sides, knuckles turning white as you crossed your legs and settled in.

As an odd weariness settled over you, a shiver rippled through your frame and your shoulders quivered involuntarily almost as if your body were struggling to adapt to the chaos.

"Excuse me," a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find Dori, one of the elder Dwarves, by your side. His concern was evident as he spoke, "Just doing my rounds, my lady, and I couldn't help but notice that you seem a bit dazed. Would you care for some chamomile tea?" With a gentle offer, he presented a wooden board bearing a small blue kettle and two matching teacups.

After a brief pondering, you decide that a warm cup of chamomile tea might just provide the small burst of energy your fatigued body needs in the midst of the chaos.

"Oh, please," you respond, reaching out to gently cradle the offered teacup in your hands. You watch as Dori pours the soothing liquid into the cup, a small smile of gratitude forming on your lips, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Dori acknowledged before balancing the kettle on the wooden board and continuing on his rounds through the corridor.

As your attention drifts, your eyes catch a scene that nearly causes you to choke on your drink—a hilarious struggle between Bilbo and another Dwarf over a basket of red ripe tomatoes. Suppressing the chuckle, you watch as Bilbo manages to yank the basket away, cradling it protectively under his arm as he continues on his quest to restore order to his home.

Meanwhile, Bofur's chair rattles as he rises, a mischievous wink directed at Joseph after he slyly tucks some cakes into his coat.

You take another soothing sip of your tea, allowing the warmth to seep through you as you observe Balin's deliberate movements. He manages to navigat through the chaos, a platter of cheese and green grapes in his hands, his steps weaving through the obstacles and even managing to sidestep Bofur's greeting as he walked away.

Beside you, Joseph reacts to Balin's presence, his mouth puffed out from the pastries he's enjoying.

The Dwarf chuckles at Joseph's indulgence, "Oh, dear boy, already preparing for dessert, I see? That's the spirit!" Joseph can only respond with a muffled nod, his cheeks turning a slightly embarrassed shade of pink.

Balin's attention turns to you, his gaze warm. "Anywho, here, lass." You lower your teacup from your lips, your curiosity piqued as you set it down in your lap.

"Please, would you mind holding onto these for me?" He asks, offering you the platter, "And if it's alright with you, would you be willing to help us set the table? Feel free to place things wherever you can."

You nod awkwardly in agreement, setting your tea aside carefully before accepting the platter from Balin's outstretched hands. Confusion flickers briefly in your expression as you take the platter, not entirely sure how you got roped into helping.

"Thank you, miss! Do hurry though, I believe we are all about to start. You should know how hungry us Dwarves get after a long day." Balin's words prompt a nervous smile from you.

Of course, you would know, wouldn't you?

With furrowed brows, you're quick to whip your head around. Little room is left for anything anywhere, the table covered with different assortments of food already.

Stepping forward, you manage to find the tiniest space in front of you. Shuffling around the lettuce and fish, you place the cheese right between five other dishes, squeezing it into the gap next to Joseph's plate.

The Dwarves continue to shuffle around the table, adding more chairs to accommodate the growing crowd, and fix their empty stomachs.

"What do you think?" You inquire, turning to Joseph who seems lost in the midst of indulging himself in various desserts, his cheeks smeared with evidence of his act.

"About what?" He mumbles, wiping crumbs from his lips.

You gesture to the Dwarves that surround you. As if that's not clear enough, you pivot and nod toward the corridor for good measure.

"About all of this, Joseph," You clarify, unable to suppress a faint smirk, "What else would I be referring to?"

His response is a momentary pause, his gaze roaming over the assortment of dishes spread across the table. It's only when he spots a plate of crackers and salami at the far end that he seems to have a revelation.

Pointing toward that dish, he speaks, "I think the cheese should go next to that plate over there."

You can't help but let out a sigh, feeling your patience wear thin. "You've got to be joking." You mutter, rubbing the back of your neck.

Sometimes, it's hard to decipher whether Joseph is being intentionally obtuse or genuinely lost in his thoughts.

After arranging and rearranging dishes for a while, you've finally settled upon a relatively pleasing arrangement. However, it's short-lived as a dozen or so Dwarves enter and disrupt everything.

One by one, they filter in, claiming their seats at the table. There's barely any time for you to appreciate your efforts before they start shifting plates around, tossing food with abandon. Their conversations and laughter merge with the clinking of drinks as they gulp them down, only to refill them and start again.

"Milady!" A familiar voice calls.

Blonde braids catch your attention, identifying the source as Fíli. Before you know it, you're being whisked away from your spot from Joseph and Bofur, who had returned with a cup full of ale.

"Fíli, please!" You manage to gasp, your voice struggling to rise above the raucous noise of the table. You're pulled away, following Fíli toward the back of the hall.

The scent of liquor emanating from Fíli's breath is overwhelming, hitting you like a wave that crashes deep into your senses. Whatever kind of beer they're drinking must be a league above anything you've ever encountered. It's potent, far too strong for your taste. Just the thought of taking a sip feels like a pact with death, and the mere contemplation threatens to send your stomach reeling.

"Oh no! Come join us, my lady. The party is just getting started!" Fíli's laughter rings out.

At the far corner of the table, an empty chair beckons next to Kíli, who, like the rest of the company, is engaged in laughter and wide smiles. In one hand, the brunette holds a jug of the potent alcohol, while the other clutches a rosy red apple that you so craved.

The younger Dwarf eyes however suddenly brighten upon the sight of you and his brother making short work of the distance between him.

With a strong push, you're deposited into the vacant seat beside Kíli, who extends his drink to you in a friendly gesture. "Nice of you to join us! Care for an apple?" He presents the apple with a grin before casting a discerning eye over the spread of bowls and plates. "Or perhaps some cheese or a bit of chicken will please, milady?"

You cast a quizzical glance at the remnants of the chicken, a silent query in your eyes. What remains are picked-over bones and scant traces of meat clinging to the carcass.

"The apple will be plenty, Kíli."

"Of course! Here you go." Kíli replies, extending the fruit to you. You take a satisfying bite, the crisp snap of the red skin satisfying on your tongue.

A sudden yelp from Kíli pulls your attention, "Oh! Oi, brother!"

Fíli has leaned over him, swiping the wooden mug from his brothers grasp. Kíli reacts with lightning speed, pivoting to launch himself from his seat in a hurried attempt to retrieve his ale. But it's a futile endeavor, and a chuckle escapes your lips.

Alcohol erupts from the mug, cascading down its sides and splattering onto the wall in a messy spray. Amidst the commotion, Fíli lifts the mug to his lips, taking a hearty gulp that nearly turns into a sputter of laughter as Kíli tugs at the thieving hand.

The brothers retreat, their laughter echoing as they bump against the wall, barely avoiding knocking over a picture frame that rest nearby. Unrelenting, Fíli continues to drain the remainder of Kíli's drink, punctuating his triumph with a hearty cough and a loud burp.

Surveying the table, you catch the eyes of the gray-clad man. Almost as though he senses your eyes on him, he turns, meeting your gaze with a slight tilt of his head and a courteous grin.

However, his expression transforms, a realisation dawning before morphing into a playful smirk. Raising a wine glass filled with glistening crimson liquid, he offers a silent toast your way. Yet, you have no corresponding drink to raise, only managing to offer a wave with your apple in a makeshift response.

His brow furrows, but he dismisses your gestures, pivoting to a nearby small desk. Returning with a glass that he proceeds to fill from a bottle of wine adorned with gold accents, he passes it down the table to you. Despite your rapid succession of muted ‘no’s’ he persists.

His voice is barely audible amidst the cacophony of voices, but you manage to read his lips, "Take—glass... you'll need it."

You pause for a moment and divert your attention down the length of the table, where Joseph and Bofur engage again in a playful grape-throwing contest, inciting laughter from both the two participants and the surrounding Dwarves. Joseph successfully catches a grape in his mouth, prompting a cheer around him.

Returning your focus to the left, you release a sigh, conceding to the situation as you accept the drink offered by Gandalf.

Raising his wine again, he skillfully tips back the drink, seemingly unphased by its taste, downing most of the liquid. As he sets the glass down, you follow suit, bringing your lips to the rim and taking a sip, succumbing to the impulse to down the contents in one swift motion.

The wine glides down your throat with a surprising smoothness, its fruity undertones eliciting a tingling sensation within your stomach and a sudden drunken warmth over your body.

With the aid of another generous pour from Gandalf, you find yourself unabashedly caught up in the revelry, laughter, and banter mingling with the clinking of mugs and the clatter of plates. You participate in the merriment by grabbing bite-sized portions of food from the table – either playfully tossing them at Kíli, who's managed to reclaim his empty mug and  his seat beside you, or swiftly consuming them yourself.

Bofur challenges Joseph's aim with a plate of scones, prompting a quick-witted retort from Dwalin, who asserts that it's an unlikely feat from the given distance. The remark triggers a cascade of laughter from your side of the table, your attempt to swallow your amusement nearly resulting in choking. You also shout words of encouragement to Bofur, who both seem emboldened by the cheer.

With a mischievous grin, Bofur hurls the scone in Bombur's direction, the food sailing through the air towards its intended target.

The dining hall transforms into a sea of excitement as the scone's trajectory finds its mark, and Bombur effortlessly catches the treat in his mouth.

Food continues to be launched between the Dwarves and with every sip, your find it harder to navigate the unpredictable barrage of edibles and evade the airborne missiles.

Feel a sudden impact at the back of your head, and your laughter falters as a block of blue cheese collides with you. Your focus snaps to the perpetrator, spotting Joseph's sheepish retreat behind Bofur's larger frame. Determined not to let the cheeky act go unanswered, you seize the nearest available tomato, taking swift aim at Joseph's fleeting figure. With precise accuracy, the tomato connects with its intended target, bursting on impact and leaving a trail of crimson juice down his shoulder, the dampness darkening his clothing.

Laughter erupts anew as Joseph's tomato-soaked appearance triggers a fresh wave of amusement among the Dwarves, your successful retaliation applauded with hearty approval from the surrounding revelers.

Suppressing your irritation, you watch as Joseph also takes the opportunity to strike back, snatching a tart and deftly maneuvering through the crowd to smear jam all over your neck, leaving you both aghast and sticky.

Kíli, having momentarily abandoned his food-flinging game, is now captivated by the spectacle, emitting a series of surprised sounds as the pink jam traces a path down your side and onto the floor. Joseph stands triumphant, arms crossed in satisfaction, his laughter resonating through the air.

"Excellent move, young lad!" Kíli's said, his hand playfully patting Joseph on the shoulder in admiration. The boy beams under the praise, teetering slightly as he adjusts to the pat's impact.

Startled by the camaraderie forming between the two, you swat at your brother's hand, your tone carrying a mixture of annoyance and affection, "Don't encourage him!" you admonish, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and mock annoyance, prompting Kíli's infectious laughter to resurface.

Fíli takes advantage of the playful chaos by climbing onto the table, brandishing mugs of ale and offering them to the merry company. The sight of Fíli distributing the drinks further fuels the jovial atmosphere, with the dwarves eagerly reaching out to claim their mugs amid playful jabs and tossed food, "Who wants an ale?" Fíli calls.

"Over here, brother!"

"There you go!"

"Oh, you great galumphing git!"

Amid the chorus of playful banter and exclamations, Fíli navigates back skillfully through the crowded space. With a flourish, he bows before you, extending a large mug your way, "Care for a cup of ale, milady?" He offers with a warm smile.

Accepting the mug with a grateful grin, you shuffle yourself closer to Kíli's side whichhe does not seem to mind, making space for Joseph to hop onto the edge of your chair. The boy's curious fingers reach for the wooden vessel, but you swiftly swat his hand away from the alcohol, maintaining a vigilant watch over his antics.

Bofur's voice rises above the rest as he starts a lively chant, "Ale on the count of three!" he sings, his declaration resonating through the room.

The throng, including you began counting down to clink all your drinks. Kíli was next to you call out 'three' before everyone lifted their drinks in hand, chugging the liquid. Funnily enough for once, the room is dead quiet with only the minute sound of alcohol splashing down beards and onto the floor.

In unison, the entire company, including you, joins in the countdown, voices melding together as the anticipation builds. Kíli stands beside you, his voice ringing out to call 'three' in perfect harmony with the rest. At the culmination of the countdown, every hand raises its drink, and the room is engulfed in a sudden hush, the only sound being the delicate splash of ale descending from mugs to beards, and eventually meeting the floor.

Laughter and cheers erupt throughout the room as the men empty their cups, the jovial atmosphere infectious. From beside Kíli, the dwarf Nori lets out a hearty burp, punctuating the moment with a burst of sound. The table vibrates with the mirth of the company, and even Joseph seems to find the entire scene amusing, his laughter adding to the chorus.

Then, to your surprise, Ori stands up and takes center stage, his usually reserved demeanor giving way to an unexpected bravado. With a determined look, he releases a prolonged and impressively gassy burp that reverberates through the hall. The sight is so unexpected and the sound so out of character that you can't help but burst into laughter, clapping alongside Bofur who roars with approval from the end of the table.

"Excuse me! That is a doily, not a dishcloth!"

Emerging from the kitchen archway with an empty plate in your hand, you could hear, above the drunken bickering of the Dwarves throughout the house, the exasperated tone of the poor Hobbit. Bilbo's voice carried a mix of annoyance and desperation as he confronted Nori, who was apparently using a small white kitchen cloth to clean.

Still feeling a bit dazed from the wine, the dinner had slowed down, and everyone was now focused on cleaning up after the feast. Playing your part in the cleanup like everyone else, your main goal was to put your plate away and find a quiet spot to rest, maybe even catch a quick nap. But it seemed fate had a different plan for you.

You found yourself standing somewhat sluggishly in the middle of the room, observing Bilbo's struggle with the cloth. In a twist of irony, Bilbo actually seemed relieved to see you, and a fleeting wave of comfort washed over him.

"Oh! Thank goodness you're here." He exclaimed, setting the doily-turned-dishcloth aside.

The hobbit strode past Bofur, who was occupied with placing dishes at the silver sink. Bofur leaned back against the wall next to you, wearing a mischievous grin that hinted at his readiness to playfully tease Bilbo a bit more.

He nudged your shoulder as if encouraging you to join in the banter. However, you remained mostly unresponsive to his playful prod, letting out a tired giggle and swaying slightly on your feet, "Look, the silly cloth is riddled with holes!" Bilbo's cheeks flushed as Bofur snatched the small cloth from Bilbo, waving it in front of the Hobbit.

With a half-hearted chuckle, you watched the interaction, feeling a sense of detached amusement as Bilbo defended the crochet creation. "It's not daft. It's supposed to look like that. It's crochet!" Bilbo explained, trying to maintain his composure despite the chaos around him.

"Oh, and a splendid game it is, if you've got the balls for it!" Bofur's grin widened, his words accompanied by a playful gleam in his eye.

Bilbo came to an abrupt stop, a few steps away from where you stood. His face lit up with a mix of intrigue and determination. With an eager breath, he seized your wrist and promptly tugged you into the empty hallway, earning a slight huff of surprise from you.

Bilbo released your arm only to pace back and forth along the corridor, his hand now tightly clenched in his hair, "Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves! I'm fed up with the lot of them!"

You let out a tipsy sigh of agreement with Bilbo, setting your plate down on a nearby surface before swaying a bit as you moved to comfort the flustered Hobbit. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, offering a rather unsteady but well-intentioned touch.

"Bilbo," you started, your words slightly slurred due to the alcohol's influence, "I'm shorry if—"

Before you could manage to properly convey your thoughts, Gandalf stumbled in with an ale in his hand. His presence brought a wave of relief, effectively diverting the imminent awkwardness. Also seemingly under the influence, the wizard began to offer words of comfort to the distressed hobbit, momentarily easing the tension in the air.

"Oh, my dear," Gandalf's voice chimed in, pulling your attention to the wizard as he walked out from the kitchen, his eyes shifting between you and a visibly distressed Bilbo Baggins.  He began, his tone filled with concern, "What seems to be the matter?"

Bilbo's head lifted from its hunched position to peer over your shoulder, his frustration evident in the tightly balled fist he clenched at his side. "What seems to be the matter?" he echoed, his voice laced with exasperation.

"Look at the state of my kitchen!" Bilbo's agitation spilled forth, his gestures animated as he vented his grievances. "There's mud trod in the carpet! T-they all but pillaged the pantry!" With a decisive shrug, Bilbo shook off your hand from his shoulder and strode down the hall, pointing an accusatory finger into another room. "And I'm not even going to tell you what they did to the bathroom after your w-whole feast ordeal! They've all but destroyed the plumbing!"

Gandalf's gaze shifted downward, observing the scene before him as you sighed audibly, your hand rubbing the back of your neck in clear exasperation, your expression a mix of tiredness and annoyance.

"I don't understand what they're doing in my house!" Bilbo's frustration reached a boiling point, his voice rising as he threw his hands up in an angered fit.

A drunken chuckle erupted from your throat, a spontaneous burst of laughter that you couldn't quite contain. Bilbo and Ori turned their attention to you, the sight of your amusement seemingly catching them off guard. With a sheepish smile, you instinctively brought your hand up to lightly rub the side of your nose, your cheeks flushing slightly.

"Sorry." you mumbled, trying to regain your composure. In that moment, you couldn't help but find Ori's awkwardness endearing.

Alas, before Bilbo could voice his annoyance, Fíli sauntered into the conversation with his trademark slyness, effectively diverting the impending clash, "Here you go Ori, give it to me."

He took the blue plate from Ori with a teasing wink aimed at the exasperated hobbit. After a brief inspection, Fíli positioned himself in the middle of the room, his smirk suggesting a mischievous plan. With a flick of his wrist, he subtly motioned for you and Gandalf to move aside.

Both you and Gandalf instinctively backed away, positioning yourselves against opposite walls. Your heart raced as you watched the plate in Fíli's hands suddenly sail past your face, like a frisbee aiming for the far end of the hallway. Bilbo flinched and instinctively brought his hands to his chest, emitting a mix between a startled "no" and a sharp gasp.

"Shit!" You slurred, your laughter continuing to bubble.

To your surprise, at the far end of the hallway where you had anticipated the plate to shatter, Kíli stood, having effortlessly caught the plate in his hand.

"Lose this, brother?" Kíli's voice was lighthearted, his toothy grin conveying his amusement.

With a swift movement, he flipped the plate over his head, bouncing it skillfully on his elbows before catching it once again. He proceeded to send the plate soaring back into the kitchen, where another Dwarf blindly snatched it out of the air.

More plates were promptly hurled in Kíli's direction, and he skillfully continued to juggle them all. He kicked, spun, and expertly balanced the dishes and cutlery that Fíli threw his way. The display was met with cheers and applause from the other Dwarves, who seemed equally entertained by Kíli's impromptu performance.

Kíli paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours with a mischievous glint, and he chuckled, "You might want to close that mouth, my lady!" As if to emphasize his point, he deftly caught another bowl mid-air, his movements surprisingly graceful despite his current state, "Or you can catch a plate with it!"

Caught off guard by his playful challenge, you found yourself gaping at him, momentarily speechless as you watched his impressive juggling act unfold.

However, you weren't about to let his comment slide without a retort. Smirking, you shook your head and muttered under your breath, "Smartass." before playfully sticking your tongue out at him.

Seizing the opportunity, you grabbed your dirty plate from the nearby cabinet and, with a somewhat wobbly throw, sent it sailing in Kíli's direction. He skillfully caught the plate between his shoulders, redirecting it into the kitchen sink with ease. Fíli's laughter joined the chorus of amusement from the other Dwarves, and even Gandalf joined in the merriment as more dirty dishes were tossed in Kíli's direction. It was a chaotic and uproarious, the perfect embodiment of the evening's festivities, but not Bilbo's.

"No! Can you not do that!" Bilbo's voice rang out in panic. He bites his nails while looking at the chaos around him, "Excuse me!"

"T-that's- that's my mother's West Farthing pottery! It's over 100 years old!"

Bilbo scurried around the room like a flustered chicken, deciding that your state would not help him in the slightest, and left the room. His movements are a comical dance of weaving and ducking to avoid the flying bowls. He eventually made his way to the dining room, his ears practically glowing red with embarrassment and irritation as he stomped up to the table.

Ori, finding the entire spectacle amusing, couldn't help but laugh, even pointing at the Hobbit from behind. You noticed Joseph joining in on the laughter, clutching his stomach as he was thoroughly entertained by the spectacle Bilbo and Ori were creating.

"Can you not- excuse me!"

An odd rhythm of clanging metal and polished glass began to fill the air, echoing throughout the Hobbit hole. The sound resembled the beat of a drum, accompanied by the heavy stomping of boots. As if in response, half of the Dwarven throng seated at the table joined in, their clashing forks and knives creating a sharp symphony of sound.

Bilbo's wail reached new heights, "No, no- stop! You'll blunt the knives!" He tried to control the situation, his attempt at authority drowned out by the song.

"Ooh, you hear that, lads?" Bofur's voice carries with a playful edge, his brow arched with mockery, "He says we'll, 'blunt the knives'!"

Kíli's grin widens as he begins to hum the tune, his voice soon joined by others as they chime in, "Blunt the knives, bend the forks!"

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks!" Fíli's voice joins.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates," The entire company now sings along, their voices blending into a harmonious chorus. The Hobbit hole is filled with the sound of their song.

As the Dwarves continue to sing, you find yourself unable to resist, your own voice joining the chorus with a laugh and a smile.

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

Cut the cloth, and tread on the fat!

Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!

Pour the milk on the pantry floor,

Splash the wine on every door!"

Plates were passed around like a game of musical chairs, and bowls seemed to defy gravity as they were stacked precariously high. Ori took on the challenge of carrying one of these teetering towers, though not without a few dishes tumbling off behind him.

A cascade of cutlery clattered into a large saucepan from the dining room's entrance. And, as if to ensure you remained engaged, a fork sailed above your head, rebounding off the wall before landing at your feet. Gasping, you drop to your knees, ready for any flying objects.

"Sharp reflexes, those are, lass! They'll keep you from losing your head!" Glóin's chuckle rumbles as he passes by, carrying two stacks of plates.

You somehow muster a bewildered "thank you?" in response to the Dwarf's compliment.

From the dining room, Balin effortlessly sends everything airborne with a flick of his wrist, sending a plate soaring overhead. He seems nonchalant about the whole affair, as if disappointed by his contribution. With each plate he releases, the elder Dwarf rolls his eyes to the side, muttering something under his breath.

As the song carries on, Bofur retrieves his flute from the back of his belt and begins to play, adding a lively tune to the rhythm. Whistling and playing in harmony, he enhances the merry atmosphere.

"Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;

Pound them up with a thumping pole;

When you're finished, if any are whole,

Send them down the hall to roll!

That's what Bilbo Baggings hates!

So carefully! Carefully with the plates!"

And of course, The Dwarves did none of these dreadful things, and everything was cleaned and put away back in hiding of the cupboards and pantry.

The crowd erupts in laughter, their tankards clinking together in celebration. Their antics filling the air with infectious joy. The chaos of cleaning and stacking dishes eventually transforms into a neatly arranged pile at the center of the table. Bilbo, his initial distress now replaced with amazement, gazes at the spotless dishes and gleaming cutlery, a mix of disbelief and relief on his face.

Gandalf moves gracefully among the dwarves, finding his place at the end of the table. He conjures a large ring of smoke that billows over the tabletop.

You too find your way back into the midst of the throng, settling beside Joseph who seems to have unearthed a pasty from his pocket. Your eyes can do nothing but roll at his antics, surprised that he has any room left to even eat.

The once lively room falls into an eerie silence, and even Joseph's easy demeanor is shattered by the abruptness of the change. The air itself seems to still as if holding its breath.

But it's not a knock that shatters the tranquility, it's the powerful, resonant thuds that reverberate through the door. The force of the impacts is so strong that the ground beneath you trembles, sending a shiver down your spine. The Dwarves, who had moments ago been boisterously celebrating, now appear apprehensive, their expressions growing somber.

Fíli and Kíli exchange a glance, their murmurs hinting at unease. The atmosphere is tense, and all eyes shift towards the entrance hall, where the source of the disturbance awaits.

Gandalf's once jovial demeanor has transformed into one of gravitas. He nods to himself with a mixture of determination and understanding, taking a final puff of his pipe before setting it aside.

"He's here," Gandalf utters, and those two simple words carry a sense of foreboding that hangs heavy in the air—the thirteenth dwarf has arrived.

Chapter Text

IX.

"Forgive me, who's 'here' exactly?" Mr. Baggins inquired, his confusion mounting as the assembly of Dwarves drew nearer to the resounding thuds upon the door.

They converged, akin to ants drawn to honey, their movements trembling like leaves stirred by a breeze as they gravitated toward the source of the sound. Faint whispers danced among them, daring one another to seize the initiative and open the door, yet courage was lacking, and none stepped forward to welcome their kin, who would soon join their company.

Yet amongst them remained a solitary Dwarf, seated at the table, unmoved. He raised his voice to address Bilbo.

"It's our King from under The Mountain, lad," Balin responded, drawing deeply from his oaken pipe.

The Hobbit's eyes widened at the mention of a 'king', nearly bulging from their sockets. He echoed Balin's words with a hint of skepticism, "A king?"

Balin nodded with assurance, "Indeed, a king. And only by his name hold a great prophecy— Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin." With ease, Balin pronounced the name, pride evident in his tone. His head held high, he turned to address his companions who continued to banter by the doorway. Meanwhile, the wizard gave a subtle nod, placing the pipe between his lips, waiting for the elder Dwarf to resume.

"And it's in our best interest not to keep him waiting for too long." Balin continued.

You didn't dare speak, fearing that the liquor might betray something you didn't intend, so you held your tongue, letting the weight of the moment settle in silence.

There was much for the wizard to contemplate about. He had anticipated this journey for quite some time. Everything has been according to plan. Yet, for the first time in a considerable stretch, doubt gnawed at the edges of the wizard's mind.

He had envisioned a burglar, Bilbo, for this monumental journey, and just as swiftly as plans were laid, he found his plans subject to change. Upon encountering you in the depths of the forest, he reached a spontaneous decision - you too would become an integral part of the fate he envisioned for Erebor for he had heard a silent plea.  However, now he grappled with second thoughts, perhaps wavering under the weight of what the wind had foretold to him.

Back in Bree, he had communicated these plans to Thorin, but the lonely king, although he listened, was set in his mind that it would not be a good idea. Now, Gandalf was about to witness the thunder of his wrath, whether Thorin had the time to ponder it through or not.

Gandalf rose from his corner seat, a determined expression on his face as he declared, "I shall get the door."

"No! Wait, Gandalf!" Bilbo hissed urgently, his finger jabbing the air as he addressed the wandering wizard. Bilbo cast anxious glances between Gandalf and the rest of the table but was too late to do anything. Gandalf already ventured to the door with haste.

"Can I go and see him too?" The young boy's hopeful voice reached your ears, tugging at your heartstrings. You drew in a deep breath, your head tilting down to meet the gaze of the boy who longed to meet this mysterious stranger.

"It might be wiser for you to wait with your sister, little one," Balin offered his advice.

Joseph's eyes gleamed with a puppy-like enthusiasm. This was his chance to come face to face with an actual king, and you knew he wouldn't give up easily.

"So, he's the king of the Dwarves?" Your brow lifted inquisitively.

Balin's shoulders shook as the grey-haired man erupted into hearty laughter, the sound filling the air for a few moments. "Oh, not the king of all Dwarves, mind you! But our king."

"He's a figure of fearlessness, power, and bravery, yet these words merely skim the surface of him. I've known him since he was just a wee lad, and he's grown into an exceptional leader," Balin spoke with a seriousness that underscored the significance of his words. But then, his eyes closed as he burst into genuine laughter. "Of course, his disposition can vary greatly! Crossing paths with him on a bad day isn't an experience you'd wish for," he added, his laughter resonating through the air.

Joseph's curiosity was undeniable, evident in how he leaned closer to Balin, hanging on to each word.

"Wait! Joseph!"

In an instant, your brother sprang out of his chair, his energy propelling him with nimble speed across the slippery floorboards toward the source of the disturbance.

Hastily rising from your own seat, you followed suit, the noise of the chair scraping against the floor mingling with your hurried footsteps. Amidst the commotion, you offered a series of hurried apologies to Balin, who remained seated at the table, excusing yourself as you rushed to join your brother.

Rounding the corner, your eyes fall upon Joseph, who's struggling to jump and catch a glimpse of someone in the forest of limbs and bodies that block the entrance hall. The atmosphere is charged with a strangely tense, silent energy, as everyone remains spellbound by the figure who strides into the Hobbit's domain.

"So… this is the Hobbit?" The voice that booms through the air is deep, its resonance capturing everyone's attention.

Fortunately, you stand a touch taller than most of the men, granting you an unhindered view of another figure clad in leather. This newcomer passes his black cloak to Kíli behind him, his arms folding across his chest as he gazes downward, leaning slightly to stride forward, his imposing presence commanding attention.

Remarkably tall, he stands out even among the Dwarves, just an inch taller than most, but possessing a stocky, powerful build. His beard is short, shorter than the other elder men, akin to Kíli's but slightly more grown out.

In fact, a resemblance strikes you—him being strikingly, similar of Kíli, their faces sharing uncanny similarities. Long, lustrous hair cascades down his back, reminiscent of the young brunette's, waving in graceful patterns and interlaced with strands of silver that trace his scalp. His allure remains undiminished, even with a braid that extends from his hair, clasped by a silver bead that dangles past his shoulders.

The Hobbit stood speechless, mirroring your own state. Bilbo stumbled over his words, visibly flustered by the sight of the towering stranger.

This newcomer inundated Bilbo with a barrage of questions, one after another, never allowing the Hobbit a chance to answer before launching into the next query. The stranger already seemed to have Mr. Baggins wrapped around his fingers, a demonstration of the power he wielded.

As you observe the scene unfolding, the term 'cocky' now seems more fitting, possibly aligning with the traits Balin alluded to earlier. He radiated confidence while discreetly testing the smaller man before him, his gaze predatory. "Tell me Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"  he inquired with a deliberate tone.

Bilbo's response stumbled, "What? P-pardon m-?"

"Axe or sword! What's your weapon of choice?" Thorin pressed on, his voice steady as he continued to circle the Hobbit in a deliberate manner.

"Well," Bilbo began, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and adjusting his suspenders, "I do have some proficiency in... conkers, if you must know." The mention of the traditional chestnut game from his childhood was intended to ease the tension, and he chuckled nervously.

Thorin came to a halt in front of the Hobbit, their difference in height quite pronounced. The Dwarf had to crane his neck to maintain eye contact with Bilbo, his expression devoid of emotion.

Bilbo's gaze met yours through the crowd, his eyes locking onto yours for an instant before he quickly averted his attention back to Thorin. The interaction caused a gulp to catch in his throat, a sense of unease settling in as he worried that the Dwarf might react oddly and lash out without reason.

"But I fail to see why that's… relevant." Bilbo stammered, the humor in his attempt at a joke faulting.

Looking at Bilbo now, Thorin found it hard to imagine the Hobbit doing anything more adventurous than his routine trips into town and back, "Thought as much," Thorin hummed with mockery, his tone dripping with skepticism. "He seems more grocer than burglar."

The company behind Thorin chuckled in agreement, their amusement merging with Gandalf's awkward laughter as he leaned against the closed door. Thorin's smug expression carried an air of triumph as he stepped aside, retreating into the corridor where hushed conversations continued. The Dwarves who had clustered around the doorway dispersed, parting to make way for Thorin.

Upon laying eyes on you, an unexpected surge of annoyance coursed through Thorin. The realisation that you were truly present under the same roof seemed to only amplify his irritation. He almost wished it were some sort of twisted jest by Gandalf, a morbid prank involving recruiting a woman and a mere child to partake in the quest.

"You," Thorin's voice clicked, a deliberate emphasis underlying the words. The impulse to fire back with a sardonic retort danced on the edge of your consciousness, but you managed to hold your tongue, a hint of self-control prevailing.

Swallowing hard, you took a cautious step back, a mix of intimidation and alcohol-induced tipsiness adding to the surreal atmosphere of the encounter. Joseph, likely catching the vibe, joined you, his grip tightening around your hand as he kept his gaze firmly anchored to the ground, avoiding the intensity of Thorin's gaze.

In response to his looming presence, you managed a low wheeze, "Yes—"

Thorin's voice cut through, crisp and dismissive, "I might tolerate a burglar accompanying us on this quest, but the notion of a child tagging along, let alone a mere mortal who hasn't held anything more formidable than a toothpick, is beyond consideration." His words dripped with contempt, a pause punctuating the air as if expecting your reply.

Just as you flinched, poised for a retort, he intervened once more, his tone unwavering in its authority, "I won't allow you to obstruct our path. And don't for a moment believe I won't hesitate to abandon you at the nearest village doorstep during our journey, along with this—" Thorin's pause was deliberate, his gaze sharp as it landed on Joseph, whose unease was palpable, "Nadul irkês."

While the meaning of those words eluded you, their menacing tone was unmistakable. An unsettling chill seemed to creep down your spine, the weight of Thorin's threats cutting through the tipsiness that had blurred your senses.

Just as tension hung thick in the air, a brief moment of hesitation flickered under Thorin's gaze. He stepped forward once again, his presence encroaching on your personal space, a raspy breath escaping his lips and grazing your cheeks. "Gandalf may want you here, but don't ever think for a moment that I share the sentiment. You'll need to earn your place, and I'll see fit when that time comes," He spat.

"Uncle," a voice called out urgently, breaking the charged atmosphere. A firm hand landed on Thorin's shoulder, and a familiar tuft of brunette hair surged into view.

Kíli, resolute and familiar, marched forward to defuse the situation. He spoke in a language you didn't understand, yet the context was clear enough even without comprehension. With a nod of his head, he indicated down the hallway, leading back to dining hall with the rest of the throng.

The pair exited together, Thorin's parting words a grumbling warning thrown over his shoulder, "This is a warning."

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, a pent-up tension releasing from deep within. You glanced over at Gandalf and Bilbo, the latter looking even more stressed than before. The hobbit's demeanor had shifted to one of intense distress, his hands entwined in his ginger hair as he swayed on the balls of his feet.

"Well," you started, a hint of tipsy amusement coloring your words, your grip on Joseph's hand remaining firm, "That was interesting, wasn't it?"

Gandalf's eyes held a knowing twinkle, a wisdom hidden within. He offered reassurance to his companions, "I'm certain Thorin's intentions were not malicious. He will come around in time, I believe.""

"Right," You snorted, dropping to one knee in front of Joseph and fussing with the collar of his shirt, "He was spitting in my face, but that's fine."

The Hobbit scoffed, equally in shock. Bilbo's hands darted to his suspenders, his frustration evident as he tugged at them, "Are there any more Dwarves joining us tonight, Gandalf? I'll have to see what scraps are left in my pantry!"

Joseph, a touch confused, piped up with a soft voice and slightly puffy eyes, "I thought there wasn't anything left to eat?"

"There isn't!" Both you and Bilbo responded in unison.

Gandalf erupted into a hearty laugh, his joy reverberating through the corridor. With a friendly hand on the Hobbit's back, he gently urged him forward, "Come on, let's join the others and take a seat." You nodded in agreement before following Gandalf with Joseph in tow.

Gandalf had all but invited the trio to the company's table, but as you might have expected, Mr. Baggins, Joseph, and yourself found yourselves rather excluded from the ongoing discussion. You were now relegated to a corner of the room. Thorin, despite his clear preference to have you elsewhere, had been overridden by Gandalf's insistence that you at least remain in the same room as Bilbo to hear what was being discussed.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" Balin inquired.

"Aye!" Thorin sneered, a hint of irony lacing his words, "Envoys from each of the seven Kingdoms." The table erupted in laughter.

Yet, there was one who did not share in the cheering. Dwalin's brow furrowed in contemplation, his voice low and laden with concern, "And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?"

Silence fell over the table once more. Dwalin, his burdened gaze lingering on the tabletop, leaned forward with a soft yet urgent whisper, "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin leaned in, his grip tightening around a bowl of stew, his expression grave. "He will not come," he declared. Dwalin's shoulders slumped in disappointment, a resigned sigh escaping him, and the table echoed his sentiment, "They believe this quest is meant for us and us alone."

As the conversation unfolded, Bilbo rose from his place against the wall, choosing to lean against the back of your chair. Joseph shifted his position, maneuvering to find comfort where Bilbo's presence wouldn't loom over him, leaning against your side.

Your gaze followed the hobbit as he addressed the table. Bilbo was overwhelmed with curiosity, the spark of Tookish daring beginning to kindle within him upon hearing such an unusual yet strangely familiar phrase. "So, you're going on a quest?" he ventured, his voice tinged with intrigue. The entire table seemed engrossed in their discussion, their attention fixated on the corner, almost forgetting that Bilbo and yourself was also present and listening in.

"Ah, Bilbo," Gandalf interjected, his tone carrying a hint of amusement, "Perhaps, we could shed a bit more light on this matter?" The Hobbit nodded in agreement.

Your own curiosity piped as the wizard pulled an aged parchment from the depths of his cloak, laying it out on the table. The paper was somewhat dusty from its prolonged hibernation in a dark pocket, "This was made by Thor, your great grandfather, Thorin." The wizard fixed to the Dwarf lowly. Thorin's gaze sharpened as he traced a finger along the faded parchment.

Bofur let out a low whistle from beside the king, his arms folded nonchalantly behind his head. The others leaned in as well, their attention drawn to the unfolded map. Gandalf extended a finger, indicating the center of the map, "Far to the east... over ranges and rivers... beyond woodlands and wastelands... lies a single, solitary peak."

You blinked, finding yourself unconsciously leaning forward, Joseph nestled against your other shoulder. The map unveiled before you depicted a dark mountain etched with ink, crowned by a vivid red creature. Curious markings and runes adorned the map as well. Despite your intrigue, the runes held no meaning for you, prompting you to dismiss them quickly.

Bilbo though arrived with a candle, leaning in to examine the map as well, listing it with the flame for the other to see more clearly. His voice musing as he read, "The Lonely... Mountain..."

"Aye!" Glóin exclaimed, his enthusiasm punctuated by the collective groans and eye rolls of his companions, "Óin had read the portents. "And the portents say 'it is time'!"

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold," Chimed in Óin, nodding to his younger brother, "'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast and his servants will end'."

Whispers of conspiracy buzzed around the table as each dwarf exchanged hushed words. You, however, felt a mixture of unease and confusion, your brows furrowing as you turned to Gandalf for guidance. The extent of the conversation was lost on you, and the mention of a 'beast' made your heart skip a beat. And if there were servants of this creature, the situation seemed even graver. You took a deep breath, realizing that none of this had been part of your discussions with Gandalf just a day ago.

It wasn't until the wizard took a contemplative puff from his pipe that you were about to inquire about the Dwarves' references to the prophecy, but Bilbo beat you to it. He retreated into the hallway, his expression mirroring the shock that seemed to have overtaken you as well. In your present state, you could relate to the Hobbit's sudden unease. "Uh, what beast?" Bilbo stuttered.

"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, the bane of our people and the greatest calamity of our age," Bofur chimed in, his voice tinged with both reverence and humor, "He wasn't alone, mind you. Some of his kin followed him, but their fates remain a mystery. Some even speculate that he devoured them himself. Air-born fire-breather, with teeth like knives and claws like meat hooks. And extremely fond of precious metals." Bofur added, watching Bilbo with a gleam in his eye as he took a swig of his ale.

All eyes turned to Bilbo as he shifted uncomfortably, a hint of embarrassment coloring his features. "Yes, I know what a dragon is, thank you," he retorted, his voice carrying a mixture of defensiveness and frustration.

You couldn't help but silently mouth the word 'dragon' to Gandalf beside you, the concept still sounding otherworldly even as it left your own lips. Luckily, Joseph remained blissfully unaware, whimpering softly into your shoulder as he dozed off. Reflexively, your head shook in disbelief, almost as if trying to shake off the reality of the situation. You were on the verge of reminding Gandalf once more that you hadn't willingly signed up for this perilous journey.

Amidst the chatter, Gandalf's hushed words reached your ears, offering reassurance and comfort. But your attention was drawn to the youngest dwarf, Ori, who abruptly stood from the table, defiantly declaring his lack of fear for the dragon. His proclamation was met with cheers and encouragement from the rest of the table, their camaraderie evident in the way they rallied around him before he was gently pulled back into his seat by his brother.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," Balin's voice cut through the din, bringing the table to a momentary hush. "But here we stand, just thirteen of us... and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

"We may be few in number," Fíli rebutted with a stern gaze at Balin. The bond smirked looking around the table with a slam of his fist he continued, "But we are fighters. All of us, to the last Dwarf!"

Kíli chimed in, a mischievous grin on his face as he playfully nudged his brother's shoulder. He glanced around the table, his voice laced with humor, "And let us not forget, we have a wizard among us. Gandalf has surely vanquished countless dragons in his time!"

A pointed question came from Dori, directed at Gandalf, "How many then? How many dragons have you killed?" The wizard's flustered attempt to dismiss the query only seemed to incite impatience from Dori, who persisted, "Come now, wizard. Give us a number!" The ensuing chaos saw the Dwarves once again talking over one another, each voice a clamor of opinions and thoughts.

Thorin had clearly reached his limit. Rising to his feet with a determined expression, he leaned over the table and unleashed a resounding roar in that same unfamiliar language. Joseph, startled awake by the thunderous voice, clung to your arm with wide eyes, his grip tight.

The chatter in the room instantly dimmed as Thorin's commanding voice cut through. His gaze swept across the assembled company, his disappointment evident, "If we have read these signs, do you not think that others have as well?"

His tone held a hint of frustration. He shook his head, clearly dismayed that this crucial point had not been thoroughly considered, "Rumors are spreading. Smaug, the dragon, has not been sighted for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering weighing the risk."

Your body involuntarily shifted in your chair as his gaze fell upon you briefly, before quickly moving on to address his kin, "Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back, while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or, do we seize this chance to take back Erebor!"

With a triumphant thrust of his fist into the air, Thorin's rallying cry was met with cheers and raised tankards, ale sloshing over the table and onto the floor. Amidst the revelry, Bilbo's attempts to intervene were drowned out, his expressions of concern lost in the atmosphere.

As the room erupted into celebration, the wise voice of Balin pierced through the noise, hushing the crowd once more. "You forget," he began with a hint of disappointment, "The front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

Gandalf, however, had a twinkle in his eye as he addressed Balin's concern, "That my dear Balin, is not entirely true," He produced a small, metallic object from his pocket, its blackened and rusted surface catching the light. Twisting it deftly between his fingers, he continued, "I forgot to mention that the map also had come with a key." The room was momentarily filled with stunned silence, all eyes on the mysterious key that held the promise of access to the long-lost mountain.

The sight of the key, regardless of what it might unlock, left the king momentarily stunned. His mouth hung agape, and his grip on the edge of the table tightened as he lowered himself back into his seat, "How came you by this?" Thorin's voice held a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"It was given to me by your father. Thrain," Gandalf replied, his tone carrying a weight of significance. The wizard extended the long, barred key toward Thorin, "It is yours now. Keep it safe." As the key exchanged hands, a somber expression settled over Thorin's features as he contemplated its significance.

Thorin looked up to Gandalf with a solemn nod, then secured the silver key onto a chain that hung around his neck. "Indeed, I will."

Fíli leaned in over the table, his gaze fixated on the intricately designed key. He voiced his thoughts with a weary curiosity, "If there's a key. Must not there be a door?"

Gandalf's response was deliberate and thoughtful, his pipe pointing to the markings on the map as he continued, "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower halls." The significance of the discovery seemed to hang heavy in the air, a doorway to possibilities yet unknown.

As your eyes remained fixed on the map, they inevitably drifted toward the ominous figure of the dragon, now confidently identified as such, perched at the summit. If fear had not already taken hold, it certainly had now. The notion of sharing the same world with a mythical beast sent shivers down your spine, and Bofur's descriptions of the creature's ferocity only fueled your imagination.

Thorin and Gandalf entered into a discussion about potential routes, weighing the options of safety against danger. Their dialogue flowed seamlessly, each idea building upon the last.

"Could we travel along the River Running?" Thorin suggested, his finger indicating a potential path. "Then make our way to the ruins of Dale—the old town nestled in the valley beneath the shadow of the mountain. The river flows directly out through a great cliff to the south of the mountain. If the dragon's habits haven't changed, he often emerges from that point. This would be our opportunity to confront and defeat the beast, along with any who dare follow him."

The king's words once again focused on the dreaded creature, its name hanging heavily in the air and intensifying the unease that had settled upon the room.

"Oh no- that would not be wise," The wizard chimed, "Facing Smaug and the unknown dangers within the mountain would require a formidable warrior or even an entire army.  And with just our company, it will be far too dangerous." Gandalf's posture slumped, mirroring the collective sense of disappointment that settled among the Dwarves, "The answer to the runes lies somewhere hidden in this map and I do not have the skills to find it."

"But," he continued, lifting their spirits with a renewed hope, "There are others in Middle-earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." His gaze shifted between Bilbo and the two of you, "But if we are careful, determined, and clever... I believe that It can be done. This is why I proposed a strategy involving burglary, especially considering the existence of a hidden side door."

Bilbo's impulsive nature took over as he exclaimed, "An excellent idea with burglary, Gandalf. And you would need a good one too. An expert, I dare say." With a smirk, he straightened his posture and walked away from your corner, addressing the group with a newfound confidence.

"And are you?" Golin inquired, capturing the collective curiosity of the room.

The Hobbit stood there, clearly perplexed by the sudden attention. He shifted his weight nervously, his brows furrowed as he stammered, "Am I what?"

"You heard the lad, he said he's an expert!" A Dwarf down the table chuckled, his laugh quickly spreading to his neighbors.

Bilbo's quick attempt to downplay his own supposed expertise only seemed to fuel the fire. He adamantly denied possessing any burglar skills, an assertion that garnered further laughter and jest from the dwarves.

"I'm afraid that I have to agree with Mr. Baggins." Balin interjected, "He's hardly burglar material."

Bilbo nodded emphatically, clearly relieved to have someone on his side. This triggered another round of debate among the Dwarves, each one eagerly suggesting alternative candidates for the role of the burglar. Amidst the commotion, some pointed towards you, but their suggestions were met with staunch opposition, particularly when the notion of a female burglar was raised.

Dwalin's voice cut through the chatter, his words carrying a firm conviction, "Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who cannot fight nor fend for themselves." He glanced towards his brother, then turned his gaze to Thorin, "Especially not a woman or a child." Thorin responded in Dwarvish, a brief exchange that ended with shared laughter between the two, their attention now squarely focused on you and Joseph.

In the midst of the boisterous discussion, you and Joseph found yourselves sinking deeper into your corner, the atmosphere growing heavy with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. The words exchanged by the dwarves, especially Dwalin's dismissive comments, made you both feel belittled and out of place. It was as if your presence in the room was a mere afterthought, and the notion stung deeply.

Thorin's and Dwalin's shared laughter only seemed to amplify your discomfort. Their comments felt like a further reminder of your outsider status, and the feeling of being looked down upon by those whom you had only recently met itched at your self-esteem.

Joseph huddled closer to you, his small hand gripping your sleeve as if seeking reassurance in your presence. His wide eyes reflected a mixture of confusion and hurt, as he grappled with the realisation that he was being judged solely based on his age as well. You could feel his confidence waver with the thought.

The words slipped out of your mouth, tinged with a blend of frustration and suppressed anger. You weren't going to stand there and allow Thorin and Dwalin to openly mock and belittle you and Joseph, not again. The protectiveness you felt for your younger brother only intensified your resolve to put them in their place.

"I'm not doing this again." You muttered under your breath, attempting to restrain your rising frustration.

The attention of your mutter however was caught between the two Dwarves. Almost immediately, their laughter ceased, the atmosphere shifting as their expressions turned from amusement to surprise.

Thorin's casual posture stiffened, and he leaned in, his gaze narrowing as it locked onto you. The candlelight cast dancing shadows across his features, emphasizing the lines of his face as it darkened with irritation. His response dripped with condescension and thinly veiled anger, his words striking like a lash, "Do not be smart with me, woman."

Despite Gandalf's efforts to restore order, the room remained tumultuous. The dwarves were too engrossed in their own disputes to heed his command, their voices blending into an indistinct uproar, "Enough!" However, no one seems to take any interest in listening.

Thorin's dismissive attitude persisted, his focus solely on asserting his dominance. He leaned in slightly, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he taunted you once more, "You should be grateful you're here."

Your restraint shattered, a surge of frustration boiling over at his arrogance. Your retort was sharp, laced with defiance, "You think I want to be here?"

"Enough!" Gandalf's voice thundered over the table once again, commanding attention and respect. He rose from his seat, a commanding figure amidst the tension that had been brewing.

With his movement, a dark mist seemed to materialize along the walls, a visual representation of his anger. The siblings cowered, your shoulders hunching as you watched the ominous fog snake along the walls. Joseph, equally startled, flinched at the unexpected manifestation.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hissing of the dark fog as it spread. Every eye was fixed on Gandalf, the weight of his presence quelling the lingering disagreements and outbursts. The wizard's expression was stern, his resolve unwavering as he addressed the gathered company. His words reaffirmed your role in the quest, a role that you had not willingly chosen but were now bound to undertake.

Despite the occasional eye roll or muttered comment, Gandalf's explanation carried the weight of authority. He reminded the Dwarves that your presence was not a mere whim, but a necessity along with Bilbos'. As the tension and the mist dissipated, a collective understanding seemed to settle over the company. The reality of the situation had been reinforced.

Gandalf continued to advocate for your and Bilbo's inclusion in the company, citing your strengths that would contribute to the success of the quest. He turned his attention to their leader, his gaze addressed Thorin directly, "You asked me to find fifteen members for this company, and Both have a great deal to offer. More than any of you can imagine to know... You must trust me on this."

Thorin blinked. He turned his gaze upon you, tension dissipating from his shoulders and his posture relaxing unwillingly as he spoke his next words, "Very well. We will do it your way."

Bilbo, on the other hand, seemed to deflate at the realization that his curiosity had led him into this unforeseen journey. A gulp of apprehension betrayed his guilt, even as his fate had been already sealed, "What? No-no-no!"

You can't help but mutter Gandalf's name questioningly, expressing your mixed feelings about the situation. Thorin, in his typical authoritative manner, summons Balin over and instructs him to hand the two of you a contract.

"Just the usual," Balin begins, "Summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration... funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements!" Both you and Bilbo exclaim in shock and disbelief.

The carefree atmosphere that was present just moments ago is replaced by a sense of foreboding, and your brain starts racing as it processes the implications of what's being asked of you. In that instant, your world feels as though it's been turned upside down.

You and the Hobbit begin to read through the terms of the contract. Bofur chimes in with his recollections, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of humor.

As you scan the document, your eyes widen as you reach the end of the paragraph. Your heart races, and you grab Joseph's wrist in a tight grip, a mixture of panic and determination flooding your senses. Without hesitation, you bolt out of the dining room, pulling your brother along with you, and you dash down the corridors, the urgency in your steps leaving everyone in the room momentarily stunned.

Bilbo stumbles out of the way, his eyes widening as he watches you go. He's torn between his curiosity about the contract's contents and his concern for you. As much as he wants to follow you, he finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to muster the courage to pursue you. He sinks to his knees, his gaze fixed on the path you took, a mixture of worry and confusion clouding his expression.

Through the hushed silence that has settled over the table, Bofur's voice breaks through with a snicker, his jest attempting to relieve some of the tension in the air, "Did I say something?" he quips, his tone light-hearted but laced with curiosity, "Was it the, 'melt the flesh of your bones' or, 'incineration'?"

"Most likely could've been both, a-actually," the Hobbit replies, his breath uneven as he leans back, a hand cradling the bridge of his nose.

"Just trying to paint the picture for 'em, laddie!" Bofur laughs, his tone cheerful as he continues, "Think—furnace with wings!"

Bilbo's face contorted with nausea. He clenches his stomach, holding back a few gags in his throat, and mutters, "I think I might join them. I-I need air."

"Flash of light, searing pain, then poof. You're nothing more than a pile of ash!" Bofur adds with a flourish of his hands, his words met with amusement and slight discomfort from the Dwarfs around him. The grim nature of the contract's terms is twisted into a strange kind of macabre humor, and nervous laughter ripples through the room.

"You alright, laddie?" Balin asks as he observes the poor Hobbit who should have definitely joined you when he had the chance.

Bilbo swallows hard, his face still pale, and shakes his head weakly, "Nope—" Before Bilbo can even reach the closest stool for support, his body betrays him. He ragdolls, collapsing onto the wooden floor right under his feet.

Thorin turns his gaze toward Bofur, a sly smirk forming on his lips. The rest of the Dwarves, particularly Ori, gasped at the unexpected sight of Mr. Baggins fainting before them. It's not long before raucous of laughter fills the room. Gandalf, however, shakes his head at the mischievous dwarf with a mix of amusement and disappointment, "Oh, very helpful, Bofur."

^[1] Nadul irkês | Mortal child (Khuzdul)

Chapter Text

X.

It had been a while since you hurriedly led Joseph out of the dining hall.

In your retreat, you opted to find your way back to the front of the house, where the comforting fire crackled. It was difficult to process what Bofur had said. Your mind feels like it's on the brink of a mental breakdown, grappling with the sheer weight of this reality.

You wanted a moment of solace away from the group of men, deciding that a bit of distance might do you some good. Or perhaps it was the lingering effects of the alcohol telling you to rest – at this point, it's hard to discern.

Your fingers gently sweep through Joseph's disheveled hair, a gesture that momentarily distracts you.

Speaking of Joseph, he's become quite restless for the moment. He voices his impatience, wanting to rejoin his newfound companions. It's as if you're not good enough for him anymore.

You hush the boy again as his pleas becoming insistent, each query delivered with a touch more frustration than the last. But soon he falters, drifting into a soundless sleep.

As the fire crackles before you, it’s flames intertwining in a mesmerizing display and can you almost perceive two flickering silhouettes moving together in a dance. The fire's warmth however, brings to mind the terms of the paper you've read earlier, and the word "incineration" flashes in your thoughts.

The mere idea of being burned alive sends shivers down your spine. You twist your head, eliciting a satisfying 'pop' from your neck, and divert your gaze from the fire to the wooden ground beneath you, attempting to shake off the unsettling thought.

Joseph stirs slightly, his voice barely reaching you as he fights off sleep. You look down at him, his drowsy comment of your cold hands pulling you from your thoughts.

"Are they?" You murmur, almost surprised by the sensation yourself. Apologising under your breath, you withdraw your hands from his face.

Bilbo, in a drowsy state, sluggishly joins the two siblings, sitting on the emerald sofa. He plops himself down, draping a wet rag over his flushed face as he too starts to doze off, completely devoid of any energy after dealing with the afternoon.

Down the hall, the company's cheers ring out once again, accompanied by the scraping of chairs and heavy footsteps as they continue to enjoy their gathering.

With a sense of weariness, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. The person squats down, a brief pause suggesting they're awaiting permission to intrude on you. Their companion lingers by the doorway, giving them a moment.

"Are you alright?"

Turning your head, you find yourself facing Kíli. His concern evident in his expression as he waits for your response.

"I'm fine... just tired is all." You reply, offering a faint smile.

A bright smile graces the young man's face, and he glances back at his brother, who offers an encouraging nod whilst holding back a teasing smirk. Another pause ensues, and he swallows.

"Don't worry too much about the beast, milady," He assures almost like a mind reader, sensing your distress, "Perhaps..."

Kíli gulps again, not sure how to word what he truly wants to say. He looks upon Fíli again, who only motions with his hands, signaling for his brother to continue, hoping that Kíli's lighthearted nature will succeed in lifting your spirits.

Taking a calming breath, he continues, “Perhaps, as we journey forward, you could focus on the adventure itself. The path ahead is full of unknowns— and discoveries waiting to be made!" His hopeful tone carries a touch of optimism, a genuine effort to steer your thoughts.

"Think of all the stories you will tell when you come back, the friends you'll make along the way," He says, playfully nudging your shoulder with a sly grin, "A once-in-a-lifetime experience if you will, milady. I have your back, I swear it! On my mother's life."

"Kíli," you begin, your voice tinged with a mixture of frustration, "I really don't want a 'once-in-a-lifetime experience,' especially one that could be our last." Joseph shifts in your embrace, sensing your unease through his sleep.

Fíli lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Clearly, his brothers' skills in smooth-talking still have some room for improvement and he needs to rethink he’s wording again.

Kíli's warm hand settled on your shoulder, offering a comforting touch, "Yet, you still have my word." His thumb brushed lightly against your shoulder for a moment longer before he withdrew his hand. With a quick glance at his brother, Kíli retreated, the two Dwarves disappearing around the corner. Their fading voices hinted at a hushed argument, and a not-so-gentle shove from Fíli conveyed his annoyance at Kíli's poorly executed reassurance.

Meanwhile, Gandalf observed the scene from a distance, his gaze heavy with exhaustion. Thorin stood beside him, ale in hand, his posture slightly hunched as he watched his nephew disappear from view.

An almost amused smirk graced Thorins face, knowing that both the Hobbit and the siblings seemed far from convinced about joining his company on the quest. However, regardless of what he thinks, Gandalf's determination is what will ensure all three of you were part of the journey, whether willingly or not.

"If they join us, Gandalf," Thorin speaks, his tone stern, "I cannot guarantee their safety."

The wizard contemplates this, bringing a hand to his chin in thought, "Understood."

"Nor will I, or my company, be responsible for their fate." Thorin reinforces.

"Agreed."

Another moment of silence hangs between them, heavy with unspoken concerns.

Thorin's back clicks as he shifts, taking a sip of his ale. He fixes Gandalf with a serious look, his gaze unwavering. "I will not allow the fate of a child's death to rest on my company. If you are still intent on your plan, he will stay behind at the first opportunity we get. Is that understood, Gandalf?" Thorin's voice carries a blend of determination and warning.

The wizard stands a bit taller, his gaze unwavering, "You have my word."

Thorin's attention returns to you, the woman cradling the child, "I still wish to understand why you believe the female will be of any use on this quest. If she does not prove herself useful, I won’t hesitate to leave her as well. I will not tolerate—"

"Thorin, my dear friend. Please trust me," Gandalf interjects, his voice steady, "She will prove to be of great use in due time. She is smart and clever, qualities we need more of around here." Gandalf shifts his focus to the plump Dwarf, Bombur, who waddles into the dining hall with a platter of food. As Bombur leans down to pick up a fallen cube of cheese, more food slips off his plate, prompting a bemused raised eyebrow from Gandalf.

"You still haven't told me where you found them," Thorin inquires, his attention now on Bombur.

Gandalf pauses for a moment, considering his response. With a quick breath, he chooses his words carefully, "I already told you, Thorin. Just outside the Old Forest... They were severely dehydrated and exhausted from their journey."

"Oh, I remember now," Thorin's voice rumbles with the memory. The ale in his hand sloshes over the rim of his wooden mug as he shakes his head, "A pity pick-up."

Thorin's next swig of ale is more substantial, as if he's trying to drown out the bizarre reality he's facing, "My stance remains unchanged. I will not allow a feeble link in my company, Gandalf." He drains the last of the beer in his mug, his resolve seemingly fortified.

With a dismissive scoff, he begins to stride away from the wall, closing the distance between himself and the wizard. He casts one last look toward you and the Hobbit, his tone firm and uncompromising, "Make it two."

And so, he storms deeper into the building, putting more distance between himself and the wizard. His empty mug lands with a thud on a nearby table, a manifestation of his frustration. It's evident that he's still grappling the reality of the situation, unable to accept the fact that you and the Hobbit are now integral parts of this endeavor. Thorin can only cling to a slim hope that his ears might deceive him at some point, wishing that he'll awaken from this unexpected turn of events.

The trio was settling into a semblance of tranquility, teetering on the edge of slumber. However, their peace was short-lived as Gandalf sauntered into the room behind the reclining Bilbo, his staff in hand. With a swift strike to the couch, he jolted the poor Hobbit awake. Startled, Bilbo leapt up, clutching at the armrest and yanking the damp cloth from his eyes.

"By the lord!" Bilbo exclaimed, his heart racing, "You nearly scared the right life out of me!" Gandalf responded with a stern expression.

As Bilbo's sudden awakening unfolded, it prompted Joseph to stir in your lap once again, emitting a displeased groan this time. However, he remained asleep, too fatigued to fully rouse himself. Meanwhile, you shifted, shaking your head.

"I apologize," Gandalf speaks, his tone carrying a note of remorse as he addresses both yourself and Bilbo. He strolls around the room to settle into a chair positioned in front of the fire, his intent all too clear for you.

"How are we all feeling at the moment?" He inquires, his demeanor genuinely concerned. It's clear that he's attempting to soften the impact of the questions he's about to pose. Yet, before you can formulate a response, Bilbo is already stepping up to the plate.

The Hobbit's eyes roll, his patience wearing thin, "We're just splendid! As you can see, we were enjoying a well-deserved rest. I, for one, am remarkably fatigued, if you haven't noticed. In fact, I dare say we all are, wouldn't you agree?" Bilbo looks around, seeking your confirmation.

You pause, your voice weary and subdued, your desire to conclude this conversation echoing in your tone, "Yes, we're... all quite exhausted, to be honest."

"See!" Bilbo exclaims hearing your answer, "Thank you for your concern, but can't we just have a moment of peace and quiet?" He hurriedly places the rag back over his eyes, his silent plea clear, wanting nothing more but for the wizard to go away and leave them be.

However, Gandalf presses on. He mumbles something under his breath, seemingly annoyed, and unexpectedly snatches the rag away from Bilbo, tossing it over his shoulder perilously close to the fire.

"You have been sitting here for far too long, dear friend." Gandalf states firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

Both are as stubborn as each other and Bilbo lets out a resigned sigh, conceding by placing his hand over his eyes instead, as if to shield himself from the inevitable.

Addressing Bilbo directly, Gandalf continues, "It is time you venture out there, and see what is outside the borders of The Shire. What on Middle-Earth happened to the boy who would come back late at night trailing mud and catching fireflies?" His words carry a touch of nostalgia, a plea to rediscover the spark of adventure that once defined Bilbo.

You can't help but chuckle with the image of a young Bilbo Baggins, carefree and rebellious, before he became so ensnared in his own comfort zone.

Gandalf's words break the silence, drawing your attention back. His voice is gentle yet persistent, as he addresses Bilbo once more, and it feels like his next words are too aimed for you, "The world, is not in your books and maps. It exists beyond those pages. Out there." Gandalf states, his gaze focused on the window that reveals the darkness outside as he points lazily with his staff.

Both yourself and Bilbos gaze follows the direction of Gandalf's cane, and for a moment, he seems lost in contemplation. The weight of endless possibilities, both exhilarating and daunting, fills the air.

His reverie is interrupted by a sigh, and Bilbo's gaze shifts downward, landing on you. Curled against the couch, lost in your own thoughts. Bilbo's eyes though hold a mixture of uncertainty as he looks at you, perhaps pondering the impact of his decision on both of your lives.

Summoning courage, you address the wizard your tone firm and resolute, "Gandalf," his name escapes your lips, "Can you swear we will come back?”

A moment of connection passes between you, the gravity of your question hanging heavy in the air.

The weight of that unspoken answer is a blow to your heart. The truth, though painful, is now undeniably clear.

Gandalf breaks the silence with his next words that chill you to the core, "If you do come back. You will not be the same."

The future he paints is so profound that it evokes more fear than the uncertain fate that awaits. Is that the price of passage? To return as someone different?

The narrowing of Gandalf's eyes and his slight lean-back does not go unnoticed. There's an unspoken tension between you, a feeling that he holds knowledge you're not sure of.

Your own suspicion begins to weigh on you, and you wonder whether you're simply succumbing to paranoia, reading too much into his subtle reactions. Questions crowd your mind, creating a tangled web of uncertainty.

Choosing to step back from this silent confrontation you break sight of Gandalf. The intensity of the moment has you seeking clarity elsewhere.

Bilbo just hums to himself. Nodding his head he gets up, "That's what I thought." Bilbo states, also quite saddened with the fact his life now rests on this scroll, "Gandalf, sorry I can't sign it."

His fists clenched in protest, and he hurries away. His inner turmoil is evident even in his quick footsteps. The poor Hobbit is fuelled by remorse but the further he walks awy more he convinces himself he had done the right thing.

Gandalf's call brings your attention back to him.

"I don't know," You plead, your head bowing slightly as you brush a few strands of hair away from Joseph's cheeks, "I have nothing."

The thought nags at you –maybe you should just sign the scroll, surrendering to this inevitable path.

"You have nothing to lose, dear." Gandalf's voice suggests.

"Don't." you snap, your frustration evident.

In response, you rise from your seat, gently urging Joseph to wake up. He rubs his eyes sleepily as you take his hand in yours. With determination, you guide him to his feet, your back turned on the wizard. Moving purposefully, you lead Joseph down the hall, heading towards the spare bedroom.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, Joseph wearily makes his way to the bed, flopping onto it and instantly slipping back into slumber. Meanwhile, you release a weary sigh and move towards a wooden chair, collapsing into it as your knees buckle. Your hands find their way to your face, supporting your weight as you slump forward.

As you begin to drift off, down the hall, the company and Gandalf are summoned into the dimly lit parlor by their leader. A hush settles over the room as they gather. Thorin's deep voice initiates a low, resonant hum, and one by one, the rest of the group joins in, their voices weaving together in a melancholic melody that speaks of their ancient home in the mountains.

"Far over the misty mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold."

"The Dwarves of yore made mighty spells,

While hammers fell like ringing bells.

In places deep, where dark things sleep,

In hollow halls beneath the fells."

"For ancient king and Elvish lord

There many a gleaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught,

To hide in gems on hilt of sword."

"On silver necklaces, they strung

The flowering stars, on crowned they hung

The dragon-fire, in twisted wire,

They meshed the light of moon and sun."

"Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day,

To claim our long-forgotten gold."

"Goblets they carved there for themselves

And harps of gold; where no men delves

There lay they long, and many a song

Was sung unheard by men or elves."

"The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red, it flaming spread;

The trees like torches blazed with light."

"The bells were ringing in the dale

And men looked up with faces pale;

The dragon's ire more fierce then fire

Laid low their towers and houses frail."

"The mountain smoked beneath the moon;

The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.

They fled their hall to dying fall,

Beneath his feet, beneath the moon."

"Far over the misty mountains grim,

To dungeons deep and caverns dim,

We must away, ere break of day,

To win our harps and gold from him!"

As they sang, a conflict of emotions swirled within you. The raw intensity and fervor with which they sang about their home struck a chord. Their words painted a vivid picture of the place they cherished, where they crafted exquisite creations by hand, using gems, rocks, silver, and gold. The winds' mournful moans seemed to echo in your ears, and the vivid imagery of the devastating fire played out in your mind. Buildings crumbled, consumed by flames, and amidst the chaos, families and children clung to one another, bidding their farewells amidst the debris.

A sudden weight dropped upon you, and tears welled up in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks silently. You made no effort to stop them, allowing the saltiness to flow and create a small puddle at your feet.

In the room where the company had gathered, a heavy silence hung in the air after the song. The shared pain and suffering of their people resonated deeply within them, prompting a somber moment of reflection.

However, the silence was soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps, approaching. All eyes turned towards the hallway as a figure emerged from the shadows, holding a scroll in hand. The flickering firelight cast a dim glow, revealing your inked signature at the bottom of the parchment.

Perhaps, you did have nothing to lose. 

Chapter Text

TA 2941,  Thrimidge 7^th

XI.

As Gandalf's words echoed in your mind, the question remains: what do you truly have to lose? And once again, the answer remains unchanged: not much. At this point, there's little left for you to lose. Who knows when you'll return, if at all, and in what condition? And you certainly did not want to be stuck here in Hobbiton without Gandalf and Bilbo...

That song struck a chord within you, something stirring that you can't quite pinpoint just yet, but you have a feeling you will soon, all in good time that is. 

Passing the parchment to Thorin, you meet his eyes head-on, "When do we start?" You ask as he examins the paper with a keen eye before handing Balin the scroll which he too inspected with a nod at the Thorin. He hesitates for a moment but responds, saying that it will be at the first light of dawn when you and his company leave, with out without Bilbo. 

The youngest dwarf, Ori perhaps, lets out a cheer, but his enthusiasm isn't echoed by the others, who seem more reserved.

The youngest of all throng cheered, Ori you believe, but not hearing any of his brothers join him he sat taking another swig of his drink.  

The festivities wind down before long, the Dwarves grow visibly weary and settling themselves around the fire. They sprawl across sofas and the floor, succumbing to exhaustion and preparing to rest for what remains of the night.

You make an attempt to join them on the floor, but your state a mix of tipsyness and tired slurs causes you to stumble, only to be caught by Gandalf and a few chuckling men. Your head droops uncomfortably low as you stumble alongside Gandalf, navigating through chandeliers and doorways until you both reach the eastern room where Joseph remains asleep. 

Fighting the urge to vomit, you manage to hold back the bile, the taste of beer and fish a nauseating mixture in your mouth. With your last wake of consciousness, you struggle to keep it together.

Safely within the room, Gandalf guides you to the wooden chair. As you're deposited onto the chair, your body slumps with fatigue, your arms feeling like jelly as they fold into your lap.

"Oh, dear." Gandalf sighs, readjusting your drooping form to a more upright position. You emit a tired groan before swiftly succumbing to sleep.

Furrowing his brows in concern, Gandalf drapes a warm wool blanket over your chilled body, ensuring you're comfortable. With a clap of his hands, he extinguishes the last remaining candle's flame and exits the room, making his own preparations for the night.

As the sun slowly rises on the horizon, a few more hours slip by. In accordance with Thorin's orders, the company begins to stir, rising with the first light of dawn. Quietly and carefully, they gather their belongings and make their way out of the Hobbit hole, preparing for the journey ahead.

Gandalf had departed a while earlier to gather necessary supplies and arrange means of transportation for the journey. However, you, the Hobbit, and Joseph still remain in deep slumber, undisturbed by the commotion.

Joseph rests in bed, his figure unmoving. Meanwhile, our protagonist has contorted into a somewhat uncomfortable position yet again, curling into their stomach—a sight that might appear odd to any observer. Yet, you seem unperturbed, sleeping soundly alongside their younger sibling.

Against Thorin's morals, a Dwarf takes it upon himself to search the house for the siblings before they finally depart. However, his intentions take a turn as Thorin passes an item to his nephew, exchanging quiet words on their tongues with a deep chuckle. Kíli rolls his eyes, wearing a smirk, and continues his quest to find you.

Eventually, his efforts lead him to your room. His voice, breathless and cautious, tempting to rouse you from your slumber.

However, there's no immediate response from you so he tries once more, gently shaking your slouched form and calling your name, "Come on, wake up, milady."

His efforts finally succeed, coaxing you to stir and unfurl your body. The movement is accompanied by a satisfyingly sharp crack from your stiffened spine, a result of having slept in your position.

"That didn't sound pleasant," Kíli chuckles.

A dull ache settles in your head, not particularly painful, but accompanied by a numbing sensation.

"It actually felt pretty good," You laughed back, a sense of euphoria coursing down your spine as you coughed lightly, "What time is it?"

Kíli responds promptly, "Dawn. We're all getting ready to leave."

Pausing in the middle of your neck-cracking endeavor, your hands hang momentarily over your shoulders, "Now?" you exclaim with a hint of disbelief.

"Mmm, yes. Now," Kíli confirms with a nod.

Pushing yourself out of the chair, you navigate the room with haste, though your attempts at quietness fall short as a string of curses escapes your lips. You retrieve something from under the bed, your movements brimming with urgency.

Kíli sways on his feet, appearing unsure of how to assist, "Are you sure you're okay, milady?"

Struggling to slide your feet into a pair of worn boots, you glance up at him but wince as a blister bursts at your heel, causing a reddening irritation, "Can you give me a moment?" You request, successfully fitting the other shoe onto your foot.

"Of course," he replies, his tone holding a hint of hesitation as if he's torn between staying and leaving, "I'll let Thorin know you won't be long. We can wait for you." He concludes.

As the young Dwarf starts to depart, he stops, fumbling around in his tunic pocket, producing a small brown pouch and belt. Shuffling his feet, he calls your name, "Oh, and here," tossing the item in your direction, "Uncle thought you should have this. To hold all your 'useless knickknacks for the journey."

Catching the bag, you examine its beauty – dark leather adorned with gold and featuring a dwarven insignia embedded with black string. Unfurling it further, it transforms into a belt, displaying a similar marking and the gold thread woven into the buttons.

"Wow," You gasp with gratitude, "Thank you, Kíli."

"Thank Thorin, milady. Although, he also said to put a little mirror in there as well," the male begins, his lips twitching, "You know, so you can look at yourself." He attempts to maintain a serious demeanor, even sweeping his hair back, but he can't hold back and bursts into a deep chuckle.

Pursing your lips, you drop the bag onto your lap and nod sarcastically, "Very funny."

The Dwarf raises his hands in a defensive gesture, moving behind the door, "His words! I swear it."

Of course, he would say something like that.

With the young dwarf laughing, Joseph stirs and slides up to the head of the bed. Greeting him with a good morning, you whisper to the brunette again, "We'll be out in a second."

Down the hall, the leader of his company calls his name. 

"Coming!" Kíli's smile turns serious as he answers the voice, his hand on the door frame. He leans back, arm outstretched, speaking quickly before leaving the room, "I'll see you soon then?" You respond with your own wave, assuring him you will too see him soon. 

As Joseph grows more conscious, you explain the situation to him – the early hour and the current task at hand – but only the last part seems to catch his attention.

"Joseph, we're leaving," You inform him.

"Leaving?" The boy startles, suddenly more awake, "Like- going on the adventure?"

"Yes, Joseph. We're leaving, but this is serious."

Joseph's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and elation on his face. "We're going on an adventure!"

"Listen to me," You speak gingerly, trying to temper his excitement, "You need to do exactly what I say, no matter what happens." He responds with enthusiastic nods, fully embracing the idea of the impending adventure.

Pausing for a moment, you continue handing him his old shoes from under the bed, "Start by putting these on." 

While waiting for Joseph to prepare himself, you take the opportunity to put on the belt, adjusting it until it rests comfortably around your waist. The bag sits snugly against your hips, the leather feeling smooth against the cotton fabric of your clothing. The ensemble gives you a distinct adventurous appearance that you're beginning to embrace.

Stepping out of the room the Dwarves are already gathered, their hushed whispers creating a low murmur that accompanies them as they make their way toward the door, bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun. At the back of the line, Thorin stands, adjusting his axe and coat with a look that seems to penetrate your very soul.

"I see you two are awake," Thorin's voice rumbles, his tone slightly rough after just being awake, "Are you ready?" He asks.

You attempt to avoid a direct response and move to walk past him, but Thorin steps forward, effectively blocking your path. His imposing presence forces you to a standstill.

He leans in closer, his eyes locked onto yours, and his voice carries an undeniable gravity, "Once you pass this door, there's no going back. Are you certain you are with us?" His demand hangs in the air, waiting for your response, "I need an answer." 

You take a moment, your posture firm and your determination clear.

"I'm with you. If you're with me." You retort, your words sharp, asserting the mutual nature of your commitment. If he's willing to stand by you, you'll do the same for him.

Thorin exhales, his breath forming a mist in the cold air, "Aye. Then you're with us, mortal," He steps aside to let you pass. Your eyes locking, a silent understanding passing between you, before you both turn to descend the stone stairs. As Joseph walks past the Dwarf, he playfully sticks out his tongue, earning a disapproving look from Thorin.

Thorin can't help but feel a sense of impatience toward the child, already counting down the days until he's no longer burdened with his presence.

"Ha, aye! You made it, lassie! Welcome aboard," Bofur exclaims, his hand warmly landing on your shoulder, "Was beginning to believe you were gonna be late this morning! Hate to leave without you, of course."

"We wouldn't miss it! Wouldn't we?" Joseph chimes in with a playful smirk, and you respond with a sarcastic snicker, opting not to add anything more to the conversation.

Hearing the squeaky voice, Balin whom had started trekking down the path paces himself to wait for the trio. 

As the trio catches up, Balin, who had already started down the path, pauses to wait for you, "Good morning," He greets, winking at Joseph, "Well, at least that makes two of you. Bofur, if you please?" Balin gestures toward the hat-wearing Dwarf.

Bofur's cheeks dimple with a mischievous grin as he retrieves a small pouch. "Why, of course," he says with a slight bow of his head.

"Dwalin!" Bofur calls out with a chuckle, "Heads up, big boy!"

Dwalin mutters something in Dwarvish under his breath, catching the thrown pouch without breaking his stride. He then proceeds to drop a few silver pennies inside the pouch.

The company bursts into loud, hearty laughter, causing a nearby Hobbit to neigh in annoyance and request them to quiet down. However, they pay no heed to his complaints, enjoying their teasing of Dwalin.

Beside Dwalin, Nori chuckles and playfully shoves his shoulder, but Dwalin remains unfazed. He responds by shoving Nori back with considerably more force, causing Nori to stumble and start shouting back at him in Dwarvish, "Mên bet keblêl diya eom eath, nadad." 

The rest of the company erupts in another wave of laughter, observing Nori dropping more coins into the pouch.

Confused, you ask, "What's going on?"

The blond Dwarf strides over to his companions, ruffling Joseph's hair as he passes by, "You see, last night we all placed bets on if you and the Hobbit, would join us. And some of us even went for double or nothing, my love," Fíli chuckles, winking at you, "Dwalin!" He calls. Hearing his name Dwalin tosses the bag over his shoulder to Fíli who smirks, pocketing the gold in his own pouch. 

Bofur congratulates Fíli with a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"What?" Kíli rushes to his brother's side, leaning on Fíli's shoulder. He gestures with his hand, saying, "Pay up, brother! We agreed to share our earnings fair and square!"

"No way! The bet isn't over until midday, remember? If the Hobbit doesn't come, half them still need to pay up!" The blond Dwarf shouts a little louder, earning grunts a few grunts from the dwarfs in front, "Wait for the profits, Kíli," he adds.

In a shocked outburst, you turn to Fíli, "Are you gambling on us?"

"What's the fun in it if we didn't?" Kíli laughs. His brother, however, is not impressed and hastily whacks him, "I mean, we would never gamble on you, milady! Just the Hobbit." With a goofy smile, he winks at you.

Clearly unimpressed that they would be betting money on you and Bilbo, you stampede past Fíli and shove his brother with as much force as you can muster. The blonde cheers you on, teasing Kíli in the background.

The brunette sways slightly but continues in short strides to catch up to you, "Waoh! Where did that come from?"

"For placing bets on us!"

"Calm down! It's all for fun! Isn't it, boys?" Kíli asks the throng and they all cheer with the answer.

Unexpectedly, your brother asks, "Can I gamble on Bilbo as well?"

Almost not believing your ears, you take a second to process what your brother just said. There's no way you would let your brother even think of gambling at his age, even for some light-hearted banter, "No, you're not gambling!"

Kíli, who had moved from you, swung an arm over Fíli, the pair walking backward in sync. Kíli is holding onto his stomach, struggling to catch his breath, "Oh! No, you should teach him young, milady! He can learn from the best. Maybe pick up a thing or two."

"Kíli!"

"I started when I was a wee lad."

Fíli wavers with furrowed brows, debating through all the times when Kíli has actually won a bet or anything similar, which wasn't a lot.

With a new memory from back home, the blonde goes to steer the conflict, "Actually, Kíli, when was the last time you won a bet? Wait- wasn't there that time with Bánon? Ah! That was very amusing, brother—"

"Don't say another word!" Kíli interrupts, his cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and annoyance.

Balin laughs, watching the three bicker amongst themselves. Leaning down to Joseph, he pulls out a lone silver penny from deep within his coat. Slipping it into the boy's hands, he whispers, "Here, if Bilbo comes, you can keep it. Your first bet, laddie."

"What if he doesn't?" the boy asks.

Balin makes a knowing look with a bounce of his head, "He will."

Joseph grins, pocketing the silver coin into the waist of his pants, making sure you don't see it.

As the company made their way down the hill, the sun had risen further, and early-morning Hobbits were bustling about their daily chores, setting up shops and tending to gardens.

They arrived at a stable where Gandalf was engaged in conversation with a familiar Hobbit merchant from the other day. Nearby, Nara was happily sipping from a trough, while a dozen other ponies with various coats and colors stood behind her. Stable hands were busy adjusting saddles and bags and two Hobbits stood on rocks, trying to reach a taller horse, while one secured a rolled-up cot to the back of a saddle the other was brushing the animal. 

Gandalf rubbed his beard and nodded in agreement with the merchant, who pointed toward the tall horse. The merchant seemed agitated, but Gandalf calmed him down and handed over silver and gold coins.

Glóin seeing the ponies cheered, "Aye! Our steeds are ready, lads!"

"We should get our matching ponies, brothers!" Óin suggests to his kin, and the other Dwarves agree.

"Everyone else, ready up as well," Thorin's voice resonates from behind, "We set off as soon as possible. The Hobbit will not come."

The company hastens to claim their trusty steeds. After arranging their gear and allowing the ponies to finish their hay and water, they start to mount up. Joseph runs off to greet the familiar chestnut horse, who seems to remember him. He plucks some grass at her feet, extending his hand for her to nibble on.

Approaching Thorin, who is now atop his dappled pony, you ask him with a pleading tone, "We're not going to wait for Bilbo?"

Thorin huffed, now looking down at you, "Do you see that pony?" He pointed over at the smallest pony in the herd. "She is the Hobbit's. Whether he can catch up to us or not, she is there for him. But I will not wait."

"Now, see this horse?" Thorin continued, gesturing to the tall paint horse beside him. The horse's head hung low, its eyes blinking, almost on the verge of sleep. "He's yours. I  suggest you start getting ready. We have a long journey ahead."

You walk over to the horse that Thorin indicated, and the Dwarf and his pony follows you to continue the conversation. You run your hands along the horse's neck, giving it a solid pat on the shoulder. The horse snorts and lifts its head, bending its neck to nuzzle at your waist, "He's mine?"

Running your hands along his neck you give him a solid part to the shoulder. The gelding snorts lifting his head to bend his neck at your waist sniffing in that spot. "He's mine?" 

Thorin raises an eyebrow at your response, asking, "Do you not like him?"

"No, no. He's great..." You stutter. 

Thorin's eyebrow remains raised, but he nods in response, "If you do not want him, you can happily walk. Please, don't let me stop you."

Over the horse's saddle, your gaze lands on Gandalf as he swings Joseph onto Nala before lifting himself onto the pony behind him. The two chat and laugh, and you observe as Gandalf guides Nala to the smallest pony in the group.

Gandalf asks Joseph to reach for the lead rope from the Hobbit who's holding the pony. With now Joseph holding the rope, Nala leads her little friend to the front of the group.

However, Thorin's call interrupts your thoughts. You guide your horse to line up beside him, lifting yourself onto the saddle and grasping the reins. As you position yourself, you firmly state, "I'm definitely not walking, your majesty."

Thorin's stern expression cracks into the faintest hint of a smile. "Good. We wouldn't want you lagging behind."

And with that, you and Thorin join the company, horses and ponies in tow.

At a leisurely stroll, the company had just passed Bywater and were now following a familiar path.

However, Bilbo woke up to an empty house, not even you called out when he shouted your name down the halls. He contemplated for a while, taking a third spoon of porridge with his left hand and in his right held the parchment from Thorin. He re-read that note a couple hundred times before signing his name next to yours. 

And just on the stroke of eleven, the Hobbit had returned to find the throng. Bilbo ran as fast as his furry feet could carry him forgetting to pack his walking cane, hat, and without even a cent in his pockets and he left the dishes stacked dirty in the sink. His lungs burned, and he could hardly believe he was running after a group of Dwarves on an adventure he hadn't even fully consented to.

You rode alongside Thorin and Gandalf at the front of the pack. Your chosen steed had a powerful stride and preferred to be at the front rather than among the smaller ponies, and so you decide to give him an equally strong name, Todrick.

"Your burglar, Gandalf, is far too late. You waste your hopes on him." Thorin remarked with an unkind smirk over his shoulder. 

"He will come. He's a smart fellow; he's probably right behind us now." Gandalf replied. 

Thorin chuckles, his thick accent making his voice sound throaty, "I doubt it. Most likely forgotten his handkerchief and turned around." His words trigger a chorus of mocking laughter from the Dwarves behind him. To be honest, you find it hard to tolerate.

Your patience had grown short with every word from Thorin's mouth. Bilbo had tried to show them kindness, even when they invaded his dinner, he went out of his way to make them comfortable and ransack his home, allowing them to raid his pantry! Thorin had yet to utter a single word of gratitude, not even a simple 'thank you.'

"God! You are so negative," You snap, your frustration boiling over as you glare at Thorin, "If you have nothing nice to say, then just keep your mouth shut." You've had enough. You despise his attitude, his demeanor, and the way he treats others and yourself.

"Excuse me, woman?"

"Calm down, you two," Gandalf's voice is a voice of reason, though it goes unheard. Joseph's eyes have widened, his hands frozen in Nala's chestnut mane. He knows how these confrontations tend to play out and awaits the drama. 

"You know, bless Bilbo. Because when he comes, and he will come, you will be grateful that he's here."

Thorin's ears redden with embarrassment and anger. He jabs a finger toward your face, riding closer on his horse Todrick, "You will not take this tone with me."

"Then you will stop bullying Bilbo. And you will stop bullying me! We don't bow down to you, your majesty."

The two dwarven brothers, Fíli and Kíli, exchange glances and hold back their laughter along with Bofur, who joins them to share a private chuckle.

"They fight like a married couple." Fíli remarks, trying to stifle his laughter.

Bofur nods in agreement, his eyes never leaving the two of you, "Aye! It's quite the show, isn't it?"

Just as Thorin seems ready to unleash his fury upon you and strip you of your horse, a voice pierces the tension.

"Hey! Wait up, stop!" Bilbo finally managed to gasp out as he neared the group with gulping breaths. The Dwarves turned to look at him, some with surprise, others with amusement, "I signed it!" Bilbo waves the scroll above his head. 

With heaving breaths, Bilbo passes the scroll to Balin, wiping sweat from his brow and the biggest grin on his face, "Bravo!" Balin exclaims, inspecting the scroll, "Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins. To the company of Thorin Oakensheild."

The Hobbit's grin widens upon spotting you riding at the front with Gandalf; he had suspected he would find you here when he saw your signature that morning.

If looks could kill, Thorin's glare would be lethal. Bilbo's presence had proven him wrong, and you were determined not to let it go unnoticed.

"Fetch him a pony," Thorin commands, his voice dripping with annoyance. He shifts his reins to move forward, muttering your name under his breath like a low growl as he strides past to lead once again, "You're lucky."

But Bilbo's voice squabbles, quickly interjecting Thorin, "No! That won't be necessary. Thank you, I'm sure I can keep up on foot!" Yet, before Bilbo can even take a step forward, he's lifted into the air, his feet dangling, waiting for the smaller pony to slide under him. With a gentle plop, Bilbo finds himself atop the pony, his new furry companion for the journey.

Seeing Bilbo's comical struggle, you pull on your reins to slow Todrick down. You decide you're no longer in the mood to ride at the front with Gandalf and Thorin. Instead, you guide Todrick over to where Bilbo is now perched on his pony. With a friendly grin, you greet the Hobbit, "Quite the entrance, Bilbo. I wanted to wait for you, I knew you would come."

Bilbo's face breaks into a relieved smile as he steadies himself, "Well, I appreciate that," He replies, "I must say, it's a relief to finally catch up. Not too sure if I could've run for much longer." You chuckle hearing his tired breath.

And so, that's how we all set off, trotting away on our horses. As the day progressed, the sun slowly began its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape. They ventured deep into the Lone-lands, a desolate region with no signs of civilization, no inns for shelter, and roads that gradually transformed into mere trails, barely distinguishable. They ascended steep mountains, crossed rolling hills, and forded through swift-flowing rivers.

Bilbo, despite his earlier struggle, found his voice again and filled the air with chatter for most of the journey. His allergies seemed to be acting up, but you and he continued to ride side by side, sharing conversations along the way.

Joseph doubled with many of the dwarfs and he found he enjoyed Fíli's company the most and sat with him for the rest of the way. He refused to sit with you, claiming you were too boring for him. 

Joseph, on the other hand, doubled with many of the Dwarves. He gravitated towards Fíli's company with Bofur, forming a bond that seemed to suit him well. He even declared that you were "too boring" for his taste and opted to spend his time with the Dwarves instead, refusing to ride with you. 

As the sun dipped quickly though, casting the land in dusky hues, you adjusted your posture on your horse, wincing at your sore muscles and tired backside. Despite the physical discomfort, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the adventure.

'Leaving home behind you, 

And the world ahead.'

Chapter Text

TA 2941,  Thrimidge 8^th

XII.

The first night of camping felt traitorous and long, dirty and moody. 

Throughout most of the night, the moon's gentle glow served as your companion. Seeking a brief escape from the group, you positioned yourself under a tree near the ponies. While not straying too far from the others, the radiant flames from the campfire cast a warm light on you, creating an environment conducive to finding a bit of rest. The hues of orange and yellow provided a soothing embrace, and the ever-watchful eyes of your Dwarven friends added a layer of security that allowed you to relax.

Joseph collapsed onto the ground the moment his feet made contact, exhaustion evident from a long day of horseback riding. You, ever mindful of his well-being, urged him to take a much-needed rest, he obliged without hesitation, drifting into a deep slumber right by your side.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, was equally fatigued, and eventually, he opted to shift his bedroll closer to yours. And, same as you, Bilbo also did like his own space and enjoyed the quiet as the Dwarves were far too loud for his liking to sleep. 

Speaking of the Hobbit, with each passing day you develop a certain fondness for him. Conversations with him flowed easily, and his interactions seemed to brighten Joseph's demeanor, a fact that you found endearing. The starlit sky above held your attention as you reveled in each other's presence, occasionally identifying constellations that Bilbo was familiar with.

Meanwhile, Thorin's mind was consumed by contemplation. He set up at a distance from the group, arranging his cot on a ledge where he meticulously honed his knives and axe.

Breaking the silence, Bilbo's voice resonated, carrying a thoughtful question, "Have you ever wondered what it feels like?" His eyes fixed on the pensive Dwarf. After a moment of quiet, Bilbo continued, "To lose the place you call home?"

The question caught you by surprise, leaving you speechless for a moment, "I’m not sure," you responded softly, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. Bilbo's attention remained on Thorin as the Dwarf gazed into the distance, lost in his thoughts.

Suddenly, Bilbo's curiosity took a turn and his focus shifted toward you, "I don't actually think I've asked. Where do you come from?" He inquired, his eyes reflecting genuine interest.

Your eyes widened, grappling with the complexity of your origins, "It's complicated," You admitted, casting a glance at Gandalf who seemed to be observing the exchange with a raised eyebrow and a puff of his pipe, "I'll tell you... one day."

Bilbo, though uncertain of how to interpret your response, offered comfort in his own gentle way, "That’s fair enough. You can tell me when you're ready," He assured, a kind smile forming on his lips. You mirrored the gesture, respectful that Bilbo didn't persist any further. 

"When you appeared on my doorstep, I couldn't quite place where you were from. Let's just say, your clothing was rather... unique," Bilbo mentioned, his attempt at politeness evident. You couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of yourself in his shoes, facing your peculiar attire.

Playful banter ensued as you nudged his shoulder, laughing, "You can be honest. I thought you lot dressed funny too." A toothy grin from Bilbo conveyed his enjoyment of the conversation.

A comfortable silence settled between you both, punctuated by distant wolf howls and the flitting of bats against the night sky.

Suddenly, a demonic screech echoed through the valley, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you and Bilbo to spring up from your bedrolls. Joseph was still lucky to be deep in sleep and only tossed in his cot, far too tired from the journey. 

Bilbo's eyes widened with concern as another wail pierced the shadows, deepening the sense of unease, "W-what was that?" He trembled with anxiety, his words hushed as he strained to catch any more unsettling sounds. 

You offered a quiet response to the worried Hobbit, the first thought that crossed your mind finding its way to your lips, "I'm not sure. Perhaps a wolf? It might be injured."

Suddenly, a third, even louder banshee-like scream reverberated from the cliff, the sound seemingly closer than before.

"Nope! What in the world is that?" Bilbo jolted up from his bedroll once again, the urgency in his voice rousing the Dwarves gathered around the campfire.

The young brothers exchanged a knowing look, and Kíli offered a straightforward response, "Orcs." His gaze darted through the shifting shadows, his once calming grin replaced by a practiced expression that conveyed seriousness.

"Orcs?" you echoed, inching up slightly and clutching the bedroll with tense knuckles. Your mind conjured images of humanoid monsters that sent shivers down your spine, "Like real... orcs?"

"Aye. Very much real, love. Throat-cutters," The other brother chimed, taking a drag from his pipe. "Nasty creatures, goblins they are. There will be dozens of them out there at night. The Lone-lands would be crawling with them.

You and the Hobbit share an anxious glance.

Bilbo's breath caught in his throat as he listened to their talk of Orcs. Sleep seemed out of the question tonight, the proximity of these creatures leaving him on edge.

"They strike in the wee small hours while everyone is asleep," Kíli's voice grew more ominous, his figure cast in shadow by the fire's flickering light, "Quick and quiet. No screams, just lots of blood." 

Both you and Bilbo turned your heads like owls, gazing out towards the cliff with heightened vigilance and the urgency to move closer to the group evident in your eyes.

Concerned by your unease, Fíli offered a solution with a playful wink, "If you're feeling uneasy, love, you're welcome to join us." His suggestion elicited laughter from Kíli, who struggled to keep silent. Fíli moved as he motioned to a space between them.

You drew a deep, prolonged breath of the chilly air, a sense of disappointment settling in as you shook your head slightly. A warm flush crept up your cheeks as you turned away from the brothers positioned on the wall, extending a comforting gesture towards Bilbo by placing a hand on his shoulder.

Whispering, you reassured him, "Bilbo, they're joking." The Hobbit's expression shifted into one of confusion.

After bidding Bilbo goodnight, you slipped back under the shared sheets, finding a comfortable spot. 

Kíli's laughter softened, and he continued to tease you, "You did look rather frightened, milady. Are you sure you don't want to sleep with us? Promise we'll protect you from the Orcs." Fíli playfully shoved Kíli's shoulder, their laughter echoing like mischievous teenage boys. 

However, their laughter came to an abrupt halt as Thorin's voice thundered, "Do you find this amusing? You think a night raided by Orcs to be a jest?" The elder Dwarf had abandoned his spot on the ledge, his stern presence reprimanding his nephews.

The youngest of the brothers appeared particularly dejected, his head bowed as he offered an apology to his uncle "We didn't mean anything by it." 

Watching Thorin scold Kíli felt somewhat strange, even though the scolding wasn't directed at you. Nonetheless, a pang of sympathy tugged at you. Bilbo also seemed to shy slightly with Thorin's voice.

"No, you didn't," Thorin retorted sharply, his tone laced with disdain, "You know nothing of the world." He marched past the campfire, his footsteps heavy, and positioned himself near where the ponies grazed, a solitary figure silhouetted against the darkness atop a solitary rock.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin spoke up, rising as the restive atmosphere stirred the camp, "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."

He spoke a gentle tone laced with remorse as he began with his speech, "After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain... King Thrór tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf Kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had gotten there first." 

You remained silent, engrossed in the tale, eager to learn more about what had transpired.

The Hobbit, ever curious, voiced his thoughts, "Orcs?" He questioned.

Balin nodded, "Indeed, Master Baggins. Moria at the time had been taken by legions of Orcs led by the most vile of all their race, Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had caught Thrór, who wanted nothing but to take back what was rightfully ours and return to be it’s heir once again… but Azog had bested our King, and he was beheaded and swore to wipeout the line of Durin.”

"Hearing the tale, and with no sign of Thrór, Thráin was now crowned king on default. But it did not last… for his anger and grief had too cost him at the hands of Azog in the battle of Azanulbizar. And from that day, King Thráin was lost, taken dead or alive, we do not know."

“We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when... I saw him," The serious look on Balin's face disappeared with memory, being replaced with a greater one and he grinned, "In the battle, a young Dwarf prince arose to fight, facing down the Pale Orc." 

You veered over towards the warrior dwarf trying to fit into the perspective of the battlefield as Balin continued. 

"He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an axe and an oaken branch as a shield. Thorin cut the arm clean off the Orc. And then, Azorg the Defiler learned that day, that the line of Druin would not be so easily broken." 

"Our forces rallied, and drove the Orcs back! Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night for our dead was beyond the count of grief for Frerin, Thorin's brother, was too lost in the battle. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow, there is one... I could call King." 

All of the company had awoken listening to the story. All eyes turned to Thorin, who returned to the campsite with an air of authority, his hands clasped behind his back. A unanimous nod of respect greeted him, and each member stood with deference as he walked by.

Bilbo, drawn in like a child listening to a bedtime tale, inched closer to Balin. His expression mirrored a mix of fascination and curiosity. On the other hand, you remained seated on your cot, but you shifted your position slightly to face Balin.

You took care not to disturb your sleeping sibling as you leaned in. "What happened to the orc?" you asked.

Thorin's spoke with disdain as he answered, "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago," His teeth gritted with bitterness, Thorin strode back to his cot, weaving through his companions, "Now, rest. Tomorrow's journey will be a lengthy one."

With Thorin's directive hanging in the air, the camp gradually settled into a hushed quietude, punctuated only by the crackling of the campfire and the occasional rustling of bedrolls.

The following morning arrived with a sense of exhaustion, the lack of sleep making it challenging to rouse yourself. Despite the comfort of knowing Thorin had kept a vigilant watch throughout the night, any solace was overshadowed by the leader's lack of sympathy. He wasted no time, rising at the break of dawn to rouse the company from slumber, demanding that cots be packed away swiftly and everyone mount their ponies as soon as possible.

Thorin was among the last to ascend onto his steed, starting off over the cliffside as he did last night. His sight was fixed on the clouds ahead, rolling ominously in the distance, his expression stern.

"Be prepared for rain," Thorin voiced, "Once we descend into the valley, it will be upon us."

Thorin's announcement drew a chorus of displeased murmurs from the group, particularly from the younger members, including yourself and Joseph.

Even from where Thorin stands your moans were almost as loud as the thunder on the horizon to the dwarf's ears. Rolling his eyes, Thorin could hear your collective groans, the sound of your discontent nearly as loud as the distant rumble of thunder, "You ought to realize that rain won't impede our progress. It's the least of your concerns," He remarked, his impatience showing.

"I hate the rain." Joseph grumbled half-heartedly, his mood matching the overcast skies.

You assisted him onto Todrick as you replied, "Right there with you, champ."

Kíli, having settled onto his own steed, approached you with a warm grin. "Rain isn't all that bad, milady," He said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"I really don't think horse riding and rain is a good mix," You try to explain, your eyes set on the distant thunderclouds that stirred, "Is there any chance we could wait it out?"

Kíli let out a dismissive snort, "No chance of that! Thorin won't wait around. Don't worry too much, milady. Best hop on your pony before my uncle decides to leave you and Joseph behind."

Balancing on the stirrup and easing yourself into the saddle, you shook your head in mild exasperation. With Joseph seated in front of you, it was a bit of a squeeze, but you managed.

"He won't leave us behind. Remember, I'm the favorite?" You quipped with an exaggerated scoff, offering a playful reminder to the young Dwarf. As you lifted the leather pouch hanging from your waist, you extended it toward Kíli. The gesture elicited a laugh from him.

"Aye! We're ready when you are, Thorin!" The thick Scottish accent of Dwalin's voice echoed from farther down the hill, indicating the readiness of the throng.

Unexpectedly, Bilbo's voice broke the scene with sporadic shouts, "W-wait! Myrtle!"

The four of you swiftly turned your attention to the source of the commotion. Bilbo was hopping along, his foot ensnared in the stirrup, desperately clinging to Myrtle's mane. The pony seemed unfazed, gradually wandering in search of more grass to graze on, paying no heed to her distressed owner who pleaded for her to stop.

As Bilbo passes the group the boys bellow in laughter, holding their stomachs tight and wiping their tears, Joseph also joining them.

You also watch the Hobbit struggle for a second your brain lagging before calling out to him, "Stop her, Bilbo!" 

"Yes, Master Baggins! Wrangle that pony!" Kíli shouts his steed nickering as well.  

"Whoa, girl!" Bilbo's voice soothed, and after a series of comical circles, he managed to grab the reins, steering Myrtle to a halt. The rest of the company ceased their conversations, pausing to watch the spectacle with amused smiles. Once Bilbo and Myrtle were steady, he swung onto the saddle, "This is exactly why I do not do horse riding. Naughty pony!" He scolded playfully, leaning to murmur in Myrtle's ear. The pony, however, seemed more interested in the grass beneath her hooves.

"If we are all ready, let us ride onwards. Down the mountain." Thorin commanded as he led the way, guiding the company down into the valley, toward the looming clouds. Balin and Dwalin followed their leader closely, setting the pace for the journey.

"Great job, Master Baggins! Couldn't have done it better myself." Kíli teased, joining his brother in following the path. Bilbo let out a resigned sigh as the brothers overtook him, their light-hearted jests trailing in their wake.

Now trailing at the back, you rode up beside Bilbo, concern evident in your expression. "Are you alright?" You ask.

Bilbo chuckled, "I'm fine. Myrtle, on the other hand, seems to have a will of her own."

Reaching a hand down, you took his reins and adjusted them, making them slightly shorter before handing the rope back to Bilbo, "Hold them like this. It will give you better control. And keep your hands lower, not high."

Bilbo's grip on the reins tightened, "Ah, thank you. Have you done this before?" 

You offered a nonchalant shrug, "A few times. But let's catch up." You urged as you set your sights on the rest of the company up ahead.

Only an hour into the morning, and the day had taken a decidedly unfavorable turn. As expected, the fleeting dryness of your clothes had given way sooner than you'd hoped. 

Most of the trail was cold and wet. Large raindrops hammered down on the travelers without respite, and there was no sign of the rain abating. Thunder rumbled overhead, accompanied by the crackling brilliance of lightning. The wind, however, seemed to be the most relentless of all.

Your blouse and thin cotton pants clung to your skin, their weight uncomfortably pronounced. Your hair was plastered to the nape of your neck, a constant reminder of the dreariness surrounding you. Every now and then, Todrick would stumble on uneven terrain, prompting a surge of distaste as water splashed and pooled onto your clothes.

The trees offered scant protection from the rain. Despite the inclement weather, Thorin pressed the company forward.

"And to think it will soon be June!" Bilbo's grumbling commentary reached your ears as he trudged alongside you, Myrtle similarly exhausted and stumbling over stones. However, a sudden splash of muddy water from the trail landed on your lips, its unpleasant taste prompting you to quickly wipe it away.

"Is the weather better then?" You shout to Bilbo over the relentless rain, the sound of your own voice lost in the downpour.

"Much better!" Bilbo's voice carried through the rain, a mix of frustration and longing evident, "The flowers start to bloom and the sun doesn't stop shining! But this rain makes me think we're far from it!" 

"Fair point," You concluded.

"Pardon?" Bilbo questioned, leaning closer in an attempt to hear your response. Shouting once more to be heard, you repeated yourself, prompting a nod of understanding from Bilbo as he maneuvered his pony closer.

"It's hard to hear over the rain isn't it, lassie!" Dori's voice chimed in from up ahead. Surprisingly, his thick Scottish accent carried more clearly through the rain than Bilbo's, "Aye! Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" 

Gandalf answers back, "It is raining Master Dwarf! And it will continue to rain until the rain is done!" He delivers his riddle with a pause,

The Dwarf expresses his dissatisfaction with a shake of his head, which is mirrored by a chorus of groans and moans from his fellow Dwarves. "If you wish to change the weather you should find yourself another wizard." 

Suddenly, a shout emerges from below you, Joseph's voice ringing out, "There are more wizards?"

Gandalf brings his pony to a halt, waiting for the three of you to catch up. Once the group is united, Gandalf grins. "Indeed, there are five of us."

You pause for a moment before offering a snide comment, "Are they all like you?"

Gandalf returns your remark with a quizzical glare, his brow arched, "I believe we're all different in our own way. Saruman the White is the greatest of our order. Then there are the two blue wizards... although it seems I've forgotten their names." 

Curiosity piped, Bilbo chimes in, "And who is the fifth?"

Gandalf responds with a faint smile, "Well, that would be Radagast the Brown. He is a very gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others and keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the east. And a good thing too... for always evil will look to find a foothold in the world." 

"You love speaking in riddles, don't you?" You remark with a smirk, "What evil? Like that dragon?" 

Gandalf's expression turns more serious, "There's much worse threats than meets the eye of Smaug the Terrible, dear friend." 

"More than Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, and Dragons?" You list off what you can recall. Gandalf doesn't offer a verbal response, but his solemn nod speaks volumes. You take a moment to ponder before blurting out the first thing that comes to mind with jest, "Pirates as well?"

"Would you be surprised if I said yes, pirates do exist? But not around here, and not for a long while." Gandalf replied.

Joseph's eyes widened at the notion of pirates existing somewhere in the world, "I want to be a pirate!" And for once, you agree with your brother, "They're heaps cool." Every pirate you know of from books to movies is smoking hot, making you entertain the idea of embarking on your own quest to find them.

"Are us Dwarves not good enough for ya', laddie?" Bofur playfully teased upon overhearing the conversation from behind you and Joseph. There was a trace of sadness in his voice. 

Joseph slumped sheepishly, "No way! Dwarves are awesome too! But- I guess pirates are okay as well." Bofur's chuckle in response was a heartening sound, the first laugh since the rain had begun.

"I'd say that's a point for us, laddie. Besides, we Dwarves are a lot more impressive than most folk." Bofur declared with a touch of pride.

"Shorter though!" You shouted back at Bofur. The Dwarf placed a hand over his heart in offense.

Bofur playfully retaliated, "Indeed, we may be shorter in height, lass. But our strength is doubled! Unlike some others..." He shot a sly glance at the Hobbit, riding past him and pretending to inspect his pipe with an air of nonchalance.

The hobbit's face flushed a deep shade of red, though the rain quickly cooled the heat. "Bloody Dwarves." He muttered under his breath.

Just then, Kíli, riding alongside the group, chimed in with a wink, "Well, I'd say Dwarves have more charm, too!"

After many arguments and more moping about the weather, the company continued to trot through the thicket.

Somewhere behind the dark grey clouds, the sun had begun to settle down and the valley grew darker by the minute. The path had led to an angry rushing river and the only way across was over an ancient stone bridge. The river was loud, and it drowned out Throin's booming voice encouraging everyone to cross quickly. 

The ponies were anxious, some more than others to cross the bridge but once one went over, the rest got a little more confident. Fíli's pony was very stubborn and almost refused to cross, running backward and shying at every step he took. You thought both the pair were going flip back into the rapids after a very close encounter at the edge of the crossing, but luckily they didn't, and soon enough with Fíli encouragement to his mare she crossed. 

It soon came down to you and Bilbo and fortunately, Todrick seemed cross with see, his long legs finding it easy and behind him Myrtle tried her best as well. After everyone made light work of the bridge, ponies whinnying as they joined back with their herd, you all continued a little while longer. 

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Forelithe 9th

XIII.

Another few days had passed, perhaps even weeks. But you and the company continued to follow the river's edge. 

As evening descended, a tranquil calm settled over the landscape. The gentle winds brushed through, sending a slight chill through the air. Above, the clouds began to disperse, unveiling a sliver of moonlight. The sun had dipped below the distant mountain peaks, casting the final remnants of its warm glow.

The Company had ventured farther than planned for today, closely following the downstream course of the river. Their journey led them to a grassy pasture crowned by an ancient, burnt-out house perched atop a hill.

Upon this breathtaking sight, they all came to a halt. Thorin, who took a moment to contemplate their next move. Exhaustion hit heavily on everyone, sapping whatever little motivation they had left.

"We'll make camp here for the night," Thorin decided. He turned his pony to face the weary fellowship. The weariness etched on their faces became more apparent with each passing moment.

"Fíli, Kíli," He addressed the young brothers, "You will tend to the ponies and ensure they are cared for. Keep them close by."

"On it!" Fíli and Kíli responded in unison. They dismounted their steeds and led them toward the river for a well-deserved drink. Along the way, they collected a few other horses within the company who had dismounted. 

"Óin, Glóin, get a fire going," Thorin ordered.

"Right you are," They replied in unison.

Thorin, however, didn't stop there. He barked orders at Bombur and yourself, and you perked up with interest. Dismounting his own pony, he handed it to Fíli before striding toward the two of you. They both turned their heads in unison.

"You two, start preparing supper," Thorin instructed Bombur. The Dwarf saluted promptly, eager to unload the baggage from his pony and get ready for the evening meal.

Thorin's words took a moment to fully register in your tired mind. You were preoccupied with the tight soreness in your legs as you dismounted Todrick, your movements less graceful than you'd have liked. It seemed your body couldn't keep up with the weather, the physical demands of the journey, and the long hours of riding so far. 

Letting out a tired sigh and leaning most of your weight on the taller steed, you politely asked Thorin for a reminder of what he wanted you to do.

Thorin's harsh glare met your groaning, taking your fatigue somewhat personally. He retorted sternly, "If you wish to be a part of this company, woman, you will start acting like one and help out like everyone else tonight. That's an order."

Before you could even respond, Thorin stormed away, ascending the incline to join Gandalf with crossed arms and a scowl etched across his face as he began conversing with the wizard.

Stunned and aghast, there was little left for you to do but take a moment to collect yourself.

"Fine, then," you muttered, shuffling over to Todrick. You reached out for Joseph, who sat patiently on the saddle. "Joseph," you beckoned him with open arms, helping the boy slide down to the ground.

Joseph's legs buckled beneath him with a sharp crack. "My legs hurt so much," he whined, "I really don't think I'll be able to walk ever again."

"Well, think about how Todrick feels carrying you," you replied, sliding the reins over the horse's head and handing them to Joseph.

He fumbled, seemingly rejuvenated with dramatic shock, "That's rude! He's carrying you too!"

You chuckled, reaching into the saddlebag and pulling out a red, juicy apple. Todrick nickered, his eyes locked on the tempting treat, his lips curling in anticipation. "Give him this and then go find Kíli, alright?"

Joseph nodded as he held the apple in his hand, inspecting its skin thoughtfully. After a moment of hesitation, he sheepishly asked, "Thorin told you to make dinner, right?"

"Yes," You replied, slightly puzzled, "Why?"

Joseph gave you his best puppy-dog eyes as he continued to fiddle with the apple, leaving anxious dents along its skin. "Could you maybe give me more? I'm really hungry." He pleaded, patting his growling stomach almost on cue.

"Really?" you scoffed, raising an eyebrow. A pregnant pause hung in the air before you curtly ended the conversation by gesturing in the direction of the river. "Fine, just because you asked, I'll give you less," With that, you motioned for him to go, saying, "Now, get out of here."

Although it sounded like Joseph wasn't going to get any extra soup that night, he could already picture his dinner and all the extra food he would devour. With a grin, he quickly left his sibling and trotted down the hill with Todrick to find Fíli and Kíli.

Yawning, you continued on your way, determined to fulfill your mission for the night: preparing dinner.

With a twiddle of your thumbs, Bombur was eager to get supper ready for his kin. He began pulling out various ingredients and arranging them in bowls with great enthusiasm. Humming a tune to himself, he waited joyfully for Óin and Glóin to light the fire so he could start cooking. Bombur seemed entirely absorbed in his thoughts about food.

You managed to get his attention when you called his name. He welcomed you with a warm smile and then waved his hands in a somewhat distressed manner. Reaching around himself, he handed you a stack of unsorted silver plates, which you held in your hands, before pointing to a spot beside the fire pit.

"Oh, are you going to help cook tonight, lass?" Óin asked with a grin, as he continued arranging stones around the fire pit.

Your response carried a hint of snark, a tone that could be taken in two ways, "Thorin asked me to, yes," you replied. After a moment, you added more humbly, "I'm not a skilled cook, though."

"Aye! We'll eat whatever you put on our plates, lassie!" Glóin cheered, patting his stomach. "We're a hungry lot, as you should know by now. Bombur will of course help you lass, we've had our share of charred meals that turned out quite delicious! But we'll never let Kíli near the kitchen again."

You laughed along with Glóin and the others, mustering a tired smile as you appreciated his assurance. "Alright, where should I start?"

Bombur nodded rapidly and clapped his hands with excitement, beckoning you over with a rustic bread knife in hand. He showed you your first task, beginning by cutting the crust off one end of a breadstick and making another small incision an inch from the new end of the loaf.

Following his lead, you sat beside Bombur and made multiple incisions along the loaf.

Bombur handed you another cloth filled with vegetables, and you began dicing them with growing confidence. For each vegetable you chopped, Bombur added it to the bubbling stew he was brewing in a large pot over the fire. The aroma began to waft from the pot, and even though it resembled a slosh, it had Bombur and a hungry pack of Dwarves frothing at the mouth as they approached one after another with plates in hand.

However, it wasn't long into the preparations before chaos ensued.

Silence fell over the group as heads turned like owls, trying to pinpoint the source of the scream. The yelp was swiftly followed by a rapid clomping of hooves pounding against the sand.

Pongo, Fíli's pony, was spotted bolting down the sandy bank perilously close to the river's edge, with her master trailing behind. Her bridle was half-ripped off her nose, and she kicked and bucked, desperate to free herself from the confining leather. In her frantic attempts, the bridle flew dangerously close to her eye, causing her to panic even more.

Gasping, it was pure luck that the bridle snapped in half with one sharp toss of her head, just before she plunged into the river, hoping to escape the mounting pressure. However, it was a grave mistake. The river, while not deep, proved too turbulent for the little pony to navigate safely. She neighed in distress and thrashed against the unforgiving current, attempting to turn back to the safety of the shore.

Shouts in both Dwarvish and Common tongue filled the air as everyone yelled at Fíli. He leaped into the water, hastily discarding his jacket and snatching up the broken leather on his way in. With Pongo's name on his lips, he fought to keep his footing as he wrapped the remnants of the bridle around her neck and tugged desperately. The riverbed was treacherous, and Pongo struggled to find her footing, inching further downstream with Fíli. 

"Fíli!" Your scream joined the collective voices of the Company as you hurried down to the riverbank. Everyone watched in apprehension, yet no one dared to join him—except for one.

In a frantic blur, Kíli pushed past you and the wall of Dwarves, and with determination, he dove head-first into the water.

"Kíli, damn it!" Your shouts went unheard amidst the chaos and the cacophony of men surrounding you.

"Nadad!" Kíli's cries were muffled by the rushing water as he struggled to reach Pongo, who was panting heavily and paddling as best as she could against the unforgiving current. [1]

"Shit," you muttered, spinning in all directions, desperately trying to catch your brother's eye. It soon became clear that the initial scream was not a manly yell but instead a loud adolescent yelp, "Joseph!" you shouted once more.

Your head swiveled in all directions—up, down, left, right—but came to a halt when you heard a sob. There, with a half-bitten apple in one hand and the other clutching a red gash on his arm, was Joseph. His shirt and back were caked in dirt and mud that extended up to his tear-stained cheeks.

"I was just—just feeding her..." Joseph whimpered, his words interrupted by uneven breaths. Another large tear rolled down his cheek as he watched in horror at the sight of the brothers disappearing beneath the water again.

"Joseph, it's okay," you said, trying to comfort him, but your attempts were met with a series of distressed pleas from the boy.

Back in the river's turbulent rapids, Pongo finally neared the point where she could be pulled out of the water. She looked on the brink of exhaustion, her sides heaving and nostrils flared, eyes filled with terror. Kíli made a quick decision and was forced to untie the heavy baggage from her saddle, watching his food and cot float away downstream. Sacrifices had to be made.

With grunts of effort, Kíli pushed Pongo from behind while Fíli encouraged the pony with firm tugs. Together, they managed to guide Pongo to the shore and out of the deeper section of the river.

Joseph jerked with tears again, convinced it was all his fault that the pony got scared and bolted away. He cried into his chest, head hanging low. You dropped to your knees beside him, wrapping your arms around the distraught boy and holding him close. His sobs echoed in the air.

As you comforted Joseph, you couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at Kíli and Fíli, who were trudging out of the water. Their hair was tangled and dripping, clothes and boots were fully drenched.

Bofur was the first to meet the brave brothers. He placed a reassuring hand on their shoulders and gently took Pongo away from Fíli's grasp, leading her back to the rest of the ponies. Thorin followed, pushing past the concerned Dwarves to check on his nephews. The brothers nodded in response to whatever Thorin was saying.

"Oh dear, is-is he okay?" A familiar, shaky voice piped up. Bilbo rushed seemingly out of nowhere, bending slightly to wipe some mud off Joseph's shirt. He looked guilty for the boy's distress as he joined you in comforting Joseph. "It's just a scratch, yes—you'll be okay," Bilbo reassured Joseph, taking the grazed hand and giving it a once-over, all while gently patting his back.

Joseph took a few shaky inhales, his breath gradually leveling out so he could speak freely once again. When he was finally able to catch his breath, you asked for a firm answer, "Joseph, what happened?"

"Pongo got scared and nearly ran me over, that's what happened!" Joseph exclaimed, his voice a mix of frustration and relief, "I fell onto the ground, and then she ran away into the river."

"Right. Well, she's okay now," Bilbo reassured the shaken boy.

"Exactly," you added, shifting to stand and giving Joseph's shoulder a comforting pat as you rose to your feet. "See? Come on, kid. Up you get."

After checking up on his nephews, Thorin took charge once more. He approached Kíli, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder before venturing back up the embankment, heading toward you, Bilbo, and Joseph.

"Alright, everyone, the light is fading fast," Thorin's voice boomed, commanding attention. "And we're hungry." 

"Thorin," Óin piped up, concern etched on his face. "It seems that some of our food was taken by the river when the pony bolted." Kíli's spur-of-the-moment decision meant that the rest of the company would have to endure a scarcity of supplies. Pongo had been carrying most of the meal prep on her saddle, and this mishap left little left for supper and even less for breakfast over the next couple of days.

Thorin paused for a moment, assessing the situation. "We will deal with the circumstances when the time comes. We have enough food for the time being," He took a few more steps, drawing closer to where you, Bilbo, and Joseph were.

"Is he harmed?" Thorin's eyes settled on Joseph, his eyes surprisingly soft for a moment. The boy quivered under the Dwarf leader's presence, feeling overwhelmed by the pressure.

Before you could respond, Bilbo interjected, "Just a graze," he replied, his voice firm, chin held high as he met Thorin's gaze.

Thorin nodded. "I recommend covering it before it gets infected," he advised before turning away, leaving the trio to fend for themselves. Bilbo released a silent breath, relieved as he watched Thorin walk away, joining Dwalin, who stood with his arms crossed.

The Company soon began to disperse. Some returned to their previous tasks, while others offered words of encouragement to Joseph and the brothers. 

But it was Nori and Ori who were the first to speak aloud with concern about the wizard, "Wait! Where is Gandalf?" 

Surprisingly, the wizard was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared sometime between the incident with Pongo and when everyone had dismounted their ponies. This unexpected absence left you and Bilbo deeply concerned, as the old man seemed to have vanished into thin air.

"Great! Just when a wizard could have been most useful too!" Bofur laughed, nudging Dori's side in an attempt to lighten the mood. Dori and Nori only groaned in response, strutting away with a shake of their heads.

"Do you think he's going to come back?" Bilbo asked, his concern evident in his voice.

Standing up and bowing your head low, you offered reassurance to the still-rattled hobbit. You tried to calm Bilbo with affirming words before shuffling back closer to the campfire. There, Bombur had seated himself once again with his bowls and stew.

All you could hope for now was that Gandalf would return in time for supper.

• ^[1] Nadad! | Brother! (Khuzdul)

Chapter Text

XIV.

For the remainder of the afternoon, you sat beside Bombur while Bilbo kindly offered to tend to Joseph's sore. The Hobbit carefully applied various ointments to the bruise, all concocted from small berries and crushed leaves.

However, Joseph had chosen to complain the entire time, making it challenging for Bilbo to even touch him. He cried and lamented about the burning and itching sensation caused by the paste, which wasn't the most comfortable form of medicine. Bilbo reassured him that it was perfectly normal and that the stinging sensation meant the sore was healing.

The rest of the company appeared rather gloomy, sitting silently beneath the soft glow of the small fire in the center of the circle. Muttering under their breaths, they expressed their frustration about losing the food. The twins jumped to the defense, explaining that it wasn't anyone's fault and that accidents like that could occur when least expected.

Joseph's sense of shame still weighed heavily upon him as he stared at the distant horizon, lost in solitary reflection. Perhaps it had been his hasty approach to the pony that had startled her. If only he had known better, maybe this entire mishap could have been easily averted.

In any case, there was nothing to be done now. The young boy never intended for the rest of the Company to lose their food and gear due to his foolish mistake.

It was only when the stew had been plated that everyone's spirits seemed to rise again. Each Dwarf eagerly grabbed a plate as you handed it to them. They licked their lips with hunger, hastily devouring large spoonfuls as if the stew might vanish if they didn't eat it quickly enough.

A good meal had the remarkable power to mend spirits and bring everyone together, despite the lingering discomfort of wet clothes that had yet to dry since the last downpour. However, it seemed another rainstorm was approaching in the distance, and all they could do was wait for it to hit.

But everyone had ignored the skies rumble and the men began to share laughter, their stomachs content after a hearty meal. Many went in for seconds, and some even ventured into their third helpings. It was a shame, as you contemplated because you could easily have gone for another round of dinner, still feeling quite hungry, but you doubted if there would be any left by the time you returned.

Fortunately, you had managed to secure three bowls of stew before the Company had swarmed the center of the campfire. You stepped away from the fire and rejoined Bilbo and Joseph. Fíli and Kíli had also decided to join the three of you after snatching seconds.

"Good stew this is, milady," Kíli complimented, savoring another generous spoonful.

Feeling a bit mischievous, you shuffled closer to the brunette, toying with the chunks of potato in your stew. "Between you and me," you confided, "I just mixed it."

"Ahh," Kíli let out an amused sigh, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "I'm surprised you did that. Bombur doesn't usually let anyone cook with him. So count yourself lucky."

Agreeing, you continued, "I didn't have much choice. Thorin insisted to Bombur I did... something."

There was a pregnant pause as you stirred the stew, gazing around the campfire and studying the company members. Your search ended as you looked toward the far corner where Thorin was chatting with Dwalin. You nudged Kíli, nodding your head toward Thorin.

With a comforting tone, Kíli lowered his voice, catching Thorin's stern gaze when he glanced over. "He will come around, I'm sure of it," Kíli reassured. His lips curled into a tight smirk when he turned to face you. He nudged your shoulder with his own and asked, "Do you really like the belt?"

You looked up at Kíli with suspicion, assuring him you liked the leather belt as you grasped it tightly with your spare palm. Hesitantly, you asked why he would bring up such a question.

"I simply wonder, that's all," he replied with a slight pause before asking another question you hadn't quite expected, "Have you done much fighting before, milady?"

Scoffing loudly, you almost took Kíli by surprise, and he flinched back with a wide grin. Laughing it off, you put on your most serious, tight-lipped smirk to tell a lie, "All the time. Basically had to be... held back for most of my fights."

"Really?" You brought your hand up to fumble with your bottom lip and nodded at him. "I would not have thought. Perhaps... we should save time for a spar later, then? I assume you fight with a sword?"

Instead of confirming the sword, you clenched your fist and brought it up to his face, saying, "With my bare hands." Your poker face seemed to be on point, and for a second, he was wrapped around your finger, right where you wanted him.

The young prince seems more taken aback and surprised by your answer and takes your wrist. 

There's another pregnant pause before it breaks with the rough sound of a bowl and spoon hitting the floor from beside you. 

He seemed taken aback and surprised by your answer, and he took your wrist. There was another pregnant pause before it broke with the rough sound of a bowl and spoon hitting the floor beside you. 

Joseph leaned around with a deadpan stare, his hands in his lap. He shifted between you two and then loudly sighed your name, "You lie. Since when have you been in a fistfight?"

"Joseph," you called out, addressing your younger brother.

Kíli took a moment to process the interruption, then shook his head with an amused grin. "I knew you were a liar! It was in my waters!" he exclaimed, playfully throwing your fist back into your lap, "Had me for a second."

The young Dwarf cackled, giving your shoulder a good-natured jolt that nearly sent you tumbling toward the dirt at your feet.

Amidst the commotion, Balin, who had been on lookout duty for the night, quickly grabbed everyone's attention. He gestured toward a distant point in the forest, through thick trees. "There's a light over there!" On cue, a red speck of light became visible in the darkness. It flickered like torches or perhaps a fire, casting an eerie glow.

They all gazed at the distant light, their curiosity quickly devolving into a spiraling argument. Initially, Bofur and Bifur expressed their willingness to investigate, but soon found themselves outnumbered by the others who adamantly said, 'absolutely not.' Kíli and Fíli stood up to argue and playfully taunted the rest to check out the mysterious light.

Thorin leaped from his rock and bellowed out a commanding Dwarvish word, and everyone shut up quickly. 

"These parts are not too well known and are too close to the mountains. Travelers seldom come this way now... especially at nightfall. Old maps are no use: things have changed for the worse and the road we are on remains unguarded. That light there could be anything... or anyone, traveler or not." Thorin explained.

"If the light seems this close to our camp would we not rather quietly investigate than move again? The rain seems to be making haste and we are already tired. No one wants to pack up again for the night in the middle of the storm." Balin added.

An uprising of Dwarves nodded in agreement and shook their heads, still engaged in heated discussions about who should be the quietest to investigate. But then, one Dwarf shouted across the camp with an idea.

Gloin settled the heated debate with a suggestion, "We have a burglar with us! We should send him!"

The Hobbit nearly spat out his whole meal in shock, desperately hoping that his name would not be called after quietly hiding in the corner with you and Joseph for most of the night.

"I-I think that wouldn't be wise. Ahum!" Bilbo coughed, standing up and brushing imaginary dirt off his coat. The entire Company fell silent, with all eyes on him.

Bilbo almost immediately knew what was going to happen and felt a surge of anxiety at that particular moment. However, no excuse could get him out of this one, as the Hobbit had little say in the matter. Only Thorin tilted his head with a dark, teasing smirk at the idea. He was the company's prime burglar, and burglars were very sneaky folk.

Quickly, the Dwarves gathered their tools and weapons, doing their best to be as quiet as possible, and set off in the direction of the light. Bilbo reluctantly took the lead, pushed and hurried toward the destination by his fellow adventurers.

You and Joseph huddled at the far end of the pack, with the thought process that there was no way you would stay alone, knowing something could be out there. As the Company got closer to the source of the light, an increasingly putrid smell permeated the air, a foul stench that made you hold your nose and gag.

"Now it's the burglar's turn!" The Dwarves said, pushing and ushering the small Hobbit forward. Bilbo swallowed harshly, gripping his coat until his knuckles turned pale white.

"I-I don't want to do this, we don't even know what it is! What if I'm not burglary enough?" Bilbo felt like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in place.

The leader, Thorin, marched toward the Hobbit, placing a reassuring hand on his smaller shoulder. "You must go and find out what the light is, what it's for, and if it's safe and canny," Thorin whispered. "Now go! If you're in need of help, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a screech owl."

"Once like a barn owl... no, twice like a barn owl and once like a screech owl? W-wait, are you sure this is a good idea?" Before the Hobbit could even turn around, everyone had dispersed, which startled him because he didn't even hear anyone scuttle away. However, he put on a brave face and marched forward into the clearing.

On the other hand, you were swept to the side, separated from your brother, pulled, and thrown against a thick-rooted tree right beside the red and yellow light. Thorin was there beside you, huddled in the shadows, with a dark snarl growing on his face.

A multitude of thoughts raced through your mind, and you attempted to speak quietly to the dwarf with a few simple words, "Thorin, where's Joseph?"

His head snapped to you, a finger pressed against his lips, urging silence, "With Kíli and Fíli," he answered, and you sighed, scanning the perimeter for them. However, everyone seemed to blend well into the darkness.

You started to ask again, but he silenced you with a word and directed his attention back to the light, "Trolls."

"Mutton yesterday, mutton today.... and blimey if it don't look like mutton again tomorrer!" 

"Oh, quit your griping!"

Turning from behind the tree, you peeped an eye from behind the wood, watching in shock as a large, pale, beast-like creature strode over to meet two more of these humanoid figures, each holding a pony under their arms. A campfire had been set up, with a massive piece of meat toasting over it on a long spit of wood.

You gagged at the sight and prayed, hoping that wasn't what you feared it might be cooking over the fire.

The one who was twirling the wood licked gravy off his fingers and sighed in delight.

The sight nearly made you gag, and you couldn't suppress your thoughts as you whispered, "They have Myrtle and Minty!" Thorin, growing more impatient by the second, swiftly pulled you back, his grip on your shoulder tightening.

"Stay still," He ordered, his voice laced with tension as he firmly held you.

"Never a blinking bit of manflesh have we had for a long enough. What's wriggling around there? More sheep?" Questioned the second troll.

"These aren't sheep. These are fresh nags!" One of the trolls replied. 

"Oh! I don't like horses I never have. Not enough fat on 'em!" The third troll spat out.

"Well, it's better than a leathery old farmer. All skin and bone, he was. I'm still picking bits of him out of me teeth."

Your eyelids grew glossy, and you could feel bile bubbling in your throat, your face turning a pale shade as you brought a hand close to your lips.

The trolls continued their argument, and although you couldn't see Bilbo, you assumed that everything was going according to plan, as the trolls hadn't raised any alarm. So, you cautiously took another peek, still covering your mouth and nose to combat the stench.

This time, you managed to spot Bilbo, who was crawling along a fence, attempting to untie a rope that held a bunch of other horses tightly bound together. There, among them, stood Todrick, easily distinguishable by his towering height above the other horses. The poor gelding appeared highly stressed, his ears twitching and trembling as he struggled with all his might to either move forward or backward, to no avail.

You tapped Thorin's shoulder several times, pointing out Todrick's location to Bilbo, who was hiding behind the arse of a troll.

"Oh, my guts are grumbling. I've got to snaffle something... flesh. I need flesh!" The troll rhymed, reaching directly behind him and grabbing a startled Bilbo, who grunted in pain as he was lifted high into the air.

"Bilbo!" You shrieked, but your plea was quickly muffled as a gloved hand covered your mouth.

Thorin muttered, "I said... be quiet." Fortunately, none of the trolls heard anything, too preoccupied with Bilbo, who was now being used as a handkerchief rather than being eaten alive. Clenching Thorin's knuckles, you watched in disgust.

"Bert! Bert! Look what's come out of me hooter! It's as’ arms and legs and everything!" 

The troll, Bert, you assumed, questioned, "What is it?"

"I don't know. But I don't like the way it's wiggling around!" The troll threw the Hobbit into the dirt, while the other two trolls circled him.

"What are you? An oversized squirrel?" 

Bilbo gulped, scrambling to get up with his hands defensively in the air. "Bilbo Baggins, a ber- a Hobbit!" He corrected, mentally facepalming.

"A Burrhobbit?" They asked, looking startled. The trolls started to grow suspicious of this new creature. A Burrhobbit? They had never heard of such a thing.

One of them lick their lips, "Can we cook 'em?"

"Yer can try," said Bert, picking up a skewer.

You mumbled into Thorin's palm as you watched in horror, thrashing wildly as Bilbo sprinted and dashed between the three trolls. They swung and reached between their legs to grab him, but the Hobbit was too fast for the trolls.

They all shouted at one another, calling each other idiots and silly names in loud, grumbling voices. That is until he tripped over one of the logs in the middle of the campfire, and they grabbed him, dangling Bilbo upside down.

"P'haps there's more like him round and about, and we can make a pie." 

"No! None at all, not one." Bilbo covered his face, his cheeks burning from the blood rushing downwards.

"He's lying! Hold his toes over the fire. Make him squeal!"

“Bilbo!” A voice shouts. 

Out of the thicket, Kíli rushed forwards, slashing at the troll's ankles. He demanded the trolls to drop Bilbo, and you sighed in relief. However, Kíli had only made the trolls angrier, and they threw Bilbo straight onto him. They laughed at the sight of the two scrambling to get to their feet.

Thorin snarled a growl, tossing you back against the base of the tree, and drew his sword, pointing the blade at you with a deadly threat, "You will wait here. Do not move, or I'll have your head."

Nodding vigorously, you watched as Thorin joined the battle with a fierce battle cry, and the rest of the company followed suit.

The trolls fought fiercely, but the Dwarves showed impressive agility and strength beneath their layers of leather and fur and you couldn't keep your eyes off Thorin who danced under the beast's arms and slashed at their feet. The trolls hollered and screamed at each other with increasing ferocity. They grabbed a bunch of sacks close to your tree, attempting to scoop up the Dwarves, but no one was caught just yet.

That is until you heard dozens of fast, thundering footsteps leaving the campsite. The ponies had escaped and hastily made their way out of sight, never to be caught again.

"Bilbo!" A voice shouts, and you snap your attention back to the fight.

There, Bilbo was spread like a starfish, being held with both arms and legs.

"Lay down your arms... or we'll rip his off!"

Thorin, standing in front of them, cracked his neck in annoyance, looking up at the Hobbit who gave a silent plea. Grinding his teeth, he threw his sword to the side of the bush, out of harm's way, and shook his head. Everyone joined Thorin in throwing their weapons aside in defeat.

Wincing, you watched the trolls one by one round up the dwarfs and put them into straw sacks.

But suddenly, a thought crossed your mind, and your heart rate rose exponentially. Examining the forest, you whispered your brothers’ names, but alas, nothing responded back.

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Forelithe 10^th

XV.

"Joseph!" You echoed into the darkness, trying to be as quiet as possible. Luckily, the trolls were rather loud, so there was no need to worry too much. But yet, the fear in your stomach was still ever-present.

Circling the site, you climbed logs and rocks, searching for your brother, but there was still no sight of him.

By now, most of the company had been forced into sacks. Some upside down, wrong way up. A few others tied together, face to arse, over the skewer on the fire. Watching them go round and round made you feel queasy, and they all wailed about how hot they were, pleading with the beasts to let them go.

Bofur appeared to be the most concerned, his face pinched with green flushing in his cheeks every time the flames tickled his nose and singed his eyebrows.

"No good roasting 'em now, it'd take all night," said a troll, "Dawn ain't far away. I don't fancy getting turned to stone."

"Don't start the arguing all over again, Bill," Bert said, "Or it’ll take all night, and we will all be stoned by morning!"

You freeze, climbing over a fallen tree, and listen carefully to their argument. 

Brows furrowed, you glanced skywards and noticed that daylight was indeed breaking, though only just. It struck you as foolish for the trolls to mention the one thing that would be their downfall. Nevertheless, you continued to creep over the log, remaining as quiet as a mouse behind another patch of shrubs.

"Who's arguing?" One troll asked.

"You are," The other replied.

The other two trolls bellowed at the younger, stupider troll, "Shut up!"

"No, yer shut up! You booby!" 

"Booby yourself!" They retorted.

Then the arguing began all over again and continued on louder and grew even louder and more annoying as they argued about who was stupider and the better cook. They pushed and shoved each other, causing the ground to vibrate when their behinds landed on the soil.

Realising that this was your chance to cover some more ground while they were distracted, you decided to move again. The best opportunity seemed to be on the other side of the campfire, closer to the group lying on the ground.

Tensing up, you leaped over a few twigs and reached a much thicker tree that provided some shade.

As you took a deep breath, preparing to move once more, you suddenly felt a soft tap on your shoulder. A hushed voice called out, and you whipped around on the spot so quickly that it would have given anyone watching whiplash. However, you immediately breathed again with a sigh of relief when you saw who it was.

"I'm going to kill you, Joseph," You whispered harshly.

Joseph simply shrugged, "What do you want me to do? Not do anything and just stand behind you?"

"Shut up," you growled, lowering yourself to his level. You noticed him clutching onto something that seemed heavy by the way he struggled to hold it. He had to roll his shoulders to alleviate the strain. "What is that?" You asked, curious.

Joseph grunted, swinging the object in front of him, "I found it. I think it's Thorin's... it was where I was hiding, so I grabbed it. It's... really heavy."

Taking the heavy sword from his grasp, you buckled under its weight for a moment but managed to balance the silver blade with both hands. You admired the intricate design carved into the metal and noted how the leather grip at the base fit snugly in your hold.

However, you didn't have long to appreciate the craftsmanship. The sword quickly slipped from your grip and clattered to the dirt, dangerously close to your foot.

"Still think the fighting life is for you?" Joseph whispered with a sly grin.

You snarled, your upper lip twitching. "I'll cut your tongue off in a second, boy."

Joseph chuckled. "When you can hold it for more than a second."

Letting go of the sword with one hand while still keeping a firm grip on it, you jabbed a finger into Joseph's chest, "Shut up. Do you think you're funny? You're going to get us killed!"

"Hush. Now is not the time for jesting, children." A figure cloaked in darkness interrupted. Gandalf scolded the siblings gently but firmly, his voice carrying a sense of wisdom and a warm smile on his face.

For a moment, you had forgotten that Gandalf had actually disappeared out of the blue before dinner, but his return now was a reassuring sight.

With a worried expression, you addressed him, "Gandalf."

"Worry not, dear. I have a plan," the wizard reassured you with a nod. "It is nearly daybreak, which means only one thing for these trolls."

"What is it?" Joseph asked with a tilt of his head. 

"Well, it's quite a simple matter," Gandalf mused, chuckling at the bewildered look on the young boy's face. To the wizard, the plan was straightforward, but Joseph's expression suggested otherwise.

Without saying a word, Gandalf patted Joseph's shoulder and gestured toward the fire where the trolls continued to argue, and the dwarfs remained trapped.

Joseph furrowed his brow, "I don't get it."

You help the boy with the answer, "The sun, Joe! They said they turn to... pebbles."

"Stone, my dear," Gandalf corrected with raised eyebrows.

"That's what I said," You replied, and Joseph shot a skeptical glance over his shoulder, suppressing a teasing comment. 

Gandalf's plan was simple: the two of you would remain where you were, keeping quiet, while he would go to the other side of the clearing, positioning himself on top of a large boulder. According to Gandalf, you wouldn't have to wait very long.

For anyone else, these instructions seemed straightforward. However, both of you weren't just anyone, and as Gandalf picked up his staff, he briskly walked behind you into the forest with swift, purposeful steps.

It didn't take long for Joseph to stir up trouble. He began rummaging around in the foliage, searching for a small rock. After finding one, he gave it a quick kiss for good luck and prepared to launch it across the clearing.

You watched him with growing concern, pondering his intentions. Before you could ask or decide whether it was a good idea, he had already acted.

The rock flew through the air, but instead of heading toward the trolls as you initially thought, it struck Bilbo squarely on the forehead. You could see the Hobbit wince and attempt to pat down his brow, but his arms had little space to maneuver, and he could only wiggle uncomfortably.

"Joseph! What are you doing?" You hissed.

Joseph picked up another rock, tossing it in the air as if preparing for another throw. "Just wait," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. Standing up behind the tree, he carefully aimed his shot, and the rock landed perfectly.

"Ouch!" Bilbo exclaimed loudly, wiggling and writhing in pain. "What the-" The second rock rolled off his face, and he looked around, spotting Joseph's figure not too far away. "Joseph?" He says aloud. 

Joseph practically bounced with excitement once he made contact with his friend. He pointed and jumped frantically in the direction Gandalf had indicated towards the sun. It took a moment for Bilbo to understand what Joseph was trying to tell him, but then it all clicked.

"Whoes making noise over ere'?" William, you believe, asks, "I'm not liken' all the chatter' boxing whose was it?"  

"Not me!" 

"It wasn't me!" 

"We've been talking the whole time you big, dumb, idiot!" The Dwarves protested.

They barked snarky and defensive remarks, all until one of the trolls walked over to them did they shut up, terrified by the looming presence of the troll and its disgusting breath. Many struggled to hold back their nausea at the sight of the troll's teeth.

William growled, "I'm getting sick of their rubbish. Come here!" He snarled, reaching over them all and picking up Nori by the end of his sack, dangling him upside down in front of his face, licking his lips. Panic swept over everyone, and you clutched the leather sword at your feet, ready to strike at the troll's toes.

You felt like a cat, poised to pounce, but then a stern voice silenced everyone in the clearing.

"W-wait!" Bilbo screamed, his voice trembling. "You are making a terrible, terrible mistake. Do. Not. Eat. Him!"

"Why not?" the other trolls demanded, steam blowing from their noses in frustration as they held back from devouring their captured meal.

"There's a secret to-to cooking him!" Bilbo stammered, feeling all eyes on him. The trolls buzzed with excitement at the thought of cooking him and listened carefully. 

"Yes?" William asked, followed by the other trolls.

"Tell us the secret then!" 

"Yes! I'm telling you the secret! It is too-" Bilbo glanced briefly at the sun, realizing that it was just a matter of moments now, and he blurted out the first morbid thing that came to his mind, "Too skin them first! Especially that one!" He pointed towards Nori, who seemed to be getting seasick from hanging upside down.

Bilbo continued, "He has worms in his- tubes?" This statement led to an uproar with William, who angrily threw Nori back down into the pile, face-first. "In- fact, they all have worms and bugs... and extra toes. Infested, dare I say. With parasites- loads- heaps of them!"

"Loads of parasites? I don't have any parasites, you do!" Kíli loudly retorted, causing the other Dwarves to argue even more.

You couldn't help but wince at the ongoing spectacle, while Bilbo expressed his frustration with a grunt. Sighing, you continued to watch, "Oh, Bilbo."

Suddenly, there was a loud thud from the Dwarf pile, and Kíli groaned after being kicked in the back, "Uncle!" Thorin, who was also trapped with a few other Dwarves on the ground, shot his nephew and the rest of the group a stern look.

A sudden chill seemed to sweep through the company, and you could almost see the gears turning in their minds.

"I've got parasites as big as me' arm!" Ori exclaimed, nodding frantically and daring to speak up first.

"No! Mine are the biggest! I have huge parasites," Kíli quickly backtracked, crying out in desperation, "I lied, I promise!"

"We're riddled! Infested!" 

"Yes, yes, we are!" All the Dwarves joined in, their voices barrage of agreement as they exaggerated their infestation, all trying to one-up each other. 

The atmosphere around the campfire became increasingly tense as Bert let out a frustrated growl, "What do you expect us to do then? Just release them all!" The massive troll headed straight for Bilbo, looming over him menacingly, "Don't think I know what er' up to. This little ferret is taking us for fools!" 

"F-ferret?" Bilbo stammered, nervously inching backward into the dirt as the troll reached out to grab him.

"I'll eat him raw then!" The troll bellowed, his mouth watering at the prospect of a meal. The dwarves all screamed for their Hobbit, but they remained helplessly bound inside their sacks and still spinning over the fire.

It seemed almost too late, and there was no way you could stand by and watch Bilbo get eaten alive. So you took action, shouting, "Bilbo!" With all your strength, you seized the leather at your feet, and the blade sliced through the air with a sharp tang as you burst out of the thicket.

Skipping underneath the troll, you planted your feet wide and contorted your spine in ways you didn't think were possible on this earth, gathering as much momentum as you could. Slingshotting yourself back around, you managed to slice deep under the troll's kneecap.

The troll's knee buckled, collapsing in on itself, and he howled in pain, thick red blood gushing down his leg, pooling at his moldy toes.

"My leg! My leg!" He cried out. The other two trolls were clearly shocked, and they started shouting and arguing among themselves. Meanwhile, Bilbo had safely landed off to the side, out of harm's way.

Your name echoed around you, some voices expressing surprise while others cheered. Stepping back, you made eye contact with one of the trolls, and it was clear they were beyond furious. The troll had a dangerous look in his eyes, and he roared, baring his teeth, shooting fear into you once again.

"Run!"

"Go, lass!" The voices quickly shifted from cheering to distressed calls. They howled your name, pleading with you to turn and flee, but you felt as though the ground had a firm grip on your ankles, making you shuffle slowly backward. Your eyes remained fixed on the approaching beast just a meter away.

"Let dawn take you all, and be stone to you!" At that very moment, light spilled over the hill. The trolls never stood a chance; they froze in their tracks, turning into stone. Tom and the other troll were also petrified, their forms grinding and cracking into place. They would stand there, as lifeless stones, for the rest of their days, isolated and alone.

Everyone cheered and laughed upon seeing the wizard at the top of the boulder. Joseph came running out of the bush and collided with your waist.

Joseph bounced with excitement, "That was so amazing! How did you even do that?"

Dropping the sword, you comforted your brother with an embrace around his shoulders, “I don't know. It kind of felt like playing tennis." You laugh, "But It's not happening again, so don't get excited." 

Joseph sighed, agreeing with a smirk, "Sure."

Looking onward at the group, they all still chatted and laughed. Thorin, however, gave a warm smirk that anyone could almost mistake for an encouraging grin. He nodded slowly in an approving manner, and a sense of pride washed over you.

"Okay, now come to help us out, lass," Bofur spoke, "I'm starting to feel a bit queasy."

Dwalin chimed in, "I, too, am feeling sick. But it is not from being upside down."

"Oi! Shut your damned pie hole!" Bofur shouted below him, and Dwalin cringed, tied between Bofur's legs. The two continued bickering for a while, debating on who should get untied first.

Many were very annoyed, and not all enjoyed lying there in dirty sacks, tied between each other's legs, and listening to the trolls making plans to roast and squash them. So between yourself, Gandalf, and Joseph, untying took a while longer than expected, but it was all worth it in the end.

Chapter Text

XVI.

It was nearly midday by the time everyone had been untied from their sacks. However, when it came to untying Thorin, you didn't hesitate to use his sword to cut the rope and free him. 

You found it somewhat ironic that you were the one saving him this time using his silver. A smirk threatened to creep onto your lips as you watched him stand, casually brushing imaginary dirt from his shoulder, all the while maintaining eye contact.

The pair didn't dare to speak at that moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. 

At that moment, neither of you dared to speak, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

But after a brief silence, you felt brave enough to break it. "You're welcome," You said, adopting a rough and taunting tone, rolling your shoulders. Thorin made no immediate response, but his eyes followed yours as you glanced down at your hand, which still firmly grasped his sword.

He gives a stern look through his brows but makes no gesture to capture his sword back and you could only wish to feel the heavy weight of the metal for longer before your brain kicks in, delicately flipping the silver around and handing it out to its owner.  

Thorin hesitated for a brief moment before taking the leather-wrapped handle. His fingers brushed against yours, and everything in your head screamed to flinch away from his touch. However, you waited until the silver was fully out of your grasp before discreetly wiping your hand on your trousers, clenching the fabric into fists.

"That was child's play," He said, his tone either jesting or annoyed, impossible for you to discern, "A fluke. You will need more training to survive out here, far from the comforts of home."

Perhaps that was the most Thorin-like way of saying 'thank you.' The man was swift to speak his mind, with little regard for your feelings, and then stomped off towards Gandalf behind you.

As you struggled to contain your frustration, you harshly cracked your neck and ground your teeth. You pivoted to watch him engage in conversation with Gandalf, and it irked you.

Your knuckles turned white from the frustration of feeling like no matter how hard you tried to prove yourself, nothing would ever be good enough for Thorin and his high-and-mighty, attitude. For now, you were relegated to being the clean-up crew, the laundry worker who couldn't take a punch, or throw one for that matter. You needed to be protected by him and the other Dwarves, an inconvenience in his presence. 

However, your small triumph was not unnoticed by some. Your frown quickly disappeared as a friendly hand patted your shoulder, and you smiled at the welcoming faces that approached.

Thorin, however, wore a smirk on his lips as he approached Gandalf. When the wizard spotted him, he responded with a grin, leaning on his staff.

Thorin was the first to question the wizard about his absence during the Company's struggle with the trolls, "Where were you when we were dealing with those trolls?"

"I went to look ahead," Gandalf replied.

"What brought you back?"

Gandalf tutted with a thoughtful hum, straightening his spine and gazing past Thorin, over his shoulder, "Looking behind."

Thorin's grin faded, and he didn't need to turn around, but he did so anyway. Rolling his eyes, he glanced behind himself briefly and spotted you engaged in conversation with your kin, Bilbo, and his younger nephew, who appeared quite excited. Kíli congratulated you and Bilbo for distracting the trolls, and your smile seemed to leave a bitter taste in Thorin's mouth.

However, the young king refrained from commenting and continued with Gandalf's cryptic response. He walked past the wizard and gave the troll's stone toe a kick for good measure.

Thorin circled the troll and instructed, "Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?"

Gandalf released a staggered breath. "They must have come down from the Ettenmoors. They haven't dared to venture this far for decades." Suddenly, the mood shifted, and Gandalf felt an inexplicable rush. A cold breeze rustled his beard as he gazed at the trolls.

It sent shivers down his spine, and a thought crossed his mind—a thought that had been leading him through all these strange occurrences. His eyes shifted back to your figure, which beamed with smiles and lively conversation, "Not since a darker power ruled these lands." Just as quickly as the wizard had been caught in an odd trance, he snapped out of it, blinking. He looked around, up at the blue sky, "They couldn't have moved in daylight."

Thorin appeared puzzled for a moment, "There must be a cave nearby."

"Indeed," Gandalf nodded. "There must be."

"You did great, milady! You and Bilbo both," Kíli beamed, revealing the whites of his teeth.

Bilbo and Joseph had been the ones to untie the brunette. As soon as Kíli had been freed from his sack, the three of them made their way over to you. You basked in his praise because it seemed that his older kin would not give it to you, but his younger, playful nephew would.

"I helped too," a voice chimed in. "I came up with the idea to throw rocks at Bilbo so he would do his whole stalling speech." Joseph put on his most serious look, flicking imaginary locks behind him, crossing his arms, and cocking his feet.

Kíli burst into loud, howling laughter, locking the boy's head between his arms and ruffling his hair into a messy disarray, "Of course you did! That was a great plan, laddy." Joseph tried to swat away Kíli's strong grasp, but his attempts could not stop the playful onslaught.

Bilbo even started laughing. "Yes, Joseph, that was a very clever, if somewhat painful, idea. You nearly took out my eye!"

Chuckling, you joined in the banter, nudging Bilbo's shoulder. "I wouldn't even be worried about your eyes, Baggins, let alone half your body that was going to be ripped apart!"

"That is very true," Bilbo remarked, raising his brows as he waddled in place and placed his hands on his hips.

However, the trio's laughter was abruptly cut short when their leader stretched across the clearing, bellowing his thundering voice, "We are wasting daylight. The trolls must have a cave nearby, close to their camp. We must search for it."

The Dwarves nodded, promptly agreeing with Thorin.

"Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin... you will search with me. Come now." 

Dwalin let out a rough shout of agreement, and Kíli was slow to follow his brother, "I will see you soon, milady," Kíli pouted, then turned to Bilbo and Joseph, nodding in farewell. With that, he joined his scouting partners.

It wasn't long before the rest of the dwarves split into their teams, disappearing out of sight. This left you, Joseph, and Bilbo with Gandalf.

Stay close. You never know what else might be in these woods," Gandalf cautioned, ushering his friends along. "Come along."

It didn't take long for you to discover traces of the trolls' path through the trees. Following the trail up a hill, hidden by bushes, you eventually stumbled upon a massive stone and rock door leading to a cave.

You called out to Gandalf and anyone nearby, and they swiftly responded.

"Curiouser and curiouser," you chuckled, standing before the imposing blockade.

The wizard was the first to approach and tried pushing on the door, but it remained stubbornly unmoved, refusing to open. More members of the company arrived, attempting to push and shove the stone.

"It just won't budge!" Bofur said in frustration, stepping back beside you with clenched fists, fed up with the fruitless attempts to open the door.

"Now, hold on a minute," Gandalf said, moving closer again. He noticed a hole in the middle of the door and began whispering various incantations. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to work. "Oh dear. This is a bit of a puzzle, then."

Thorin was the last to join the rest of his companions, growing increasingly agitated as their attempts proved futile. "There must be a key. Search the area. Quickly."

The Dwarves scrambled to look under every nook and cranny until a voice piped up.

"Would this be any good?" Bilbo asked a bit shyly, holding out a key he had found on the ground where the trolls had their fight. It was just the right size to fit perfectly into the lock and had luckily fallen out of one of the trolls' pockets before they turned to stone.

"Well- why didn't you mention that before?" Dori cried, on his hands and knees, looking around in the mud for a key that wasn't there.

Gandalf grabbed the key and inserted it into the lock with a twist. The door swung open with one final push, and they all entered the cavern.

You took one step inside the cave before having to brace yourself against the sharp wall. Your face turned a mossy green, and you covered your nose, gagging harshly as bile rose to your tongue. Joseph was held back by Gandalf, who gave him a warning look. Joesph felt amused watching you struggle to breathe in the cave's thick, foul air and thanked Gandalf. 

"OH! What is that stench?" Nori shouted.

"I don't think I can go in there..." Ori cringed, backing away also holding his nose.

You had one glance down into the abyss of the cave, and suddenly, you wished you hadn't looked at all. 

Piles of bones were scattered on the floor, mingling with moldy bits of flesh and rotten fruits, forming large bulbous stacks amid the chaotic litter of plunder of all sorts, from brass to pots, and chests overflowing with gold coins and jewels. Rags of well-worn loincloths hung on the walls, alongside other clothes that seemed too small for the trolls, and you were afraid to think they might belong to their victims. Among the clothes, various swords of all makes, shapes, and sizes were thrown in corners and under leaves. 

"It's a trolls' hoard," Gandalf remarked, his tone solemn. "Be careful what you touch."

You waited for the brave few dwarfs who dared to venture deeper into the foul-smelling cave to turn around. Then, you hurried back to the cave entrance, desperate for the fresh air.

Stumbling over a rock, far enough away from the nauseating stench, you covered your mouth again, waiting for the persistent urge to gag to subside, "That is disgusting."

Bilbo, swaying beside you, appeared as though he had been drunk from the stench, his face as pale as snow. "That is absolutely foul. I can still smell it."

"Take a breath of the fresh air, Mr. Baggins!" Bofur gave the Hobbit a firm slap on the back, causing Bilbo's eyes to nearly pop out of his skull, even though he had just returned from the cave and was still carrying the stench. "It's much better out here! You sure you don't want to have a proper geese inside?"

Bilbo rapidly shook his head.

"Bofur, leave our burglar alone." Gandalf joined the rest of the company outside and strolled over to the two queasy individuals, concealing something behind his back. The Dwarf only threw his hands up in defense and walked away, not daring to engage in banter with Gandalf.

"Sorry about that," Gandalf apologized. "Here, I found something for you two," He revealed two swords from behind his back, "Bilbo, this one is about your size, I believe." 

"And for you, my dear... a fine sword as well. It should suit you, I hope." Gandalf handed you the silver-sheathed sword. It felt lighter than Thorin's and more comfortable to hold, having been forged much slimmer. Taking a peek at its blade, both of you slid the cover off an inch, and the sharp point sliced through the air with a crisp sound that you had come to appreciate. Although Bilbo's sword was smaller in size, you didn't believe it was any less sharp.

Bilbo shook his head, feeling terrified as he held the sword. Hobbits were never meant to wield such sharp objects, capable of cutting throats and slaying monsters, "I can't take this," he said firmly, looking up at Gandalf with confusion.

"This blade is of Elvish make, Bilbo. It will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby," Gandalf explained.

The Hobbit still looked frightened, seeking comfort in your gaze as he turned to you. You nodded, grasping your own sword tightly. Despite that, Bilbo stumbled for words, "I've never used a sword in my life."

"I hope you never have to. But if you do, remember this. True courage is not knowing when to take a life..." Gandalf gazed upon you all, taking a deep breath before continuing, "But when to spare one."

His words filled Bilbo with a warm, fuzzy feeling that made him feel courageous. He pressed his lips shut. You couldn't help but admire how Gandalf's words had a reassuring effect on the Hobbit, instilling a newfound sense of bravery within him.

"Somethings coming!" Thorin shouted, breaking the peaceful silence. 

Everyone was on high alert, running closer, following Thorin out into the thicket. You stood and grabbed Joseph once the boy sprinted over to you.

Gandalf had started shouting, pulling his sword out quickly, and hurried off to the commotion. "Hurry now, stay together! Arm yourself, dear."

You left Bilbo, thinking he had been right behind you, but the Hobbit was still fumbling with his new armor. However, you were quick to heed Gandalf's advice, and like second nature, you attached the sword to your belt, which had a perfect spot to hold the silver, and unsheathed it, ready for the attack.

You held the leather grip tightly in your palm, inspecting both sides of the blade before pulling Joseph along to follow the others.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" A voice screamed so loudly it nearly burst your eardrums. There were hurried thumps and stomps through the forest that sounded like a dozen men before the voice came to a halt.

Everyone had moved to defend themselves, forming a protective circle. However, to their surprise, there was no Orc, Goblin, or Troll in sight. Instead, they found a defenseless, short old man on a wooden sleigh, pulled by huge rabbits.

You couldn't tell if you were shocked or in awe of the scene in front of you. All the rabbits were wearing cute little vine harnesses and itched and scratched at their fluffy bodies. One rabbit though had picked up a familiar scent in the area and her snout twitched and she pivoted her body, following her nose until it landed right in your direction. 

Her big black eyes blinked furiously, trying to understand why she would be picking up on this scent until Joseph came out from behind your arm.

Radagast! Radagast the Brown!" Gandalf grinned, stepping forward. "What on earth are you doing here, old friend?"

"I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong! Something's terribly wrong!"

"Yes?" Gandalf quizzed, leaning closer.

Just as Radagast was about to answer, he stopped, stunned by his sudden inability to recall what was on his mind. He tried again, rubbing his head, but to no avail—no answer came from his mouth. "Just give me a minute."

Radagast gave up, throwing his hands in defeat. "Oh! I had a thought, and now I've lost it! It was on the tip of my tongue! Oh, dear."

While the newcomer was struggling with his answer, you also struggled to pay attention to what they were saying, far too distracted by the rabbit who felt brave enough to take a step closer, sniffing the air again. You pointed your sword at the large creature, and it stopped, clearly frightened.

Disregarding your pleas, Joseph stepped closer to the furry animal with a quiet stride, extending his hand and clicking his tongue. This action invited the bunny to hop closer, and she allowed Joseph to scratch her head comfortably.

Joseph snickered, watching the large bunny flop onto the ground, spreading out on her back and kicking her foot happily, much like a dog.

Radagast had finally recalled what was on his mind, or rather, on his tongue, after Gandalf had pulled an insect out of his mouth and gently placed it back on a nearby tree. That's when he noticed one of his rabbits purring contentedly under the gentle touch of a young child. The old wizard had never seen this behavior before and laughed at the sight, pointing to his furry companion.

"Oh dearie, she likes you, boy!" Radagast smiled with awe, "How adorable!"

You sheathed your sword, shaking your head, while Joseph laughed and looked around at his friends. This was a nice moment for the entire company, a moment of peace and laughter that had been rare among the Dwarves until now. They all smiled at Joseph.

But, of course, there's always one.

"Oi! Get this one off me!" A voice shouted.

Bofur had two huge, fat rabbits jumping up at him, pushing him back as they sought scratches and affection of their own. The weight of a single jump from a rabbit caused Bofur to fall to the ground in a fit of laughter as he struggled to push the animals away.

The company enjoyed this moment, but it was short-lived, as disaster struck once again, with a banshee howl echoing through the woods.

Chapter Text

XVII.

Gandalf and the other wizard, Radagast the Brown, had engaged in a deep discussion away from the group, their voices hushed as they spoke about dark magic and mysterious sorcery. They exchanged glances with the Company every so often checking to see if anyone was paying attention.

But most of the company didn't seem too concerned, far too engrossed with watching Joseph play with the rabbits. They all had started rivaling for his attention and they pushed and shoved the boy to the ground, eager for some scratches, bringing grins and laughter to the Dwarves that crowed him. 

Fíli let out a chuckle when his furry friend hopped away, making a beeline for your brother with an excited thump of its foot, "You're a rabbit whisperer, Joseph!"

"Even just an animal whisperer!" Bofur joined in the laughter, observing the dozen hares circle Joseph, "Is there any magic in your bloodline, lad? You have a knack for these creatures."

But Bofur's questions didn't reach the boy's ears. He was too lost in the warmth of their affection, and he didn't answer. Instead, he giggled when the original hare jumped up onto his side, giving the boy a small lick on the cheek which made Ori awe. 

While you kept a watchful eye on Joseph, you decided to sit back away from him, comfortably leaning against a mossy rock. It was the perfect moment to inspect the sword once again, this time handling it delicately. Your fingers traced the silver blade, testing its sharpness, and you could feel your nails being gently sanded in the process.

The more you looked, the more you found the symbols and details enticing. However, there was still a heavy sense of worry still weighed on your mind. You couldn't shake the fear that Bilbo may have been right about holding something far too dangerous for his liking. 

Having dealt firsthand with such a dangerous piece of silver, you fully understood its power, knowing what it could achieve with just a flick of the wrist and a twist of the spine.

Flipping the sword over, you stood, shuffling your feet until you found a comfortable position, clasping the silver hilt with both wrists. You steadied yourself, your eyes never leaving the sword's edge, even when you heard the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching as someone approached you with slow strides.

"Gandalf gave you that, I assume?" Thoin quizzed with a raspy voice and tilt of his head. 

Pivoting to the Dwarf, your eyes flickered between his and the sword for a couple of seconds before you shallowly nodded. 

Thorin strolled to stand in front of you, and with a delicate motion of his hands, he scooped the blade up, balancing the edge on his palm with ease. He brought the point to his eye, inspecting the make head-on before he dropped it, letting it fall. Fortunately, due to its light make, you were able to balance it easily in the air again.

"If you are going to use it, you will need someone to teach you," Thorin takes a step back, crossing his arms and eyeing you up. There's a pregnant pause before he continues, "Properly."

Thorin's shift caught you off guard, the offer being unexpected, especially after his earlier rudeness and stubbornness that morning. You couldn't help but be wary in your response, with surprise and curiosity evident in your eyes.

"Teach me? You're going to help me?" You replied, not entirely sure how to react to the offer.

Thorin nodded, "If you carry it, you must learn to master it. It is better to be armed and ready than defenseless on this journey."

Thorin's hands were swift as he quickly grasped his Elven sword, unsheathing it. Holding the sword aloft, the polished metal glistened under the sun's light. The sharp, familiar tang of the blade's sound caught the attention of the other Dwarves, causing them to glance over their shoulders to watch.

"Thorin-" You tried to interject, raising your sword skyward defensively, your voice wavering as you took a step back. 

Just as Thorin took a threatening step forward the rabbits surrounding Joseph suddenly stopped cuddling the boy and sniffed the air nervously, swapping their attention to the forest around them. Their large ears twitched and stood upright, rotating as they scanned the area, searching for something beyond the tree line.

An energy started to ripple through the rabbits, and one of them began thumping its hind foot rapidly, a clear warning signal to the others. In a flurry of quick hops, they abandoned Joseph, leaving him bewildered and alone. 

Kíli, had noticed the unusual behavior of the creatures and voiced his concern, "What's wrong with them?" He wondered aloud, his eyes darting around at the rabbits that had hastily retreated.

The source of their distress soon became apparent. A haunting howl echoed through the forest, sending shivers down your spine. It was a sound you recognized all too well, similar to the ominous howl that had haunted the Company just a few nights ago.

In an instant, your eyes locked with Thorin's, and his smirk shifted to one of readiness as he lowered his sword.

It didn't take long for the sword to start humming, a soft vibration that caused it to emit a brilliant blue glow. Thorin's brows furrowed in confusion, but you knew precisely what this meant. With a hushed voice, you called out to him, "Thorin... Is that an Elvish sword?" 

The sword's glow grew brighter and the sensation sent Thorin's grip to tighten around the hilt and he cased a warning glance toward you. The forest was alive with the eerie howling, the sound growing closer with each passing moment. Tension amped within the Company, and their faces displayed a mixture of anxiety when they too readied their weapons. 

"Are those wolves?" Bilbo's voice cut through the silence, rising from beside Joseph, "Are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves?" Bofur spun his axe between his fingers, pivoting around in place, his eyes tracking every shadow. He shook his head, his features etched with uncertainty, "No, that is not a wolf."

With a tug from Thorin, you were pulled close behind him, his strong arm gently guiding you. You made sure not to accidentally prick him with your sword as you moved into position. His voice carried a low anxious tone as he spoke, "Get behind me."

The tension mounted, and massive wolf-like creatures emerged from within the treeline, their eyes gleaming for blood. These beasts had long snouts with rows of sharp, knife-like fangs, and their fur was a blend of dark greys and blacks. They took slow, predatory steps around the Company, snarling and growling as drool seeped from their tongues.

The Company stood their ground, weapons drawn, and formed a circle around Joseph, who sat frozen on the ground, too scared to even shed a tear. Thorin's gaze however remained fixed on a lone looming Warg that dared to step closer. 

Suddenly, a low, menacing growl sent shivers down your spine. You slowly turned around, your heart pounding in your chest, and found yourself face to face with the first beast, its yellow eyes locked onto yours, its hot breath hitting your face.

Frozen in place, your breath caught in your throat, and your grip on the sword tightened. The Warg's growl grew louder, and it took a stride closer, its hackles raised and teeth bared.

Thorin, sensing the danger, reacted and spun, placing himself between you and the beast as it lunged. Metal clashed with claws and fangs as Thorin fought off the Warg, slicing its muzzle in half with a single swing and the beast rag-dolled, rolling down at your feet.

The sight of the fallen creature at your feet left you breathless, and you gazed down at it in shock. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled, the adrenaline coursing through your veins with hot pulses. 

Thorin wrestled to free his sword from the Warg's skull; the blade was deeply lodged into the creature's head. Frustration etched his features as he resorted to using his boot to pry the weapon loose. However, his single-minded focus left him vulnerable.

As Thorin struggled, the second Warg seized the opportunity, and with a swiftness it weaved through the dense underbrush, quickly closing the gap between itself and the Dwarf. Leaping over gnarled roots and fallen branches, its claws poised for Thorin's head.

Kíli shot an arrow overhead, piercing the Warg's flank and causing the creature to yelp and stumble in its lunge. Dwalin managed to finish the beast with a solid blow to its head, and the creature crumpled to the forest floor unconscious alongside its brethren.

"Warg Scouts!" Thorin's voice echoed, his blade finally freed from the Warg's skull, though its glow had dimmed to a softer blue, "Which means an Orc pack is not far behind!"

The mention of an Orc pack made your stomach turn, "Orc pack?" You repeated, your voice trembling with unease, now fully aware of its dangers. 

Gandalf stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Thorin, "Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed with frustration and anger, "No one."

"Who did you tell!" Gandalf's tone grew more demanding. 

"No one, I swear!" The Dwarf's voice held a desperate edge as he insisted. 

Thorin's eyes darted around the group, he clung to the hope that no one among his kin had betrayed their quest. His eyes searched for any signs of deceit or treachery, "What in Durin's name is going on?" he demanded, his voice filled with both frustration and fear.

"We're being hunted!" Gandalf announced, his eyes scanning the dense forest around them, his staff crackling with energy in anticipation of impending danger.

The news sent a wave of anxiety through the Company. The realization that they were not alone in these woods and that a deadly pursuit was underway.

Joseph, still trembling from the recent encounter with the Wargs, clung to the comfort of the rabbits that had hopped back in return for the boy they had been playing with just moments ago. The creatures, sensing the tension and danger, huddled closer to him as if seeking refuge in his grasp.

"We have to get out of here!" Dwalin declared.

"We can't!" Nori's voice protested. "We have no ponies! They bolted from the trolls, we're stranded on foot!"

Chatter erupted among the Company, a wave of voices filled with arguments and suggestions. Each member shared their thoughts on what steps they should take next. Joseph, his eyes wide with fear, suddenly shot up from the ground and sprinted toward you. His small frame collided with your hips as he clung tightly to your waist, seeking comfort and safety in your presence amidst the chaos. His four-legged friends followed in tow.

That's when Radagast the Brown had an idea. He clenched his fist in determination, with a serious look in his eyes. "I'll draw them off!" he exclaimed.

"These are Gundabad Wargs, they will outrun you!" Gandalf said.

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits!" Radagast spoke with a confident smirk. "I'd like to see them try." His gaze was fixed on the Company as if challenging them to doubt the speed and agility of his rabbit companions.

Howls echoed through the Trollshaws, resonating across the valley. Radagast, with remarkable agility, leaped onto his sleigh, confidence on his lips. With a sharp command and a taunt aimed at the pursuing Orc pack, he urged his sled forward. In an instant, he was racing through the grasslands, the rabbits pulling in front in a rush.

Thorin took the lead, guiding the company behind Gandalf. They followed cautiously, keeping to the shadows and the cover of trees until they reached a safer spot. The Orc pack remained obscured behind the first set of rocks and cliffs, trailing the Rhosgobel rabbits.

"Bilbo, stay with Fíli and Kíli!" Thorin issued the first order. Promptly followed by you and Joseph aligning yourselves with Dwalin.

"This way! Come along!" Gandalf ushered the company forward, leading them further out into the plateau.

You leaped and dashed over large, silvery boulders, following Dwalin closely. He gestured over his shoulder with a Dwarvish word and made a swinging motion, urging you and Joseph to hasten your pace. You grabbed Joseph's wrist and pulled him along, matching the speed of the Dwarves and Bilbo as you continued your escape through the rocky terrain.

The Orc pack's sinister presence chased ever closer, and the roars and grunts of the pursuing Wargs became more relentless. As you ran alongside everyone you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder at the approaching danger. The sight was horrifying– a nightmarish group of snarling creatures led by cruel-looking humanoid bodies riding upon them, Orcs. 

With relentless urgency, the Company darted toward another large mound of rocks, their breathless gasps echoing in the night air. The pounding of your heart matched the frantic pace of your footsteps as your lungs burned, struggling to keep up with the desperate sprint. Oxygen felt scarce, and you teetered on the verge of passing out, each gasp for air a lifeline in the race to evade the encroaching Orc pack.

Just when it seemed like you had found a temporary sanctuary, the Orc pack appeared right in front of you, their foul stench preceding them. Panic surged through the group, and instinctively, Thorin reached out, snatching the back of Ori's shirt and preventing him from stumbling headfirst into the open, "Ori, no!"

The tense moment hung in the air as Kíli, bow at the ready, prepared to take the shot. However, his swift action came just a fraction of a second too late. As he released the arrow, the distant sound of a horn echoed through the forest, sending an ominous warning across the land. The wolf let out another mournful howl after getting shot again, but not by Kíli’s arrow.

"Move! Run!" Gandalf's urgent command sent the Company into motion once more, running down the hill in a desperate attempt to evade the pursuing Orcs.

They had found a brief refuge among a cluster of pine trees, but it was clear they couldn't remain hidden there for long. Glóin's frantic gesture drew everyone's attention to the hills, "There they are!" he yelled, pointing towards the approaching Orcs, who were snarling and closing in quickly.

Kíli's keen eyes detected even more enemies in the distance, stalking ominously over the plateau, "There's more coming!"

Panic and fear surged through the Company as Dori desperately yelled, "No! We're surrounded!"

The tension among the Company reached its breaking point. Shouting and bickering filled the grassland as panic swept through the group.

Somehow, you had lost Joseph between sprints, and in your frantic search for the boy, you spun on your feet, sword gripped tightly in your trembling hand. Your voice wavered as you called out his name, beads of sweat trickled down your brow as adrenaline coursed through your veins.

"Stay close, lass!" Dwalin rushed over, his mighty axe at the ready. 

"Hold your ground!" Thorin bellowed, attempting to restore order.

But just as despair threatened to engulf you all, a sharp voice pierced through all the howling and roaring, "This way, you fools!" It was Gandalf, urging the Company towards a hidden path behind a boulder.

Thorin's authoritative shout resonated through the air as he stood atop the massive rock where Gandalf had been concealed moments before, his voice commanding, "Quickly, all of you!"

Without hesitation, a strong hand pushed against your shoulder, propelling you forward into a sprint, Dwalin protectively behind you. However, just as you thought things couldn't get more chaotic, just behind the rock was a tunnel, and suddenly your feet slipped, sending you careening downward.

You tumbled awkwardly, your ankles taking an unexpected hit as you rolled, a series of grunts and wails escaping your lips as you attempted to evade the oncoming Dwarves. The treacherous slide had caught everyone off guard, and you were no exception to the sudden dirt slide.

With your heart racing, you finally came to a halt at the bottom of the slope, disoriented but thankfully not seriously injured, save for your bruised foot. The Company was now spread out across the passage, their confusion matching your own.

Your heart raced when you spotted Bilbo, his usually composed demeanor replaced by a mix of fear and concern as he clutched a frightened Joseph, both of them breathing heavily.

You exchanged a worried glance with him as he whispered your name and passed a trembling Joseph into your care. You limped as you took the boy under your arm, hugging him into your side. Before you could thank Bilbo, a deafening horn blared out, its sound reverberating through the rocky passage.

The ground beneath you trembled as if a dozen hooves were galloping closer to the passage entrance. Shouts, cheers, and the sound of arrows whizzing past filled the grassland. 

A sudden commotion sent a ripple of tension through the Company as an Orc's lifeless body tumbled into the tunnel, colliding with the Dwarves who instinctively drew their swords, ready to defend themselves. Fíli placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his axe held firmly in front of him. 

Thorin leaned forward, his expression darkening, and yanked an arrow from the creature's head. His voice dripped with disdain as he spat, "Elves," before tossing the arrow aside in disgust.

"I can not see where the pathway leads!" Dwalin's voice echoed from deeper within the tunnel, "Do we follow it or not?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur replied, taking the lead first to follow the bruit. 

You and Bilbo stayed together, navigating the narrow path as you were jostled by the flow of Dwarves. Breathless, you finally looked up, squinting against the blinding sunlight streaming through a small crack in the cavern above.

A strange sensation coursed through your body, lulling you into a drowsy state. It felt as though you were floating before the sensation abruptly left. In its wake, anxiety washed over you, triggering memories of the first tunnel that had brought you to this perilous place.

Bilbo, clearly experiencing a similar disconcerting sensation, voiced a question, "Where are we?"

Gandalf's brows raised, and a grin tugged at his lips, "Can you feel it?"

You turned to Gandalf, seeking answers, "What was that?"

But Bilbo, speaking up beside you, summed it up as best he could, "It feels like- w-well, like magic."

"That's exactly what it is, Mr. Baggins," Gandalf said, "A very powerful magic."

"There's light ahead!" Nori shouted.

Following the lead of the Dwarves, with Bilbo, Gandalf, and Joseph, you pressed through the tunnel. What lay ahead left you breathless, your mind struggling to comprehend the beauty before you.

There was a valley, adorned with a rushing river that wound its way through the landscape. Perched on the face of a towering cliff was a marbled castle. The orange hues of the setting sun painted the surroundings with a warm, ethereal glow.

"The Valley of Imlardis," Gandalf announced, "In the common tongue, it also goes by another name."

Bilbo's voice, filled with awe, whispered the name, "Rivendell."

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Forelithe 10^th

XVIII.

The air grew warmer as they descended further into the valley, and though evening was approaching, the temperature never got colder. You clung to the rocky wall of the narrow path, careful not to trip or tumble on your bruised and swollen ankle. 

Kíli, the only one who seemed to notice your limp, and slowed his pace to match yours. Concern etched on his face, he asked, "Are you alright, milady?"

You assured him that you were more than fine, but Kíli, ever the gentleman, swiftly removed your bedroll from over your shoulder and slung it onto his back, next to his quiver and rolled cot. A toothy grin crossed his face as he didn't utter a word, only rolling out his arm in a gesture for you to lead the way before him. And with a playful shove to his shoulder, you hobbled further ahead.

Thorin, on the other hand, appeared far from pleased to be in Rivendell, grumbling under his breath with every step, like a whining child. The rest of the Company, with the exception of Bilbo, began chatting amongst themselves in their own tongue, exchanging eye rolls and muttered words as well.

One might assume that these Dwarves simply didn't get along with the Elves with all their carrying on. Yet, as you approached the towering castle, the atmosphere seemed to come more alive than before, filled with enchanting energy.

As you crossed the final bridge into a courtyard, Gandalf insisted on taking the lead and it was lucky he was, for a voice called out to the wizard, "Mithrandir!" [1]

You spun around, holding Joseph's hand, and saw a breathtaking sight. A handsome man with long brown hair descended the stairs leading to the courtyard. On his head, he wore a golden crown, and his flowing robes were a deep shade of purple. With an Elven bow, he placed his hands over his chest and offered a smile to Gandalf. 

"Ah, Lindir! Meren leithad, mellon." [2]

Lindir spoke to the wizard in another language, causing you to swoon just hearing it. Unlike the rough and harsh language spoken by Thorin and the other members of the Company, this speech was soft and fluid, and you could hear the magic with just his breath. 

Suddenly, a familiar sound of a horn echoed across the valley. It signaled the arrival of Elven warriors, adorned in heavy silver armor and mounted on large horses. Each Elf carried a bow, and their presence immediately sent the Dwarves on edge as they galloped over the bridge. 

Thorin quickly ordered a defensive circle to be formed around Bilbo, Joseph, and yourself. The three of you huddled together in the center, surrounded by the Dwarves as the horses and Elves approached, trotting around your circle. You received odd looks amongst the Elves as they shared glances, eyeing you suspiciously. Whether it be because you stood tall like a sore thumb, or perhaps it be the presence of a mortal woman among the Dwarves that seemed just as odd, you could not tell. 

However, the tension eased when a beautiful black horse rode forward, carrying the Elvish lord. He addressed Gandalf, "Mithrandir."

Gandalf bowed at the leader of the Elven warriors, "Lord Elrond. Mellonin!" He continues, "Mo evínedh?" [3]

"Farannem 'Iamhoth i udul o charad," Elrond replies, "Dagannem rim an lant vedui." [4]

Lord Elrond gracefully dismounted his horse and greeted Gandalf with a warm embrace with an Orcish weapon in hand. 

As you began to feel somewhat lost in the flow of the Elvish language, Elrond switched to the common tongue.

"It is strange for Orcs to venture so close to our borders," He observed, turning his gaze toward the group of Dwarves who stood with weapons at the ready. His eyes swept over each of them until they met yours. Only then did he continue, "Something or someone... has drawn them near."

Gandalf chuckled, breaking the tension, "Ah, that may have been us."

The company of Dwarves exchanged uneasy glances. Thorin, ever proud and stubborn, stepped forward to face the Elvish Lord.

"I see," Elrond began, "Welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin."

"I do not believe we have met." The Dwarf said, his voice low and tinged with annoyance. 

Elrond's attempts to extend a welcoming hand to Thorin were met with stubbornness, shown in his clenched jaw and twitching eye. Hearing his family hang heavily upon him, especially coming from an Elf, and the mere mention of his father and grandfather's names brought a sour taste to his lips.

However, Elrond remained patient, and it was clear that he held a fondness for the line of Durin, seeing Thorin as a reflection of his great-grandfather Thor, a good old friend of his.

With Gandalf's translation and a series of exchanged words and nods, Elrond offered shelter, rest, food, wine, and everything in between for the Company. He entrusted Lindir, the first Elf you believe, to guide the Dwarves to their quarters for the night before supper.

Just as you began to follow the rest of the Company up the marbled stairs with Joseph in tow, a hand on your shoulder stopped your steps. Gandalf's grin was warm as he exchanged Elvish words with Elrond.

"Oh dear," Gandalf sighed, "If you would prefer, Elrond has offered you and Joseph your own private rooms."

As the other Dwarves started to ascend the stairs, a few of them, including Kíli, noticed your absence and stopped to lag behind the group along with Fíli and his Uncle. 

You couldn't find your words, only nodding with the offer after looking in Thorin's direction, your curiosity getting the better of you, and perhaps it would be for good, some time alone away from the bustling Dwarves sounded pleasing.

You watched as Elrond nodded in response and then called over a beautiful Elven maid, "Gwirithiel."

She gave a curtsy, her dark brown eyes and long, flowing hair bouncing as she bowed. You couldn't help but feel a nervous flutter in your chest as her gaze settled upon you, your breath hitching and your cheeks flushing in the presence of her beauty and now up close, you realized she was several inches taller than you.

You were so lost in her eyes that you didn't even notice another Elf take Joseph from you. Only when faint giggles of two other children caught your attention as they peered from behind a podium, one with big pointy ears, the other with short, dark brown hair. Your brother gave you a cheerful salute and goodbye before disappearing with them, guided by the Elf.

"I will take you to your chambers, mellamin." The maid spoke, her voice rich with melody. She gracefully traced the rail as she ascended the stairs. Her path led in the opposite direction of the Dwarves, and she paid no heed to Thorin and his nephews as she walked past them. [5]

"Shit." You muttered under your breath with a mix of embarrassment and awe. You thanked Elrond and hastened your pace to catch up with the Elf maiden's long strides. 

She moved with such effortless beauty that it made you feel like a clumsy child, even while limping. If anything, you also felt more like a flustered teenage boy, beads of sweat forming on your brow.

Thorin grasped your arm as you walked past him, giving you a meaningful look with a tilt of his head, "Come with us." He whispered, his eyes narrowing at the Elf maiden who had stopped to wait for you. She stood patiently, her palms clasped in front of her hips.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between Thorin and the she Elf. 

You managed to free yourself from Thorin's grasp and spoke in a whisper, "I'll see you at dinner." Waving to the brothers, you made your way toward Gwirithiel.

"Merinna nin." She smiled, inclining her head as she gestured further down the passage. [6]

Thorin watched you go and with a sigh, he turned back to his company muttering, "Elkir." This prompted laughter from the younger Dwarf and Kíli playfully patted his Uncle's shoulder before following the rest of his Dwarven folk. [7]

You followed Gwirithiel through halls adorned with ancient artwork and runes, soaking in the breathtaking views of the waterfall and river that flowed beneath the castle passages. As you ascended a labyrinth of staircases, a hushed silence hung between the pair, your nerves stopping you from making conversation. 

However, your anxieties eased when she broke the silence with a question first, "You travel with Dwarves?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, "Yes."

A polite chuckle escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth with a delicate hand, "I apologise. I don't mean to be impolite. You're not a Dwarf, are you? I feel as though you are too tall to be a Dwarf."

She halted in her tracks, wearing an innocent grin. Her unexpected response left you dumbfounded. She recognised your confusion and quickly apologised once again, "Sorry, again, mellamin. I don't mean to intrude."

"No, I'm not a Dwarf." You speak, closing the distance between the two of you and you arch your neck to look up at her. 

She pivoted to continue walking, her arms behind her back and her head tilted in contemplation. Then, she blurted out another question, "Tell me, If you're not a Dwarf but travel with Dwarves, a Halfling, and a wizard what are you? Perhaps, neither? Are you and the child mortal?" 

This time you laugh, feeling the energy in the air relax, "That sounds about right." She hummed at your answer, eyeing you. 

Gwirithiel led you further down another corridor, dimly lit by ornate candles that cast a warm, flickering glow on the marble walls.

Her curiosity bubbled in the back of her throat, as she continued, "How did you come to be in their company? Your story must be quite intriguing."

"It's a long story," You admitted, "But it all began when I met Gandalf with my brother. I suppose it's chance... finding myself in the right place," You said, locking eyes with her once more, "At the right time."

"I was always told that fate has a curious way of guiding us, mellamin," She mused, "And it seems to have brought you to Rivendell along with your companions. Your presence here is a rarity. I can't help but sense there is more to your story than you've shared." Of course, she would be able to see through your lies. 

But before you could respond, she stopped before a wooden door, "Here we are," Gwirithiel revealed a room bathed in a soft orange glow that filtered through large open windows. The room was elegantly furnished with a comfortable bed, a writing desk, and a small table with fresh lavender flowers, "I hope you find it to your liking." 

"Thank you," You said with a warm smile, genuinely appreciating the beauty, "This is much better than sleeping on the ground."

She giggled once more, covering her mouth, "That is indeed true." She entered the room, past you, and smoothed down the bed before gesturing towards neatly folded robes, "You'll find some clean clothes here. And if you'd like to freshen up, I'd be more than happy to show you to our hot springs and the bathing area after dinner."

The mention of clean clothes and a hot spring bath prompted a deep exhale from you. It had been quite some time since you had even considered showering. You couldn't help but bring your blouse to your nose and take a cautious whiff, cringing at the unpleasant smell that greeted you.

She took a step toward the door but paused, looking back over her shoulder, her hair framing her chin face, "Feel free to take your time. Dinner will be served soon, I'll be back to escort you when you are ready. Until then, mellamin."

With an exit, and the ghost of her fingers on the door, she left you to enjoy the tranquility of your room. 

As you lay on the soft, cloud-like bed, you allowed your thoughts to wander for a while.

You couldn't deny the uncertainty that came with all of this. Trusting strangers and embarking on a journey was daunting, to say the least. Thoughts of home and the life you had left behind occasionally started to surface. Would anyone even be looking for you and Joseph? Perhaps, your face is printed on a missing persons poster, put up around the park with a bounty and number. 

Yet, pushing through the doubts and questions, there was a spark of something else—a flicker of excitement for what lay on the road ahead. There was a part of you that wondered if once your journey was over, and back in the comfort of your own home, you might look back, missing the thrill and beauty of Middle Earth. 

When you woke from your daze, you were met with the sensation of a stiff spine once again and a neck that cracked as you rolled out your back and it was only then did you decided to begin dressing for dinner. 

The fabric you picked up felt almost weightless in your hands. You wasted no time in throwing away your old clothes, folding them out of sight as you slipped the new tunic over your head. It fit considerably looser than the tight blouse, bagging around your thigh and hanging at your elbows. And it was only when you secured your satchel around your waist that could you bag up the tunic slightly to fall shorter at your hips. 

You felt very Elven, with the intricate silver symbols at the neckline and collar, and delicate buttons on the cuffs. That fabric felt comfortable on your bare skin. 

As you were in the midst of slipping into the accompanying flowy white pants and touching up your hair, a knock came from the door. You called out, assuring them that you'd be ready in just a moment. Quickly donning your boots, you made your way to the door, hoping to find Gwirithiel. However, as you opened the door and glanced out to the balcony, you were met not by her, but by another Elf dressed in long golden robes.

"I see you are ready," He spoke, "Come with me." He spun on his feet, walking down the corridor with little care if you were following or not. 

You followed the Elf through the hallways, taking several more turns, and soon enough, you heard the rivalries of Dwarves ahead. The Elf led you to a spacious balcony with a tall oak tree. On the balcony, two long tables were arranged, set with cushions for the Dwarves to sit upon, Bilbo sat with them too, however, Joseph was not in sight which was concerning, but seeing the young Elven children before eased you slightly and you knew he was in good hands.

Gandalf engaged in conversation with Lord Elrond at another table along with Thorin, who appeared uncomfortable, his hands resting at his sides.

The Elves played music around them and brought out delicious foods and plates of desserts. That's when you noticed Gwirithiel, seated at the far end of the balcony, plucking the strings of her harp. She cast a shy glance in your direction, her eyes hidden beneath her long lashes, and continued to play the instrument with delicate movements. 

As you followed the Elf's footsteps, leading you further into the balcony, Gandalf was the first to welcome you. But his call of your name caused the Dwarves at the surrounding table to hush, and they all turned their attention to you. A wave of anxiety filled your stomach feeling everyone's eyes. It wasn't until Kíli and Bofur also greeted you that you started to feel a bit more at ease in the tension. 

Kíli smiled, fluttering his eyes, "Milady—you look stunning..." His words brought a touch of color to your cheeks. 

"Our princeling is right, looking very fine, lass," Bofur added. He chuckled, patting Kíli on the shoulder, "Now Kíli, what were we just talking about? Oh, yes! The Elf maid—"

The young brunette swiftly swatted Bofur with a firm shove and let out a shout in Dwarvish. The Dwarves erupted in laughter once more, and Fíli struggled to keep his ale from flying out his mouth. 

The Elf's brow raised as he continued to walk to his Lord's table, leading you along. He pulls out a chair next to Gandalf who grins, and you thank him as he pours your cup with red wine. 

"Nice to see you again, dear," Gandalf greets, "I see, you've found a change of clothes. They suit you." 

"Thank you, Gandalf," You returned Gandalf's smile. Then, you turned to face the Elf Lord, "And thank you, Lord Elrond." 

"Please, Elrond is just fine." He said with a bow, "Now, let us continue. Gandalf, I believe you had something you wanted to show me?"  

"Yes, Thorin," Gandalf addressed the Dwarf, pulling him from his thoughts. Thorin looked up and carefully drew out his sword.

He handed it to Elrond, who began to examine it closely. "This, Thorin, is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver, a famous blade," Elrond commented with a tone of surprise as he continued to inspect it. He flipped the sword, running his hands down the hilt, "Forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well." 

Gandalf was next to hand his blade to Elrond, "And this was Glamdring, the Foe-hammer that the King of Gondolin once wore." He unsheathed it from the cover, reading over the runes, "These swords were made for the Goblin wars during the First age. They must have come from a Dragon's hoard or Goblin plunder, for Dragons and Goblins destroyed the city many ages ago."

The wizard coughed, drawing your attention. Gandalf gently suggested, "Dear, show Elrond your arm. Perhaps it, too, may have a name."

"Oh—" You patted around your back, but then had a quick realization and pointed over your shoulder, "I left it back in the room... I didn't think we would bring them- sorry, Elrond." This earned a throaty chuckle at Throin who had to hold back the smirk on his lips when you gave him a look.

"No need to apologise," Elrond spoke, "But Gandalf, how did you come by these?" 

"We found them in a Troll hoard on the Great East road," Gandalf said.

"Whence did Trolls get these, I wonder?" Said Thorin, taking the blade from Elrond, looking at his sword with a new interest, tracing the patterns etched into the blade's surface. 

"I could not say," Elrond said, "But one may guess that these trolls had plundered other plunderers, or come from the remnants of old robberies in the Mountains.”

The Lord continued with a piercing gaze at the wizard, "Although, what were you doing on the Great East road, Gandalf?" 

A pregnant pause lingered among the three of you. You locked eyes with Thorin, and he held your gaze as he rose from his seat, muttering, "Excuse me." He glanced back at the table, nodding in your direction, before striding away and leaving the balcony.

You lifted the crystal wine glass, savoring a generous sip of the liquid before licking your lips, in an attempt of trying to ease the tension. Clearly, what you and his Company have been doing is something Thorin didn't seem to take lightly. 

Elrond also took a sip from his goblet, pondering for a moment. "Well—thirteen Dwarves, a mortal, a child, and a Halfling," He mused, his brows raising, "Strange traveling companions." You released a deep exhale, uncertain whether to interpret the Lord's words as a jest or a subtle critique.

Nori, growing more annoyed with the Elven music, vigorously shook his head and scratched at his hair. He couldn't contain himself any longer and bellowed across the table, "Why don't we change the tune? I feel like I'm at a funeral!" But his outburst couldn't have come more at a perfect time, for Gandalf was too lost for words and took a big puff of his pipe. 

"Alright, lads. There's only one thing for it," Bofur, inspired by Nori's comment, seized the opportunity to jump onto the table. He boldly trod on his companion's greens and biscuits as he initiated a song, raising his hand to mimic playing the violin.

"There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill!"

"The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle!"

The Dwarves laughed and similar to Bilbo's fiasco back at his Hobbit hole, he seemed to have gotten hot flashbacks as food and his dinner were thrown everywhere. Lettus was thrown at Bofur in the middle as he stomped and sang the chorus making a beating drum on the wood beneath him and the Company picked up on it, and banged their forks to the beat. 

Elrond looked far confused as to what was happening before him but didn't feel as though the Dwarves meant any harm, and let them continue but he did end up raising an amused brow at Bofur's performance. The Elves around the table exchanged glances, and you could see a few of them stifling chuckles with your she Elf. 

"The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes."

Bofur shuffles around facing your table, he lifts his hands to his head like horns and gives a deep bow, playing a cow. You take your lip between your teeth trying to stifle your throaty laugh. 

"They also keep a hornéd cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green."

"And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
And these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons."

"The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail."

"The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air."

"Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
"The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!""

"So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
"It's after three!" he said!"

As the song reached its end, Bofur leaped from the table, and the room erupted in laughter and applause.

Gwirithiel, from what you could manage to get a glimpse of, appeared bewildered by the spectacle of the Dwarves laughing uproariously and tossing bread and food in all directions. She had to swiftly duck as an airborne Lemba came hurtling toward her face. 

You joined in with the laughter of the Dwarves, even as the Elf Lord rose from his chair and excused himself. Gandalf clapped his hands together and swiftly followed Elrond in departing. As he passed by, he gave your shoulder a reassuring pat. With a nod in Thorin's direction, who leaned against a pillar, returning to listen to the joyous melody of his kin, he also silently asked the Dwarf to join him. Just before they all left, Thorin called Balin to follow them as well, and then the four left in unison. 

The Elf maids had begun their cleaning of the table for the afternoon once Lord Elrond had left, which prompted the Throng to also make their way back to their chambers for the night. 

Gwirithiel swiftly rose from her instrument, exchanged a few words with her fellow Elves, and then made a beeline for you. She kindly offered to escort you back to your chambers for the night, an offer you graciously accepted. As you both made your way back to your room, she complimented your attire, noting that you looked quite fitting in the Elven robes. Upon your arrival back in your chamber, she politely extended another invitation to guide you to the bathing area once more. 

By now, the soft afternoon glow had faded, and the passages and hallways were illuminated only by the warm flicker of hanging candles and lamps. However, this subdued lighting didn't diminish the atmosphere; instead, it gave Rivendell an enchanting nighttime allure. The walls seemed to shimmer and gleam as the crescent moon ascended the sky, casting its reflection onto the marble and crystals embedded in the rock walls.

The she-Elf led you down a series of long staircases, and you struggled to keep pace, clutching the railing and carefully descending the steps, mindful of your injured ankle.

Noticing your slower progress, she waited patiently and inquired, "Are you alright?" 

You appreciated her concern and smiled, though your ankle still throbbed with a dull ache, "I'm fine," you replied. "It's just my ankle. I think—I did something to it."

She hummed in agreement, "Once we reach the bathing area, the water should help ease the discomfort. If not, I can certainly try to help, but only if you wish, mellamin," she offered. As you turned down yet another narrow corridor, this one lined with towering trees for a roof, she continued, "A few of my kin and I have been dedicated to studying healing with Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. It would be a valuable opportunity for me to practice." She chuckled, keeping pace with you, walking shoulder to shoulder.

As you both continued through the serene corridor, the soft, ambient lighting from the lamps started to fade and the faint rustling of leaves could be heard overhead.

"So," you began, a hint of playful humor in your tone, "I'll be your guinea pig?"

Her brows furrowed in slight confusion before she chuckled, "A guinea pig? No, I won't be turning you into a pig, mellamin."

You both shared a light-hearted laugh as the corridor widened, revealing a magnificent tall fountain that cascaded gracefully into a large, circular pool.

"Here we are," Gwirithiel announced, her voice filled with a touch of excitement. The sight of the hot springs, enveloped by lush greenery and softly illuminated with a few candles and the midnight glow. It was truly breathtaking.

She walked over to the pool's edge, dipping her fingers into the water to test its warmth. "The water is warm tonight," she remarked. "I'll respect your privacy. When you're ready, I'll be just outside, waiting. And, if you'd like, I can tend to your ankle." Gwirithiel took her leave, leaving you alone in the hot spring. 

You carefully removed the satin pants, ensuring that the corridor was empty before you pulled the tunic over your head. With a cautious glance around, you finally eased yourself into the welcoming embrace of the hot spring.

The warmth enveloped you, melting away the fatigue in your muscles and soothing your body. You began by washing your face, cleansing the dirt and grime from your neck. When you submerged yourself in the water to clean your hair, you felt the accumulated dirt and weariness gradually lift away slowing the knots and strands to flow freely. As you resurfaced, you could feel the weight of the day's travel washing away down the stream, leaving you refreshed. 

But the quiet was broken by loud cheers from the floors above you, a reminder of the Company and Dwarves once again, and you couldn't help but smile. 

With your hair dripping wet and your body cleansed of any muck, you settled yourself on the edge of the hot spring. Pulling the white tunic over your head, you called out to the she-Elf. 

Gwirithiel entered again, her soft footsteps almost inaudible on the stone floor. She carried a small bundle of herbs and salves in hand. She was careful to not let her eyes wander and cast her gaze downward as she knelt before you, her eyes focused on your injured ankle when she asked, "May I?" 

Gwirithiel's fingers worked deftly as she applied the salve to your bruised skin. The herbal scent wafted through the air as she massaged the soothing ointment into your ankle and calve, and every so often the Dwarves could be heard in your silence. 

The thought crossed the Elf's mind, and she spoke it aloud, her words carrying a note of curiosity, "Malah—your skin is tough." She tilted her head slightly to the side, her eyes studying your features, "It's almost as if you've seen battle. Many strong warriors bear this, a scar from their sacrifices in the great wars of our ancient years."

You shifted uneasily, uncertain of how to respond, "Really?"

"Yes, here—" Gwirithiel gently took your palm, tracing the creases along your hand. "Even your hands are quite rough, mellamin. Like the tiniest of calluses." She guided your other hand over your palm, but to your dismay, you felt nothing. "Can you not feel this?"

The Elf was far more curious about you now if she wasn't already, whether it was due to Elven's intuition or bless it something in her mind had suddenly caused her to freeze. She could sense something beneath your skin, something warm and intriguing, mysterious and dark that piqued her vision, and her eyes narrowed. Flashes of images flew through her mind but only briefly, as if it was trying to hide from her Elven magic.

You withdrew your hands from hers and clenched them tightly on the concrete, leaning back slightly as she leaned in closer with something twinkling in her eye, "I don't know—what you mean."

Her lips pursed, and she was about to reach for your chin when a deep, raspy cough broke through the air. You looked up, past Gwirithiel's shoulders, and saw a figure looming at the entrance of the hall, clutching a bundle of clothes under one arm.

"Thorin," You swallowed, saying his name with a breathly sigh, a mix of apprehension and surprise washing over your racing thoughts. 

Thorin stood at the doorway, his expression a blend of curiosity and suspicion. His eyes flickered between you and Gwirithiel, who had turned to face him as well, and you could see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to piece together the scene before him.

"Am I interrupting something?" Thorin inquired, his raised brow and tone more of a statement than a question.

"King Thorin," Gwirithiel greeted, adjusting her posture as she addressed the Dwarf, "I was showing, my lady, our hot springs and tending to her ankle. She had a minor accident earlier during your travels, I believe." You stood up abruptly, hastily tugging at your tunic to ensure you were modesty-covered.

His eyes remained fixed on you for a moment longer, "Very well," he conceded. He turned to leave but paused at the doorway, casting a brief glance back at you and Gwirithiel before finally disappearing behind the corridor. 

You stood frozen in the moment, overwhelmed by embarrassment. Gwirithiel said something to you, but it fell on deaf ears. Suddenly, you rushed to pull the fabric over your hips, grabbing your belt, and then limping off down the halls in search of an opportunity to explain yourself to Thorin. However, the Dwarf proved quicker than you had anticipated, and he was nowhere in sight.

The she-Elf called your name again, but you were already gone. As you hurriedly moved through the hallways, she rubbed her fingers together, trying to make sense of the strange experience that had just overcome her. With no clear understanding coming to mind, she left the hot springs, determined to find Lord Elrond and share the vision that had plagued her. 

• ^[1] Mithrandir | Grey wanderer. (Sindarin)
  
• ^[2] Meren leithad, mellon | It is nice to see you, friend. (Sindarin)
  
• ^[3] Mellonin! Mo evínedh? | My friend! Where have you been? (Sindarin)
  
• ^[4] Farannem 'Iamhoth i udul o charad. Dagannem rim an lant vedui. | We have been hunting a pack of Orcs that come from the South. We fought a number near the Hidden Pass. (Sindarin)
• [5] Mellamin | My lady. (Sindarin)
• [6] Merinna nin | Follow me. (Sindarin)
• [7] Elkir | Elves (Khuzdul)

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Forelithe 29^th

XIX.

Just before the first light graced the sky over Rivendell, Gwirithiel paced through the halls. Her usual elegant stride turned into a hurried march, and her heart burned with an intensity of what she had seen. The she Elf felt tempted to wake her Lord in the night, for she couldn't find solace in her thoughts alone; they had come to her in a series of intense flashes that kept her awake.

As she ascended the final staircase, lifting her robes to match her swift pace, Gwirithiel arrived at her Lord's door atop the tower. There, she hesitated. Countless thoughts swirled through her mind, and doubt crept in once again. Could it be that she had conjured all of this in her head? Perhaps, this was all but a simple mistake.

She had heard rumors of younger Elves experiencing misleading foresights, but this was different. Something tinged and pulled at her mind in waves, dare she say something evil. 

As the Elf maid found herself torn between descending back down the stairs and knocking on the door, it suddenly swung open of its own accord by Elrond's hand, for he had sensed Gwirithiel's distress long before she had arrived at his study. 

"Lord Elrond," She whispered, her eyes wide, a mix of fear and surprise evident in her gaze.

Elrond took a deep breath, his brows furrowing and eyes narrowed with concern, "Gwirithiel. Mae cenedir dîn. Manen lhaw? " He said in Elvish. [1] 

" Leithiach ú-dail. " She began, her voice shaking with the memory. Elrond had invited her into his study with a short bow. He motioned for her to sit, and as she did, the Elf maiden recounted the fragments of what she had seen. [2] 

Elrond listened intently, his expression deepening in thought with each word. He strolled around the balcony, chin resting in his hand. When she had finished he let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy and contemplative, filling the room with a sense of unease.

"There is something more," She added hesitantly, "In these visions, I sensed something... dark. I can not describe it... It was a feeling like no other. It almost felt as hot as a burning flame...but it changed and morphed, like a butterfly, but—not."

There was another moment of silence as Elrond's gaze deepened.

"Thank you, Gwirithiel," The Lord spoke, "We must convene a council to discuss this matter further, and I shall seek the word of Gandalf. Perhaps, he too can share his thoughts."

Gwirithiel nodded, her eyes casting down, "Yes, Lord Elrond." She muttered quietly and with a bow of her head, Gwirithiel promptly made her exit. 

She descended the marble staircase, her steps silent against the stone. Many thoughts churned in her mind again, yet, as she reached the last step, her troubles were silenced by the sight of you and your fellow Hobbit companion. 

After a restless night, filled with embarrassment and anxiety, you had decided sleep was not getting any easier for you, and unable to bear another moment, you thought to start your day bathing in the morning glow. But it seemed Bilbo shared a similar idea.  

The two of you shared friendly banter, laughing and smiling. But even as you enjoyed Bilbo's company, your gaze never strayed far from below the balcony.

Joseph had been invited to one of the younger Elven morning classes and was accompanied by the same boy you briefly saw the other day.

On guard was a male Elf circling the two, shouting both Elvish and common tongue to the boys, telling them to either fix their stance or put their shoulders back. From what you could tell, Joseph seemed discouraged by the fact he could never land any hits on his friend, and somehow always managed to fall face-first into the floor.

But his opponent only showed kindness, encouraging Joseph to get back up.

"Your brother is braver than he looks," Bilbo remarked, breaking the silence.

You turned to him with a small smile, "Yeah. You could say that." You replied, watching Joseph trip but quickly recover with a grin.

Bilbo winces again watching the young boy fall, but chuckles it off, "He definitely has a bit of your stubbornness," Bilbo teased, earning a playful shove from you.

The two lapsed back into a gentle silence, simply basking in the morning breeze. You breathed in the clean air, intoxicated by the fresh scent of pine and lavender.

It wasn't until Joseph turned upward, grinning widely and waving his hand, that you spoke, politely dismissing yourself to Bilbo with a goodbye, eager to catch up with your brother.

Turning your back, you strolled around the pillars, navigating your way down to the bottom floor.

As you strolled around balconies and descended more stairs than you thought necessary. Every hallway seemed to meld into the next, the pearly marble confusing your sense of direction, however, a friendly face caught your attention saving your head from swiveling in all directions.  

"My dear," Gandalf greeted, his expression gentle, "A pleasure to see you up early on this fine morning."

"Gandalf," You smiled in return, "How are you?"

"Doing well, dear," The wizard replied as he strode closer, his nose twitching slightly and he ruffled the grey coat to clap his hands together, "Would you mind walking with me for a moment?" 

Gandalf appeared to perceive your hesitation as you glanced down the stairs, a playful smirk dancing on his lips, "I do believe your brother can be found in this direction,” He teased, gesturing in the opposite direction to your initial path.

Taking a deep breath, you pivoted to follow the wizard.

"Thank you, Gandalf. This place is very... confusing. I turn a corner, and it feels like I'm just going in circles," you confessed with a sigh.

Understandingly, Gandalf laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ah, yes, Rivendell can be quite the labyrinth when you are not familiar with its halls.”

"Although I am glad to have found you this morning, though, there's something rather important we need to discuss," Gandalf said solemnly, and your silence prompted him to continue, "I'm afraid I have news concerning your brother."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of your brother's name, causing you to halt abruptly and turn to face Gandalf, your brow furrowing and voice anxiously low in a whisper, "What is it?" 

"I believe in a few days will be your final stay in Rivendell," Gandalf stated, his gaze drifting beyond the valley, "Thorin has decided to make haste in his journey to the Misty Mountains and believes only a short rest here will suffice the company."

His pause only goes on for mere seconds, and your head tilts further with anxiety, "Go on."  

"From here on, the journey will be long and undoubtedly dangerous.”

You couldn't shake the thought from your mind, especially after running into those beasts, that if Joseph was to stay with the company, would it be worth it for him to face all these dangers just so you could keep an eye on him?

"Joseph must not continue any further than here, dear," Gandalf said again, his words firm and his assertion only seemed to solidify your answer but still, there's a slim thought of doubt on your mind. 

"I know but— I don’t know how to tell him. He won’t like it." You admitted.

"I think you'll find it rather to be quite the opposite," Gandalf replied, nudging his staff down the hall.

There, you noticed your brother still playing with the boy, their movements mirroring each other as they sparred. You could tell Joseph was slowly improving by the second, his grin widening as he focused on his defense. Their laughter echoed down the corridor, accompanied by the rhythmic clanging of the poles.

Watching them, your head shook—but not in disappointment. You knew Gandalf was right.

The wizard hummed thoughtfully, twitching his nose and licking his lips, "I best be off now, dear."

He began to stride away, but something stopped you. “Wait!” You called out, taking a step after him.

He paused mid-stride, glancing back over his shoulder, “Yes?”

You hesitated, your hands knotting together, “Why am I here?” The question tumbled out before you could stop it, your tone quiet but resolute. “Why is this happening? To me—” Your gaze flicked back toward Joseph, his laughter echoing faintly down the corridor, “To us?”

Gandalf studied you for a long moment, his piercing blue eyes searching yours. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “Not all answers come in the time we wish for them. But know this: you are here because you are meant to be. It is not always the strongest or the wisest who are called to great things, but those who have the strength to endure them.”

You frowned, unsatisfied. “That’s still not an answer. You keep saying this is fate, but what does it have to do with any of this? You make it sound like… like I don’t have a choice.”

In all honesty, why you? It could have been anyone . Someone braver, stronger, wiser. What made you the one to be burdened with this path?

Had you been chosen, or cursed?

“Oh, you have choices, my dear,” Gandalf assured, his tone softening as a faint twinkle returned to his eye, “Many of them. It’s what makes us dangerous... and important.”

Dangerous. What did he mean by that? And how could being dangerous make you important?

As if sensing your turmoil, Gandalf adjusted his grip on his staff and tilted his head, “Now, I have meetings to attend to. Don’t keep Joseph waiting, friend.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts still spinning as Gandalf strode away, the faint sound of his staff tapping rhythmically against the stone floor.

Turning back toward the courtyard, your eyes fell on Joseph once more. His joy, his carefree spirit—it felt so distant from the world pressing on your shoulders. 

Leaning back against a nearby pillar, you folded your arms and exhaled deeply. Gandalf’s words repeated in your mind, like a puzzle you couldn’t quite piece together. Dangerous... and important.

The two continued to dance and spin, each step thoughtful and precise. When they spun for Joseph to face you on the far end of the courtyard, he lowered his staff with a pearly grin and a shout of your name. However, hearing your name caused the other boy to falter in his step with distraction, nearly tripping over his feet as he spun around. The brunette seemed coy now, avoiding your gaze as he waited for Joseph, who sped past him towards you.

"Did you see me? I feel like I'm getting the hang of this," Joseph said, lifting the pole again into a ready position.

"You think?" You teased, "Until you're faced with the real thing, then you can come back to me with that question, yeah?" 

Joseph chuckled, "Fine then, and when I do- I'll be better than you anyway. I'll chop the beast's head clean off!" He swings the pole around, and with your brows raised, you grab the dull end of the staff, swinging back and forth in your brother's hands. 

"Who’s that?" You say in a hushed whisper, nodding towards the boy in the center of the room.

"Estel?" Your brother glanced over his shoulder to the boy, "I met him yesterday. He's cool, and he's been teaching me a lot this morning. He even taught me a few words in Elvish!" Almost as if hearing his name, the boy blushed, the red smearing onto his nose. 

"Well, then-" you leaned in close to Joseph, "You can teach me a few words when you're done, smartass."

Joseph laughed, and with a few more concerning turns of his head behind him to the Elf maid, who had a stern expression on his face, your brother spoke up, "I have to go... I'm going with Estel today to 'further educate us on Elvish customs'." Joseph rolled his eyes. 

You were surprised for a moment that even in these fantasy cultures, there was still some form of education, and you were interested, "School?"

"Something like that, I guess," He replied with a curt eye roll. 

As the shy voice called out Joseph's name, you looked up to see Estel nodding toward some overgrown hedges where the Elf had just disappeared seeming torn between following his Elven teacher and staying with his new friend.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" You ask with concern in your voice.  

But Joseph just quickly bids himself goodbye, with little thought to your saddened face, and rushed off in a fit of giggles to Estel. And their footsteps faded into the distance, the chatter from above drew your attention upward.

Your brother nodded, rushing out his final bids and then following on with the boy in a giggling fit. 

As their steps faded away, the sound of chatter brought your attention back up above you, and when you looked up you were met with the eyes of Elronds firm stare, and Bilbo's gental gaze. 

Meeting the firm stare of Lord Elrond and the gentle gaze of Bilbo, you felt a pang of anxiety twist in your stomach. Feeling somewhat awkward under their scrutiny, you made a hasty retreat back into the halls, deciding to wander until you found your room again. 

Time seemed to all to mend at some point during your stay in Rivendell. Maybe it was because your mind was racing, too preoccupied with its thoughts to keep track of time. 

Regardless, your day was spent similar to the last few, and you didn't find yourself too busy. 

Again, you managed to get ready and were escorted by another Elf maid to the dinner table where you reunited with your Dwarven companions. You were quick to notice Thorin had seated himself with the company, and you were disappointed to not see Gandalf at the other table who had disappeared with Elrond, so instead, you too sat on the cushions among the Dwarves. 

However, If looks could kill, you were certain you'd be six feet under from the glare Thorin shot your way as you settled into your seat at the far end of the company. But he quickly returned to picking at his food with a brooding air. 

But Bofur's enthusiastic greeting quickly lifted your spirits, "Well, well, look who it is! How's the day been treating you, lass? I was just starting to miss you a wee bit!" He exclaimed with a playful pout, tilting his head and offering you a pint of ale.

You chuckled as you spooned some of the Elven cuisine onto your plate, "As good as it can be. But Bofur, you know what they say," you remarked, reaching around to pour yourself a generous cup of Elven wine. Bringing it to your lips, you continued, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." With a playful wink, you took a sip, savoring the taste of the fine wine on your lips. 

Bofur's hearty laugh filled the air, "Aye! You're very funny, milady!" he declared with a wide grin, his tone warm and jovial.

Beside him, Fíli joined in, clapping a hand on Bofur's shoulder in agreement, "And not wrong either, we did miss you, lass." Fíli further affirmed, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Fíli picked up a slice of bread, nudging Kíli on his other side.

"Right, Ke?" The blonde teased, casting a playful glance at Kíli.

Kíli, feeling a bit flustered, rolled his eyes and lightly swatted his brother on the thigh, muttering something under his breath that only Fíli could hear. This caused the blonde to laugh, patting Kíli on his back comfortingly. 

Your lips couldn't help but turn up in a smirk as you diverted your gaze downward. 

But Kíli pressed forward through his embarrassment, breaking the silence at the end of the table, "Anyway, are you coming night, milady?" He asked leaning over his brother. 

Your brows raised in curiosity as you set down your drink, lifting your chin slightly, "What's tonight?"

Bofur leaned forward, glancing around to ensure no Elves were paying attention before he spoke in a hushed whisper, "Thorin wants to discuss more of the journey. We all think he's eager to leave Rivendell. He's getting more restless as the days past."

“Oh... yes, Gandalf mentioned that.” You responded, your shoulders slumping with a touch of sadness in your voice.

"He did? That's good then," Kíli replied, "But I am saddened to leave this place. Not looking forward to sleeping on rocks again...." Pain creased his features at the thought, and you couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him rub his lower back.

“Aye! I couldn't agree more, brother." Fíli sighed. There was a short pause before the next Dwarf spoke up.

“Well, I best be off. Feeling like another dip in the fountain, aye lads?" Bofur announced, rising from his seat. With a swift motion, he chugged the rest of his ale, wiping his mouth clean of the beer.

Bifur too rose from his seat at the other table at his cousin's dismissal, "Aye! I shall join you!" he declared aloud. As Bofur's invitation sparked excitement among the other dwarves, a couple more of them joined in chugging and clinking their drinks together. With joyous cheers echoing through the hall, the Dwarves followed Bofur and Bifur out into the yard.

You stayed for a while longer, chatting with the leftover company, drinking more wine, and enjoying your time. However, your eyes seemed to wander around between the Elves, searching for the she-Elf you had grown fond of.

But you couldn't seem to find her amongst the crowd. Even as more maids came to take away plates and empty cups, your she Elf did not make an appearance.

Left feeling disheartened after your dinner, you rose from the table, the company's chatter fading into the background while you stride away. However, a pair of eyes followed your figure, their gaze lingering as you round the corner disappearing out of their sight.

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Lithe 1^st

XX.

As soon as you left dinner, you returned to your room. Nightfall had come quickly, yet your mind was consumed with thoughts of Thorin’s rumored gathering and the dreaded task of saying goodbye to your brother. The mere thought brought you to the edge of tears, your emotions threatening to spill over. To keep them at bay, you paced back and forth, your fingers anxiously picking at the dry skin of your lip until a metallic taste ran over your tongue. 

It felt like an eternity of restless pacing before you finally marched to the vanity, splashing cold water on your face in a desperate attempt to steady your nerves. “Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, the frustration bubbling up as you struggled to find the courage to change out of the Elven robes and back into your old blouse.

Every anxious second spent avoiding the inevitable only shortened your time with Joseph. Realizing this, you began to unrobe. As you reached for your old attire, you noticed something different. They were laid out carefully, looking almost new—restitched and cleaned alongside a black hooded shawl and a silver-embroidered pin. Next to them lay your sheathed sword and the beautiful Dwarven belt and satchel

After changing, you crept out of the Elven chambers and almost instantly, the company’s laughter reached your ears, their voices echoing down the halls. You used their voices as a guide through the darkened hallways, careful to not make much noise. 

And as you reached closer, from out of the shadows, a hushed voice broke through the air, calling your name. You turned swiftly, your heart skipping a beat and almost instinctively your hand reached for your side, cradling the leather of your weapon, but relaxed seeing the small figure of a Hobbit stepping into the dim light.

He quickly put his hands up and apologized profusely, not meaning to scare you. 

“Baggins?” You whispered. 

Bilbo greeted you with a curt wave, nervously licking his lips, "Are you...?" he stuttered, pointing down another set of stairs toward a bright light and you gave him a few short nods.

For a brief moment, a silence hung between the two of you. Bilbo seemed hesitant, shuffling on his feet and toying with the hem of his jacket, a nervous habit you had come to realise he did. 

Finally, he spoke up, "I don’t know if I want to leave this place yet," he admitted, his voice uncertain. You let out a deep sigh, feeling that same unspoken unease. You didn’t need words to tell him you understood and your silent response urged him on, "Elrond—Lord Elrond, sorry—he said I could stay here. If I choose to, t-that is."

His words made you raise a brow, drawing you a step closer to the Hobbit, eyes softening as you saw the genuine fear behind his words. Bilbo’s usual composure seemed fragile, weighted by the same doubts that plagued your thoughts. 

"I think..." He paused, voice faltering, "I think I’m afraid of what will happen after tonight. Whether I stay... or n-not."

But before you had the chance to comfort the Hobbit, a louder conversation echoed from below.

"Of course, I was going to tell you! I was waiting for this very chance," A voice said, sounding like Gandalf's "And really, I think you can trust I know what I am doing, Lord Elrond."

"Do you?"

The tension in their conversation made both you and Bilbo freeze, halting your breath for a moment. Your heads swiveled in unison toward the source of the voices, eyes wide as you spotted Gandalf and Lord Elrond. 

The Elvish Lord continued, “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if that plan should fail? If you wake the beast?"

"What if we succeeded?" Gandalf rebutted, and you could hear the brow raise in his voice, "If the Dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the East will be strengthened." 

Elrond paused briefly, contemplating the wizards idea, "It is a dangerous move, Mithrandir." [1] 

"It is also dangerous to do nothing!" Gandalf’s had a sharp response, filled with urgency and frustration. 

Bilbo stood dead still, not daring to make a sound. It wasn’t until you felt a presence behind you that you slowly turned your head. Thorin stood there, his arms folded in front of him. His intense and unwavering gaze met yours, and it felt as though he could see straight through you, only shaking his head as he urged you to stay silent.

Gandalf's voice rang out again, "Oh come! The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright. What is it you fear?"

"Have you forgotten!" Elrond shouted, before regaining his composure, his tone now lower, "A strain of madness runs deep within that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?" Thorin's stare, now colder, bore down on you even harder after hearing the Elf's tongue. 

But the wizard and Lord continued their conversation as they walked away, their voices fading into the soft night air.

"Thorin," Bilbo managed, his voice quiet, unable to find the right words.

Thorns tore his gaze from yours, staring at the Hobbit through hooded eyes, "Come." He ordered with a gruff voice. 

The two followed the Dwarf in silence, sharing quick looks and It didn't take them long to reach the company's chambers.

The first to catch your eye was Bofur, who chuckled to himself, inspecting something on his fork. With a mischievous grin, he nudged the Dwarf beside him. "Bombur, catch!" he called, tossing the food across the fire.

Bombur, ever the quick one when it came to food, caught it with ease. But just as he was about to shove it into his mouth, the stool beneath him creaked ominously before collapsing with a loud crash. He barreled to the floor, sending his plate flying, and food scattered everywhere and caused the Company to erupt in laughter, spluttering and coughing up their drinks at the sight. 

Bombur's empty cup rolled right to the heel of Thorin, and as soon as the others noticed who had entered, their laughter flatlined, replaced by an awkward silence. 

Thorin shifted his head slightly, signaling for you and Bilbo to take your seats without a word.

Bilbo hurried to a far corner, clearly eager to avoid any tension, while you took to a small crate next to Kíli who smiled warmly and beckoned you closer. 

Thorin began with a deep sigh, "As you may know, Durin's Day will soon be upon us." A few Dwarves murmured in agreement, nodding their heads around the fire.

Curiously, you leaned closer to Kíli and whispered, "What's Durin's Day?"

Without breaking his gaze from Thorin, Kíli pursed his lips and whispered back, "The day we celebrate our New Year—when the last moon of autumn and the sun share the sky." He glanced at you for a brief moment, and you felt a subtle shiver as his breath ghosted over your lips. But just as quickly, Kíli returned his attention to his uncle, biting his lower lip thoughtfully.

"A special time for our people," he added, his voice softer now.

Thorin’s deep voice cut through the murmurs as he continued, “Durin’s Day marks a rare moment. Only on her last light is when the door to Erebor may open.” 

“We are ever running out of time. Although Durin’s Day lies months ahead, the journey before us is expected to be long, even for the most skilled traveler,” Thorin said, “If we do not reach the Lonely Mountain before Durin’s Day, the chance to reclaim our homeland may be lost—perhaps forever.”

"For us," He continued, "This journey is more than just reclaiming gold and stone. It’s about our people, our history, our future." His voice wavered, growing stronger with each word as he clenched his fists, "I will not allow my people to suffer another generation in exile, nor will I let that mountain remain in the hands of that beast."

"We leave at dawn. With or without the wizard." Thorin declared, his tone final. He looked at each of his companions until his final gaze landed on yours, “No more delays. No more distractions.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. His words pressed down on you because you knew their deeper meaning, and with each passing second spent avoiding your goodbye, the knot only deepened.

The Company nodded in agreement, "That will be all," Thorin said before turning and leaving without another word, retreating to his chambers.

You sat quietly in your thoughts among the Dwarves as the atmosphere shifted, the lively chatter returning but dampened by the seriousness of Thorin's speech. 

“Well, we’d best get some sleep then, lads,” Dori said, preparing his cot for some much-needed shut-eye.

And just as the throng began to wind down, you thought to leave the gathering behind, needing to see Joseph one final time. 

Kíli’s eyes lingered on your figure as you rounded the corner, and he turned to adjust his hammock. Just then, a piece of bread flew through the air, clipping him in the eye.

“Oi, what was that for?” Kíli exclaimed, rubbing his eye while shooting a look at his brother. Fíli only shrugged poking and prodding at the burning ambers shooting him one final look, a gesture urging him to follow you. The brunette shook his head but didn’t hesitate, making haste to follow your pursuit. 

Again, for what felt like the hundredth time you felt lost in the presence of this kingdom, only praying by some miracle that your sibling bond will drive you to your brother. However, you didn't make it far before the young princeling had caught up to you, his stride long and determined.

He called your name softly, placing a warm hand on your back, which, at that moment, felt reassuring, "I thought you might need company," Kíli said quietly, his voice almost a whisper in the stillness of the night.

"Are you headed to see your brother?" he asked. 

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, I'm just going to say goodbye. But—" each word faltered with every breath, "I don't I want to. Everyone seems to think it would be best for him to stay here." Kíli walked beside you, his gaze steady as he listened.

His hand brushed yours as the two of you walked, a quiet gesture that didn’t go unnoticed, "He would be safer here," he said after a moment, "The lad will understand."

The two of you finally reached Joseph's door. You paused, staring at the wooden frame, your heart pounding in your chest as your hand hovered just above the handle.

"I’ll wait here," Kíli offered, stepping back to give you space, "Take your time."

You gave him a small, grateful nod before stepping inside to face the farewell you’d been dreading.

With a gentle push, the door creaked open, revealing Joseph nestled in his bed, the soft glow of a candle illuminating his face. For a moment, you simply stood there, drinking in the sight of him, the little brother you had fought so hard to protect.

“Hey,” you said softly, crossing the threshold.

Joseph stirred, blinking sleepily before a smile spread across his face, “You’re here,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

You walked over to his bedside, kneeling to be at eye level with him, gently tucking a strand of wild hair back onto his forehead to distract yourself, “I came to say goodbye.”

His expression shifted as he rubbed his eyes in confusion. "Are you leaving? Now? Wait—I'm coming with you, let me get ready."

Joseph began to adjust himself to sit upright, but you gently pushed him back down. "No, Joseph. You're not coming," you said softly. "Okay?"

His brow furrowed in protest, and he reached out, taking your hand in his small, warm grasp. “I don’t want you to go. Can’t you just stay here with me?”

The lump in your throat tightened as you fought back the rising emotion, forcing a smile. “I can’t, Joseph. You need to stay here. Gandalf said it’s for the best, okay?” You squeezed his hand gently, trying to reassure him, even though part of you still ached at the thought of leaving him behind.

Joseph's lip quivered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and as a single tear rolled down his cheek, you felt the salty wetness at your lips. You quickly wiped it away, but more followed down your cheek. Trying to lighten the moment, you forced a smile, "You still need to teach me Elvish, okay? I expect to know a lot of words when you get back."

He paused, his face softening as he whispered, “N'i lû tôl.” Though the words were slightly butchered, their meaning was clear. [2] 

You laughed, letting your head fall gently into his small palms. "What does that mean?"

Joseph wiped his eyes, a shy grin spreading across his face. "I think it means ‘see you soon,’ kind of. Estel taught me."

A warm chuckle escaped your throat as you lifted your head, cradling his cheek gently, "See you soon," you whispered, the words carrying a promise. Because this wasn’t goodbye, it won't ever be a goodbye. 

He murmured sadly, snuggling back into his tear-stained blankets, his eyes fluttering shut and you reluctantly let go of his hand. 

You stepped away, the darkness of the corridor seeming to close in around you when you blew out the candle.

As you turned to leave, you felt as though you were leaving a piece of yourself behind, a void that would ache until you returned. Kíli waited patiently on the balcony, his silhouette framed against the starlit sky. He turned at the sound of your footsteps, concern etched on his face when he saw you. 

But you had no words for the Dwarf, only dried tear stains that had fallen from your eyes.

The pair walked in silence back to the Company’s chambers, taking the longer route, Kíli rubbing soothing patterns on your back to quietly comfort you. Each gentle stroke eased the tension that had been boiling in your stomach. 

The fire had long been put to rest, leaving only the soft amber light of the remaining embers to illuminate the room. The Dwarves had settled into their cots, taking to sleep for the night. 

You slept at the base of Kíli’s cot that night, and once again, you had a restless sleep. The shadows of your thoughts danced just beyond the edges of slumber, pulling you into a cloudy haze. Each time you closed your eyes, you found yourself back in the room with Joseph. 

But you knew the sun would rise soon and as you closed your eyes one last time, you whispered, “N'i lû tôl.”

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Lithe 2^nd, Mid-years day

XXI. 

The day ahead promised to be long. Thorin was the first to rise among the Dwarves. With no remorse, he kicked his kin awake, “Up, all of you,” Thorin urged, rousing his nephews first, “We must leave. Now.” 

“Oh, off it, Uncle,” Kíli grumbled, wincing at the sharp pain in his side as he swatted Thorin’s boot away. The Company stirred to life, slowly shaking off their sleep. Even Bilbo rose, eyes fluttering and stifling a small yawn.

You were lucky and woke to a more gentle stir, a soft shake of your arm. As your eyes adjusted, Kíli’s silhouette sharpened into view, “I’d suggest you wake up, milady. Thorin's doing his rounds, in his own sick way.” He muttered, smirking. 

“What?” You stretched, pushing back your hair and sitting up on your arms. 

“Brutal, but better him than Dwalin,” Fíli’s voice chimed, as he emerged from behind Kíli’s bed roll, “I still have a bone to crack from him somewhere, he did a number on my neck last week,” He tensed his arms and wound them back before an audible crack was heard, “Ah, there it is.”

You noticed the other Dwarves moving quietly, packing their belongings, sheathing their swords, and rolling up their cots. Near the doorway, Thorin and Balin were in deep conversation, Thorin’s face set in a grim scowl as he nodded along to his older kin’s words. 

Then, he locked eyes with you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. You hadn’t found the chance to talk to him about the other night. Had he forgotten? Or was it too awkward for him to bring up? Either way, he hadn’t spoken much to you since. But, maybe it was better that way. Maybe he had forgotten. Yet the tension remained. You certainly hadn’t.

All of these thoughts brought you back to Gwirithiel, making you regret not saying goodbye to her as well. 

“Milady, catch!” Fíli’s voice cut through, and your pack landed in your lap, jolting you from your reverie, “Gather your things. Brother, you too,” Fíli said with a wink, already rolling up his cot.

The other Dwarves’ hushed murmurs filled the silence as they followed Thorin, who stomped out the smoldering remains of the fire.

You rushed to roll up your cot, hastily grabbing the scattered items around your legs and stuffing only the essentials into your bag. With little time to spare, you buckled the straps and hoisted the pack onto your shoulder, determined to not be left behind. 

The halls were unusually quiet as you crossed the long bridge through the courtyard. Not an Elf in sight, but only the calming sound of the waterfall was present.

The marbled path soon vanished beneath your feet, replaced by the uneven rise of stone and dirt. The company’s pace slowed as the terrain became more challenging. Dori, struggling to keep up, spoke up, pausing to catch his breath, 'Which way are we going, lad?' he asked Thorin.

“We’ll take this path through the valley, before reaching the Mountain Pass,” Thorin answered, pressing forward without looking back as he stepped back onto the uneven, rocky terrain.

“And what about Gandalf?” Ori asked 

“We will see the Wizard later. If he even meets us there,” Thorin said using his stick to continue his hike, "Be on your guard. We're about to step over the edge of the wild." Those were his final words before he rounded the corner to a cave for the rest of the hike. 

You found your stride as you reached the peak of the hill, but a faint sound reached your ears carried by a cold breeze that tickled the nape of your neck and made you pause. The Dwarves passed by one by one, and you lingered, turning for one last look at Rivendell.

The feeling was eerie, and you brushed it off quickly to press forward again but jumped in surprise when you found Bilbo standing in front of you, nearly bumping into him. 

“Bilbo!” You exclaimed, “You really need to stop that.” 

The quiet burglar chuckled, scratching the back of his head, “Ah, sorry! I was calling your name, but you didn’t seem to hear me, ha.” He stood for a moment, twiddling his thumbs before catching himself and stopping, a nervous habit of his. 

There was a pause before you continued, “What’s wrong?” 

“Ah, here,” he said, pulling something from behind his back and extending his arm toward you. “You forgot this. W-wouldn’t want to leave it behind, would you?” He laughed again, a touch more awkwardly this time.

“Oh.” Your eyes widened, and you patted your waist where the weapon should have been. “Thank you, Bilbo.” You took it from him gratefully and secured it at your side.

As you secured the weapon at your waist, Kíli caught your eye from ahead, a half-smile playing at his lips before he turned back to the path with Bofur. 

“My pleasure,” Bilbo shifted nervously, rocking on his heels, “Well then– after you.” Ever the gentleman, he gestured for you to lead the way. Chuckling, you give his shoulder a firm pat as you passed, ascending the rock stairs. 

The Company huffed and grunted as they made their way over the terrain, careful to avoid the edge where the river roared below. Now free from Rivendell’s halls, the Dwarves’ chatter grew louder, free to talk about whatever they wanted with no care of any Elfs brooding over them with every conversation. 

You and Bilbo brought up the rear of the group. As you walked, the two of you chatted, with Bilbo sharing stories of his quiet life back in the Shire. He talked about his few friends and family, and how he planned to write a book about all his adventures once he got home. You laughed at his jokes, amused by his silly, carefree life.

His eyes twinkled, and a wide grin spread across his face, "I do miss Bag End," He admitted his voice warm, looking ahead with nostalgia, “Though not as much as I don’t miss my neighbor, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, that is. Last spring, she decided that her rose bushes would grow better if she 'borrowed' my garden soil." 

You chuckled, "She didn’t actually dig up your garden, did she?"

The Hobbit nodded so quickly it looked like his head might fall off, “Oh, she did! Right in the dead of night! I woke up to find half my marigolds leaning sideways, looking as confused as I was! Would you believe it?”

“She sounds jealous, Bilbo. Your garden is beautiful.”

“She most definitely is, no doubt about it. Every morning since, she walks past my garden, eyeing it like it’s her second breakfast!” Bilbo laughed, taking a puff from his lit pipe, the smoke trailing behind him with each step, “I w-want to add more. I think it needs more trees too. Oh! Maybe some Snapdragons for next winter—they’d fit perfectly after this, and they're a bold statement piece I think.” You’d never heard anyone so enthused about their garden before. You found it rather cute.

As Bilbo's words drifted around you, Kíli’s earlier glance came back to mind. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite place.

 “Do you really think Gandalf will come?” Bilbo asked solemnly, bringing you back from your thoughts. He clutched his pack tighter, stepping over a fallen log.

Before you could answer, Bali, chimed, “Yes, laddie, Gandalf promised to meet us at the Mountain Pass...”

The day stretched on, the sun casting harsh light over the path. The sounds of nature were replaced with an occasional grunt or sigh from the company as they navigated steep inclines and treacherous drops.

Eventually, the jagged walls of the valley fell behind you, giving way to an open field. The sight of the pasture was a relief: a lush expanse of wild grass and a thin, sparkling river that traced a path back toward the canyon below. A collective sigh of relief passed through the group.

“We camp here tonight.” Thorin declared his voice firm as he surveyed the area.

Bombur began unpacking his supplies, the clinking of pots and pans echoing through the clearing, while others gathered firewood or prepared their bedrolls.

Even with Bilbo nearby, you felt a bit lonely without your other half by your side, as if a piece of you was missing. You wondered what Joseph was doing right now. Hopefully, he missed you—that would be a comforting thought—or maybe he was listening to an Elven tale. Who could know?

You set up your bedroll next to the river, its running water a soothing white noise that dulled your brooding thoughts. As everyone settled in for the night, another bedroll was tossed down next to you.

A soft thud beside you broke your reverie. You turned, surprised, “Kíli?”

He responded with your name and a smile, his eyes sincere, “Mind if I sit?”

The young princeling bit his cheek, chewing on the corner of his lip as if holding back a grin. He didn’t look at you, instead drawing small lines in the dirt with a stick. “Sitting,” He shrugged. “Is that alright?”

Kíli glanced up at his brother, who was barely holding back a laugh. From his bedroll, Fíli’s chest shook silently, and he rolled over to face the other side, unable to look at his brother anymore.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kíli’s question was tentative, and your brows furrowed as you leaned back slightly. A silence hung in the air, and he took that to continue.

He stumbled over his words at first, starting and stopping before finally managing, “How are you?” Was that all he wanted to ask? 

At first, it was small—a tiny pit forming in your stomach, accompanied by a flutter you couldn’t quite name, but this feeling has recently been happening far too often. A few dozen or so thoughts ran through your head and yet, you couldn’t find anything to say.

“I’m okay.” 

“Good,” He said quickly, “I mean– it’s good you're alright.” 

Kíli glanced around, noting that everyone else had drifted into slumber. He looked back at you as you ran your hand through your disheveled hair, resting it on your neck while you stretched and watched the fire crackle, avoiding his gaze. 

Then, without a word, his eyes flicked briefly to your hair. For a second, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on the way your hair fell loose and tangled. His fingers twitched, as though wanting to do something, but he looked away before you could catch it. You noticed this out of the corner of your eye, but said nothing.

A pause settled between you, and then his voice broke the silence again.

“May I?” He asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper. 

You turned to find him looking at you with soft eyes. “May you what?”

He asked you to turn around, spinning his finger. You did as you told, giving him a confused glare, and shuffled around the other way. 

A sudden jolt ran through you when you felt him gently pat down your head. He was careful, his fingers barely grazing your skin as he raked through your hair, brushing it out with surprising thoroughness.

You didn’t feel brave enough to ask what he was doing, so you let him take his time combing through your locks. It felt comforting, and you weren’t going to say anything about it.

You weren’t sure how long the silence lasted between you. 

With your shoulders slumping, relaxing under his touch, you felt him gather a small section of your hair and twist it at the base of your neck, tucking it under the rest of your locks behind your ear. Kíli continued, twisting and weaving a tiny, almost unnoticeable plait. His fingers brushed softly against your skin, moving carefully, almost afraid you would flinch away. 

But from a distance, Thorin watched, his eyes dark in the flickering firelight. He exhaled, forcing himself to look away and close his eyes.

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Afterlithe 5^th 

XXII.

You dreamed that night. Or perhaps it wasn’t a dream at all... You weren’t sure what it was, but it felt vivid, tangible. You could feel something.

Reaching out, you noticed your hands—they were smaller, delicate, chubby, innocent. You reached for that something, anything… and when you couldn’t, you cried. A wailing noise echoed around you as orange sparks started to drift through the void lighting only snippets of these hands that didn't seem to be your own. 

For a moment, it almost seemed as if you were being cradled, held tight in someone’s arms. 

But it all moved all too fast. The sensation, the flicker of comfort—everything slipped away before you could hold on and darkness consumed you again, vanishing in a sudden, blinding flash.

You started to pant—hard, breathy gasps. It was then you realized it wasn’t you breathing at all, because you couldn’t. The darkness choked you, stealing any sound from your lips. Only the relentless, harsh breaths from this darkness filled the empty space.

It sounded as if you were running. What were you running from? 

A thousand thoughts. And a million questions. 

Desperation surged as you reached out again, trying to grasp the emptiness, searching for anything to anchor to.

That’s when you felt it—like water trickling down this finger. But the color was stark against the void, and then you could finally see.

It glowed a crimson red. Illuminating just enough to know it wasn’t water. It was something else entirely.

The drop slid down your palm, leaving a trail in its wake, and soon more followed. And you could taste it—a foul, metallic tang on your tongue.

It filled your lungs, suffocating you. You tried to scream again, but the only sound came from outside you. 

At first, it was quiet, a little too familiar. But then it grew louder, too loud. It burst through your ears—a hundred voices crying, screaming in unison, a horrible orchestra of pain.

Finally, the nightmare allowed you to take a deep breath. And in that moment, you woke.

Your hand was still raised above you as you blinked up at the pink sky. Small droplets of water patted gently against your palm.

You felt so shaken that you didn’t dare to move, letting your hand twitch and hover in place. A few more drops splashed onto your cheek, trailing down to your eyes before falling back onto the bedroll under you. 

Slowly, you sat up and looked around. Everyone was still sound asleep. Even Kíli, beside you, was wrapped snugly in his bedroll, snoring aloud. All of course, except for one. 

Bilbo, sitting a little farther away, leaned against a tree with his book slipping from his hands. He watched you with a furrowed brow, his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze, trying to ground yourself again. After a moment, you exhaled, and fell back into the cot, closing your eyes in an attempt to find a short rest.

That morning, you quite felt unsettled, speaking little to anyone as you ate your breakfast in silence, trying to erase the remnants of the nightmare from your mind. 

As you did many days before, you rolled up your cot, packing your belongings, and this time you made sure to secure your sword. 

Thorin led the Company up the High Pass, trekking over winding snow-capped peaks for a day or two. The air thinned as you ascended, up and up, nipping at your lips from the unforgiving chill of the wind.

By midday, the group paused for a break, hoping Gandalf would appear. They decided to eat lunch in the meantime, but the sky only darkened as time passed. Ominous clouds rolled in with an unsettling speed, casting long shadows over the rocky terrain ahead. 

Thorin stood apart from the Company, his arms crossed, eyes locked to the mountain with an impatient glare.

"We have to keep moving if we’re to beat this thunder," He said. 

A sudden crack of lightning tore through the sky, making Ori jump and spill his tea. The Dwarves exchanged uneasy glances and murmured, their chatter hesitant until the youngest among them gathered the courage to speak. 

“But Gandalf said we should wait here for him, right?”

Thorin’s eyes snapped to Ori, and his expression hardened, “Do you see him? Do you see your wizard?” Ori wilted, cheeks burning as he shrank into himself. A hush fell over the Company. Thorin wasn’t wrong, their wizard was nowhere to be found, and daylight was wasting by waiting for him here, “Exactly. Pack everything up,” Thorin bellowed, his impatience growing thin.

Grunting, you tossed the apple core away and watched it roll down the hill until it disappeared. Adjusting your pack, you slipped it on and stood, taking in the cold wind as it swept around the group.

"You." The all too familiar rough voice called, and you looked up to see Thorin marching toward you, "You’re to stay at the front." His tone was curt, with no room to argue. 

"Excuse me?" You raised a brow, confused.

He stepped closer, his presence dominating. His breath fanned your face as his eyes briefly flicked over you. You hated when he brought out this tone, him ordering you around.

“And this—” His fingers darted out, not to reach for your pack as you first thought, but to grasp the something behind your ear. The tug was swift, sending a sharp jolt through your scalp before he released your hair, “Get rid of it.” His voice was low, a growl meant only for you.

“Thorin!" You shoved his hand away, your fingers brushing the thick lock of hair he'd just pulled. You didn't realize it had been there until now, but as you fiddled with it, you recognized the braid—the one that Kíli had so carefully woven into your hair.

"What? Why?" You asked. 

You waited for an answer, but all you received was silent and a hard glare. Thorin shifted his weight slightly, his attention turning briefly to the young princeling. Kíli had stopped packing, quietly observing the two, his eyes flickering between his uncle and you with a look of sadness.

But then he shoved everything in his pack at once and shook his head furiously, swinging it onto him with a thump. Without another glance, he stormed off toward the trail. 

“That. Is an order.” Thorin spat, every word deliberate. He flicked back toward you, and though his face remained unreadable, you could’ve sworn there was a glimmer of something in his face—something almost... satisfied. As if he had won some silent battle you hadn’t even known you were fighting, “Come.” He finished, finally turning away. 

And like a dog to its owner, you followed. Tucking the strand away to be hidden out of spite. 

The journey however pressed on over the mountain as shortly what had turned into soft falling snow turned into untamed winds and rain, growing much stronger than any of them had imagined.

The already narrow path became treacherous forcing the group to retreat into a single line, the rain poured down so heavily that you could no longer hear the Dwarves around you. The rocks beneath your feet were slick with water and the lightning cracked above, splintering the sky as it rattled and shook the very rocks you so desperately clung to.

There was no time for panic. A single wrong step would send you tumbling into the caynons mouth, and swallow you whole.

Night crept in and there was no safe place to rest, forcing the Company to trek onward and upwards, somehow higher and higher than you thought possible. Visibility dwindled to almost nothing—what little you could see was blocked by the storm. Your hair clung to your face, drenched, and with every step you had to wipe your eyes, struggling to make out Kíli ahead of you. 

"Steady now! Hold on!" Thorin shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the storm. 

Everyone moved at a slow, cautious pace, but it wasn’t enough. A loud, frightened scream echoed from the back, sending a shock of terror through the throng.

You whipped your head around, your shoulder pressing into the rocky wall, and your stomach plummeted when you saw Bilbo teetering dangerously, half over the edge.

"Bilbo!" Bofur cried out, lunging forward to grab his pack, yanking the Hobbit back, pulling him into the wall with a grunt.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin yelled once again. 

"Look out!" Dawlin roared after Thorin, finger pointed ahead. 

The ground trembled beneath your feet, and in the next instant, a massive rock was sent hurtling over the Company's heads, smashing into the mountainside. Pieces of stone flew in every direction, and you clung for dear life. Fíli though was quick from behind you, and swung his axe into the cliff face, guarding you from the falling debris as you cowered.  

His eyes met yours, a look of concern etched across his face. You gave him a small nod, reassuring him that you were alright.

"This is no thunderstorm! It’s a thunder battle!" Balin shouted.  

From the next mountain over, the rock face cracked open revealing a giant creature. Towering high at the mountain's peak, it loomed like a living part of the mountain itself, its massive form poised to break apart yet another boulder and hurl it above the Company.

Bofur, wide-eyed and staring in awe stepped forward, "Well, bless me. The legends are true. Giants! Stone Giants!"

Your eyes followed the rock as it landed on yet another stone giant, further down the canyon. 

”Take cover, you fool!” Thorin shouted. 

Dwalin quickly yanked Bofur back against the wall keeping him away from the edge. 

Suddenly you could hear a crack below you and glanced down at the widening gap beneath your feet, “Shit.” You muttered.

The path was crumbling, eroding quickly. There was nowhere left to go, and just as you felt the ground slip from under you, Kíli lunged forward, grabbing you and swinging you back to a wider part of the path where Thorin, who had caught you, shoved you firmly against the wall his hand on your chest, leaving you winded but never the less alive.

"Hold on!" Dwalin bellowed through the chaos.

It was then that Kíli’s eyes widened in realization—he was now separated from Fíli by the growing chasm.

"Fíli! Take my hand!" he yelled, reaching over to his brother.

Kíli cried out to as the rest of the Company seemed to only get further and further away, the brothers' hands slipping from each other. What was once you thought to have been the path had become another Stone Giant. 

Everyone was screaming as the three giants fought, their massive fists crashing against each other and sending boulders flying in every direction. There was little you could do, powerless against the colossal beasts. Half the Company balancing on giants knee, while you, Thorin, and Kíli could do nothing but watch. 

"Bâr adûna!" Thorin said, his Dwarvish slipping as he grabbed hold of your arm, keeping you close to him keeping you still as the ground drummed. [1] 

One of the giants collided with another, its head slamming into the other’s chest with a deafening crack. The impact sent the second giant tumbling back, struggling to regain its footing as the other two continued to battle.

Only for a moment did this then allow a few of the Company to make their way across the gap and join back on the trail. Thorin roared over the rain, "Move! Move!"

However, Bombur, Bilbo, Bofur, Fíli, and Dwalin were still clinging to the other leg of one of the beasts. As the third Giant staggered to rise again, the second landed the finishing blow, sending another punch that beheaded the beast.

You froze watching, mouth agape, as the headless beast fell forwards, its legs colliding with the mountain, the entire cliffside seeming to collapse beneath the impact.

The Dwarves, that were still clinging to the Giant’s knee, seemed to only be crushed by its mass, disappearing as the stone giant fell backward to its death. 

You screamed, a primal, blood-curdling cry that echoed through the valley. Hair and spit flew from your face as you fought against Thorin's hold, but he held you tight, his face pale, there was nothing you could do.

Only when the ground fell still did Kíli scramble past everyone first. You all soon followed close behind, your hearts pounding in your chests. When you rounded the corner, you let out a breath of relief—everyone was alive, though piled on top of each other, dazed and shaken, taking quick, shallow breaths. But your heart clenched as you realized who was missing.

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur asked beating you to the question. 

Before you could call out to Bilbo, a distant voice answered weakly, "H-help!" Although muffled, but there was no mistaking who it was. You turned to see Bilbo, barely clinging to the edge of the cliff, his knuckles white from gripping the rock.

Without thinking, Ori, ever the brave one, rushed forward, grabbing onto Bilbo's slipping fingers just in time. The rest of the Company quickly went into action, helping each other to brace against the rock, putting their strength together.

"Take my hand!" Came the chorus of voices, all crying out.

Your heart raced, and you screamed Bilbo’s name, going to move forward and slide onto your stomach to reach him, but before you could go any further, Thorin had already gotten to him. With one swift motion, he jumped onto a small boulder, reaching down to grab Bilbo by the vest and heaving him up to safety.

Just as the Company thought they had made it, Thorin’s footing slipped, and he found himself clinging to the loose rock as well.

And then came In Dwalin, using his strength with a grunt, to rescue Thorin.

The air around you thrummed, the tension thick, but with the Dwarves all back on solid ground, there was a collective sigh from the group as Dwalin relaxed onto his back, taking a breath, "I thought we lost our burglar." 

"He's been lost ever since he left home," Thorin sneered, "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us." His words hung heavy in the air, but no one dared respond, the tension too thick to cut after what had happened. 

Thorin, took his axe in hand with a decisive motion, nodding to Dwalin to follow him into a nearby cave to scout for safety.

You seized the moment, rushing to Bilbo’s side as the other Dwarves helped the shaken Hobbit to his feet. His face was pale, his body trembling from more than just the cold.

"Are you okay? I thought you died, Bilbo," You said, your voice a soft whisper as you grabbed his shoulder, bending down to look him in the eye. His gaze was distant, lost, and he shook his head slowly, unable to find the words in the wake of the trauma.

“You’re okay…” You took Bilbo into a tight embrace, repeating yourself however, it’s more to ground you, “You’re okay.”

Before you could offer any more comfort, Dwalin emerged from the cave, his face grim, "Get inside." 

Everyone was eager to escape the weather, rushing into the cover, but even from inside you could still hear the wind howling and feel the thunder growing. 

You and Bilbo found a corner, setting up your cots side by side. You could feel the cold seeping into your bones. The others, however, were still scouting, checking for any signs of danger.

Glóin reentered shortly after, carrying a bundle of wood. He threw it into the center of the cave, "Alright, let’s get this fire started then." But then Thorin came around, shutting down the idea. 

"No. No fires, not in this place. Get some sleep, we start at first light." 

You felt the frustration rise within you, "What? Thorin, we're all freezing!"

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, his posture turning rigid, "I said no fires," He snapped again, his voice cold and sharp, "Did you not just witness the dangers of these mountains? We want no more attention drawn to us than what’s already been caused."

You bit your lip, holding back a retort. It wasn’t the time to argue with Thorin. Your body ached from exhaustion, and your mind felt foggy from the constant tension and fear. You didn’t care if there were giants out there or whatever danger waited ahead. You needed warmth, needed rest.

With a sigh, you removed your hooded coat, flinging it onto the ground at his feet where it immediately began to pool with water. Your hair, wet and heavy, dripped down your spine as you pressed your back into the cold cave wall, locking eyes with him. Your blouse clung to your skin, soaked through, but Thorin didn’t seem to care. His eyes rolled through his skull and walked away toward Balin without a word.

From across the room, Kíli noticed your frustration and, approached you. 

“Here,” He whispered, slipped his fur coat off, and gently draped it over your shoulders. Though his coat was also wet, the warmth it provided was a small relief from the chill, “I apologise... for my Uncle. He’s too harsh sometimes.” 

You looked up at him, arms crossed over your knees, “Yeah. I know.”

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice hushed. 

“I’m fine,” You lied, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Thoins voice rang out again, "Bofur," The Dwarf in question turned hearing his name, "You take first watch," Thorin ordered, causing the brunette to sigh in response, clearly eager to get some rest.

Everyone began settling into their cots for the night. Even Bofur, assigned to keep watch, felt the pull of exhaustion, his eyes drifting shut despite his best efforts. You, too, gave in to the overwhelming weariness, leaning against Kíli's side. The steady rise and fall of his breath was comforting, and you turned slightly to see Bilbo, already asleep and nestled into his bed.

But the quiet of the cave was deceiving; hidden in the depths below, unseen creatures moved, their presence like rats, scuttling in the walls. Waiting.

• ^[1] Bâr adûna! | Stay close! (Khuzdul)

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Afterlithe 6^th 

XXIII.

“Hey,” A voice called softly. “Wake up…”

A gentle touch to your hand stirred you from slumber, and a mess of red curls blurred into view.

“Bilbo?” You mumbled, blinking sleep from your eyes.

“It’s me…” He let out a breath, leaning back and fiddling nervously with his hiking stick, cheeks flushed a gentle red, “I—I’ve been doing a lot of thinking as of late…” That’s never good, especially for a Hobbit. 

As you sat up, the sight of Bilbo became clearer. His bag was already packed and rolled, strapped to his back as if he were ready for a journey on his own.

“And I just had a dreadful dream of falling,” he continued, forcing a small, nervous chuckle, “But I think—”

He paused, eyes darting around to ensure no one else was awake, triple-checking for any movement among the dwarves still nestled in their cots. When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I’m going back to Rivendell.”

“What?” The word burst out of you before you could stop it, and you sat up straighter, shock evident in your expression, “You can’t leave.”

Bilbo’s eyes softened, “I want you to come with me,” He said, the words firmer now, laced with desperation. 

You shook your head, a whirlwind of emotions flooding within you—disbelief, confusion, and a pang of something close to betrayal.

“We’ve come so far… Rivendell is hundreds of miles away. You can’t make that alone,” you said, gripping his staff firmly, “Please, don’t leave me.”

“You heard what Thorin said… I don’t belong here. I’m lost. All I want is to be home, sitting on my bed, reading my books, cooking my food. I shouldn’t have run out my door…I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins.” Bilbo’s voice wavered, a lone tear threatening to spill as he sniffled.

“Come with me,” He said again, biting his cheek, “We’ll find Gandalf. We– we’ll find Joseph again.”

The thought was tempting, but not enough to sway you. “Is this about what Thorin said?” You shook your head harder, “Don’t listen to him. You do belong here, Bilbo. With us.”

Bilbo’s composure cracked. He grew angry. He thought you, of all people, would grasp what it meant to be away from home.

“Why don’t you get it?” His voice grew louder, “I thought you would understand what it feels like to be so far from everything you’ve ever known, to wake up and wish you were anywhere but here? Do you?” He took a step back, breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. But he took a moment to pause and gaze over you with saddened eyes. 

“If you even have a home to miss, hidden under all those secrets of yours.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and you hoped he didn’t mean it. Of course, you wished for home every day, every week, every step. You wished for many things. For your brother by your side. For you to be just out of this mess, and be done with it all. You wished to be back in the park, and maybe if you had just dragged your brother away, you wouldn’t even be here. 

And yes, you still kept your secrets close, but it was for his sake. The only one who needed to be worried about your problems was the man who saved you, Gandalf. 

“I-I just don’t understand. Why don’t you trust me?” 

You unclasped your hands from his hiking pole, fingers trembling slightly just as much as your voice, "Bilbo…" But when you did let go, a soft blue hue shadowed them, quickly getting brighter, “Bilbo?” 

The Hobbit only continued, “No– I don’t want to know anyway. Goodbye, friend.” Murmuring a soft goodbye as he made to pull away. But you griped the staff again much tighter, bracing against it as you shuffle to kneel in front of him.

“I’m sorry. I have to go… I hope to see you again—”

“Bilbo! Look!” Your voice was urgent, eyes widening as you pointed.

Bilbo’s sword had begun to glow, a familiar blue that cast sharp shadows around the cave. The room was bathed in the light, rousing the Dwarves from their slumber.

“Orcs…” You whispered.

Bilbo, eyes wide with fear, finished in the same quiet tone, “Or Goblins.”

For a heartbeat, the cave was silent. Then, a sound of wood creaking echoed ominously, though you were surrounded only by stone, which was odd. 

“Wake up!” Thorin’s voice cut through the silence as he shot up, “Everyone, up! Now!” 

Kíli, still half-asleep, rubbed his eyes and sat up with a groan, fumbling for his sword, “What’s going on?”

“There's—” You started, but the words were cut short as the ground beneath your knees gave way and a trapdoor collapsed sending you and Bilbo plummeting into darkness.

A scream ripped from your throat, as you were hurled down the rocky chute, the world becoming a blur of jagged stone and shadows. You clawed at the tunnel walls, trying to slow your descent, but the rough surface only tore into your palms with a stinging pain so instead, you dug in your heels, hoping for any friction.

Just as you started to slow, a hard bump knocked you off balance, and you accelerated once more. Finally, the tunnel spat you out into a vast cavern and you landed on a wooden platform with a bone-jarring thump with along everyone else. 

You landed awkwardly, arm twisted beneath you, pain lancing down your neck. Rolled over with a grunt, throwing your head back, and then collided with something solid and you felt a tight squeeze on your hips. Dazed, you tilted your head to see Thorin who groaned as you realized you were sitting between his legs, tangled in a mess of limbs.

But the moment for any embarrassment was stolen as you both looked to see hordes of Goblins flooding the platform. Their ghoulish faces leered, claws scraping at the wooden boards as they charged.

“Oh. Fuck,” You breathed, pressing yourself back into Thorin’s chest.

The Goblins swarmed, wiry limbs grabbing at the Company. You felt sharp, filthy nails take at your arms, and your legs, tugging you in all directions, “Get off me!” You screamed as the creatures yanked you away from Thorin’s grasp.

Everything blurred as you were dragged deeper into the heart of the mountain, feet stumbling across bridges and splintered stairways that swayed under the weight of the mob. The air was thick with the rank stench of the Goblins—dirt, sweat, and something acrid that burned your nose. They chuckled and laughed, faces peering close, eyes glistening with malice sniffing and studying you like a prize catch.

“This one’s soft,” one sneered, its wiry fingers tangling in your hair.

“Soft and sweet!” Another cackled, “Perfect for dessert!”

Rough hands tugged at your hair, pulling your head back painfully, exposing your neck to their spit and drool.

You kick and thrash as hard as you can, but these creatures are relentless, and before long, you find yourself in the hollow center of the mountain. Horns blared from above, their deep, jarring notes mixing with the clamor of thousands of other Goblins stomping and clapping from platforms carved into the rock.

In the middle was the largest, a hulking figure adorned with a jagged crown perched awkwardly on a swollen, double-chinned face. His beady eyes glistened as he twirled and sung;

“Clap! Snap! The black crack!
Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!
And down down to Goblin-town,
You go, my lad!”

“Clash, crash! Crush, Smash!
Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!
Pound, pound, far underground!
Ho, ho! My lad!”

“Swish, smack! Whip crack!
Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat! 
Work, work! Nor dare to shirk, 

“While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,
Round and round far underground
Below, my lad!”

You were shoved roughly in front of the Great Goblin, knees buckling as you struggled to stay upright. The Dwarves were dragged forward as well, being quick to form a tense circle around you. Kíli maneuvered as close as he could, his fingers brushing yours while Fíli took to your other side. 

You scanned the crowd anxiously for your Hobbit, companion, but Bilbo was nowhere to be seen which made you worry. 

As Great Goblin’s song came to an end with a grotesque howl, echoed by the scribe goblins who clapped and hooted, their shrill voices scratching at your ears.

“Catchy, isn’t it?” His voice was harsh, each word dripping with smug delight. “It’s one of my own compositions.” 

“That’s not a song! It’s an abomination!” Balin rebuttals, causing an uproar. 

The Great Goblin laughed, a sound that sprayed spittle and made your skin crawl, “Abominations, mutations, deviations—that's all you’re going to find down here.”

He stomped his staff, the boom silencing the noise, “Bring them forward and spit out their gold!”

The Goblins scurried to obey, throwing down the Dwarves’ confiscated weapons and pouches of silver and gold at their king’s feet. The sight only fueled the Great Goblin’s fury, and with a bellow, he crushed one of the smaller goblins beneath his foot.

“Now who would be so bold to be armed and come into my Kingdom?” He roared, eyes glistening with malice. When silence was the only response, he added with venom, “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?”

“Dwarves,” One of the smaller Goblins piped up, stepping forward with a gleam of excitement, “And a mortal girl, your malevolence. We found them lurking on the front porch!”

The Goblins around you leaned in, their eyes gleaming hungrily as they sniffed and cackled, eager for fresh blood.

“Well, don’t just stand there! Search them!” The Great Goblin’s command sent the mob into action with a snap of his finger, “Every crack! Every crevice!” 

Clawed hands tore at your clothes and pouches, stripping everyone of any last glimmers of metal. One goblin, its yellowed eyes gleaming, dug into your pocket and triumphantly pulled out a small, cherished piece of cloth. Your heart seized as you watched it drift through the crowd, caught on the rough air before disappearing over the rail into the depths below. A small last piece of your brother, now lost to the dark.

“It is my belief, your great protuberance, that they are in league with Elves!” Said the scribe, as he handed a candlestick to the King with a bow. 

The Great Goblin squinted at the object in his hand, bringing it close to his milky eye, “Made in… Rivendell? Ah–second age, couldn't give it away.” 

The Dwarves exchanged uneasy glances, and several pairs of eyes turned accusingly toward Nori, who managed a sheepish shrug.

“They’re just a couple of keepsakes.”

The Great Goblin’s attention snapped back to the Company, eyes narrowing, “Now. What are you doing in these parts?” 

Óin stepped forward, raising a hand to still Thorin who was tempted to out himself, “Don’t worry, lads. I’ll handle this.” He paused, wincing as he tapped his ear, “But you’re going to have to speak up, your boys flattened my trumpet.”

The Goblin King’s lips twisted into a sneer, “I’ll flatten more than your trumpet!” He thundered, lurching forward. Everyone flinched as his shadow loomed over them.

“Wait—wait!” Bofur shouted, “I’m the one you should speak to! I’ll tell ye what happened, oh great one…” He chuckled, giving the Goblin a small curtsey. The Great Goblin seemed to have enjoyed the answer and let Bofur continue, taking a wobbly step back. 

“Well, we were on the road!” Bofur began hastily. “Although, it’s not so much a road as a path. Actually–it’s not even that come to think of it. It’s more like a track…” He rambled on, stalling for as long as he could.

“Shut up!” But it wasn’t long before the Goblin King bellowed, growing sick of the Dwarf. His roar shook the cavern and caused his minions to shuffle backward, quaking with nervousness.

“If they won’t talk, we’ll make them squawk!” One of the smaller goblins screeched hearing his King, “Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the Bonebreaker! Start with the finest!” The Great Goblin’s eyes glinted as he licked his cracked lips, “Start with her.”

“No!” Kili surged forward, arm outstretched, but his reach fell short as you were dragged to the front and forced onto your knees, held down by the jagged claws of two goblins. 

The Great Goblin's face twisted with wicked delight as he sauntered before his captives, “What do we have here, hmm?” He leaned in close, the foul stench of decay radiating from his mouth. You gagged from the smell, “A lost little bird? Far from it’s nest, are we?”

A shiver crawled down your spine as he took his time with you, reaching out with a fat finger to twirl a strand of your hair before letting it drop in front of your face, “You stink, girl.” 

The Goblin King's eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as he inhaled again. His grin widened, and he let out a guttural laugh, “Not just any lost sparrow at all though, are you, mortal?”

Your pulse quickened, blood thundering in your ears. The Great Goblin bent down again, his nose nearly touching yours as he whispered, “I can smell it. You carry a scent older than this mountain, older than any tree a little bird like you might nest on.”

What does he mean?

You gagged again, more horrified this time, unable to meet his gaze, “Perhaps you’re more valuable to me than I thought.” He straightened a glint of greed in his eyes, “Send her to the dungeons. I will deliver her personally for a very pretty price.”

“Wait!” A voice shouted from the crowd. 

“Well, well well! Look who it is…” The Goblin King smirked, “Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thror! King, Under the mountain.” He gave a Thorin grand bow, the staff nearly knocking you in the head from under his belly. 

“Oh! But I’m forgetting… you don’t have a Mountain. And you’re not a King. Which makes you— nobody really.” 

The Great Goblin leered down at your bowed head, then glanced back at Thorin, snorting, “Ah—I see. Well then, I can kill two pretty little birds with one mighty stone. I think I know someone who would want both of your heads. Just your heads, nothing attached.”

“Perhaps, you know of whom I speak?” His grin widened when Thorin remained silent, “An old enemy of yours. A pale Orc, astride a White Warg?”

Thorin seethed through his lashes, “Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle.” 

“Ohhh– is that what you think?” The Goblin King smirked, raising his staff, poised to swing it at your body. He laughed as he watched Thorin squirmed and struggled in the grip of the Goblin scribes. But the blow never came; you felt only a rush of air as the skull-tipped staff stopped mere inches from your face, “You don't really think his defiling days are over, do you?”

With loud laughter, he fell back onto his throne with a squelch and leaned over to a caged Goblin, “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize. But, also do take care in telling him, I have found a Durbat-skaul-gûl.” [1] 

“Stop! No—wait!” The Company shouted, struggling against the grasp of dozens of Goblins holding them back. Their pleas for their leader and you filled the room as Thorin was dragged to the front, forced onto his knees beside you, his head pressed into a low bow.

He couldn't hold back the growl that rumbled from deep within his chest and his eyes flicked to you and you’re not sure what the look had meant.

The Goblin King's words, whatever they'd been, had clearly struck a nerve with him. He knew who the insult was aimed at, and though he couldn't fully understand it, whatever that filth said in had told him enough.

“Thorin?” You whispered, your voice trembling, seeking any scrap of reassurance.

But his gaze quickly turned hard and distant, avoiding yours as he stared at the floorboards beneath him. He clenched his fists tightly, knuckles white, his voice barely more than a whisper through gritted teeth, “What did he say?”

Is this where you die? Death by the fat hands of this beast?

There's not much time to think before he starts chanting again,

“Bones will be shattered, 
necks will be wrung!
You’ll be beaten and battered, 
from racks you’ll be hung!” 

“You will die down here, and never be found!
Down in the deep of Goblin Town!”

The ominous verses sent a shudder through you. It felt like a final, terrible promise.

But before he could continue his song, one of the smaller Goblins grew too curious, fumbling with Thorin’s sword—Orcrist, which had too been glowing under the leather. 

The scribe screeched, dropping it as if it burned, and scrambled back. The sword clattered across the wooden floor, skidding right to Thorin’s side. The creatures shrieked and recoiled in terror as the blade’s glow intensified with a hum. 

“That!” the Great Goblin roared, eyes bulging with panic, “I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!”

A wave of hysteria swept over the Goblins. Screeches and cries howling as they clawed at the Company in a blood frenzy, driven by both fear and rage. Blades and jagged nails lashed out, striking at any exposed fleas and knocking each Dwarf off their feet. 

A sudden pain seared down your back, and you crumpled onto your hands. Before you could push up, rough claws flipped you onto your back. A blade glinted dangerously above your throat, cold and biting against your skin.

Without thinking, you reached up, fingers wrapping tightly around the blade, ignoring the sting as it bit into your palm, blood tricking down your hands. 

You pushed with all your might, growling back at the Goblin with a snarling glare. He weakened, perhaps scared of your scroll, and you could feel the weight of the dagger easing helping you press harder, the bone skinning deeper under your skin with your grip, but you didn’t care, it only fueled you. 

Suddenly, a blinding white flash erupted through the cavern, forcing the Goblins to scuttle back from the bodies of the Company. Torches were snuffed out by a gust of wind, casting a dense, black shadow, and for a moment, everything was silent but the hiss of fear from the Goblins.

“Take up arms...” A deep voice called. As the light slowly returned, you made out the imposing silhouette—Gandalf, staff raised and armed with his silver, “Fight. Fight!” 

The Dwarves needed no further encouragement. With a second wind, they scrambled to their feet, grabbing whatever weapons were within reach. 

“He wields the Foe-Hammer!” The Goblin King shrunk back into his throne, scared and shaken, “The beater! Bright as daylight.” 

You stumbled to stand, ears ringing to busy focused on the blood pooling on the floorboards, your hand prints evident. The cavern was alive with shouts and the clang of steel but it fell on your empty ears.

Fíli was the first to grab you, pulling you up with a firm grip trying to fight back as many beasts as he can while you try to recover. 

The Great Goblin's shriek twisted into fury as he watched his minions get cut down. He was determined not to let his dominion slip and lunged toward you and Fíli, his staff raised high, the jagged skull atop it shaking. 

The ringing in your ears finally stopped as you watched the Goblin King drawback for a deadly swing. But before his strike could connect, a sharp gleam of blue stopped it. Thorin leaped forward with a cry of his own. The blade met the Great Goblin’s staff with a deafening clang, and the impact sent a shockwave through the air.

The Great Goblin's eyes widened with disbelief as he lost his balance, stumbling backward. His oversized form flailing off the edge of the platform. 

Thorin’s gaze still seemed distant as he looked down at the two of you, but without hesitation, he kicked a sword that clattered to your feet—your sword. He didn’t linger, though, and returned to the fray, his blade flashing as he cut down more Goblins.

“Now is our chance!” Gandalf shouted, slicing through a Goblin scribe, “Follow me! Quickly, to the bridge!”

You fumbled for your sword, managing to unsheathe it, your grip shaky as you readied yourself to swing wildly at any Goblin that came too close. But before you could make a move, a hand grabbed your forearm and yanked you forward, “Come on!” Kíli beckoned, his voice urgent as he cut back a Goblin. Seeing his brother still behind him, slashing away a Goblin, he urged him forward too, “Fe, move!”

“Run!” Gandalf screamed again, “Make way!”

And run you did. You fled from the yells and yammering, the croaks and howls, growls and curses. Through dark, winding passages and over rickety bridges, you pushed yourself to keep up with the frantic pace. Just when you thought you were at your limit, Kíli shoved you forward, urging you faster.

At the front, Dwalin and Thorin carved a brutal path, cutting down every Goblin that dared block their way. Their blades flashed as they slashed, struck, and beat down their foes with skill.

One bridge, cracked and missing planks, loomed ahead. As you sprinted across, you glanced down and saw a Goblin clinging below with an ugly grin. Without hesitating, you stabbed it square in the face, and it released its hold with a shriek, tumbling into the black void below.

Though you lacked the battle-hardened experience of the Dwarven warriors around you, pure adrenaline forced you to act fast. In just minutes, you swung your sword like your life depended on it—because it did. The trolls you faced months ago seemed simple by comparison.

You spun and slashed, even when there was nothing before there, creating space between you and the horde.

All of a sudden the Company had taken a wrong turn and Dori shouted in a panic, “It’s a dead end!”

“Cut the ropes!” Thorin shouted back. 

Dwalin reacted immediately, hacking at the ropes until the platform swung wildly, spinning and knocking everyone off balance.

“Jump!” Bofur shouted.

You stumbled but regained your footing, summoning every last ounce of strength to leap after him. You landed in a mess, blood splattered across your arms and face—whose, you couldn’t tell. There was no time to recover. The swarm pressed in, and you lashed out from your knees, cutting down anything within reach, and when everyone jumped down as well, the Company pressed on further down the ravine. 

“This way!” Gandalf’s staff glowed brightly, a burst of white light illuminating the cavern as he brought the rock ceiling crashing down behind the Company. The shuddering of stone filled the air, and the blocked passage bought precious seconds.

Just as you thought the Goblin swarm had been left behind, another bridge loomed ahead. The Company charged across, breaths ragged and weapons ready. But before you reached the other side, the Great Goblin lunged up from below with a guttural roar, landing heavily on the bridge. His massive staff swept forward, pushing everyone back as he laughed, his large belly jiggling with mirth.

“You thought you could escape me?” He bellowed.

You spun on your heel, ready to dash back the way you came, only to find the passage behind you teeming with Goblins. Their yellow eyes gleamed in the torchlight, and they closed in with gleeful screeches. 

Gandalf stepped forward swatting the Goblin king in the eye, “Enough!” The Goblins around you gasped when the wizard took another brutal swing at the Great Goblin, slicing at his throat and the sound that came from him was grotesque. 

He slumped forward with such force that the wood trembled and the ropes groaned under the strain.

“Oh no—” You squeaked, as the sound of splintering wood and snapping ropes filled the cavern. The platform beneath you gave way, and suddenly you were in free fall. The bridge crashed down, sliding into other platforms below with a chaotic rumble. You clung desperately to a rope, your knuckles turning white as you screamed, and what little footing you had shattered beneath you, but by some twist of fate, you bounced down onto another platform, landing hard and flattened by the force of the slide. 

However, everything started to slow as the chasm narrowed, grinding the broken bridge to an abrupt stop at the very bottom. 

Groans rose from the Company as they stirred. Bofur managing a strained jest, “Well, that could’ve been worse.”

“Yes,” You moaned, brushing off splinters and shoving a broken plank away as you struggled to stand, “Please tell me that’s all—” But your words were cut short, a sharp cry coming from you as an immense weight crashed down on top of the debris, flattening you back into the dirt. 

The Great Goblin's corpse had too tumbled down, collapsing on top of the pile.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Dwalin gritted through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright despite the aches and cuts.

A hand reached through the shattered planks and debris, gripping your arm and swinging it over their shoulder, Bofur had come to rescue you, “Get up, lass.”

“Gandalf!” Kíli thundered, his voice filled with alarm as thousands more Goblins scrambled down from above, sliding down the mountain rocks after you all.

Dwalin growled, “There’s too many! They’ll kill us all! We can’t fight them!”

Gandalf, his staff raised high, turned to face the group, “Only one thing will save us now. Daylight!” He pulled Dwarves from the rubble, urgency in his movements, “Quickly, come!”

And that sent them faster than ever once again.

• ^[1] Durbat-skaul-gûl | ****** (Black Speech)

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Afterlithe 7th

XXIV.

“Quicker! Toward the light!” Gandalf urged, his staff casting a faint glow against the rough stone walls.

“Oh, just half a minute, lad!” Dori huffed, falling behind, “My feet are about to fall off faster than I can run!”

The Company continued to scramble forward and after hours of this relentless crawling and running through dirt, mud, and blood it had left your clothes tattered, and your body aching. But it was all coming to an end, ahead a faint orange glow of a sunset spilled into the cave, the exit out of this mess. 

Your breath came in short, rasping bursts. Your chest felt tight, every inhale a battle in your lungs. You had a few more steps in you before your legs gave way, forcing you to stumble to a halt. 

“Keep moving!” Someone shouted, but their voice was distant, muffled by the metallic ringing in your ears. You leaned forward, hands braced on your knees, spit dribbling from your lips.

And then you heard it.

A whisper. Faint, foul, and wrong.

You turned your head toward an unlit passage veering off the main trail where shadows pooled and a voice came from within, beckoning you closer. 

Gimb, ghâsh’baug. Gimb burzum-ghâl. [1] 

Your feet shifted without thinking, drawn to the voice and you stepped closer into the void. 

But before you could stumble closer, Gandalf called your name in a hurry. 

You jerked as if waking from a dream, heart pounding in your ears. You turned and pushed yourself back into a sprint, following the others out of the cave. Fresh air hit your face, the scent of pine somewhat grounding once you were outside. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so desperate just to feel a breeze on your face.

But you didn’t have long to bask in the air before Gandalf ushered you once again, “Run, my dear!” He urged, nudging you further down the hill.

You tumbled and tripped, branches snagging at your clothes as you ran a little further into the heart of a clearing. 

Around you, the Company released their ragged breaths as well, gathering their thoughts as they stooped.  

“Now, are we all here?” Gandalf asked, his gaze scanning the group, “Let me see—one that’s Thorin, two, three, four, five, six, seven eight, Bifur, Bofur that's ten! Fili; Kili! Here they are! And Bombur! That makes thirteen, my dear, yes, yes fourteen.” 

He continued, counting aloud, but his face fell, “Wait. Where is our Hobbit?”

So caught up in the mess of running away, you had forgotten about your little burglar. 

You looked around for the Hobbit, but he wasn't hiding behind any Dwarf or under any bush, “Bilbo?” Your voice was quiet and worn and you looked at Thorin with wide eyes as he caught your presence looming at him, but he only sent you a gritted look. 

“Cursed that Halfing! Now he’s lost?” 

“I thought he was with Dori!” Someone cried. 

“Don’t blame me!” 

Loud arguments were sent spiring through the group, each blaming the other. 

“Enough!” Thorin’s voice silenced them all. His anger was heard and the arguments ceased, and all eyes turned to him, “Never mind the Hobbit! Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and warm hearth since he had first stepped out of his door. He is long gone.”

The silence that followed was intense.

Thorin’s attention shifted, and his finger pointed directly at you.

“You.”

His tone was low, but it carried like thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively backing away until the rough bark of a tree pressed against your spine.

Thorin closed the distance in just a few strides. You didn’t even have time to react before he drove his sword into the ground at his feet and gripped your blouse, pinning you firmly against the tree.

His face was inches from yours, his breath warm on your cheeks, “What did that filth say to you?” He demanded. 

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

“Durbat-skaul-gûl.” Thorin growled, attempting to mimic the foreign words, “That… That is evil. Black Speech. What does it mean?” [2] 

Black speech? You’ve never heard of anything as such.

You shook your head frantically, your hands clutching at his forearms as you tried to push him away. But his grip didn’t loosen.

Your silent plea for help turned toward Gandalf. The wizard’s expression only darkened upon hearing those words, a glint in his eye. 

You whispered, your voice barely audible, “I don’t know—”

“Thorin,” Gandalf warned. He thumped his staff against the ground, “Release her.”

Thorin's fingers twitched against the fabric of your blouse, but he didn’t move, “Uzbadâlâ! Tell me what it means!” Still, you didn’t answer, because you really, you didn’t know how. [3] 

You swallowed hard, trying to relax, “I swear. On my life, Thorin. I don’t know.” Why can’t he just trust you for once? 

“Uncle—” Kíli stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, his voice shaking.

But before he could act, Fíli caught his arm, holding him back, “Wait,” Fíli murmured, though his own eyes were fixed warily on Thorin.

“You’re certain of this?” Thoin said, and you nod along quickly to answer him.  

Suddenly, a rustling noise broke through the silence.

From the shadows of a nearby tree, Bilbo stepped forward, his face pale and streaked with dirt.

“Oh! Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf cheered, his voice ringing out, “There’s our burglar! Safe and sound.”

Bilbo glanced nervously between the wizard and Thorin, his small frame trembling as he shuffled closer, “I-I’m here!”

The sudden appearance of the Hobbit drew all eyes, and for a moment, the tension broke Thorin's grip on you faltering and he let you go reluctantly to face Bilbo.

When Thorin did finally let go your shoulders slumped watching Bilbo step forward and you let out a heavy breath you didn’t know you had.

Gandalf gave Thorin one final look before stepping closer to the Halfling, “Why, I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

“Bilbo!” Fíli said surprised, “How on Middle-earth did you get past the goblins?”

Bilbo laughed nervously, “Well—actually, I… I don't know. I did a lot of hiding, ha. Crept along very carefully and quietly.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, and a soft barely audible clang of metal echoed straight to your years as he fidgeted with something deep within his vest. 

The sound sent another off feeling through you and your body tensed, eyes darting to Bilbo’s hands. You bit down on your lip, licking at the dryness. You wanted to know what was in his pocket that had gotten you so riled up and the moment gripped you until Balin’s voice broke the trance.

A pounding headache started to form behind your temples. Your breath came faster again, your chest tightening. 

All of this—this running, the confusion, the voices—was starting to do a number on you. You pressed your fingers to your head, rubbing small circles to calm yourself, taking deep breaths to keep from spiraling.

What the fuck is going on with you?

“Well, it is the first time that even a mouse like you lad has crept along carefully and quietly under my nose and has not been spotted,” Said Balin, “I take my hood off to you.” 

Gandalf’s gaze flickered toward you, lingering just a moment too long, as though he’d noticed your unease. But he returned his attention to Bilbo with a bright smile, an attempt to deflect the tension, “Well! All together again. That makes it what—fifteen?”

All of a sudden you heard a howl, away up the hill and over the valley, a long shuddering howl. Soon it was answered by another to the right; a lot closer to them and then came another to your left, but you knew that noise and it seemed everyone else’s knew too.

It sounded like a dozen wolves, but they weren't wolves at all, it was something much worse. 

You tensed, releasing your temple.

Bilbo looked just as pale too, “Is that—”

Thorin took his arm back with a tang, “Out of the frying pan…” 

“And into the fire… run!” Gandalf shouted, “Run!” 

The company broke into another full sprint. Thorin gave you a rough shove forward, forcing you to pick up your start your pace. You lept over another rock, nearly falling, but Thorins firm hand pushed you again.

Behind you, the guttural growls and scraping claws of the Wargs grew louder. The beasts had found you quickly, and as night crept in, the already treacherous descent became a blind gamble.

From the shadows, one beast barreled toward Thorin but his stride did not falter and he met it head-on, swinging his sword in a wide arc, slashing through fur and flesh.

The rest of the pack wasn’t far behind as well and with nowhere left to run as you and the Dwarves came up to the edge of the cliff, the Company scattered, pulling their weapons free as Wargs bounded into the cliff side snarling and barking at the Company. 

“Stay together!” Thorin bellowed, parrying another attack.

You too had unsheathed your weapon as a Warg lunged at you. It was larger than you’d anticipated up close, its yellow eyes twitching with malice. You swung wildly, the blade grazing its cheek, but it wasn’t enough to deter it.

“Duck!”

You dropped instinctively as a blade whizzed overhead, embedding itself in the Wargs neck, killing it. It collapsed with a thud, and Dwalin appeared, yanking his axe free.

“On your feet, lass!” He shouted, hauling you upright.

But the Wargs kept coming, “Up into the trees! Quick!” Cried Gandalf. 

One after another, the Company scrambled for the branches. Bombur huffed and heaved, nearly pulling a smaller tree down with him, but he managed to get himself up. Even Bilbo, surprising everyone, darted between branches, moving like a frightened squirrel.

Fíli and Kíli perched atop a tall pine, their silhouettes sharp against the dim sky. Dori, Nori, Ori, Óin, and Glóin clustered together in the boughs of a massive, Christmas-like tree. The others clung to Gandalf’s tree, its slender, narrow limbs creaking and snapping under their rough hands.

And all that was left was you. 

You darted toward Fíli and Kílis’ tree, hands outstretched to grab the lowest branch. But the snarling behind you sent a chill racing down your spine and you stopped. Turning, you saw a Warg headed straight for you, its claws tearing into the ground as it charged.

Time seemed to slow. You barely had seconds to react, your fingers grazing the bark before the Warg collided with you. The impact sent you sprawling to the ground ways away from the tree, your breath exploding from your chest in a sharp wheeze. Pain radiated through your side as your vision blurred, the world spinning above you. 

The Dwarves cried out, their voices frantic, but they were held back by the Wargs pawing at the trees and snapping at their feet. They couldn’t jump down to help, even if they tried.

It took a while to notice a large white Warg standing over you, its hot breath rousing you awake. Before you could push yourself to your feet, its massive paw pressed down on your chest, pinning you down and your lungs cracked under the pressure. 

That’s when you saw him.

“Nuzdigid?” [4] 

The Defiler. The destroyer of a thousand men. The creature from Thorin’s stories, the one he swore had been slain, was standing right above you… Azog.

“Nuzdi gast?” He said again. [5] 

He loomed atop the massive Warg that pawed you, his body pale and built littered with scars from countless battles. There was a weapon that replaced his left arm, a jagged axe, and it hung dangerously close to your face, swaying with him. His eyes were nothing like you had seen, smokey white and void of all emotion except blood lust. 

Azog tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he leaned to look over the Wargs shoulder. His gaze bore into you, and his lips curled into a cruel grin, “Snaga… nakh zun...” [6] 

You squirmed against the Wargs coarse fur, its thick pelt stained with your blood as you tried to free yourself. The beast growled low, a rumble that vibrated through your chest, but it was nothing compared to the chilling laugh that spilled from Azog’s throat as he leaned forward, “Gûrzat,” He sneered in a language that sounded far too evil, “Ubagizish thrakat, ghâsh’pushdug.” [7] 

“Bagron... mani burzum gimbûrz?” His attention shifted with his posture, catching sight of someone else in the tree line. His lips twisted into a snarl, “Torin undag Train-ob.” [8] 

He turned back down to your struggling form, and grinned, the axe nipping your cheek, “Kod... toragid biriz…” Then he waved his hand high and mighty, swinging it out to the treeline with a roar, “Biriz torag khobdudol!” [9] 

You were almost grateful to be on the ground as you watched the Wargs tear back into action. They charged at the trees, their powerful bodies snapping at the roots again. 

Branches cracked and splintered, sending Dwarves tumbling from their high perches into lower, weaker branches. One tree collided with another, a domino effect that forced some Dwarves to abandon their refuges entirely as they crashed into the ravine below. The Dwarves leaped desperately toward the last standing tree at the cliff's edge.

They dangled, clutching branches for dear life, reaching for each other, pulling their companions back onto the branches, but the strain on the last tree was too starting to snap.

“No!” You cried, stretching your toward them. 

But the Wargs other paw slammed down on your arm, its claws sinking deep into your flesh and you let out another deafening squeal. 

“Zaghûl lat gimbatul burzum-ob, snaga…” Azog laughing at your poor attempt to help, “Ghashbur lat thrakatûl. I will put you out of your misery soon enough…” [10] 

His words wormed into your brain. The more he talked, the more subtle his words became. But all the pain coursing through your skin was too much, and what you thought he said was lost under the agony of it all.

The Warg’s claws curved deeper into your arm, scraping against muscle and bone, and a fresh wave of blood pooled beneath you. Your vision blurred, and your body convulsed as you struggled to stay conscious.

But the air thickened heavily with the scent of smoke. You forced your eyes open, gasping in disbelief as the dry grass around you ignited, the flames spreading with an unnatural speed.

The Warg recoiled with a startled snarl, lifting its paw and releasing your body. You clutched your elbow, your fingers trembling as you felt the slick, sticky warmth of your own blood seeping through your grasp.

Azog’s face twisted in fury as the flames spread. The White Warg snapped its jaws and bucked, disoriented by the blaze stepping back further.

As you leaned up, a fireball flew into the ground right beside you. A wave of heat radiated outward as it accidentally seared your skin.

Shuffling away a meter you grasped the blistering skin, putting pressure on it and when you went to inspect it, the sight made your stomach lurch.

The skin bubbled and churned, an angry red. Around the edges, the surface began to darken, hardening unnaturally. It calcified before your eyes, forming thick patches of hardened scabs.

Your breath hitched as you touched it again, half-expecting agony. But instead, there was no sharp pain, only an unrelenting, fiery heat that radiated deep from within. The nerves seemed to numb as if your body couldn’t decide whether to feel or protect itself.

“What the fuck…” You muttered under your breath, trembling.

Behind you, the Dwarves started to throw more fireballs of flaming sticks and pinecones toward the Wargs and they yelped and scrambling backward more, retreating behind the line of fire. 

Cheers erupted from the branches above, “That’s what you get, you great hulking fool!” A Dwarf shouted.

But their cheers were short-lived as the ground trembled again, the slashed roots of the last tree failing, and it fell backward. 

The Dwarves screamed in panic, clinging to the falling tree as it tipped. You didn’t know who to call for first—Nori and Dori were hurled from the top of the tree, plummeting toward the cliff’s edge. But Gandalf, with all his strength, managed to catch them with his staff, and they struggled to hold on. Bilbo was flailing, his feet kicking desperately. Fili and Kíli looked as though they didn’t have the strength to hold on much longer as well. 

But then, one Dwarf rose from his branch—Thorin. Orcist in one hand, a broken branch in the other, he balanced himself on the edge of the tree, casting a glance at your weeping form before stepping back onto solid ground.

With a his feet steady, he marched toward you, every step filled with purpose and fury. He walked, toward the fire, ready to face the beast that had threatened them all.

“Thorin, stop!” You cried, trying to reach for his boot, to pull him back from his madness. But he stepped over you, moving through the small gap in the flames. 

Azog’s face twisted into a wicked grin as he leaped from a high rock with his Warg knocking Thorin onto his back. 

Thorin didn’t stand a chance. In a whirl of wild hair and flashing blades, he tried to get up, but Azog’s, with a single swing knocked Thorin back down to the ground. The White Warg strode over to him, sniffing his body before jaws snapped shut around him.

Thorin’s body jerked in agony and he let out a bloody scream trapped between the beast’s cruel grip.

Wild, panicked noises escaped your lips as you clawed at the ground, trying to push yourself upright. The effort sent stabbing pains through your body, and your arms gave out beneath you. 

Your vision blurred, but you could still make out Thorin being flung through the air like a ragdoll. His body hit the jagged edge of a rock with a sickening thud, and he slumped to the ground, motionless.

“No…” The word fell from your lips, a broken whisper. 

You watched in horror as Azog ordered one of his scribes to approach, preparing to behead the Dwarf. 

But before he could do anything there was a blur that scuttled past your head. A streak of blue flashed by, so close it nearly brushed your ear.

Bilbo—finding his own courage—raced past you, charging straight into the fire. With a mighty battle cry, he knocks the scribe to the ground and drove his sword into its head, killing it.

He stumbled back to Thorin’s side, wildly swinging his sword to keep the Wargs at bay.

Suddenly, several Dwarves shouted a fierce war cry, their swords raised high as they ran through the fire. They cut through the Orcs in a flurry of blades, distracting Azog for as long as they could. 

Your body sagged against the dirt, what little fight left draining out of you. You turned your head to see Thorin, his body slumped, unconscious. Your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close, but a deafening screech split the air, followed by a powerful gust of wind that sent fire crackling around you.

A massive shadow loomed over head, and before you could even process what was happening, you felt a sharp tug at your back—a few cracks in your spine as you were gently lifted from the ground.

The cliff below grew distant, and the sudden height snapped you awake. You gripped desperately onto whatever had lifted you, your body shaking with the realization of how high you were. A call of your name pierced through the chaos below, but it was soon swallowed by the wind, growing fainter as you soared higher.

Looking up, you were met with a wall of soft, fluffy feathers, you were held in the talons of a giant bird.

Your good arm clung desperately to the bird's grip, cursing as the wind whipped through your hair. Below you, you could see other eagles picking off the remaining Wargs one by one, and others swooping in to grab the Dwarves, lifting them into the air and dropping them safely onto the backs of other eagles.

The eagle carrying you circled the cliff a couple of times before diving, its talons slipping from your grasp. 

"No—no! Wait—!" You shouted, panic clawing at your chest.

The eagle let out a mocking chirp, as if it found amusement in your cry, before releasing its hold and you started plummeting through the air.

You reached out for anything to hold onto, and just as the world seemed to tilt too far, another eagle swooped in and you were caught. 

For a brief, disoriented moment, you struggled to steady yourself, gripping onto the other eagle with a very tight hold, inadvertently yanking a few out.

The eagle squawked, rocking slightly under the weight of your sudden shift, causing you to hold on even tighter, despite your sore arm.

With a mighty squeak, your bird took a sharp dive back to the fight and you shouted with it, laying down as firmly as you could.

It had its talons ready to pick up another Dwarf, swooping in to pick up Dwalin from the fire and you could tell it was him by the way he yelled, “By my beard! Wait–” 

His protests were cut short when he was dropped onto the back of another eagle midair. 

The Dwarves were plucked from the fight one after another until finally, the last of the company was airborne, leaving the blaze and Azog’s furious roars far behind.

You face back forward again as you fly into the distance. For the first time in what felt, the night was still.

For hours, the eagles carried you, towering mountains and sprawling valleys into the morning sun, the soft mist swirling beneath you. The clouds parted as dawn approached, streaks of light spilling over the land below, casting a golden hue on the vast wilderness. 

You found yourself leaning into the wind, letting the rhythm of the eagle’s wings guide you, but never releasing your grip. You had never seen the world like this before.

In the midst of it, you found yourself looking back down at your arm, pulling back the tattered remains of your blouse to examine the damage beneath again, but the strange blistering had not changed.

The birds soon began their descent, wings spread wide as it glided gracefully toward a jagged rock formation below.

The Eagle carrying Thorin touched down first. It leaned forward, carefully lowering Thorin’s unconscious body to the ground. Moments later, Gandalf’s Eagle landed beside him, allowing the wizard to dismount. Gandalf approached Thorin, kneeling by his side. He murmured something low under his breath, his hands hovering over Thorin's face.

Your Eagle followed suit, and let you slide from its back along with the others, your boots scraping against the uneven ground as you hobbled forward, clutching your injured arm.

You hobbled over to Bilbo's side who had too slid off his eagle. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, resting a hand resting gently on your back. His gaze was full of worry as he looked you over.

You managed a nod, though the throbbing in your arm made it difficult with your lie, “I’m fine…”

Before Bilbo could press further, a voice, gravelly weak, cut through the air.

“The Halfling?”

Both of you turned to see Thorin stirring beneath Gandalf’s care, the Dwarf King struggling to sit up. 

Gandalf smiled, leaning back to give him space, “It’s alright, Thorin,” He said gently, “Bilbo is here. He’s safe now.”

Bilbo let his hand slip from your back,now focused on Thorin after hearing him. The Dwarf movements were unsteady, his nephews attempting to help him to his feet.

 But as soon as he stood, Thorin roughly shoved them away with a low growl, limping forward to the Hobbit, “You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild... that you had no place amongst us?”

Bilbo blinked rapidly, struggling to form a response. Behind him, you instinctively stepped forward, ready to shield the Hobbit if needed. But the Halfling stood firm, his shoulders squared even as his hands trembled at his sides.

Thorin continued to approach, a limp heavy in his feet, and voice grew quieter, “I thought you would fail us. I thought you would run.”

But to your surprise, Thorin suddenly pulled Bilbo into a tight embrace, “I have never been so wrong in my life…” Thorin said, “I am sorry I ever doubted you.”

“No… I—I would’ve doubted me too,” Bilbo replied. He gave Thorin a firm hug back before stepping away, a little flustered.

As Bilbo retreated, Thorin’s eyes met yours over the Halfling’s shoulder.

Thorin exhaled deeply, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way towards you. He came to stand shoulder to shoulder noticing the way you winced, clutching your elbow with trembling fingers.

Gently, he reached out with a hand settling on your far shoulder. Bowing his head, he spoke low, his voice meant for your ears alone.

“You too,” he murmured, his tone laden with sincerity. His forehead dipped closer, mere inches from yours, though he never bridged the gap, “You stood brave against him.”

You could feel it in the way his chest rose with a heavy breath, in the quiet tremor that edged his voice.

His hands rose every so slightly to your neck, “I thought…” He paused, his voice dropping another octave, “I thought we might have lost you. And I realized I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.”

Your throat tightened as you listened, his words stirring something raw and unspoken between you.

“You’ve proven something to me,” Thorin continued, “You are more than a companion in this fight. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you. I take it all back.”

“Thorin…” You managed, your voice cracking. 

But Thorin pulled back, his sight shifting to casting ahead. Without another word, he walked past you, his fingers trailing over your shoulder and down your back as if reluctant to let go.

You felt the lingering warmth of his touch and instinctively turned to follow it, whipping around to watch him as he hobbled toward the rocky peak.

“Is... is that what I think it is?” Bilbo’s voice broke the silence. 

Following Thorin’s gaze, your eyes lifted to the horizon. Through the drifting clouds, just barely visible against the pale hues of pink and blue, a mountain rising proudly amidst the far valley. 

"Erebor," Gandalf murmured, “The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great Dwarf Kingdoms in Middle-earth.”

A heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with emotion, before Thorin whispered, his voice raw, “Our home.”

As his words settled, a small bird chirped in the stillness. 

It darted past your head, wings a blur as it soared out toward the distant mountain.

“A raven!” Oín exclaimed, his face lighting with hope, “The birds are returning to the mountain!”

Gandalf tapped his staff against the rock, “That, my dear Oín, is a thrush.”

“But we’ll take it as a sign,” Thorin interjected. His gaze shifted back to you, “A good omen.”

Though you didn’t have a personal connection to the mountain, you couldn’t shake the feeling it was pulling you in. Whether it was the beast sleeping deep within its stone walls or something else, you weren’t sure.

With every step closer to the Lonely Mountain, a growing unease settled in your chest. There was something more hidden in the shadows, something beyond just the dragon. You couldn’t quite understand it, but you knew it was there.

You could sense that Gandalf knew more than he let on, his gaze toward you different now. You would need him—and the rest of the company—more than ever.

Because now, they needed you too. 

• ^[1] Gimb, ghâsh’baug. Gimb burzum-ghâl | Come, fire-child. Come, find me in the darkness. (Black Speech)
• ^[2]Durbat-skaul-gûl | Cursed of Scaled Blood. (Black Speech)
• ^[3] Uzbadâlâ! | Answer me! (Khuzdul)
• ^[4] Nuzdigid? | Do you smell it? (Black Speech)
• ^[5] Nuzdi gast? | The sent of fear? (Black Speech)
• ^[6] Snaga… nakh zun... | I smell... something else... (Black Speech)
• ^[7] Gûrzat... Ubagizish thrakat, ghâsh’pushdug. | Struggle... It will not save you, child of flames. (Black Speech)
• ^[8] Bagron... mani burzum gimbûrz? Torin undag Train-ob. | But… what else do we have? Thorin, son of Thráin. (Black Speech)
• ^[9] Kod... toragid biriz… Biriz torag khobdudol! | This one is mine.. Bring me his head! (Black Speech)
• ^[10] Zaghûl lat gimbatul burzum-ob, snaga… Ghashbur lat thrakatûl. | You will watch your friends die filth... Then you will be next. (Black Speech)

Chapter Text

TA 2941, Afterlithe 11th 

XXV.

The last of the eagles had finally circled, and you all waved your goodbyes and thanks. On the way down the mountain, Gandalf told you that it was by mere luck the Lord of Eagles had answered him, for if they did not come, your story could've ended right then and there. 

With a few miles between the Company and the Wargs, there was only a day or two to recover. 

The Company followed down a well-worn path into a wide open flat next to a small lake backed against the cliffside with a waterfall that ran louder than it seemed. Here, the party would camp for another night. 

“We are a good deal east now, getting much closer to the Lonely Mountain. We must continue following the sun,” Gandalf said, settling himself on a rock, “But I fear, we have not come to the worst of it.” 

“We’ll face it head-on, as we have before,” Thorin said with a nod, “You’ve all done well.” Dwalin and Balin exchanged glances and nodded in agreement.

Truth be told, you had no idea what Gandalf whispered to Thorin when he was on the brink of death, but since he woke, his demeanor had shifted. It was almost unnerving how he could be so steady and encouraging one moment, then retreat back into his usual stoic self the next. It gave you whiplash.

He had been spending more time around Bilbo—and, oddly enough, around you. Not that you minded of course, the little attention he gave you was nice. 

You’d also noticed Kíli acting distant though. He barely spoke to you, offering only brief glances and murmured words to Fíli, which you caught every time. And when you did, Kíli was always the first to look away.

Tonight, he sat with Fíli just beyond the firelight, deep in conversation. The faint murmurs of their voices blended with the crackling flames, keeping their words private.

Bilbo, had fallen fast asleep, snugly wrapped in his blankets and coat. The poor Hobbit was utterly spent, the exhaustion from sleepless nights and recent battles finally catching up to him.

You envied his peace. Sleep was all you wanted too, but the moment you entertained the idea, the sharp sting in your arm mocked you. It refused to let you rest.

You had done your best to wrap the wound with the scraps of fabric, crafting a makeshift bandage that had bled through during the day. The swelling had gone down slightly, but the raw skin and blistered patches now oozed a yellow discharge; you feared it was becoming infected.

With that thought lingering in your mind, you push yourself to your feet and quietly step away, heading downstream toward the lake.

The riverbed stretches out before you, its surface glinting faintly in the firelight. The pebbly floor beneath the shallow water is just visible, you spot a few fish darting through the ripples but they vanish as soon as your shadow falls across them.

To your left, a large fallen boulder rests near the water’s edge—perfect for setting down your belongings. You head there first, removing your boots and dipping your feet into the cool, flowing water. The chill bites at your skin but soothes the ache in your tired soles.

The thought of a proper bath crosses your mind, a luxury you haven’t had in what feels like forever. But the open stretch of the river offers little privacy, so you decide against it. Instead, you sit back, savoring the rare quiet. The soft murmurs of the stream mingled with a distant owl calling. 

Rolling up your sleeve as much as possible, you carefully unwind the bandage, wincing when it clings to the fabric before coming free with a sickening plop.

Leaning down, you cup a handful of water and pour the icy liquid over your arm, watching as streaks of red flow down to the river. You repeat the motion, letting the chill seep into your skin. It doesn’t sting as much as you expected—if anything, the cold offered a numbing ache to the skin.

You begin rubbing away the dried blood along the wound's edges, sighing in relief when some of the scabs lift, no longer tugging at the fine hairs on your arm.

“May I?” A voice asks behind you. 

Startled, you glance back, realizing you hadn’t noticed the crunch of pebbles or the shadow looming nearby. Thorin steps closer, his expression unreadable.

Since you’re in a surprisingly good, tired mood too, you shrug and gesture for him to sit beside you on a fallen log. He takes the seat without a word, glancing briefly at your arm before speaking.

“Your arm. How is it?” He asks, breaking the silence.

This was the fifth time he’d asked today. Still, you gave him the same answer.

Scooping another handful of water, you replied with a dismissive, “It’s fine,” Focusing rather on cleansing the wound than the Dwarf sitting beside you.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. His gaze flickered to the bandage you’d discarded on the log. Without a word, he picked it up, holding the blood-soaked fabric between his fingers as though presenting damning evidence.

“You call this fine?” He asks, holding it up like evidence against you, “You were face to face with a Warg. Clearly, it is not fine.” 

You didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch as you poured another handful of water over the inflamed skin.

Thorin let out a huff, before continuing, “Injuries like this one will fester if ignored.”

You shrugged, not meeting his gaze, “Well—there’s not much I can do for it anyway. I said it’s fine.”

Thorin’s jaw tightened, his silence stretching for a moment before he shifted closer. Resting his elbows on his knees, he stared out at the water.

“Your well-being is important to me.”

Yep, Gandalf must have cast some fucking wishy-washy spell on this man because, yet again, the sincerity in his tone caught you off guard. For a second, you didn’t know what to say. Glancing at your arm—now cleaner but still raw and unpleasant, weeping a faint yellow—you hesitated.

Noticing your reluctance, Thorin leaned forward slightly, one hand now resting on his knee as he gestured toward you, “Let me see it,” He said. When you didn’t move, his gaze softened, and he added, “Please.”

With a reluctant sigh, you extended your arm toward him. Thorin shifted closer, his hands surprisingly steady as he carefully inspected the wound. His brow furrowed, deepening with concern as he studied the infection.

“This needs proper dressing,” He murmured. 

Before you could respond, he retrieved a small pouch from inside his coat, pulling out a jar of salve and a clean strip of cloth.

“Hold still.” He said, his tone firm but not unkind.

You do as he asks, though you can’t help the small flinch when the cool paste touches your skin. His touch is careful and deliberate as he spreads the salve over the wound. 

“Better?” He asks once he’s finished wrapping your arm. His movements are efficient, his fingers deft as he secures the bandage. When he sits back, his sharp eyes remain on you.

You nod, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Yeah It feels better… thank you, Thorin.”

“Thank Óin,” Thorin says humbly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “Although he’s an excellent fighter, his true skill lies in the craft of medicine. He has taught me all I know.” He chuckles softly to himself. 

Just as he turns to leave, he places a firm hand on your shoulder, giving it a few gentle rubs, “Go sleep now.”. 

His words linger in the air as he strides away, but he only manages a few steps before you call out.

“Thorin—”

He stops, his posture straightening slightly. Turning just enough to glance over his shoulder, he waits. 

“I can’t help but feel like the closer we get to this mountain, a bad feeling follows. Like everything just keeps getting worse…” You say, your voice soft. You pause for a moment, craning your neck to catch Thorin’s eyes.

In the flickering firelight, your gaze gleams, reflecting the dancing flames. Shadows play across your cheeks, casting half your cheek in black. 

“Is there really a dragon in that mountain?”

Thorin’s nostrils flare  and he tilts his chin up, a thought forming in his mind before it vanishes. Without answering, he turns back toward the camp, his cloak shifting with his movements.

“Get some rest. You will need it,” He says. 

His answer ends with nothing but silence.

What if there really was a dragon in that mountain? After all these months of running and fighting you still left feeling like you're still under-prepared. You can't fight a full-grown beast, the past few days have only proven that you're not ready to even face Orcs.

Sighing, you rise to your feet, gathering your shoes and rolling down your sleeve and you make your way back to camp, your steps deliberate and slow.

That night, you sleep soundly. No rogue dreams plague your thoughts, no visions of fire or shadow disturb your rest.

But the calm is shattered at dawn. A loud screeh pierces the air, followed by the rustling of blankets.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Bofur yelps, scrambling upright.

The sound jolts you awake, and you fumble to sit up, heart racing. Around you, the rest of the company stirs with alarm, some already grabbing swords, arming themselves.

Eyes dart left and right as everyone scans the camp. But there’s nothing—no movement, no threat. Then, a sharp squawk cuts through the confusion, drawing all eyes upward.

Balin exhales loudly, his relief almost comical. A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he points toward the source.

Above the camp, perched on a high branch, is an eagle—not the grand, imposing kind you’ve seen before, but a young hatchling.

Its puffed-out feathers are soft and gray, sticking out in awkward tufts as if it had been plucking at them. The little bird tilts its head, its large, round yellow eyes blinking curiously down at Bofur.

It lets out another squawk, flapping its stubby wings with a clumsy enthusiasm.

“Well, I’ll be,” Dwalin mutters, lowering his axe, “A fledgling.”

The hatchling flaps its wings again, squawking louder this time, cocking its head back and forth as if sizing up the group.

“It’s just a hatchling, Bofur,” Nori says with a hearty laugh, finally relaxing.

Fíli grins, unable to resist adding a jest. “Aww… it’s a wee bit cute, isn’t it? You scared of a little bird, friend?”

Bofur shoots him a withering look. “Scared? Me? Never, lad. It just caught me off guard, that’s all. Look at its beady little eyes! It’s like a mangled mongrel.”

The hatchling chirps indignantly, flapping as it hops down to a lower branch.

“The great Bofur, terrified of a baby bird,” Kíli chimes in, barely able to hold back his laughter. Bombur joins in with a booming chuckle, “Careful, looks like you’re about to be its breakfast!”

The rest of the company bursts into laughter. Even you can’t help but chuckle groggily, shaking your head at the sight.

“Shoo! Go on, get!” Bofur exclaims, standing to swat at the bird, tossing a handful of dirt in its direction. The hatchling squawks indignantly, flapping its wings wildly at him before taking off. It struggles at first, its movements clumsy, but soon it soars upward, heading for a higher rock face.

It lands beside another eagle—its golden feathers gleaming in the early light. The great eagle lets out a low, resonant call, lowering its head to nuzzle the fledgling affectionately.

“That, my dear Bofur,” Gandalf’s voice interrupts, drawing all eyes to him as he rises from his slumber, “Is the Lord of Eagles, protector of these mountains. He must have stayed nearby with his flock to keep watch over us. What a charming fellow.”

Bofur glares at the fledgling from under his hat. “By my beard… Well, he needs to keep his baby in check! It was going to eat me!”

Gandalf chuckles, stroking his beard. “I promise you, lad, it wouldn’t have eaten you. Hatchlings are curious little creatures. They mean no harm.”

The laughter is short-lived as Thorin’s voice cuts through the air, “Enough,” He says, “Get up, all of you. There’s no time for banter. There’s an Orc pack on our trail,” He continues, his gaze scanning the horizon, “I doubt they’re far behind. Roll your coats. We leave at once.”

There’s no chance for further amusement or even breakfast that morning. With little more than a grumbling stomach, the company sets off once again.

The lack of food does little to ease the tension as you trudge forward. Each step feels heavier than the last, your hunger gnawing at your focus. The rugged foothills give way to rolling slopes with sparse patches of forest. The days begin to blur together—cold, hurried meals eaten in uneasy silence, nights spent sleeping with one eye open, straining to catch the faintest sound of howling Wargs in the distance. 

However, when the company finally reaches a desolate valley over the next few days, the air seems to shift.

Jagged cliffs loom high on either side of the narrow trail, casting long, oppressive shadows that stretch across the path. The sun struggles to pierce the thick blanket of gray clouds overhead, leaving the landscape muted and bleak. A faint, unsettling smell lingers in the air—something like ash and damp earth, as if the ground bore the memory of fire.

The first sign of trouble comes as you pass an old, gnarled tree. Deep claw marks mar its bark, the gouges running in jagged streaks as though made by some great beast. You reach out, hesitating, your fingers brushing lightly against the ridges. 

You pull your hand back quickly, the unease in your chest growing heavier. There’s no need to say anything—the company has already fallen into a grim silence. 

As everyone pressed forward, the path under you became littered with scattered stones and soon there was crumbling walls and scorched archway ruins stretched into a clearing. Skeletal remains of towers jutted from the earth, leaning precariously as if they might collapse at any moment. The ruins were a ghost town, hauntingly silent except for the faint whistle of the wind weaving through the shattered buildings.

Balin stopped first, leaning heavily against a broken pillar. His lips moved in a silent prayer.

“What is this place?” Ori asked in a hushed tone. 

It’s Gandalf who answers, his voice solemn, “An old outpost, by the look of it. There were only whispers of such a place… Vènzor, they once called it, I believe. A village of men, built in the early days of the First Age. It was said to be a haven for those fleeing a darkness—or perhaps something far worse, that it brought them together.”

Fíli crouched nearby, brushing dirt from a rusted helm partially buried in the ground, “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for an age,” He said, glancing toward Thorin.

“Keep moving,” Thorin commanded, his gaze fixed ahead.

You paused, unease prickling at the back of your neck. There was something unnatural about the silence here—as if the ruins themselves were alive, breathing around you. For a fleeting moment, you thought you heard something; the distant ringing of bells, faint and ghostly, followed by the echo of children's laughter.

You turned sharply, your neck snapping to the side so quickly it left a twinge of pain. But there was nothing. 

Yet, something drew you off the path. Your boots crunched softly against the debris as you strayed from the others, stopping in front of what might have once been a house. 

Peering over the wall, you saw two skulls, and many bones, brittle and yellowed with time. They were scattered, piled in a corner as though seeking refuge. The sight should have filled you with dread, but you didn’t step back. 

Your fingers brushed against the rough wood, and the moment they made contact, a family sharp, piercing scream tore through your mind.

The sound was loud, and you staggered back, clutching your head as the scream faded into nothingness leaving an ache deep in your head. 

Gandalf hobbled toward you, his expression one of concern. He reached out to place a steadying hand on your shoulder, but the moment his fingers neared you, he jolted back sharply as if burned. His hand trembled, and he stumbled a step, blinking rapidly.

The scream hadn’t left; it had moved, plaguing his mind now. Then he saw flashes of pictures.

A scorched man cradled a lone child, his face twisted in anguish as he ran into the forest, filled with smoke and howls. Shadows, massive and winged, moving through walls of fire. Orcs pillaging the helpless, their cries blending with the clash of steel and the spatter of blood.

The visions lasted only a heartbeat and caused Gandalf to stagger back, fidgeting with his staff as though trying to ground himself. His sharp gaze swept the Company, but none of them seemed affected.

A few Dwarves kicked rocks absentmindedly. Thorin still marched ahead with Fíli and Kíli close behind, their focus set on the path forward.

When Gandalf turned back to you, his frown deepened. You stood as though carved from stone, your breathing uneven and shallow. Your hand hovered near your head, trembling slightly, though you didn’t touch it. You were frozen in time, much like the ruins around you.

He hesitated, his dark look deepening before he spoke gently, “Are you all right, dear?”

Your heart pounded so fast it felt as though it might burst. You didn’t answer him.

“Tell me,” Gandalf urged, his voice softer now as he leaned closer, “What did you see?”

Your voice was broken, and all you could manage was a whispered, “I… I don’t know.”

Gandalf studied you for a while too long, then, with a soft hand on your shoulder, he gently guided you away from the ruins, “Come now,” He said quietly, “Let us not linger here any longer.”

“Okay.” It was all you could muster, weakly following his guidance back toward the Company.

Once safely among the Dwarves, Bilbo, fidgeting with his pocket, spoke up, “W-what happened here?”

Gandalf’s expression darkened further. His brow furrowed as he glanced at you briefly before looking back to Bilbo. He had to consider his words carefully before answering the Hobbit in fear it will send you both into another trance. 

“That remains to be seen, dear Bilbo. This village was destroyed around the time of the Second Age. Some say it was raided by Orcs... the High Elves claim they fought among themselves, to the death. Not even they dare come near these ruins. Just stories lost to time.”

Balin, still eyeing the ruins, spoke up, “Whatever curse may have been here is long gone.”

“Perhaps,” Gandalf murmured, glancing down at you for a brief moment.

Gandalf’s touch had helped you rouse yourself, shaking off the feeling that still clung to you. A wave of queasiness washed over you, like you might vomit, but you held it down, fighting back the urge with a gag or two. 

“Enough!” Thorin’s voice broke through, sharp and commanding, “I will not listen to your ghost stories. We’ve lingered here too long.”

Gandalf hummed softly, his lips forming a thin line as the two of you walked side by side.
Though you’d steadied yourself, your fingers twitched near your waist every so often, unable to stay still.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?” Gandalf asked, his voice gentle but probing, searching for any answers.

“I think so,” you murmured, your voice quiet. “It’s just…” You hesitated, drawing in a shaky breath. “That reminded me of a dream I had… a while ago.”

“A dream?” Gandalf’s brow furrowed as he slowed his stride, putting a bit of distance between the two of you and the Company ahead.

You nodded, swallowing hard, “I’ve never had one like it before. It felt so real. There was screaming—and blood, so much blood everywhere. It was like I was drowning.”

Gandalf studied you again, “Dreams in Middle-earth can sometimes be more than they seem. The Elves call them foresights or visions—glimpses of what was, or what might come to pass.”

Your heart skipped a few beats, and in your mind, you left straight to the worst of it, “Do you think…I’m going to die? Am I really going to die here? Is that what I saw?” Panic sharpened your voice as you turned wide-eyed toward him, stopping dead in your tracks, “You have to make sure Joseph is okay if something happens—promise me.”

“Now, now, do not rush to such conclusions,” Gandalf interrupted, “You have my word, no harm shall come to you under my watch.”

His assurance steadied you somewhat, but your breath still quickened, and you rubbed your chest.

“I did, however, speak to Lady Galadriel during our time in Rivendell,” Gandalf said, “Between you and me, my dear, we spoke of a force stirring in Middle-earth—a force that may have brought you here, drawn you into this world. We are uncertain. But I will soon leave to investigate whether our suspicions hold true.”

You fell silent, unsure how to respond. 

“Think of it as something rather hopeful,” Gandalf said gently, feeling your unease that he poised his staff into the evening sky, “You are like a star reborn in the night—emerging from the darkness.”

“I can only hope.” You let out a stiff chuckle. 

Gandalf smiled at your chuckle, feeling the tension leave your body. Perhaps, you were a star reborn here, back into Middle-Earth. 

But just as you reached the edge of the ruins, a distant Warg howl echoed over the mountain. It was far away, but still too close for comfort.

The company froze at the sound. Though you were tempted to linger in the ruins a little longer, you definitely couldn't now. 

“They're gaining on us!” Dwalin grunted, balling his fists.

Thorin, one of the few dwarves still armed after losing most of their weapons to Azog, unsheathed his sword, “Move!” He barked, “Back to the cliffside!”

The orcs had picked up on their scent, and this time were out for blood.