Khebabmudtu - Labyrinth_Runner - The Hobbit (2024)

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Adventure

Chapter Text

In a tree in the wood, you grew up. Your mother hoped you would plant roots like the tree you lived in outside of Rivendell. Perhaps she was asking too much of you, but it wasn’t her fault. She never quite understood you, try as she might, because you weren’t fully her. She was the most graceful of elves, younger sister to King Thranduil of Mirkwood, and a beauty that would outweigh the splendor of a thousand sunsets. And you… you were half-Elf, half-Hobbit. Your ears were pointed under a mop of curly hair, and your feet never fit comfortably in the shoes she shoved on your feet. You preferred to go barefoot, but living with Lord Elrond meant living up to a certain level of decorum. That meant shoes. That meant flowing gowns to cover your ugly, huge feet that your cousins all made fun of. Elves could be so cruel, their words and songs cutting in a way that a blade never could. But, Elven music was also beautiful, if not melancholic sometimes. When you were starting to mature, and your feet outgrew three shoe sizes in the course of a year, you screamed at your mother, cursing you for making you a freak. Cursing her for you having been born. It was that day that although your mother hadn’t understood you, you finally understood her. That was the day she told you about your father.

He’d been a Took, and as a Took he was adventurous. You supposed that was where you got that feeling from; the feeling that you were never quite meant to be in any one place for too long; the idea that something inside of you screamed out that there was so much more to this life than what you were currently doing and that it was your duty to explore it all. It was that spirit that had enamored your mother with your father, and it was that spirit in you that scared her, because if he could leave her, then so could you. Your father hadn’t left her to raise you alone on purpose. In fact, he didn’t even know you existed. You were the product of your mother’s one night stand. And as such, your Uncle was not quite fond of you because you besmirched their good family name. You were awkward amongst the Elves; a bit clumsy, and way too short. You had your father’s height.

The world of the Elves was all you’d ever known, especially Rivendell. On the advice of Gandalf, your mother had settled there when your Uncle banished her from her family home. You’d never met the Elf, but based on how he’d treated your mother, you knew you’d never like him. And it was clear that he would never like you.

“Mother, do you ever wonder what’s beyond Rivendell?” you asked one afternoon as she attempted to braid your hair.

Her crisp blue eyes found yours in the mirror. “Ruffians and orcs lie beyond Rivendell.”

You turned in your seat to face her. “There must be more to it than that. Haven’t you ever wanted to see the Shire? Or the Lonely Mountain you’ve told me so much about?”

She set the hair brush down on the vanity. “And deal with Dwarves and Hobbits? I’d rather not.”

You looked down at your hands, mumbling, “I’m a Hobbit.”

“Half,” she said, as she always tried to remind you whenever you began to get ideas that were especially Tookish.

“Mother, I want to go on a grand adventure,” you whispered, daring to look at her.

She stood gracefully and went over to your wardrobe to get the dress you were to wear at Lord Elrond’s ball. “You will do no such thing.”

“Mother, I’ll come back. I promise.”

Her hands clenched around the blue velvet fabric. “And go where? And with whom? You’ve never even left this grove since you were a babe. You wouldn’t last.” Her voice trailed off on a whisper.

You hated seeing her like this, but you hated being stuck here even more. You would grow old, like the trees in the wood, never moving, always here while life changed around you. That was the life of an Elf. It was a life of permanence in a sea of change. You took the dress from her delicate hands, changing behind your divider before emerging, hoping that the dress was long enough that she wouldn’t notice you’d left off your shoes. Grabbing your lute, you strapped it along your back. Gently, you took your mother’s hands in yours to offer her some reassurance that you were still there. “Come, Mother, we mustn’t keep Lord Elrond waiting.”

Rivendell was bustling that night. A large banquet had been laid out for all to nibble on in between telling each other outrageous stories, but the real star of the night was you. Your music taste was eclectic. You’d made it a point to learn as much about music as you could from travelers that passed through Rivendell, and your fingers were nimble. You played jaunty tunes, inspiring the Elves to dance. It was livelier than they were used to, but it was a welcome change. Performing was the only time you felt accepted by the Elves. It was the only thing you were good at. Or at least that’s how it felt. Your curly hair was escaping your mother’s carefully woven braid in wisps while you danced around, bare feet slapping the ground. Elves twirled each other round and round, falling over in a laugh when you finished. Your cheeks glowed at the praise.

“And where did you pick that up, young one?” a voice asked behind you.

You turned to find the wizard in gray, Gandalf, your godfather, and grinned. “It’s been a while since your last visit to Rivendell.”

“And you’ve grown more beautiful by the day,” he smiled down at you. “How old are you now?”

“A lady never reveals her age,” you replied, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Ever the Took,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You squinted at him. “Gandalf, do you know my father?”

“Not personally, child, but I know of him,” he clarified. “And how is your Mother these days?”

“She won’t let me leave, Gandalf; she’s afraid I won’t come back.”

“Would you?” He raised his eyebrows at you. “Come back that is.”

You shrugged. “Eventually.”

“And where would you go?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“The Shire. The Lonely Mountain. Mirkwood. Mordor? I saw that on a map once,” you replied, excitement seeping into your tone. You took a sobering breath, straightening your dress. “But I doubt I could go to any of those places. Mother seems to think that I wouldn’t last a day outside of here. I’m inclined to agree, based on my general clumsiness, but still.”

“Still?”

You shook your head. “This is going to sound silly. I can feel a tug.” You tapped your chest. “Like something pulling me out into an adventure. Like I’m not supposed to be here. I’m restless. I’m… afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Gandalf asked, pulling out his pipe.

“I feel like there’s a fire inside of me that can either be nourished and fed or put out entirely. If I stay here, I fear the latter might happen. I was never meant to be, Gandalf. A Hobbit and an Elf? The two rarely, if ever mix. But, I feel like trying to be fully Elf isn’t fair to the Hobbit side of me, and being a Hobbit isn’t fair to the Elven blood in my veins. I need to be somewhere where I can be myself and not fail expectations as spectacularly as I am here. Everyone here wants me to be more Elven, and I’m sure if I went to the Shire they’d want me to be more Hobbit. Gandalf, why can’t I just be more me?”

He puffed his pipe, blowing out the rings he was so famous for to the enjoyment of the Elves around. You couldn’t tell if he was listening to you and thinking about what you’d said or if maybe he was off in some other world. He was a wizard and wizards always had grand thoughts about them. But, it still frustrated you. You were about to go get a drink when he finally spoke.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“And say what?” You asked doubtfully. What could he possibly argue that you hadn’t before? Then again, Gandalf was a tricky fellow.

“That your presence was requested for a job.”

“A job?”

“Yes. The Dwarf King Under the Mountain is looking for a performer for his grandson’s ball. They’re trying to marry him off and want music that helps set the mood. I offered up your services. They pay very well—”

“Bugger the pay, you mean I get to have an adventure of my own?”

Gandalf looked down at you, not quite appreciating the interruption. “I’ll speak with your Mother and let her know that I’ll be personally escorting you to the Lonely Mountain. I have an agreement with the Eagles to get us over the Misty Mountains. They will drop us off by Lord Beorn’s estate. From there it will be a trip around Mirkwood to avoid your Uncle, and then a few days’ journey to the lake where we will get a boat to the other side of the lake and then it's a day’s ride to the mountain itself. I see your eyes are glazing over, are you not up for it?”

“Oh, I’m up for it! I will pack immediately.” You grinned, your hands tightening around your lute in excitement. You were going to have an adventure of your own. This was most unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.

Chapter 2: Gandalf the Gray

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You could hear the heated discussion floating up from downstairs. You settled on the window seat at the top of the landing, folding your legs underneath you.

“My dear, it is high time she sees the world,” Gandalf said as gently as he could.

“But what if the world doesn’t want to see her, Gandalf? My own brother turned us out. You know as well as I that the world is not a kind place.” The sound of china clacked, she was presumably pouring herself her nightly cup of tea, but you knew that Gandalf preferred wine. “No, she must stay here where it's safe.”

“That’s not a life, Helenwin.” You could picture him placing a gentle hand on top of hers, stopping her pour to get his attention. “She is more than an Elf.”

“My daughter is not a Hobbit,” she hissed.

“No, I’m afraid she’s not quite that either,” he said, you could hear the little grin in his voice. “She is entirely and utterly her and it is her prerogative to make her place in this world, so you should let her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?” her voice was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

“Everyone needs a home, Helenwin. This will always be hers, but you must allow her to miss it sometimes. She must have the ability to see the world. You can’t deny her that. Don’t you miss home?”

“Every day,” she said. She was crying now. You could hear her soft sobs.

“Then let her have her adventure. Let her miss home.”

“Will you go with her?”

“Of course. I have to make her introduction. She can’t very well show up under the mountain alone and expect them to just accept that she is who she says she is. One must be vouched for with the dwarves.”

“When do you wish to leave?”

“My dear, are you all packed?” Gandalf called loudly.

You came down the stairs, your bag slung over your shoulder and your lute on your back. “Mother, I—”

She cut you off with a crushing hug. “Be careful, my love. Stay close to Gandalf and know that you will be missed every day.”

“I love you, Mother.” You knew you never really told her that enough. You hugged her back as hard as you dared before going to follow Gandalf out of your tree. The lights were on in all the windows of Rivendell, almost as if it was watching you leave. You felt giddy, wondering if you’d feel the same way when you returned or if you’d return home a changed person as one typically does when they first experience homesickness. For now, you were more than eager to leave it far, far behind.

Gandalf moved swiftly for someone of his age and stature. You struggled to keep up with your shorter legs. It was only once you crested the hill that you could see where you were hurrying to. Two majestic golden Eagles waited on the peak of the hill, their beaks glinting in the setting sun.

“Come, my dear, our adventure awaits,” Gandalf said with a grin.

The eagles were magnificent, bending down so that you could climb onto its back. Its feathers were indescribably soft beneath your rough hands. Rough hands. Another thing that your cousins had made fun of you for. You had worker’s hands, they said. You would work them well now. You stroked the bird as it lifted into the air. The grove beneath you grew smaller and smaller as you ascended, and you felt as if the weight of your world had been lifted off your shoulders. You were leaving yourself behind down there. Well, not your real self. You were leaving behind the part of you that felt inadequate and not Elven enough. As you soared along the clouds, the world breezed by, and you were finally free. You were no longer not Elven enough, and you were no longer not Hobbit enough. No, you were finally you and that was more than enough.

Your eagle was fairly quiet during the trip. You’d hoped he would be a little more conversational, after all you had a bout of nerves coming on at the fact that you were actually doing it. You were actually leaving. Your mother’s warnings rang out in your ear, and you wanted to push them away. You were with Gandalf. You were safe. You were going to have a fairly brief journey and then you’d play some songs for some dwarvish brat so he could find the love of his life or at least a suitable match for his kingdom and then you’d be home, lickety split, as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed, but you will have changed, or at least you hoped you would have. You would be more worldly, more adventurous, and then everyone would want to hear your stories and no one would say anything about you not being enough because you would have been more than they ever would be. If anything, you were worried that the whole journey would be too short. However, beggars cannot be choosey and you were going to soak up as much of this adventure as you could.

You cast a glance over at Gandalf. He was somehow nodding off, his hands holding onto the bird he was riding.

The eagles were flying along with the setting sun, and as the sun sunk down below the horizon, so did they. They dropped you off on another hill, the scenery this time hard to see as the light was so dim.

“We can either make camp here or travel on through the night and arrive at Beorn’s by morning. Which do you prefer?”

Quite frankly, you were torn. The forest around you was making so many sounds that you hadn’t heard before in Rivendell. Birds were calling in strange voices and you could hear the howls of something nefarious in the distance. You should probably rest, since the excitement was going to wear off soon and you’d become incredibly tired, but you also knew that if you did try to rest that sleep would take forever to come and in the meantime you could’ve used that energy to get yourself to a place that would have a hot breakfast hopefully waiting for you in the morning. You’d packed your special tea blend that you’d been cultivating back in Rivendell and it was hard to have a good morning without it. And here there didn’t seem to be water near enough to make tea and you didn’t want to waste what you’d packed in your bag. That thought made your mind up for you. “I think I would like to walk.”

Gandalf nodded, and swinging his staff like a walking stick he began to propel himself down what you thought to be a path. It was either a path or a bit that was well trod through the trees. Is a path really a path if it’s not obviously paved? And technically, doesn’t anywhere you walk then become a path because it's your path? Your mother hated when you asked these kinds of questions. They were silly philosophy, or at least that’s what she called it—not to be confused with actual philosophy, which was highly respected at Lord Elrond’s court. You scurried to follow after Gandalf, taking in the sounds of the night and stashing them away in your mind for the inevitable songs you’d write later on about this journey. In the distance, you thought you’d heard a bear, but you weren’t entirely sure.

Chapter 3: Lord Beorn

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As the morning sun began its ascent, the trees began to thin out. In the distance you saw an estate in the middle of the wood. It was an odd place to set up shop, you thought. Then again, maybe he didn’t want many visitors, tucked away in the middle of nowhere like this. You tugged on Gandalf’s sleeve as he came to a stop.

“Is that Lord Beorn’s house?” you asked him.

“Yes, he’s an interesting fellow. You should let me do most of the talking at first, and try not to contradict what I say.” He gave you a pointed look.

“Godfather, that was one time.”

“And we both got in trouble for it,” he replied, rather grimly.

You followed him down the hill, struggling not to just roll down it with the rate that you were propelled forward. It was an interesting place, this house of Lord Beorn. There were a few buildings, all made of wood. Animals wandered around the space, which made sense since he lived in the middle of nowhere so he’d clearly need to have a way of making his own things. Your hands reached out to stroke a wooly sheep, enjoying the way it felt against your fingers. Gandalf took his staff and used it to knock against the door.

The door swung open to reveal the most massive man you’d ever seen. If he was a man. You weren’t quite sure as you could sense a touch of magic about him. It was subtle. He was a Lord. Were you supposed to curtsy? You looked over at Gandalf, hoping for some inkling about how to react, but he gave you nothing. Damned wizard. His eyes flicked to you as if guessing your thought and you folded your hands in front of you, trying not to look as if you’d noticed.

“Lord Beorn, we have flown over the Misty Mountains on the backs of the golden eagles. We were hoping we might stay the night to refresh ourselves.” Gandalf raised a bushy brow at the man.

Lord Beorn’s hands were on his hips. He looked between you and your godfather. “You’re an unlikely pair.”

“My goddaughter,” Gandalf explained.

“Even more curiouser,” Lord Beorn told him. “Come, tell me about it over tea and breakfast.”

Your stomach growled at the mention of breakfast. Lord Beorn smiled down at you, and something about it felt animalistic. You followed them into the house. The smell of wood is what hit you first, followed by the smell of the fire in the center floating up towards the hole in the ceiling. It was all quickly overshadowed by the lavish display of food on the table in the hall. There were warm, freshly baked breads and pastries with butter and cream. The tea smelled of spices you’d never had before. It tingled on your tongue and warmed your belly. You sat at the table, tucking into the food. You hadn’t realized that you were starving, but it made sense. You had a higher appetite and hadn’t eaten since the night before.

“The lass can eat,” Lord Beorn said with a chuckle. “I like that. You know, most lasses these days are dainty things, eating but a crumb and pronouncing themselves too full to continue.”

Gandalf eyed you warily. “Yes, she has a healthy appetite. Particularly Tookish.”

You blushed, realizing it was another thing that you’d gotten from your father. The other elves had always teased you about it. You poured yourself another cup of tea and just held it in your hands, letting the warmth seep in. It was a colder spring morning and a breeze came through the open back door, ruffling your curly hair.

Lord Beorn wiped his face with a cloth. “So, how did you become a godfather?”

“Her mother and I are quite close,” Gandalf explained. He blushed at the look he got from Beorn and quickly added, “Not like that. I found her pregnant mother wandering in the Mirkwood one day and offered to travel with her to Lord Elrond’s house to ensure her safety. I stayed there a lot longer than I intended once we arrived. Something about her just made it hard to leave. She became like a sister to me, teasing me about who I spent time with and encouraging me to take better care of myself.” Gandalf smirked at you. “And then this one came along and I was absolutely smitten. She had these little fingers that kept tugging on my beard and getting tangled. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I helped raise you, I can talk about you as a babe. You’re practically my own.”

You smiled down at your tea, thinking fondly back on the few years that Gandalf had stayed with you when you were younger, teaching you your letters and things that he felt you ought to know.

“And now she’s a grown young lady, ready to see the world?” Lord Beorn asked. “Is she going to meet her suitor, perhaps?”

“I have a job,” you said.

Gandalf shot you a look. Right, you weren’t supposed to say anything.

“What kind of job?” Lord Beorn steepled his fingers.

“Nothing of importance,” Gandalf said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Just to play some music for a party.”

“You’re a musician?”

You nodded, taking the lute off your back. You strummed a few chords to tune it, having lost some pitch due to the cold air of your flight. Your words spilled out of you then as you sang him a little tune.

“Through the sky

On wings, sail I.

O’er rock and ridge

River and bridge

Above the clouds

I sing out loud

Hear my heart

Feel it beat

From my curly hair

Down to my feet

I am me

And I am free.”

The strings of your lute slipped by your thumb one by one, ringing out in the expanse of the room. There was a misty look in Lord Beorn’s eye, and he turned away from your gaze.

“I can see why you’ve been hired,” he said as he stood. “Stay the night. Stay three if you like. Just don’t open the door once it's dark.” You watched as he exited the back door, leaving you with Gandalf.

“Did I upset him?” you asked after a moment.

“No, I don’t believe you did.” Gandalf tilted his head, his hat askew as he looked down at you. “That was a beautiful song.”

You nodded, not used to praise, really. Your eyelids were becoming so heavy that it was hard to stay upright. At some point a blanket had been placed next to you and it looked so cozy. It was probably made from the same wool of the sheep you’d touched. You fluffed your pack as a pillow and curled up in a ball, not quite caring that it wasn’t night time. You were tired, and you would sleep until you weren’t anymore. You’d gotten used to sleeping in odd places and positions, so it took no time at all for you to drift off to sleep.

It was the Elven part of you that steered your dream this time, having fulfilled the Tookish part of you by just simply going on an adventure, your subconscious had deemed it unnecessary to dream about a grand adventure this time. No, the Elvish part had taken over and you were never quite sure about the validity of these types of dreams on the occasion that you had them. Elven dreams held a tad bit of magic to them, so you were never positive if the dream was a dream or a premonition or something else in its entirety. This dream felt unlike anything you’d ever dreamed before. Your typical dreams were along the lines of solo adventures and exploring grand worlds that you’d never seen before. But this dream… in this dream you weren’t alone. You weren’t quite sure who you were with, because you’d never met them before, and it was dark in your dream. You could hear him speaking, or rather feel it. At least you presumed it was a him since the voice felt lower. It rumbled, and you felt it in your chest as one feels a bass beat of a drum. He was drawing nearer, this darkened shape of a man. Everything around you was dark and echoey. Where were you? He began to pull away, rushing towards something, some bright light of heat in the distance. You wanted to call out to him, to tell him to wait, or to come back, your hand reaching out in a futile attempt to pull him back.

You sat upright in your makeshift bed, your breath coming fast, and your body was uncomfortably warm. You’d scooted closer to the fire in your sleep and now your clothes were sticky with sweat. It was almost instinct that had you walking to the back door, craving that cool, crisp, almost mountain air, but then a voice in your head nagged and you remembered that Lord Beorn said not to open the doors at night. It seemed like a silly rule. His house seemed perfectly secure, but then again, he did live in the middle of nowhere and knew the area better than you. You rested your hand on the latch, and leaned your forehead against the door, letting the coolness calm you. You heard things outside the door, animal sounds and growls. What kind of place had Gandalf brought you to? You turned to look at the wizard, his hat low, shading his eyes as he leaned against the wall in his sleep, his pipe half hanging out of his mouth. He must’ve set himself on fire a few times in his life falling asleep like that, with the burning pipe so close to his clothes. You gently took his pipe out of his mouth, stifling the giggles at how silly he looked, and placed it on the table. There wasn’t much to do, and you weren’t sure about going back to sleep at this point, so you took out your lute. You strummed softly, and as far away from Gandalf as you could get, although you knew from experience that he could be a fairly deep sleeper. The dwarves were known for their lively music and their various instruments. You’d heard stories of them, and wondered if they were as gruff as the stories made them out to be. If they were to be believed, the dwarves would be all big noses and braids with tempers as hot as the molten ores they forged into weapons. Their weapons weren’t as elegant as the ones that the Elves used. That’s what your neighbors had always said, at least. Bows and swords were more elegant than axes. Honestly, you wondered what kind of enemies the dwarves fought if they had to use weapons that your kind used for chopping down trees. They must be massive…which would put the dwarves at a grave disadvantage since they were so short. Not that you were one to talk, little as you are.

The early morning rays of sun began to slant through the windows, bathing the room in an amber glow. It took you no time at all to cross the room and throw open the door, breathing the cold air deep into your lungs. It was then that you got a really good look at the back of Lord Beorn’s property. There were so many flowers of shapes and sizes, the likes of which you’d never seen before. Your need for air was quickly replaced by the need to caress and smell the flowers in question. Some were sweet, some were citrus-y, and some made you sneeze. That’s what woke Gandalf.

Breakfast was brought in, and it was the same as the day before. That didn’t mean it was any less delicious. You wondered what kind of food you’d try under the mountain. Did the dwarves bake bread and pastries such as these? They were light and airy, not unlike what you were used to at home. Your mother would like it here.

“Does Lord Beorn know my mother?” you asked Gandalf.

“It is a large world. He can’t possibly know and remember everyone that stays in his halls.”

“Will he remember me?” you asked.

“Only time will tell,” he said, taking a draw from his pipe. He blew the smoke out in the shape of a large circle and it hovered over your head until you waved it apart with your hand.

“Will we stay another night?”

“We will take enough provisions to get to our next destination, but we should not stay another night. We are on a bit of a deadline, and it wouldn’t look good for you to show up late to your job.” He looked at you with a twinkle in his eye. “You need a good review if you are to be hired again.”

“You mean I could have more adventures?” You could barely contain your excitement.

“I’ve found that life will offer us as many adventures as we can handle, but it does not hurt to have your own means to fund them,” he replied. “You can’t always rely on the goodwill of others. Not all of them will ask for nothing in return for their kindness.”

It seemed like sage advice. You’d expect nothing less from Gandalf. After repacking your bag, you followed Gandalf out to the barn to mount a pony.

“We stick to the old forest road. Do not stray from the path and stay with me.”

Chapter 4: The Mirkwood

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“Are you sure we should be taking his horses?” you asked, looking at the pony with fascination. You had never rode on the back of a pony before. Though, it only made sense that this whole adventure would involve a bunch of new experiences. Wasn’t this what you wanted? You swung your body up onto the back of the little beast and attempted to copy Gandalf’s motions to get the pony to move. It was the oddest sensation. His mane was soft beneath your fingertips as you held on, as gently as you could for fear of hurting it.

“We are not taking. We are borrowing. We need to return them once we reach the edge of the wood. They’ll know their way home from there.”

The two of you walked in silence, and you wondered what the wizard thought about in moments like this. Was he thinking of new ways to use his magic? Or was he thinking about his home? Gandalf had only mentioned his home once when you were a child when he was teaching you a rhyme that you had long since forgotten. Your mother had been homesick and asked Gandalf if he ever missed his home. You were so little then. You can’t remember what he said, but you remembered the look on his face when he said it. It was a mix of what you’ve come to recognize as wistful tinged with a hint of regret. Part of you wondered if you’d ever think of your own home like that. You hoped not. It spoke of a man who spent most of his time away from home to miss it that much, and it wasn’t as if you would never return home again. You had to. You had promised your mother that you would not leave her like your father did. The woods were beginning to get darker as your pony trotted on. It didn’t make sense. It was early in the morning. The light should have been as plentiful here as it was at Lord Beorn’s house, but it wasn’t. What was more alarming was that Gandalf was walking towards the darkness.

“Gandalf, are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“On what grounds are you questioning my sense of direction?” he asked, slightly offended. “You, who have never left your grove of trees, questioning if I know where I’m going.” He tutted at you, lighting his pipe. “Your mother was right. The world isn’t always a safe place, and sometimes the danger is unavoidable.”

Your ears pricked up at the sound of rushing water, hearing the Old Ford before it came into view. The remains of what looked like a stone bridge stuck out of the water in places. Gandalf pressed on, leading his horse across the water, the water barely coming up his horse. Your pony did not have the same luck due to its lack of height. Water licked at your bare feet as you crossed the water. It was barely registered that you were slightly damp. No, your whole focus had been taken up by what lay in front of you. It was the source of the darkness. You could feel it in your chest. The forest in front of you expanded far in either direction, with a haze that spilled out of the trees. A haze that you’d have to walk into. Your pony stamped its feet in fear. Fear that you understood. Part of you wondered if that haze would suffocate you, fill your lungs with dark matter until it wrecked you from within. Seeping into your blood until it became a blackened sludge that slipped through your veins. What could possibly live there? Certainly nothing with good intentions. It seemed a miracle that anything could grow in that tainted place.

“Welcome to your Uncle’s forest.” Gandalf said, dismounting his horse. “Welcome to the Mirkwood.”

Slipping from the pony, you came to stand next to Gandalf, your mind in disbelief. “Mother grew up here?”

“It wasn’t always like this,” he murmured. “It used to be green, much like your home.”

A shiver went down your spine. “What turned it into this?”

“Corrupted magic.” Gandalf’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Come, we must make haste.”

You followed him into the wood, holding your breath as you entered. It was silly, and you knew it did nothing, but you wanted to delay breathing in the air as long as you could. The wood was dark, and you heard strange scuttling in the distance. You didn’t want to learn what animal the sound belonged to. Gripping Gandalf’s cloak, you stayed as close to him as he’d let you, following him along the path. You did not speak, you barely even thought, out of fear of what might be attracted by your voice. Still, there was an odd kinship with this forest of shadows. One that you wanted so desperately to shake off. It felt like the echo of your name being yelled. You were being tugged in a direction off the path, one that you knew you should not go to.

To distract yourself, you tried to think of what songs you’d play for the dwarves. There were a few things you could whip up. Maybe you could even play one of your own pieces. There would be no way that the dwarf princeling wouldn’t fall in love with someone while you played your songs. And there would be no way that someone wouldn’t fall for the princeling. Sure, he’d probably have a large nose, and an even longer beard, but your music would hold such sway over them that they wouldn’t even care. Besides, how handsome could a dwarf princeling be? He lived under a rock. His hair was probably a mass of tangles—that you could relate to, with your own hair being as unruly as it was. Would he be taller than you? You weren’t sure how tall dwarves were when compared to half-hobbit-half-elves or even a full hobbit. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you turned over your next, dangerous question. Had your father known the dwarves? If he’d made it as far as the Mirkwood, perhaps he’d made it even farther. Could he have walked this very path that you were now on? A small voice in your head asked: would he be proud of me? You knew he didn’t know you existed. At least, you hoped he didn’t know you existed. Because, if he knew you existed and still chose not to have you in his life… that thought was more than you could bear. It was better to think that he had no idea of your existence, and that this was probably the closest you’d ever come to him. Following his footsteps. Having your own adventure. Being a Took.

This forest went on forever. Looking behind you, you could no longer see the entrance, and looking in front of you were only more trees. More trees and more haze. The air was stifling. It made your stomach sick, as if all the darkness in the air was rebelling against the goodness inside you. Gandalf reached down to take your hand in his, making it easier for the two of you to walk side-by-side. His hand was so much larger than yours, but it was warm and it was safe. It felt like a tether keeping you on the path, because you could hear your name being called on the breeze. Did he hear it, too? You looked up at him, craning your neck as far back as it took, but he was looking straight ahead, determination on his face. You knew he’d been through this wood before. It was where he met your mother. Perhaps that was why he was walking so fast. He had no more of an inclination to meet your Uncle again than you did.

“Gandalf, how much longer?” You were getting restless. You needed to see the sun.

“It will be days before we reach the other side of the wood,” he replied, a low laugh in his throat at how silly it was for you to ask that question.

In truth, it wasn’t until day three that it truly sunk in that one does not merely stroll through the Mirkwood. No, this was a hike. Perhaps it was your first real test of endurance—both mentally and physically. By the fifth night you were missing your mother and the cup of tea she’d make you before bed when you were reading. After a week in the Mirkwood, you began to wonder if you’d ever see sunlight again. That was the darkest night for you. It had been cold and you huddled close to your godfather for warmth. Strange sounds and clicking echoed around the wood, near enough that you went without a fire that night out of fear of attracting it. You ate your Lembas that night, pretending it was warm, fresh out of the oven. It wasn’t. It was hard and cold.

“How long was my mother out here?” you asked Gandalf that night. You whispered it from under a corner of his cloak, curled up in a ball.

“At least three months before I met her,” he replied, digging the dirt out from under his nail with a small pocket knife he’d just used to peel a citrus.

“What were you doing here?”

He smiled, wide and slow, his eyes unfocusing on the canopy above. “I was just passing through, but I hadn’t heeded the warning from the people of Dale. They told me to keep on the path. I was a lot younger in those days, and more foolish than I am now, so when I heard the sound of weeping I walked off the path to find the person. The first two times I spooked your mother and she disappeared. She’d reappear again a bit off and I kept following her. Yelling after her, ‘Madame, I don’t think you ought to be traveling alone in your state.’ Eventually she stopped running. We shared a meal and I offered to bring her along to a friend who could help her.”

“Lord Elrond.”

He nodded. “Lord Elrond. It was either to him or to Lady Galadriel, but I find that Lord Elrond is a gentler soul to be around.”

You thought back to the man in question. He had kind eyes, and always treated you as if you were enough. It was as if he knew something about you that no one else did. He saw you. On the few occasions you’d been fortunate enough to spend time in his presence, you’d always had a good time. Not to mention, he was always gentle with your mother. Part of you wondered if he thought your mother would break. She did seem quite fragile at times, but knowing what you knew about her life now, you realized that she had been through a lot. If she lost you, she may very well break apart.

Three days later you could see a light at the end of the trail. It was a faint speck at first, like a single star in a midnight sky, but it was enough. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you towards that light, leaving the wizard in the dust.

As you broke through the trees, it felt like you could breathe again. You wanted to shake your body like a dog emerging from water to dispel the darkness that had seeped into your clothes. In front of you was a river, with the water as cold as if it had come straight from a glacier. It very well might have. You had no qualms about stripping off your pack and wading into the water. It awakened your spirit and refreshed your senses. It felt like a cleansing. Gandalf laughed at you from the bank.

“You’ll catch your death if you stay in there too long,” he called out to you. He bent down to take a long drink and refill his waterskin.

You splashed him. He gave you the most indignant look, and you knew you were in trouble. He waved his staff and a rush of water rose from the surface of the river and smashed into you. It was well deserved. You resurfaced with a sputter, crawling out onto the bank with an utter lack of grace. Your mother would be mortified to see you now.

The sun was such a welcome sight that you hadn’t realized what time of day it was. You studied the sky, determining that it was about noon, and followed the sky down towards the horizon. There was a little mountain in the distance, surrounded by no other range.

“Is that it?” you asked Gandalf, pointing towards the peak. Water dripped off your skin.

“That is the Lonely Mountain.”

It was then that you quickly tried to calculate the distance between where you stood and the mountain, wanting to groan at how far there still was to go. It wasn’t that you were tired of the adventure, but rather that you were tired of sleeping on the ground. All you wanted was a plush bed and a hot bath.

“Well, we’d better get going, then,” you grumbled, shouldering your pack once more. You strummed your lute to pass the time, not wanting to think about how many miles you’d already walked that morning and how many more there were to go before you stopped for the night.

The walk was taking forever, to the point where you began to classify it as a hike, and really you just wanted to stroll. However, Gandalf kept a brutal pace, seeming to have a destination in mind. By mid-afternoon you happened upon a fisherman, fishing out of a little boat in the river.

“My good sir,” Gandalf called out to him. “Where do you hail from?”

You squinted at the man, trying to see if it was a man or an elf. He wasn’t pretty to look at. He must be a man. His nose was dented as if hit with a frying pan. His hair was a black stringy mop on his head.

“Esgaroth,” the man called out.

Gandalf smiled down at you, giving you a wink before turning back to the fisherman. “Sir, could we perhaps barter for passage to the town on the lake?”

The fisherman stood up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And what business do you have with the people on the lake?”

“Nothing with them directly,” you called out. “We’re passing through to the Lonely Mountain. We would just like to find lodging for the night and perhaps a hot meal.”

The fisherman blinked, as if just noticing you. “You’re too pretty to be a dwarf.”

“That’s because I’m not,” you replied. “Will you help us? Or must we walk all the way to your town, Sir?”

“It’s hard to walk through a lake,” the fisherman said with a chuckle. “Although I’d like to see you try, lass.” He looked over at Gandalf, determined that he was head of whatever expedition was currently taking place (which you thought to be awfully rude, even if it was true) and nodded. “I’ll give you safe passage if you can catch some fish.”

You looked up at Gandalf, asking him with your eyes if you really needed this man’s help. You’d never fished before. The wizard just looked down at you, shrugged, and told the fisherman that you’d do your best.

And that was how you found yourself in a rickety boat with corks plugging various holes around the hull, a fishing line cast over the side of the boat. Fishing, you’d come to learn, was incredibly boring. It felt like a weird trick of luck. You’d have to just sit there and hope that the fish was stupid enough to bite down on your hook and not let go while you reeled it in. As boring as it was, it was something that Gandalf seemed suspiciously good at. You wondered if he'd enchanted his reel or something. That had to be it. Either that or you were fishing on the wrong side of the boat, but you were afraid to test that theory out. You didn’t want to switch sides and find that you were just bad at fishing altogether. If you stayed on your side, you could at least blame your lack of fishing prowess on your position in the boat.

After a few hours, the fisherman—you’d learned that his name was Pendreddy, but Pend for short—decided to take pity on you. Pend unmoored the boat and let the current do most of the work, carrying you all to Laketown. The current was swift, almost a rapid in some places, and soon enough you came across Long Lake. You knew you shouldn’t have been surprised, because you knew you would be approaching the town, but you were still shocked at the way the town was situated. Instead of being on the banks surrounding the lake, the town seemed to float atop the water. You wondered how people with seasickness would live there.

Pend’s boat thudded up to a dock and you got off. It was odd, trying to get your balance as you walked across the boards. Some places were firmer than others, with some swaying beneath your feet as you followed Pend to the local inn. You didn’t think you and Gandalf were particularly interesting company, but that didn’t stop everyone from turning towards you as you entered as if you’d screamed upon entry. Your skin crawled at being on display like that. It wasn’t that you weren’t used to attention, because you were when you played music, but rather that this was a tad unsavory. People were sizing you up, and a few men were leering at you as you followed Gandalf closely behind to the bar. He slipped some coins to the barmaid who gave you each a key to a room. You wanted to hold onto Gandalf’s cape like a small child as you made your way up the stairs to the rooms, but you knew better. You were not a child anymore, and you needed to stop acting like one. Fear would only hold you back.

The rooms were sparsely decorated, which wasn’t a surprise. You couldn’t imagine it being easy to carry furniture around in this floating city. No, the best part of the room was the tub full of hot water sitting in front of the fireplace. You sunk into the water, deciding not to come out until you were as wrinkled as a dried piece of fruit. It was nice, being back amongst civilization and knowing where your next meal would be. You were enjoying being on an adventure, but you had to admit that being at an actual destination was better than the journey. It made your nights in the Mirkwood seem silly, fretting over your safety now that you were safe. Past you should have known that it would be inevitable for you to end up safe and sound. After all, once you have a destination set, you’ll be able to get there, despite the bits in the middle.

You extracted yourself from the water and dried off before slipping between the sheets. The bed wasn’t as soft as your bed back home, but you were so tired that sleep came easily.

Your mystery man was closer in your dream this time. He had broad shoulders, which he was using to shield you from something behind him. It was his eyes, though, that really stood out this time. They were a crystalline blue, as clear as the river back home. In fact, that was what he felt like, like home. It was the oddest sensation, knowing nothing else about him, and everything about him being blurry except those eyes that were boring into you, pleading with you to do… something. You shook your head, not understanding and not wanting to leave, even though he was pushing you away. It wasn’t a rude shove, but rather a desperate, you need to move shove. You turned your back on him to go, fumbling towards a cavernous hall, and plunged into darkness.

Chapter 5: Esgaroth

Chapter Text

Sunlight shone brightly in your face through the tattered curtain on the window. You stretched, feeling your spine click in places that the ground had thrown out of whack. The smell of cured meats wafted up from the tavern below. You were quick to dress and make your way down. Gandalf was already eating, a plate sitting across from him filled with meat and bread. The bread was warm and seeded, and the meat was wonderfully salty.

“So, how are we getting across the lake?” you asked, drinking some tea to wash down the hunk of bread in your mouth.

“Pend said he knew someone who could get us there.”

“And then from there, how far is the mountain?”

Gandalf smoked his pipe in thought. “Little more than a day.”

You wanted to groan, but instead you sipped your tea. A day or so. And then you’d play for the dwarves and then you’d have to make the long journey back home as if it never happened. If you blinked, you would miss your adventure.

“Come,” Gandalf said, getting up from the table. You followed him out to the dock in front of the building, watching as he walked up to a man leaning against a pole with a stalk of grass sticking out of his mouth. Gandalf slipped him some coin and got into the boat, motioning for you to follow. This boat was a lot nicer than Pend’s. It actually had space to sit, and no holes in the hull. You wondered what kind of thing this man did for a living to earn enough for a decent boat, and if he knew Pend then why didn’t he let Pend in on the secret to success. This man wasn’t as much of a talker as Pend was. The fisherman had talked to himself almost all afternoon, but this man was as quiet as a stone as he paddled across the lake. You now understood why it was called Long Lake. It was a truly massive body of water. Gandalf and the man took turns rowing, but you could have sworn that the boat went faster when Gandalf rowed. The shore eventually approached and you and Gandalf disembarked, never learning the man’s name.

From here, your journey was fairly ordinary. This forest was less dangerous than the Mirkwood, and you spent most of your time practicing your lute as you walked, working on the lyrics for the song that you were sure would make the princeling fall in love. Gandalf watched you with a funny look on his face, like he knew something you didn’t, and you didn’t like it. The wizard kept so many secrets from you over the years, but this one seemed important. Every time you tried to catch him staring, he’d look away or blow a smoke ring at you. It was irksome. You were beginning to lose track of time, but Gandalf always seemed to know the things you didn’t. You resolved to bring a journal onto your next adventure and use it to help you remember your time better. If you had another adventure, that is.

A few hours later, you saw a bustling city up on a hill, and behind it, a mountain towering over you. You’d never seen a mountain up close before, and it reminded you just how small you were. Perhaps that was why the dwarves liked it, because it was unlikely for something so small to conquer something so large. It allowed them to be themselves and thrive, shaping the mountain. Your attention was turned from the mountain to Dale, once you entered the city limits. It was bustling, with markets spilling out into the streets. You held onto Gandalf to avoid losing him. You’d never seen so many men in one place. They were so fascinating, with various shapes and sizes. There was a beauty to them that your Elven family didn’t have. For Elves tend to be quite perfect, but with man… there was a certain beauty to being different and having malformed bits to you. It made them feel real. It made them look alive. You hurried after Gandalf as he breezed through the city as if it was the most routine scene in the world. You supposed that to him it was, having been well traveled, but to you, you just wanted to explore this town and its oddities. But, you had a job to do. You broke free from the town, and continued down the slope towards the gate beneath the mountain ahead. Or at least, you assumed it was a gate. It was the grandest gate you’d ever seen, and you weren’t quite sure how it functioned as it was mostly made of stone. As you got closer, you began to see that it was full of intricate carvings that probably told the history of the dwarves if not their prowess at sculpting the earth. Nerves fluttered in your chest as you drew near. You were going to meet dwarven royalty. You. With your big feet and short stature, you’d finally be around people your own size. You just hoped that you’d be respected, even if you knew they probably wouldn’t accept you.

Gandalf walked with the confidence you wished you had. After washing in the river and changing into your best outfit behind a tree, you felt a bit more like yourself. Your hair was loose and bouncing around your shoulders. Since you didn’t know much about the nature of dwarven braids, you didn’t want to wear your hair in one in case something was misconstrued.

The mountain was imposing as you approached the front gate. You kept fiddling with your shirt and lute to the point where Gandalf was getting annoyed, but you couldn’t help it. You’d never been to another court before. To say you were nervous would be an understatement. You followed Gandalf into the mountain, and it felt as if you’d left everything you knew behind.

Chapter 6: Erebor

Chapter Text

Stone had been hewn to create a castle. It was the opposite of any castle you’d ever pictured. Where other castles grew up, it was clear that this one grew down, like the roots of a tree. It seemed endless. Sound echoed more in some places than others, and you knew that you would never quite grasp how large Erebor was. You wandered in a daze as Gandalf walked towards the throne room. The ceilings were so high. It seemed silly, since the dwarves truly did not need that height. It was simply them showing off that they could build something on this scale. Up ahead was a throne made of rock, upon which sat a dwarf. He seemed distant, his eyes focusing on a stone in his hand, ignoring much of what was happening around him.

Gandalf cleared his throat, which drew the dwarf’s attention only momentarily enough for him to wave his hand for Gandalf to continue. “King Thror, son of Dain, I present to you the minstrel that I spoke about at our last meeting.” He gestured to you.

You bowed, not quite sure what else to do, but the King barely spared you a glance.

“Yes, well, as long as they play for Thorin’s ball, that is all that matters,” the King murmured, waving his hand in dismissal.

You raised an eyebrow at Gandalf, which he responded to with a shrug. Gandalf led you out into a side room where you were greeted by a different, more attentive dwarf.

“Ah, Gandalf, I see you made it back safely.”

“Thrain, yes, I am just glad we made it in time,” Gandalf said with a smile.

“Is this her?” Thrain asked, coming over to look at you. He was a little taller than you, with a very bushy beard. Thrain squinted at you, assessing you. You wanted to squirm, but you held your ground, making eye contact and even going so far as to give him a look of challenge. He smiled at you, then. “You’ve got spirit, lass. You’ll fit right in. Come, let me show you to your rooms.”

You’ll fit right in. That was the first time you’d ever heard that uttered in your direction. Rushing to follow him, you were led into the grandest guest room you’d ever seen. The furniture was made of dark wood and adorned with bits of gold and jewels. Swords hung from the wall, and sconces cast the room in a warm glow. It hit you all the same that you didn’t have a window. Gandalf had left you to retire to his room to freshen up, but you found that you couldn’t stay here. The walls felt as if they were closing in. With your lute strapped to your back, you walked back towards the part of this underworld that was touched by sunlight. You sat on a bench, strumming a bit, your mind trying to piece together your adventure into a narrative song.

“Through tree and vale

O’er river and lake

And right through Dale

Our journey we did make

To play for a prince

And help him find love

For words he’ll mince”

“That isn’t entirely true,” a voice said from behind you.

“I’m sorry?” You turned to look over your shoulder, seeing a dwarf leaning against a stone pillar. He was incredibly handsome, which rendered you momentarily speechless. His blue eyes pierced you to your core. It was him , you knew it then. It was the man from your dreams made flesh. He pulled up from the pillar and strode over to you. His whole presence commanded attention and all you could do was watch, enjoying the way his arm muscles caused his sleeves to ripple as he crossed his arms, looking down at you.

“I do not mince my words.”

It took a moment for you to put it together. He was the prince. The prince you’d just insulted. “Your highness, I do apologize, but it is quite hard to come up with a word that rhymes with prince.”

“Wince, Since, Rinse,” he listed them off on his fingers. “You must not be a very good bard.”

You stood up at that. “I am good enough that I was sent for and traveled many, many miles to get here. Perhaps it is because they knew that you would not be able to win over the visiting princess on your own and require someone to set the mood since you are incapable of doing it yourself.”

He glowered at you. “I am not incapable of anything.”

“If you’re so good at writing songs, then why don’t you write one?” You shoved your lute at him.

He pushed it back to you. “I’m not the one being paid in good coin to do it.”

“What? Scared to fail in front of the little halfling?”

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.”

“But I clearly have to prove myself to you.”

“I never said—”

“You questioned my skill as a bard, that is the same as me questioning your honor.”

“I would hardly say that is on the same level.”

You scoffed at him. “No wonder you need me.”

“I do not need you,” he ground out.

“Well then, shall I go? I’m sure my godfather would love to hear how you snubbed me.” You turned to leave, even though it was silly and you didn’t know where anything was.

“Stop.”

You kept walking.

He grabbed your arm. “I command you to stop.”

You whirled on him, pointing your finger into his chest. “I am not your subject, princeling. You cannot command me to do anything. I am a guest.”

“The line between guest and prisoner can become very thin.” His eyes were so intensely blue as they bore into yours. You never knew how someone could drown in the depths of someone’s eyes until now. Your chest heaved in heavy, annoyed breaths.

“Unhand me.” Your voice came out quiet and even.

He shook his head, but let go. “You are infuriating.”

“Because I’m not kowtowing to you immediately?” You raised a brow at him.

He sighed. “Must you always have the last word?”

“I could grow accustomed to it with you.”

He licked his lips, looking down at yours for a moment before back up to your eyes. “You cannot play that piece at my ball.”

“Fine.” You sat back down on your bench. “It is your betrothal ball. What type do you prefer anyway?”

“Someone who is spirited and strong, but kind.”

You snorted a laugh. “I meant for music.”

His cheeks tinged pink. You wanted to reach out and playfully tug on one of the beads in his beard. “Something that I can dance to, but something that makes the world fall away.”

“That is a lot to ask of a song.”

He looked up at you, tucking a stray curl away from your face. “Somehow, I feel as though you are up to the task.”

“You just insulted my skill a moment ago.”

“Yes, and you defended yourself so passionately. I’m sure if you play with as much passion as you talk about playing then my trust is not unfounded.”

You swallowed. “You dwarves are an odd lot. I don’t understand how defiance earns respect.”

“Defiance, no. Passion, yes. Say what you wish about dwarves, but we put our all into the things we are passionate about.” He waved his hand towards the stonework around you. “There is not one thing that we create that we do not bleed a bit of ourselves into.” He looked you deep in the eye and you found that you’d lost the will to breathe. “Do you not bleed for the things you are passionate for?”

You thought back to all the times you’d practiced the lute until your fingers were raw. You thought about how you’d made your first instrument after your peers had broken the one your mother had gifted you. It had taken forever, and the wood had given you many splinters that your mother had tended to, but it had been an accomplishment. Your accomplishment. You stroked that same lute now. “I do.”

Thorin smiled at you, and if you hadn’t been sitting already, your knees might have gone weak at the sight. “Somehow I feel as though you and I are the same.”

You’ll fit right in. You and I are the same. These dwarves were so oddly welcoming, even if they were so wrong. You weren’t the same. He was a prince, and you were a half blooded elf who doesn’t belong. People respected him, looked up to him. People looked down on you. You wanted to ask him what he saw in you that he also saw in the mirror, but he stood.

“I must be going. It will be time for dinner soon.” He nodded down to you. “Have a good night.” You watched him go in a daze.

“Thorin must like you,” a little voice said beside you.

Turning, you saw a little girl. Or rather, you assumed it was a little girl. She was growing peach fuzz on her face in the shape of a beard. It was very endearing. “And who might you be?”

“Dis,” she said, grinning wide. You could see that she was missing her front tooth.

“What makes you think he likes me?”

“You made him smile. He’s always so serious.” She made a grumpy face, mimicking her brother. “I’m Thorin and I am an adult. I’m too big to play with my sister and her dolls because I have to protect my people and study to be a good king.”

You patted the bench next to you. “I’m sure he would rather be playing with dolls with you.”

Dis sat next to you, her feet swinging since they couldn’t touch the ground. “I don’t think he’ll like the princess.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She only makes jewelry and doesn’t know how to fight.”

“Do you know how to fight?”

She nodded vigorously. “I am Dis, Durin’s folk. All of Durin’s folk learn how to wield an ax. Fighting is in our blood, just as music is in the blood of elves.” She tilted her head at you. “You’re really short for an elf.”

“I’m half hobbit.”

“What’s a hobbit?”

“Hobbits are like… dwarves who live in holes in the ground. They like vegetables, farming and music.”

“You’re not that different from us, then. We live in the ground and like music, too.”

You nodded. “Well, Dis, should we go to dinner?”

“Can we watch the sunset first?”

“Of course.” You weren’t ready to go back into the claustrophobic mountain, to be honest. Sitting here on the bench, watching the sky seep from bright blue down to warm oranges and reds to pinks and purples was just a way of delaying the inevitable. Dis’s hand was warm in yours as she pulled you towards the dining hall. You’d been invited to dine with Thrain’s family, which included Thorin who acted as if you hadn’t met at all at first when his father introduced you to the family. His brother made you laugh, but it was his mother who you’d come to adore. Crown Princess Fris was beautiful with her golden hair and carefully braided beard. Her eyes were a deeper blue than Thorin’s, like a sapphire in the light. She welcomed you with open arms, seating you at her left, across from Thorin. She asked you all the questions about your homelife and your journey. You did your best to answer, afraid that she’d think less of you when you described your life amongst the elves, but if anything, it endeared you to her more.

“Oh dear, you poor thing,” she said, placing a hand on top of yours as food was brought out. “It’s hard to be in a place where you feel as if you don’t belong. Life is difficult and you must constantly adapt because the world wasn’t built for you.”

“Yes,” you murmured, realizing that that had been your real qualm with Rivendell. You did not belong and that world wasn’t meant for someone like you, but you’d never known that since it was all you had ever known. But being here, under the mountain, things were a bit more to your specifications. Still, you caught the way Thorin’s brother stared at your ears when you tucked a lock of hair behind them. This was a home, but not your home. Taking a sip of your wine, you let it wash over your tongue, enjoying the warmth it brought to you. The food was delicious, roast meats and roasted root vegetables. It was hearty fare, for hearty dwarves who did hearty work. You could hear the clanging of the ironworks being forged below echoing off the cavernous walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Thorin staring at you every couple of seconds. When you laughed, he smiled, and when you talked with his mother about music, he openly stared, hanging onto your every word. It was then that you realized that music was a universal language. Fris invited you to play for them, offering up a lyre. The strings were so thin beneath your fingertips. At first, you were worried you would break the delicate instrument, but as you strummed you realized how sturdy the strings were. The sound it produced was light and not at all as tinny as the lyre your mother had back at the treehouse. You caught the eye of the prince, a small smile tugging up the corner of your lips. This one’s for you. You didn’t sing, instead thinking about the way he made you feel, a song that was absolutely Thorin. It was strong and beautiful, with a melody that soared in a way that you knew Thorin’s presence could fill a room. It settled into every shadow, bringing light to the space. Your last note rang out, and you heard a sniff, catching Fris wiping away a stray tear from her cheek.

“That was beautiful, lass,” Thrain praised.

You were about to demurely turn it down, not one to accept praise until Thorin cleared his throat. “Yes, that was quite lovely,” he said. “However, it is time for us to retire for the evening. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Well, Thorin, perhaps you could see our guest back to her chambers? I’m sure she is quite turned around,” Fris suggested.

You were about to turn him down, but he was already offering you his arm. You couldn’t possibly say no. You slipped your hand into his elbow and let him walk you out.

“My mother is enamored with you,” Thorin mused, a chuckle deep in his throat.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

He looked down at you, studying you for a moment, his eyes settling on the quirk of your lips. “No, I suppose not.”

“Are you nervous?”

“About what?”

“Tomorrow. I’m sure it must be hard to be engaged to a woman you’ve never met and be expected to marry her for the rest of your life. What if you don’t love her?”

Thorin scoffed. “It’s for the good of the kingdom. Love doesn’t matter. It could grow in the end, but if it doesn’t… well, you can’t miss what you’ve never known.”

You stopped. “You’ve never been in love?”

He sighed, toying with the end of his beard. “Is that so surprising?”

“Yes.”

“You just met me.”

And you were already falling for him and his blue eyes and infuriating opinions on things. Something about him just got under your skin. “Love is… love is everything.”

“How would you know?”

How would you know? You’d never had anyone fall in love with you back home, but you’d seen how it worked out for your mom. Everything aside, you knew she loved your father even still. Sometimes, it was that love that kept her going. “I just do. Sometimes love is what allows you to go on when you feel as though there is nothing left.”

“You have grandiose dreams for a halfling. I’m sure it must be hard to find someone back home. Elves are a snobbish lot.”

“Aren’t dwarves?” You raised a brow at him, leaning back against one of the many pillars in the hall leading to your rooms.

He laughed. It was a breathy, deep laugh that had him shaking his head. “You are full of quips.”

“Most minstrels are.”

“You’re more than a minstrel.”

“And you’re more than a prince and therefore deserve more than to be a pawn in a game of politics.”

“You don’t know me.”

You groaned in frustration. “Fine, Thorin, then let me get to know you.”

“You aren’t getting paid for that.” His brows furrowed as if he were confused at the thought of wanting to know him without wanting anything in return.

You rolled your eyes and started to walk again. The stubbornness of dwarves. “This isn’t part of the job. This is something I want to do.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That isn’t a valid—”

Gripping the furs on his shoulder, you pulled him down to you. You hadn’t meant to kiss him, hoping instead to just shock him enough to shut him up, but his lips were hurtling towards you and who were you to step aside from it. As you kissed him hard, you could feel him tense under your hands. It made you start to pull away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but then his arms slid around you, his hand slipping into your hair until it cradled the back of your neck. He groaned against your lips as you pressed yourself against him. And then you pulled away, the reminder that he was getting engaged to someone else tomorrow clanging through you.

“I am so sorry, I shouldn’t h-have done that.”

“A tongue-tied bard,” he teased. “Now that’s a rare sight.”

You cleared your throat, reaching blindly for your door handle behind you. “Goodnight, Thorin.”

“Goodnight, men gimizhe l.”

Now what did that mean? You opened your door, disappearing behind it. You let out a sigh once you were alone. What had you done? You in your absolute breach of sanity made possibly the biggest mistake of your life. You kissed a man who was to be engaged. You flopped face down onto the bed, letting out a muffled scream into the mattress. The worst part was that you enjoyed it. His lips had been warm and pleasant and you wanted so desperately to do it again.

The bed was surprisingly hard compared to your bed in the treehouse. It took a while for you to fall asleep, and a fair bit of tossing and turning kept you from having a decent night of sleep. Gandalf had come to tell you that he had to head into the woods to meet with some secretive elf, but that he would be back sometime tomorrow. You weren’t keen on seeing anyone until later. You could not risk seeing Thorin and dredging up that memory. Perhaps if you just acted as if it hadn’t happened then you may believe that it had been a dream. That made the most sense. Outside your room you could hear the servants bustling around, setting up for the feast. You settled in to try and tame your hair when someone knocked on your door.

“Thorin, I am avoiding you,” you called out, brush stuck in your hair.

“Dear, I’m not my son, although I can only imagine what he must have done for you to be avoiding him,” Fris laughed, entering your room with a long, velvet fabric draped over her arm.

“Your highness!” You quickly stood and attempted to curtsy.

She waved you off, placing her gift on the bed. She came over, gently took the brush out of your hair and settled you back into the seat so she could do your hair. Her hands were gentle as she settled your hair into a twisted half-up-half-down fashion. “So, what did my son do?”

You looked down at your hands. “He technically didn’t do anything. I started it.”

“Ah, but he hates to not have the last word, so I assume he finished it,” she said with a chuckle.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment as she turned towards your bed. “He’s incredibly stubborn.”

“Yes, and he always does what he deems to be best for his people,” Fris replied, “Although sometimes I wish he would put himself first.”

Spinning on your stool, you turned to address her. “What do you—”

Fris looked at you. “The princess is a nice girl, but I don’t think Thorin needs a nice girl. He needs someone who will challenge him and love him because they want to, not because they’re told to.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Fris placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “I brought you a dress. I’m sure you have your own clothes, but you will stick out so I thought you might like to borrow one of mine.”

“T-thank you,” you stammered, feeling grateful. You wondered how such a wonderful woman ended up with a son like Thorin.

“Well, I’ll let you get ready.” She winked at you in the mirror.

You watched her leave before springing up to investigate the dress she’d brought you. It was a gorgeous, midnight blue dress with brocade fabric. With the way the skirt fell, it almost gave it a bit of an empire waist. It was a heavy dress, unlike anything you’d worn before. The sleeves split at the shoulder to reveal some drapey undersleeves. As you lifted the dress to put it on, fussing with the many stays, you found a pair of large shoes waiting on the floor in front of your dresser. They’d been placed there the night before and you’d stared at them long and hard before going to bed, not sure if you’d wear them. They looked as if they would fit, but you never felt comfortable in shoes. It felt as if your connection to the world was snuffed out and you didn’t like it. Even here, you could feel the echoes of the earth beneath the mountain. If you put the shoes on, you’d lose that and the feeling of grounding that comes with it. Still, the dwarves wore shoes. If you were to dress as them, you’d have to put the shoes on. You tugged them onto your feet, sighing at how they unfortunately fit perfectly. Yet, they felt so wrong. Slinging your lute over your shoulder, you left your room, following the sounds of revelry and voices into the ballroom.

Hundreds of candles lit the room. A group of dwarves played music, holding the crowd over until you could take over. The King lounged on his throne, watching it all with disinterest. Thorin stood off to the side, talking to his brother. He caught your eye as you entered, making you blush. In the middle of it all was his intended. She was resplendent in the purple of royalty. Golden beads were woven into her hair and beard. She was the epitome of dwarven elegance and you didn’t even know her name. She would look beautiful on Thorin’s arm. Perfect, even. You took your place among the minstrels, and, once they were finished with their little ditty, you took over. It was a jaunty tune, one that got people clapping and dancing together, because, as anyone would know, the party can’t start without a hobbit.

“Listen, gather round and sing

Clap and dance around

Until a wife for a future king

Can be forever found.

Here’s a song

Here’s a tune

Sing along

And howl at the moon.”

You paused to howl, and surprisingly the dwarves joined in, breaking into a hearty laugh at the end. Finally , a decent audience. You kept the party going in that same vein for a while, watching as Thorin and the princess danced together. The songs were too lively to account for any real talk, and, loathe you were to admit, you’d crank up the energy whenever you noticed them getting too intimate. It was childish, but you couldn’t help it. He was whispering something in her ear and she was laughing and you were sure that you couldn’t stand a moment more of watching their love story unfold in front of you. You couldn’t watch as she fell in love with the same person that you dreamed of. Your chest tightened at the thought of his blue eyes turned on hers, and your stomach revolted as he tucked her hair behind her ear. You abruptly ended the song, enjoying that they had to part in order to applaud you.

“I need some air,” you croaked out to the dwarven band. They nodded and began to play as you pushed your way out of the ballroom. The mountain was stifling. The air was too warm and stale. The sounds of their voices echoed off the walls and was a cacophony to your ears. You felt entirely out of it as you rushed to the wall over the gate, to fresh air, to freedom . Your hands tightened on the railing. You gulped in the chill air, kicking off your shoes to feel the ground. How were you going to do this? How were you supposed to sit there and watch? The princeling was going to marry the princess. That was how royal marriages worked, and who were you to feel any way about that. He was infuriating. He was pompous and arrogant and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him since you’d met him. This was it. This was love. Your stomach was turning and turning and you realized that this must have been how your mother felt, and if this was how she felt then love was an awful, terrible thing that you had no control over and yet it had total control over you. You were spiraling, you were—

A hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you around and crushing you against a chest. “Breathe,” his voice commanded. “In, out. You’re hyperventilating.”

“Thorin?” you sobbed.

“Shhhh, khebabmudtu ,” he soothed, the rough pads of his thumbs swiping the tears away from your cheeks. “What’s the matter?”

What was the matter? Where would you even begin? There was the matter that you were watching his engagement happen. There was the fact that you still had to play another set of music. There was the fact that you’d have to put those shoes back on your feet. “This mountain is stifling .”

“What do you mean?” His brows creased in confusion.

You pulled back, not quite breaking free as he refused to let go of your hands. “There’s a whole world out there to explore. Don’t you want to?”

He dropped your hands. “Why would I leave my home?”

“Sometimes you have to leave home to appreciate what you have,” you murmured. “And sometimes you have to leave home to become the person you’re meant to be. How can you grow If you’re planted like a mountain? Eventually you’ll stop and you’ll just continue to be eroded.”

“I will rule here. My place is here. I have everything I’d need here.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “Everything?”

His hand reached up to cup your cheek. “I—”

“Can’t,” you finished for him, a sad smile on your face.

“Don’t deign to know my heart,” he said, shaking his head at you, a quiet anger emanating from him.

You looked out over the river below at how the moonlight glinted off the ripping surface. “Right, because I know nothing,” you deadpanned.

Thorin gripped your arms, shaking you slightly. “You, with your wit and music, come crashing into my mountain, my home , and suddenly everything that I am told to do—that I’ve always accepted as my rightful path—becomes a burden. My duty to my people, which I have never once forsaken becomes a chore. You make me want to shirk all responsibilities and lose all sensibility. I have to dance and speak to the princess and pretend like I still have a heart to give her when I don’t. How can you give something to someone else that is no longer yours to give? Because it is yours ,” he growled.

“Mine?” Your voice was small, afraid that if you’d said it louder that he would deny it all, saying that you misunderstood his meaning.

His hands cupped your cheeks, as he looked you in the eye. “Yours.”

“You stupid dwarf,” you breathed, pulling him in for a kiss by the fur of his jacket. He groaned, his hands sliding around your head to bury in your hair, tangling in your curls. Your back pressed into the rail behind you as he kissed you harder, slanting his mouth against yours. You thought of every single romance book you’d ever snuck into your room to read late at night back home, letting it be your guide. You sucked on his bottom lip, swiping your tongue along it to earn a guttural sound that came from deep in his throat. It was that sound that snapped you out of it. You pulled back abruptly. “Thorin, we can’t.” Your breathing came in pants as you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth. “You should go back.”

“Why?” he pressed, hands boxing you into the railing. “I told you, there’s nothing for me in that ballroom now.”

“Then what are you going to do? Defy your parents’ wishes?” You looked up, challenging him.

He shook his head. “You are impossible.” He gripped your chin with his right hand. “My mother will listen to me. She wants me to be happy.” He kissed a trail of kisses along your jaw as his left hand settled on the small of your back, pressing you against him.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you started to lose your train of thought. “And you think I can make you happy?”

“I think we can be a source of happiness for each other. Don’t you want that?” He nipped your ear and you melted into him.

“Yes.” It came out softer than a whisper.

“Yes, what?” he ground out, sucking on your neck right under the shell of your ear.

“Yes, I want that.” You sounded breathless, your fingers curling into his hair.

He smiled against your skin. “Want what?” Thorin bit down on your neck before soothing it with his tongue. He was insufferable, you wanted to roll your eyes, but he was a prince and princes always get what they want.

“ You , Thorin. I want you.”

Pulling back, he grinned at you. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You shoved him away playfully. “You’re horrid.”

The sound of laughter floated up to the two of you from down below. He cast a sideways glance at you. “I don’t think I can go back down there.”

“Then where are you going to go?” You asked with a laugh.

He traced a light finger along your cheek. “We could get to know each other better in your room. I’m sure no one would think to look for me there.”

“Perhaps we can swipe something from the kitchens first? I’m starving.”

Thorin nodded. “I’ll take care of that and I’ll meet you in your room.” He looked you up and down, spotting your forgotten shoes on the ground. “You should change into something more comfortable while you wait.”

Your heart melted at the slight upturn of his lips, and you made your way back to your room. The heavy dress was quickly dismissed in favor of an elven style dress that you had packed on a whim—never really intending to wear it, but comforted by the fact that it was an option should you need it. And now you needed it. The long sleeves dripped down, almost touching the ground as you paced your room. He would come. He’d said he would, and he would, wouldn’t he? A knock at the door pulled you back to your senses. You opened it to find him on the other side, a bottle of mead in one hand, and a plate of various meat, cheese, bread, and fruit in the other. He swept into the room, placing the plate on the chest at the foot of your bed before pouring you both a glass of mead. It was a spiced mead, with hints of cinnamon and clove. It warmed you down to your toes, and you spent a few moments sipping it, trying to focus on anything but the very handsome prince sitting with you on the edge of your bed, his hand moving ever closer to your hand where it rested on the mattress.

“Do you think they’ll notice our absence?” you asked.

“This late in the evening, everyone is too deep in their cups to notice much of anything,” he said, smiling at his own glass. He picked up a dried fig, holding it up to your lips. “Eat. You must be starving after playing all evening.”

Leaning forward, you bit into the chewy fruit. It was odd to have him feed you, the act being intimate and tender in a way you’d never experience from a man before. He reached out to tuck a curl behind your ear.

“ Zu kiduzhu ,” he murmured, picking up another piece of fruit and holding it out to you.

“I can feed myself,” you chuckled, taking it with your hand. You popped it into your mouth, looking down at the plate before making your next selection. Thorin watched you eat until you’d had your fill.

Placing his goblet down on the chest, he turned to address you. “You are going to think what I’m about to say is strange, but I have been dreaming of you.”

You thought back to your visions in the Mirkwood and swallowed. “And I have been dreaming of you.”

“What does it mean?”

“You might as well ask why do we breathe,” you said with a chuckle. “Dreams are fickle things. Sometimes they are prophetic, sometimes they’re nonsense.”

“I don’t think dreaming about you was nonsense,” he grumbled.

You leaned towards him, balancing on your knees. “So was it fate?”

“It feels like it,” he said, a breathy chuckle. He was leaning closer to you, his eyes focused on your lips. You could feel the pull to him, like a comet pulled into the orbit of something greater by its gravity.

“Thorin,” you murmured.

“ Khebabmudtu ,” he growled, leaning forward to close the distance. His hands settled on your waist as his lips crashed into yours. Your hands settled on his chest, accidentally pushing him back onto the bed. His laugh rumbled in his throat as his hands slid up your back, pressing you into his chest. You kissed him harder, trying to wipe the smirk off his face that you could feel beneath your lips. His hands roamed up your ankles to your calves, settling behind your knees. Your hands pushed the coat off his shoulders. Thorin pulled back to look at you. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.” You kissed him to punctuate it. He groaned, his fingers twisting into your hair. Thorin rolled over on top of you, beginning his kisses down your jaw again. Your eyes fluttered closed as you let yourself get lost in the moment, feeling the touch of his lips, the touch of his rough fingertips as they slid up your thighs. Clothes were shed and you were left to marvel at the beauty of each other. Your hands slid up his chest, relishing in the feel of his skin against yours. It was just you and Thorin and it was everything as you fit yourselves together to form a perfect whole. You were in pure bliss down to the tips of your toes and basking in the afterglow of Thorin’s warmth, falling asleep in his arms, your head tucked against his chest underneath his chin.

Chapter 7: The Fall of the Mountain

Chapter Text

The next morning, you awoke to the feeling of Thorin lazily playing with a curl on the side of your face. You blinked awake, stretching with an early morning groan before turning over to face him. “Good morning.”

He smiled down at you, eyes alight with mischief. “A very good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Incredibly well.” Especially for being a tad bit sore from the night before, but you didn’t want to tell him that. He had proven to be very attentive and caring in bed and you were sure that if you mentioned any lingering discomfort that he would feel guilty and be ridiculously gentle to you. “I’m surprised you stayed the night. Won’t they worry about you?”

He shrugged, a smug smirk on his face. “I’m a prince. I can do what I want.”

“You should at the very least tell them that you have no intention of marrying the princess.”

“You’re right.” He checked the time before kissing you sweetly. “Grandfather will have just finished his breakfast. He’s always more agreeable when he’s strolling the wall after breakfast. Get ready and eat. I’ll come for you after.”

You cupped his cheek, stroking your thumb across the top of his beard. “Alright.”

He was quick about dressing, despite your many attempts to tempt him back into bed. Once he was gone, you washed and changed into your own clothes. You pulled on pants and a shirt with flowy sleeves that also flowed out under your bust. After tying it down a bit with a leather belt, you strapped your lute over your back and were ready to go. A very helpful dwarf pointed you towards the kitchens where you were thrown an apple and offered a cup of tea which was more than you asked for, looking for a bit of bread to begin with. You plonked down on a step looking down at the immense hoard of gold and began to strum a bit.

That was when you heard it.

Chaos. It was pure chaos. The ground trembled beneath your feet and over your head. Shouting and screaming filled your ears as you scrambled to make it back towards the main hall to get a semblance of what was going on. It was only when the air began to swelter that you could finally hear what the screams were saying. Dragon. The dwarves were being attacked by a dragon, and here under the mountain they were as good as trapped. You were as good as trapped. Your hands gripped your lute, vaguely hearing the sound of someone yelling your name. You were going to die here. You were going to be burned to a crisp. Your mother was right. You should’ve stayed home. You should’ve never had dreams of grand adventures and princes and love and—

“You’re safe,” Thorin breathed, crushing you against his chest. There was soot and ash in his hair and beard. You wanted to pick it out. He wasn’t meant to be adorned in this way. “You need to get out of here. Come.” His voice was urgent and his hand settled around yours, holding it as if he were afraid to lose you as he pulled you through the chaos of dwarves running this way and that, trying to escape. He led you deeper into the mountain, his free hand tracing the wall until he found a corner and turned it. He held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes looked deep into yours in earnest. “Wait for me. I will find you.”

“Thorin, you can’t go back there.”

“They’re my people. I must.”

“But—”

His lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate kiss, and when he pulled back, you could taste the faintest hint of salt on your lips. He rested his forehead against yours. “Amrâlimê, khebabmudtu, I will find you.” He turned you around and shoved you down the path, causing you to stumble a bit. “Go.”

You made it ten feet before a loud rumble ripped through the mountain. Rocks fell from the ceiling and you curled in on yourself for protection. When it stopped, the path back had been completely blocked off. You pounded against it until your fists bled, screaming for Thorin. The tunnel was eerily silent as you realized you were alone. Utterly alone. You hugged yourself and continued down it after another tremor rocked the mountain. Thorin wouldn’t want you to die here. He was going to find you, but you needed to get out first. The dark tunnel was daunting, especially when you could feel the erratic heartbeat of the mountain under attack beneath your feet. Still, you pressed on until you finally caught a glimpse of sunlight. It was then that you ran. The feel of the dirt beneath your feet helped calm your breathing for a moment. You took a look around you, trying to figure out where you were in relation to the mountain. The tunnel led towards the woods on the side, so you climbed up the steep hill—nearly a cliff— in front of you, straining for a better view of what was happening. Smoke filled the sky and it burned your lungs, choking the breath out of you the higher you got. As your hand gripped the flat edge to pull yourself the rest of the way up, your ears pricked at the fact that you were no longer alone.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” a haughty voice called down from you atop a horse.

You stood, craning your neck up to see who addressed you. He was an elf with pale blonde hair and hard eyes. Just as your mother had described them. “Uncle,” you breathed out in disbelief.

His eyes flashed, recognizing the bits of your mother in you. His nostrils flared as he sniffed. “Someone take the half-breed.”

“Uncle, wait, we must help the dwarves!” You called as someone snatched you by the back of your shirt to hoist you onto a very tall horse.

Thranduil’s head snapped around to face you. “I shall do no such thing. The dwarves have brought this on themselves. Be grateful that I’m saving you at all.”

“Then why are you?” you shot back.

“Because regardless of your parentage, my family’s blood thrums through your veins and I will not be disgraced by having a weak member of my family die in a dragon attack. Come. We return.”

The ride back to your Uncle’s kingdom was silent. No one would deign to speak to you. When you finally reached yet another kingdom hewn from rock, you were unceremoniously dropped onto the hard ground. You raced to keep up with your Uncle’s long strides. “Uncle, please. We must go back.”

He glared down at you. “I would suggest you keep that mouth of yours shut unless you wish to end up in a cell.”

“You miss her, don’t you?” you asked.

He sighed, closing his eyes. As he sunk into his throne. “More than you know.”

“Then let her come home,” you pleaded. “I can return to Rivendell and stay there. I’m the one you have an issue with. I’m grown now. I don’t need my mother to be with me. Let her come home.”

Thranduil leaned back in his throne, studying you in a way that made you want to squirm. “I’m listening.”

“If I may just rest here until my lungs don’t feel like they are filled with ash, I will return home and send my mother back. I will remain in Rivendell. You get your sister back, and my mother gets to return home. I know she has missed you. Hasn’t she been in exile long enough?” You shuffled your weight between your feet as the silence spread between you, not wanting to interrupt whatever mental debate he was undoubtedly having.

Eventually, he waved his hand at you. “Fine.”

“Fine?” You were positively giddy. Your mother could come home. She was going to be ecstatic.

“Fine. Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

You rushed off, shooed almost, by some underling of your Uncle’s into a spare room. It was one of the grandest rooms you’d ever seen, on par with the main house at Rivendell. You looked out the window and caught sight of the smoke rising above the trees. Your heart ached as you wondered if Thorin was still alive. You hoped he was, but there was nothing you could do. Your days passed by in a haze of worry and waiting for a week until Gandalf showed up, having heard about your whereabouts from a bird. You learned from him that the kingdom under the mountain was no more, with everyone scattered far and wide and the town of Dale destroyed. It was utterly devastating to think of all those people gone. And still, he had no word of Thorin. He’d told you to wait, but surely he would’ve found you by now if he’d been alive? Gandalf escorted you home in an entirely uneventful journey that you barely remembered. You wanted to leave little bits of you, a trail for Thorin to follow, but you didn’t know how. Your return home was met with many hugs and tears from your Mother, at first because she’d heard of the fire and then because you’d earned her a place in her home.

“I couldn’t possibly leave you,” your mother said, arms squeezing your breath out of your lungs.

“Mother, I couldn’t bear you being away from your home a moment longer because of me. Please return. I’ll be safe with Lord Elrond, and you may visit whenever you wish,” you said, smoothing her hair.

“My darling,” she murmured, “My lovely little darling.”

You helped your mother pack her things and watched until she was barely a blip on the horizon as Gandalf took her home. And then you returned to the treehouse and cried. You cried because it was empty. You cried because your mother was gone. You cried because you’d lost Thorin. You cried because home no longer felt like home because you were no longer the you that had called this place home. For what is a home without laughter? What is a home without love? You felt like a tenant in the space that had once been yours, and still that itch for adventure bugged you. It nagged at the back of your mind. It called you like a parent calling their child home. It was like a beast kept in a cage that was much too small for it, and it roared. Still, you could not bring yourself to leave. Not after what happened last time.

Time flowed on in the way that it did for elves, a current that keeps sweeping and sweeping, eroding at the stones until all that was left was a smooth-hewn beauty or an infinite pile of dust. You grew more beautiful with each passing year, like the harvest left to ripen on the vine, but you cared little about that. At first, you thought you’d lost Thorin, but then you heard the legend of Thorin Oakenshield, defender of the dwarves. It was then that you were forced to face the truth. He’d left you behind. He had chosen his duty. You couldn’t fault him for that, but it still was a pain you carried like a pebble in your shoe to remind you that you could still feel. With every visitor, you strained to hear the tales of Thorin, like a pet scrounging for scraps at the table.

It was decades later when that fateful knock came at your door. It was Gandalf, in all his gray glory who darkened your doorstep that night.

“I have need of you, my dear,” he said, striding into your kitchen and putting the kettle on. Everything was in the same place as your mother had left it when she was living here. “I am putting together a group for an adventure and we are in need of a talented bard such as yourself.”

You looked over at your lute, collecting dust in the corner. “It's been a long while since I’ve played. I’m sure there are others better suited.”

“No, no, dear girl, you are the only one I can bring.”

Folding your arms across your chest, you looked up at him. “My last adventure didn’t end very well.”

“Who’s to say that it ever really ended?”

“I returned home, didn’t I?”

“Are you truly home?”

His words cut deep and you distracted yourself with the kettle, pouring tea for the two of you. “This expedition…”

“I can’t reveal any more about it. You must go to the Shire. I must recruit a burglar and I have just the fellow in mind for such a task. I’ll mark the door. Come in a week’s time to attend the meeting.” Gandalf downed his tea, affectionately patted your head, and breezed back out whence he came.

“Gandalf!” You called, following him outside into an early spring rain shower. “I shall have to think about it!”

“Don’t think too long, dear, you’ll get wrinkles!” He waved you off, hopping back on his cart and driving off into the night.

“Damned wizard,” you grumbled, returning to the dry warmth of your tree.

His words stuck with you, though, effectively poking the beast inside you until it began to pace and rage against the cage. Adventure was calling and you must go. You packed your bag, trying to figure out what you were about to embark on, turning over the wizard’s cryptic phrases in the meantime as you walked on to the shire.

Chapter 8: The Hobbit

Chapter Text

It was night when you arrived in the Shire. It was as if the whole hillside were a lantern, with lights flickering in little windows. Everything was small and entirely charming and you had no doubt that you would have adored growing up in a place such as this; in a place where no one took themselves too seriously. You wondered what Hobbit Gandalf had decided to recruit as a burglar—the poor soul must be terribly confused, but when Gandalf was involved, you found yourself unable to say no to any request. You’d learned that from experience, although deep down you felt as though the wizard had a better view of the chessboard of Middle Earth than he let on and that every move he made was a calculated decision. Gandalf’s mark shone like a beacon on a forest green door tucked into the side of the hill. As you stood in front of the door for a moment, you closed your eyes and breathed in the damp night air. There was a garden nearby. You could smell the tomato plants. You knocked on the door three times and waited.

A frazzled looking hobbit opened the door, cringing as he heard something get knocked over within his house. “Yes, yes? What can I do for you?”

You thumbed at the sign on the door. “I’m here for the meeting.”

“You? A hobbit? Mixed up with all of these dwarves? No, cousin, this is dreadful dwarf business, I’d suggest you escape while you can. If it weren’t my house, I would have done so already.” He kept glancing down the hall to his right as he addressed you, monitoring whatever was happening.

The hobbit tugged at something in your chest, like a missing piece of a puzzle falling into place. “Are you a Took, too?”

His head snapped back to you. “Too?” He studied you, bright eyes narrowing. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before. I am Bilbo Baggins of the Bagginses of Bag End. And you are?”

“Not from around here. My mother is an elf from King Thranduil’s court. My father… I don’t know anything about him except that he was a Took.”

“A halfling,” Bilbo said, breathing it in awe. “Either way, a cousin you are, and as your cousin, I must look out for you. I insist you wash yourself of this business.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, cousin. Gandalf has asked it of me, and I can’t say no,” you said, stepping into his little home. It was deliciously cozy. “You’ll find him to be entirely too persuasive when it matters. Might I trouble you for a cup of tea and a biscuit while I wait with the dwarves for the meeting to begin?”

“Of course, of course,” he said, despite shaking his head at you. “That is if those atrocious dwarves left anything in the pantry or the larder.”

You watched the hobbit disappear down another hall. Following the noise to a table full of dwarves, you caught Gandalf’s eye.

“Ah, I knew you’d make it, my dear. I trust the journey wasn’t too arduous?” he grinned over a cup.

“A girl? Gandalf, are you sure she’s right for the trip?” Balin asked. You recognized the dwarf from the banquet all those years ago. In fact, you recognized most of these dwarves from that fateful night, with the exception of two younger faces that you could have sworn looked a bit like Dis.

“How soon you forget my skills, Balin,” you teased, leaning against the doorway.

His eyes widened, finally recognizing you. “You made it out, bard! Glad to see it.”

“I had some help,” you admitted softly.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door, quieting the other dwarves.

“He is here,” Gandalf said. His voice was sober. He pushed up from the table and went to the front door.

“Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn’t have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You knew that voice. You’d dreamed about that voice for decades, remembering how it had sung softly to you in the late hours of night while strong arms held you in their embrace. No, Gandalf wouldn’t be so cruel as to do this to you. The dwarves laughed at something he said, probably a smug insult to your host based off the hobbit’s red face. You wanted to run, but instead you found yourself rooted in place, waiting for him to round that corner and see you.

When he did, it was as if time stood still. His eyes met yours, widening for a moment before they trailed your body, cataloging the changes. He muttered something in dwarvish that had the others blushing but you couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. He had aged. There was gray in his beard, and more braids in his hair, but his eyes were the same. You clenched your fist at your side for a moment as your blood boiled, a red flush encasing your chest. Your steps were swift as you strode up to him and your hand moved on its own as it came up and smacked his face with a resounding crack. Your breathing was heavy and loud in the silence that followed. He said nothing, the heat behind his eyes burning down to your core. You were the first to walk away, leaving out the front door to sit in the grass. You needed air. You needed the earth beneath your feet to ground you.

“You just struck the King,” Bilbo sputtered, sitting down next to you. “You, cousin, are either very brave or very foolish.”

“He deserved it,” you ground out, stroking the grass.

“What did he do?” Bilbo asked, handing you a cup of tea, the thoughtful hobbit that he was.

“He promised he’d find me after the mountain fell to Smaug and he never did,” you whispered into the cup. It was warm against your hands, seeping into your soul to soothe you. “Know this. If you get involved with this business, Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield will choose his duty over everything else every time.”

“What are they even trying to do?” he asked.

“I suppose we should hear them out before we decide anything,” you admitted, although you had some inkling that there would be nothing but mountains in your near future. Bilbo led you back inside to where the others were gathered. Thorin watched you the whole time, but you didn’t meet his eyes, lurking to the outskirts until Kili and Fili pulled you down to sit with them.

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light,” Gandalf requested, pulling a folded up piece of parchment from his robes. He smoothed it out on the table to reveal a map. “Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.” He tapped it on the map.

“The Lonely Mountain?” Bilbo asked. The red dragon on the map did not evade your notice. You should never have left your treehouse.

“Aye! Oin has read the portents and the portents say it is time,” Gloin announced to the groans of the other dwarves.

Oin leaned forward. “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

You scoffed, earning yourself a glare from Oin and Thorin.

“What beast?” Bilbo asked. Your dear, sweet cousin was going to be eaten alive if he joined this endeavor.

“Well,” Bofur said, placing a hand on the table. “That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals.”

Bilbo sighed in annoyance. “Yes, I know what a dragon is.”

Ori stood, “I’m not afraid! I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of the Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie.”

“Sit down!” Dori yelled.

“The task to win back the mountain would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we are very little in number, and not any of the best,” Balin reasoned.

“We may be few in numbers, but we’re fighters. All of us, to the last dwarf!” Fili declared.

“And you forget,” Kili said smugly, “we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf must have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.”

You choked on your tea.

“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that I—” Gandalf stammered.

“How many then?” Dori asked.

“What?” Gandalf asked.

“How many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!” Dori pressed.

Oh your poor godfather looked so embarrassed and looking at Kili, he was so full of naïve hope that you knew then that he and the blonde dwarf next to him were in fact Dis’ kin and that you’d be going on whatever ridiculous adventure would ensue so that you could protect your friend’s children. Because they clearly needed it.

“Shazara!” Thorin stood, meeting everyone’s eyes as he looked around, readying to give a speech. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!”

The dwarves cheered, clearly wooed by his speech. You had to admit he was captivating. He was a natural leader. The smugness he wore as a youth could be glimpsed, but he was hardened and wizened. You wanted to smooth out the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. When had the world eroded him like this? When had the princeling become a king? You had loved him once, perhaps even loved him still, but you knew this wasn’t the same man who’d saved you. Something had shifted in him. There were shadows in the dark crevices of his cloak and you could only guess at what secret horrors they had seen and hidden. What he had had to endure.

Balin sighed. “You forget that the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.” Gandalf fumbled around with the folds of his robe for a moment before pulling out a key, wrought of iron into an ornate shape.

Thorin’s eyes widened as he beheld the key, reaching slightly for it. “How came you by this?”

Gandalf looked smug. “It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safe keeping. It is yours now.” He handed the key over to Thorin.

Fili grinned. “If there is a key then there must be a door.”

“These runes speak of another passage into the lower halls,” Gandalf said, running his fingers along the map.

“There’s another way in,” Kili said, nudging you with his elbow.

“Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can.” Gandalf leaned back, cast a glance at you and then Bilbo and smirked. “The task I have in mind will require a grand distraction and a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.”

Ori nodded. “That’s why we need a bard and a burglar.”

“And good ones too. Experts, I’d expect,” Bilbo agreed. Oh, silly cousin, you thought. You knew your role in all this now, at least, even if Bilbo was slow on the uptake.

“And are you?” Gloin asked.

Bilbo tilted his head at the dwarf, a confused look on his face. “Am I what?”

“He said he’s an expert!” Oin grinned, laughing heartily along with a few other dwarves.

Your cousin brought himself up short, waving his hands. “Me? No, no, no, I’m not a burglar. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins,” Balin nodded. “He’s hardly burglar material, and are we really sure that we should be taking a woman with us? They’re cut from the same cloth. Neither are really ready for something like this, it seems.”

“Aye,” Dwalin seconded. “The wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.”

Bilbo nodded emphatically, trying to back out of the room. You wanted to laugh. Silly hobbit, he was already in too deep to try to get out now. As for the slight against yourself… Well, you’d prove them wrong time and time again enough in the future to care too much about it now. Besides, this lot looked like they could use a feminine touch here or there to keep them out of trouble. Senseless dwarves.

Gandalf angrily lit his pipe. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet! In fact, they can go unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us an advantage.” Shadows began to creep in behind Gandalf as he grew more agitated. “I was asked to find the last two members of this company and I have chosen these two hobbits. There’s a lot more to them than appearances suggest and they have a great deal to offer than any of you know. You must trust me on this. If I say he is a burglar, then he is a burglar. And many of you already know the bard is talented.”

Thorin sighed, waving a hand at Balin. “Very well, we’ll do it your way. Give them the contracts.”

Balin passed you both a contract. You didn’t care enough to read it, looking Thorin in the eye as you signed it and passed it back to Balin. Your cousin, however, was in the hall reading the contract deeply and scoffing at certain bits. He really needed to get out more.

Balin shrugged. “It’s just the usual summary of out of pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, and so forth.”

You got up, going to pour another cup of tea. By the time you came back, your cousin was passed out on the floor in the hall. Stupid dwarves. Thorin and Balin were in a conference in the hall while Bofur and Gandalf were trying to relocate the poor hobbit.

“It appears we have lost our burglar,” Balin said, “Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend.”

Thorin folded his arms across his chest. “There are a few warriors amongst us.”

“Old warriors.”

“I will take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they came. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart; I can ask no more than that.”

Balin sighed. “You don’t have to do this. You have a choice. You’ve done honorably by our people. You have built us a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor.”

Thorin shook his head, dug around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out the key that Gandalf gave him earlier. “From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me.”

“Then we are with you, laddie. We’ll see it done,” Balin said with a nod. He patted Thorin’s shoulder affectionately. You supposed Balin was the closest to a father figure that Thorin had these days. Thorin looked over Balin’s shoulder, catching sight of you from where you leaned in the doorway to the kitchen. He held your gaze for a moment before looking down.

The dwarves cleaned up the dining room and kitchen before retiring into Bilbo’s living room. It was a quiet congregation, with the weight of tomorrow’s quest and the dangers of it all resting upon everyone’s shoulders. Some were smoking. Others picked nervously at their nails. All were waiting. You settled into a corner, the cup in your hand had cooled considerably, but the warmth from the fire crackling in the hearth was enough to heat your face. The silence was heavy, with every little motion being heard as if it were announced. Thorin leaned his arm against the mantle of the fireplace and stared deeply into the flames and began to hum. The dwarves around you joined in. The tune creeped along, deep and slow and low. It tugged at your chest, thrummed along with the beat of your heart and you felt as if you were more than just yourself. You were becoming a part of something. And then Thorin began to sing.

“Far over the Misty Mountain cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,

We must away ere break of day to find our long forgotten gold.”

You watched as one by one the dwarves stood and joined in singing the song:

“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.”

As the song came to an end, you realized it was a call to arms. A call to acknowledge the shared history of their people and to overcome it. You looked at Thorin, the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he took in his people, his kin. This was a king and they would follow him to the ends of Middle Earth if he so much as asked. It was then that you realized you weren’t going on this quest just because Gandalf had asked you to, or even because in some odd way it was just the extension of your original quest. No, you were going on this quest for Thorin, just as you’d left home for Thorin all those decades ago. It would always be for Thorin, whether he realized it or not. Because although he has a duty to his people, you had a duty to your heart, and your heart was here in the hands of a dwarven king even if he didn’t know that he already had the most precious gem he could ever mine. The dwarves, all except Thorin, dispersed to get some much needed rest before they left in the morning. You were left alone with him, the crackling fire the only sound in the space between you as he sat on the floor in front of the flame. Quietly, you stood and sat next to him on the ground.

“I didn’t realize he’d rope you into this, although I can’t say that I’m surprised by it either. The wizard has a way of moving pieces around in a way that benefits something only he can see,” Thorin said, staring straight ahead.

You chuckled softly, knocking your shoulder into his. “I missed you, too.”

“Your slap said otherwise,” he replied, but the corner of his lip quirked up slightly.

“Did you think I’d just melt into your arms, Thorin Oakenshield, like some damsel in distress?” you scoffed.

His head whipped around to you, a spark of blue flame in his eyes. “You said you’d wait.”

“You said you’d come find me.”

“I saw you ride off with the elves. Abandoning us to the dragon.”

You sighed, “Thorin, my Uncle does what he wants.”

“You left, too.”

“I’m here now, and I signed a contract. It’s legally binding so you can’t get rid of me.” There was a beat of silence before you softly asked. “Do you regret getting me out?”

“Are you asking if I regret saving your life?” he asked in confusion. “What kind of question is that?”

You looked down at your hands, stroking your thumb against the back of the opposite hand. “Sometimes, I wondered if it would’ve been better if I’d stayed.”

“And done what? Fought the dragon yourself?” He laughed at that.

“Stayed with you.”

“And followed a prince without a home as he did a series of odd jobs that barely befit a king just to survive?” He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t have been a life. I have lost so much since that day.”

With a shake of your head, you stood. “You didn’t lose nearly as much as you think you did,” you whispered, heading off to one of your cousin’s spare bedrooms to sleep. It was odd to have a bed that actually matched your size again. The wistful part of you that had been dredged up ever since you set eyes on Thorin was beginning to wonder what your life would have been like if you’d grown up here. The elves of Rivendell built up, whereas the hobbits built down. Both surrounded themselves with earth, but the hobbits felt as if they were a part of it. Elves had the quiet respect of coexistence, but hobbits had the sense of oneness that they and the earth were all the same as if they were just an extension of the dirt. And dwarves… dwarves like men had the stubborn pride to shape the world into their vision as if the earth were a thing to be conquered. Hobbits seemed to be a warm people who give of themselves to those in need. There was a politeness that you’d seen mirrored by Lord Elrond, but you had to admit that elves held themselves with a modicum of superiority as if their overly long lives meant that they were better than others, whereas hobbits were warm and lived life to enjoy it. Sometimes you wondered if the elves actually enjoyed themselves or if they viewed themselves above such pleasures as they were self-appointed sentinels of time and the realm. Your father must have been a warm person, like cousin Bilbo. Although, you were beginning to wonder if cousin Bilbo was truly a Took—what, with his aversion to adventure. You mulled it over as you began to drift off. Your dreams came in fits and flashes of mountains and Thorin and orcs and dragons. When Gandalf woke you the next morning, you found yourself irritable and more exhausted than when your head hit the pillow. What a mood to begin an adventure.

Chapter 9: The Journey Begins

Chapter Text

The ponies were saddled after the house was put back to rights and you all began the ride out of Bag End. You were noticeably one hobbit short.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Bilbo?” you asked.

“The hobbit has not signed the contract,” Thorin spat. “We will make do.”

The dwarves found themselves in half agreement, while some said that perhaps Hobbits just slept in late and Bilbo would be along shortly. A wager began to go around, with most dwarves betting on him not showing up. You, however, trusted both Gandalf’s good judgment and your cousin’s innate Took-ish nature. If the call to adventure roared in you—half-Took that you were—then he must be full of a stampede of horses chomping at the bit to embark on the road. Yes, you bet on your cousin being late, but nevertheless being there. Your faith was rewarded when he came yelling and running down the path a bit later, waving his contract in the air until he could push it into Balin’s hands. Yes, he was a Took after all, just like you.

Your trek through the woods that first day was uneventful, full of singing and laughing. You struck up a few tunes with your lute, to the enjoyment of most. Your cousin complimented you, saying how remarkable it was that you could capture the musical taste of many. When you camped for the night against some stones, you realized how odd of a position you were in. You were surrounded by men, who could clean up nicely when they tried, but who for the most part came off as some degree of uncivilized. You could laugh at the predicament you were in. It was certainly unladylike and your mother would have had something to say about it if she knew. Still, you plumped your pack up into a pillow the best you could and attempted to rest, hearing the musical cacophony of snores around you. Dreams were drifting in when you heard Dis’ boys teasing your cousin about orcs only to be snapped at by Thorin. You sat up at that, watching him walk off to the ledge to brood and stare out into the darkness as if he could detect orcs with his eyes alone in a pitch black such as this. You listened on the edge of your seat as Balin told the story of the prince who became king. It was a tale you’d heard before from travelers stopping through Lord Elrond’s estate, but it was different to hear it from Balin, from someone who was actually there. You were gripped by the extra details, and your heart hurt for the dwarf who had to continue to fight, to pick up his family’s legacy without even having a moment to grieve. Balin spoke so highly of Thorin, like he was the cornerstone upon which their kingdom could be built, strong enough to hold them all up in their struggles. You wondered if he had anyone to talk to. If you’re expected to be strong at all moments, then you eventually crack from the strain. Gazing at Thorin as he turned around to face the group, you noticed how tired he looked. His brows pulled down as he caught you staring. It was then that you felt the stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. Hastily, you rubbed it away, but he had seen it already. You could tell by the way his body shifted, hardened as if rebuking your pity, for who were you to cry for the dwarven king and his struggles when you had not lived them? The night passed in fitful bouts of sleep, with flashes of battle crossing through your mind. Thorin was fighting a large white orc. Anxiety filled the pit of your belly when you woke. You hated your dreams of Thorin. For some reason, they always came true.

Chapter 10: Trolls

Chapter Text

The next day was anything but pleasant. Everyone was prickly after sleeping on the hard rocks, and it had begun to rain. The ponies were wet and smelled and your clothes stuck uncomfortably to your body. It was, in a word, miserable.

“Here, Mr. Gandalf, can’t you do something about this deluge?” Dori asked the wizard.

Gandalf scoffed. “It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.”

You wanted to laugh. They thought Gandalf could kill dragons and stop the weather. They must not have spent a lot of time with your godfather. It was endearing, though, the regard in which they held him. You wondered if you were immune to your godfather’s charms, but then he winked at you and you remember all the times he’d done small acts of magic above your crib when you were a child to get you to stop crying. No, Gandalf could not stop an entire rain storm, but he could create a little rain cloud when it suited him. Just enough to drip on a whining babe to stun her into silence.

“Are there any?” Bilbo asked, looking curiously at Gandalf.

“What?” Gandalf asked.

“Other wizards?” Bilbo clarified.

Gandalf nodded. “There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then there are the two blue wizards.” Gandalf scratched his beard. “You know, I’ve quite forgotten their names.”

“And who is the fifth?”

“Well, that would be Radagast the Brown.”

“Is he a great wizard or is he more like you?” Bilbo asked in such an earnest way. You snorted in laughter, earning a glare from your godfather.

“I think he is a very great wizard in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye to the vast forest lands to the east, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world.” Gandalf turned somber and pulled out his pipe. You didn’t have it in you to remind him that it was raining.

Eventually, the party came to a stop for the night in front of a burned down homestead. Getting off your pony, you scratched her nose—her name was Maple. Her chestnut coat was soft beneath your fingertips and you itched to weave flowers into her long, white mane.

“We’ll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them,” Thorin ordered as he walked towards the ruins.

Gandalf followed behind him, like a mother wearily watching a toddler as they explore. He continued into the farmhouse, a hand stroking the door frame. “A farmer and his family used to live here.”

“Oin, Gloin, get a fire going,” Thorin said, not even looking to see if the dwarves complied. He knew they would. Thorin walked up to Gandalf and surveyed the damage.

“I think it would be wiser to move on,” Gandalf advised. “We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Your ears pricked up at the mention of your home. You silently crept closer to them, wanting to hear more of their conversation.

“I have told you already, I will not go near that place,” Thorin scoffed.

‘Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice—”

“I do not need their advice,” Thorin snapped.

“We have a map we cannot read,” Gandalf reasoned. “Lord Elrond will help us.”

“Help?” Thorin laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls and the elves looked on and did nothing. You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and betrayed my father?”

It hurt to hear how little regard Thorin had for half of your heritage, but you also couldn’t blame him. You, who had experienced your Uncle’s cruelty first-hand, knew better.

“You are neither of them,” Gandalf sighed, a hint of irritation starting to seep into his voice. You knew how much he hated being questioned. “And besides, it was not Lord Elrond who abandoned you at Erebor. That blame lies with King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past.”

“I did not know they were yours to keep,” Thorin said coolly.

Gandalf scowled and strode out of the house in the direction of the forest. You knew better than to try to follow him. No, Gandalf had to calm down on his own, and he was miserable until he’d cooled down and drawn whatever new conclusion he would have to draw from this interaction. He’d have to go through his plans and readjust. Still, you knew you’d end up back home speaking to Lord Elrond eventually, even if Thorin didn’t realize it yet. Your cousin, however, didn’t know the wizard well enough yet.

“Everything all right? Gandalf, where are you going?” he asked the wizard.

“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense!” Gandalf grumbled.

“And who’s that?” Bilbo asked.

“Myself, Mr. Baggins! I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.”

Your head swiveled around to see Thorin stepping out of the ruins, a glower darkening his face.

“It’s not smart to anger those who are trying to help you, much less a wizard with immense power,” you said to him.

“This is my quest. It is not up to him to decide whom I discuss it with,” Thorin said, folding his arms.

“Stubborn dwarf,” you muttered under your breath. You sighed, turning to try and reason with him. “Your pride will be your downfall. You cannot stop asking for aid because you were denied once.”

“Erebor. Moria—”

“Did you ever actually ask for help at Moria, or did you expect the elves to swoop in?” you countered. He shut his mouth. You shook your head. “Thorin, you cannot get mad at people for not sending aid when aid has not been requested.”

“What about Erebor? Your Uncle watched and walked away.”

“My Uncle’s actions were wrong. I make no excuses for him. But, Lord Elrond is different. Lord Elrond took my mother and I in when we were banished by my Uncle. You can trust him.”

Thorin shook his head. “I trust no elf.”

It felt as if he’d slapped you. Perhaps this was retribution for the physical sting of your hand in the hobbit hole. Your hand tingled as if remembering the feeling of your hand connecting with his cheek. You watched as he trudged off to talk with Dwalin, sinking down to sit on the ground.

“Don’t be upset, lass,” Balin said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around. It’s just hard sometimes to let go of the grudges you’ve carried for so long, especially when they’ve made you stronger and independent by having them. Thorin will always do what must be done.”

“If he doesn’t think he needs Lord Elrond, then I doubt he’ll change his mind on his own,” you replied. “Balin, he’s been hardened.”

Balin stared after the King, a sad look in his eyes. “Do you know how much pressure it takes to make a diamond?”

“Coal warms your home and hearth,” you said.

“But what is more rare?” Balin squeezed your shoulder before going to help with dinner.

You lost track of time, until a warm bowl was placed in your hands. You were already growing sick of stew and gruel. It was to be a long journey. You ate quickly, pretending it was soup that your mother had made you. Then, you played your lute, strumming softly. It was an elven lullaby that Gandalf and your mother had sung to you as a child. She was right. You should’ve stayed home.

“Bilbo hasn’t come back,” Dwalin said to Thorin.

You stood up at that news. “What has happened to my cousin?”

“I sent him to bring supper to Fili and Kili. When he didn’t return, I went to go look for him, but all I found were a couple of horses,” Dwalin said.

“Round up the company,” Thorin said. “We’ll go after them.”

That was how you found yourself creeping through the darkened woods towards trolls. They smelled so awful that you pinched your nose. But, then you realized they had your cousin and intended to eat him.

“Drop him!” Kili said, jumping into the clearing. You watched in horror as they flung your cousin at Kili. Unable to stand-by and watch any longer, you lunged into the clearing leading the dwarves in an attack. All you had was a dagger to protect yourself. It was hardly a suitable weapon against the trolls, almost as if getting stabbed with a toothpick, really. Yet, you fought with a fervor that you didn’t know you had. Something about almost losing the first hobbit family member you’d found made you go feral. You were so close to finding your place in this world, and somehow you felt as if that little hobbit held all the answers to all your questions. As if spending time with him would suddenly make you more of a hobbit—because quite frankly you were sick of being an elf. And then the trolls held up that same, stupid hobbit.

“Lay down your arms, or we’ll rip his arms off!” one of the big lads said.

Thorin looked around at the other dwarves. They could leave him for death, probably would be a dead weight off their shoulders too, since Bilbo lacked a lot of fighting skill presently. Yet, Thorin took a quick glance at you, saw how you chewed on your bottom lip, your eyes darting between your cousin and Thorin. With a disgusted curl of his lip, he threw his weapon down. The other dwarves followed suit. You were all quickly stripped to your underwear and bundled into bags that smelled awful. Some dwarves were tied onto a spit to roast above the fire. The trolls were trying to give each other cooking instructions. If you weren’t about to be eaten, you might’ve found the scene quite comical, because the three of them seemed to get along well enough, but shared a single brain cell between the three of them. You were almost accepting your fate when Bilbo stood and interrupted their cooking conversation.

“Wait! You are making a mistake!” Bilbo shouted.

“You can’t reason with them,” Dori smirked. “They’re half-wits.”

“Half-wits? What does that make us?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned back to the trolls, struggling to stand. “I meant with the seasoning.”

“What about the seasoning?” the gruffest troll asked.

“Well, have you smelt them?” Bilbo said, nodding towards the dwarves. “You’re going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up. “

“What do you know about cooking dwarves?” One of the trolls asked.

“Shut up and let the flurgaburburrhobbit talk!” The gruff one said, smacking the other.

“Yes, well, the secret to cooking dwarf is…” Bilbo trailed off. It was then that you caught on. He was buying time till sunrise. How long had it been since night had fallen? Surely the sun would grace you all with its presence soon.

“Yes? Come on!” The trolled demanded.

“Well, it's…” Bilbo looked around the clearing as if it would give him the answer.

“Tell us the secret!” The troll groaned.

“Yes, I’m telling you, the secret is to skin them first!” Bilbo declared.

The dwarves did not like this answer and began to rage and protest. You tried to join along to make it believable.

“What a load of rubbish! I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all,” one of the trolls said.

“He’s right! Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy,” another one said, leaning down to pick up Bombur.

“Not that one!” Bilbo yelled. “He’s infected. He’s got worms in his… tubes. In fact they all have–they’re infected with parasites. It’s a terrible business; I wouldn’t risk it, really I wouldn’t.”

All around you, the dwarves scoffed and yelled in protest. Until Bilbo glared at them, and then they were all too eager to declare themselves full of worms.

“What would you have us do, then, let ‘em all go?” the cooking troll asked. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

It was then that Gandalf returned in his triumphant glory, standing atop the rocky hill above. “The dawn will take you all!”

This confused the trolls who began to ask each other if they knew the newcomer and if he was edible, which only enraged Gandalf further. He struck the rock with his staff, splitting it down the middle and flooding the area with light. You looked on as the trolls screamed and howled while they were slowly turned to stone. The dwarves made quick work of the sacks and got their kin down from the roasting pit. You shivered in the early morning chill, having been left in just your corset and leggings. Nasty things, trolls, with no sense of propriety either. Thorin threw his coat over your shoulders as he passed by you to talk to Gandalf. You snuggled into it while you looked for your clothes. It smelled like him, like fire and metal.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?” Thorin said to Gandalf.

“To look ahead,” he replied.

“What brought you back?”

“Looking behind. Nasty business; still, they’re all in one piece.”

“No thanks to your burglar or your bard.”

“My burglar had the presence of mind to play for time. None of the rest of you thought about that.”

You found your clothes in a pile in the corner and tugged them on before reluctantly relinquishing the cloak back to Thorin. “Thank you.”

Thorin took it from you, his hands skimming yours and sending a jolt down your spine. “I didn’t want you distracting my men.”

Gandalf interrupted before you could retort something, probably saving you from another verbal sparring for the time being. “They must have come down from the Ettenmoors.”

“Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?” Thorin asked.

“Oh, not for an age. Not since a darker power ruled these lands. They could not have moved in the daylight.”

“There must be a cave nearby.”

Your small company fanned out, searching the rocks for a cave, which you found based on the stench alone. It was a treasure-trove of items from all walks of life. Gandalf and Thorin picked up some new weapons while a small group buried a bit of gold for later. Once you were back out in the fresh air, you felt like you could breathe again. Then, a small sled led by rabbits crashed into the clearing. A frantic little man, decked out in brown, called out to Gandalf and began whispering to him about something quite serious based on Gandalf’s expression. You were about to edge closer to eavesdrop—terrible habit that it was—when a howl sounded in the distance. The dwarves all froze.

Bilbo scanned the trees. “Was that a wolf? Are their wolves out here?”

“Cousin, that is no wolf,” you murmured, casting a sideways glance at Thorin. You’d heard tales of wargs when you were younger, and heard them in the distance on your way home from under the mountain. Now, though, you were graced with an upfront view as one broke into the clearing only to be swiftly stabbed by Thorin.

“Warg Scouts! Which means an Orc pack isn’t far behind,” Thorin said with a grimace.

“O-orc pack?” Bilbo stammered. It was perhaps then that your cousin had a true view as to what he’d signed on for, and for that you pitied him.

Gandalf’s attention snapped to Thorin, “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?”

“No one,” Thorin replied.

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf’s voice was positively thunderous.

“No one, I swear,” Thorin snapped. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“You are being hunted,” Gandalf said.

“We have to get out of here, “ Dwalin said.

“We can’t! We have no ponies. They’ve bolted,” Ori said.

The brown wizard, Radagast, climbed back onto his sled. “I’ll draw them off.”

Gandalf looked at him incredulously. “Those are Gundabad Wargs, they will outrun you.”

Radagast grinned at his retinue, “These are Rhosgobel rabbits!” He winked. “I’d like to see them try.”

Your group ran as fast as your legs could take you, all the while hearing the sounds of the orc pack chasing the brown wizard through the woods. You clamored over rocks into the valley. The passage was around here somewhere. You knew that from the times you’d explored as a child with Gandalf on your trips beyond Rivendell, but it had been so long since then. You barely remembered where it was, still, you hoped Gandalf had a better idea than you did. He herded your group of dwarves towards a certain part of the plain, telling you all to stick together. You gripped Bilbo’s hand, pulling him along when he tripped at one point to keep him from kissing the ground and slowing you all down. Gandalf halted behind a boulder while the dwarves tried to catch their breath. With their heavy axes and furs you had no doubt that sprinting like this was taking a toll, especially when some of the dwarves were on the older side of things. After a moment, Gandalf pushed the dwarves to run to the next boulder across the way.

“Where are you leading us?” Thorin asked. Gandalf didn’t answer, and you knew it was because it was to the one place Thorin did not want to go. Behind this next boulder, you could see the orcs trailing Radagast in the distance. You were engrossed in the sight, willing the wizard to go faster, when you heard the sound of someone atop the boulder you were hunkered down behind. Thorin looked over at Kili and nodded. Slowly, the young dwarf nocked an arrow before springing out of hiding to shoot the orc. He and the warg fell down to the company, who were fast to dispatch him, but the commotion had given away your position. With horror, you could only watch as the wargs reversed direction and you were suddenly surrounded by an orc pack. Gandalf dove towards an opening under the boulder and was gone. The dwarves readied themselves for battle, brandishing their weapons in front of them. Thorin’s hand tightened on Orcrist.

“This way, you fools!” Gandalf yelled. The dwarves began to dive for the opening in the rock. An opening that you recognized. You helped shove the dwarves down the slope to safety with Gandalf. Thorin, you noticed, also waited.

“After you!” You yelled, shoving him towards the slope. He caught your hand and pulled you down with him onto the awaiting dwarf pile. In the distance, elven horns sounded. You looked over at Gandalf, who actually looked a little smug.

“Elves,” Thorin said in disgust.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads, do we follow it or no?” Dwalin asked.

You sighed, brushing your legs off as you stood. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“Home?” Thorin asked you.

“I think that would be wise,” Gandalf said with a smile.

Chapter 11: Rivendell

Chapter Text

You led the company through the twisting, turning cavern towards the daylight at the end. Once through, the valley gleaming in the golden light spread out before you.

“The Valley of Imraldis. In the Common Tongue, it’s known by a different name,” Gandalf said.

“Rivendell,” you replied. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the look of amazement on your cousin’s face. You looked forward to showing him where you grew up for some reason. To share with him a little of your history and hopefully gain a bit of your own.

“Here lies the last homely house east of the sea,” Gandalf said.

Thorin wheeled around to glare up at the wizard. “This was your plan all along—to seek refuge with our enemies.”

Your eye twitched in irritation. The elves had been cold to you, yes, but Lord Elrond was an exception. He was sweet, kind and knowledgeable. “I would take care not to insult my home,” you ground out, pushing out of the group and striding home without a second glance.

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself,” Gandalf said, looking down with a bit of disappointment.

“You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.” Thorin crossed his arms.

“Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the talking to me and my goddaughter.”

You snorted. Charm. Thorin had as much charm in his body as a warg. Your party was greeted by Lindir, who welcomed Gandalf warmly. His eyes twinkled a bit as he looked at you.

“Back already?” he asked with a teasing smile.

“All rivers lead back to the sea,” you replied with a wink. Lindir was on the lukewarm side of cold, and you knew he had taken a liking to your mother when she was here. Due to that, your relationship had always been a bit more cordial than most.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond,” Gandalf said.

“My Lord Elrond is not here,” Lindir said.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Of course he wasn’t here. Lord Elrond had heard of a threat to his valley. He would have taken care of that affront personally. It wasn’t about honor, but rather he missed being useful in that way. You’d eavesdropped on conversations between him and Lady Galadriel when she visited a long time ago and knew he missed having a reason to wield a blade and show his prowess sometimes—something that Lady Galadriel was quite famous for. She used to tease him about it. Elvish horns rang out and horsem*n raced towards the courtyard. The dwarves took a defensive position that you wanted to roll your eyes at. Lord Elrond dismounted the horse with a grace that was admirable and greeted Gandalf warmly. Then, he turned his appraising eyes to the dwarves.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain,” Lord Elrond said with a slight nod.

“I do not believe we have met,” Thorin replied.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain.”

“Indeed. He made no mention of you.”

You could have slapped him again for his insolence. In fact, you’d taken a step towards him, to scold him when Lord Elrond gave a slight shake of his head. Lord Elrond spoke in elvish, ordering a feast for the dwarves.

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?” Gloin asked.

“No, master Gloin, he’s offering you food,” Gandalf said with a hint of exasperation.

You rolled your eyes at that one, leaving the dwarves to the hospitality of the elves. You instead, returned to your house, deciding to take advantage of having a hot bath again and cleaning the dirt out of your limp curls. You sent for your cousin to come have tea in a few hours to chat. For now, though, you were enjoying the solitude of your thoughts again. That was, until you heard footsteps behind you.

“How quickly you abandon us,” he called after you.

You snorted. “I signed a contract, Thorin. Unlike you, my word is binding.”

“Will we ever get to move past that?” he asked softly.

Your hand paused on your door. “Would you like to?”

He didn’t answer, so you entered, leaving the door open behind you. He followed, wordlessly, closing the door behind him. You walked into your wash room, running water into the deep pit in the floor. Hot steam swirled up into the air, and you already knew how amazing it would feel to sink down into that water and have it work the weariness out of your bones. You returned to your parlor to find Thorin inspecting your house.

“So this is your home?”

“It’s where I grew up, yes.”

“And currently live.”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.” He turned to look at you, looking at you as if he suddenly understood more about you. It was an intimacy that made your skin burn in acknowledgment. Your fingers came up to your blouse and you watched him as you unbuttoned your shirt.

You began to peel off a layer of dusty, dirty clothes, leaving a trail back to the bath. The moan that escaped your lips as you settled into that water made Thorin clear his throat.

You chuckled, looked up at him over the ledge of the tub. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen or heard before.” You gave him a once over and then nodded to the water. “This tub is large enough for two.”

“I-I’m not sure that’s…”

“Thorin, when is the last time you let someone take care of you?” you asked. Your voice was soft as you leaned your chin on the edge. “You are always the first one into the fray and the last one out of it. Let me do something for you for once. Please.”

He sighed, looking skyward. “Against my better judgment.” He began to undress.

“I didn’t realize you had that,” you teased as he sunk into the water, moan escaping his own lips.

“Had what?”

“Better judgment.”

He splashed water at you. “You are no halfling or an elf. You are an imp.”

You laughed. “I am whatever you need me to be.” You sunk down into the water, submerging for a moment to wet your hair. Then, you began to pass your bar of shampoo through it, sudsing up the strands before rinsing it out with another dip. Thorin watched you intently the entire time until you came his way, bar of soap in hand. “Your turn.” He went to take the soap from you, but you pulled back from his reach. “No. I told you, I’ll do it. Now, dunk.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at you before obliging. When he came back up, you turned his back towards you and began to rub the shampoo into his hair, your nails gently massaging his scalp. Next, you used conditioner to get the tangles out of his hair, brushing through it with the utmost care. You let him wash his body himself, giving you time to do the same. You were struggling to reach a spot on your back, when he came up behind you and gently washed it.

“You’re so tense,” he murmured, placing the bar of soap on the edge so he could massage the kink out of your back.

“I wonder why,” you said with a smirk over your shoulder.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Relax, khebabmudtu. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“You never knew?”

You shook your head. He gave you a sad smile. “I’ll tell you when this is all over.”

“I could always ask one of the others.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“Thorin, I…” you trailed off, not sure where you wanted to go with that thought. You wanted to apologize. You wanted to tell him that you still loved him. You wanted so badly to ask him if his kingdom was worth all of this.

“Yes?” He looked at you with eyes that held a glimmer of hope in them.

“You should probably head back,” you murmured. “I’m having Bilbo over for tea.”

“I see,” he said, his face darkening. He went to the edge and hauled himself over, wrapping a towel around himself. “I apologize for taking up so much of your time when you were preparing for company.”

“Thorin, wait,” you sighed. “You clearly have the wrong idea about this.” You started the drain on the water and got out after him.

“I have a very clear idea. After all, you’re both hobbits. That must be a lot in common.”

“Yes, we’re both hobbits. We have more in common than you think,” you groaned. “Like a bloodline.”

Thorin paused. “You and the burglar are related?”

You wrapped your towel around you like a cape. It was one of your mothers. It made you feel incredibly small. “He is a Took, like my father. I just… I know it’s silly, but I figured getting to know Bilbo would help me get to know more about the hobbit in me.”

Thorin took your face in his hands. “You do not need to know others to know yourself. You are amazing. You shouldn’t need Master Baggins to tell you that before you believe it.”

You avoided his gaze. “You grew up with your parents, Thorin, I didn't. I was a halfbreed that didn’t belong anywhere. I was not elvish enough. If I was in the Shire, I would’ve been not hobbit-ish enough—”

He pulled your forehead to his. “You have always been enough.” He wrapped his strong arms around you, crushing you against his damp chest. “If meeting with Master Baggins helps you get to know your heritage, then I will always support that. If it begins to give you yet another set of impossible standards to live up to, though, that I cannot condone. You are you and that has always been enough for me.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, letting him comfort you. Here he was, once again taking care of someone else. You wanted to kick yourself for doing the exact opposite of what you’d intended to. He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead before letting go. “I’ll put the kettle on for you. Get dressed. I’ll be gone before your cousin comes.”

Your hands worked on their own until you heard the kettle go off. You went to pull it off the stove, finding Thorin to be gone and a hobbit knocking on your door.

“This is nice,” Bilbo said, settling into your sofa, a cup of tea in his hand. He took a sip and smiled. “And the best cup of tea I’ve had since I left the Shire. You must get that from our side of the family.”

“Tell me more about them,” you pleaded.

“The Tooks?” He scratched his chin. “Oh, where to begin.”

Oh, indeed. You came from a long line of adventurers. Most members of the family still kept in contact with the people they met abroad. It was almost a rite of passage for a Took to have an adventure of their own. Bilbo was hoping it would bypass him since he had always identified as a sensible Baggins. It was there that you realized that you and your cousin weren’t quite different at all. You both felt as if you had two different sets of expectations to live up to—and would always be called odd regardless of which side you took after. It was a refreshing afternoon and you left your home that night to attend the feast with your heart full and your stomach empty and looking forward to the food. The dwarves, it seemed, were not as enthused about the meal. It was a lot of vegetables, which you had been craving since leaving the shire. The dwarves stewed everything down to a soft consistency and honestly they killed the vegetables. Absolutely murdered the crudites. After dinner, you followed Gandalf, Thorin, Bilbo and Balin into Lord Elrond’s private chambers. Thorin was hesitant every step of the way.

“Our business is no concern of the elves,” Thorin spat.

“For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map,” Gandalf grumbled.

“It is the legacy of my people; it is mine to protects, as are it's secrets.”

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in all of Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

You nudged him with your elbow and he reluctantly pulled it from his coat.

“Thorin, no!” Balin said.

Thorin ignored him, handing the map to Lord Elrond who unfolded it with a raised brow.

“Erebor? What is your interest in this map?” Lord Elrond asked.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak but Gandalf gave him a hard look and spoke first, “It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text. You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?”

Lord Elrond raised the map up to the light slightly. “Moon Runes.”

“Moon runes?” Gandalf asked. “Of course, an easy thing to miss.”

“Well, in this case, that is true. Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon the same shape as the day on which they are written.”

“Can you read them?” Thorin asked.

Lord Elrond nodded, and walked through the open door to the right of his study. It opened out onto the side of a waterfall. He placed the map on a large crystalline table where the moon could shine upon it directly. “These runes were written on a Midsummer’s Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight.” Lord Elrond looked down at the map, and began to read: “Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

“Durin’s Day?” Bilbo asked.

“It is the start of the dwarves’ new year, when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together,” Gandalf explained.

“This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin’s day will soon be upon us,” Thorin said, looking a bit defeated.

“We still have time,” Balin reassured him.

“Time? For what?” Bilbo asked.

“To find the entrance. We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be open,” Balin said.

“So this is your purpose: to enter the mountain?” Lord Elrond asked.

“What of it?” Thorin snapped.

“There are some who would not deem it wise,” Lord Elrond simply said, handing Thorin back the map.

“Who do you mean?” Gandalf asked.

“You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth,” he replied.

Your little group dispersed, with the men heading towards their quarters. You were about to head back to your house when Thorin grabbed your arm and tugged you into a hidden alcove.

“We leave at dawn,” he said. “It may be best if you spend the night with the company.”

“You said nothing of leaving to Lord Elrond or Gandalf.”

Thorin gave you a pointed look.

“You mean to sneak out of Rivendell?” you asked incredulously. “You mean to leave behind those who wish to help you?”

“Gandalf has his own agenda. If he is truly on our side, he will catch up.”

“You’re testing him.”

“I will not waste any more time. You heard what Lord Elrond said. We must make it to the mountain by Durin’s Day,” Thorin said. “Honor your contract. And do not speak of this to your godfather.”

You didn’t like it, but you understood it. “Fine. I’ll spend the night with you lot.”

“Take my bed, I’ll take the floor,” Thorin said, pulling you into his chambers.

“I didn’t realize I would be in your room.”

He smirked. “We shared a bath together, and a bed before that. You draw the line at staying in my room? What an odd sense of propriety you have, khebabmudtu.”

You rolled your eyes at him, trying to ignore the ruckus of the dwarves outside and crawling under the heavy velvet sheets, you fell asleep.

The next morning, you were roused by a rough finger tracing the curve of your jaw. You stretched with a groan.

“What a lovely noise,” Thorin teased.

You shoved his shoulder as you sat up. “I need to get my things from my house.”

“No need. I sent Bilbo to pack you a bag last night. Balin figured since he was a burglar and all he should get some practice in,” his gaze flicked to the corridor for a moment before he added, under his breath, “I’m not convinced he’s a burglar, but he did put your bag together and brought your lute.”

“What’s left to do?”

“Leave,” Thorin said.

You nodded, walking over to the window. You looked out on your little valley, taking it all in. Not knowing if you’d ever see it again based on where you were going and what your quest entailed. Thorin placed a heavy hand on your shoulder and gently squeezed. Looking over your shoulder at him, he leaned forward to touch his forehead to yours.

“Leaving home never gets easier, but at least you know you have a home to come back to,” he murmured.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like home,” you admitted.

“It feels that way until you lose it,” he replied, pulling away from you. The sudden space between you was unnerving. You wondered if you’d offended him. His movements around his chambers were brusque as he shoved his things into his bag and pulled on his coat before slinging said bag over his shoulder. “Come. We have much ground to cover.”

Putting on your own pack, you followed him out. The dwarves had come to the astonishing agreement to be completely silent until they were out of the valley so as to avoid detection. The party moved as stealthily as heavily burdened dwarves were able, slipping between buildings and corridors until they were out past the courtyard and once again on the path out of the valley. The ridge became narrower and narrower as you went on, and the world grew darker as you veered closer to the towering rock walls.

“Be on your guard,” Thorin warned. “We’re about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on.”

“Aye,” he said, maneuvering to the front of the party.

Bilbo took a moment to stare at Rivendell. “Shouldn’t we wait for Gandalf?” he asked you.

“Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up,” Thorin called.

You squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder. “He’ll catch up. He always does.”

Bilbo nodded, turning a bright smile on you. “Then I suppose we hobbits must stick together in the meantime.”

“I’d like that,” you said, returning the smile. You nodded towards the party and began hiking again.

Chapter 12: The Misty Mountains

Chapter Text

The paths grew steeper and steeper as you rose into the Misty Mountains. It was surreal to pass through them when previously only having passed over them. It was wet and cold with rain and snow pelting your skin as you ascended into the clouds. It felt as if you were climbing into a storm. The rock was slippery and wet and you curled your toes around the ground for purchase with every step. You worried for the dwarves, not entirely confident in their shoes to keep them safe, especially with the sheer drop so close to you. You made the mistake of looking down once. It was enough to put the fear of heights right back into you.

“Hold on!” Thorin called out over the rain and thunder.

It seemed silly to remind everyone about it, but then your hapless cousin slipped and was rescued by Dwalin.

“We must find shelter!” Thorin yelled.

Dwalin pointed at something in the distance. “Look out!”

You squinted in the rain, trying to see through the blur as a massive boulder hurtled towards you all. Instinctively, you pressed yourself into the mountain for cover, bracing against it as the boulder smashed into the side of the mountain above you, raining rocks on you and the dwarves.

Balin stepped forward, pointing in the direction where the boulder came from. “This is no thunder storm! It’s a thunder battle! Look!”

He was right, of course. In the distance were two towering rock giants, whipping rocks at each other as if they were the only beings of consequence in the world. That was all well and good, until the ground began to shift under you and you came to the horrid conclusion that your mountain was not a mountain at all—but another stone giant. Your party apparently hovered around their knees. Knees that were rapidly pulling apart to stand. You realized that you were right at the edge, panic setting in as you were about to fall as the rocks cleaved from each other when a strong hand gripped your arm, pulling you into a hard chest.

“I’ve got you,” Thorin said in your ear, his arm coming around you protectively. Your hands curled into his jacket, thumbs rubbing the fur as you tried to calm your frantic breathing. He pressed his forehead against yours. “You’re safe.”

“Bilbo and the others,” you said in horror, pulling back to look back at the poor dwarves and lone hobbit holding on for dear life as the giants fought in the distance. They were yelling as their giant got knocked over, sending them hurtling into the mountain to be crushed. You buried your face in Thorin’s chest.

“No!” Thorin yelled as the giant made impact.

The few of you who’d managed to jump in the first place rushed along the rocks to find that they were thankfully fine; heaped together on the ledge.

You scanned the group. Dwarf. Dwarf. Dwarf. “Where’s Bilbo?”

A hand gripped the ledge.

“There!” Ori called out as he rushed to grab the hand. Thorin swung down and boosted him up before being hauled up himself. You wanted to smack both of them for being so careless.

“I thought we’d lost our burglar,” Dwalin said.

Thorin scoffed. “He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.” He turned towards the dwarves, ignoring the daggers that you were glaring at him for insulting your kin. “Now, we must find shelter.”

You let the dwarves pass you until it was just you and Bilbo. “Are you alright, cousin?”

“I was hanging off a cliff,” Bilbo said, still a little shell shocked. “Stone giants are real.”

“Yes, I suppose the world feels a lot bigger outside the Shire,” you said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Come, let’s find shelter and get you dried off.”

He nodded, leaning into you a bit as you walked along to where the others had found a cave on the side of the mountain.

“It looks safe enough,” Dwalin said.

“Search to the back; caves in the mountains are seldom unoccupied,” Thorin said grimly.

Dwalin scouted ahead before returning. “There’s nothing here.”

Gloin dropped some wood on the ground. “Right, then! Let’s get a fire started.”

Thorin folded his arms and shook his head. “No. No fires, not in this place. Get some sleep. We start at first light.”

Balin sidled up to Thorin. “We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan.”

“Plans change.” Thorin cast a glance to where you and Bilbo huddled in the corner making your beds. You could feel the heat of his stare on the back of your neck, but you pointedly looked down at the ground.

You spent most of the night trying—and failing—to sleep. Every little sound put you on edge and sent you back to thoughts of the orcs hunting your party in the valley. You’d been safe with Lord Elrond. You’d been safer with Gandalf, but Thorin was so stubborn and impatient you’d left the safety for the unknown. At your side, Bilbo stirred. You could hear him packing his bag and get up. You wanted to stop him. He wouldn’t last out there on his own. It wasn’t because he wasn’t capable. It was more so because it was dangerous to adventure alone. But, he was more of a hobbit than you were. Adventuring was in his blood. And if Thorin had spoken of you to the others as he had with Bilbo, you would’ve left, too. You opened your eyes a slit, watching his shadow in the darkness as he crept towards the mouth of the cave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bofur asked.

“Back to Rivendell,” Bilbo said.

“No, no, you can’t turn back now. You’re part of the company. You’re one of us,” Bofur told him.

Bilbo sighed. “I’m not though, am I? Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His voice turned sad. “I should have never ran out my door.”

“You’re homesick. I understand.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t understand, none of you do—you’re dwarves! You’re used to this life: living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere.” Bilbo swallowed. You could only imagine the hurt in Bofur’s eyes. Bilbo quickly backpedaled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re right. We don’t belong anywhere. I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.” There was a pause. “What’s that?”

Your eyes snapped open at that. Bilbo’s blade was glowing blue. Your exhausted brain rattled through what Gandalf had said. Blue. Orcs nearby. You sat up, trying to wake up the others. Mechanical noises echoed through the cave and the floor began to crack.

“Wake up!” Thorin yelled. “Wake up!”

But it was too late. The floor went out beneath you and you could only fall with it. Terror gripped you as you fell into the dark unknown only to be dropped harshly into a wooden cage. The peace of having landed lasted for just a moment before a horde of goblins crashed through that serenity. Hands were reaching and grabbing and touching. Everything smelled of dank and sweat as those hands dragged you and the dwarves along. Some of the hands were wandering around you and you rushed to slap them away only to have them tighten around your arms. You were unceremoniously dropped into a heap along with the other dwarves—not a Bilbo in sight, you realized with some panic. Before you was the ugliest, biggest goblin you’d ever seen—not that you had ever actually seen a goblin before, but you never knew they could grow to this size.

“Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves?” The Great Goblin sneered at you. “Assassins?”

“Dwarves, your malevolence,” a smaller goblin said, prostrating himself.

“Dwarves?”

“We found them on the Front Porch. There’s a female elf with them.”

“Well, don’t just stand there! Search them! Every crack, every crevice. And bring the elf to me.”

Hands grabbed you roughly, throwing you forward to the foot of the Great Goblin’s throne. You stood, daring to look him in the eye.

“You’re short for an elf,” he said, thoughtfully. You weren’t about to bore him with your parentage, so you bit your tongue. He gestured for you to be held in place. “But, you’ll do.”

“For what?” you asked.

“What are you doing in these parts?” He addressed the dwarves. The dwarves looked at each other and did not speak. “Very well, if they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk. Bring out the mangler! Bring out the bone breaker!” He looked curiously at you and it sent a shiver of disgust down your spine. He stepped down off his throne, stepping on his own subjects to do so. He trailed a clammy finger down your cheek, daring to trail it further down to hook into the neckline of your top. He pulled you towards him, overwhelming you with the stench of his breath as he purred, “Should we start with you?”

“Wait!” Thorin yelled. His eyes kept flipping between you and the Great Goblin.

The Great Goblin smirked, dropping you unceremoniously back onto the ground. “Well, well, well, look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.” He gave him a mocking bow before straightening and tapping his chin. “Oh, but I’m forgetting, you don’t have a mountain. And you’re not a king. Which makes you nobody, really. But, I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak, an old enemy of yours. A pale orc astride a white warg.”

Thorin looked up in disbelief. “Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago.”

“So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” The Great Goblin laughed, turning to one of his underlings. “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him, I have found his prize.”

The wretched thing scratched something onto a slate and sailed off on a pulley system.

Your gracious host turned back to you. “Now, my dear, I have no use for those dwarves, but you… I’ve been in the market for a new queen.” Bile began to rise in your throat as he lifted your chin with his finger. “And you?” He grinned at you, a sickening grin. “You’ll do.” He pulled you into his side. “And as for the rest of your friends? 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!”

Now, amidst all of this, one of the goblins had been inspecting all that they had looted from the dwarves during their search and he happened to come upon Thorin’s sword at this exact moment. He screamed and threw the sword, Orcrist, only for it to land at the Great Goblin’s feet.

“I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!” He squeezed you closer to him, presumably in his own fear, but you had no interest in being this goblin’s wubby. You pushed back, trying to distance yourself, which only made him latch on harder, knocking the wind out of your lungs. “Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all! Cut off his head!”

The Goblins held Thorin down, raising a knife above his head.

“No!” You screamed.

Suddenly, an explosion went off behind you, flinging the goblins around and knocking the dwarves to the ground. As the smoke cleared, Gandalf stood amidst you all brandishing his sword.

Take up arms. Fight. Fight!” Gandalf yelled out to the dwarves. They didn’t need to be told a third time. Gandalf cut down every goblin in his path, eyes locked onto where you were clutched in the Great Goblin’s arms.

“He wields the Foe-Hammer. The Beater, bright as daylight!” The Great Goblin said, trembling beneath you. You squirmed, taking advantage of how out of it he was feeling to escape.

Thorin found you immediately, shoving a sword into your hands, as he knocked his forehead against yours. “You weren’t really considering that proposal, right?”

You smirked before whirling around to fight with him back-to-back. “I don’t know… his mountain doesn’t have a dragon hiding in it.”

Thorin’s chuckle floated over your shoulder between the sounds of metal clanging against metal. “You have high standards.”

“If I had a coin for every time I was asked to be queen under a mountain, I’d have two coins, which isn’t a lot, but it’s odd that it’s happened twice.”

“I never asked you to—”

“It wasn’t implied?” you slashed at a goblin by your feet before knocking down a goblin coming for Thorin’s side. “I’ll let you off the hook, though. I’d make a terrible queen.”

Nori was amassing a mound of goblins which he managed to trip over. The Great Goblin took the opportunity to attack with a mace. Thorin quickly jumped into action to deflect the blow. The Great Goblin howled and fell back off the platform.

“Follow me!” Gandalf yelled, waving you all on. “Quick! Run!”

You sprinted after him, mostly because you did not know where anything was so it was the only logical course of action. Well, that and the fact that the wizard had never steered you wrong before. You ran as fast as your legs would carry you, trying to fight off goblins and keep up with the dwarves. It was all going swimmingly until the Great Goblin crashed down on the bridge in front of you. Gandalf quickly defeated him, but the sheer weight of the goblin brought the bridge you were standing on crashing down. You held onto the wood and shut your eyes, not caring to watch as the floor continued to get closer and closer. Bracing for impact, you hit the floor with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Rolling off the piece of wood you’d claimed, you sat on the ground for a moment, trying to breathe. Kili’s hand gripped yours and pulled you to your feet, and you were all running again down a narrow corridor towards an opening up ahead that led out of the blasted mountain. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, but then you were out and crisp forest air flooded your lungs.

Gandalf was counting the party before snapping his head to you. “Where’s Bilbo? Where’s our burglar?”

You shook your head, remembering that you hadn’t laid eyes on him since before the cave in.

“Where is the hobbit?” Gandalf asked again.

“Curse the halfling, now he’s lost!” Dwalin said.

“I thought he was with Dori,” Gloin said.

“Don’t blame me!” Dori said.

“Well, where did you last see him?” Gandalf asked.

“I think I saw him slip away when they first cornered us,” Nori said.

“What happened exactly? Tell me!” Gandalf boomed.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Thorin snapped. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he first stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing the hobbit again. He is long gone.”

“No,” Bilbo said, stepping out from the trees. “He isn’t.”

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf grinned. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

“Bilbo! We’d given you up,” Kili said.

“How on earth did you get past the goblins?” Fili asked.

“How, indeed,” Dwalin said.

Bilbo laughed nervously, fumbling with his pockets.

“Well, what does it matter? He’s back,” Gandalf said, settling the matter.

“It matters,” Thorin said, crossing his arms. “I want to know; why did you come back?”

Bilbo looked at him, brow furrowed. “Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you’re right. I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And you don’t have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back it I can.”

The dwarves seemed a little stunned, and you took that opportunity to check Bilbo for injury. You rushed to your cousin’s side, cupping his face in your hands, turning it this way and that to check for wounds. He seemed dirtier than the rest of you, and his buttons were missing. You tweaked his one remaining button. “What have you been up to, cousin?”

He gently batted you away. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I almost became a goblin queen,” you whispered, tapping your nose.

“And I’m sure you would’ve made a lovely one,” he said with a chuckle, breaking it off when howls came from above.

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin groaned.

“And into the fire,” Gandalf finished. “Run!”

Your calves were on fire as you sprinted down the incline through the forest, but the wargs were fast on your heels. The edge of the cliff came into view, having you curse Thorin for having such ridiculous enemies as you followed Gandalf’s lead and scrambled up some trees. Pine needles bit into your fingers and sap stuck to your palm as you dragged yourself up as high as you could go. You cast a quick look at Gandalf to see him talking to a butterfly, which wasn’t entirely out of character, but still a bit odd. Then, he began to light pinecones on fire and throw them down to set the forest at your feet ablaze. The wargs feared the fire, pulling back to the rest of the orc pack. That was when you caught sight of the large, white orc. His hand had been replaced by a metal rod with prongs at the end in the most gruesome way that only orcs seemed to operate. He looked at Thorin with a venomous glint to his eyes, but he couldn’t do much with the fire. You felt a momentary sense of relief at that until the trees you were on began to get knocked over. The dwarves and you quickly scrambled to the next tree and then the next until you were all on the tree closest to the edge. When that began to tip over, you began to panic. Would this be how your adventure and your life would end? Falling off a cliff clinging onto a tree? Your mother would be sorely disappointed. Not to mention, this didn’t seem very Tookish. Thorin began to shift on the tree. He wouldn’t, would he? Your grip on the tree tightened with one arm while your other reached out towards him.

“Thorin, no!” You called after him as he walked down the trunk and towards the orcs. He picked up his sword and ran at them, picking up an oaken branch to use as a shield along the way. The Warg leaped at Thorin, knocking him over and smashing him into the ground. You watched, anguish in your heart, as he stood back up to face Azog again. Azog whipped his mace around, smashing Thorin in the face and flinging him to the ground.

Bilbo was already ahead of you standing on the trunk. The White Warg chomped down on Thorin, making him yell in pain. Yet, Thorin did not stop. He smashed the warg’s snout with the end of his sword until he was thrown onto a nearby rock, the sword skittering out of his hand.

“Thorin!” your hands were already scraping at the trunk as you pulled yourself forward. He wouldn’t die like this. He wouldn’t die alone.

“Bring me the dwarf’s head!” Azog yelled as he charged after Thorin. You scrambled to get back onto the trunk to go after him as the sound of clashing meadow rang out over the cliff and echoed in your ears. Bilbo charged at the wargs and orcs as one of the riders raised a sword to decapitate Thorin. You led the charge off the tree while Bilbo fought off the orc threatening Thorin. You couldn’t keep track of anyone in the skirmish, falling instead to Thorin’s side, your hand gently cupping his face.

“Stay with me, you stupid dwarf,” you muttered, pulling him into your lap. Your face was wet with tears when a talon came down to scoop you out of the sky. “No! Thorin!” You reached your hand back towards him when another golden eagle swooped down and picked up your unconscious dwarven king. With a bit of a struggle, you crawled up the bird’s back to better watch Thorin the whole flight. The bird’s feathers were just as soft as you remembered, and you gripped them tightly with anxiety knitting your brow and twisting a knot within your chest.

A massive rock that seemed altogether too familiar came up fast, with the eagles all dropping your company off at the top. You were at Thorin’s side in a moment.

“Thorin,” you murmured, panic gripping you as he didn’t respond. “Gandalf, come quick!”

Gandalf gave you a grave look, placing a hand on Thorin’s face and whispering a spell in a language you didn’t know. And then, by some blessed grace, his eyes fluttered open. You turned away, the back of your wrist pressed to your mouth as you choked back a sob.

“The halflings?” Thorin asked. His voice was so weak. He struggled to stand, turning towards Bilbo. “You! What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?” He advanced on Bilbo, breaking into a smile. “I’ve never been so wrong in all my life.” He embraced Bilbo. “I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, I would have doubted me, too. I’m not a hero or a warrior… not even a burglar,” Bilbo said as Thorin let go. Thorin looked past him, striding forward towards the edge of the rock. Bilbo followed his gaze. “Is that what I think it is?”

Gandalf nodded. “Erebor—The Lonely mountain. The last of the great dwarven kingdoms of Middle Earth.”

Thorin had a faraway look in his eyes. “Our home.”

“A raven!” Oin said. “The birds are returning to the mountain.”

“That, my dear Oin, is a thrush,” Gandalf said.

“But we’ll take it as a sign—a good omen,” Thorin said, turning back towards the group. You turned away from him, looking back at how far you’d come.

“You’re right,” Bilbo said. “I do believe the worst is behind us.”

You scrubbed your face with your hands, taking deep breaths to calm your breathing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Thorin’s boots approach. “You gave me quite a scare.”

“I am sorry.”

“Thorin, did you even stop to think about what would happen to this quest if you died?” you snapped. He flinched. Good. You stood. “These men are all here for you!” You poked him in the chest. “What good is it to take back a kingdom if there is no king to sit upon the throne? Who would lead us if you fell?” The tears began to sting your eyes again as you turned away. “You are reckless.” You sniffed and walked away from him, beginning the descent.

Kili and Fili came up and clapped Thorin on the back. “Careful, Uncle. Mother used to tell us stories about how much she admired her and fancied to have her as a sister someday. We’d hate to have to tell her that you messed that up for her,” Kili said with a smirk. Thorin shrugged them off.

Chapter 13: The Bear in the Wood

Chapter Text

After crawling down the crag, Gandalf sent Bilbo up the hill to look for the orc pack.

“How close is the pack?” Dwalin asked when Bilbo returned.

“Too close. A couple of leagues, no more, but that is not the worst of it,” Bilbo said.

“Have the wargs picked up our scent?”

“Not yet, but they will,” Bilbo said, turning to Gandalf. “We have another problem.

“Did they see you?” Gandalf asked. “They saw you!”

“No, that’s not it,” Bilbo reassured.

“What did I tell you?” Gandalf said, turning towards the dwarves. “Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material.”

Bilbo threw his hands up in exasperation. “Will you listen—will you just listen? I’m trying to tell you there is something else out there.”

You groaned. You were so sick and tired of surprises and new enemies coming out of the woodwork.

“What form did it take?” Gandalf asked, shooting a glance at you that was so quick you almost missed it. “Like a bear?”

“Ye…” Bilbo paused, giving Gandalf a curious look. “Y-yes. But bigger, much bigger.”

“You knew about this beast?” Bofur asked Gandalf.

Gandalf motioned you over, turning away from the dwarves as they squabbled amongst themselves. “Do you recognize this wood, my dear?”

“Lord Beorn’s wood,” you said, remembering the warm, large man who had sheltered you all those years ago.

“I’ll need your help to charm him. He isn’t that fond of dwarves,” Gandalf said before turning back to the company. Louder, he said, “There is a house, it’s not far from here, where we might take refuge.”

“Whose house? Are they friend or foe?” Thorin asked.

“Does it truly matter at this point?” you shot back.

“Neither!” Gandalf said. “He will help us, or he will kill us.”

“What choice do we have?” Thorin asked. The roar of a bear sounded behind them.

“None,” Gandalf said. He looked at all the dwarves. “Run.”

You were admittedly tired of running so much on this adventure. You wanted to stop and question Lord Beorn. This wasn’t the man you remembered meeting: the man with flowers and sweets to curb your hunger. As you ran ahead, you caught sight of Lord Beorn’s estate. It looked a little worse for the wear. Behind you, you could see the large bear pounding along the ground as he chased after you all. The company scrambled through the outskirts of his estate towards the main house, pushing through the door and struggling to close it against the large bear that had caught up to them. You stepped back, watching the dwarves work together to close the door, taking time to take stock of Lord Beorn’s home. It seemed sadder than the last time you saw it.

“What is that?” Ori asked.

“That… is our host.” Gandalf said, lighting his pipe. “His name is Beorn, and he is a skin changer. Sometimes he’s a huge black bear; sometimes he’s a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overfond of dwarves.”

Ori peeked through the crack in the door. “He’s leaving!”

Dori pulled him away, “Come away from there! It’s not natural, none of it. It’s obvious: he’s under some dark spell.”

Gandalf snorted. “Don’t be a fool; he’s under no enchantment but his own. Alright now, get some sleep, all of you. You’ll be safe here tonight.” Gandalf looked down at you at his side. “I hope.”

You rooted around in one of his cupboards, remembering a stash of blankets and even finding a pillow. The dwarves had their furs to keep them warm, but you’d lost much of your things in the whole goblin fiasco. It wasn’t too great a loss, except for your lute. You thought sadly about how it was probably at the bottom of the mountain, smashed to pieces.

“How did you know where the blankets were?” Thorin asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Gandalf and I stayed here when I first traveled under the mountain.” You looked up at him. “Lord Beorn is a good man. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll let Gandalf and I do the talking tomorrow.” You moved to scoot away from him, wary of all the dwarves you’d have to crawl over, but his arm caught you.

“I…” he trailed off, letting you go when you looked down at his hand on your arm. He swallowed and shook his head. “Sleep well.”

You tiptoed over dwarf and hobbit until you could tuck into a space near the fire to sleep. The night had grown cold and you were shivering.

When Lord Beorn returned in the morning, he first woke Gandalf, nudging his shoulder with his shoe. “You’ve brought interlopers into my home.” He sniffed. “Dwarves, too. What is the meaning of this?”

The soft rumble of his voice resounded in your chest, causing you to stir and greet him. Your voice cracked with sleep. “Lord Beorn, it has been too long.”

A slow smile spread across his lips as he recognized you. “Little elf, I have thought of you from time to time. Tell me, how have you come to be cavorting with dwarves.”

“Only if you put the kettle on,” you said with a yawn, stretching as you stood.

“That I can do, lass. That I can do,” he said as he began to busy himself in the kitchen. You told Lord Beorn of all you’d endured as the dwarves trickled into the kitchen, waking from the smell of breakfast. You sipped deeply from your mug as Lord Beorn studied you.

“Do you still play?” he asked.

“Yes, but my instrument was lost during the goblin attack,” you murmured.

“A bard without their instrument,” he tutted. “Like a fish out of water.” At that moment, Thorin wandered in and sat. Lord Beorn poured him a drink, turning his attention to the newcomer. “So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the defiler hunting you?”

“You know of Azog?” Thorin asked, taking the drink and helping himself to a pastry. “How?”

“My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved.” It was then that you noticed the shackles on his wrists. They hadn’t been there during your last visit. Your heart sank at the realization that the time spent apart for Lord Beorn had been one fraught with darkness. “Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

“There are others like you?” Bilbo asked over his teacup.

“Once, there were many.”

“And now?”

Lord Beorn tucked a strand of hair back from your cheek before it dipped into your mug. “Now, there is only one.” Silence filled the room at the implication. He let it stretch for a moment. “You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?”

“Before Durin’s Day falls, yes,” Gandalf said.

“You are running out of time.”

“Which is why we must go through Mirkwood.”

Lord Beorn’s face darkened. “A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need.”

“We will take the Elven Road. That path is still safe.”

“Safe? The Wood-Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They’re less wise and more dangerous. But it matters not.”

Gandalf gave you a pointed look. The two of you could write books on how less wise the Wood-Elves were. You just hoped your mother was safe and that you could pass unnoticed. You didn’t know what would happen should your Uncle catch you there.

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked.

“These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive,” Lord Beorn said. He faced Thorin. “I don’t like dwarves. They’re greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own. But Orcs I hate more. What do you need?”

“Horses.” Thorin nodded. “We’ll need horses.”

Ponies were procured for the company and saddled in record time.

“Go now, while you have the light. The hunters are not far behind,” Lord Beorn advised.

You settled into the saddle and spurred the pony on. The horses galloped across the land, blurring the edges of the forest until it opened onto a field. In front of you was the imposing forest from your youth, but somehow it felt darker, more sinister. An ancient archway lifted out of the ground.

“The Elven Gate,” Gandalf said. He turned to the dwarves. “Here lies our path through Mirkwood.”

“No sign of the Orcs. We have luck on our side,” Dwalin said, dismounting his pony.

“Set the ponies loose. Let them return to their master.”

The company dismounted, collecting supplies off the ponies before setting them free to go back home.

“This forest feels sick,” Bilbo said, “as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around?”

“Not unless we go two hundred miles north, or twice that distance south.” Gandalf had a faraway look on his face for a moment before he stopped Nori from unsaddling his horse. “Not my horse! I need it.”

“You’re not leaving us?” Bilbo asked.

“I would not do this unless I had to,” Gandalf said.

“Gandalf… but what if…” You pleaded with him to hear what you were asking.

“Then you prove to him why he is wrong, and that he should have known you better. Remember what Beorn said. They are not wise. You are not one of them, dear one. You never have been. Your heart is different.” His gaze softened. “You are no mere elf.” He turned to Bilbo. “And you. You’ve changed Bilbo Baggins. You’re not the same Hobbit as the one who left the Shire.”

“I was going to tell you. I…” your cousin hesitated for a moment. “I found something in the Goblin tunnels.”

“Found what?” When Bilbo did not answer, Gandalf asked him again. “What did you find?”

“My courage,” Bilbo said.

“Good. Well, that’s good. You’ll need it. Stick together with your cousin and all will be fine.” He started towards his horse. “I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe.” He looked pointedly at Thorin. “Do not enter that mountain without me. This is not the Greenwood of old. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusions. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”

“Lead us astray?” Bilbo asked you. “What does that mean?”

Gandalf mounted his horse. “You must stay on the path; do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again.” Gandalf began to ride away, calling back, “No matter what may come, stay on the path!”

Thorin turned away from Gandalf, staring up at the forest. “Come on. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin’s Day.”

“Durin’s Day.” Dwalin echoed. “Let’s go!”

“This is our one chance to find the hidden door,” Thorin added, striding into the woods.

You adjusted the pack on your back, shifting the weight on your shoulders. A pit of anxiety began to gnaw at you, with the knowledge that you were so close to your mother and if your Uncle only knew about it, you knew it wouldn’t end well. But, if you just kept on the path, then you’ll sneak right by and he’d be none the wiser. Bilbo was right, though. The forest seemed sick. More so than your last visit. There was an eeriness in the wood. The air was suffocating, and it felt as if you were breathing in spores that would take root in you and rot out your lungs. The ground beneath your feet felt wrong. It was decaying, the barest hint of life could be felt. You followed the dwarves, trying to be alert, but distracted by the feeling that you weren’t alone in the wood.

Chapter 14: The Realm of the Woodland Elves

Chapter Text

“Air. I need air,” Bofur moaned.

“My head, it’s spinning,” Oin complained. The dwarves collided into each other. “What’s happening?”

“Keep moving,” Thorin said. “Nori, why have we stopped?”

“The path… it’s disappeared!” Nori said.

“What’s going on?” Dwalin asked.

“We’ve lost the path!” Oin groaned.

“Find it,” Thorin ordered. “All of you look. Look for the path!”

You looked over the edge of the cliff, and then down at your feet. You weren’t on the path. In fact, if you had to wager a guess, you’d probably left the path a long time ago. Gandalf’s words floated back to you. You could not find the path once you lost it. Your breathing came rapid, fear clutching your chest. Were you doomed to be roaming in your Uncle’s lands until he found you? And then what? He’d banished your mother before. You could only imagine what he’d do to you for not keeping your word. Trees blurred together as you began to sway on your feet.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Bilbo, we need to get out of here. He can’t find me here. If he finds me here, he may lock me away or send my mother away again and I don’t think she’d survive banishment a second time. Bilbo, I can’t be here.” Desperation coated your words, your hands fisting the straps of your pack.

Bilbo took your face in his hands. “Hey…. Hey.” He forced you to look at him. “It will be okay, cousin.” He looked down at his pocket for the briefest moment before looking you in the eyes, a steely glint in them. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. We will get out of here.”

“Is there no end to this accursed place?” Thorin groaned up ahead.

You shook your head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Bilbo.”

He thumbed away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. “I am a hobbit of my word. Alright? We will get through this. We….” He looked up at the tree you were standing under. We just need a better perspective.”

“We keep heading east,” Dwalin said.

“But which way is east? We’ve lost the sun,” Oin snapped. The dwarves began to bicker amongst themselves.

“The sun,” Bilbo murmured. He turned back to you. “We have to find the sun. Up there. Come on. You need the fresh air, and I have a feeling this will solve all our problems.”

You nodded, following him up the gray trunk, being careful to avoid the cobwebs that wrapped the wood like streamers. The closer you got to the canopy, the faster you climbed until you broke through. You gulped down the air, basking in the feeling of the warm sun on your face. Everything felt clearer up here. All your troubles seemed silly. Bilbo popped up next to you, smiling as he took in the landmarks.

“I can see a lake!” He called down to the dwarves. “And a river. And the Lonely Mountain. We’re almost there!” He shot a look over at you when no reply came. “Can you hear me? I know which way to go! Hello?” The two of you struggled to look down, not seeing anything of note through the branches. “Hello?”

“Bilbo, I have a bad feeling about this,” you replied. In the distance, trees began to sway and creak as something seemed to be heading across the forest right towards you. You scrambled to climb down the tree and get back to the dwarves. On the way down, Bilbo tripped and fell, landing hard on the ground. A spider larger than any you’ve ever seen came out of the fog and quickly spun a web to wrap your cousin up tightly. You pressed your back against the tree. Carefully, you crept along the trees, following the spider as he dragged Bilbo back to its friends. Various shapes of cocoons hung from the trees and your stomach sank as you figured they must be filled with the others. You needed a way to rescue them. You noticed Bilbo began to struggle in his cocoon, killing a spider. It was then that you realized, you just needed a distraction. Acting quickly, you pulled a dagger that you’d gotten from Beorn from your boot. You used it to cut off strands of web, tying them off at various tautness to a wide branch you plucked off the tree to create a lyre as Bilbo continued to fight off the spiders, even earning a name for his sword. And then you did perhaps the stupidest thing you’d ever done in your life. You stepped out into the midst of the spiders and began to play.

“Gather round and attend the tale

Of the spiders we killed on our way to Dale

Through the wood and down the river

They will all fear Sting the death-giver.”

Bilbo used your distraction as an opportunity to attack. You continued to distract the spiders, running off while Bilbo freed the dwarves, cutting them down to the ground.

“Where are the hobbits?” Bofur asked.

“Up there!” Kili said, pointing to where you were dodging the spiders while playing.

You jumped down to the ground and smirked at the dwarves as they began to fight the spiders off. “You’re missing all the fun.” You used your dagger to fend off a spider before it could attack Thorin, and the rest of the dwarves quickly dispatched the other spiders in the vicinity and began to run. A rather large spider dropped down in front of the group and Thorin stepped up to fight it. And then a blonde elf swung down from the canopy and killed it. He nocked an arrow and pointed it at Thorin. At least a dozen other elves emerged from the wood, arrows pointed at you and your friends.

“Do not think I won’t kill you, dwarf,” the elf spat. “It would be my pleasure.” He looked familiar in a way you couldn’t quite place. But then he looked at you, his brow furrowing for a moment until the puzzlement leaves and recognition settles in. “Father will be most displeased to see you, cousin.”

“You’ve grown, Legolas,” you said. The last time you’d seen your cousin was when your mother had shown you the small painting she had of him as a child in her things.

“Search them,” he sneered. The other elves came forward and began confiscating all the weapons. They even broke your branch-made lyre out of spite. Then, they herded you and the dwarves towards the kingdom of your Uncle and you felt dread encroaching with every step you took. Your cousin was not gentle as he hoisted you along by the arm. It made you wonder what you could have possibly done to him to make him dislike you. Ahead of you, the stone fortress of the Woodland Elves loomed.

When the doors closed behind you with a thud, you felt as if the world were closing in. You’d spent such little time here when the mountain fell to Smaug, but it hadn’t changed. The walls were cavernous and your footsteps echoed. The dwarves were hauled off towards the dungeons, but you and Thorin were pulled to the throne room. Your Uncle lounged on his throne, his eyes flashed as he caught sight of you next to the dwarf king. “Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of the like.”

Thorin, to his credit, just looked up at your Uncle and allowed him to continue.

“You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King’s Jewel, the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help”

Thorin crossed his arms. ‘I am listening.”

“I will let you go, if you but return what is mine.”

Thorin turned and slowly started to walk back towards the stairs. “A favor for a favor.”

“You have my word. One king to another.”

At that, Thorin stilled. You could see the crinkle forming at the corner of his eyes, and you knew before he even opened his mouth that it would not be something pleasant. “I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us!” He spun around and began to yell at your Uncle. “You lack all honor! I’ve seen how you treat your friends.” He gestured to you. “I’ve seen how you treat your own family. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back. You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! Imrid amrad ursul!”

Thranduil swept off his throne, practically floating down the stairs until he towered over Thorin. He shoved his face towards Thorin. “Do not talk to me of dragon fire. I know it's wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north.” His face began to change, a glamor falling off to reveal a grotesque burn covering his face, his left eye clouded with blindness. When he pulled away it returned to normal. “I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen.” He started to climb the steps to his throne. “You are just like him.” He waved to the guards who reached down to haul Thorin away. “Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.”

“Wait!” you called out.

“You have no business here, halfling,” your uncle spat.

“I did not seek you out willingly. I was brought. Let the dwarves go. They were not coming through the forest for you. They were attacked by spiders and captured and brought here. They want to go home. Let them.”

“You have no bargaining power here.”

“Please, your highness.” The honorific was bitter on your tongue. You looked over at Thorin for a moment before getting on your knees.

Thranduil looked between you and Thorin. He held up a hand to stop his guards. “What is he worth to you?”

“Everything,” you breathed.

Thranduil’s lip curled in disgust. “You are in love with that dwarf?”

You looked over your shoulder at Thorin, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His blue eyes shone brightly in the lighting of the King’s hall. They were more precious than any gem you’d ever seen. “Yes.”

“Very well.” Your Uncle sat on his throne. “Your freedom for the dwarves’. The choice is yours.”

“Yes.“

“No!” Thorin yelled over you. “I do not accept such terms.”

Your Uncle smirked. “Then it appears as if I will keep you all here. I suppose your mother will be pleased. Take them both away.”

Rough hands reached down and yanked you off the floor and far away from Thorin. “You stupid dwarf! You were almost free. Why would you reject that? Your pride will be the death of you,” you yelled after him, watching as he was dragged down towards the deeper dungeons. You were thrown into a slightly nicer cell. It was still a cell, but at least it seemed to be one for people of note. There was a small cot that you sat on. You could hear the dwarves talking far below you, echoing up the corridor.

“Did he offer you a deal?” Balin asked.

“He did. Two deals were offered. The terms were unacceptable,” Thorin replied grimly.

“Well… that’s it, then. A deal was our only hope.”

“Not our only hope.”

It was then that you realized that Bilbo was missing. You hoped he’d stay far away from all of this. He didn’t need to get tangled up in this mess. Footsteps quickly scuffed down the stairs above you, the sound of fabric dragging down the stone mingling with it. You weren’t sure what to expect, but then you saw your mother’s face through the space in the bars.

“My darling,” she sobbed, reaching for you through the bars.

“Mother!” You rushed to her, letting her stroke your hair and hold you as close as she was able.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered into your hair. “You were free. What are you doing here?”

“My friends—”

She pulled away from you at that. “The dwarves they found in the wood?”

“Yes, Mother. Gandalf found me and asked me to help them.”

“It's a nasty business—getting involved with dwarves. You oughtn’t. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Mother, it’s because of that that I have to help them. They need me.”

“No. No, I will talk to your Uncle. I will get you out of here, you will forget about the dwarves –”

“Mother, listen to me!” You snapped. She pulled back as if you’d struck her. You felt awful about it, but it needed to be said. “Mother, I cannot stay here, and neither can they. I will leave if and only if they do. I need to help them get home. Don’t you remember what it was like to not be able to return to your home? I returned you home. Let me do the same for them.”

Your mother cupped your cheek in her hand. “Darling, it is nice here, but I am not entirely sure this is home.”

“What do you mean? This is where you were banished from. This is your home.”

She gently stroked your cheek with her thumb before pulling away, as a guard approached. “Sometimes home isn’t a place.”

“My lady,” the guard said. “Your presence is requested at the banquet. The King sent me to escort you.”

Your mother nodded. She pressed a kiss to your hand and gave it a squeeze before reluctantly leaving you.

“Your mother is beautiful,” Fili yelled up at you.

You leaned to look over the edge of the stairs and spotted him diagonally from your cell a level down. You chuckled. “She has a thing for shorter men.”

“You’re saying I have a chance?”

“Not a bit!” Still, he had made you smile, and as you laid down on your cot, you thought that maybe, just maybe, there was still something to be glad about in all this.

Sometime later, you heard the dwarves below you again.

“I’ll wager the sun’s on the rise. It must be nearly dawn,” Bofur said.

“We’re never going to reach the mountain, are we?” Ori asked.

A new voice joined them. “Not stuck in here, you’re not!”

You sat up straight in your cot.

“Bilbo!” Balin exclaimed.

“Shhhh! There are guards nearby!” he chastised.

You listened to the clinking of keys as he unlocked all the dwarves below you. He counted as he went, finally coming to your cell.

“Well, cousin, if this is how the King treats family, I think it’s best if I don’t meet him,” he said cheekily.

You crushed him in a hug. “Wherever did you go?”

“Exploring. I am on an adventure, you know,” he said.

“The stairs. You first!” One of the dwarves said, pushing Ori forward.

“Not that way,” Bilbo said to them. “Down here. Follow me.”

You followed Bilbo through twists and turns, hiding behind pillars and sneaking around corners until you were in a cellar.

“This way,” Bilbo said.

“I don’t believe it; we’re in the cellars!” Kili said.

“You were supposed to be leading us out, not further in!” Bofur said.

“I know what I’m doing!” Bilbo snapped. You figured the dwarves would’ve learned to stop questioning him by now. “This way.”

The company snuck into a large room. Wooden barrels sat stacked sideways on top of each other.

“Everyone, climb into the barrels, quickly!” Bilbo instructed. You shrugged and started to crawl into a barrel.

“Are you mad? They’ll find us!” Dwalin said.

“No, no, they won’t. I promise you. Please, please, you must trust me.”

Still, the dwarves were dithering. That is, until they heard footsteps in the distance.

“Do as he says!” Thorin said. The dwarves quickly began loading themselves into barrels.

“What do we do now?” Bofur asked.

You risked a peek out your barrel—the dwarves apparently had the same idea—and you all looked at Bilbo as he walked towards a lever.

“Hold your breath,” Bilbo said.

You wanted to laugh. It was such an odd request, but you were already in a barrel in the basem*nt of the Woodland Elf King’s home. How much odder could it get? You took a deep breath.

“Hold my breath?” Bofur asked. “What do you mean?”

And then Bilbo pulled the lever.

Chapter 15: Laketown

Chapter Text

The floor gave out beneath the barrels. You held onto the sides, bracing yourself for the inevitable impact. The barrel fell, and your stomach was in your throat, sick with the feeling of weightless freefall. A panic settled in, the feeling of thrill quickly riding on its coattails until the barrel splashed down into a river, sending cold water over the sides of your barrel. The barrel bobbed back up in the water, and you caught sight of the other barrels. You did a quick headcount to find yourself a hobbit short—but then Bilbo came falling out of the same hole you’d been dropped out of. He splashed into the water to be grabbed by Nori and hung onto his barrel.

“Well done, Master Baggins,” Thorin said. You wanted to throttle him. This could all have been avoided if he’d just accepted any of the deals from the throne room. “Come on, let’s go.”

You all began to paddle with your hands, working with the current of the river to go further. Eventually, you emerged into the sunlight and rapidly were being pulled towards a waterfall.

“Hold on!” Thorin shouted.

Once again, that odd feeling of weightlessness made the panicky thrill rise in your chest until you splashed down once more. Behind you, elves began to pour out of the Woodland King’s home, running after you. Legolas yelled for a gate to be shut up ahead and the barrels thudded up against an underwater gate.

“No!” Thorin yelled.

Your barrel knocked into his, and you strained to look up to where the mechanism to unlock the gate would be. Sounds of struggle carried down and with horror, you saw orcs creep out on the banks of the river. Kili hopped out of his barrel, his being closer to the banks, and ran for the lever. Dwalin threw him a weapon and you heard him fight off some unseen attackers. What you did see, though, was an orc archer on the bank. He nocked an arrow and let it loose. It hit Kili, causing him to groan in pain. The archer drew another arrow and aimed.

“Kili,” Thorin breathed, regret on his face at his inability to do anything.

An arrow burst through the orc’s head, having been fired from one of the elves that had captured you, Tauriel. As the elves engaged with the orcs, Kili pulled the lever and the gate opened, sending the barrels down yet another waterfall. You reached out to paddle and steer, but there was no controlling the rushing current you found yourselves in. The elves continued to fight off the orcs as they followed your barrels down the river. One leapt onto Thorin’s barrel, which he killed with a sword he’d stolen during your time in the cellar. Up ahead a tree reached out over the river, an orc poised to take out Balin as his barrel approached. Thorin threw his sword, pinning the orc to the tree. The orc dropped his weapon, and Thorin caught it as he passed under the tree. He threw it back to Bombur who passed it along further down the line to the others to defend themselves. It was all instinct and you couldn’t help but wonder what they would have been like in the forge, passing tools to each other. It was as if the dwarves were connected somehow, always knowing when one was in need and doing everything in their power to help them. There was a camaraderie that you had never witnessed before, and it was compelling. They spoke in looks and gestures and you were quite plainly just along for the ride, throwing an ax along at one point, but even that was a struggle for you. Eventually the elves on the shore stopped following, and the orcs were too far behind to be kept in your field of view, the rapids pushing you along at such a brutal pace.

When the river was calm, the company decided to ditch the barrels. You paddled towards the shore, pulling yourself out of what you were worried would become your own coffin at one point that afternoon. Your legs were shaky on the ground, and Bilbo caught you from lurching forward onto your face at one point.

Kili’s leg gave out and he landed on his knees, blood seeping through his pant leg from the arrow’s wound. “I’m fine, it’s nothing,” he said to Bofur.

“On your feet,” Thorin said.

“Kili’s wounded,” Fili said, dropping down next to his brother. “His leg needs binding.”

“There’s an orc pack on our tail; we keep moving,” Thorin shot back, his eyes scanning the shore.

“To where?” Balin asked.

“To the mountain,” Bilbo said. “We’re so close.”

“A lake lies between us and that mountain,” Bailn said. “We have no way to cross.”

“So then we go around,” Bilbo said.

“The orcs will run us down, as sure as daylight,” Dwalin said. “We have no weapons to defend ourselves.

“Bind his leg quickly,” Thorin said, looking back over to Kili. “You have two minutes.”

“Thorin,” you said, your voice with an edge of warning to it.

He looked at you, so much lurking in the depths of his eyes. The remonstration for him died on your lips as you realized that he was worried about his nephew, but the whole situation was a mess, and he was right. There was no way you would survive if you stayed here a moment longer than necessary. The dwarves behind you all scrambled to their feet, and you turned to see what it was that had gotten their attention. A man had snuck up on them, a bow and arrow in his hand that he fired at Dwalin as he charged, lodging an arrow in the middle of the branch Dwalin had chosen to defend himself with. Kili attempted to throw a rock, but that, too, was shot from his hands.

“Do it again, and you’re dead,” the man said.

Balin raised his hands in surrender, approaching the man slowly. “Excuse me, but, uh, you’re from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn’t be available for hire, by any chance?”

The man looked skeptical, but he lowered his bow, climbing back aboard the barge. “What makes you think I will help you?”

Balin smiled at him. “Those boots have seen better days.” He watched as the man loaded the barrels you’d ridden in onto the barge. “As has that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?”

“A boy and two girls.”

“And your wife, I’d imagine she’s a beauty.”

“Aye. She was.”

The implication hung in the air, and Balin’s smile faded from his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Dwalin scoffed to Thorin, “Oh come on, come on, enough with the niceties.”

“What’s your hurry?” the man asked, straightening.

“What’s it to you?” Dwalin asked, crossing his arms.

“I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands,” Bard said.

“We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills,” Balin said. It was sort of close to the truth, if you thought about it and closed one eye and squinted the other.

“Simple merchants, you say?”” The man asked, examining the barrels. No doubt they were littered with the signs of battle.

“We’ll need food, supplies, weapons,” Thorin listed. “Can you help us?”

The man tapped the barrel nearest him. “I know where these barrels came from.”

“What of it?” Thorin asked.

“I don’t know what business you had with the elves, but I don’t think it ended well. No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He will see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil.”

The man threw a rope to Balin. Thorin gave Balin a pointed look, mouthing ‘Offer him more.’

“I’ll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen,” Balin said.

“Aye,” The man said. “But for that, you will need a smuggler.”

“For which we will pay double.”

The man eyed you all, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear. You didn’t know if he sensed the desperation in your party or if he was acknowledging the desperation in himself, but eventually he nodded. “Deal. Welcome aboard.”

You all scrambled aboard, settling onto the deck as the barge pushed off into the river. The dwarves huddled towards one end of the barge, casting suspicious glances at the man, but you and Bilbo sat next to your hired savior.

“What’s your name?” Bilbo asked him, playing with his lone button on his vest.

“Bard,” he said.

“Do you play music?” you asked him.

He smirked at you. “No. I’m sure my mother named me for some aspiration she had for me, but grand dreams don’t come true in Laketown. We live on the water, we work on the water, someday we’ll die on it. You keep your head down, make a living enough that you and yours don’t starve.”

“And what of this Master?” you asked. “Does he not care for the plight of his people?”

“As long as he has food and enough money to waste on his whims, he doesn’t care much for anything else,” Bard said. The bitterness in his voice was evident.

“I find that it is quite easy for those in power to become corrupted,” you murmured, thinking of your Uncle.

“How did the two of you end up with a bunch of merchant dwarves?” he asked.

“Contract.” Bilbo said, at the same time that you said “Friends.”

“I find that work and pleasure don’t often mix,” Bard chuckled.

“When you travel together as long as we have, it's hard for friendship not to follow closely after duty,” you explained, nudging Bilbo with your elbow.

“As for us,” Bilbo said, draping his jacket around you because you’d started to shiver. ‘We’re family.”

“Cousins,” you explained further.

“Watch out!” Bofur called out.

You turned your attention towards the front of the barge, seeing large stone formations appear out of the fog. Bard poled the barges between them. Standing, you pulled Bilbo’s jacket tighter around yourself, and then you walked to the front of the barge to get a better look. They were ruins, and they must have been grand once.

“What are you trying to do, drown us?” Thorin snapped.

“I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf. If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here.”

“Oh, I have had enough of this lippy lakeman. I say we throw him over the side and be done with him”

“Oh, Bard, his name’s Bard,” Bilbo corrected.

“How do you know?” Dwalin asked.

“Uh, I asked him.”

“I don’t care what he calls himself, I don’t like him,” Dwalin said to Thorin.

“We do not have to like him, we simply have to pay him. Come on now, lads, turn out your pockets,” Balin snapped. The dwarves dug deep into their pockets, pulling out what little they had after all the misadventures.

“How do we know he won’t betray us?” Dwalin hissed.

“We don’t,” Thorin said, crossing his arms.

“I trust him,” you said, glaring at Thorin. “He could have left us back there, but he didn’t. He also could’ve killed most of us back there with his bow and arrow, but he didn’t. He’s just a man trying to earn a wage and help his family.” You looked over at Bard, catching his eye. He smiled at you. It was a sweet smile that softened the lines of his face. Wind ruffled his hair, pulling it across his face again. He looked like a sailor of old like you read about in your books. He could have been at place at the helm of the barge or at the helm of one of the boats from Numenor. Heat rose in your cheeks as you turned away. “He won’t betray us.”

Thorin scoffed, turning back to Balin. “Well?”

“There’s, um, just a problem: we’re ten coins short.”

Thorin looked over at Gloin who had gone quiet. “Gloin, come on. Give us what you have.”

“Don’t look to me. I have been bled dry by this venture! And what have I seen for my investment? Naught but misery and grief and—” As he was speaking, the others all stood and looked out into the distance. You followed their gaze and through the thinning fog, you could see it. The Lonely Mountain. It was just as grand and large as it was all those years ago. Gloin swallowed. “Bless my beard. Take it. Take all of it.” From within his pockets he withdrew a coin sack and gave it all to Balin. Balin collected it all together to give to Bard.

“The money, quick, give it to me,” Bard said, gruff and business-like once more.

“We’ll pay you when we get our provisions, but not before,” Thorin said.

“If you value your freedom, you’ll do as I say. There are guards ahead,” Bard said, taking the money from Balin. “And back into the barrels, now.”

Thorin simmered beside you, unused to being passed over and not in full control. The dwarves grumbled, but got back into the wooden death traps. The sight of the mountain had reminded them how close they were to achieving their goals. Bard hopped off the barge and towards a dock up ahead.

“Shhh, what’s he doing?” Dwalin asked. His barrel was towards the back.

“He’s talking to someone,” Bilbo said. “And he’s… pointing right at us! Now they’re shaking hands.”

“What?” Thorin asked.

“That villain! He’s selling us out,” Dwalin groaned.

You knew that Bilbo’s perspective did not make it seem good, but you hoped that you had been right about this man, and that he wasn’t about to betray you all after you’d given him quite literally all you had left. The silence was long as you waited in anticipation. Bard leaned over your barrel, a twinkle in his eye, and winked. And then you got covered in smelly, slimy fish. The outside world was muffled by the dead carcasses, and you did everything you could not to smell them. You breathed through your mouth, keeping it open only a fraction because you were afraid of what might go into your mouth should you open it wider.

“Quiet! We’re approaching the toll gate,” Bard snapped.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt the barge thud up against a dock. You held your breath, doing your best to listen.

“Halt! Goods inspection. Papers, please. Oh, it's you, Bard,” the gatekeeper said.

“Morning, Percy,” Bard said.

“Anything to declare?”

“Nothing, but that I am cold and tired, and ready for home.”

“You and me both.” A moment passed before the other man added, “Here we are. All in order.”

“Not so fast.” Your stomach dropped at the new voice. “Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only, they’re not empty, are they, Bard?” Your hand fisted, your nails biting into your skin. You’d come so close. Surely your luck would not run out here in this barrel of fish. “If I recall correctly, you’re licensed as a bargeman, not a fisherman.”

“That’s none of your business,” Bard said, his tone cool.

“Wrong. It’s the Master’s business, which makes it my business.”

“Oh come on, Alfrid, have a heart. People need to eat!”

“These fish are illegal. Empty the barrels over the side.”

Multiple feet thumped onto the barge. You heard the barrels around you get tipped into the water, splashes from the fish being the only thing louder in your ear than the sound of your own heartbeat.

“Folk in this town are struggling,” Bard pleaded. “Times are hard. Food is scarce.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back in the lake, when the rioting starts, will it be your problem then?”

There was a long pause before Alfrid spoke. “Stop. Ever the people’s champion, eh, Bard? Protector of the common folk? You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won’t last.”

“Raise the gate!” Percy called.

“The Master has his eye on you,” Alfrid said. “You’d do well to remember. We know where you live.”

“It’s a small town, Alfrid,” Bard said. “Everyone knows where everyone lives.”

Eventually, the barge thudded against a dock and you heard the barrels get knocked over one by one until it was your turn. Instead of a straight tip over, Bard brushed some fish off the top and offered you a hand, which you took, and he pulled you out of the barrel. Then, he went over to slip a coin into the dock keeper’s hand. “You didn’t see them, they were never here. The fish you can have for nothing.” He turned back to your party. “Follow me.”

You followed Bard, weaving in and out of the floating city down narrow gangplanks.

A young boy strode up to Bard, panic in his eyes. “Da! Our house, it’s being watched.”

Bard looked over at Thorin for a moment. “Can you lot swim?”

“I’d hope so, considering the amount of time we spent in the water today,” Bilbo said.

“We can swim,” Thorin said.

“Right. You pop under the dock, follow this line down a good forty feet. My house is at the end. You’ll see an opening, we’ll knock and pull you up. Try not to drown in the meantime.” Bard gestured to the water. You swallowed. It was going to be colder than the river. You all slipped as soundlessly as you could into the water and under the dock. There was just barely enough space for your heads to poke out of the surface. Your clothes felt heavy and you kicked your legs hard to stay above the water. You tried not to think about the fact that you would be emerging from someone’s toilet, which in theory meant that people were actively just dumping refuse into the water you were swimming in. Once you hit the last house, you waited, moving your arms and legs to float.

It felt like forever had passed when you finally heard the knock. One by one, you all crawled up through the bathroom. Bard’s home was a little sad. He lived here with his three children, but it wasn’t much. Then again, it was a roof over their heads, and a floor between them and the lake. One of his daughters offered you a choice of their extra clothes. You ended up swiping a pair of pants that you rolled up at your ankles so you wouldn’t trip, and a vest that you laced over a fluttery undershirt. You were most grateful for the blanket that Tilda gave you, which you wrapped up in and settled onto the bed to be out of the way. A hot spiced drink was placed in your hands shortly after.

Thorin, ever the brooding dwarf king that he is, crossed his arms and looked out the window. “A Dwarvish Wind-Lance.”

Bilbo looked up from his drink. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He has,” Balin said. “The last time we saw such a weapon, a city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came. The day that Smaug destroyed Dale. Girion, the Lord of the city, rallied his bowman to fire upon the beast. But a dragon’s hide is tough, tougher than the strongest armor. Only a black arrow, fired from a wind-lance, could have pierced the dragon’s hide, and few of those arrows were ever made. His store was running low when Girion made his last stand.”

Thorin turned back to the room. “Had the aim of Men been true that day, much would have been different.”

“You speak as if you were there,” Bard said.
Thorin looked over at you. “All dwarves know the tale.”

“Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon. He loosened a scale under the left wing,” Bard’s son, Bain, said. “One more shot and he would have killed the beast.”

Dwalin laughed into his drink. “That’s a fairy story, lad. Nothing more.”

Thorin walked up to Bard. “You took our money. Where are the weapons?”

“Wait here,” Bard said, disappearing down the stairs.

You nudged Thorin with your foot. “You could be kinder. He is our host.”

“We are paying him for a service.”

“He is an honorable man who has helped us thus far. I just think—”

“Think what?”

“I think you could be nicer.”

Thorin shook his head, moving over to the dwarves. “Tomorrow begins the last days of autumn.”

“Durin’s Day falls morn after next,” Balin said. “We must reach the mountain before then.”

“And if we do not?” Kili asked. “If we fail to find the hidden door before that time?”

“Then this quest has been for nothing,” Fili said, voice grave.

Bard dropped a wet bag on the table. When he opened it, you could tell from the look on Thorin’s face that the ‘weapons’ were not up to the dwarves’ standards.

“What is this?” he asked in disgust.

“Pike-hook. Made from an old harpoon,” Bard explained.

“And this?” Kili asked, holding up another metal hybrid weapon.

“A crowbill, we call it, fashioned from a smithy’s hammer. It’s heavy in hand, I grant, but in defense of your life, these will serve you better than none.”

Gloin grumbled. “We paid you for weapons. Iron-forged swords and axes!”

“It’s a joke!” Bofur said, throwing his weapon on the table.

“You won’t find better outside the city armory. All iron-forged weapons are held there under lock and key,” Bard said.

Thorin and Dwalin shared a look. You knew that look. You knew you wouldn’t quite approve of the results of that look.

“Thorin,” Balin said. “Why not take what’s been offered and go? I’ve made do with less; so have you. I say we leave now.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bard said.

“What did you say?” Dwalin asked.

“There’s spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town. You must wait till nightfall,” Bard said.

The dwarves began to sit. You knew they were itching to do something, but you had to admit that perhaps this forced inaction was a good thing for the moment. They needed rest. Kili looked worse for the wear. His leg must have been truly bothering him. Bard left the house, and you floated over to the dwarves, refilling drinks and tucking in blankets here and there, having convinced most of them to take a short nap.

Dwalin and Thorin were seated at the table. You sat with them.

“So, how are we breaking into the armory?” You asked.

“How did you—” Dwalin asked.

“Please. I’ve been traveling with the two of you for months. In terms of sheer stupidity, this plan is almost as crazy as riding in barrels down a river to escape elves and orcs. Which means it’s just crazy enough that it might work,” you said. “Although, we don’t even know where the armory is.”

“You, girl,” Dwalin called out to Bard’s eldest daughter. “Where’s the armory?”

“Particularly the back of it?” You added.

“If you walk three houses down, take a left at the market, and then a right at the pub, the armory is on your left,” she said, making some food for her sister.

“So we sneak in through the back, get in, get the weapons, and get out with no one being the wiser,” Dwalin suggested.

“You’re not the quietest bunch,” you said, looking into your mug, your cider almost gone.

“No, but we have a burglar,” Thorin said, looking over at Bilbo.

“You have two hobbits,” Bilbo corrected.

Thorin briefly met your gaze. “Right. Two.”

Bilbo helped you wake the dwarves and tell them the plan. Bain attempted to stop the party from leaving, but he’s a sweet kid, and the dwarves managed to gently nudge him out of the way. You snuck between the shadows of buildings, following the directions previously given. It was hard to balance, with the floor beneath you bobbing up and down. It was a wonder that people lived like this, but you figured they must have gotten used to it eventually. You didn’t know if you ever could. It felt like your connection to the Earth was muffled here, swishy and fluid but not quite tangible. Thorin pulled you behind a boat as two watchmen walked by.

“Shhh! Keep it down,” Dwalin chastised.

“As soon as we have the weapons, we make straight for the mountain. Go, go, go!”

The dwarves piled themselves into a makeshift stairway towards a back window that someone had left open. Nori got a running start and jumped up the others to crawl in through the window. Bilbo followed. You gave Thorin an unsure look.

“Don’t think. Just run,” he murmured before taking off himself. After going through the window, he beckoned to you, holding out his hand. You exhaled on a sigh and sprinted, your foot catching on a dwarf’s jacket. For a moment you thought you’d not gotten enough momentum, could actually feel yourself begin to fall backward, but then Thorin’s hand clasped around yours and hauled you through the window. “You okay?”

You nodded.

“Good.”

The armory was well stocked. So well stocked that you realized that the Master here must be oppressive if the people had to hide second-rate weapons like the ones Bard had tried to give you all when beautiful ones like these were locked away. It was a security precaution, surely, but one made out of fear. Fear that if the people had these weapons at their disposal then the Master’s position may drastically change. You grabbed a sword and strapped it to your back. Thorin was loading Kili up to go back downstairs when the unthinkable happened. Poor Kili’s leg gave way beneath him and he tumbled, the weapon’s crashing along with him. The resulting cacophony made your heart leap into your throat. There was no way your presence would go unnoticed now. The pounding of watchmen running towards your group grew steadily louder until you were surrounded, and being pulled along through the streets towards the main house in the middle where you were thrown on the ground in front of the steps with the others.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Master yelled, coming out of his house. He was an ugly man, with the face of a mouse.

“We caught ‘em stealing weapons, sire,” one of the guards said.

“Ah. Enemies of the state, then,” the Master said, sneering down at you.

“This is a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, sire,” said a man with a unibrow. His voice was familiar, and you recognized it as the man from earlier on the barge, Alfrid.

“Hold your tongue,” Dwalin shouted. “You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal; this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!”

Thorin stepped forward, his shoulders pushed back. “We are the dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland. I remember this town and the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the center of all trade in the North.” He looked every inch of the King he was, and you hung onto his every word. “I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!”

The crowd cheered for him, the thought of no longer living in poverty clearly enticing.

“Death!” Bard said, striding out of the crowd. “That is what you will bring upon us. Dragon-fire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all.”

Thorin glared at him. “You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this; If we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!”

“All of you!” Bard shouted over the crowd’s chittering. “Listen to me! You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?” The people quieted down, his words getting through. “Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm? And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a mountain-king so driven by greed he could not see beyond his own desire.”

“Thorin is not his grandfather!” You yelled, stepping between the two of them. “Thorin is a good, honest man. He is a dwarf of his word.”

“How are we to know this?” Bard asked. “Just because one is a king, does not make him a better person than those who came before him”

“Now, now, we must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame,” the Master said. “Let us not forget that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast!”

“It’s true, sire. We all know the story: arrow after arrow he shot, each one missing its mark,” Alfrid said, twisting the knife.

“You have no right, no right to enter that mountain!” Bard said.

“I have the only right,” Thorin said. He turned to the Master. “I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people? What say you?”

The Master thought for a moment. You could see him doing mental calculations before saying. “I say unto you… welcome! Welcome and thrice welcome, King Under the Mountain!”

A cheer went up from the people in Laketown and your little group was swept up into impromptu festivities. Someone pulled out an instrument and began to play while the Master ordered a feast and booze to be brought out. It was such a whiplash from the past twenty-four hours that you didn’t know how to feel. People swarmed Thorin, pushing you out of the way to get to him. You found yourself on the outside looking in, watching as he charmed and impressed the people of Laketown with his stories. Would that world ever be yours? Even the people of Laketown didn’t think you were worthy to stand by his side. And maybe they were right. You were no Queen. You were no elf. You were no hobbit. You were just you. And maybe that wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been back in your Uncle’s kingdom. You’d admitted your feelings and Thorin just threw them away. He hadn’t even mentioned it since. He probably wanted to forget you’d even said anything. After all, this was his quest for his home. It wasn’t yours. Sure, you were along for the journey, but the home at the end of it held no place for you. Not like this.

Bilbo tucked a hot mug of cider into your hand. “Are you alright, cousin? You may be here physically, but I feel as though you aren’t really here.”

“Bilbo, how do you know if your house is your home?” you murmured, sitting on a barrel that lined the square.

Bilbo sighed, hopping up on the barrel next to you. Two hobbits out of place amongst dwarves and men. “Home is more of a feeling than a place. It’s… it’s a longing that you feel that tugs you in its direction.”

“Then how do you know if something is home if you never have the chance to miss it?”

“Well, home is a bit more than that, too, I suppose. It’s that longing, some might call it homesickness, but it is also the feeling that you only have to be yourself there and that is enough. You can be comfortable in your own skin.”

You thought about that as you sipped on the cider, letting the spices coat your tongue and the warmth soothe the nerves in your belly. You thought back to what your mother said. You thought about the fact that you never really longed for the house you grew up in, and you certainly never felt comfortable in Rivendell. When you were a child you longed for something more than Rivendell, and then you had your adventure and you still didn’t long for that house. In fact, the only thing you’d ever longed for… Thorin laughed at something Dwalin had said, drawing your attention to the dwarves in their revelry. “Bilbo, what if home isn’t a place?”

Bilbo followed your gaze, a small smile on his lips. “Cousin, I think home is wherever you find peace.”

You snorted a laugh. “He’s so peaceful.”

“I never said he had to be peaceful, I just meant that your soul finds rest when you’re with him,” Bilbo said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Will you stay in Erebor? After he gets it back?”

“If he asked…” you trailed off. “He’s hard to say no to.” You looked over at your cousin. Dirt speckled his nose like freckles. “But that would require him to pull his head out of his own backside for long enough to acknowledge his own faults and feelings.”

“He is a very stubborn dwarf,” Bilbo nodded. He raised a brow, looking over at you. “But you’re very stubborn, too.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an elven trait or a hobbit habit.”

“Neither. It’s entirely you.” The music began to pick up and more and more people filled the square with dancing. Bilbo stood, placing his tankard down. Holding his hand out to you, he asked, “Might I have this dance?”

“Might as well get some enjoyment before you and I get fried to a crisp by some scaly fire-breathing chicken,” you replied, placing your hand in his.

You let him pull you out into the square. It was a lively song, a jig, really. And hobbits were especially good at dancing jigs. You bounced and flounced around until your cheeks were rosy and you were breathing hard. Then, Bilbo spun you out, letting go of your hand. Your momentum kept you going until you thudded into a hard chest, your hands splayed on either side of the chest. Arms encircled you to catch you. Looking up, you found yourself drowning in the only blue eyes you’d ever allow yourself to succumb to. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bilbo nudge Bofur and share a laugh. That tricky hobbit.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Thorin said,

“Bilbo is quite the dancer,” you murmured, suddenly embarrassed. The music shifted into a slower song that you hadn’t heard in years. You closed your eyes, swaying along. Thorin tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re upset with me,” he stated.

“You rejected my deal,” you replied, eyes opening wide as you moved to pull away. His arms held you tight and he began to dance with you in earnest. “You could’ve been free and we could’ve been spared a bumpy barrel ride had you just let my Uncle accept my offer.”

“I didn’t save your life just for you to throw it away,” Thorin scoffed.

“What I do with my life is my business.”

“You say my pride will be my downfall, but your stubbornness will be yours.”

You snapped your mouth shut, looking down at your feet.

“Besides, I will not have you imprisoned by your Uncle just because you chose to lie to him on my behalf,” Thorin said with a sigh.

You pulled back as the song ended. “Lie?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Did you not?”

“Thorin Oakenshield, I did not lie. I would not lie. Not for you, not to you, not about you. I do not lie,” you spat, pulling away. “And if you don’t trust my words, then you don’t know me.” You stomped off, about to head back to Bard’s house when Balin called after you.

“Lass, play us a tune? It’s been so long since you’ve honored us with one,” Balin asked.

You glared at Thorin for a moment before taking a lute from one of the villagers. It was heavy in your hands, a little too large for you, but you’d make do. You strummed a few chords before striking up a song.

“There was nothing to do,

All I saw was what I knew

Then I was summoned for you

And suddenly my world grew.

All my life I was told

This is all to behold

You will live and grow old

Never do something bold.

But then there’s you,

Stuck in your ways

Nothing I could do

But love you all my days

I got tired of the tree

Thought the world I would see

I was finally free

I was finally me.

In a world full of stone

Where no light can be shone

Lived a King on a throne

And his gold was well known.

From outside there came a cry

And fire filled the sky.

A dragon came to fly

The end was nigh.

The kingdom fell

As the fires did swell

Twas the death knell

That few would live to tell

And tonight here I stand

With my heart in my hand

Though it’s nothing as grand

As the jewels in your land

But here I sing

For there I cried

But here I hope

For there they died.”

You caught sight of the dwarves, Balin with a tear in his eye, and realized you had to carefully pick how you ended this piece, because they were all listening and they needed this as much as you did. You strummed a slow arpeggio, letting the last note ring out. You passed the lute back to the woman you’d gotten it from and walked through the crowd back to Bard’s house. The party had started back up behind you, but the streets grew quieter the further away you got from the festivities.

“Wait,” Bard called out from behind you, jogging up to catch you. When he finally caught up to you, he gave you a weird look. “You were there, too.”

“Do I look too pretty to be that old?” you teased, but your voice was hollow.

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about,” Bard said, falling in step beside you. “Why are you going along with this? You know how dangerous the dragon is.”

“So do most of those dwarves,” you replied. “Master Bard, Thorin was there that day, too. I know you think ill of him and the others for going on this quest, but they aren’t reclaiming the mountain for the gold. They’re reclaiming it because it is their home, and no matter how many times you rebuild your life somewhere else, your home will always be your home, and a part of you dies every day you can’t go back.”

“But the tales say—”

“Oh, hang the tales!” you said, throwing up your arms in exasperation. “Things happen in this world whether we like them to or not. We must prepare for the worst, but hope for the best.”

“And what of the innocents who get caught in the middle of it all?” Bard snapped. “Hmm? What of them?”

“I won’t say that your fears are unfounded,” you said with a sigh, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. You had a headache coming on. “But, really, is there ever a good time to deal with a dragon?” You looked up at the man. “Your intentions are good, but so are ours.”

“If you wake up that beast, my people will pay. Please,” he said, taking your hands in his. “You see reason. You must make him see it, too.”

“Making Thorin Oakenshield do anything he does not wish to do is like trying to force water from a stone,” you murmured, pulling back from Bard’s grasp. “Good night, Master Bard.” You walked away from him, continuing to his home. It was still empty. You found a blanket and tucked yourself into a corner for a night’s rest.

Chapter 16: The Lonely Mountain

Chapter Text

The next morning, you rose early. A new set of clothes was waiting for you, along with a lute that was actually your size. It came with an apology from Bard and the wish for your safety, because although he did not agree with the quest, he did not wish you harm, either. It was one of the kindest gestures you’d received in a long time. Soon, you were being ushered down towards the docks. People cheered along the route as you all climbed into the waiting boat.

Bilbo counted the group, having assumed that role since losing Gandalf. “You do know we’re one short. Where’s Bofur?”

“If he’s not here, we leave him behind,” Thorin said.

“We have to, if we’re to find the door before nightfall. We can risk no more delays,” Balin agreed.

Kili moved to get on the boat, still looking worse for the wear. Thorin stopped him. “Not you. We must travel with speed, you will slow us down.”

Kili smiled at his Uncle until he realized he wasn’t joking. “What are you talking about? I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“I’m going to be there when that door is opened, when we first look upon the halls of our fathers, Thorin.” Kili was adamant.

“Kili, stay here,” Thorin said, placing a hand on the young dwarf’s shoulder. “Rest. Join us when you’re healed.” He turned away from his nephew and went back towards the boat.

Oin scrambled out of the boat. “I’ll stay with the lad. My duty lies with the wounded.”

Fili confronted Thorin. “Uncle, we grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You can’t take that away from him!”

Thorin sighed. “Fili.”

“I will carry him if I must!”

“One day you will be king, and you will understand. I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf, not even my own kin,” Thorin said.

Fili looked between his uncle and his brother for a moment and then got out of the boat.

“Fili, don’t be a fool. You belong with the Company,” Thorin said, grabbing his arm.

“I belong with my brother,” Fili replied, pulling out of his grasp to join Kili and Oin.

The Master stepped up to a raised platform and called down to the people, “We say goodbye to these dwarves, and wish them luck on their noble quest to reclaim the mountain. We wish them a safe journey and know they will reclaim the mountain to bring good fortune to all!”

Everyone that was left in the boat picked up an oar and began to paddle away, smiling and waving at the crowds between strokes. The city of Laketown grew smaller and smaller behind the boat as the group made headway across the Lake. The Lonely Mountain rose in the distance, blotting out a fair portion of the horizon. As the shoreline grew closer, the dwarves began to row faster, seemingly spurred on by the fact that the end to their quest was so close. The boat ran aground in the shoals and you had to get out to drag the boat the rest of the way to shore, water lapping up to your ankles. It was a biting cold that made you lose feeling after a few steps. Ahead was a climb that you weren’t ready for. Your arms were already exhausted from rowing, and your calves began to ache at the thought of all that climbing, but the mountain was so close and you were on a time crunch.

As you ascended the mountain, your sight on the ground in front of you, you thought back to what the city at the top used to look like. You hadn’t seen it since that day, and you feared what it would look like. Thorin sprinted ahead of your group, stopping on top of an embankment overlooking the valley. The city was destroyed, towers looked as if they’d been knocked over, scorch marks and soot staining the stones, walls crumbling into piles of rocks.

“What is this place?” Bilbo asked.

“It was once the city of Dale. Now it is a ruin. The desolation of Smaug,” Balin explained.

“The sun will soon reach midday; let’s find the hidden door into the mountain before it sets. This way!” Thorin began to descend towards the mountain.

Bilbo looked around. “Wait… is this the overlook? Gandalf said to meet him here. On no account were we to—”

“Do you see him?” Thorin snapped. “We have no time to wait upon the wizard. We’re on our own. Come.”

The dwarves followed him without hesitation. You looked at Bilbo, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. If he is too mad, we can just blame Thorin,” you said, trying to offer him a comforting grin. Bilbo searched your eyes for a moment before nodding. You squeezed his shoulder and turned to join the dwarves. The mere sight of the mountain had everyone racing to get to it. However, once there, finding the door was a different story. The door could be anywhere on the mountain, and as it was kept a secret, it would undoubtedly be hard to spot. After splitting up to cover more ground, the dwarves began to scour the side of the mountain for the entrance.

“Anything?” Thorin called out.

“Nothing!” Dwalin called back.

“If the map is true, the hidden door lies directly above us,” Thorin said, squinting up at the rock.

Bilbo walked back a bit, scanning the rock before pointing up at a massive dwarf statue carved into the mountain. “Up here!”

Upon further inspection, stairs were carved into the statue.

“You have keen eyes, Master Baggins,” Thorin remarked.

The stairs were the hardest stairs you have ever climbed in your life. They were steep and old and crumbling in pieces. You had to stretch until your muscles screamed to gain footholds in places, and one too many times Balin and Bilbo had to catch you from falling. At the end of the carved trail was a little clearing in the rock. Being back on flat ground was the greatest feeling.

“This must be it. The hidden door,” Thorin murmured, staring at the wall. He smirked, turning to the Company. “Let all those who doubted us rue this day!” Thorin pulled the key out from his pockets and held it up in triumph.

“Right. We have our key, which means that somewhere, there is a keyhole,” Dwalin said with a grin.

Thorin felt up the wall. After finding none, he walked to the edge and looked out at the setting sun. “The last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.” He looked back at the wall, trying to find a keyhole where the light hit the wall. There was nothing. Thorin’s hands searched the wall, but still found nothing. His motions began to get frantic. “Nori!”

Nori rushed up and began tapping in different places, holding his ear up to the wall. Dwalin ran up and tried to push at the wall.

“We’re losing the light,” Thorin said.

Dwalin started kicking the wall. “Come on!”

“Be quiet!” Nori snapped. “I can’t hear when you’re thumping.”

“I can’t find it… it’s not here!” Dwalin groaned. “It’s not here.”

“Break it down!” Thorin ordered.

Dwalin, Gloin, and Bifur raised their weapons to the wall, but they were no match for the stone wall.

“Come on!” Thorin yelled.

“It’s no good!” Balin said. “The door’s sealed. It can’t be opened by force. Powerful magic on it.”

The dwarves stopped their assault on the wall and the sun disappeared in the distance, leaving them all in the early dark of night.

“No!” Thorin called in despair. He stumbled forward, scanning the map for something they might have missed, reading aloud, “The last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole. That’s what it says.” He threw up his arms. “What did we miss?” He looked to Balin, tears in his eyes, looking so much like the small dwarven prince that was well over his head that he once was. “What did we miss, Balin?”

“We’ve lost the light,” Balin said gently. “There’s no more to be done. We had but one chance.” He turned to the steps that they’d climbed to get up the mountain. “Come away. It’s… it’s over.”

“Wait a minute!” Bilbo called out. He looked at you, where you stood, heart in your throat at how hurt Thorin looked. “Where are they going? You can’t give up now!” He looked over at Thorin. Thorin shook his head and dropped the key to the ground.

That snapped you out of your stupor. You’d come all this way. You’d been chased. You’d been imprisoned. Twice, technically. This could not be the end. You ran to where Thorin and your cousin stood. “Thorin,” you pleaded. “You can’t give up now.”

Thorin shoved his map at Bilbo’s chest and looked at you for a moment as if he were about to say something, but then he shook his head and continued to the stairs with the others.

“Bilbo, we have to find a way to open this door,” you said. “What does the map say again? Read it out loud.”

“Stand by the gray stone,” he said. The two of you stood looking at the wall.

“Now what?”

“When the thrush knocks…” he looked around.

“I don’t see a bird, do you? Is there anything else?”

“The setting sun… and the last light of Durin’s Day will shine. Last Light…”

You looked up at the sky. “The last light.”

The clouds drifted by above, parting to reveal the moon. You tapped Bilbo’s shoulder until he looked up with you. Behind you, you heard clacking. When you turned, there was a thrush hitting a snail against the gray wall.

You laughed incredulously, scaring away the thrush. “The last light.”

“The last light!” Bilbo cheered.

Moonlight streaked down, illuminating a keyhole in the wall. You shared a giddy look with your cousin.

“The keyhole! Come back! It’s the light of the moon, the last moon of autumn!” Bilbo called for the dwarves, but none responded. He turned to you. “Where’s the—Where’s the key? Where’s the—it was here…”

“Thorin dropped it,” you reminded him, looking for it on the ground. By the time you caught the glint of the metal in the moonlight, it was over by Bilbo’s foot. “Bilbo, watch out!”

He ended up kicking the key, sending it skittering across the clearing towards the edge.

“No!” You called out, your heart sinking to your stomach as it started to go off the side.

Thorin, having snuck up on the two of you during your key search, stepped on the string and caught the key. He slowly reached down to pick it up. Behind him stood the other dwarves. He walked towards the keyhole and inserted the key. When he turned it, the machinations in the wall came to life, turning.

Chapter 17: The Desolation of Smaug

Chapter Text

Thorin pushed on the wall, and the door opened, revealing a dark passageway into the mountain. “Erebor.”

“Thorin,” Balin said, voice choked with emotion.

Thorin put a hand on Balin’s shoulder and squeezed before stepping into the mountain. He ran a hand down the stone walls, a faraway look in his eyes. “I know these walls… these walls, this stone. You remember it, Balin. Chambers filled with golden light.”

“I remember,” Balin murmured.

The Company entered the mountain, eyes wide and taking it all in. Above the door was a carving of the throne of Erebor with a stone above it, sending out rays in different directions like the sun.

“Herein lies the seventh kingdom of Durin’s Folk. May the heart of the mountain unite all dwarves in defense of this home,” Gloin read.

Bilbo looked up at the carving.

Balin nudged him. “The throne of the king.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “And what’s above it?”

“The Arkenstone.”

“Arkenstone… And what’s that?”

“That, my dear hobbits, is why you both are here,” Thorin said with a grin. “You two will go down and distract the dragon and steal it.”

“I thought this quest was about getting the mountain back,” Bilbo said.

“What good is the mountain without the right to rule it?” Thorin said.

You looked over at Thorin, eyes narrowing. “The Arkenstone came after Erebor was founded. Many ruled without it. It isn’t a prerequisite to rule.”

Thorin waved your concerns off. “You’re running out of time. Go!”

Balin placed a hand on you and Bilbo, ushering you both down the tunnel toward the interior of the mountain.

“You want me to find a jewel?” Bilbo asked.

“A large white jewel, yes,” Balin said.

“That’s it? Only, I imagine there’s quite a few down there.”

“There is only one Arkenstone. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“He’s right,” you added. “Although, I don’t know why Thorin would want that stone considering all it did to his grandfather. The fact that we risked all this for a shiny rock—"

“Lass.”

“Sorry, Master Balin,” you murmured.

“In truth, lad,” Balin said, “she is right. I do not know what you will find down there. You two needn’t go if you don’t want to, there’s no dishonor in turning back.”

“No, Balin, I promised I would do this, and I think I must try,” Bilbo said.

“And if this is what Thorin needs to put his soul at peace, then this is what I will do,” you added.

Balin chuckled. “It never ceases to amaze me.”

“What’s that?” Bilbo asked.

“The courage of Hobbits. Go now with as much luck as you can muster.” Balin gave you a good luck kiss on your cheek and nodded to Bilbo before turning back up the tunnel. “Lass… if Bilbo does waken that dragon… do everything in your power to lull it back to sleep.”

You nodded, linking arms with Bilbo and continuing down the tunnel. After passing through a large doorway, you found yourselves in a massive hall.

“Hello?” Bilbo whispered. He knocked on the wall, sending an echo down the cavernous space.

You smacked his arm. “Shhhh!”

“They’re not home,” Bilbo said. “Not at home. Good. Good, good, good.”

You rolled your eyes, continuing to walk to the edge of the walkway. What waited below had you in awe. Mountains of gold and jewels and treasure filled the space. “This is going to take forever,” you muttered. You gestured for Bilbo to branch off one way while you went the other once you reached the bottom of the stairs. Gold pressed into the soles of your feet as you wandered off into the opposite direction from Bilbo. Picking up various stones here and there, and not finding the Arkenstone, you began to wander the halls, trying to remember it as it was. You found a wall of instruments gilded in silver and picked up a lyre. Giving it a gentle strum, you relished in the sound of the instrument.

And then you heard what sounded like an avalanche coming from the direction you’d sent your cousin. Dread filled your chest as you hurried off in that direction as quietly as you could. The sounds picked up as you heard coins skittering around. And then a rumbling voice.

“Well, thief, I smell you. I hear your breath. I feel your air. Where are you?”

You picked up the pace. You had to rescue your stupid cousin before he became a charred dinner for a Dragon.

“Come now, don’t be shy. Step into the light. Mmmm, there is something about you, something you carry. Something made of gold, but far more preciousssss.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion. Cousin Bilbo had nothing of the sort. Except maybe that acorn he pocketed a while ago.

“There you are, thief in the shadows.”

You came to a halt, hiding behind a pillar. You spotted Bilbo standing in place in front of the dragon.

“I did not come to steal from you, O Smaug, the Unassessably Wealthy. I merely wanted to gaze upon your magnificence, to see if you really were as great as the old tales say. I did not believe them,” Bilbo said.

Smaug lifted himself to his full, terrible height. “And do you now?”

“Truly, the tales and songs fall utterly short of your enormity, O Smaug the Stupendous.”

“Do you think flattery will keep you alive?” Smaug snapped.

“It’s the truth!” You yelled, stepping out of your hiding spot. Bilbo’s eyes widened at you, gesturing for you to run. Behind Bilbo you caught the glint of a stone. Of course it would be ten feet from a dragon. That was just your luck. You looked up at the giant lizard and gave him your most disarming smile. “We heard tale of you and figured you may be lonely under the mountain and in some need of entertainment.”

“Is that right?” the dragon sneered. “What makes you think I’d want to listen to you?”

“W-well, I would only sing songs of your greatness.”

“In return for what?”

“Simply basking in your presence, Lord Smaug.”

“And what if I get bored of you?”

You swallowed. “Then you could eat me, but then you’d have to live in silence again.” You stepped toward the dragon. “Don’t you ever get lonely?” You bit your lip. “You have this whole hoard to take care of, but who takes care of you?” You’d gotten close enough to reach a hand out and touch his clawed hand, which also meant he couldn’t see your face when you weren’t looking at him. But Bilbo could. You turned and mouthed to him ‘The Arkenstone!’ and then pointedly looked at where it was in the hoard. “O Smaug, I humbly beseech you to let me play you a tune.”

Smaug thumped his tail. “You seem familiar with my name. I don’t remember smelling his kind before. You… you feel familiar. Who are you, and where do you come from, may I ask?”

“I-I come from under the hill,” Bilbo said, slowly backing up towards the Arkenstone.

“And I from in tree,” you said.

“Underhill? In trees?” Smaug questioned.

“And under hills and over hills my path has led. And, and through the air. I am he who walks unseen,” Bilbo said.

“And over mountains and lakes,” you added, “how far we have come to see you, O Smaug.”

“Impressive. What else do you claim to be?” the dragon asked.

“I am… luck-wearer. Riddle-maker.” Bilbo said.

“And I am… the halfling bard. Music maker, Troubadour of tunes,” you said.

“Lovely titles; go on,” the Dragon rumbled, his tail curling around you.

“Barrel rider?” Bilbo said.

Smaug’s head snapped to Bilbo who had just reached the Arkenstone. “Barrels? Now that is interesting. And what about your little dwarf friends? Where are they hiding?”

“Dw-Dwarves? No, no, no dwarves here. You’ve got that all wrong,” Bilbo said.

“Oh, I don’t think so, barrel-rider. They sent you in here to do their dirty work while they skulk about outside,” Smaug said, tail tightening around your body until you could barely breathe. “They think to distract me with pretty faces and pretty words. Is that it?”

“Truly, you are mistaken, O Smaug, Chiefest and Greatest of calamities.” Bilbo’s eyes widened at you. You didn’t struggle, hoping that your acceptance could convince the dragon otherwise.

“You have nice manners… for a thief and liar! I know the smell and taste of dwarf. No one better. It is the gold! They are drawn to treasure like flies to dead flesh. Did you think I did not know this day would come, when a pack of canting dwarves would come crawling back to the mountain?” Smaug released you, clawing at Bilbo, sending both him and the Arkenstone scrambling.

“Smaug!” You called after the dragon chasing your cousin. “He is nothing. It… it is me you’d want. You said my scent was familiar, right? It is because I was here when you arrived. I escaped.”

“You were lucky.” The dragon laughed menacingly, stomping back towards you. “The King under the mountain is dead. I took his throne. I ate his people like a wolf among sheep. I kill where I wish, when I wish. My armor is iron. No blade can pierce me! And you thought you could escape from here twice?”

Bilbo dove under a stone structure and you breathed relief. He was safe. For now.

“I told you, dear dragon, I did not come here to escape. I came here to entertain!” You said, strumming the lyre.

The dragon paused. “It’s Oakenshield. That filthy dwarvish usurper! He sent you in here, didn’t he?” The dragon flicked his tongue out. “He must not care much about you.”

“Much like you, I do what I want.” You plucked out an old tune that Gandalf had taught you years ago when you were small. Back then, you hadn’t understood why he’d taught it to you. It was very unlike him to play music with you, and that was the only time he’d ever done it. You’d almost forgotten about it, but now the notes were slipping out from beneath your fingertips like it was instinct guiding them along the instrument. It was a song he’d told you never to use recklessly, a song that he said was powerful and only for a time in need. The words had always felt like nonsense, they felt impossible as they rolled around in your mouth, but you felt a tug in your chest as you uttered them, a thrumming beneath your skin that felt like static. It was as if the sound carried weight, carried power. As you sang, the words wove themselves together with the music in a way that was stronger than any chainmail the dwarves could make. The air hummed with the spell—yes, that’s what it was, you realized, a spell. A spell that was taking hold in the dragon as he slowly lowered his head back down to the gold-covered floor. Your heart hammered in your chest. You were taming the beast. You were almost near the end of the song and then all would be we—

A chalice clunked down the pile of gold.

Your cousin paused atop a heap of gold, Arkenstone just out of reach as he looked over at you. You cast a quick glance at the dragon who blinked as if coming out of a sleepy haze.

“YOU,” the dragon thundered. He swatted the lyre out of your hand with his tail. “You tricked me! You used magic. You used the language of the ancients,” he hissed. ”But it matters not. Oakenshield’s quest will fail. The darkness is coming, it will spread to every corner of the land.”

Bilbo ran for cover, you also scrambled after him for some chance at salvation.

“You have been used, bard and thief in the shadows. You were only ever a means to an end. The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your lives and found them worth nothing!”

“No. No. No, you’re lying!” Bilbo yelled. You followed his voice to behind a pillar, skittering to a half next to him.

“We were doing so well,” you sighed in defeat.

“What did he promise you?” Smaug asked. “A share of the treasure? As if it was his to give. I will not part with a single coin or lyre. Not one piece of it.”

“The stone,” you murmured, catching sight of it outside the stone landing you were hiding under. “Bilbo, you go after it. I’ll distract him.”

“My teeth are swords! My claws spears! My wings are a hurricane!”

Bilbo made a run for the stone, only to be knocked off his feet by Smaug. He looked up at the dragon. “So it is true,” he said. “The black arrow found its mark.”

“What did you say?” Smaug snapped.

“I was just saying your reputation precedes you, oh Smaug the tyrannical. Truly you have no equal on this earth.” Bilbo backed up, the Arkenstone now only a few feet away.

“I am almost tempted to let you take it, if only to see Oakenshield suffer, watch it destroy him, watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad.” Smaug straightened. “But I think not. I think our little game ends here. So tell me, how do you two choose to die?” His chest began to glow and he reached down to snap his jaw down, but then Bilbo disappeared. You scanned the gold for your cousin but could not spot him.

You ran in the opposite direction. You had to get out of there. The dragon raged behind you before whirling in your direction. The stairs were so far away. Up above you, Bilbo was climbing stairs two at a time back towards the tunnel. There was a staircase off to your right. You scrambled up it, the air growing uncomfortably hot. You slipped on a step, skinning your knee, but you pushed up on your hands and continued on. Once upon the main walkway, you tried to orient yourself. In the distance, you saw Bilbo run into Thorin at the entrance to the tunnel. From this distance, you couldn’t hear their conversation, but you did see Thorin pull out a sword and aim it at your cousin who stepped back in fear.

“Thorin!” you cried out.

He turned to you, eyes widening.

“You will burn!” Smaug yelled, coming up behind you. His chest started to glow and you were not about to wait around to find out what his fire would feel like after decades of being unused. You ran as fast as you could towards the Company that had just come out of the tunnel. The heat was getting closer as you closed the space between you and Thorin. He grabbed your hand and pulled you off the ledge. You tumbled down the pile of treasure only to be pushed into another tunnel with the dwarves. Thorin, the last in, got set aflame by the dragon’s breath as the door closed. He dropped to the ground and rolled to extinguish the flame before getting back up.

“Come on,” he shouted, guiding you all further into the halls of the mountain king. The halls grew darker and quiet as you hurried down hall after hall before emerging from the tunnel onto a stone bridge over a chasm. Thorin raised his hand to quiet the group. “Shh.”

“Quiet,” Dori whispered. As the group approached the foot of the bridge, Thorin looked around the edge of the tunnel for Smaug. “We’ve given him the slip.”

“No, he’s too cunning for that,” Dwalin whispered back.

“So where to now?” Bilbo asked.

“The western guardroom. There may be a way out,” Thorin said.

“It’s too high. There’s no chance that way,” Balin said.

“It’s our only chance,” Thorin said grimly. “We have to try.”

You tiptoed across the bridge, keeping a look out for Smaug. You were almost halfway across when a coin clattered to the bridge. You whipped your head around towards Bilbo who patted his pockets to see if there was a coin stuck to him somewhere. Another coin fell. Your chest felt tight as you looked up to see Smaug crawling high above the bridge, coins falling off his chest. By some miracle, he hadn’t seen you. Thorin motioned for the group to keep moving and you all proceeded with extreme caution. After more twists and turns and tunnels and bridges, the Company ran into the western guardroom.

“Stay close,” Thorin said, rushing forward to stop abruptly. The sight is shocking. The room was dusty and full of corpses in various stages of rot, covered in cobwebs. You recognized the dresses as some of the women from the ball. Your eyes began to sting. At the end of the room, where an exit presumably was, rocks had collapsed onto the tunnel, blocking the dwarves in here to die. It took you a moment, but you recognized it. This was where Thorin had snuck you out.

“That’s it, then. There’s no way out,” Dwalin said.

“The last of our kin. They must have come here, hoping beyond hope. We could try to reach the Mines. We might last a few days,” Balin said, wringing his hands.

“No. I will not die like this. Cowering, clawing for breath. We make for the forges,” Thorin said, resolve sinking into his voice.

“He’ll see us, sure as death,” Dwalin said.

“Not if we split up.”

“Thorin, we’ll never make it,” Balin tried to reason.

“Some of us might. Lead him to the forges,” Thorin turned to face the group. “We kill the dragon.” He locked eyes with you, holding your gaze. “If this is to end in fire, then we will all burn together.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. The group broke up into teams and passed back towards the halls from earlier. You, Thorin, Bilbo, and Balin were crossing the bridge again.

“This way!” Thorin said, running ahead.

“Flee, flee! Run for your lives! There is nowhere to hide,” Smaug said, coming out from behind you.

Down below and a way off on a lower level, Dori, Ori, and Bombur yelled up at the dragon.

“Behind you!” Dori yelled, holding his ground until the dragon turned towards them. And then he started to run away. “Come on!”

Suddenly, Dwalin and Nori ran across another bridge, yelling after the dragon, “Hey, you! Here!”

You pumped your legs as hard as you could, running after Thorin through a large hallway. Balin turned down a side tunnel.

“It's this way! This way! Come on!” Balin said.

Bilbo stopped, calling out to Thorin. “Thorin!”

At the end of the hallway, Smaug loomed.

“Follow Balin!” Thorin yelled.

“Thorin!” You yelled, reaching for him, your fingers just catching his sleeve when Balin pulled you back just in the nick of time. Smaug’s chest glowed and he burst fire into the tunnel.

“Let him go, Lass, he knows these halls better than you,” Balin said, letting go. Reluctantly, you followed him down a twisting, turning hall before emerging in front of a wall of tall stone pillars. Passing through them, you spotted many, massive furnaces. It struck you then, that you had zero idea how any of this worked.

“The plan’s not going to work,” Dwalin said. “These furnaces are stone cold.”

“He’s right; there’s no fire hot enough to set them ablaze,” Balin said.

Thorin looked around, surveilling the scene. “Have we not?” Thorin turned to the pit that he had just run from. “I did not look to see you so easily outwitted.”

It dawned on you then. Dragon fire. That was how you’d get the furnaces working again. Smaug’s claws gripped the side of the pit before hoisting himself over the edge.

“You have grown slow and fat in your dotage,” Thorin called out, walking towards the pillars to the angry, snarling dragon. “Slug.” Thorin stepped behind a pillar, and you noticed Smaug’s chest begin to glow. “Take cover. Go!”

You scrambled, but the pillars near you were all taken. Thorin’s arm whipped out and pulled you back against his chest in the nick of time as Smaug’s fire burst forth. Thorin had flipped you so that you were against the stone and his body caged you in, taking in the brunt of the heat and pressure from the fire, his forehead resting in the crook of your neck. You reached up to cup his cheek, feeling his heartbeat furiously against your back. You had no doubt that he was scared, but he did a good job of hiding it. The fire died down and you all pulled away from the pillars to see the furnaces ablaze.

“Bombur! Get those bellows working. Go!” Thorin ordered.

Smaug began to bash the pillars you’d been hiding behind to get into the forge.

“Bilbo!” Thorin called, pointing towards a lever up a ways on the wall. “Up there, on my mark, pull that lever.” He turned to Balin. “Balin, can you still make some flash-flame?”

“Aye,” Balin said. “It’ll only take a jiffy.” He turned to some of the dwarves, motioning for them to follow. “Come on!”

Dwalin looked at the pillars, watching with a grimace as they were bending. “We don’t have a jiffy.”

“Go,” Thorin said to you. You were still gripping his hand.

“I’m not leaving you,” you snapped. “I did that once. I refuse to do it again.”

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered as Smaug broke through the pillars.

The dragon stalked towards Bilbo, who was in his direct eyesight up at the lever. You will never know what made the dragon turn his head, but he did, and spotted Thorin.

“Now!” Thorin yelled.

Bilbo leapt into the air, pulling the lever down just as Smaug went for Thorin. Water burst from the wall behind Bilbo, knocking Smaug off balance and putting out the fire he was about to spew at Thorin. The water pushed Smaug into one of the furnaces. He quickly righted himself and hovered in the air, his massive wings flapping. Conveyor belts screeched to life, having been powered by the waterworks. Smaug hadn’t forgotten about Thorin, though, and was once again coming towards him and you. Balin, Ori, and Dori lobbed flash-flame bombs at him, which had—rather disappointingly—no effect at all. From somewhere up above, Gloin cut the conveyor belt and rained rocks on the dragon, which knocked him to the ground. The ropes tangled around his writhing body.

Thorin took stock of everything before making some calculation you weren’t privy to. “Lead him to the Gallery of the Kings!” He yelled to the other. “Come on,” he said, pulling you along. He grabbed a wheelbarrow, lunging this way and that to avoid being hit by the dragon. A channel of melted gold flowed through a tunnel. “Prepare to jump.”

“What?” you asked.

He launched the wheelbarrow into that stream of flowing metal, and jumped into it, taking you with him. His arms wrapped around you. Over the edge of the wheelbarrow, you could see Smaug lunge for your cousin. “Keep going, Bilbo!” Thorin shouted. “Run!” The wheelbarrow rocked in the metal as it flowed through the tunnel. Thorin looked down at you. “When I say jump, you need to jump and reach for the chain.”

You nodded. Up ahead, you could see the drop coming into view.

“Jump!” Thorin yelled.

You leapt, your hands reaching for the chain, dangling over the pit below. You and Thorin scrambled up to the top of a statue. “What’s your plan?” you asked.

“We encase him in molten gold. It’ll harden and kill him.”

“Will it harden in time?” Thorin was silent, so you repeated. “Thorin, will it harden in time?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, looking at you. You could see how tired he was. “But it's better than nothing.”

In the distance, you could hear the dragon’s booming steps.

“Alright. Tell me what you need me to do,” you said.

Thorin nodded, explaining how the pins in the back work and how to pull them at the right moment.

Bilbo rushed in through a doorway, and seconds later, Smaug crashed through the wall.

“You think you could deceive me, Barrel-rider?” Smaug asked. “You have come from Laketown. There is-is some sort of scheme hatched between these filthy dwarves and those miserable cup-trading Lakemen. Those sniveling cowards with their longbows and black arrows! Perhaps it is time I paid them a visit.”

“Oh no,” Bilbo gasped as the dragon went towards the gaping wall. He scrambled out from the banner he was hiding under. “This isn’t their fault! Wait! You cannot go to Laketown.”

Smaug turned toward Bilbo. “You care about them, do you? Good. Then you can watch them die.”

“Thorin, you have to stop him,” you hissed from beside him.

“Here, you witless worm!” Thorin called out.

The dragon stopped, his head whipping back to where Thorin stood on top of the statue mold. “You.”

“I am taking back what you stole,” Thorin said.

Smaug slowly stalked forward. “You would take nothing from me, Dwarf. I laid low your warriors of old. I instilled terror in the hearts of men. I am King under the Mountain.”

“This is not your kingdom. These are dwarf lands, this is dwarf gold, and we will have our revenge,” Thorin ground out.

You reached up with him to the rope above, yanking it down. Pins behind the mold pulled out, releasing the statue within: a dwarven king of solid gold. You wrapped an arm around Thorin’s waist as he swung the two of you away to avoid the falling mold. Smaug was entranced by the statue, stepping closer to look at it. However, the gold was still hot. The statue began to melt until it finally exploded, sending a wave of liquid gold rushing over the dragon until he was covered and trapped below the lake of gold. For a moment, your breath settles. Your heart stops hammering. A sense of calm washes over you, and you smile up at Thorin. You’ve won, you’ve defeated the—

Smaug burst forth from the gold, coated in the glittering liquid. “Ahh! Revenge?!” he screamed. “Revenge! I will show you REVENGE!” He lifted into the air, smashing through the wall to take to the sky. To Laketown.

You scrambled back to the ground, running after the Dragon, even though you knew there was nothing you could do. He was already a thousand feet away, getting smaller and smaller in the sky as he flew.

“What have we done?” Bilbo asked in despair.In the distance, Smaug began to breathe fire, decimating the town. You couldn’t imagine the pandemonium. It was either burn or escape into the frigid water below. It was an impossible choice, but even an impossible choice was better than death.

“Poor souls,” Balin murmured.

“What of the others?” you asked. “Do you think they’ll be alright?” You looked back at Thorin. “I’m sure your nephews—” You broke off as you noticed that he wasn’t even looking at the lake. “Thorin?”

His eyes were scanning the halls, lost in some daydream you couldn’t imagine. Your hands curled into a fist. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. You couldn’t help but feel as if this was all your fault. Bard had warned you and you had not listened. You were supposed to keep the dragon asleep. You had helped bring that fire-y end to Laketown. And now… you thought of the dwarves you’d left behind. Kili wouldn’t have gotten far with that leg of his being as it was. You dipped your head to hide the tears sliding down your cheeks. They were hot and angry with frustration and disappointment in yourself. Your fingernails bit into your palm. The dwarves started to disperse, but you and Bilbo stayed watch throughout the night, a silent vigil.

Chapter 18: In the Halls of the Mountain King

Chapter Text

As the sun began to rise, you had to squint to see. It might have been a trick of the eye, a shadow, or the sunlight burning into your eyes, but you could’ve sworn you saw—

The mountain rumbled beneath your feet, startling the dwarves. Bilbo clutched your arm.

“What was that?” Gloin asked. “What happened?”

“I-it fell. I saw it,” Bilbo said, looking out for a moment before turning to you in amazement. “It’s dead. Smaug is dead!”

You laughed, feeling a bit of a weight lift off you. He wouldn’t be able to cause any more damage, but you knew based on the smoke in the sky that he’d already caused significant destruction to Laketown that would have to be rebuilt should they choose to stay.

“By my beard!” Gloin exclaimed. “I think he’s right! Look there! The ravens of Erebor are returning to the mountain!”

Black birds swooped and cawed, soaring along the breeze towards the Lonely Mountain.

“Aye—word will spread,” Balin added. “Before long every soul in Middle-earth will know—the dragon is dead!”

The dwarves clapped themselves on the back, laughing in glee. All except Thorin who rushed down from the lookout to the gates of Erebor. You looked from the celebration to his retreating form before making a decision. You followed him, running to catch up.

“Thorin, wait!” You called out, but he didn’t slow. He had a soft smile on his face as he surveyed the halls.

“Mine,” he murmured. “It’s all mine. No dragon. No threat. The mountain is once again under the control of the line of Durin.”

You finally reached him and grabbed his arm. He merely looked down to where your hand was on his arm. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Thorin? Why didn’t you stop? DIdn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“I… I have to find it,” he said, looking up at you. But, something in his face was off. It reminded you of an expression you saw long ago on another King in these halls and a dread crept through you.

“Thorin,” you whispered. “Thorin, you don’t need it.”

“But I do. The Arkenstone is important to me.”

You thought back to that sparkly gem in the heaps of gold. Chewing your lip, you debated whether finding the jewel would help him or hurt him. Either way, you knew you’d have to help him look and only hope that you’d find the gem first and then you could decide what to do with it. “Alright,” you said with a nod. “Let me help you look.”

Thorin turned away from the door and walked deeper into the mountain. You held his hand, but he barely held yours back, his eyes constantly scanning the ground for the jewel. At one point, you stumbled, and he let go of your hand and didn’t seek it again. You wished for Gandalf. He would know what to do, but he wasn’t here. You didn’t even know where he was, now that you stopped to think about it. It unsettled you. Eventually Bilbo found the two of you sifting through gold in the lower levels and you pulled your cousin off to the side.

“Bilbo,” you whispered. “I don’t think he should have the jewel.”

“What? But that’s all he wants—”

“Sometimes what you want is not what you need,” you replied. “Look at him. He barely batted an eye at the destruction of Laketown. Something’s not right. Something’s taken over him. If he gets that gem…” You shook your head. “Bilbo, I just got him back. I can’t lose him again.”

Bilbo placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll help.” He turned to face Thorin, arms wide, and addressed him loudly. “Thorin, surely you can’t be looking through all this yourself? I am your burglar and it was my task to find the stone. I signed a contract. I must help you look for it.”

Thorin barely looked at him, merely nodded and waved his hand for Bilbo to continue. Bilbo swallowed, looking at you with a panic that you were sure mirrored your own.

For days, you all pitched in to find the stone to no avail. Thorin did not stop at all, regardless of how you all begged him to rest. At night, you heard the sounds of gold sifting and sliding echoing off the walls, which kept you from sleeping. So, instead you helped him search. One such night, you had had enough. Throwing off the blanket you’d wrapped yourself up in, you stomped down the stairs until you saw him atop a pile. The gold cut into your feet as you walked to him. You took hold of his arms and shook him slightly.

“Thorin,” you pleaded. “Please, my love, you must sleep.” You searched his eyes. “Thorin, this is madness.” You pulled back and gestured towards the piles of gold all around you, your arms spread wide in a circle. “There’s all this treasure and you’re in here looking for one gem that may not even be here.”

“It has to be here,” Thorin said. “It was here when we left, it is here now.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” you said, reaching up to cup his face. You leaned your forehead towards his, hoping he’d meet you halfway and reassure you. “Thorin, you’re scaring me.”

“Then look away.” He pulled away from you. “If you’re not going to help, then at least stop blocking my light.”

Your legs threatened to give out as you watched him dig through the pile. After making it halfway up the stairs, you spotted Bilbo on a bridge above waiting for you. When you reached him, he wordlessly pulled you against his chest and held you tight.

“It’ll be alright,” he promised. “We’ll figure out a way to save him.”

The following morning brought good news, when, as you were eating breakfast with Bilbo you heard yelling from the entrance to the mountain.

“Hello! Bombur? Bifur? Anybody?”

You and Bilbo dropped your tea.

“Bofur!” Bilbo exclaimed, taking off up the stairs. You were hot on his heels as he flagged down the dwarves.

“Wait! Wait!” Bilbo called out.

“It’s Bilbo! He’s alive!” Oin grinned.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Bilbo said, catching up to them. “We all need to leave.”

“We only just got here?” Bofur said, incredulity in his voice.

“We have tried talking to him, but he won’t listen,” Bilbo said.

You were busy checking on the boys, inspecting Kili’s leg and turning their faces this way and that. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“We’re fine,” Kili said, gently taking your hands and squeezing.

“How did you—”

“We had help,” Fili said, winking at Kili.

“What do you mean, laddie?” Oin asked, addressing Bilbo.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shook his head. “Thorin. Thorin. He’s been out there for days. He doesn’t sleep. He barely eats. He’s not been himself—not at all. It’s this—it’s this place. I think a sickness lies on it.”

Kili snapped his gaze to you. “Sickness? What kind of sickness.”

Fili looked past you and Bilbo, his brow furrowing. He sidestepped you and continued further into Erebor, ignoring Bilbo calling his name after him. You all followed, but you already knew what you’d see at the other end. It’d be the hoard. Full and sparkly and covering almost the entire floor. And walking through it all in ornate robes and jewels—the adornments were new—was Thorin, muttering to himself.

“Gold-gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow and grief,” Thorin said, eyes scanning the gold. He looked up and spotted you, a slow grin splitting his face. “Behold! The great treasure hoard of Thror.” He threw a jewel at Fili who caught it and inspected it. “Welcome, my sister’s sons, to the kingdom of Erebor.”

A sweet reunion was had among the dwarves, and then it was back to work looking for the Arkenstone.

“Any sign of it?” Thorin yelled.

“Nothing yet,” Dwalin called back.

“Nothing here,” Nori said.

“Keep searching!” Thorin ordered.

“That jewel could be anywhere,” Oin said.

“The Arkenstone is in these halls—find it!” Thorin yelled.

“You heard him—keep looking!” Dwalin shouted.

“All of you! No one rests until it is found,” Thorin said.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and went up to the surface for air that didn’t have a metallic tinge to it. You breathed the cool, crisp mountain air in as deeply as you could, leaning your arms on the ramparts of the front gates. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bilbo take up a position next to you.

“I-um. I have something to disclose,” he murmured. “But, do not give me your full attention. We must not draw attention to what I’m about to show you.”

You tilted your head in his direction slightly so you could see a bit more of his face. He looked down pointedly at the pocket of his tunic where his hand was slowly pulling out a prismatic white gem. “Bilbo,” you breathed. “How long have you had it?”

“Since Smaug,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you say—" you started to screech, but the warning look he sent you made you lower your voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I was hoping he’d get it together, but he’s only gotten worse, and now I’m convinced that giving him this is not what he needs.”

You nodded in agreement, looking back to see the dwarves break for lunch. Thorin stayed in the hoard longer, and when he came up, he wandered to the throne room, staring at the empty space above the throne where the Arkenstone should have been. You slipped into the room with a few of the others, curious as to what he would do next.

As if sensing your presence, he began to speak. “It is here in these halls. I know it.”

“We have searched and searched—” Dwalin started.

“Not well enough!”

“Thorin, we all would see the stone returned,” Dwalin said.

“And yet, it is still not found!”

“Do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here?” Balin asked.

Thorin turned and slunk towards Balin and Dwalin.

“The Arkenstone is the birthright of our people,” Balin stated.

“It is the King’s Jewel,” Thorin said. He started to shout, “AM I NOT THE KING?” He spun away. “Know this: if anyone should find it and withhold it from me, I will be avenged.”

Balin looked at you, his eyes pleading for you to try something here.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you walked up to Thorin. “My King, might I have but a moment of your time?”

Thorin gave you a once over and nodded.

“Walk with me?” you asked, holding your hand out to him. He stared at it for a moment and you were worried he wouldn’t take it, but he did. And hope blossomed in your chest. You pulled him down a hall you’d found the second day in the mountain. The hall that led to your guest rooms where you’d stayed the first time. You counted doors until you found the right one, pulling him into the room. Your hands gripped his robe as you pulled him in for a hard kiss. At first he didn’t move, but then he began to kiss back with the same intensity as you. You pushed his coat off his shoulders and gently nipped his lip. He growled against your lips, pushing you onto the mattress behind you. You pulled him down with you, sliding your fingers in his hair. He tipped your chin back and began an assault of kisses and bites down your neck. His hands roamed, slipping your borrowed dress from over your head and leaving you bare, but for your underthings. He left little red marks down your skin as he continued lower and lower, leaving your skin on fire and a heat burning in you. He unceremoniously divested you of the rest of your clothes, kissing and nipping along your thighs. His hands gripped your thighs to part them before his tongue set to work. He was relentless and rough, like a man who had been starved, as he licked and sucked. Your hand fisted in his hair as you whimpered. It was all too much and not enough and something in the back of your mind was whispering that it was wrong. Not like this. But you were barely capable of forming coherent thoughts, much less answering that voice as to why it was wrong. Your muscles began to lock up and your breathing came faster and faster. One of your hands fisted the sheet, trying to ground yourself, but it was no use. You were flung out of this mountain and up into the heavens, Thorin’s name on your lips as your body shook beneath him.

And then you heard it.

It was so quiet, so much so that you’d thought you hadn’t heard anything at all over your breathing as you came down from your high, but no. He’d said it. “Mine.”

You scuttled back from him, putting space between you. “Excuse me?”

He looked up at you, and what you’d mistaken for lust at the start of this escapade was now very clearly greed. He swallowed and wet his lips, his eyes raking down your naked body. “Mine.”

You laughed bitterly, turning away from him and balling yourself up until you were small. “Thorin Oakenshield, I am not some addition to your hoard.”

“You would refuse me? King Under the Mountain?”

You shook your head, tears burning your eyes. “I do not see a King before me.”

“I will find the stone—”

“This isn’t about the stone! Thorin, a stone does not make you king. Many were king before this stone even came from the mountain. What makes a king is his actions and his duty to his people. And this…” Your voice broke on a sob. “Get out.”

“What?” For a moment, he almost sounded normal. The bed shifted beneath you and you could feel him come up behind you, the warmth of his hand hovering over your shoulder made you flinch. “Khebabmudtu—”

“Cousin, I made you tea—” Bilbo said, entering the room. You looked over your bare shoulder at him and he took in the scene. “Thorin, I think you ought to leave.”

“But—”

“Now.” Bilbo placed the teacup on the bedside table with a decided clink. Then, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders while watching the dwarf king leave. Once the door clicked closed behind Thorin, Bilbo turned back to you. “Did he hurt you?”

“Physically? No.” You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, walking over to the pack you’d abandoned at the foot of the bed all those years ago. Your old elven dress was still in there. Going behind the divider, you pulled it on, a frown settling on your face as you realized it didn’t fit like you remembered. You stepped back towards Bilbo, picking up the teacup. “I fear I might have made everything worse. I just… I just thought—hoped really, that if I could somehow remind him of who he was back then that… oh I don’t know what I thought.”

Bilbo gestured at you. “You aren’t who you were back then and you can’t go back to it, either. Sometimes, you can’t close a door once it's been opened.”

“Did you talk to Balin?”

“He thinks it best that the Arkenstone isn’t found.”

You nodded, sipping tea. “This tea tastes like dirt.”

“I made it quickly when you didn’t come back right away,” he admitted. “The people of Laketown just showed up—”

“They’re here?” You practically threw the cup back down on the table. “Why didn’t you lead with that? Come on!” Your feet slapped on the stone floor as you ran to the front gate. Despair took over as you saw Thorin supervising the dwarves as they walled up the entrance. You were going to be trapped in the mountain with no way out. The only way you’d been surviving these past few days was by being able to walk amidst the woods for a bit and feet the grass beneath your toes.

“No! Stop, you can’t!” You screamed, running towards the wall. Thorin caught you around the middle, pulling you back against his chest.

“It's for our safety.”

“Thorin, please,” you begged. “I need to be able to—”

“Leave?” he asked. His voice dropped down to a low whisper that sent an unwanted shiver down your spine. “Now, you are part of my hoard.” He raised his voice to the dwarves. “I want this fortress made safe by sunup. This mountain was hard won—I will not see it be taken again.”

“The people of Laketown have nothing,” Kili pleaded. “They came to us in need. They have lost everything.”

“Do not tell me what they have lost. I know well enough their hardship. Those who have lived through dragonfire should rejoice. They have much to be grateful for. “ He released his hold on you once the wall was high enough to not be scaled. “More stone! Bring more stone to the gate!”

You stood, watching until the moonlight barely lit the room anymore, having been blocked out in near completeness.

When you found Thorin again, he was murmuring to himself, rubbing the white gems adorning a necklace. “The white gems of Lasgalen. I know an Elf-lord who would pay a pretty price for these.” He looked up from the stash to find you peering at him from around the corner. “It is done, then?”

“I do not think that those who signed your contract knew that they would become a part of your collection,” you said softly.

He dropped the necklace and strode over to you, his eyes searching yours. “Did you not sign that on your own free will?”

“I would have done anything for you once had you but asked.”

“And now?” His hand reached up as if he were going to stroke your cheek with the backside of his hand.

“The man before me has stopped asking.” You turned away from him. “You only order. Being the loudest in a room does not make your words any more correct than others.”

He balled his hand into a fist before dropping it at his side. He left to admire the finished wall. The dwarves had built a staircase to the top of it so that they could look out. He looked as if he were made of stone, with how the moonlight encased his face. You remembered the last time you had gotten air with Thorin all those years ago and felt as if the world were playing some sick joke on you. Every time you came to this mountain, Thorin ruined you. The first time, he ruined your sense of home and your family. Your tree no longer felt like yours and the echoes of your mother were too loud to bear some nights. He ruined you by making it so you could never love another. Never sleep without dreaming of him. Never breathe without wondering if he still lived, too. And now, Thorin ruined you because you knew that you would do anything to help him, even if that meant breaking your own heart in the process. You slumped down next to Bilbo and Thorin’s nephews.

“He has changed a lot,” you murmured. You looked over at the boys. “Dis would not be pleased.”

“What was she like when you knew her?” Fili asked quietly.

“Your mother was the sweetest child I’d ever seen,” you replied. “I see her in you.” You looked at Kili. “I see her in both of you.”

“If anyone can get through to him, it's you,” Bilbo said.

You shook your head. “He’s a stubborn dwarf. He will listen only when he wants to listen.” Leaning your head on Bilbo’s shoulder, you felt your eyes grow heavy. Before long, you’d fallen asleep.

Chapter 19: Bard's Bargain

Chapter Text

“Come on!” Thorin yelled, startling you awake. It was morning and the company scrambled up to the platform where Thorin stood looking out over the plain. At first, you weren’t sure what to look for, but then you saw the troops of elves and men in Dale. And then, you spotted the man on a horse riding to the gate.

“Bard! You’re alive,” you called down to him.

He smiled up at you from the saddle before turning his attention to Thorin. “Hail Thorin, son of Thrain! We are glad to find you alive beyond hope.”

Thorin folded his arms in front of his chest. “Why do you come to the gates of the king under the mountain armed for war?”

“Why does the king under the mountain fence himself in like a robber in his hole?”

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed.”

“My Lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?”

Thorin thought it over for a moment and then nodded. He descended the stairs to a small hole in the wall of rubble. Bard approached from the opposite side.

“I’m listening,” Thorin said.

“On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honor your pledge. A share of the treasure so that they might rebuild their lives,” Bard said,

“I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door.”

“That armed host will attack this mountain, if we do not come to terms.”

“Your threats do not sway me.”

“What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help. And in return you brought upon them only ruin and death!”

“When did the men of Laketown come to our aid, but for the promise of rich reward?”

“A bargain was struck!” Bard’s chest heaved in anger.

“A bargain? What choice did we have but to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom? You call that a fair trade? Tell me, Bard the Dragonslayer, why should I honor such terms?” Thorin asked.

“Because you gave us your word,” Bard pleaded. “Does that mean nothing?”

Thorin turned away, leaning against the wall. You were halfway down the stairs when he looked up at you. He looked exhausted, darkened skin under his eyes. You shook your head at him.

You looked at him with such pity. All you wanted was to tuck him into bed. You’d give away the entire hoard if it gave him rest and helped the people of Laketown. “Thorin—"

“Be gone, ere arrow fly!” Thorin shouted to Bard.

The sound of Bard slapping the wall made you wince.

“Thorin, are you mad?” you asked.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo yelled. “You cannot go to war!”

“This does not concern either of you,” Thorin said.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo reared back. “But just in case you haven’t noticed, there is an army of elves out there. And not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We-we are in fact outnumbered.”

Thorin grinned at him. “Not for much longer.”

Bilbo looked between your bewildered face and Thorin’s look of triumph. “Wh-what does that mean?”

“It means, Master Baggins, you should never underestimate dwarves.” Thorin turned to address the company. “We have reclaimed Erebor—now we defend it!” He walked away, his arms folded behind his back while you and Bilbo watched.

“Cousin—”

“Bilbo, I believe we are going to war,” you said, defeat settling in your voice.

“But—”

“Cousin, it is either we join him in his escapades, or we watch him destroy himself in the process,” you snapped, exhaustion and frustration fraying your nerves. “I don’t have any intention of standing back and watching any longer. He will listen to reason eventually. We just… have to wait it out and be sure that we are at his side when he finally comes around.”

Bilbo wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in for a side hug. “Alright.”

You looked up at Balin. “Reinforcements?”

“I don’t know what he has in store,” Balin admitted, placing a hand on your free shoulder. “But, I stand with you.”

“Why?” you asked, confusion knitting your brow.

“Because a true Queen is one who does what is best for her people, regardless of what the King thinks.”

“Oh, Balin I’m—”

“Lass, once he sorts himself out,” Balin paused, looking towards Thorin’s retreating figure. “He’ll realize the Arkenstone has nothing on you.” He squeezed your shoulder. “Get some rest tonight, my dear hobbits. I don’t know when we’ll know quiet again.”

You climbed the stairs to once again feel the sun on your face. You set your gaze on Dale, watching as weapons were being distributed amongst the men while the elves polished their own. Your Uncle stood on the outskirts of town. Although he was so far away, you felt as if he could see you, and your cheeks burned at the idea of your family attacking your dwarven kin, because kin is what the company had become to you. You drank in the realization, letting it warm you down to your toes. Somewhere along this journey they’d ceased to be the stubborn band of dwarves you were contracted to, and they’d become family. It was over low campfires and tucked into stones. It was through passing waterskins and helping hands when the way was blocked. You’d forged forth together. And now… now you may die together, all the while asking yourself whether it was worth it. And it was. Because, regardless of what Thorin may currently think, the quest wasn’t about the Arkenstone. It was a quest for home. A quest for hope. A quest for justice. It was a quest you still believed in, even if some had lost their way, because as long as you had the company, you had the path. You’d keep each other from straying too far, and if it couldn’t be helped… then, you’d all go off on the adventure together. Sunlight shimmered on the ridge and you had to cover your eyes to see, and even then you weren’t quite sure what you saw was right, but there, next to your Uncle, was a woman who looked awfully familiar and who’s sight tugged at your chest.

“Master Baggins, come here! And bring your cousin with you,” Thorin called from down the hall.

You took the stairs down, following Bilbo into the armory. The dwarves were donning armor and sharpening their weapons. Thorin was digging through a chest and grabbed a garment of white mail, passing it to Bilbo.

“You’re going to need this. Put it on.” He handed it to Bilbo. “This vest is made of silver steel—‘mithril’, it was called by my forebears. No blade can pierce it.”

Bilbo slid it on, taking a look at himself. “I look absurd. I’m not a warrior; I’m a Hobbit.”

“It is a gift. A token of our friendship. True friends are hard to come by.” He gently led Bilbo out of earshot of the dwarves. You silently crept to listen in a little ways off, pretending to be entranced by a sword on the wall. “I have been blind. Now I begin to see. I am betrayed!”

“Betrayed?” Bilbo asked.

“The Arkenstone.” Thorin moved closer to Bilbo. “One of them has taken it. One of them is false.”

“Thorin… the quest is fulfilled. You’ve won the mountain. Is that not enough?”

“Betrayed by my own kin.”

“No. You… you made a promise to the people of Laketown,” Bilbo spoke slowly as if testing the waters. “Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor? Our honor, Thorin. I was also there, I gave my word. My cousin vouched for you.”

“For that I’m grateful. It was nobly done. But the treasure in this mountain does not belong to the people of Laketown! This gold is ours… and ours alone. By my life I will not part with a single coin. Not one piece of it!”

Bilbo looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes wide. You tapped your nose and nodded towards the wall to indicate you’d talk later.

“Thorin, I’m not sure what armor would best fit me,” you said, picking up what looked like a dagger.

Thorin laughed. “You don’t need armor.”

“How am I to fight without protection?” you asked.

“Khebabmudtu, you are not fighting,” he said, taking the dagger from you.

“But—”

“I will not see you harmed.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You wanted to remind yourself that part of this was probably the dragon sickness. However, sickness didn’t control the fact that at the heart of it all, he viewed you as treasure. You wanted to be mad at him. You wanted to shake him. But, you knew that this was just some weird, messed up manifestation of his feelings for you. “But, Thorin, my place is with you.”

He took you by the chin. “And the best way for me to ensure that is for you to stay here. With the rest of my treasure. I do not have the Arkenstone. I will not lose you, too.”

“But—”

He kissed you. It was deep and all-consuming and greedy. It left your head spinning when he pulled back. “I—”

“Don’t,” you placed your hand to his lips. You didn’t want him to tell you he loved you. Not like this. Not when he wasn’t himself. “Wait until we win, my King.”

He grinned down at you. “When I have the Arkenstone and the mountain under complete control.”

You smiled up at him, but it didn’t meet your eyes. “Yes.”

He strode off to dinner with the other dwarves while you met Bilbo back up on the look-out.

“We need to give the stone to Bard,” Bilbo said once you were alone. “It can’t stay here. I can’t tell if it's making him worse, but we cannot give it to him.”

“How do you think we’ll sneak it out of here without them knowing?” You sat up on the ledge.

“Bombur has the night watch. I’ll offer to take it over once everyone else is asleep and then we sneak out”

“Thorin won’t be happy when he finds out.”

Bilbo looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “I think you should stay there, too.”

“I will not leave him,” you seethed.

Bilbo took your hands. “Think about it. You matter to him. It can be a way to bargain for them. And maybe it’ll make him come to his senses.”

“Or he’ll feel betrayed and never speak to me again.” You snatched your hands away, folding your arms across your chest.

“You are just as stubborn as him. Are you sure you’re not part dwarf?” Bilbo teased.

“Bilbo, I love him,” you said with a sigh.

“I know. I was in the throne room that day,” he admitted.

“He never said it back.”

“Some people say more with their actions than with actual words.”

“He’s just…” you tilted your head, your eyes losing focus as you remembered your first nights with the young prince. “He’s everything, Bilbo. He’s enigmatic. He’s brave and strong and kind. He’s honorable. He loves his people with his whole being. He’s not bad to look at either,” you said with a sly smirk. “And I know that he’s strong enough to get past whatever sickness is on this treasure. He just needs more time.”

“Time is unfortunately one of the few things we don’t have,” Bilbo said. “We’re sitting ducks here. We’ll run out of food eventually. Provided the wall isn’t breached first.”

You nodded. “So we’ll buy him some time.” You sighed, shoulders slumping in acceptance. “I’ll offer myself up to my Uncle.”

“We leave as soon as the others fall asleep,” Bilbo said, leaving to go eat dinner. You waited a moment more, watching the sun begin to dip below the sky before the hunger gnawing in your belly made you leave and tend to it.

Chapter 20: Midnight Escapades

Chapter Text

It took forever for everyone to fall asleep. You had to wait until Thorin shuffled down to inspect the hoard again, and then you listened for snoring before creeping through the halls with Bilbo to Bombur. You hid in the shadows while Bilbo struck his deal, not wanting anyone to witness you with Bilbo since he’d have to come back and you didn’t want him to get in trouble immediately upon noticing your absence. Once Bombur had passed through the other hall, you quickly joined your cousin at the top of the wall.

“It’s a rather steep drop,” Bilbo murmured, tying off a rope.

“So try not to drop,” you teased, climbing down it. The strands bit into your fingers as you went, hand-under-hand, down the rope. Bilbo followed you down and soon you were running towards Dale. In the daylight, the valley looked as if you could cross it in a blink, but now, as your legs burned from exertion, you were beginning to realize just how far it was.

“Are you sure you’ll have enough time to get back by midnight?” you asked.

“I will if we stop wasting breath on talking so we can run faster,” he laughed.

“Fair enough,” you agreed, and stayed silent the rest of the way.

You reached the outskirts of the camp without problem, but then were forced to sneak along to avoid the patrols of guards. You ducked behind anything you could until you heard a familiar booming voice.

“You, Bowman! Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of dwarves?” Gandalf called out.

“It will not come to that. This is a fight they cannot win.” That was Bard.

You and Bilbo crept out behind the building you’d tucked behind and came up to them.

“That won’t stop them,” Bilbo said. “You think the dwarves will surrender—they won’t. They will fight to the death to defend their own.”

“They are stubborn,” you added.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf grinned before turning to you, warmth flooding his eyes. “Oh, my dear, I am so glad to see you.” His smile dropped slightly. “I’m afraid we must speak with your Uncle.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “It can’t be helped.”

Gandalf led you through the elven camp to Thranduil’s tent, letting himself in without much ceremony. “I have two halflings who would be of interest to you.”

Thranduil looked up from where he was lounging, his eyes wide and calculating as he took in both you and Bilbo. “If I’m not mistaken, this halfling with my niece is the one who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”

“Yes. Sorry about that,” Bilbo said, shuffling a bit on his feet. He pulled out a wrapped package from his pocket. “We came to give you two things. The first is this.” He unwrapped the package and presented the glittering Arkenstone to your Uncle.

Thranduil rose in shock. “The heart of the mountain! The King’s Jewel.”

Gandalf and Bard peered at the jewel, wonder evident on their faces.

“And worth a king’s ransom. How is this yours to give?” Bard asked.

“I took it as my fifteenth share of the treasure,” Bilbo said.

Gandalf smirked. “And what was the second thing?”

“Me,” you said, stepping forward. “If he wants to view me as part of his hoard, then I take myself as my share.”

“Why would you do this?” Bard asked. “You owe us no loyalty.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Bilbo admitted. “I know that dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult, suspicious and secretive—with the worst manners you can possibly imagine, but they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.” He looked at you, a sad look on his face. “Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war!”

Your Uncle looked at you down his nose. “And you?”

“I already pledged you my freedom for his,” you whispered.

“The Heart of the Mountain and the Heart of the King,” Bard said with a soft laugh of disbelief. “I do believe this could turn the tide in our favor.”

“Bilbo must return to the mountain before they miss him,” you said. “Gandalf, can we walk him out of town?”

Gandalf eyed your Uncle. “I don’t know what deal she made with you, but my goddaughter will not come to harm while I’m around. Nor will she be treated like a prisoner by her own kin.”

Thranduil smirked. “I was planning on letting her out of the dungeon in the morning. She just escaped before I could.”

Gandalf grunted, but ushered both you and Bilbo out of the tent. “That was a very brave thing the two of you did.” He looked down at Bilbo. “Rest up tonight. You must leave on tomorrow.”

“What?” Bilbo asked, incredulously.

“Get as far away from here as possible,” Gandalf advised.

“I’m-I’m not leaving,” Bilbo said adamantly. “You picked me as the fifteenth man. I’m not about to leave the company now.”

“There is no company—not any more. And I don’t like to think what Thorin will do when he finds out what you’ve done.”

Bilbo scoffed. “I’m not afraid of Thorin.”

“But you should be! Don’t underestimate the evil of gold. Gold over which a serpent has long brooded. Dragon-sickness seeps into the hearts of all who come near this mountain.” Gandalf looked over you and Bilbo as if seeing you both in a new light. “Almost all.”

Alfrid walked by up ahead and Gandalf called out to him. “You there! Find this Hobbit a bed, and fill his belly with hot food. He has earned it.”

Alfrid rolled his eyes and started to usher Bilbo away.

“W-wait!” you ran up to Bilbo and hugged him crushingly tight. “I don’t know how you always appear when we need you to, but do whatever you must to get back to them,” you whispered. You pulled back, your eyes burning at the realization that tomorrow was not guaranteed. “Cousin, it was an honor and a privilege to meet you and know you and travel with you. I only wish—”

Bilbo pulled you back in for an even tighter hug. “You are the sister I never had.” He pulled back and kissed your cheek. “You are a Took—and a damned good one if ever I saw one. I don’t care if you are half this or half that. You are you and that is the best thing you can be. Any family would be lucky to have you, and I am beyond blessed that you are in mine. It will all be okay. I promise you.”

You nodded, holding his hands until he pulled away, leaving you alone with Gandalf.

“Come, my dear, you must get some rest, too,” Gandalf said, placing a heavy hand on your back to steer you towards the tent he was staying in. He had a smirk on his face as he brushed the side open for you to pass through. Once through, you quickly understood why.

“Mother!” You called, running into the arms of your mother. She was warm and solid and it was the reunion you’d been wanting for years.

“My darling daughter,” she wept, hugging you so tightly you were afraid she’d never let you go.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when she let you come up for air. She poured you and Gandalf a cup of tea and you sat around a small table while Gandalf smoked a pipe. It felt so much like old times that you wanted to cry.

“Your Uncle asked me to come and lead the archers since Tauriel and Legolas disappeared.”

“Legolas,” you spat.

“Is a sweet boy when you get to know him,” your mother said gently. “All he’s known is the influence of his father since I first left. By the time I returned, he was full grown and not much could be helped.”

“I met another cousin,” you told her. “His name is Bilbo Baggins. He’s a Took!”

“That’s nice, dear. You’ll have to tell me all about him when we get home tomorrow.”

“Mother, what do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t stay here. There’s about to be a battle.”

“I am not leaving. I will not abandon my friends,” you said, slamming your teacup on the table. It rattled against the saucer.

Your mother looked coolly at Gandalf. “This is your influence.”

“My dear, she is not you, and she is not me. She is herself and if you don’t understand why she cannot leave that mountain, then you are more dense than I could have ever imagined.”

“But he’s just a dwarf—”

“Like my father was just a Hobbit to Uncle?” You snapped.

She looked down into her teacup. “You have changed.”

“No,” you admitted. “I think–I think I have always been this. I just couldn’t share it with you because it wasn’t what you wanted me to be.” You looked up at her, placing a gentle hand on hers. “Mother, no matter what I do, I’ll never be an elf.” You looked over at Gandalf. “And as much as I’d love to, I’ll never really be a Hobbit, either. But, I found people who accept me and love me as I am, and they’re in that mountain and they need my help.” You squeezed your mother’s hand. “You once told me that home isn’t always a place. You were right, Mother. That Company—That King. They’re my home, and I will not spend another moment of my life searching for another when it already took me so long to find the one I’ve got.”

Thranduil chose that moment to whip back the tent flap and enter. He had a staring match with your mother. “I hope you don’t intend to take away my collateral.”

“What are you planning?” Gandalf asked, puffing out a smoke ring.

“Simple. She’ll ride with us to the wall, make the dwarf king aware that we have the upper hand and hopefully he’ll come to his senses,” your Uncle brushed invisible dust from his robes. “Surely, even you can’t be against avoiding bloodshed, Helenwin.”

Your mother pursed her lips. “Brother—”

“My son will be with the archers. Are you trying to imply that your daughter is worth more than the crown prince?”

Your mother took a sip of her tea, her cheeks flush with indignation. “Whatever you wish, my Lord.”

If you hadn’t witnessed it, you wouldn’t have believed it. Your Uncle knelt down beside your mother, taking her hands in his. “Helenwin, I won’t put her in danger.”

“You put her in a dungeon.”

“I would’ve let her out come morning!”

Your mother looked over his shoulder at you. “Is this truly what you wish to do?”

You nodded. “I’d do anything.”

“Very well, Brother. But, should any harm befall her, I will never forgive you,” she promised.

He kissed her knuckles and stood. “I knew you’d see reason.” His eyes flitted over you as he went to the door. “Tomorrow. Dawn. Be ready to ride out.” Just as swiftly as he swept in, he breezed back out.

“I will never quite understand your brother,” Gandalf admitted.

“His allegiances may seem fickle, but beneath it all, he just cares about his people,” your mother replied after finishing her tea. She began to clear up the little table. “You ought to rest while you can.”

“Gandalf? Will everything be alright?” you whispered to your godfather while your mother began to get the beds ready.

“Whatever will be is out of our hands, dear one. All we can do is our best and hope that it is enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then, we will know that we did what we could and that it was unavoidable. Larger things are at work.” He puffed out his smoke. “Things beyond what we’re meant to understand. The end may come sooner than we expect it. If we are to face it… then we should at least do so with our loved ones beside us.”

In bed later, you thought back to what Thorin had said during the fight with Smaug. If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together. You looked over at your mother, asleep on the cot next to you. If you were to die tomorrow, what would you want your last words to her to be? Would they be the empty promise that you’d come back safely? Would they be that you loved her? Or maybe they would be thank you. Thank you for raising you and not abandoning you even when it would’ve been easier to do so. Thank you for following your heart, even if it led somewhere unexpected. Because it led to your father. It led to you. It led to Thorin. Because that’s what love was. It was an unexpected journey. It found you when you were least ready for it and shook you out of your routine and made you realize that there was more to life than what you originally thought. And sometimes it took a quest to find home to realize that home wasn’t a place. It was a person that had been beside you the whole time.

Sleep came in fits, and when it did come, the dreams were odd. You hadn’t had dreams like these in decades, back when you saw a dwarven prince that you didn’t know. Now, you saw a dwarven king that you did know. He was fighting the same white orc that had been hunting him across Middle Earth. It was Thorin’s pride that he fought. He fought alone. It happened in slow motion. The orc slipping between the ice. Thorin walking along to follow the reverse shadow beneath the ice. Azog bursting forth, his sword shoved through Thorin’s foot. Thorin falling back, and the Orc’s drive towards his chest with his whole strength. You saw it in his eyes, his plan, before he executed it. Keep your friend’s close, but your enemies closer. He let the orc plunge into his chest so that his own sword could return the favor. His name ripped out from your lips.

“Shhh,” your mother murmured, rocking you back and forth as you sobbed. “It was just a bad dream.”

“It was so real,” you whispered, shaking hands coming up to brush the tears from your face. “Mother, have you ever seen things in your dreams and then they came true?”

“The future is never set in stone,” she said cryptically, smoothing your hair back from your face. “Sleep a little longer. If not for you, then for me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned over. Shutting your eyes tight, you tried to block out the image of the sword finding a home in Thorin’s chest. It might as well have stabbed you, too.

Bard came to find you the next morning. He was to be the person you shared a horse with. You figured it was a better alternative than your Uncle. Your fists clenched into the back of Bard’s coat to hold on as he urged the horse into a gallop toward the mountain. It felt wrong, riding into battle on a horse with a different man. You wore Elven battle leathers, a bow slung across your back. It had been a while since you’d used a bow. Your mother used to drill you as a child, mostly to give herself something to do, and because it was tradition amongst the Woodland Elves to learn the bow first. Still, you preferred a sword these days, having become fairly proficient along the journey. You had a dagger at your hip for closer combat. You hoped you wouldn’t have to use it.

Chapter 21: The Battle of the Five Armies

Chapter Text

As your horse approached the mountain, an arrow whizzed directly into the ground in front of the horses.

“I will put the next one between your eyes!” Thorin called from up on the wall. He drew his bow again. The dwarves cheered, roused by the display. Your Uncle nodded to the armies that had accompanied you. As one, they nocked their arrows, aiming at the dwarves. Everyone but Thorin ducked. Satisfied that the dwarves would be no threat, your Uncle held up his hand and the elves returned the arrows.

“We’ve come to tell you: payment of your debt has been offered… and accepted,” Thranduil called out.

“What payment? I gave you nothing! You have nothing!” Thorin thundered.

“We have this,” Bard said. He pulled the Arkenstone from his robe and held it up for Thorin to see.

“They have the Arkenstone?” Kili asked. “Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the king!”

“And the King may have it—in our goodwill,” Bard said, returning the stone to his pocket. “But first he must honor his word.”

Thorin muttered something to himself before yelling “The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a trick!”

Bilbo stepped up to him. “I-it’s no trick. The stone is real. We gave it to them.”

“We?” Thorin asked in shock.

“I took it as my fifteenth share.”

“You would steal from me?”

“Steal from you? No. No. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I’m an honest one. I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim? Your claim!” Thorin sputtered incredulously. “You have no claim over me you miserable rat!” He threw his bow down.

“I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to, but—”

“But what, thief?!”

“You are changed, Thorin! The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word! Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin.”

“Do not speak to me of loyalty!” Thorin turned towards the other dwarves. “Throw him from the rampart!” No one moved. He rounded on his kin, grabbing Fili by the arm. “Do you hear me?” Fili pulled out of his grasp and Thorin shook his head. “I will do it myself!”

“Thorin, stop!” You yelled. “Thorin, this isn’t you! Please,” you dropped down from the horse and walked as far as you could to the wall. “Thorin, I am begging you. Stop this madness.”

“Khebabmudtu,” he breathed, looking down at you. His face softened for the briefest moment before it flitted back to Bilbo, and then to Bard, with whom you had shared a horse. And then his face hardened into a stone. He grabbed Bilbo by the arm after struggling with his kin, and tried to shove Bilbo over the edge. “Curse you! Curse the both of you! And Cursed be the Wizard that forced you on this Company!”

Your heart dropped at the sight of Bilbo being hoisted over the side.

“IF YOU DON’T LIKE MY BURGLAR,” Gandalf thundered, power-walking through the armies of man and elf until he reached your side, his hand squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. His voice dropped to a normal volume. “Then please don’t damage him. Return him to me! You’re not making a very splendid figure as king under the mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?”

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards.” Thorin held Gandalf’s gaze for a moment before slowly pulling Bilbo up. Bofur rushed to help Bilbo right himself and nudged him to the rope you’d used the night before to escape. Thorin spat at Bilbo. “Or Shire-rats!” He sneered down at you. “Or halflings that don’t know who they are.”

You could feel the anger bubbling within you, and you knew it was going to spill over and it wouldn’t be pretty when it did. You were tired of proving yourself to everyone else. And moreover, he was wrong. You knew who you were. You were you and that was enough for you and those who truly loved you. It was the gold. You knew it was the gold, but still, you couldn’t resist lashing out at him for giving over to it all so easily. “Thorin, you are the one who does not know himself, because if you did, you’d see that this isn’t you.”

“Are we resolved?” Bard asked. “She will return the Arkentsone to you and you’ll give us what was promised?”

Thorin’s hands balled into fists on the rampart’s ledge. He stared off into the ridge in the distance.

“Give us your answer!” Bard called up to him. “Will you have peace or war?”

A beautiful, glossy raven swooped down and landed on the rampart next to Thorin. He looked from the bird to you, a hardness in his eyes. “I will have war!”

The ground shook and rumbled from the ridge. You turned in time to see an armored dwarven army cresting the top of the ridge, led by a dwarf riding a pig.

“Ironfoot,” Gandalf muttered.

The dwarves on the rampart cheered at the army. Bilbo reached your side, looking up at the large group of dwarves that had joined the party. “Who is that? He doesn’t look very happy.”

“It is Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills—Thorin’s cousin,” Gandalf explained.

“Are they alike?”

“I always found Thorin the more reasonable of the two.”

“Lovely,” you groaned. “Two unreasonable dwarf lords. Just what we needed.”

Thranduil had mobilized his troops, having them meet the dwarves a short ways off. Dain rode in front of his army and grinned at his opposition.

“Good morning! How are we all? I have a wee proposition, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a few moments of your time,” he drawled. “Would you consider… just sodding off!”

The elven army drew swords and stepped forward.

“All of you—right now!” Dain shouted.

“Stand fast!” Bard ordered.

Gandalf rolled his eyes and walked in between the armies to try and diffuse the situation. “Come now, Lord Dain!”

“Gandalf the Grey,” Dain said with a smirk. “Tell this rabble to leave, or I’ll water the ground with their blood!”

“There is no need for war between dwarves, men and elves! A legion of orcs march on the mountain. Stand your army down!”

“Orcs?” you asked Bilbo. “Did you know about that?”

Bilbo shook his head.

“I will not stand down before any elf! Not least this faithless woodland sprite!” Dain yelled, pointing at Thranduil. “He wishes nothing but ill upon my people! If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I’ll split his pretty head open! See if he’s still smirking then.”

Your Uncle sneered. “He’s clearly mad, like his cousin.”

“Do you hear that lads?” Dain called, rejoining his army.

“Bilbo, I don’t think we should be standing here,” you said, pushing your cousin back from the front lines of battle while Dain and the army from the Iron Hills put up a battle cry, raising their weapons. The elves, in response, put up shields and spears in front and archers at the ready behind them. And then, the ground began to shake, causing both armies to stop in their tracks.

“Were-worms,” Gandalf whispered to himself.

The worms broke through from the ground before leaving just as quickly as they came. In their wake, were tunnels filled with Orcs ready to fight, with Azog at the front. He yelled out to them, and they began to charge.

“The hordes of hell are upon us!” Dain called out. “To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!”

You pulled Bilbo back further towards the mountain as the Iron Hills army clashed with the Orcs. The song of battle washed over you; iron clanging against iron; the thwips of arrows being loosed; the thud of shields blocking a fatal blow. The dwarves were fighting courageously against the orcs, and yet, the elves had not moved.

“The elves, will they not fight?” Bilbo asked.

“Thranduil! This is madness!” Gandalf yelled.

“They’re outnumbered!” you said, striding up to your Uncle. “Will you not help them? Or will you turn away like a coward once more.”

He looked down at you for a moment before looking back at the dwarves. They’d formed a wall of shields, spears pointing out. The Orcs would reach them in moments. At the last second, a group of elves vaulted over the dwarves, tangling with the Orcs and cutting them down with their swords. The elves pressed forward, followed closely by the shield wall, the dwarves carving a path through the orcs. Dain, the mad dwarf that he is, rode through the orcs, smashing them with his hammer.

“Eh, Gandalf, is this a good place to stand?” Bilbo asked.

You were trying to focus on the battle. You wanted to help. You should be helping. You were about to rush into it, when Gandalf called out. “Azog—he’s trying to cut us off!”

You whipped your head around to see giant trolls marching on Dale.

“All of you, fall back to Dale!” Bard ordered. “Now!”

You ran as fast as your legs could carry you towards Dale. The elves and dwarves could take care of themselves. You needed to protect the vulnerable Lakepeople from any more horrors.

“To the city!” Gandalf yelled. “This way!”

On the backs of the trolls, you realized as you ran, were catapults. As the trolls approached Dale, they got on all fours so that the Orcs could whip rocks at Dale, smashing easily through the poorly kept ruins. You passed into the city, your dagger in your hands, and thankfully it was. The streets were overrun with Orcs. You, Bilbo, and Gandalf formed a bit of a blob, fighting off the onslaught of orcs and giving the townspeople the opportunity to escape. Your hand was slick with blood and your dagger slipped in your hand. After being lodged in the eye socket of an orc, you traded it out for his ax. It was hefty in your hand, but lethal at both ends. You swung it around, using the momentum to take down your attackers. You looked over a crumbled wall onto the battlefield to see Dain surrounded by orcs.

“Must I do everything myself!” You groaned. You nudged Bilbo with your shoulder. “I’m going to bail out that insufferable dwarf. If Thorin won’t, then someone must.”

“You can’t just go off into battle!” Bilbo yelled.

“Just watch me!” You shot back, hefting the ax over your shoulder. You cut down every orc in your way out of the city until you were making your way up through the ranks on the battlefield. Your ax swung and they fell. You were efficient in a way you didn’t think you had in you, but this was war, and war brought out the worst when survival was on the line. Hot blood sprayed your face as you decapitated an orc. And then suddenly you were in the thick of it, back to back with Dain.

“Lass, this is no place for you,” he scoffed.

You knocked down an orc that was coming in to his left. “Oh, I must be lost, then. Care to give me some directions? But, it’ll have to wait. I’m too busy saving your hide,” you snapped.

He laughed, looking at you out of the corner of his eye for a moment before taking out another assailant. “You’re that halfling my cousin’s in love with, huh? You don’t quite fight like an elf.”

You smacked an orc in the face with the flat side of your ax. It was true. You had no grace to your movements out here. “I’m not quite an elf.” You stepped out, spinning yourself like a windmill, ax outstretched. You took down three Orcs at the knees before finishing them off.

“Impressive.”

“It’s not enough,” you yelled, watching as more orcs poured out of those blasted tunnels. “We’re getting pushed back towards the mountain.”

Soon, the dwarves were desperately trying to form another shield wall at the gates of Erebor while you shot off arrows as fast as you could, but you knew your arrow supply was not unlimited.

And then you heard the most beautiful sound. A trumpet, clear and loud from the top of the wall. You craned your head up to see Bombur up there. The golden statue from your fight with Smaug burst through the rocked off gate, dropping rocks into the moat and creating a bridge for the dwarven company.

“To the king!” Dain shouted. “To the king!”

“Du Bekâr!” Thorin yelled, leading a charge.

You laughed in amazement as the dwarves began to fight with vigor, as if merely seeing Thorin had refreshed them. You hefted your ax up again, charging into the fray.

“Dain!” Thorin called.

“Thorin! Hold on! I’m coming.” Dain nodded at you and you worked back-to-back to clear a path towards Thorin.

“Hey cousin, what took you so long?” Dain asked

Your ax head dropped to the ground as you reached him. “Thorin, I’m so gl—”

His hands were on the side of your face, pulling you in for a breathless kiss. For a moment, the battle melted away and it was just the two of you in this stolen moment. He pulled back, leaning his forehead against yours. “I am so sorry.”

“You’re free,” you murmured.

“Thank you for keeping her safe, cousin,” Thorin said, embracing his cousin.

“I’m afraid it might’ve been the other way around. Hold on to this lass, Thorin. She’s a good one,” Dain said. “There’s too many of these buggers, Thorin. I hope you’ve got a plan.”

Thorin looked up to the hilltop where Azog had set up his command. “Aye—we’re going to take out their leader!”

“Azog,” Dain said.

“I’m gonna kill that piece of filth!” Thorin said, striding to mount a goat. You climbed on your own goat, riding off with Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili to the hills and possibly death.

Chapter 22: Azog the Defiler

Chapter Text

You fought your way onto a frozen lake, the wooden towers jutting out of the mist on the hill.

“Where is he?” Thorin asked.

“Looks empty,” Kili observed. “I think Azog has fled.”

“I don’t think so,” Thorin murmured before addressing the group. “Fili, take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back. Do not engage—do you understand?”

Dwalin sighed. “We have company. Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred.”

“We’ll take care of them. Go! Go!” Thorin yelled.

“Something’s not right,” you said to Thorin. “I’ll follow them.”

You kept to the shadows, creeping along slowly. You swapped your ax for your bow and arrow. You had two shots left. Up ahead, you watched as Kili and Fili split up. You hesitated for a moment before choosing to follow Fili. You heard a commotion ahead and stopped short, pressing yourself against the wall as you saw a shadow moving that was not supposed to be there. There were orcs, Azog with them, and they had Fili trapped. There were too many for you to take, so you just tailed them, following as Azog dragged a bloodied Fili to the top of the tower.

Azog sneered down at Thorin, speaking to him in a tone that rumbled in his chest. Before picking Fili up by the neck.

You lifted your bow. You had to make it. You exhaled, aiming for the arm holding Fili. You loosed the arrow, heart hammering in your chest as you watched it find its mark, bursting out his arm. He dropped Fili in shock, allowing him to roll away unharmed. What you didn’t account for was that doing so would draw Azog’s attention to you. You had to run, and you had to run now. You threw Fili your ax so he had something to defend himself with, and the two of you tried to make it back down the tower. Kili spotted you from below, and began to climb the tower, fighting off all the orcs in his path until you met in the middle, having cleared the tower.

“Did any of you get Azog?” Kili asked.

“Where’s Thorin?” you asked, scanning over the lake to see him fighting Azog.

“Thorin!” You yelled. You gripped the boys by the shoulders. “Stay together. You are the line of Durin. You must protect each other.” You looked at Thorin. “I’ll go help your Uncle.” You took the stairs two at a time. Painfully aware that you had only one arrow left. How you would help Thorin, you didn’t know, but you did know that you wouldn’t let him do anything foolish by himself, and when Azog was involved, it was proven that Thorin lost any sense.

By the time you reached the lake, he was farther onto it, towards the edge of a waterfall, half hanging off it with Orcrist somehow back in his hand. You wanted to laugh at the providence of it all, returning back to protect him as he took on his largest foe, because Azog, too, was on the lake. He stalked towards Thorin with a rock attached to a chain that he swung. Thorin dodged it, and the momentum of the swing was enough to knock Azog off balance, giving Thorin the opportunity to slash him. Azog swung again and missed, but managed to crack the ice. The ice continued to crack beneath them as they fought, until the next swing managed to break the ice. Thorin stumbled over the edge, giving Azog an opening to knock him down. With the next swing, Thorin was rolling away and popping up behind Azog, landing another blow. The orc was enraged, and whipped the rock at Thorin again, but missed. The rock lodged into the ice, and Azog was left with just his arm as a weapon.

You felt it before you saw it. The breeze ruffled your hair, where before it hadn’t. Up in the sky, were the eagles swooping through the sky, their golden feathers more dear to you at this moment than gold as they careened off towards the battlefield. The birds distracted Azog long enough that Thorin was able to dislodge the rock from the ice. He chucked it at Azog who caught it. Thorin jumped back off the ice. Without Thorin being there to balance him, Azog went plunging into the water.

“Thorin!” you yelled, trying to rush across the lake to him. You stepped carefully, and were still a ways away when he reached down to pick up Orcrist, staring at something in the ice. Slowly, he walked further along, looking down the whole time. Everything happened in slow motion. Metal burst through the ice, stabbing through Thorin’s foot. Azog crashed through the ice, pinning Thorin down. Thorin blocked Azog’s arm from his chest with Orcrist, pushing back. Your hands shook as you nocked your arrow. It was the last one. Your last chance. Your only hope. You either made this shot or you lost Thorin forever. You exhaled, a tear slipping down your cheek, and you let the arrow fly.

Chapter 23: Epilogue: The Last Goodbye

Chapter Text

You crept along the familiar passage, now no longer dark, but lit with sconces up to the large doorway at the end. Even from here you could see the greenery, and it made you walk faster until your feet were deeply ensconced in grass. It was warm in the newly constructed conservatory, with light shining in through the glass. The light reflected off the small pool of water that fed the plants; lush blooms flourished here despite the late winter chill outside the glass. And there, sitting on a rock, was Bilbo, smoking his pipe.

“I thought I might find you here,” you said, sitting down next to him.

He offered you his pipe, but you shook your head.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” He asked. “It’s a big day for you.”

You sighed, looking up through the glass at the early afternoon sun. “I know, but I’m restless. I needed a moment to myself. You know how they can be sometimes.”

Bilbo chuckled. “They’re a bit much, but they’re ours.”

You thought about a familiar pair of bright blue eyes and a beard you loved to tug when they got too pensive. “I thought I’d lost him that day,” you whispered. It’d been a month since the events out on the frozen lake, and you’d shoved all of your feelings about it away and down into the deepest, darkest part of yourself to help the dwarves rebuild. At first, they’d mourned, and you were the strong one that they could lean on, because what right had you to mourn those you had not known? The dead were buried. The gold was distributed to Laketown, but even the people of that city were wary of it, having seen what it had done to Thorin. The halls were rebuilt, and amidst it all, this conservatory was created and planted in secret as a gift to you. And here, sitting on this rock, the blinding light of the sun shone down deep within you, uncovering all that you’d tried to bury. Tears came freely, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of relief. Relief that it was all finally over.

Your shot—your last arrow—became the shot that was sung about. It was a praise you didn’t think you deserved. You weren’t doing it for the glory. You were doing it for love. You had shot that arrow because you knew that a world without Thorin in it was a world you couldn’t survive. You’d barely gotten by for years on the scraps of information you gleaned from the travelers to Rivendell. There was no way you’d live if he breathed his last. So you’d let the arrow fly and prayed to every being in the whole of Middle Earth that it would fly as true as your love for that stupid, stubborn dwarf. And fly true it did. It pierced straight through Azog’s eye and out the back of his skull. For a moment, you’d held your breath, worried that all you could do had not been enough and he would continue to fight. But then he started to stumble backwards, giving Thorin the opportunity to roll out from underneath him and deliver a finishing blow. He stood over the body of his fallen enemy, looking down at him and the arrow wound. And then he looked up at you. And smiled. He blinked slowly for a moment, chest heaving from exertion, and then he fell to his knees.

You ran to his side, your feet sliding on the ice, until you were by his side. Your hands roamed his body, searching for injuries. He had many slashes in places, and there was his foot. You shook your head at him. “You stupid, dwarf,” you muttered, tucking an arm beneath his shoulder. Bilbo scrambled over, helping from the other side. Together, you walked to the edge of the cliffside, looking down at the battle below. The tides had turned. Beorn and the eagles dealt enough blows, and without the leadership of Azog, the Orcs were forced to retreat through the tunnels. Kili and Fili came up behind you, followed closely by Tauriel and Legolas.

“It’s over?” Fili asked. “We won?”

“If you can call losing a great deal of our kin winning,” Thorin admitted.

“What do we do now?” Kili asked.

“We rebuild,” you answered, your mouth set in a grim line. Dale was even more damaged than before. Laketown was in ashes. The mountain was still in disarray. You had your work cut out. So you’d pushed all your feelings away until they snuck up on you in the light of day.

“Hey,” Bilbo murmured, squeezing your hand, bringing you back to the conservatory. “It’s okay.”

“There you are!” Thorin grinned, striding in through the door. He still had a hint of a limp. “I’ve been looking all over for—” he stopped, noticing the tears streaming down your face. “Give us a moment?” he asked Bilbo.

Bilbo patted your hand before leaving. “I’ll see you in the hall.”

Thorin knelt before you, taking your face in his hands. His rough thumbs swept the tears from your cheeks. “Khebabmudtu, don’t cry. You’ll put your fire out if you fall into it and it gets harder to relight.”

“What?” you asked, sniffling. Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Why do you call me that? What does it mean?”

If you hadn’t seen it, you may not have believed it. The King Under the Mountain blushed, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “It means heart forge.”

“Heart forge?”

“The forge where my heart is made,” he clarified, taking your hand and kissing it.

You wanted to shove him. “All this time… you’ve been telling me that you loved me but when I say it to save your life, you didn’t even acknowledge—”

Thorin laughed. “You never asked me again about it. Besides, I’d hope that you would know that I love you by now.” He ran his thumb around the wedding band he’d made you, spinning it slightly around your finger. It was simple and made of iron. Both of you were sick of gold.

“Well, yes, but, in the halls of my Uncle—”

“Do you still not understand? I would rather rot in a cell than sit and watch you wither away trying to be something you’re not,” he said. “I love you. You. Not what you think you have to be to please whatever notions your family has as to what you should be.” He tipped your chin up, pressing his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly, melting away all of your thoughts until you were present in the moment with him. When he pulled back, he placed one kiss on your forehead. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” you replied, placing your hands in his. “I promise.”

“Now, I think you have a coronation to attend, My Queen,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips as he pulled you to your feet.

For a while, you’d feared that the dwarves of Erebor wouldn’t accept you. You were not of them. You did not know how to make weapons or mine. You barely could handle being under the mountain for extended periods of time. And then Thorin had made you the conservatory, and the dwarves all pitched in to plant the flowers that you loved and you realized that they loved you, too. You’d saved their King. You’d saved their kin. You always came back for them. You were reliable, and that is what a good leader should be. They were happy when you and Thorin had come back from your day trip with Gandalf and were married. And now, they were ecstatic that you were being crowned Queen. You still had much to learn, you knew. You still didn’t have a full grasp of the dwarven language. But, as Thorin slipped the iron crown upon your head as you sat upon his throne, you took a moment to look out at the crowd. In the front, there was Bilbo and Balin, beaming proudly at you. Your mother and Gandalf stood towards the back to keep from blocking the view of others. Your mother swiped a tear from her eye, and Gandalf wrapped an arm around her in comfort. The rest of the company stood off to the side, smiles on their faces at the fact that they can always claim knowing you first and knowing you best to anyone who asked about you. And then you looked up at Thorin. His eyes were warm, he looked at you with love—and desire, but that you’d get to later. He held his hand out to you, taking a step back from the throne so that he could face the crowd again. You looked at his hand. When you took it, you’d be leaving everything behind. You would no longer be half-elf. You would no longer be half-hobbit. You would be the Queen Under the Mountain to Thorin’s King. You would be you. And you would be enough. You would be home.

“My queen,” he murmured in awe. Thorin grinned at you as you placed your hand in his. “Rise.”