Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

"Excuse me, young man!? What on EARTH do you think you're doing?"

A bright light was switched on, revealing a little boy, six years of age, scurrying to conceal the colorful picture book he clutched beneath his covers.

In the doorway stood his mother, hands on hips with a stern expression etched on her face. "Bedtime was over an hour ago. What are you reading this time!?"

"Nothing, Mom," he blinked innocently. When her stern look darkened further, he mumbled, "I was just looking at the pictures." He lifted the book to show his mother.

Her exasperation was almost palpable, betrayed by an eye roll that she couldn't quite suppress. "The Hobbit? Again?" Sighing deeply, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

The little boy didn't know how to read yet, but he enjoyed perusing the pictures and watching the movies. His bright blue eyes pleaded as he clung to the book, his tiny voice protesting, "I'm not tired, Mom! Can you tell me Peyton's story of when she went to Middle Earth?"

"Come on, TJ! I've told you that story a million times already!" His mother shook her head, an unwilling smile tugging at her lips. "Besides, it's a long story. You have kindergarten tomorrow!"

"Please, Mom?" the little boy pleaded, clasping his hands together in a desperate gesture. "I'll go to sleep, I promise! Please?"

She tried to maintain her darkest glare, but his eyes grew even more pitiful and more pleading. His sad gaze tugged at her heartstrings as if he were a small puppy begging for food. How could she resist such an earnest expression? The guilt of her demanding work schedule always left her feeling remorseful about the time she had for him. And more often then not, she gave in to his innocent requests.

With a groan, she stepped into his room and theatrically collapsed onto his space-themed bedspread. Giggling, he bounced up and down while seated, knowing he had won.

Seated on her side, she suddenly propped herself up on her arm and shot him a look, "But no interruptions this time, got it? You have school tomorrow, and I'm picking up an extra shift."

"I promise! I promise!" He swiftly crossed his heart with his little hand.

She rolled her eyes inwardly, knowing promises from a six-year-old would never hold. Casting a brief gaze around his room, she mused over the superhero action figures on shelves, a Toy Story night light, and a large dragon replica of Smaug atop his dresser. Her heart swelled with bittersweet pride as she marveled how her little boy had grown, a mix of emotions tightening her chest.

Sighing, she began her story, adjusting her voice to infuse the narrative with emotion. "Life is full of adventures, and whenever it offers you one, is it usually a good idea to take it. I don't know why it was me, that was given THIS particular adventure, and I probably never will. But when it comes to mysterious things such as time or dimensional travel, sometimes you just have to accept it and take it as it comes."

"Yep!"

"Hush, T.J. No interruptions."

"Sorry."

"The Valar, or whoever you believe in, obviously have a great sense of humor because they sent someone like ME to Middle Earth. Why? Well, it's assumed it's because of my soulmate who needed me at the time, but I'm getting ahead of myself. This is the story about how I ended up in Middle Earth during the 3rd age."

"Your name is Peyton too! Isn't it Mom?"

"T.J.…."

"Sorry, Mommy."

"The tale you're about to hear might sound unbelievable, and I can't blame you for doubting. After all, it's not written in any book or portrayed in any movie... but it's true. Every word of it and then some."

"Oh yeah, this is going to be good! …Sorry."

"The story began in a very unexpected way. Unlike Bilbo's hole in The Hobbit, the hole in the ground that I woke up in was both dirty and cold…"

_A LIGHT IN ARDA_

~Chapter 1~

Once Upon a Time

There's a light breeze blowing on my skin telling me to shiver. My nose feels numb and a pale light turns the thin skin of my eyelids a faint red against my vision. But it's the cheerful, almost painfully sharp song of birds, that finally makes me crack open my eyes.

A clear blue sky fills my vision and I blink for a couple of seconds, disoriented.

The strange view jolts my senses, waking me up fully and completely. Panic floods my veins like a sudden surge of electricity sending my heart into a wild frantic rhythm as I sit up quickly with a frightened gasp, looking side to side.

Where am I?!

I'm sitting in some sort of round ditch, dug deep in a large open field of tall green grass. The earth beneath me is a rich black and I frown at the strange sight, both confused and wary. This is not the sand of the desert I‘m used to.

My muscles protest as I scramble to push myself up, my hands sinking into the dark cold dirt beneath me. Disorientation clouds my thoughts, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if I'm still dreaming, trapped in some twisted nightmare from which I can't wake.

But the brisk air against my goose-bumped skin, and the crumbly clods of soil that stick to my palms as I wipe them on my blue jeans all scream reality. This is no dream. This is real, and I am all alone in the middle of a field.

Frantically, I scan my surroundings, searching for any sign of familiarity, any clues as to how I ended up here.

There are trees on one side of the field, quite far away with small green mountains beyond that. More like tall hills, really. The breeze picks up and blows in my face a little, and the smell of the air reminds me of camping in early spring. Twisting my torso around, I look to my other side. A single small tree stands close to my strange round hole-like ditch, sunlight filtering through its branches in sparkling rays. From the sun's position in the sky, it's barely sunrise. Further, behind the small tree, are even more trees without mountains. It seems that I'm somehow in a very large field with a forest beyond that. Judging the distance quickly in my head, the forest is a simple 3-minute walking distance away.

Panic claws at my chest, threatening to suffocate me as I struggle to make sense of this terrifying situation. I don't recognize any of this. Questions whirl in my mind like a whirlwind, each one more terrifying than the last. How did I get here? Where am I? And most importantly, how do I get home?

Searching my memory for how I arrived, the last thing I can remember was sneaking into my University's lab room at the library with Matt, my good friend. There was a very old book in my anthology class I had been admiring. A flash of gold fell from the book like a golden teardrop. I reached down to pick it up...and that's it.

I must have been kidnapped! Matt and I must have left the lab to get pizza like we'd planned and I got knocked in the head! I breathe frantically and search my body, running my hands along my hair to search for a painful lump but there aren't any injuries, just the normal clothes I wore at the lab. My denim jeans, my t-shirt, and my hot pink university hoodie wrapped around my hips.

I look back down at the round ditch I had been lying in and my muscles lock into place at what I see.

There, lying in the black dirt where my body had been, is a gold circular object no bigger than a quarter. A memory flashes in my mind of turning the delicate paper-thin pages of the red book that I wasn't supposed to be touching and it had fallen out...straight onto the floor with a small CLING!

I lean down, hesitating slightly with bated breath before gently brushing my fingers against the gold object.

Nothing.

I inwardly relax and my fingers grasp onto it. I straighten back up slowly, marveling at the golden piece. It's a coin! A coin with a strange animal on it. The animal's feet remind me of a goat or a horse and on the back are strange spikes. The face is more flat though, with a weird nose. Flipping it around, I see the other side has a strange T-shape with what looks like a keyhole. I turn the gold coin in my hand, mystified.

I look around, shivering from more than just the cold. If I wasn't so nervous about all the possible reasons of why I just woke up in a weird large hole alone and very far from anywhere that I recognized, I might've been delighted by the beauty of the place. It's as pretty as a picture. At the moment, however, I am nothing but horrified.

Tears sting my eyes as I fight to suppress the rising tide of fear threatening to consume me. I can't stay here. I can't let this unknown terror defeat me.

If Matt's been kidnapped as well then maybe he's somewhere nearby? I climb out of the very large ditch, which is a very symmetrical round shape.

"Hello?" I call out when I finally am out, hoping that someone will hear me. Clearing my throat, I try again "HELLOOOO?! Is anyone THERE? MATT!?"

Silence.

The only response is the wind blowing along the grassy field, creating gentle waves. The birds start chirping again after being startled into silence by my yelling.

Another shiver rolls through me again and I untie my university hoodie from around my waist, grateful that at least I have that. It will be a while until the sun will warm up the air. Pulling it over my head and around me, the soft material comforts me like a blanket. Now covered, I force myself to think rationally. First things first, I need to find someone who can help me. Then I can get more answers about how I got here. Glancing around me for car tracks or footprints in the field, I search for anything to give me a direction to walk.

Nothing. Not a single footprint.

A whimper wheezes out of me as I try to wade through all the panicked thoughts scrambling for dominance in my mind. My breaths begin to come out in short gasps. Panic attack.

"Ok, calm down Peyton," I gasp aloud, closing my eyes and attempting deep breaths. "Just calm down. You'll be alright. Breathe." It's a self-soothing mechanism to keep me grounded.

What worries me the most is that I can't remember my kidnapping. My university hoodie and blue jeans, although dirty from the ditch, aren't frayed or torn from a fight or resistance. My wrists aren't red from being tied. Maybe chloroform? But then why leave me in the middle of nowhere? A college prank perhaps? This whole thing is just baffling. I'd consider aliens, but that's just too silly.

I start walking toward the trees and something bounces around in my hoodie pocket, forcing me to stop to investigate. My hand meets the smooth glass of my cell phone and I feel a rush of relief and hope. Hallelujah!

I quickly yank it out and turn it on. No service. But my battery is at 72%. I keep messing with it for another five minutes, hoping for a miracle, and nothing. The battery power slowly goes down to 70% and I quickly put it into battery-saving mode. Even if I maintain the incredible battery my phone has, it'll be gone in only two days. Three days max.

There's nothing on me besides my cell phone. No cash. No cards. Nothing. No, wait! I take that back. I have some strawberry tic-tacs in my jeans pocket. I'm sure that'll come in handy. Not.

At least my kidnappers left me with tic-tacs to starve myself on.

I let out a breath and choose to walk in the direction of the sun towards the east, hoping it's the right direction. I finally enter the forest and it's a beautiful emerald green, with light filtering through the canopy. However, an alarming sight is the dark green ferns covering the ground. I try not to hyperventilate as I think about how ferns on the ground mean that I'm a loooong way from Nevada.

The cold, unpleasant feeling of wet pants overtakes my thighs and calves as my jeans soak up the morning dew on the fern leaves. My sneakers and socks begin to softly squeak with the amount of water that slowly seeps into them as I press forward. Pretty soon, there's an annoying squishing sound from my shoes that grates my nerves.

Where the heck am I?!

After what feels like an hour, I see what looks like a road! My breath whooshes out of me in a breathy laugh of relief and I begin running. Crashing through the foliage like a lunatic, my white squeaky sneakers finally step out onto a dirt-packed road. I'm going to be ok!

It's a narrow road that cuts right through the forest. More of a well-trodden trail, actually. I giddily look up and down my first sign of man-made anything. Eventually, though, my temporary happiness turns to worry and distress once more as I look up and down the long empty road.

NOW which way do I go?

Looking down at the road, I squint to see if the tracks can give me any indication of direction. No tire tracks. But there seem to be thin lines lightly carved into the firm road. Bike tires? No, too smooth. I then noticed the faint U-shapes delved in the ground between two of the lines and I'm shocked to recognize the shape as a horseshoe.

A…wagon?

This is not good. How did I get so far out into the wilderness that there aren't any cars or even bikes?! Maybe I'm on private property and my kidnappers dropped me off in Amish country? I can't help the shaky whine that escapes me and I raise both my hands to my head in despair, trying to calm myself. My blond hair is in the same messy bun I always keep it in. But I can feel a few leaves and twigs caught in it from low branches back in the forest.

The debris snag and scratch as I comb them out with my fingers, franticaly thinking this through. Why did this happen? Why me? I don't have any enemies! I'm just a boring little freshman in the nursing program, trying to get good grades so I can eventually become a nurse practitioner!

Would my dorm mate do something like this to me? She and I don't get along very well, but we've agreed to be civil to one another. I did steal her chimichanga from the freezer that one time. But how did she find out about that? Surely she wouldn't try and get revenge just for that, right?

Take deep breaths and try to relax once more, Pey. I firmly remind myself. Freaking out isn't going to help.

I look at the direction the horse prints seem to be going and decide to walk that way. My steps are slower than I'd like since my calves and toes are numb from my wet pants and sneakers.

It'd be nice if my kidnappers had left a note with instructions like 'Haha! Now you'll think twice before stealing my chimichanga!' or 'If you want to get out of the woods, you have to play my game…" like a horror movie.

At least I'd be able to think about my sins while I wander around aimlessly.

After traveling for another hour and a half down the road, I stop, hearing something strange. It's faint but my ears can pick up a low, deep vibration. Someone is singing! I look up and freeze, staring at the empty road in front of me, holding my breath. The singing gets louder and excitement hits me. Someone is coming! A dark shape finally appears down the road, obviously the source of the singing. A man riding a horse comes towards me at a slow trot. I'm immediately so relieved I feel like I could cry. I briefly notice that he's wearing a hood, and a dark cloak is around him, catching the wind made from the horse's movements.

I'm ecstatic with relief and I can't keep the huge smile off my face, "Hey! HEY!"

I bounce up and down, waving and shouting, "Oh my gosh, I'm SO glad to finally see someone!! I've been lost for HOURS and I don't know where I am! Can you please help me?"

The man had immediately stopped singing when he first saw me and stopped with his horse after I first began shouting and bouncing around like crazy. He now remains a short distance down the road from me, watching me warily. I must have startled him, I realize sheepishly. But I can't find it in myself to care  too much since I have a VERY good reason to be frantic right now. He'll just have to get over it since this is an emergency.

There's a dark beard on his face under the hood, but I can't see much besides that. From the way he sits on his horse, gripping his reins, he seems very cautious about getting closer to me.

"I'm sorry to startle you!" I try again, speaking loudly so he can hear me, "I woke up in a field and I have no idea how I got there! I've been wandering since sunrise, and I have no idea where I am, and I'm trying to find a way to a town or city and…" I take a big breath after saying all of that in a rush. Speak calmly, Peyton. "Can you please tell me where I am?"

"You are in the Far Downs of the Shire, milady. Between Michel Delving and the Blue Mountains." A baritone voice reaches my ears. He and his horse are still quite far and have come no closer. Maybe his horse is skittish and he doesn't want me frightening him? The horse in question is watching me with its ears perked up, curious.

Two things strike me as very odd simultaneously. First is that, his refined accent seems to be British, but there are so many accents in England that I really can't say for sure. And secondly, I thought I heard him say 'the Shire'?

"Sorry, I didn't hear you really well! You're a bit far away," I call out to him chuckling, still a little giddy from relief. "I thought I heard you say 'the Shire'!" I chuckle again. "Could you say that again?"

"Aye, milady. You are in the Shire."

I frown, confused. I keep hearing him say 'the Shire', but he must be saying something else. I haven't cleaned my ears out in weeks. TMI, Peyton.

And then, suddenly, a flash of certainty about what is going on hits me and my once-good mood immediately sours. Some of the college students have decided to kidnap me, throw me into a ditch somewhere out of state, and then mess with me by pretending we're in the Shire. My frustration boils over and I glare at the man. I will not put up with this gaslighting!

"Look, I don't know who you are or why you think that it's ok to mess with me but I'm not going to put up with it. What have I ever done to you? I know you think you're funny, but leaving a woman in the middle of nowhere just so you can play your stupid prank is against the law since I didn't agree to it. I just need to get home." I glare at him.

The man is silent, not saying anything. He just stares at me.

"Please!" I finally have had enough and hope that I can appeal to whatever humanity this man has within him, "I'm cold and wet, and I just need to get home. I promise I won't tell anyone what you and your buddies did. I just need to get home and get out of these wet clothes."

His silence stretches for a moment but before I can start yelling at him again, he finally asks, his voice gruff, "And where is home…milady?" The title sounds less certain now.

"Home is my dorm at the University of Nevada, good sir." I retort, infusing sarcasm into the last bit as I respond to his 'milady' crap. I even throw in an eye roll for good measure. Unbelievable.

His wariness deepens into a full-blown scowl, and his right hand moves to rest on the side of his hip, away from me. He almost growls, "I have never heard of this place, so I can only assume that you lie. Speak truthfully, woman…are you alone? Or are your companions lurking in the forest, ready to ambush me?" He scans the trees around us in suspicion.

"Uhhh…what?" I raise an eyebrow, caught between bewilderment and frustration. Is he really going to keep playing his stupid prank? My anger mingles with astonishment, tying my tongue in knots. Why is he being so cruel? Great, just pick on the defenseless freshman! Where is karma when you need her? I'm working toward nursing school to help people, for crying out loud!

Tears of frustration begin to blur my vision. Angry and feeling helpless, I shake my head, glaring at the ground as my lip quivers. I can't understand the mentality of people like him. Pulling myself together I glare back up at him, my voice trembling, "You're despicable. Fine. Have it your way! I don't need your help. Screw you! I'm going to lawyer up and sue you BIG time!" I don't usually talk like this, but I'm so mad that I start spitting out words like an angry cat. "And just remember, if I get lost and get hypothermia in these wet clothes, you'll be heading to prison for a VERY long time!" My tears escape my eyes but I quickly wipe them away. I begin to stomp in the direction that I was originally headed, which unfortunately brings me closer to him and his horse.

Suddenly, a sharp metallic sound cuts through the air. I freeze in my tracks, gasping as I stare at the gleaming metal sword now unsheathed at the man's side. The weapon is anything but a prop; it's a real, sharp-edged piece of metal!

He points the sword at me with a seriousness that sends my heart into overdrive. My throat goes dry as I instinctively raise my hands in the air in surrender, the blood draining from my face. Could he actually be dangerous? My mind races with worst-case scenarios, imagining myself trapped in some twisted fantasy-turned-nightmare with a psychopath who wants to murder a college student in some sort of sick fantasy game of his.

"I'll ask you again, woman." his voice is low, dangerous, his patience worn thin by my accusations, "Are you alone?" His horse prances momentarily before remaining still.

I gulp. My mind races in fear as I think of the right response. If I tell him I'm alone, will he see me as an easy target? If I claim I have friends waiting in the woods, will he think I'm planning an 'attack'? What do I say?!

All thought leaves my mind when his voice thunders out like a loud hammer through the forest, "SPEAK!"

"I'M ALONE!" I cry out reflexively, survival instincts kicking in as I take a step back with a quiet sob. My hands start to tremble but I keep them up, "I'm completely and utterly alone, and I'm s-sorry! I don't want to be here! P-Please, just let me go!" I bite my lip and remind myself that begging will get me nowhere. If detective TV shows are correct, then psychopaths enjoy hearing their victims beg. But I can't help it.

Surprisingly, at my frightened pleadingly, he does lower the sword a bit, his expression shifting from anger to uncertainty. We lock eyes, both of us caught in a tense standoff with me trembling like a leaf.

His next words are a mix of frustration and concern, "I don't understand what has occurred to you, miss. But I assure you I am not part of it."

His words resonate with me, strangely instilling trust and cutting through the layers of confusion and fear. Perhaps there's more to this than a mere prank? The sound of his sword being put back into its sheath has me slowly lowering my hands, though I remain cautious. His face, once a mask of intensity, now seems to show a hint of empathy.

But then he abruptly begins to unmount his horse, swinging one of his legs up and over the saddle and I take a few steps back in fear until I suddenly realize that…he's actually shorter than I expected. I didn't notice at first while he was on the horse, but he's a very short man. He's a couple of inches taller than me but judging by his large boots he may actually be my same height to be honest.

He turns from his horse after dismounting but hesitates to walk closer to me when he sees I'm still afraid of him. My hands have instinctively raised up again, but this time more towards him to protect myself from him coming any closer.

"I'm not going to harm you," he asserts, his deep and calm voice a stark contrast to his previous demands.

He then reaches up and uncovers the hood on his cloak, pulling it away from his head completely. His thick long hair is dark brown almost black. Most of it is behind him, but what I can see goes down past his shoulders in natural waves, while his beard is short. Two braids adorn either side of his face, glinting with two metal beads covering the ends. It gives his whole appearance a peculiar otherworldly look. His nose is straight like an arrow down his face.

But his eyes. His eyes are a startling blue. They are accentuated by thick eyebrows that give him an intimidating impression.

I blink. Well, look on the bright side Peyton! At least your killer is extremely good-looking! At least an ugly person won't kill you! Haha, that's not funny. Stop.

"I'm not going to harm you." He says again. I relax my hands once more, but I don't completely trust him. It's obvious he doesn't trust me either as I notice his gloved hand resting easily on his sword's hilt in a comfortable posture. "It's not often a human woman is found wandering the woods alone in the Shire of all places. I believed you to be part of a potential ambush. Forgive me for frightening you."

I give him an exasperated look. Ugh, why are we STILL playing this medieval game?

"The Shire still, huh? Greeaaaat…Love the dedication to your fantasy and everything, but um, I'm in a bit of a hurry. So, if could you please point me in the direction of the closest town, good sir, then I shall be on my way and shall trouble you no further. I don't need a weird man pointing his sword at me." I mock him in my best posh English accent.

He takes in my posture and change in accent and his eyes narrow, "I'm obviously a dwarf, not a man."

I look him up and down, "Well I mean, sure, you're short, but not shorter than me. So, you must be a pretty tall dwarf. Or a mad human. Take your pick."

He folds his arms as well, affronted, and scoffs back at me in ridicule, "A woman in strange clothing, wandering the country without an escort…says thatI am mad?" He then gives me a condescending look, "Waking up in a ditch is probably a frequent occurrence for you, milady." This time his milady IS sarcastic, a hint of mean amusement around his mouth.

I gasp in indignation, although I'm not sure why and I reply hotly, "Yeah, well, I don't believe this whole cosplay getup for one second. Waking up in the middle of nowhere and wandering for hours, only for you, a delusional guy who imagines he's a dwarf to turn up? That's not a coincidence." I raise an eyebrow and faintly notice that he and I have the same defensive posture. Still, I'm not buying his act one bit.

Now he huffs in exasperation, "I don't understand the riddles you speak but I assure you, I have never seen you before this encounter. Imagine my surprise to find a lone woman in the middle of the path to the Blue Mountains waving and shouting me over to her. You cannot blame me for being cautious."

I say nothing, but now that I can see him better, I take in all of him. His clothes are very well made for this fantasy of his. Not the kind you buy at Walmart for Halloween, but custom-made by someone very skilled. He must be a dedicated cosplayer. There are some people who are decent seamstresses who could have made something like this for him at a hefty price.

Some sort of brown fur is peeking out from underneath his dark cloak around his shoulders. His forearms are covered in dark brown armor of some kind, and a thick swatch of leather fabric covers his chest. A large silver belt buckle draws my eyes to his lower abdomen, with strange engravings on it, attached to a leather belt around his waist. The rest of his clothing is dark as well, deep brown, but of a strange texture. He reminds me of a huntsman almost from Snow White.

His boots are large, made of thick leather with metal over the toes while his pants are a simple dark brown. Both appear worn out from travel and not taken care of as would be expected with cosplay.

I look back up at his face and I can see that he has taken the opportunity to study my attire as well, his forehead is furrowed with confused lines to match the concerned frown on his face.

"Where was it you said you hail from?" He looks me in the eye before glancing down once more at my hot pink hoodie, my denim jeans, and wet white sneakers.

"Uh, I was born in California, raised in Arizona, and I now live in Nevada?" I say it as a question, not sure what he means, "Uh, and my…my family will be worried! They'll come looking for me if they don't hear from me."

I say this as confidently as I can since it might make him think twice about harming me if he knows I have people who'll notice my absence. And I do. My mom and dad along with five older brothers and younger sister won't rest when they find me missing. Which fearfully might be a while since I only check in every other Sunday.

He cocks his head, eyes narrowing further, "California and…Arizona? Where do these regions lie?"

"The United States." I deadpan, giving him an I-don't-have-the-patience-for-your-crap-right-now kind of look.

He shakes his head in annoyance, "It is clear you are unwell. I am unfamiliar with the names of these places you speak. But, since you inquired, the nearest town is back the way you came." He gives a half-wave with his hand in the direction I just walked from. He suddenly looks me in the eye, his wariness back, and asks dryly, "How can I be sure you did not just come from there?"

I narrow my eyes at the insinuation that I'm a liar. And did he say 'unwell'? Like, mentally unwell? Only people who pretend they have never heard of the United States are unwell. But there's a saying by Mark Twain that my father always tells me. He said 'Never argue with stupid people. They will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.'

This is one of those stupid people.

He and I could call each other unwell and delusional over and over again, but that will get us nowhere. He's not gonna budge.

Instead, I focus on his most alarming statement, "What?! I just walked an hour and a half from that direction! How far away is this town?"

"About two hours." He states. He then cocks his head to the side, a mean smirk hinting on his lips once more, "By pony."

"I don't believe you." I narrow my eyes at him angrily. Stupid, delusional, cosplay dwarf jerk! "The tracks for a horse were headed in this direction!" I point toward the direction he had just come, "I didn't see any coming back that way!"

"This road is not often traversed." He briefly glances around us warily, "Not many travel to the Blue Mountains except us dwarves." He looks back at me, "The tracks you saw might have been made after yesterday's rain. Most likely one of my kin returning from selling his wares in the Shire or Bree."

I'm not exactly sure what to say to that, so I keep quiet. Talking with this strange guy just gets weirder and weirder. What if he's NOT actually my kidnapper? What if I really did just meet some random guy who happens to be cosplaying through the forest and he's just doing a Dungeons and Dragons LOTR sort of thing? I honestly don't know what Dungeons and Dragons is, having never played it before. But from what I've picked up over the years of hearing about it, it's some sort of card game that makes up stories. Some people are obsessed with it and get into it so much that they lose touch with reality. This must be one of those guys who wants to act it out in the real world. Ugh.

It strikes me as strange though! I mean...he's not who I'd picture being a fantasy stoner. He seems so stern and serious and very much sober. His eyes are intelligent and alert, not at all like a cosplayer with a glazed look on their face and dilated pupils who you KNOW is not all there and seem disconnected from what is happening in front of them. This man seems very much in the present and is completely focused on me and what I'm saying and doing. It's a bit...unnerving.

Oh well. Crazy or not, he's the only one around.

"Can you please help me?" I try again, wringing my hands nervously. "I don't recognize where I am, and I need to get home."

He takes in my appearance once more, thinking hard. Hopefully, I look as cold as I feel. He sighs and finally nods, unfolding his arms and turning around. He strides to his horse, cape billowing behind him regally as he moves with purpose and precision. Does he practice in the mirror?

His gruff, frustrated voice shakes me out of my preoccupation about his stride, as he steps into the horse's stirrup and mounts in one fluid motion, "Loathe as I am to be delayed in my journey, I cannot leave an unwell maiden wandering alone in the woods in good conscience. Even if you are a human." He gives me a look as if I committed a serious offense against him for being a human before continuing, "I will take you to Michel Delving as I am passing through there. You must then find your own way home." His no-nonsense voice lets me know he's offering me the barest civility of getting to civilization but that he won't take responsibility for me. He'll drop me off and I'm on my own.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Perfect! That's totally fine with me!" I give him a brilliant smile and a nod. I don't want to be with him any longer than I have to be.

He guides his horse closer to me until I'm stretching my neck back to look up at him. I get the feeling he still doesn't trust me, which is fine because I trust this guy as far as I can throw him. But this realization, that he seems just as wary of me as I am of him, makes the thoughts I harbor about him being a psychopath slowly ebb away. This must really just be a poor mental guy who's happened upon me in the woods. Still could be a prank, though. A prank taken WAAAY too far. But, if I'm not in any danger, it might be fun…? Would a bunch of guys dressed like orcs jump out of the forest on our way there, and we'll do a fake battle? Lol. In that case, I call dibs on being 'Legolas'!

Still, just to be safe I ask, "How far have you traveled? If I continued walking this way by myself, when would I reach the next town?"

"By pony, it is a day and a half journey. By foot…I would estimate four days." He gives me a look I don't recognize, "But I do not recommend it alone and…in your condition."

I bristle, but then I look down at myself and inwardly admit that my cold pants and moist shoes have seen better days. Denim isn't as thick as the pants this guy is wearing, and I'm wearing a pink cotton hoodie whereas he's wearing some sort of furry thing underneath his cloak.

Do I really want to walk for four days, huddling for warmth on the side of an empty road during the night in wet clothes? Sounds like suicide. But then again, so is going with this weirdo.

"How can I trust you?" I ask one final time, vaguely worried that I will anger him with my suspicion.

He doesn't get upset but actually seems to appreciate my wariness of strangers. He gives me a solemn nod of his head, "I give you my word of honor, daughter of man, that I will deliver you safely to the next town. Can you give me your word as well?"

I wrinkle my nose. Words of honor? Pssh.

I know they're always drilling it into our heads 'no second location' but, honestly, I don't really have a choice. He doesn't seem like he's my kidnapper, and if he IS behind my kidnapping then I can pretend to go along with this for now. I don't have any tests today at school and my English paper's due tomorrow so as long as these crazies get me home before then…

I finally sigh and force a wry smile, "I give you my word that I really am alone and lost, no one will ambush you that I know of, and I accept your help to the next town. I also give you my word that if it DOES so happen that you are behind my kidnapping...I will see you in court. Thank you."

I'll sue him for everything he owns…including his sword and horse. I've always wanted a sword and horse!

He narrows his eyes in confusion before giving me a curt nod in acceptance and then reaches down his hand, intent on helping me up behind him. His wrists and palm are covered in leather, attached to the armor on his forearms, but his fingers are uncovered and bare.

I gulp, a little nervous, but slowly place my hand into his. It's very warm with a good number of calluses from hard labor. Not at all like someone who sits around playing fantasy computer games all day. But then his uncovered fingers grasp mine in a tight grip and I'm worried for a moment. He doesn't pause though as he easily hauls me up with one arm. I scramble to get my leg around the horse and settle onto its back, my face flushing.

He's VERY strong. I thought he looked burly because of the layers of clothes he has on, but no…I could feel the strength in his hand and the power of his single arm as he lifted me up like I weighed nothing. I know I'm small, but this just made me feel even smaller. I've always wished I could be tall and strong like a ballerina. For a short guy…he's stronger than I thought could be possible. Definitely a gym rat.

Worry grips my stomach as I obviously won't be able to do a thing to stop him if he has the inclination to harm me. He sits straight in his saddle, and I can feel the tension in his shoulders as if he doesn't feel comfortable with me sitting behind him.

I don't wrap my arms around him for fear of getting too cozy in this stranger's bubble and angering him. I mustn't forget that he has a very real sword at his side. I feel the sheath resting against my right leg. Instead, I gently place my hands on the back of his shoulder blades, lightly as possible so he doesn't feel it through his thick armor-like clothing.

We awkwardly try to get comfortable now that both of us are on his very small horse. I think he had said 'pony' earlier? My wet pants rest against the warm furry body of the pony, raising and lifting with each breath. His belongings are wrapped in a waterproof cloth and are pressed up against my back, which presses me up against him.

I don't see his face and he says nothing, thankfully. He simply pulls his hood back up over his head, hiding his long dark hair once more. He nudges the pony with his feet and, with a click from his tongue, we continue down the path.

Chapter Text

After riding at a slow trot like this for 40 minutes, not saying a word, I feel super awkward. Truthfully, I've felt awkward ever since he manhandled me into his saddle, but eventually, I clear my throat and ask, "You wouldn't happen to know what time it is, would you?"

The back of his hood angles upward as he glances at the sky, "It's almost noon." He mumbles, and I feel more than hear his voice rumble through his back. I notice that he didn't accidentally break character by trying to look at a watch or cell phone.

Oh, he's good.

"What? No watches in medieval times?" I tease, shaking my head at this ridiculousness. A sundial would be better.

He says nothing, but his back impossibly seems to tense tighter. I guess he's decided to ignore me when I mention technology.

"Ok, ok, sorry." I console sarcastically, wondering what the big deal is. "I get that you want to stay in character and everything, but I'm just trying to figure out how long I've been missing."

A few minutes pass before he speaks again. "Are these your tracks?" I look down at where his hood is angled towards the edge of the forest. I narrow my eyes, looking carefully and sure enough, my sneakers have imprints there in the soft dirt from where I stumbled out of the trees. Pretty good eyesight for him to catch that, honestly.

"Yes! This is where I came out of the forest! I walked for about an hour from the west, I was following the sun. Thankfully, I came across this road. And then two hours in the wrong direction." I shake my head at my luck.

He doesn't reply but nudges the pony to continue. I decide to open up a little more, "I woke up this morning in a ditch in the woods at sunrise. I..I don't know if someone was trying to bury me and then got nervous so they left? But… it was a strange-looking hole. Like it had been dug, but I didn't see any shovel marks? It was big though, and I was in a field, next to a small tree."

His silence is deafening, so I begin to ramble aloud to myself to fill the unnerving silence, "Honestly, what I want to know is how my kidnappers managed to get me? I don't remember being taken. And the fact that the trees and landscape are different, not to mention the lack of cars in this area, can only mean that it took a while to get me out here and set this whole thing up. I haven't the faintest idea where I am." I pause, hoping to catch any sort of indication that he knows something.

After a moment, he at last speaks. "I spoke the truth when I said you are just outside the Far Downs of the Shire, south of the White Downs.", his head angles to the side so I can hear him better, even though his hood continues to hide his face from me. His voice turns firm. "I shall leave you at Michel Delving, and you should be able to find accommodations there."

I roll my eyes, "The Shire. Yes, and I'm the Queen of England."

He turns around in his seat to glance at me from under his hood, his blue eyes surprised, "Truly? You're a queen?"

"But of course!" I smirk at him and pat his shoulder playfully, realizing that he's teasing me, "Did I not mention that I was kidnapped from Buckingham Palace? I best be getting home so I can have tea and crumpets with the President of the United States. Oh wait, no, we're in the Shire? I meant to say that I'm the Queen of the Elves and I have an important meeting with uh…umm…who's important here in Middle Earth again?"

"You mock me but I do not understand why." The guy glowers at me, clearly upset. "If you mean to jest then you are certainly no comedian."

I'm taken aback for a moment. I thought he was being sarcastic like I was? "Well, everyone's a critic," I mutter, glaring back at him. "And I DO have my comedic moments, thank you very much! I just don't feel like popping funny jokes while riding horseback with a strange man to who knows where!"

"I do not understand you," the dwarf man growls, "And I told you we are going to Michel Delving. I will not repeat myself."

"Michel Delving." I taste the name on my tongue. It is a strange name. "Does this town have service there?"

"Service?" his eyebrows pull together in confusion.

"Yeah, for me to call someone?"

"Call someone?" He stares at me, confused even more.

"Are you a broken record? YES! Call someone!" I glare at him, annoyed. "How else am I going to get in touch with my family?"

He turns back to face the front, his voice smug, "So you DO have kin nearby."

I scowl at the 'I caught your lie' smirk I can hear on his stupid face.

"No. I need to call them with THIS!" I reach into my jean pocket and take out my cell phone, waving the glowing screen on the side of his face in peripherals, so he can see.

"Ooooh! Maaaagiiiiic!" I taunt, showing him that his fantasy is just that. A stupid fantasy.

He turns to look at it, but when he sees it, confusion ensues. His hand quickly reaches up to grip my wrist despite my shriek of surprise. I can't see his face, but he seems to be just staring at the cell phone.

Bad idea. I shouldn't have stopped playing his little game.

"Stop! Let me go!" I frantically plead as the idea that he IS my kidnapper resurfaces. He might take my cellphone and I'll never be heard from again. I try and yank my hand back but, like I imagined, he's very strong. That, and I have no upper arm strength. Like none. It's a dream of mine to one day do one pull-up. Just one.

He turns halfway in his seat once more so I can fully see his face, his dark beard dominating most of it. "What is this?" He asks, confused. I stare at him for a moment but when I roll my eyes for what seems like the millionth time, he growls at the disrespect and his grip on my wrist slightly increases, "I do not understand these riddles you speak, woman! What scenario do you believe to be at work here?" He indicates the wrist he is holding in his warm hand.

I open and close my mouth several times in shocked confusion, turning red. It is so strange that he seems so….sincere...as if I were the crazy one. It throws me off, which also makes me annoyed and confused that I can't seem to say anything at the moment.

His voice impossibly turns even gruffer, "Are you suffering from an injury to your head that has disoriented you? Or are you simply mad?"

He waits for me to respond, and I eventually look away from his distracting face and mumble, "Forget it. There's no use reasoning with you. Please just take me to Michel Delving."

He says nothing, watching me. When he speaks again, his voice is calmer, "You appear in the middle of the woods walking away from town, you insult me, you speak of strange unheard of places with confusing words and an odd accent. Your clothes are unlike any I have ever seen. It is clear you are in some sort of trouble and…despite my better judgment I…I wish to help you. But I am unsure how." His eyes seem honest and a little flustered by the fact that, despite his reservations about my mental state and 'human' status, he wants to help me anyway.

I sigh, but decide to play along with his game because his anger is kinda scary. Maybe he's Amish and he truly doesn't know what a cellphone is? If so…then that's just sad. The dude is at least 30 years old. Probably 40 with those silver streaks in his beautiful L'Oréal hair. How would the Amish know what cosplaying is though?

"It is a cellphone." I manage to not roll my eyes this time (with a lot of effort), but I can't help the patronizing tone leaking into my voice, "An object that allows me to communicate with people long distance. Call it magic, if you will." There. Happy? Middle Earth has magic, so it fits in.

"Why do you not contact your family then?"

I blink as I look at this man. REALLY look at him. He doesn't look convinced, and genuinely seems confused by how a cell phone works. I can see it in his eyes and I feel a cold flash of anxiety electrocute my heart. What if...

It quickly passes as I remind myself that the man is mental. Don't fall for his delusion.

"I don't have a signal." I reply softly, "It's…the connection of the cellphone that allows me to contact people. Out here…I don't have 'service'."

My throat turns dry as I notice how close his face is to mine, the pony not letting us have much space between us. His nose is so straight it could cut something. His blue eyes make my heart pound strangely. A unique, delightful smell comes from his beard. Beard oil, perhaps?

He pauses, closing his mouth from whatever he was about to say, perhaps noticing how close we are as well. I watch his eyes roam over my face taking in the details. He turns back towards the front abruptly and nudges his pony to continue on. I let out a soft breath, breathing easier now. What just happened? Did I just have 'a moment' with this crazy dwarf cosplayer? My face burns and I wish I could just bury myself in the hole I woke up in. Why am I so socially inept? I should have just taken my chances with walking to Michel Delving in my cold squishy shoes.

We thankfully don't speak again for a long time.

Eventually, the trees become more and more sparse as more clearings appear and a few corners of houses can be seen hidden off the road with dirt paths leading up to them.

A huge unspoken burden falls off my back as I finally see another living being for the second time that day. A child is walking with a rope around the neck of a very large black and white pig! The back of his head is full of golden curly hair and he's barefoot, his brown pants cutting off mid-calf in a comfortable fashion as he leads the animal along the road in the same direction we are going.

A feeling of foreboding fills my stomach as our pony gets closer to him and I study the strange style of his clothes from behind. Reminds me of Europe in the 1800s, or something like that. Kinda like the guy sitting in front of me…

As we pass him by he looks up at us and my blood turns a sharp cold in my veins. It's no child at all. It's a short adult man. Shorter than even me and Mr. Sword, here. And he's barefoot. With abnormally large…hairy…feet…

The man's face, which was initially friendly and open, turns to a bewildered and worried expression as we pass him by.

I realize it's because my face is frozen in shocked disbelief and I'm just staring at him with comically wide eyes and parted lips, which would freak anyone out. I finally swallow and look away blinking into the distance, my eyes still wide.

I look hard at the back of the hooded head of the man sitting between my legs. Clearing my throat, I chuckle nervously, "Wow! Did you see how much hair that short guy had on his feet? I mean, hah! What is up with all these short people in this area, am I right?" I continue, glancing back at the hairy-footed man, before continuing nervously, "I mean, you, me, and now that guy we just passed? I'll fit right in here, hah!" My voice sounds a bit shrill and I try to clear it again.

"You are quite short for a human woman." He agrees with a rumble. "And hobbits are notorious for their hairy feet."

"Haha. Hobbit, right." I laugh, but my voice sounds funny to my ears. I glance back at the man with the pig. "First a dwarf and now a hobbit. Are we on our way to a Lord of the Rings convention or something? I would have gotten dressed up in an Arwen costume if someone had told me about it. Not that I have one, but I could have ordered it off Amazon. I have a fairy costume which might work though?…"

Was I kidnapped for this? Odd to leave me stranded in a field far from town with no instructions if that was the case. This is the weirdest college prank I've ever heard of. I glance around us for any hidden cameras.

"Again with your foolish riddles." He mutters, and I see a shake of his hood. I shake my head at him as well and heave a sigh. This guy is impossible.

More small houses begin to appear a bit away from the road, smoke rising from the chimneys. And the faint bleating of sheep and other livestock reaches my ears. Soon, I hear the rumble of voices and we arrive at a fork in the road with a road that seems to go through town and a road that seems to go around it. I can see the tips of buildings down one road through the trees.

"This is Michel Delving." He says, nodding towards the road with the rooftops. "It's the largest hobbit settlement in the Shire."

A low murmur of many voices can be heard coming from that direction. Must be where the Lord of the Rings Convention is.

"Great! Honestly, I can go on my own from here. I really appreciate you helping me arrive!" I give him a thankful pat on his broad, cloaked shoulder. I'm sure he's as eager to be away from me as I am of him.

He silently stares at the fork in front of him for a while. Is he waiting for me to get off? I start shifting behind him, to try and swing my leg over when he stops me with a hand on my knee to stop my movement, "Wait."

I pause. When he touched my knee, it felt like my insides had been zapped by electricity and I had instantly stilled. I had become very aware of him between my legs and I swallowed. Damn, my college student hormones! Strange and delusional cosplaying men are soooo not my thing. I prefer good, hardworking men who are very down-to-earth.

"I am… traveling to Bree. It is the nearest human town and is about four days across the Shire by pony. I know I said I would leave you at the nearest village but, to my knowledge, only hobbits live here. I can take you to Bree so you can be among your own kind." His gruff voice sounds unwilling and I can tell he is mentally hitting himself repeatedly in the head for even offering. He sounds like he's going against his better judgment by suggesting I remain with him.

I give a nervous, slightly hysterical laugh. Four days with this strange man would be four days of torture, pressed deliciously into his backside. Or maybe we would switch positions?

Woah girl! Just get off the horse already!

"That's ok, buddy, I can take it from here." My voice is higher than normal, slightly hysterical again.

I give a tiny pathetic hug of appreciation on his back for the offer, only to for him to stiffen up like a pillar of stone. I smile to myself at his reaction and then lift up my leg over the pony. I feel stiff myself after riding for two straight hours though and I utter unladylike groans and grumbles to match my stiff joints. He turns back into a living being at the sounds of pain I make and, in a surprisingly kind gesture, he gently takes my hand in his own and helps swing me around, and then lowers me down. It seems as easy for him as when he had lifted me up single-handedly. He doesn't make a single grunt at my entire body weight dangling on his arm.

"Wow, you're really strong!" I chuckle embarrassed as I try to stomp some blood into my legs again. I'm able to see his face for the second time since riding and a small smile comes on his lips before he looks away so I can't see it. He seems annoyed with himself for letting me catch him off guard and making him unwillingly smile.

I grin up at him and the thought comes to mind that since I'm never going to see him again, I should just YOLO this experience and blurt out something like 'You're hot! Wanna exchange phone numbers? I'll wear a Renaissance dress next time?' But, of course, I don't. We just barely reached a dignified and cordial moment between us. We should part on this good note. Besides, he doesn't even have a cell phone. Maybe an email? No, the Amish don't use those either. Maybe a mailing address?

He seems hesitant to go separate ways as well, as if he isn't sure he should actually leave me all alone after all. "Perhaps it would be better that I accompany you into town? That way you find lodgings and perhaps someone who can help you contact your family?" He seems at war with himself, part of him not wanting to help me, but the other part needing to out of some sense of honor.

I look up at his handsome face. Tempting…. But no, I really need to get away from this guy and find help from someone with no funny medieval business. Gaslighting someone is a very big red flag in a relationship, which means that this handsome heartbreaker is a BIG no-no. I hope I never see him again, to be honest. It's such a waste for a man as handsome as he is to be this delusional. So sad.

"Thank you but once I find a phone I know someone will pick me up in a few hours. I'll probably take a bus or something and have my family wire me the money." I say, hoping he gets the hint that I don't date delusional people.

He gives me his confused frown again. I roll my eyes and translate 'bus', 'phone, and 'wire' into Middle Earthen for him, "I'll be fine."

His glare tells me he wants to disagree but he finally nods, saying, "Very well. But…in the square, next to the statue of King Argeleb II is an Inn called the Boar's Head. Should you be unable to find a… phone… mention the name Thorin Oakenshield to them and they will cover the expenses.

"Thorin Oakenshield?" I grin widely, all my annoyance at him immediately disappearing once I hear the name of the beloved fictional character. "You're cosplaying as Thorin Oakenshield? Sorry, but you don't look the part. You're too young and handsome!"

The only Thorin Oakenshield I remember is the one from the 1977 cartoon and he had grey hair and an enormous nose. Not at all like this sexy beast.

The full-grown man actually blushes. A bright pink covers his cheeks, spreading under his dark beard and he appears at a loss of what to say. Finally he settles with a grumbling, "You think I'm supposed to be old and grey?" He tries to look annoyed at my flattery, looking for an offense where none was given. I can tell he's not used to women outright hitting on him. His Amish cult must be really small.

"Well, yeah, I mean Thorin Oakenshield is over 200 years old." I shrug.

"Dwarves age differently than humans." He doesn't mean to, but he has a very faint smile on his face, amused at me for some reason. His smile is really nice. "And I'm 195," he adds gruffly.

"Ah, of course. My bad," I smirk and nod at him, playing along.

He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head at my seemingly 'unwellness', "You're a very strange woman, milady." His blue eyes sparkle in amusement without him being aware of it.

"You too, Thorin. Farewell!" I tease, waving.

He gives a final nod and nudges his pony to go.

I feel a strange slither of panic in my stomach as I watch him and his pony walking away, already feeling the loss of the warmth while I rode with them. Why am I nervous all of a sudden? Should I have insisted he take me the whole way into town after all?

But he's been a huge help already and I can see the town from here. I turn towards the other dirt path leading to it and start walking. I turn to look once more in his direction and I'm elated to see that he turned to give me a final glance too before the trees cut off our view of each other. I smile to myself, feeling silly that we both looked back just like cute couples do in the movies. I chuckle aloud and stretch out my cramped legs as I walk along. My pants aren't so wet anymore from the pony's warmth having semi-dried them, but I officially smell like a barnyard. And my shoes still have a slight annoying squish to them which makes me SOOO glad I didn't have to walk this whole time!

When I see people coming down the path in my direction, I stop walking as the nervous, worried feeling comes back. They are ALSO short people in strange clothes with big hairy feet.

"It's just a Lord of the Rings convention! Just a bunch of people who like cosplaying. A bunch of...short...people who like cosplaying…" I whisper aloud to myself, beginning to tremble.

The first guy we'd passed with the pig had had curly hair covering his ears, but these people walking towards me have pointy ears peeking out from their curly hair and look very real. Like a professional film artist did them. Even the small child walking with them has pointy ears! And those feet…

A movie crew must be nearby. Maybe I've actually stumbled upon a film set for a new Lord of the Rings movie or series? The thought actually makes me a little excited. Not frantic! Nope!

I walk faster, hoping to find some normal, tall people dressed in normal 2022 clothes somewhere with some film equipment next to a movie star trailer.

I'm aware of the shocked stares of those that I pass by. My smile trembles on my face as I struggle to keep it in place.

I reach the entrance to the village and my face drops into an expression of horror. The buildings have architecture like you wouldn't find anywhere on Earth. All the doors on the main street are round and painted different colors with round windows on the buildings. It doesn't look anything like the Shire in the cartoon or book. It's a huge town in a forest rather than a quaint village surrounded by green rolling hills.

But that isn't the horrible part.

There are Hobbits. Everywhere.

Dozens of them. Laughing, talking, buying, arguing….and not a cameraman or movie producer in sight. No posters with news of a festival or carnival rides. Not a single modern gizmo or gadget to be seen. No baseball caps or jeans. No telephone or electric wires hanging overhead. It feels like I have literally stepped into a medieval fantasy J.R. Tolkien painting.

All of those things could be explained away. But the most alarming thing that I can't explain? There are no tall people. Except maybe me. But even then, I'm only about a head taller than they are.

The further I wander into the town, the more of them there are. Hobbit fathers, hobbit mothers, hobbit children, hobbit butchers, hobbit bakers….hobbits maidens, hobbit lads everywhere. They seem to be going about their normal daily business until they see me. And then they stop whatever they are doing to gape in shock and whisper to one another. My hot pink university hoodie and jeans stick out like a sore thumb among all the brown, green, cream, and tan colors of the local clothing.

"Excuse me," I gasp out to a male hobbit smoking a pipe on a wooden barrel up against a building. He startles at my sudden approach and looks my clothes up and down in complete bewilderment. I try to smile at him, "I love the costumes on everyone! Where do I get one?"

His confused expression turns even more confused, "I'll be beggin' your pardon, miss? I don't understand. What costumes do ya mean?"

"The HOBBIT costumes!" I shriek like a maniac, losing my composure. "The pointy ears and the big feet and the medieval clothing! WHERE. CAN. I. BUY SOME?!"

The man's mouth drops open, while his hand still grips his pipe in the air. He doesn't seem able to speak. He just stares at me with his mouth gaping like a fish, eyes wide.

I take a shaky deep breath, trying to reel it in before offering a tight smile at him. If I could see my expression I would say I look unhinged. "Listen, buddy, I'm lost and I need to find a phone. Do you know where one is?"

The hobbit character shakes himself from his stupor but only just. "A...phone?" He squeaks out, looking from side to side nervously, "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Is this really Middle Earth?" I whisper, feeling the blood drain from my face. It's not. That's impossible. My stomach quivers like jelly and I wait anxiously for him to laugh and say 'no'. Waiting desperately for the millisecond that his lips will curve up into a smirk as he slaps his knee and with a belly-bursting laugh says, 'Gotcha, didn't I? C'mon, admit it! You fell for it! You really did!' We'll laugh about it, and then he'll point me in the direction of the nearest cafe that has WiFi.

Just say it, dude. Just say it's all a-

"Uhhh, I um…..OH! Would you look at that! It is a quarter past one o'clock! My gran is expecting me for afternoon tea, so I must be going!" And with that, he hops off his barrel and power walks away like he's at the gym. I stare at his receding figure. He glances back at me once before picking up the pace.

Well, he didn't say it WAS Middle Earth…Still, I better try again.

The nearest person walking by me is a dark-haired hobbit woman with her dark-haired hobbit son. I stop them frantically, "Hi! Excuse me! Is this truly Middle Earth or are you all pranking me?"

The woman takes in my messy hair, strange clothing, and the wild look in my eyes and grips her child's hand tighter. She mutters to her son, "Come along, Sebastian. Hurry. Do not make eye contact." They hurry away from me, glancing back at me with frightened eyes.

That's two out of three.

"Ok, Peyton, you need to calm down. You NEED TO CALM DOWN! You're DREAMING!" I yell at myself loudly, covering my ears and holding my head as I try to calm the chaotic thoughts that are banging around inside. I'm losing it. It's getting hard to breathe. Why is it getting so hard to breathe?!

I take a step and trip over my own two feet only to land face-first in a steaming pile of cow poop. At least, I hope it's cow poop…

I freeze in dismay and disgust. It's like a slap to my face, and it snaps me out of my episode. I get some in my mouth. Then I lose it, shrieking and gasping. I rip off my hoodie as fast as I can to clean my face. Gross, gross, gross…

That tasted…disgustingly real. Gonna throw up! Oh gross!

I gag and spit repeatedly, wiping my tongue off on my hoodie and thankfully have my white t-shirt underneath. How can this POSSIBLY get any worse?!

I look up to see a whole crowd of hobbit wannabees whispering and staring at me with my tongue on my sweater. They look curious and shocked. I glance down at my white t-shirt.

It says '1 plus 1 = 3 If you don't wear a condom.'

It was a 'going away to college' present from my best friend Lizzy who is crazy, but I love her for it. I only wore it yesterday while at the Library because I hadn't done laundry in two weeks and it was the last clean thing in the bottom of my dresser. I had put a hoodie over it for good measure. Guess hobbits don't have a sense of humor?

I need somewhere to hide my poopy face while I think this through.

Glancing around for a place to go, I see a hand-painted sign above a white-painted building that says 'Miss Danda's Seams and Stitches'. The calligraphy is very pretty and I force myself not to burst open the round door, although my hands are shaking as I grip the medieval handle that lies in the center of the door. Why is it in the center?!

I rush in and close the door behind me, causing a little bell to twinkle.

Inside there are shelves with different cloth stuffs. Swatches of simple fabrics rest on one side of the wall, with baskets filled with various sewing items and yarns. No posters, or pricing stickers anywhere. No background music playing from ceiling speakers. The store's shelves are made of wood and not metal, which gives off a musky wooden smell instead of the crisp air of an air-conditioned store. A hobbit woman with the signature curly hair that everyone here seems to have, stands behind a counter talking with another hobbit woman who also has curly hair. Everyone looks related in this town!

"I'll be right with yo-…oh!" The hobbit behind the counter sees me and pauses in shock. The hobbit she was talking to stops and turns to look at me as well.

"Oh, don't let me keep you! I'll just...wait until you're done!" I say, offering a nervous wave. It comes off more as a spasm.

Act casual. As casually as you can with bits of cow dung on your face, that is...

I turn to 'browse' the fabrics on the far side of the wall while indiscreetly wiping the rest of the muck off with my hoodie. There are no crazy colors or fun prints of dogs playing poker. No sparkles or sequins. Just the plainest shades of browns and greens and creams that you can think of.

My lips start trembling as I smooth my hand down over the slightly rough fabrics and my vision starts to blur with water. It can't be. It just CAN'T BE!...They're Amish people, Peyton! Just a bunch of Amish people! Very short Amish people with big hairy feet and pointy ears - a genetic deformity!

I try to focus my attention on the feel of the cloth, slightly rougher than I'm used to against my hand as I rub my hand along the fabric. This material was not made by a machine.

Rub. Rub. Rub.

Everything is feeling disjointed. My breaths are in short gasps and I feel dizzy.

Hushed whispers come from the attendee and her client. And then I hear one of the ladies walk past me, her questioning gaze on my back as she leaves through the door, causing the little bell to twinkle again. I turn and see the attendee still standing behind the counter, eyes curious.

"Good afternoon!" I try speaking cordially, walking to the counter. I try to give one of my signature friendly smiles but my lips are trembling, and I grip my hands together to keep them from shaking as well. I notice there is no cash register, just a simple logbook. There are no electric light bulbs in the ceiling. A feather quill sits immobile beside the logbook rather than a pen.

Breathe. Breathe.

She nods her head at me, "Good afternoon. How can I help you, miss?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me where I am. I'm a little lost if you can't tell." I wave at my clothing and give a self-deprecating smile, as if she and I were in on the same joke about why our clothing is so different from each other.

She looks down at my clothes openly and gives a hum of curious agreement. She gives a hesitant smile, seeming to open up a little, "They certainly are very peculiar clothes. And this is Michel Delving, miss! From whence do you travel?"

"New York City." I deadpan, watching her expression closely. I'm not really from New York, but everyone on Earth KNOWS New York City. Everyone that speaks English at least, which this lady clearly speaks.

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head to the side, "I'm…sorry? I have never heard of that place. Is it very far east of here?"

"Are we in Middle Earth?" I ignore the question and get right to the point. No funny business. Tell it to me straight.

"Uhhh…" her face crumples in confusion at the abrupt change in topic, but answers anyway, "Of…course?"

I blink and then beam at her. "Why, then, yes! YES, it is very far east of here!" I give her the biggest grin I can muster and slap my hand on the counter quite loudly, louder than I had anticipated, causing her to jump. I start laughing. I feel a strange floating feeling.

The hobbit woman starts chuckling a little too, not out of mirth, but out of nervousness that for some reason makes the whole thing even funnier.

I feel almost...giddy? Light headed. The face of the hobbit woman begins to sway, the room tilts dangerously and suddenly the floor is in the wrong direction. It decided to misplace itself to be beside my face instead of by my feet.

And then nothing but darkness.

Chapter Text

"She's coming to!" a female voice exclaims.

"Easy now…easy…you took a nasty fall." A male voice sounds close to my ear. "Are you able to open your eyes?"

My eyelids are heavy and I try to open them. They flutter, only to fall shut again as pain registers from my face where I'd hit the floor.

A painful sigh groans out of me, "Ugh, I had the...the strangest dream! I was…in Middle Earth in the Shire? And a young, hot version of Thorin Oakenshield found me and dropped me off in a hobbit village…It was all so weird…" I groan again, trying to make sense of my strange dream.

Silence greets me.

The female voice suddenly chimes in again, "Thorin Oakenshield?… Oh! Does she perhaps mean that dwarf that comes to work in the smithy every once in a while? Quite the looker that one!"

My eyes snap open immediately.

Two faces peer down at me. An older man with curly grey hair and spectacles, and a woman with curly golden hair and full lips. They both have pointy ears sticking up through their hair. I immediately recognize her as the attendee from the shop in my dream.

My scream echoes throughout the room, causing both their faces to flinch back from me in terror. I hold my hands out while also trying to pull away from them as I continue yelling in panic. Very difficult when you're lying on the floor, but I manage to slide myself backward a foot.

The elderly…hobbit!?...with grey curly hair holds up both hands placatingly, "There now, easy! EASY miss! It's alright! Calm down miss! You fainted, and hit your head! I am a doctor. I am here to help you!"

"Who are you?! Where am I!?" I beg, hoping he doesn't say-

"You're in Michel Delving, Miss. In the Shire. In…uh…Middle Earth?" he turns to the female creature questioningly and she nods back at him, her eyes wide. He looks back at me, eyebrows raised, "Are you NOT from Middle Earth then, Miss? Have you traveled far?"

I scream.

And then I scream some more.

Scrambling away from both of them, I press myself up against a wall that the swatches of fabric rest against. I'm still in the fabric store, in the Shire, and out of my mind.

The female hobbit shrieks as well and hurries away from me, looking as terrified of me as I am of her. "She's possessed!" She cries dramatically, pointing at me from behind a shelf.

"Calm down, miss! Calm down!" The elderly hobbit creature yells. His hands go back and forth between protecting his delicate pointy ears from my inhuman banshee screeches and reaching out to me beseechingly.

I shake my head frantically with my back pressed back against the wall and my screams drown out his voice, "No! NO! STOP IT! This isn't POSSIBLE! Hobbits aren't REAL! Middle Earth isn't REAL! Make it stop! Just MAKE IT STOP!" I sob and hold my hands to my ears. I don't want to hear his lilting accent or the polite worried tone of his voice, so different from the American droll where I come from.

I have to wake up! I have to wake up! WAKE UP PEYTON!

...

Many many hours later…

...

The smooth glass of my cellphone's screen grounds me as I sit calmly with the elderly hobbit. We're both seated at a square wooden table in the back of the fabric store. The hobbit seamstress has already packed her bags and closed the shop for the day more than two hours ago, allowing the doctor to continue 'treating' me here in the back of the shop.

"This is insane. I've gone insane. Absolutely mental." I mumble to myself, eyes wide and staring at the intricately carved pattern of the wooden chair as the doctor-hobbit sits across from me. "This isn't real," I murmur nonsensically, hoping I'm divergent and can get myself out of this dream. My brain feels numb. I think it may be broken.

"And pray tell, what is real?" Doctor Homer Pudbrook, as he had introduced himself after I had screamed myself hoarse, asks with an unamused raise of his eyebrow. He seems tired of my broken-record mutterings when he knows I can use intelligent speech.

"Science." I look down at the dark cell phone clasped tightly in my hand. It's the only thing that is keeping me anchored at the moment. "Science is real..."

"Science?" He parrots back, giving me a bemused look.

"Yeah. The study of how all things work?"

"I know what science is!" The hobbit snaps back, momentarily losing his cool before composing himself, "And science changes all the time, my dear."

An unforced half smile comes to my face. I kinda like this sassy doctor-hobbit persona I've created in my delusional mind, but I'm not going to let him know it.

"Yeah, well, science dictates that people don't get sucked into fantasy novels and fictional wonderlands." I send a pointed glare at the hobbit, wishing he would follow said pre-determined rules and just disappear.

After calming down from my screaming fest I had been able to fully convince the doctor that I wasn't from here when I showed him how my cellphone camera worked. After that, I turned it off so I wouldn't waste the battery. Now I stare at it in my palm, memorizing the grooves and tiny scratches in a bid to hold onto my sanity. Maybe I just think I'm sane, but I'm really a lunatic? I briefly wonder if I'm one of those people in an insane asylum and this is what goes on in their heads while they listlessly gaze out the window or carry a baby doll around.

"And yet, here you are." He says wryly, puffing away at a pipe as he leans comfortably in his chair.

"No. There must be some other explanation. I could very well be in a coma right now. In fact...I'm going with that theory! I, Peyton Silva, am in a coma. Scientists still don't know exactly what happens in the brain during a coma." I nod my head to myself, liking the sound of my logic.

Even while I say this, however, the smoke from his pipe itches my nose and the gold coin glints at me from the table. It had been the second thing I showed him after the first time I calmed down and was able to tell him what I remembered. He'd picked it up and hummed and hawed over it, saying it may very well be what caused my teleportation. But it didn't do anything when either he or I touched it. Eventually, he put it back on the table and said it seemed like a normal gold coin piece to him.

"Hmph." Pudbrook huffs. He ignores me for a minute before he finally sighs and asks in resignation, "So now what are you going to do?"

I stare blankly at him, "Do?"

"Yes, Miss Peyton. Do. Where will you go? How will you live? You have no family here, no connections, no money, or supplies…that gold coin there would buy you about a week's worth of food and shelter, but I suggest you hold onto it in case it's important. And if you do spend it, you won't have a farthing to your name afterward. Therefore...what will you do?"

I stare at him blankly before finally shrugging, "Well, I imagine I'll wake up before long. I'm in perfectly good health, so this coma shouldn't last. And then I can do a 'go-fund-me' on the internet to help pay for my medical bill. Comas aren't cheap."

He obviously doesn't understand all my words, but Doctor Pudbrook folds his arms and gives me a very stern, fatherly sort of look. "I am very much real, Miss Peyton. Wherever you came from, you are here now. You might as well get used to the idea."

"Get used to the idea that I'm in a fantasy world talking to a doctor hobbit that doesn't exist and I'm going to be VERY late to my midterm test?" I tilt my head back to stare at the ceiling, pondering this strange experience. Unless that was also all part of my delusion and I never even went to university to begin with? No, no, Peyton. Only one mind-bending scenario at a time if you please.

"I'll think about it," I continue breezily, giving him a charming smile.

WACK!

"YAOWWW!" I howl, grabbing my head in pain. I see a dark polished walking cane in the elderly hobbit's hand that had come out of nowhere… "What in the...DUDE! Why!?"

"Still think you're hallucinating?" The hobbit asks with a sparkle in his eyes and a smug smile. He's obviously been wanting to do that for a while now.

The nasty sting from the wooden cane smacking me on my skull has also smacked me out of my numb, nonchalant attitude. I rub my head furiously.

"Ok, Rafiki! First off…OW! And second off, how is having a brain injury going to help me with my hallucinations?" I hiss. It hurts so freaking bad! I wouldn't be surprised if there was a lump the size of a quarter!

"Don't worry about it. You can't get brain injuries while in a coma." He deadpans, leaning back in his chair to puff smugly on his pipe.

I freeze at that pronouncement and then my eyes fill with tears. Not just from the pain, but from fear and dismay. Fear that he might actually be right…Maybe science has failed me for the first time? What if I'm NOT dreaming or in a coma? That wooden cane certainly felt real. Just like everything has felt real since waking up this morning in a hole in the ground.

"I can't be in Middle Earth. It's just a story! A fairytale story! This is all so messed up….I'm not supposed to be here…. I want to go home…it's all…I can't…I just…." The sobs come back in full force and the tears start spilling out as I mentally collapse in front of the Doctor. Again. It's the only logical thing to do in a situation such as this really.

I put my head in my hands and cry. Loudly.

This has been the craziest most emotionally traumatic thing I've ever experienced in my entire life. This is the fourth time I've had a break-down in front of Doctor Pudbrook in the past six hours though, to be honest. He seems to be used to it this time and ignores it for the most part besides heaving a tired sigh. It feels like I'm going through different cycles of acceptance, multiple times. One moment I'm fine and functioning until the next moment the whole impossible situation suddenly overwhelms me and I have to start all over again. Like I'm adrift in the ocean and wave after wave is crashing on top of me.

"There there, dear. You mustn't blub. You will find a way home." A white piece of cloth dangles in front of me and I grab at the handkerchief and wipe my eyes without looking at him. He continues enthusiastically, trying for optimism, "You just have to come up with a plan! You seem to know OF Middle Earth, even though you have never been here before! Is there anyone you know of here that can help you? Any place you can go until you figure out how to get home? Or, to start, a place to stay for the night, at least?"

"I don't know anyone in Middle Earth." I warble. I'm so tired. I haven't rested all day except when I fainted and that wasn't a peaceful slumber. All this crying and yelling and confusion has utterly exhausted me. "I met Thorin Oakenshield, but I don't know anyone-"

Wait! Thorin!

A warm hope fills me as my brain funk seems to lift a little. "I might have a place to stay tonight? Thorin told me to go to an inn. The Bear's Head? He said to mention his name and they would put it on his tab or something. Where is the Bear Head Inn?"

"Bear Head?…OH! You mean Boar's Head! Come with me, I'll take you there!" The good Doctor stands up and grabs a lantern hanging on the wall next to us. "Don't forget your coin!"

I pick the gold metal piece up and slip it into my jean's pocket. We walk through the now-dark fabric store with only his light to guide us and a faint light coming from the round windows. He opens the round front door with the strange knob in the center and cordially indicates for me to exit in front of him like a gentleman. Stepping onto the dark street, I look around at the empty road and quiet buildings.

It's late out. Our 'therapy session' took all day and there is no one in the streets. I'm grateful that Dr. Pudbrook brought the lantern because there are no electric lights to light up the path. Just some oil lamps on posts with a candle burning in a round glass window or two. The air is silent and cold, and the sky is overcast. Too cold for crickets, if the steam from my breath is any indicator. I'm so glad I'm not out in the woods freezing to death!

"Now then! Off we go!" Doctor Pudbrook says cheerily as he closes the door behind us and we set off walking towards the thicker part of town. The road changes from hardened dirt into cobblestone as we pass by the mostly dark buildings. If I listen carefully, I can hear sounds coming from within some of them. The street widens out into a large main square where it is brighter with more lamposts and metal wrought benches. Flower pots hang from some of the buildings in the darkness and there is a statue in the middle. Thorin had said it was of a King? The stone statue stands in the middle of a gurgling fountain, a metal crown on the man's head with a stone parchment in one hand and a metal quill in the other. I notice that he seems too tall to be a hobbit and must be a human. A human king in a Hobbit square? I wish I knew its history.

The Boar's Head Inn is beyond that, being the noisiest of the buildings in this city so far. Loud laughter and music comes from the open door with a warm orange glow brightening the foggy windows. My stomach gives a painful gurgle as the smell of food beckons me closer. I haven't had a single bite of food today. The anxiety and stress completely cut off my appitite and only now do I notice how hungry I am. My body decides to be dramatic, now that my mind has caught up with it, and I start to tremble with hunger.

"Here we are, Miss Peyton." Doctor Pudbrook indicates the Inn before turning to me and smiling, "Consider this, my dear; there are no coincidences in this world or any other I imagine! All things happen for a reason- including your arrival. I am certain you will learn what your purpose is here eventually. Be sure not to lose that coin!"

"Thank you, I really appreciate all your help Doctor." I smile gratefully at him. I walk a few steps away before what he said hits me. I turn back, "Wait, what do you mean...by..."

There is no one there.

"...that?" I frown in confusion, looking around. It's like he just vanished.

Huh, well if people are popping in and out of existence then that just goes along with my coma theory, right? A purpose? To me being here? Psh, I really have lost it.

...

"Maybe he was an angel hobbit!" The little boy pronounced eagerly, bouncing up and down the best he could while still sitting in bed.

"Shh! Lay back, and no interruptions." The mother paused and then smiled down at her son,"…and yes. Maybe he was."

...

I hurry into the inn, feeling a little spooked. I step inside and immediately the din of conversation and bouts of boisterous laughter fill my eardrums. I glance around and feel like I'm in a medieval theater set. Everything is made out of wood and metal. Not a plastic thing in sight. It all feels so primitive with the smell of oil lamps glowing around the room. A couple of female hobbits in dresses are delivering food, and the smell of alcohol together with the bitter scent of smoke immediately assaults my nostrils. I take shallow breaths through my mouth. Thank goodness for the Clean Indoor Air Act, am I right?

But the smell of food is also strong and my stomach gives another painful gurgle. I walk unsteadily over to one of the attendants at the counter, beginning to feel faint from hunger.

Time to pray Thorin was right.

"Excuse me, sir?" I ask the male attendant. He looks up at me with a smile, which immediately drops in confusion once he takes in my appearance. My face heats up, "Umm, I-uhh, I would like to have a room for the night, please. And some food? And…and Thorin Oakenshield told me to mention his name?" I tap my fingers on the counter nervously but stop once I notice I'm doing it.

The attendee's eyebrows shoot up, but then his eyes narrow as he appraises me. I gulp. If this doesn't work, then I'll be sleeping on the street and starving. Hobbits wouldn't let someone starve in their town, would they? I don't want to have to hold up a cardboard box asking for food and shelter. There's no way I'm parting with my gold coin if has anything to do with why I'm here.

"The dwarf? Thorin Oakenshield? Are you sure?" He presses me, clearly not believing that an exiled dwarf King would ever have offered to fund a short, strangely-dressed human, such as myself. How did the seamstress describe him? A cross dwarf. And she's right...the character in the story that I knew was never generous.

"Yes." I nod, my eyes wide, "Yes, I'm sure. He's very intense. Tall for a dwarf? Uh, long, dark brown hair? Short beard, very imposing manners? Umm, very pretty blue eyes?" I try different descriptions, giving an embarrassed grimace at the last bit. I shouldn't have said that, but Thorin isn't around to hear anyways.

The attendee's lips twitch in a smile at that last part. He shakes himself and gives a huff, "Very well. Just remember that if you're lying then it'll be on YOUR head when he finds out." He turns to look behind him and motions to a waitress across the room serving food. She nods her acknowledgment of him as she dishes out different bowls around the table.

"Yeah, I know." I smile in relief and shake my head, remembering our encounter this morning. I can't believe it was just this morning! "He's got a temper as big as his sword, and I've already been at the receiving end of the tip of his sword. It's BIG."

The attendee turns his head back to me with his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide.

"Yeah, that was my reaction too." I chuckle, "He pulled it out of nowhere! I wasn't expecting it to suddenly be in my face!"

I feel confused as he looks me up and down with a strange look in his eye, his expression intrigued. What? And then it hits me.

"Oh! No, no, NO! No, that's NOT what I meant! Why would you…? I meant his sword! You know, his sword?! He-he drew his sword and pointed it at me! Not his…his…" I'm blushing like a cherry tomato. Why am I even defending myself? This hobbit is obviously a pervert! Who in their right mind would hear me talking about someone's sword and they immediately think of that? A hobbit pervert, that's who!

I try to switch tactics, "I rode BEHIND him on his horse, I-I mean pony, and not in FRONT of him. So I don't know anything about size or…or ANYTHING like that. I-"

"Yes, Sebastian?" The hobbit waitress asks as she finally reaches us. Her eyes widen as she takes in my strange clothing and my red face that is almost as bright as my hot pink hoodie.

The attendee…Sebastian… turns to the girl with a wry grin. As I had stumbled through my explanation like a fish flopping on the land, gasping for air, his shocked expression had slowly turned to one of amusement. I wonder if he had done that on purpose just to make me squirm. The jerk! How did I ever end up in such a situation? It's not FAIR! I wish the ground would open and swallow me whole.

"Please find our guest a table and some food, Gertrude. She'll also be staying with us tonight and will need a room." Sebastian says cordially, sending an amused smirk in my direction.

She turns to give me a hesitant smile, "Certainly! Please come with me."

I follow Gertrude, still red-faced and I don't look back at the attendee as I pass him. The waitress leads me to a wooden table with stains on it, and I take a seat on a sturdy wooden bench.

"I'll be right back with yer stew, Miss!" she tells me with a more friendly grin than earlier.

I offer a relieved smile, "Oh, thank you! I'm starving!"

"I'll make sure to add a roll for ya."

She leaves and I look around my first Middle Earth pub, adjusting to the candlelight. I'm not sure what I was expecting to be honest. Many hobbits are speaking around wooden tables, sitting on wooden chairs, and filling the hall. The wood on the floors is a darker shade than the walls, most likely from all the mud and ale and bits of food soaked up by the floor. A small dog is wandering from table to table, licking up the crumbs off the floor like a medieval version of a Roomba vacuum. I will need to clean my sneakers tonight…

To the side of the room is a bar with some sort of alcohol being served by a very large, very round, male hobbit with a pipe in his rosy laughing mouth. And there are two hobbits with fiddles in their arms, stringing out a melody and singing along with it. Everyone in the room is a hobbit and no one is wearing shoes, just big hairy feet. Most are chatting away with one another seeming to be from other hobbit towns and villages, just passing through Michel Delving. I even see two dwarves in a corner, speaking in low voices. Their beards are enormous, so much longer and fuller than Thorin's was. I force myself to look away with a blush once they notice I'm openly gawking at them.

"Here ya go, ya wee thing! Eat up now!"

Gertrude interrupts my musings by setting a big bowl of thick stew in front of me and my mouth waters. I dig in, needing no encouragement. Chunks of savory meat, potatoes, carrots, onions, and cabbage are shoveled into my eager mouth. A large dark bread roll is next to the plate and I rip into it ravenously, dipping it into my stew to soak up the juices. The dark grainy bread is rich and dense and fills me right up. My stomach is happy and extended by the time I'm done. Now that I've been fed, I feel a wall of exhaustion come up and slap me square in the face. I sigh sleepily, feeling more like myself for the first time today.

"Well, I'll be! You cleaned your meal up faster than thunder! Up with ya now, I'll be taking ya to your room."

Gertrude leads me back to the main room and grabs a burning candle before we head up some creaky stairs. It's dark, the only light comes from the candle's soft glow as she leads me down a wooden hallway full of doors. Some have light under the crack, but most of them are dark. We come to a dark door that she was apparently looking for. After she unlocks it for me, she hands me the thick iron key as well as the burning candle.

"First breakfast will be from 7 am-9 am. If you'll be needing your clothes washed we have a scullery maid that can do it for ye tomorrow morning. Do NOT lose that key." She was pleasant until the last bit where she was dead serious as she pointed to the metal object in my hand.

"Yes, ma'am." I dutifully reply and clench the key tighter. She nods before turning to leave, returning downstairs without a candle to lead her through the darkness. I take it as my cue to go inside.

The shadows in the room are oppressive and I find myself alone for the second time today. It's a very small room, and a bed dominates most of the room and a small table stands to its left with a few drawers. A single candle rests on the bedside table and I quickly go to light it, chasing the shadows back farther into their corners.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I can see the room a little clearer now.

The wooden floor has an intricate rug covering it, and the bed does look very comfortable. I remember with gratitude that hobbits are notorious for their hospitality and enjoying the comfortable things in life. A window is to the left of the bed, but I don't bother looking out of it. It's pitch black outside.

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning to the time I finished my food I have been in a constant state of panic and stress. I wouldn't be surprised if I aged ten years because of this horrible day. There's no mirror for me to look at to see if I have any grey hair.

It's only when I allow myself to relax a little that I realize I need to go pee. Really bad. There's no adjoining bathroom so there must be an outhouse somewhere. I grab the candle and do a small potty dance as I hurry back downstairs to the noisy pub. I spy Sebastian, the only one who seems available. But I don't want to talk to him again and instead look desperately around for Gertrude. I can't find her, or any other worker available, and time is running out. I don't have any choice so I go back to Sebastian and mutter, "Um, excuse me. Where is the restroom?"

I wish I had never asked.

TWO hours later, I am back in my room, upset and cold. The Inn's outdoor restroom had been located two minutes behind the building. It's a good thing it's a distance from the building because the stench was horrendous. You'd think the smell was the worst part. But, like most people, I have never given much thought to what humans did before toilet paper was invented. And now that I know, I wish I didn't.

They used a communal sponge. On a stick. And yes, if you're wondering, I did use it. Then I was so grossed out that had to take a bath in a frigid stream. Two hours after leaving for the restroom, I am now back at the inn with a pale face and a numb butt. I'm even more tired and cranky than before.

This is the worst day I have ever experienced in my entire life. The only other day that could compare to it was when I was playing tag with my friends in 3rd grade. I ran underneath the jungle gym and didn't realize that, at that exact moment, another boy was jumping down onto the ground. He jumped on top of me, knocking me to the ground and we sat there in a daze. Only for me to then realize that my pants were down by my ankles and I was sitting there on the playground in my minnie mouse underwear. His feet must have pulled my pants down when he accidentally jumped on top of me. The whole school laughed at me while I struggled to pull my pants back up. I don't remember a time when I cried so hard in my life, hiding in the bathroom. It did end on a good note though! The little boy told his mom, who was a teacher at the school, and they came to my class to give me a soft, white teddy bear with a heart on it as an apology. Only for me to go home after school and find out that one of my older brothers, Garth, had taken my parakeet out to play with and it had flown out the window.

This day is soooo much worse than that day.

I shimmy out of my jeans which are covered in pony hair and sweat. I kick off my mud-covered sneakers. Growling in annoyance, I climb into the bed and my growl turns into a soft purr at how soft it is. I'm too tired to care if there are any medieval bedbugs, so I don't bother to check.

Maybe tomorrow the world will be normal again.

Chapter Text

I lay there the next morning, staring up at the wooden rafters above me listlessly. Surely….if this were a dream I would have woken up by now. The feeling of despair has been swimming around like a fish inside, making my chest ache fiercely all morning.

Also, if this were a dream, I'd be able to jump up into the air and fly away. And I already tried that yesterday at the fabric shop. Twice. It only cemented the seamstresses' belief that I was possessed.

Sunlight glares harshly through the window, lighting up the wooden everything that make up my room. No plastic, no synthetic materials- all wood. It's probably 11:00 am by now.

When I had first woke up with the sunrise, I had seen my dorm room in my mind, believing myself to be in my own bed. My chest had tightened and tears sprang to my eyes when I opened my eyes and I realized I was not in my dorm. It's the second morning in a row that I've woken up in an unfamiliar place. So I had curled up into a ball and cried very hard. More so than yesterday actually. Why? Because yesterday was yesterday, but today's a new day. YET I'M STILL HERE.

After crying, I had prayed, believe it or not.

Trapped in a fictional storybook, I realize that God is actually not the craziest idea out there. In fact, there are more eyewitnesses and personal accounts of God than there are of people claiming to visit other dimensions, or time travel, or whatever the heck this is.

Nothing like an 'inter-dimensional fantasy mishap' to strike the fear of God into your heart, eh?

"God? If you're up there….it's me. Peyton Silva. I know we don't ever really talk but…I'm kind of going crazy? So I guess prayer is the next step. Right? Ha. Erm. Sorry. I just...I need to get out of here. So, if you can, then please help me. Please? Help me get home to my family. Help me to wake up from whatever this is…"

I unsurprisingly fell back asleep, exhausted from tossing and turning most of the night from strange and stressful dreams.

Which brings me to the present moment. I'm now awake again, it's 11:00am (just a guess) and...yes, I do feel a little better...but my prayer didn't work. I'm still in Middle Earth in the Shire.

Well, so much for that.

I pull the covers over my head, feeling sorry for myself as I hide from the bright sun and strangely decorated room. An ache has slowly been increasing inside my head and I bet it’s from all this yucky crying. I'm probably SUPER dehydrated right now.

I guess I'm just going to have to lay in bed and feel sorry for myself until the Universe, God, or whoever is in charge of this mess feels bad for me and decides to send me back home.

Or until I die.

It will be my 'passive-aggressive tantrum'. A peaceful protest, if you will, of this horrible situation I find myself in. I won't leave from this bed until someone upstairs with the power to fix this mess gives into my demands. If a small voice in my head reminds me that this is a very immature and childish reaction to my situation, well, I ignore it. I have a sinking feeling it won't work anyways for the simple fact that the Innkeeper won't let me stay long enough to starve to death.

...and because my stomach is growling at me like an angry tiger.

Honestly, if I really analyze my situation, the part that scares me the most are thoughts of my family. They will be worried sick when they find out I'm missing. I can picture my five older brothers all dropping work to organize an exhaustive and stressful search party for me, while my little sister cries along with my mom, and my dad does his best to try and hold everyone together.

Come on! I need to think of a solution! If I came to a fantasy world, then there MUST be a way to go back, right? After all, J.R. Tolkien must have done it. Maybe there are clues to the events that happened yesterday? I try to see if there's something that I might have missed, going over details of how and where I woke up, only to give a huge horrible groan as I remember a very important part of yesterday's proceedings.

Thorin.

I cover my face in abject misery. I can't believe I met Thorin Oakenshield! THE Thorin Oakenshield! The ACTUAL living and breathing (and young?!) King Under the Mountain had given ME, Peyton Silva, a pony ride out of the goodness of his heart. What must he think of me?!

I groan again in embarrssment and place the feather pillow (very comfortable by the way) over my head in the hopes it will suffocate me as our conversation yesterday comes back to my memory like a mini sledgehammer. I'd been so waspish in my disparaging comments and treatment of him.

I try to assuage my guilt as I remind myself that I couldn't POSSIBLY have known he was telling the truth. How could I have known that I was in Middle Earth? It wasn't my fault!

But still, the poor guy...

All I had done was mock and ridicule him like he was an Amish weirdo. And even after that awkward pony ride, he still felt bad about leaving a mad human wandering alone on the outskirts of Michel Delving! Something akin to awe fills me as I admit that...he's a really good guy. He was so kind to help me! I know that I wouldn't have helped someone like that. I would have kicked my horse into gear and left the crazy woman in the dust.

And he obviously has good reasons to be wary of strangers. But despite his dislike for both humans and elves, he still aided me when I was in distress. I wish I could have thanked him better - given him one of my strawberry tic-tacs or something. Maybe even ask for an autograph on my arm? Nah, that'd be too weird for him.

I giggle into my now moist pillow at the craziness of the whole situation.

All I can say is that it's a good thing I will never see him again. That would be too embarrassing! I sigh and pull the pillow away so I can breathe properly again. Not sure when he goes on his ques-

Lightning strikes my brain in the form of inspiration causing me to sit up in the creaky wooden bed.

That's it! The QUEST! The quest for Erebor! GANDALF! Gandalf the Grey, the most powerful wizard in all the world, will be at Bilbo's house for the quest! And HE can help me!

Frantically throwing the bed covers off of me, I quickly leap out of bed as all thoughts of peacefully protesting myself to death disappear. Hope and purpose give me energy once more. I briefly lose sight of all that as my bare feet touch the chilly wooden floor and I give a hiss of pain. From how cold everything is, I estimate that it's currently very VERY early spring. I will never take indoor heating for granted ever again, or at least a fluffy carpet. I think I'm beginning to understand bear rugs…

But I don't have time to think about that right now! I inwardly berate myself, ordering myself to focus as I grab my clothes off the cold floor. I've GOT to find a way home and Gandalf is the answer! He just has to be! I'm on my own 'quest' now: The Quest to Find Gandalf at Bilbo's House!

Crap, but if that's true…then won't that be tonight? I stand there, shivering, trying to figure out what part of the timeline I'm even in. Thorin is super young, and he was old (and ugly) in the cartoon when he reclaimed Erebor. But…how reliable is a cartoon anyway? He said he was heading towards Bree…so what if he is actually on his way to Bilbo's house and didn't tell me because it's hush-hush?

My heart briefly warms again as I think about how kind it was for him to offer to accompany a complete stranger to Bree when he's already busy with a quest. First things first though…I have to get to Bilbo Baggin's house and FAST!

Where even IS Bilbo Baggin's house?

A slither of panic runs through me as I try and fail to remember those kinds of details. I don't even remember the name of the town Bilbo lives in! I had always thought the name of where Bilbo lived WAS 'the Shire', actually. Whenever Frodo and Sam talked about going home in the movie they never mentioned the name of the village, did they? They always referred to going home as 'the Shire'. But wait…wasn't Bilbo's hobbit hole called 'Bag End'?

It's a start, at least.

I shimmy my dirty clothes back on with a little dance on the cold floor. Some small splotches of dried mud cling to my jeans, not to mention the stink of pony sweat, but it’ll have to do. I wish I could have taken Gertrude up on the offer to clean clothing but it's too late for that now. I'm in a rush.

Glancing around me to make sure I didn't forget anything, I do a mental count: Cellphone, tic-tacs, and….

I pause, slowly pulling out the gold coin still in my jeans pocket and hold it in my hand. It glints bright yellow as it reflects the sun from the window.

I turn it over with my fingers and narrow my eyes as I once more study the strange animal. It almost looks like a boar now that I think about it. The more I stare at it, the more certain I am because of the weird nose that looks like it has tusks. The Boar's Head Inn might have helped me recognize it. I flip it over and stare at the other side. I still have no idea what the T is. It reminds me of the T building from Teen Titans, but I know that's not it. I sigh and put it deep into my pocket so it doesn't get lost.

The door leads into the inn's long planked hallway which leads to the stairs. Try as I might to be quiet, my footsteps echo down into the inn's foyer with a Eeek! Eeek! Eeeek! Clomp!

Sebastian is working again today. Ugh! I don't want to talk to him. I look around trying to spot Gertrude or ANYONE else to help me. But unfortunately, he spies me first, "Good morning! Sleep well?" He says with what must be his signature smirk.

I sigh and make my way over to him.

"Good morning." I don't quite manage a smile at him, but at least I'm not openly glaring. "Do you by chance know where Bag End is located?"

"Bag End?" He pauses and taps a feather quill against the wood desk as he thinks, "It sounds familiar...That wouldn't be the old home of the Dane of Hobbiton, would it?"

"Uhhh, maybe?" I frown, "Would their last name be Baggins?"

"Baggins is a fairly common name in these parts, miss."

"What about Took?" I ask, grasping at straws. If this doesn't work then I'm doomed. I can't go around knocking on every hobbit hole in the country asking if Bilbo Baggins is there.

I relax at his next words: "Ahhhh! Now there's a unique set of individuals." He nods knowingly. "Baggins and Took eh? You best be checking Hobbiton or Waymoot for your Bag End, then."

The Hobbit from Hobbiton. How original.

"Wonderful," Relief fills me and I actually grace him with a smile, "How do I get there?"

"You'll take the Great East Road and pass through Waymoot. Continue on to ByWater, but turn left at the fork instead of going to ByWater. Can't miss it."

A sense of dread fills me as his words swirl into a chaotic jumble in my mind. I stare at him, hoping that if I wait long enough, they might suddenly coalesce into something that makes sense.

He stares back, "Are…are you traveling without a map?"

His shocked tone of voice immediately notifies me that traveling without a map in Middle Earth is like traveling without shoes. It simply isn't done. I look down at his large furry bare feet. Unless you're a hobbit, that is.

"Uhh, I lost mine...unfortunately." I scramble, thinking quickly. "Do you know where I can find another one?"

"There's a bookstore down this street here behind the statue." He beckons me to a round window and I see the statue of King What's-His-Bucket. Right behind him is a street people are walking in and out of. "Just take a right at the blacksmith. It's across the street from the house with roses."

How did anyone survive before they invented Google maps? I'm going to get lost, I just know it.

Thanking him, I hesitantly step towards the door before he quickly stops me, "Wait, Miss, aren't you hungry? You missed breakfast, and second breakfast, and now you're about to miss elevensies as well!"

I pause. I don't usually eat breakfast…but if I'm going to go galavanting about Middle Earth searching for a wizard, I might as well get some calories in me. "Uhh, yeah! I mean…yes, I am. What's for breakfast?"

"Elevensies," he corrects, "Scones, honey, and milk."

Sounds like breakfast to me.

"Sounds good." I walk further into the pub section of the Inn, searching for an empty table since the one I used last night is full. It's still smoky. I find it interesting that hobbits smoke their pipes at all hours of the day and not just in the evening past times. The fiddlers aren't here though.

It's then that I notice that the stares are worse today than yesterday. I stop in place. The atmosphere is quieter as well with hushed whispers as people seem to watch me suspiciously. I sit down at a wooden table and feel myself flush at the attention. Seems that word has spread since yesterday when I arrived and caused a scene.

"Here,” Gertrude drops off a plate in front of me with a cup of milk.

"Thanks, Gertrude." The two blueberry scones with jam and honey look absolutely delish, and can't help but feel grateful that food in this world seems to be similar to my world. Hobbits also seem to value good food. I don't know what I'd do if they served me pig's feet or something weird.

Gertrude doesn't leave the table. I look up at her questioningly and she tilts her head at me, curious, "Where’d ye say you're from again, miss?"

I clear my throat, "Uh. Nevada."

"I've never heard of it. Is it quite far?"

"…yeah." I take a bite of my scone to try and avoid conversation.

She nods, "Some of the members of the town said that when ya first came into town ye were acting deranged; asking people if this is Middle Earth. Some are even saying that ya fainted in the dress shop!"

News travels just as fast without cellphones in this town. Hobbits must love to gossip.

I'm at a loss for what to say, honestly. My throat feels dry as I remember the first man I accosted, asking for a hobbit costume, and the woman with her child, and finally the seamstress's shop. I try to swallow my piece of scone and it scratches my throat on the way down.

"Well…you see…I, uh," Everyone in the room is hanging onto every word, which makes me extremely nervous, "I...woke up that morning in a strange place…in the middle of the woods, and…I was very worried..." Avoiding eye contact, I shovel another bite of blueberry scone into my mouth.

"Well, that's a funny story. Even though waking in the woods is very alarming, why would ya be worried if ye were in Middle Earth or not?" Gertrude asks in confusion.

"I...I um...you're right. It is really silly."

I'm not sure what else I could possibly say. But thankfully the hobbit waitress chuckles and before I can answer she gives me a pat on the back, "Silly human." and leaves to attend to other guests.

I let out a relieved sigh. I'm lucky she is so nice and is too busy to truly interrogate me. The other hobbits don't look at me too friendly though. They obviously don't believe me, and don't seem to take kindly to strangers accosting their neighbors and friends on the street.

The lukewarm milks is quickly gulped down so as to get out of here. I can’t help but offhandedly marvel at the taste. Must have been collected this morning since they have no refrigerators. It's the freshest and creamiest milk I've ever tasted.

Standing up, I force a cheerful tone as I notice everyone watching me. Might as well address the room then, "Welp! Nice to meet everyone. I'll just be going now!"

My rigid legs walk straight to the front door, anxious to get out of the stifling atmosphere. I glance back briefly and they’re still watching me and murmuring to one another.

I give a half-hearted 'Forrest Gump' wave then step into the chilly air and sunlight. After being in a dim tavern with no electricity, the bright fireball in the sky makes me squint my eyes against the harsh light. All around me, the square is bustling with activity. Michel Delving is in full swing with hairy barefooted short people talking and meandering about to and fro.

For a moment, I simply stand there in disbelief and watch the hobbits interact. It feels so quaint and picturesque. I would have loved it here if I had come on a vacation or something. Sadly, my circumstances don't allow me to find as much pleasure in the scene although I wish I could. There's also no 'Concerning Hobbits' theme music, which is a big let down, not gonna lie.

The only time I’ve ever traveled to another country was when I went to China to teach English for five months. It was a MAJOR culture shock. Completely different language, architecture, food, religion, and mentality. It was as if I had stepped on an alien planet. My mental bubble had popped, and I realized that the world was so much grander and bigger than I had ever imagined.

Only now it's not an alien planet, I think to myself as I walk down the uneven cobbled street. It's an alien universe. Traveling to another country is strange, but traveling to another time period with mythical creatures is even more alarming.

I walk in a daze of wide-eyed wonder past the handwoven baskets of freshly picked vegetables and fruits that line different vendors on the streets. Wooden stalls are surrounded by baskets filled with shiny-scaled fish of all shapes and sizes. Large and small barrels of different kinds of ale and mead are piled high in one stall. Small bags of grains, lentils, and beans are lined up nice and neat. Some of the stalls showcase beautiful, hand-carved, hand-painted toys for children.

The smell thankfully isn't bad, as hobbits seem to be actually very sanitary. More so than humans would be in this sort of time period, I'm sure.

Behind the marketplace stalls there seem to be more permanent businesses and shops set up in actual wooden buildings with big round doors. The buildings aren't as big as in my world, maybe two stories but they are not human-sized since hobbits aren't as tall as humans. I had always thought hobbits lived underground? Maybe that's only in the country?

I feel a bubbling satisfaction that for once in my life, the size of everything around me makes me feel…tall! Just a head taller, but it feels surreal being able to look over the sea of curly hobbit heads quite easily as I make my way down the street.

One particular round door that I pass by nearly knocks me off my feet by the smell of warm freshly baked bread. My eyes flutter in bliss, and I immediately float backwards to see what's going on inside.

Inside is a high-ceiling room with three small stone ovens set on the far wall. A long, wide wooden counter dominates the center of it. The room is hot and smells very strongly of spices and yeast, pouring out steam into the slightly chilly spring air. There are hobbit maidens, ribbons in their curly golden hair with their pointy ears peeking out, kneading dough and conversing animatedly with one another. Others are chopping and mixing things on a table beside them, and a male hobbit is perusing a tall shelf of ingredients. The shelf rises to the ceiling high above and a rolling ladder allows him to reach little catwalks for one of three levels of shelves. A basket on a pulley at the end allowed the hobbits to send down their selections so they could climb the ladder with both hands. A hobbit opens one of the stone oven doors and I catch a glimpse of golden round loaves baking within.

The kitchen is a bright and warm space and the hobbits call out to each other in a good humor.

I can't help but grin at the scene. It's such a…simple way of life. A good one, if their happy and animated faces are anything to go by. I just wish I had a camera-

MY PHONE! I gasp softly, remembering.

I quickly get my cellphone out and snap a couple pictures of the happy occupants before they notice me in the doorway and pause their work.

I give an embarrassed smile and another awkward Forrest Gump wave as I quickly duck out of there, continuing on past many shops with round hobbit doors. They seem to sell all sorts of things like clocks, clothes, furniture, hats, and shoes.

I have to stop and croon at a particular round glass window- the BEAUTIFUL and delicate porcelain teapots, bowls, saucers, cups, and plates on display are breathtaking! Each of them are handcrafted and detailed with intricate designs and images that I've never seen from any culture on Earth. If only I had money! I would buy each and every thing I see as a souvenir from Middle Earth. It would sell for a fortune back home. I itch to use the gold coin in my pocket, even though a tea set isn't going to save me from starvation. I should only use it in an emergency.

Suddenly, movement in the reflection of the display glass catches my attention and I see the shocked faces of hobbits whispering and staring in it behind me.

I turn around and gulp, realizing that I haven't been as observant as usual. I was too distracted by the splendor and exotic sights around me. Looking back the way I came, I see a sea of faces staring at me, their expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness as they mutter to one another. A rush of anxiety surges through my gut. Hobbits are friendly, aren't they? At least, Bilbo Baggins had always made me think so. Apparently, as I'd walked along, people had stopped and stared at my jeans and hot pink hoodie that glows like a freaking beacon. I wonder if this is the first time they've ever seen someone wearing hot pink, considering how difficult the dye would be to replicate. That, and I'm wearing jeans instead of a dress.

For the rest of my walk down the street, I blush furiously like a tomato and walk stiffly, aware of the wave of people staring at me from behind.

I continue meandering along until I hear the rhythmic TINK! TINK! TINK! of a hammer striking metal. Soon, I see the hobbit, hard at work, pounding away with his hammer. I move towards the blacksmith's shop in awe. I've only ever seen something like this in movies! It feels like magic as I watch the strong-armed hobbit pounding a glowing piece of metal into the shape of a hook. As he plunges the hot metal into a bucket of water, causing it to hiss and steam, he turns towards where I stand. His stern face is framed by a braided red beard, giving him an air of both authority and craftsmanship. Wait a second….that's not a hobbit, it's a dwarf!

My thoughts turn to another dark-haired dwarf and I wonder if this dwarf knows Thorin? I begin to walk over excitedly to ask him, but I immediately stop, my excitement dampened by the embarrassing memory of my conversation with the innkeeper about Thorin's sword.

Have I lost my mind? Of COURSE this dwarf knows Thorin! Or at least, he knows of Thorin. Thorin isn't some 'random Joe' you meet on the street- he's their KING. I wonder why he didn't travel with an escort if he's so important? Besides, what am I supposed to say? 'Hi! I know your King! He's awesome!' and he would look at me and say '...what does awesome mean?'

I immediately turn right, bypassing the dwarf blacksmith, and go down the street that was indicated. I would rather not take the chance of saying something embarrassing in front of one of Thorin's people.

What was the next step that the innkeeper told me? A house with flowers? I keep walking until I see it; a white house with giant lush roses of every color spilling out over the wall. The sweet fragrant smell reaches me from here. And right across from it is a building with an overhanging sign. The calligraphy is hard to read, but I recognize 'Book' as one of the words. Huh. I actually didn't get lost!

I walk in, and the smell of leather and parchment hits me. Wooden shelves laden with stacks of leather-bound books fill the space, creating a cozy yet scholarly atmosphere. There are no posters on the walls with owls encouraging kids to read more. No modern light fixtures. Just windows allowing you to see the dust motes swirling in the air.

I can't help but walk over to the nearest books, admiring their interesting covers and intriguing titles. Stories that can't be found in any corner of my world. I open one, titled 'The Tales of Lolly and Piper'.

I flip through it and, based on the beautiful hand-drawn pictures, I realize it's a children's book about two hobbit girls who get into all sorts of trouble together. The charming illustrations subtly teach basic hobbit etiquette along the way. I love the slant of the ink as I read the beautiful calligraphy.

I continue on, briefly perusing titles and skimming through pages, but I don't find anything that describes traveling to another world or how I might reverse such thing. The books seem to cover a wide range of topics, from local history and botany to cooking and folklore, but nothing that addresses my specific issue.

"Excuse me, err…good sir hobbit?" I cringe at my attempt at medieval language as I come up to the Hobbit behind the counter. He watches me nervously, "Do you happen to have, uh, any maps of the Shire?"

"Maps? Oh, yes. Of course, of course." He stutters and stumbles, more awkward than I am as he avoids eye contact and leads me over to one of the back shelves. This shelf, rather than harboring books, is stacked with scrolls.

They remind me of rolling pins to roll bread dough with and I gently touch the various styles of the wood handles. I really have a problem with touching things and exploring with my hands. My mom's lessons on keeping my hands to myself clearly didn't stick. Some are pointy, some are intricately carved with runes or pictures, and some are plain and smooth with no embellishment. The hobbit teenager is busy opening and unrolling various scrolls looking through various maps of Middle Earth until he pulls one out that satisfies him.

"I believe this one will be of use to you…" he hands me the scroll.

"Thank you so much!" I gush with excitement and give him a big smile.

The teenage hobbit turns pink from head to toe and mumbles a "You're welcome" before hastily beating a retreat behind the protection of the counter. I smile to myself. He's adorable.

I place the map carefully on a small wooden desk conveniently situated next to a collection of scrolls. Unrolling it gently, I smooth out its creases, eager to take in the details of this new world. Just like the books, the map is hand drawn. No such thing as a copy machine here. I breath over the beautiful brush strokes that made such a masterpiece.

When I see that Hobbiton is literally two towns over, my eyes widen in surprise. I then frown, straightening up and pausing in contemplation, wondering at my luck. Could it really be so close? This unexpected revelation stirs a mixture of excitement and apprehension within me. I could have woken up anywhere in the Shire. I could have woken up on the OTHER end of Middle Earth in Mordor, honestly. And yet... conveniently...I'm just a couple towns over?

A feeling of destiny tingles my brain. I also could have also been found by any hobbit or dwarf. But THE Thorin Oakenshield isn't just any dwarf. Memories of playing with my five older brothers come to my mind.

Behind our childhood home, there is a canal and tree-fort that was the stage of our adventures. Growing up, my brothers and I played many different games and stories—pirates, dragons and knights, GI Joe—but whenever we acted out Middle Earth stories, I always played as Thorin Oakenshield. Odd, I know. My brothers hadn't wanted me to join them, so they tried to scare me away by giving me the character of an old dwarf king. It was unconventional, since I was literally the youngest at the time and a girl, but I refused to let them kick me out of their game. Besides, I really got into it! I wore a crown and hogged all the treasure. Plus, I was a bossy little punk, so my brothers eventually realized that Thorin suited me perfectly. And, of course, my mom made them include me. I wore the title with pride, turning their attempt to dissuade me into a cherished memory.

It's so odd that HE was the one who found me.

Maybe luck has nothing to do with this. While difficult journeys, both 'the Hobbit' and 'the Lord of the Rings' books have conveniently successful endings despite all the insurmountable odds stacked against them. Maybe someone upstairs is looking out for me after all?

I shake my head. They sure have a funny way of showing it. Dropping me into a fictional storybook? Well, not so fictional anymore. But, you know, there's still the 10% chance I could be dreaming this whole thing in a coma.

A horse fly buzzes around my head, its persistent drone breaking my train of thought. Before I can react, it lands on my arm and bites me, causing a sharp sting. I yipe like a puppy, swatting at it...but I miss and it flies away. I rub the pain away angrily. The sudden interruption snaps me back to the present and I get the message.

I'm not asleep. And on the…now 1%...chance that I AM in a coma, I have to remember that pain is a real thing here and I need to avoid it at all costs.

I've already experienced hunger pains, cow poop, fainting, cold wet pants, and squishy uncomfortable shoes… so if I really am in Middle Earth and not crazy, then I need to keep my wits about me. It's one of the most dangerous stories to fall into. I don't want to arrive home missing a hand or foot.

I get my phone out and make sure the little bookkeeper isn't looking before quickly taking a picture of the map.

I snap a picture of him while his back is turned, capturing not just him but the entire medieval bookstore behind him. The quaint, cozy atmosphere, the shelves lined with ancient tomes, and the warm, dim lighting all come together in the shot. This will be perfect evidence to show my family when they ask where I've been. They're not going to believe it any more than I initially did, but I can still try. The photo, with its rich details and almost otherworldly ambiance, might help convince them that my story isn't just a figment of imagination.

I spend the next five minutes studying the physical map and memorizing the way. It's not hard. Just go the same direction Thorin had ridden, all the way to Waymoot. Then choose the road to Hobbiton, not ByWater. Only problem is I can't tell how many miles it is on the map or how long it will take me.

I bring the scroll up to the bookkeeper and clear my throat. He turns, wide-eyed and I smile at him, "Thanks for letting me look at the map! Out of curiosity, how much would a map like this cost anyways?"

"Three silver coins."

Darn it...I wish I could have a souvenir like this! For a fleeting moment, the thought crosses my mind: Could I put it on Thorin's tab as well?

I push aside the idea with a sigh. No, that's dishonest. I can't reward his kindness like that.

The idea of using the gold coin comes to mind again, tempting me with its potential value. But I can't. I can't get rid of it until I know more about it. And I've already taken a photo of the map so I'll be fine.

"Hmm, can you tell me how far it is to Hobbiton?" I roll out the scroll and point to the next town over.

"Hobbiton? That's about four hours by pony…twelve if you walk."

That's a lot of walking. If I don't have enough money to buy a map, I certainly don't have enough to buy a pony.

"Ok. Well, thanks again! You have a really cool book store!"

"Uhhh, thanks." He smiles, confused at my words but responding to the positive tone, "I think?"

I head outside. The delightful scent of the roses right across from me immediately fills my senses and I take a few deep breaths, bracing myself for the daunting task ahead.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Ok! Time to find Bilbo's house!

4 hours later

Stupid road! Stupid quest! I should have just stayed in bed!

I huff and puff as I trudge down the dirt road, kicking at the small rocks along the way in my ire.

I've been walking for hours. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and my feet hurt. Plus, the sun isn't even all that warm enough to make this pleasant! I shiver and huddle in my hoodie.

I hear a wagon behind me and, like all the other wagons, I assume it will simply pass me by. I've been walking along the same dirt road since leaving Michel Delving and I've checked my phone only once. It says I've been walking for four hours.

I bemoan the fact that I didn't take Thorin up on his offer to go to Bree. But then I have to remind myself that if I had traveled with him, I would have eventually found out I was in Middle Earth and then HE would have had to fill in for Doctor Pudbrook. And that would have...just been awful. For both of us.

I sigh. Walking in the Shire isn't all that bad. Could be worse, right? At least my shoes dried out last night, and it's not freezing, just a little nippy. Plus the scenery is amazing-

I randomly glance back at the sound of the rumbling wagon, and my heart leaps out of my chest and gallops away. I shriek in terror, and in an incredible moment of reflex, I dive to the side of the road with seconds to spare. The pony and wagon thunder past, crossing the exact spot where I had been standing just moments before. My heart pounds in my chest as I lie in the dirt, trying to catch my breath.

"Whoooahh!" the driver calls out frantically, pulling on his reigns way too late.

I would have been trampled on by a pony. Then run over with a wagon. My quest for Gandalf would have been at an official end.

"Are you out of your MIND?!" I yell at the driver, who is jumping down from the wagon and running over to me with one hand holding his hat to his head. My heart races a hundred miles a minute, "You could have KILLED me!"

"Begging your most humble pardon, Miss! I-I didn't see you there!" the hobbit gasps, his eyes wide as he also realizes what almost occurred. I'm sprawled on the side of the road, looking as if I've just tried to sell myself to the dirt.

"How could you NOT see me?!" I yell angrily, gesturing to the VERY bright clothing that I'm wearing. He'd have to have to be blind to not see me in my hot pink hoodie! Everyone else can't seem to miss it!

The hobbit's face pales as he takes in my oddly bright clothing with wide eyes, "I-I-I'm so sorry miss!…I dozed off for just a spell...I-I...W-we've taken this road so many times I just...I just thought I could trust my horse to lead the way!"

I blink in disbelief. He was sleeping? Figures.

I turn my accusing glare to his pony, which stands there looking tired as well. The horse is old, I can tell, and might be losing its eyesight. I sigh, and my anger drains out of me as the fear of becoming roadkill slowly dissipates. I now feel a little bad for yelling at the hobbit man, who is shaking like a leaf. I was already in a frustrated mood due to my 'walking holiday,' so I might have snapped a little too loudly at him.

Still, he would have trampled me! The last thing I expected when coming to Middle Earth (not that I expected to come to Middle Earth) was to have to worry about bad drivers in addition to all the other dangerous things out here.

"Yeah, well, don't let it happen again," I mumble, brushing the dirt and leaves off my clothes. With that, I grumpily turn back to the road to begin my long trek once more.

"Oh! Please Miss, uh, forgive me for asking, but... what are you doing out on the highway all by yourself?" The hobbit calls out worriedly behind me.

"I'm trudging." I reply grouchily as I begin to trudge once more. But I can't help the teeny happy feeling I get as I quote my favorite movie. Not that he would get the reference.

"T-trudging, Miss?" he responds right on cue.

I glance back to him, my past gloom slipping away as I recall the words, "You know, trudging? To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a woman who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply...soldier on."

"But, uh, what are you trudging for?" He asks cautiously.

My bad mood comes back as I remember why, exactly, I am on this stupid road in the first place, "I'm trying to get to Hobbiton to find Bilbo Baggins, to meet a wizard, so I can get back home!" I growl and then go back to trudging along the trail, not expecting him to follow me. I don't really care if he understands or not. The fact that this is even something I have to do in the first place, is beyond frustrating. I shouldn't even be here!

"Hobbiton?! But...it's about three hours from here by pony! You'll never make it before dark walking! It is currently around 4:00!"

Dang it, I should have gotten out of bed earlier today.

"Yeah, well, I don't have much choice." I grind out with a huff, "The universe decided to poop on both me and science by sending me to a mystical land of hobbits and elves and now I have to find a way BACK to my world. Making me walk in the dark? HEH! Just another candle on the cake to them, I'm sure!" I'm being belligerent, and talking nonsense, but hiking for four hours after eating nothing but two blueberry scones and some milk can make even the best person cranky. That, and I'm still a little peeved that this hobbit almost ran me over. Just something else to add to my list of grievances. I soldier on.

"P-poop on you? Your...world? I don't...I...wait! Miss!? The least I can do is give you a ride! It isn't proper for a lady to be traveling by herself!" The hobbit chases after me, his horse remaining back where it is.

I stop and turn to him, not daring to hope.

A...ride?

"You...you mean you'll really give me a ride?" I ask hopefully, hardly daring to believe my luck. All the other hobbits that passed by me were too wary to even speak to me, let alone give me a ride. Thanks to my strange bright clothing, I'm sure.

"I nearly ran you over, and for that, I am truly sorry." The hobbit says, earnestly. He looks genuinely contrite, his face a mask of guilt and worry. "I can only offer you the very back of my wagon, since I have no room up front, but if you're amiable to it...please allow me to make amends and restore my good name?"

My feet cry with joy, and I echo their sentiment, "Yes! Thank you! I really appreciate it!" I smile at him, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"My pleasure, Miss. It isn't much, but the hay is fresh."

I go to the back of his wagon, full of sweet alfalfa hay, and I hop up. I call up to where he's climbing into the front seat, "Your good name is hereby restored Mr...uh...I'm sorry, I didn't even ask your name?"

"I'm Timothy, Miss! Timothy Dunsdo." He gives me a shy smile. "And yours?"

"Peyton! Peyton Silva."

"Well met, Miss Silva!" He turns to his pony, "Come on Daisy! Heee-yup!" And we're off.

I sigh in relief as I lean against the sweet-smelling hay, feeling its comforting softness support my tired body. Looking back at the dusty road I trudged for the past four hours, all the frustration and anger begin to ease away. The endless, exhausting walk now feels like a distant memory.

The rhythmic clatter of the wagon wheels and the sway of the bumpy ride lulls me into a state of relaxation. I had walked nonstop for four hours and I have eight more to go. I would probably would arrive at Waymoot at 1:00am if he hadn't picked me up. Another good thing is that even though the wagon is very rocky, every bump in the road is cushioned by the hay. Now I'll get there in another three hours!

"So how did you end up, uh, trudging on the side of the road, if I may ask?"

"Well Timothy, it's a very long story. And it all started yesterday morning..."

Chapter Text

My dirty white sneakers dangle off the edge of the back of the wagon, swinging softly. The wheels kick up a thin cloud of dust from the road and I stare back at the way we've come, snapping a picture before my host can see. We passed Waymoot about two hours ago, and my battery is at 20%. It's going to die tomorrow morning with my power save mode on. Hopefully, I'll be able to take a picture of the party of dwarves before it does.

We've been traveling for four, almost five, hours in the wagon. It took us longer than the initial time Timothy had mentioned due to Daisy being 'slower than she used to be'. And after talking to Timothy for most of it, I fall into a tired silence and he leaves me to my thoughts. The bumps and thumps of the wagon make me want to sleep on the soft hay, but my mind is racing too fast to calm down.

The Shire is beautiful. The trees eventually turned to lush green fields as we go further away from the town of Michel Delving towards the center of the Shire. Large rivers and small streams snake across the earth and we cross plenty of stone and wooden bridges. Hobbit farms dot the landscape, with orchards and wheat fields in between.

I've always lived in a city, surrounded by concrete and glass and plywood my whole life. There were a few memorable moments driving to the mountains to escape the rush of urban living. I enjoyed camping with family and traveling with friends, but those trips only happened once or twice a year.

I watch farms go by, and I see the Hobbits do their thing in such a wholesome atmosphere. Their tasks vary from tending gardens, to hanging laundry, to feeding livestock, to chatting with neighbors. My outfit sticks out like a sore thumb, and the Hobbits stop their chores for just a moment, curious about the bright pink object staring at them from the back of a wagon as we pass by.

The clouds begin to gather, and the sunset is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen as it shines gold and pink through dark purple clouds that are heavy with rain. I look at those clouds in worry. My hoodie isn't waterproof and I don't have an umbrella. The sun eventually goes down though, and it's another hour plodding down the dark road with nothing but a lantern until, at last, we see the twinkling lights of candles to signal our arrival at a town. I'm immediately reminded of Bilbo's village- the signature hobbit homes are all around me with glowing round windows and doors leading underground.

"Is this Hobbiton?" I ask in awe, hopping down from the wagon and coming over to the front.

"No, Miss Peyton. This is ByWater." Timothy smiles down at me. "My cousin Dango is a pony ferrier here! Been caring for pony and horse hooves for the past decade or so. He is usually at the tavern every night for a pint. Tell him I sent you and he'll point you in the right direction towards Hobbiton. It's about eight miles north. I'd come with ya, but I need to get this hay to my buyers and I'm later than usual."

Timothy hesitates, much like Thorin had, at leaving a woman all alone at the edge of town. I already knew that his stop would be a farm much further down the road, "As much as I dislike it, this is where I must leave you now, Miss Peyton. I can't delay or else the rain may ruin my shipment of hay."

"Thank you so much, Tim. I'll never forget your kindness. I'm actually kinda glad you almost ran me over." I try to joke but I feel my eyes tearing up. I would have arrived here at 3:00 am (or later) if it wasn't for him. Probably get soaked by rain too. From what I estimate, although I could be completely off, it looks like it's only 7 pm after the sunset. It's been a very long day.

Timothy Dunsdo laughs, "Twas nothing, Miss Peyton! Old Daisy here did all of the work. But, I'm a little happy she almost did too, since it was very nice meeting you. And I hope you find the wizard you're looking for!"

I nod and give Daisy a pat while I attempt to joke again, "Thanks, Daisy. I forgive you for trying to kill me."

Daisy says nothing but flicks her tired ears. I nod sympathetically and step back from the wagon.

"Remember! Mention the name Dango Dunsdo at the inn! Good luck to ya!" He snaps the reigns and drives off, glancing at the dark clouds worriedly.

"And to you too!" I call out after him.

I glance up at the sky with a tinge of worry. I really hope Dango can give me a ride to Hobbiton; I don't want to walk in this weather. I look around at the small village and make my way to the inn, noticing that it's much smaller than the one in Michel Delving. The cozy charm of the place immediately strikes me, with its thatched roof and inviting glow from the windows. The door creaks as I open it, and I have to squint in the dim lighting. Oil lamps burn on the walls, casting flickering shadows that only do so much to illuminate the room. I will never take electricity for granted ever again!

The innkeeper at the desk looks up at me, and like everyone else, his smile turns into shock as he takes in my clothing. "Hello, miss. What can I do for ya?" he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity.

I smile awkwardly, "Sorry about the clothing, someone sold the fabric to me for super cheap so I'm stuck with it for now. I'm traveling to Hobbiton to see Bilbo Baggins. I was told that a Dango comes here a lot? Dango Dundo?"

After addressing the hot pink elephant in the room he seems to warm up, "Dango Dunsdo, Miss. And he isn't here tonight, I'm afraid. A couple of farms down had an incident with their horse and he was called out."

"Oh no..." I deflate a tiny bit, "Is there a way to get to Hobbiton tonight? I'm on my way to a very important meeting and I can't be late."

"I'm afraid that due to the coming rain, no wagons are headed up that way. Tomorrow morning would be a better time to set out. It's about eight miles from here."

I feel antsy. I can't stay the night - what if I miss the meeting?! Am I really willing to walk eight miles through the rain to show up uninvited to a secret dwarf meeting? Yes, I am. Resolving to set off after dinner, I make up my mind.

"Um, I don't have any money on me. But if I can get some food, I will be sure that Bilbo Baggins pays you back." I feel bad for lying, but I really will beg Bilbo to pay them back once he gets back from his Quest for Erebor. He'll have a whole chest full of gold, so it should be fine.

The innkeeper immediately looks suspicious, "I don't accept credit, Miss. Not from strangers."

I pale. Not good.

"What about Timothy Dunsdo? Do you know him? He could vouch for me." I feel a little bad for taking advantage of Timothy like this. But, beggars can't be choosers.

The innkeeper is reluctant but slowly nods. "I can accept credit from him. How do I know what you say is true?"

"He and his pony Daisy just dropped me off. They have to deliver a wagon of hay to a farm down between ByWater and Three Farthing Stone. He has a wife and two little girls, Bea and Daph. Um, his cousin, Dango, is the pony Ferrier here, and he told me to come in to meet him."

The innkeeper smiles warmly at me after that, accepting the validity of my words, "I can set you up with a room tonight, Miss. And Dango may be here tomorrow night at the tavern."

I shake my head, smiling, "No room is necessary. I need to get to Hobbiton tonight. Some food would be wonderful though!"

"I...I truly wouldn't reccomend it miss. The roads will be terribly muddy. You'll arrive in an awful state, you will." He again repeats his previous warning.

An image of a huge mud monster showing up on Bilbo's front door for the party flashes through my mind, and I feel a little sick at the thought of the company seeing me like that. First impressions are important, but what choice do I have?

"I'll think about it." I say in a quiet, timid voice.

Maybe, just maybe, the rain will let up by the time I set off? Either way, I can't afford to miss this opportunity.

"Very good, Miss! Go on in, then. Help yourself." He gestures to the inn behind him.

I walk further into the inn back to where the pub...or tavern?...is located. Not sure what the difference is. I immediately go to the bartender, feeling very thirsty.

"Uh, good evening. Do you have any milk?"

The hobbit bartender gives my clothing a critical eye and shakes his head with a frown, "Not tonight, miss. Ol' Daisy's been having a go of it I'm afraid. But we have ale. Here ya go."

Daisy again? Does everyone name their farm animals 'Daisy' in the Shire? Must be a common name like Spot, Fifi, or Rover.

He clunks a wooden tankard in front of me on the table. I lean in hesitantly to smell it, only to shrink back with a grimace. It smells like... like... fermented something.

"Do you, uh, have anything less…gross?" I try.

"No." He deadpans.

"Ok." I murmur quietly with a blush, not wanting to make any waves. The bartender turns to other people at the counter and I reach out to sip at the tankard.

1 hour later

"I mean, everything I ever thought I knew about how physics and how the universe works is a complete lie. How do I know what is real and what's fake anymore? I'm gunna be honest *hiccup!* you're a great person to talk to." I smile happily at the bartender.

He doesn't respond as I continue.

"Why couldn't I uv' been transported to a world that's pretty much MY world, you know? *hiccup!* Like…like Harry Potter or something? I would just move over to the United States while they had their wizard-y war in England. I'd be a muggle anyways so it's not like I could join in the fight or anything *hiccup!*."

I take another long drink of my ale.

"Miss, I think you should stop drinking and go home." He says nervously while cleaning a glass. He looks a little blurry though, so I can't really see his face to tell if he's actually nervous or not.

"Pssh!" My arms feel heavy. "That's wha I've talking ta tell you! I can't go home! I live in ANOTHER world!" I flop my arms around me and some of my ale spills. Aw, dang it! I was gonna drink that. "Besides, this stuff isn't so bad once you get past the initial smell. It almost has a butterscotch yummy kinda flavor!" I peer one eye into the cup to study the fizzy liquid a bit closer.

"It's fermented barely, miss. And I think you've had quite enough."

He tries to take it from me and I gasp in anger, "Hey! Hands off, Nigel!"

"My name is Togo." He frowns back at me.

"Whatever! Go get your own drink. Leave mine alone!" I hold it close to my chest.

"Eh, leave her Togo. She's completely rat-arsed!" A hobbit on the stool to my left laughs.

I didn't realize I had an audience. As I look around, I notice that the entire inn has been listening to me ramble on about my tale of woe. Conversations have hushed, and curious eyes are fixed on me.

"Hmph!" I blush and try and cover it with my tankard of ale. "Rat-arsed? My butt doesn't look like a rat."

The tavern explodes in laughter.

I stare at them in surprise before glaring. What are they laughing at?

"So, what's this land of yours called eh?" He asks me cockily, leaning his pudgy hobbit belly against the side and gives me a mocking smile. Most hobbits here are a little pudgy I think to myself, noticing his double chin.

"Earth." I sniff.

He laughs harder, "That's hilarious! And so unimaginative. Just take the 'Middle' out and it's Earth!"

"Well, why's it called 'Middle Earth' anyways, huh?" I question back at him. "What's it in the middle of? Nothing! So shut it!"

"It's called Middle Earth because it's the continent that is in the middle of two seas, the Balegaer Sea and the East Sea." A hobbit speaks up from another table. He has glasses on so he must be educated. I think.

I blink at him, "Two seas? Wouldn't it just be one sea that wraps around the whole earth? I mean the whole Middle Earth?"

He gives me a weird look, "That would only make sense if Middle Earth was the only continent on the planet."

My mouth drops open, "Woooooaaaaaht? You mean there are MORE continents on Middle Earth than just Middle Earth?!"

"No? Middle Earth is just one of the continents on the planet Arda?" The hobbit says confused, and then rolls his eyes and chuckles, "I get it. You're obviously joking. Can't believe I'm trying to reason with a drunk human."

A few of the hobbits around the pub start snorting in laughter.

"Drunk? I'm not drunk! I've never been drunk in my life." I angrily put my hands on my hips, only to start swaying dangerously and I reach out to grab the table quickly to stabilize myself. Why are the walls moving? "So then….this world is called Arda? But I thought that this world was called Middle Earth?"

More laughter.

It makes me so mad that they're laughing at ME when THEY'RE the ones who have no business existing. They're all just a bunch of fictional characters in a storybook! Wait…they aren't even in the Hobbit story, are they? I try and narrow my eyes to make them stop getting blurry so I can see if I recognize them…

The hobbit next to me laughs along with a couple of other hobbits besides him. "Wait, wait, wait…You mean this whole time you were trying to tell us that you aren't just from another land called Earth on Arda….but you're from a whole other WORLD called Earth!?"

"Yes! That's what I've been saying this whole time!" I nod my head, only to realize it's a bad idea since I'm starting to see two of every hobbit. I hold my head still to keep them from multiplying. It doesn't help. "So wait…Middle Earth is a continent? And…Arda is the world? So, what are other continents called?"

The scholarly hobbit spoke up, "We're not entirely sure. People who travel across the sea don't normally return. But a few have, and we have maps of the other lands, but they aren't very detailed."

"Hmph. Where's Columbus when you need him?" I mumble into my ale only to realize it's all gone. Why is the ale always gone? This is kinda freaky, almost like I'm living in the book 'Horton Hears a Who' or something. My mind sort of explodes with that knowledge. I stare at my empty tankard with wide eyes, "Who's to say I'm not on a snowflake right now?"

"She fell into that ditch and done lost her mind!" Everyone in the pub is laughing now, even the barkeeper.

I glare at them. "Did not! 'The Hobbit' never said that the world was called Arda!"

"Yeah he did!" Another hobbit scoffed "Just now!"

"No, I don't mean THAT hobbit," I point to the hobbit with glasses. Oh wait, wrong hobbit. I point to the correct one, "I mean the book called 'the Hobbit'! They never mention that in the book!"

"She's loonier than a bunch of rocks!"

They keep laughing.

I feel so angry! All these fantasy hobbits laughing at me for just stating simple facts? I'm going to smack them back into the storybook from whence they came!

"I'll show you!" I stand up, with the intent to punch the hobbit next to me into the next continent, only to find that my legs decided to fall asleep and my balance went on vacation. I fall into a heap on the floor and proceed to glare at all the hobbits laughing around me.

"Alright, that's enough lads. Poor thing can't handle her ale. Florence, give her a hand up will ya?" I hear the barkeeper say, but I can't see him from my position on the floor.

"C'mon Miss. I'll help you to your room." I can barely hear a voice murmur next to me in the cacophony of everyone laughing.

I turn to see it's the scholarly hobbit with glasses from earlier. He put my arm around his neck and lifts the two of us off the floor. I wobble and glare at my legs for acting so strange while we ignore the laughter around us and walk towards the stairs.

"You're a nice hobbit. Even though you shouldn't be real." I smile at him gratefully.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, "You don't hold your ale very well. How many was that?"

"Three." I wheeze as we climb the stairs. I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

"I counted five. Lay down. I have haglass grass that will help you'll feel better. Eat this tomorrow when you wake up." He leaves a small yellow flower on the table next to my bed.

I snort, "You want me to eat a flower? What, are you nuts?" I start giggling at my own joke.

"Yes, it should completely get rid of your headache. It's grown in the blue mountains and the dwarves use it after drinking competitions. We use it in the Shire for pain."

"Oh! So the flower is like an ibuprofen?"

He doesn't answer me, but I don't really care as I drift off to sleep with a snore.

The next morning I feel like I'm about to die. I've never had a hangover before, always considered the boring one who studied instead of partied. My roommate would come home hammered though, so that always reaffirmed my desire to not drink after watching her behavior and smelling her as she stumbled into our dorm room.

And now?

Now my eyelids feel like they have 2lb weights attached to each eyelid as I gaze around the strange room. I don't remember coming here. My mouth feels dry. A yellow flower catches my attention out the corner of my eyes and I turn my bleery gaze to it. The five petaled flower sits on my bedside table and for some weird reason I feel the need to eat it. I pick it up and try to focus on it before throwing it in my mouth and start to chew the petals. Ugh! I spit it out immediately, the residue from the flower petals coating my tongue. Why did I think that would work? Ugh, I'm going back to sleep...

An hour later and I'm frantically running out the inn doors with two strawberry muffins, one in each hand.

I slept in! I can't believe I slept in! I never did meet that Dango fella, but there's nothing I can do about it. I have to get to Bilbo's house!

The flower did it's trick, and my memory of the embarrassing night came back to me as my slight headache and symptoms miraculously disappeared after thirty minutes. Apparently I'm one of those belligerent drunks that try to start fights with people. I shake my head in humiliation. Never again, Peyton. Never again!

One minute later and I can't run anymore, huffing and puffing like the Little Engine Who Could Not. It takes me two and a half hours to get to Hobbiton. And the roads are VERY muddy so I mostly walk on the green grass beside the road to avoid it.

The whole world smells fresh though.

Blue sky, puffy white clouds, butterflies frolicking to and fro all around. I think I've found my Nirvana…sans mountains, of course. I finally get to Hobbiton and realize that it's a lot more 'hilly' than what the Lord of the Rings movie showed!

I'd always thought Bilbo's house was a large hill in the middle of flatlands and fields, but the entire area of Hobbiton is actually very hilly. Which I guess makes sense because of the various Hobbit houses. And as confirmed in Michel Delving, hobbit houses can be both above ground and underground oddly enough!

I check in at the Green Dragon Inn for directions, only to get the horrible news that Bag End is on the north end of town and it is about two miles away! By now the sun has risen enough that things are warming up a bit, and I'm able to walk along the dirt road, kicking a stray rock or two with my sneakers in annoyance. Why couldn't Bilbo Baggins live in town like a normal person?

Still though, I breathe in the earthy smell of gardens and crops and the greenery and flowers fill my soul a little. Mankind wasn't meant to live in a city, I think as I cross a stone bridge into the official town of Hobbiton. This is where we belong; among nature. Amongst the grass and trees and flowers and bees and air. No wonder so many of us struggle with depression and suicide nowadays. We've forgotten our roots, and our souls have shriveled up. Out here, I feel bigger than ever before. As if my spirit has expanded inside my chest. I humm the tune to 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' from the musical Oklahoma as I pass the hobbit homes or smiles? Smeeals? Smials? I think that's what they're called. Someone mentioned it at the bar. I get PLENTY of open mouthed, wide eyed stares as I ealk along, but I smile at them in a friendly way,

And then…. I see it.

At the top of the hill, lies a green round door. A door that started Tolkien's whole story. My breath whooshes out of me as my heart leaps in my chest. I stare at it in awe, which slowly turns to reverence. Freshly painted deep green with a glossy brass knob in the center, surrounded by beautiful flowers, surrounded by lush green fields. I feel a sharp tingle in my eyes and throat.

This is the door that sparked the imaginations of millions of people in my world! This is the door that opened wide and allowed all of us dreamers to go on an adventure that we never imagined possible…and I am seeing it! In the flesh!

It's like…..being told Santa Clause is real your whole life, (never actually believing in him, of course, because….well, you know…science?) and seeing movies and reading books about him, and then POOF! You're impossibly at the North Pole and he's standing in front of you laughing with jolly!

It feels as if I have stumbled upon something sacred.

Should I kneel? Should I sing a song? Should I burn incense? Should I write a poem? Paint a pic-

I gasp as I remember that I have my cellphone. I keep forgetting!

I quickly pull my cell phone out, my fingers fumbling in my haste to get it out and mark this momentous occasion. I miraculously have 3% on my battery from keeping it on the low battery setting as often as possible and I press the camera shutter button as quickly as I can. Multiple times.

There. The image is taken. The Hobbit's door is on my cellphone.

I bounce on my heels with glee as I make it up the rest of the way to the smial. No one is going to believe this, even with a photo! But it'll be nice to look at it when Gandalf gets me back home. It'll be good evidence for me when my memory fades and I begin to doubt if I even experienced any of this. I better hurry and get a picture of Bilbo too for posterity's sake.

I run up the stone steps two at a time to Bilbo's door and my breaths are coming in gasps and I think tears are coming to my eyes. And I feel faint, and giddy, and nauseous, and I feel like I could die in this moment and be completely ok with such a thing happening to me. Just bury me across the road so my grave is facing towards this beautiful hobbit door! That would be a horrible view for Bilbo though…I giggle, feeling a bit crazy. Maybe I am?

I reach my hand up, slowly, savoring the moment, and rap my knuckle against the painted wood.

Taking a step back, I suddenly worry about my appearance. I quickly smooth my wayward hair, hoping that no flyaway hairs are sticking up out of my ponytail. I swipe at my shirt and pants to make sure I don't have any stray dirt. I do. There's a lot of it.

I bounce on my feet as I wait…and wait….

I frown a little in confusion. Maybe I didn't knock hard enough? I knock again, making sure I tap my knuckles with a little more force. It's a very sturdy door and it causes my knuckles to sting from the force of it.

I gaze at the door affectionately. Of course it's sturdy! A door that inspires such creativity and magic must be sturdy.

Another minute passes by and nothing. And then suddenly, it hits me like a truck.

He's gone.

"No!" I gasp aloud in terror.

No, no, no! Did I really...? I missed the quest?! Thorin Oakenshield was traveling to Bree, but he must have stopped on his way here and met up with Gandalf, Bilbo, and the other dwarves last night while I was getting drunk in a tavern! Oh no.

Panic fills my heart and I start pounding on the door frantically, hoping that I'm wrong and he's just taking a nap or fixing a meal or using the bathroom.

I notice a bell to the side of the door and I start yanking on the string, frantically, "Bilbo! Bilbo! Are you there?!" I yell loudly, at the crack in the door, hoping that a little hobbit will open the door and say, 'What is all this pounding and ringing and shouting about, madam?! It is a bit much!' But no such luck.

"Bilbo? BILBO?! GANDALF!?"

Not a sound.

All my happiness and joy from this morning's walk spiral into a black pit of despair and paralyzing fear. I put my hand and head on the door and slide down the smooth paint with great big gasps that turn into mournful sobs as I lean back and sit there, gazing up at the green door. I'm too late…too late…. How will I ever get home now?

I start to sob very hard and very loud and rest my forehead against the door in heart-wrenching agony. I'm so angry! Why did this happen to me?! What did I do to deserve this?

Now I'm going to have to wait until Bilbo and Gandalf come back from their trip to reclaim Erebor! I don't know where I will live, or how I'm going to make ends meet. How long does their quest even take? I never could quite figure that out. It could be a whole year before he gets back! Six months there and six months back, right? Or is it longer?

I wail even harder, sitting there in abject misery and I cover my face in my hands to hide my anguish. I feel like my heart is going to tear apart from the hopeless fear that fills every inch of my-

"Uhhh, excuse me? Oh! Uhh...um, Miss? Miss! Whatever is the matter, Miss?"

I look up from my snot-filled hands to see the most beautiful sight in the whole world of Arda.

Bilbo Baggins himself stands behind me on the steps up to his door with a wicker basket full of food, obviously having just come from the market. At least I think it's him?

All these hobbits have begun to look the same to me with curly sandy hair and hobbit clothes and big hairy feet. But he has a distinctly 'Bilbo-y' feel to him, with his clothes being much nicer than the other Hobbit attire I've seen.

My red puffy eyes widen, "OH! Oh my gosh! It's YOU! At least, I think it's you? Bilbo Baggins, yes? I…I thought you were gone!" I wipe the tears and boogers away with my sleeve.

"Oh! Don't- Uh, please, allow me…" Bilbo, who was watching me explain myself with a terrified expression, quickly puts the food basket he's carrying down in a rush and pulls out a white handkerchief and hands it to me. I stare at it, shocked for a second. I then reach out and take it from his hand and I can't help the smile that comes to my face as I look at it. Ah yes, the handkerchief he forgets. His stammering pulls my wide eyes back up to him, "And, uh, yes! Yes, I was gone, but now I'm back…again? Uh. Just popped by the market for some ingredients for my um, my dinner tonight?" His voice turns up as a question as he clearly is wondering why I'm here.

"Oh," I say, feeling relieved.

"I'm sorry, uh, have we met?" He asks, trying to be very polite in his 'Bilbo Baggins' way. Both he and I know that we've never met before, but it seems to be the only cordial thing he can think to say.

Translation: Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my front porch?

I can clearly see that he is quite befuddled to have come home to find a human woman crying at his front door, asking if he's Bilbo Baggins.

My eyes widen, "Oh my gosh, I am SO sorry!" I quickly get to my feet, mortified beyond belief. "This was not how I planned our first meeting to go. I understand you must be confused to find a stranger crying at your doorstep!" I giggle a little in embarrassment.

Bilbo smiles and nods as I speak, my good manners putting him more at ease, and I continue, "My name is Peyton Silva, and I am looking for Gandalf. He is coming over for dinner tonight, isn't he?"

At my explanation, Bilbo looks confused once more. "Gandalf? Uh… no, there isn't any Gandalf coming to my home for dinner that I am aware of. Gan-DALF? GAN-dalf?" He mutters the name to himself, trying to place it.

I feel like I'm going to be sick… Why is he acting like he doesn't know Gandalf?! Gandalf is one of his best friends!

"You DO know Gandalf, don't you?!" I squeak, feeling like I entered the twilight zone. He must be joking. Did I travel to an alternate reality of The Hobbit? Is there no Gandalf in this version? Impossible. Gandalf is an ESSENTIAL character in Bilbo's life and in Frodo's!

"Oh!" He snaps his fingers, his eyes lighting up as if it just came to him and I breathe out, relieved. "You wouldn't mean Gandalf the Wandering Wizard that makes such amazing fireworks, would you?" He asks excitedly.

My smile slowly drops.

"Yeeeeeeeeeees?" I say slowly. What on earth….I mean, what on Middle Earth is going on here?

"I haven't seen him in years. Decades, even." Bilbo shrugs, "Not since I was a young boy. He was a friend of my late mother's. He certainly doesn't live in these parts." He peers at me more closely, "What is a human woman doing here at MY home, looking for a wizard?"

"Uhh, I need his help," I say bewildered, my mind racing.

I have to think really hard. Thorin is alive, traveling to Bree. Probably already made it there or will tomorrow night since it's a four-day trip. Bilbo hasn't seen Gandalf since he was young….which means that Thorin doesn't know of the quest either...which means that not only am I NOT too late for them to go on the quest…..

I gulp.

It means I'm early.

But HOW early is the question. Extremely early? Or just a little early? I could be days, months, or years early! I thought Thorin was traveling on his way to the quest! But he wasn't? He really was just going to Bree? Why was he going to Bree of all places?

This isn't good. But still...

I look calculatingly at Bilbo who is still looking at me with a concerned expression, his groceries sitting on the steps by his hairy feet.

...it isn't as bad as him already being gone.

Better fifteen minutes early than five minutes late, my dad always says. So, I should be grateful. All that's left now is to not let Bilbo out of my sight until I have some idea of when Gandalf is coming.

I turn my charm up to a level 10 and put on my best smile with a professional voice, "Forgive me, I'm sure you have questions. I hate to intrude upon your hospitality, but I have traveled from Michel Delving to see you. Might I help you with your groceries and we can sit and talk? I will tell you everything."

Bilbo's eyes widen, but he thankfully stays true to character and hastily invites me inside to my immense relief, "Oh! Certainly, certainly. Please, do come in." He picks up his basket and steps by me and I step to the side to allow him easier access to his door. He twists the knob, and it opens up to a beautifully furnished home with gleaming wooden floors.

I thank him and enter, glad to know that if he had been gone, the door hadn't even been locked and I could have squatted here for the year or more that he was traveling to the Lonely Mountain. There would have been no food in the pantry, though. I wipe my feet off on the entry carpet.

I look around me in awe. It's just like the Lord of the Rings movie! I turn to him, "Oh! Bilbo, I'm so sorry- Let me help you with your groceries!"

Bilbo smiles and shakes his head as he says, "Oh, that's quite alright. Miss Silva, yes? I think I can manage. I thank you for the offer though."

He closes the door behind us and patters in the direction that I can only imagine is the kitchen. I follow after him, glancing around me at the décor as I do so. This hobbit hole is HUGE. A lot bigger than I thought it would be. Or maybe I'm just short?

Beautiful beams of polished wood hold up the structure of the hobbit hole. To the left is a large room, which we walk through, with a cozy fireplace surrounded by red bricks and a table covered in writing utensils and books and paper. I see a few maps and I instinctively come closer to get a better look.

"Ahh, this way, if you please." He says nervously when I pause to look at the papers.

"Right, sorry." I walk with him into the next room, which is the kitchen. He must think me impossibly rude. Not as rude as the dwarves will be though…

I follow him into a lovely kitchen that reminds me of the 1800s before electricity. There are dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, as well as barrels and baskets of easy-to-store foods such as apples, potatoes, and onions. Through the kitchen door I see another door across the hallway full of food. Must be his pantry.

One thing's for certain, Bilbo is not poor.

"Wow. Are all hobbit holes as grand as yours?" I ask, amazed at how different it is in person. I hardly saw anything in the movies, maybe 10% of all of this. It's incredible!

Bilbo beams at the compliment and then attempts to brush it off in a humble but also pleased way, "Oh, I wouldn't say it's THAT grand….but this smial was created by my father, Bungo, as a wedding gift to my mother, Belladonna. Once, it was only an entrance and one room. But it continued to be added on over the years until my parents passed it on to me. I don't have a family, so I haven't added any more rooms." He then indicates to some fancy teacups and saucers next to a very beautiful teapot like the ones I had seen in Michel Delving, "Can I interest you in some tea?"

"Oh! Yes please!" I grin, feeling excited to use one of the teacups. I haven't had a tea party since I was a little girl. This all feels so Alice in Wonderland-y, except I'm in Middle Earth.

He places a cup of tea on a saucer in front of me and pours one of his own on the table at his side.

"Now then…" Bilbo finally says, sitting down and looking at me, "How can I be of service, Miss Silva?" A friendly smile is on his face but his hazel eyes are full of anxiety as he surely wonders what great trouble brought a strangely dressed human woman to his door, seeking a wizard of all things.

I stare at the curling steam rising out of the tea as I wonder what I can tell him.

Until now, the thought of changing the future never even crossed my mind. Do I even care if I change the future in Middle Earth?

Not really.

I mean…do I want anything bad to happen to anyone? Of course not. But where does my responsibility begin or end in regard to another world's future, anyways? I don't have nor did I ever want that responsibility, and fate will have to figure itself out because it landed me here and that sounds like someone else's problem.

Still. As someone studying to be a nurse, the phrase 'Do no harm' comes to mind. I decide I will just talk about me and my problems and try to leave his future out of it.

"I am from a different world and I need Gandalf in order to return there."

Bilbo Baggin's mouth drops open and his eyes widen. I grimace and nod in understanding at his reaction. Out of everything I could have said, Bilbo was surely not expecting THAT. Maybe I should have eased into it a bit.

I sigh and speak before he can, "I know. I believed this whole situation was impossible myself a few days ago, but it's true. I am not from Middle Earth. Or Arda. I am a woman of science and reason, but I woke up in a strange ditch in a field two days ago with a single gold coin as the only variable that may or may not explain how I arrived." I pull out the gold coin and place it on the tea tray for him to see, "Ever since then I haven't really been myself, and I apologize for sobbing on your front door. I need Gandalf because he's…fairly knowledgeable about, uh, higher… power stuff?"

I'm not sure if Gandalf is knowledgeable about inter-dimension travel, but he may know of people who are. If not Gandalf, then perhaps Elrond would know? If not Elrond, then perhaps Galadriel? If not Galadriel, my last bet would be to ask Sauroman but he's as likely to kill me as to help me, so hopefully Galadriel has some advice. And Sauron is simply out of the question.

"I…I don't suppose you would know how to find him…would you?" I continue, hesitantly.

Bilbo shakes his head, "I know not where he lives. Wizards are peculiar in that they come and go as the wind."

"Ain't that the truth," I mutter and sip at my tea. Gandalf will always be popping in and out of the company on their quest. I sigh, there really is nothing for it, "I hate to ask this Mister Baggins, sir…But would it be too much trouble for me to stay until he arrives?"

Bilbo stares at me in shock, "How can you be so sure he is coming here? To my home?" he asks.

I grimace. While I don't care too much about changing the future at the moment….How do you tell someone that their future is all written down in a fairytale? That their whole world shouldn't exist? The best case scenario is that he wouldn't believe me, while the worst case is that he will have an existential crisis and question everything he knows about the universe and himself. I mean….if I was suddenly told by someone who came from another world that we all just live inside a speck of dust like 'Horton Hears a Who'… my brain would probably explode. Or I'd go rob a bank because nothing would really matter to me anymore.

I take a deep breath, "Because, I know the future." There. That should work better.

"You know the future?" He repeats, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Yup." I pop the 'p' and take a sip of tea, trying to appear nonchalant.

"That's not possible. What am I going to do in the next five minutes?" He questions, accusingly.

I can't help but my roll my eyes and huff, "I don't know, Bilbo! I only know of things that will influence all of Middle Earth's future."

Bilbo is silent for a moment and then asks skeptically, "Gandalf…coming to my home, will influence all of Middle Earth's future?"

I make a clicking sound and shoot him with my finger, which is probably odd to him because they don't have guns in Middle Earth, "Correct. But, more importantly, it will influence MY future, since I really need to be getting back home before my roommate reports me as missing and my family worries. I won't be joining the que-…uh, I mean… I won't be staying long. Soooo, I guess that brings me back to my original question." my gaze turns more sincere, "May I please wait here until he arrives?"

"Well, I-I...I really don't think…" Bilbo fidgets in his seat. "While you are quite pleasant and amiable, I…I don't really know you or even necessarily believe your story, Miss Silva. Sure, you are dressed in very peculiar clothes...but a human girl from another world coming to MY home? Surely you can see the whole thing is rather…uh, I beg your deepest pardon for saying this, but…it's all rather incredible!"

Translation: You're out of your d*mn mind!

"Ok, first off I'm a human woman, not a girl. I'm just really short. And secondly, I really AM from another world!" I try to sound strong and confident but my voice turns a bit whiny towards the end. He's just got to believe me!

"What evidence do you have of this claim?" Bilbo asks, at least allowing me a chance.

"I have this." I pull out my cell phone; the only thing I have from my world.

Bilbo's eyes widen at the device in my hands in disbelief. "What is that?"

I smile, understanding Thorin's reaction to it much better now, "It's a communication device from my world. It allows us to talk with people over long distances. Over entire continents, actually. It's almost dead though." I turn it on and his mouth drops open as the screen lights up. "It also allows us to document events with photos or video and a whole bunch of other things. Here's a photo of your door."

I click to my pictures and it shows Bilbo's green door. Bilbo literally flinches back from my phone in shock before leaning in closer despite himself. "It..it looks so real! Like I could just reach out and touch my door…!"

I swipe it and Bilbo is mind-blown to see images of the Shire and Hobbits that I took while they weren't looking. I even went past that and showed him pictures of me and my friends doing various activities at the university campus. After a funny video of my sister and I laughing while we were driving to a lunch date, my phone drops to 1% and I grimace.

"Here, let me get a photo of us before my phone dies."

Bilbo looks more shocked, "Why will it die? Is it sick?"

"It's not alive. But it runs on energy to work. Your world doesn't have the energy it needs." I turn the selfie mode on and quickly snap a photo of me smiling and Bilbo staring at the phone in amazement.

"It is like…a mirror image of myself." He whispers, eyes wide and spooked.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt you." I try to console him, remembering that the Native Americans had the same reaction to photographs when they first came out. Some sort of fear that it would trap their souls or something. "Think of it like a mirror reflecting your image and then the, uh…the energy?…preserves the image." I realize that I never understood how cameras work. Something to do with light?

My phone freezes, turns black...and then it dies. I stare at it in my hand for a moment, seeing my reflection in the dark glass screen. My only connection to my world is suddenly gone. Just like that.

I look back up at Bilbo and I can tell that he sees my fear.

"If…If you don't return to your world...will you die from a lack of energy too?" Bilbo asks, concerned.

I smile and shake my head, relieved that he seems to finally believe me and my outlandish story.

"No, it's not alive Bilbo. Perhaps 'dead' isn't the right expression? I mean that it's uncharged…or, uh, it's out of energy, and it just needs a couple of hours connected to the energy source before it'll work again. It's just a temporary thing. It can still work again."

"Fascinating…" Bilbo's brain processes the implications of such a device.

We're getting off-topic.

"I promise that I won't be much trouble!" I plead, jumping back to my original question with no finesse. "I'll hopefully only need a place to stay for one week before he arrives. Two weeks at most! I will keep the house clean and I will make it so you don't even notice that I'm here. I'll be as quiet as a mouse!"

"I have a house cleaner." He waves off my bid for servitude, lost in thought. After a moment he slowly speaks out loud, "You are, indeed, from another world... as incredible as that sounds! And yet... you have come to ME for help. How did you know of me?" He looks up at me curiously.

Ugh. Of COURSE it would eventually lead to this. I decide to be honest, "Bilbo, I have two options here… I could just say YOLO and tell you literally everything about everything and potentially ruin the future happiness of everyone and everything...or I could tell you that you're quite famous in my world and leave it at that. Your pick." I lean back into the chair and wait for his response. Whoever decided to bring me to this world is responsible for the mess I make. I don't accept any responsibility for the ruined lives in this world. If Bilbo asks, I will tell him what he wants to know. I'm THAT desperate for a place to stay, even if the future is ruined. I've got to get home.

"I…I will just take your word for it." Bilbo finally nods, looking disappointed and resigned.

"Wise choice, buddy." I wink at him and shoot him with my finger again. I don't admit it out loud but Bilbo has kinda surprised me. I thought he would for sure jump at knowing the future, consequences be damned. Most people would. And it really didn't take too much to convince him. It would have taken a lot more than some fancy technology to convince me that someone is from another world.

I sigh and hang my head deeply, "I just…need to figure out how to find Gandalf. Or perhaps even go to Rivendell and get help from the elves if he doesn't show up."

Surely, spiritual beings such as elves would know how to send people between worlds. Right?

Apparently, that is the right thing to say because Bilbo immediately perks up. "Rivendell? The home of the elves?" He asks excitedly.

"Yes! Have you heard of it?" I know he has.

Bilbo's whole face transforms. "Of course! I've always dreamed of traveling to Rivendell! I used to look for elves in the forest! I once saw them, you know! It was an entire procession of them traveling west! It always sounded like such an adven-" he stops himself, as if suddenly remembering who he is supposed to be, and looks sheepish.

"Like what, Bilbo? Like….an adventure?" I grin encouragingly at him, "I quite agree."

"Well…anyways," Bilbo mumbles, sounding a bit chagrined as he rubs his hands on his knees, before suddenly standing up to clear the table, "No self-respecting Hobbit would ever bother with such things as adventures."

He's not exactly like the cartoon, I ponder as I study his movements. He's much more fidgety and jumpy and unsure. So afraid of causing offense with his words. And yet…so eager and full of a hidden fire. By the time he comes back from his quest, I'm willing to bet his movements will be sure and his bearing confident. He won't take crap from anybody.

"Well," I lean back into the cushioned comfort of the chair and hold my cup of warm tea to my lips to hide my smile, "I predict there's a lot of surprises in store for you, Bilbo Baggins."

He looks at me questioningly and a bit suspiciously. My smile slips from my face and the feeling of hopelessness returns. I force myself to set my now empty cup down. Bilbo is a wonderful hobbit, but he's right….It was foolish of me to put my whole hope in him to help me, a stranger who showed up at his door. And I am not dwarfish enough to force my presence on someone who is clearly uncomfortable with me there. A feeling of dread fills my heart. How will I eat? Where will I sleep?

I stand up, not meeting his eyes, and brush my clothes off as I try to be brave and not cry. "I'm sorry for intruding on your time. You have a lovely home, and I thank you for the tea. I just…" my throat closes up and I stare at the floor, not wanting him to see my watery tears. I've walked so far and traveled so long to find him.

"I just don't know what to do." I whisper. My body doesn't listen to me, as much as I try to control it, and I have to cover my face with my hands. My shoulders shake as I begin to cry again without being able to stop myself and I sit back down on the chair.

Ugh. And I was doing so well at holding it in, too.

Honestly, I'm not trying to be manipulative. I'm not a crier. But I feel like that has been the story of my life for the past few days. A rollercoaster of wonder and awe that zooms down to fear and tears, only to go back up to wonder and awe once more. It's so exhausting.

Bilbo's reaction is immediate.

"Oh..oh my dear…please, don't cry."

I see him fluttering the white handkerchief at the corner of my hands, indicating for me to take it once again. I do so, wiping at my cheeks and careful not to use the parts I used on my nose before.

"Do you have a tent I could borrow? And…and some old blankets? I'll need to stay in Hobbiton until Gandalf arrives, and if I can't stay with you, I'm sure no other hobbit would allow me to either."

"You may stay with me until this Gandalf fellow shows up."

I look up at him, shocked, yet hopeful again. "Really?"

He nods resignedly, "I can't turn away someone like you in need or allow you to sleep alone in a tent. It's barely turning to spring, and the nights haven't warmed yet. Besides that, it isn't proper for a lady such as yourself to sleep alone in a field or forest unchaperoned. Not that the Shire is unsafe, but you have no family, or friends in this world and…and somehow you know me." Bilbo shakes his head in amazement, "Me! Of all people! So…you have my permission to stay. And if Gandalf the wizard does not show up as you believe, I may be able to…lend you some supplies to get to Rivendell."

"Bilbo Baggins... you are the most amazing, wonderful hobbit in all the world of Arda!" I jump up from my chair and give him a huge enormous hug.

"Oh! Why, um, why thank you!" Bilbo's face is a deep red once I finally release him, "And you are, uh, the nicest human I have ever met." He looks down at his big hairy feet, extremely shy.

"I thought Gandalf was the nicest human you've ever met?" I laugh, wiping away the remaining water from my eyes as light returns to my weary heart.

"Well, he is a wizard, so he doesn't count." Bilbo finally meets my eyes before shrugging with a smile.

Chapter Text

Two weeks pass and Gandalf still has not shown up. But Bilbo and I get along so well during those two weeks that he tells me I can stay another two weeks. And then another two weeks. And then another.

Two months have gone by and still no sign of the grey wizard. The flowers start blooming like a fairytale come to life, painting the fields in a breathtaking array of colorful hues. I'm trapped between crippling worry and childlike joy as I partake in the beauty of the Shire and the splendor that it offers. All the while, I keep my eyes peeled for a tall man in a pointy blue hat walking up the road.

Like most things in life; some moments are fleeting and pass in a blur while others become indelible, engrained deep in my memory. Like the smell of the rain and it's pattering sound outside Bilbo's front door as we sit there and watch the evening thunderstorms. All while he enthralls me with fascinating stories about the Shire and Middle Earth.

Or our weekly visit to the Green Dragon to enjoy a pint (glass of milk for me) and meet up with Bilbo's neighbors, where we sing and dance to pub songs.

Or like when we went to a certain Lobelia Sackville-Baggin's garden party, decorated to the max with ribbons and food. It was there that Bilbo inadvertently became my brother-in-law (twice removed) one week after I arrived in Hobbiton, after struggling to explain to his relatives how we know each other and why I am living with him. I playfully rib him about that amusing incident every chance I get for the next two months.

The village is initially skeptical of me, as expected - they think living with my twice-removed brother-in-law is positively indecent. But after the first month, I manage to win them over with my "friendly hobbit ways," largely thanks to the children. Their tiny faces, corkscrew curls, and eager bouncing are enough to melt anyone's heart. The locals start to accept me (more or less) once they hear all about the strange human from their enchanted children.

Turns out that I'm more 'hobbitish' than I ever imagined actually! I enjoy good food and dancing and singing and the fine things in life (like teapots and art) like every other hobbit. The downside to all this delicious food that Bilbo makes though means I also gain a couple of pounds.

...Ok, more than a couple. In fact, I'm starting to look like a bulgy banana nut muffin and I can't button my jeans anymore. I have to wear hobbit dresses now. Gah! Hobbits apparently don't believe in exercise so there are no gyms for me to go to.

I even get to meet a young Hamfast Gamgee, or Ham, as he asks me to call him. Sam hasn't been born yet, but it's neat to meet his dad in an 'I know your child's future!' kind of way.

Bilbo and I frequently take walks through the forest, where he shares captivating stories of elves, orcs, and dragons from his childhood. At the top of a towering hill stands a magnificent apple tree that affords a breathtaking panoramic view of Hobbiton and the surrounding countryside.

When I first made the climb up the hilltop, I was overcome by what I consider to be my very last panic attack. Tears smarted my eyes as I gazed out over the stunning view, and the enormity of being in this new world crashed over me for the last time.

Rolling green hills with many colored hobbit doors stretched as far as the eye could see, lush trees swaying, a lazy river meandering through the landscape, and a snow-capped mountain looming in the distance. Flowers bloomed in such vibrant abundance, it was as if a unicorn had thrown up all over everything.

Bilbo was almost as distraught as I, not knowing what to do except offering his handkerchief as he witnessed my anguish. I'll never forget the gratitude I felt to have him by my side during this final transition in my mind as I accepted that being here is my reality, like it or not. Something shifts firmly into place in my psyche and I am able to finally make my own peace with it. The satisfying crunch and natural juice of the apple I bite into are implanted firmly in my memory.

He proclaimed that we'd never visit that apple tree again as an attempt to comfort me, but in the weeks that followed he was bewildered when, at my insistance, we returned to the hilltop again and again. I was drawn by the stunning panorama that both unsettled and captivated me.

I never mention anything about his future adventure with the company, as I don't want to spoil the surprise for him. Instead, I tell him all about my family, siblings, and the many vacations and adventures we had growing up. I also share details about the college classes I was taking before coming here, which deeply impresses him, as not many women are considered 'scholars' in Middle Earth.

After these two months though, I begin to come to the conclusion that the quest must be years away. I don't know how old Bilbo is supposed to be when he goes on his quest, and I wonder if that's why Thorin looks so young. Despite this worry, I feel content here since Bilbo and I always find something interesting or new to do each day. We frequently visit the market together, purchasing fresh ingredients for the delicious meals Bilbo prepares for us. His culinary skills are exceptional, as evidenced by my growing pudge.

It becomes apparent to me, after he tells me I can stay another two weeks, that Bilbo is lonelier than he initially realized. He doesn't have many friends, only acquaintances and relatives. With me here, he finds the companionship that his life seemed to lack. Bilbo Baggins tries his best to fit in, but there's something inherently different about him compared to other hobbits. Personally, I believe it's a good kind of different, a 'Tookish' kind of different. There's a hidden light within him that can't be extinguished, no matter how many doilies he crochets. Perhaps that's why we get along so well. I wholeheartedly accept him just the way he is, especially the 'Tookish' part.

Long story short...the Shire has a timeless peace that I have never experienced anywhere else in my life. I could grow old here, honestly, living out my days with happy acquaintances, cheerful neighbors, and plenty of good food and song.

But that night, I have the most vivid dream I've had since arriving in Middle Earth.

I'm standing in my old University dorm room, and my mother is sitting on my unmade bed. We're surrounded by all the mess I left behind- clothes strewn all over the floor with books and test papers and pens strewn around. I'm kind of a slob, unfortunately.

She's staring down at a tie-dye shirt in her hands and she starts to cry, holding the shirt to her chest.

I reach my hand out to her and start to apologize, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm sorry! I'll clean this room up, I promise!"

She doesn't appear to hear me, and seems to only cry louder. I then notice that she's holding the tie-dye t-shirt that she and I had made for a 4th of July parade back when I was eighteen.

I feel a lump in my throat. "Mom?"

"Come on Jane, we need to pack this stuff up." I turn to see my dad in the doorway, his expression haggard, looking a little thinner than the last time I saw him. "The dorm supervisor said we can't wait any longer."

"I should've packed mace spray in her care package when she visited for Christmas." My mom shudders into my shirt, sobbing.

My insides churn in panic like I'm watching a horror movie. The one where you're the ghost.

"MOM! DAD! I'M RIGHT HERE!" I start to cry, "I love you guys! I'm stuck in Middle Earth but I promise I'll find a way home to you! I won't give up! I'm alright!"

The dream shifts abruptly, and I find myself facing a peculiar city constructed of whitish-grey stone. The landscape is as barren and lifeless as the grey, cloudy sky overhead. Everything appears washed out, devoid of color, light, or joy. I survey my surroundings and realize I'm standing at the edge of a tree line, separated from the city by a long stone bridge. The lifeless trees behind me seem to recoil from the stone's edge, their dark, skeletal branches reaching out to me as if to pull me away from the decaying city and into the forest. I glance at the forest and shudder; it doesn't appear any more inviting.

A soft murmur from the crumbling city makes me gasp, and I spin around to face it. The hairs on my arms and neck stand on end as a black mist begins to gather at the city's archway, the source of the strange murmuring. A deep, instinctual fear courses through me, chilling my blood. The mist, though distant across the bridge, feels as if it's watching me, as if it possesses a consciousness of its own. Suddenly, it starts to move towards me, rushing like a dreadful, howling wind above the bridge. I scream as it engulfs me.

"Peyton! Peyton! Wake up, Peyton!"

I come face to face with Bilbo, and I flinch away from him. The orange light of the candle he is holding casts strange shadows on his glowing face. I look wildly around me, breathing heavily. I see my bedroom, my dresser, vanity, and the little round door that is open to the hallway that Bilbo had just come in from. I'm safe. I'm home…

Home?

No...no I'm not home...I'm stuck in Middle Earth!

I have to get HOME!

I have to get home...

"But, Rivendell is a two-month journey from here on foot! Not only that, but it's dangerous, Peyton! Who knows what foul beasts roam about, thirsting for young maidens such as yourself!" Bilbo fusses and dithers over me as I pack the items I've accumulated over the past two months. My jeans that no longer fit, my non-functioning cellphone, a couple of leather-bound books filled with beautiful paintings and calligraphy of Middle Earth, and a few dresses I'd bought on sale at the county fair a week after moving into Bag-end. Everything I own is courtesy of Bilbo, of course, since I don't have a single penny to my name. Just a strange gold coin. Given all the stuff I've received over the two months, one might mistake Bilbo for my sugar daddy.

Honestly, though? Bilbo is one of the most generous and kind souls I've met in my life. He's always giving things to his neighbors and serving in the community. Even though there seems to be a barrier between him and his neighbors, Karma truly loves Bilbo and blesses him with even more than what he gives away. I decide I want to be more like him once I get back home.

"I know, Bilbo. I know about the dangers out there. More than most people, I bet." I say grimly but resolved. "But I have to go regardless. I can't stay another two weeks."

Going to Rivendell will be the quickest option. I really can't waste any more time. I know my family is worried sick and that horrible nightmare from last night felt more like a vision than a dream. I can't let them worry about me like that. I can't do that to my parents.

"Well, I guess that's that then." He murmurs quietly, "It's just…" he trails off and seems at a loss for what to say.

I stop what I'm doing and turn to look at him with a sad smile, "I know buddy. I'm going to miss you too."

I give him a big hug, even though he's still not used to such affection, and he looks down at the ground not wanting to meet my eyes for a moment as he gets a reign on his emotions. "Well, I best be getting the pie out of the oven before it burns. Have to make sure it's ready for the fair tomorrow." He attempts to smile briefly at me, but it falls flat before walking away.

"Aww, Bilbo...after the amazing quest you go on, you'll hardly remember me I'm sure, " I murmur to the empty doorway sadly.

I heave a sigh at the mood that's come over the house. Grabbing a wicker basket, I head down to the market for some supplies. I need some tools to make a fire, and a butcher knife to defend myself. Hobbits don't have swords it seems. And if they do, they're used for decoration and are considered antiques that aren't for sale.

I meander about the village, taking my time with the supplies and groceries. It'll be my last day in Hobbiton. Tomorrow morning I'll be heading off into the great unknown of Middle Earth to find Lord Elrond and the elves. It's kind of poetic if you think about it...like I'm a mini version of Bilbo and I'm going off on my own adventure. I'm really going to miss this place though. It's as lovely as a breath of pure air. I wonder if I could ever find a place so peaceful in my world? My city in Nevada has too much commotion and gambling and crime. Maybe a country life is the life my spirit secretly longs for?

"Peyton! PEYTON!"

I turn, confused to see Bilbo power-walking toward me, almost jogging. "PEYTON! Oh! You will not believe it! You simply WON'T believe it!" Bilbo sputters and points behind him in the direction of his house.

I look behind him in that direction but don't see anything, "What? What won't I believe?" I realize he's not pointing at anything in particular, he's simply pointing at a memory in his head.

Bilbo finally reaches me and grabs both of my hands in his and earnestly looks at my face, "Gandalf! He was here!"

"WHAT?!"

I rip my hands away only to grab at his shoulders, "Where?!"

He's finally here?! But...I thought...

"Yes, yes, he was right here…I mean THERE, at my home! I was smoking my old toby on my garden bench, just trying to relax, and I opened my eyes, and he was standing right there! As if he had appeared out of thin air!" Bilbo looks preoccupied as if traumatized by his encounter with Gandalf. "I said 'good morning' and then he started questioning me about it, completely confusing me! And he said he was Gandalf and Gandalf is him, or...something of the sort. He was a bit rude..." He drifts off, seeming a bit lost from the encounter.

"Bilbo! Did you tell him about me?" I shake him a little, trying to make him focus.

"Oh, oh, yes. Yes, I did!" Bilbo murmurs, shaking off whatever stupor had befallen him. "He said he would return and speak with you tonight. Said he was going on an adventure and he said something about informing 'the others'?" He drifts off, seeming lost again.

"What did YOU say about ME? Did you tell him I was from another world?"

"Uh, no." I let his shoulders go and Bilbo and I begin walking in the direction of Bag End together, "I'm afraid that didn't come up. But he told me he was looking for someone to share in an adventure with and how this adventure would be amusing for him or something of the sort...uh, and I said that I have a friend who has been waiting for him to arrive for months! I invited him to come back for dinner tonight. That way we can all sit down and get you back home."

"Bilbo!" I stop on the path and pull the hobbit in for another big hug, "You're the greatest! Do you know what this means?!" At Bilbo's questioning look I continue, "I'm going home tonight! I won't need to go to Rivendell after all! Gandalf will be able to send me back tonight!"

My lungs feel like they can breathe again as they fill with air and an invisible weight on my back floats away into the ether. Things will be back to normal soon. I'm coming Mom...

Bilbo gives me a smile, "Yes, well, I feel immensely better knowing that you won't be going off on your own to Rivendell! Who knows what foul beast would have found you first!"

"Eh, I would have been able to avoid it."

My toxic trait is that I think I have plot armor, which I don't. Bilbo is the one with the plot armor. This isn't even my story!

"Oh! Look! Is that his mark on your door?" I ask as we finally reach his house. It's barely a scratch, really, but it faintly shimmers with magic.

"What?! NO!" Bilbo cries, absolutely beside himself, "I JUST had Hamfast paint that door yesterday!"

I grimace. "Don't worry. I'm sure Gandalf will take it off tonight?" Yeah, he probably won't.

"Oh no he WON'T!" Bilbo mutters to my surprise, disappearing inside only to reappear with a damp washcloth that he whips about himself in unholy hobbit fury, "I'm taking this mark off RIGHT NOW!"

I smirk, "Yeah, good luck with that. I'm going inside to make some tea. I'll get you one too."

I leave him to fuss over the door since I know it'll be futile. It's magic.

As I put the tea together, a delicious chamomile blend from Bilbo's herb garden, I think about all these events occurring at the same time. Gandalf is finally here! On the eve of my departure? What are the odds of that? I stir my cup as I think, frowning. Such rotten luck to have missed him while I was in town. I could have been home right this very moment! I also find it interesting that Bilbo will be going on his own adventure and leaving the Shire at the same time that I'll be going back home and leaving Middle Earth. Coincidence? I think not. That niggling of destiny comes back to my brain. It's all so strange.

The rest of the day is spent with Bilbo, cleaning the house (not that it was dirty in the first place) and preparing for our guest(s)...Bilbo notices I made three LARGE bowls of garlic butter and rosemary mashed potatoes using the entire stock of potatoes that he has in his pantry.

"The three of us can't even eat HALF a bowl of that! Three large bowls are enough to feed a troll!" He gripes, clearly thinking that I've lost my marbles and wasting good food.

"Leftovers!", I shrug sheepishly, feeling a little guilty that I'm not going to forewarn him.

"But they will go bad!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure someone will eat them."

Bilbo mutters to himself in frustration and insists that I should take some home with me for my family to try, and we leave it at that.

It's finally dark and Bilbo and I am sitting at his table, watching the clock on his mantlepiece. We have been waiting anxiously with no sight of them for the past hour since sunset and the food that Bilbo prepared has gotten cold.

I frown and turn to him, "Are you SURE that Gandalf said tonight?"

"I was the one who told him to come for dinner tonight, so I am quite sure." He checks his pocket watch. "He's completely missed dinner though. Perhaps he meant to arrive for supper instead?"

Just then the doorbell rings. "Goodness, are wizards normally so late?!" Bilbo asks, a bit annoyed as he briskly walks to the door.

"Yeah, pretty much. Although they'll deny it." I mutter as I follow him, remembering Gandalf's words to Frodo.

Bilbo opens the door and we both stare in shock at a bald dwarf in a brown cloak turning towards us. That's not Gandalf.

"Dwalin, at your service."

He bows and there are strange square tattoos on his bald head.

This is Dwalin the dwarf?! I am at a loss for words, completely thrown off by his appearance. He has a huge black mustache the same size as his beard, and huge sideburns. He looks like a mix between a Viking and a Hells Angels biker, with leather and fur around his shoulders and large boots, reminding me of the only other dwarf I've met in Middle Earth. He is not old, just like Thorin was not old. Middle aged, certainly. But… he doesn't have a blue beard or a green cloak like the book says! J. R. Tolkien is a freaking liar!

Dwalin moves to come inside and Bilbo thankfully is able to speak, unlike me who's just staring like an imbecile at Dwalin. "Uh, excuse me but h-have we met?" Bilbo stutters politely.

Translation: Back up Jack! Why are you barging unannounced into my house?!

"No?" Dwalin says, confused that Bilbo would ask such a question before continuing past me with a respectful nod, deeper into the smial. "Which way laddie?" He goes down the hall, "Is it in here?"

"Is what in here?" Bilbo asks bewildered and follows him.

"Supper. They said there'd be food and lots of it!"

I remain there, staring out into the dark. Confused. Where's Balin? Where are the other dwarves? Where's Gandalf?

I feel sick to my stomach staring out into the darkness, suddenly feeling very lost. All I know of the story is the cartoon and the book, mostly the cartoon. How are things so different? Have I just forgotten what the book says since it's been so long since I've read either or seen either in years? Or am I in an alternate reality of Middle Earth? How did I get here?

My worried feeling doesn't go away as I finally close the door and walk woodenly into the room where Dwalin is tucking into the meal that Bilbo had set out for Gandalf with great relish.

"Where's Gandalf?" I ask him as I sit down to the table myself.

Dwalin analyzes me before swallowing the extremely large bite he was chewing, "I dun'no. I di' not travel with 'im. He told me to come 'ere two weeks ago, and here I am. I am sure he'll be along later." He then takes another large bite of the mashed potatoes and makes an appreciative sound. I smile, pleased that he likes it.

His accent is less refined than his King's. An overwhelming curiousity to ask about how Thorin is doing comes over me, but I bite it down.

"Gandalf told you to come two weeks ago!?" Bilbo asks, and glances over at me with raised eyebrows, and then back to Dwalin, "It would have been nice if he had warned me."

"He did." I look over at him wryly, feeling slightly better with Dwalin's pronouncement. "He said he would inform 'the others'."

Bilbo gives me a peeved look as if to say that isn't good enough when the door rings again.

"That'll be the door." Dwalin says with a smug look at Bilbo.

I'm curious about who will arrive next since in the cartoon it had been Thorin who arrived first. I smile widely at Dwalin after Bilbo goes to the door as if he and I are in on a joke together. Dwalin, however, leans back in his chair regally and gives me a strange look that I can't say is quite friendly. I'm sure he's wondering why a short human woman is beaming sunnily at him.

"What's your name, lass?" He asks, his voice gruff.

"Uhh, Peyton." I blink, surprised at his directness. Everyone I've met up until now in Middle Earth has been very polite for the most part and they speak in friendly cheerful tones when meeting me for the first time. Even if they don't like me, they are still polite. There's a whole little dance of words you have to perform to show good breeding and etiquette and all that.

Not Dwalin though. He doesn't strike me as the dancing sort.

"Evening brother."

Both Dwalin and I look over and see a white-haired dwarf, marching slowly up to Dwalin who slowly stands from the table in what appears to be happiness.

"By my beard..." He grins. "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Shorter, not wider. Smart enough for the both of us."

The two dwarves grab each other firmly by the shoulders, gazing at each other warmly and chuckling. I'm observing them both intently, intent on finding out which dwarf he is when it finally hits me, "Ballin?" I whisper softly to myself. Balin is Dwalin's brother, so could it be him? Unless all the dwarves call each other brother?

Both dwarves look at me, Dwalin's face stoic while Balin's eyebrows are the only thing that changes as they raise in surprise. I blush as I realize I said his name out loud.

"Evening, Miss." he says cordially with a small bow, although his smile is not as big as earlier. I realize that I must have interrupted something between them.

"Evening, sir," I say, embarrassed. Balin is one of the kindest and most sensible of the dwarves of the group according to the book. I've always liked him. He looks at me strangely though, so I think my eyes are sparkling with a little too much mischief. I try to hold in the excitement and try again, "I trust you had a pleasant journey here?"

"Yes, it was as well as could be expected." He nods. "And you are a relation of Master Baggins here, I presume?"

Balin would never be so rude as to ask outright if I was Bilbo's wife, but I know that's his polite way of asking it.

I shake my head, "I'm of no relation to Bilbo. Just a friend. I'm here to meet with Gandalf, actually!"

"I see," Balin says cautiously. Then he smiles and this time it's a little more genuine. "He should be along later."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware we'd be having more guests," Bilbo says upset as he comes into the room. "I only set the table for three of us."

Dwalin then pats Balin on the back, "Come brother, let's check the pantry. We must begin preparing." They move past me to the larder beyond.

"Preparing?! Preparing for Wha- Did you know about this?" Bilbo turns to me and asks in a low, worried voice.

I give an apologetic grimace, "Uhh, well, you see…"

"Peyton!" He whispers in outraged shock. "That's why you used all my potatoes! How many more of these dwarves are there?"

"Look, I can't tell you everything that happens in the future! Where's the fun in that?" I hold my arms out, trying to appeal to his rationality. Honestly, you'd think he would be a little more sympathetic to ME and what I have to deal with with this whole future thing. I look back at the dwarves. Things are the same but different. Have I changed it or is this how it really should be?

Bilbo notices them moving things around in his pantry and the polite griping starts. "Uh, excuse me?" He calls out, "Sirs? There's been a terrible mistake. I like to know who I'm inviting into my home. I like visitors! Very much in fact! But, the fact of this matter is that I don't know who either one of you are. Not in the slightest. I hate to be blunt, but I really must speak my mind. I'm sorry."

Both dwarves immediately stop and turn to look at Bilbo. What Bilbo meant to say was: I don't know who the hell you are, and I didn't invite you to my home. Now, stop rummaging around in my pantry like you own the damn place! Once Gandalf arrives we will sort this bloody mess out!

But, of course, he speaks like a Canadian so the dwarves don't understand.

"Apology accepted." Balin smiles.

I laugh into my hand. That was so funny. Then the door rings again.

Bilbo turns to look at me with shock and dismay but I quickly start to drink deeply from my chamomile tea I made earlier, avoiding his eyes as he groans and goes back to the door.

Two male voices echo down the hallway "Fili", "And Kili", "At your service!"

I grin, "Oh great. The twins are here." They aren't REALLY twins, but they practically could be.

I turn to see Balin and Dwalin watching me and my amused expression. "Kili and Fili are here." I repeat with a smile with my thumb pointed towards the door, trying to make friendly small talk to put them at ease.

It doesn't. They frown, seeming very wary of me now. Dwalin passes me with a glare as he heads down the hall.

What did I say?

"Fili, Kili, come on, help us move the table." I hear his voice.

"Mister Dwalin!" A male voice says enthusiastically before he and Dwalin turn the corner into the room.

My mouth drops open as I see what I'm guessing is Kili in the flesh. Dark hair, like Thorin's but not nearly as wavy, with a shaved face and bright chocolate eyes. He's sporting thick dwarvish clothing like the rest of them.

He also falters when he sees me but Dwalin pushes him past me, not allowing him to stop and make introductions.

"Who's this?" He asks anyways, turning his head to gaze back at me in surprise. I stare back at him, amazed and confused. He looks nothing like how I'd imagined him. He's supposed to be blonde! And not nearly this good-looking. The cartoon made him look like a cute little doll. But this guy? This guy looks like he could actually blend-in in my world with just a wardrobe change as a male magazine model.

I try to speak up, "I'm-"

"A guest of Mister Baggins. Now, hurry and help with this otherwise we'll never get everyone in." Balin jumps in. I blink at him, surprised at the curt way he interrupted me. He responds by giving me an 'I'm onto you' kind of look.

"Well hello there..." I turn to see a blond dwarf with braids in his hair (and his mustache?!), smiling at me and propped against the doorframe. He gives me a sultry look, "And who might you be?"

I smile widely at him. This must be Fili! At least HE's blonde like the book and cartoon! "I'm-"

"-Visiting Mr. Baggins 'ere." Dwallin rudely interrupts, grabbing Fili by his pack's strap that's slung across his chest and pulls him roughly into the room and past me.

At first, I feel offended, but then a light clicks on in my head and it turns to amusement. They think I'm a spy and they need to protect the line of Durin.

"Hey! How many more of you are there?!" Bilbo comes around the corner carrying a bunch of weapons. I raise my eyebrows at him in shock. Where did he get all of those!? From just these two?

The dwarves either don't hear him or choose to ignore him and chat amongst themselves.

I have pity on him, "Nine more." I give him another apologetic smile.

"What?!" He gasps angrily. "Oooooh-ho-HO! You and I are going to have some words. I can tell you that, Peyton Silva!"

I gulp. An angry Bilbo is like a cute kitten biting your fingers; it thinks it's a tiger mauling you, but it's really just an adorable fluff ball. Still...I feel guilty. Maybe I should have broken my little rule and forewarned him after all?

I glance back at the dwarves only to notice that Balin is silent and staring at me. Ahhh, so he WAS ignoring Bilbo. I realize that he heard me telling Bilbo there are nine more and he's now officially onto me. I give him an innocent look while raising my eyebrows and shrug. Balin doesn't buy my innocent look at all and folds his arms across his chest, his white bushy eyebrows frowning.

I feel a stab of anxiety. Even though I'll be going home soon, out of all the dwarves in the company I don't want BALIN to dislike me before I leave. He's like a miniature Dwarf Gandalf!

Just then, the doorbell rings.

Saved by the bell.

"I'll get it!" I turn around and walk past Bilbo. I wonder who it is this time? Dark wavy hair, with intense sapphire eyes come into my mind and my heart starts pounding frantically. I don't pay attention to Bilbo's protests as I rush away from the group and down the hall to the door.

I open it with a flourish, "Welcome to-"

A huge pile of dwarves fall at my feet with various thuds and groans. "Bombur! You weigh a ton!", "Get off!", "You have to get up first!", "Argh!", "You landed on me leg!", "Grarrgh!"

I stare down at them in shock and dismay. They had been leaning on the door. Nice job Pey.

I look up and see a grey robe, and then a head full of matching grey hair bows down in order to look inside the home. A pointy hat is sitting on his head.

There he is. The most famous wizard in my world. Well, besides Harry Potter anyways.

"Gandalf." I breathe out in awe.

Chapter Text

It's HIM! The Wandering Wizard, the Grey Pilgrim, Stormcrow, Incanus, Mithrandir, Olórin, Tharkun…

"Gandalf," I whisper again, an amazed smile slowly making its way onto my face.

He looks at me, his face wrinkled with age, but his eyes…. his eyes are like a blue flame. He's old and wrinkly in appearance but I know on the inside he is timeless. Age means nothing. I don't know if it's because I know who he truly is or if it's because I can sense it. Probably a little of both.

I don't even notice the dwarves getting up to their feet around him. "It's really you!…THE Gandalf the Grey! Someone pinch me...I don't believe it!"

His bushy eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise at my strange, worshiping behavior. He offers me a friendly smile, "And you must be the lovely young lady that Bilbo mentioned has been wanting to see me. A pleasure to meet you, Miss….?"

"Peyton." I eagerly offer him a handshake but just as quickly put my hand back down, remembering handshakes aren't the norm here. I give an awkward curtsey instead, "And the, uh, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you." I suddenly realize that I am blocking the door and the dwarves are all just glancing between me and Gandalf, some curious and some a little annoyed they are being kept from their dinner.

I quickly move aside, "Oh, sorry, please come in!"

A protest of shocked betrayal comes from behind me, and I turn to see Bilbo has followed me to the door. What does he expect me to do? Slam the door in their faces?

I give him a guilty shrug as the dwarves walk in between us, mumbling their various greetings and offering their services to the distraught hobbit.

Gandalf comes in at last and his head almost brushes the ceiling. He looks down at me with a confused smile, "You're quite short for a human. How old are you, Miss Peyton?"

"I'm twenty-seven, and yeah, I get that a lot." I shrug and stare up at him. He literally towers over me and everyone else. It feels so weird seeing a normal human again after being with only short people for the past two months. It is...jarring. "Are you sure you're not just really tall?" I give him a playful grin to let him know I'm joking.

Gandalf's eyes crease in mirth and he gives a chuckle. He nods, his deep voice amiable, "It's very possible!" He then turns to the host, "Ah! Bilbo! Thank you for having all of us over for dinner."

I watch fondly as Bilbo rips into Gandalf: giving him a piece of his mind in his polite, Hobbit way. It feels so surreal! Just like it felt when I first met THE Bilbo Baggins two months ago it feels so crazy to be in the presence of THE Gandalf. Like a celebrity that you really want to act cool around so they'll want to hang out later on and then you'll have a cool celebrity friend.

The incredible reality that I'm here, in a beloved story, meeting all these characters in the flesh, washes over me again. It feels like I'm at Disneyland meeting my favorite princess or something. It's quite insane. And just like in Disneyland, I briefly wonder if I should go around and get everyone's signatures before I go back to my world tonight.

Or maybe Gandalf can use his wizard powers to charge my cellphone for me to take a group photo! Can he do that? I don't know how magic works. He actually seems less crazy than in the cartoon.

Bilbo has ended his long spiel and is now chasing after dwarves up and down the halls while I've been lost in thought. Gandalf and I are the only ones standing alone by the door.

I nervously scratch the back of my head, "Gandalf, I have heard SO much about you…I honestly don't know where to begin…I-" I suddenly frown as I notice the hat that he's taken off his head is a grey color and not blue. "Your hat isn't blue?"

Gandalf raises his eyebrows before looking down at the hat clasped in his hand and then back at me, "Should it be?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, it was always described as blue." I'm worried about all these details. "And your clothes are different too." He looks like he's wearing a tattered grey Snuggie. Where's the scarf?

Gandalf gives me a polite smile, "Perhaps we can talk somewhere calm?" He asks, glancing around at the dwarves reuniting joyfully (and loudly) with the others. My eyes widen as I notice many of them head-butting each other. Ouch?

I swallow then nod, leading him around the head-banging dwarves and painful-looking back claps as we head towards Bilbo's back parlor.

The sound progressively grows louder as we move into the middle of the frenzy, the dwarves make themselves at home, walking to and fro, bringing dishes and foods from the kitchen or pantry to the dining room that Balin and Dwalin have set up.

I can hear my poor friend protesting at the mud being tracked in and the dwarves obnoxiously fiddling with his different decorations and furniture in the rooms. I'm shocked to notice a dwarf with a star-shaped hairstyle put a gold-framed picture sneakily into his jacket pocket.

As I pass Bilbo by; I whisper helpfully in his ear, "Keep an eye on the star-shaped dwarf. He's pickpocketing your family photos." I don't look back to see his poor face as I continue on down the hallway with a slouching Gandalf, but I hear him exclaim, "Which one has a star-shaped head?!" before I close the door behind Gandalf.

The loud din immediately lowers to a low murmur with the door shut and I heave a sigh, turning to the wizard standing in the room. The knowledge who this great man is makes the small room seem smaller.

"Feel free to sit." I indicate a chair, before realizing that it's too small for his hips and rush to grab a nearby stool. Once we're both seated I give a self-conscious chuckle and repeat, "I don't know where to begin."

"I have always found that the beginning is the best place to begin." He gives me a patient smile but I feel like he is humoring me.

His expression is one of politeness, but he feels distant, no doubt wanting to get back to the quest he has organized. It feels as if he already plans on saying no to whatever I request of him due to the fact that he's already very occupied for the next year or so. I huff a little in embarrassment. Of course.

And so I tell Gandalf all that has befallen me for the past two months. Starting with waking up in the field in the woods by Michel Delving alone, to meeting Thorin Oakenshield on the road, to finding out that Middle Earth is actually a real place and somehow I'm on the planet Arda instead of on planet Earth, to at last finding Bilbo and awaiting Gandalf's arrival.

Gandalf slowly loses his patient, polite look and looks more and more intrigued. The only indicators I have of what Gandalf is thinking are his bushy grey eyebrows and fire-blue eyes which are very expressive as they shift between confusion, shock, amusement, pity, and deep contemplation.

The two things that seem to surprise him the most about my story are, firstly, that it was Thorin who was the first soul I met once arriving, and secondly that I already knew about the Quest for Erebor from books in my own world. Since I trust Gandalf to have less of an existential crisis than Bilbo, I let him know that it was from those books and cartoon adaptions that I was able to know how to find Bilbo and, consequently, himself.

"That is one of the most fascinating tales I have ever heard, my dear," Gandalf gives me a sincere expression, "And I have heard many in my lifetime."

"Yeah, a couple thousand years is nothing to shake a stick at." I agree absentmindedly while staring at Bilbo's intricate hand-crafted rug but not seeing it. His response is a little troubling. He's never heard of a situation like mine before? Like, ever?

Gandalf leans back on his stool and stares at me incredulously. "How do you know my true age? No one but the elves know my age!" He asks in utter amazement.

"I told you. This whole adventure is written in a book in my world."

He leans forward then and there is no nonsense in his demeanor. His blue eyes narrow at me critically, "What elsedo you know?"

He's testing me.

I feel a pang of worry in my stomach that he seems skeptical. How can he not believe me? My mind goes through all the information I just gave him, and I have to admit the whole tale IS quite fantastical. Bilbo didn't believe me at first either.

I shrug, "I only know the basics. I know you're of a group called the Mayars?"

"Maiar." He corrects automatically and then shuts his mouth to not help me again.

"Right. So, you're technically much much older than a couple of thousand years. Oh! I remember that you serve the Valar? Or the Illutar? Or the Eru? Someone like that." I wave my pitiful explanation away, "Honestly, I don't really know much else about you Gandalf except… I know that you are good. And that despite all your mysteries and cryptic sayings- you can be trusted. I was obviously wrong about the blue hat and scarf. But…I know I'm right about your character."

He says nothing but watches me for a moment. I wonder what he is searching for? He seems to find it, however, if the small smile that appears on his mouth is anything to go by.

He gives me a respectful nod, "I'm quite impressed, Miss Peyton. I don't believe I've ever met anyone like you."

"Someone from another world?" I frown worriedly.

This is not good. I thought this sort of thing would be right up his alley. He's a wizard for crying out loud! I thought he dealt with crazy situations like mine on a daily basis!

"Yes. As well as the fact that you know the future with such detail…" he mumbles to himself, puffing on his pipe, and thinking deeply. "This could be very beneficial..."

I blink at him. He's not suggesting what I THINK he's suggesting, is he? There's a very specific reason that I can't go on the quest. I really REALLY can't.

"Uhh, Gandalf? Back to the main question at hand…how do I get back to Earth?" Best to not let him get any ideas.

Gandalf nods as if not really hearing me. "Of course, of course. You must be getting back. But WHY have youcome seems like a much more important question, wouldn't you agree?"

My eyebrows furrow. "No? I mean, well…sure, it's an interesting question, most definitely. I've been wondering about that this whole time too…but after two months of hanging around Hobbiton, I've kinda just reached the conclusion that it's all a glitch in the matrix or something. But, regardless, I should probably get home and THEN worry about why I was here don't you think?"

Gandalf looks confused by my matrix reference, but moves past it and shakes his head, "I hate to disagree with you, Miss Peyton, but I do not see how that would be logical." He puffs on his pipe.

"What do you mean?" I ask him worriedly.

"Well, you were obviously sent to Arda…to Middle Earth…to the Shire…nay to BILBO BAGGINS' home of all places!… for a marvelous purpose. A mission of sorts! Same as me. Same as everyone, when you really think about it." He gives me an earnest look.

Purpose? I shake my head and smile, amused, "Gandalf, Gandalf...the story is already written. There's no need for me in any of it. Evil is destroyed, good wins the day, and everyone's happy! It's a classic fairytale ending!"

Gandalf gives me a searching look, "What about Thorin?"

I inhale a quiet gasp and my mouth drops open as my eyes widen in realization. Thorin. And not only Thorin but Kili and Fili! I had almost forgotten, more focused on the events of the Lord of the Rings timeline. My face is a dead giveaway especially with Gandalf watching me carefully.

"How...how do you know about that?"

"About what?" Gandalf replies, still staring intently.

"About...Thorin's death?"

At that, it's Gandalf's turn to be blown over by the hurricane. His lips part and his pipe falls from his mouth, quite forgotten, "Thorin dies?" His voice is pained.

I frown in confusion. "Uhhh, wasn't that what you were referring to?"

"No, Miss Peyton," His face is grim and worried, "No, I was referring to the fact that the first person you came in contact with in this world WAS Thorin Oakenshield, the exiled King Under the Mountain. Who, as you already know, will be here tonight, about to go on a quest to reclaim his homeland. It all seems so...so..." he doesn't finish but rather puts the pipe back in his mouth, puffing away, now quite distracted with his thoughts.

"So?" I prompt, wondering what he is thinking. When he doesn't continue I prompt again, "So what, Gandalf? What does meeting Thorin first have to do with me being here?"

Gandalf pulls the pipe out of his mouth once more and shrugs, staring at the room around us in grim contemplation of his dwarf friend's death, "It simply struck me as an interesting key part to the story is all. It may be nothing. Just a coincidence." He then turns his blue Maiar eyes on me, arresting me to my seat, "Or…it may be everything. It may be why you're here, Peyton of Earth. Especially, with this unsettling new development about Thorin's fate…."

I feel a little dizzy, "You think I was brought to Middle Earth because of….a dwarf?" I let out an incredulous laugh. I really must be in the twilight zone. Cue the freaky music. Nothing makes sense. What does a fictional character like Thorin Oakenshield have to do with me? "Uh, no. That's definitely not why I'm here, Gandalf. Impossible. There's no way I could save him." I shake my head, completely confident.

"Why not?" Gandalf asks with a puff of his lips.

"Because there's no way that I, Peyton Silva, can save him from Azog! That's just ludicrous! If the Valar wanted someone to save him then they would have sent a Navy Seal or John Cena or freaking Jackie Chan! Someone with nun-chuck skills or a sniper ability that can actually fight Azog!"

Gandalf's face turns even graver, "So…it is true. I had thought they were merely rumors..."

I tilt my head at him, but he merely looks off into space toward the open window into the night.

I have to prompt him with a sigh, "What rumors?"

"The Defiler lives." He replies gravely.

I nod. In the book he had been killed by Dain, but there was a deleted scene in the cartoons that showed it was Azog, not Bolg who had killed Thorin and Fili in the Battle of the Five Armies. I wasn't sure how Kili was killed. But I'm assuming it was Azog or Bolg that did it.

I sigh, "Yeah, he's still kicking."

But Gandalf isn't looking at me. He continues looking toward the open window into the night and I can tell that he's very upset.

I shake my head mournfully, "I'm sorry, Gandalf. I really am. I wish I could save him. He's...he's a really great guy and I admire him a lot. But…it's simply impossible. Not unless I knocked him out during the battle and chained him up in Erebor. And I don't think he would appreciate that."

I probably couldn't knock him out anyways. I'd probably piss him off trying, or I'd severely injure him. The guy can lift my whole body weight up with a single arm...so it would take nothing short of severe blunt-force trauma to the head to knock him out for an entire battle. Besides, why send me to knock him out? Why not send a super strong guy like Dwayne the Rock Johnson? Yeah, no. I definitely wasn't sent here to knockout/save Thorin.

Besides! I don't know much about dwarves but if Dwalin and Thorin's weapons and gruff manners seem any indicator, they would rather die than receive dishonor for not fighting.

Gandalf finally looks at me with a sigh, seeming to have decided something and his face is somber and serious, "I am of the Maiar, as you already know. We act by the guidance of Eru Iluvatar but we are not perfect and we do not know all things. Some things that seem to be small and weak are actually of the greatest importance. And some things that seem of immense importance are, in fact, rather inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. And this situation that you find yourself in, Miss Peyton- you are here for a purpose. Of that, I am sure. Sometimes knowledge comes from more places than just your head. Sometimes it comes from your heart, and what you feel."

Woah. That's deep.

I can't help but lean towards him, full of wonder, "And...what does your heart tell you, Gandalf?"

He smiles, and counteracts, "The better question is: what does YOUR heart tell you, Peyton of Earth?"

I frown, blinking and thinking hard. Finally, I have to shake my head, "It isn't telling me anything Gandalf... except that my family is worried sick." I begin feeling anxious, noticing that he essentially dodged my question and I HATE that. "What should we do? I've spent two months here in the Shire, but I haven't seen anything that would necessitate me being here in the first place. Why am I here?"

"We shall find out soon enough." Gandalf nods cryptically and then pushes himself off the stool. "Come, let us see to the others. I don't want my hobbit to have an aneurysm."

My mouth gapes as he opens the door and slips out without another word to me. The loud laughter and talking from outside spills into the room through the door he has left open. I realize we've been talking for quite some time, and the cacophony outside has just gotten worse as Bilbo begins shouting "Put that back! Put that back this instant!"

He was definitely dodging the question. Plus, how does he even know what an aneurysm is if there are no advanced medical technology in Middle Earth?!

"Oh! And one more thing!"

Gandalf pops his head back into the room, startling me. "I think it best that you keep your foreknowledge to yourself. At least until I receive further instruction from the Valar."

"Uh, ok." I say, deferring to his counsel. He is Gandalf, after all.

He gives me a nod before popping his head back out of the room.

I sit there, feeling frustrated and antsy. I thought for sure that Gandalf would send me straight home after hearing my tale. I imagined that he would show up, wave his staff around my head while I clicked my heels three times, and said, 'there's no place like home!' I thought I'd be back in Nevada by now!

Wrong fairytale story to wake up in, I guess.

I bring a hand through my hair distractedly and after a moment's deliberation, I finally go after Gandalf. I don't want to let him out of my sight. I can be patient and go home at the end of the night. I waited two months so what's a few hours more, right?

I make it to the main hall and see him speaking with one of the dwarves who gives him a teeny cup of Bilbo's wine to drink while he also pats Bilbo on the back in an attempt to comfort him. Poor Bilbo is beside himself with agitation.

I glance around worriedly, guessing that Thorin has already showed up while I was with Gandalf. I sneakily check each room, wanting to see him before he sees me, but I don't see any sign of him. The most noise is coming from the dining room. My morbid curiosity gets the better of me, and I ease my way over, slowly sticking my head into the room to take a peak.

The table is a pig stye. It looks like someone just threw a bunch of random food onto the table. Very different from the organized and deliciously seasoned meals Bilbo likes to make.

Basically, they've taken the whole pantry, poured it into bowls and onto plates, and set it all on the table. All of Bilbo's salted ham, summer sausages, winter apples, sourdough bread, zucchini muffins, heirloom tomatoes, salted pork, cucumbers and vegetables from his garden, cut pears and apricots, whole grain crackers and all the cheeses of the rainbow are spread out, except for the Blue cheese (which the dwarves must not like). Someone even opened up Bilbo's jar of pickled eggs, which fills the room with its pickled smell.

I spy Bilbo's Strawberry-rhubarb pie he was going to take to the village fair tomorrow, and I think that must be what he was so angrily shouting about before Gandalf and I arrive. Poor guy. He won't be going to the fair tomorrow, so it's best it gets eaten anyways.

As I watch, Fili gets up on the table and starts passing out tankards of ale. All the dwarves are pushed up against the walls and there's no room at all. Unless you go over or underneath the table. Fili surprisingly doesn't step on anything, but I'm sure I saw some of the dirt of his boots drop into the bread pudding. Yikes.

I slowly slide back from my sneaky ninja peaking so they don't see me. Thorin's not in there.

A rough throat clearing causes me to turn to find the fierce-looking Dwalin holding a mug of ale up to his chest, watching me closely while he leans against the wall opposite of me.

I don't know if it's his bald tattooed head or dark eyebrows, but he paints quite an intimidating picture as he studies me in a disapproving manner.

I raise an eyebrow, attempting to be brave, "Can I help you, Dwalin?"

He raises a stern one as well.

His voice is deep and his brogue is thick, "Yeh aren't a hobbit, you're no' a relation of Mr. Baggin,'ere. Neither are ye his wife." He nods over at Bilbo who is currently staring at his empty hamper in dismay. "You've spoken with the wizard like ye wanted, yes?...So what are yeh still doing here, lass?"

Way to be blunt about it. No beating around the bush with this one. After speaking with Gandalf, who seems to enjoys dancing around people with his words, I actually find it quite refreshing if a bit formidable.

"Same thing that you are." I fold my arms and copy his stance, "I'm trying to get home."

He looks surprised that I know about their quest before his face darkens, and he lowers the mug of ale a little, "You know more about the situation than yeh should. Who told yeh? Was it the wizard?"

"No. I just know things." I give him a cryptic smile as I lean against the wall next to the doorway.

"He's not going to like this." He mutters lowly into his mug of ale. I frown, wondering who he's talking about when I realize he must mean the leader of the company.

"Thorin will have to deal with me being here just for tonight." I roll my eyes. "I'll be gone by morning, same as you."

He looks up at me in surprise yet again and even MORE suspicion that I know who he is speaking of. "How did yeh come to know the princes and Thorin?"

"I've never met the princes until today."

Dwalin pushes himself off the wall, "You lie. Ye knew Kili and Fili by the sounds of their voices before they had even entered the room."

"No? I heard them announcing themselves at the door to Bilbo. I swear, I was actually really surprised to see what they looked like. I thought they'd be…different."

He doesn't believe me. "And Thorin?" He presses.

"I met his highness at the end of his sword that he pointed at me once," I reply drolly with a smirk, wondering if Dwalin will make the same mistake the innkeeper at Michel Delving did.

Dwalin doesn't draw the same inference the innkeeper did, probably because he knows Thorin personally. He actually gives me a mean smile, "What did ye do to deserve it?"

No hesitation or guessing. Dwalin knows his King is innocent.

It's my turn to scowl, annoyance and embarrassment staining my cheeks red, "I didn't deserve it. I asked him which direction to town."

"I seriously doubt that." He then gives me a look before our concentration is interrupted by the dwarves in the dining room shouting something and then downing their ale. He shakes his head before raising his mug and gulping his ale with them.

"Why? Because he's such a gentleman?" I return to the topic at hand and tilt my head to the side, curious as to what he will say. I already know Thorin is an amazing person. It was very kind of him and completely out of character to take me to Michel Delving. But I want to hear Dwalin's answer and I wait as he finishes gulping down the ale, and gives a burp. The echoing burps come from the dining room's doorway.

I wrinkle my nose in surprise. My brothers and I had burping contests all the time. But that was in the privacy of our home, never at a guest's house.

"Because Thorin would never threaten a maiden without good cause." He shrugs off the wall, leveling me with a glare. "So, again, I'll ask...what did ye do to deserve it?"

"Just ask him yourself tonight. He even apologized for frightening me." I roll my eyes and shrug off the wall as well before walking away. Honestly? I'm actually disappointed with these dwarves. So far they've been nothing but rude, obnoxious, and presuming.

I don't look back to see Dwalin's expression, but I can feel him watch my back as I go over to Bilbo who is staring mournfully at his larder.

"Sorry, Bilbo." I say, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Sorry that you have to hang out with these guys for the next year, I mean.

"This will take me WEEKS to restock..." he moans, shaking his head.

I don't say anything. He won't be here tomorrow, so he'll look back with gratitude at this moment. It'd be horrible to come back to a house full of spoiled, slimy food. The smell would be unbearable for all the neighbors.

I hear a few thumps of something hitting the floor and we both turn around to see food fly out from the dining room doorway and land in the hallway. Dwalin is nowhere to be seen, so he must have joined the others. Gandalf has finished eating and comes out.

He sees Bilbo and I standing together and comes over to us, "My dear Bilbo, what is the matter?"

I raise my eyebrow at him. Really Gandalf?

"What's the matter?!" Bilbo repeats, seething. "I'm surrounded by dwarves!" Bilbo indicates to some of the dwarves using his crocheted doilies to wipe their mouths.

"Oh, but they're quite the merry gathering! Er...once you get used to them."

"I don't want to get USED to them! They've trampled mud deep into my carpet, they've PILLAGED my pantry! And the bathroom? Oh! I'm not going to even tell you what they've done to the bathroom. Destroyed the plumbing completely! I invited you to my home because Peyton here is in need of your assistance! So what are the rest of them doing in my house?!"

"Excuse me?" We all turn to look at a small timid-looking dwarf, his brown hair cut like someone put a bowl on his head, holding a plate out in front of him politely, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

I blink in surprise. Well...they aren't ALL bad, at least.

"Here Ori, give it to me." Fili appears and takes it from Ori. He sends me a wink before suddenly throwing it at Gandalf! I gasp.

Gandalf moves to the side just in time for me to see that Kili is behind him, and he catches it. But then Kili throws it into the room next to him!

I think Bilbo's about to lose his head, "E-XCUSE me! That's my mother's father's dishes and they're almost a hundred years old!"

I grit my teeth and hold my breath. Bilbo is going to kill me. In the cartoon, they actually do break his plates.

Bilbo rushes over to the dining room to see what has become of the plates, only for Fili to start catching plates thrown at him from the room over, playing with them like he would a hacky sack on his arms and shoulders.

"What did you say your name was?" He smiles at me, not even looking at the plates bouncing on his arms.

"Uhhh..." I stare at him wide-eyed.

Bilbo's loud voice reaches us from the next room, "Get offthe table! That is fine carved mahogany and you're scuffing it with your boots! And…d-don't bang the knives together! You'll blunt them!"

"Oh! Did you hear that, lads? He said we'll blunt the knives!" A dwarf in a strange hat mocks him.

Kili begins to sing, "Blunt the knives, bend the forks!"

Fili next, "Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"

"Chip the glasses and crack the plaaaaaaates!"

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

My mouth drops open in a huge smile of amazement as cups and saucers begin to fly over and around me, Fili and Kili whizzing them around like they're made of paper.

I realize two things. One, their reflexes are mind-boggling. Is this a dwarf thing or have they just practiced a lot? It looked like they hadn't seen each other in a while, so when would they get the time to practice?

And two…how are they all singing the song… together…on the spot!? I know parts of the song from beforehand. But what's their excuse?

It's must be Dwarf magic.

I know they have their own brand of it, just like the elves. But how does that work exactly? Is it like Disney magic where the characters break out in song with synchronized dance moves, or something?

It's also full of trust, I realize. I look into the room over and Balin is shooting dishes up into the air without looking and simply trusts that someone will catch them. My anxiety could never. I mean what if someone makes a mistake? No one's perfect. One of the dwarves, I don't know who, is catching them being thrown at his back at the sink without looking. How can you always trust someone to never miss? Like, ever?

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" The dwarves finish with a loud cheer when Bilbo rushes into the room with a sigh of relief. Everyone laughs and I can't help but shake my head and give a slow clap, deeply impressed.

Dwarves must have some sort of mind connection with one another that they don't tell anyone about. It's the only thing that makes sense.

A knock sounds on the door and the company's laughter abruptly stops, leaving a heavy silence that engulfs the room. In that moment, my blood feels like someone poured ice water into it. A tight knot forms in my stomach, squeezing with an intensity that threatens to overwhelm me. The surreal enchantment of the singing fades, replaced by the realization that the most important dwarf of the company has finally arrived.

"It's him," Gandalf's voice carries a somber tone, his eyes meeting mine with a knowing look. His gaze seems to convey the weight of the impending encounter.

It seems almost funny that we're all so spooked by a very moody Dwarf King knocking on the door. But, as I look around the room, I realize that it isn't fear that grips the others, but rather a profound respect for their King. Borderline reverence, even.

Me, on the other hand? My stomach feels like it's full of grasshoppers doing acrobats, jumping all over the place. Equal parts excited and terrified. Mostly terrified. He's probably, most likely, TOTALLY going to freak out when he sees me here! Memories of the painfully awkward way we'd met one another punches me in my heart, causing me to cringe and yearn for retreat.

All the members immediately stand up and walk out to the main room, crowding around in the small space to show difference to their King. Should I just wait here then, or…?

I slowly stand up and look over at the adjoining room. Perhaps if I take small steps, I'll be able to slip away unnoticed? I really really don't want to see him again. Not like this, anyway. The whole thing is going to feel awkward and I'll have to apologize for even being here at his super-secret meeting and...let's just avoid all the drama shall we?

But then Gandalf shoots me with a knowing look and goes as far as to then indicate with his eyes and head that I am expected to stand with the others.

Humph! I scowl at him before heaving a sigh and walking out with the dwarves. I plant myself firmly behind Bombur and Bifur though. They're both big enough to hide behind, and I can still peak over their shoulders.

Gandalf opens the door.

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find."

His voice moves through me like ripples through water. Deep, like the rumble of a large dangerous cat who, for the moment, has put his claws away. My heart pounds and my stomach gives a stronger somersault than before. What will he do when he finds me standing here? Maybe I'll get lucky and he won't remember me? An exile dwarf king surely has more to worry about than some strange girl who sat behind him on a pony for two hours, right?

"I lost my way, twice. Wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

He takes off his traveling cloak and I can't help but drink in his appearance after not seeing him for two months. His lovely dark brown hair, as dark as the rich soil of Bilbo's garden, is unhindered by a hood this time and rests on his broad shoulders proudly.

Normally I dislike seeing guys with long hair. In my experience, they usually have unwashed, scraggly hair that smells like cigarettes, sweat, or weed. But Thorin's hair is voluminous and has a healthy glint to it. I notice those familiar neat braids still on either side of his head from before and I wonder if he ever changes his hairstyle? It directs my eyes to his handsome face like a picture frame.

His clothes are different than last time though. Darker, with more armor on his arms and chest, clearly prepared to go to battle for his mountain. Same belt and boots though.

Bilbo loudly protests about the mark on the door since he had forgotten to berate Gandalf about it earlier, only for Gandalf to shush him and then introduce him to Thorin.

"So…this is the hobbit." He studies Bilbo, circling him like a prowling lion, making fun of Bilbo's lack of skills, and looks over at the rest of us in mocking amusement.

Normally, I would stick up for Bilbo, but I feel strange. An odd detachment settles over me as if I'm simply an observer of a virtual reality. I'm curious to see what will happen next so I don't interrupt. Frantically, I try and think of when (if ever) would be a good time to ruin the evening and flip everything on its head by announcing myself? I should have planned this beforehand, but as I said to Gandalf before, I wasn't expecting to be here this long.

I look over at Gandalf, who is watching ME surprisingly.

I frown and shake my head slowly at him. I really don'tneed to talk with Thorin or let him know I'm even here. They'll be leaving tomorrow, so it might be easier if he and I don't cause a ruckus. I could slip away and be nothing more than a strange memory he'll have of Michel Delving. It will be better. For everyone.

I start slowly moving away, my bedroom is just down the hallway. Just a little further...

Suddenly Gandalf quietly thuds the ground with his staff. My feet stick to the wooden floor as if the shoes and wood have become fused together to form one element. I gasp loudly, looking down at my feet and then back at Gandalf and then back at my feet. How did he do that? I can't pick my feet off the floor! Magic!

It's the worst possible moment for me to gasp though, because there had been a moment of quiet in the hall. Thorin must have heard my gasp because when I glance up from my feet to Gandalf once more, his piercing blue eyes accentuated by dark eyebrows meet mine over Bombur's shoulder. His eyes comically widen as his whole body tenses up, and his lips part slightly in surprise.

Damn it! He remembers me!

All the dwarves notice his reaction and turn to look at me, including Bombur so there's no place to hide.

"Uhh, hi Thorin." I give an awkward half-hearted wave then pitifully add, "It's not what you think..."

Chapter Text

Thorin's heavy steal-toed boots cause Belladonna's heirlooms to rattle and the dwarves quickly part for him like the Red Sea, leaving me alone to face his wrath. He's not happy to see me.

"A lost girl in the woods." He growls, his blue eyes flashing with fury. He stops abruptly, just two feet in front of me. "It seems I was played the fool. You're nothing but a spy."

Oh boy. I'm dead meat.

Frantically, I remind myself that Thorin isn't a bad guy, and his suspicion is justified. I just...gotta try and reason with him.

I give a nervous laugh, shaking my head and raising my hands up in surrender, "No no no! No, I am not a spy. I’m just here to see Gandalf and get help to return to my world. I'm not from Middle Earth and I won't be joining you or your company's quest!" My calm and reasonable voice unfortunately becomes annoyingly high and reedy by the end of my speech.

Damn, this guy makes me nervous. Although he's only a couple of inches taller than me, he knows how to use his height to his advantage as he glowers at me. For a dwarf, he’s actually quite tall, which only serves as a reminder of how short I am.

His voice drops to a low, dangerous tone, "Do I look like a simpleton to you? I knew something was amiss the moment I spotted you in those woods. You were sent to spy on me. You are clearly aware of our quest and have come to determine our plans. Who are you? And how did you discover that I would be here tonight?"

I look helplessly at the wizard behind him, silently pleading for backup, which Thorin seems to accept as my admission that it WAS said wizard.

"...GANDALF!?" He abruptly turns, his accusatory gaze fixed on the wizard behind us.

Gandalf stands silently off to the side, calmly watching the two of us interact. Bilbo remains in the middle of the room, watching with wide eyes, internally struggling on whether he should intervene.

"Why would you inform this human woman about our meeting here tonight?" Thorin demands angrily.

"I have not spoken a word of the quest to anyone, Thorin. I have only just met Miss Peyton Silva here a few hours ago. We had the opportunity to talk and I believe her to be trustworthy. She speaks the truth - she wishes to return to her home in another world." Gandalf's tone is reassuring.

Some of the dwarves murmur in wonder at this pronouncement and cast me curious looks. Balin and Dwalin, on the other hand, frown disapprovingly. They know that I know more than I let on, and if I was from another world then I shouldn't know those things.

"It's true. She's been a guest here in my home for the past two months, and I request that you treat her with respect."

All the dwarves turn to Bilbo who tries and holds himself as tall as he can while pronouncing those words. They are in his house after all.

I give Gandalf and Bilbo a grateful smile behind Thorin's back. I'm glad I have them on my side at least.

"Peyton Silva?" Thorin repeats. He makes it sound like the strangest name he's ever heard and I realize with a start that I had not once introduced myself to him during the entire two-hour ride we shared.

"Yes, uh, sorry for not introducing myself before. I didn't know if you had abducted me or...or if you were playing a prank on me, so I thought you might already know who I was. I'm not from this world, as Gandalf said and...well, that's why you noticed something 'off' about me when you first met me." I gesture to my charming hobbit dress I have on.

His gaze briefly flickers down my light green dress before returning to meet my eyes. It's clear he remembers my hot pink hoodie and jeans.

I blush at the perusal and continue, "I didn't know I was in Middle Earth and I thought you were lying. I'm actually really sorry about that, by the way. I didn't mean to make things difficult and...I really appreciate you helping me to Michel Delving. But I REALLY am here because I need Gandalf's help! I've been here for the past two months hoping to find him!"

Thorin's eyes narrow, at war on whether he should believe me or not. He decides on the latter with a shake of his head, "Impossible. Meeting you in the woods was no accident. I felt it then and I feel it now. How did you know Gandalf would be here?" His large arms cross over one another as he tries to intimidate me. "If this is some sort of elaborate plot to get the gold then it will be better for you to admit it."

I swallow. "I don't want a single gold coin. I just want to get home."

"And where is home, milady." He growls darkly, transporting me momentarily back to the woods when he asked me that very same question.

I straighten a little, a spark of defiance igniting inside me. Who does he think he is? King or not, I'm not going to let him walk all over me.

Folding my arms as well, I give him a pointed look, "Remember when I didn't believe you when you said we were in the Shire? Remember how I said I'm from a place called Nevada in the United States and you've never heard of that place? Remember this?" I pull out my long-dead cell phone from my dress pocket that I always carry with me.

His eyebrows furrow at the phone and he pauses; mirroring the same confusion as when I first showed it to him.

I extend my hand, offering it to him. He hesitates for a moment before accepting it, his gaze briefly meeting mine before returning to the smooth rectangular object.

"What was it you called it?" He asks, his deep voice calmer than before.

"A cellphone." I smile hesitantly, glad to see he's less angry. "As for our meeting not being a coincidence, well, I agree. And so does Gandalf. If you hadn't found me when you did I probably would have been dead in a couple of days. I never planned on meeting you, Thorin Oakenshield, but…I'm glad I did."

I give him a genuine smile, grateful to him, hopeful that somehow he'll believe me. Though he doesn't smile in return, the harsh lines in his face soften. He remains silent, his gaze fixed on me. I can't help but wonder what he's thinking?

I blush, and quickly add, "Also, uh, I'm sorry I called you mad and despicable and stupid. And a crazy delusional cosplay jerk."

He furrows his brow, attempting to recall our conversation. "You did not call me all of those things." He states, sounding slightly puzzled.

"Yeah, but I was thinking it." I shrug.

His eyebrows arch and his posture seems to relax a little more at my honesty as we both remember the story in a new, almost funny light. Neither one of us were crazy; we were both very sane individuals who simply had been caught in a very strange situation. Overall, we actually behaved ourselves quite well. All things considered.

The clarifying moment we're sharing abruptly shatters with Gandalf's loud voice, "Well! Now that that's out of the way…..Perhaps his Highness would care for some dinner?"

For the briefest moment I forgot that we have an audience! I look behind Thorin and notice that all the dwarves, Gandalf and Bilbo included, have been hanging onto every word he and I have spoken. Most of them appear shocked, likely due to my previous name-calling of their king. Dwalin and Balin just look confused.

I look back at Thorin's face and I can sense that the worst is behind us as his temper seems to have cooled. He may even believe me a bit more?

"This conversation is far from over." His says, his voice calm but resolute.

I slump. Or not.

Although there's no smile on his face, something in his eyes gives me the impression that he's somewhat amused by my disappointed reaction. After observing me for a moment more, he turns and strides into the dining room and I'm able to release the breath I've been holding.

The rest of the dwarves give me different curious and bewildered expressions before following their king's example and go into the table room. Dwalin is no longer scowling, which I take as a good sign, and Gandalf gives me an encouraging smile.

I narrow my eyes, giving him an annoyed look as I hiss quietly, “Seriously Gandalf?! Stuck to the floor?!”

Gandalf doesn’t reply but merely winks and turns to enter the room as well, beckoning me to come along. His eyes sparkle with mischief.

I'm not sure what he was expecting but there was literally nothing in Thorin and my conversation to suggest that I'm here to save him from Azog. Can I go home now?

Everyone finds themselves sitting at the cleared and crowded table, myself included. A white-haired dwarf with intricate braids all around his head, possibly Dori, puts a bowl of thick potato soup in front of Thorin, who acknowledges him a nod and a murmur of gratitude. Bilbo remains standing, positioning himself inconspicuously behind Gandalf.

As Thorin eats, the Dwarves fill him in on the different areas they reside at in the Blue Mountains. He eats much more calmly than the others had earlier. I can't help but steal glances at him when he's not looking. But every once in a while, our eyes meet and we briefly study one another before I look away. I had forgotten how handsome he is.

"So! What news of the meeting in Erid Luin? Did they all come?"

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms." He murmurs after swallowing his last spoonful. The room erupts in excited exclamations, the dwarves eager for battle against Smaug.

"What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin asks. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin's expression visibly turns disheartened, and a tiny bit apologetic, "They will not come." His states, his voice tinged with disappointment. Murmurs fill the room as he adds, "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

"What's the purpose of this quest?" Bilbo speaks up for the first time.

All eyes turn to Bilbo, but Thorin directs his gaze to me.

"Miss Peyton hasn't told you?" He asks, voice betraying no emotion even though his eyes lock into mine challengingly.

I meet his look with one of my own. Not a spy!

"No, she neglected to mention anything about the events of this night." Bilbo turns a now angry gaze at me.

I release a heavy sigh, "You know I couldn't Bilbo." I give him a meaningful look to remind him about the dangers of knowing the future.

I didn't mention anything about quests these past two months in order to not tip him off. But he obviously knows they're going on a quest since Thorin and I took that particular cat out of the bag very publicly in his front parlor.

Gandalf clears his throat, "Miss Peyton can be trusted with this knowledge. In fact, she already knows more than I do on the subject." He ignores everyone's confused looks and proceeds to pull out his map.

I try and smile in a friendly (and unsuspicious) way at the shocked (and suspicious) glances of everyone at the table, especially his Highness who is listening to Gandalf explain to Bilbo about the Lonely Mountain while watching me.

Sighing to myself, I readjust my posture to slouch a little in my chair, that way my bottom is more comfy while Gandalf speaks. Yes, I know what the map says. Yes, I know about the hidden runes. Yes, I know how they get into the Lonely Mountain. And YES, I definitely know the hardships they will face on their quest. While amazing to see this all play out in realtime (especially seeing the bizarre braids adorning every dwarf that Tolkien failed to mention), it's all a bit redundant.

"...Aye! Boin has read the portents and the portents say it is time!" A red-haired dwarf (that I'll bet my dead cellphone is Gloin) speaks up. He looks just like Gimli!

Some of the dwarves roll their eyes at Gloin's pronouncement as if it's something they've heard many times but don't have much patience for.

Ah, now that’s something interesting!

I turn to the person next to me, a dwarf with a strange hat. Trying to be subtle, I speak out the side of my mouth, "Who's Boin? And what are 'portents'?"

"Boin is Gloin and Oin's eldest brother. And portents are omens, lass. Prophecies. They come from our seers." He whispers softly back to me.

My eyes widen in astonishment as I turn my head towards him, "Gloin and Oin have an older brother?!"

Bofur, I think it is, takes in my amazed expression and gives me a look, amazed himself, "Ye knew Oin and Gloin before tonight?"

Aw, Crap. "Uhh, kinda? But…wait, dwarves have seers?" I try and steer the conversation away from me.

Bofur raises an eyebrow but allows himself to be led away regardless, "Aye, we do. And they-…" he stops whispering, looking chagrined. I turn to see Thorin glaring at the two of us for whispering. He doesn't say anything, but his look is enough to make crickets stop singing. I sink lower into my seat and keep quiet. The conversation begins once more.

"Back to what I was saying..." Oin gives me a glare as well, "When the ravens return to Erebor the beast's reign shall end, as it was foretold!" He turns his glare to the dwarves who had seemed skeptical earlier.

Why didn't Boin come on the quest? A seer would be useful to have around. Based on some of the dwarves' reactions, I wonder if they think Boin is crazy or something.

Well, he's obviously not since he was right.

"Beast, what beast?" Bilbo exclaims, looking over at me anxiously.

Oh crap. Avoid eye contact… Avoid eye contact with Bilbo… Avoid eye-

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, the chiefest and greatest calamity of our age." The dwarf I had been talking to speaks up and answers since Bilbo is looking in his and my direction, "Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks, extremely fond of precious metals…"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is!" interrupts an annoyed Bilbo.

That's actually something I think I would enjoy on such a quest as this: seeing an actual living dragon for real!

I can't help my small smirk that lifts one of the corners of my mouth as I watch Bilbo have a fit. Bilbo's going to talk circles around Smaug, and he doesn't even know it. I puff a chuckle through my nose quietly to myself only to glance over at Thorin (I keep doing that!), only to feel a butterfly in my throat as I see that he's watching me again. His eyes narrow at my smile about a dragon while everyone else is dead serious with a hint of fear. I look away and across the table to avoid his eyes as Ori exclaims he's going to stick his sword up Smaug's butt.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," says Balin. "But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

"Don't worry. You'll all make it." I look up and give Balin a reassuring smile.

Crickets. 

No, really, there's a cricket chirping in a corner somewhere. It's uncanny. And awkward. I blush as I mentally hit myself repeatedly in the head with an imaginary cane.

"What did she say?" asks a deaf dwarf holding an ear trumpet.

"How would you know?" Dwalin scowls darkly at me, ignoring the other dwarf's question.

"Uh, just…a feeling. I mean...you all seem very…capable." I say lamely before hiding behind my teacup, sipping slowly.

"I agree with Miss Peyton! We may be few in number, but we're fighters. All of us! To the last dwarf!" encourages Fili.

I smile widely at him and he back at me. He and Ori are officially my favorites.

"And you forget!" adds Kili, "We have a wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

"Oh, well, now, uh, I…I…I wouldn't say that, I…" The wizard splutters.

I turn to grin at him vindictively. Yes! Let's all pick on Gandalf!

"How many then?" demands a dwarf.

"Uh, what?" Gandalf asks, entirely too innocent.

"Well, how many dragons have you killed?" Dori asks.

Gandalf looks like he's going to have a coughing fit with smoke from his pipe coming out of his ears, "Hmph….Hmph!…"

"Go on, give us a number!"

Then the arguing starts. All the dwarves get to their feet arguing about lord only knows what. l notice with something akin to fascination that some of them are getting rather red in the face. I'm shocked. THIS is the company of Thorin Oakenshield? THIS is the group of individuals that battle against goblins, trolls, spiders, and even elves to take back the Lonely Mountain? Wow. Appearances are very deceiving.

Very.

I look over to see what Thorin's reaction is to all of this mess, only to discover that he and I are the only ones at the table who have remained quiet and in our seats. Even Gandalf is protesting loudly.

Thorin finally has enough of it, "SHAZARA!" he bellows, standing up and shocking everyone instantly.

The room becomes dead silent as the dwarves settle down (even the cricket) and he leans over the table, his voice thunderous and then quiet, "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." He glances at me pointedly, and I quirk an unamused expression back at him. Not a spy, dude! "Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected? Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du Bekâr! Du Bekâr!"

The dwarves cheer and I can't help but admire Thorin's courage. Taking a mountain back from a dragon? That takes bal-...erm, that takes a sword. A lot of swords.

Stop. You're not funny.

"You forget," Balin interjects, "The front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain." He gives me a look as if daring me to refute it.

I give him a teeny tiny smile and then pointedly glance over to where Gandalf is seated and then back at Balin just as Gandalf speaks up, "That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." He reaches into his grey cloak and pulls out a rather old-looking key on a long chain.

Balin's eyes widen before turning to look back at me, flabbergasted. I give him a wink while raising my teacup at him in a mock toast. Man, it is SO fun to mess with them! Might as well have fun since I'm leaving tonight.

Thorin's face also looks shocked, "How came you by this?"

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

"If there is a key, there must be a door," states Fili, looking excited

"Yes. These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower hills," Gandalf nods.

"There's another way in..." Kili gives everyone an amazed look.

I study Kili and Fili, not having much chance to do so earlier. They're so much more...vibrant than either the book or cartoon portrayed them. They're funny and have distinct personalities. They're living and breathing and real. There's so much more depth to them and their lives than I thought. I clearly don't know them at all. I don't know any of them at all.

Such bright lights snuffed out of existence by evil designs. I haven't had a lot of death in my life besides my grandpa and I'm suddenly hit by an overwhelming sadness for Kili and Fili and Thorin. I've never met someone who I knew would be dead in a few months or how they would die. I've never known the future before.

I glance back to the leader of this misfit group, studying his face while he listens intently to what Gandalf is saying. I blink fast and take deep breaths to myself to get my emotions under control. Since I'm going home, I might as well pull Thorin to the side and let him know the future. Then Gandalf can send me back and I'll see if the Hobbit book has changed at all in my world.

"Well, if we can find it...” Gandalf continues, “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." At this pronouncement, Gandalf suddenly looks up at me with a hopeful gaze, "Perhaps...you could?"

I raise my eyebrows at him in surprise as all the dwarves turn to me once more in amazement. A coy smile then spreads across my face, and I chuckle and shake my head, "Aww, c'mon Gandalf. That's cheating!" I raise my hands up in mock innocence, "I'm not even supposed to be here. You'll have to go with your original plan."

Gandalf gives me a reprimanding look as if to say 'Yes, you ARE supposed to be here.', but Thorin is the one who actually speaks. "You are able to read Ancient Dwarvish?" The poor guy looks so confused right now. Not even suspicious, just confused.

"Uhhh…"

What would happen if I told him? If I change the story on purpose? Do they really need to go to Rivendell?

Meh, let them suffer elf company. Besides, Bilbo really wants to meet the elves.

"No, I cannot read ancient Dwarvish."

It's not a lie. I don't need to read it. I already know what it says.

"Then why does Gandalf think you can?" Thorin insists with a deep intimidating voice, his signature glower back.

Gandalf pipes up in my defense, "Peyton here not only comes from another world, a thing I've never encountered before, but she's also privy to…a special knowledge about our quest."

I frown at Gandalf. Wasn't he JUST telling me in the parlor to keep my foreknowledge to myself? Or is everyone supposed to know that I know the future but I just can't tell them? What's the point to all of this when I'm leaving tonight anyways?

"What kind of knowledge?" Thorin asks me seriously.

"The knowing kind." I supply unhelpfully with the most sincere smile I can muster for him. "The future kind."

"A seer!" The dwarves seem to murmur around the table. I see some expressions of amazment and some of disgusted disbelief.

Well, I mean, I did see the cartoon. So technically…..?

But honestly, I really think this is my cue. Time to bow out before I ruin anything else in the story. I delicately finish the tea in my teacup, before pushing the teacup and saucer away as I stand up and say pleasantly, "Well! I best be off. Gandalf? If you would be so kind?"

Gandalf looks surprised, "You're not leaving?!"

Thorin slowly stands as well, his face expressionless, "No. She isn't. She knows too much." He gives Gandalf a look as if to say 'I told you so.'

Dwalin and Balin both stand as well to show support for their king, their faces stoic and stern as they watch me.

I glare at them all and roll my eyes at Thorin's paranoia, "I'm not going to blab to everyone in Middle Earth about your quest, I'm going HOME to another WORLD! Your secret is safe with me."

I clap my hands lightly together and address to the room with a smile, "It was lovely to meet all of you. Some less than others…..Yes, Dwalin...that was referring to you." I pointedly shoot him a sarcastically sweet smirk (and get a darkly amused one in return) before looking pleasantly back at the group, "Now then! You all have a quest to plan for, and I have a college semester to make up." I look at Gandalf and smile firmly, "So! Do you want to do it here or somewhere more private?"

Gandalf frowns, confused, "Do what?"

"Send me home of course."

Gandalf finally catches on and his eyes take on a sympathetic look as he shakes his head, "I'm afraid that I can't help you, Miss Peyton."

A stab of incredulous fear hits me in the stomach like a spike. Multiple things run through my head: Shock. Dread. And then I settle on annoyance (with a hint of embarrassment). I mean, this is GANDALF we're talking about. Of course, he can help me.

"Can't help me, or won't help me?” I narrow my eyes at him.

"A bit of both." He replies impertinently, pulling out his pipe and lighting it with his finger. He puffs out a smoke ring and continues seriously, "But mostly can't. The Valar have not told me how to send you home, my dear, and until they do that... it is out of my hands and in theirs."

Why I never! He and I engage in a glaring contest but he has more impressive eyebrows than me, unfortunately. So he wins by default.

Gandalf then abruptly decides to ignore me, leaving me standing there with my head spinning, "Back to the task at hand...if Miss Peyton here cannot read the map, then there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Little Ori says excitedly.

Bilbo, who has been listening intently to all these shenanigans merely nods and hums.

Everyone looks at him. He frowns and looks back at them, "Hmm? Pardon?" He asks, wondering what he had missed.

"A burglar, Mister Baggins." Thorin rumbles as he slowly sits back down, his mood foul.

"Yes? What about it?" Bilbo asks him, confused.

"We need one." Thorin glares up at him.

Bilbo shakes his head and tutts at such an expenditure, "Yes, you do. An expert I'd imagine." He gives a quirk of his shoulder and a huff of breath just thinking of the daunting task the dwarves have before them. Not only of finding an expert burglar, but also one that is willing to steal from a dragon.

I slowly sit back down as well, having stood here like an idiot until now. I realize that I'm going to have to go to Rivendell as I had originally planned. Perhaps Elrond will know of a way?

I absently notice that both Balin and Dwalin sit down as well, eyes on me.

"And...are you?" Gloin asks.

"Am I what?" Bilbo asks, not making the connection.

"He says he's an expert!" Oin joyfully proclaims, the trumpet to his ear. The company starts murmuring excitedly.

"Who?! ME?! No, no, no, no, don't be absurd! I've never stolen anything in my life!" Bilbo vehemently denies.

Balin and Dwalin immediately start criticizing Bilbo and his capability to survive in the wild and Bilbo nods along with everything they say.

I watch my good friend nodding and agreeing with them and I realize something incredibly fascinating. Why would Gandalf choose an honest, altruistic hobbit to steal something? It is quite a strange thing, isn't it? I ponder that for a moment trying to see if there's something to it that I'm missing.

"With only fourteen members of a company, those are some high odds against us," Gloin speaks up, giving me an almost respectful look. Both he and Oin seem most accepting of my presence as a seer.

"Fifteen." Gandalf gently corrects as he pulls the pipe from his mouth. At Gloin's confused look, Gandalf nods to me, "You forget Miss Peyton here."

"What?!" I say as my mouth drops open.

Thorin's anger is back and hot, "No. Absolutely not."

"Yeah, I'm with him! Absolutely not!"

He and I share a look, both of us a bit surprised that we are agreeing on anything for the first time.

"You can't deny that someone from another world who knows of your quest and the future of the company would be an invaluable tool to take with you!" Gandalf insists earnestly, clearly very excited by the prospect.

Thorin's response is low and angry, "No. You insist I must bring this halfling with me, now you want to bring a human girl? Why don't we pick up an elf while we're at it!" Thorin's voice has slowly risen while talking until he is positively thundering by the end of his speech. "Are you trying to make a mockery of this quest? A girl on a quest such as this would only bring ruin and hardship on us all!"

"Hey!" I cry out indignantly, our shared moment of agreeing on something now blown to smithereens. "First off, I'm not a girl, I'm a woman. And second off, you'll all do just fine bringing ruin and hardship on yourselves without me." I scoff and roll my eyes, muttering to myself, "If anything, I could only make your trip better."

Not that I'm coming. I would literally die.

Gandalf intercedes, "The Valar have sent her to us…to YOU, Thorin…for this quest to occur. You do not find it odd that you, of all people, found her alone in the middle of nowhere as you traveled to Bree? Only to then meet me in Bree and begin preparations for this very night? She could not be a spy, for you met her when your plan for a quest had not yet even begun! And therefore; if you do not accept that kind of help from them, you are an utter fool." Gandalf finishes his speech with an angry bite.

Thorin's glower falters as he ponders Gandalf's words and Gandalf continues more calmly, "Both Human and Hobbit are essential to your quest. You must trust my judgment on this." Gandalf gazing at Thorin earnestly. Is he placing a spell on him or something?!

Thorin considers him and then turns his arresting blue eyes to me. I falter under the intensity of his gaze.

How can Thorin even be considering this?! What the heck is Gandalf DOING?!

"Uh, Gandalf?" I abruptly stand once more, making my chair squeak, "A word, if you please?"

I widen my eyes meaningfully at him before gingerly sliding past the dwarves sitting to my left. I slide and shimmy around the chairs to make it to the doorway, getting stuck a few times. I used to be thin, but eating Bilbo's rich food five times a day with no treadmill in Hobbiton has made me not as thin as I used to be.

I notice Thorin shake his head briefly at Balin and Dwalin who don't aggressively rise this time.

Gandalf is seated in a much better location, and arises fairly easily "Please excuse us for a moment." He says cordially to the group as I finally squeeze past the last dwarf. "And I recommend giving Bilbo the contract while I am speaking with Miss Peyton."

"Wha- wait a second..." Bilbo begs but to no avail, sounding like me. "No! Please!"

I ignore Thorin's burning gaze as I head for the front door but I hear him mumbling something to Gandalf that sounds suspiciously like ‘call for me if she tries to run’ before he loudly saying to Balin, "Give him the contract."

I open the door, indicating for Gandalf to step out with me before we go down the steps and around the side path to the gardens on the other side of Bilbo's home. The luminous full moon casts enough of a glow on our surroundings that it's easy to see one another. The crickets chirp softly in the slightly chilled air, and the owl that Bilbo and I fondly named 'Harold' hoots from the woods down the road.

Finally, I whirl around to face Gandalf. He has been following at an easy pace, and I take a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to keep my tone calm. I decide to go for an innocent, soft approach to try and match the gentle energy of the Shire around me, "Gandalf? What are you doing?" Maybe I just misunderstood him? There's no reason to jump to conclusions.

"It appears to me that you have found yourself in a conundrum, my dear." Gandalf says lightly, "Better that you stay with us."

Gandalf's pleasant smile reminds me of a doddering grandfather, and the immediate resemblance to Dumbledore makes me frown. I'm not falling for it!

"What do you mean 'stay with you'? I already told you that the quest is a success. You can't seriously be suggesting for me to come WITH you guys."

I fold my arms, my gaze earnest as I try to steady my trembling hands. There's a reason I refuse to go on the quest (the real reason that holds me back). And it has nothing to do with Thorin.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting." He purses his lips in consternation at my tone and grumbles to himself. "I already have one person to convince to come on this journey, don't make me have to convince two people!"

"But Gandalf!" I gasp and stutter, my resolve to remain cool and calm crumbles as my anxiety boils over, "I need to get home! I don't belong here! It's been two months, Gandalf! TWO MONTHS! My family probably thinks I'm dead! I-I appreciate the offer, I really do...but...but...I just can't! I thought you would send me back tonight!" I'm shrieking by the end of my speech, but I can't help it. I feel like my chest is tight, so I need to push my words out more forcefully to get them out. My blood pressure has gone up and it's hard to breathe with my heart thudding loudly in my ears.

Panicking. I'm panicking again.

Gandalf frowns, his gaze fixed on my frantic breathing. "Where on Middle Earth did you get the impression that I would have such power to send you through time and space to another world?" His voice carries a mix of surprise and frustration. "That is beyond my power, and you should know this, considering that you know who I am." He shoots me a 'you dumb!' look before continuing. "The Valar have sent you here, and it is the Valar who will decide when you are to return."

I lower my tone so we won't be overheard by anyone who might have followed us, "Gandalf, I told you that they all make it to Erebor in one piece. There's no need for me in this story! Bilbo finds his courage, Smaug is defeated, a huge battle commences with five different armies, and…then…" I choke, my words failing me.

"And then Thorin is killed." Gandalf finishes gravely, leaning on his tall staff. He then gets a bit agitated, "I would think that you might have a bit more compassion for all that Thorin has gone through and has yet to GO through in order to reclaim his home!"

I lower my head in shame, "I…I just….Please don't mistake my acceptance of his death as a lack of compassion for him." I softly murmur, wringing the material of my dress anxiously, "It's just…part of the story, you know? It's not like I want Thorin, and Fili, and Kili dead or anything."

"Fili and Kili are killed too?!" Gandalf asks in dismay.

I snap my head up, my eyes wide as I realize that up to this point, Gandalf had only thought it was Thorin that needed saving. I nod guiltily.

"So the whole line of Durin is destroyed..." his voice is grave and he looks distantly out over the Shire contemplating the matter. He seems to lean on his staff more heavily as he passes a weary hand over his forehead. He looks at me, "Who takes over the throne of Erebor once they are gone?"

I fidget with my hobbit dress, not meeting his eyes, "Umm, the cousin. Dain."

I glance up to his face and he has even more wrinkles than usual as his aura takes on a sad, puzzled tone.

"Gandalf," I say tiredly as I shake my head. I give up. It's time to come clean. "Do you want the truth? The real reason I can't go? The honest, deep-down ACTUAL reason that I REALLY can not go?"

Gandalf's eyebrows raise up in surprise and I take it as a yes.

" I…I have…arachnophobia."

"Arachan-what?" Gandalf clearly is not expecting THAT answer.

"Arachnophobia. It's the extreme fear of spiders. I can't even go into my parent's basement or our cluttered garage because I know they're there." I scuff the toe of my sneakers in the grass, certain of what he's thinking. I feel ashamed and embarrassed about it. But it's not an unfounded fear like a fear of clowns or something! Some spider bites can be fatal, and even if they're NOT fatal, they can make you sick or necrotize your flesh! So...it's not an unfounded fear, even though it is a bit disabling.

I know of so many people who would come to Middle Earth in a heartbeat and drop everything just to go on a quest. Especially to save wonderful and handsome male specimens such as the Durinsons. But I can't be the one for the job for two simple reasons. Number One: I'm not Dwayne the Rock Johnson. And Number Two: The eight-legged creatures that lurk in the webby trees of Mirkwood forest will 100% eat me on this quest if I go into that forest!

Once upon a time, when my siblings and I were younger and we imagined we were on Middle Earth adventures, I always flew over Mirkwood on an eagle during the Quest for Erebor while my brothers all went through the dark forest with their stick swords fighting off imaginary spiders and hanging upside down while yelling on the tree branches pretending to be caught in webs.

Yeah. We were those kids.

I didn't want to starve or get kidnapped by spiders. (I was royalty, so I didn't have time for that.) And when my brothers all said I was a horrible King, abandoning them to face the spiders alone, I'd get them all cookies I stole from the pantry and we'd pretend it was from the men in Laketown.

"Come now, be reasonable." Gandalf doesn't seem to be buying my fear and looks at me like I'm lying. "Spiders and insects are in every corner of the world! You can't avoid them. Even if you remained here in the Shire you would encounter PLENTY of them."

"Gandalf!" I can't help but feel defensive. "Arachnophobia isn't as irrational a fear as needles or a dark closet! Spiders bite! And there are giant spiders in Mirkwood! GIANT! SPIDERS! GANDALF! The size of dogs! If they weren't giant and were normal-sized, then I would totally go! I don't care about orcs, I don't care about goblins! I don't care about wargs, trolls, orcs, yeah, I know I said orcs twice! Or anything else that Middle Earth has to offer! Heck, Sauron himself doesn't freak me out! He's just a stupid fiery eye on a tower for Pete's sake! But if I go into Mirkwood...I will never. come. out. again! And if I somehow did make it out by some miracle...then I would have to go live at a psychiatric hospital, sipping applesauce from a straw for the rest of my life in a catatonic state! Do you understand me?!"

It is clear from his raised brow and flabbergasted wide eyes as he huffs and puffs furiously at his pipe that, no, he doesn't understand most of what I'd just said.

I bet the Sauron part confused and frightened him and he's questioning my sanity for fearing spiders over him. But I mean seriously. The guy is a fiery eyeball for crying out loud. Or at least…he will be? I honestly don't know where he is right now. Maybe secretly building up Mordor? In the realm of scary villains, Sauron is pretty pathetic in my opinion and he's not that scary. Spiders are definitely worse.

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, massaging my forehead and eyebrows. "In OTHER words, Gandalf, the answer is: I'm sorry, but no. I want to!...But no. I literally can't do it."

"And what will you do instead, Miss Peyton? Hmm?" Gandalf completely loses his patience and gets frustrated, throwing his arm in a grand sweeping motion as he indicates the Shire below us, "Sit here and keep house while Bilbo is away? Never finding a way back home again?"

I purse my lips and give a sarcastic 'hmmm' as I glance at the lights of Hobbiton with a thoughtful look as if I was considering it.

"No." Gandalf's firm voice interrupts my musing, and I look back at him. He has a twinkle in his eye, "No, my dear. It wasn't a suggestion…so don't even think about it." He finishes with a half-amused growl and takes the pipe out of his mouth, waving the little end at me like a naughty child.

I smile half-heartedly at him. "I wasn't going to anyways. I was already planning on leaving for Rivendell in the morning. I could travel with you guys until we arrive?"

Stabbing guilt gnaws at my stomach and I suddenly have an idea! It would solve all our problems! Just like in the game I played!

"Gandalf, just call the eagles!" I say excitedly. "Seriously, this can all be over and done within a week if you just call them and ask for a ride! Have them fly the group over the Misty Mountains, over Mirkwood, across Laketown, and drop us off at the front door! Thorin will be King by next Friday!"

I fold my arms and give him a satisfied look. It technically wouldn't be next Friday, since Durin's Day isn't until whenever it is. But…semantics!

"Call the eagles?!" Gandalf gapes at me as if I'm daft, "The eagles are a proud race! The most noble of all the races! What would you say if a group of mice asked you to carry them across the Shire? The eagles are not some….ferry service that fly people to and fro across Middle Earth! It's egg season and they have very difficult duties and issues to attend to in their own kingdom. You can't just call eagles for every adventure you decide to go on! That would defeat the purpose!"

"What purpose?" I scoff, although I inwardly admit that he brings up some good points about the eagles that I've never thought about.

Gandalf closes his eyes and breathes deeply, clearly at his wits end thanks to me, and is most likely praying to his beloved, meddling Valar for strength. He's not used to such a perplexing woman who says such perplexing things. He turns away from me, muttering to himself, and starts walking back down the garden path towards Bilbo's front door.

I stare after him wide-eyed. Rude!

"Well, they're going to help you on your journey anyways!" I call after him. I quickly chase after him. I'm not giving up this argument. "When they do come and pick us up, just have them fly us the rest of the way! A few extra hours for them is weeks of traveling for us! Heck, we could pay them to help us so it's not some charity act! I'll give them my 1/16 of the treasure since I won't be needing it!"

But if I pay them, wouldn't that prove Gandalf's point about a ferry service? Besides what are a bunch of eagles going to do with gold anyways?

Gandalf whirls back to me furiously as he reaches the door, halting my thought process, "Peyton, do not treat this as some sort of joke!"

It's dark outside Bilbo's house, but the moon is big enough to shed some light on the garden. The shadows around him begin to dance eerily. The air vibrates with buzzing energy while at the same time growing colder. Wait…didn't I read somewhere that Gandalf and Sauron are, like, related or something? Both of them are Maiars or something? Hmmm, that makes sense.

Should I calm him down? I think to myself as I watch him throw a temper tantrum.

"Stop treating this as an inconvenient joke that you can't be put upon to offer your aid and foreknowledge!" He continues to rant.

My eyebrows scrunch together, unimpressed. This IS an inconvenient joke. This is all supposed to be a F.A.I.R.Y.T.A.L.E.! Fairytales are very unserious things…

His voice turns even darker, causing my eyes to widen and my heart pound in my chest as I struggle to draw in breaths, "This is a matter of life and death, Peyton Silva! These are real people, with real histories, and real purpose... This isn't some fairytale that you can put down and forget at a whim's notice-"

My eyes widen. Did he just read my thoughts? Can Gandalf DO that? He never did in the book…

"And the eagles have given me their trust to only call in dire need." He raises his voice to drive home his message, "DIRE need! I will not betray that trust, no matter how frightened of spiders you may be."

His energy slowly shrinks in on himself, and the shadows recede. The light from the moon grows bright once more.

It isn't logical or rational, since I know Gandalf isn't a bad guy, but I am actually terrified of him at that moment. Gandalf is good. But that doesn't mean he can't make my life difficult. And my life doesn't need to be any more difficult than it is. It's already the most difficult it's ever been.

My eyes begin to shine with hot hopeless tears and I grit my teeth in order to not let them fall. I'm not a crier but I can't do this! I'm not strong or noble or brave.

I clench my fists to keep them from shaking. If Giant Blood-Sucking Spiders aren't a dire need then I don't know WHAT is.

Those stupid tears decide to fall anyways down my cheeks even though I tried really hard to suck them back down into my little eye holes. I always cry when I'm angry, which is really just me being afraid and hiding it with my pride. It makes me even more angry when that happens, and it becomes a huge cycle.

My breath stutters as I hold back from crying. I don't want to go through fear, and pain, and darkness. I just want to go home.

Gandalf watches me warily for a moment, and then sighs. It's almost like a bunch of air deflates out of him. He suddenly kneels before me on one knee, causing me to flinch back in surprise at this humble gesture. He looks me in the eye and gently takes one of my trembling hand in his warm weathered ones.

"We fall. We break. We fail," his words are barely more than a gentle rumble but they pierce the center of my soul like the sharpest blade and my tears stop short, "but then," he pauses for effect, "We rise. We heal. We overcome. And you are here, my dear Peyton, because you need to learn that."

I don't ask him why I can't simply learn that in my own world. Surely I could have. But adventures are for growing, especially adventures in other worlds. And little do I know just how much growing I will do in this adventure, and all the years to follow afterwards.

"Will you come with us to Erebor?" He asks directly. No force, no coercion...just a simple question gently hanging in the air between the two of us while he's down on one knee.

His youthful blue eyes set in his ancient face give me a courage that seems to sing forth from inside of me.

They remind me of Thorin's blue eyes.

Like he said earlier…sometimes you just understand things with your heart, that you don't know with your head. And so I seal my fate.

"Ok. I will try."

Chapter Text

Excellent!" Gandalf exclaims merrily. Rising from his bent knee, he stands tall, a smile playing on his lips. I blink at his sudden mood change. He's like the ocean...one moment peaceful and cheery, and the next, black and menacing.

He gestures to the round green door with his staff, "Shall we inform the others?"

I roll my eyes with a sigh, "You go ahead. I'll come in in a little bit." Better that he tell them, what with Thorin being… well, Thorin and all.

I walk down to Bilbo's bench by the road and the sound of the door opening and shutting echoes behind me. Settling down into my seat, I look out at the hobbit homes dotting the shire, feeling drained after my conversation with Gandalf. Warm light spills from round glass windows, casting a soft glow, while tendrils of misty smoke curl up from chimneys. Bathed in moonlight, the whole scene could easily pass as a Thomas Kinkade painting.

My feelings turn whimsical as I breathe in the magic of the air. For it must be magic. There's no other way to describe the faint tingling that permeates the place all around me.

Adventures, from what I've noticed, always seem to start out from a place of comfort. Not necessarily perfect or enjoyable, but familiar, a place where your routine is all you've ever known. Like the nursery for Wendy Darling in Peter Pan. Or District 12 for Katniss Everdeen. Or the Ant Hill for Flick in a Bug's Life.

As I look out over the scattered hobbit holes, I realize that Hobbiton could be symbolic of many things to many people. It could represent childhood, or innocence, or it could simply represent the comfortable yet stagnant stage of life, like a seed buried in the ground that is waiting for the rain. In short, every adventure story starts out in a place where a choice must be made: The choice of staying in your safe, warm routine OR….to go beyond your current limits and transform into someone new. Some people will choose to live their whole lives in their personal Shire, never growing or changing. Like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins for instance.

Sometimes that choice is made FOR you, like me being dumped in a field without any say in the matter.

For those of us who do choose to leave our personal Shires; we wonder if the transformation will be a good one or if we'll regret it. We have hope though, and that hope keeps us going. After all, life isn't about staying in our Shires; it's about what comes after.

Ugh, I still can't go through the spiders! But I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I've already made my choice and transformation it is.

Turning from the peaceful scene, I stand and make my way up to the round door, opening it gently and letting it swing shut with a soft creak. I let out a soft squeak in surprise and cover my frantic heart when I see that a certain dwarf is leaning against the wall, quiet and solemn, and apparently waiting for me.

My nerves act up as I find myself staring at none other than Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. His quiet and contained demeanor, coupled with his thick arms folded across his chest, is both intimidating and alluring.

I shake myself out of my reverie, "Do you make it a habit of showing up in unexpected places?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him, a little annoyed that he caught me off guard.

"Do you?" He counters, his gaze reminding me that our conversation isn't over.

My face flushes a little. I kinda walked right into that one, honestly.

I attempt a smile, "Not usually. I'm a fairly predictable person."

We stare at each other, warily weighing the conversation to come. Finally, he breaks the silence, "Balin said you knew his name before he introduced himself. He also said that you recognized my nephews by their names, even though the knowledge of their relation to me is carefully guarded from outsiders." He takes a measured step towards me.

I grimace, "Well, I-"

"You also said very odd things at the table." He tilts his head slightly up, looking down at me imperiously, "Care to explain?"

I shrug my shoulders, feigning innocence, "Seer?" I suggest.

Thorin frowns.

"You don't believe in seers?" I tilt my head at him curiously. I can't really say I did either until I learned about Boin and his portents. So these seers must be right some of the time.

"A seer from a world beyond, attending to the matters of Middle Earth?" He raises an eyebrow, a hint of incredulity, perhaps even amusement, flickering in his gaze. "Nay, I find that difficult to believe."

I give in with a sigh, "It’s weird, I know. Dunno what to really tell you. I didn’t come to this world by choice.”

Thorin’s voice deepens, a note of skepticism threading through his words. "How is it that you claim knowledge of me when you are a stranger to Middle Earth?"

"I hadn't been careful with what I said or did in the slightest, not thinking I would be going with them this whole time. Now, I have to do some damage control, since letting people know you know the future isn't exactly the smartest thing to do. For one thing, they'll always blame you when things go wrong, like Bilbo being cross with me for not warning him about our surprise guests.

"Look, Thorin…" I try to navigate my way around his question carefully, "I know how all of this must look to you. And I don't blame you in the slightest for not believing me or for being suspicious. I totally would be too if I was in your shoes! But, I can promise you…" I do my best to look him right in the eye as sincerely as I can, "I'm not here to hurt you. Or anyone else for that matter! What would a spy be doing dressed the way I was when I first met you anyways? I knew the name 'Thorin Oakenshield' when you dropped me off in Michel Delving, remember? But I didn't think you were him! If I was a spy, wouldn't I have known who you were and accepted your offer to come with you to Bree? I promise if you allow me on your quest, I will help out in any way that I can.”

His blue eyes bore into mine, “You did not seem to give the news of Smaug the proper weight it requires.”

I shrug, embarrassed, “Well, to be honest Thorin, dragons don't exist in my world...so, it's a little hard for me to be afraid of something that has never existed before and that I didn't plan on seeing, you know?”

I don't DARE tell him that I think dragons are cool. That wouldn't go over well. I don't confess that I'm not a seer, but I don't try to convince him that I am one either.

Thorin studies me carefully, his gaze as intense and unyielding as the mountain he seeks to reclaim. I see him weighing my words against his doubts and suspicions, and I do my best to give him a friendly smile. Please trust me. Please trust me.

Finally, he speaks, his voice gruff but not unkind, "You speak well, Miss Peyton, and your words carry a weight of sincerity. But this is not a journey for the faint-hearted. It is a path fraught with danger and uncertainty.”

He begins to circle me, much like he had with Bilbo, accessing my body and features. I do my best to stand still, but I can't help but follow him with my eyes.

"If you are to join this company, which I have not yet agreed to," he gives me a warning look to not get my hopes up, "What skills do you possess that would make you less of a liability than you already are?"

Skills? I frown and think hard as I stare in concentration at the empty barrel by the front door that usually holds apples.

I can sing pretty well, play piano like a freaking master, I’m an excellent mathematician, color between the lines, swim like a fish, and play video games. I'm also not too shabby at dancing...But I have no experience with weapons. I'm not athletically inclined except for volleyball back in highschool. Heck, I don't even know how to cook very well! I can't light a fire without a lighter, I learned how to tie ropes and identify plants at summer camp but I was twelve at the time and I've completely forgotten how. I can set up a tent (after reading the instructions) but this is more of a 'sleep under the stars' adventure anyways.

To sum it up? I'm useless.

But I have to give him something!

"I was...studying to be a nurse before I came to Middle Earth? So I know how to treat minor wounds and sicknesses."

Come on, give him more!

"I can...read and write? I'm very well educated. And... I can cook!" I'm totally lying. I can't cook. But if I hide behind Bombur's skill, then nobody will know.

His gaze turns thoughtful as he stops in front of me once more. Bilbo had been quite impressed with my ability to read and write, which meant that it's a rare thing in Middle Earth, especially for a human, sadly. So I know that mentioning that as a skill won't hurt my chances with Thorin either.

But his next question is hard and to the point. "Are you skilled in the use of any weapons?"

Dang it! "No, I...never had need for it in my world."

Thorin's gaze turns solemn, his words heavy, "You know this isn't a merry hunting party, and you know there will be no comfort, commodities, or safety on this quest. We will face dangerous situations, situations of which you have no training for and would become a liability. And yet, you still hold the belief that you should accompany us?"

Oh gosh. When he puts it that way… he's right. The quest for Erebor ISN'T a party; they even starve a couple of times. Especially while going through Mirkwood BEFORE getting kidnapped by spiders. Which means I'll be too weak to even run away from the eight-legged demons. Oh, Lord. Just pour me some pumpkin spice bleach when that happens.

But…Gandalf believes in me. Even though I don't believe in myself. Maybe Bilbo and I have more in common than I thought?

"Yeeeeessss?" It comes out a high squeak. I quickly clear my throat. "I mean…Yes. Yes, I believe I should come."

Thorin shakes his head, and growls, his voice laced with exasperation, "This is the most crucial quest of my life, and yet I am compelled to accept a grocer and a human fortune teller. Neither of whom, it seems, can contribute anything substantial to this company's success other than to faint and look pretty."

Oh, so Bilbo must have fainted already. But only one thing really catches my attention.

I smile shyly, "You think I look pretty?"

He answers with an annoyed scowl, but I can see his face turn a hint of pink at my forward manner. Blushing, Mr. Oakenshield? Again? I tilt my head at him, remembering when I first flirted with him at the fork to Michel Delving. Fascinating. I would've thought that someone as eligible and attractive as the King of Dwarves would have women (of all races) lining the street, throwing handkerchiefs and roses at him.

I decide to have mercy though, giving an amused huff, "Ok, as I said before, I'm a grown woman, not a girl. If you're going to insult me, do it properly. And second of all...I'm not a fortune teller." I give a shrug, feeling a little uncertain, "I'm not here to tell you the future but...I think that...that maybe I'm here to change the future? Just a little bit? The quest will be a success, so I'm not too worried about that. But it's what comes after the quest that Gandalf believes I'm needed for. If there was a way I could hang out here until that very moment, and then fly over to you guys on an eagle, believe me I would. But I guess I'm going to have to do this." I pause, my voice faltering slightly. "And, well, I think that perhaps things might turn out better in the end. Maybe?"

In the realm of inspiring speeches, mine falls flat on its face.

Thorin listens intently to my sorry excuse of a pep talk before asking the dreaded question that OF COURSE he's intelligent enough to ask, "What is so drastic that it needs someone from another world to come and alter the events of Middle Earth?"

I pause, feeling caged. I had been willing to tell Bilbo anything he wanted to know if he merely asked, but that was before I knew I would be coming on this quest. Bilbo had not asked, even though he was sorely tempted to, but I have the feeling that Thorin will have no such compulsions about Middle Earth's future and would want me to tell him everything. Consequences be damned.

"I will tell you. But not yet." At his darkening mood, I try to explain, "Gandalf told me to keep my foreknowledge to myself, but...if something needs to change, I will keep you updated and inform you ahead of time" I raise an eyebrow as he still doesn't seem appeased, and cross my arms stubbornly. "Until then, you won't know. I'm sorry."

He takes a step towards me and says lowly, "How do I know then, that what you say is even true? Even if I did agree to let you come with us, which I'm BARELY considering…what proof do you have that you know of future events?"

I am momentarily distracted by the realization of how close he and I are. We have unconsciously moved closer and closer to each other to where I can easily reach out and touch his chest with maybe a foot and a half distance between us.

I flush, bothered as my mind flashes back to our pony ride together where I rode for two hours behind him...and then I realize that he is now waiting for an answer.

"Uh, something to prove that I know the future? Yes….ummm." I nod and frantically reach around inside my brain for some tidbit of knowledge. Something that isn't too much of a spoiler.

"Well, I know…". An idea finally comes to me, "I know Smaug IS still alive and asleep in the Lonely Mountain."

It's a lame example, but Thorin admitted at the table that no one knew if Smaug was still alive since it's been 60 years. So it should be fine to tell him that Smaug is, in fact, very much alive.

His stare becomes a scoff and he looks me up and down, "It'll take months before I'm able to ascertain whether what you say is true."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to take me with you and see." I retort with a smirk, crossing my arms to mimic his stance again.

A fleeting, almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips before vanishing.

"No." He says simply. His voice is devoid of anger or disdain, just a simple and resolute denial. He gives my face one last lingering glance, before turning and striding away, muttering over his shoulder, "It's too dangerous for a woman."

It's funny, because I had just gotten in a fight with Gandalf about not going on this trip, and now that Mr. Macho is telling me that I CAN'T come because I'm a woman (at least he listened and didn’t call me a girl?), I feel myself gearing up for another fight. Except this time I'm fighting because I want to come. I'm so weird. Are the Valar playing reverse psychology on me?

Time to use my last card.

"Oh yeah? Well, how's THIS for proof?" I pull out the gold coin from my pocket, holding it up for him to see.

He glances back over his shoulder only to stop dead in his tracks. He turns to me once more, piercing blue eyes riveted on the gleaming golden object held beguilingly in my hand. I put a hand on my hip, with a satisfied smirk. I'm determined not to let his presence distract me.

"How did you come by this coin?" Thorin asks, curiosity evident as he comes back and stops in front of me. I willingly relinquish the coin to him, feeling a strange mixture of nerves and excitement as I press it into his large open palm.

"I found it in the pages of a very very old book at my university." I explain slowly, "My friend Matt and I were in the paleography lab late one night...oh, uh, paleography is the study of ancient writing and books by the way. I took the class for fun. Anyways, erm, this book usually had a glass case on it but that night it wasn't there anymore. And I couldn't help myself. I went to the book and touched it...which I'm not supposed to do...and this gold coin fell out of the pages. When I tried to pick it up, I just...woke up to a blue sky in the middle of the Shire. The rest, you already know."

Lesson 1 of Paleography is to NOT touch old books with your fingers because of the natural oils on them. Ever since the possibility that the coin might be the catalyst that brought me here, I have done nothing but lament my selfish and defiant actions. I had wanted to see what old parchment felt like and because I wasn't seriously studying the subject, it didn't really matter to me that the book was a priceless artifact. I was prideful, thinking of my wants versus the greater good.

I still remember the feeling as I gently opened the book, barely stroking it's delicate pages and feeling the 'thrill' of being a bad girl by touching something forbidden.

"I don't know how the gold coin was hidden in there since I didn't see an indent made by a coin wedged in the pages. Perhaps it was magic? But when I saw a flash of gold fall and heard it hitting the ground, I went into panic mode. If I somehow damaged that book I wouldn't JUST fail the class, but I also could potentially be kicked out of school for 'harming priceless property'. And yet, like an idiot, I did it anyways." Regret tinges my explanation as I recall my reckless actions. "My toxic trait is thinking that I'm the exception to the rule. But Karma is real. I should have never touched that book without gloves."

Thorin watches me carefully as I explain the coin's story, weighing my facial expressions and words to find any falsehood. I don't think he understood a lot of my phrases and words, but he seems to get the gist of it.

Thorin looks again at the coin almost longingly as he turns it over in his fingers. He frowns in confusion, "It is from Erebor but...it looks older than it should be. The eyes and mouth of Durin have been completely rubbed off."

"Wait, wait, hold on...what?!" I gape at him in astonishment, "Erebor? This coin is from Erebor?! And what do you mean eyes and nose?" I go around his arm to crowd closer to his side to look at the T shape on the coin.

"Here," He pulls out a brown cloth purse from an inner coat pocket and unties the drawstrings.

He pulls out a smaller, silver coin and shows it to me side by side with the gold coin. There, with edges very clean, is an effigy of a similar but different dwarf, though obviously made more recently, with eyes and mouth clearly defined.

Thorin's voice rumbles with a mix of pride and nostalgia as he holds up the two coins. "This coin, minted from the Blue Mountains, bears a resemblance to the one from Erebor, but they are noticeably different," he explains, his tone carrying a touch of reverence. "This is my face, on the Blue Mountain coin, and here is the face of Durin the Deathless, the great ancestor of my line on Erebor's." He points to the image on the coin. "And this," he gestures to what appeared to be a keyhole in the middle of the T, "is his nose. He is depicted wearing a helmet, a symbol of our proud heritage."

My eyes are suddenly opened as he describes the coin to me, like looking at one of those optical illusion pictures. I'm such an idiot, how could I not have seen that earlier? It's a face!

His voice softens as his gaze lingers on the coin, his thoughts are far far away from here. "These coins hold the weight of our history, a reminder of the greatness that once was and the greatness we strive to reclaim."

A gold coin from EREBOR was wedged in between the pages of the ancient red book. I wish I knew what the book's title was or what it was about.

I look up at him excitedly, "Do you think, if I take this coin back to Erebor and throw it in with the rest of the coins, it'll undo the 'spell'?" I make quotation marks with my fingers, "And I can go home?"

It sounds stupid as soon as I say it out loud but, in my defense, all this talk of gold coins reminds me of cursed treasure from Pirates of the Caribbean. Just spray some of Will Turner's blood on it - ghosts are human again. Just return the missing gold coin to it's rightful place in Erebor - Peyton can go home again. Easy peasy!

Thorin's brow furrows in thought as he considers my suggestion. "I do not believe that returning a coin to the treasure hoard would undo any supposed 'spell' or allow you to return home," he replies, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Magic does not typically work in such simplistic ways."

He studies me with his piercing blue eyes, his expression unreadable. "However," he continues, his tone softening slightly, "you do seem to be a 'first' in many regards, Miss Peyton."

I beam at him for the underhanded compliment, and his face seems to relax even farther from his usually stern expression when he notices my pleased look. I belatedly realize that we are standing shoulder to shoulder with the coin between us, me pressed up against his arm from where we had both been intently gazing at the coin's intricate features together. How did I get into his space?

"Great! So I can come then?" I ask eagerly, trying to change the subject so he won't notice me casually back away to a safer distance. "I'm already packed!"

Thorin’s brow furrows in thought and he closes his hand around the two coins. He gives me a look, "A gold coin is hardly convincing proof of your knowledge of the future. And you are still a liability."

Ugh! Come on already!

"Well, I was planning on leaving to Rivendell tomorrow morning anyway." My tone carries a defiant challenge, and I shrug "Now I can have an escort!" I'll find a way to convince him to let me come along to Erebor by then.

"What?!" He looks incredulous, "You intended to travel ALONE through the wilds of the Eridor? Have you a death wish?"

Embarrassment paints my cheeks at his horrified tone, and I reply defensively, "No! But I… I can't just hang around here forever! I have to get home!"

His mood turns dark. "You intended to travel without a caravan or companions? Not even a pony?!" He growls at me, "I was beginning to think you possessed more sense, but it appears my initial assessment of you was correct: You are out of your mind."

That hurt. His words cut me like a shard of glass, stinging painfully.

My pride rears it's ugly head despite his logic. He's right. What if I ran into trolls, or wargs like the company will? And all I had for a weapon was a butcher's knife I got at the market this morning.

But pride and anger are ugly things. If you don't control them, they will control you and I feel myself giving in to my anger. I allow it to take the wheel and lash back.

"Don't worry about me, Thorin Oakenshield. Madness doesn't run in my family,” I say with a glare.

A punch to his face would have been kinder (although it would have hurt my hand). His response- a soft, disbelieving huff- causes a strange tremble inside me. Almost as if my very spirit just gave a shudder of regret at the acidic words I threw at him. I regret my words instantly, but it is too late to call them back into my wayward mouth.

He is quick to rally himself, however, and a stone wall slams down in place over his eyes as his face turns cold and expressionless. But not before I catch the faint glimmer of pain he keeps hidden from the world.

He studies me down the point of his nose, and seems to come to a decision.

His deep voice is controlled and intense, "You seem to know a great many things that you should not. And I would be a fool to allow someone like you to leave here unsupervised with all that you have heard and seen tonight. You will be leaving with us in the morning, Miss Peyton." His voice is hard and his face is expressionless. And just like that, he turns and walks away.

My anger deflates out of me like a balloon, leaving me with a hollow empty feeling as I stand there alone. It doesn't feel as much of a victory as I thought it would be.

Why did I throw his family's issues into his face like that?
How could I be so vicious?

I feel shame wash over me and begin to fill me up like a cup. I turn and go to my bedroom to hide myself, closing my door to lean heavily against it. The regret from my words spill quietly down my cheeks in the form of tears. I let myself slide down until I'm sitting on the floor and I hug my knees to myself.

Why do I care if Thorin thinks I'm mad or stupid? I am mad and stupid sometimes! But I'm also desperate, which is never a good combination. So why did I allow his opinion to bother me so much? Who cares what he thinks?

I hate it, but I do care. I've always cared too much about what other people think, but with him, it's almost worse. I had been so embarrassed waking up in the Boar's Head Inn to realize that Thorin Oakenshield, a character from my childhood adventures, was indeed real and that he perhaps thought very poorly of me. But tonight, his only negative thought of me had been that I was lying to him as a spy, which I knew was untrue and could defend myself against. But being called stupid or crazy? It cut deeper into a wounded part of my soul that needs some TLC. And so, like a petulant child, I had sought to wound him as well. Like a wounded dog that bites the hands of those around it.

For a couple of moments tonight, it almost felt like he and I had come to a sort of understanding...a strange pull between us….but now I've ruined everything.

I pause at that thought and my pride tries to lick it's wounds. No, I didn't. I didn't ruin everything. I'm going on the quest now, and I'm going to throw that coin into Erebor's treasure hoard, and then I'm going home.

Nothing has been ruined, and you know why? Because Thorin's opinion of me doesn't matter in the long run. I brush my tears away as I try to convince myself of this fact, building a wall to protect my emotions and locking them away. And yet... there's something inside me that rebels. A small part (that I ignore) that won't allow me to completely lock it away or to believe the lies I tell myself.

My bedroom is situated near the back parlor that Gandalf and I had spoken in, and I vaguely hear Gandalf's voice through the walls as he cajoles Bilbo into coming on the quest. I notice that he takes a different approach with Bilbo than he did with me. Humph! I fold my arms crossly. I listen to him encouraging him through the crack under my door.

"Can you promise that I will come back, Gandalf?" I hear Bilbo finally ask, his voice fearful.

Holding my arms around my legs, I wipe my nose on the long skirt of my dress (something that would appall Bilbo) as I listen to some of the wisest, scariest words I've ever heard.

"No. And if you do…you will not be the same."

You can never be a kid again. You can never be innocent again. Things have to change in order for you to reach your 'happy ever after'. But change is scary because what if you regret it? You can't go back in time; It's irreversible.

"Then I'm afraid I can't accept," Bilbo says, undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

I freeze for a moment, listening to Bilbo's bedroom door shut and I think very hard as I sit there on the floor. Yes, change is scary...but what's the alternative?

I try and imagine an alternative version of Bilbo Baggins, a version that chooses to stay in Hobbiton. A Bilbo Baggins who will live out the remaining years of his life, never knowing anything beyond the Shire. Never becoming someone wiser, or stronger. Someone who allows dwarves, wizards, and neighbors to walk all over him as if he is dirt, forever. Ignorant of his own ignorance.

In short...a Bilbo Baggins who completely wastes all the potential and light that not only changes this world, but all the worlds that come to know of his story of courage and sacrifice.

Yes, change is scary…but the alternative is even scarier.

I pick myself up off the floor with a sigh. If there's a slight chance that Bilbo doesn't come and I'm the cause of it, then I have to be the one to fix it. I open my door, and peek out. The coast is clear, so I walk quietly down the hall to Bilbo's bedroom. I pass by the round doorway to the parlor on my way there and I see all the dwarves are inside, smoking pipes. Thorin is talking quietly with Balin by the fireplace, but he somehow senses me pass and he briefly looks up. We make eye contact for a millisecond before the wall separates us once more. I blush and hope he didn't notice my red eyes from crying. I feel ashamed, but my darn pride doesn't want to die. I quietly knock on Bilbo's door.

Bilbo's muffled voice comes through, "I'd like to be left alone, if you don't mind."

"I just want to talk" I say gently, my hand resting on the smooth wood.

There's no answer. I sigh, feeling a little dejected when I realize he isn't going to answer. But then suddenly, he does what Bilbo Baggins does best - which is to surprise you - and he opens the door, looking at me.

I smile at him, "Hi."

He looks down at his big hairy feet, "Hi." He replies sadly before his eyes snap back up to mine in shock, "Have...have you been crying?"

"Shh!" I snap at him looking worriedly towards the round door. I don't know how good dwarf hearing is. "I know this goes against all your Hobbit morals and everything, but can I come in? It will only take a few minutes since I need to get to bed soon."

He pauses, but then opens the door with a huff and throws his hands in the air, before moving back to his bed, "Oh, all right! It's not like I haven't broken a million and one things a respectable Hobbit ought to do today!"

I close the door behind me and he jumps at the sound, turning back to me with wide eyes. He's obviously terrified that we're alone in his bedroom.

I grin, "RELAX, Bilbo. I'm not here to steal your virtue, I just want to talk."

He blushes, and nods, accustomed to the blunt way I say things after two months of us living together. I get it, he's never had a woman in his bedroom before. I sit on the handcrafted wooden chest at the foot of his bed while he remains standing, hands fidgeting awkwardly at his side.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow with the dwarves." I explain with a sigh, "Gandalf isn't able to send me home, contrary to what I've always believed. So I'm going to have to go to Rivendell after all. But…as much as I hate it…I'll most likely end up going all the way to Erebor. Gandalf seems to think the Valar won't let me go home until I complete a…a specific task. But since he clearly doesn't know everything, I'm hoping he's wrong about this task too. The gold coin got me here so hopefully it'll get me out again. I think if I rejoin it with the other gold in Erebor, I might be able to go home."

That, or I have to save the Durin bloodline. I'm still banking on the coin theory though because if it's the bloodline theory then we're ALL doomed.

He nods and starts pacing around the room, fidgeting with his different belongings, "Yes, well, Gandalf also tried to convince me to come too."

"Will you?"

"Of course not!" Bilbo lifts his hands out and gestures around him. "I'm not brave or adventurous! Respectable hobbits don't go out into the wilderness!"

Funny. He sounds kinda like me.

He starts pacing and gesturing frantically about himself, "I am a Baggins of Bag-end! I belong here! This is my home! My past, present, and future. I can't just…. pack up and go running off on an…an…." He pauses with a sigh, not finishing his sentence. An adventure.

"Why not?"

He stops pacing and stares at me with wide eyes before scoffing. He gives me a frustratedly amused look while wagging his finger at me as if I'm being naughty, "Ah no. No, no, no…I see what you're doing!" He sing-songs with an annoyed smile.

I look at him innocently, "What? What am I doing?"

"You're trying to convince me to come along with you! That's what you're doing!"

"You caught me." I tilt my head and give a cute cheeky grin.

He huffs out a shocked laugh that I don't even bother to deny it and shakes his head at the ground fondly. I drop the act and grin genuinely at him. He'll most definitely miss me.

I try again, "You know how Gandalf said he can't guarantee that you will come back?" I make my expression earnest, "Well, I can. You WILL be back, Bilbo Baggins!"

He stops short. His eyes wide, "I-I will?"

I smile, "You're the main character. Of course you will!"

"I'm the...the main character? What?" He asks in awe. He slowly sits down next to me, gazing at the wall and seeing nothing.

"We're all the main characters of our life's story." I smile at him from the corner of my eye mischievously.

He shoots me an annoyed look, feeling like I had tricked him with my platitudes.

I laugh and nudge his shoulder, "But in your case, you really ARE the main character, Bilbo."

He looks a little lost, "But…why me?"

I clap him jovially on the shoulder, "Come with us tomorrow and find out!"

Suddenly, a low hum begins to vibrate through the house. I pause, listening.

Bilbo notices my expression, "What is…" he pauses too, listening in confusion.

Deep throaty vibrations that remind me of a cello or base. Ancient stories and deep magic come to mind.

A deep smooth voice sings out lowly, "Far over the Mist Mountains cold…through dungeons deep and caverns old. We march away at break of day to find our long-forgotten gold..."

My mouth drops open in shock. Thorin?!

His deep voice is as mournful as it is beautiful. And I remember the deep voice I had briefly heard singing before he had come around the bend when I met him the first time in the forest.

I recognize the words from the book, but the way it is sung is the most mesmerizing thing I've ever heard.

The hair on the back of my arms and neck stands up as I realize this song is one that is being made up on the spot as well, just like the dishes song from earlier. There wasn't a song written beforehand about marching away to the Misty Mountains to reclaim gold in the morning since it‘s never happened...until now.

Thorin is creating it right now!

The sound fills and shakes the spaces of air within my lungs, resounding within my chest. The sound of my heart beats in time with the vibrations that connect me to the music. It feels almost like the dwarves are casting a spell as they begin to combine their different voices to his. They harmonize and weave their voices in and out with hums and deep vibrations in their throat. They never had practiced this song before. It is pure magic. The strongest magic that I've truly experienced while here in the Shire, besides Gandalf's dark tantrum.

It reaches into me, and fills me with courage and desire and unadulterated longing. I can only describe it as…a call.

A call to be more than what I currently am. Like the call of the sun to the little seed in the dark earth; it‘ the call of adventure. Or rather, in other words, the call of transformation. For that is exactly what an adventure does; It transforms you.

It's an electric feeling. If I could just…hold on to that feeling and NEVER let it go….I would always be happy. Or, if not happy, I would always be full instead of this cloying emptiness that I don't even realize is there until special moments like these come along. And I know that if I follow that call then it will fill that emptiness and turn me into more. What this 'more' is, I don't know, but it's irresistible. And I know, based on the book, that Bilbo feels it too. His life is full of good and lovely things, but he's empty. He's been empty since his parents died and left him with a house full of memories.

He and I sit in awed silence as the dwarves sing the long and sad song of the desolation of Smaug, and their quest to get their home back.

At the end of the song, I don't say anything else to Bilbo as we sit for a moment in silence. I can't. I merely lean over and give his hand a squeeze accompanied with a knowing smile before standing up and slipping quietly from his room and back to mine. Based on his expression, I know we'll see him running out the door after us tomorrow.

Chapter Text

A gentle but firm hand at my shoulder shakes me awake. I open my sore, scratchy eyes to look at the tall silhouette in my dark room.

"Good morning, Miss Peyton. It is time to depart. I already took the liberty of acquiring a pony for you." Gandalf's voice reaches me.

I give a groggy glance at my dark window before letting my head fall back into the goose-down pillow with a moan. The sun hasn't even come up yet! I did not get enough sleep last night. Too many strange and confusing dreams of me apologizing in over a hundred different ways to Thorin in my mind.

I pull the blanket over my head, "Ten more minutes, Gandalf."

"Ok."

I open my eyes and turn to see him leaving. Huh. That was relatively easy. I snuggle deep into my soft mattress and drift back to sleep.

A stab of annoyance hits me after what feels like one minute later, another hand is shaking at my shoulder. It's Gandalf again.

"Miss Peyton, ten minutes is up. It is time to depart. Come with me."

I shift my body and groan, frustrated that the ten minutes felt like a blink, "Five more minutes, Gandalf."

"What?!"

He sounds shocked but he'll learn. They all learn. Give me an inch and I'll take a mile when it comes to my sleep.

"I already gave you ten minutes! Get up and come with me!"

"Ugh, why do we have to start the quest so dang early?! It's not like it's going anywhere..." I mumble groggily into my pillow, feeling myself slowly start to drift back into slumberland.

"Peyton Silva, get up this instant or I will have one of the other dwarves wake you!" Gandalf growls, clearly a grump in the morning as well.

I feel him leave my bedside and I peek a bleary eye at him curiously. I can see him better in the light of the doorway, the same grey bathrobe on from yesterday. Does he ever wear anything else?

"Which one?" I ask curiously. If he sends in Ori then I won't budge.

His annoyed expression turns amused, "Both Dwalin AND Thor-"

"I'm up. I'm up." I scramble up, and Gandalf closes the door behind him with a quiet chuckle.

With a loud resigned sigh, I pull my traveling clothes on, swaying like a drunk with no balance. I should have gone to bed earlier but after vacationing for two months here in the Shire, I’ve begun to stay up late talking with Bilbo. I'd wake up to start my day off around 10am and eat Elevensies. Bilbo always got annoyed and said that first and second breakfasts were the most important meals of the day but I always slept through them.

I shrug the pack that had been graciously provided for me with all the tools I needed to get to Rivendell. That was fortuitous luck right there.

Once again the strange feeling comes over me, reminding me that 'luck' doesn't have much of anything to do with my situation here in Middle Earth. I am here for a purpose. I remember the song from last night, calling me to adventure and to transform into something more.

With a final glance around at my room, I take a deep breath and head out into the hallway only to find dwarves everywhere. They're silently cleaning the whole house, careful not to wake Bilbo. If they didn't make such a mess in the first place they wouldn't have needed to clean. But I guess with thirteen dwarves, it's easy. I wonder if Thorin cleans?

I bump into the dwarf himself in the hallway. His chest briefly touches mine before we both step back like we've been stung. He raises a brow at me as if I am in his way.

"Good morning" I try to smile pleasantly at him. The grasshoppers are back, banging against my stomach in frightened plops and summersaults.

If he's surprised at my kind greeting, it doesn't show. But I AM surprised by the small civil nod that he grants me, his face expressionless. He slides past me, careful not to touch me again.

Tell him you're sorry! Go on, just spit it out!

But the moment passes and he's gone. Nice going Peyton. I hope the whole trip to Rivendell won't be like this because the guilt is eating me alive. I'm going to need to apologize sooner rather than later to avoid this awkward thing we have going on between us.

I grit my teeth to keep myself from running after him and giving him a half-arsed apology. I need to pick the right moment. How long until that happens though?

Stiffly, I put one foot in front of the other on my way to the kitchen. If the noiseless dwarves don't wake Bilbo, the smell of bacon sizzling on the stove will.

As the other dwarves pass me by they respectfully murmur, "Pardon me, Miss.", or "Good morning, Miss."

"Good morning, Miss Peyton!" Kili greets me from the table, a plate of food in front of him. "A fine day for a quest, is it not?"

I smile, still a little tired, "As good a day as any. What's for breakfast?"

"Oh! Allow me to get some for you!" He starts to get up but a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast is suddenly in front of my face, I turn to look at who the arm belongs to, only to see a smiling Fili.

"Got to be faster, brother." He grins. Kili sends him a glare.

Wow. Fili and Kili are…quite the flatterers! Who would've thought?

I give them both an amused yet exasperated eye roll, "Ok, you two. If the rest of the quest is going to be like this, I'm going to start bopping people on the head." Then, remembering my manners, "But thank you, Fili." I take the plate and go to sit down at the table.

"My pleasure, Lady Seer." Fili gives me an exaggerated bow.

"Oh, uh, just 'Peyton' is fine, Fili." I give an embarrassed smile and bite into my toast.

Not a seer.

"Really? Are you sure?" He asks, surprised.

"In my world, no one is really formal anymore. We call everyone by their first names." I give a shrug, "I call you and everyone else in the company by first names. It just makes sense to call me by mine."

Fili thinks on this a moment before nodding, "Very well then."

The brothers and I exchange some light banter as I eat my food. When finished, I stand and head over to the kitchen to rinse off my plate only to almost run into Bifur. My eyes immediately go up to the axe in his head without my say so. As someone in the medical field I find it absolutely fascinating how the human body can resist so much. But do dwarves and humans have the same bodily processes?

He says something in that strange language of his and then bows, taking my plate from my hand.

"Thanks, Bifur!" I smile at him, grateful. I hate doing dishes.

I have nothing really left to do and I'm about to head outside, when I notice Balin standing alone with the contract. He sets it on a chair carefully. As if sensing my gaze, he looks up to see me watching him. For a moment, we both stare at one another before I give him a small smile and a respectful nod. He pauses before nodding back to me, and his wariness seems to ease a little. I hope we can be friends someday. I've always really liked him.

With that, I turn and go out the front door, breathing in the cool spring air.

"Ah, at last, you're awake."

I turn to see Gandalf standing by his grey horse, a stern look on his mouth but a twinkle in his eye. I send him a wink as I stretch a sun salutation to the not-yet-risen sun, popping my back muscles. And then...I see my pony.

A cream colored palomino standing calmly beside Gandalf, a long tuft of pale hair in it’s eyes.

"Oh. My. Gosh! My little pony!" I move slowly towards her, afraid that I might have startled her with my happy shriek. Her ears are pricked and looking at me.

I've always wanted a pony since I was a kid, watching corny horse movies, and collecting figurines with my sister. Our bedroom used to have a whole shelf dedicated to our shrine of horse figurines collection. Now they're all packed up in storage and have been there for about eight years. Still, I can't bear to sell them.

"Carmella. Her name is Carmella, it's final. Or Butterscotch...butterscotch is a good name too."

Gandalf raises his eyebrows, "Uh, actually she-"

"But Carmella reminds me of caramel, and I love caramel. Maybe I can call her both?"

"Peyton, I'm afraid-"

"Ok, ok, ok, her name is officially Carmella Butterscotch Silva. It's decided."

"Carmella is a boy." Gandalf finally says.

Well, there goes my dream.

I sigh, "Sir Gallahop it is then." I scratch him between the eyes and he nickers, as if laughing at me.

I'm suddenly heartbroken, my emotions swirling before I've even mounted Sir Gallahop. The knowledge that he and the ponies will be captured in the Misty Mountains and dragged down into the depths of Goblintown to be eaten?! I rub his furry neck thoughtfully, the idea weighing heavily on me. I wonder if this is something that I can change?

So absorbed in searching for a way to alter his grim fate and pondering all the scenarios of how to save him, that I barely notice the other dwarves emerging from Bilbo's house. By now everyone has congregated out at the front, their ponies apparently already packed before cleaning their mess.

Thorin comes sweeping out the front door in all his kingly aura and pauses, majestically taking in the scene of us standing prepared with our ponies. All the dwarves stop and turn to look at him, showing great respect and gravity for this pivotal moment. The air is thick with anticipation.

He looks at us with his blue eyed gaze, measuring the weight of his duty to us, undoubtably weighing the risks and wondering how many of us will survive this perilous task. After meeting his gaze briefly, I turn my attention back to my pony, meticulously ensuring that my pack is securely fastened. The need to apologize to him gnaws at me, but I just don't know when or even how to approach him.

I feel more than see him gracefully sweep past me, on his way to his own pony and I steal a covert glance in his direction. He rubs a black pony's velvety face and speaks to it in the same strange language I heard Bifur speak. I realize it's a different pony than the one he and I rode to Michel Delving. What happened to the other one?

As if sensing my eyes on him, his eyes flicker over to where I stand, briefly meeting mine before I quickly avert my eyes back to my pony. Gosh dang it Peyton! Just go over there and say 'Hey, I was a jerk last night. You were right and it's a dangerous world out there. You're an amazing king and I'm sorry for bringing up past ghosts. That was a very rude move on my part. Let's be friends!'

Thorin smoothly lifts himself up onto his ride and turns his pony to face all of us. Silently waiting.

Or not. I can just spend the next year not ever looking or talking to him again. Maybe I can write an apology letter after I save his life? He'll have to forgive me then, right?

I feel a hint of trepidation as I look up at Sir Gallahop, trying to figure out how best to get on him. Last time, Thorin had just pulled me up behind him with one hand.

I stick my foot into the stirrup then, holding on to the saddle like I'd seen in all the country westerns, I try to push myself up. At that moment, Gallahop decides it's a good time to start walking.

"Woah! Stop!" I cry out, desperately trying to free my foot from the stirrup before I am dragged along and trampled. Gallahop either doesn't speak English, or he doesn't care, because he continues walking, forcing me to hop along him on one foot to avoid falling to the ground and possibly getting a hoof in the back. I manage to unhook my foot from the stirrup, narrowly escaping an unfortunate accident.

I can't help it. I glance at Thorin, catching his unimpressed glower, silently conveying his disapproval at me being a liability.

I narrow my eyes at him, my pride rising once more, and I grab my pony by the reins, holding onto them while also holding onto the saddle. With a resolute push, straining the muscles hard in my thigh, I lift myself up and my stubborn pony tries to move again. This time, my grip on both the reins and the saddle horn don't allow his head any room as it pulls back on his mouth, forcing him to stop.

Quickly pushing up, I lift my other leg over and around and I'm suddenly there, unsteadily in the saddle with a living moving creature beneath me. I can't help my grin, delighted at my success, and adjust myself in the seat, centering my weight over the pony. I steal a glance at Thorin, hoping he witnessed my triumph. He merely raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, before turning his pony with a click and light kick. The dwarves begin to follow after him.

Huh, not much of a speech giver is he. I was expecting some sort of 'Thank you all for coming. We've gathered here to begin an arduous journey. Some of you may not survive...'

But no. Thorin is a man of very few words.

We walk our ponies through the sleepy village of Hobbiton before anyone can begin cooking their first breakfast. Everything is quiet and peaceful, the 'clippity-clop!' of our ponies' various gaits on the road is the only thing that breaks the silence. Birds seem to be roused by the sound and start to softly twitter 'good morning!' to each another. The moon is less and less bright as the sky turns lighter and lighter.

As we reach the final bend in the road, I pause my pony and cast a final glance back at Bag End, perched atop the lush green hill. The gardens and flowers surrounding Bilbo's neighbors' homes create a picturesque scene. At that very moment, the sun peeks over one of the hills, its golden tendrils stretching out to touch the earth.

It's so beautiful.

I reluctantly tear my gaze away, realizing it will be my last glimpse of this wonderful place. I feel a painful itch in my throat and turn forward, only to find Thorin watching me intently. Our eyes lock for a fleeting moment before he turns his pony once more, resuming the company's journey. Self-consciousness washes over me, wondering if he interpreted my lingering gaze as me having second thoughts or something.

As the company continue riding through the woods, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, and the dwarves begins to share stories and jokes. The atmosphere becomes more relaxed.

"Nah, the lad's too soft. The wild’s no place for gentlefolk." I hear Gloin rumbling loudly to Oin, echoing Dwalin's statement from last night. Ah, they're talking about whether Bilbo will show or not.

"Are all dwarves warriors?" I speak up, curiously.

Gloin looks back at me, surprised I'm addressing him. "Aye, Lass. All dwarves know battle to some extent."

"Oh come off it, ya lugnut." Dori says, irritably. "Not all dwarves choose to be a 'warrior' as a profession."

Gloin gives him a dark look, "I said 'to an extent'." He addresses me again and rectifies his earlier statement, "All dwarves know battle techniques, but there’s many kinds of crafts we dwarves can choose from."

"Would you be able to teach Bilbo and I some fighting techniques?"

They laugh at me. The company all start places bets. I don't remember if this happened in the book or not so I pay extra close attention.

"I'm not much of a naysayer, Lady Seer," Oin chimes in, "But I don't think Mr. Baggins is coming." He gives me an appraising look, "You may be made of tougher materiel since you didn't seem afraid of the dragon or faint. But I don't think a hobbit such as Bilbo Baggins could ever be a warrior."

"Besides that, he's not coming." Nori interjects, shooting me a cold look.

"I'll take that bet. Let’s make another wager." I raise an amused eyebrow. "In addition to the one you have on whether or not he will show up, I bet that Bilbo will save the ENTIRE company single-handedly. At least once."

They laugh again.

"Impossible." Dori shakes his head adamantly.

I make my voice deep, mimicking my best ‘Gandalf voice’, "Sometimes, to discover what's possible, you have to venture into the impossible.”

It's the kind of thing he would spout off.

Gandalf himself turns to me and chuckles heartily when he sees my shameless grin, realizing that I'm impersonating him.

Gloin however gives me an unimpressed glower, "Thorin told us that you would be coming with us only to save you from your own stupidity. But I personally don't know what's more stupid Lass, going into the wilds alone or going to the elves for help."

I feel a flash of annoyance at Thorin, the need to prove I'm not dumb rising up again but I temper it. For a second, I wish I could fling Gimli’s future bromance with an elf right into his father's face. But throwing knowledge into people's faces won't endear me to this company. I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I need them in order to survive this mess and to get back home.

I get the feeling, based on Gloin's words, that Thorin didn't reveal to the company what I said about his family's mental history. And for that, I'm very grateful.

I finally shrug, "Well, do you have any better ideas for me to get home? Should I stay in the Shire and hope the answer drops out of the sky?"

"It's not safe for a lady." Gloin grumbles, as if that would put an end to it.

"You're on a quest to take a mountain back from a dragon, Gloin." I retort, now my turn to give him an unimpressed look, "It's not safe for anyone."

I hear a laugh from Fili, who I didn't realize has been listening intently to my conversation, "She's got you there, Gloin!”

Gloin doesn't speak after that, but when the others decide to accept my wager on whether Bilbo will save the entire company, he chooses in the negative. Guess I'm going to go home with a couple of extra gold coins after all.

But first things first, Bilbo needs to arrive.

As the minutes drag on, my anxiety increases as we get further and further from town. I keep looking behind me every few seconds. I‘d been so sure the smell of breakfast cooking would wake him up. I angle my pony and nudge my little pony to ride up to the wizard in front of me, passing Thorin on my left.

"Gandalf…what if he doesn't come?" I mutter quietly to him so the others won't hear. "What if I messed something up??"

If this is like the books, then Gandalf should be still at BagEnd helping Bilbo to hurry along to catch up with us. But instead he’s here! Riding with us! I'm aware of Thorin's scowl behind Gandalf and I as the two of us whisper in front of him like we're plotting something.

"He will, my dear. Just you wait." Gandalf quietly reassures me under his breath.

I nod. "He better. Or else I'm riding back there and dragging his butt back with me!"

I am NOT taking his place on this quest as the burglar. We all might as well turn around and go home because we'll never make it to the Lonely Mountain without him.

Suddenly what he said hits me, and I turn to him with narrowed eyes, "Waaaaait. How do you know he will come when you don't even know how to send ME home?"

"I only know what the Valar reveal to me, Miss Silva. The Valar have been quite clear on Bilbo's involvement just as they were clear with me on yours. But they have not revealed yet how to send you home. All in good time, my dear, all in good time. You can trust that the Valar know what they're doing." Gandalf nods, with a kindly smile.

The Valar love screwing with people it would seem.

I let out a small huff of annoyance, "So how do you know when it’s the Valar talking to you or when it's just your own-"

"Wait! Wait!"

My breath wooshes out of me in relief at the familiar voice and pull the reigns on my pony to look behind me. Unfortunately this causes Thorin to have to pull his pony to a halt as well in order to avoid running into me. He shoots a furious glower at me before turning himself to see.

There he is; hair a mess, enormous backpack bouncing up and down. Running after us with no shoes, just big hairy hobbit feet, is Bilbo Baggins.

"Dude! What took you so long?!" I try to sound annoyed but the relief I feel is evident on my face.

"I, uh, I had to grab a pack and fill it with many many things!" He says sheepishly, indicating the very large travel bag on his back. He then looks at the group of dwarves, "Oh, and I-I signed it! Here!"

He presents the paper to Balin who gives him a look before pulling out a magnifying glass to look at the signature. I share an amused look with Gandalf at the formality of it all. Why would Bilbo have forged his signature?

"Well, everything seems to be in order! Welcome to the company of Thorin Oakenshield, Master Baggins." Ballin smiles and then sends a wink to Bilbo, apparently thinking the same thing.

I grin at Bilbo who looks excited and flushed after racing after us. What a way to start an adventure!

"Give him a pony." Thorin rumbles, his mood dark. He turns forward, his imperious glare turning on me when he notices me watching him. He clicks and kicks his pony to ride past mine, maintaining eye contact until he passes. He passes Gandalf as well, now leading the company in front.

My spirits droop a little as the feeling of guilt returns. Both the cartoon and book are in agreeance that Thorin's supposed to be pleased that Bilbo shows up. They all were. I understand he's upset at me, but why's he upset at Bilbo?

Gandalf gives me a look, as if I've disappointed him. He seems to sense Thorin's bad mood isn't his normal taciturn behavior.

I wilt, knowing that I need to hurry up and just apologize. His bad mood is my fault, and it looks like I've already changed things. It shouldn't be this hard to say I'm sorry, especially when I actually WANT to...But Gloin's comment earlier irritated me.

The other dwarves' ponies start walking past Gandalf and me, following Thorin.

Bilbo immediately begins to protest, "Oh, no, no, I quite enjoy walking, thank you! I've taken many a 'walking holiday', if you will. I uh, I prefer to walk! It's actually a rather nice way to spend -uuAhh!"

Kili and Fili have walked their horses on either side of him and heave him up to sit on the spare pony's back.

"Keep up, Mister Boggins!" Kili grins at Bilbo with a clap on his shoulders. He gives me a smirk as he passes by, "And you too Miss Silva. We don't want a pretty thing like you getting lost!"

Fili turns and gives me an identical smile as his brother.

I grin back at them, raising a teasing eyebrow "No we certainly do not. Thanks, boys."

"But of course!" Kili beams. "We must be proper gentlemen with a lady-"

"Kili! Fili! Get up here. I have a question for ye." Dwalin barks over at us.

Fili and Kili give me an apologetic look before kicking their ponies to move up toward the front to ride by a scowling Dwalin.

I try to push down the hurt and disappointment I feel and instead look over at the Hobbit next to me, still getting himself situated on the pony.

This is...different. Bilbo came out on this adventure without Gandalf forcing him unlike in the original. Did I do this?

"So...what changed your mind?" I ask him softly.

He shrugs his shoulders, and gives me a smile "Well, I can't miss my own story can I?"

Yup. I did.

I place a hand on my heart theatrically, and proclaim, “I'm so proud!" while dabbing at my eyes with an invisible handkerchief. “My little adventurer is taking his first steps!”

Bilbo huffs a laugh and shakes his head in embarrassment before looking down at the animal beneath him, "Although, I'm not sure I would have been so eager to run after you if I had known I would be riding a pony. Now I have to add 'death by pony hooves' onto my list of fears."

"Aww, c'mon Bilbo! They're not that bad!" I give Sir Gallahop a loving pat.

He grimaces "Ugh, so much pony fur, I-," a large sneeze heaves out of him. "Ugh, I'm having a reaction...Wait! Wait, STOP!” The company all halt once more. “We have to go back!"

"Argh, what is it now?" one of the dwarves asks.

"I forgot my handkerchief!"

"Here, you can use mine!" I smile, giving him the handkerchief.

"Oh! Thank you, I...wait a minute…” he narrows his eyes in confusion, “This is mine!"

I give him an amused look, "Yes Bilbo. You gave it to me as a 'way to remember the first time we met', remember?"

Had it really only been yesterday that I‘d been packing and planning on going to Rivendell alone? It feels like a lot longer than that.

"Oh…yes, you're quite right. I had forgotten." Bilbo says, looking at the handkerchief in his hands before sighing, "This isn't my favorite one though. Are you sure we can't go back?"

I roll my eyes. Proud moment gone.

Gandalf agrees with me, "My dear Bilbo, there are many comforts of home that you will have to get on without. The Shire is behind you…The world is before you."

Bilbo and I drink up Gandalf's words like he's the Socrates of the Greeks feeding us wisdom from the gods. Which, in this case, he kinda is. The maiar are like angels, sorta?

It's a rather uneventful day all things considered but Bilbo and I chatter happily about how shocked everyone will be when they find him missing. The other dwarves don't seem to really talk to us, just amongst themselves.

It appears that Bilbo, and I are the outcasts of the company, the dwarves appearing to be a very private and close-knit group. I'm sure that they are listening intently to our conversation though, and I try to speak honestly and in a friendly manner, hoping they will see that I'm not a spy. Gandalf also laughs often and joins in with little stories that make us hang onto every word.

Our ponies can only travel around 20-25 miles a day, and we have another two days until we arrive at Bree. Normally, I would have missed my car...but the fresh air, sunshine, and plants take away any qualms I have. Sure beats walking.

When we reach a place that Thorin deems worthy enough to camp at; Kili and Fili look after the ponies, everyone gathers five pieces of wood, and Oin and Gloin get a fire going. I help Bombur prepare dinner by cutting the potatoes and other ingredients.

I listen to the dwarves joke and bicker amongst themselves, relaxing after a long day of travel. Almost everyone pulls out their pipes to smoke and chat after our long day.

A cry of pain has me whipping my head toward the sound in confusion, along with the rest of the company. The sight that greets me is poor little Ori holding his hand away from his body, gritting his teeth in pain. He's just come out of the woods, presumably from the bathroom.

Dori is immediately on it. "Ori! What is the matter?! What has happened?!" He takes Ori's hand in his, looking at it worriedly. Nori comes over as well.

"A wasp bit me." Ori grits his teeth, speaking in his polite little accent, "On my writing hand!"

I immediately come closer, wondering what would be good for wasp stings here in Middle Earth when Oin thankfully saves the day, carrying over a medic bag with him. He lays it out on a nearby log, "Let us have a look at that hand, Master Ori."

He attends to Ori's hand, which looks like the bee or wasp had got him right in the center of the palm. Ouch. Already it's turning red, and I know that in a few minutes it will begin to swell.

I come closer, ignoring Nori and Dori's dark and protective glares aimed at me, and look over Oin's medic bag with interest. He has some interesting tools I've never seen before. As well as a few small glass vials with different powders and plants bottled inside.

"That's going to swell up a bit, lad." Oin echoes my thoughts, "Keep the ointment on it and it'll help with the pain. Nothing to do about the swelling but wait."

It's a shame they don't have any ice packs in Middle Earth. Or Benadryl.

"But my hand! How will I write?" Ori says, looking devastated. "I have to document our journey! I'm the scribe!" The way he makes it sound; it's the end of the world. He had been scribbling furiously at some sheafs of paper with his quill before taking a bathroom break.

"Ye can't write with a swollen hand, lad. You'll have to wait 'til ye heal up first."

Ori looks like he's about to cry.

Dori and Nori put comforting hands on top of Ori's shoulders and Dori starts muttering something to him in dwarf language.

"This is some rotten luck. First day of our quest and our scribe has gotten stung." Oin shakes his head. "Perhaps it's an omen?"

The dwarves surrounding Ori look up at me.

I frown, looking around me to make sure they are, in fact, looking at me and not someone behind me. Unfortunately the rest of the camp have been following the proceedings closely.

"Uhhh, why are you all looking at me?" I ask innocently.

"Well? Is it an omen, Lass? Or isn't it?" Gloin asks gruffly, arms crossing over his chest.

"Uhhh, no? Ori just got stung." I feel bewildered.

Is this what being a seer is?

"Aye, but on our first day? That spells bad luck it does." Gloin says with a head shake.

"Oi! Come off it ya tosser!" Nori says angrily to Gloin. "Not everything has to mean something!"

Gloin and Oin get riled up and start arguing with Nori and Dori for being unbelievers, while Nori and Dori go off about Boin being koo-koo and that sometimes a dream is simply a dream. They both have valid arguments and I stand there bewildered while watching them, until I notice Ori.

Poor little Ori is just standing there, in between both parties, getting blasted in the eardrums.

Before someone intercedes, like I know Thorin will, I decide to end it.

"Hey! Calm DOWN EVERYONE!" I yell, making them stop fighting and look at me in surprise. "It isn't an omen. Yeah, our trip is going to be a crazy one, but not because a bee said so. Sheesh!"

I focus my gaze on Ori and give him a gentle smile, "Hey, Ori? If you would like, I would be honored to act as 'assistant' scribe until your hand heals up. That way you don't forget anything you want to write! It is the first day after all."

Ori's eyes widen and he automatically glances at Dori who is also looking at me with surprise. Nori watches me with assessing suspicious eyes.

I backtrack, feeling nervous of rejection, "I'm...I'm sure my writing isn't as beautiful as yours, but if you need them..." I hold my hands up for inspection, "You have my hands."

The five dwarves are stunned, watching me with shocked faces. I'm aware of the silence from the rest of the camp as well.

I purposefully used a term that would be familiar to them. Like when Aragon had offered his sword, Legolas his bow, and Gimli his axe to Frodo. It held a deeper meaning than I originally thought while watching the Fellowhip of the Ring. One evening, while I was chopping onions in Bilbo's kitchen, I joked that he 'had my knife'. He then explained to me that this phrase was a way to express very deep 'friendship and loyalty'. A much stronger version of 'at your service' that the dwarves frequently use. I was basically pledging myself to ‘the cause’ of cutting onions for Bilbo.

And in this case, I am pledging myself to Ori's cause of documenting the journey as much as he has need of me, as a token of loyalty and friendship.

When neither Nori or Dori say anything to the contrary, Ori finally nods and smiles a very shy but pleased smile, "I would like that very much, Miss Peyton. I thank you for the honor of having my own assistant!"

I grin back, relieved, "Ok, great! Just tell me what you want me to write and I'll do it word for word."

One down, twelve more dwarves to go.

Ori and I sit together for the rest of the evening as he dictates to me the words he would've written himself tonight if he were able. I scratch the quill the way Bilbo had taught me, doing my best to not leave any ink splotches.

Because I would oooh and ahhhh over his books, maps, and writing style; Bilbo had given me a few 'Tolkien' calligraphy lessons. I love the way they write here. It was hard learning how to use a quill at first, but without any pens in Middle Earth, I learned quickly enough.

I guess I did need writing and reading on this quest after all!

Dori hovers near, his face much gentler and welcoming to me than before. Nori also isn't frowning at me for my 'seer abilities' and even goes as far as to fetch me the portable desk Ori used to write with. You have to write at an angle so the ink doesn't splotch.

I can't help myself and I glance over to see Thorin's reaction to all of this but he isn't looking at me. He seems to be speaking to Fili and Kili with a serious expression. Both of them, however, ARE looking at me as he speaks. They quickly turn their gazes back to Thorin when they notice me noticing them.

My heart patters with worry, hoping Thorin isn't telling them to stay away from me.

After a delicious dinner by 'Chef Bombur' (Bilbo cooks better) I lay on the cold ground, feeling tired and full and ready to go to sleep. And a little sore to be honest. Riding a pony all day is unpleasant.

"Lass, you're going to want to roll out your bedroll." Says a voice from somewhere to my right.

It sounds like that one dwarf with the weird hat I‘d sat by at Bilbo's house, but I'm too tired to open my eyes to confirm it and reply with a noncommittal grunt instead.

"Lass, can you hear me? It's going to get cold tonight, you'll want to roll out your bedroll.

I open my eyes with a sigh, "Yeah. I can hear you."

"It'll get colder as the night progresses." He repeats for the third time, kindly. "Come on Lass, I'll help ya."

He gives me a hand up and helps me roll out my sleeping bag. It's not really a sleeping bag. It doesn't have zippers and it's not made out of synthetic materials, but it's made of wool and I sigh when I get into it. "Thank you...what was your name again?"

"Well, I'll be begging your pardon Miss Peyton! We chatted at the table and on the ponies and I plum forgot that didn't introduce me self! The name's Bofur."

"Bofur." I repeat, smiling at him. "Thank you."

I then close my eyes, comfortable and unwilling to move.

Bofur wants to continue conversing, however.

"That was a mighty kind thing you did, lass. I'm sure Ori appreciated that."

I nod, "Thanks. Ori is a good guy."

A pause, "So... are you really a seer like Boin is?" He asks.

I open my eyes and look at him. His face is open and his eyes seem sincere about it. I think out loud, "Well, I'm not sure what kind of seer Boin is. But he was right about the portents to reclaim Erebor. But…"I decide to answer him honestly, "I have to admit...that things have been very different than how I imagined them being."

"Such as?"

"Well, everyone in the company looks completely different than how I thought they would...except maybe for Bilbo and Gandalf, somewhat. And... the personality of everyone is different as well. Besides that, though, it's been somewhat accurate so far."

Bofur nods thoughtfully, before he peers at me, "Can you give me a prophecy?"

I suddenly feel like a fraud. I never should have claimed to be a seer. But I had thought I was leaving anyways, so I thought it'd be ok to mess around with them a little.

I sigh, "Honestly? I don't think I AM a seer, Bofur. I know the future or, at least, I thought I did…but… but I'm not here to tell the company about their future. I'm here to change it. So, if I tell you the future, it’ll be pointless since it's probably not going to happen the way I tell you. Because I‘m going to change it anyways. Does that make sense?"

Bofur looks intrigued, "You're right; that doesn't sound like a seer at all. But I've heard tell that when a seer gives a prophecy, it can have multiple interpretations." He gives me a look, "Must be something very important you need to change if the Valar sent someone from another world."

I shrug and nod, not meeting his curious eyes. "Yeah. It is."

"Can you at least tell me what we were originally going to face on this trip?" He tries again.

I hum thoughtfully, thinking. Eh. Like I said before all this started, I don't take responsibility for the mess I make. That's the Valar's problem.

Shrugging, I let it out, "Well, if it goes the way I think, then just the usual. Wargs and Orcs," I copy the same tone he used when describing Smaug to Bilbo, "A few trolls. A couple of Stone Giants in the distance. A few Goblins. Nothing major until Mirkwood though, which I'm probably not going to survive. Some elves. An orc that just won't die. And of course, the Dragon. Like I said, nothing major.”

Bofur laughs, long and hard.

"Is that all, then?" He finally guaffs, finally able to speak, "Well, that's quite a relief!"

We both grin at each other, speaking the same language of sarcasm. He clearly doesn't believe me at all. I think I lost him at Stone Giants.

"I like you Bofur. Tomorrow, I want you to tell me where you got your hat." I laugh and close my eyes again with a sigh.

He allows me to sleep after that. My last thought is that I will apologize to Thorin tomorrow, I promise myself.

I'm surprised I last as long as I do, the guilt chewing on my entrails every time I look up to where Thorin rides at the front of the company. Two more days have passed and I have dutifully helped Ori while his hand is puffy and in pain. The company have gradually turned more friendly towards me, while Thorin's expressionless looks and aloof demeanor have not. Every time I want to go up to him and try to make amends, my mind tries to psych me out of doing it.

I'm surprised when, the morning after I offer to help Ori, I find Kili and Fili riding beside me once more, asking questions with the rest of the company about my world. Their curiosity is evident in their eyes as they seek knowledge about a planet other than their own. Dwalin doesn't call the two Durinsons back up to him, and I realize it's a deliberate act on his part to inadvertently gather information about me. Whether Fili and Kili are aware of this or not, I don't know but I remember seeing Thorin speaking with the two of them the other night.

Since then, I've been staring at the back of his head a lot these past few days to be honest.

Thorin sits straight in his saddle, not slouched like me. I have horrible posture. His broad shoulders are held back regally, embodying the true essence of a King. His wavy hair isn't covered by a cloak this time and rests on his shoulders like a dark curtain.

Riding alongside Ori, I halfway listen as the young dwarf enthusiastically details all the things he's heard about Erebor's numerous libraries. Based on the amused and curious expressions of the company, this isn't normal behavior for the shy dwarf.

Dori and Nori follow closely along on their ponies, smiling with pleasure at their younger brother's exuberance.

"I do so hope that Smaug hasn't destroyed too many of the libraries!" Ori continues in concern, "If I were to become the curator, I'd have to painstakingly try and rewrite the tomes that have been burned! It would take a lifetime of work!"

Honestly, he actually sounds like he'd enjoy that. A wave of apprehension washes over me and I hope he didn't interpret my 'offer of hands' to mean that I would help him write the entire trip since I had only intended it until his hands were healed! If so, then I’m doomed, since there's no honorable way to retract the offer once made.

When we finally camp and dinner is ready, Ori gives me a chance to breath and I go up to get my bowl of stew. When Bofur told Bilbo that Bombur ate cheese by the block (try saying that three times fast) it had just been a mean joke. What really happened is that Bombur packed the huge wheels up, and now we have cheese every dinner which enhances the stew's flavor!

Bombur, with a wider than usual smile, ladles the thick and cheesy rabbit potato soup into my bowl. I turn to go sit down, anxious to dig in, when I notice Thorin sitting outside the company as he sharpens his axe. It's been three days, and the weight of what I need to do has only grown worse as more time passes. I lower my eyes in shame as I realize that now is the time to apologize.

"Uh, Bombur?" I turn back to him, my voice quiet but determined, "Can I have one more bowl please?"

He gives me an apologetic, but exasperated look, "Ye can't have seconds until you've finished yer first bowl, Lass."

I grin, a huff of amusement escaping me, "It's not for me."

I give a small meaningful glance towards Thorin's direction with my eyes, and Bombur raises his eyebrows. He quickly and obligingly pours a ladle of thick nutritious stew into another bowl and hands it to me with a sober nod, understanding my intention to offer an olive branch.

Off to battle it is, waving a white flag.

I take a deep breath and walk over in his direction. He hears my approach and looks up, gaze fixed on me from a distance. Embarrassment courses through me as he watches me, and I wish I could just appear before him, instead of allowing him time to contemplate the possible reasons I'm coming over. I can feel the surprise and wariness rolling off of him, his emotions palpable in the air.

Attempting to exude confidence, I try and give him a smile, "Hi. I brought you dinner." I say as I sit down across from him without permission, trying to face him directly.

His gaze flickers down to the second bowl I have, confusion etching his features.

I can't help but try and add some humor to ease the tension, "And I poisoned it." I hold it out to him and quirk a smile to let him know I'm kidding. "You know, for friendship?"

Thorin raises an eyebrow at my casual mention of regicide, but after a moment, he accepts the bowl with a hesitant nod of thanks. Glancing back at the camp, I notice curious glances directed our way, and it seems like things have gone a little quiet for the most part. Everyone in the company seem to wonder how our conversation will unfold.

This whole situation is painful...but not as painful as having this strange unresolved tension between us. Time to eat my humble pie.

"I, um...I want to apologize...for what I said back at Bilbo's house." My words tremble just a little as I look down at his thick leather shoes, unable to meet his questioning eyes. "I regretted my words the moment after I said it, and...I've been working up the courage to come to you about it for the past few days. I was...I mean...I knew better. Not only did you NOT deserve to be talked to like that, but we all have issues in our family."

Thorin listens quietly, and I can feel his unwavering attention as I continue, "And...and our family's mistakes don't reflect who we are as a person. I spoke thoughtlessly as well as out of anger. And I was angry because..." I go ahead and lower the metaphorical axe on myself, "well, because you were right. I was stupid for thinking of traveling on my own. The idea was reckless and dangerous and I'm a very foolish human." There. I've completely destroyed my pride. It's lying in the dust, bleeding and broken. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Silence hangs in the air, and I glance up at Thorin, my heart pounding in my chest, my face pale as I wait for his rejection. I marvel at the change that has come over him! His expression has softened, the tension in his shoulders (that I didn't realize was there) dissipates, and the hard lines in his face have relaxed. A flicker of surprise even crosses his features and I realize that he didn't think I had it in me to apologize.

I feel chagrined. I didn't realize just how much my comment had affected him! My guilt intensifies and I internally kick myself, wishing I had just gone ahead and done it sooner. This quest is already hard enough and I'm supposedly here to help him, not make it worse.

He takes a deep breath, his voice now devoid of the anger I had come to expect from him, "I appreciate your honesty and your willingness to admit your faults. It takes courage to face one's own mistakes." Thorin's gaze shifts away momentarily, and a mix of contemplation and understanding crosses his face. "You are the first human to apologize to me for an offense given."

I blink in surprise, "No human has ever apologized to you?? You mean, like, ever?!"

He looks back at me, repeating himself with conviction, "You are the first. However, no human has ever known about the gold sickness that plagues my family either. Which means you are either a frightfully good spy...or you spoke the truth about your foreknowledge." His tone is firm, but not harsh, "We must remain focused and united. Your presence here, despite the doubts and mistakes, shows a willingness to rectify your errors and contribute to our cause. I witnessed what you did for Ori, and believe your intentions are genuine."

I relax, feeling almost weak with relief.

Thorin notices my visible reaction to his words and his eyes soften further. He locks gazes with me, and his voice carries a hint of respect, "I accept your apology. We all have our flaws and moments of weakness. It is how we learn and grow from them that truly matters. We must move forward, and face whatever challenges lie ahead."

A feeling of peace envelops me, sweet and overwhelming.

"Thank you, Thorin." I nod, and swallow down the tightness in my throat. We're all together in this, united by a common goal. "We're all just trying to get home, right?"

He graces me with a gentle smile, a rare sight that sends a warm flutter to my heart, "Aye."

And with that, he finally takes a bite of the stew that I brought for him. It's as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders as well, and I can't help but feel a surge of gratitude for his willingness to forgive.

Even though we spoke low enough so no-one would hear, the company seems to sense the shift in the atmosphere based on our smiles. Their curious glances have transformed into looks of relief and contentment. The noise picks up somewhat as they resume talking and laughing amongst themselves. It's as if the tension that had lingered among us has dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of unity and lightness.

I sit there and eat my soup with Thorin, feeling a warm peaceful feeling, happier than I've felt since the quest started.

I'm surprised, to be honest. This whole time I thought for sure he would carry a grudge a lot longer than that. It was one of the reasons I haven't apologized until now. Wasn't there a quote somewhere about how he never forgave and never forgot? Or, maybe...I've judged him all wrong? Maybe he would forgive his grudges against orcs and elves and dragons too, if they actually apologized and sought his forgiveness.

Ok, not Dragons or Orcs. There's only so much forgiveness to go around. But maybe he'd even be willing to forgive Thranduil if the elf actually apologized and sought to gain his forgiveness and make restitution for the lack of compassion.

Not that it would happen in a million years, but still...it's a nice thought.

The stars and moon cast a gentle glow over our campsite as we settle down into our bedrolls for the night. It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of hope. And for the first time, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to be part of this extraordinary adventure.

Chapter Text

Bilbo settles down next to me on a fallen log, while Bifur sits quietly on my other side. The three of us cradle our steaming hot drinks between our cold hands. I’m not usually a morning person, but there’s something nice about experiencing the world at this early hour. 

There's a unique sense of accomplishment in beating the sun at its own game, even if it takes a painful ten minutes for my body to cooperate.
The forest is still and peaceful, serenaded by the morning call of local birds, while the air feels crisp with an invigorating smell. In the distance, a faint stream trickles, adding to the natural symphony.

It's all very lovely.

It's been a week since we've left the comfort of Bilbo's home, and things are going pretty well! Thorin and I are civil to one another, with no more awkward or dark looks. It's refreshing to meet his eyes across the campfire and not feel like he wishes that my pillow is hot on both sides.

Dwalin and Balin are also a lot more accommodating. When I dropped a quill of Ori's as I walked across camp, Balin picked it up and handed it to me with a warm smile. Progress, you know?

And as for Dwalin? Well...he's not exactly a fluffy teddy bear. But he's not been a spiky porcupine either. So, also progress!

Riding a pony all day isn't easy, and my glutes protest from constantly centering my weight on Sir Gallahop for hours upon hours. But my booty has toughened up a bit, seeming to adapt, and the discomfort is beginning to be bearable.

The company has settled into a new routine of sorts- wake up at the butt crack of dawn, a light breakfast of porridge, douse the campfire, do our morning doo, and leave within the hour.

Then we ride - for five hours.

My butt eventually goes numb (I'm assuming everyone else's does as well) and we stop for a lunch of cheese, bread, and dried meat. Bilbo and I hobble around for two hours in pain, and everyone rests, allowing the ponies a well-deserved break.

Then we ride again - for another five hours.

Finally, a little before sunset, we'll stop for the night and let the ponies have a much-needed twelve-hour rest. It's a grueling 10-12 hour day, depending on the ponies' condition. I've taken to napping on Sir Gallahop as we ride, though I'm sure he doesn't appreciate it.

My pants hang looser on me, a welcome sign that I'm shedding the extra weight gained at Bilbo's house. When you're indulging in five to six delicious meals a day, it's no wonder most hobbits have a bit of a pudge around their middle. On the trail, however, we rely on three hearty meals a day and Honey, a pony who trails along behind Bombur, is designated to carry all our food. Poor thing.

Kili provides fresh game almost every day like rabbits, pheasants, or quail and those are added into the stew along with durable vegetables. Things that don't spoil easily like onions, carrots, cabbage, and potatoes are the main staples. Every once in a while, thanks to Bilbo's keen eye, we'll get lucky and find mushrooms which are thrown in to add an exotic twist.

As we mount our ponies this morning, Thorin shares the news that we'll soon arrive in Bree and we all set off with more anticipation than usual.

I’m riding next to Fili and Kili today, and they’re regaling me of the hilarious time when Fili snuck into the Blue Mountain treasury alone and found himself accidentally trapped overnight.

“So there I was, alone with just my torch and a large pile of gold. I had to sleep on it until I was found the next day.”

Kili laughs, “Mother boxed your ears when she found you. The whole kingdom had a search party looking for you!”

As he describes how uncomfortable it was to sleep on silver and gold coins, I can't help but think of my gold coin. Thorin hasn’t given it back yet or brought it up again. I'm torn on how to approach the subject or if I even should.

Does he think that, since it's from Erebor, it belongs to him? I wrestle with the decision of whether to broach the subject, recognizing that no matter what happens, I MUST NOT bring up the Gold Sickness again.

There's really nothing for it...

"Uh, I'll be right back." I murmur to Fili and Kili apologetically.

Summoning my courage, I nudge Gallahop into a trot, my heart racing as I keep my face forward. The company's curious glances follow me as I pass them one by one, but I maintain composure and ignore them.

I slow Sir Gallahop to a walk right beside Thorin before he can look behind to figure out why everyone is suddenly so quiet. Jeez, nosy much?

"Beautiful scenery!" I say cheerfully, attempting to appear casual.

He turns, his face surprised and a bit confused when he realizes it's me.

"Aye, it is." He glances back at the company questioningly before looking back at me. "Can I help you, Miss Peyton?"

Give me mah coin dude! Yeah...maybe I should try some small talk first?

"Uh, no! No, I was, um… I was just curious about where the first pony went. The one that we rode to Michel Delving together? This one is different." I nod towards the black one he's currently riding.

Thorin quickly looks back to the front. He doesn't answer for a moment, gaze remaining steadily focused on the road in front of him, his cheeks slightly pink. I smile to myself. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say he's embarrassed that I brought up our two-hour ride together. Was it that bad of a memory for him?

"That pony got a lame foot and I left him in Bree." He finally responds in a curt and short tone.

"Oh, poor thing. Did it happen before or after you met Gandalf?"

He is quiet for a moment before giving me a blank look. It's evident that he's not keen on discussing the past.

I realize this sounds like an interrogation and I quickly backtrack, "Sorry. I'm just trying to get the timeline right. I honestly thought that the meeting at Bilbo's house was the day after you left me in Michel Delving. Once I realized I was in Middle Earth and you were who you said you were, I thought you were going on the quest after stopping in Hobbiton. So, I hightailed it to BagEnd so I wouldn't miss Gandalf."

Thorin processes this before responding pragmatically, "I would not have offered to accompany you to Bree if I had other plans."

"Well, I know that NOW," I shrug, embarrassed for some reason.

I'm not sure what else to say to continue the conversation.

I'm both relieved and gratified when he is the one to ask his own question, "How did you travel from Michel Delving to Hobbiton?"

I puff out an amused breath through my nose. "I walked for four hours until a guy almost ran me over with his cart. He felt bad enough to give me a ride the rest of the way."

"You were almost run over by a cart?" He drolls, raising an eyebrow.

Our previous conversation of how dangerous this quest would be comes back to mind and I roll my eyes good naturedly, "Yeah, yeah. Forget all the other dangerous things in Middle Earth- it was a blind horse and cart that almost did me in. With my luck, I'll probably choke to death on a rabbit bone at dinner."

I'm suddenly worried that Thorin will get upset that I just reminded him of the super-weak chick he was forced to bring along. I turn away and make an annoyed face at myself that he can't see. Why did I say that?!

"Yes, that would be most unfortunate."

I glance worriedly back at him. He's staring straight ahead at the road before us...but there's a teeny, upward quirk to his lips that he's doing his best to conceal. A warm feeling of relief grows in my chest and my worry turns to satisfaction. It's a small victory, a glimpse of the 'real Thorin' beneath the stern exterior.

"So, when you were around Bree you searched for your father, right?" I ask, remembering I had heard Gandalf mention it at the meeting.

His good mood vanishes, "Aye." He responds curtly.

Whoops. I should've just stuck with the rabbit bone.

"Any luck?" I ask softly.

"No sign of him."

"I'm sorry." I murmur. I don't know his pain, but I can imagine. It's probably close to the same pain my family is feeling right now as they search for me.

He glances over at my face, perhaps hearing the sadness in my tone and the tenseness in his shoulders eases. He nods in acknowledgment to my sympathies, not expecting anything else.

Dang it, I've run out of things to say.

"So! Um, that gold coin..." I tread carefully. I watch him like a cat watches a canary and, although subtle, I can see him immediately straighten, like a porcupine on the defensive.

Ah, so he DOES think that it's his. I mean, sure, I can see where he's coming from. But that gold coin brought ME here, and so I have a claim to it.

"Yes?" He replies in a guarded tone, revealing little but not shutting down the conversation entirely.

There's a little girl in me who wants to stomp her foot and demand he give me my coin back and explain all the reasons why it's not his anymore. But...it's not like I really need it at the moment. Hopefully, he'll give it back when he sees all the other gold coins that Erebor has to offer. In the meantime, I'll just get as much info about it as I can.

"You explained what the face of Durin means, but the other side of the coin is a boar. Is a boar symbolic of something? What does it mean to your people?"

Thorin seems momentarily taken aback by the unexpected direction my question went. His brow furrows as he considers how to answer.

"A boar holds significance in many cultures and mythologies," he begins, his voice thoughtful. "In our dwarven culture, the boar is often associated with strength, resilience, and ferocity in battle. It is a symbol of courage and determination, traits that we hold in high regard."

He stops, but I need more than that. I gaze at him earnestly so he knows I'm waiting for him to continue. He gets the message and continues aloud, "The boar is also linked to our ancestral homeland, Erebor, as it is said that the great boar, Yraugduin, once roamed the halls of the Lonely Mountain. It's a myth, of course, as no such beast has ever existed. However, it represents the connection between our people and our lost kingdom." Thorin's voice grows resolute. "So, yes, a boar does hold symbolic meaning for us dwarves. It embodies our heritage, our spirit, and our unwavering resolve to reclaim what is rightfully ours."

I pretend I don't hear that last bit or the way he said it.

"Will you give it back to me once we've reclaimed Erebor?" I ask pointedly, deciding to stop beating around the bush. Give me mah coin!

Thorin gives me a look, "I thought you said you didn't want a single coin?"

"Aw, come on Thorin! Don't be like that,” I roll my eyes as I watch the porcupine in him flare up again. "I'm just going to throw it into the treasure hoard anyway. So, it'll still technically be yours when I go home."

Thorin gives a solemn shake of his head, "As I said before, magic does not work that way."

"You also said I'm a 'first for many things'." I remind him.

He doesn't respond for a moment but when he speaks, his voice takes on a strange tone, "What if you can't go home? What if there's no way back? What if you're here permanently?" He turns to gaze openly at me.

Now it's my turn to bristle. My anxiety and pride that I keep hidden raise their sleepy heads a bit and I try to quickly calm them down, telling them to go back to sleep. Thorin and I just got to a good place a couple of days ago, and I don't want another wall to come up between us.

But try as I might, I can't keep the hard resolve out of my voice. "Or perhaps, when there's a will then there's a way. And I will find a way home. You should understand that better than anyone."

Thorin looks back to the front. He doesn't answer for a long moment but remains steadily focused on the road in front of him, the ponies clopping along. I sigh, about to pull my pony to halt so I can go back to riding by Fili when he finally speaks, his tone soft, "I will give you the coin to throw in once we have reclaimed Erebor."

Something in his tone of voice makes me pause, but I give him a nod and a smile.

I had always assumed that Bree had been portrayed as dark and rainy and sinister because it was a representation of the scary feeling of leaving the shire, aka 'your safe place'. But...it looks better in the dark to be honest. That way you don't have to see all the human waste in the street.

It's the first human village I've been to in Middle Earth and I'm not too impressed. The houses aren't bad, formed of stone and hewn wood with mud filling in the cracks. Very reminiscent of old German homes with beams on the front of them and high vaulted roofs. But after living in a polished hobbit hole for two months, the roughly hewn wood seems unnatural. Almost abrasive with odd angles. The colors are dark and completely unlike Hobbiton with the colorful dresses and ribbons and green grass.

Even so, as I catch my first sight of humans in Middle Earth I feel a pang of homesickness, the size of everything and everyone reminding me of what I grew up acostumed to. I think of my family and friends who must be worried.

Bree's occupants stare at the large company of dwarves, led by a wizard and I bear the looks with as much grace as I can, determined to hold my own. They do a double take when they see that I'm actually a woman, initially thinking me to be a dwarf or hobbit as well with how short I am. The fact that I'm wearing Bilbo's pants probably doesn't help any.

Thorin takes charge when we dismount at the public stables, his voice commanding the company's attention, "Stay together. Gather supplies and acquire anything still needed. Offer fair payment for goods and services, but no more. Meet at the Prancing Pony afterward. We won't be staying overnight."

I frown, confused. Why wouldn't we stay?

"Thorin?" I come up to him after a few moments, and he turns in my direction "Why won't we be staying the night?"

"There are unsavory characters in this town." Thorin doesn't look at me, watching the men passing us by with a wary look as he speaks, "I encountered a few of them when meeting Gandalf. The wilds are a safer place for us than the cities of men." He glances at me at the last bit, checking my response to his words.

I'm not offended. It's not my world or my people.

I shrug, "Yeah. It smells better out there than then here too."

An almost smile crosses his face once more before he's serious again, "Here. This is payment for the Mazuldar." He rumbles, handing me five silver coins.

"Uhh, the what?"

"The gold coin is known as a ‘Mazuldar’. It is forged of high-gold, and is worth five ‘Ghuldar’ of silver."

"Oh! Uh, thank you." I blink, accepting the silver coins into my palm.

I didn't sell the gold coin to him, so it's a bit presumptuous on his part, but at the same time I'm grateful to not be left high and dry until we get to Erebor. If I tilt my head and squint, it's actually very kind of him to pay for the coin since he feels that it's his to begin with.

"How will I know what everything is worth?" I ask worriedly, feeing protective of my precious silver.

"I've asked Balin to accompany you." He nods towards the eldest dwarf, before turning to other members of the company who have questions for him.

Balin steps forward with a gentle smile, "Anything in particular that you'll be needing, Miss Peyton?"

I smile and shake my head, "Nothing in particular since Bilbo outfitted me with almost everything. I'll just follow you."

I watch as the dwarves negotiate, their shrewd bargaining skills on full display. It's clear they're well-versed in the art of trade and I follow Balin and some of the other dwarves around, looking at the different vendors and wares. It's like Michel Delving, only with humans and less cheerful. The objects are much bigger as well, made for human hands rather than hobbit ones.

Balin helps me buy a honey and vanilla soap block, a pocket knife, and a weather-resistant hooded cloak. The best thing I acquire however, is some genuine leather boots. Bilbo obviously didn't have any shoes to lend me for my trip, and while my sneakers haven't completely fallen apart, I know they will. There's already a teeny tiny hole where my big toe is.

At last we walk inside the Prancing Pony and I can't help but grin as I look around, remembering Frodo and Sam coming here in the movie. While the floorplan is very different from The Boar's Head in Michel Delving and the Green Dragon in Hobbiton, the materials aren't. Wood, wood, and more wood. The tall innkeeper greets us warmly and the tavern is bustling, full of tall humans. Once again, I feel very short.

The brothers Ur have made it here before us and have tankards of ale they raise to us in good humor as we make our way over to them. Soon, our whole company is sitting at the tables we push together to seat all sixteen of us, boisterous and merry. Bofur's jokes lighten the room, Bombur's warmth is comforting, and Bifur, when not speaking in Kuzdul, adds a sense of quiet solidarity. Thorin, however, is quiet and keeps watch on the other occupants of the room. His gaze is dark and brooding.

I lean over to Gandalf, and ask, "What's with Thorin?"

Gandalf doesn't even need to look at Thorin, to know what I'm talking about, "Just keeping an eye out, my dear. You never know what trouble may lurk about." He gives me his innocent old man look.

I return it with an unamused deadpan, reminding him who I am. I do know what trouble may lurk about.

He studies the room around us in a casual way for a moment before dropping a bombshell, "There is a bounty on Thorin's head."

My eyes widen. "A bounty?" I whisper in astonishment. This isn't part of the book!

Gandalf nods and gives the waitress a kind smile, at odds with the words coming from his mouth, "Someone wants him dead."

"Who?!" I whisper in horror.

"I think you know who." His eyebrows sternly pull down as he gives me an exasperatedly knowing look.

Before I can ask anymore questions, Gandalf starts laughing with Dori over something that his granddad used to say, a clear dismissal. I'm left blinking, emotions swirling. My foreknowledge may not be as helpful as I thought. I have no idea what I'm doing.

Eventually, tankards are emptied, meat pies are eaten, and Thorin has us all depart.

We reach a very large overhanging ledge next to a cliff as night falls upon the forest. Thorin immediately likes the spot and I get the feeling it's because no one can sneak up or surround the company. We quickly set up camp; the perimeter scouted, campfire started, and food dished out. The company now relaxes and prepares for sleep.

My mind, in its annoying attempt to be helpful, supplies all sorts of potential scenarios of me falling off the cliff while sleeping, so I keep as far from the edge as possible in order to remain calm.

Finally, exhausted, I groan as I settle into my sleeping bag on the hard dirt floor, leaning against the outcropping. It's been a grueling 12-hour day with more excitement than usual because of Bree.

Ori's hand is finally back to normal, and he was very eager to resume his role as the company's scribe. My writing pace was apparently too slow for his overflowing observations, forcing him to wait until I was done writing for him to continue with his next chain of thoughts. I'm glad he has no more need for me though because my hand has been cramping like crazy over the past few days.

I steal a rare moment to privately observe Thorin. He, like me, is resting his head back against the rock wall with his eyes closed. In my childhood, I played the character of Thorin Oakenshield because, as the youngest of five brothers, I was the bossy one who made commands and demands. (That, and my mom made them play with me).

My brothers had humored me by putting a carboard crown on my head, and off we went, battling imaginary villains for Erebor. It had been a special bonding experience for us. 'A family that plays together stays together' my mom always said and it has turned out to be true for the most part. Even though my brothers are all grown up and married, with families of their own, we're all still very close to this day. As for my younger sister, she'd always hated getting dirty and was the ‘princess’ of our large family of seven kids.

I think being raised with dirty, smelly boys has been a saving grace with the company. Burping, farting, and throwing dirt and rocks at each other has been carefree and funny. Slowly, the company have started to learn, like Bilbo did, that they're free to be themselves around me without my 'ladylike sensibilities' becoming offended.

At first, when Bofur or Nori would tell a bawdy sexualized joke, they would all glance at me in horror, suddenly remembering that a female was present. Boys will be boys, doesn't matter what race. But after I'd laugh and offer some of my own observations, the company had warmed up to me as fast as Gloin could light a fire. Which is very fast.

I tilt my head curiously at Thorin's sleeping form. His attire, a blend of black and brown fur, leather, and armor, accentuates his striking appearance. With his eyes still closed, I take the opportunity to survey his features in detail. I start from his midsection, observing the thick, muscular arms that cross in front of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his chest with each complete breath, the masculine curve of his Adam's apple, and the neatly trimmed dark beard covering the lower half of his face all capture my attention. His bottom lip is fuller than the upper, and the identical braids frame both ears perfectly. Finally, my gaze settles on his strong, prominent nose, a characteristic seemingly shared by the Durin line since Kili and Fili have it as well. I can’t help but wonder what Durin himself looked like and if he was more handsome than the three Durin boys in our company.

A howl in the distance suddenly diverts my attention from my inappropriate scrutiny of Thorin's attractive features, particularly his long eyelashes and silver-streaked hair. I turn toward the sound.

"What was that?!" Bilbo inquires, echoing my own anxiety.

"Orcs. Fiends of the night. There'll be hundreds of them roaming around these parts." Fili says somberly.

"Aye. They come upon companies like ours in the wee hours of the morning. No screams, no cries...just a lot of blood." Kili whispers, his expression fearful.

Fear clutches my heart and Bilbo and I exchange frightened glances. And I was going to come out here alone!? That's absolutely terrify-

"You think that's funny?"

Thorin's voice startles me, and I turn in shock to see him rising from where I thought he'd been sleeping.

"You think an orc raid at night is a joke?" He addresses the two young dwarves, coming to where we all sit.

I turn back to see Kili and Fili both appearing contrite, their eyes abashed. I scowl, realizing they'd been teasing us. There aren't any orcs.

"We're sorry uncle." they apologize, "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." His voice is the coldest I've ever heard from him when dealing with his nephews.

I watch wide-eyed as he stalks off towards the cliffside, close to where the ponies graze. Balin, who'd been smoking his pipe next to Gandalf during the discussion comes over to offer some consolation to the two young dwarves. He begins to recount the story of King Thror's ill-fated battle with the orcs from Moria after their exile from the Lonely Mountain. As I watch Balin's face, recounting the tale, I remember with a quiet gasp that it was HIS tomb in Moria that was found by the Fellowship of the Ring. How can that be?! Why did he go back to Moria if there was such wanton destruction that day? His ghastly descriptions of the blood and carnage shock me and I wonder….why would he ever want to see that place again?

I glance over at Thorin's hunched form near the cliff's edge, the chilly wind combing through his hair and I think of the horrible battle Balin describes. The beheading of his grandfather before his very eyes. My stomach churns as I try and fail to think of something like that happening to my own grandpa.

"His father attempted to defeat Azog on his own in rage but he fell, and was not counted among the dead. We know not what became of him. We were leaderless, and death was upon us. And that was when...I saw him." Balin's eyes shine with deep love and respect.

A sudden movement at my side has me glancing around and I’m surprised see that all the dwarves have woken up and gathered, eager to hear Balin speak of Thorin's incredible act of courage.

"A young dwarf prince, facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against his terrible foe. Again and again, Azog smote at him. Destroying his armor, his shield, his sword…"

My heart beats fast.

"His armor rent, wielding nothing but an Oakenbranch that he found amongst our slain as a shield, he withstood the Orc's mighty blows. Picking up a discarded sword, he smote off the arm of the Pale Orc."

Ballin had initially begun the story focusing on Kili and Fili, and even Bilbo. But slowly his focus remains more and more on me as he speaks. Probably because my expression is the most animated. My mouth is literally hanging down as far as it can go, my eyes wide.

For some strange reason, this story reminds me of Isildur during the battle of elves, dwarves, and men against Sauron's army. His father- killed by Sauron. His sword- broken by Sauron's boot. Using the remnants of his broken sword, he sliced off the hand of Sauron.

A single light... facing a terrible darkness.

"How old was he?" I breathe out, my curiosity forcing me to speak.

Balin's face turns even more solemn, "The prince was only fifty-three. Barely of age to be in a battle of this magnitude. But Azog the Defiler learned that day that the blood of Durin is strong, and his line would not be so easily broken."

Kili and Fili straighten up at that pronouncement, recognizing the need to be strong like their uncle. It astonishes me that Kili and Fili are eighty-two and seventy-seven, respectively. They seem so young and yet Thorin was younger than they are now when he faced Azog! A literal 'David versus Goliath' story if there ever was one.

"But there was no feast. No song. For our dead were beyond counting. We few had survived." Ballin nods towards the stoic figures of Dwalin, Gloin, and Oin who listen solomnly. "And as I saw Thorin walking amongst our fallen kin, I thought to myself then 'there is one I could follow. There is one I could call King'." Balin looks over to where Thorin stands. It's apparent that he regards Thorin more highly than both Thrain and Thror. Perhaps even holds them responsible for the unnecessary deaths in the Battle of Azanulbizar.

I also glance at Thorin, who has turned to look at the rest of us after Balin's heavy pronouncement. His posture displays a weariness born of the heavy burden of kingship and his blue eyes seem tired and sad. Even while I watch him though, they harden as he straightens, accepting this mantle placed upon him and his duty to his people as he slowly returns to us.

Our gazes meet as he walks toward us, and I find myself unable to look away. Could I ever be as brave and self-sacrificing as someone like him? A peculiar warmth flutters in my heart, unlike anything I've ever experienced. There’s a magnetism to his inner strength, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

His eyes dance over my face, observing my reaction to the story, and I notice the lines around his expression soften as we hold one another's gaze. I wish…

"And the Pale Orc?" Bilbo asks, popping whatever moment Thorin and I have going on. "What happened to him?"

Thorin's glower comes back as he directs his attention to my friend, "That filth slunk back into the pit he crawled out of. He succumbed to his wounds long ago." Thorin walks back over to where he had been sleeping.

My head snaps over at Gandalf and notice him sharing a look with Balin. I frown at their silence. What are they doing?! Someone should TELL Thorin!

If Gandalf is right, and the Valar kidnapped me in the middle of my college semester to ensure Thorin's survival, then he needs to know! The more he knows about this particular event of Azog, the better his chances are. There's no way I can save him from Azog...but, perhaps I can better prepare him for their inevitable confrontation?

After debating within myself for several long moments, I stand up and approach Thorin cautiously.

"Thorin," I mumur quietly when I get to him, "We need to talk. There's something you should know about Azog."

Thorin frowns, his eyes guarded. I gesture towards a secluded spot that is further away from the company and turn away, knowing he will follow. The company's scrutiny makes me uncomfortable and my confidence falters with all their eyes on me. Why are they so nosy whenever I'm around him? Do they still think I'm a spy?

We come to a halt where the faint glow of the fire barely illuminates the surrounding trees. I turn to face Thorin, who stands before me with folded arms. After a few tense moments, he raises an impatient eyebrow when I still havent said anything.

I feel my cheeks flush, "Oh! I thought you would…I mean… yes. Yes, I will tell you." I clear my throat, "Azog isn't dead."

I'm glad I took us so far from the company because he doesn't attempt to be quiet when his arms unfold and he loses all semblance of calm, "Excuse me?" Disbelief and anger color his tone. He leans towards me angrily and my eyes widen.

Shoot. Perhaps ripping the band-aid off isn't the best way to go about this since they might definitely think I'm a spy now? I had had a few days to plan my apology and to think of what I wanted to say, but I didn't plan to tell him about Azog. Being subtle has never been my forte and it's too late to back out now.

"Uh, Azog the Defiler? The Pale Orc? He, uh, he isn't dead...He's alive." I mumble helplessly, knowing that he already heard what I said and repeating myself is just painful.

Thorin's eyes are livid. His voice is dark and terrifying as he denies my words, "No. Azog the Defiler is no more. He was slain in battle long ago!"

Maybe I should have eased him into it? You should never poke angry bears…or Dwarf Kings apparently. I really need to work on that. From the way he's looking at me, I should just throw myself over the cliff and save him the trouble.

"I understand why you might think that," I try to say placatingly, but I grimace at my tone. It sounds like I'm trying to calm a child down from a tantrum, "But, no... he unfortunately survived." I fist my shirt nervously to keep myself from bolting. "I just...thought you should know. You know?That way you don't get surprised when he shows up after we reclaim Erebor?" I finish gently, wishing I could get him to stop looking at me like that.

His face is actually very easy to read at the moment switching between anger and denial. I even catch a glimpse of intense pain passing over his features. I feel absolutely horrible for what he must be going through right now. Imagine getting justice for your grandpa and father only to discover that…no, you didn't get justice. That your mortal enemy is still out there, wreaking havoc on other innocent souls.

I want to comfort him, but I just don't know how. He doesn't seem the hugging sort.

He takes in my posture, my expression, and his glower fades to become a blank expression. My stomach drops at his next words, "I don't believe you. Even if what you say was true, which you have no proof of...Why now? Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

It's a valid question. He had asked me to give him proof of my knowledge of the future back in Bilbo's home. But would he have believed me?

I shake my head sadly, "You wouldn't have believed me if I told you earlier."

He glowers, "Aye, and I don't believe you now either."

"Exactly my point!" I plead with him, hoping he'll understand. "I haven't been hiding it from you, Thorin. It's just that the subject of Azog hasn't arisen until this very moment! I never planned to join this quest but I was going to tell you before Gandalf sent me home. It just…didn’t come up until now."

Attempting a gentler approach, I lower my tone, seeking to soothe his doubts. "You have the strength to overcome him, Thorin. I believe in you. And... I will help you in any way that I can. I promise."

Thorin's eyes bore into mine, brimming with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. After a fleeting moment, he shakes his head and gruffly inquires, "How? If he were truly alive...What in Durin's name could you hope to achieve? Two dwarf kings, skilled and battle-hardened, fell at his hand. As well as the countless lives he mercilessly snuffed out."

In other words 'You're completely useless. You can do nothing.'

He's got me. That's kind of what I was saying to Gandalf this whole time too. But I've been roped into coming along this crazy adventure anyway. I've never held a weapon before unless you count the baseball bat that I keep in my dorm room just in case. But...brains triumph over brawn. At least, that's what all the fairytale stories have taught me.

"Uhh, I'm still working on that..." I admit sheepishly. "Physically, I'm pretty sure I can't do anything. I mean, the guy's huge. But... perhaps we can set a trap or something for him? He won't be expecting that."

Thorin is silent.

"Thorin." I sigh and step closer, trying to infuse my voice with trustworthiness, "You said that you believe my intentions to be genuine. I wouldn't lie to you about this."

More silence. Then finally...

"When is it that you believe he will present himself?" he asks lowly.

I brighten hopefully. He seems to be coming to terms with it!

"I know the major fight with him is after we reclaim Erebor. And-"

"Is everything all right here?" A gruff voice comes up behind me and I whirl with a gasp to see Dwalin. We've obviously been away from the camp for too long in his estimation and he came out to find us. Only, he snuck around the back in order to come on my other side.

"Uhh, yes! Everything's fine!" I squeak and then clear my throat. "Just preparation tactics. Nothing that Thorin can't manage."

I throw in the last bit to see if a bit of flattery will get me somewhere with the dwarf king. I glance back at Thorin.

He crosses his arms once more and gives Dwalin a somber look, "Miss Peyton says that Azog the Defiler lives." He shoots me a skeptical look as he finishes.

Dwalin growls behind me, "Aye? And how do you know that?" The warrior's whole body is tense, suddenly menacing.

"I told you already, I'm a seer."

Might as well roll with it, right? I'm not telling them that their whole life is a figment of my imagination and that they're actually living in a book. No way in heck, unless I want them to forbid me from coming with them because they think I'm a looney. Maybe I'll try that tactic once we get to Mirkwood so they forbid me from coming with them and then I can avoid the spiders?

Dwalin pulls out a gleaming dagger from one of his pockets and begins playing with it casually in his hands, his accent thick, "I'd be more inclined to believe that you're a spy than a seer, lass."

I take a step back in trepidation. Not THIS again...

"Enough." Thorin states firmly to Dwalin with finality. "If she were a spy, she would have just exposed a significant advantage of surprise. That being said...I don't believe Azog would have survived such a severe wound."

I’d begun to smile in relief that he was DEFENDING me... only for it to quickly become a frustrated scowl. How can it be so hard for him to believe? I thought he was coming around to the idea!

My patience has reached its limit, and I ignore Dwalin completely, turning to face Thorin directly. With a patronizing tone cranked up to a ten, I say, "Uh, Thorin? You chopped off his arm. People survive without arms all the time! It's not like you stabbed him in the heart!"

I can't stop my frustrated eye roll at the end. This guy.

Thorin's eyes flash in anger and he counters, "In a disgusting cesspool of Orc waste?"

"YES!" I throw up my hands, "In a disgusting cesspool of Orc waste! And if I somehow am wrong and I'm in a very strange alternate dimension of Middle Earth, then I will give you a million and one apologies!"

"So you admit then, that he may not even be alive." Thorin narrows is his eyes, voice hard.

"I'm 99% sure he." my voice turns hard as well.

"And I am certain that he is not."

"Yeah!? You saw his grave?!" I yell back at him, at my wit’s end.

Suddenly, I catch sight of Dwalin in my peripheral vision, his fist raised towards his face. I steal a quick glance at him and to my astonishment, it appears he's trying to hide a mocking smile behind that fist. Thorin, noticing my attention has wavered, halts what he was about to say and turns to look at Dwalin as well.

Dwalin, in response to our quizzical expressions, shrugs with no remorse, "You two bicker like an old married couple," he remarks gruffly, gesturing at our mirrored aggressive stances. We'd been so engrossed in our heated argument that we practically invaded each other's personal space.

Simultaneously, Thorin and I relax our postures, prompting Dwalin's mean smirk to widen.

How did we go from Azog wiping out the line of Durin to this?! I would rather have all of Thorin's dark fury focused on me than explore this cave of forbidden dark secrets.

In a moment of panic, I resort to my tried-and-true defense mechanism: pushing people away and distancing myself. "Oh, please. Old married couple? Thorin here is the old one," I quip, thumbing in his direction. "I'm in my prime!"

Thorin scoffs in annoyance at my childish answer, "Really? This again?"

"Yep! I'm going to call you 'Grandpa Thorin' in front of the whooooole company." I tease him with mock sweetness. That should do it. Throw them off the trail of my blossoming attraction to him.

Thorin's scowl could peel paint. But then suddenly he pauses, a strange look coming over him and he completely changes his tune. His expression almost becomes smug, "If I recall correctly, you once said I was 'too young and handsome' to be Thorin Oakenshield."

Oh Sh%&*%#

I'm shocked. I didn't know he had it in him. Low blow, Oakenshield.

"Well, I...I didn't know I was in Middle Earth at the time, so...so you can't hold anything I said against me!" I retort, glaring at him, my face flushing as I notice his and Dwalin's growing amusement. "I wouldn't have ever said that if I knew you were actually Thorin Oakenshield and...and we're getting off topic!"

Desperate to abandon this sinking ship, I change the subject, "Look...it's late. We can continue this conversation some other time. Just...just forget that this conversation even happened!"

I turn and storm away in frustration, stomping back to camp. I half-expect Thorin to call me back and order me to stop, but to my surprise and eternal gratitude, he doesn't.

PLEASE Valar! Don't let them talk about me while I'm gone!

Nope, the Valar must be on their dinner break because I can faintly hear Dwalin chuckle to Thorin, “By my beard...too young and handsome, eh?”

Sweet mother of Neptune! Someone put me out of my misery!

I don’t listen for Thorin’s response, and tromp through the trees on my way back to camp. I should have never brought up Azog. I should have just sprung out of a bush during their final battle and yelled, 'Surprise! He's alive! As you can already see...'

I feel like my face is on fire. Making my way back to the company, I attempt an innocent and happy smile at all of them. "Welp! I'm beat. Goodnight guys!"

I crawl into my sleeping bag, ignoring the inquisitive looks and pretending to not notice the odd glances exchanged among some of the dwarves.

Cliff edge, here I come. Let it be swift.

Unfortunately, Bilbo isn't deterred by my lack of eye contact. "What did you and he talk about?"

Dude!? Can you not read the room?! Sheesh!

"Oh, you know. This and that. We mostly talked about boring Erebor quest stuff. Nothing interesting."

Bilbo's face is puzzled, "I thought I heard some yelling?"

Curse Bilbo's pointy hobbit ears!

"Yeah, well...he disagreed with me on the boring Erebor quest stuff. But, he'll come around to it eventually. Night!"

I lie down and face the wall, the fire light reflecting brightly off of it. I sleep better in the dark, but it doesn't matter since I know I won't be sleeping tonight. My mind torments me and I begin to doubt myself. What if changing one thing changes every thing? How much of everything is all tied together?

It reminds me of that one PS3 game about this weird flesh-eating Wendigo creature in the mountains and you have to make different choices that influence everything else. Some of the plot HAS to stay the same though no matter what I choose...

Right?

Chapter Text

Perhaps it's just a fantasy of mine that I can pop future knowledge on Thorin and everything be hunky dory. And while I knew it probably wouldn't be easy, I certainly didn't expect it going anything like this.

The next day, Thorin is silent towards me. And I had been 100% sure it would be the exact opposite.

Isn’t he going to assault me with pointed and difficult questions? Isn't he going to demand I tell him everything? His family is everything to him, so why isn’t he insisting that we turn the company around? I should be having yet another long, exhausting conversation to convince him otherwise.

In fact, it's so out of character for him that I wonder if I ever really knew his character at all! I'm at a loss as to what's going on in his head, what he might be thinking or feeling. He's as impenetrable as Fort Knox, refusing to even glance in my direction. I study him for any tell-tale signs of stress. And while I can tell he's tense, he does a pretty good job of holding it together.

It just doesn't make sense! One moment he and Dwalin are amused at my flustered state while I walk away and the next morning, he’s pretending that I don't even exist. What gives?

As a couple of days pass, the company inching 35 miles closer to our destination every day, I finally reach the only conclusion I can: He thinks I'm lying, so he's cut me off.

The mere thought that he might consider me a liar churns my stomach and makes me feel nauseous. Why on Middle Earth would I lie about something so monumental? Up until now, I've been nothing but honest with everyone! To a fault even!

Well...mostly honest.

You'd think that if someone from another world came to yours, claiming to know the future, and offered a coin from your treasure hoard in Erebor as proof, you might give them at least a smidgen of credit. He’s accepted my apology and told me that he believes in my genuine intentions towards the group. So, why doesn’t he trust me now?

Apparently, the joke's on me because Thorin, it seems, doesn't trust many people.

When I inform Gandalf about the situation he hurrumps and shoots me a stern look. "Serves you right. I told you to keep your foresight to yourself! We do not know the consequences of what may happen!"

I groan with exasperation, "Gandalf! If the Valar sent me to save Thorin from Azog, then why the hell would I NOT tell him that he's alive!? What would be the motive for keeping that VERY important tidbit secret? That'd be counterproductive to my mission here!"

Gandalf sighs, relenting, "You heard Balin's story...no one comes back from battle without having lost a piece of themselves there. How would you feel if your family members’ murderer was still alive? Thorin may have cut Azog’s hand, but Azog cut Thorin’s heart.”

"Do I pull him aside and talk more about it with him?" I worry aloud.

Gandalf falls into a brief silence, deep in thought, "You have only told him the truth. And truth is the only thing that endures at the end of the day. Perhaps it is indeed for the best that you spoke to him of it. If Thorin does not believe you, he eventually will. Until then he'll have no one but himself to blame for his stubbornness." He gives me a kind smile, "Do not fret too much about it, my dear. These things have a way of working themselves out."

That evening as we relax for the night, a sigh escapes my lips as I kneel onto my bedroll, ready to climb in and sleep. I resign myself to the rest of the trip being like this between Thorin and I. It sucks, but I'll be alright. I'm just going to hang out with all the less moody dwarves in the company, and have myself a grand old time while King Jerk can enjoy his quiet time.

I'll leave him alone. I'll maintain my distance. I'll be a perfect member of this company! And at the Battle of the Five Armies, I'll hire an elf with some gold that Bilbo will lend me out of his share (he's only going to take a couple of chests home anyways) and he'll tail Thorin throughout the battle and take out the Pale Orc with his expert shot. I'll work out all the details later.

All of my perfectly laid plans are shot to pieces when I lock eyes with the beady little gaze of the spawn of Satan himself...staring at me from the soft sanctuary of my pillow. Patiently waiting for me.

A scream rips from my throat, slicing through the silence like a blade, "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

My skin crawls as if invaded by a thousand invisible insects, my heart hammers against my ribcage, and my hands' spasm in cold clammy sweat.

The company springs into action, their reactions as swift and alarmed as if the gates of Moria had just spewed forth a horde of Balrogs.

A Balrog, I can handle. This...this is a different beast entirely.

"AHHHHHH! SPIDER! IT'S ON MY PILLOW! GET IT OFF! BILBO! HELP!" My voice is a desperate plea, my words tumbling over each other in panic., "NOT MY PILLOOOW! NOOO! GET OFF MY PILLOOOOOW! GET OFF!"

"What is the meaning of this!?" Thorin roars, struggling to be heard over my frantic cries. He strides over, sword in hand, his eyes narrowing at my shivering, frantic form.

"Spider!... on my pillow!" I manage to choke out, my skin crawling with phantom sensations, goosebumps rising like tiny mountains across my body.

"Calm yourself, woman!" Thorin snarls, "Or you'll alert every foul creature from here until the Misty Mountains!"

Deep breaths, I remind myself, echoing my dad's soothing voice in my head. Just keep breathing, and the panic will subside.

Thorin's angry gaze turns into confusion as he grasps the authenticity of my terror. This isn't some contrived damsel-in-distress act; this is raw, unfiltered fear.

"Miss Peyton, calm yourself," Thorin commands, his tone still firm but now laced with a hint of uncertainty.

"I...I ca...I ca..." I stutter, my lungs refusing to cooperate, feeling as if they've been drained of all air.

I've encountered spiders in Middle Earth before. Of course, I have. And usually, I'll just emit a squeal of fear and retreat to the opposite side of the camp while Bilbo, brave and lovely friend that he is, will shoo the spider elsewhere. But this time it's different. The little demon was taking a nap on my pillow, which is where my face sleeps. It was lying in wait, biding its time until I would lay my head down. And then it would attack with it's fangs! Or lay eggs in my ear! Or spin webs in my hair with it’s spindly legs…

The edges of my vision start to blur.

If I don't manage to calm down soon, I fear I might faint. I try to take deep breaths, trying to do what my dad taught me. Just keep breathing and the panic attack will pass.

Thorin sheaths his sword, and his strong hands now firmly grip both of my upper arms and he holds me still, perhaps sensing the same thing about to happen as he calmly orders, "Yes you can, Miss Peyton. Now focus. Look at me."

I force my eyes to meet his. His blue eyes framed by dark lashes are close and intense, commanding my full attention. "Breathe in. Breathe out."

It's the first time he’s really made eye contact in three days. And now, suddenly, I’m being overwhelmed by his complete and unwavering gaze. I can’t help but feel flustered and attempt to look away, but his deep voice rings out again, "Look at me” causing my eyes to snap back to his.

His blue eyes in the light of the fire remind me of the blue sky in the early morning before the sun is even close to peeking over the hills. They also bring to mind the Aquamarine birthstone necklace my grandma gave me for my thirteenth birthdate.

”Breath in. Breathe out.”

Gradually, under his steady guidance, my breaths become less frantic, more controlled, as the fresh air calms the storm within me.

“Now,” Thorin’s voice rumbles, calm yet firm, with a hint of annoyance, “can you explain to me what just happened?”

“There was a spider on my pillow,” I reply calmly, still holding his gaze.

“Yes, I know. But did it bite you?” he asks more gruffly.

“No,” I respond, keeping eye contact.

“Then why did you scream?”

“Because...it was on my pillow,” I explain again.

"She has arachnophobia," Bilbo interjects, thankfully coming to my rescue as he recognizes the need for a ‘translator’. Thorin finally breaks eye contact with me to turn to look him. "It's, uh, an intense fear of spiders. I had to eradicate my home of them completely. Which, is very difficult to do when you live underground!" He chuckles, attempting to lighten the mood, but it falls short in the face of Thorin's temper. Bilbo clears his throat, looking chagrined with his arms awkwardly at his side.

Thorin turns back to me, and breaths a heavy sigh through his nose as if it's taking all his willpower to deal with this right now, "In the future, Miss Peyton, I would advise you not to scream as if you are being murdered lest you attract the attention of something far worse than a spider." 

He turns from me and walks past Bilbo.

I feel embarrassed and full of shame. I can't help it, although I desperately wish I could. Fear isn't something you can turn on or off. I've tried. I've gone to zoos and aquariums where they have spiders in glass boxes and I try to look at them. But when I do….my skin does something weird where it will prickle and tingle and I'll feel as if the spider I'm looking at is physically crawling all over my body, searching for a tender place to bite. There’s something about the way they move.

I make Bilbo switch his pillow with me. Both pillows are originally his from BagEnd, so he thankfully doesn't mind that much. And then I place my bedroll in between Kili and Fili, both of them promising that no spiders will get past them. And I believe it. With Fili’s amount of weapons and Kiki’s snoring they’re sure to scare away any spiders.

Thorin frowns at us from across camp where he himself is laying down to sleep. I know he must view it as a bit improper, but he does nothing to stop it so it must be alright.

As I am forcing myself to fall asleep with thoughts of butterflies and ladybugs, the memory of Thorin's fury comes back to me. A strange thought occurs to me that I may have actually frightened Thorin with my shrieking cries.

I'm willing to bet that, despite himself, a Pale Orc was the first thing that shot into his mind when he first heard me scream.

I find myself standing in the heart of my bustling living room, surrounded by my family. My nieces and nephews dart around, their laughter echoing as they chase each other with cans of silly string and playfully bop balloons on each other's heads. The walls are adorned with decorations and balloons, hinting at a celebration. Ah, a party!

"Duck and cover, kids!" I chuckle as Caroline and Henry whizz past me, their hands filled with water balloons. They pay me no mind, their focus solely on their playful warfare.

I make my way into the kitchen, where all the adults seem to have congregated.

"Katelyn is starting kindergarten this year," my second oldest brother Matt announces, cradling my sleeping baby niece, Annabelle, in his arms.

"She's growing up so fast." my sister-in-law, Tricia, laments at his side.

My gaze shifts to my mom, who is nodding and I freeze, taken aback. My mother appears to have shed a significant amount of weight, and dark circles mar the skin beneath her eyes. Despite her frail appearance, she attempts to maintain a cheerful facade.

She nods and forces a smile, saying, "They really do. Before you know it, she'll be bringing home boyfriends, and then you'll REALLY have your hands full."

My fifth and fourth older brothers Jeremy and Chris erupt into laughter, each one chiming in with their own set of impossible rules they've established for their children regarding dating, some as absurd as forbidding it until they're thirty.

"Come on, guys, you've got to let them grow up someday," I retort, rolling my eyes at their overprotectiveness.

They ignore me.

"Alright, the cake's ready! Let's round up the kids and sing 'Happy Birthday'," my dad announces, turning around from where he'd been standing at the counter with his back towards me.

I gasp as I take in his appearance. "Dad?" I whisper, shocked. I hadn't even realized it was him with his back turned to me. His once dark brown hair is now peppered with more grey than I've ever seen before, with matching bags under his eyes.

He doesn't acknowledge me, and a wave of anxiety washes over me.

My third brother, Garth, emerges from the dining room, his piercing whistle reverberates throughout the house, commanding everyone's attention. "Alright, it's birthday time!" he exclaims. "Everyone to the table!”

In a whirlwind of chaos, all eleven of my nieces and nephews flood into the already crowded room, their voices blending into a symphony of shouts, shrieks, cries, and laughter. The adults scramble to restore order, attempting to coax the children into settling down and taking their seats at the table like civilized human beings.

"Here, Emily, sit at the head of the table," my mom directs, guiding Emily to the front.

Ah, so it's Emily's birthday! A smile tugs at the corners of my lips at the realization.

Emily assumes her place with grace, resembling a quiet and sweet princess amidst the boisterous commotion of her obnoxious and loud cousins. She's always been the quietest of my nieces, very observant for her age. I quickly count the candles and remember that she's turning nine this year.

After several failed attempts to hush the excited chatter, my dad takes charge, igniting the candles atop the cake. As the room plunges into darkness, the soft glow of the flickering flames becomes the centerpiece of attention.

"Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday to you..." The familiar tune fills the room, and I find myself overcome with emotion at the sight of all family gathered together. It's a rare occurrence for us all to be in the same place at the same time. With some living in California, Idaho, Arizona, and Utah, we're scattered across the West Coast, managing to convene maybe only once a year. But for a simple birthday? It's very unusual.

"Happy birthday, dear Emily! Happy birthday to you!" The final notes ring out, followed by a chorus of cheers.

"Alright, sweetheart. Make a wish!" My sister-in-law, Kate, says with her hands on Emily's shoulders.

Emily doesn't hesitate. She takes the deepest breath her little lungs can muster and blows with all her might. The room erupts into applause as she successfully extinguishes all the candles in one go. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my mom discreetly wiping a tear from her cheek.

"What did you wish for?" my nephew Jackson inquires.

"I wished for Aunt Peyton to come home," Emily confesses, her smile tinged with sadness.

My stomach drops in dread. What?

A heavy silence descends upon the room, extinguishing the lighthearted cheerfulness that had filled the air just moments ago. The adults exchange somber glances, their faces reflecting the weight of desperation and worry that their laughter and jokes have hidden so far.

I take a step back in disbelief, my skin crawling. I feel like a ghost, unseen by my own family. My brother Jeremy is sitting the closest to me, and I reach out to touch his shoulder. Strangely, I can... but he doesn't react.

A cold realization dawns on me. I must be dreaming. Or worse, trapped in a nightmare.

My eldest (and favorite brother), Joshua, offers a comforting nod and gently pats his daughter on the back. "We all wish that, Emily," he murmurs, his voice filled with empathy.

"I love you, Emily! I'll find a way back to you. I'm not dead!" I cry out, my heart breaking at the sight of the sorrowful expressions that surround the room.

"Alright, enough of this sadness!" My dad interjects, his voice shaky as he attempts to hold the family together as he's always done. He doesn't want the little kids getting sad too, "The police will find Peyton soon enough. Who wants cake and ice cream?!"

It's a rhetorical question, as the children immediately start bouncing in their seats, their excitement filling the room with a chorus of exuberant exclamations. My mom leaves the room in a rush and my younger sister, Taylor, follows after her.

Suddenly, the dream takes a sharp turn, and I find myself engulfed in a wave of terror as I discover myself once again within the eerie confins of the mysterious grey castle. This time, however, I am inside its foreboding walls. Sinister spikes protrude from the stone, exuding a malevolent aura. Lifeless vines slither in twisted patterns, crawling up the walls and through the cracks, adding to the unsettling atmosphere. I'm shaking head to toe.

The silence is deafening, broken only by the ghostly whisper of the wind and my own terrified breaths. I take a few tentative steps, my footfalls shattering the stillness despite my best efforts to move quietly.

I know this is a dream, but all this scenario needs is some Jaws theme music and I'm going to lose my shi-…...uh, my mind.

I round a corner and let out a scream as a horrifying black mist engulfs me, swirling around me in a terrifying dance. The sensation is dreadful, bringing to mind the description of a dementor's kiss, where all light and hope seem to be sucked out of you, leaving only darkness in its wake. A chilling voice invades my mind, its words a jumbled mess of unfamiliar sounds.

"Amirz are lat? amal kramp lat skaat?"

The harsh syllables echo in my head, their meaning elusive, their tone ominous. Fear grips me tighter, the strange language adding another layer of terror to the already nightmarish situation.

"Aaaahhhrgh!" I gasp, instinctively covering my head and collapsing to my knees. The black mist seems to grow more oppressive, pressing against me with an unsettling force.

"Lat give izish later bugud? Amat are lat katu?"

The voice persists, its words still foreign and incomprehensible.

"I don't understand!" I yell back, frustration and fear mingling in my voice. "Leave me alone!"

The black mist continues to swirl, while the voice falls silent, as if contemplating my words.

"Thou speakest the common tongue?”

The voice suddenly asks, its words now clear and understandable. My eyes widen in surprise as the dark mist finally makes sense.

I jolt awake, gasping for breath. I glance around, trembling and disoriented, at the sleeping figures barely visible by the coals of our now low fire. I'm in Middle Earth. The others are still asleep, undisturbed by my ordeal. Only one person was a witness to my frightened and shivering display, and he is on watch duty.

Thorin's dark eyes bore into me questioningly from where he sits nearby on a log. He's very close, most likely having chosen that spot to keep an eye on his nephews and I like a concerned parent at a sleepover.

"I didn't scream...did I?" I whisper to him, unable to suppress another shiver that runs through me, my fear still lingering.

He's silent for a moment, and something akin to concern flashes over his face before disappearing once more. He shakes his head, "No." His rumble is quiet, an attempt to not wake his nephews who are both snoring softly.

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding and run a hand through my sweaty hair. This is the second time I've had a dream like this. The first time was with Bilbo and I had woken him with how loudly I had screamed.

I feel the need to talk about my dream with someone, and though he doesn't volunteer, poor Thorin just happens to be the unfortunate soul awake at the moment.

"I... I've been having these strange dreams," I begin, my quiet voice filled with a mix of apprehension and vulnerability. "In these dreams, I see my family mourning me. I try to communicate to them, but I can't. It's like I'm a ghost or something. And then, suddenly, I find myself in this dark and creepy castle. A...black mist creature surrounds me, suffocating me with fear and hopelessness." I turn back to face Thorin, my eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. My voice trembles as I whisper, more to myself than to him, "Do you think... do you think that I might actually BE dead? That this is my afterlife, and I just haven't accepted it yet?"

Thorin's eyebrows furrow. Perhaps he's surprised that I'm telling him this of all people, but his expression turns thoughtful before finally shaking his head a second time. "No," he murmurs again.

Looking away from him, I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill I feel settle over me. Despite his response, the idea of being trapped in some sort of limbo, unable to fully move on, begins to take hold. It would explain the dreams of home where no one can sense me, and it makes even more sense than the coma theory. But the idea is sickening; that maybe I am dead and I don't even realize it, like a twisted form of the movie, the Sixth Sense, but I'm constantly trapped in a Middle Earth fantasy of my own making.

A movement catches my attention, and I turn back to Thorin. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the Malkudur coin from Erebor, its golden surface glinting in the dying firelight.

"I cannot say for certain, of course," he rumbles, his voice steady and reassuring, "but unless this coin killed you, your death would not make sense with your story of how you arrived."

In a sudden motion, he flips the coin with a resounding TING!, sending it soaring through the air in a graceful arc towards me. With a gasp, I snatch it from the air, my fingers instinctively closing around it. I turn my gaze back to Thorin, filled with questions.

He nods towards me, a surprisingly gentle look in his eyes. "Keep hold of it for a while. You seem to need it more than I do."

A wave of overwhelming gratitude washes over me as I clutch the coin, its warmth from his pocket seeping into my frigid hands. I'm at a loss for words, my mind filled with a mix of confusion and appreciation. Thorin's keen observation and thoughtful gesture touch me deeply, offering a glimmer of comfort in this unsettling situation.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible, as I hold onto the coin with all my might, as if it serves as a lifeline to reality.

Thorin gives a small nod in acknowledgment, then turns back to his night watch duty.

I continue to remain awake though, my mind grappling with doubts and uncertainties, unable to go to sleep now. I remind myself of certain facts: I had my cellphone and tic-tacs with me, items that most in my world would agree CAN'T be taken to the afterlife. Furthermore, if I were truly dead, why would my mindset be in the world of The Hobbit? Why not a fantastical realm where I'm a happy little unicorn? I'm just saying.

Unless... this is hell?

I glance over at Thorin's quiet form, a playful thought crossing my mind. Nah. Too many attractive guys for this to be hell. The two brothers beside me continue their sweet slumber as I observe their uncle's hunched posture, the smoke curing from the pipe held in his hand and the matter of Azog comes back to me.

"Thorin?" I venture, emboldened by the kindness he's shown me.

He glances back at me.

"I'm sorry for the way I told you about Azog. All I could think about was how much I wanted you to know and it didn't come across like I'd hoped."

Instead of calming him, like I had last time, my apology seems to ruin Thorin's peaceful mood.

He shakes his head and turns away, "Miss Peyton, I must insist that you cease this nonsense." His voice is calm but cold as he shuts down the conversation.

"You think I'm lying, don't you," I whisper, feeling the blood drain from my face. Have I really messed up that bad by warning him?

Thorin releases a deep sigh before turning to look at me once more. He watches my face for a long, contemplative moment before finally responding with a frown. "No. I do not believe you are lying. But seers..." He pauses, seemingly searching for the right words. "Seers have a peculiar reputation amongst my kind. Not everything they predict comes to pass. Much of it is symbolic and is not to be taken literally." His voice carries a gruffness as if some old memory haunts him.

I frown and tilt my head, seeking clarification. "So, you don't think I'm lying... but you believe I'm, what? Inventing all of this in my head? That I'm as mad as Boin?”

He says nothing and his silence is the confirmation I need.

I suddenly feel...almost relieved. I let out a chuckle to myself and shake my head. His silence towards me now made more sense. He seems to think that because I'm a 'seer,' I say weird things and spout cryptic nonsense with multiple interpretations. It's as if he believes I'm into crystals, tarot cards, and speaking with the dead or something. While a small part of me feels offended, the rational side of me reminds me that it's better than him thinking I'm a liar or malicious. Besides, in a fantasy world, anything can become possible. Who knows? Maybe I am a little crazy.

"What do I need to do to prove to you that I'm not crazy?" I ask with an amused smile.

I've never had to prove I'm not crazy to someone before. This could be interesting.

Thorin's eyes reflect the orange glow of the fire's dying coals as he contemplates my question. It seems to have stumped him. "Proving one's sanity in a world as fantastical as this is not a straightforward task, Miss Peyton." He finally responds, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

I realize that a part of him might actually prefer to believe I'm just a delusional seer. It would offer a simpler explanation than having to confront the intricate web of Azog's looming threat.

And with that realization, it's like a light comes on inside my head, and I suddenly see a reflection of myself in Thorin. We share a common approach to dealing with inconvenient truths. In our own stubborn ways, he and I are both grappling with the inexplicable nature of our circumstances. I can't help but remember how long it took Dr. Pudbrook to convince me that I was truly in Middle Earth. It had taken a painful, skull-breaking rap on my head with a cane to wake me up to my situation. Could it be that Thorin needs a similar jolt to accept the reality before him?

Perhaps, in time, my actions will speak louder than words. If I can genuinely help the company on this trip, if I can prove my worth during our journey, then maybe he will come to trust my insights more.

I nod to my inner dialogue with myself and look into the distance as I speak my thoughts out loud, "This entire situation - me being here in another world - it was all so confusing and strange at first. It took me a while to accept it." Catching his gaze, my voice turns almost pleading, "If I had waited until Azog showed up at the end to tell you, would you have felt better or worse when you realized that I knew all along?"

Thorin's eyes darken as I persist in my claim about Azog, but he maintains his silence. I can sense his frustration, as he grapples with the same inner turmoil that once consumed me. He's holding onto his denial out of sheer desperation, a familiar struggle that I can empathize with completely.

I don't blame him for his reaction; in fact, I understand it all too well. In that brief moment, I catch a glimpse of his vulnerability beneath the stoic exterior he presents to the outside world. This trip's going to be a hard journey and I may have just made it harder on him. He's been warned of what may lie in wait at the end of the road.

But if he manages to navigate this treacherous path and emerge victorious, this experience will undoubtedly forge him into a stronger leader in the end.

I continue in sincerity, "I don't know how Boin is, and I don't know how your seers operate in this world, but you can trust that I'm trying to change the future, not just simply talk about it. I hope that by the time all of this is over - and assuming we survive this mess - we can be friends."

It's undoubtedly a long shot. But to return home with the ability to claim Thorin Oakenshield as a friend would be the highest honor.

He contemplates my words and hopeful expression before finally huffing out a frustrated breath and shaking his head, "Miss Peyton...you are unlike anyone I have ever encountered in my long years." He falls silent again, at war with himself before continuing, "While I may not fully understand or even agree with everything you claim, there is...an undeniable strength of will that you possess. A stubborn determination to do things in your own peculiar way that seems to serve you well." Thorin's voice carries a hint of grudging acknowledgment.

I feel hope spark a light inside of me. His words are a surprising mixture of admiration and understanding, leaving me with a sense of cautious optimism.

He continues, his gaze steady. "As for friendship...we shall see."

It's a small step, and not exactly what I was hoping for. But in a world as vast and uncertain as Middle Earth, it's a significant one.

I offer him a grateful smile and nod. We may not have resolved all the complexities of our situation, but at least we have once more found that common ground to build upon as we continue our journey together. I just wish we could stop slipping off of it.

Even though there's no epic travel music, we have a constant soundtrack to our journey. The company has sung every single day since leaving the Shire. All the time. Whenever they feel like it. Thorin sings very frequently as well, to my immense satisfaction. I do my best to keep a polite look on my face when he does, but inside I'm ecstatic. Their voices fill the air with melodies of battle, adventure, loss, love, and everything in between. Drinking and Feasting are some of the favorite genres of this predominantly male group. The melodies are unfamiliar to me, often reflecting our current adventures and experiences.

I enjoy singing as well. Besides singing in chorals my entire high school years and being the lead soloist a few times, I endured ten years of piano lessons. Basically, I play piano as good as Bilbo can cook and I know how to carry a tune.

Of course, this whole 'getting sucked into Middle Earth' thing would be a huge opportunity wasted if I didn't sing the most famous dwarf song of all...

"Hi ho! Hi ho! It's off to Erebor I go!" I sing cheerfully, punctuating the melody with a playful whistle. "Hi ho! Hi ho!"

"You're singing offbeat."

I turn in surprise to find Thorin riding his black pony beside me, as casually and naturally as if he's always done this. It feels like an olive branch, that he's begun communicating with me once more, and I eagerly take it.

Hiding my surprise with a chuckle, I tease him with a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Well, excuse me, Mr. I-Sing-So-Beautifully-I-Make-Angels-Cry! It's not the original lyrics to the song, so it doesn't have a good rhythm. 'Erebor' has 3 syllables instead of the original ‘work' or 'home' which has only one.”

He's silent for a moment, processing my compliment with a small pleased smile. He finally moves past it and asks, "What is the song about?"

I grin, excited to share the story behind the song. "It's about seven dwarves who take in a lost human princess, and they always sing this tune while they're going to and from working in the mines in the woods. It's a children's fairytale. I thought that since you're all dwarves and I'm a human woman, it was fitting for the occasion."

"Well, let's hear it then."

I hesitate for a moment before responding, "You just did."

Thorin furrows his brow in confusion. "No, you only sang the first verse."

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks as I scratch my head sheepishly. "Yeah, they, uh, they just repeat it over and over again."

The company was apparently listening in on our conversation because they all burst into laughter and make fun of me for a long time after that. No, seriously. They tease me relentlessly for days. Apparently, in Middle Earth when people sing, it's like they are telling a story. They don't repeat the same lines over and over again in a chorus. No such thing as a 'chorus' here, which is mind-boggling to me.

I try to share my other songs with them, in an attempt to redeem my musical era, but it makes me realize that all the popular songs on the radio are very short and rely on the chorus to carry it along. Each time I sing the chorus, the dwarves playfully remind me that I've already sung that part. It becomes a running joke among us, and I can't help but laugh along with them, grateful for the lighthearted moments amidst our grand adventure.

However, there is one song that resonates with the company. Inspired by our journey and the spirit of camaraderie, I changed the lyrics of ‘Be a Man’ from Mulan to ‘Be a Dwarf.’ The dwarves love it, even with the repeated chorus. Hmph. Bunch of narcissists.

I realize one night while clapping and stomping with the company as Bofur and Bifur dance in a circle by the fire, singing a lively song about getting pigs into their pen, that this is what people do when there isn't television or cellphones! They create. They connect.

Traveling together for weeks on end, constantly bumping elbows, forges bonds between people like nothing else. You suffer and ache together, you fight and snarl at each another, you laugh and tease one another, and the trust and love deepens. I've always been amazed at Animal Planet documentaries where the lions will hunt the wildebeest, quarrel over the scraps, and then lick and make-up when it's all over with. It's because they're a team; a family with the same goal. Survival.

Our large company has the same goal too: We're all on our way to get home. And survive, of course.

Except Bilbo. Bilbo and the dwarves still seem at odds with one another. I'm unsure if it's because of my presence here, or if it was always like that. The worst part is that it's kind of Bilbo's fault to be honest.

He's a bit…fussy.

He doesn't mean to be, of course, but old habits and comforts die hard. He struggles with the small amount of food we eat, the long hours riding, and the pony hair that gets all over his clothing (although I really do think he's starting to take to Myrtle).

But I do my best to comfort him. And one of the things we enjoy is telling each other riddles! The dwarves join in and it makes me happy to see them be impressed with Mr. Riddle-Maker here.

In these moments with the dwarves, it's a reminder to me of the joy that shared moments of music and dance can bring. I have laughed and danced and sang more in the past three months in Middle Earth (at the Green Dragon pub with Bilbo and now with the Dwarves), than I have in a very long time. And I know Bilbo and the company will come around to each other eventually.

As I immerse myself deeper and deeper in this company of misfits, laughing as Bifur pulls me up to join the dance and Bofur pulls Bilbo up, making us unwilling participants in their pig-pen dance, a newfound appreciation for the past begins to take hold inside me. I reflect on Medieval times on Earth and the people, who, despite lacking the knowledge and advancements of modern society, were masters of their craft.

Before technology, people sang and wrote and painted and created masterful pieces of…well, anything and everything really. I had always thought that people from back then were simple-minded and uneducated, but I realize now just how wrong I was. They may not have understood how electricity worked or that bacteria was a thing, but they were creative. They had to rely on their own memories, keeping a vast library of stories, poems, and songs within their minds. Back home, I depended on Google for literally everything.

But these dwarves? They only depend on themselves, each other, and their maker, Mahal. And that, to me, is a very intriguing concept.

Chapter Text

Rain has always held a special place in my childhood, and I cherish the memories of playing in the wet sand during thunderstorms. Nevada, a dry desert state, rarely witnesses rainy days, which made them all the more exciting. During the monsoon season, the rain would stir up the sand, releasing scents of creosote, sage, and desert spices. Whereas the misty rain of Middle Earth carries with it the earthy fragrances of the soil and the lush greenery. Middle Earth is not warm; there's zero hint of global warming happening in this realm.

But today's rain feels different. An icy chill that seems uncharacteristic of the spring season. It isn't until now that I realize how much I miss the warmth of the Nevada desert rain.

"If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops oh what a rain it would be!" I sing to myself as our ponies trudge through the dripping cold rain, which splatters and soaks everything it touches.

I plod along on the back of my poor, wet pony, listening to the ominous thunder rolls that serve as a constant reminder that we are riding animals with metal horseshoes.

'Wet pony' might not rival 'wet dog', but the scent lingers. Sir Gallahop, trudges along in line behind the other sopping-wet ponies, displaying dogged determination. He's a trooper, this one.

I stop my singing, giving an involuntary shiver. 'Ugh, what I wouldn't give for a hot bath right about now,' I mutter, teeth chattering.

"Oh, don't be such a princess," Bofur chuckles, "I've never heard someone talk about hot baths as much as you do."

I roll my eyes at him, and my chattering continues uncontrollably. "Yeah, w-well, I used to take them ev-v-v-very day! And on this adventure, I haven't had o-one in a month! I smell like a pony. G-gosh, it's so c-c-cold!"

"Gandalf! Can't you do something about this weather?" Dori asks, annoyance at the cold rain evident in his voice as well.

"It is raining, master dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done," Gandalf responds, sounding exasperated.

Since we're all annoyed at this point (and I'm still upset that Gandalf won't call the eagles) I pipe up, "I'd like to d-draw everyone's attention to the fact that Gandalf did NOT say that he c-couldn't do anything about the rain. Therefore, we can only conclude that he is merely allowing us to go on in m-m-misery!"

I notice Thorin glancing behind and watching me. He's been doing that a lot since we put the Azog situation behind us for now. I'm sure it's still been in the back of his mind, though.

Gandalf replies to my comment, his tone dripping with haughtiness, "If you want something done about the rain, find another wizard!"

"Again, please take note, m-my fellow companions, that he didn't say he c-couldn't do anything about the rain..."

Bilbo then asks about the other wizards in the world, and Gandalf proceeds to ignore me and tell him all about them. The white evil one, the blue unimportant ones, and the brown one.

"Is Radagast a great wizard? Or...is he more like you?" Bilbo asks. His voice portrays innocence, yet a sly glance in my direction tells me otherwise.

I bark out a laugh but a strong shiver rolls through my body, making my laugh sound like I'm choking. Shaking my head, I try to regain composure, and address Bilbo, "Gandalf's a f-fire wizard or something. Much more p-powerful than he p-pretends to be."

Gandalf turns and glares a warning look at me. But I ignore it and instead give him a cheeky smile. My shivers sort of take away the effect though.

"Ugh! You can create heat and light with your s-staff! Do us a f-favor and warm us all up!" I huff.

Initially, I had managed to ignore the numbing sensation, but now my body feels like it's spasming beyond my control. What I wouldn't give for a warm fluffy blanket or a portable space heater right now.

Gandalf's annoyed glare at my insistance that he can fix things abruptly turns concerned as he finally takes notice of how cold I am.

"Thorin," He calls loudly up to the front in his gravely old voice, and Thorin turns in his seat to look back at us, his dripping wet hair more curly than I've ever seen. "Perhaps it is time to seek shelter? Some of our company need warmth more than others."

Thorin's eyes immediately shift towards me, and I quickly straighten up, pressing my lips into a thin line to prevent them from trembling. I can't let him think I'm weak. But it seems my efforts are in vain, as he frowns upon noticing my pitiful shivering. He nods, pulling his black pony to a halt. "Let's get a fire going. Everyone, collect six pieces of the driest wood you can find."

We guide our ponies off to the side, the poor beasts as wet and cold as the rest of us. Gandalf, finally behaving kindly, takes charge and starts a fire for us by lighting a stick he holds in his hands and places it underneath the other damp wood gathered. I extend my chilled appendages towards the fire's warm glow, sighing in relief as the immediate warmth soothes my tingling fingers. The thunder rumbles once again, this time closer, but I pay it no mind. I've always loved the lightning and thunder, often climbing up on the roof of our house with my brothers to watch it in the distance during the monsoon season.

"Well! Now that's all settled, how about getting some dinner on the fire? I'll be back momentarily." Gandalf says distractedly, looking off into the murky distance.

As Gandalf walks away from the camp, a sense of unease settles over me. It's the first time he’s left us since the journey began, and his absence leaves an eerie void. But since he did it a lot more frequently in the book, it should be fine, right?

Unfortunately, with Gandalf gone, not even ten minutes can pass without everything going to hell in a handbasket.

"Grab three onions from Honey's pack, will you Peyton?" Bombur asks me from where we sit close to the fire on a log as he expertly plucks the feathers of the pheasant Fili had shot and I chop the potatoes.

"You got it, boss."

I head over to Honey, trying to remember which pack the onions are in when suddenly, disaster strikes. The air feels electrified as a bolt of lightning screams down from the sky into the camp. It illuminates the forest with a brilliant white flash and a deafening CRACK! The space inside my lungs shakes like a drum. A tree explodes into splinters, shooting out in a deadly spray.

My ears ring, feeling as if they've been stuffed with cotton. The dwarves' voices and the pony's screams suddenly sound distant and muted. My heart pumps all my blood to my cold muscles, warming me faster than the fire had. The smell of ozone prickles my nose and my hair stands on end from the residual static in the air. Everyone scrambles to their feet, the force having knocked some of the dwarves down to the ground.

The ponies rear and buck in panic, while one of them bolts past me and off into the woods. It's Honey, the one carrying all of our food.

The dwarves are too busy with the other frightened animals to notice her running away so I sprint after her without a second thought. My breaths come in short gasps while chasing after the stupid pony. I follow the direction her hoofprints make in the soft wet dirt, and do my best to listen for her frightened snorting.

She hasn't gone too far, only about a minute away. I spot her and groan. The stupid animal is prancing at the edge of a river, her legs shaky as she contemplates jumping in. How is THAT going to help anything? My brain niggles as it tries to remind me of something. Didn't something like this happen in the book?

I talk gently, softly sing-songing her name as I make my way over to her, "Honey? Hooooonnnnneeeeeey...it's ok. It'll be ok."

The poor animal vibrates with pent-up energy, her hindquarters quivering at the edge of the river, spooked by that lightning strike that had been so close. My ears are still ringing from it and I can barely hear myself speaking. I don't even register someone calling my name from somewhere in the woods behind me from camp.

"Shhh, shhhh...You don't want to jump into that water, Honey. Trust me, its deep and cold and will make you super wet."

I'm so close! Just a little bit more...

"Gotcha!" I whisper triumphantly as I grab her reigns and begin to pull her head away from facing the treacherous edge. We both turn around just as Fili and Kili run through the trees towards me.

"Peyton! What were you thinking?! Don't go running off like that!" Kili cries, his eyes wide and frantic.

I stare at him confused, "I was just getting Honey-"

"We've got to get back to camp. Nori's hurt." Fili abruptly cuts me off, his eyes also wide and a bit frightened. He grabs the reigns from my confused hands before turning and running back the way we've just come without another word. Honey trots unwillingly behind him. Kili follows after him, running as well.

My brain didn't seem to translate their words into any sense. "What do you mean? What happened to Nori?!" I call after them, bewildered and slowly jog after them.

"The lightning struck him!" Kili yells over his shoulder.

My heart stops. "What?!" I choke in panic, running faster. He must be mistaken. This never happened in the story!

"Thorin told us to go after you since you ran away without telling anyone," Fili says over his shoulder. "Oin's treating him right now. Come on!"

We run faster, booking it back to camp. He's fine. He has to be. Nori has plot armor like the rest of them.

We make it back to camp faster than it took me to find Honey and my stomach lodges up high in my throat as I see Ori and Dori kneeling on the dirty ground, holding their brother to them as they cry. Nori's eyes are closed and he lies on the ground motionless.

Oin is nearby, but he's not doing anything. Just standing there with a broken expression. They all are. Bilbo's face is white and he looks like he's seen a ghost. What are they doing?!

"How long has he been like this!?" I demand, running over to where Dori and Ori are holding him. "Where the hell is Gandalf?!"

They all look at me, surprised by the frantic anger in my voice. I'm panicking.

"About...about three minutes, lass." Gloin replies quietly since Oin doesn't seem to hear me.

I kneel down beside Nori, saying to Ori and Dori, "Have any of you started CPR?!"

At their blank looks, I feel the blood drain from my face. No CPR in Middle Earth. Gandalf isn't here. Oin can't do anything...

There's only one person that can do anything. It's me. I have to do something.

"Dori, Ori, I need you to lie him down flat on his back," I order, immediately working to pull off my coat. Determination replaces my panic as I prepare to perform CPR for the first time in my life.

Their eyes stare at me, unseeing.

"I'm going to save him!" I insist, frantic at their strange inactivity.

"He's dead, Lass." Dwalin says gruffly, his face sad as he stands nearby, "There's nothing you can do."

Thorin watches on with a pained look on his face, his eyes never leaving Nori's face. He's obviously taking the blame for Nori's situation on his own shoulders.

Oh, no he doesn't! He can't!

"Take off his coat." I order Dori and Ori, "I need full access to his chest." When Dori and Ori don't move, just staring at me, I snap loudly, "Do it NOW!"

Dori jumps into action, unbuttoning Nori's coat even as I finally finish removing my own in order to free my arms. The rain around us is still going, and I'm already cold. But I need my arms to not be hindered by the thick leather of my coat if I am going to do this properly. I've never done this before. My breaths are heavy but at the same time, my mind is clear. Laser-focused.

"Miss Peyton, I checked his pulse. He is gone." Oin says, holding up his earpiece to his ear, his face an expression of pity and sorrow.

He's not going to die. I won’t allow it.

"I'm going to restart his heart. If his heart is stopped for longer than five minutes without CPR, he will die.", my voice is clipped and hard, sounding so unlike me. My panic seems to have transformed into something else- an intense resolve. Almost like tunnel vision with all my focus on this one thing. Nori. No one else exists. And I'm ready to go to war with anyone who tries to stop me.

"Truly? You…you can bring him back?" Ori asks tearfully, barely daring to hope.

I glance up at Ori's sweet face and my resolve hardens. "I will try."

And then, without further ado, for the first time in my life, I begin the steps to perform CPR on another living being. I do oxygen first though, since he didn't swallow anything and I don't know how long he's been without it. Tilting his head back, ignoring his strange mustache, and opening his mouth; I take a deep breath and then seal my lips over his. A steady breath of air leaves my lungs and into his. Once. Twice.

"What are you doing?!" A few of the dwarves gasp angrily, stepping forward. "Have you no respect for the dead?!"

I ignore them, breaths done and begin compressions. I talk myself through it as if I was instructing myself, feeling strangely grounded in the moment and at the same time weightless as if I'm simply an observer, "Ok, Peyton, just like they taught you at First Aid: Hand over hand forming a fist, the heel of the palm over the sternum, and then push down."

I have to push down hard, all the weight of my body centered over my arms because Nori's sternum is harder than I anticipated. I'm already a small puny human, and it feels like his bones are stronger as a dwarf. I need to push down hard enough that he's in danger of his bones being broken. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. If his chest isn't sore after this, I didn't do my job well enough.

I count aloud to drown out the shocked words, confused questions, and gruff demands around me and to keep my FAST rhythm. For that moment, Nori and I are the only two people that exist, "One, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and seven, and eight, and nine, and ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen... " Eventually the company can't help but quiet down to watch as I count to thirty.

This time I warn them what I'm about to do as I shout loudly, still talking myself through it, "Two breaths! One!" Blow. "Two!" Blow.

And it begins again.

Each compression is a symphony of desperation and determination, my hands pushing down on his chest with all my might, the bone-deep thud of my efforts reverberating through my body.

"Come on Nori. Come on Nori." I murmur to him.

As I kneel beside Nori's lifeless form, the storm rages on around us, the sound of rain and thunder echoing around us. The cold and wet conditions make the task even more challenging, but there's no time to lose. My heart races as I continue chest compressions, trying to remember if there's anything I'm forgetting. Is there a step of the CPR training I received years ago in the modern world that I forgot to do?

Oh yeah! I forgot to call 911. Hah.

Where's Gandalf!? I could use him right about now!

"Come on, Nori. Come on." I mutter under my breath, alternating between chest compressions and rescue breaths. The dwarves are silent by my side, their expressions a mix of fear and confusion and perhaps even tentative hope.

It feels like an eternity, that I press on his chest. With each compression, I desperately will the life back into Nori's still form, my determination unwavering even though I feel my body get more and more tired. I won't stop. Even if I have to go for the next few hours until Gandalf gets here, I won't give up! He's got plot armor damn it! I don't care if I have to continue doing this all night. Nori WILL. NOT. DIE!

And then, like a miracle, Nori's chest heaves upwards, and sputters and coughs escape his lips. His chest rises as he takes in ragged breaths.

My eyes brim with relieved tears, and intense joy washes over me like a river at the same time amazed shouts and gasps of the company sound in my ears around me. I collapse beside him, gasping for air myself as my eyes never leave his form. My body trembles from the tremendous effort and the cold. This is the first time I have ever saved a life and brought someone back from the brink of death. I have quite literally breathed life back into him. Despite my resolve to do so, I almost can't believe I've actually succeeded.

Nori's eyes slowly flutter open, and he blinks up at his brothers, dazed and disoriented. "What... what happened?" He croaks.

"You were struck by lightning!" Dori explains tearfully, his voice shaky, "But you're alive! You're- You're going to be alright! Miss Peyton brought you back!"

I can barely sense the commotion from the company around me, my eyes riveted on Ori and Dori's happy faces as they both crush their brother with hugs, tears streaming down their cheeks as they cling to him.

"Guys, guys, give him some air." I half-heartedly reprimand them. I’m surprised when they immediately listen and turn to hug me instead. It's my turn to give an "Ooomph!" as I'm pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Dori and then Ori as they offer me their most heartfelt thanks, their faces relieved and grateful beyond belief, "Thank you, Peyton! Thank you!"

"Call me Pey," I say as tears come to my own eyes and I hug them back, all of us sharing in the joy of having one of our own return to us.

The other dwarves have all surrounded us, collective expressions of relief and hearty laughter and a few tears certainly. Bombur is a crying mess and Thorin's eyes are tender as he steps forward, offering Nori a strong hand to help him sit up from where he's lying down.

Nori, now fully conscious, grimaces weakly once he's in a sitting position. "Argh. My chest hurts. What happened?"

"Peyton saved you! She restarted your heart and breathed air into you!" Ori says in awe, eyes amazed.

Nori frowns in confusion, "Breathed air into me? How did she breathe ai-?" His eyes widen and he looks at me in shock, "You mean she...?" He points at his mouth, "On my...?"

They nod at him and he looks me up and down before cursing in that strange language of his and then saying, "My first kiss and I wasn't even awake for it!"

My mouth drops open even as the Bofur laughs loudly and gives Nori hearty back claps, "Glad to have ye back, Nori."

I give a shocked laugh-gasp as well, while the dwarves offer relieved chuckles grateful that he's definitely still alive and the same old Nori.

Noticing the scandalized and red faces of Dori, Ballin, and Gloin, however, I quickly deny it, "That was NOT a kiss! I was breathing air into your lungs, Nori. That was in no way a kiss."

"Yeah, but your mouth was on my mouth!" He says, his eyes wide as if the thought was mind-boggling.

I shake my head and laugh tiredly at his expression, "It's called cardiac-pulmonary resuscitation, Nori. Or C.P.R. for short. In my world, we have a machine that can shock your chest to restart your heart and a device to hold over your face that will push air into your lungs. But since that isn't available, I had to perform it manually."

I try to stand up but my legs collapse back down from exhaustion, the adrenaline wearing off. Since I took my waterproof coat off to allow me more movement, the only thing that kept me warm was my fiery determination to save Dori. Now I'm soaked to the bone from the rain, more chilled than I was before. Because I had been working so hard to push down on his very firm chest, I had been sweating despite the cold, and now my shivering is worse. It's getting harder and harder to speak.

The dwarves rush to where I sit, asking if I'm ok. I grab the nearest hand offered to me and get pulled onto my feet, coming face to face with Thorin as he helps me stand up.

"You saved Nori's life," he says quietly, his eyes reflecting gratitude and concern.

I offer a weary smile, as I violently start to shiver. "J-just d-doing what n-n-needed to be done." I wrap my arms around myself as the rain continues to fall around us, my legs don't want to move and my whole body shakes from head to toe, teeth clattering so hard against each other that they hurt.

He frowns, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he shrugs his coat off, "Here."

I stare at him in shocked surprise as he wraps his own coat around me, the warmth instantly encompassing me and I huddle into the warmth, grateful. He turns before I can say anything and addresses the rest of the company, his voice strong and reassuring. "Get the fire back on. We'll need to take cover under the trees and pitch up the tarps. We will see how things look at first light, but for now, let us rest and recover from this ordeal."

We slowly and steadily get back on track to secure our campsite, making sure the ponies are tied securely and their packs are taken off of them, all the while Gloin and Bifur try to get the fire burning again. It had gone out in the rain with no one to focus on it and the wood we had gathered is now too wet to use. The thunder slowly gets farther away but the light has become dimmer with the encroaching darkness of sunset.

I'm not much help cutting potatoes anymore since my violent shivering won't let me hold a knife. Bombur smiles, "Sit down Peyton, Gloin will get the fire going and there will be some hot stew to warm you right up."

If everything goes like I think it will though, there's not going to be a fire tonight. As I suspect, Gloin for some reason cannot get a single spark when usually he can start a fire from anything. I stare at his strong hands holding the stubborn flint and steel that is usually so easy for him to work with. This time it refuses to light any dry thing he offers it. The air is too moist, I realize. And the woods are too wet. I remember this scene from the book. But...it's different. It's all so different. What does this mean?

The pony, Honey, was supposed to jump into that river, but I stopped her so we didn't lose all our food. Kili was supposed to almost drown as he tried to save the pony in my place, but instead, Nori almost died by lightning. The fire won't start tonight AND Gandalf is gone.

I've changed things. Me, Peyton Silva! I changed the story!

I remain silent and shivering, focusing on taking deep breaths to calm the fear I feel in my heart as I inwardly freak out. Do I want things to change? That's what I'm here for, right? But getting Nori hit by lighting was not part of the plan! How did I cause that? Was it because Thorin stopped here because I was cold, instead of further up the river?

What's worse is I'm too cold to think properly. My teeth hurt from hitting each other so much and Thorin's jacket has slowly lost its warmth, doing nothing for my cold legs and feet. My shivering has turned into numbness, deeper than before and I can barely feel the cold anymore. It's more of a vibrating now, rather than shivering.

Someone comes to stand in front of me, and it takes me longer than usual to look up. It's Oin, looking down at me with a frown on his face. "Come lass, we need to get you into dry clothing."

He leads me away from the group to a place that no one can see, a tarp already set up for changing. Oin works quickly and effectively. "Clothes off, lass." He orders.

"I BEG your pardon?" I try and say, but it comes out as "I b-b-beg-uh, y-u-ur, p-p-p-pardon?" My lips refuse to form words the way I want them to.

"Those wet clothes are leeching heat from your body, Miss Peyton." Oin says, his worried voice gruff, "If you don't change clothes you'll get too cold. Get all the wet clothes off, and change into something light and airy."

He hands me my bag, and I fumble with the flap, my fingers not wanting to work. He watches me for a moment, before taking it away from me and opening it himself before rummaging through the meager clothing I have. He hands me the dry underwear, pants, and shirt I need before turning to look away.

It's torture to get changed. Besides the violent shaking, my fingers are numb and don't obey my commands. They keep slipping and skipping over my buttons. But I will NOT ask Oin to help me. I'd rather the Valar kill me which, surprisingly, might just happen as I worriedly notice the very red color at the very tips of my fingers. Frost nip. The first step to frostbite.

That scary thought makes me focus extra hard and luckily (eventually) I'm able to get everything off and then struggle with the dry shirt and pants on. At last I stand there in my dry clothes, barely feeling them against my skin, under the temporary canopy the dwarves have set up.

I don't realize that Oin has come up to me until I feel his warm hand on my shoulder.

"Come lass, let's get some hot food into you."

He steers me where I need to go. Where is Gandalf? I feel disoriented but less cold than before.

There is no hot food because the fire is not able to start, just like in the story with Gloin cursing and furious. The mood progressively gets more frustrated as the dwarves all begin huddle around Gloin and even take it from him to try and light it themselves. But it's if a spell has been cast and the fire simply refuses to light. Our residential Fire Wizard is nowhere to be found...and yet...I can't help but think that this night could be worse. The company all continue to cast relieved and grateful glances over to Nori who is alive, his brothers holding him close to their hearts as they offer him some water and a sandwich Bombur has begun making everyone due to the lack of a fire. We're all counting our blessings. This cold rainy night could be much much worse.

I put my red fingers under my armpits, something I learned in the movie 'Batman Begins'. Besides that though, I don't know what else to do. In basic first aid class, they taught me that I need to get the patient somewhere warm. But there's no fire and, unfortunately, Middle Earth doesn't have many warm places unless you count volcanoes in Mordor and mines full of Balrogs. I'm at a dangerous point, because with how long I've been cold, my body isn't able to produce enough heat to sustain me so Thorin's coat can't trap much inside. I huddle in his coat, the fur from the colar tickling my cheeks. It smells distinctly 'Thorin'-esque and I feel touched by his kind gesture.

I have only one option at this point. I need an external source of heat. And without a fire, that leaves me only one option: body heat. But…I don't want to ask for it. There has to be some other way! Any other way. Isn't it crazy that even at death's doorstep, I'm embarrassed to ask for someone to cuddle with me? The dwarves were embarrassed and scandalized when I gave mouth-to-mouth breaths to Nori. How would they react if I ask for a snuggle?

Even though I'm slowly freezing to death, it could be worse. We could have a dead Nori, no fire, AND be starving from Honey losing all our provisions. All in all, this night is a good one!

"Now then, lass!" Oin sits next to me, excitement about him as he holds the trumpet up to his ear. "Tell me everything about this Cee-Pee-Arr, that you mentioned! I want to learn it."

Bombur comes over to me at the same time, an extra large sandwich prepared with the food I saved on Honey's back. Cheese and salted meat, between bread. He serves me with a bigger and warmer smile than usual, "Here Miss Peyton! I hope this will help heat you right up!"

I try to respond and tell him "Thank you" but I can't. My whole body feels…strange. I vaguely realize that my sandwich has spilled from my chilled hands onto the floor. Awww, I wanted to eat that!

I hear frantic calling above me, "Miss Peyton! Miss Peyton!" and a bunch of figures are moving around me speaking in Dwarvish and English. How did I get on the floor? That's weird. Ehh, I'm so tired though so it's fine. So tired. I'm sure if I sleep, I'll feel better tomorrow. I feel a searing hot hand on my head and I gasp, opening my eyes. It's Oin, examining me. Did he stick his hand in a fire or something?! Oh wait...there is no fire.

"She's hypothermic." He yells loudly. I wince. Just because you're deaf doesn't mean all of us are, buddy! His words finally register though.

Hypothermia. Not good. And it's only going to get colder as the night drags on without a fire. I don't feel so cold anymore though, which is nice. Aw, crap. I drift into a delirious state, wondering if I'll ever make it back home after this ordeal. Will death transport me back to Earth once it's over? Amidst the chaos, I hear Thorin's furious voice, Ori and Dori's anxious murmurs, and Bilbo sputtering at my side. Their voices blend into a jumble of words, and I let it all wash over me as I close my eyes, craving sleep. Annoyingly, Oin continues to rub my shoulders, determined to keep me awake. I want to protest, but my lips won't cooperate.

Oin's voice is urgent by my ear, "We must warm her blood slowly. Going back to her heart too fast will fail her. She needs body heat." Oin's hand slides over Thorin's coat and onto my arm as he pleads, “Open your eyes, Lass. No sleeping.”

I feebly try to bat his hand away but my arm muscles aren't coordinated.

It's disheartening to feel like I've failed even before I began. I didn't get to save the line of Durin. However, I did manage to save Nori's life. I cling to that achievement, feeling proud that I channeled my fear into helping him, rather than succumbing to panic.

Oin's voice is clinical and resolute as he addresses his King and the company.

In the background, I hear voices volunteering for something, all while Oin continues to rub my shoulders and arms, causing discomfort. Among the voices, Thorin's stands out with unwavering determination. His voice, I think to myself, is quite handsome.

Suddenly, I feel weightless, lifted from where I had fallen and gently placed on something softer - it feels like a bedroll. As I lie there, someone begins to open my coat, or technically Thorin's coat, and I'm enveloped in the delicious warmth of another person lying beside me. Their back, clad in a cozy shirt, presses against me as they lie on their side, facing away. I exhale in relief and snuggle myself closer, unable to identify who it is but grateful for their comforting heat. They radiate warmth like a furnace, and I shiver with contentment as my body starts to respond.

As I lay there, someone else joins me at my back, sandwiching me between two warm dwarves. Oh, the bliss!

But then, reality hit me like a cold splash of water. This is highly inappropriate!

In a strange hallucinatory panic, I force my eyes open, but the darkness offers no clues about their identities. The sun has long disappeared, and without a fire, all remains shrouded in shadows. I can sense that both dwarves are facing away from me, as if trying to preserve my modesty while offering me help. I suspect that Dori is sleeping in front of me, and Ori behind me. It warms my heart to know they care!

Despite how this situation might be perceived, I know it's innocent. They're simply trying to repay me for saving their brother. And on a positive note, unlike Kili and Fili, the two dwarves with me don't snore.

After five minutes sandwiched between two uncomfortably warm dwarves, my skin begins to absorb their heat. Ten minutes later, my cold vibrating escalates back into violent shudders as my body awakens once more to the need to fight for survival. Oin assures my two heating pads that this is normal, that shivering is better than the still sleepiness I had succumbed to.

Finally, after an hour, I feel completely warm, still, and exhausted. Almost asleep, I nestle my chilly nose into Thorin's fur coat, facing Dori's back.

Only one thing is missing. "Thank you," I murmur to them as my eyes close, and I feel myself slipping away into peaceful dreams.

When I start to wake from my very deep slumber, I'm wrapped in delicious heat. I don't want to move. Something smells amazing.

"Mmmmm," I murmur, snuggling my cold nose (the only part of me that's cold) deep into the source of the inviting aroma - my firm, warm pillow. I slowly open my eyes only to then freeze...

My firm pillow is a muscled arm covered in a blue long-sleeve shirt. Unless I’m mistaken, neither Dori or Ori have an arm like this.

With a sense of dread, I slowly trace the thick hidden cords of muscle upward with my eyes and realize its owner is awake, blue eyes observing my embarrassing moment of stuffing my nose into his arm.

Thorin and I lay there, watching each other as if a snake is about to strike.

Eventually, I have to speak before things get too awkward. "Umm, Thorin? What are you doing in my bed?" I blurt out. It's a valid question but I shouldn't jump to conclusions, I caution myself. Thorin isn't the type to casually invade someone's bed without reason. At least, I’d always thought so...

His eyes flicker all over my face for a few seconds before responding, "You were cold so I kept you warm last night."

The strange event from yesterday comes filtering back to me. I had been slowly fading away...and Thorin saved me?

My thoughts feel more coherent while my muscles are a bit stiff from sleeping in the same position all night. I'm warm from my head to my toes. Especially my face, which is BURNING from mortification.

"So...uh…that wasn't Ori or Dori sleeping next to me last night? I thought you were Dori." I murmur 

"Ori slept next to Nori to keep him warm. And Dori is behind you."

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I sit up to verify Thorin's words, instantly regretting it as the morning chill greets me. The sun is up but the remnants of last night's rain has kept everything cool and we are under the shade of a tarp. The rest of the company is fast asleep around us and I give a small yelp as the cold nips at my warm skin before quickly huddling myself back down next to him again.

Thorin emits a throaty chuckle, and I glance up at his face, taken aback.

An amused smile plays on his lips. Every inch of me tenses as he lifts the blanket I had displaced and covers both of us with it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My heart races in my ears. Dealing with an angry Thorin is one thing, but this peaceful, amused version of him? In my BED?! Who is he?

"And I believe this is my bedroll and coat that you're in," he continues, closing his eyes again, but a his voice laced with a hint of amusement, as if he's heard my thoughts or is simply continuing with my original accusation.

I lay there, wide-eyed, feeling his warmth, his breath, his heartbeat through his arm. We aren't pressed up against each other, and there is nothing inappropriate happening (except when I rubbed my face into his arm).

Still, it is officially the most embarrassing way I have ever woken up. Thorin, an extremely attractive male, has essentially been forced to sleep beside me to keep me warm. If this doesn't scream 'I'm a helpless female who needs saving by a big strong man,' then I don't know what does. We had even argued about me coming along because I was considered a liability!

I turn my head to look at Dori behind me. He is slumbering away next to us and isn't even up against me to warm me anymore. He must have unconsciously moved away while asleep whereas Thorin unconsciously turned towards me during the night and is now the only one giving me any warmth.

I lay there, processing this strange situation.

"I'm sorry," I finally say, confusion and embarrassment tingeing my words. I seem to be apologizing to Thorin a lot on this journey.

His dark lashes open immediately, eyes focusing on mine, face too close.

"I'm sorry you had to do this. I know I'm...a liability, but...I've been trying really hard not to be."

Thorin remains silent for a moment, his unwavering gaze fixed on me. My eyes lower under his scrutiny, nervous by the intrusive thoughts racing through my mind. I think I read somewhere that prolonged eye contact means you either want to kiss or kill the person. And I definitely know which one I want.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice gentle. “It’s not your fault that Gloin and Oin couldn’t start a fire. And you saved Nori’s life with your knowledge. You’re not as much of a liability as I originally thought, Miss Peyton.”

I look back up at him in relief with a smile, genuinely happy even as my heart flutters uncontrollably from his praise. Thorin's eyes sharpen on my face, flickering down toward my smiling lips for a brief moment before he closes them once more, his throat giving a slight bob and his face turning a slight pink.

My smile fades to an embarrassed frown. He must be uncomfortable with this whole situation. Thorin is a proper gentleman, and he would never have chosen to be in this compromising position with me if there had been another option. I wish I could make his life easier instead of always complicate things. To be fair though, he complicates my life JUST as much.

A more pressing concern soon takes hold, though…my bladder is about to burst.

"Thorin?" I whisper again.

He snaps his eyes open once more, dark eyelashes framing his dark eyes.

"I need to get up now," I murmur softly, not wanting to disturb the others.

He obliges, opening the blanket to the chilly air, and allows me to pull away from his thick arms. I groan as I stand, my joints popping, and my body feels horribly stiff. My muscles ache worse than they ever have in my life. Every muscle in my body had worked hard last night, trembling continuously to keep me warm, and I've been sleeping in the same position all night. I usually have to change positions multiple time at night.

I hobble cautiously around the dwarves as best as I can to slip out from under the tarp stretched between four different trees. I don't dare glance back to check if Thorin is watching me.

The forest smells of wet soil and humid trees, creating a fresh and vibrant atmosphere. Already the sun is starting to warm the earth and the humidity sticks to my skin.

I glare up at the sky. The cheerful sun seems to taunt me, as if it's saying 'I froze you yesterday, and now I'll scorch you today! Ha ha ha!'

Far from the company, I relieve myself by a tree before heading back. My stiff arms and legs twinge as I stretch them, attempting to alleviate the ache.

When I finally reach camp, Oin is waiting for me at the edge of the tarp. I get the feeling Thorin woke him up to inform him I'm awake.

"How are you feeling?" The old dwarf asks, watching the way I hobble with a sharp eye. My muscles are terribly sore.

I grin and answer softly to not wake the others, "Well, I'm not dead, so all things considered, I feel great!"

His eyes soften as he smiles, "I can't hear ye lass, but I can tell from your smile that you're doing a lot better."

I nod and come up to him and put a hand on his arm, deliberately making eye contact, "Thank you." I mouth the words, giving his arm a grateful squeeze. I owe my life to him and Thorin. I witnessed how he took charge yesterday, even though it had been an awkward situation for everyone.

Two lives were saved yesterday.

He nods, offering a tender, fatherly smile. "You're welcome, Miss Peyton."

I glance past him at the rest of the sleeping company. Despite the sunlight, they're all snoring away. Looking at Nori, I notice Ori cuddled up at his side, and I smile.

Oin seems to sense where my thoughts are wandering, and he says, "We won't be traveling today."

I look back at him in surprise, and he explains, "The company was up most of the night worrying, so Thorin decided we will all take this day to rest and recover."

Wow. Thorin hasn't allowed us a single rest day in the past month of traveling. But I'm still very tired and achy, and I'm sure it was hard for Thorin to sleep next to a cold shivering person, so the chance to relax is more than welcome. I just hope I won't develop a cold.

A dreadful dilemma suddenly grips me. Should I return to sleep by Thorin, or should I unfurl my sleeping bag and sleep next to Bilbo, who has a vacant spot beside him? My mind races with a dozen conflicting thoughts. What if Thorin's warmth wasn't done just out of duty, but out of genuine concern for me? On the other hand, what if he's secretly relieved that I left, finally free of the burden of a shivering human clinging to him all night? Maybe it's just my own insecurity and anxiety talking and sleeping next to me is not as burdensome as I think. But what if it is? What if I return, and he's actually annoyed and embarrassed that he still has to keep me warm even though the sun is up and I'm out of danger?

Argh! This is why I avoid getting into situations like this at all costs! I shouldn't have to make such anxiety-ridden choices! I can tease Thorin endlessly, all the day long, but when it comes to actually acting on my feelings...I'm all bark and no bite.

"Get some rest, Lass. Breakfast will be a little late today," Oin kindly pats me on the back.

Oin returns to his spot, and I glance over at Thorin, lying still next to Dori. There's a space between them that's just right for me, warm and inviting, yet uncertainty gnaws at me from all angles. Memories of last night reveal overlooked details from my delirious state. I recall that many in the company had volunteered to help me, but Thorin took it upon himself because he's a true leader. He shoulders the difficult tasks so his people won't have to. It's the only explanation.

I desperately yearn to go over there, to lay down beside Thorin as if it's where I belong, to playfully tease him to give me back his arm so I can have a pillow again. I would turn my back towards him and find contentment in the warmth of his strong presence as I fall back asleep. (And he smells absolutely amazing.)

But by this point my insecurity has loudly poked my pride awake (that stubborn pride within me) which yawns and stretches its claws, accesses the situation, and now joins forces with my insecurity by resisting the blissful peace such a position beside Thorin would afford me. I despise feeling like a burden. I don't want to impose on him any more than necessary. Deep down, I worry that he might secretly resent being thrust into this situation. I don't want to irritate him to the point where he regrets his kindness toward me.

So, I resort to what I do best: distancing myself. I keep my distance because... I'm afraid.

It's a deep-seated fear that has its bitter roots in my past experiences in high school, where cruel classmates shaped my dread. I'm terrified that if I let my guard down, if I truly be myself and allow myself to be comfortable and happy around others, they will reject me. They'll see the loser beneath the confident facade I wear—a nobody.

Right now, the dwarves believe I'm unique. A sassy and opinionated stranger from another world with knowledge of the future, who sings funny songs and has the impossible power to restart silent hearts with her bare hands. Here, I feel more special than I ever did back home, living in the shadow of five older and accomplished brothers whom I struggled to keep up with. If the company knew who Peyton Silva really was...they would find an ordinary, unremarkable person.

If I keep my cards close to my chest however...maybe I can keep them intrigued? Maybe they will continue to be interested and enjoy my company. And with that damning thought, I go to my pack to retrieve my bedroll and lay it down next to Bilbo.

"Peyton! You're ok!" He whispers groggily when he sees who it is. He moves to get up.

"Shh!" I hush him, worried about waking everyone else. "Yes. I'm ok. Just tired."

He nods, "We were all very worried about you. You couldn't talk, couldn't respond. We feared the worst."

I smile at him, "Aww, thanks buddy. I'm alright now, just a bit sore."

I notice a movement to my side and see that Thorin has risen and is striding out into the forest. I stare after him, thinking perhaps he's just going off to use the restroom like I did. However, something about the clenched fists at his side and the tense posture in his shoulders give me the impression that he's upset. A twinge of worry grips me.

He couldn't possibly be upset at me for trying to relieve him of his embarrassing task...

Could he?

Chapter Text

I watch Thorin's retreating figure with growing concern, torn between staying with Bilbo and going after him. The conflicting emotions within me intensify, leaving me trapped in a web of uncertainty.

Bilbo notices my distraction and follows my gaze. "Is something wrong?" he whispers, his voice filled with genuine concern.

I hesitate for a moment, torn between confiding in him and keeping my worries to myself. But ultimately, like I always do, I share my concerns with Bilbo.

"I'm not sure," I admit, my voice tinged with worry. "Thorin seems upset. I can't help but wonder if it's because of me."

Bilbo's brow furrows, and he reaches out to place a comforting hand on my arm. "I highly doubt that, Peyton," he reassures me. "Thorin has a lot on his mind, and it's not fair to assume that it's because of something you did."

I smile at my friend, appreciating his kindness. Thorin has never given Bilbo the time of day the past month and a half, and yet here he is defending the guy. I wish I was more like him, and I appreciate his words of comfort. "You're right," I say, trying to convince myself as well. "I shouldn't jump to conclusions. But I can't help but worry sometimes, you know?"

Bilbo gives me a sympathetic smile. "I understand," he says. "But sometimes, it's best to give people their space and trust that they will come to you when they're ready."

His words resonate with me, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Perhaps Thorin just needs some time alone. It doesn't necessarily mean that I've done something wrong.

With a newfound sense of resolve, I turn my attention back to Bilbo. "Thank you, Bilbo," I say, gratitude evident in my voice. "I appreciate you being here."

He smiles warmly at me before shrugging and looking suddenly uncertain. "Yes, well, at least I can be of help to someone. I haven’t been of much use on this quest so far, have I.” He murmurs sadly, picking at a fraying string on his bedroll. He still hasn't made much progress with the dwarves, and if I recall the book correctly, he won't until after the Goblin Tunnels. That's when they'll look at him in a completely new light. Of course, I'm doing my best to include him before then.

I shrug. "Well, to tell you the truth, nothing's happened yet. You'll get your shining moment when things start getting exciting. Like the dragon!" And before that.

Bilbo shudders theatrically. "Please don't remind me. I was having such a good morning."

We smirk at each other before settling deeper into our bedrolls. The worries about Thorin still linger in the back of my mind, but for now, I will focus on resting and recovering. And when the time is right, I will approach Thorin and address any concerns that may exist between us.

The company tries to sleep in. But soon the sun climbs high and eventually we're all up and enjoying the warm rays with a hot breakfast, even though we're dead tired. Dori and Ori have not left me alone since we woke up, asking if I need any clothes mended or if I'd like to assist as the assistant scribe again. Nori has been silent for the most part, studying me.

I hum in contentment as hot, creamy porridge fills my mouth after cooking over the crackling fire. Finally! Warm food!

"Strange that you're all having breakfast at this hour..."

We all whip around to see a grey-robed wizard in a pointy hat and staff walking toward the company beside his matching grey horse.

"Gandalf!" I gasp, scrambling to get up. Every muscle in my body is in pain, and I fall back down onto my log with a yelp. Kili quickly comes to my aid, offering me an arm to pull me back up.

The rest of the company makes their way over to him, relieved.

"Good morning!" Gandalf smiles cheerfully at the sight of everyone getting up to greet him, surprised at our exuberance to see him, "Did I miss anything while I was away last night?"

One hour later...

I finally get to the heart of the matter, my voice trembling, "Gandalf...that lightning strike was never supposed to happen! Do you even know how rare it is to get struck by lightning in the first place? I've changed the story somehow!"

Gandalf and I sit a bit away from the camp as he blows his smoke rings. The dwarves have all filled him in about Nori's situation and then mine. Now, he and I are sitting on a log a good distance from the company, and I give him my version of it. Everyone has been relaxing, and many of the dwarves laid back down in the shade of the tarp to get more sleep. Gloin, Kili, and Fili however, are currently hunting for something bigger to put in our stew for dinner since they have all day to do so. Dwalin has gone after Thorin who has still not returned.

Gandalf hums but I'm disappointed when he merely replies, "Quite intriguing. We must exercise caution then."

I blink at his nonchalant attitude.

"That's it?! But..." I hesitate, "If I don't know the future...then how am I going to save them? What if lightning strikes Thorin next?!" I'm being melodramatic, I know. But to be honest, at this point, I'm not sure of anything anymore.

Gandalf, however, is unfazed by my panic. He takes a puff from his pipe, a twinkle in his eye. "Well, a kiss worked wonders for Nori. I'm sure one will bring Thorin back as well."

"GANDALF!"

Gandalf lets out a hearty chuckle at my outcry, "Apologies, my dear, I could not resist." His deep tone carries a hint of mischief.

"This is serious!" I gape at him, wondering why he isn't more worried about the future.

"Then, ON that more serious note..." he changes his humorous tone to carry more weight, "I wouldn't be surprised if many more events than simply that have changed… or will change on our journey from what you expect. The future is an uncertain path for us all. It may be wise for you not to place too much reliance on your story." He pauses, letting his words sink in.

"But...then what am I doing here?" I ask, lost.

"To save Thorin, of course!" he declares, his voice resonating with a mix of unwavering resolve and a touch of exasperation. "And the line of Durin." He adds as an afterthought.

Exhaustion gnaws at my nerves, pain pulses every time I move my muscles, and worry is a bitter taste in my mouth. All of the events of the past 24 hours overwhelm me and I erupt like a volcano, "BUT HOW AM I GOING TO DO THAT IF I DON'T KNOW HOW I'M GOING TO DO THAT?!"

I stand up from where I sit and begin pacing angrily. "The only thing I had going for me was my future knowledge! And you left me alone to deal with last night's mess!" I turn to him and point accusingly, "You should have been here to save Nori! And to keep the fire going so I wouldn't freeze!"

"Miss Peyton, I am not your caretaker!" Gandalf snaps, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority. Startled, I fall into silence, my heart sinking.

"Please do not mistake my words as indifference to your struggles," Gandalf continues softly, his tone filled with genuine concern. "I care very much for you, my dear. However, this is your adventure, your story. There will be events beyond my control that you must face with courage and resilience. Besides, you handled the matter quite capably yesterday. I'm very impressed." He compliments sincerely.

Gandalf is the only one who knows my full situation, yet here I am, expected to navigate this bewildering situation on my own?

"But where were you? I was all alone," my voice comes out a murmur as fear wells up inside me. I try and hold back tears. "I didn't know what to do!... I almost died!"

For some reason, my thoughts drift to Frodo at that moment. He also felt the weight of solitude in a difficult situation and Gandalf hadn't been there for him either. (Well, I mean, he will feel all that in the future.)

"You are never alone," Gandalf reassures me firmly and then heaves a resigned sigh. "If you must know, there was a small caravan a little ways south of here. They were traveling to Dunland when their wagons got stuck in the mire. They would have drowned from the storm yesterday if I hadn't come upon them."

Any resentment or frustration I feel for Gandalf's absence yesterday vanishes and I stare at him in amazement. He really is like an angel, appearing to help when you least expect him. In the book, he disappeared a lot more frequently than he does now and this must be the reason.

"You are never alone, Miss Peyton" He repeats gently, "You had the company with you. And Thorin."

Embarrassment flushes my face, and I shake my head. "I feel horrible about that, honestly. He should never have been forced into such a situation."

"Oh, fret not about Thorin," Gandalf chuckles, with an exasperated shake of his head. Rising to his feet, he prepares to rejoin the company before leaning down to me and speaking in a low conspiratorial voice, "I am willing to wager my entire coin bag that he did not mind nearly as much as you believe." With a cheerful pat on my shoulder and a meaningful side eye, he walks past me.

I can't help but cringe, closing my eyes in sheer mortification. Who would have thought that Gandalf the Grey could be as meddlesome as the most persistent match-making mothers in Pride and Prejudice? But more pressing than my embarrassment is the uncertainty of the future that weighs heavily on me. I can't shake off the worry gnawing at the pit of my stomach.

Gathering my courage, I call out to him one more time, "Gandalf."

I hear him pause, perhaps sensing the seriousness in my voice, and when I turn to face him, my tone is grave. "What if the future changes again...but I’m unable to stop whatever disaster strikes next?"

Gandalf's piercing blue eyes hold mine as we gaze at each other across the distance. "Remember what we discussed, Peyton," he says cryptically, a hint of wisdom in his tone. "Follow what your heart tells you." With that enigmatic remark, referring to our first conversation at Bilbo's house, he turns once more to rejoin the company.

I'm left standing there alone, pondering his words and worrying about what other surprises are in store for me. At last I turn and sit down on the log once more.

A movement catches my eye in the corner of my vision, and to my surprise, Thorin and Dwalin emerge from the edge of the woods a short distance away. They haven’t noticed me yet, their attention focused intently on Gandalf and the rest of the company.

my movement prompting Thorin to glance my way. Our eyes meet, and I offer a relieved smile as I begin to walk towards him, my heart heavy with an odd mix of guilt and confusion. We need to talk.

Thorin turns to mutter something to Dwalin, who is watching me with a peculiar expression. After a moment, Dwalin turns and joins the rest of the company, leaving Thorin to wait for me alone. What was that look all about?

"Hi Thorin," I begin, a little hesitant. "You vanished so abruptly this morning...Is everything alright?"

Thorin's gaze is inscrutable. "All is well. Just finished scouting the area," he assures, his voice steady.

I nod, my gaze falling to the ground, feeling foolish for even bringing it up. "Oh, ok, cool. I... I hope you didn't leave because of me. I didn't want to upset you." I do my best to sound composed but there's a very slight tremble in my voice.

Thorin is silent for a moment. "No, Miss Peyton," he finally says, his rumbling voice softer, almost defeated. "You've done nothing wrong."

Relief washes over me. "I'm glad," I sigh, "I owe you my life. Thank you again for what you did for me last night."

Thorin is already shaking his head even as I finish speaking, "You owe me nothing. Nori would have been lost without you." His gaze lingers on me. "It seems we have much to learn from your world that will aid our quest. We are very fortuitous to have you with us."

My heart flutters and a smile spreads across my face. Stupid heart!

"Thank you, Thorin," Gratitude is evident in my voice. "That means more than I can express."

Thorin offers a regal nod, though remains silent. Together, we return to the company. My gait is a pathetic hobble next to his regal stride, my muscles protesting. Thorin, surprisingly, slows his pace to match mine.

But even after arriving at the main group, however, there's still this strange tension that lingers between Thorin and me. He said nothing was wrong and that I'm a valued member of the company. But…something's off. It doesn't feel back to normal between us. Could it be because we slept next to each other? He's different now; polite but distant.

The remainder of the day is thankfully calm in comparison to yesterday's craziness.

For the first time in forever (about a month), I can just kick back and relax. My body's sore all over, so I just curl up in my bedroll and marvel at the chance to do absolutely nothing. The old Peyton would've loved this. I, however, find myself unable to sleep with the sun up, so used to our routine. So I crack open one of the books that I got from Hobbiton.

"What're ya readin'?"

I look up in surprise to see Nori, his braided eyebrows arched over eyes filled with curiosity.

"Oh, hi Nori!" Sitting up to address him better, I look down at my book as if surprised it's there, "Uh, it's called 'The Travels of Falber.' I picked up from the Shire. Mostly because of it's pretty pictures." I hold up the book, showing him a beautiful painting of a lake in the moonlight.

He nods and lowers himself down beside me with a groan, clutching his chest.

My brows furrow sympathetically, "How're you holding up?"

"Feels like someone gave me a few good whacks to the ribcage," he says wryly, shooting me a playful look.

I chuckle with embarrassment, feeling for him. "Sorry, Nori. That's how it's supposed to feel after getting CPR. Means I did it correctly."

Nori nods. For a moment, there's an awkward pause between us. I haven't spoken much to Nori since beginning our trip. He and Dori have been polite to me since I’ve helped Ori write, but they’ve kept their distance since they think I'm a weird seer. This, him seeking me out, is a new experience.

"So, um, how...how does it feel to be struck by lightning?" I can't help but ask.

He pauses, reminiscing. "I don't rightly know how to put it into words. Never felt somethin' so... powerful. Like my whole body was froze, but there was somethin' inside me muscles, still movin' and vibratin'. The pain... can't quite describe it. Then, everything was black until I woke up."

My sympathy turns into empathy. "I've had a few minor shocks from electricity, so I know it hurts. I can't imagine what you went through though."

He looks at me, astonished. "You've been hit by lightning too?"

"Oh, no," I shake my head, "No, I've had electric shocks, which are... well, smaller versions of lightning, actually," I muse aloud to myself, surprised. "Just a lot smaller and less deadly."

Nori stares in awe at me for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm baffled."

"Yeah. Middle Earth doesn't have electricity," I muse aloud again with a smile before my attention is abruptly caught by the Leader of our company. I watch Thorin as he checks in with Bombur about our supplies. He's such a regal, intimidating figure. I admire the way he carries himself with such dignity and presence.

I turn to find Nori closely watching me observe Thorin. My face flushes at having been caught oggling his King. I quickly try to divert his attention with continued conversation, "Uh, what I mean is, in my world we've harnessed the power of electricity, or, uh... lightning. We use it for everything! Cooking, cleaning, transportation, you name it!"

Nori's eyes widen, and I realize I have a lot of explaining to do.

Fortunately for me, at that moment, Kili, Fili, and Gloin walk into camp. A brown doe hangs between Gloin and Fili's shoulders while Kili struts with his bow like he's the king of the world, an enormous grin on his handsome face. The company quickly becomes ecstatic, all dwarves coming over to them. Clapping Kili's back and joking in Khuzdul, they quickly set to work hanging and skinning the deer. It looks like they're planning on roasting some of it while the rest will go into the regular dinner stew. Bifur carefully hangs strips of meat he's cut, arranging them in a neat line, preparing to dry them for deer jerky.

I smile, happy that we're not starving like in the original story.

Kili notices me watching them chop up the meat and yells over, "Hey, Peyton! Look what I caught!"

I clap my hands with an impressed smile. He reminds me of my nephew, Jackson, always showing off and narrating his life to everyone. This, however, is worth showing off for. It's the first time the company has a deer and it's a lot of meat.

I watch it all from the comfort of my bedroll, enjoying the way the dwarves joke and playfully shove each other and I'm reminded about my own brothers.

Bilbo and Gandalf sit together on a tree trunk nearby, discussing who knows what. Nori, however, remains beside me. Probably not feeling good enough to go over and sneak some cuts of meat. He has yet to thank me for saving his life, but I don't mind. This, him sitting beside me, talking about everything and nothing, seems to be the way he feels comfortable expressing his gratitude.

Eventually, some of the dwarves that aren't any good at cooking or butchering pull away from the main group and come over to where Nori and I sit. Nori pulls out a deck of strange-looking cards and starts shuffling them with expert and deft fingers.

"So, Bofur, are ya up for a game of cards? It's been too long since we've had a proper game," Nori calls up at him, a sly smile on his face.

Bofur grins back, "Aye, Nori, ye know I'm always up for a game. But remember, I'm the luckiest dwarf when it comes to cards." He gives me a wink as he settles down where we sit.

I chuckle, glancing between the two dwarves in anticipation, "Oh, this'll be good. I'm putting my bets on Nori."

Nori shoots a pleased grin at me while Bofur looks scandalized, "Careful there, Peyton. Nori might be known for his tricks, but luck's on my side."

"Wouldn't it technically be on his side since he survived an actual lightning bolt?" I muse jokingly.

Nori speaks over Bofur's protests, "I never rely on luck, Peyton. I've always got a few tricks up my sleeve."

I quirk my eyebrows, giving him a knowing smirk. With his quick fingers, he probably has a few cards up his sleeve, honestly.

Suddenly, Fili sits by my other side, looking excited, "Looks like we're in for a show, Pey!"

I stare at him, surprised at hearing him call me 'Pey'. Kili also sits down beside Fili, grinning, "Oh, excellent! Are we going to have a wager with this one?"

Fili notices my expression and suddenly looks hesitant, "I... can call you Pey, right? You said last night, after saving Nori, so I just thought..."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Of course! I'm sorry, I just haven't had anyone call me 'Pey' in what feels like forever. Only my family calls me that. It's...nice." I reassure him, bumping gently with my shoulder, laughter bubbling up inside me at his nervous expression.

Nori starts passing out the cards to everyone in the circle except me, at my insistence. I want to watch first since these cards look very different from the diamonds, hearts, spades, and clubs I'm used to. As they begin their game, the atmosphere lightens up with laughter and friendly banter. Balin comes over once to remind us to keep it down since Thorin has laid down on his bedroll, sleeping. I watch them play, wrapped up in the camaraderie and warmth among these dwarves. It feels like my family when we'd play games together. My brothers are all married and busy with their families, so I haven't felt like this in a long time.

He places a card on the table, confident in his move as he looks up at Bofur. "You remember that game we had back at the Lucky Rabbit's Foot, Bofur? The one we could never decide on who won?"

Bofur grins, "Ah, how could I forget? We argued about it for days." He places a card down on the table as well.

Bifur starts speaking in Khuzdul at them, shaking his head and chuckling before placing a card himself.

Ori, looking up from where he's writing in his journal, smiles shyly and adds himself to the conversation, "I remember that. You two were louder than a pair of peacocks."

"So, you couldn't agree on the winner?" Kili laughs, placing a card down as well.

"Nope, we argued till we were blue in the face. Eventually, we just had to call it a draw." Nori grins.

I grin, "Well, why not a rematch? To settle it once and for all?"

Nori smirks at his cards, "Oh, we will, Peyton. Eventually. And may the best dwarf win. Read 'em and weep." He lays down all his cards, and all the dwarves groan good-naturedly, the game apparently over.

I look down in confusion at the cards, still not understanding much of the game. The card numbers seem to be in Khuzdul and the images on the cards are of strange-looking dwarves. But then, suddenly, Bifur laughs and mutters something in Khuz-dul before placing his own cards down, giving everyone a smirk under his dark bushy eyebrows.

The group's reactions are immediate as they shout all at once in amazement and shock, laughing and throwing their different cards at Bifur calling him things in Khuzdul. Nori has a dismayed expression frozen on his face and the whole group laugh and talk loudly in both English and Khuzdul, calling Bifur sly.

"Alright! That's enough. The game is over." Ballin says roughly, coming over to us and giving us a stern glare as if we're a bunch of schoolchildren. "Find something more quiet to do."

We all immediately hush and glance over at the resting King, who looks like his breathing pattern has changed. We probably woke him up.

I lean over and whisper, "Good job, Bifur!"

His eyes soften, crinkling into a genuine smile that deepens the lines etched across his face. With a subtle nod of his head, he acknowledges me, the metal of the axe embedded in his skull catching the light and glinting softly. "Dolzekh menu, Peyton," he replies, his voice gentle.

"Dolzekh menu?" I repeat slowly, tasting the strange words on my tongue, "Does that mean 'thank you' then?"

He hesitates for a moment before nodding.

I smile, "Dolzekh menu...great! And how do you say 'You're welcome'?"

"Apologies, Lass." I look up to see Balin addressing me kindly but with a worried look on his face, "The language of Khuzdul is a very sacred thing to us, dwarves. We don't share it with outsiders."

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know." I feel my face falling. And here I had mistakenly begun to feel like I was one of them. Bilbo and I must still be considered outsiders then.

Balin is quiet for a moment, thoughtful, before leaning in and murmuring in a low voice, "But, for friendship sake, 'you're welcome' is 'Khog nâlûk'."

The tension that had started building in my heart eases and I stare at him in shock. Balin considers me a friend! He gives me a wink in response to my relieved expression before walking off. I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face after that. I knew I liked Balin.

Equally big smiles are on the faces of my card companions, recognizing what a huge concession Balin has just made for me, before we put the cards away and turn in for the day.

The dawn of the following day finds us departing earlier than our accustomed schedule, our journey already a day behind the intended pace. And Thorin stretches it into a grueling sixteen-hour marathon, during which the company bombards me with questions about electricity. Nori, not one to forget, recalls my mention of my world's mastery over 'lightning' and I explain everything I know about electricity and how it works.

Finally, as the sun's golden orb begins its descent, we chance upon an ancient and crumbling farmhouse.

"We shall make camp here for the night," Thorin declares.

I examine the dilapidated remains of the building, its structure deteriorating. Interestingly, a small chicken coop nearby is still intact. I don't know why but it sticks out to me as odd.

"Fili and Kili, tend to the ponies. Oin, Gloin, prepare a fire. Bombur, Miss Peyton, see to our meal," Thorin commands, his tone sharp and brooding.

I can't imagine what's put him in such a foul mood today; his demeanor has been dark all day even though the whole company have been laughing, listening to stories about my world, and singing songs. I bet he's exhausted, even though we took a day to rest.

A knowing glance is shared between Bombur and I, both of us silently acknowledging Thorin's odd imperious demeanor. We better make dinner ASAP.

As he and I look through the supplies, Ori approaches us quietly. "Would you like some assistance with dinner tonight?" he asks, evidently aware of Thorin's mood and keen on also avoiding his ire.

"Sure, Ori! If you could help me with skinning the rabbit that Fili caught, I'd really appreciate it. I'm not very good at that yet," I admit with a shrug.

Ori smiles. "Neither am I, but I'm willing to give it a try-"

Catching a movement in my peripheral vision, I glance up to witness Gandalf storming out of the decaying house. His face is contorted as if he's just tasted something bitter.

"Is everything alright?" Bilbo asks worriedly, echoing all our thoughts, "Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has sense!" Gandalf retorts sharply.

"And who might that be?" Bilbo inquires, sharing a perplexed look with me.

"Myself, Mr. Baggins!" Gandalf snaps, his anger palpable.

"Oh come on, I resent that!" I call out jokingly, trying to lighten him up. Gandalf, however, doesn't respond, muttering to himself about dwarves as he once again leaves the company. I feel a nagging worry gnaw at my stomach as he leaves. I don't like this one bit.

I turn back to glance at Thorin, who has already been in a foul mood to begin with. What did they talk about? He catches me staring at him, and his irritation deepens as he reacts to whatever accusation he finds on my face.

"Come on, Bombur, we're hungry," he demands. "You too, Miss Peyton."

A part of me wants to stomp up to him and demand an explanation for his behavior. But, I don't. He saved my life after all.

"Gandalf will return, won't he?" Bilbo turns to ask Balin, his concern evident. "We've only just gotten him back. What if something unexpected happens while he's away again?" He directs a worried glance my way, and I share his apprehension.

"Gandalf is not the leader of this company, Mr. Baggins. I am." Thorin declares causing all of us to quickly turn to him in surprise, unaware that he'd walked down to us. He steps up to Bilbo, intimidateing him with his height and stern scowl. "And I suggest you remember that."

I observe their interaction with wide eyes. Until now, Thorin has largely ignored Bilbo, regarding him as an annoying tagalong on his quest. Whatever transpired between Thorin and Gandalf has made Mr. Grumpy Pants even MORE grumpy tonight.

Bilbo, naturally, acquiesces and remains silent, and the rest of the company swiftly sets about establishing our camp.

After what feels like an eternity, the food is finally ready. Bombur goes on a break and has Bofur ladle the soup. I discreetly watch Thorin sitting alone by the fire, his gaze locked on the dancing flames. Although part of me is annoyed at his constant barking at everyone, I understand he's probably suffering from a night of restless sleep during our supposed day of rest. Fatigue can make anyone irritable. I personally turn into a feral cat when I'm tired, hissing and spitting and growling at everyone. So, I get it.

Turning back to Bofur who is busy stirring the bubbling pot, I whisper, "Hey, do you have another bowl for Thorin?"

Bofur's eyes briefly shift to Thorin, before returning to me with a warm smile. He ladles some soup into a bowl and hands it to me. "Here ye go, Lass."

Carrying the bowl over to Thorin, I can't help but notice the look on his face when he sees me delivering the food. This is the second time I‘ve brought him his food. He gives me a nod of thanks but then turns his attention back to the fire, clearly dismissing me.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice gentle.

His eyes briefly meet mine before darting away, "I am well enough."

Thorin has a way of getting lost in his thoughts, and it seems like he needs a gentle nudge to open up. Most of the other dwarves leave him to his brooding, but for some reason, I feel compelled to try.

"Tell me about Erebor," I say as I settle down beside him. "We haven't really talked about it, which is odd, considering our quest revolves around reclaiming it."

His eyebrows furrow in surprise, and a hint of sarcasm colors his response. "Do your 'seer' powers not work in that regard?"

I shrug off his sarcasm, determined to connect with him and not let his bad mood affect me. "I've heard descriptions of it," I continue, "but it always sounded like a cold, stone city inside a dark mountain, surrounded by gold. Honestly, the idea of it never really appealed to me."

Thorin falls silent as if searching for any reason to avoid my request. Eventually, he lets out a deep sigh through his nose, his way of giving in, even if it means getting rid of me sooner. He starts slowly, gathering his thoughts of long ago, "Erebor is indeed a stone city, carved deep into the mountain," he starts. "But cold and dark is not the memory I hold of it. Large furnaces kept it warm, and light from the sun was reflected down into its halls by mirrors, illuminating giant diamonds and gems that scattered rainbows across the walls. Its galleries and artworks are renowned for their beauty among all the races of Middle-earth.”

He leans forward, lost in his memories as he watches the fire. “I remember…the sound of children's laughter echoing through the halls as they played in the recreation grounds and pleasure gardens, and the rhythmic clang of metal being hammered in the forges. The wealth of Erebor, with its yields of gold, silver, and precious gems, is unmatched. Even after centuries of excavation, the mountain's riches remain unexhausted. Some say the veins of gold and gems may reach all the way to the planet's core. The Arkenstone is the most beautiful of them all."

"Arkenstone?" I tilt my head, not recognizing its title.

"Aye, the King's Jewel," Thorin nods, glancing at me. "It was found by my grandfather, Thror, the mightiest of dwarf lords. It was a sign from the Valar, approving his right to rule."

"Hmm," I reply thoughtfully. "How many other dwarf kingdoms are there?"

Thorin patiently begins to list them but the only ones he mentions that I recognize are Moria, the Iron Hills, and Erebor. He pauses, and his voice suddenly turns heavy with anger. "And then Smaug," he spits out the name in disgust, "descended upon Erebor in a storm of fire and death, slaughtering my kin, driving us into exile, and laying waste to everything we held dear."

I watch the flames illuminate Thorin's eyes in an eery fashion as he continues intensely, "Smaug will pay for the suffering he's caused my people. Erebor will be reclaimed, and justice will be served. Our homeland will shine once more."

I feel both awe and sympathy for Thorin, who has endured so much loss and suffering. In face of his honest emotion regarding his home, I feel compelled to open up as well. My voice turns soft. "I know what that's like. To lose everything you hold dear? My house, along with forty others, burned down in a forest fire."

Thorin's anger falls away completely as he looks over at me. His surprise is evident.

I nod, "We escaped with the clothes on our backs, not knowing our area would be affected by the fire until it was almost too late. We lost everything - possessions, precious memories, and most of all; our sense of security. It is a pain that never truly goes away."

He listens intently as I share my experience, and I can tell that he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"I may not be a dwarf, and my world is a lot different from yours," I continue, "but I understand what it means to have your world shattered by forces beyond your control." I pause and think of the baby blankets, and art my mom had saved over the years. The books my dad had amassed in his small library. The toys and memories my siblings and I had in our respective rooms. "Thankfully, we had insurance, though." I give a humorless chuckle, as if that could replace the priceless items such as photo albums or my mom's wedding dress she was saving for me and my sister.

Thorin furrows his brow in confusion. "I do not understand what you mean by 'insurance'."

I ponder how to explain insurance to him, "Uh, it's a company that you pay a monthly payment to, just in case a disaster happens. There's no guarantee that the disaster will happen, but if it DOES happen, then you get compensated for the loss."

He looks even more confused as he tries to understand the strange concept, and I shake my head and laugh. "No, don't bother trying to understand it, Thorin. There's no such thing as 'Dragon insurance,' and Erebor is too wealthy. No insurance in the world could cover THAT amount of gold." I snicker to myself, trying to picture it.

Thorin shakes his head as well, a wry tone in his voice as he murmurs, "Still speaking in strange riddles."

I smile, glad to have lightened the mood. "Well, I suppose my world is full of strange things."

The campfire crackles and pops as Thorin poses his first question during this entire conversation, "What did your family do after you lost everything?"

I pause, meeting his eyes. The similarity of our two situations is not lost on me. "We rebuilt the house. Only this time we made it bigger and better."

We stare at one another and then into fire together in companionable silence, feeling a connection that transcends time and worlds. What a weird situation to be in; discussing fire insurance with a Dwarf King? Absurd. But neither of us can deny the comfort in the air as we come to a deeper understanding of one another through our mutual sense of loss and past trauma. He too desires to build back Erebor bigger and stronger than ever before.

"Don't worry," I murmur, smiling sincerely when he glances at me, "I know you will reclaim Erebor one day. You have the strength and determination to see it bigger and better than before as well.

My words seems to lighten his heart a little. He says nothing, dark eyes framed by dark lashes locked on mine. 

I can't breathe.

Feeling shy, I look away, "So, um, Rivendell?" I try mentioning it, hoping it will distract Thorin. "How much longer until we arrive?"

"You obviously have been speaking with Gandalf." Thorin's voice abruptly turns cold, as he straightens his posture up from the relaxed one he had before. Our moment of connection seems to evaporate. "We will not be going to Rivendell."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Is that what you and he were discussing earlier before he left?"

Thorin glares at the fire with a scoff, "That elf-loving wizard wants to seek the help of Lord Elrond. I will not."

"Well, hold on a minute." I nervously laugh, wishing to bring back the warm feeling from before. "There are many reasons to go to Rivendell. First off, you have a map that only he can read. Second, I've heard Elvish food is pretty good. And thirdly...which I probably should have mentioned first...Lord Elrond might be able to shed some knowledge on how and why I arrived in this world in the first place. He might be able to help me get home!"

Thorin raises an eyebrow at me, dripping with sarcasm, "I thought you were planning to 'toss your little coin into Erebor's treasure hoard to reverse your teleportation'?"

It sounds lame when he puts it that way. I shoot him an annoyed look, which only seems to bring out a hint of amusement in his eyes that he can't quite conceal.

"Oh, come on!" I retort, rolling my eyes jokingly and feeling slightly embarrassed. "You even said yourself that it probably won't work. Besides! If the elves know of a way for me to return home sooner, then all the better! They're my best chance."

The amusement disappears from Thorin's face as he looks away, agitated once more. "We are not going to Rivendell," he declares firmly.

I narrow my eyes. If Thorin knows the elves can potentially send me home but deliberately ignores it because of a stupid feud...well then that seems like a jerk move against me personally.

I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow, my tone indifferent and airy. "Alright. Fine. Let's continue on our course. And when we reach Erebor and the company is stuck outside the door with no way to open it, we can all go to the Iron Hills and live with your cousin until we somehow magically learn to decipher ancient dwarvish runes. It's in your best interest to go to Rivendell if you want to get to Erebor by Durin's Day."

Thorin glares at me, but my words seem to catch his attention. His frown deepens in confusion, “What’s on Durin’s Day?”

"TROLLS!"

Thorin and I both snap our heads in the direction of Fili, who's sprinting towards us from the forest. His voice carries an urgent tone, "They've taken the ponies! Kili and Bilbo are with them!"

Trolls?! We've already reached the part with the trolls?!

"BILBO!" I spring to my feet, my blood turning to ice as images of an unexpected lightning strike and Nori's lifeless body flash through my mind. What if something happens to Bilbo and Kili?! I make an instinctive move to rush towards Fili, consumed by fear for my friend's fate. But my path is abruptly unattainable as a strong hand grabs my arm, yanking me back.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Thorin asks incredulously. "You will stay here!”

"But—"

"You're going to get yourself killed!" His frustration is palpable and his face uncomfortably close. "Stay put and make sure those trolls don't catch wind of you."

"But what about Bilbo!-"

"It's always Bilbo," Thorin mutters to himself darkly as he guides me back to the log by my arm. He forces me to sit down as he growls, "I'll bring back your precious hobbit. But situations like these are precisely why I called you a liability!"

My heart feels like it's been stabbed. But...he had said it was good I was part of the company! Now I'm back to just being a liability?

"FINE!" I pull my arm free from his grip and shoot him a hurtful glare. "I'll stay here. And don't worry; in a few months I'll be nothing more than a distant, troubling memory for you, and you won't have to deal with this liability again."

Thorin looks even more frustrated, "I did not mean—"

"Uncle! Hurry! Kili said he'd step in if Bilbo's in trouble, but we need to go NOW!" Fili calls out urgently.

I roll my eyes at the still-hesitating Thorin, understanding that now is not the time for this conversation. "Go on. Rescue Kili and Bilbo before they do something stupid." Probably already too late for that, but...meh.

Thorin hesitates for a brief moment longer before he and Fili sprint off without saying another word, followed by all the company.

I sit on the log alone for a moment, scanning my surroundings and fidgeting with my hands.

I wouldn't mind witnessing the dwarves in action. They didn't have swords and axes in the book. I wonder if they're any good with them? Probably not, considering the trolls are about to stuff them into sacks. I realize that all the axes and swords must be for intimidation. In the book, Thorin stabs the trolls with a stick, the only one who truly fights back.

But...how could he have defended himself against Azog if he wasn't at least somewhat proficient? He must know how to use a sword to some extent, right?

I sigh and decide against sneaking after them, concerned about altering events. As long as I don't interfere, I can be sure they'll be fine. Instead, I occupy myself by packing up the camp. After stuffing all the company's dirty socks and sleeping gear back into their packs, likely mixing up some of them by accident, I take Bombur's bubbling soup off the fire. Pouring myself a generous, steaming bowl, I sigh and make myself comfortable.

I gaze out into the dark night, with only the chirping of crickets breaking the silence. This is a pleasant change. It's the first time I've been on my own in a month. But then I glance over at the decrepit farmhouse and reality hits me.

They were devoured. The entire family.

I cover my mouth with my hand, my stomach clenching. How could anyone eat something that could speak? If pigs spoke English and begged for their lives, no one would dare eat pork. Thoughts of children suffering make me feel sick, and I set my bowl aside.

Inhale. Exhale.

It's going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

I awake from the soft chirping of birds barely starting to stir. It's still dark, and I'm not sure how far away dawn is- perhaps an hour? Not having clocks in Middle Earth has made me a little better at judging time by the color of the sky and the smell of the air.
I stretch my limbs with a groan. It feels like I slept on a pebble.

My stretching pauses as I notice something is different. I listen, trying to figure out what it is until it hits me.

For the first time in forever, I don’t hear any snoring dwarves.

A flash of anxiety courses through me as I sit up and scan the campsite, remembering with a start that the company are still with the trolls.

Gazing around at the company’s gear I packed up last night, I silently pray that Gandalf will rescue them any minute now. A horrible thought creeps over me though. What if he doesn't? What if this is a Nori situation, where only I can do something?!

My feet start to fidget, and I find myself standing up to pace around the camp. I double-check everything, my anxiety escalating as the minutes tick by, stopping occasionally to pet the ponies for comfort.

What if something goes wrong? This story feels so different from what I remember! Almost as if it were an entirely different story yet with the same characters and timeline.

Maybe I should go check on them? Just a quick look...

I weigh the pros and cons for a long moment but eventually, I heave a growl, throwing my arms up to the sky in annoyance, and mutter, "Screw it." I turn and sneak in the direction I had seen them go.

I worry after a while of walking through the underbrush, hoping that it's the right way. My fears finally subside when a faint light in the distance and a deep rumble of voices catches my attention. It's the trolls' fire!

I slow my steps and try to move silently, thinking 'hobbit feet' thoughts. Gruff, thick voices reach my ears like gravel crunching together as they speak. As I get closer, I can make out the words. My hair stands on end, and my stomach twists with dread at the troll's words.

"Pass me the seasonings, will you, Burt?"

Horror grips my heart as I imagine what they could possibly need seasonings for. Images of dead dwarves being served on dinner plates flash through my mind, and I try to stifle my sharp, terrified gasps. Am I too late?!

A large boulder blocks my view with the glow of the fire emanating from behind it. Slowly, ever so slowly, I peek around the corner, trembling with fear of what awful sight I might see. A quiet sigh of relief escapes me. My dwarves are all neatly tucked in their individual brown bags, with piles of pants, coats, and weapons nearby.

But my eyes widen at the three ENORMOUS trolls trying to roast a huge spit with half of the dwarves tied onto it. More like giants! They wear nothing but thin loincloths and are bald. The smell is also nasty. Like very VERY stinky feet, mixed with wet dog, and unwashed laundry. Blegh!

"Why don't we just sit on them, and squeeze them into jelly?"

Gross!
A light breeze ruffles my blond hair around, blowing dust and leaves behind me towards the camp and I have to move my hair away from covering my eyes.

Suddenly, one of the trolls pauses. "Oi!" He sniffs the air. "Do ya smell that?"

The other trolls, including the cross-eyed one, sniff with their gigantic noses. The cross-eyed troll groans with a high-pitched whine, "I can't smell nothing with me cold!"

But the second troll gasps excitedly, "A female!" His gravelly voice makes it sound as if it were his birthday. "I thought I smelt one earlier, but I wasn't sure! Must have been her scent on one of their coats..."

Oh shi-

"Uh, no! No, you didn't smell any female," pipes up a certain hobbit from where he lay among the other dwarves. “No females in this company, I'm afraid.”

"He's lyin!" The troll who had initially noticed my scent scowls. "The burglaflurhobbit is trying to protect 'er. Stay with this lot, and I'll go back to where we found the ponies and bring 'er 'ere!" He scrambles eagerly in my direction, where I hide behind the stone.

But he's stopped by the large meaty hand of the other troll. "No, you lugnut! You'll eat 'er before you come back, like you did with the last one! I'll get 'er!"

What the…? This isn't part of the story! I duck even further behind the large rock, listening to some instinct inside that says it'll be very bad if they find me.

"No! Let me go get 'er!" the sneezy cross-eyed one screeches.

"But someone has to stay with the dwarves!" The troll who had abandoned turning the spit pushes towards my direction.

Then, they leap over the large boulder I'm hiding behind, crashing and lunging into the forest. "You're being too loud, you Jabberwock! Be quiet, or she'll ‘ear us!"

"We wouldn' be so loud if you was staying with the others!"

I watch in frozen, wide-eyed shock as the three trolls erupt into a fight, crashing through the forest, knocking down trees and tearing up roots in their frenzied haste to get to the camp.

What…the….?

I stare, wide-eyed, at the huge path of destruction that creates a gaping trail between the trees, listening to the snapping and upturning of the undergrowth grow softer as they rush toward where they think the campsite might be.

How did they manage to get past Kili and Fili in the first place? They aren't exactly the sneakiest of creatures!

I peek my head back up to look over at the dwarves who are now yelling frantically to each other, furiously wriggling in their bags in panic. Aww, it warms my heart to know they care.

Whatever I decide to do, I have to decide quickly; I don't want to be here when they come back. Dawn must be farther away than I originally thought.

My decision is made for me when poor Bifur, at the bottom of the spit, begins grunting and wiggling in pain as the heat starts to get to him. Without the trolls turning the spit like a rotisserie chicken, the ones on the bottom will get burned alive. The others follow Thorin's example to wiggle over to the pile of swords to cut themselves free.

I stay hidden for a moment longer, listening for any telltale stomping of troll feet. I'm fairly certain they are gone, and so I come out from behind the rock and run towards the pile of weapons. I need to get the dwarves off the fire before they burn.

All thirteen dwarves and one hobbit stop and stare at me with both shocked and relieved expressions. "Lass!", "You're ok!", "Thank Mahal!", "Run!", "Quick! Untie us!", "What are you doing here!?", "Leave!"

"Shhhh!" I hiss frantically and hold a finger to my lips, bidding them to be silent.

I quickly listen for any stomping giant feet and continue on my trajectory to the pile of weapons. I gently toss a few knives right beside Thorin and to some of the others before quickly focusing my attention on the cooking dwarves. I can't help but feel worried as I notice Bifur's scrunched expression, down where the heat is getting to him.

Suddenly, I take note of the bald head and scowling face between Nori’s legs.

"Hi Dwalin," I smirk cheekily while pulling and prodding experimentally at the thick ropes. I try to analyze the situation as best I can. The rope is too thick for me to cut through quickly enough, and even if I did manage- Bifur could potentially fall into the flames. The fact that the trolls were able to tie these guys on like this at all is admirable. How they managed to tie up a brute like Dwalin, I'll never know. He must secretly be a pansy and the axes are just for show.

Dwalin's scowl deepens, but his words are actually rather sweet, "Get out of 'ere lass while ye still have the chance. The trolls won't wait to eat ye; they will tear ye apart immediately."

As I push with all my might at the supporting post, I grunt out, "Awww, Dwalin! You… DO…. care! Ergh!" I strain and shove against the spit, but it won't budge. The trolls pounded it deep into the ground and I'm not as strong as a dwarf.

"I'm serious!" Dwalin snarls, and I'm startled to see something akin to worry on his face, "There's a reason womenfolk don' travel if they can help it!"

I pause, second-guessing myself, but I know that Gandalf will be coming soon so I disregard it.

I try to turn the spit to offer them some relief but I can only manage a little bit. Only a troll arm would be strong enough to rotate them completely. I have to do something! I'm running out of time! I'm going to have to take a running leap and throw my whole body weight at the edge in order to knock it a little askance to push them out of the way of the heat. Oooooooh, this is going to hurt. Especially with my sore muscles still being rather painful.

I march away from the company, ignoring their different comments and questions as I turn around and get ready to take a running leap at the spit...If I don't do this, then the poor dwarves on the bottom are going to be black by the time the trolls get back.

"Sorry guys," I mutter, taking in their wide-eyed expressions. I fear myself up and start running at full speed toward them.

Their eyes get comically wide and all at once start shaking their heads at me and saying "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!"

SLAM!

I bounce off them like a rubber ball, landing on the ground. Ouch!

Thankfully it does the trick, and the whole assembly makes a CREAK! as it budges at an angle. One more ought to do it for them to not be suspended in the air. I stand up with a groan.

"Ooooooo, that's going to hurt in the morning," I wheeze, clutching the sharp pain in my side and arm in pain. "Ergh! Never mind…it's already morning!" I gasp.

"Peyton," Thorin's voice cuts through the chaos, his tone commanding and authoritative. I turn to him surprised. This is the first time I can remember him dropping the formal 'miss' and just calling me by name. He's trying to hold a knife through the sack's material, attempting to cut a slit in his sack to free his hand for real. "Get out of here and save yourself. Take a pony and find Gandalf."

"Oh, I don't know. I think I should stick around and see how it all unfolds." I can't resist teasing him, raising an eyebrow as I observe his struggle with the knife. Taking matters into my own hands, I come over and kneel beside him, cutting at his sack with the knife myself.

"Did you not hear what Dwalin said?" Thorin's anger flares even as his eyes carry a mix of frustration and gratitude for my intervention. "Women are a delicacy for trolls, goblins, or orcs. They won't wait to cook you... they will eat you raw! Get out of here!"

Until this moment, I've never witnessed Thorin so resolute, almost frantic. I hesitantly stand and glance back at the spit where Bifur is slowly recovering, though still in danger once the trolls come back. "Okay...I'll, uh...I'll just stay hidden, then?"

Suddenly, my heart leaps into my throat as the voices of the trolls reach our ears. "I dunno where she could 'ave gone. My nose don't lie, but she ain't there!"

Before I can react, my feet are swept out from under me with an "OOF!" Suddenly, I’m pinned beneath Thorin Oakenshield, who smells distinctly of something unpleasant. He grips me through the material, rolling me over and under him with astonishing speed and strength, rendering me powerless against his motions. In what feels like a whirlwind, he maneuvers us back to where the rest of the company is huddled, finally pinning my back to the ground. 

I stare up at him, so stunned by his incredible strength that I can’t even manage a word as the trolls enter the clearing just in time. 

“Stay silent,” Thorin’s intense blue eyes lock onto mine, conveying a fierce warning before he turns to face the approaching trolls as if nothing just happened. I remain still, only able to see the back of his head, body lies heavily on mine. His long dark hair drapes across my face and neck, obscuring my view and adding to my discomfort. My legs are squished beneath him, not the most pleasant of positions, but with our lives at stake, I can hardly complain. The rest of the company quickly huddles around us in their brown sacks, creating the illusion that everything is as it was before. We brace ourselves for the threat that lies ahead.

"Come off it Tom, let's just season them and ge' the cooking started! The female made me even mo’ hungry and I-“

The Troll stops speaking mid-sentence and I listen intently, sensing that he's noticed the dwarves are no longer cooking directly over the fire. Their whole setup has been budged at an angle.

"Wha’ is this?!" The troll demands angrily. The ground quakes a little from his stomping footsteps, and seems to direct his anger to the tied-up dwarves on the spit, "How'd you ged off?!"

"Oh! Well, you see, eh...It was me. I bounced all of us really really hard you see.." I hear the telltale voice of Bofur explain but I can't see anything past Thorin's dark hair.

"Why you lil'...I'm gonna eat you first for tha'!"

"Come on! Cook them quicker! Dawn isn't far off and I don't fancy being turned to stone." The other troll grumbles and I can hear the wood being readjusted to cook the dwarves.

I let out a shuddered breath. Holy smokes. This is bad. There's something instinctually frightful about the idea of being eaten in comparison to any other form of death.

"You're making a terrible mistake!" I suddenly hear Bilbo say, grunting in a way that sounds like he's hopping up to them. "I mean, err, about...about the seasonings, that is."

If there's one person in the company that knows about seasonings, it's Bilbo Baggins. But why is he giving them cooking tips?

"Wha' was tha'? What do ya mean?" A troll questions.

"Well, have you smelled them? You'll need a lot more than herbs to plate this lot up," Bilbo retorts, his voice filled with disdain, causing the dwarves to angrily mutter to one another, confused about why he was betraying them like this.

"Well, wha do ye suggest?" The stupid creature asks, intrigued.

"The secret...to cooking dwarf...i-is..."

"Yeah? Go on!"

"Yes, yes, I'm trying to TELL you...it's...the secret is...toooo skin them first!"

The company erupts in angry shouts directed at Bilbo, and amidst the chaos, I can feel Thorin whisper harshly, "What do you think of your hobbit now? He's saving his own skin!"

I can tell he must be addressing me even though he’s not looking at me, and I frown at his words. He keeps addressing Bilbo as my hobbit, but Bilbo is OUR hobbit. He belongs to all of the company!

I remain silent, listening intently. I know Bilbo. He would never do that. He must have something up his sleeve.

"Get me a filleting knife!" A troll says to the other.

But the other is a bit more intelligent than the others, "Wha’ a load of rubbish! I've had plenty of dwarves with the skins on. Even their clothes!"

"He's right! Just eat them raw!" The third one wheezes excitedly.

I hear the terrified cries of Bombur and I gasp, trying my hardest to pull out my legs so I can get out from under Thorin laying on them. "Not Bombur!" I whisper frantically, heaving against him with all I've got. But Thorin doesn't budge, refusing to allow me to move. Where's Gandalf!? He's supposed to confuse the trolls and save us!

“Nice and crunchy!”

“Wait! Not that one! He’s...infected!” Bilbo cries out, and I freeze, stopping my struggles to listen intently.

"Huh?" The confused troll asks.

"He's got worms in his...tubes!"

A frightened gasp, accompanied by a couple of pained cries, tell me that Bombur was dropped on top of the dwarves.

"What?! We don't got worms! YOU got worms!” Kili shouts angrily, and the other dwarves start protesting and calling Bilbo all sorts of names.

Then it hits me! He's distracting the trolls! He doing what Gandalf is supposed to be doing!

"He's stalling them!" I lean up, whispering into Thorin's hair which cascades over and onto my face like a dark curtain. The scent of his hair is a welcome relief from the stench of rotting maggots that is coming from the sack, so I try my hardest to breathe only his smell in as much as possible, "Trolls turn to stone in the light!"

I can't see his face, but I feel him internally debate for a moment before he delivers a forceful kick to Oin's back. There's a pregnant pause and I wonder what's going on before Oin speaks again.

"I've got worms as big as meh arms!"

"I've got worms! Loads of worms!"

"We're infested!"

"Riddled!"

Bilbo speaks again, stuttering in his polite hobit way, "It's a nasty business, I wouldn't risk it. I-I-I really wouldn't."

"What do ya suggest then?! Let 'em all go?!" The smart troll bellows.

I hear Bilbo hum thoughtfully, "Well..."

"You think I don' know wha' you're doin'!? You're taking us all for fools!"

"The Dawn will take you all!" The most beautiful voice says, causing me to sigh in utter relief. Gandalf's here! FINALLY!

The trolls, rather than running for their lives, begin to question one another about who it is. A huge crack shakes the air, and then the sound of horrible screaming and the hissing of skin burning reaches my ears.

I struggle under Thorin once more, trying to look around him in desperation to see what's happening with my own eyes, but he's too heavy and is still refusing to budge.

"Ugh! Thorin! I can’t see!" I lightly complain, trying to move my legs which have begun to lose circulation. This guy is built like a freaking boulder!

The company erupt in cheers, and relief washes over us all. The trolls are dead and we are safe. I'm also really annoyed though. I didn't even get to witness the trolls turning into stone!

"Thorin, you can get off now!" I huff, wishing I had seen Gandalf save the company.

He rolls off immediately, but before I can even blink, he turns and grabs me… with his hands untied?! He hauls me up, and I'm taken aback as the disgusting sack simply falls off of him. I realize he had cut it off while Bilbo was distracting the trolls, keeping it around him just in case. The other dwarves' sacks fall off as well, revealing that they had also freed themselves with the knives I gave them while Bilbo kept the stupid things occupied. It's reassuring to know that if Gandalf hadn't arrived, we would've been able to fight back until the sun rose. But all of that becomes insignificant as Thorin's fury is directed at me.

"You FOOLISH woman! I am the leader of this company! When I order you to run, you do NOT question me! You RUN and you do not look back!"

"Oh, please, Thorin!" I retort, properly annoyed now. "We're a team! One for all and all for one, and all that jazz!”

"When you are given an order, you must follow it!" he insists, his hands still gripping my wrists from when he'd pulled me up, holding me close.

"Thorin, I will follow ANY order you give me... EXCEPT the order to leave you behind! So get over it!" I assert, my words laced with determination.

My words leave him momentarily speechless, his eyes searching mine for answers and his firm grip loosens slightly. Realizing how my words might sound, I quickly amend them, "A-And that goes for everyone else too! You saved my life, so allow me to return the favor."

I can't help but briefly look over his shoulder at the three enormous troll statues, amazed at how they really did turn to stone. Gandalf is standing on top of a rock that looks as if it's been split in two, sunlight shining in between the two halves.

Wow. Wizards are so cool!

"But you didn't save us, Gandalf did," Thorin points out, his voice less severe than before.

I turn my focus back on him, "Yeah...after Bilbo and I distracted them! Poor Bifur's beard would have caught fire if I hadn't intervened!" I cringe a little, not mentioning that Bifur technically would've been perfectly fine if I hadn't showed up. I really should have just stayed at camp. Semantics, really. "And..and besides that, how did you guys even get caught when you have weapons? Is your sword just for show or something?"

"What?!" Thorin demands, his voice full of disbelief as he releases my wrists. 

"I thought you knew how to use it, but I must be wrong," I shake my head and sigh theatrically.

I'm teasing but…also kind of serious? I mean, the dwarves have hardcore axes and swords at their disposal and yet they all ended up captured anyway? 

Thorin's face registers shock, his pride clearly wounded. "I know how to use my sword," he growls, clearly offended.

I raise an eyebrow and my teasing tone slowly fades as I point out the obvious, "Thirteen dwarves with weapons against three trolls, and you guys didn't even manage to injure one of them." Like, not even a stab wound? Come on now...

Unbeknownst to me, the other dwarves have been listening intently to our conversation. As soon as I make that statement, they all exclaim in outrage and start protesting.

"It wasn't our fault!" Kili protests the loudest, as he's done this entire night. He steps up to stand beside Thorin and me. "Uncle is the best swordsman of the company! He's an amazing fighter!"

"Yeah, Pey! Troll skin is incredibly thick!" Fili scowls, sulking and agitated.

Oin shakes his head and turns to Ballin, "What did she say?"

Ballin ignores him, focusing on the conversation, "Twas Bilbo what went and got himself caught, Miss Peyton. They were going to tear his limbs apart if we didn't lay down our weapons."

"I should have let them," Thorin growls darkly, his intense eyes never having left me.

Perhaps I am being uncharitable. After all, he did fight in the battle that Balin described against Azog.

Confused, I turn to Bilbo, "How did you get caught, Bilbo?"

Bilbo hangs his head in shame, avoiding eye contact with me.

Ah crap... I didn't mean to...Bilbo already feels useless on this journey, and I don’t want to make him feel worse.

"Well, at...at least you stalled for time!" I try to comfort him. "You gave Gandalf enough time to find and save us!"

This seems to infuriate the dwarves even more. I glance back to notice Thorin, Fili, and Kili glaring daggers at Bilbo, infuriated that I criticized their fighting skills while offering consolation to Bilbo for his lack thereof.

Damn it! I didn't mean to make things worse for him! Why can't I just keep my big mouth shut?

I hold my hands up in surrender, "Okay, okay, guys. I'm sorry for commenting on your sword fighting! I haven't seen you use your weapons this whole journey, so I just started to think they might be props, you know? A simple mistake!" I desperately hope that will be the end of it.

But it's not.

Thorin redirects his glower from Bilbo to me now. He raises his head, his expression dead serious. "Your sword training with Dwalin begins tomorrow."

"Uh, what?" I blink at him in shock.

"You heard me," he says, turning around and walking towards the pile of clothing to grab his belongings.

Ah crap.

"I take it back! You're an excellent sword fighter! Thoriiiiin! Don't be my frenemyyyy!" I call out pathetically after him, but he refuses to turn back to me, angry about his fighting skills being called into question. Who knew that Thorin was so sensitive about his sword-fighting?

I glance around at the other dwarves, hoping for some support but get none. Kili and Fili exchange a knowing look, while Dwalin and the others watch me from the spit where Balin, Oin, and Bombur are untying them.

Kili turns fully back to me, his expression serious. "Uncle saved Bilbo's life. He ordered us to put down our weapons and stop fighting when he was captured. That's why we got captured too."

I let out a sigh, "I didn't know. I'm sorry. I was just joking, partly. But it was a mean joke."

Fili gives me a pitying smile and Kili chimes in, "Well, at any rate, it's not a bad idea to learn sword fighting, Pey. Knowing how to handle a weapon in this world can be the difference between life and death."

I feel a sense of dread wash over me. He's not wrong, but sword training with DWALIN? That's not exactly what I signed up for when I joined this company.

"But I don't even know how to hold a sword properly," I protest, my voice wavering.

Dwalin, finally untied, comes over, his stern expression even sterner. "Then it's high time you learn." He growls, crossing his intimidating arms across his chest. "Especially since ye seem to throw yerself head first into danger with no thought whatsoever."

I flinch, his words bringing to mind once again the question of how I can possibly defeat Azog and save Thorin at this rate. Up until now, I’ve thought of different ideas to save him, but they all avoided any form of hand-to-hand combat with him. I mean...how else am I going to defeat Azog?

I try to imagine a sword fight between me and Azog and fear paralyzes my heart. It would be a blood bath.

Kili, always the diplomat, notices my face and tries to ease the tension. "Don't worry, Peyton. Mister Dwalin is an excellent teacher! You'll get the hang of it in no time."

I stare at Dwalin reluctantly, "Okay, fine. But you have to promise not to make me spar with any trolls."

This time, my joke carries over a little better and Dwalin's lips actually twitch with the slightest hint of a smile. "Agreed."

Fili whispers something to Kili and they both look down at themselves before their faces abruptly turn red.

"Excuse us, please." Kili murmurs as he and Fili walk quickly towards the pile of clothing where the other dwarves have all congregated.

I glance out over the company with my arms folded, noticing that the Trolls had made them strip down to their long johns. They're all wearing identical one-piece thermal undergarments in the same shade. Some of them are busy pulling on pants or putting on shirts over their thermal clothes.

"Uhh, lass? Do you mind?" Dwalin's gruff voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

I blink at him, "Mind what?"

He gestures toward the rest of the dwarves who have paused in their attempts to put on their pants and shirts once they see me staring. Most of them have a mix of embarrassed blushes and attempt to cover themselves from my gaze except Thorin who is facing away from me.

I shake my head, perplexed, "I'm…sorry? I don't understand-"

"We're in our underwear, lass."

Oh? OH!

My eyes widen, "That's your UNDERWEAR?" I can't help but let out a laugh, which I quickly stifle by covering my mouth. "I thought they were just your thermal underclothes!" I stare at his off-white ‘long johns’, confused.

"You've never seen underwear before?" He protests angrily, face turning beet red at my continual perusal of his underwear. I didn't even know Dwalin COULD blush.

I turn away from him and the company, shoulders trembling with suppressed mirth, unable to stop the tiny 'pig-snorts' from escaping me. "Uhhhh, underwear from my world is A LOT different from that. Yours looks...modest. Uh, very modest...compared to my world's underwear. I thought they were just normal clothes, like pajamas or something." I plug my nose in an attempt to keep from laughing too loudly, in a great mood now. That means that Thorin was arguing with me in his underwear. Omfgshskjsdfks!

There's a strange quiet amongst the dwarves behind me. I sense their curiosity, and I mentally kick myself for bringing it up. Now they'll be curious about how underwear looks in my world. I'm grateful that my face is turned away, hiding the beginnings of my own blush.

Nope, Imma head out.

I clear my throat. "I'll, um, I'll just head back to camp and grab my bag."

"Wait," Thorin's voice stops me. I automatically turn to look at him, only to be assaulted by dismayed cries from the rest of company. I quickly look away from them again, laughing once more.

"Sorry! Sorry, guys," I say, waving my hands apologetically in their direction. This is absolutely hilarious.

"Bofur, go with her." I hear Thorin bark, annoyed.

"Aww, have some compassion, Thorin! Poor Bofur is in his underwear. He can't go with me." I tease, grinning at the forest as I try to stop my shoulders from shaking with gentle puffs of laughter.

"Just wait a moment Lass, I'll be ready in a minute." Bofur mumbles quietly. I don't need to look over to tell his face is red like the rest of them. Such modest gentlemen.

Eventually, Bofur steps into my line of sight, not meeting my eyes, "Ah, ok...Let's go then."

He's uncharacteristically quiet and I give his back a lopsided smile, not saying anything to embarrass him further as the two of us head toward the camp.

After a while Bofur feels less embarrassed and turns to me. "Thank you for trying to help with the trolls. Poor Bifur couldn't take much more." He says gratefully.

I smile at him, "Of course. It's honestly my fault, I should have just stayed away and they never would have stopped rotating you guys."

Bofur stops suddenly and looks at me, eyes wide as if he just remembered something, "You...you knew!"

I frown and tilt my head, stopping as well. "Pardon?"

He pauses and shakes his head for a moment at the ground, brain churning, "You told me! Back when I asked about what we'd face on our quest!...You said that we'd face trolls! How did you know?!"

I grimace before raising my hands in a shrug, "Seer?"

Not.

He gives me a wide-eyed look as if finally believing me, but also noticing my chagrined expression and is confused, "But...I thought you said you didn't think you were a seer?"

I’m not. You’re just all a fairytale in my world and I read the book and watched the ugly cartoon.

I sigh, "Bofur, the truth is too complicated, alright? Trust me. It's better that you don't know. Just believe I'm a seer and it'll all work out." At his skeptical look, I roll my eyes, "I promise I'll tell you all eventually. At least before I go home. Alright? By then you won't all think I'm crazy, so it'll be safe to tell you the truth."

Bofur is quiet for a moment before glancing at me, "Still plan on going home when all this is over, then?" He says it as a question, but we both know the answer.

For some reason, I feel bad. As if I'm letting him down, which is ridiculous because this was the plan all along.

I give him a sad smile and nod.

He nods, "I understand, o'course. Nothing's more important than family. But, how sure are ye that ye can even GO back though?"

I bite my lip, not liking the direction our conversation has headed at all. I don't have any surety of anything. That's the problem. I barely know the company's future anymore, let alone my own.

He seems to catch on to my sense of unease and quickly apologizes, "Never you mind, Peyton! If there's a way to get you home, we will see to it that you get back to your family." He gives me a kind smile and a firm nod.

I smile back, my heart touched. Bofur is a sweetheart and he makes Middle Earth a joy to be in. I wish I could take ALL of them with me, but they wouldn't fit in my world. Isn’t it strange, then, that I feel so comfortable here in this one?

I feel tired of the melancholy in the air and chuckle, "Thanks, Bofur. I would stay but, sadly, you guys don't have chocolate here!...and I need chocolate. So I have to find a way home."

It's totally the lamest joke ever, but he doesn't know that.

"Chocolate?" He repeats, intrigued.

Groaning in theatrical agony as we begin walking again, I reply, "YES! Chocolate! Sweet, succulent, delightful chocolate. I need it like the flower needs the sun. OH...and don't let me get STARTED on pizza!"

Chapter Text

Standing outside  the Troll's disgusting hole, I debate whether it's even worth going inside. I want to explore it because I've always been fascinated by caves, and the book hints at all sorts of treasure that would be neat to go through. But the putrid smell of sweaty feet and cabbage makes my eyes water.

Gandalf, Thorin, and some of the company have already gone inside, coughing and hacking as they continue deeper into the cave. I try to follow them, breathing through my mouth, but the smell is so potent that I can taste it on my tongue. I only manage to take a few steps down the stairs before I turn and rush back outside, gasping for breath.

Bilbo will later tell Frodo, fifty years from now, that the chest of gold from the trolls still reeks of troll. I don't think it's worth having that kind of grime stuck to my shoes.

Instead, I take a moment to admire the unique forest surrounding us. The different biomes here in Middle Earth are fascinating. Soft, spongy moss covers everything it can find, creating a lush green carpet over the rugged rocks. The trees seem to be dripping with it.

I notice Bilbo rummaging through his pack, his expression downcast and a bit upset.

"Hey, Bilbo," I say, coming over to him.

He looks up at me but then down at his pack, continuing to rummage through it. "Hello, Peyton."

Uh oh.

"Look…I'm sorry about what I said earlier. In front of the others? I just... I didn't mean to get you in trouble or anything, and I-"

"It's quite alright," he says firmly, still not looking at me.

"I mean, it wasn't your fault, you know? So, I don't get why they took it out on you. They're just grouchy because they didn't get any sleep, you know?"

Bilbo chuckles humorlessly, almost frustrated, but continues to rummage through his pack. "You truly don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" I inquire, my eyes widening in surprise. Have I missed something?

"Nothing." He sighs, standing up and facing me. His nose twitches, and he purses his lips, an expression tinged with self-doubt. "They were right, though. It was my fault that the company got captured."

"No, Bilbo, that's not-"

"I couldn't even manage to sneak away with the ponies!" He exclaims, exasperated. "I'm an utterly inadequate burglar!"

I watch him, surprised and a little sad for his low confidence in himself. But when he starts to walk past me, I raise my hand, gently halting his progress. "It wasn't your job to watch the ponies." I try to assure him in a low, earnest tone, "And the company was going to be captured by trolls regardless."

Bilbo shakes his head, so I dip my head to keep eye contact, even more adamant, "It’s true! You actually did better than I thought you would! Gandalf was supposed to be the one to distract the trolls but YOU did it instead! You were amazing!"

Bilbo regards me closely, searching for any sign that I'm lying to make him feel better, before he finally looks away and shrugs. Clearing his throat and blinking rapidly, he looks down at the ground then back at me, "I doubt the others will share that perspective, I'm afraid,” He gives me a thin, self depreciating smile.

"Give it time," I encourage gently.

He sighs once more before nodding again and turning back to his pack, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

I sigh too before walking to where Bombur sits with a pack of food. It's nearly 9 am and we still haven't gotten breakfast ready. It's peculiar, but understandable given the circumstances. "Hey, Bombur, what can I do to help?"

Just then, the dwarves come out of the troll cave, and I notice Gandalf pull Bilbo to the side, handing him a sword. My lips widen into an excited smile. It's Sting! That should give him a confidence boost!

But my view of Bilbo with his famous sword is suddenly obstructed by a familiar dark-haired king approaching me, holding a different sword to his side. I examine Thorin's face, wondering if he's still upset from our previous encounter.

However, his gaze is surprisingly calm as he extends a sword’s hilt towards me. "Here."

I stare at him in disbelief, "Is this for me?" I hesitantly wrap my hand around the dusty handle, lifting it from his grasp. It's not too heavy, but it isn't feather-light either.

"Aye. For your training."

Part of me cringes at the thought, but another part is now excited. I unsheath the sword and beautiful silver steel greets my eyes, smooth as a metal mirror, "Wow...Thank you!" I breath, staring at my wide eyes in the sword’s reflection.

Buying a sword is expensive. And now I have a free one? Huck, yus!

Thorin's eyes briefly lower to the forest floor before returning to meet mine. "I too express my gratitude."

I stare at him in surprise, caught off guard by this unexpected gesture. "You do? For what?"

"For your brave but foolish intervention," Thorin states as he folds his arms across his chest, looking reluctant. "You meant well. However," He gives me an imperious look, reminding me of his leadership position and our previous argument regarding orders being obeyed. "It will not be repeated."

It isn’t a request.

I huff a smile and shake my head. Stubborn dwarf. Sadly he’s met his match in me. "Don't worry; I promise I won't try to save you from trolls ever again." We won't be facing any more, so that's an easy promise. Can’t guarantee other evil beings though.

There's a unique bond that forms between people when lives are saved, and we both feel it as we exchange glances. What's more, is that it's the second time he's saved me in three days. I had completely forgiven him for calling me a liability as soon as the trolls went on a rampage to find me. It makes sense now why he and the others were initially against a woman in their group. Not because they thought I was inferior to them, but because of the increased danger my presence presents. This realization makes me appreciate their bravery even more.

"I’m curious though," I tilt my head slightly to the side as I run a finger along the flat surface of the sword, "Kili said that you're the best sword fighter in the company. So…why aren't you going to train me instead of Dwalin?"

Thorin's gaze scans over the company as he answers, not looking at me, "Because Dwalin is a professional trainer. He excels at teaching."

I glance over at Dwalin and notice Nori beside him, both of them intently watching us. "Huh. So when he’s not in battle, he’s training for the next one? Sounds just like Dwalin," I quip with a grin.

Thorin says nothing, but looks amused as he too glances over at Dwalin.

Intrigued about what the great Thorin Oakenshield devotes his time to during times of peace, I turn back to him and ask, "So, what do you do when you’re not in a battle?"

Thorin falls silent for a moment, seeming to ponder the wording of my question. "I am a blacksmith by trade,” he declares, his tone steady but revealing little of his feelings.

“Oh, yeah! That’s right!" I smile, remembering he did work in Michel Delving from time to time. “What sort of metalwork do you enjoy the most?”

His brow furrows in contemplation, slightly caught off guard by my curiosity, “I mainly craft wagon wheels, horse plows, and the like.” His tone is almost dismissive, as if his trade is not worth discussing.

“Do you enjoy it though?” I press.

“It serves my people. Enjoyment is not a requirement,” he replies, a stoic edge to his words. 

Hmm. I would expect such an answer from a guy like him. All work, no play. But I refuse to relent, “Is there any kind of metalwork that you enjoy doing?”

He studies me for a moment, his expression one of mild annoyance as if ‘joy’ is beneath him. But as he considers my inquiry, a flicker of thoughtfulness crosses his features, “I suppose I find satisfaction in creating-” 

Suddenly, we hear a faint sound in the bushes that slowly grows louder, unsettling the air around us.

“Something’s coming!” Thorin bellows, the gravity of his voice shifting dramatically from our peaceful conversation, commanding the attention of the entire company.

My heart skips a beat, and I can't help but picture giant trolls crashing through the green forest, eager to eat me. It's an illogical fear since the sun is up and shining, but my heart still races, and my body trembles. What if it’s a mutant troll that can withstand the sunlight or something crazy like that?

Thorin and the rest of the company rush past me towards the sound, ready for action. My hand shakes with my new sword held tightly, my heart nervously pounding but I don’t move my feet to follow them.

I gasp and jump back in fright as a bunch of tiny animals shoot out of the undergrowth in a whirlwind of leaves. A man on a sled shortly follows behind them.

"Thieves! Murderers!" he shouts. His brown hat reminds me of Bofur's, and his clothes are also a matching muddy brown. I look closer at the animals at the front of his sled. Bunnies?! Very large bunnies.

"Radagast!" Gandalf sighs in relief, having been as frightened as the rest of us. "What on Middle-earth are you doing on this side of the Misty Mountains?"

Radagast?! This is...150% NOT how the story goes!

"I came to find you, Gandalf! Something's wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong!" Radagast shivers, seemingly terrified.

Gandalf's wariness returns again, "Yes?"

I step forward, listening closely, my worry growing. What have I changed this time?

Radagast lifts up a hand and begins to speak, only to pause. He makes to speak again but again is halted in his thoughts. "Just... just give me a minute..."

Puzzled, my eyes instinctively flicker towards Thorin who also glances at me, sensing my gaze. We both look back at the guy as he stutters and stumbles.

"Oooh, why can't I remember?! I had the thought. It was right there! On the tip of my tongue! Oh!... it's not a thought at all." His tongue becomes strange in his mouth as I watch on, equal parts disturbed and confused until he opens his mouth wide, and Gandalf pulls a long, thin stick insect from his mouth like a nightmare come to life.

I lose it.

Unable to stop myself, I turn and dry heave into the bushes, feeling as if something is crawling and tickling inside my throat. Why? Just why?!

I hear Radagast's embarrassed muttering behind me, "Oh... oh dear! I... I’m terribly sorry! I didn't know there were females present! If I had known, I would have cleaned up better! I'm so terribly sorry!"

I can't answer as I continue to gag and choke. But I can't help but wonder at his statement. Are there not many females in Middle-earth? Are they all eaten or something? I'm so glad the company hasn't had breakfast yet.

Feeling someone patting my back, I hear Bilbo's embarrassed voice as he mutters to the rest of the company, "She's fine. She's fine."

Gandalf and Radagast move away from the main group, leaving me a moment of privacy. After a long while, I'm finally able to collect myself and stop my retching. I take deep breaths, sitting on a large mossy stone. My stomach aches, and so does my head. Ugh. I never want to see something like that ever again.

"You okay, Pey?" Fili laughs, sitting beside me on the spongey stone.

"Nope," I croak before giving him a small smile. "Thanks for asking, though."

"You do look a little green," Kili jokes, sitting as well. ”Reminds me of a time I ate a beetle. Flew right into my mouth it did!”

Kiki scoffs, ”That’s nothing. Once I was eating dinner one night. And this enormous cockroach had-“

The two nitwits begin regaling me with tales about the different bugs they've eaten in their lifetime taking great delight in my horrified expressions as I am forced to ignore them and continue taking deep breaths. Curse these two.

To distract myself from their immature prank, my gaze remains fixed on Radagast and Gandalf, who are engrossed in their hushed conversation.

Radagast... is disgusting. In every way, shape, and form. The guy looks like he hasn't bathed in years... the bird poop dripping down the side of his face is a testament to that. Why allow animals to leave their excrement on your FACE?! Does he have no dignity, or is he just high all the time?

But the unexpected arrival of the brown wizard isn't lost on me, and my curiosity heightens as he retrieves a long wrapped object from his tattered cloak. What is it? I can't help but shiver as an inexplicable tingle crawls up my spine. A moment of panic grips me, and I instinctively swat at my shoulder, half-expecting to find an insect or some other unsettling presence. The sensation vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving me bewildered and even more intrigued.

"Miss Peyton?" Thorin addresses me, breaking my concentration as he approaches from where he and Dwalin had been talking, clearly intending on asking me something.

"Yes, Mister Thorin?" I respond, turning eagerly towards him with a smile.

He pauses, looking somewhat confused by my use of the formal title. Up until now, I've always addressed him and every member of the company by their first name. They had to just accept it as part of my ‘other worldliness’. This however is the first time where I've added a ‘Mister’ when addressing someone.

My smile broadens into a smirk and I chide him, “You called me just ‘Peyton’ during the troll incident. It's too late to turn back now - It’s either Peyton or Pey. You pick.”

I’m semi-aware of Fili and Kili sitting beside me, watching the two of us interact intently. They appear quite invested in our conversation but I ignore them. Nosy much?

"It's not proper," Thorin says, also glancing at his nephews before focusing on me with something akin to embarrassment. "I called you that to get your attention."

"Everyone else calls me Peyton, except you," I remind him, folding my arms and raising an eyebrow.

He mirrors my stance; folding his arms and responding with a look of his own. "Dwalin doesn't. Balin doesn't."

"You're right. They refer to me as 'lass,'" I chuckle. "If you insist on not using my first name, then I'll have no choice but to address you as 'Mister Thorin' every time I speak to you. That way, you'll know how odd it feels when you call me ‘Miss’."

A sudden howl pierces the air, causing Thorin and my discussion to be instantly forgotten. Everyone stops what they were doing and stand up, alert and ready. What was that?

"Is that a wolf?" Bilbo's brow furrows nervously as he looks at our leader in shock, "Are... Are there wolves here?"

A growl is the only warning I get as I turn towards the sound and the air is abruptly forced out of my lungs as I hit the ground with a pained wheeze. My sword flies out of my hand, clattering uselessly somewhere in the distance.

Death stares me in the face in the form of long yellow teeth and foul breath. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die, but there's literally no time for that. I don’t even scream; my lungs flattened and devoid of air as my vision fills with the dark gaping throat and pink tongue beyond the wolf's pointy teeth while my chest is crushed into the soil of the forest floor by an enormous paw.

The warg’s growling muzzle suddenly snaps shut as Thorin slams his sword down upon its head in a single killing blow. The others start stabbing its body as well, even though Thorin's blow was powerful enough on its own.

Time stands still in that brief moment as I look up at him, my entire being focused on the upside-down image of my hero's face. The light reflects around his head like a halo and everything feels in slow motion as he bends down, offering me his hand like a lifeline. I lift my hand and place it in his, my thoughts a daze. His hand is just as I remember it; calloused and strong. He pulls me out from under the heavy weight of the dead creature, one hand gripping mine while the other holds Orcrist, still lodged in the warg’s skull. I can only stare at his worried face in amazement, seeing only him. Everything and everyone else seem blurred out around me except Thorin's blue eyes and handsome face.

"You DO know how to use a sword!" I whisper in awe.

That makes this the third time he has saved my life in the span of three days. I'm so grateful to be alive that I could kiss him.

He’s distracted by my expression, unable to look away, and doesn’t notice the other warg that suddenly appears right behind him until it’s too late. There's no time to even gasp as a swift arrow from Kili's bow buries itself in the warg's skull. The warg crashes down, almost rolling over the two of us. A strong tree trunk blocks its way, but the monster isn't dead as it rolls around it, snapping its jaws at me. Thorin's reflexes are unmatched as he immediately pulls me further out of harm's way.

Dwalin raises his axe and with a mighty chop, instantly kills it. He knows how to use his axe as well!

"Warg scouts!" Bofur cries, in a panic.

Yeah. We know, Bofur. Thank you.

"That means an orc pack is not far behind," Thorin snarls as he finally manages to wrench Orcrist from deep within the warg's head.

I'm trembling, my breaths coming in frightened gasps. I can hardly breathe. In that moment of chaos, the only anchor I have is Thorin's firm grip on my arm, pulling me away from the dead carcasses toward the rest of the company.

"Who did you tell about your quest?! Beyond your kin?" Gandalf demands, his voice urgent.

"No one!" Thorin denies firmly.

"WHO, Thorin?" Gandalf presses, his voice edged with desperation.

"No one, I swear!" His voice deepens with the rising stress. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You're being hunted!" Gandalf replies, panic evident in his voice, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

Thorin and I exchange a simultaneous glance, and in that moment, the breakdown I had anticipated after revealing Azog's existence begins to unfold before my eyes. Panic crosses Thorin’s face, a deep despair that he struggles to contain as his breaths grow heavy. The weight of everything I’d told him about Azog crashes over him like a tide, but he still tries to fight against it, searching for a different explanation (any explanation) for the sudden appearance of the warg scouts. He closes his eyes, shaking his head, desperately trying to hold on to his composure in front of his company while tormenting memories rush back. His sword trembles in his clenched fist, and he lowers it so that the others won’t see.

"It cannot be," he whispers aloud to himself, anguished.

His agony surprisingly snaps me out of my mini-meltdown. (Can’t have both of us freaking out at the same time.) How can the orcs and wargs be upon us when we haven't even set foot in the Misty Mountains? It‘s only after the Goblin King died that they were supposed to send the wargs after us!

I place a hesitant hand on his arm; the touch of his rough clothing beneath my fingertips grounds me in the midst of the chaos, "Thorin it’s going to be ok. Don’t worry. We’ll-“

But before I can say anything else to comfort him, the warp poop REALLY hits the fan, and the world around us descends into sheer pandemonium.

"The ponies! They've bolted!" Ori cries, running to the group from a ledge ahead. He had been in charge of taking care of them since Kili and Fili had butchered that job the night before.

Now it's my turn to freak out. Terrible, paralyzing fear closes in all around me. The ponies?! The ponies that stay with us until they are stolen in Goblin town? The ponies that help us travel up the steep banks of the Misty Mountains? Those ponies?!

More howls suddenly rise up all around us, and I let out a whimpered gasp, stepping closer to Thorin. The sense of impending doom tightens its grip on the company, and I feel like a hunted rabbit waiting for the inevitable. My mind races with dread. We're trapped. There's no way out. I've changed the story too much, and we're all going to die here.

Thorin looks around the forest, eyes scanning for more pouncing Wargs. His knuckles are white from how hard the sword is clenched in his hand.

"I will lead them away from you!" Radagast says, drawing all the company's attention to him. "It should give you enough time to get to the Valley."

"They are Gundabad Wargs! They will outrun you!" Gandalf argues what everyone's thinking, his tone frustrated.

"These are Rosgabell Rabbits!" Radagast argues back.

Gandalf falls silent, and I watch the conversation intently.

Radagast's expression is that of a card player who has all the Aces. "I'd like to see them try."

"Rosta-what Rabbits?" I interject breathlessly, hoping with all my heart that it's a super-fast kind of rabbit. I've never heard of them.

"They're the fastest rabbits in all of Middle Earth!" Radagast confirms, hopping onto the back of his sled. "I will make sure the wargs focus on me." His eyes carry a determined look.

I stare at this strange man, feeling a twinge of guilt in my conscious. Guilt that I thought such unkind thoughts about him. Sure, he may appear stinky, grungy, and utterly unconcerned with social norms or personal hygiene, and yes, insects seem to have made a home on his body. But now, as he prepares to put himself in harm's way for people he doesn't even know, I realize that I misjudged him.

But before I or anyone else can thank him, he clicks to his rabbits, and they shoot off through the forest like a blur. One second he's there, and then the next he's disappeared.

"Grab your packs and get ready to run!" Gandalf gruffly tells to us all, facing in the direction that Radagast went.

My heart races as I sprint towards where Bofur and I left our packs. The weight of my pack feels like a lifeline as I sling it over my shoulders, and for a brief moment, I'm thankful for its lightness.

I don't realize I'm breathing heavily until I feel a calming hand on my shoulder. I turn, and I'm surprised to see none other than the wide chocolate eyes of Kili. "Just breathe, Pey," he says kindly.

I'm surprised and touched by his gesture. He doesn't promise me that everything is going to be okay and that we're all going to make it out of here. That's what I should technically be doing. I'm the one that's supposed to have all the answers. But the order he gives me, to just breathe...well, that I can do. I can keep breathing. One breath at a time.

I put a hand over his hand and give it a squeeze. I just escaped death by hypothermia, and they escaped getting eaten by trolls. Now we're all going to get eaten by wargs. What a horrible way to go.

The thick, mossy forest gives way to grassy, yellow fields dotted with tall pillars of grey stone. They tower over us, providing shade and cover as we sprint along, boots sinking into the soft, dusty grassland, our panting breaths synchronized to the ominous braying of wargs in relentless pursuit. The maniacal laughter of Radagast reaches our ears every once in a while.

My chest tightens, my legs threaten to cramp, yet I persist, gasping for every breath. An old knee injury flares up, and I feel a painful stitch in my side. My whole body is still recovering from the earlier battle with hypothermia, and my lungs struggle to take in the needed air through my dry throat.

But I can't give up, and it's not because of the menacing wargs closing in. No, it’s because of the two obnoxious dwarves running alongside me who won't allow me to surrender to my fate. I'd have given up every minute for the past fifteen minutes if it weren't for Kili and Fili, the two dwarves I'm somehow supposed to save along with Thorin. How ironic.

Nori, still recovering, seems to be struggling just as I am, clutching his chest in pain. Ori and Dori steadfastly remain by his side. Surprisingly, Bilbo keeps pace remarkably well.

Gasping for breath, I manage to express my gratitude to my companions. "Thanks... guys," I huff, my breath ragged and my legs burning. My backpack now feels like a lead weight, thumping with my movements, though it's lighter than the dwarves' packs. Fili is carrying my sword, a fact that astonishes me. He's like a walking armory. How can he run with all those other weapons hiding in his clothes?!

Kili, hardly breaking a sweat, shakes his head and says, "I've never seen someone so out of shape. Even Bombur runs faster than you!"

Oh, that's cold.

I struggle to respond between gasps for air. "Yeah… well…" I wheeze, desperately trying to gather enough oxygen to form a coherent response, "I'm... not a... dwarf! And... in... my... world... we have... cars!"

"Cars? Save your breath. Explain later," Fili says and pushes his hand firmer into my back, silently urging me to keep up the pace. I had started to slow down and I'm not allowed to do that.

That's fine. Didn't want to talk anyway. Can't breathe.

Finally, the entire company reaches an outcropping of rocks. I collapse against them, struggling for air.

"Quiet, Peyton!" Thorin whispers urgently.

When I can't, my lungs not allowing me to stifle my own gasps, Thorin suddenly jerks me close to him and covers my mouth with his hand. I clutch at his arm in desperation, attempting to remove his hand, but he doesn't budge. I almost pass out from the lack of oxygen. The only reason I don't pass out is because I resort to breathing heavily through my nose. However, my nose is dry from running and it produces an audible whistle. We all stand there, trying to be silent while I'm just whistling away.

The embarrassment of it all weighs on me heavier than the warg's paw.

There's no way the orc can't hear it. For a scary moment, I wonder if Thorin's going to plug my nose and make me pass out. Instead, he silently heaves an exasperated sigh right into my ear, holding me close, and I feel him nod to someone. Kili, beside us, nocks an arrow and readies his bow.

The shadow of the warg grows nearer, its ears perked up, listening to my obnoxiously loud whistling nose. Kili steps out from the rock and smoothly shoots the warg. But the yelps and howls that follow, as the company kills the warg, are much louder than my nose could ever be.

I stare in horror at an orc for the first time. Its skin is a blackish gray, accentuated by pointy ears and jagged teeth. The snapping furry warg and the mottled orc are hacked into pieces right before my eyes, red and black blood flying everywhere, drenching the dry earth and grass of the plain.

"Move! RUN!" Gandalf yells as the braying of the wargs signal to us that they've heard us.

We're doomed.

Thorin seizes my arm, pulling me out of my shocked state, and once again, we're all running. My throat burns, my calf muscles ache, and everything is on fire. I'm dizzy, and at this point, getting eaten by the wargs seems preferable to all this running. It'd be quicker at least. We're never going to make it to wherever Gandalf is leading us.

The large stones soon give way to sporadic evergreen trees, but there's no cover for us and we soon find ourselves surrounded.

"Kili!" Thorin bellows, "Shoot them!"

He does. But the wargs, undeterred, come closer.

"Where's Gandalf?!" Dori cries, alarmed.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin shouts.

"No! He'd NEVER do that!" I yell breathlessly, angry that he’d even suggest such a ridiculous thing. But as I look around, I can see no sign of him. "Gandalf!" I yell, my shrill voice breaking, "We could use some wizard-y magic right about now!"

No response.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin roars, raising his sword in preparation for the bloodbath to come.

Bilbo and I exchange a glance. This is it. The terror in Bilbo's eyes mirrors my own. I had promised him he would return home. But now...

"This way, you fools!"

A wave of relief washes over me at the she voice and I turn my head toward Gandalf, who is signaling us from a massive rock.

You don't need to tell me twice!

I book it, grabbing Bilbo's arm and run as fast as I can with what little energy remains. We both tumble down into the hole. My muscles feel like jelly and my legs are unresponsive. Dori pulls me up and out of the way as the others slide gracefully in, and Gandalf counts us all like a school teacher on a field trip. The cavern is cramped, with barely enough room for all of us to stand. My relief quickly morphs into worry. Why did Gandalf lead us here? Now we're trapped in a cave with no escape, easy prey for the orcs and wargs! Like sitting ducks waiting for them to devour us!

Suddenly, a horn blares and I look up at the cave's entrance, puzzled. The riders of Rohan don't travel this far north, do they?

The company listens in silence to the clashing of metal, the chilling shrieks of orcs, and the yipping of wargs.

An orc suddenly tumbles into the hole. I shriek and recoil, while the dwarves advance, weapons poised to strike. At the last moment, they pause. An arrow protrudes from the orc's chest.

Thorin kneels down and extracts the arrow. "Elves," he mutters, flinging the arrow away in disgust.

“Elves?!” I gasp, feeling such immense relief fill my heart. Thank the Valar! We're saved! We're not going to die!

Thorin looks up with a glare at my joyous exclamation.

"Seriously?" I demand, completely exasperated, "It's as if you prefer the orcs!"

Thorin scowls and stands up abruptly. "You have the loudest nose I've ever heard, Miss Peyton," he growls, ignoring my rhetorical question as he shakes dirt from his clothes. "Every warg from here to Erebor could hear you!"

Back to ‘Miss’ Peyton again, huh? 

I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but my pride quickly rallies. "Well, if you hadn't been covering my mouth, I could have breathed more quietly, Mister Thorin!"

He hesitates for the briefest moment at my formal address, then retorts, "That would have been worse!"

"No, it wouldn't have! My mouth doesn't whistle!” I fold my arms defiantly and cock an eyebrow at him. “And your hand smells horrible, by the way."

His hand didn’t really smell bad, but a friend once taught me that if someone’s being a jerk, just telling them they have a booger in their nose will shut them up quick. It’s not my fault I have such a dry nose!

My comment silences him as intended and he scowls back at me. I return the glare, but he (like Gandalf) is much better at scowling than I am with those dark eyebrows of his. Argh! He drives me crazy!

“If the two of you are quite done, we have a more pressing issue,” Gandalf snaps, clearly exasperated by our incessant bickering. Thorin and I seem to have a recurring cycle: we get along for a moment, then descend back into another argument, like a yapping contest between a Tibetan mastiff and a Chihuahua.  

I turn to Gandalf with a sweet smile. “But we were just getting started!”  

He waves his staff in warning, reminding me that he isn’t above smacking me with it. I quickly fall in line, remembering Dr. Pudbrook's cane all too well. Okay, no more arguing.

"There's a path this way! Should we follow it?" Dori asks, finding an exit where I hadn't seen one.

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur scoffs frantically.

"That would be wise," Gandalf murmurs.

Thorin and I are the last to follow, and I notice he smells his hand when he thinks I'm not looking. I smirk to myself.

We follow along the narrow passageway for a minute before it finally opens up. My eyes widen as I pause before slowly moving forward in awe.

When I was 18 years old, fresh out of high school, I signed up for a 5-month teaching program. I wanted to do something unique, something none of my other accomplished siblings had ever done. So, I traveled to China to teach English to little kindergarteners. During my time there, I had the incredible opportunity to explore ancient civilizations, including iconic landmarks like The Forbidden Palace, the Great Wall, and the Terra Cotta Warriors. However, amidst all these remarkable experiences, the pinnacle of my journey was undoubtedly my visit to Guilin, a small city that left an indelible mark on my heart.

In Guilin, I rented a bicycle and set off on a four-day adventure alone through the enchanting Karst Mountains. Words fail to capture the sheer beauty that unfolded before my eyes. Even the most stunning images on Google cannot do justice to the breathtaking landscape that surrounded me. As I pedaled through this awe-inspiring scenery, my imagination soared. I couldn't help but imagine to myself that I had found the biblical paradise, and if I were a spirit, I would effortlessly float to the mountain peaks and gracefully leap from one majestic summit to another.

It was the most beautiful place I had ever stepped foot in. Like a piece of Heaven had fallen from the skies and landed on earth.

"Behold, The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf announces, almost sacredly. "Also known as..."

"Rivendell," I hear Bilbo murmur in awestruck wonder.

Rivendell evokes the same feelings inside of me as the Karst mountains and lush valleys of Guilin had. The only sounds that fill the silence are the exotic calls of unfamiliar birds and the powerful rumble of many large waterfalls cascading down the valley. But it's the air that is truly remarkable. It feels so pure and wholesome that I find myself taking big gulps of it, filling my lungs to their capacity until they feel about to burst! The scent that reaches the company is a mix between honeysuckle and jasmine flowers with a subtle hint of fresh white pine.

While there's certainly no angelic singing like in the movie or the book, Rivendell feels vibrantly alive. It's as if, for this timeless moment, the elements of the earth and all life upon it are holding hands and joyfully celebrating their harmonious existence to anyone willing to listen.

As we continue down the trail, my legs aching with every step, I marvel at the architecture. I'm captivated by the bridges, the buildings, and the stones. Each structure bears the enchanting marks of swirling vines or roots, delicately engraved into the stone or sculpted onto the bridges. These subtle details infuse the entire place with a sense of grace and elegance, yet something about it feels deeper somehow.

A hidden symbolism, I wonder? It seems to suggest that everything is connected. That all elements, whether wood or stone, are linked together in a grand tapestry of existence.

It almost makes me want to shed a tear at the sheer beauty and tranquility of it all.

After transitioning abruptly from awful, mind-consuming terror to this peaceful and inspiring place... I almost wonder if we DID get eaten by wargs and simply passed on to the other side?

"-which is why you will leave the talking to me." The latter part of Gandalf's speech finally breaks through my poetic thoughts, and I turn my attention away from the graceful architecture around us.

It dawns on me that some of the dwarves have been trying to communicate with me, their expressions etched with scowls and evident frustration. They seem angered by my apparent enjoyment of what they perceive as a misfortune.Thorin most of all. I've been so mesmerized by the beauty of the place that I haven't even noticed any of them calling my name or asking me something. Even the ever cheerful Bofur looks peeved by the angelic awe on my face.

I glance at Bilbo and notice the same lost look on his face that I have. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, we share a knowing smile, a silent understanding passing between us. At least he 'gets it.'

As we make our way across yet another beautiful stone bridge, a slender and tall figure appears before us, greeting us as he walks gracefully down the stairs. I can't help but stare, transfixed - an elf! An actual elf! The first one I've seen in Middle Earth!

The elf's face seems almost alien, with symmetrical features that border on the otherworldly. It lacks the imperfections, lines, and blemishes that characterize human faces. Suddenly, I become very aware of my own perceived flaws: the slight asymmetry of my eyes, a tiny mole by my left ear, a few acne scars on my cheeks, and even the subtle differences in my eyebrows. If I were to look in a mirror, I would consider my face as a peculiar Picasso painting next to his flawless visage. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice tries to remind me that I am the only one who truly notices these things due to my own vanity. But that voice is drowned out by another, louder voice that cruelly emphasizes how unattractive I am compared to this elf. In that moment, for almost the first time since arriving in Middle Earth, I long for the comfort of my makeup. If only I could somehow hide my irregular flaws and bridge the gap between myself and the ethereal beauty of this elf.

Gandalf and the elf speak before a resounding trumpet suddenly echoes from behind us, capturing our attention. Majestic horses come parading across the bridge, accompanied by even more perfect and inhuman-looking elves than the one on the steps! I stare in awe, my mouth agape.

Before I can fully process what's happening though, alarmed shouts happen behind me and someone forcefully grabs my arm, causing me to stumble backward to stand behind the company. Confusion fills the air as the dwarves, seemingly convinced that we are on the brink of a violent attack, react with alarmed shouts and defensive postures.

"Uh, guys?" I try to say, but my voice is drowned out by the clamor of hooves and the heightened tension among the dwarves. This is Lord Elrond we're talking about here. He's not going to do anything. Unless this is also different than the book?! 

And then I see him - Lord Elrond in the flesh atop a powerful horse. He speaks in Elvish to Gandalf, the beautiful language spilling out of his mouth like water, as calming and graceful as the water running down the Valley of Imladris. Such a gorgeous language!

"And this," Gandalf turns towards the company as Thorin steps forward, "is Thorin Oakenshield."

Elrond's voice carries a tone of respect as he addresses Thorin in English, "Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replies, sounding cordial.

"I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain."

That was obviously the wrong thing to say because Thorin abruptly scowls and he retorts with a dismissive remark, "Indeed? He mentioned nothing of you."

My mouth drops open, and my eyes pop out of my skull at his response.
What. The. CRAP, Thorin?!

I theatrically lean back while gaping at him in dismay, wishing I was close enough to smack him upside the head. Thorin seems to lack the politeness and tact that I had come to expect from the version of him that I knew in the book and cartoon. I am left speechless, struggling to comprehend the reason for his lack of courtesy.

Lord Elrond notices my gobsmacked look however, his eyes resting on me in a curious but polite expression before turning his attention back to the dwarf king. His gaze is intense and he speaks Elvish to him. The company all stiffen for a moment and I worry that Elrond is insulting his grandpa Thror. Apparently, the dwarves feel the same thing.

"What did he say?! Does he offer us insult?!" Gloin growls, as the other dwarves start echoing that sentiment and take a menacing step in the Elf Lord's direction. Oh dear.

"No, he's offering us food," Gandalf reprimands, annoyed.

I smile in relief and notice a strange almost amused look on Elrond's face as he watches the dwarves converse amongst themselves.

Thorin says nothing, as if he wishes to refuse the offer of hospitality but already realizing he’s been rude enough.

"Alright, lead the way," Gloin finally says, seeming to speak for the company.

Elrond inclines a head, and I'm amazed at how respectful he is to this unrespectful group. I would have booted us back out into the wild and said ‘you're welcome for killing the wargs’. But instead of doing that, he turns and walks up the steps, indicating for us all to follow him.

We reach the main building with two different directions and he turns to the elf that had greeted us, "Lindir, please show the lady to her room as I show our other guests to their quarters."

I take my sword from Fili with a big thankful smile on my face and make to walk past the dwarves to where Lindir calmly stands. I'm excited to get my own room!

"One moment," Thorin stops me with a hand on my arm as he glances at the elves before leading me off to the side. "We need to discuss what happened with the wargs." He tries to speak so the others won't hear. Kind of pointless, though, considering there are elves present.

I nod, "Ok. When?"

"Now." He responds, glancing at Elrond and Linder warily before looking back at me, his eyes trying to convey something, “The company should stay together.”

I hesitate, my eyes flickering between Thorin and the elves. "I need a bath first." (And I want a nice soft bed to sleep in.)

Thorin's gaze hardens, and he leans in slightly, his tone low, "This is far more pressing. We must be ready for what's to come.“

I give him a look, feeling a little vindictive, "Need I remind you that I was ignored and treated like a crazy seer-person for a couple of days after telling you about Azog?"

Thorin shows a hint of shame at that, glancing down at the ground before looking up at me, "While that may be the case, circumstances have altered. I…was wrong to have denied your advice before. The Valar have sent you to aid our quest and I must know how to proceed."

A deep part of me feels a quiet joy hearing him acknowledge that he was wrong and that he needs me. (Uh, Peyton? He didn’t say that; he said he needs your advice - Oh, pish posh, tish tosh. Same thing!) But I take note of the lines etched around his face, particularly his eyes. He needs to rest. Just because a dwarf can run for three days and nights with no food and water doesn't mean that they SHOULD. Unless, of course, they're saving hobbits from Isengard.

I know he's worried about Azog. I've been waiting for this EXACT reaction from him since the moment I informed him about it on that cliffside! But we’re both too high-strung for this conversation right now. We barely escaped and are lucky to be alive. 

"I understand," I murmur kindly. "So let’s all get some clean clothes, maybe take a nap since none of you slept a wink with the trolls, and then eat something because we missed both breakfast and lunch. After that, we can talk. I promise, we'll all be safe while we're here in Rivendell."

I can feel the tension radiating from him as I walk past, and I'm relieved he doesn’t reach out to stop me, even though it seems like he wants to. I finally take my place beside Lindir, who acknowledges me with a slight dip of his head. When I briefly glance at Elrond, his dark eyes are calm and polite, but I can sense his curiosity about what he overheard.

Before I leave, I cast one last glance over my company. We’ve all faced certain death today as we ran for our lives and yet we’ve survived. Together. The feeling of camaraderie thrums underneath my skin and I feel connected to them even deeper than ever before.

I huff an affectionate smile at their various expressions of concern and worry at me leaving. “Come on, guys, don’t look at me like that! I’ll see you all at dinner.”  

I turn away before letting the smile drop from my face as I follow the lithe graceful footsteps of Lindir. The story I remember has changed, and the ponies are gone. How are we supposed to continue on the quest without them? What advice can I possibly give Thorin now?

Chapter Text

The steam rises in swirling mysterious patterns as I soak in the hot grey water. Yeah, it's grey. Someone should have hosed me down before I got in, because I immediately ruined it. I don't want to bother anyone while they prepare dinner though, so I deal with it.

Life is such a fragile thing, I think morosely while staring at the floating misty swirls, not really seeing them.

Over these past three days, I've faced three life-threatening scenarios, and my mind is struggling to process them. In this rare moment of peaceful silence, my thoughts are my only company. Like the steam rising from the bath, they swirl in a tangle of 'what ifs' and 'whys.' The wargs were a horrible deviation from the original plot. They weren't supposed to be here, just like I'm not supposed to be here.

My life has always been rather sheltered, protected from the world's darker aspects. Some would say I'm naive, and they'd be right. The horrors of abuse, murder, and drugs always shocks me. I didn't even watch scary movies growing up! I’ve always had a roof over my head and plenty to eat. Never experienced war. Despite my family sometimes arguing and fighting like ravenous wolves, we love each other just as fiercely. I didn't drink or party in high school or college. A classic Mary Sue.

But now, it's as if an invisible safety bubble that always protected me has burst. I feel different. Violated, almost.

Running for my life has changed something fundamental inside me- an innocence that I didn't know I still had. I was worried when I was hypothermic, fearful while hiding from the trolls, but I was absolutely terrified as I lay underneath a monster breathing on my face, ready to consume me.

I had told Gandalf I wasn't afraid of any of those things, and at the time, I genuinely believed it. It wasn't until death approached me, close and personal, and flashed its pointy-toothed smile that I fully and truly faced my own mortality.

Now...I feell afraid of everything.

Delayed panic from the stressful past few days washes over me and I quickly exit the muddy bathwater, desperate to avoid inhaling any of it as I begin to gasp. Grabbing the nearby towel, I feel the tears and panic overwhelming me.

After searching through my pack on the bed, I find my cellphone. The cold metal grounds me as I clutch it in my hand and weep to myself.

Gandalf had warned me not to put too much stock into the story, but it’s made me feel safe until now. Trapped in a foreign world, it outlined what came next and what steps I needed to take. 'Many things will be different,' he had said after Nori’s incident.

What if I don't survive this?

A tear splashes onto my cellphone's smooth glass, and I wipe it away, wondering again what will happen to me if I die. Will I go back to my world? How does this whole situation even work? What are the laws and rules that this universe goes by? How am I supposed to know what to do before it's too late? And Thorin? How can I help him when I can't even help myself?

I wipe at the tears on my face. He's such a complicated guy; commanding, stubborn, and distrustful. But he's also the bravest soul I know. Every breath he takes is devoted to caring for others in the company, including me. He's a leader with a capital “L”.

One that may very well die because the Valar dropped an air-headed woman into Middle Earth to help him.

I try to cry harder, my heart panging in my chest, but with every gasp I breathe…the air of Rivendell seems to breathe life and peace into every cell of my body. Even the bathwater I had soaked in must hold some sort of healing minerals in it because my muscles are relaxed and don't ache after all that running.  I can’t cry for as long as I want, but after my little outburst, I do feel better. All that oxygen has gone to my head and I’m calmer.

Grabbing a blue dress out of my pack, my vanity decides to try and look nice even though it's impossible around elves. My hobbit dresses have remained out of sight this whole trip since I’ve been trying to fit in with 'the bros'. I’ve avoided anything that makes me too ‘girly’. I like this particular blue dress though, because the hem is a lot longer than normal for hobbits, which means that it fits me. I walk out my door and ease along the breezeways. The architecture holds me in its thrall yet again as I feel the beautiful sun spread its warm rays along the valley.

I set out to find my company, surprised by the faint sound of rowdy laughter.

Turning the corner, I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes bulging. Faster than I can blink, I whirl back the way I came and peek around the corner again. They’re swimming naked in a fountain!

I cover my mouth to stifle my embarrassed snorts of laughter and walk back the way I came. I can’t believe they chose to strip down where literally ANYONE can see them, especially after being so modest and bashful around me in their underwear. Although I couldn’t recognize any of them from that distance in the brief moment I saw, it was clear they were having a blast. How can they be laughing and playing when we almost died? Perhaps that’s their way of coping, or maybe it’s just to irritate the elves.

I find myself strolling through Rivendell, letting out a blissful sigh of contentment. The arched hallways, the wispy gazebos, and the surrounding forests are thoroughly enjoyed while I wait for the boys to finish bathing. Everywhere I turn, I am greeted by magnificent sights and unique things. The architectural style of this place is truly a wonder. The elves smile serenely and nod  as I pass them, but none stop to chat. Aren’t they curious about a human in their midst or are guests a common thing?

After about an hour, I find myself on a stone path that seems to wrap around the mountain, away from Rivendell. I follow my feet, feeling a huge amount of energy and vibrancy like I‘m a child again. The path leads further down the valley where there are no waterfalls. White pine trees spread down the slopes of the valley and contrary to the name, white pines aren't white, but they smell amazing.

Softly, I find myself smiling, the beauty of Rivendell washing away my worries and I start humming "Fairytale" by Taylor Swift.

As I continue along the trail, my eyes catch something that steals my breath away. Balanced precariously on a slender rock that stretches down to the valley floor below, is a magnificent white gazebo. Almost like a tiny house, floating in the air. It appears to be delicately connected to the side of the valley cliffs by a natural stone bridge. The beauty of it fills me with both excitement and trepidation. It definitely isn't 'clumsy-human friendly', with the thin bridge connecting to it. However, the desire to experience the beautiful view temporarily outweighs my fear of falling. Continuing to sing softly to myself, I cautiously make my way toward the gazebo, determined to see what's inside. Each step is taken with utmost care as I climb up to it and then traverse the narrow stone bridge, finally entering the enchanting structure. Standing inside, I gaze out of the window, devoid of glass. The sight before me leaves me frozen in astonishment. The gazebo, positioned on this rocky island separate from the cliffside, grants me an unobstructed panoramic view of the path I had just walked.

Seen from this angle, Rivendell appears even more magical. The entire valley stretches out before me, as if offering itself to my feet. I can see that the buildings of Rivendell are held up above the mountainside with stilt-like stone columns. The whole effect gives the impression that Rivendell is floating above the earth. The waterfalls that fall all around the valley, especially the ones flowing underneath Rivendell, add to the illusion.

Rivendell is beautiful in its symbolism; that it is in the world but not of the world. In a way, it has transcended the mundane things of this life.

"I see you have found my island of rumination," Lord Elrond's calm voice startles me, making me whirl around.

He sits in a beautiful but simple wood chair beside a matching table, a pale yellow book in his hand and a glass of wine in the other. A light plate of cut fruit, meat, bread, and cheese sits on the small table beside him. I didn't even notice him when coming in!

"I'm so sorry, uh, my lord! For intruding on you! I'll leave you in peace," I try to say in as respectful and elvish manner as possible, backing away to go. He must have come here for solitude from the dwarves' rude and obnoxious behavior before we all have dinner together.

"Remain awhile," he beckons with a wry, enigmatic look as he sets aside his wine. "You have journeyed far, after all."

I get the feeling he doesn't just mean the precarious path here from Rivendell.

"Thank you," I nod, not sure what to say to such an intimidating figure.

All through the Lord of the Rings movies, I didn't like him much. Mostly it was because he seemed so stern all the time, his eyebrows giving him the constant impression of anger. I also didn't like that he had tried to trick Arwen into leaving Middle Earth by hiding the possibility of her son from him. Or, rather, he will try to trick Arwen into leaving Middle Earth?

Speaking of…

"Is Arwen here?" I ask, wondering why I haven't seen her as I wandered around this whole time.

His gaze sharpens and he studies me momentarily before responding, "She currently resides with her kin in Lothlórien. Her visits to them occur every other decade or so."

"Oh," I say, nodding. Darn it. It would I have been amazing to meet her. 

Lord Elrond continues to regard me with an inscrutable expression for a moment before gesturing toward a chair opposite him at the table. "Come. Sit."

I stare in surprise. Have a chat with THE Lord Elrond?

I nod, "Uh, ok. Thank you, Lord Elrond." I hesitantly come and sit on his other side.

"Would you care for some food?" He courteously offers, indicating the plate of fruit, meat, and cheese between us.

"Uh, yes, thank you. Just a little."

I AM hungry but I'm also nervous. I take a single small grape and pop it into my mouth. My eyes widen. The grape tastes like pure grape juice! It's so full of sugary liquid and tastes so delicious that I grab another one. And then another. And another. I can't remember the last time I had tasted grapes so good! In my world, they always seem so sour...

I glance over at Lord Elrond, who is studying me with a calm expression. Do all elves wear that expression?

I clear my throat, embarrassed for a second, but decide to study him back. He's different in person than I expected.

"Gandalf has told me of your peculiar origins. How did you and Arwen become acquainted with each other?" he asks casually, reaching for a grape himself.

I freeze for a moment, realizing that I messed up. Of course he'd be curious how a woman that supposedly from another world knows his daughter!

"Well, I've never actually met her," I admit honestly, feeling that he deserves nothing less. "But I've heard about her, and I know that she'll….she'll have a very interesting future."

"Really?" he calmly questions, taking another grape. I follow suit. It seems that he's try to put me at ease, and it's working.

"Yeah, she'll find true love, save some important people, and have a very happy life." I provide the very bare minimum and quickly change the subject before he can ask me how I know what I know. "So, um, what's with elves and stars?"

I've always been curious about Arwen's Evenstar necklace and the vial Galadriel gave Frodo.

"What do you mean?" He responds conversationally as if discussing the weather.

"How do you put them into jewelry or into jars? Like, how do you even get them down from the sky?"

An amused smile finds its way onto his face, and I stare in amazement. I've never seen him smile, except at Arwen's wedding, and even then, it was a sad smile.

He explains, "It's not an actual star that is taken from the sky and placed inside these relics, but rather the essence and light of the star."

At my confused look, he elaborates, "Light is a power, Peyton of Earth. It is sacred to us elves. It emanates throughout the expanse of creation from the Father of us all, Eru Ilúvatar, and it resides within each of us in one form or another. My people can harness this power and take it from the stars at certain times or in special seasons, and we save it within precious stones or within water."

"Wow," What a strange and enthralling concept. "That's amazing. Just in this universe, though, right? We don't have an Eru Ilúvatar in my world."

Lord Elrond hums, "He goes by many names. Perhaps he is simply called something different in your world."

I wonder how we ended up discussing God of all things, but I guess it makes sense since elves are very spiritual beings. "So...how do you capture a star's light and store it in an object? And how does it stay inside without, I don't know, leaking out over time?"

He tilts his head and smiles softly at me like I am a small child asking questions like why is the grass green or why is the sky blue. “We place the stone on a mirror or dip the flask in the reflecting pool where the star that is chossen is reflected. Each star has its own unique energy and once we choose the star that possesses the desired qualities, we then ask Eru Ilúvatar to grant us some of its light to bless the lives of others. Through a delicate dance of concentration and harmony, we are able to capture a fragment of its brilliance within the specially crafted vessel." His look turns more amused, “And it does not leak out, as you put it, from these artifacts due to the magic we infuse into them before beginning the process.”

I listen intently my eyes wide, captivated by his words."So, you placed Arwen's necklace in the reflection of the Evenstar, and it absorbed the light?"

His intense eyes bore into mine, clearly wondering how I know about his daughter’s necklace, but he answers all the same, his voice slow and measured, "Essentially. Although there is much more to it than that. The process is intricate and requires great skill. During the ritual, you must channel your own inner light, your connection to the divine, and merge it with the star's energy."

He pauses before suddenly rising out of his seat, gesturing gracefully for me to come with him to a different window nearby.

I stand up curiously and walk over to the window with him, which offers yet another angle of the valley below.

He points up at the sky, "If you look, just beyond that tree there, you will see the Evenstar."

I look in the direction he's pointing, but I don't see it.

"Perhaps it is easier for my elvish eyes to see," Elrond responds when I don't seem to react. "It will be clearer later on tonight after dinner."

"Wow." I breath. I can't see it but the whole thing is really cool!

He always seemed so stern in the movie. But perhaps it was because he was stressed at the time? I mean, there was an evil ring that needed to be destroyed, after all. He has a good heart, I realize. Better than most characters in Middle Earth, actually. Stern, but exceedingly kind, and he seems to possess a quiet sense of humor beneath his stoic demeanor. Now that he's a living, breathing soul in my mind, I slowly come to the realization that I can't be too harsh on him for trying to save his daughter from a mortal life. He loved his daughter. Loves, I should say, since he and she exist in the present.

We are silent for a moment before another question hits me.

"Lord Elrond?" I ask hesitantly, feeling unsure of myself in front of this legendary elf lord but also bolder than before.

He half turns to me but remains silent to allow me to continue.

"When you were there…the day that men's strength failed them…" I begin.

Elrond's whole body seems to freeze, and his face loses its smile.

"...Why didn't you just…take the ring from Isildur? Why didn't you just cast it into Mount Doom yourself?"

I've always wondered why Lord Elrond asked Isildur to come to Mount Doom with him instead of simply grabbing the ring from Isildur's weak mortal hands and throwing it into the volcano. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble and would have been incredibly badass.

To my absolute horror, Lord Elrond's expression becomes pained, and his once amused eyes now carry a strange sheen.

Aw, crap Pey. There you go, offending people again.

I quickly begin to apologize, stumbling over my words in my anxiety to undo what I had unknowingly stepped into. "Oh my gosh!" I gape. "Lord Elrond, I am so sorry! Please, believe me...I would never, not in a MILLION years, want to hurt yo-...I had no idea that...I mean...I didn't know this was such a...a sensitive subject for you! I NEVER would have-"

He raises a graceful hand to bid me silence and I immediately shut up, my mouth snapping closed. Wringing my hands in worry, I can't help but wonder how I managed to make him laugh and now I make him almost cry. Nice going! I always ruin everything!

He turns away from me, his light brown elvish robes swishing gently with his graceful movements as he slowly passes by the table and chairs. He walks back to the main overlook facing Rivendell once more, looking out over the beautiful kingdom he has built - his personal Shangri-La, his magnum opus.

He remains silent for a moment, his back still turned to me, and I can't help but feel a sense of unease. I wrap my arms around myself, nervously fidgeting as I continue to gaze at his tense shoulders, his long, straight brown hair, and his unmistakable elven ears. I wonder if this is his dismissal of me and he wants me to leave?

I finally turn to go in absolute mortification but before I can take more than a single step, his voice breaks the silence. "Many thousands of years have I asked myself that same question, Peyton of Earth," he says, his words clear but filled with a soft sadness. "You surprised me, but it is...refreshing...that human beings can still surprise me after these many years."

Slowly, he turns to face me, and I find myself captivated by the calmness that now graces his features. Yet, despite his immortal nature, there is a weariness in his eyes that I hadn't noticed before.

"Thank you?" I say, confused and hesitant.

"In response to your question..." Elrond clasps his hands behind him, his gaze momentarily fixed on the ground as he gathers his thoughts. "...Perhaps it was because I desired to give the race of men a chance to have their shining moment? Their triumph over evil. I have observed much of the history of Middle Earth thus far, witnessing both the virtues and vices mankind are capable of. Regrettably, it has most often been evil."

His words strike a chord within me, causing me to pause and reflect. I find myself nodding in understanding. "That makes sense," I reply, acknowledging the weight of his reasoning.

"Or...perhaps," Elrond hesitates, his eyes clouding over, "the truth could possibly be that...I was afraid."

Words can't express how shocked I am at his words and he turns from my bewildered expression to look out upon the beautiful view again, "I did not wish to be overcome by the temptation of the ring. I shifted the burden off my own shoulders by asking Isildur to bear it to Mount Doom. I justified it by deeming it as his duty, since he had defeated the Dark Lord’s physical body. In a sense, this was true. A part of me knew, however, that if…or perhaps….when he failed…the blame would rest upon him, and not on me."

He still doesn't turn to look at me.

This whole time my eyes are as big as saucers, but my mouth is tightly closed. That is definitely not the answer I was expecting. I guess I thought he would say something like 'Eh. I didn't think about it at the time. Hindsight is always 20-20, you know?'. But no…he actually DID think about it. He knew the risks. And yet...he let his friend, someone he knew quite well, take the ring that would surely overcome him.

I guess elves, while immortal, aren't always perfect and unselfish beings. I mean, look at Thranduil; That guy's a complete jerk. They all have their blunders in life.

To be fair though, it's literally the same reason Gandalf didn't take the ring from Frodo. He was also afraid of what the ring would do to him and, ergo, Middle Earth. So he made Frodo carry the burden rather than doing it himself. I feel a surge of empathy towards this kind Elf Lord. It's a rare moment of honesty, and I appreciate his willingness to share his past with me, a stranger no less!

I step up beside him, and still, he doesn't turn to acknowledge my presence. We gaze out over the breathtaking sight of Rivendell for a few moments together in silence. The sun casts its warm glow upon the valley, illuminating the ethereal beauty of the elven realm. The white pillars, polished beams, and intricate elvish designs are bathed in a radiant orange-gold hue. The waterfall captures the rays of light, transforming into a cascade of sparkling flashes, as if ignited by the sun's white fire.

For the millionth time, I find myself yearning for my cellphone, wishing it were functional so I could capture this scene. Yet, deep down, I wonder if perhaps this kind of beauty is meant solely for those who witness it firsthand? Photos never truly capture the emotions and sensations that come from experiencing something with your own eyes anyway.

Finally, I turn to him and say, "Thank you for telling me. It must not have been easy for you."

Elrond offers a nod in acknowledgment of my gratitude but says nothing.

"Don't worry, Lord Elrond," I try to comfort him. "The ring will be destroyed in the next fifty-three…ish?…years. It'll all be alright."

Elrond's gaze snaps to me, his eyebrows knitting together in a look of utter surprise and confusion.

I offer him a smile, "I never said you should have taken the ring from Isildur. I was merely curious about why you didn't. Perhaps it was wise of you to not touch it? You, Gandalf, and Galadriel each face the temptation of the ring's power. Maybe it's because you're all ring-bearers yourselves? Who knows?" I shrug nonchalantly, averting my gaze from his astonished expression. "But the three of you ultimately succeed. And, in a way, I suppose I should thank you. If you had destroyed the ring, there would be no story. And it really is an AWESOME story," I turn back to grin up at him, unable to contain my enthusiasm.

Elrond finally voices the question that has been lingering beneath the surface throughout our conversation. "How do you know these things? And what do you mean by 'story'?"

I pause for a moment before attempting the same excuse I use on everyone else. "Perhaps I'm…a seer? Of sorts?" I glance over to see his response.

He gives me a look that says he doesn't buy it. I guess it's hard to trick a 6,000-year-old guy.

"Or…" I say, sounding like him when he gave me reasons for the ring surviving, "In my world, some of the stories of your world are written down as fairytales and we know about them." I shrug, "Take your pick."

"That is how you knew of Arwen." He concludes, understanding coming to his eyes.

I nod in confirmation and Elrond's face turns into a very large smile. He lets out a breath, as if a huge burden has been taken off his shoulders at my news. "Our guests are waiting for us," he says, hearing things from the direction of Rivendell that I can't. "Come." He graciously indicates that I take his arm like a gentleman and we walk back across the treacherous bridge and back along the mountainside.

I can't help but feel like a newborn deer on wobbly legs next to him, my movements seem sporadic and jerky in comparison to the fluid grace of the elves. He doesn’t seem to mind though and the whole way back he speaks with enthusiasm about how Rivendell first came to be as I listen in awe.

Once arriving at the main building we climb to a pavilion where the dwarves have already congregated at the table. Elves gracefully glide around, serving platters of food. When I come into view, the dwarves shout a rowdy cheer instead of a normal hello, along with a few impressed whistles and catcalls for my blue hobbit dress.

I grin and blush, giving them all a Forrest Gump wave. I take in their clean faces and clean attire. Lord Elrond's demeanor is calm and composed, displaying a grace that seems second nature to him. But, and I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, he looks like he's glowing with happiness. A faint light seems to emit from around him, reminiscent of Galadriel’s.

Rather than allowing me to sit with my dwarves who have a chair saved for me, he guides me to a separate table where Gandalf and Thorin have both risen to greet us. I take a seat next to Thorin, shooting him a bright smile causing him to raise an eyebrow. He had watched suspiciously as Elrond and I had come up to the pavilion together, obviously wary of my consorting with his enemy and telling him 'company secrets'.

"Hi Thorin, how are you?” I ask, trying to be civil once more.

"Well, thank you." He replies, glancing at Elrond and me with assessing eyes, "And you?"

"Great! Thanks for asking." I nod happily.

“You are looking well, old friend!” Gandalf remarks in happy surprise as Elrond takes his seat, clearly noticing the glow.

“I have received very good news, Mithrandir.” Elrond replies with a smile, “I find it quite difficult to be unhappy at the moment. Now, tell me what has occurred since last we met. What adventures have you endured?”

As Gandalf speaks, I eat. The food served is not bad at all. Salads, delicious homemade breads with various butters, exotic fruits, and different cheeses. I tilt my head at it though. Perhaps it's just an appetizer before the main course? No meat. I hear murmurings from some of the other dwarves behind me about the lack of meat.

Elrond had meat and cheese on his tray when I had spoken with him at the Gazeebo and I thought elves were considered excellent hunters?

I glance over at Elrond, watching him take a sip of wine while his elf ears obviously pick up on every disgruntled comment by the dwarves.

The dwarves have been nothing but discourteous and rude since arriving. Could this be Elrond's way of getting even? Is that why he had a mini-dinner before dinner?!

If so, then it's sneaky, underhanded, and downright petty...and I love it! Besides, the dwarves need more greens in their diet!

"This salad is delicious Lord Elrond. Thank you so much for the food!" I smirk at him as I take a bite.

He smiles and I catch the twinkle in his eye, "Thank you, Miss Silva. If you are hungry later on I'm sure we can find something for you in the kitchens."

I can tell it's his way of apologizing for the lack of meat on behalf of the rude members of the company and I shake my head, "Honestly, it's been a long time since I've had a salad. It's refreshing."

Thorin has been watching this back and forth between Elrond and I for some time, his expression dark, obviously wishing he was anywhere but in ‘elf country’.

The conversation naturally turns to the wargs that were pursuing us and the troll hoard we happened upon earlier. The swords are discussed and then Lord Elrond turns to me, "And you, Miss Silva? A woman from another world in the company of these dwarves of Durin? Have you a sword?"

I belatedly realize that I had left my sword in my room, not feeling a need for it. But then my eyes widen as I remember what it was that I had come to Rivendell for! How could I have almost forgotten?! So caught up in the surreal atmosphere of magic, I had forgotten my purpose in coming here! This whole time I should have been talking with Elrond about going home instead of discussing stars!

"Yes, but uh, I left it in my room. Actually, though, I do need your help with something, Lord Elrond!" I notice his curious expression and continue, "I’m trying to find a way back home. I picked up a gold coin that fell out of a very large book I was admiring, and it somehow brought me here, to Middle Earth."

"Intriguing. Do you have the coin?" he inquires.

I pull the coin out of my pocket and pass it to him across the table placing it into his ready palm, ignoring Thorin's stiff posture. Elrond holds it up, inspecting it. His perfect eyesight doesn't require him to bring it closer to his face in order to see it’s details.

He stares at it for a few moments before saying, "It seems an ordinary Malkudar. A bit old, perhaps, as the face has deteriorated. Are you certain this is what brought you here?"

"I'm not sure of anything," I reply frankly. "I was touching an ancient book and this fell out. Once I tried to pick it up, I arrived."

"Tell me about this book."

I blink. This is the first time someone has wanted to know about the book. This whole time my focus has been on the coin.

"Were there any images on the cover? Any symbols that you remember?" He encourages.

"Yeah." I frown as the image of the front of the red book comes to mind. The book had been closed every time I’d come into the room for class, so I saw the cover plenty of times. But that day I’d been there alone with Matt, it had been open for the first time. "Do you have a paper and quill? I can try and draw it for you."

Lord Elrond speaks elvish to the elf at his left who then leaves the room, presumably to look for those very objects.

While he's away, I continue, "Umm, I don't know much about the book, to tell you the truth. My Paleography professor is renowned over the world for his collection of rare books and artifacts and he brought this book out to the lab in particular to show the students because it was found on one of his recent trips. Bloemfontein, South Africa? I think. Um, that's a different continent...there are seven of them on my planet."

Thankfully I can stop rambling as the elf quickly returns, bringing a blank parchment and a quill. I begin a very crude and horribly done drawing but do the best I can from the brief times I saw the cover. Two large towers with lines coming out of them and intercepting over a small castle within a circle.

"The Two Lamps of Arda!" Elrond says with a surprised expression.

Gandalf and Thorin both lean forward with recognition and intrigue on their faces as well.

"You know this book?" I gasp with shock.

"I know of this drawing." Elrond clarifies, "The Two Lamps of Arda or the Two Lamps of the Valar, as they are sometimes called, were the first sources of light on our planet in the days before days."

"What can you tell me about these two lamps?" I beseech him.

Lord Elrond gives the drawing a thoughtful look, his eyes filled with ancient wisdom as he speaks in his measured Elvish tone, "The Two Lamps of Arda, Miss Silva, were a pivotal part of the creation story of our world. They symbolize the earliest sources of light in the days before days, when Arda, our world, was still young and unsullied. They hold great significance in the ancient history of Middle-earth. May I?” He holds a hand out, referring to the quill and I eagerly hand it over.

“Illuin." He writes the word underneath one of the pillars. "was the first of the lamps, and it was situated in the north. It radiated a silvery light, akin to the glow of the moon. Ormal, on the other hand," He writes the word underneath the other, “was in the south, and it emanated a golden light, resembling the warmth and brilliance of the sun. Together, they brought light to all of Arda. Although, it is very possible that they were merely metaphors for the actual sun and moon since Illuin means sky silver and Ormal means high gold. “

He draws upon the parchment as he speaks, adding details to the drawing I had started. "These lamps were created by the Valar, powerful and divine beings who shaped the world in its early stages. They stood as beacons of hope and illumination, a symbol of harmony and balance within the world. Middle Earth, as you can see," he points to the small castle-like thing between the lamps, "lay in between, representing the heart of our world."

I look closer, seeing that the small castle in between the two pillars is not a castle at all, but rather three mountains surrounded by water. Middle earth.

"So, the book WAS from Middle Earth then.” I breath, confused. “But...what does it all mean?"

"They are a symbol of 'Light'."

I look up at him, noticing the significant look he levels me with. I think back to our discussion about light existing in everything and how it’s sacred to the elves. Emitting from the Creator of everything.

He continues, "This story, Miss Silva, is a tale we share with our people, a symbol of courage and the eternal struggle between light and darkness. A popular term among my people is ‘A Light in Arda', which arose from this myth in reference to these two lights. At times in history, it has also been considered an honorary name, or title, given to those who do extraordinary acts of courage. It appears this book in your world indeed brought you here, for what purpose, I am uncertain."

"The book or the Mazuldar coin?" I ask, bewildered.

"Both,” Elrond responds as he passes the coin over to me. "Perhaps the Mazuldar determined the time period you landed in?"

I hold the gleaming coin in my hand, thinking hard. I thought it had been the Mazuldar this whole time. I had teleported after touching it after all. But, then again, I did touch both the book and coin. Almost no one would touch a book that old without gloves like I had. But if they did, would they have been transported too? Or did the coin fall out just for me? Fate or coincidence?

‘The Valar have brought you here for a great purpose. Same as me. Same as all of us, if you really think about it.’ The memory of Gandalf’s words back in Bilbo’s parlor come to me.

"But...how do I get back?" I finally ask, amazed at the remarkable history of Arda he spoke of. "Do you have a book from another world that I can touch and see if a quarter falls out?" I half-heartedly joke.

"Alas," Elrond shakes his head, "only the Valar can help you in that regard."

I can't help but glance over at Gandalf who lowers his bushy gaze at me as if to say 'See? Whadda I tell ya?'

Elrond continues, "But I can't help but wonder how accompanying dwarves will help you reach your goal?" He turns and gives Gandalf a raised eyebrow. "You were attacked on the East road by orcs. But it begs the question of what were you doing on the East Road in the first place?" Elrond's tone turns suspicious.

"Excuse us," Thorin mutters to Elrond, abruptly standing. "Come, Peyton, I will walk you to your room," he says, offering me his arm.

Frowning at the abrupt way he interrupted Elrond, I think about staying, but I don’t want to create a bigger scene. Besides, he said my name without the ‘miss’ in front of it! I want to reward good behavior, and I figure it’s best to discuss Azog before it gets too late.

Standing, I place my hand on Thorin's arm, surprised to feel his hard muscle beneath my fingers as I finally take notice of his lack of armor. Perhaps it was the barest civility he could pay to his host to not dress for battle?

Before he leads me away, I glance back to Elrond with sincerity, "Thank you again for dinner and the conversation."

Elrond inclines his head, no longer smiling but not discourteous either, “Of course."

Following Thorin's lead, we walk in the direction that seems to lead to my room. As we walk away, I faintly hear Elrond droll, "Thirteen Dwarves, a human woman, and a halfling. A strange choice for companions, wouldn't you say, Gandalf?"

Thorin remains silent as we walk, searching for a spot where elvish ears aren't around. Yeah, that's never going to happen.

"What did you discuss with Lord Elrond before dinner?" Thorin asks first, surprising me.

I look at him, and our eyes meet. So, I was right. He's concerned about me spilling the beans. "I was... uh, having a 'heart-to-heart' with him about the past," I reply with a shrug.

Thorin tilts his head, frowning. "Heart-to-heart?" he repeats, unfamiliar with the term.

"Yeah, it means being vulnerable with one another and sharing secrets. I almost made him tear up, if you can believe it," I say, looking into the distance with wide eyes as I remember the conversation. I'm still perturbed that I, Peyton Silva, almost made an elf cry. His eyes had a strange sheen to them, but it wasn't exactly tears. Is there a special place in hell for people who do that?

"What sort of secrets?" Thorin presses.

I roll my eyes and shoot him a glare. He's obviously wondering what dirt he can dig up on Elrond. "Nothing related to the quest, I assure you. Your secrets are safe."

"You told him... personal secrets about yourself?" Thorin looks deeply disturbed by this.

"No, not really," I reply, watching him carefully, wondering where he's going with this. "We mostly talked about his secrets."

"He told you his secrets?" Thorin's expression grows even more troubled.

"Yes, and you're never going to hear them. So drop it!"

Finally, we reach a stone courtyard with an adjacent garden. Thorin stops, turning to face me fully. He folds his arms across his chest, giving me a stern, reprimanding look. "Do you usually have heart-to-hearts with strangers?"

"Oh my gosh, Thorin!" I exclaim, throwing my free hand up in the air and laughing. "I have heart-to-hearts with whoever I feel like having them with! And I knew Lord Elrond before I met him." I pause, realizing that actually, I had no idea who Lord Elrond truly was until now. I backtrack, "Well, I mean, I knew OF Lord Elrond... so, I'm more of a stranger to him than he is to me, at least. So, technically, he's the one having heart-to-hearts with strangers, not me."

"And you knew of me as well," Thorin states aloud, deep in thought. I had told him as much at Bilbo's house.

"Yes, you already knew that," I reply, trying to sound annoyed at him to hide the blush creeping up my face. "I have to admit that you're a lot different than I expected." I give his questioning look a teasing smile as we continue walking toward a stone bench where I sit down, "For one thing, I had no idea you sing so well!"

Thorin gives me an unimpressed look, but I know him well enough to know there’s a smile just waiting to be discovered underneath the surface.

“And your hand smelled just fine, by the way." I grin at him, deciding to raise my white flag first.

His lips twitch into a smile. Ah, there it is!

"Is there anything else?" Thorin inquires, pacing restlessly. The sun had set some time ago, and the stone courtyard we'd found, far enough from the elves, is now bathed in the soft glow of flickering lamps.

We've been in deep discussion for over an hour, with me sharing what little I knew about Azog. Thorin had been insistent, demanding every detail I could recall. And I do….except that Thorin, Kili, and Fili die. But the truth was, I know nothing now.

"I know it isn't much help," I admit with a sigh. "The wargs weren't supposed to show up before the Misty Mountains."

Thorin's brow furrows. "And yet, you knew there would be wargs. How can you predict the future with such certainty?"

I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. "Have you not been listening, Thorin? I don't know the future with certainty! It's all changed!" I gaze out over the dark valley below us feeling a hint of despair, "I wanted to change the future, but not like this."

Thorin shakes his head, stubborn as ever. "You speak with certainty that some things are not meant to happen, which means that you do know how things are meant to happen." He insists. "Seers don't do that. They never admit when a prophecy doesn't come true but explain it away as if it was a metaphor or symbolic."

"Yeah, well, I'm not your average seer, Thorin, remember?" I sigh.

I should just come clean and tell him that this is all part of a book. I know that's what he's been trying to uncover, the very truth I've been carefully sidestepping. It's late and I'm exhausted. I didn't get that nap I had wanted earlier, and even though the soothing bath has helped alleviate the ache in my muscles from all the running, I find myself yearning for the comforting embrace of an elf-made bed.

Thorin falls silent, pacing thoughtfully.

"How are we even going to continue the quest without ponies anyways?" I ask him, mourning the loss of Sir Gallahop. I never even got to say goodbye. I thought I had more time with him. Hopefully, they are still alive since the wargs chased Radaghast and not them.

"We will continue without them." Thorin says absentmindedly, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Suddenly, Gandalf and Lord Elrond appear, crossing the courtyard to join us with Balin and Bilbo trailing behind. I startle at their arrival, still jumpy from the warg attack. Thorin, however, merely glances over at them, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Thorin, I've taken the opportunity to explain our need for a translator to Lord Elrond. And he has agreed to look at the map for you." Gandalf announces with a smile.

Thorin's eyes flash with anger, even as Balin hurriedly interjects, "I told him not to Thorin. He wouldn't listen!"

"Our business is no concern of elves." Thorin retorts, his deep voice laced with tension and betrayal.

"For goodness sake, Thorin! We are here by the will of the Valar." Gandalf says, clearly frustrated.

"It is the legacy of my people. It's mine to protect. As are its secrets."

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!" Gandalf mutters, shaking his head at Thorin. "Your pride will be your downfall. You stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth that can read that map. Show Lord Elrond the map!" He insists.

Lord Elrond's gaze meets Thorin's, his expression unreadable. Thorin returns the stare, unyielding.

"Thorin?" I venture softly, while standing up. He turns to me, our eyes locking. "He’s the only one that can read it. We are in Rivendell for that very reason.”

“But it's an important document of our people, Miss Peyton!" Balin interjects, his tone bordering on anger. "We are a secretive race! We do not share our knowledge with outsiders." He doesn't mention elves, but I know that's what he implies, given that he’s shared Khuz-dul with me before.

"You have to decide what you value more, then," I respond gently, my tone devoid of judgment. I glance back at Thorin, "Your secrecy...or your home."

Thorin remains silent, and I implore him with my eyes. We had discussed this during our fireside chat before the troll incident. We both have lost homes and both yearn for what can never be returned. Now, it's time to see if he truly meant what he said about wanting to rebuild Erebor, greater and grander than before. I see a hint of understanding replace the stubbornness in his eyes, and he turns back to Elrond, sighing through his nose in resignation. Slowly, he reaches into his coat and retrieves the map from a hidden pocket.

"No, Thorin..." Balin begins, but Thorin raises a hand, silencing him. He hands the map to Lord Elrond, their eyes locked as Elrond carefully unrolls the parchment.

"Erebor." Elrond's eyes flicker back to him and Thorin stiffens at the surprise in Elrond's voice. "What is your interest in this map?"

"It's mainly academic," Gandalf interjects. "As you know, these sorts of artifacts can contain hidden text,” Gandalf continues nonchalantly.

Thorin shoots Gandalf a relieved and grateful look. Elrond notices and, surprisingly, looks at me to gauge my reaction. Unsure of the reason for this secrecy, I decide to follow Gandalf's lead and blink and smile, feigning ignorance. But Elrond is not dumb. He heard me tell Thorin to choose between secrecy and home. He must know.

Elrond walks away from us, and we all hold our breath as he examines the map under the moonlight.

"Kierth Ithil," Elrond says, sounding impressed.

"Moon runes!" Gandalf exclaims, "Of course." He turns to me and Bilbo. "I might have known."

I glance at Thorin, giving him a reassuring smile. He seems to relax, realizing that giving the map to Elrond was in fact the right decision. They would have needed someone who could read Ancient Dwarvish, and at night.

"I wonder how moon runes work?" I murmur curiously, mostly to myself as Elrond continues to study the map.

"Moon letters were invented by us, Dwarves," Balin says, pride evident in his voice, "They are written with silver pens containing Ithildin, an ink made from our most precious metal, mithril. It reflects only starlight and moonlight."

Elrond's voice draws our attention back to him. He stands a bit far, his expression intense as he continues to study the map. "Indeed. Some moon letters can be read by any moonlight, but it is possible to make the writing even more secret. This particular scroll can only be deciphered by the light of the moon under the same shape and season under which it was written."

"Can you read them?" Thorin asks, hopeful.

"No," Elrond shakes his head, turning towards us, "Unfortunately, I cannot. You missed the crescent moon required for these runes to be read. It occurred yesterday." He hands the scroll back to a shocked and disappointed Thorin.

I feel like someone punched me in the stomach and I cry out in alarm, "WHAT?!"

Chapter Text

I don’t have words to describe the shock and disbelief of this moment. But that doesn’t stop me from trying:

"Are you serious? That's not pos-...No! How could that even-... WHAT?!" My words stumble over each other, my brain not comprehending the news. It’s as if a bucket of ice-cold water has been poured over my head. 

Gandalf watches me, his face turning grim as he realizes that this shouldn't have happened. My fear has come true - something drastic has changed in the story that I knew and loved, even more so than the wargs.

Thorin curses to himself in his dwarf language, turning to the side in anger and frustration, as if he wants to punch an orc….or an elf.

Balin hangs his white head as if the fight has been drained out of him, making him appear older and wearier.
Bilbo maintains his polite demeanor, but as he scans our faces, gauging our reactions to the news, disappointment flickers across his expression. He purses his lips, uncertain of how to help the situation.

Gandalf looks pale, I’ve never witnessed such a level of disbelief on his face before. All his plans have been rendered useless. He closes his eyes, visibly praying to the Valar, and leans heavily on his staff, gripping it with both hands.

"Well, that's that then." Balin shakes his head, grieved. "Perhaps we can try next year, but..."

I feel a chilling wave of confusion wash over me. How could this have happened? How can they fail before they've even had a chance to truly begin? This isn't how it's supposed to go! How is this possible?

When I first arrived here all those months ago, I didn't care much about changing Middle Earth's future. After all, it didn't directly affect me since I was going home, so why should I worry? I had brushed it off as someone else's problem and casually passed out secrets of the future as if they were candy.
But now, as I see the crushed faces of those who have become very dear friends, witnessing their determined hope replaced by despair…it does directly affect me. I feel their pain deep in the very core of my being.

I rack my brain, desperately searching for something that could have thrown off the timing by a single day. And then it hits me like a lightning bolt. It’s my fault. I had slowed us down by a day when I succumbed to hypothermia. I’m the only variable in this mess. I was sent to aid the quest and all I've done is botch it up. Thorin was right, I only brought hardship and ruin to them all. The entire quest would have been better off without me.

Thorin doesn't know the original timeline, though. He doesn't know what the future is supposed to be; he only knows what is. He looks at me with a hopeful expression, expecting me, the supposed Seer, to have foreseen this. When he sees my gutted expression, he realizes that I didn't know.

"We will inform the company of our departure tomorrow," Thorin says, the disappointment making his deep voice raspier than normal.

I don't understand the look on his face but it makes me feel sicker than sick as he turns and walks off without a second glance at any of us, wanting to be alone. I’m another disappointment in a long line of other disappointments.

Balin soon follows, his downcast expression causing me to wilt even further.

Lord Elrond is silent for a moment, and then he addresses Gandalf, "The company's aim was to reclaim their lost kingdom, was it not?"

Gandalf looks chagrined, caught it seems, "I was going to tell you."

Elrond looks slightly annoyed, the first time showing such emotion, "Were you?"

Gandalf, who never admits when he's wrong about anything, straightens up to his full height and changes the direction of the conversation, "Yes...and I really think you should trust what I'm doing!"

Elrond shakes his head at his old friend, seeming to be very used to this sort of thing from him, "You are not the only Guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth. Perhaps it is for the best then that the quest has ended before anyone got hurt." He glances at Bilbo and I, the non-warriors of the company, before gracefully turning and taking his leave.

Gandalf huffs, aware that he's in the doghouse with Elrond now, but does not follow the elf Lord. Now, only Bilbo, Gandalf, and I remain in the courtyard, surrounded by the soft white glow of Rivendell's candles mixed with the light from the stars and moon above. But none of the ethereal beauty can touch my heart at this moment; it feels as though my heart has turned to ashes inside my chest.

Gandalf abruptly turns toward me and demands, "How could this have happened Miss Peyton!?"

I shake my head, tears burning in my eyes, "It's my fault, Gandalf. When I got hypothermia, Thorin had the company take a day off to rest. It must have thrown the timing off. I…I didn't mean to..." I can't continue; my throat constricts as tears stream down my cheeks.

I've ruined everything.

"There must be another way to decipher that map!" Gandalf growls, his staff clacking against the pale stone as he begins to pace, "The Valar sent you here to help, not to hinder and they're never wrong. There must be something we're missing!"

I sniffle, wiping my tears on my sleeve, paying no attention to the white handkerchief Bilbo is desperately waving in my peripheral vision. "Even if we find another way to read it, our time is running out. Unless we leave tomorrow morning and push ourselves to make up for the lost day, we'll never get to the Lonely Mountain by Durin's Day. That, and we have no ponies."

"What is Durin's Day?" Bilbo finally speaks up, his voice filled with curiosity.

"Some sort of Dwarven holiday, I think. The map says that 'the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole'. You have to be in the right place at the right time and only then will the door reveal itself." I sigh and shake my head in defeat. "But now it's all over."

A great feeling of despair washes over me. Now that the quest is ruined; will the Valar send me home now? I mean, technically Thorin, Fili, and Kili will survive since the whole quest is off. Unless they try again next year and die?

My heart trembles at the thought.

It takes me a while to notice the silence from my other two companions. When I look up, Gandalf is grinning at me brightly, his bushy eyebrows raised high upon his face. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Miss Peyton."

I look at him curiously, trying to comprehend his sudden change in demeanor. He gives me an expectant look  as if waiting for me to realize something. After a few moments of waiting, his face falls into an annoyed deadpan.

My brow furrows and I shake my head, "We can't read the map, so I don't know what you're..."

Wait...

"I...I know what the map says…" I whisper, my eyes widening with realization. "I already know! We can still complete the quest, you guys!"

I'm such a blonde sometimes! With how different this experience has been from the original book, I forget that some things are concrete! There are some things that I could never change, like moon runes on a map from hundreds of years ago.

"Come! We must tell the others!" Gandalf sets off quickly in the direction that Thorin and Balin wentz

"But, wait! Gandalf! Isn't that, I don't know, like….cheating or something?" I ask worriedly as I rush after him, with Bilbo hot on my tail.

"Cheating?! This isn't a game where we keep score of who does what or how we do it!" Gandalf's gruff voice rings out, annoyed. He doesn't look back as he power walks on his long legs. "The Valar sent you, and therefore, if you change things, it is meant to happen!"

"But," I huff and puff as I struggle to keep up with him, my own legs still a bit sore from my earlier running. "Doesn't that, like, ruin the concept of 'free will'? Like, it doesn't matter what I choose - I'm technically not choosing since it's 'supposed to happen'?"

"No, it doesn't. Your freedom to choose is exactly why the timeline is different, is it not? But there's no time for me to explain something that will clearly go over your head." Gandalf replies, exasperated.

For once, I'm not even offended. I'm just immensely relieved that the whole quest isn't a complete bust! Thorin is going to eat me alive though, I grimace.

"Peyton," A soft, airy voice whispers from a path to our side.

At first, my eyes glance casually at the sound, but the sight suddenly freezes me in place, my feet coming to an abrupt halt.

My wide eyes lock onto the image of the glowing white elf, radiant like a giant LED light, slowly approaching me from the trees. There’s no doubt in my mind who this is, and I stare in astonishment with my mouth hanging open as THE Galadriel floats closer, stopping with a serene smile.

I quickly glance back at Gandalf and Bilbo, wondering if I'm hallucinating or something, but I can't ask because they're too far ahead, continuing on their hurried course. They didn't seem to have noticed her.

"GUYS!" I call desperately, but they're already disappearing from view into one of the hallways.

I nervously look back at the ethereal figure before me, feeling apprehensive and slightly afraid. Galadriel isn't even in this story! Did I change things AGAIN? How does she even know my name?

"I know the thoughts and hearts of men. But you already knew that, didn't you?" She answers my unspoken question, giving me a cryptic smile.

Oh yeah, she’s a mind reader. I gulp.

I never really liked Galadriel as a character. Growing up a tomboy, getting dirty and scratched up with my older brothers, I found her inhuman perfection hard to relate to. She was too…perfect. Too flawless. Loved by everyone, never making a mistake, and literally glowed with an aura of perfection. It was something I found hard to stomach. Her gliding walk, her lilting voice, and even her soundless breathing were perfect. I bet Galadriel has never farted, burped, or cussed in her entire life. She probably never spilled BBQ sauce on her pristine white dress.

There's a part of me that wishes I could be her, but the other part of me, the Peyton who enjoys eating cereal in her pajamas for lunch, never will be. And I'm okay with that (not that I have any other choice). Just before coming to Middle Earth, I had a burping contest with Matt and my friends during Christmas break while drinking soda. So Galadriel, as a character, was just too unrealistic. No one could be that perfect.

Except for Galadriel.

Her serene smile has faded as she listens to my unkind thoughts...and I feel a wave of mortification wash over me. Mind reading should never be a thing. I watch her, feeling frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

"You know many things, Peyton of Earth," she finally speaks, her soft voice reminding me of ocean waves and I’m startled to realize that she’s been using mind communication until now! "Many things about your world…and apparently many things about ours as well." Her eyes narrow, "But you judge others too quickly… and you do not know what is in their hearts."

I lower my head, embarrassed at the sting of her reprimand. I'm well aware of my pride and ego, as evidenced by Thorin and my arguments. My intelligence, which made school a breeze, has only helped fuel my pride. It's led me to judge others based on their appearance and immediate actions, deciding if they're worth my time or not.

"Yes." She answers my unspoken thoughts, "And while you are very intelligent...you are immature for a young woman of your age. But perhaps that is common in your world? You are at an age in this world where you should already have children. You desire marriage, and yet you shut potential suitors out for fear of getting hurt… your fear of emotional intimacy hinders your happiness. Resourceful, yet lazy. Knowledgeable, yet hypocritical."

I feel like shriveling up underneath her gaze, many of my flaws laid bare. She's right.

"But, that is not all….you are compassionate of other's pain. You try to be a friend and a help to those around you.”

My head snaps up in surprise as she speaks and I feel wonder as she smiles gently down upon me.

“You are determined, and you are kind, when you remember to be. You want to see people succeed, and harbor no jealousy towards those who have more material possessions than you. You rejoice in others' happiness and empathize with their failures. You strive to be honest and just with others, and it pains you when they do not reciprocate. You have a great capacity to love.”

I feel incredibly humbled as she lays out my many flaws but also my virtues.

“Indeed, I have hope for you yet, for you are adaptable and willing to change. You have a light uniquely your own." Her perfect lips twitch into a wry smile, almost playful, "Strange, is it not, that there are two sides to every coin?"

She knows about the coin too?

"I'm sorry." I whisper, speaking aloud for the first time, "You're right. It’s just that…well, I've always believed you to be fictional! So, you were only two-dimensional to me. Until now, there was no reason to believe you were anything but a fantasy. But, like you said, I do this with real people in my world as well. There's more than what meets the eye with each person.”

She simply smiles once more and I get the feeling that she was never truly offended to begin with. She is, after all, thousands of years old and is probably above being offended by the opinions of young, ignorant humans… such as myself.

I shake my head, feeling small and meek. “There are so many things I never thought possible that actually are. My whole time in Middle-earth has been a whirlwind, and I don’t understand why I’m even here in the first place. Like you said, I’m not special.” I finish, my voice trailing off as I feel even smaller.

"I never said you weren't special, Peyton." Galadriel softly speaks, her voice rising and falling like a wave, "Merely, that there is much to improve. You have extraordinary potential if you only don't get in your own way."

"Thank you." I blush at the compliment from someone as special and perfect as her.

She merely smiles as she hears my thoughts, then turns around, “Come. The Valar have sent you to change things, and I am here to help you prepare. I fear your task shall not be an easy one."

I begin to follow her graceful, lilting steps before pausing momentarily, looking toward where Gandalf and Bilbo went.Anxiety tightens my chest as I worry about Thorin's reaction. What will he think? Will Gandalf and Bilbo believe I ran off out of fear instead of facing the company?

But I have no choice but to turn and hurry after Galadriel who has not stopped. She glides through the lush trees, along paths that I seem to stumble my way on. I realize we are headed to the river. The moonlight is otherworldly, casting a silver glow upon the leaves and plants around us, intensifying Galadriel's luminescent glow even more.

She stops at the edge of a gurgling silver stream where a calm pool lies off to the side, the moonlight reflecting in its gentle ripples. The pool is more of a large puddle, really. I watch, fascinated, as she gracefully bends down next to the moving stream to cup a handful of water in her pale white hands. She pours it into the puddle like a silver ribbon flowing from her hands, barely adding anything to it. She turns to look at me silently and I know what's next.

I step forward and look at the small pool nervously, seeing only my wide-eyed expression and the pinpricks of stars in the sky behind me.

Without consciously meaning to, I remember what Lord Elrond said about gathering light from said stars in pools of water or mirrors, and my attention flickers to them, twinkling behind my reflection.

The pool's image begins to shift and I stare slack-jawed and wide-eyed as I see myself laying peacefully in the strange round ditch-like hole I woke up in when this whole mess started. Almost like an impact crator? The dirt from the ground looks like it's smoking faintly around me.

The vision changes before I can fully evaluate the steam coming from the ditch. I see Thorin and I meeting on the road,the two of us with cautious expressions as we stand warily across from each other and study the other's appearance.

I see Bilbo serving me tea in his parlor, our laughing faces as we walk and spend time in Hobbiton. Gandalf's face appears from when he peeked through the door the first time we met. Scenes of me interacting with the members of the company play out and I watch Thorin and I conversing on the trip here on our ponies, glancing and smiling at one another. It almost looks like a romantic movie montage with the way I laugh at him and the way he shakes his head and tries not to smile at me.

I blush and briefly wonder why I’m being shown this. I can't look up to see Galadriel's opinion, however, as my eyes seem to be glued to the image of Thorin's blue eyes crinkling at the edges in amusement. My heart gives a small squeeze.

Suddenly the friendly faces of the company change into a large grotesque face with bulbous eyes and a crown of bones on its head. A creepy king? It quickly shifts into an even more menacing creature, a pale face with red scars drawn upon it, sharp teeth, and cruel icy eyes seeming to glow in the light of a fire. A sickening grin spreads on his pale scarred face as he stares up at something.

My breath comes out in a shaky exhale, full of amazement. Azog! He's far more menacing than the cartoon ever depicted!

But then I see spiders, and I wish the scene had stuck to the Pale Orc.

A cold sweat breaks out over my goose-bumped skin and my whole chest clenches as my heart tries to escape. The eerie, creepy-crawly feeling skitters up my back. My nerve endings tremble and shiver inside my body as my fight-or-flight response kicks in. My vision starts going wobbly and I think I'm going to faint. They're enormous compared to the dwarves as they wrap them in white spider silk.

I almost muster the strength to turn my face away from the sight when a familiar blonde elf's face suddenly fills the screen, his expression cold.

Transitioning from spiders to Legolas gives me whiplash as I stare in shock at his handsome face, faintly noticing Thorin's face scowling in the background.

Legolas isn't even in this story!!! So how...

Another elf's face appears, the most beautiful I've ever seen. He makes the elves of Rivendell seem like homely folk. His pale cornsilk hair is similar to Legolas's but without any braids or adornments. His eyes are also cold and his expression haughty.

Who is HE?

A man's face is next, a human, with dark brown hair and a mustache. He has a long bow aimed at something. My mind is drawing a blank. I don't know who he is either! Maybe Bard?

Then Smaug fills up the screen.

I stare wide-eyed at the beautiful and terrible red dragon, towering over Bilbo. Smaug's flames fill up the puddle causing a gasp to part my lips. I can almost feel the heat through the water and the whole pool turns a deep molten yellow. The shimmering light from the gold reflects onto my face, entrancing my eyes with its overwhelming color. Within the golden hue I see Thorin speaking to what looks like me, both of us translucent in the golden light as if it's a dream. His expression is angry and he holds my wrist with a dark expression.

The gold swirls away to become me pounding against large doors, crying and alone.

Suddenly grey swords clash against one another as the scene swirls to the Battle of the Five Armies. Red and black blood is everywhere, carnage sweeping the landscape with pale snow capped mountains in the distance. And then…I see Azog, his hand on the back of Fili's neck, on top of a black tower.

Without any warning, a sword pierces through Fili's middle.

I choke and shriek in surprise, "NO!"

What is happening?!

It feels like my chest has been stabbed as well. I'm unable to breathe as I watch his expression of shock and pain as he dies quickly.

No! NO!

But there's no chance to recover from the horrifying scene. Another grotesque orc, with a milky white eye, now stabs Kili through the chest with a long spear-looking object. There's an elf crying in the background, her long hair the color of red autumn leaves, as she lays weakly on the snow.

"NO! STOP!" I cry aloud, my emotional anguish intensifying as yet another son of Durin fades. “Stop this!!”

But there is no mercy. The images change to Thorin being crushed to the ice under one of Azog's feet.

I can't watch this! "PLEASE!" I beg.

And yet, I do. I scream as Azog stabs Thorin in the chest, the sword piercing through his clothing and skin as if the strongest dwarf I know of is made of butter.

It's as if I can feel it.

But then Thorin reaches up, sword in hand, and stabs Azog in the chest as well. Azog dies quickly even as Thorin stands up. For a breathless moment, I wonder if he's miraculously going to make it before he collapses on the frozen bank of the lake.

Bilbo is suddenly there with him, despairing over his now lifeless gaze, a bloody acorn clenched in his shaking hand.

A raw, burning sensation engulfs my heart as I gaze upon a huge cavern that must be inside Erebor. In its center lie three large rectangular slabs of onyx stone, upon which lie the bodies of Thorin, Fili, and Kili. Their pale, lifeless faces, adorned with majestic swords clasped in their hands, evoke a profound sense of pain inside me.

Witnessing the noble and majestic Thorin Oakenshield devoid of life is truly agonizing. The tear-soaked faces of the Balin and the company reflect the immense loss they all feel.

Tears stream down my own face, and a single drop falls from my nose down into the water.

Strangely, the scenes from the pool do not cease. The anguish I feel from their fate transforms into a terrible fear and I gasp as the outlines of the grey and terrifying city from my dreams materialize in the water.

The strange and malevolent voice fills air, speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. Black mist consumes the pool's surface, intertwined with whispers of darkness and hissing words. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the black mist that has haunted my dreams...a man?

The mist around the man explodes into a fiery shape that I recognize as Sauron's eye from the Lord of the Rings movies. But the pupil of the eye is different. The figure of what seems to be Sauron emerges from within the fire, extending a clawed black hand towards me through the pool.

The spell that had held my body captive, forcing me to watch these awful images, finally releases its grip.

I pull back from the scene, but my limbs tremble, my lungs gasp for air, and I collapse to the floor, falling into a heap.

Anguished cries escape my lips, muffed by my hands, "No, no, no...!"

I lay my head against the ground, as I shiver and cry. All is silent, except for my muffled sobs.

Fili... Kili...

Thorin…

They don’t deserve to die like that. To die at the hands of Azog and his army.

Eventually, I raise my gaze to find Galadriel standing there, silent and wide-eyed. Her large troubled eyes reflect her own shock of what we both witnessed in the reflection of the water, as well as what she can read from within my mind.

"Is there no other way?" My voice cracks in desperation, heart consumed by the images burned in my mind. Can I change what I saw, just as Frodo altered Middle Earth’s fate he saw in Galadriel’s mirror?

Her voice grows heavy and low, the pupils of her eyes dilating as if in a trance, seeing something that I cannot. "In order to change the future, you must summon all your courage. If the line of Durin is to survive, a great sacrifice will be required at your hand."

"At my hand? What do you mean?" I implore, my mind racing at a million miles per minute, my body trembling like a leaf. I wipe away the tears from my cheeks, feeling a glimmer of hope.

"Nothing is certain," she whispers, eyes fluttering closed as if in immense pain. "Any one can alter their own path... but only if they change the course that leads to it. But...I must warn you, child..." Galadriel opens her eyes, weariness permeating her gaze, making my bones feel like dust. "Death is not the worst outcome of a story for those noble dwarves. Indeed, there are fates worse than their honorable deaths, where they would find solace in the Halls of Mandos in the next life. It is not as tragic an end as your world may believe. Death is not the end. Not truly."

Confusion furrows my brow. Is she suggesting that their deaths might be a preferable alternative to their continued existence!? That can't be what she's saying! What fate could be worse than death?

"How do I change their fate?" I ask, my resolve hardening. I force myself to stand, on legs that feel as unsteady as a newborn deer's. "I will do it. Whatever it takes, I will do it. Please, tell me," I plead, my voice filled with anguish.

Galadriel hesitates, and for a moment I'm uncertain she will help me. But then, she seems to be unwillingly pulled back into the trance, and in a low voice, she speaks, "It must be a sacrifice of your all, driven by the greatest of powers."

"But I... I don't have any powers!" I choke, a sense of hopelessness overwhelming me once more. Again, doubts on whether I am truly the right person for this task dampen my soul. "I'm just a human! All I have is my limited knowledge of the story, and it's not even deep knowledge! There's so much I don't know about this world! Things that the book and cartoon never explained!"

Galadriel turns away from me, taking a few unsteady steps. I watch her movements and my eyes widen at her lack of grace. She appears weakened ever since the pool, and I suddenly realize why.

Sauron.

She, too, had seen Sauron come back to life in the mirror. She's not stupid; she can likely guess what that means for Middle Earth. The black mist that I saw, the one that has been haunting my dreams, must be the necromancer. He's the one who will bring Sauron back to the mortal plane, isn't he?

Why show me this? Am I supposed to stop him before he can bring Sauron back as well?

Galadriel turns back to me, seeming to regain some measure of control over herself, "All Children of the Light have the 'greatest of power'. With time, if you do not shut the Dwarf King out, as you have done with others, it will blossom and flourish and will lead you to what you must do." Her voice is barely a whisper, "You have the power to change the course of this story, but it will not be easy. It will require sacrifice."

"But what does that mean? What kind of sacrifice? I don't understand!" I cry, frustrated with how powerless I feel.

I need a straight answer, not parables or riddles!

"You will understand when the time is right," Galadriel responds, her expression filled with sadness. While she doesn't look 'old' per se, no one could mistake the elleth of being young as her eyes radiate a weariness of thousands of years. "For every death averted, a life will be required to balance the scale."

"Why me?" I whisper, confusion swirling within me. Her words tangle in my mind, not making any sense and I feel myself grow pale. "Why a girl from Earth and not someone from Middle Earth?"

"I do not know," she replies simply, but not unkindly. "But I am not one to ignore my own advice; there is more to you than meets the eye, Peyton of Earth. Come to know Thorin Oakenshield as a person, not a character. Be a true friend to him and do not shut him out like you tend to do with others. If you can keep that connection open, you will be able to use your greatest power to save him. You are his only hope."

"But... what if I fail?" I ask, my voice trembling.

She doesn't answer directly, but the look in her eyes tells me that she may personally believe that my failure wouldn't be such a terrible thing. I shake off my self-doubt, refusing to let it consume me. I grab it by the collar and smack it in the face, metaphorically speaking, before telling it to sit down in the backseat and shut up.

My hands clench into fists as determination surges through me. "I won't fail. I will do whatever it takes."

I'll just have to drug Thorin, Kili, and Fili, so they'll pass out. I'll tie them up, lock them in Erebor, and bar the door for three days. If they hate me for it, so be it. It's better for them to hate me than to be dead. Now, where can I find a sleeping potion?

Galadriel stares at me, listening to everything I'm thinking. There is a soft, sad smile on her face. "I have often wondered if humans do not live as long as elves or dwarves because they are more adaptable and learn more quickly than we do. Their time doesn't need to be as long because they are less stubborn. You are so young and yet you already possess so much knowledge. Your opinions and character are constantly evolving, growing, and being re-evaluated every day. And you will learn even more before the end of your journey."

Her words humble me, and I slightly incline my head to her. Galadriel isn't even half as bad as I thought she was. She reminds me of a kind and eternally young-looking grandmother. Like a fairy godmother, only less silly.

"I will take your words to heart." I promise respectfully.

"I know you will," Galadriel says. The strange depression that had momentarily taken over her lifts and she smiles more warmly, her face radiant and peaceful once more. "From your conversation with Lord Elrond, I see you are already beginning to learn much about not judging others based on appearances. I trust you will come to learn the same about many others."

"Thank you, Galadriel." I whisper, overcome by gratitude.

Without her coming to me today, I would have no idea how to save Thorin. I know the future once more! Galadriel reminds me of Gandalf in that she does selfless acts of kindness for people without expecting anything in return. I wish I had her light.

She offers me a mere nod, accompanied by a serene smile. I get the impression that this was a very difficult thing for her and she was following the will of the Valar. Otherwise, she would not have come. With a graceful turn, she departs, and I watch her back until the gentle glow of her long wavy hair is no longer viewable. Everything is silent beside the soft gurgling of the river.

I turn, feeling shaky as I try and find my way back to my original path. Finally reaching the cobblestone walkway, I take a deep breath and try to take stock of myself. I feel strange, like traveling through a Time Machine or something, and I try to pull myself together. Wiping at the salty tracks on my cheeks, I walk unsteadily in the direction of the company's rooms, trying to make myself look less of a wreck.

As I walk to where I know the company's guest quarters are located, my resolve hardens.

I won't fail. I will do what it takes!

Chapter Text

The harsh murmuring voices of dwarves and the glow from the glassless windows make me pause. Cautiously, I approach the doorway of the room where the company is gathered. The door stands ajar, and I carefully peek inside to see what's happening.

The company is scattered around, some standing, while others sit on simple cushions on the floor or chairs. Thorin stands at the head of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his face etched with frustration. Balin and Gandalf are engaged in a heated dry discussion, their voices strained.

Seeing Thorin standing there, alive and breathing, with a healthy color to his skin, completely overwhelms me. It takes all of my willpower not to rush through the door and wrap my arms around his huge chest and hold him close. The image of his bloodless white face on a black stone haunts my vision, and I squeeze my arms tighter around myself to stop myself from doing just that.

Bilbo sits nearby on a cushion, his brows furrowed as he listens to the debate. I can't help but notice that the expressions of the dwarves are filled with worry and uncertainty. This is certainly a far cry from the jovial atmosphere I've grown accustomed to during my time with them.

I take a deep breath, push the door open slightly wider, and step into the room. I try to appear as composed as possible, but then all eyes turn toward me.

"Hi guys,” I try to smile and give a lame wave.

"Ah, Miss Peyton. You've decided to return," Gandalf says, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and frustration. Thorin's eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity of his gaze makes me feel as though he's trying to read my thoughts.

I step further into the room, nodding. "Yeah, I uh, ran into Galadriel on the way here. Got a little side-tracked."

"Galadriel is here?!" Gandalf asks, stepping towards me in shock.

"Yeah, I didn't expect to see her either." I sigh, feeling drained as I glance around for a place to sit.

"Who is Galadriel?" Thorin demands.

I frown, glancing at him in confusion, "You've never heard of Galadriel? She has one of the three rings of power?"

As one of the dwarves in line for the throne, surely he would have heard of THE Galadriel. As expected, Thorin's eyes flash with recognition.

"The elf-witch,” He sounds disgusted.

I raise my eyebrows at that but don't argue. Instead, I let out a low whistle as I walk to a nearby bench that Bifur scoots over for me and take my seat beside him. And Galadriel thought MY thoughts were unkind.

"Gandalf told us that you have something to tell us?" Thorin prompts, expectant.

I flinch. Darn it, I thought he would have already told him and I could've skipped this part.

Taking a deep breath, I feel the weight of my revelation and the encounter with Galadriel still heavy on my shoulders, "I…know what the map says. We can still go on the quest to get back Erebor.”

The room falls even quieter, the only sound being the crackling of the fire. The company members exchange hopeful and surprised glances, their expressions a mixture of anticipation.

Thorin steps forward angrily with tension in his shoulders, "You told us that you couldn't read Ancient Dwarvish."

"I can't read ancient dwarvish." I respond simply, keeping my tone and expression as calm as possible, "And, as Elrond said, the map can't be read except by a certain moon anyways. But I still know what the invisible portion of the map says, and therefore we can still reclaim your home."

I feel calm. Or maybe I'm confusing the sensation with being completely drained? But even with Thorin looking at me like he wants to strangle me, I can't help the relief coursing through me after these crazy events. He'll still be able to go on the quest and become King Under the Mountain once more. I didn’t ruin everything.

The dwarves murmur in wonder, the word ‘seer’ being passed around among them.

"You knew what the map said this entire time and didn’t say anything?!” Thorin growls, clearly not letting it go.

”I forgot that I knew.”

“We could have avoided coming to the elves if you had simply told us what the map says!" He’s angry, but I can see his brain fighting the relief that his quest miraculously isn't over. In any other circumstance it would be. But now we still have a chance.

The old Peyton would have argued with him over the ridiculousness of avoiding such a place as Rivendell, but...I don't want to fight with him. Even through it gave me an addictive thrill to go toe-to-toe with the intimidating Dwarf King, I realize now that what I truly wanted in those arguments was never to fight, exactly...but rather for him to see me as an equal. I'm not as strong, or as brave as he is, but I still wanted to assert myself mentally as someone who could keep up with him.

Instead of engaging in a heated argument this time, however, I reply calmly, "The company was exhausted after an entire night with trolls only to be chased by wargs. That, and our food supply was running low. If the elves hadn't killed the wargs and given us food then the quest would be at an end anyway. And we have no ponies."

Unable to counter my logic, Thorin resorts to glowering menacingly. But this time, I don't meet his glare with my usual defiance. I lower my eyes briefly before looking up at him, silently pleading. He seems taken aback by my unwillingness to banter with him. It had kinda been 'our thing' up to this point and I've never held back my snarky comments before. He doesn't know how to respond to a meek and humble Peyton.

Fili's curiosity breaks our staring as he speaks up, "So, what does the map say?"

I drink in the sight of his very alive face as I respond, "The moon runes say that with the last light of Durin's Day, the light will shine on the keyhole and the door will be revealed. Or something like that. There's also something about a bird knocking, but that's not important."

"Something like that?" Thorin echoes in dismay, "You don't know exactly what it says?!"

I flush, embarrassed, and immediately feel my defenses rising within me. But, all it takes is for an image to flash in my mind of a sword being shoved into Thorin's chest once more and my defensiveness disappears like mist.

My gaze turns tender, "I know that if you are at the mountain on Durin's Day and if you find the grey stone where the door is located, then you will succeed. The map shows what side of the mountain the door is located, we just have to follow that to find it."

Thorin falls silent, thinking hard. But Balin seems to regain his spirit and is adamant, "Durin's Day! That's about four months from now and Summer is already upon us." He turns to Thorin, "We have to be at the right place at the right time. Then, and only then will we be able to open the door!"

Thorin weighs everything for a moment, "Alright, prepare your things and get some sleep. We leave at dawn." Relief replaces the crushed expression he had worn earlier. Urgency now fills his eyes, as if he wishes he could make everyone sleep faster.

The dwarves immediately get to work, filling the room with animated chatter and bustling activity. My room is a lot farther from the others, so I take this as my cue to leave. I give Bifur a smile and stand as he nods his head at me and mutters words in Khuzdul. Probably saying ‘Goodnight’.

Just as I'm about to make my escape, though, Thorin appears at my side, his tone laced with a hint of dark frustration, "Miss Peyton, I would have a word with you.” He turns to head out the door.

Alone? Aw, crap…

I glance around for Gandalf, hoping that he can come with us so I have a buffer, but he’s nowhere to be found. Perhaps he went looking for Galadriel? His strange, almost excited expression when he realized she was here lingers in my mind. 

"Alright." I mutter softly, following him outside and down the hallway.

Thorin strides ahead of me through an unfamiliar passageway in a part of Rivendell I haven't explored yet. I follow meekly behind him, but as we pass by a statue, I happen to glance up at it only to stop in astonishment.

It's a familiar statue holding a gleaming…broken… blade.

"Isuldur's blade." I murmur in awe, "The one he used to defeat Sauron with."

The moonlight causes the silver metal to shine with a pure white light and I step up to it, awed at the sight. How incredible that I’ve become part of this story, brought to life before my eyes.
I gaze at the sword, unable to stop my smile. Part of me wants to reach out and touch it, just like I had with the book that brought me here. But I keep my hands to myself this time like a good girl.

Thorin, who’s walked a few steps ahead, turns and regards me with annoyance, clearly irritated by the sudden halt.

”His story reminds me of yours, you know,” I glance at him, my awe about the sword now expanding to include him where he stands in the moonlight. “A young soul, facing a dark enemy alone.”

He says nothing, but continues to watch me expectantly with arms folded.

I sigh, understanding why he’s upset. "I'm sorry about the map," I begin, stepping away from the sword, my tone regretful. "I should have told you what it meant earlier."

Thorin steps closer, “Why didn’t you?”

I take a deep breath, "Technically, you all knew that I knew something about the map since Gandalf asked me about the runes back at Bilbo's house. I understand your anger, but I had my reasons for not revealing it sooner."

Thorin's frustration leaks out, his voice rising. "What reasons could possibly justify keeping such vital information from me? The owner of the map and Lord of the mountain! We wasted precious time coming to Rivendell when we all could have been closer to our goal!"

My voice thankfully remains steady but I can't conceal the tinge of sadness, "I was trying to follow the story. The original story said we go to Rivendell, so we went to Rivendell. If we go away from that too much-“

“Story?” Thorin inturupts, his anger replaced by a flicker of confusion. "What. Story?" he enunciates slower, voice calmer but still upset.

Okay, here it goes. "The story about your quest for Erebor. It’s written in a book in my world. It details your entire adventure. That’s how I know everything I know, and I was trying to follow that."

Thorin falls silent, studying me intently. "That's how you knew of Elrond, Gandalf, Bilbo...and me." he says, more as a statement than a question.

I nod, confirming his observation.

"So you're not a seer, are you." Thorin continues, folding his arms across his chest.

"No, I'm not," I smile gently. I just saw Galadriel's seer-like abilities and now I have a better idea of what a seer might actually look like to a dwarf. I definitely can't 'zone out' and speak in a strange voice.

Thorin huffs, his expression triumphant. "I knew it," He says, more to himself than anything.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised by his reaction, "You're not upset?"

"Oh, I am upset, Miss Peyton. But not because you aren't a seer." Thorin glares, “You should have told me about the map.”

“Gandalf told me to keep my foreknowledge to myself. I was just trying to follow his orders.”

”You informed me about Azog though,” he counters.

”Yes. It’s…an important thing to change.” I clasp my fingers and look at him innocently. “Plus, I needed that information from Lord Elrond on my coin.” I pause, before backtracking, “I mean our coin.”

He is silent for a moment. My words churning in his head before he finally speaks again, his voice a rumble, ”You seem…different.”

I look down at my shoes in embarrassment, before staring up at his handsome face again, “Galadriel showed me the future in more detail than the story ever did. My…perspective?…..on a lot of things has changed.”

Thorin is no longer upset, but he does give one final jab, “We are...allies, are we not? And allies do not keep secrets from one another.“

I nod before pausing as I realize the conundrum we've found ourselves in. I want Thorin to trust me, but if I want trust then I have to give it to him. Sure, I told him about Azog but I didn’t tell him the real reason I'm here. To save him from Azog. But it's a horrible risk! And I've already changed so much, so I really shouldn't.

Come to know Thorin Oakenshield as a person, not as a character...Don't shut him out...Be a true friend... The memory of Galadriel’s advice comes to my mind.

"Yes. We are allies." I walk the remaining distance, bolder than normal as I stand right in front of him, close enough to touch. He remains still, but his eyes are sharper on my face.

I decide to speak in a language he'll understand, "And I’ll make you an oath, Thorin Oakenshield, that from this day forward, I promise to trust you by not hiding important information if you order me to tell you. But..." I make my eyes as pleading as possible, "Try not to do that."

I at least have to give him the option. It is his life on the line after all.

He studies me intensely, blue eyes flitting across my face. Finally he demands, "Why?"

"Because you need to trust me as well! If we're going to take back the mountain and get you on your throne, we need to at least try to keep everything as close to the original path as possible." I look away to gather my thoughts, "I don't know how I caused the wargs to be here before Rivendell, but if I'm going to change things that need to be changed, I have to be more careful with what I say and do."

"If I asked what you came here to change," Thorin murmurs, both of us standing too close, making my heart race, “Would you tell me?”

Images of Azog's sword being slowly shoved through his chest, and Bilbo's face as he sits beside him during his last breaths assault me. I clench my hands at my sides to keep them from reaching out for him. His eyes grow more intense, seeming to notice me holding myself back from reaching for him.

"Is it a dire need for you to know right now?" I whisper, afraid that he's about to test my oath. If he asks...then I have to tell him. Otherwise, my oath will have meant nothing. But maybe it’s for the best he knows?

His eyes are riveted on my face, studying the anguish I know is there. His brow furrows, before relaxing his shoulders in a disappointed acceptance.

He sighs, before taking a step back, "No. It is not."

I feel a huge rush of happiness, recognizing the immense gesture of trust that he’s just offered me, even though I don’t really deserve it. And yet there’s a strange disappointment at his retreat.

His gaze turns insistent, "But you will tell me eventually?"

I nod quickly, "I promise to tell you when the time is right. Probably before Mirkwood. Just in case I don't survive that.”

Thorin’s dark brows look thunderous, “What is in Mirkwood?”

”Spiders,” I shiver, hugging my arms around myself. The images from the pool come back to me. “Enormous spiders.”

”And…” his brow furrows, “you do not believe you will survive?” 

My heart flushes with warmth, noting his concern, “I think I will survive since the company will all make it through. But…you’ve seen how I get with just normal spiders. I might become mad or something.” I halfheartedly joke.

Thorin remains silent for a moment before his eyes turn resolute and almost fierce, “I too give you an oath, Miss Peyton. I will protect you with my body and sword at all costs. You will survive Mirkwood intact.”

Thorin extends his hand seriously towards me, a gesture of reconciliation and I stare at his hand in surprise, the first time I've seen a 'handshake' here in Middle Earth. Are handshakes used in oaths then, instead of greetings?

"Thank you.” I whisper, touched beyond words as I take his warm hand in mine before my lips turn into a coy smile, “Mister Thorin.”

The tension between us fades away, replaced by a renewed sense of trust and friendship. Something's changed between us and it's me. I feel a protectiveness for him that I hadn't before.

Thorin's lips twitch into a small smile at my 'Mister' title for him and nods, "Come, it is late and we must prepare to leave tomorrow."

This time he walks beside me, rather than leading the way, as we walk back the way we had come. It's different from the other times we've made up, and it feels like the turning of a new leaf.

"So... do you really hate it here so much?" I ask jokingly, feeling the need to fill the silence before it becomes awkward. I find it tragic that he'd want to avoid a beautiful place like this. "I know the food has no meat, but it's safe and comfortable. Not to mention very beautiful! And you can't forget the free part! In my world, you can't stay at an all-inclusive resort like this one for free."

He glances at me and then away, his hands clasped behind his back as we walk. "The races of elves and the dwarves have been at odds since the beginning of our creation. There have been times of peace and mutual understanding, but they never last. We're both too different." His voice holds no emotion, as if it's simply fact.

"Hmm, tell that to Gimli and Legolas," I mutter to myself.

"What was that?" Thorin asks.

"Nothing," I give him an innocent smile.

He gives me a 'Thorin look' with intimidating eyebrows and I give him a 'Peyton look' with a tiny smirk. When he doesn't order me to tell him, my smirk widens into a genuine smile, happy to see that he has taken my words to heart and will only ask if he deems it absolutely necessary.

"Why did you claim to be a seer if you weren't one?" He asks curiously.

I give a shrug, "I didn't at first. It was the company that came up with the term 'seer' and I didn't argue. I thought I’d be heading home. But since it’s easier than the other explanation, I kinda just accepted it. It was easier than explaining that I'm in a fictional story and none of you exist in my world." I give him a look, “I'm actually surprised you’re taking this so well. The quest being just a story, I mean.”

Thorin shakes his head as if the matter is trivial, "History has a way of becoming legend, and legend becoming myth. All tales have a hidden seed of truth.”

“Huh,” I blink. 

If I really think about it, I guess it's not too outlandish for him. In Middle Earth, the only thing people seem to have are stories. Stories that are told around a campfire, stories that are sung while traveling on a pony, and stories that are written by a scribe. They don't have TVs, or radios, or even newspapers. In fact, I briefly wonder if my world, with all its convenience and electricity, seems like a fairytale story to them?

I turn to look out over Rivendell, where the moon casts a beautiful pale glow on the valley. A sense of loss fills me as I realize how little time Rivendell has left.

Stopping at the ledge, I decide to give Thorin a glimpse of the future after all. "Want to hear a 'prophecy'?" I joke, though the humor falls flat as I can't seem to take my eyes off the breathtaking pathways and lanterns below, as if they might vanish at any moment.

Isn't this what allies and friends do? Share secrets?

Thorin moves closer until he's standing beside me, also looking out over the moonlit valley. I take his silence as my cue to continue. "All of this will be gone in about fifty-five years," I say, sadness in my tone.

The idea that Rivendell will be empty and lose its magic after all that Elrond has told me about its history is truly heartbreaking.

Thorin furrows his brow and looks out over the Valley of Imladris. "Why?" he finally asks.

"Lord Elrond and his people will leave Middle Earth, crossing the sea to never return. Eventually, all elves will disappear from Middle Earth," I explain, feeling the weight of the impending loss.

Thorin falls into thoughtful silence. While he doesn't seem disheartened by the prospect, I'm grateful he doesn't appear to rejoice in it either.

"And what of the dwarves?" he finally asks.

Ah, of course he's worried about his people.

"I don't know," I frown thinking hard. Honestly, I only know what happens to Elrond because Frodo goes with them at the ending of the movie.

We listen to the peaceful sounds of Rivendell for a moment.

"You will like Erebor as much as Rivendell, I think." He says out of nowhere.

I look at him, surprised, "Really? Why's that?"

"You have a natural affinity for Dwarven culture."

"I also like Elven culture too, though." I contradict, not understanding where this is coming from. In what ways do I have an affinity for it?

"Ah, that must be the human side in you." He turns to me with mock severity although something in his eyes tells me that he's trying to joke, "No one is perfect."

I raise my eyebrows and a huffed laugh bursts out of me without meaning to. He's really bad at jokes. And it had come out of nowhere too. The melancholy mood leaves me though as his small smile appears, and we continue to walk together. We've almost reached the company's quarters.

I give him a playful glare, "I'm fully human if you didn't know."

"Are you certain? You are shorter than me." He's definitely teasing now.

"Only by, like, an inch or two!" I laugh again, lightly smacking him on the shoulder in retaliation. He freezes and we stand there, in the shadows of Rivendell, watching each other.

I just smacked him like I would a friend. I give him a shy, tentative smile. I'm supposed to be his friend…right?

Suddenly two familiar voices are heard down below us. He and I both turn to see Lord Elrond walking with Gandalf. Gandalf's very clear, very loud, voice reaches us. "I…I really was going to tell you! I was simply waiting for this very chance! And…really, I-I think you can trust me, at any rate! I know what I am doing, Elrond."

The strangely apologetic, almost defensive, tone in Gandalf's voice has both Thorin and I glancing at one another before focusing even more intently on the two figures walking in the moonlight below us.

"I do not think you do.” comes Elrond's skeptical voice, still annoyed from earlier it seems. "That dragon has slept for 60 years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you should wake the beast?"

"But what if we succeed?! I happen to know we shall, in fact. Besides, the dragon would not sleep forever. It is the nature of fell beasts to eventually cause trouble. This quest to conquer the dragon will change history!"

"And your confidence comes from Miss Silva, does it not?"

"Well, yes…it does. She knows the future after all."

"I know. But the future changes all the time, Gandalf, as evidenced tonight with the map. How can we be sure that the future she knows is reliable? Her mere presence here can change all things that come in contact with her, therefore making her knowledge obsolete."

I listen intently, feeling the weight of Elrond's words. He's not wrong, but it seems that Galadriel hasn't told him that she paid me a visit and restored my foreknowledge yet. There are some things that thankfully will not change, and other things that must.

"But if the dwarves take back the mountain then our defenses in the east will be strengthened. That is why we must do this!"

Elrond is not convinced, "It is a dangerous move, Gandalf."

"Oh come now, Elrond! The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright! What exactly is it that you fear?"

"Have you forgotten the strain of madness that runs deep within that family?"

My lips part in shock and I'm stunned before I quickly look at Thorin to gauge his reaction. He has become very still at my side. His expression is reminiscent of when I had said something similar back in Bag-End. He’s hurt, but doing very well at hiding it.

He looks down and away from me, not meeting my gaze as his whole demeanor retreats back behind his wall from the light-hearted teasing we shared. I can sense the anger and shame that he feels as these two dunderheads loudly proclaim to all of Rivendell, not even trying to speak quietly, that he's basically not fit to be King Under the Mountain because of mental illness.

Thorin's mind seems to go elsewhere as memories that I can only guess at play in his mind of his Father and Grandfather. Oh, how I wish I had never said that to him back in BagEnd! This is obviously a very tender and raw wound inside him. He undoubtedly thinks that I agree with Lord Elrond!

"Gandalf these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle Earth…" Elrond's and Gandalf's voices fade as they loudly take their opinions elsewhere.

Thorin also turns, about to leave.

Be his friend…

Without thinking of anything except his pain, I reach out and gently put my hand on his muscled arm to stop him. His head quickly turns to me, surprised. I watch his face while reaching down to grip his large warm hand and squeeze it tightly. My focus unconsciously turns to the sensation of his skin against mine. His fingers are strong, with callouses on his palms from lifting swords and striking metal with hammers as he worked with his hands to provide for his people. There's an electric current passing between us that I struggle to ignore. It's almost funny. When I first met him, I told myself that I don't date delusional people…only strong, down-to-earth, hardworking men.

You can't get much more down-to-earth than a dwarf. Especially one such as Thorin Oakenshield.

Friend, Peyton. Fren-duh!

"I was wrong back in BagEnd on two accounts." I murmur quietly, "First, I have remembered since then that I have an Uncle who is schizophrenic, a Grandmother who has chronic depression, as well as a Great-Grandfather who had bouts of anger that caused him to physically abuse his children. So I guess you can say madness DOES run in my family."

At Thorin's wide eyes, I continue sadly, "It's easy for me to forget that that particular aspect of my family exists because my family rarely, if ever, talked about it growing up. They treated it as a deep dark secret to keep hidden under the dinner table. And because we never talked about it, I’d forgotten about it until recently. Did your father or grandfather ever physically hurt your family?"

"No." He rumbles softly before his blue eyes harden and he turns his head away with a scowl, "Unless you count the thousands of innocent lives killed by the Dragon and then again at the battle of Azanulbizar."

A warm feeling fills me as I notice he isn’t trying to remove his hand from mine.

I shake my head. "You are ten times the King your father or Grandfather was. And I know because of these…" I lift his hand up in mine to show him, brushing a thumb over one of the calluses on his palm which causes his hand to twitch. I continue, "A good King serves his people. And from what I've heard and witnessed since being in the company, you have served your people your whole life. Working to sustain them with your own two hands. The greatest leaders are those who serve those around them."

He says nothing, his blue eyes focused on me.

I smile at him and my voice becomes a sincere murmur, "And secondly, I have seen since day one of this quest that your people love you, Thorin. I see it in the company's eyes every time they look at you! And even if I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough evidence of your capability to rule."

I give one final affectionate squeeze of his hand before letting go. The loss of warmth of his palm immediately makes me want to reach for his hand again, but I resist. He's probably uncomfortable with how forward and personable and in his space I'm being. I can't help myself though. Thorin has somehow become a rock in the middle of the ocean of uncertainty that I find myself in. More so than Gandalf or even Bilbo! I feel safe knowing that he's around and I want him to feel safe with me as well.

"Thank you, Peyton." He says, so softly that the only way I can even hear it is because of the low rumble in his voice he can never seem to get rid of.

He said my name without the 'miss' in front of it! I don't draw any attention to it, and instead smile and nod happily.

He says nothing as we climb up to the doorway and go inside. The dwarves all look over at us, and I don't understand their expressions. Kili and Fili seem to be beaming at me. And Nori is smirking like there's a huge secret he knows. Did I interrupt something? Oh dear, I hope they didn't see us holding hands outside and assume something!

"Oh good! You're back! We were wondering if you two got lost." Bofur says louder than normal, looking between me and Thorin with a grin. "We got all the necessary supplies from the kitchen and cellars. Gandalf left a note for you on the table, Thorin."

Thorin nods and thankfully doesn't allow anyone else to ask any questions, his gaze severe, "Let's get some sleep. We leave before light.”

"Aww, man.” I sigh theatrically and walk back out the door toward the direction of my room, "It’s my first time in a bed on this journey and I only have one night to enjoy it! Argh!”

I hear the chuckles and amused scoffs from the company behind me, and I smile into the night as my feet take me back to my room alone. It's a shame this isn't more like the story. We could have stayed a whole week here!

Now that I'm alone once more, my mind races as I try to dissect the haunting images Galadriel showed me in the pool. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I know one thing for sure: I can't let Thorin, Fili, and Kili die. I won't let that happen. I will change their fate, no matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

I’m surprised and fearful when, once again,  monotonous grey stone and the matching grey sky assault my senses. The sinister castle from my dream surrounds me, shadows seeming to lurk in the corners, appearing darker and sharper in contrast to the grey stone.

Strange voices whisper menacingly from all directions, making my skin crawl. But all my attention is focused on the mist-like figure approaching, resembling a dark wraith.

Fear courses through me, but frustration also simmers inside. I do not want to be here, and I am tired that I keep coming here without my control!

Instead of lunging at me like before, however, the tendrils of mist creep towards me without making contact. It‘s clear that he wants to speak with me, which isn't reassuring at all.

"Who art thou? And how didst thou come to be here?" his strange accent and archaic speech resonates around me like a growling melody.

"I'm nobody," I reply immediately, glaring while taking a step backward and hoping he’ll leave me alone. "Just an insignificant and very boring person. Leave me alone, Necromancer.”

"And yet, thou walkest among dreams," the dark figure contradicts. "How dost thou know of me? From whence dost thou travel from?"

"A place FAR from Middle Earth." I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms, acting brave, "So far away that you'd doubt it even existed."

But inwardly I pause, trying to comprehend his words. Walking among dreams? Is that how I keep ending up here?

Though he lacks eyes and a face, his outline resembles that of a human. The very fabric of space seems to contort around him, creating a terrifying sight. The Necromancer remains silent, but I can sense that he is studying me intently.

"From which world dost thou originate?" he questions.

I gape at him, wondering how he could possibly tell I'm from a different world. (Admittedly, it doesn't require a genius to realize that I don't belong here. Every time I….’dream-walk’?….I find myself wearing the same clothes I arrived in Middle Earth in: blue jeans, my hot pink University of Nevada hoodie, and my white sneakers. Fortunately, this is also how I know that I'm just dreaming, since those items are located deep in the bottom of my pack. I haven't worn those clothes in a while.)

But still! I could be from another land in Arda! So how does he know I'm from an entirely different world?

I study him warily, attempting to put on a brave face but it feels as if I’m glaring at an oncoming tornado and I stutter in fear despite myself, "What…*cough* what makes you think I'm from another world? I'm not from Middle Earth, sure, but I'm from Arda…from-from across the ocean! Not Valhalla, I-I mean Valinor, but uh...some other place. It's called the United States. So…you might think you know everything, but you don't. Clearly!"

Dark laughter echoes through the castle, emanating from the Necromancer, sending shivers down my spine. "Foolish mortal. You underestimate the knowledge that I posess. Thinkest thou to trick me? I have witnessed worlds crumble and civilizations fall."

I frown, confusion swirling inside me as I try to understand how he could be so powerful. The Necromancer isn't even mentioned at being a very big character in the Hobbit and I don't remember him existing in the Lord of the Rings story?

The memory of Galadriel's mirror is still fresh in my mind when the image of Sauron emerged from inside, reaching for me. What kind of being is this Necromancer who can resurrect souls from the dead? He must be the person that brings Sauron back from the spirit world! So then why is he never mentioned? Does Sauron end up killing him?

I shake  my head, "Sauron will use you as a pawn and then discard you. But he‘ll be destroyed within the next 50 or so years so don't waste your time bringing him back!"

The darkness begins to swirl in agitation before suddenly calming, the Necromancer silently processing my words. And then, he speaks, "From what source comest thy knowledge?"

"I just know things," I scowl, a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pleasant dreams to get to." I halfway turn from him and glance down the very tall wall I'm standing next to. If I jump, it should startle me awake, right?

"Wast thou sent here by the Valar?" He growls, seeming to grow agitated by my sass.

I pause, considering his question. "Yes," I glance back up at him with a feeling of hope and power from that belief. "And if I can, I will prevent you from resurrecting Sauron."

Perhaps that’s why I’m here? To try and stop him?

The dark mist surrounding the Necromancer swirls with anger, his form growing even more menacing. "Thou darest to challenge me? A mere mortal?!"

"Yes," I say, my voice filled with determination as I face him head on. "I may be a mere mortal, but you can't hurt me. Not here. Otherwise, you would've already done it."

The Necromancer's eyes, or what I assume to be his eyes, narrow as he contemplates my words. "So be it. If thou wishest to challenge me, I shall grant thee that chance. But know this, thy hope shall be shattered, and thy dreams transformed into nightmares.”

The stone beneath my feet rumbles briefly like a mini earthquake, causing me to gasp and collapse to the ground, my knees trembling too much to hold me up. I panic slightly, staring as he continues, “The Valar hold no sway in this realm. They send others to perform the work they themselves cannot accomplish. Do not place your faith in beings who possess little interest in thee and thy fate."

Fear consumes me, intensifying as his dark humanoid figure looms over me.

"But... perhaps I can assist thee where the Valar cannot," he declares.

I freeze at his proclamation. Wait, wait, wait...assist me? As in help me? HIM?! I don’t know much about the Necromancer, but there’s got to be an ulterior motive.

I narrow my eyes, confused as I slowly stand back up. "You? What could you possibly know about inter-dimensional travel and other planets? How could you help me get back home?"

The dark entity's mist swirls around him, and I sense a glimmer of excitement and interest before his aura returns to normal. "I too know many things. I am the Necromancer, transcending dimensions and harnessing power from unseen realms is what I do best. From which world dost......do you hail?"

Realizing my mistake, I curse inwardly. He is good, I'll give him that. He managed to make me admit that I am, in fact, from another world. Or maybe I just suck at keeping secrets? But what's worse is that he's starting to pick up on my modern English! I need to stop talking with him, ASAP.

"I'll take my chances with the Valar," I scoff at him before turning and gazing down the stone steps beside the sheer cliff. If I jump, it should startle me awake, right?

Suddenly, a dark cold mist seizes me from behind, causing my soul to recoil out of my body.

The jump scare works though and I finally jolt awake. I lay here, panting hard in the darkness. The elven sheets are tangled around me and soaked with sweat. I shiver, my nerves feel frayed, tingling and spasming. My back clenches and flinches, as if still trying to escape the creepy touch of the Necromancer.

I force myself to relax, taking deep, shaky breaths. I'm safe. I'm in Rivendell.

But the Necromancer spoke to me! He said I was 'dream-walking'?

...

"Mom? Why didn't Peyton just block Sauron out? That way he couldn't learn more about her and then he wouldn't kidnap her?"

The mother blinked, coming out from the storytelling world, and met her son's inquisitive gaze. TJ had been remarkably patient during the tale as she told it this time, sitting under his covers with his head on his pillow like he was supposed to. But he was only six years old, and his curiosity couldn't have held off forever. He now had sat up, gazing at her earnestly.

Because he'd done so well in remaining quiet this far, she actually appreciated his engagement. After all, it was a testament to his sharp mind that he posed such questions.

"Well, sweetheart, at that time, she didn't even know he was Sauron. Remember?" His mother paused, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she smoothed the creases on his bedspread. "And the ability to block him out wasn't something she was able to do yet. That comes later, in Mirkwood."

"If I was there, I would have stabbed him through with her powerful sword! Pssssheew!" He narrated his words with a stabbing motion, "And then, I would have punched him in the head!" He punched the pillow on his bed while making a comic-book punching sound. "Psssh!"

She tilted her head, an amused smirk curving on her lips. "You can't punch him, bud. He's like a ghost. And while her sword was special, she couldn't have killed him with it. Maybe just temporarily hurt him, but it wouldn't have been permanent. Only destroying the One Ring can hurt him."

"Can you skip to the part where Dwalin begins teaching Peyton to use Varzsiel?" T.J. inquired eagerly, still pretending to slice with a sword.

She laughed, "Are you sure you want to skip the part where the Dwarves sneak out of Rivendell and Peyton freaked out about Gandalf staying behind?"

"Sword! Sword! Sword!" the little boy chanted, bouncing with enthusiasm on his bed with each word.

Boys will be boys.

His mother chuckled. "Alright, since it moves the story forward faster. Her first lesson with Dwalin happened on the same day that they departed Rivendell. And it was with a stick."

...

A relieved sigh escapes me as we finally stop for camp that night. My feet throb, my legs ache, heck - everything aches!

It's been a long day, walking nonstop. Instead of our usual two-hour break, we only had one hour because we don't have any ponies that need resting anymore. Our packs have gotten three times heavier with all the extra food we're carrying now. AND! To top it off, Thorin's got us moving faster than usual, trying to make up for lost time.

How on earth did Frodo and Sam manage to walk to Mordor for TWO WHOLE YEARS?!

No. Just no.

I unroll my bedroll and plop down with an exhausted sigh, so very grateful this day is finally over. "Ugh, I'm never moving again," I grumble.

The others chuckle, feeling compassion for me. They are tired, but not human-Peyton-tired. Then suddenly, two boots come into view beside my bedroll. I look up to see Dwalin's stern face and bald head above folded arms.

"It's time, lass," he says gruffly. "Up ye get."

"Huh?" I ask, confused.

"Ye think I forgot about it? Yer sword training was supposed to start last night, but we had that map issue to sort out. Ye won't get out of it this time."

My mouth drops, and I immediately turn to glance at Thorin, wanting backup. But he's purposefully avoiding my gaze, deep in conversation with Ori about his scribe work. The others give me sympathetic looks but don't step in.

Feeling betrayed, I turn back to the grizzled warrior, "But, Dwalin! I'm soooo tired! I hardly slept last night because of bad dreams, and we've been walking for TEN HOURS with barely any rest! I can barely stand! And now, after gathering firewood, helping cook dinner, and finally getting comfortable… you want me to learn how to use a sword?" I try to keep my voice calm, but I'm just sounding like an exhausted mess.

Dwalin (cursed be his name) remains firm. "If ye want to survive in this world, ye need to toughen up, lass. I won't be coddlin' ye. Come along now." He turns and walks to a clear spot a little away from the company, expecting me to follow him.

Dwalin's no-nonsense demeanor informs me that I really don't want to die on this proverbial hill. Heaving a pained moan-grunt that sounds like Chewbacca and a cow had a baby, I get up.

"Fili? Do you still have my sword?" I ask him wearily.

Please say no. Please have left it in Rivendell...

"You will not need it." Thorin responds for him, and I look over at him where he‘s given up using the ruse of speaking with Ori. "You will be practicing with sticks."

Fili gives me a reassuring smile, "I still have it, Pey. I'll just carry it for you until you need it."

I place a hand over my heart gratefully and mouth the words "Thank you" to Fili before sending a death glare in Thorin’s direction as I follow Dwalin nervously to the center of the nearby field. My heart pounds in my chest and my anxiety spikes when I notice everyone has stopped what they're doing to watch. Great. I'm even worse when there's an audience to critique me!

He hands me a stick, seems he picked it earlier, and my hands tremble as I grip the wooden 'sword'. I take a few deep breaths to try to calm myself down.

Pull it together Peyton! You've got to defeat Azog to save Thorin, Fili, and Kili.
NO PRESSURE!

Dwalin faces me, carrying himself with a more stern demeanor than usual as he accesses me, his eyes sharp and focused. He then approaches me, a mix of impatience and determination on his face as he notices me quivering like a lamb. "First things first. Yer fightin' stance. Stand with yer feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Keep yer weight balanced."

I gulp and then nod, taking a deep breath to center myself and focus on the task at hand. I try my best to mimic Dwalin's stance, but my legs wobble, and I struggle to maintain my balance.

Dwalin eyes me sternly, "Steady yerself, lass. Ye can't be swayin' like a sapling in the wind. Plant yer feet firm and solid."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Kinda hard when they’ve been my only means of transportation for ten whole hours! I focus on my feet, imagining them rooted to the ground like the sturdy trunks of trees. 

Dwalin doesn't offer any praise, merely moving on to the next step, "Now, grip yer sword. Hold it firm, but not too tight. Ye need control, not a death grip."

He demonstrates the proper grip, his hands covered with his intimidating knuckle dusters. I notice with fascination the gnarly ropes of scars on his forearms, evidence of him being hacked at by swords, no doubt.

"Focus, Lass." He says, noticing where my eyes are.

I blink, forcing myself to watch his posture closely, trying to replicate his technique.

He begins to demonstrate defensive moves, showing me how to block and parry incoming attacks. He moves with agility and skill, his movements a testament to his years of training.

Thorin couldn't have picked a better teacher, I think to myself as I try to follow along. My movements are initially clumsy and slow. Then Dwalin turns, facing me and strikes my stick with his.

The movement vibrates the stick sharply, “Ow!” I yipe.

"Copy my movements." He orders before attacking.

I struggle to keep up with Dwalin's pace, and my frustration becomes more and more evident on my face. Soon, I'm dripping with sweat. My muscles cramping, my breathing labored. And yet Dwalin doesn't stop.

His gruff voice sounds out, "Ye need to be quicker, lass. Ye can't be dawdlin' like a snail. Pick up the pace!"

I try to push myself harder, but I'm not making much progress. What did he expect?! I'm not a dwarf! I'm exhausted! My frustration starts showing in my moves, lacking power and accuracy. Finally, with one last strike, I drop the wooden 'sword' and collapse on my hands and knees.

I gasp for breath, feeling defeated.

“Up ye get, lass.” Dwalin says gruffly.

"I can't…I can’t do it! I'm not s-strong enough..."

A sense of hopelessness overwhelms me as the grass beneath my tired and trembling hands starts to blurr from my unshed tears. I can't! I can't do it!

Thorin’s deep voice speaks, but it’s in Kuz-dul, directed to Dwalin in a quiet, reprimanding tone.

I hear Dwalin come up to me and feel more than see him kneel down next to me, "It's not just about brute strength. It's about technique and precision. Ye need to move with purpose." He sighs and his voice finally becomes softer, "Patience, lass. Ye can't be expectin' to be a master overnight. It takes time and practice. Keep at it."

I can't!

Movement to the side of me, catches my brief attention, and I see Kili and Fili concerned from the sidelines.

I have to. I have to save them.

I take a deep breath, blinking away my tears and letting my frustration turn into determination. I nod, bracing myself to continue training. Suck it up. The Valar sent you and there must be a reason for it.

"Ok,” I sigh, “Let's…let’s keep going. I’ll keep trying." My body has finally started to shoot endorphins into my system, because it thinks I'm dying. I start to feel slightly better.

There's a slight hint of respect in Dwalin's stern expression. "That's the spirit, lass. Forge yer strength through perseverance. We'll keep workin' on it, day by day. Off to bed with you now. That'll be enough for tonight."

I'm exhausted as the company rouses the next morning. But even though I'm not a morning person, it's become a habit after all this time. Especially when thirteen active dwarves don't bother to be quiet AT ALL in the morning. Grunting, banging pots and pans to cook breakfast, talking loudly…

When you have loud voices all around you such as "Come and have breakfast, lass.", or "Get up, Pey, we'll be leaving in the hour", or "Peyton if you don't get up in ten seconds I swear by our maker Mahal, I will dump this entire water pouch all over you!"...it eventually grows on you. They become like family.

Some of their antics remind me of my own brothers. From youngest to oldest, there was Chris, Jeremy, Garth, Matthew, and Joshua. And as we walk along, I recount to the company many crazy and embarrassing pranks we've played on each other.

"But we always got REALLLY wild during sleepovers! My friends and I would stay up late until 3am in the morning and then sneak in my brother’s rooms to paint their toenails with nailpolish...oh, nailpolish is a colorful paint used for women's nails…anyways, when they had sleepovers they would pay me back by sneaking into my room and drawing all over my face and hands and feet!" I laugh, walking along with the company, all of us sweating underneath the hot sun. "But we could never play pranks on my little sister, Taylor, because she was the baby of the family. Very sensitive soul." I roll my eyes and give a snort. "She'd always tattle on us whenever we did something like that, and our parents would get mad that we were 'picking' on her."

"Hah! That's nuthin! Why, me and Bifur once put lapis lazuli powder into oil and mixed it in Bombur's hair while he was asleep! He had green hair for a week he did!" Bofur jokes, grinning over at Bombur who shakes his head with a scowl at the memory. Bifur laughs and starts speaking in Khuzdul. Bofur nods and laughs, “Aye. Mother was furious with us."

I can't help but laugh. Just the thought of Bombur's ridiculous hairstyle with a green shade has me in stitches.

"That was a mean thing to do!" Dori protests, looking aghast. Ah, he's the sensitive one of the company it seems. The Dwarves seem very particular about their hair though, so it I guess it would be very mean from their point of view.

As our laughter subsides, I steal a glance at the back of Thorin's head, the morning sunlight casting a glint on his dark hair. "What about you, Thorin? What sorts of pranks happened to you when you were younger?' I joke, trying to draw him into our conversation.

Thorin however continues to face forward, his focus fixed on the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains. "None," he responds, his past as guarded as the treasures of Erebor.

"Ha! I don't buy that for a second. You were a young prince once, without the responsibility to rule a kingdom. I bet Dis could remember something." I tease with a roll of my eyes.

Thorin continues walking ahead, but his posture hints at a trace of reminiscence or contemplation at my words. Ah, so he DOES remember something!

Before he can speak though, Bofur speaks up for him, "He's royalty, lass. No one would be brave enough to do such a thing."

"Ah, so that's why he's such a grump," I tease. "I guess I'll have to dye his hair myself. What was that dye you used? Lapis Lao-ye powder?"

The idea of dying Thorin's hair green is absolutely hilarious. I would never do it, of course, because I don't have a death wish and I love his hair... But he doesn't know that!

Thorin shoots a stern glance back at my cheeky expression before looking ahead once more. His deep voice is wry when he speaks though as he jokes back, "Wouldn't work. My hair is too dark."

I grin at the back of his head, loving the smug banter in his voice.

Bombur adds to the conversation, adding clarification in case I didn't understand, "Lapis Lazuli is a blue powder. It made my hair green for a week because my hair is orange. But in his majesty's hair, it wouldn't take. Might give it a slightly dark blue sheen in the right light, but nothing drastic."

I laugh, "Dang it. I'll have to think of something else.” I redirect the conversation towards Thorin again, “Maybe I'll draw some glasses on your face while you’re sleeping and bribe everyone to keep quiet! It would make the journey less dull.”

The company responds as I predict with choked, quickly-covered up laughs and gasping, shocked snickers that I would even dare threaten their king with such a thing.

I sigh in mock happiness and look up at the sky, "It's so convenient that Middle Earth doesn't have a lot of mirrors!"

We'd have to tell him before the Goblin Tunnels though. Can't have him facing the Goblin King with ink-glasses drawn around his eyes. Just the thought makes me snicker to myself.

"I wouldn't recommend that." Thorin is no longer teasing, and he has slightly slowed his steps so he can level me with a serious expression, "If I am asleep, I could mistake you for an enemy. Do not attempt it."

All is quiet for a somber awkward moment in the company. But from Thorin’s worried tone, I realize that it could actually be dangerous for me to try and do something to him while sleeping. He doesn’t want to accidentally hurt me.

I quickly scramble for something to try and bring the levity back, "That's ok. I'll think of something else." I continue walking until somehow, he and I are walking beside one another.

Thorin sighs and shakes his head, resuming his stride even as he walks next to me now. "Woman, you are impossible." He rumbles.

"Dwarf, you need to lighten up." I grin back and lightly smack him on the shoulder. He tries to shoot me another stern look before shaking his head in frustration, an amused quirk to his lips that the company can't see. I think I'm growing on him. I try again, "Ok, you don't remember pranks that happened to YOU, but as the oldest sibling in the family; did you play any pranks on your younger brother or sister?"

"Aye, Pey!" Kili says eagerly, and I turn my head to look back at him, "He once told us that he and Uncle Frerin were visiting the animal yard where the livestock for the kingdom were raised. It's located on the north side of the Erebor and he and Frerin were looking at the pigs, boars, and goats in their pen. Frerin started teasing the goats, but then Uncle opened up the goat pen without telling Frerin, and one of the goats started chasing him! Frerin had to hold the goat by the horns while he ran to keep it from biting him, while they went around and around in a circle. Frerin was squealing louder than the pigs, but Uncle couldn't help him because he was laughing too hard!" Kili and Fili started laughing, practically falling over themselves as they remember their uncle telling them the story.

For the first time that I've been here in Middle Earth and known him, I watch the side of Thorin Oakenshield's face lift up as he laughs.

His cheeks press crows feet up into the edges of his eyes, and his white teeth gleam as a huff of laughter bursts out of his chest unbiddenly, the memory an obviously cherished one. He can't help but glance back at his sister's sons who are still laughing, his eyes and teeth sparkling as the three of them recall a warmer, happier time for just a moment.

"That was so mean!" I laugh at the image of a younger Thorin playing a prank on his kid brother. "I love it!"

His eyes turn to me, happy crows feet still at the edges and I get to catch a glimpse of his full smiling face. Something grows inside my chest, a warm glow from inside that squeezes my heart. Who is this person before me? I've never met him before.

We’re just friends! Friends laugh, right? And… feel…. warm fuzzies while looking into each other's eyes. There’s nothing else happening! Erm. He’s a really really good friend!

I smile back at him. And the warm feeling in my chest grows.

The grueling days go on, turning warmer and warmer. Eventually, our coats become redundant baggage, tucked away in our backpacks, serving only as makeshift pillows at night. As a week passes, and then two weeks pass, I continue my sword training, err, stick training. While Dwalin offers guidance and corrections as I persist, my progress is very slow. Slow but steady. Mostly because I’m always on the brink of exhaustion when we spar. But determination fuels my ambition to grasp even a semblance of competence with the stick sword especially when Dwalin has Kili and Fili help spar with me as well. Looking into their bright and playful eyes as I spar with them reminds me of their potential deaths and I fight harder. I can't let them down.

Walking to Erebor is not all bad though, I think at times, especially with how much easier it is to interact with the company than before while riding ponies. The ponies would all ride in a straight line and I could only talk to the one person in front or behind me, or yell loudly so everyone could hear. As we walk together though, it's easier to hear one another instead of the clopping of horse hooves.

Thorin, who has usually led at the front of the company, now has Balin lead the way more and more. He and I often find ourselves walking next to each other now, and I do my best to talk and joke with him to make him feel included.

And all the while, every night, the Necromancer shows up. Or, rather...I show up?

I don't understand why, and I fearfully wonder if by looking into the 'mirror' Galadriel created, it somehow unleashed something in my mind without meaning to.

Eventually it gets to the point where I find myself at the castle and immediately hurry to find the nearest cliff, only to then throw myself off to wake up. Sometimes I make it before he can locate my presence, and other times I have to talk with him as he blocks my exit and I do my best not to reveal any information. I'll wake up with a gasp from the jump-scare and my body is racked with shivers and I shake for a little bit before going back to sleep. I'm lucky though, because after the initial dream I don't dream of him again for the rest of the night. Otherwise, the lack of sleep wouldn't allow me to function during the long grueling journey. Thorin and the others have started to notice my odd habit of gasping and shivering awake at night though.

After a particularly nasty night where the Necromancer showed me a strange hairy gollum creature that had lost his mind, I am trudging along, lost in my thoughts the next day. I ponder the strangeness of my situation of dreamwalking. The Necromancer is really starting to piss me off from my nightly conversations with him, and my fear of him slowly has started to ebb away. He can't hurt me, besides the creepy feeling the seems to seep into my skin when I'm around him.

"Any advice for what's ahead?" Thorin queries and I look at him, surprised by the concern I see on his face. He must think my uncommon quietness today means that something bad is going to happen. Glancing around at our attentive company, I lean closer to him, speaking softly to avoid prying ears. This prompts him to lean-in to catch my words, piquing the curiosity of everyone.

"No, nothing until the Misty Mountains. It's going to be nerve-wracking, of course," I murmur. "But everything will eventually turn out fine, thanks to... Gandalf?!" I exclaim in joy at the sight of the grey wizard appearing on our trail. "You're finally here!"

Thank goodness! He’s never been this long away from us.

"Of course I am. Where else would I be?" Gandalf raises an eyebrow with a smile. Cheeky old man. It’s been weeks!

Relieved, I beam. "Where were you? You were supposed to travel with us from Rivendell!"

I sense the palpable relief within the group at Gandalf's return, all of us grateful to have our resident wizard back with us. We crowd around him and happy greetings and questions are offered by the dwarves, Dori in particular.

He nods to us all, "I refrained from joining you to avoid drawing suspicion to the company." Turning to Thorin, he assures, "Elrond isn't following you. We can proceed with the quest unhindered."

Thorin, both in a satisfied and dangerous tone, gives him a look, "He wouldn't have been able to stop us regardless."

I frown, "Why would Elrond try to stop us?"

Gandalf's frown deepens, "Saruman summoned the White Council after learning of the dwarves' quest. He was going to call an end to it."

"Wait, wait, wait... Saruman was in Rivendell?!" My mind reels, surprised by Saruman's knowledge. That explains Galadriel's presence! "And he called the White Council together? And you didn't even TELL me?!" I furrow my brows deeply at him. "You said you were too busy to call them!"

They could have found a solution to send me home! Probably not though, since I pretty much have met the White Counsel. Gandalf, Elrond, AND Galadriel have all told me in one way or another that the Valar are the only ones that can send me home. And Galadriel's vision in the mirror made it very clear - Thorin and his nephews need me here until their fate is changed.

Gandalf, however adopts a gruff and evasive stance, as he realizes his blunder. He deflects blame with a show of exasperation, stating that he IS too busy to remember such things. It's his typical response when he knows he's at fault but refuses to admit it.

"Gandalf," I growl at him. Despite my frustration with this sneaky wizard, I'm glad he's back. I need to ask him about what I saw in Galadriel's mirror.

Sooner rather than later, Thorin has us all continue our 'walking holiday' since we haven't walked the full allotted hours yet. Gandalf has no trouble falling in pace with us with his long legs, and proceeds to tell us about what he's been up to the past few days.

"I hope you gave Elrond my regards, " I say, walking beside him with a worried look, "I feel bad for leaving without even saying goodbye. I would have gotten a goodbye message to him if I could."

I never did get him to read my sword and tell me its name.

Gandalf smiles gently even as the other dwarves scoff and mumble in annoyance at my words. "He knows, my dear. He knows. I do wish to speak to you about Rivendell, though..." Pulling me to the side, he allows the others to walk ahead of us, clearly showing that he wishes to speak with me alone and ignoring the dark looks aimed at us.

"Galadriel told me she glimpsed some troubling aspects of your future," Gandalf leans in, his lined face drawing closer. "She saw more than just the pool's visions."

"Yeah, she spaced out and looked like she was in a trance. She saw how I can rescue Thorin," I frown, her tired and concerned face flooding my memory. "She said something about…using my powers and giving a sacrifice? But I'm still trying to figure it out. It's like a riddle. What is a 'child of light'?" I look at him, hoping for some clarity.

"Someone aligned with goodness, Peyton. Not a child of darkness. It's one or the other." He says as we continue walking.

I grimace, "Gandalf, the world isn't all bad or all good. It's not black and white."

Gandalf shrugs, "True. But when you strip away the layers, at the heart of the matter, it is either good or evil."

"Is consuming soup good or evil?" I arch an eyebrow, attempting to show him the absurdity of his argument. Life's taught me that there's a spectrum of color, not just black and white.

"It depends on the soup," he smiles cryptically, "And after that, how much of it you consume."

I scoff, "That's preposterous, Gandalf. There's no such thing as an 'evil' soup."

"Oh? So, consuming human soup wouldn't be evil?"

My jaw drops. Where on Middle Earth did THAT come from?

"Ok. Touché. But...but people change.” I interject, upset, and suddenly confused. "Forget the soup example…..If we're talking about people then they aren't black and white. We have bad days and good days! Sometimes people will listen to the light, and sometimes they'll listen to the darkness!"

"What a wishy-washy way of existence," Gandalf scoffs gruffly to himself, before leveling me with a look, "Then I hope, for the line of Durin's sake, that the day they need you is a day you are listening to the light, Peyton."

That night, after getting my butt handed to me by Dwalin, and a very intense conversation with Gandalf about him needing to save us from the Goblins ("But why must the company be captured? Why not take an alternate route?", "I can't tell you, Gandalf! Just trust that it's crucial. Perhaps the most crucial aspect of this journey, if I'm honest. Just show up and save us or we're all dead!") the company at last gather around the fireplace over a hot rabbit stew that's savory and filling. Bilbo also found dozens and DOZENS of duck eggs!!! So, we’ve all gotten a couple eggs in our stew along with the thick savory rabbit meat.

I feel more awake than usual, due to Gandalf being here. So instead of immediately going to bed after scarfing down my tasty dinner, I remain sitting on the ground against a log and listen to the company tell stories, sing songs, and joke as they always do.

I can feel myself getting stronger. My body is being pushed to the MAX every single day. Walking all day to then practice dueling for 30 mins to an hour each night would be impossible if not for Bombur's nutritious meals. Who knew that a boiled potato, a slice of carrot, or a chunk of meat or egg could taste sooooooo good after walking all day!?

Bombur then sings a story about his Dwarven love and I suddenly, almost offhandedly, notice that since traveling with the company none of the songs I've heard them sing have been about cheating. Like, at all! No ‘revenge’ songs or ‘I'm better off without you’ songs and ‘I’ve moved on’ songs. This is a huge genre in my world.

When I inquire about it after Bombur is done, the company all react with horror, unable to fathom the concept.

"And betray your ONE?! That's abominable!" Gloin bellows in outrage, with sounds of the same and nods from the others.

"A One?" I ask curiously, intrigued by their use of the term. "What's a One?"

There's a pregnant pause as the dwarves look at one another, having an unspoken communication.

I raise my eyebrows with an excited grin, sensing something juicy by their expressions. "Whaaaat?" When they still silently debate with one another on who should speak, I laugh, "Okay, now you've GOT to tell me! It's something big isn't it? Come on, what is it? What's a One?"

"Your One is the person you are destined to be with, lass," Dwalin explains in a gruff droll voice, seeming to be the most nonchalant one about the whole thing.

Balin then speaks up, shooting his brother a disappointed look as if his younger brother isn't giving the subject it's due respect. "It's the other half of a dwarf's soul, lass." He looks at me, his eyes filled with reverence.

I raise an eyebrow, "Soul? As in…a soulmate?" I shake my head with a confused smile, unable to fully grasp the concept. “That’s silly.”

Balin's expression turns slightly offended as he responds, "Why Miss Peyton? Having a One is a sacred thing! It is a gift from our maker, Mahal himself!"

I can tell by his voice that it means a great deal to him, and perhaps even to all of them, so it's a clear sign that I need to tread carefully on this subject. I don't want to offend their culture.

"It's a beautiful concept, Balin, no one can deny that." I pause and try to find the words to convey what I mean, "But, it just doesn't seem... realistic? I mean...let's think about it logically...Nori has mentioned once to me that there are fewer female dwarves than male dwarves, correct?"

"Aye?" He responds, still frowning.

"So...mathematically, that means that most dwarves will never find their One! And Nori said that those dwarves dedicate their entire life to their craft."

"Aye, Lass. That's why I said it's a gift." Balin nods. "Not every dwarf will find their One in this life."

"Why not? Are there MORE female dwarves in the next life or something? That's, no offense, a little depressing, for lack of a better word. I mean, dwarves need to continue their race and if there are fewer females then males, that means that your race is dying. Especially from the wars that occur with the orcs and goblins."

"Are there more females than males in your world then?" Bombur asks, curious.

"No, it's about the same, I'd say." I muse aloud, thinking. "About 50/50, surprisingly."

"So, all humans in your world marry their soulmate?" Dori asks me, eyes wide.

I frown and shake my head, confused at why they aren't getting it, "No? Like I said before, it's silly. I don't believe in soulmates."

With more than 50% of marriages ending in divorce, it's hard to. My parents do give me hope for a happy marriage though, but it'll take work. It's unrealistic to believe in soulmates.

The company gasp in shock, finally understanding what I mean. I give an amused grimace, worried about crossing a line but also not able to help but feel amused at their silly expressions.

"Oh, come on you guys!" I groan, trying to get the company to stop looking at me like I chopped their beards off, "I believe that you can make any relationship work if there is compatibility, attraction, connection, similar interests, and communication! Oh! And mutual respect. Very important." I list these things off on my fingers as I go along.

The dwarves are still shaking their heads at me and tutting. Kili and Fili look at me like I kicked their puppy and stole it too, so I roll my eyes, "Ok, fine. How do DWARVES know if someone is their 'One' or not?" I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow challengingly. This ought to be good.

Gloin speaks up, clearly reciting something in his thick brogue, "Your One is not someone who comes into yer life peacefully. It’ll be someone who makes ye question things. They won't sugarcoat the truth and tell ye what ye want to hear."

Balin speaks, his eyes on the burning fire in the middle of the group, "Your One will come into your life and set things on fire. It will be someone who changes your reality, someone that marks a before and after in your life. It is not the being that you have idealized but an ordinary person who manages to revolutionize your world."

My heart stirs inside my chest and my brow furrows in contemplation at his words. I cock my head to the side, intrigued.

Bombur nods as well, "Your One will come into your life and help you grow. They will come into your life and challenge you in positive ways. They will come into your life and help motivate you. And they will also come into your life and help pull you out of your comfort zones."

After that beautiful poetry, I blink and then let out an amused huff, "Well, that doesn't help me much! That applies to A LOT of people in my life. Based on those qualifications alone... heck, even GANDALF could be my soulmate!"

I look over at Gandalf with a playful glare, "I've got my eyes on you, dude." I point two fingers at my eyes and then back at him.

Gandalf humphs in amusement and shakes his head at me, eyes twinkling.

The company laugh and scoff, my joke easing the serious mood a little. "Hah! Gandalf?!", "That's a laugh! See? I'm laughing!" "Psh, Lass.", "Gandalf!!!??", "What?!"

"Are you attracted to Gandalf, Miss Peyton?" Balin asks me, also amused.

A snort comes from my nose before I can cover my mouth, but to no avail. A series of laughs and undignified snorts come from my mouth and nose. The idea of being attracted to Gandalf is...well, it's ludicrous and the company join in the laughter.

"I guess, Pey here is into older men!" Nori jokes with a mean smile and a quirk of his eyebrow.

I guaff at him as the company laughs, before shaking my head and chuckle, "Ok, ok, settle down guys. So, my 'One 'would need to be someone who makes my life hell by challenging me AND I'm attracted to him?"

I know this is about the dwarves finding their Ones, but I can't help but apply the same standards to me to show them the inconsistency. If anyone notices, they don't say anything.

Bofur barks a laugh, "Pretty much, Lass!"

I chuckle at the absurdity of it all and shake my head at the sky. But I consider their words. The idea of a One is still fantastical to me, but I can see the sincerity in Balin's, Gloin's, and Bombur's eyes. Perhaps there is something beautiful in the belief of finding one's true match, someone who compliments and completes them in every way. It's a notion that I've never truly entertained before, seeming a bit of a ridiculous way to view relationships...but in this world of magic and adventure, maybe such extraordinary connections DO exist? For Dwarves, of course. Not humans.

"Anyone in particular catch your attention, Peyton?" Nori asks, causing me to glance over to see him still grinning at me. He looks like he knows something I don't know.

I raise an eyebrow and narrow my eyes in a joking glare, unable to keep the smile off my face, "Definitely not you, Nori. It was NOT a kiss!"

Hushed chuckles again from the company, but Nori just smirks back at me, not seeming offended in the slightest. Neither does he appear deterred from his strange train of thought. "Oh, I know. But are you saying that not a SINGLE other person comes to mind?" I blink at him, frowning. Then it hits me.

Don't glance at Thorin. Do NOT. glance. at. Thorin. Crap. I glanced at him.

I quickly glance at everyone else as well to try and cover my mistake.

"Nope. Not a single person comes to mind..." I look back to Gandalf with a grin, "Except dear old Gandalf here, like I said. I loooove you buuuuddy!"

"Away with you." Gandalf waves his pipe in patient consternation at me and my childishness.

Some of the group snicker, but Nori shoots me an unamused look. He's the most observant one of the company, due to the fact that he's usually silent and sneaky. Ever since saving his life, he has unfortunately been more attentive to my words and actions than before. I've caught him watching me more than once as Thorin and I laugh or talk together. And when I think I'm being discreet when I watch Thorin interact with the company, Nori's shrewd glances have me quickly looking away.

Before, I didn't think anything of it. But now, I'm worried. Does he know my feelings for Thorin go beyond the simple friendship I'm attempting to portray?

"You're not going to mention Bilbo?" A deep baritone voice asks. A voice that, up until now, has remained completely silent.

I freeze before plastering an amused smile on my face as I turn to look at Thorin, my stomach doing summersaults. He's sitting against a fallen log across the way, where I know he has been this entire time. I'm always aware of where he is, unfortunatly.

"Bilbo and I get along like 'peas and carrots'." I shake my head in mock severity and sigh sadly. "But he's my brother-in-law twice removed! It's a forbidden love."

Bilbo shakes his head frantically at the confused and scandalized looks the company gives him, "No, no. She's joking gents! She likes to tease!" He looks worried. "There's nothing forbidden going on! The brother-in-law thing is a running joke we have between us. We're very good friends. Only!"

"Ouch, Bilbo! Just stick a knife in my heart why don't ya?" I give him a playfully wounded look, pressing my hand to my bosom. Why is he protesting so much? Everyone knows we're just friends!

Bilbo lets out an amused laugh at my antics, but then seems to remember himself and is worried once more. He gestures at the company, "Again! She's teasing! You all know how she is!”

I roll my eyes at him, “Ok, ok, calm down Bilbo."

Of course they know I'm teasing! Psh. Way to make it awkward, buddy. A thought comes to my mind and I turn to ask Balin.

"But, back to the One thing….what if you get sick and die?" I ask, my voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "Is your One destined to go on without you? All alone for another two hundred, or however long, years? That sounds so depressing!"

Balin's eyes soften, understanding the weight of my question. "Aye, that is a difficult fate. But the joy that comes from having a One is beyond anything imaginable. It is a bond that transcends time and even death."

I contemplate Balin's words, my mind grappling with the concept of having a One, a destined partner. The idea of finding such a profound connection with someone is both intriguing and daunting. I remember Galadriel's words; that my fear of emotional intimacy hinders my happiness. Even if I don't believe in a "One", I need to allow my heart to open up if I'll ever find SOMEone.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask a little further. "Do you have a 'One', Balin?"

He nods, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Yes, I do. It was a long time ago."

The way he says it makes me pause, sensing a deeper meaning behind his words. "Sooo, you do have a One? Or you did have a One?"

Balin's gaze meets mine, unwavering. "I do still have a One, Miss Peyton. She's waiting for me in the grand halls of Mandos."

"Oh! Ok, uh, that's nice! So what did she say when you told her you were coming on the quest?"

Balin's expression turns solemn. "The halls of Mandos are where souls go after this life to await their next, lass."

My head spins with the back and forth realizations, "So, she did die then?"

Balin gives me a gentle smile. "As I said before, it is a bond that transcends death. Death is not the end, Miss Peyton. If your One dies, you will still be with them after this life. It is a bond that continues past the mortal realm."

I pause at that, falling silent. That's actually really beautiful to think about. "Wow, Balin...I never pegged you as a romantic."

Balin gives me a stern look, as if I should know better, but I catch the joking twinkle in his eyes. He then heaves a chuckle, "I may be old and grey now, Lass, but I was quite the Dwarf back in my day. My Zundush was Betrila and she was the most beautiful dwarf in all the world of Arda."

Gloin scoffs, "So says you! No Darrow can compare to me Muirva."

"Your wife?" I hazard a guess. I'm guessing that's what 'Zundush' means in Khuzdul. I've noticed Ballin dropping Khuzdul words all the time, almost as if he were secretly teaching it to me. It's deepened my fondness for him over the past few weeks.

Gloin's eyes brighten, "Aye. Let me show you a picture of her!"

The dwarves all groan, as if this is something he does all the time, but this is news to me. I haven't heard much about her. I come over and sit next to him on the log. He opens up a portrait to show me a drawing of a woman with a thin beard.

"She's beautiful." I smile politely and hand the picture back

He doesn't accept it but rather enthusiastically flips a glass inside and there's another picture, one of a little boy who also sports a beard.

My eyes widen, and I grin at the photo in amazement, "Is this your son?!"

I can't believe it!

"Aye, my wee lad! Gimli." Gloin puffs out like the proud parent he is, pleased at my excited reaction. "He was wantin' to come on the quest too, but I'm not a pushover like Thorin is. I wouldn' let 'im come." He shoots Thorin a look.

Thorin comes as close to an eye roll as I've ever seen him as he shakes his head, continuing to eat his stew. It's obviously something that has been discussed so much that it's obsolete now. I can only imagine all the drama that occurred in the Blue Mountains when Thorin asked those with a willing heart to come on his quest and his nephews volunteered.

Bringing the subject back to its original line, I ask, "So, you knew she was your 'One' because she came into your life and wreaked havoc?"

Gloin burst into loud belly laughter, and nods enthusiastically, "Aye. Turned my whole world upside down, she did."

"Well, I'm glad it all worked out." I shake my head and laugh. What a strange custom. Despite myself...their words have stirred something within me, allowing me to appreciate the beauty in the concept of having a One.

Gloin smiles and nods, his voice becoming gentle and sincere, "It always does."

Chapter Text

My muddy boots crunch along the stones and shrubs, the rhythm of my steps matching the rhythm of my worried thoughts. I briefly look up at some of the dwarves chatting ahead of me, their backs hunched under the weight of their packs. We've been walking for what feels like forever, almost at the base of the Misty Mountains.

I can't help but hope that we've somehow managed to catch up to the original timeline after all this time. My tired feet certainly seem to think so.

Balin, however, isn't as optimistic. He's already warned us multiple times about the treacherous pathways along the Misty Mountains, the trek taking about a month of uphill-climbing and careful-descending that awaits us. And then there's Mirkwood, which is another half a month of travel. And then half a month more. Two more months and then... I shake my head, trying to clear it of these daunting thoughts.

What Balin doesn't know though is there's a 'planned but unplanned' shortcut we'll be taking THROUGH the mountain, plus a flight on ‘Eagle Airlines‘ to Mirkwood. I also hope that if I cooperate with the Elf King it will help us avoid being trapped in the dungeons for a few weeks.

Plus, floating down the river in barrels is a lot faster than walking. Hopefully it'll be enough to get there in time. It's got to be!

Gandalf has disappeared again. He said he was going to scout ahead, and thankfully disaster hasn't struck while he's been gone. That was two days ago, though, and I'm getting more and more worried while he's away.

At least he knows about the Goblins, I think to myself as I peer upwards at the sunny blue sky. As long as he's available to save us from that, then we should be fine. I hope.

The Misty Mountains loom above us ominously. I can almost imagine the goblins waiting for us, ready to pounce the moment we set up camp. I can't blame them, really. I wouldn't be too thrilled about hobos camping out on my front porch either.

But I wouldn't kidnap said hobos, so my sympathy can only go so far.

I shake my head again, forcing myself to focus. The biggest concern is…What am I going to do about Azog? My heart and mind are heavy with the weight of what is to come and the role I have to play in all of it. Dwalin has been an effective teacher, but learn sword-fighting one hour every day won’t be enough to become Azog-worthy. The Valar should have sent me with a machine gun, not strawberry tictacs!

Knowing that the story can change is a tough reality to face. And change can bring disaster, a lesson learned from the Moon Runes and Nori’s electrocuted heart. I can't help but wonder; if I mess this up, will the Valar just rewind time and send someone else in my place? A scary thought crosses my mind - am I the first one they've sent on this mission, or just one in a long line of failures? After all, in my world, this story is already written. Time, it seems, isn't a really a straight line but a twisted maze.

My mind spins with crazy possibilities. I should relax before I get too worked up but I haven't been able to sleep. The Necromancer is always waiting at the edges of my dreams. Each night with him has frayed at my nerves a little more every time. What if I can’t-

No! Stop it. Focus on one thing at a time. I can do this! I have to do this! Failure is not an option.

But the thoughts keep coming regardless, eating away at my sanity. Everything feels so fragile, like a house of cards ready to fall at the slightest wrong move. The pressure of making these life-or-death decisions, the uncertainty of what will happen, it's all too much!

A metallic CLANG! rings through the chaos of my thoughts, halting them in their tracks. My thick boot has collided with something half hidden in the earth. I stop, curiosity piqued, and bend down to unbury the object.

It's round, metallic, and covered in a layer of dirt. I brush it off with my fingers, revealing a smooth surface. It reminds me of a metal frisbee, or perhaps a really ineffective mirror?

"Oh lookie here! You found yerself a plate!" Bofur's voice breaks my contemplation as he comes up beside me.

I turn the object over in my hands, studying its lightness and the smooth, worn edges. "A plate?" I echo, surprised.

Bofur's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "You mean ya never seen a metal plate before?"

"Yeah, a couple times." I shrug, "Mostly porclain plates or the wooden plates that you all have. But in my world, we usually use plastic, glass, or ceramic plates. We even have paper ones!"

He gaffs, moustache bouncing, "Paper plates sound useless. The food'll fall right though!"

I chuckle, "It's a different kind of paper than writing paper."

An idea sparks in my mind. I look up, searching for a particular dwarf. "Hey! Fili!" I call out to him, a grin spreading across my face.

The blond braided dwarf is currently deep in conversation with Thorin, up towards the front of the company. He glances over, along with Thorin and a few other dwarves.

Remembering his impressive plate and cup bouncing techniques back in BagEnd, I go with my initial impression of the plate being a frisbee. "Catch!" I shout, spinning the metal plate towards him through the air.

Fili reaches out and catches it effortlessly, as if he's simply plucking an apple from a tree. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he looks from the plate to me.

"Back to me!" I gesture, indicating that I want him to throw it back.

Fili cocks his head, curiosity lighting his eyes, and flicks the plate back toward me. It sails through the air, and I reach out to catch it.

"Woah!" I exclaim, shaking my hand from the slight sting of his strong throw, "That was amazing!"

Fili smirks, and I try tossing it back at him. But Kili suddenly intercepts it, snatching it from in front of Fili’s face before he can reach it. We both laugh at Fili's dismayed expression, as Kili tosses it back to me.

I turn to Bofur, who's laughing at the spectacle, "Go long!" His eyes light up and he starts running, clutching his hat to his head. I throw the frisbee hard, but my aim is off.

"Nooooooo!" I groan as it veers off course. Too far right!

Nori thankfully compensates for it and manages to catch it. 

Soon, the metal plate is flying all over, soaring and floating gently between the dwarves as they all join in the game. I'm really, REALLY bad at it though. It's always going too far right! The frisbee finally finds its way back to me, gleaming silver in the light of the setting sun. It appears we’ll be making camp sooner than usual tonight.

My gaze instinctively seeks out Thorin, as if pulled by an invisible string. He's majestically aloof, per usual, leaning against a tree. Pipe in hand, he's a silent observer to our game. His smoky blue gaze fixed on me.

What a spoilsport!

Raising my voice, I call out to him, "C'mon Thorin! This is a team-building exercise. That means all team members gotta join in. No exceptions." I beckon him with the frisbee, a clear invitation.

"I'm quite comfortable here, Peyton." His voice is a low throaty rumble, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Carry on."

Undeterred, I try a different approach. "It's a training exercise!" I insist, "You're supposed to show us 'how it's done'!"

"I'll leave this particular 'training' in your capable hands." He replies drolly, a playful commentary on my less-than-stellar throwing skills.

"You're no fun!"

His only response is a puff of smoke from his pipe.

Time to insult him. "Poor Thorin. If you're tired, you can admit it." I tease, my smile a mix of sympathy and mischief. "Too old to catch a frisbee. I understand. It'll happen to all of us someday." Balin and Dwalin also haven’t joined in so I add, my tone dripping with faux sadnessm, "I didn't see Balin throwing dishes at Bilbo's house either, just bouncing them. Such a shame."

"Easy now, lass." Balin glares, a playful sparkle in his eyes. "I may be old but I ain't dead."

My words have the intended effect, however, as Thorin's brow furrows with a hint of annoyance. I’ve noticed he gets agitated everytime I've brought up the age difference between us. "I can catch it just fine. I simply choose not to partake in such childish antics."

I respond with a playful imitation of a chicken, my arms flapping at my sides, "Bawk, bawk, bawk!"

Thorin's brow furrows deeper in confusion at my ridiculous motions.

"I'm calling you a chicken." I clarify, my voice filled with laughter as turn to the rest of the company who also look confused, "In my world, it means you're a coward."

I turn back to Thorin, a wide grin on my face as I continue. "Baaaaawk, bawk, bawk, bawk!"

Thorin shakes his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he stubbornly returns to his pipe. 

Bofur sidles up to me, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Here, we call cowards 'possums'."

I pause, considering this. "That makes way more sense than calling someone a chicken, honestly. What does a possum sound like? Squeak! Squeak! Squeeeeeeak!"

Laughter ripples through the company, but I keep my focus on Thorin. "Come ON, Thorin! Don't be a possum!"

With a determined flick of my wrist, I do my best to send the frisbee hurtling towards him and surprisingly it's my best so far besides when I first threw to Fili! The directness of my soft aim means he'll either catch it, duck, or get hit.

He reaches out and catches it easily, his eyes narrowing at me in annoyance. For a moment, I worry that I've pushed him too far. But then he sighs through his nose, a sound of resignation rather than anger. He pushes off the tree, blue eyes boring into mine before they flicker to someone behind me.

"Bofur, to you," he grumbles, his voice carrying a hint of reluctant participation.

He sends it sailing with a sharp flick of his wrist causing my eyes to widen and mouth to drop open.

The plate cuts through the air with the ease of a hot knife through butter, its trajectory to Bofur as straight and sure as if it were one of Kili's arrow. Flawless as a lazer beam.

Bofur catches it with a laugh, and Thorin's nephews both cheer as the company members start running to further places amongst the field.

Thorin jogs past me, dark wavy hair cascading down his back and a pleased smirk on his lips at the slack jawed, wide-eyed expression I'm wearing. I snap my mouth closed, my heart stuttering in my chest like a wild drum.

He’s good at everything isn't he. Is there anything he CAN'T do? I gulp, shaking my head to rid myself of those kinds of thoughts. I take off running to a position as well, my tired legs momentarily forgotten by the novelty of Thorin joining in ANY sort of entertainment.

But the game intensifies as Balin and Dwalin also suddenly decide to join in. It’s as if their King had called them to battle rather than a simple game, and their competitive spirits seem to almost ignite.

Dwalin and Thorin dominate the field, their throws powerful and precise. The 'frisbee' whizzes through the air, a deadly projectile that has me questioning my decision to goad them to play.

The dwarves revel in the chaos though, their catcalls and huffs of merriment ringing out as they tackle each other for the coveted plate. For Bilbo and I, however, the game becomes a test of survival. The 'frisbee' transforms into a literal weapon, threatening to bruise both skin and egos.

This really did become a training exercise, I think with annoyance as I rub my stinging palm. I mistakenly had tried to catch the flying plate after a firm throw from Balin of all dwarves.

"My apologies, lass. I didn't mean to harm you." Balin says sincerely.

I huff a laugh, "Remind me to never underestimate you again, Balin." He's stronger than he looks.

He gives me a smug smile under his big nose and a little wink.

Despite the chaos, the company is having… fun!

Thorin and Gloin and Bifur, who are all usually the epitome of stoicism, are caught up in competitive banter. Their deep laughter, a rare and precious sound, fills the air, as they roughhouse with each other to grab the frisbee first, adding to the joyous atmosphere.

A warm feeling blossoms in my chest, spreading through my veins like a comforting balm. I step back, taking a moment to soak in the scene. The company...my company... is laughing and enjoying themselves because of me! I brought a little fun into the original story!

"Peyton!"

Bofur's voice pulls me back into the game, and I look to where he stands, now holding the frisbee that Gloin had thrown him. He shoots me an understanding smile at my inability to catch the fast projectile. He raises the frisbee in a silent invitation before GENTLY tossing it so I can actually catch it this time! Awww, buddy!

My excitement flares up as it floats towards me, only to be extinguished as Kili swoops in, snatching the 'frisbee' from the air right in front of me in what seems his favorite thing to do.

"Damn it, Kili!" I yell, my frustration fueling my tired legs as I hear Fili and the others laugh.

Kili lets out an excited yipe as I chase after him, and quickly sends the 'frisbee' flying before I can reach him. I tackle him to the ground anyway, my annoyed growl punctuated by my swats at him, "You...little...thief!"

His laughter rings out as I playfully smack at him anywhere I can reach, his arms instinctively raised in a futile attempt to shield himself from my pathetically soft hits. "I'm sorry! I couldn't help it! You should have seen your face!"

He mimics my expression, his face lighting up with joy before falling into mock disappointment. We both get up, our laughter mingling with the sounds of the game.

The company's game had slowed, their attention drawn to the spectacle of Kili and me. Their chuckles and head shakes create a background chorus of amusement at our antics. Except for Thorin.

He stands apart, his dark brow furrowed as he watches us with a strangely stern look.

I meet his gaze with a wide grin in both a challenge and an invitation. My eyebrows arch in a silent question, worried about what brought back his stern demeanor. Could it be my playful roughhousing on his beloved nephew? Is he being overly protective? Surely, he knows that my light taps aren’t strong enough to hurt anyone, even if I wanted to. 

His stern expression softens, his features back into his normal aloof demeanor. With a wave of his hand, he signals to the company. "Alright, let's set up camp," he commands, his voice gruff.

A collective groan ripples through the company, mirroring my own disappointment. But at least we stopped a little bit early tonight. We trudge back to the supplies and packs we set down, the dwarves clapping each other's backs as they chuckle and tease about different moments of the game.

I tuck the 'frisbee' plate into my pack, a hopeful promise of future games.

But as quickly as the joy had come and distracted, it dissipates, replaced by the familiar sense of worry. The thought of Goblin Town looms over me like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over my mood. I swallow hard, my thoughts of changing the future coming back to me and I glance over at the company, heart heavy with dread once more. They'll all be ok. They have to be.

But I'm REALLY not looking forward to these next few days….

"1 + 1 = 3 if you don't wear a condom?", Kili's voice is slow and deliberate as he reads the cryptic message on my tee-shirt. His brow furrows in confusion, his gaze focused the bold print.

Caught off guard, I freeze mid-action, my hand hovering over the supplies Bombur and I had used to prepare dinner. My heart pounds in my chest, feeling like a wild deer caught in the blinding headlights of an oncoming truck.

Fili joins his brother’s side, his eyes narrowing as he studies the puzzling phrase as well. His head tilts to the side, a silent question hanging in the air.

Earlier today, while crossing a muddy gorge, Gandalf finally showed back up. I had been so happy to see him that I had been a little careless in my footing and the mud had claimed me and my usual traveling shirt as its victim. Now, with my shirt washed and hanging in a bush to dry, I opted for the only tee-shirt that I haven't worn since my first week in Middle Earth. The warm night seemed like the perfect excuse to wear something light and the musty smell on my shirt is a testament to its long confinement at the bottom of my pack.

Bilbo is the only one who’s already seen my unorthodox shirt since it was the only shirt I owned until he bought me hobbit clothes. Even HE, ‘the Riddle Master’, had been unable to decipher the meaning. When I told him about the scandalous looks from the people of Michel Delving, he’d suggested it had most likely been from the sight of a strange woman with cow manure on her face than a cryptic message on her shirt. I assumed the same would be true for the company but clearly I’ve underestimated Kili and Fili's curiosity.

I wave off their questions with a chuckle, a feeble attempt to divert their attention. "Nope. Sorry boys. That's just one of those mysteries from my world that you're never going to learn about."

That's a whole lot of 'nope'!

Fili's mutters to his brother while his gaze remains on me. "She seems embarrassed about it."

Kili's eyes narrow as well, with a devious grin to match. "Aye, she does, brother. Why might that be?"

I roll my eyes, struggling to suppress my laughter.

"Perhaps it is something…inappropriate?" Fili muses, his mischevious grin growing by the second.

My laughter dies in my throat, replaced by a sense of panic. I wave my hands frantically, desperate to end their speculation. "NO! Stop! Stop trying to guess it. I am not having this conversation with the two of you." I turn back to my pack, putting the food back inside and hoping that will be the end of it.

Nope, nope, and double-nope!

Kili's voice is full of amusement, his words a playful challenge. "She doesn't want to have this conversation with us, Fili…so it MUST be something inappropriate."

Fili huffs, and I can hear the smugness in his voice, "I knew it."

I sigh, turning back to face them with a resigned expression. "Ok, guys. If you can guess the riddle, I'll tell you what it all means. BUT! You can't tell your uncle."

I turn back to my task, my heart relaxing in my chest. They'll never guess. As much as I love them, I can't say I consider them to be the cleverest of individuals. Talented? Sure! But they'd probably be more like highschool sport stars in my world than intellectuals.

“Hmmm. It is quite interesting….that it is our uncle that you don't want hearing about it," Fili muses, arms crossing sternly over his chest. His eyes dance with a triumphant gleam, as if he knows something I don’t, lips quirked in a smile that's far too smug for my liking.

I shoot him a look like he's dumb for not getting it, even though I'm secretly panicking inside, "Uh, yeah? Have you met your uncle? King of Dwarves? Intimidating glower? Not to mention the scariest one in the entire company besides Dwalin when he wants to be? Seriously, he'd probably throw me to the wargs if he found out what I was teaching you kids!"

“Wha- scariestest?!” Kili protests, as if offended on his uncle’s behalf even while Fili's grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"He would never. He's quite fond of you, actually." Fili intones nonchalantly with a shrug.

My movements falter, my breath hitching in my throat, "Really?"

He’s fond of me? Like, how fond? Like, friends or...? My traitorous heart beats fast.

Kili sobers up at Fili’s words and nods, his expression serious. "He even said that if you weren't a human, he'd have proposed by now."

My jaw drops, my mind struggling to process his words. "WHAT?!" I accidentally shriek, my voice carrying farther than I intend to.

Their laughter fills the air, breaking the act as their bodies shake with mirth. Kili's face is a bright shade of red, his breath coming out in short gasps as tendrils of his dark hair fall into his face. Fili claps him on the back, his own deafening laughter adds to the cacophony.

I stand there, my face burning with embarrassment. They are joking and I had walked right into that one.

Taking a deep breath, I force a casual and calm smile onto my face as my mind races with thoughts of revenge. If they keep this up, they won't need protection from Azog. I'll end the line of Durin myself!

"I meant 'what?!' as in, 'That's absurd!'. But, anyways, you're not going to get the riddle." I wave them away, trying to play it cool with an eye roll at their immature prank as my heart still beats frantically. I breathe deeply to try and regain control of the situation.

Kili cocks his head and gives me a breathtaking smile that unfortunately reminds me of his uncle. He narrows his eyes and his words become a low murmur as he tries to work through the riddle out loud, "1 + 1 = 3…. hmmm. And it's inappropriate? Hmm. Without a condom? I feel like the condom bit is the key to this riddle, but I've never heard of a condom before."

I cover my ears childishly so I can stop hearing him say the word 'condom' over and over again. "Nope! I can't hear you! We're not having this conversation! La, la, la!-"

"A child?"

Bilbo's voice cuts through the air, his words a quiet revelation. All three of us turn to stare at Bilbo who is sitting on a log nearby, listening. I gape at him, mouth opening and closing in shock. I hadn't even noticed he was there! He's so quiet when he wants to be.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Bilbo looks both enthusiastic and chagrined, "Kili and Fili guessed that it was inappropriate, meaning it has something to do with…erm...well, a-anyway, it made me realize that…one person plus another person would make a child."

I blush and sputter as they watch my face like sharks looking for blood.

Kili and Fili's cheers fill the air and they offer their congratulations to Bilbo. Some of the others in the company are staring, curious about what we're all so keyed up about over here. Bilbo is pleased, his cheeks flushed with pleasure at this response from them. This is the first time since the troll incident that they've treated him with any measure of friendliness or respect.

I should have known better than to underestimate Bilbo. He's a freaking genius when it comes to riddles. It was only a matter of time until he got it. Or maybe not, since it was only thanks to Fili and Kili  childishness that he realized it was inappropriate to begin with.

I'm going to kill Lizzy for getting me this ridiculous shirt!

“Although, I still don't understand the condom bit.” Bilbo shrugs, looking to me for clarification.

"Yeah, well, I'm not telling you what a condom is, so you can get over it." I turn my red face back to my pack even though I’m done with what I needed from it.

"What?! But we won the riddle!" Fili protests, now upset. "You have to keep your word and tell us!"

"No, BILBO won the riddle. And I didn't make that deal with him."

"Peyton, you can't be an oath breaker! That's one of the most abominable things known to Dwarven-kind." Kili reminds me, his voice serious.

"I know it is, and I didn't break an oath!" I snap, my patience wearing thin. "I said I would tell you if you guessed it. You didn't."

"Then tell Bilbo!" Filio indicates towards a wide-eyed Bilbo, still watching from the log with interest.

I shake my head, "He doesn't want to know."

He probably does, but I don't care.

Bilbo gives me an innocently curious expression, "Actually, I’ve been rather curious for many-"

"TRUST ME, BILBO!" I interrupt loudly to stop his sentence, internally freaking out. I level him with my sternest glare, and whisper in a deadly hiss, "You don't... want...to KNOW!"

He balks as he takes in my adament expression, looking between the dwarves and me, clearly wrestling within himself on whether curiosity really will kill the cat in this scenario.

Read the room, Bilbo!

I continue speaking, "And I didn't make the oath with you. I didn't even make an oath with anyone!" I throw my hands in the air, my patience wearing thin.

Kili's voice is filled with disappointment, his words a plea. "But you said you would! Your word is your bond! You must keep your word, Pey!"

I walk away muttering, "Yeah, well, remind your uncle about that fact when he makes a deal with the men in Laketown." I hope that will be the end of it. The boys have a short attention span. If I ignore the chorus of protests and pleas I can hear behind me (AND get rid of the shirt) then it's highly likely they will soon forget all about it.

Glancing back, I see Fili and Kili shaking Bilbo's shoulder and bribing him with coins to get the answer from me. I walk faster, briefly looking around to see if there's a cliff nearby that I can throw myself off of.

Nope. Just the flatlands, stretching out as far as the eye can see with patches of forest. The Misty Mountains loom above us, closer than ever before, their towering peaks a reminder of the journey ahead. Tomorrow night we'll camping at their base. Already, our path is on a slight incline as the ground begins to push up.

Unfortunately, Thorin is on my path of finding the nonexistent cliff. His looks up towards me, as if sensing my distress from where he and Dori sit. Probably curious about all the commotion between his nephews and I.

At the unspoken question in his gaze, I heave a sigh and pause instead of passing him by, "Your nephews. How do you deal with them?"

His lips quirk slightly, his voice laced with dry humor, "With a lot of patience, I assure you. What have they done now?”

"Tell them that if they don't leave me alone, I will not be held responsible for my actions." I huff, shaking my head in frustrated amusement. "I’ll draw all over their faces or I'll braid their hair together in the middle of their sleep or something!"

Thorin's eyebrows arch in surprise, his eyes widening. A swift exchange of glances with Dori, who also looks scandalized, then he turns back to me, "You are unfamiliar with Dwarven hair customs, are you not?” He doesn't say it like a question.

Curiosity piqued, I can't help myself and walk closer to them, "No, actually. I don’t know anything about your hair customs. Can you tell me more about it?"

Dori interjects before Thorin can respond, his voice swelling with pride as he indicates the many intricate braids he wears, "Hair braiding is a very symbolic act. It is in all of our rituals and ceremonies. There are braids for everything. Braids for brave acts of courage, for shameful acts, for courtship, for weddings...even braids for mourning and funerals. There are many methods of braiding and many ways to style them."

I nod, thinking of the unique braids worn by each member of the company. I always thought it was simply a fashion choice.

"What does a star shaped hairstyle mean?" I ask, referring to Nori's unique look.

Dori scoffs disapprovingly, "It means, Peyton, that he got in with the wrong crowd and all his mates back at home wear their hair in similarly strange geometrical patterns. He has a rebellious streak for the past fifty or so years that I'm hoping he will grow out of."

I can't help but smirk at the scolding tone in Dori's voice, like a parent about a wayward child. So, would Nori's hair be the equivalent of a dyed orange and red mohawk in my world then? Too funny.

"What does a single braid mean?" I sit down besides Thorin on the log, pulling my thick blonde braid to the front of my shoulder. I've begun to braid my hair every day now, mostly to keep my hair from tangling in horrid knots from the humidity, but also to feel like one of the ‘bros’. The dwarves haven't said anything about it, except amused and approving looks.

Dori's face is a mix of amusement and consternation, "It signifies independence and audacity."

I chuckle, "Is that all? I thought it meant 'she’s too lazy to braid her hair more intricately'."

Thorin's eyes sparkle as he answers dryly, "That as well."

I laugh at that, and the three of us sit there, turning to watch the company for a quiet, companionable moment. I notice with trepidation that Kili and Fili have now been joined by Nori, Bofur, and Bifur and they are all standing around Bilbo.

Dori appears to notice something and suddenly stands, coughing awkwardly causing Thorin and I look over at him curiously, "I should, uh, check on Ori. See if he needs anything. Might need his quill…sharpened."

"Uh, ok?" My brow furrows in confusion as I also glance over to Ori across camp. He’s also migrated over to the group, now sitting next to Bilbo, listening to the others and scribbling furiously at his book.

I watch with narrowed eyes as Dori strides towards the group, gives Ori a pat on the back and then becomes engrossed in the conversation. They better not be talking about my shirt…

Oh, yeah, I was looking for a cliff wasn't I?

Glancing at Thorin, I realize that he and I are sitting here alone. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but Fili's and Kili's teasing about Thorin and I comes back to my mind. I blush and look towards the Misty Mountains so he won't see.

Somehow, Kili and Fili found out about my feelings for Thorin, but do the others know? Does Thorin know?

Sure, he knows that I consider him 'young and handsome', but it hadn't been a declaration of feelings by any means. It was just an observation! The sky is blue. The sun is yellow. Thorin Oakenshield is very attractive. No biggy!

Surprisingly, Thorin breaks the silence, his voice a soothing rumble, "And what of your nephews?"

I turn to him and blink in surprise. "My nephews?"

He nods. "Aye. Are they as challenging as mine?"

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and I shrug, "Well, I have three of them. Jackson, Wyatt, and Caleb. So, yes...and no? I guess? They're a handful, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm the cool aunt who isn't afraid to make mud pies or play with water guns. That’s um, a toy that shoots out water.”

His eyes, a deep ocean blue contemplate my words before turning back to the company. His low voice almost sounds resigned as he murmurs, "They must miss you terribly."

A pang of guilt hits me, causing me to wilt. I nod, my voice trapped in my throat. "Yeah. I mean...they probably do," I finally admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t mention that, to be honest, I haven't thought of them much since Rivendell.

The thrill of the journey, the camaraderie among us, and all the laughter has been a welcome distraction. But it’s the happy warmth I feel sitting next to Thorin, just like this, that has truly stood out. Whether we're walking or talking together, it’s always there. These days have been some of the best I can remember. 

And that worries me.

Leaving has gotten more complicated. These people, this world, has dug itself into my heart like a worm in an apple, leaving me permanently changed and riddled with a peculiar emptiness at the thought of leaving.

His next question is gentle, cautious, as if he's afraid of crossing a line. "Have you still been dreaming of them, then?"

I shake my head, my gaze dropping to my hands in my lap, "No."

The dreams of the Necromancer used to be preceded by my family, but since Rivendell it's only been him. The chilling image of the castle looming sends a shiver down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself, the wind picking up around us. I keep that information to myself, unable but to feel a sense of foreboding, an irrational fear that speaking of the dream might somehow make it real.

I try to shrug, pushing away the melancholy and forcing false cheer into my voice, "I was joking earlier. Sort of. Your nephews aren't that bad. I mean, my nieces can be more of a handful than them actually! I have five nieces, and three nephews. All of them precious. It makes me excited to have my own some day."

I glance over at him only to notice that his blue eyes are already focused on me.

"And what about you? Are Kili and Fili practice?" I ask, joking but also wanting to know if Thorin Oakenshield ever dreams of children of his own.

"I don't believe I will ever have children." Thorin replies gruffly after a few moments, "I consider Kili and Fili as mine."

"Well, who knows!" I smile at him, trying to sound positive even though the words feel like ash in my mouth, "You believe in a One, right? Maybe you'll meet her after all the dwarves return to Erebor?"

Thorin smiles, but it's unlike any that I’ve seen him wear this far. It can almost be described as bitter. “I have had the opportunity to travel to the seven dwarf kingdoms many times in the last century. And my meddling sister has seen to it that I’ve been introduced to every dwarrowdam that Middle Earth has to offer.”

“And?” I ask when he grows silent once more.

“Fili will be a good king," he responds. His voice sounds firm, obviously wanting me to drop the subject.

I feel nervous that I’ve upset him for some reason. “Yeah, he will.” I murmur, looking back over at Fili, hating the strange energy surrounding Thorin and I at that moment. “If I don't push him off a cliff first.” I shoot Thorin a grin to let him know I’m joking.

His eyes flicker down to my chest, regarding my shirt curiously, reading the riddle. I give him a look and try to cover it with my arms but he's either a very fast reader or he's already read it before without me noticing. My heart beats fast at the idea of him looking at my chest without me noticing. The thought doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it should.

His blue eyes flick back up at mine, arresting me with his gaze, "What does your shirt mean?"

Nope!

I chuckle, and shake my head,  embarrassed once more, "Probably the same thing as braiding Kili and Fili's hair together means. You don't want to know."

Thorin's eyes widen and his eyebrows raise up. I shrug and give him an embarrassed laugh, “It was a gift from my best friend when I began nursing school." I shake my head at Lizzy's craziness. "I'm kind of a math geek...uh, a person who's really good at calculating things. And because I’m me, someone she considers a 'prude’, she thought it'd be funny to haze me a little. Hence the shirt. Just my luck that I'd be transported to another realm while wearing such a ridiculous thing."

“What if I do want to know?” Thorin asks after a minute.

I turn to look at Thorin with wide-eyes. His gaze is casually intent on my face. Is he…flirting with me?

Impossible. But still…

I smirk, before rolling my eyes with a laughing blush. "Yeaaah, no. I'm already considered an ‘oath-breaker’ with your nephews. I better not make the same deal with you."

"What deal?"

"I told them if they figured out part of the riddle I would tell them the rest of it. But they didn't, Bilbo did. So I'm refusing to tell them what it means."

"The hobbit guessed the riddle?" Thorin's voice is laced with disbelief, his eyes darting over to Bilbo who is now the center of attention and surrounded by more dwarves such as Balin, Gloin, and Oin.

Bilbo seems to be in the middle of an explanation to all of them, his hands gesturing in a helpless shrug, face flushed with embarressment.

"He's pretty amazing when it comes to riddles," I narrow my eyes at the group of them, guessing what he’s explaining to them. But, then again, he's had Fili and Kili’s help after a good 5-6 months to think about it.

Wow. Has it really been that long ago that I arrived on his front porch asking if I could have a place to stay?

Thorin has kept Bilbo at a distance this entire time and I know it has influenced the others' treatment of him. Even now, he glares at Bilbo as if he is below him. Maybe if I can help Thorin see Bilbo's potential, the rest of the company might follow suit?

"Bilbo is quite remarkable," I venture, hoping to somehow bridge the gap between them. "Most generous guy I know, honestly. I might have starved and been living on the streets until the company showed up if it wasn't for him. You two could become really great friends, if you tried."

Thorin is silent, eyes still focused on the company surrounding Bilbo before he shakes his head. "I'll take it into consideration." he rumbles, but I can hear the dubious tone in his low voice. It's as if he doesn't think it's possible to be friends with a grocer.

Oh well. He'll come around eventually.

The announcement of dinner from Bombur diverts everyone's attention. The dwarves abandon their huddle around Bilbo and gather around the fire. But before Thorin and I can stand to grab ourselves a bowl, Bombur himself approaches us, a bowl of stew in each hand, his face beaming. "Stay put, you two. Enjoy your seats," he says, handing us the bowls.

"Oh! Thank you, Bombur," I blink in surprise, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Thorin nods in gratitude, murmuring his thanks as well. And we take sips of our delicious hot stew.

"Hey, Pey! Why don't you sing us a song you’ve created?” Bofur calls over from where he and Nori have sat.

I give him a confused smile, "A song I've created? Uh, I've never created any songs?"

Bofur looks taken aback, sharing an amazed glance with Nori, "Yer joking! Ye really mean to say that you've never thought up a song before? Ever?!"

I shake my head "No, never! Well, I mean, maybe when I was a kid? But just silly songs that I don't remember. I’m good at memorizing songs and I’m a wizard at recreating songs on the piano, err, it’s a musical instrument. But that's it! I don't have a creative bone in my body!"

"That's a load o' rubbish." Dwalin speaks up, and I turn to him, surprised that HE would have anything to say about singing songs. He has been sitting on a rock off to the side, as Thorin and I talked, not saying anything until now. "To create is something all livin' things possess. Even those stupid trolls 'ave creative moments. LIFE creates."

I give him an appraising look, "Wow, Dwalin. That was deep. Did you just make that up?"

"No." he says simply, "But, it's the truth. Life creates."

Bofur slaps his knee lightly, coming to a resolution about something, "Well, lads, it seems there's nothin' for it." His voice is as solemn as I've ever heard him, but the twinkle of mischief in his eyes has me on edge, "Seems that Peyton 'ere will 'ave to make up a song for us."

I laugh at his joke, "Make up a song? Out of thin air like you guys do? Ha! That's a good one Bofur." I shake my head.

"No, no, he's got it right Pey." Kili jumps in, his eyes earnest and also up to something. "You're going to have to make up a song for us! That'll get your creative fire sparking!"

"We'll help you." Fili adds excitedly.

My smile drops. Something is fishy about all of this. They can't be serious.

"Sing a song about adventure!" Dori suggests.

"No. Sing us a love song!" Nori smirks and the company all start chuckling in anticipation.

I roll my eyes and send an unimpressed look his way. I pointedly do NOT look at Thorin. I have the itching suspicion that Nori is the one that has been talking to Kili and Fili. Maybe even the entire company by this point. But why would he betray me like that? I mean I saved the guy’s life, after all!

My heart starts to stutter in my chest as my anxiety begins to grow, "But….I’m not a dwarf! How would I even start?! And where would the melody come from? What if the notes clash or...or don't blend well? I can't do that! I've never done that! Maybe if I had a piano? I'm pretty good at improv on a piano…”

Gloin's voice cuts through the group's chatter, his words a challenge, "It comes with practice, lass. Sometimes, ye 'ave to start, and the notes…well, they'll find their own way."

I gape at him in betrayal. Et tu Gloin?

"You 'ave to sing about what you're doin in the moment! What you're feelin’ in the moment!" Bofur encourages with a smile.

"Or you can sing about your dreams, Pey," Ori suggests sweetly. "What you hope will happen!"

Little Ori too?! I pale.

"You have to look within your heart. Find the words that echo your emotions." Bombur gently adds with a smile.

Wow, they're serious. My face scrunches in confused disbelief. This is going to be a disaster!

"Can't I just sing a song I already know?" I plead desperately.

"No!" They ALL say at the same time, some laughing and some deadpan, but all of them serious. 

"Go on," Thorin rumbles at my side and I look at him in surprise. He folds his arms across his chest and gives an amused look, "Regale us with your emotion."

I narrow my eyes at his teasing in a mock glare. Well, I'm not singing about my feelings for him, that's for darn sure!

I cover my face before loudly groaning and looking up at the sky, hoping that maybe the Valar will deliver me.

They don't. They hate me.

Feeling ganged up by all the dwarves with not one word of help from a grinning Gandalf and Bilbo, I give in, "Ugh, I'm going to feel so STUPID doing this! But I'm NOT going to sing about emotions. I'll take Dori's advice and sing about adventure."

"What?! Why"?" Bofur scoffs, "Are ye a possum?"

Yep. I'm a possum. 100%

I wave my hand, "No! It's because…then I'll start singing about how much I love all of you guys, and how you've all changed my life forever, and how much I'm going to miss everyone when I go back home. Then I'll start crying like a baby, which will make everyone uncomfortable and that'll just ruin the evening!"

Everyone is silent, except for the crackling of the fire from the firepit. The dwarves all give me shocked and tender expressions. Honestly, I’m surprised that THEY’RE surprised. Of COURSE I care for them very much! And going home will, in fact, be hard for me. Have I not demonstrated over and over again how much they mean to me?

Like, come on! Stop looking at me like that! 

But Thorin’s words come back to me from when I apologized to him the first time. I’m the first human to ever apologize for speaking unkindly to him. Maybe it’s the same for the others?

Why do humans and dwarves not get along, I wonder?

I start to babble, trying to fill the silence and ease my embarrassment, “Fun fact! Did you know that when a female cries, it actually lowers the testoserone of every male around her? Oh, uh, testosterone is a hormo-.…uh, chemical produced by the body, that gives males their physical characteristics! Anyways, that’s why it's so uncomfortable for guys to see a woman cry! Without testosterone, it makes them feel more ‘unmanly’ and a little helpless. I wonder if it's one of the reasons humans developed the ability to cry to begin with, honestly? I don't know if it would work on Dwarves but I don't want to test that theory, do you? Unless you want to see me cry? Then we could see-"

"Alright, lass." Dwalin inturrupts, a gentle smile on his warrior-trainer face. "Just… sing about adventure then."

I breath a sigh of relief which turns into a gulp, "I, uh...okay. Um, h-here it goes…"

Clearing my throat, I frantically try to think about what to sing AS WELL AS a tune. I need to sing about what I'm doing in the moment? What am I doing right now?

"Uh….I'm on a journey? And I'm…walking? Um...along?"

No, I’m not. This is so stupid. I try and find something that rhymes with 'along'.

"I'm with my friends…and I sing this song!"

This whole thing reminds me of that one scene in the movie 'Elf' when Buddy made up a song to sing to his dad that was horribly off tune. Or, like when Nacho Libre had to make up a song to sing to Ramses when he snuck into his party.

I'm trying to make up a bouncy tune in my head, but I sound like a little kid who is making up a song while they play with their dolls or something.

"Uhhhh, I don't know how to sing….and I...and...you're crazy for making me do this thing! “

I abruptly turn to Thorin and beg for mercy, "Can I please stop now? You can see how bad I am at this!"

But Dwalin answers for him, "Keep going, Lass. Pick a rhythm and keep to it."

"I'm going to try extra hard to stab you with a knife tomorrow," I mutter darkly to myself, causing Dwalin and the others to chuckle.

I scramble, trying to stick to a good tune and rhythm, “A bunch of dwarves, a hobbit too, uhhh….and sometimes Gandalf, when he's in the mood!"

Gandalf's laughter is a silent tremor, his mouth tightly shut. The dwarves' smiles are encouraging, though, "Ummm, on our way…to Erebor….to find the hidden, magic door….uh, On Durin's day, when the light is gone….and when we think that it's all gone wrong….the moon will come out…and then we'll see, the hidden door that needs the key! The battles rages, the ravens cry, with eagles flying in the sky. The dawn will break, the war will be won, the songs of feasting will be...sung?”

Hopefully.

I blush and stutter, noticing that no one is smiling now. Their eyes are locked on me, shocked and serious as they pay attention to my ‘seer’ words rather than the atrocious tune I'm making up.

Unable to continue, I finish, "I, uh, um…I'm…I'm not much good at this singing, as I'm sure you will all agree…..But it's been fun, and now I'm done, so please just leave me be!"

It breaks the spell and the dwarves all shake their heads and laugh, but Bofur cheers (For friendship. Obviously) and the other dwarves join in and clap as well.

I laugh, feeling completely absurd and foolish. My voice is great for singing, but do I have the ability to create catchy tunes on the spot? That's a resounding NO. If only I could play the piano for them to redeem myself!

Groaning, I cover my face with my hands, "Ugh, I hate you guys so much! I wish I could go throw myself off a cliff right now but there aren't any cliffs around!"

"No, you love us! You already admitted it!" Fili laughs.

I laugh and roll my eyes at him, "Yeah, well, my love isn't going to stop me from bopping you on the head with a hammer if you don't behave!"

"It was your first time, Lass." Dwalin shrugs, "You're going to sound like a child the first few times."

I frantically shake my head, "Oh, no, no, no! No, I will not be doing that again!"

He merely raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say 'Yeah, you will.'

I need to get the company's attention off of me, so I turn to an unassuming Bilbo, "Your turn Bilbo!"

"Wha- ME?" Bilbo shakes his head emphatically., "Oh no. No, no, I'm-I'm not a composer. Well, I mean, I…I have dabbled in it, but…" He gives a bashful half-laugh which turns into fear as I walk towards him with an evil smile. His eyes widen and he shakes his head, "But nothing sung out LOUD! I'm fond of a good, simple pub song myself!"

Guessing what I’m about to do, he wraps his arm around a large branch sticking up from the dead log he's on.

"Oh no, you don't!" I grab him by his other arm and try to haul him up. I grunt, pulling at the little bugger with all my might, "If I have to sing a dumb made-up song, then you...do...too!"

"Can't I just sing a regular pub song?" Bilbo pleads, desperately holding onto the branch with all his scrawny might while I pull on his other arm.

Gandalf just watches on with an amused smirk, lips on his pipe.

"No!" I grunt.

"Please?" he begs.

"No!"

"PLEASE?"

"No!", "Yes." Thorin says at the same time as me.

I stop pulling on Bilbo's arm and look over at the Dwarf King in betrayal.

"One made-up song by a ‘non-dwarf’ is enough for one night. I do not think my ears could take another." His expression is dry but his blue eyes sparkle, teasing me.

I gasp in mock outrage as I let go of Bilbo's arm and begin trying to smack at Thorin's person like I had with Kili after he stole me frisbee from me. "I only sang because you all made me! Don't make me commit regicide, Thorin!"

"I'll take my chances." He chuckles while easily blocking my pathetic smacks on his person with his ninja reflexes. "Seems you need more training from Dwalin before I have cause to fear anything from you."

I growl, and try hitting harder and faster anywhere I can. His head, his shoulder, his leg, but Thorin blocks every attempt nonchalantly, his face transforming into beautiful white teeth and laughing eyes. In a suddenly skilled move, he grabs one of the hands I try to hit him with and abruptly pulls me forward, causing me to be pulled to sit beside him where I’m tucked against his shoulder and can’t wack at him anymore.

”There now. No more attacking the King,” he rumbles in amusement giving me a stern look as if I’m committing treason.

His blue eyes cause heart palpitations to stutter in my chest, and electric feeling dancing under my ribs from the contact and I huff in mock annoyance but stop trying to smack him.

He turns to Bilbo, his smile slightly falling but his expression still polite, “You may proceed.”

I’m sitting closer to him than ever before, feeling his arm at my side and I don’t dare move. I have no intention of ruining this moment.

Bilbo is pleased that he’s off the hook, however, and sighs in relief as he lets go of the branch he had held onto for dear life. I pout at him and he returns it with a triumphant smile. Then he turns back to the Dwarves, suddenly nervous at their scrutiny of him again.

"Uhh, alright." He clears his throat, hands nervous at his sides and he begins, dancing slightly:

"Hey! Ho! To the bottle I go.

To heal my heart and drown my woe.

Rain may fall and wind may blow,

But there still be many miles to go!"

The dwarves join in with hand clapping and feet pounding as this is a song one can dance to. I roll my eyes at him. I’ve heard this song before at the Green Dragon! And I think Frodo will sing it as well!

"Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,

And the stream that fall from hill to plain.

Better than rain or rippling brook...

Is a mug of beer inside this Took!"

The dwarves cheer loudly while I protest, feeling picked on, "That's not fair! He sang a song he already knew! Of COURSE it's going to sound better than mine!"

The company ignores me as the dwarves start loudly bemoaning the lack of beer and ale on this trip and how much better everything would be with some beer.

I roll my eyes. It's a good thing we DON'T have any alcohol, because if we did; they'd attract every warg, orc, troll, and goblin in Middle Earth with all the ruckus. Me especially. I've proven to be a crazy drunk. I would probably start going on about Thorin's beautiful mermaid hair and try to kiss him.

Nope. I learned my lesson the first and last time in ByWater. Never getting drunk again.

Bilbo is the only one who acknowledges my frown. His eyes twinkle with mirth as he quirks a smug eyebrow at me, giving a nonchalant shrug, "I merely wished not to cause you any distress about your melody, should I conjure a more agreeable tune."

I laugh in shock and throw a pebble at him, “Bilbo Baggins! It was my first and only time!" I haven't seen Bilbo this cheeky since Hobbiton. He seems to have come out of his shell a little bit with that song.

Suddenly, Thorin stands up next to me, and I can’t help but watch as he gives me an apologetic smile before heading off towards the trees, Gandalf walking with him. I must have missed a sign that Gandalf gave for Thorin to follow him since that’s what it looks like just happened.

I glance after them curiously, wondering what they could possibly have to discuss without me.

But then Kili starts mocking my song and I focus on aiming my shoe at his head, promptly forgetting about the two of them leaving.

Chapter Text

Five minutes of laughing and teasing later, nature's call becomes urgent. I need to go to the bathroom, like, immediately. Excusing myself, I dart into the dark woods, searching for a secluded tree.

I find the perfect hideout when I suddenly remember that Thorin and Gandalf are somewhere out here. I pause, straining my ears for any whispers, curious about what they could be discussing while also worried that I might accidentally stumble upon them with my pants down.

Hearing nothing, I quickly finish up and try to navigate my way back to camp with the scant light that remains. I've ventured further than usual this time.

It's so interesting, I think to myself as I walk, how Thorin and my relationship has grown. There's such a crazy pull toward him! He's always on my radar, even when I'm not looking at him.

I always seem to be aware of where he is, tracking him by sound. His footsteps, his voice, the flash of his dark hair in my peripheral vision, it all draws my attention towards him. The idea of 'the One' that the dwarves believe in comes to mind, but I quickly dismiss it.

Sounds great in songs and stories, but I gave up the idea of finding 'the One' as a fantasy a long time ago. I'm almost 27 in a few more months! I'd be lucky to find SOMEone at this point. Besides, It's absurd and somewhat narcissistic to think that I could be soulmates with a fictional king from a fairytale. A dwarf no less!

Yet, here I am, impossibly in a fairytale. And hopelessly attracted to a now UN-fictional dwarf king.

I shake my head at myself. Thorin's become my safety net, basically. That’s all it is! I mean, who WOULDN’T fall head over heels for someone like him? He's been there to protect me through every near-death experience I've had in Middle Earth, besides almost being run over by Timothy's cart.

My daydreams start to fantasize about his strong arms, his stronger will, the crinkles near his eyes that melt me when he smiles, his teasing, his endearing attempts at jokes…..

Especially the peace I feel around him.

He doesn't talk to hear himself talk or to try and impress me. When he speaks, it's logical and thought out and intelligent. He's a great conversationalist during the times that I'm able to open him up, sharing information that opens my mind and enlightens my thoughts. And the sense of peace and safety he exudes is like a warm blanket, which makes me want to always be around him.

I sigh to myself with longing and then frown with annoyance at my reaction. This is pathetic! I'm pathetic.

Imagine landing in Middle Earth, an impossible feat in itself, and what do I do? Go and develop a hopeless crush on the most unattainable dwarf around! I'm so-

"Ridiculous. How can you even suggest such a thing?" Thorin's low voice startles me from my thoughts and I realize I have indeed stumbled right onto their intense tête-à-tête. It's surprising to me that they missed my clunky approach since I haven't tried at all to be quiet. Must be a very heated discussion. I pause to listen, curious.

"A human as the Queen Under the Mountain? My Grandfather would roll in his grave to hear of it." Thorin grumbles. I barely see him through gaps in the foliage, staring off into the distance. "Most would never accept her. They would..." He trails off, but I catch the tension in his stance, even though he is faced away from me.

My eyes widen, and my insides feel eloctrocuted with horror. They're talking about me?! And about him? As in…me with him?!?!

WHATAREyOUdOING GANDALF?!? NOOOOOO!

"Your feelings are the only ones that should hold weight, Thorin," Gandalf insists with sincerity. "Why should the ideas of others concern you in such a personal matter?”

Thorin whips around, his figure barely discernible amidst the foliage. "It does not matter what I do and do not feel, ” He says the word through his teeth as if it is a curse and disgusts him, his tone resolute, “That is irrelevant. The notion is an impossibility, Gandalf!”

My throat prickles, feeling scratchy and tight and I clench my teeth, trying to rein in the storm beginning to swirl inside. I have the urge to burst out of the trees and start beating on Gandalf with his own staff!

"I have known elves and humans to fall in love, why could a dwarf and human not do the same?" Gandalf continues gruffly.

Thorin's voice cuts through the air, raw and exasperated. "And what kind of love would that be? A tragic one! A human lives a quarter of a dwarf's lifespan and a mere fraction of an elf's. I am 195 years old, Gandalf!"

I brace myself against a tree trunk, fighting the tightness in my chest and the burning in my eyes. 1/62 of an elf's life to be exact, I quickly do the math to myself distractedly.

"Well, it simply means that both of you have the same amount of time left," Gandalf replies, his voice laced with a deceptively innocent smile.

Thorin shakes his head, his gaze averted from the grey wizard. "It can never be,” he mutters, his low voice barely above a rumble.

He's right.

Of course he's right, I chastise myself, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. How could a 200-year-old dwarf king possibly fall in love with a twenty-six-year-old human? The whole idea is so ludicrous it sounds like a bad joke. But, for some reason, knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less. I swallow hard, trying to push down the painful lump in my throat.

This entire trip, I'd always convinced myself that it was ok that Thorin and I are just friends. But now, as a wave of crushing sadness washes over me, sucking me into its dark depths, I realize that the impossible desire to be more had snuck into my heart without any conscious effort on my part. Planted, without my say-so, somewhere along the trail. Perhaps that strange seed was planted even before that, such as in my childhood as I reclaimed Erebor with a stick sword trying to be him.

"It sounds to me like you are attempting to persuade yourself more than anyone else," Gandalf observes, a hint of sternness in his voice. "If it is indeed love, then it is a battle you must wage! Persuade her to remain!”

“No.” Thorin replies, his voice suddenly devoid of emotion, as if he was hollow inside. “She has a family waiting for her. I will not.”

Gandalf continues to mumble something inaudible to him, but I've heard enough. I turn away, covering my mouth to stifle any pained sounds from escaping as I quietly retreat back into the trees.

I'm angry, disappointed, and hurt, but mostly... I feel ashamed. Ashamed of my own naiveté and immaturity in letting myself develop feelings for THE Thorin Oakenshield. Like a foolish child with an impossible crush. The King Under the Mountain with a mere nobody from Nevada? Why did I do this to myself?

Honestly, I never expected anything would come of it. Truly! I just... I simply couldn’t help myself! I genuinely like him for who he is as a person, and never for some fantasy of what he could potentially give me as a king or leader.

Thorin and I had something special! We’ve bonded, laughed, and relished each other’s presence. Sure, it wasn't flawless, and sure there was a barely perceptible chemistry in the air if I looked at him for too long in his eyes but...but...why did Gandalf have to interfere? I thought he only followed the will of the Valar?!? Now our friendship is ruined!

The worst part is...I've never felt this way about anyone on Earth. The dates, the guys I've crushed on, even my two past boyfriends—none of them hold a candle to the way this one dwarf has made me feel. Thorin's like a magnetic force, and I'm helpless against it, unable to resist.

I've been foolish to hope, against all odds and despite our glaring differences, and despite the VERY IMPORTANT fact that I will be leaving, that maybe… just maybe…. he felt something for me like I do for him.

It wasn’t a logical hope, I‘m well aware. But…attraction isn’t always logical. Like Penny from the Big Bang Theory once said: ‘the heart wants what the heart wants, Leonard.’

There were moments when I had thought I wasn't alone in my admiration. Moments when we'd glance into each other’s eyes and share an unspoken amusement at something immature or silly that one of his nephews would say or even something the company would do. When playing pranks on the company, I'd notice him watching me and I'd let him in on the joke by holding a finger to my lips and sending him a wink. His lips would quirk into a smile and I would feel my heart beat just a little faster.

I’d thought we had a connection... but I must have misread him entirely.

Thorin, he's just one of those genuinely great guys—the type who would treat any woman the way he treats me. He's a good man. That's all there is to it.

I try to stay quiet, but my throat clenches painfully and my body feels heavy, like someone's poured a load of wet sand into it. My heart in particular.

"You're going home, remember?" I mumble aloud, trying to comfort my heart. I shake my head, trying to steady my emotions, "Family's waiting for you…back home."

It's better this way, truly. Even if, by some incredulous twist, he had reciprocated any of my feelings for him, it's not like we could have ever acted on them. And that would be so much worse, right?"

Just as Thorin said, it can never be.

Stupid tears blur my vision, and my heart gives another powerful ache, but I clench my jaw, forcing myself to breathe evenly and focus on where I put my feet so I don't trip in the dark. I don’t want to return to the company in this state of mind, but the dangers lurking in the darkness make it too risky to stay away. But I also desperately don’t want anyone noticing that I'm upset. If word somehow gets back to Thorin, he might realize I overheard his conversation. That's the last thing I need. I don't want him to feel obligated to explain or apologize. That conversation would destroy me, and I have to salvage what little dignity I have left.

And the next time I see Gandalf, his stupid grey hat is going straight into the damn river!!!!

As I wrestle with my volatile emotions, pushing them down and distancing myself from them, voices cut through the silence of the forest. I see Bifur arguing heatedly with Fili through the trees in Khuzdul. I pause at the edge of the camp, taking a deep breath and wiping at my eyes until they're dry.

Ok Peyton…it’s show time.

Act. Natural.

I walk into camp, making sure I'm loud enough that the company knows it's just me and not an intruder.

"Peyton! There you are!" Fili's voice rings out.

I freeze like a deer in headlights, a wave of panic washing over me.

"Tell Bifur it was you who borrowed his whittling knife last! I used it before you!" Fili's voice carries over from where he's locked in a dispute with Bifur.

"Uhhh," I stammer, forcing my body to move and my mind to focus on the issue at hand. About two weeks ago, I had noticed Bofur whittling during lunch break and I'd sat beside him, wanting to get to know him a little better. I couldn't understand his words, but I read his body language, guessing at what he was saying while Bofur helped translate. He had been a toy maker before Smaug came and was whittling a bird toy. After that, I began whittling with him sometimes (when not tired from dwalin’s training) and I was currently trying my hand at creating an elephant.

"But, didn't you use it to scrape off a tiny edge after me?" I ask, grateful for the distraction.

"No! It wasn't me!" Fili protests.

"Oh, wait a second!" I snap my fingers as my memory finally kicks into gear. "I think it might have been Kili!"

Bifur grumbles something that sounds like a string of curses in Kuzdul, stomping off to address his grievance with Kili. Fili rolls his eyes, flashing me a relieved grin. I offer a small smile in return.

However, Fili's expression shifts as he studies me, "Hey... are you alright?"

SHOOT!! Not natural enough!

Quickly, I feign a yawn, exaggeratingly raising my arms above my head. "Oh, I'm just exhausted, you know? So many horrible songs today... my eyes feel scratchy. I'm beat. Goodnight!"

Ignoring Fili's concerned expression, I head to my sleeping bag, conveniently placed near his, Kili's and Dwalin's spots. I'm not sure exactly how this little arrangement came about, but it began after Fili and Kili started training with me so we naturally just began sleeping in the same vicinity once we were done. Thorin always sleeps nearby and he is one of the few dwarves in the group who doesn't snore.

Grabbing my bag, I move to the opposite side of the camp, near Bifur's pack, ensuring I'll be away from where Gandalf and Thorin will return. I grab Oin's bag next to Bifur's and toss it gently to where mine had been by Kili's and Thorin's.

I can feel eyes on me, and I glance up to see Nori observing me as I unroll my bag. His head tilts in a silent question. I muster up a smile and give him a friendly wave, but it feels so forced that I'm certain he can see right through it. I wish he wasn't so perceptive. Can't he just mind his own business?

Bifur has the loudest snore in the company so I know it might look a little odd, but I need to make sure no one will overhear if I cry tonight. The mere thought threatens to overwhelm me, and I focus on taking deep, calming breaths as I unroll my bag.

Concentrating on the small tasks at hand, I am desperate to distract my mind from the tears threatening to spill.

Inhale. Exhale.

I undo the bindings on my bedroll, smoothing out the creases and clearing away any pebbles.

"Off to bed, lass?" I hear Bofur ask behind me.

I don't turn to face him, instead making my voice sound cheery, "Yep! When my eyes start to hurt, that's when I know I'm more exhausted than usual."

"Ok, Pey. Sweet dreams." 

"You too," I sigh inwardly to myself, glad he bought it.

Laying down on my side, I face the Misty Mountains, and allow the tears to finally escape. In another day or two, we'll be trekking through the mountains and navigating Goblin Town. I snuggle deeper into my sleeping bag, stewing in frustration over my poor naive heart.

The voices of the dwarves filter through the thick fabric as they tease Bilbo, trying to make him guess who has his missing silverware. I'm betting that Nori snuck them. Bilbo had brought five of his silver spoons at the beginning of the quest, due to the incorrect assumption that everyone ate five meals a day like a Hobbit does. Since then, his spoons have been at the bottom of his pack, much like my inappropriate shirt was in mine.

Suddenly, Bilbo's frustrated hiss sounds out right next to where I lay, "Gandalf! I would have a word with you!"

I stiffen automatically, realizing that Gandalf and Thorin arrived without me even noticing it.

I try to give the illusion of rest. Relax the shoulders, slow the breath. But my body doesn't want to obey me, and my shoulders refuse to relax no matter how hard I try.

"Some of the company have taken my spoons I brought on this quest!" Bilbo continues frustratedly, close enough for me to hear his whispers. "And they won't tell me who has them! No matter how many times I guess!"

"What do you expect me to do, Master Baggins?" Gandalf replies curtly, his mood sour. "I can't fight your battles. Stand up for yourself if you want respect! Besides, you only need one spoon, not five. And no, do not ask Miss Peyton for help. You must assert yourself!

I stare out into the darkness, the silhouettes of trees glowing from the light of the campfire the only thing I see since I'ma facing away from camp.

Without consciously deciding to, I block out their conversation and listen for the rich baritone voice I’ve become accostumed to tracking. Yet, it doesn't come. Either Thorin hasn't returned with Gandalf, or he's in a foul mood, causing everyone to avoid him except for offering respectful nods.

For what seems an eternity, I gaze into the darkness, listening as the company settle into their sleeping arrangements. Finally, after things seem to have settled down, with Bifur laying down at a respectful distance by my side in his sleeping bag, I roll onto my back and look up at the stars.

The camp is quiet. And so I allow myself to think.

Middle Earth has some of the most breathtaking sights I have ever laid eyes on- lush green valleys, cool silver streams, giant blue lakes, snow-capped mountains, and forests whose leaves sparkle like emeralds in the sunlight. The Shire was lovely and The Valley of Imladris was heavenly.

But, my most favorite sight of all, is the one I get to witness every single night that there aren't any clouds.

The stars.

They twinkle like bright, sparkling diamonds clustered together. An array of light that seems to dance across the night sky in colorful nebulas of gas. The fact that there is zero electricity in Middle Earth makes the night sky so bright that there's no need for a flashIight even without the moon. I can see orange, purple, blue, light blue, and pink swirls in the sky. Not a patch of darkness exists; even the farthest reaches of space appear sprinkled with faint white dust. Shooting stars streak across the sky regularly, a nightly spectacle that enthralls me.

I wish I could reach up and cup those clouds of glitter in my hands, only to blow on them to watch them scatter and swirl back up across the black canvas of space.

Before coming here, I was shaped by a diet of instant ramen and peanut butter sandwiches, an unlikely hero for this epic quest. But Galadriel spoke of a power within me, a power inherent to all 'children of light.' What is this power?

"It must be a sacrifice of your all, driven by the greatest of powers...All Children of the Light have the 'greatest of power." Her words echo in my mind.

But what is the 'greatest' of all powers? I always thought a black hole was the strongest force, stronger than even light. But maybe, 'greatest' doesn't necessarily mean physical strength? What is this mysterious force that I need to tap into? I have to believe in myself, to find the strength to face Azog. But what is this power? It's the key to everything, I'm sure of it..

“A sacrifice of your all…..the greatest of powers...the greatest of powers.”

WHAT IS IT?!

Lord Elrond's words come back to me, about light being sacred and residing within each of us. It's a beautiful notion, one I wish were true. What is light though? 

A molecule and a wave? My scientific brain pipes up in an attempt to help. I pause, trying to see if that applies to figuring out the greatest power, before moving on from it.

Staring up at these stars, clearer and brighter than any in my polluted world, makes me feel small…and yet, it makes me feel connected to that greatness. Like I'm in the presence of something so ancient, so vast and enormous that I can't possibly begin to comprehend even a portion of it. It makes me feel like I'm part of that 'more' I sensed during Thorin's song before the quest or, at the very least, that I've come closer to it.

The sight fills me with peace and keeps me from plunging down into a black pit of hopelessness and inadequacy when it comes to Thorin. I take a deep, soothing breath. Tomorrow will be a new day. I can start fresh. Everything will be ok. I can still save the line of Durin and then get back home.

Where I belong.

The sun bathes the grass in brilliant green hues, warming me in my short-sleeved shirt. Thorin, too, dons something lighter—his royal blue long-sleeved shirt. We're sitting very close together on a grassy river bank, alone, which is strange and I briefly look around wondering where the company is.

"Amralime," he whispers softly, his eyes soft as his familiar large hand wraps mine.

I look into his handsome face, feeling warmth and joy spread through my heart and body as brilliant as the sun overhead.

"Amrali-what?” I give a confused smile, tilting my head with affection, “What does that mean?"

In response, he delicately brushes his hand at something on the side of my face. I reach up, finding a braid where none existed before. Confusion clouds my thoughts, but before I can question him, he vanishes, and I'm suddenly back in the desolate city.

I sigh, resigning myself to my fate, "Not even a moment's peace, eh Necromancer?"

Fear prickles my senses, the familiar sensation that is now laced with a bitter taste of irritation. I don't want to be here! With a growl of frustration, I jump up and break into a sprint, my eyes scanning the desolate fortress for a cliff to leap from. An echo of drumbeats sends a chill down my spine, a haunting reminder of the Moria incident from the Fellowship of the Ring.

As I race up the pale stone steps, a sense of dread gnaws at me, my heart pounding in sync with the ominous rhythm. My path ends abruptly, trapping me in a dead-end as he finally catches up, materializing in a whirlwind of darkness.

"Ok, Necromancer, let's wrap this up shall we? Just lunge at me so I can wake up this time." I snap, glaring at his dark cloud. I'm eager and ready to move on to more pleasant dreams. The fact that I haven't had a single dream of my family since Rivendell worries me, and I'm clueless to what it means.

"I have become accustomed to your energy signature. I know where you are in Middle Earth now. You are about to cross the Misty Mountains." His ominous voice is calm, almost casual, but it sends a shiver down my spine.

I clap my hands together, deciding that I'll just have to provoke him to anger until he loses control. I don't want to be stuck in this dream any longer than I have to. "Bravo, Sherlock. Now hurry up and attack so I can wake up and enjoy better dreams."

"I think not."

His shadowy figure condenses to become that of the human shape he sometimes chooses to portray. The air vibrates in strange patterns as he approaches. I step back instinctively, my heart pounding despite knowing he can't hurt me. It's just a dream.

"I'm not telling you anything about the future. Or my world. Or anything about me!" I hiss, my voice muted like the sound is being sucked into the void around him.

He's like a black hole, sucking in light, joy, and hope

"You will. When my servants capture you." He responds simply, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Servants?" I squint, puzzled. "What servants? You mean that weird hairy Gollum you keep trapped here? You might wanna seek better employment."

"I have legions of servants, all of which stand ready at my command," he hisses, amusement lacing his words. "One of which is on your tail as we speak. He is seeking one of your companions, with orders to bring you to me."

My heart drops. What?

He chuckles at my expression, a low, menacing sound that sends shivers down my spine as he notices my expression, "Indeed. One of my most feared servants. He will not stop until he has you."

I shake my head, refusing to believe him. "You're lying. You're just trying to scare me."

"Am I?" 

"So, torture?" I glare at him, unamused, "That's your plan for me? Don't you have anything better to do with your life?"

The Necromancer doesn't have facial features, so I only know his emotions based on the aura I get from him. But if I could give him a human face with emotions, I would imagine him as a confident individual, maliciously amused. "Of course I do. You will find out soon enough."

His tendrils of black mist creep towards me but do not touch me.

With that, he disappears, leaving me alone in the desolate city for the first time. It's disconcerting. He has never done this before. I wander around the dark city, my heart pounding in my chest as I wonder if I'll ever wake up. Until at last, I find a cliff to throw myself off of and at last waken with a start.

I sit up and look around, finding myself in the familiar surroundings of our camp. The others are still asleep, their faces peaceful, their snores filling the night air. They're oblivious to the danger that might be lurking nearby.

My mind races. Could the Necromancer be telling the truth? Is one of his servants really after us? After me? And if so, who could it be? I have no answers, only a growing sense of dread.

Could it be Azog with more wargs?

I turn to look over at Kili, Fili, asleep. Bifur's snores are louder than a bear's and I regret not sleeping next to them. And finally, my eyes flicker to where Thorin lay. He is asleep, his eyes closed, his chest slowly lifting.

I can't help but think of the nice dream I had with him before the Necromancer appeared and the strange word he whispered to me. Amrally-may? I have no idea what it means, but it felt... special. Like a secret shared between us.

I stay awake longer than I should, since Bombur is already on the first watch. But I can't help it. I'm jittery, feeling a sense of urgency to protect my friends from whatever threat might be out there seeking to destroy them. My eyes scan the darkness for any signs of danger but after one hour passes, I find myself nodding off, unable to continue.

The soft light of dawn signals our departure, but this morning, I feel anything but refreshed. Exhaustion clings to me like a second skin, my body heavy and drained of energy. Despite this, I rise without complaint, packing away my sleeping gear with bleary eyes.

My gaze instinctively finds Thorin like I do every morning, but I quickly look away when I realize that he's watching me too.

Dang it, I looked away too quickly!

Come on Pey, don't act suspicious. Keep it together!

I force myself to look back over at him, offering a tired but friendly smile.

I've made a decision; I'll be on my best behavior. No more romantic thoughts. I'll be 'a true friend', as Galadriel suggested. I'll focus on the quest, save the line of Durin, steer clear of the Necromancer, and then get my butt back home.

Simple, right? But not so easy.

Throughout the day, I do my best to appear normal and I engage with everyone. I laugh at Kili and Fili's jokes, chat with Bilbo about what our Shire acquaintances must think of his prolonged absence, discuss electrical appliances with Nori, and learn about Dwarven holidays and traditions from Balin. Even Dwalin earns a shoulder punch and a huff for a comment about me being 'defenseless as a baby bird.'

(He's right though. My hand actually hurts and he probably thought I was just brushing some dirt off his shoulder or something.)

I engage with everyone... except for Thorin, that is.

Normally, I include him in my conversations. I'll always try to pull him out of his quiet melancholy, in an effort to get him out of his comfort zone and usual silence. Sometimes we’ll just talk for hours he and I as we walk. But today I don't trust myself to not make longing star-filled eyes at him if he smiles, or to blush if he does something kind or gentlemanly.

I make a conscious effort to be everywhere he isn't. During lunch, I discuss food from my world with Bombur while purposefully sitting on the opposite side of the group from the open spot beside him. As we march towards the looming Misty Mountains, I notice Thorin walking beside me, and I turn to engage Ori in conversation about his favorite books to ensure I stay distracted.

I'm fine. Everything is fine.

When we stop for camp that night, I walk off in the direction of a small stream.

I know that if I TRULY wanted to act normal, I would talk and walk with him like I do every day. But I just need…a day. Just one day to pull myself together and reset my mind a little. Tomorrow, I promise, I'll go back to-

"Is our next foul run-in with orcs close at hand, then?" Thorin's unexpected voice startles me, causing water to splash as I whirl around to see him standing quietly by a tree nearby.

He must have mistaken my evasive actions all day as my fear of upcoming events. I was hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Uhhhh. Yes!" I nod quickly, overly eager to let him believe that's the reason. "Goblins, actually.” I clear my throat, leaning down and picking up my fallen wooden plate and spoon before continuing, “Err, how’d you guess?"

Thorin's expression clears slightly, straightening up, "Something felt different today, and I could not account for it. Can you share what sort of trouble it will be?" He takes a step closer, visibly concerned in a way that melts my heart.

Stupid heart!

I sigh, "It's better if you don't know. If you do, you'll only worry more."

It's not a lie, but what's curious is that despite it being a genuine concern, the goblins haven't really been on my mind like they were a couple of days ago. With Gandalf absent, I should be more concerned about the timeline. But instead, it's Thorin that has been occupying my mind all day. It didn't matter that I was laughing with Bofur, talking with Dori, giggling with Kili, or discussing medical procedures with Oin…. Thorin was on my mind for all of it. I haven’t been able to turn off my 'Thorin tracker'. (Kind of hard to do that when you’re actively avoiding him, Pey!)

"But if I do not know what troubles you, I shall worry regardless," he counters, his posture tense from my cryptic words.

"Not as much as you would if you did know," I counter back, trying to tamper down the thrill from finally bantering with him again.

Once again, we find ourselves standing close, and I can't help but wonder why this always happens. It was so exhausted staying away from him.

"Peyton." His tone is gentle, and the dream from the other night flashes in my mind when he called me by a different name.

His blue eyes are sincere and my insides do funny things when he says my name like that. I'm half tempted to ask him what, if anything, 'Amralime' means or if it's just a silly word my mind made up.

He maintains a soft tone as he continues, "I order you to tell me what will happen."

My eyes widen. Did he just order me to- Oh no.

Why did I ever make that stupid oath?! And why is THIS, of all things, so important to him that he's finally decided to use my oath? Avoiding him all day must have affected him more than I thought it would. I had no idea he would care so much, especially after what he said to Gandalf!

Avoiding Thorin is exactly what Galadriel had cautioned me against. I'm supposed to let him in, not shut him out. Instead, I've spent the entire day distancing myself from him.

But...how can I let someone in when they've already admitted that they aren't interested? He's rejected me without knowing that I know how he feels.

I sigh, feeling the weight of my predicament. It's all so complicated! I'm supposed to be his friend, not anything else. And it would be nice to unload a little.

"Fine. I'll tell you, but you can't avoid it," I say, studying him carefully. "It's crucial to the success of the quest. If it doesn't happen, we might as well turn back now and save ourselves the trouble."

He immediately straightens up, his eyes fixed on me, hearing the gravity of the situation. He's a good King. He wants Erebor back, but he doesn't want any casualties. The safety of the company is his primary concern.

"I shall take it under consideration."

I gape at him, surprised. "Not good enough, Thorin! You have to promise!" I insist.

"You made an oath, but you did not require of me an oath in return." He reminds me, raising an eyebrow. "As King and leader of this company, it is my decision."

Ugh, such a stubborn-!

I should have required an oath from him in return, but I didn't think of it at the time. He’d been so upset because I didn’t tell him about the map and the elves and the fact that I hadn't trusted him with the information sooner. So I hadn’t thought about making additional demands at the time, since it was an olive branch on my part.

He steps closer, and we are nearer than before. My heart palpitates as he gently murmurs, "Do you not trust me?"

I assess him carefully, gauging the sincerity in his blue eyes. If I want him to trust me, then I have to trust him. And I have to keep my oath regardless of it all anyways.

"Rock giants," I say with a sigh, pausing before reluctantly adding, "And... uhhh, something else."

I desperately want to leave out the goblin part. I can't risk him trying to avoid that. But, I have to let him in. I can't block him out if I am to save his life.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression confused for a moment, "Rock giants? Those aren't real. They're just a legend."

I smile at him, "So is a magical place called Middle Earth."

Thorin gives me an unimpressed look, "You still believe this is all a fantasy?"

I grimace, and shift in place, "No, these sores on my feet are unfortunately very real."

The joke breaks the ice slightly, and we give wan sympathetic smiles to each other before he folds his arms, giving me a look to remind me that I STILL haven't told him everything and I made an oath. I have to keep it.

I finally sigh, "And... we're going to get kidnapped by Goblins and taken into Goblintown."

Thorin's sympathetic smile vanishes.

"But we'll make it out okay!" I quickly add, feeling anxious at the expression on his face. "Gandalf will save us."

Thorin takes a step back from me, his eyes fixed on my face, still silent.

"I promise, everyone in the company will make it! I'd sacrifice myself before I would allow any of you to be hurt." I add, hoping it would make his expression ease. If anything, his expression turns even more severe.

"No, Peyton," he responds gravely.

"What?" My stomach twists.

He gives me a solemn look, his expression regretful but firm, "I cannot allow this company to be captured by Goblins. I am sorry."

"But! Thorin!..." I'm aghast, utterly stunned. He can't avoid the goblins! He could avoid anything else he wanted to on this trip EXCEPT for them!

Offense comes over his face at the betrayed expression I'm sending him and he suddenly strides forward, invading my personal space, “You know nothing of the vile things of this world! Do you have any idea what goblins do to women?" he growls angrily.

I shake my head and start to stubbornly argue, "No, but it doesn't matter! We have to-"

"It DOES matter, Peyton," he snaps, furious now. "Do you recall the trolls? How they reacted to your presence compared to ours?"

He shakes his head as if the thoughts pained him greatly. "You'd be torn apart, subjected to far worse things before they even got to that point. They wouldn't spare you."

"Thorin, we don't have any other choice!" I frantically answer back, my voice rising. "If we want to succeed in this quest, we have to go through Goblin Town!”

"No. I refuse to believe that. We will go another way." He states resolutely. He turns to walk away from me back to cam, the conversation clearly done for him.

Oh no you don't!

I rush in front of him, planting myself in his path and pressing my hands against his chest to halt his movement.

He stops, not because of my strength, but to avoid running into me and knocking me over.

I had trusted him, like Galadriel told me to do, and this is the result?!

"You HAVE to listen!" I plead desperately. "If we skip the Goblin tunnels, we might as well head back to the Shire RIGHT NOW! We'll never make it to Erebor! Thorin! You could decide to change ANYTHING else on the quest, but you can't change THIS!"

He raises his hands to mine but rather than swiping them off his chest and away from him, to my shock, he gently gripping them in his warm calloused ones. My heart beats fast and I look into his eyes, confused where this gentleness is coming from during such a stressful moment. Our position could be mistaken for a passionate 'lovers' quarrel'.

"I've been reflecting on what Lord Elrond said to Gandalf," he murmurs, his voice calm once more, rumbling against my palms like a large cat. "About how everything you come in contact with changes. The future isn't set in stone, and things have shifted. You admitted it yourself."

His words send a chill down my spine. The river with Honey. Nori and the lightning. The trolls. The ponies. The wargs. The map. The Necromancer. What else might have changed that I've come into contact with?

I glance down at my hands, resting within his own hands, pressed against his firm chest.

He's not wearing armor, and I can feel the heat radiating from the solid muscles beneath my touch. A faint vibration under my fingertips alerts me to what might be his heartbeat, beating quickly.

My heart races as well while he continues to hold my gaze. What is he doing to me? What have I done to him?

"Don't you trust me?" My voice is barely a whisper, feeling an unsettling sensation in my gut as I take a step back, putting a step of distance between us as I echo his earlier words to me back to him.

His gaze on my face is compassionate, a tender look I don't trust myself to interpret. My heart does strange things in my chest, and my breathing is shallow. The air seems thick with his presence.

"I trust that your intentions are good. You mean well," he begins. "But you've acknowledged yourself that you don't know what you're doing. Your comment of sacrificing yourself for the safety of the company clearly shows that Goblins are something you have little to no understanding of, just like with the trolls. It might have been possible in the original timeline you're aware of...But you weren't part of the original story, and I won't risk-"

He stops what he was about to say, closing his mouth, his blue eyes intense.

I stare at him with wide wide-eyes. Is he saying what I think he's….no. He told Gandalf it wouldn't work out! That it was an impossibility! He just doesn't want me getting hurt because we're friends.

I don't think friends look at friends like this, Pey…

He said he didn't feel anything and that he wouldn't fight for me to stay! He can’t be implying anything right now, and I'm just reading too much into this.

I look down at his steel-toed boots, trying to focus on the task at hand: convincing him to stay the course and go through Goblin Town.

My gaze shifts back to Thorin, who remains silent, his eyes locked on me, awaiting my response. I carefully and calmly select my words, each one heavy with meaning, "Thorin, If we don't go through Goblin Town, then Bilbo will never get...an object that is crucial to helping us complete our journey."

"What object?" Thorin's brows knit together in confusion.

"A ring." I say slowly, carefully.

"A ring?" Thorin echoes, disbelief etched on his face.

"Yes. A ring that helps him save the company."

"What makes this ring so special?" He inquires, a note of wariness entering into his voice.

It's the One ring. Yeah, don't say that.

He must know the story. He knew about Isildur from Rivendell and his Grandpa had a ring from Sauron, one that he would have inherited if his father had not been lost. He has more right than he knows to be wary.

"Uh, It makes its wearer invisible." I hedge, hoping that this particular attribute of the ring is not widely known.

Thorin's eyebrows furrow, "I've never heard of a ring possessing such power."

I relax, relieved, before musing aloud myself, "Yeah, I don't know why it makes people invisible either."

It didn't make Sauron invisible when he wore it...so why does it affect everyone else? I've never really questioned it until now.

I don't mean to, it's just where my eyes seem to land, but I find myself staring at Thorin's lips as I continue, “It’s in the caves underneath the mountain. Bilbo is destined to find it. We won't get past Smaug without it.”

When I meet his gaze, I realize that Thorin’s sharp eyes have caught me staring at his mouth. I momentarily forget the reason for my earlier distress. His eyes seem darker than usual, the blue barely visible. It could just be the dim lighting, but everything is starting to look dark with the sun having set.

Without the light, my other senses naturally heighten in order to feed my brain information about my surroundings. I feel our breaths mingling, slightly heavier. The scent of his clothes and hair more pronounced, my hands tingling from where he had held them against his warm chest.

Thorin's demeanor has also shifted, causing my heart to race. His gaze holds an intense, almost predatory quality as owe stand close together in the dark.

I wonder how his lips would feel against mine?

I blink forcing myself to stop leaning towards him. I get intrusive thoughts like this all the time, and I've had practice ignoring them. Like that urge to run my car off the road out of curiosity or take up ballet as a hobby. 
This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about his lips. And while an angry, pent-up part of me just wants throw caution to the wind, say 'YOLO', and press my mouth against this infuriating dwarf’s mouth to shut him up and make him go through the Goblins.….The other part wants to strangle him for the confusion he's causing me.

It can never be…it can never be…

I find myself swaying towards his face a few centimeters anyway.

"I think she went this way!"

Bofur's jolly voice breaks the heavily charged atmosphere between Thorin and me and I’m shocked (and secretly thrilled) that Thorin also has to physically lean away from me too. He turns toward the sound while I quickly bend down to pick up some sticks for an alibi as Bofur approaches.

"Here ye are! Come on, lass! Dwalin's ready for your-" Bofur's voice trails off in surprise as he notices Thorin's presence, "Oh! Thorin! I didn't realize you were with her!" His voice turns innocent yet I detect a hint of slyness as if the fact that we're out together alone is scandalous.

Given the strange almost-kiss that nearly transpired, his insinuations aren't entirely unwarranted.

I blush, mortified with myself. How did I end up almost kissing Thorin when I’ve tried to avoid him all day so I could emotionally tuck him into a box and forget about him?!?

I try to act as casually as possible, closing my tangled emotions and thoughts as best I can until I can analyze them later and pretending nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. "Yeah, we were just... discussing some... uh... tactics," I say, mentally berating myself for the awkwardness of my explanation.

Bofur, and I'm unsure if he's aware of the thick atmosphere, chuckles, "Ah, discussin' tactics, eh? Well, you better hurry on over. Dwalin's getting impatient."

"Right," I reply quickly, trying to suppress the flush creeping up my neck. "We'll be right there. Just...need to finish up our discussion."

"Alright, Pey, but be quick about it." He gives the two of us a stern look, as if he were a concerned parent over two teenagers before leaving.

"He is right; we must be getting back." Thorin's says gruffly. When I glance back at him he refuses to meet my eyes, his whole demeanor now subdued, as if regretful.

I shake my head, done with playing around, "Fine. But we will be going through the Goblin Tunnels. We will be getting the ring. And we will be reclaiming Erebor!"

That does the trick and he turns his gaze back onto me. His eyes are hard, his jaw set in a firm line at my tone, and the two of us engage in our heated glaring contest once more.

"I will not risk your life, Peyton," he says, his voice low and resolute. "I will not let you be taken by goblins."

"I won't be taken by Gob-...Have you not been listening to A WORD I've said?!" I gape, frustrated beyond belief. "I'm not going to be taken by Goblins! The whole company is! And we will be JUST. FINE!"

"Are all human females as hard of hearing as you are?" He growls. "As leader of this company I say we shall not."

"But you don't understand!" I cry, my voice breaking. "It's the only way!"

"No," he denies, his voice firm. "I don't believe that. There is always another way."

"But there ISN'T!" I insist, my heart pounding in my chest. "You stubborn, hard-headed mule! We have to get the ring! Do you want to reach Erebor or not?" I feel a lump forming in my throat, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Please Thorin," I beg, my voice barely a whisper. "You have to trust me!"

Thorin closes his eyes, taking an inward chill pill and a deep breath. He's doing a much better job than I am of speaking calmly and reining in his emotions. When he comes out of his mental exercise, he looks at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. His eyes soften, as well as his voice, "I do trust you," he says, his voice barely audible. "But I won't trust Goblins. I am sorry, Peyton."

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing alone in the fading light. I watch him go, my heart aching with a mixture of frustration and despair. I've failed. I've failed to convince him, and now our quest is doomed.

Alone at last, I sink to my knees, my body shaking with silent sobs. I've failed them. I've failed them all. And now, I have no idea how to fix it.

Chapter Text

Every step I take is heavy and grudging as we climb further and further along the Misty Mountain's intimidating height. The clouds above us ominous and foreboding. I can hardly comprehend how much has changed since yesterday!

Everything's upside down, and I blame both Thorin for doubting me and myself for revealing the information about the Goblins to him. Galadriel restored my knowledge of the future, only for him to go ahead and ruin it.

Now, I’m back to square one as our ‘Fearless Leader’ takes a different route with no idea of what lies ahead!

I sigh, glancing back at the path we've traveled and the height allows me to see far into the distance. The view is breathtaking, but I struggle to find joy in stunning view like I normally would. If it weren’t for the wargs hunting us, I’d be walking back to Rivendell with Bilbo right now. I think I can even spot a small crack in the distant horizon, possibly the Valley of Imladris, but it might just be a trick of the eye. I’m sure it wouldn't be THAT easy to find.

And so I trudge along with the company, my thoughts dark and depressing. My companions ALL notice the change in my attitude and demeanor but I reject their attempts to lighten my heart with conversation. Instead I choose to be alone, walking at the very back of the company all day, by myself.

If Bilbo doesn't get the ring, then we won't get past the spiders, escape Thranduil's dungeons, OR manage to get past Smaug to burgle something. And if Bilbo doesn't have the ring, then Frodo won't either. Which means Middle Earth is doomed.

But what if...

I kick a rock back down the mountain, my thoughts in a tangle. What if the ring stays in the Misty Mountains with Gollum?

What if it doesn't resurface for another 1,000 or years or so? Maybe that wouldn't be such a terrible outcome... right?

But no. Eventually, somehow, the ring will resurface. And if Frodo doesn't have it when it does, then it could fall into the wrong hands.

The Valar could find someone else instead of Frodo to carry the ring, couldn't they? Yes, probably.
But then, what will happen to the story that I know and love? What will happen to MY world without that story to inspire generations of people? What will happen to the books and movies and memes and art that were inspired by ‘a hobbit that lived in a hole in the ground’? The entire fate of Middle Earth rests on obtaining this one ring. I don't know how it affects Earth's fate, but I certainly don't want to live in a world without this story. What will J.R. Tolkien be known for if it doesn’t happen?

Sometime in the middle of the morning, Fili and Kili eventually get tired of my dark looks and mumbling and join me at the back of the company, their concern evident in their expressions.

"Are you alright, Pey?" Fili's asks gently, already knowing the answer.

I kick another shard of stone down the mountainside with a frustrate growl, "No. Thorin is going to get us all killed."

"What?!" Fili’s voice is laced with disbelief. He shoots a worried glance at Kili. "What happened between you two last night?"

I shake my head, scowling, "I learned that I can't trust him with knowledge of the future and that he doesn't trust me either." My frustration edges towards despair and my anger into grief. Why doesn't he trust me?

"No, Pey. That can't be right." Kili’s hand rests warmly on my shoulder. "I'm sure your opinion matters a great deal to him!"

I give him the most deadpan look I can manage, remembering their teasing about Thorin proposing, but Fili comes to his brother’s aid, "It’s true, Peyton. All jokes aside, we know our uncle. We’ve lived with him all our life and he’s different since he met you. I've never seen him smile so much."

"He's even begun to let his beard grow out!" Kili leans towards the two of us with an awed, hushed tone. 

My brow furrows in confusion and I look over to where Thorin walks at the front of the company, his black wavy hair the only thing visible from here. I then level a look at Kili like he's delusional, "Uh, no he hasn't?"

"Just a few millimeters, but the entire company has noticed!" Fili nods in agreement.

I roll my eyes. They would. But it's probably because he's busy and doesn't have time to cut his beard!

I still pause though, analyzing that new information. Dori had said that braids were a very important part of Dwarven culture, and the company have always, without fail, made sure their braids AND beards are oiled and perfect each and every morning. Perhaps beards are the same way? Now that they mention it, I do remember seeing Thorin trim his beard every morning at the very beginning of our quest. And he still does, but…just not as often?

"Why IS Thorin's beard shorter than normal dwarves?" I ponder aloud, turning to the two dwarves for clarification.

Fili remains quiet for a moment as we hike along, both his and Kili's expressions pensive. He chooses his words carefully, "It's an expression of grief. He's kept it short for as long as I can remember. He intentially keeps it as short as it was during the battle of Azanulbizar and he's vowed to keep it that way until his grandfather and father are avenged."

"But Thorin thought he had killed Azog," I interject, confused. "So, why-"

"He believes the dragon is the true cause of all his misfortune, not Azog. If it weren't for the Wyrm taking Erebor, the battle of Azanulbizar never would have occurred."

Hmph. More like, if his grandfather wasn't so greedy it never would have occurred.

"Don't you see, Peyton?" Kili continues excitedly, his brown eyes earnest, "You distract him from his grief! You make him happy!"

My brow furrows. "But...but then why doesn't he trust me?" I ask, my voice coming out in a plaintive whisper.

They don't realize that Thorin just sees me as a friend and he's never considered me to be more than that. Even though he sends mixed signals like crazy. The look in his eyes as we stood close in the dark forest comes to my memory and heat blooms unexpectedly inside my stomach. What would have happened if Bofur hadn't found us?

"What exactly did Thorin say?" Kili asks, disrupting my thoughts. "Maybe you simply misunderstood?"

I shake my head with a sigh. Fat chance. No one knows what Thorin and Gandalf had talked about except me, and I'm sure as hell not telling them. Knowledge that I was eavesdropping would get back to him in less than a day.

"We're sorry if teasing you about your shirt has anything to do with this," Fili tries after I remain resolutely silent. "It's just... unusual to see words and riddles written on clothing in this world."

"And we're sorry for making you sing that horrible song." Kiki adds sincerely, before his eyes sparkle and he loses the serious tone he was going for as he glances at his brother in mirth, "It was just too much fun watching you squirm!"

I roll my eyes and shoot him a glare, unable to throw a shoe at the moment since I need both of them. But I can't help the small smile that escapes my frowning lips. It's hard to stay angry at these dunderheads. I don't blame them in the slightest for what's occurred between Thorin and me.

Honestly? I blame Gandalf.

 it seems Gandalf has a sixth sense for when his hat is in danger, as he’s conveniently disappeared. He hasn’t been seen since the night I heard him talking to Bilbo about his spoons and I know in my heart he’s purposefully avoiding the situation. What a jerk.

Realizing that they’re still waiting for me to explain my melancholy, I finally decide to elaborate and let out a huff of air, the words finally releasing out of me, "Thorin has ignored my advice! I told him something in confidence that we NEED to do and he decided to change the path!" Their faces remain blank with confusion, prompting me to clarify further with gritted teeth, "We are supposed to meet Goblins along the way, but Thorin is purposefully avoiding them!"

"WHAT!?" Fili and Kili both exclaim, stopping and staring at me in shock. "Pey!"

"What?!" I exclaim right back, blushing furiously.

They’re looking at me like I’m an idiot. Ugh, I shouldn't have told them!

I continue, "We'll be FINE, guys. Honest! In order to make it to Erebor there are some really difficult things we have to go through! And Thorin's ignoring that!"
I end my frantic spiel by gesturing with my hands, unable to explain the horrible implications they fail to grasp.

"But that's his job, Pey! He's supposed to look out for us! For the company!" Kili raises an eyebrow and shakes his head as if he's disapointed in me.

"Aye, how are you upset for Thorin when he's trying to protect you? Do you want to face Goblins?" Fili retorts, just as confused.

I roll my eyes, "No. Like I literally just. said! We have to go through them if we are going. To. Reach. ER-EH-BOR!" I sound it out slowly for them, at my wit’s end. Why aren't they getting it? "And his job is to reclaim Erebor! Keeping the company safe is not as important as that. If it was then he never would have started this quest in the first place! We all knew this would be a dangerous quest before accepting the challenge. So- Don’t look at me like that!"

How could they possibly know that the One Ring lies beneath our very feet and the future will drastically alter because of it?

Kili starts to say, "Goblins are-"

I interrupt him, "Very bad, evil creatures that love to eat women. Yeah, yeah, I got it. Doesn't change the fact that the entire future will change, and not for the better if we don't go!" I kick at the ground once more, sending more rocks clattering down the mountain slopes. It's not sheer cliffs, but the slope is enough that they roll for a bit. I should stop kicking rocks, or I might reveal our location to anyone carefully watching the mountain below us. "It just...ugh, my purpose as the 'seer' of our group is a little pointless now."

My friends digest this in silence for a while and I return to glaring daggers over at Thorin's back as we continue to climb, step over step through the Misty Mountains. I had ignored him yesterday and now it seems our roles have reversed and he is now ignoring me, up at the front of the company again, leading the way next to Balin and Dwalin.

Ok, technically he isn't ignoring me since he's looked back and met my glaring face a number of times during the day. (Probably making sure I haven’t turned around and hightailed it back to Rivendell.)

The three of them seem to have been talking just between themselves like this all day, probably about me. Definitely about me. I hate being the subject of people's conversations.

In a moment of longing, I entertain the thought of suddenly reappearing in my university lab in Nevada. I imagine the reactions of the people in the room, the frenzy of news stations reporting my return. I picture myself running up the front porch steps of my childhood home, embracing my mom and dad and frantically calling up my siblings on the phone just to hear their voices.

How would I explain where I've been this whole time? How could I possibly make them believe me?

I glance back up at the front where Thorin is just as he looks back at me.

Quickly closing my eyes, I shake my head, trying to ignore the sudden bitter ache in my heart. Despite my best efforts to glare and curse inwardly at him, I still...like Thorin. Thankfully, my anger towards his rejection AND his betrayal help to numb the attraction, at least a little.

I let out a sigh and glance at the two knuckleheads beside me. What's more though is that with everything changing around us, I can't predict or prevent their potential deaths either. It could be like what happened with Nori! They could slip on a rock and fall from these high cliffs! The memory of Azog piercing Fili's chest on a black tower flashes in my mind, surrounded by ruins of black stone. Will that even happen now?

"Pey," Fili interrupts my morbid thoughts, breaking the long silence. He stops, turning me to face him, and says, "Enough of this worry. It doesn't matter if the future doesn't go as planned. Life rarely goes according to our expectations, right? You're still a valued member of our company. You're one of us. The other night, you said that we've all changed your life and that you love us. Well...we feel the same about you."

The sincerity on Fili's face causes a prickle in my throat to start growing. That's one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. The feeling of belonging, of being part of a group, is something human beings need. It's as important as food, or water, or air. Do they really love me?

I glance at Kili who seems to understand my unspoken question. He smiles handsomely and puts a warm hand on my shoulder, "Fee and I already consider you as family, Pey.”

Awww, these guys! Now my stupid eyes are starting to water. “Thanks guys,” I manage to say in a whisper.

"And you're still my assistant scribe!" Ori's small voice startles the three of us, and we all turn to look at where he's suddenly appeared beside Kili. "Don't forget that! And I...I may even...need help dictating a paragraph tonight." He says hesitantly, obviously not wanting to relinquish his role.

I let out a soft laugh, "Wow, Ori. A whole paragraph?"

My spirits lift a little at Ori's sweet offer and I glance around suspiciously to see if any of the other dwarves are listening. If they are they’re doing an excellent job at hiding it. I notice that only those up towards the very front would have been unable to hear Kili, Fili, and I. Bilbo is walking next to Dori, discussing various ways to harvest tea leaves. (He gave up trying to comfort me after the first three hours this morning, realizing I needed space.) Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin are still at the very front; deep in conversation.

Above us the clouds shift and swirl as the warm weather fronts of summer collide with the cold tips of the Misty Mountains. The humidity also spikes and a warm westerly wind blows from Rivendell's direction bringing grey clouds and a heaviness to the air. It blows Kili and Fili's untied hair around their faces.

A storm is coming and I feel like I'm traveling without a rudder in uncharted waters. Hopefully the rain will make it harder for anyone to track us. The feeling of being followed still lingers especially after the Necromancer's revelation of ‘legions of servants’. The possibility of Azog picking up our trail weighs heavily on my mind.

But, it's like Gandalf said, I think to myself while watching Kili and Fili teasing Ori about his scribe work ; I'm never alone. I have my family here with me.

When we finally stop for the night, the thunderclouds above us look ready to pour. But somehow, they miraculously hold.

Dwalin either didn't get the memo that I'm not in the mood, or he doesn't care as he orders me to come with him for our training. I grab my stick with a frustrated huff, already knowing that resistance is futile. The faster I get this over with, the faster I can go to sleep. Hopefully, my rage will let me get a few good wacks on him.

Ha! As if.

Dwalin leads us to an area on the side of the mountain covered in a relatively flat grey stone and, to my surprise, Thorin stands at the center of the stone, seemingly waiting for us.

I don't hide the scowl on my face even as my traitorous heart beats fast. "What's going on?" I ask the two of them bluntly.

Thorin ignores my attitude and extends a sword to me, hilt first- the real one he had picked for me from the troll hoard.

I look up at him, confused and suddenly nervous. "What's this?"

"It's time you learned with a real sword." Thorin replies imperiously. "Your training will be with me tonight."

I awkwardly take the sword and then, eyes widening in belated understanding, watch as Thorin moves directly in front of me. My stomach drops in equal parts horror and excitement.

"Finally!" Whooped TJ, sitting up from his pillow. "She's going to use Varzsiel!"

The sword is heavier than a normal stick, but lighter than it looks.

I test the edge carefully, and my breath catches just a little at how easily it slices. A thin line of red wells up almost immediately on my thumb.

"I…I don't think I'm ready for this." I admit grudgingly.

It's not that I'm unconfident in Dwalin's instruction, but I just don't know yet how I want to proceed around Thorin when he refuses to trust me. Plus, glaring at him from a distance is easier than glaring at him from up close. Up close I feel flustered.

"You already know the moves, the technique. All that is left is to learn the weight of the sword in your hand. A stick will only get you so far."

Is this some sort of punishment of his? Or is he trying to, in a strange round about way, make amends? Has he been waiting for Dwalin to finish the basics before taking over?

"I would never hurt you, Peyton." Thorin says gently, interpreting my hesitance to mean that I'm afraid of him.

I blush, and look down at the sword I'm holding. "I know that….but, I don't trust myself with this sword."

I meant it in the sense that I could hurt myself, my thumb still stinging slightly, but they interpret my words to mean that I have it out for Thorin. Dwalin actually guaffs out a laugh while Thorin raises an eyebrow and his voice takes on a rare teasing tone, "If you can land one hit on me, I will be most impressed with Dwalin's training."

I give him a look.

"And with your incredible sword mastering skills." He amends with a dry smile.

Yep. He's definitely trying to get on my good side.

I can't deny the appeal of the idea of disarming someone like him. The image of the great Thorin Oakenshield at my mercy, my sword pointed at his throat in victory as I demand we go through the Goblin tunnels, is surprisingly enticing, if I'm being honest.

Of course, realistically that is just a pipe dream. He'll absolutely mop the floor with me. I don't think he'd hurt me physically but my pride will certainly take one hell of a blow...but perhaps I can use deception to succeed? If I have ANY chance at all of winning, I need to use cunning rather than strength.

I barely see his weight shift from one booted foot to the other, before he is upon me. I shriek instinctively and block him with my sword in defense, jumping back.

Laughter echoes to the side of me, and I realize with a start that we have an audience. The whole company is watching and oh, how that rankles.

"Come, Peyton. Show me what you've learned," Thorin says, his voice steady and commanding with a hint of exasperation at my timid display.

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and nod, determined to show him I'm not a liability.

I calculate quickly and then lunge forward, my movements swift. I swing the sword in my hand as precise as I can, aiming for Thorin's defenses. A sigh of relief escapes me at the sound metal meeting metal rings out as he quickly parries my attack, effortlessly blocking the strike.

As angry as I am with him, the idea of hurting him with a sword is unbearable.

Thorin's movements are fluid and powerful, his experience evident in every swing of his own sword. I struggle to keep up, my heart pounding in my chest. But true to his word, he doesn't hurt me.

I have to think quickly and use my wits to gain an advantage. As Thorin swings his sword towards me, I duck and roll to the side, avoiding the strike. I quickly regain my footing and launch myself at him, aiming a swift strike towards his side. But he anticipates my move and deflects my attack with ease.

I refuse to give up. I continue to press forward, unwavering in my determination. I feint to the left, then quickly change direction and swing my sword towards Thorin's exposed flank. Unsurprisingly, my strike doesn't connect, and I can tell he's humoring me.

And then I feint into a counterattack immediately, banking on sheer surprise again. He anticipates me, however, and easily slips around me. I feel the flat of his blade slide along my neck. The metal is cold but gentle. Teasing. The mockery of a caress.

He is playing with me. Like he is fighting a child. I suppose my skills are no better.

"You'd be in trouble if I actually knew how to fight." I growl.

The events of the past two days assault my mind once more and, since I’m unable to hurt him; I push myself harder to do so.

Our swords connect again and slide apart.

"I will teach you." The words are soft compared to the clash of steel, but they slash through my defenses. "I've no doubt you'll be formidable once trained." There is a sincere slant to his offer that I find reluctantly compelling.

I refuse to look at his face and instead go on the attack again. He sidesteps me again, and I feel the flat of his sword grazing along my outside hip this time. My coat blunts the feel, but the delicate intimacy of the touch is in no way deniable.

"Always use your opponent's distraction against them,” His low voice rumbles.

I turn back, my face contorting in annoyance, even as my legs tremble and reset.

I stab towards him and miss, momentum almost carrying me into the group of smirking dwarves on the side lines. What are they smirking about?

"Never make a forward thrust. You almost always open yourself up to a counter attack, unless your opponent is much weaker than you. Do not attempt it again." Thorin corrects me.

I growl back at him in annoyance, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

"And keep your elbows bent. I could have disarmed you a dozen times by now."

"Then why haven't you?" I snap at him.

"Perhaps I'm not ready to yet." He circles me again. "Perhaps I enjoy seeing what you'll do next."

I snort. "No you're just laughing at my efforts. I can't be much of a challenge. Why not just end it?"

He suddenly locks my blade, and then in a very smooth movement hooks my ankle so that I land on the ground while his free hand catches the back of my head before it bounces on the stone slab beneath us. His knee comes down beside my legs, so close I can feel the heat from his thigh.

"I can." He says simply. My heart stops as I watch his eyes drop to my panting mouth.

He releases me and stands, his knee grazing my leg as he moves away. He holds a hand out to me. "But this is a training, not a battle."

It certainly feels like a battle. He sends such mixed signals! What is he playing at? Not knowing makes me angry.

I take his hand and allow him to start pulling me up, and then drop dead weight. I use his distraction to bring my own sword up in a blow. When he deflects it as expected, I raise my foot and aim a kick at his groin.

He only narrowly avoids it, his body tipping backwards, which means my sword slides free from his block and slices through his coat, gifting him a shallow cut beneath.

Thorin presses a hand to it in surprise, looking back up in time to catch the unmistakable look of exultation I wear on my face.

Got him!

The smile he returns me makes my breath hitch again, and I belatedly realize I am panting. I am tired yes, muscles straining from foreign movements and from the weight of the sword, but I never got the same rush fighting Dwalin, or Fili, or Kili.

"I got a hit!” I breathe, exhilaration coursing through me.

"Well done," he says, his voice filled with genuine praise.

I can't help but laugh, a sense of accomplishment washing over me. I managed to land a hit on THE King of Dwarves, even if it was just a graze. And it was a cheating move on my part to aim for his man bits. But the small victory fuels my determination to continue fighting.

"Booo!", “That was poor form!", "Low blow, Peyton!", The company call out to me. "Dishonor!”, “Rematch!”

I smirk over at their appalled faces, "Hey, no blood, no foul! And Thorin said to use my opponent's distraction against them."

"Aye, you did well." Thorin says, not even the slightest bit angry at the thin slice to his coat. It hadn't even nicked his skin. His tone turns wry, "I know I said I do not plan on having children, but I would appreciate you not depriving me of the opportunity completely."

My breath hitches but I cover it with an embarrassed laugh as I try not to let my thoughts run away from me. "Ok, ok. I'll beat you honorably next time."

The spar continues, with me using my agility and quick thinking to my advantage. I manage to dodge some of Thorin's slow strikes but am unable to land any more hits of my own.

Ultimately, I am thankful we have an audience to keep us in line. The way that we move around one another, our breaths, our swords, it is like a dance. His eyes and my eyes meet and hold each others again and again as we perform this dance over and over.
I find myself not as upset at him as before, my previous ire slipping away as we move together as two parts of one whole. Memories from the other night before Bofur interrupted us assault my mind yet again. The feeling from that moment comes back and I'm attuned to his body in a strange haze that feels almost like a dream. The feeling of his hand on the back of my neck when he caught me still hasn't left me. I wish he would do it again, and lower me to the ground once more- No! Focus, Peyton!

Sheesh!

The expression he wears makes me wonder if he feels the same thing, and he finally calls an end to our training. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sheath my sword, not sure how much more of this energy I could take. My nerves are tingling all over.

But my mood is happy once more! Plus I have a newfound confidence with my sword.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, my voice filled with gratitude.

"You did well,” He murmurs, his way of saying ‘you’re welcome’.

I ponder him for a moment, trying to make sense of where he and I stand. He'd told Gandalf that it's impossible to be together….but, isn't that kind of my fault though? I mean…I've made sure to inform everyone (multiple times) that I'm leaving Middle Earth. Could the whole conversation with Gandalf had been because he's just trying to be respectful of my wishes?

"So, can we go through Goblin town now?" I smile.

"No."

I turn in surprise to Dwalin who has answered my question, his expression hard. It's obvious what he and Thorin have been talking about.

"Really? After all that?!" I exclaim, my anger coming back full force once more. “I showed you all that I’m not bad with a sword! And-“

Dwalin moves from the rock he's been sitting on, his bushy eyebrows and bald head more intimidating than normal, "Do you remember the trolls?"

"Of course I remember the trolls! I'm not stupid!" I exclaim furiously. I don't like the way he posed the question.

"Then use your head, lass!" Dwalin answers back, matching my intensity. "Goblins are worse than trolls. Eating you isn't the worst that a Goblin will do."

I don't wait to hear anything else, I turn around and leave, my good mood destroyed once more. I don't even spare a glance for Thorin or the rest of the company. Tears fill my eyes, even as I hear Thorin sigh behind me, his plan to get on my good side falling through after it had been going so well.

I understand it from their point of view. I really do. But it's not like I wrote the story or anything! How else are we supposed to get the Ring?

I go back to sleeping next to Fili and Kili that night, like I used to. If I notice Thorin sending long glances my way, I ignore it.

Things will work out with the story. They have to! But I have no idea that in a few days, things are going to get much much worse.

"AHHHHHH! NO! NO-AHHHHHHH!" I press up against the side of the Rock Giant's knee for dear life. How did my life go so horribly wrong?!

Fili and I hold each other, high-pitched screaming like little girls, as the Rock Giant's knee starts to bend, moving closer to the mountain. We're about to become dwarf and human pancakes!

Not like this! Not like THIS!

CRASH!

I'm catapulted from the Giant's knee with the rest of the company, my head smacking against the stone of the mountain wall.

I lay there in a daze, looking up at the grey sky. The raindrops fall relentlessly over my face, soaking everything in their path for a little bit until I finally am able to move my neck, glancing around me in sheer amazement. My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I try to catch my breath. The giant falls away, tumbling down into the ravine.

"I'm...I'm alive?! I'M ALIVE!" I gasp in pure relief and sit up with a groan, body aching and battered. I can barely believe it...but, we...ALL of us…are alive!??! We’re lying in a heap on the mountain side in an abnormally larger than usual space. That's divine intervention right there, I tell you what! This thin trail we've been traveling all day hasn't had many large openings like this. "Oh, sweet Neptune! Valar above! I will never kick another rock down the mountainside ever again!"

Riding! On a ROCK GIANT! Did that just happen?!

My throat feels hoarse from all the screaming I did and my ears ring from the sound of 'rock thunder' echoing in the distance. This is not how the story is supposed to go!

Now that I've established that I'm alive, bruises start to emerge beneath my skin from being tossed from one rock or another. My head feels dizzy. I try to wipe off the mud stuck on my hands and clothes to no avail.

"Peyton, you're bleeding!" Fili pulls me up from where I lay against the rocks, putting a hand on my face before looking in my eyes. Suddenly he's shaking me, "What were you thinking?! Yelling out to the rock giants to ask what they were fighting about!? Are you daft?!"

Oh yeah, I had done that.

"I was thinking," I push Fili's hands away, annoyed at my already shaken body being shaken even more, "that if they heard us then they might be polite and take their rock battle somewhere else! Besides, they didn't hear me and you were all yelling far louder than I had been!"

"Thank Mahal," a choked gasp sounds from behind us, and we turn to see Thorin and the others rushing around the corner. Thorin’s pale expression is almost weak with relief to find us all in one piece and he reaches Fili and I. I’m shocked when, surprisingly, he grabs for me first. My heart starts pattering. What-?

"Your head is bleeding. Are you well?", his frantic voice reminds me of when the wargs had found us in the forest and we realized it was Azog. Terrified.

"Huh?" I lift my hand up to my head and bright red blood mixes with the rain on my fingertips. Oh yeah, Fili said I was bleeding. I offhandedly think to myself that I probably have a concussion since my thoughts are in an odd daze.

"Yeah, I'm ok. I didn't even notice." I give him a shaky smile. He must have reached for me first instead of Fee because I look more injured. Only possible reason.

But he doesn't let go of me as he turns to Fili and puts a hand on his nephew's shoulder. Fili's already been nodding yes to the question in Thorin's eyes and beats him to the chase, "Yes, I'm alright Uncle. We all are.”

Thorin responds with a deep gust of ragged breath. Kili finally reaches us, asking the same questions and latching on to Fili and me.

"You can be as thick-headed as a rock sometimes, you know?" Oin gripes as he slaps me on the shoulder on his way over to his brother, his relief palpable after the ordeal we've just endured.

Who could have imagined that we would ride on a Rock Giant's knee and survive it? The relief we all share from surviving something of that magnitude makes the company giddy. I've completely forgotten that I’m supposed to be upset at Thorin.

I laugh into the rain, "Oh, you know you secretly love it—"

"Help!"

All joking stops abruptly, as we realize someone is missing.

"BILBO!" I cry out in panic, bolting toward the sound. Where is he? Where did he go? "BILBO!" I shriek again as I spot him dangling from the mountain's roots of the edge of certain death. I quickly slide onto my stomach, reaching as far as I can, practically hanging off the cliff to grab him. The dwarves surround me, some grabbing onto me and others also desperately reaching out to help him.

"Reach Bilbo! Grab my hand!" I yell to him in panic, stretching my fingers out to my friend and leaning even more dangerously across the ledge. The memory of the lightening strike on Nori fills my mind when we thought we almost lost a member of the company.

Not again!

Bilbo's hands slip and I scream, "NO!" I lunge forward, but I'm stopped by Balin and Nori who keep me from falling over as well.

Bilbo catches himself on a ledge much lower.

"NO! LET ME GO! I have to go down there!" I shove away Balin's and Nori's hands in frantic determination to throw myself off the cliff if he falls.

This whole time I thought the most important part of this quest was the ring. I was wrong.

Bilbo is as important as the ring. The quest will fail without both of them together. But, more than any of that, he's my best friend!

Suddenly a second figure leaps down beside the cliff, gripping the edge of the mountain with a powerful hand. I watch in shock as Thorin grabs Bilbo by the collar like an errant kitten and chucks him up and over the ledge with a single hand.

I grab at Bilbo’s clothes, pulling him close in a tight hug, but my eyes meet Thorin's over the ledge for a moment. He saved Bilbo! He-

A black shard, icy and cold stabs through my heart as I watch in horrifying fear as the ledge Thorin is holding onto crumbles. He disappears from my view.

"THORIN!" I scream, the desperation in my voice echoing through the air. A cold despair overtakes me, sharp and potent as when I saw him die from Azog in the mirror.

But the crisis is over before I'm even done screaming. Dwalin, the hero of the moment, had reacted with 'Flash speed'. He'd lowered his long axe handle toward his king, and is already hauling Thorin back up over the edge, defying the odds and escaping the clutches of certain death.

I feel dizzy as my heart races with a mix of relief and anger.

I try to stand up so I can rush to him, so I can wrap my arms around him and hold him so close to my galloping heart that he'll understand the sheer terror I felt at the thought of losing him. Then I'm going to KILL him for scaring me like that!

But I can't move.

Bilbo's grip is so tight that it restricts my movements, a clear sign of the shock he's experiencing. His breaths are shallow, and his eyes hold a wild, unfocused look. He had almost fallen to his death as well, and the trauma is evident in every fiber of his being.

Despite the chaos of the dwarves around me, speaking to Bilbo and each other, my gaze unwaveringly remains on Thorin's face, his dark wavy ringlets drip heavily with water. The realization hits me like a wave crashing against the shore - I almost lost them both. I blink rapidly, attempting to clear the rainwater and tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. This adventure is the craziest adventure in the universe.

"Thought we'd lost our burglar." Dwalin tries to gruffly joke, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and exhaustion as he slaps his King's shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie and unspoken affection.

But my mind screams in protest. We almost lost our King too! Again, I try to stand up and reach for Thorin, but Bilbo's grip remains unyielding. He clings to me as if he's still dangling from the ledge.

Thorin turns to scrutinize Bilbo and me trembling on the path and I’m shocked by his expression. His eyes are as icy and unforgiving as a frozen lake, the wet ringlets of his hair tangled like a mermaid's. "He's been lost since he left the Shire. He has no place amongst us," he practically spits, his contempt thicker than anything I've heard from him on this quest so far.

My mouth falls open in shock as I stop struggling against Bilbo's grip, stunned. What on Middle Earth is he saying? "Thorin!? H-How can you say that?!" I have to yell to be heard over the howling wind and rain, water streaming down my face. "He nearly fell off a cliff, and that's the first thing you say to him?!"

"You nearly fell off helping him!" Thorin bellows, redirecting his fierce anger towards me. "Practically threw yourself off the cliff!"

"So did you!" I protest, confused by his anger.

"That's my POINT! You shouldn't be here either! We haven't avoided any of the mishaps that you've foreseen thus far. What are you supposed to change?!" Thorin's words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I balk, opening and closing my mouth like a fish. His death. I'm supposed to change his death. And he almost died. "I…I.."

Thorin’s expression changes strangely as he watches me, and I don’t know how to interpret it. He looks even more pale.

Thankfully, Balin, with his patience and composure, steps between us, attempting to calm the situation. "Now, now, we've all had a very trying day. Let's keep our wits about us and allow cooler heads to prevail, shall we? We must seek shelter from this inclement weather and start anew tomorrow."

Thorin abruptly turns away from us, storming angrily towards a nearby cave, his axe at the ready. He barely pauses as he calls for Dwalin and disappears into the cave, likely hoping to find some goblins or orcs to vent his frustration on.

I remain kneeling there with a silent and pale Bilbo, feeling the cold weather seeping into my skin. It would be just my luck to get hypothermia again, so I'm grateful for Balin's suggestion to seek shelter.

"It's clear," Thorin calls the company's attention, jerking his head back behind him. "Into the caves."

I grunt as I pull Bilbo up with me and Bombur helps his other side before we shuffle towards the caves.

"Not you, Peyton." Thorin halts me with a glare, his voice low. "I will speak with you alone."

My hands clench at my sides and I feel something I haven't felt in a long while; my long lost pride that I thought had been dead faintly stirs within me at being snapped at and ordered around. Thorin hasn't taken that tone with me in what feels like a very long time. The past few days have been trying and I'd like nothing more than to snap and hiss at him.

But I take a deep breath, trying to focus. I literally saw him almost fall to his death off a cliff today. That's enough to rub anyone's nerves raw.

As Bombur leads Bilbo into the cave, I stand off to the side, allowing the others to enter. Balin is the last to go, shooting Thorin an unreadable look and signing something in that strange sign language of theirs. Thorin doesn't blink. Once everyone is inside, he finally turns his gaze towards me, his anger evident in his piercing glare. "Are you..." he clears his voice. "Are you well?"

My brow furrows in confusion and I blink, "Uh...what?"

"Are you injured?" He growls, clearly wondering if my bleeding head is evidence of a deeper brain trauma.

"Uh, no. No, I'm fine." My hair is a sodden mess with wet strands clinging to my skin, and so is his. "Are you? Ok, that is?" Why is he so upset?

"Why were the rock giants here?" he demands, ignoring my question and getting to the real issue at hand.

Confused, I frown and reply, "I told you, they're part of the stor-"

"I chose a different path," he inturrupts angrily, and I finally see his fury for what it is. Fear. There is a glimmer of fear in his eyes. "I went against your advice, and yet we still encountered the Stone Giants."

Ooooh, that makes sense. I process this information, intrigued by the revelation. Does this mean there is still hope? Will we continue through the Goblin tunnels regardless of Thorin's choice to avoid them?

I finally shake my head, unable to explain or make excuses, "It wasn't supposed to be like this. In the original story, we were only supposed to hear the giants, maybe even see them from a far distance... but the path you chose led us directly beneath their fighting!"

Thorin swallows, an expression of pain coming over him as he realizes that his choice could have potentially cost the company their lives. Unable to bear seeing him in such distress, I step forward, feeling an invisible connection between us. "Thorin," I murmur, and his wild eyes lock onto mine. "The company will survive if we follow the correct route! Straying from the predetermined path could lead to failure."

"How do you know?" he rasps, appearing lost. "How do you know that your presence won't change what you know?"

I shake my head, opting for honesty. "I...I don't! But I must be here for a reason, right?"

Wetting my already wet lips, I taste the rain beading on my mouth. Thorin's eyes flicker down to my lips and seem to freeze there.

"We're going to be ok." I continue, before my voice turns hard and I glare at him, "But if you ever do that to me again, Thorin Oakenshield, there will be hell to pay!"

"Do what?" His eyes flicker up to mine, expression intense.

"Jump off a cliff again! I thought I lost you and I don't think you know how to perform CPR on me to restart my heart." I attempting to joke but my eyes are too sincere.

Thorin's breath catches, his lips parting as he blinks.

The terrifying image of him disappearing over the edge fills my mind and I take a step closer, wanting to wrap my arms around him.

"Peyton," he murmurs, his eyes riveted on me, a peculiar expression on his face that makes my heart beat fast.

But the sudden sound of the earth rumbling in the distance makes me jump. Another rock is thrown overhead, and there’s no time for anything else as we are reminded that there are still scary rock giants out here throwing house-sized boulders around. I can vaguely see the two rock giants continue their brawl in a different location.

"Into the cave," Thorin yells, grabbing my arm and pulling me in behind him.

Inside the cave, it’s dark and the ground is covered in a peculiar sand but it is thankfully dry. The air is thick with the smell of damp dwarf and the sound of the torrential rain from outside. The mountain slightly shakes from the falling debris of the continuing rock battle.

I go over to stand by Bilbo who is unnaturally still and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Let's kindle a fire," Bombur suggests once we're all inside, attempting to inject some cheer into our group now that our spirits and clothes have dampened. "A warm meal will do wonders after the trying day we've had!"

"No, Bombur," Thorin interjects firmly. "No fires tonight." I can tell it's his last desperate attempt to avoid the goblins. He glances once more at me and Bilbo, who stands uncharacteristically solemn by my side, "If you wish to avoid another bout of hypothermia, I suggest you change into dry clothes."

I blush in embarrassment, remembering how warm and comforting his back was when I had cuddled up to him, as well as his firm arm the next morning.

I lower my eyes and step past him. He remains completely still as I move by, yet I can feel his eyes following me, a sensation confirmed when I glance back at his face. A shiver courses through me from the chill, and something else. How can I be his friend when I want him so badly? I've never felt this level of attraction for anyone or anything in my entire life.

Of course, this could just be my concussion talking. My head is beginning to really ache.

I turn to find a corner of the room that has a large edge to hide behind and change out of my wet clothing.

After everyone settles into their bedrolls, I still lay awake. Dry clothes, dry bedroll, but a wet soul. I swallow hard, anxiety pressing down on my chest. I'm terrified. Things are so different than what I expected, and I worry that it's all beyond any hope for me to fix. Thorin's success hinges on our journey through the Goblin tunnels. But Gandalf isn't even here to save us! I told him that he’ll need to sneak into the tunnels while we're pulled in by the Goblins and he’s nowhere to be found!

Silently pleading with the Valar that somehow Bilbo will get the Ring and we'll make it through this, I watch the walls, searching the cracks and crevices for any hint of a hidden door or movement from within. But there aren't any ponies to tempt them like in the original story, having been frightened off by the wargs. Yet another thing that has changed.

There are caves all over the Misty Mountains, the company having passed many on our way up to this point. If the goblins don't have a back door to this particular cave, the fate of the company is sealed.

I’m afraid that we’re far away from the original cave the Goblins are meant to find us in.

Bilbo needs the ring. Especially... I gulp... when it comes to the spiders. I sit up and glance over at the Hobbit in question. His bedroll is empty, causing my heart to squeeze in sudden fear. Glancing frantically around, I finally see him.

He's sitting alone near the cave's entrance, facing the rain and wind as it continues to lash outside against the mountain. He looks smaller and more miserable than I've ever seen him before. I wiggle out of my bag, carefully stepping over or around dwarf legs in the process. I can't let him face whatever he's going through by himself.

His shoulders tense slightly as I approach, but aside from that, he doesn't react.

"Hey, mind if I sit?" I whisper to him. When he doesn't respond, I gently ease my tired and bruised body down beside him. Being thrown into a rock wall with no airbags is not a good idea.

"I know what you're thinking," I mumur softly after a long minute of watching the rain pass by in silence. The wind rushing past the cave mouth causes a low moaning whistling sound.

He barely glances at me before looking away, grunting softly. "Hmph," is all he says.

"You're thinking 'I should have never left home'.” I continue softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He jerks his shoulder away from my touch, and I lower my hand in surprise, only now realizing how agitated and angry he is. "I understand, Bilbo. It's okay."

"No." He murmurs quietly, his voice gruff. "It's not ok." He finally looks at me, nose twitching and hands gripping at his knees, before looking back at the rain outside with a head shake. "Not in the slightest."

He falls silent, and I avert my gaze from him, feeling embarrassed by my ineffective attempt to comfort him. I stare at the rain violently beating against the cave entrance and bite my lip, deep in thought. I feel so ill-equipped for this task, unsure of what to say or how to help.

Memories of when he and I did this at Bag-end come to me. Of when we would watch the rain while he comforted me about missing my family.

I thought he’d finished speaking, but it seems he was just getting started. "You told me that this journey would be good for me. You told me I was 'the main character' in this story, and I believed you!" He glares at me in betrayal.

I stare at him in shock, "You are the main character, Bilbo-"

"I have done nothing but slow this company down, getting them into trouble with the trolls, and basically been the weakest one here! Weaker than even you! The woman!"

I know he's simply angry and doesn't mean it, but I can't help the hurt and offended look that crosses my face. He glances at me, realizing what he just said, but instead of apologizing, he withdraws further into himself, appearing even more miserable than before.

We sit there in silence for a while as I wrestle with my wounded pride and make an effort to truly understand what it is that Bilbo is feeling. I have to be strong. I can't lash out at him when he's in such a vulnerable state. The troll incident was technically Kili and Fili's fault...

And then it dawns on me. This is precisely why you shouldn't tell people about their future. People need to go through difficult experiences...very difficult ones.

Imagine if you were told that you'd be in a car accident that would leave you paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of your life, and that somehow, in some inexplicable way, it would be crucial for your growth and happiness. Would you willingly allow it to happen? What if it were essential for the future happiness of your family? Or for your community? Some people might, but most of us (including myself) couldn't fathom how such a thing could be beneficial and we'd go to great lengths to avoid it.

Another thing Thorin and I have in common, it seems.

That's how Goblin Town is for our company though. Without it, Bilbo won't have a chance of finding the ring or his courage. In order to become the hero of his own story, he has to literally hit rock bottom with an entire mountain piled on top of him. And without this adventure, his nephew Frodo will never be able to save Middle Earth. It's strange how the tapestry of the universe weaves together in mysterious patterns.

It’s the trials and pains and hardships that make an adventure great.

I let out a sigh and begin absentmindedly gathering tiny grey bits of rock from the cave floor, shaking them gently back and forth in my hand as I softly start to speak, "I never told you... what the story is called in my world, have I." I don’t say it like a question, and I glance apologetically at him from the corner of my eye.

"Hmph," He replies dismissively, not really caring.

"It's called 'the Hobbit'." I try again, attempting a soft smile that comes out tinged with remorse.

"The Hobbit?" Bilbo glances at me in surprise, before scoffing and shaking his head. "Horrible name. Utterly preposterous. Why on Middle Earth would they tell a story about a cowardly hobbit who…who gives up?" His voice wavers a bit towards the end, and he hastily clears his throat, attempting to stifle his emotions.

I feel a pang of anxiety as I realize that he's struggling not to cry. In his mind, he's already given up?! How can that be?! Have I done this?

He'd probably be attempting to leave right now if I wasn't here.

"Because, Bilbo," I swallow, turning back to look at the relentless rain outside the cave's entrance, "you represent all of us in my world who feel like we have nothing to offer. Those of us who feel small and underestimated….like nobodies. We don't feel strong, or brave, or clever….but we want to be." My voice catches in my throat too and my eyes begin to itch.

Bilbo's story resonates with all of us misfits out there, which is basically everyone at some point in their lives.

I muster the strength to continue, "We yearn for adventures and to be someone remarkable and powerful like ‘the Thorin Oakenshields’ or ‘the Gandalf’s’ in the story of our lives." I nod back toward the cave where the dwarves slumber. "We want to face the symbolic ‘Dragons’ of the world and confront our fears but…but we can't imagine how someone like us could possibly succeed."

I fall silent for a moment, my own fears overwhelming me. What am I even doing in a fantasy adventure story? How can I defeat Azog? How?!

I can sense Bilbo's gaze on me and I turn to him and manage a smile through the tears, "But then YOU do, Bilbo! You do succeed! You MORE than succeed, honestly... You'll prove everyone wrong about you. Especially yourself." I give him a pointed look.

His eyes are filled with pain and doubt, but he listens intently, soaking up my words as if his soul is going through a desert.

I continue, "And if someone like you, who understands how all us small ‘nobodies' feel, will accomplish such marvelous things, then surely there's hope for all of us. And we can all do incredible things and be as brave as The Hobbit who helped reclaim Erebor. And THAT is why it's called 'The Hobbit,' Mister Bilbo Baggins." I end my speech resolutely, giving a firm nod of my head.

Bilbo is now in tears too, letting out a shaky breath as a couple of drops escape his eyes and fall onto the sandy stone floor beneath us. He tries to speak several times, but nothing comes out. It's clear he still feels helpless and useless, without hope.

I reach for him, pulling him into a hug. He'll find his way. He has to.

We embrace, two souls far from home, clinging to each other in a dark cave in the heart of the Misty Mountains.

"Thank you, Peyton," he whispers hoarsely into my shoulder, and I squeeze him tighter.

"It's okay," I murmur back. "You would've figured it out without me here anyways."

"Well, I'm... I'm still glad you're here," Bilbo says as he pulls away from me and nods.

"What's that?"

We both turn in surprise to see a concerned Bofur standing behind us. It appears he's come over to offer comfort to Bilbo as well, but his eyes aren’t on Bilbo and I. He’s pointed at Bilbo's scabbard. A pale blue glow emits from it as Bilbo draws it from its sheath!

I breathe a massive sigh of relief even as Bilbo releases a shocked gasp. They've arrived! Thank the Valar!

Oh...Wait...

Relief quickly gives way to dread. Crap. They've arrived?!

It's time! Ok...ok, don't panic! Don't throw up!

Bilbo's wide-eyed gaze meets mine, and I try to convey confidence with a firm nod and a faint smile. But I'm terrified and my hands tremble. Nothing has gone according to plan so far and I have no idea how this will go either, especially since Gandalf isn't here. But as I told Bilbo, all we can do is hope. Hope that when the sun comes out tomorrow we'll all be alive and together. At least I got to practice sword fighting with Thorin for the past few days.

"Get up!" I hear Thorin's desperate voice bellow through the cave as he stands. "Everyone! GET UP!"

I rise to my feet quickly, turning and looking at the cave walls behind us in trepidation. My brow furrows as I don't see any doors opening, no goblin hands pulling dwarves into their deep dark halls. I'm unable to focus on the walls for too long before my gaze is pulled towards Thorin's blue eyes and anxious face. I realize he's been paying close attention to my conversation with Bilbo, having heard every word I said.

Suddenly, my stomach is in my throat, choking me as we're unexpectedly falling into thin air. I let out a terrified screech as we all hurtle down through the open floor, the darkness swallowing us whole.

Chapter Text

Down, down, down in the darkness we fall.

Somehow, the chute's curve and the chaotic tumble of bodies have conspired together to deposit me atop none other than Thorin, a twist of fate as unexpected as it is uncomfortable. We weren't even standing close together in the cave for crying out loud!

It could have been worse though. His solid frame could have landed on top of me.

My relief of that fact is short lived, however, as more dwarves tumble down on top of us, forming a sandwich with me wedged in the middle of the dwarf pile. I give a wheezed groan as Bombur lands at the very top of everyone with a painful thud. His heavy impact driving the steel boots of the dwarf above me into my back and pressing my body even further onto Thorin.

I frantically worry about the fate of the dwarf at the bottom of this pile, surely being flattened like a pancake under our collective weight! Please be Dwalin or Gloin! They're rock-solid and can withstand the pressure of fifteen people! But the thought of poor Bilbo or Ori dying a slow pancake-squished death sends waves of panic through me, sparking a frantic struggle to free myself as I start flailing around.

Unfortunately, my movements only serve to irritate Thorin, who, with two firm hands gripping my waist, forces me to be still.

"Bombur! GET OFF!" Thorin bellows up toward Bombur, who, I'm pretty sure, is still sitting there with a clueless expression on his face. Unfortunately, my ear is right where Thorin’s mouth is, so I momentarily go deaf.

"THORIN! Not so LOUD!" I retaliate with a shout of my own into his neck. His beard is pressed against my cheek, and I’m surprised by how soft it is and his long hair is still slightly damp from the rainstorm from earlier.

The intimacy of our position sends an embarrassing flush through me, and I squirm in a futile attempt to create some distance only to realize that I'm not helping anything except to embarrass myself further, pressed tight against the Dwarf King. Nori's elbow jabs into my back, drawing a yelp of pain from me right into Thorin's neck. His warm breath puffs in my ear as he also tries to deal with the weight of everyone on top his diaphragm.

It all happens in flashes after that, everything happening much too quickly for my brain to make much sense of it. No sooner do we manage to untangle ourselves, then small, pale, yellowish creatures suddenly rush at us with blood-curdling shrieks and wide toothed mouths.

I squeak in horror and recoil. Goblins? These putrid, hideous beings are the goblins?! They look nothing like the grayish cartoonish figures I imagined! The reality is far more horrifying.

They're like little nightmares brought to life, with humanoid bodies tinted in a sickly, mottled yellow. Their faces, reminiscent of orcs, are grotesquely misshapen, and the cruel, beady eyes set within them fill me with alarm. The pungent smell of ammonia cuts through my senses, similar to cat or ferret urine, and I gag as their unwashed bodies close in around us.
Strange, guttural hissing and growling emanates from their throats- a sound as foreign as it is terrifying. Goblin language?

They have long clever fingers, tipped with filthy claws, which snag at my clothing as they tug and scratch at everyone. A sharp scrape from one of their claws on my arm elicits a high-pitched, yipe from me. The sound halts a couple of the goblins in their tracks, their watery black eyes now focused on me.

"What's this?" One of them croons, his voice raspy and chilling. My heart plummets as the other goblins begin to chitter in excitement.

"A female?!" Another's voice, gurgling with phlegm, sounds to my left. I flinch away from it.

"Sweet, tasty girl...!"

The goblins begin to crowd around me, and I bare my teeth and lash out at the goblin grinning at me. Shoving it away, and kicking the shin of the goblin beside me.

Their responses are furious snarls and they begin to grab at me more directly, before someone grabs me by the back of the coat and pulls me further into the group. The dwarves put up a good fight, but it's no use. The goblins push us down long wooden catwalks further into the darkness.

Bats flutter overhead, their peaceful slumber disturbed by the cacophony below.

I've always been fascinated (and terrified) by caves. I explored a couple of innocent ones while visiting China and watched documentaries about them. The maximum depth a cave can reach underground is about 9,800 feet (3,000 meters). Nearly two miles. The sight of the dark chasm below us, beneath the wooden boards we're herded on, sends a jolt of anxiety through me. I vaguely notice our path is precariously attached to the side of the cave's walls by fraying ropes. But before I can fully process the terrible danger, clawed hands shove me forward, and I stumble closer to Dwalin and the others.

As they herd us along, the chasm opens wider to reveal a larger cavern, with hundreds of more goblins appearing on boardwalks above and below us. I'm taken aback by the sight of goblin mothers and children leering down at us from overhead platforms, their faces twisted into sneers and growls.
I've never given much thought to the existence of female goblins. My mouth widens in surprise as we pass them. I guess I always imagined that all goblins were male even though that makes zero sense. Gotta come from somewhere right? They start to spit at us, snarling something and I quickly close my mouth and duck my head.

The warm air is unventilated and the cloying smell of ammonia from goblin piss is so strong that the stagnant air suffocates me. Like an old lady's house that has fifty-three cats and only four litter boxes on a hot summer day. I breathe through my mouth but feel no relief. I can taste it at the back of my throat.

Strange clashes echo off the cavern walls as notes of dissonant music and voices ring in our ears. They're… singing? Huh. Just like the book and cartoon!

Maybe Dwalin is right - Life creates! Is music the universal language spoken by all races of the Universe? Do orcs and balrogs and dragons sing too?

We all seem to be heading towards a platform in the very center of the enormous cavern and the Great Goblin is hard to miss, even from far away. He's about seven times bigger than any of the other goblins and his voice booms above the rest. I can barely make out the words with the goblins hissing and shrieking in my ear and all of the dwarves grunting and yelling. The only clear part is the eerie chorus that reverberates off the cavern walls around us, "Down down down in Goblin town." The tune is completely different from what I was expecting.

This is all so horrendously fascinating! I think to myself in awe. A spectacle far beyond my realm of imagination.

My attention is briefly drawn to the bizarre makeshift band on a platform where the crashing and tooting is coming from. Their instruments are a collection of drums and crudely formed horns and whistles and stringed contraptions. But before I can analyze it more, a rough shove propels me forward, the band disappearing from my sight.

I wonder what Goblin parties are like?

As we finally reach the main platform of their King, all curiosity about the quality of Goblin parties evaporates in an instant, replaced by a wave of revulsion so potent it threatens to upend my stomach as the Goblin King suddenly and cruelly spears one unsuspecting goblin through his stomach in a swift brutal motion. The goblin squeals in agony as the King lifts him up for us all to see, a chilling melody to the twisted lyrics.

My mouth falls open, a silent scream of horror, as the goblin's blood - a viscous, inky black - trickles down the staff, staining the king's enormous hand. Why would he do that to his own subjects?! With a flick of his wrist, the king sends the impaled goblin flying over our heads and his body disappears, vanishing into the dark crevices below. Food for Gollum.

My stomach rolls and I feel a pathetic ache for the fallen goblin, an unexpected pang of sympathy for a creature I feared moments ago. I instinctively turn back towards the Goblin King with dread, realizing that if he treats his own people like this, there will be no mercy shown to outsiders.

The enormous Goblin spins around dramatically forcing us all to duck underneath his cruel staff. As the others rise up again, I keep my body curled into a protective hunch with my body out of view. I'll let Thorin handle this, he'll know what to do.

He just so happens to be standing right in front of me, actually, shielding me from the Goblin King's line of sight. I'm flanked by Gloin and Balin, Dwalin at my side. All the warriors have seemed to congregate around me, with Bifur, Oin, and Kili shielding Thorin in the front. I remember that this situation is more deadly for me than it is for them. I feel a pathetic gratitude spread through my chest, thankful for their protective instinct.

It won't be safe for anyone once the Goblin King sees Orchrist though. That's when we'll have to run.

I hear more squeals of pain, like wounded puppies, and I peer through the gaps in the company's legs. A pile of tiny goblins are being crushed by the enormous king ascending to his throne. My revulsion grows.

A king doesn't treat his subjects this way! He's a tyrant!

"Catchy isn't it? It's one of my own compositions." The fat Goblin rumbles out. His deep voice reminds me of a bullfrog's, but that's offensive to frogs.

"That wasn't a song, it was an abomination!" Balin yells angrily and I can't help but agree. I thought it was kinda catchy (in a weirdly annoying, can't-get-it-out-of-your-head kind of way?), but the pain he inflicted completely tainted the tune.

I hunch further down as he speaks, my my hands and knees almost to the floor. My eyes dart around, scanning the forest of dwarf legs clad in rough-hewn fabric and sturdy leather boots. A knot of dread forms in my stomach when I can't see Bilbo's hairy feet anywhere. Could he be in the very front?

The Goblin King's voice shatters my thoughts, "Who would dare come armed into my kingdom? Thieves? Spies? Assassins!?" His voice becomes an angry squeal but his words hang heavy in the air.

"Damn, he's as bad as you are!" I mutter lowly under my breath, remembering how Thorin and the company thought I was a spy at first too.

Thorin hears me though and his fist clenches by my face, indicating that this isn't a joke and I need to keep silent. His body is rigid, a statue carved from stone, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding us.

"Dwarves, your Malevolence," a goblin answers for us.

"Dwarves?!" the King echoes.

He sounds surprised or something. Is the Goblin King blind?

"We found them on the front porch." the same goblin explains in a grating drone.

"Well don't just stand there! Search them! Every crack! Every crevice!" The king's command is met with a flurry of activity.

It seems like the goblins have been waiting anxiously for this moment because they all pounce.

On me.

I gasp in fright, still ducked down, but my dwarf guards stand firm against their eager reaching claws, refusing to let the goblins through their wall of solid muscle and unyielding resolve. They repel the goblins with their movements reminiscent of American football linebackers. Not only that, but the entire company firmly resist the 'crack and crevice' searching. The whole thing causes a much louder commotion than the goblins have anticipated.

It's not long before the Goblin King's voice booms through the cavern, "What is all this rackus?" He pushes through the throng with his dangerously pointed staff until he is towering over me and the others.

When he sees the reason for the squabble, the glint of malevolence in his eye can only be described as demonic. A look of pure evil. I wish I had the One ring if only to disappear.

"A woman!?" His voice is a mix of shock and delight, a smile stretching across his twisted face. "Well, well!...It seems that holiday has come early! Bring up the female!"

"Wha-? Hey! No!" I protest as the goblins yank me forward, "This isn't necessary. Really!"

My protest falls on deaf ears, my words drowned out by the goblins' eager chittering. I'm pulled forward, helpless in their clawed grip. The dwarves fight back, their faces marred by scratches and bruises, their lips split and bleeding. But, with the exception of Dwalin's knuckledusters, their efforts are in vain with no weapons. I'm dragged to the front, standing alone before the king, two goblins gripping my arms with their clawed hands.

A wave of dread washes over me, a chilling realization that I'm in deep trouble. This is bad. This is really, REALLY bad. I didn't sign up for this! I don't have plot armor!

The Goblin King's voice cuts through my panic, a cruel sneer that sends a shiver down my spine. "Very brave of a female to travel in Goblin country." He leers at me, his grin a grotesque display of yellowed, jagged teeth. "OR! Very foolish."

I swallow hard, my throat dry with fear. "Oh, uh, yeah! Very foolish. Most definitely." I agree in a desperate attempt to placate him.

His eyes narrow, a glint of malice that sends a jolt of fear through me. "And how did you like my song?" He questions lowly, his tone laced with a threat.

I blink, taken aback by his question. Why's he asking me? I tilt my head, considering his words and trying to control my fear with an audible gulp. "Well…..uh...as someone who's had to create her own song before on the spot...I DO know how difficult it is to create a tune." I nod hesitantly and my honest opinion spills out. "And your tune was catchy. You...you had a good rhythm and the words rhymed. Overall, I'd give it a 6/10…..b-but the addition of killing your subject was a little over the top and detracted from the song." I can't help but add the last part, wincing at what his reaction might be.

He blinks, clearly not expecting an honest analysis and his bulbous eyes light up, a spark of interest that sends a chill down my spine. He leans closer, and I'm hit with a wave of stench so foul it's…indescribable. It's a nauseating mix of unwashed flesh, infected bacterial sores, and the sharp tang of ammonia from urine. Like an infected, bloated cat. My stomach churns, and I can't suppress the gag that rises in my throat. I double over, choking, only to be forcefully yanked back upright by the two goblins holding my arms. Their cruel laughter echoes in my ears, snickering at my reaction.

The Goblin King remains unfazed by my reaction, his grin widening at my discomfort. "And why exactly are you traveling through the Misty Mountains with this lot, hmm? You have no beard, so you're no dwarf."

I glare at him, noticing his reference to my short height, and, trying to breathe through my mouth, reply "Sorry, that's top secret information. (BLECK!) Classified. On a 'need to know' (Urrgh!) basis!"

I would sell my soul to the Necromancer for a cool blast of fresh air in my face right about now.

The Goblin King looks at me with a strange, puzzled expression. His massive body tilts, the pudge of his belly shifting with the movement, a grotesque display that sends another whirl to my stomach.

"She-she means...that we are humble merchants on our way to the Iron mountains!" Balin's voice rings out from behind me. His tone is laced with a cleverly disguised calm as he attempts to steer us away from the precipice of disaster.

"Do you take me for a fool?" The Goblin King lashes out, jabbing at Balin with his staff.

For a second, my soul tries to escape my body, a scream caught in my chest, only to die down when I realize he used the blunt end. I feel faint.

"A human woman, in the company of thirteen dwarves?" He looks out over the rest of his kingdom, a smirk curling his lips, "Sounds like a bad joke."

The goblins erupt into laughter and their malicious cackles echo off the cavern walls.

The Goblin King turns back to us, his bulbous eyes focusing once more on me and his expression suddenly becomes introspective, his voice curious, "And yet…I have heard tell, however...of a human woman not of this world…traveling with a group of dwarves." The Goblin King leans down, his face mere inches from mine as he rumbles menacingly, "That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"

My brow furrows, confusion clouding my thoughts. How can news be going around about me? How? They don't have social media or cellphones...

An instinctive urge to lie seizes me, "Uhhh, no? No, I'm definitely from Middle Earth. Mister Baggins here is my brother-in-law! Aren't you Bilbo?" I cast a hopeful glance over my shoulder, only to be met with a sea of anxious dwarf faces. My heart sinks, "Bilbo?" I repeat, my voice barely audible.

The Goblin King dismisses my words and gives an airy wave of his huge hand to his subject, "Search her bag."

The goblins scramble to obey, hauling up all the company's bags to the front and rummaging through them. Items are thrown around in their haste, a symphony of destruction that sends a pang of regret through me. My companions murmur angrily as their belongings are torn or battered to pieces in front of them.

As the Goblins pull everything out of Nori's bag, the angry murmurs from the dwarves give way to an embarrassed silence as item after stolen item creates a large pile. His bag is like Mary-freaking-Poppin's bag!

We all slowly turn to look at Nori, who looks back at us with wide eyes.

"What?! It was just a couple of keep-sakes!" He stammers, trying to shrug it off. Dori shakes his head in disappointment while Ori says nothing, gaping at his big brother in shock.

Honestly, though...I'm not even mad! It's amazing he's been able to hide all of that! And he carried that up the mountain?!

Wow.

The Great Goblin however does not seem impressed by this tiny treasure hoard. He examines a gold candelabra and turns it over: "Made in Rivendell? Bah – Second Age, couldn't give it away!" he exclaims, and tosses it aside.

Wait...Goblins can read Elvish?!

My attention is drawn away by an excited squeal. I turn to see a goblin holding up my hot pink hoodie, his face alight with glee as he waves it around, "Look! Look what I found, your Malevolence! Look!"

"What is this?" The Goblin King demands, snatching the hoodie from the goblin's grasp. He holds it up to his face for inspection, his demeanor one of awe and confusion. "What is this color?!"

Shoot.

"Uh, it's a very rare cloth that I got from...um...the Easterlings!" I blurt out, my mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. They're the only people I know who live far away.

"University of Nevada?" He reads out loud, his voice echoing through the cavern.

My heart skips a beat. They can read English too?!

"Yeah! It's an Easterling college. I-I mean tribe!" I stammer, my words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to cover my tracks.

Smooth, Pey. Very smooth.

He ignores my pitiful lies. His attention is focused on the unique quality of the hoodie's fabric and stitching, as well as the bright pink color, a color unlike any that currently exists in Middle Earth.
He speaks aloud, almost to himself as he examines the garment, "The bounty stated...that it was a short human woman with a shirt the color of the sunset, and pants the color of..."

Another goblin squeals as my light blue jeans are brought out into the open as well.

"...the sky." He finishes, glancing at me with his bulbous eyes. He seems a tad disappointed before a perverse delight lights up his face. "The Pale Orc will be most pleased."

My world comes crashing down, the noise and chaos behind me of the disappointed goblins and angry hollers from the dwarves fade into a dull roar. The Great Goblin words echo in my ears, a chilling revelation that sends a wave of dread through me.

"What did you say?" I whisper, my voice barely audible above the din as if it was just he and I in that horrible cavern.

"Ahh, so you are familiar with whom I speak?" His grin widens as he savors the pallor of my face.

"You...you're lying!" I shake my head, becoming angry and desperate. "Azog isn't looking for me! The bounty was for...for..."

Do not say Thorin!

"S-someone else! You're WRONG!" My voice gains volume despite my despair until I'm literally shouting at the Goblin King.

The Great Goblin takes a step forward and towers over me, causing me to shrink back slightly, "The Defiler issued forth two bounties, girl. Although..." his tone becomes thoughtful as he speculates, "there are rumors that yours stems from a more... sinister source." His grotesque belly undulates with his laughter at my expression, his gaze raking over me, "Such a shame, really. We could have had a lot of fun with you."

But his words are a distant murmur, my mind consumed by a single, terrifying confirmation.
Azog and the Necromancer ARE in league! It is as I feared. Every time I walked into the Necromancer's castle I wore the same clothes I had arrived in Middle Earth with. My hot pink hoodie and jeans. It would have been the only way he could describe me to Azog.

I have legions of servants, all of which stand ready at my command...he had said.

"The fear etched on your face is quite a sight to behold. Truly a pity." The Goblin repeats again, his grin a grotesque parody of remorse as he pivots back towards his subjects, bellowing, "It appears this one is not for our entertainment, lads!"

The goblins' disappointment resonates throughout the cavern, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing around the open space.

But their king, ever the entertainer, turns back to the rest of the company, "But as for the rest of you!...Give me one good reason why I shouldn't string up the lot of you for the bats to chew on?" His voice yells loudly through the cavern, his repulsive belly quivering with each word.

The company, rather than becoming disheartened, seem to be hopeful now that it's clear I'm not going to be torn to pieces in front of them. Thorin opens his mouth, about to speak up, but Bofur clasps a hand on his shoulder, bravely coming to stand in front of the company, "Indeed! We have…we have a most convincing reason. And, I'm about to share it. This instant!"

The Goblin King arches an eyebrow above one lazy eye, a silent invitation. Bofur's mouth opens and closes in rapid succession, his mind scrambling to keep up with his unexpected success of gaining the goblin's attention.

"Yes…Yes, you see, we were on the main road….until we weren't. A-and there was a huge ‘Thunder Battle’ with stone giants, until there wasn't. So we had to find cover, see? But then, then we weren't there anymore either. We were down here! And uh…that's…that's where we are now. Here!…that is. B-but, if it's all the same to your royal, uh, Maleviolence?…We'd like to be back up there...again. Uh, if you please?"

"LIES! All of it!" The Goblin King's roar reverberates through the cavern, inciting a chorus of growls, shrieks, and hollers from the goblins around us. The two holding my arms grip tighter, causing me to hiss from their nails digging into my skin. "If they will not talk, we'll make them squawk! Bring up the Terrible Torture! The Mutilator, and Bone Breaker!" He then looks at me with his ghastly grin, "Normally, ladies would start first….but since a far worse fate awaits you...we'll start with the youngest present. We'll loosen their tongues with his screams."

WHAT?! Not little Ori!

"No!" I shout, twisting and pulling against the Goblins holding my arms, even as the Goblins pounce on Ori, who now wears a terrified expression. Dori and Nori's face darken, ready to defend him with their lives.

Where's Gandalf?! What if he’s watching this whole thing and doesn't do anything because he feels we need to learn a lesson or some other nonsense? Or worse….what if he didn't make it?

"NO!" A familiar voice thunders out from behind me like a crack of lightening.

A wave of relief washes over me, as Thorin shoves forward beside me, his body a shield against the goblins. His presence is a comfort, a reminder that I'm not alone in this nightmare. The Goblin King's voice cuts through the chaos, his words a cruel taunt.

"Well, well! This just keeps getting better and better! Look who decided to show up!" The Goblin King taunts in surprise, tottering over to us with his gigantic bulk and squishing the little goblins by his throne.

"Thorin, son of Thrain! Son of Thror! King…Under the Mountain." He gives a half mocking bow, and the goblins around the cavern utter mocking laughs, hisses, and snarls. "Oh, but wait! You don't have a mountain. Which makes you…well, nobody really."

Thorin remains silent, but his glare speaks volumes.

I'm about to step forward and say, 'Ever heard of the Blue Mountains. No? Alright then, so shut up!' But Thorin's hand shoots out to my arm, thankfully stopping me from opening my big mouth.

"And just in time for me to collect my SECOND BOUNTY!!!” The Goblin King bellows and raises his arms and staff at the end, spinning in a circle to face all the goblins in the rafters once more who all break into large cheers.

He turns back to Thorin with a cat-ate-the-canary grin, "I can hardly believe my luck. What say you, Thorin? Eager for another meeting with your old enemy at long last?"

"Extremely." Thorin's words hiss through his gritted teeth, his gaze darker than I've ever seen him. I gulp.

The Goblin King smirks, his voice growing introspective and amused, "Tis a shame, then, that the bounty for your head specifically stated that it was just your head required. Nothing attached."

I gasp, pressing closer to Thorin’s side.

There's a clatter of swords that hit the wooden platform but I don't pay attention, focused as I am on Thorin's dark expression. A few of the goblins are still going through the belongings even though my 'sunset' hoodie and 'sky' jeans have been identified. Now that I think of it, how would the Goblin King even know what a sunset looks li-

Chaos ensues as a goblin begins to shriek and hiss as if burned, jumping back from the bag he was going through of swords. The Goblin King is suddenly filled with terror, staring at the offending pile of swords. He steps back, raising an arm to defend himself as if the sword will come alive.

"Ah! I know that sword! It is Varzsiel! The Last Vengeance! The sword that severed The Goblin Supreme in two! Kill them! Kill them ALL!"

WHAT?! Varzi-what?! What about Orchrist?!

"Wait, wait, wait!" I yell in panic, unable to be heard over the loud din, "Didn't you mean Orchrist? You meant Orchrist right?"

But the goblins don't hear me. Thorin's pulls me closer to his side, even as the Goblins start surrounding us, scratching and pulling.

The Goblin King points at the company, his terror and hatred shrieking from him, "Cut off their heads!"

I grip Thorin's hand in mine realizing that he was right. I should have never brought the company down here! We should have thought of some other way to get the ring! Gandalf doesn't know where to find us, Bilbo is lost in the darkness before it's even time for him to be lost, and I...I never got to tell Thorin how I feel about him.

I turn to look at him now about to tell him that I'm sorry and that I love him, but his hand is ripped away from mine as we're roughly separated.

"Thorin!" I cry.

We all struggle but it's no use. It's like we're in an ant hill; there are too many of them. I'm held back by three goblins, trying to pull me from the group while Thorin's held down by six. One of them raises a sword with the intent to behead Thorin.

He's going to die! He's going to die and it's all my fault! 

"No! Wait!" I shout, horrible anguish eating away at me as I continue to punch and kick at the goblins surrounding me. Only the greatest power will save him! A sacrifice of my all! How-

BOOM!

An explosion, reminiscent of a bomb, causes my sight and hearing to tell abandon me. A brilliant white light bursts throughout the cavern, the force of it causes bodies to go flying here and there, many falling into the chasm below. My ears ring and I lay there on the platform for a moment in a daze, eyes blinded by the white light after spending hours accumulating to the dark caverns. I blink rapidly, raising up to see none other than my dear old pal, Gandalf.

"Take up your arms." His blue eyes look like flames in the dark. "Fight."

What? He wants us to fight? I thought we're supposed to run!?

"FIGHT!" He bellows, his words rushing over us like the white light had.

The company snaps back into action, an energy filling us that wasn't there before. Angry battle cries from the dwarves sound out as they shove the still dazed goblins off of them and rush for their weapons. The cavern soon echoes with sounds of clashing metal, goblin screeching in pain, and the furious growls of dwarves as they fight.

I run over to...Varzsiel?...and pick it up. The blade gleams I stare at it in awe. ‘The Last Vengeance’? Damn! I got me a freakin' sword of LEGEND!? One that had the Goblin King backing away in fear!?

A goblin rushes at me, and thankfully I already know what to do. With a swift movement, I bring up my sword, blocking the goblin's attack. The creature snarls at me with sharp teeth, its eyes filled with hatred and bloodlust. But I don't back down.

I can't. Not now.

I grit my teeth and push back, using all my strength to force the goblin away. It stumbles back, caught off guard. I shift my feet as sparing with Dwalin, Fili, Kili, and finally Thorin have taught me. Seizing the opportunity, I lunge forward, driving my sword into its chest.

As someone studying nursing, I am familiar with the body's anatomy. And for the first time in my life...I wish I wasn't. The sensation is not one I will soon forget.

The feeling of the metal sliding through it's skin, it's muscle, and into its organs causes a tiny popping sensation as it releases pressure from inside.
The goblin lets out a strangled cry, its eyes widening in shock and pain. I gape in horror and feel something akin to regret fill my soul. I'm unable to blink, forced to watch the hope fade from its eyes into grim acceptance. Then, it collapses, still twitching.

I pull my sword free with a small tug, the gleaming metal now covered in a sheen of black blood. My heart pounds in my chest, my breathing harsh in my ears.
I feel faint. Sick. The image of that creature's last moments are seared into my mind's eye, replaying like a movie. '

Do no harm' is the medical ethics principle that all medical professionals live by. Do no harm. But I harmed it. I killed it. I just killed a living, breathing creature.

I feel strangely numb as another goblin rushes towards me, its cruel weapon raised high to strike me down. I feel tarnished, dirty even, and I find myself simply watching him, a detached part of me unable nor willing to react. Maybe I should just let it? It would fair, after all. A life for a life?

Before he reaches me though, dark wavy hair fills my view as Thorin steps in front of me. His sword meets the goblin's weapon with a resounding clang only to then deliver a swift kick, sending the goblin and its weapon flying over the edge into the darkness. Thorin's worried blue eyes turn back to assess me as I continue to stand there.

"MOVE PEYTON!" He bellows, before another goblin rushes at him that he turns to deal with.

While his back is turned, a goblin runs towards him, one that he doesn't see on his right as he's already parring another goblin to his left. Seeing the goblin come towards Thorin, however, is just what I need to snap me out of the strange numbness that's taken over my mind.

A hot anger overcomes me and I leap in front of the goblin, quick to parry his attack on Thorin before loudly yelling as I slice at its torso. The elvish blade is sharper than sharp, and it cuts him as easily as pie. Even though I hate the sensation, I don't feel as queasy as before. The alternative to killing this creature is unthinkable. I may not be willing to kill to save myself, but I'm willing to kill to defend Thorin.

Suddenly another goblin comes at me and I'm forced to harm it as well. Another. Then another. I notice Thorin's movements are swift and effective, a dark angel of death. But suddenly the Great Goblin appears, rushing toward to slam his scepter over us like a hammer on a nail.

"Thorin!" I yell, looking up at the enormous monster.

Thorin turns, putting his entire body into his swing as he strikes at the Great Goblin's staff. The scepter, oddly enough, is struck back by the blow, causing the Goblin King to become off-balance as he stumbles and trips off the platform.

He did it! He just killed the Goblin King!

I stare at Thorin in amazement, the power within his arms to withstand a heavy blow like that is incredible. His show of strength does funny things to my insides. Wheeeew!

More goblins come. Again, and again, I parry their attacks, and then slice them with my blade. It's almost too easy. It shouldn't be this easy to kill something, a strange frightened voice says in my heart. But it is, and my sword gleams with black blood.

The dwarves fight alongside me, their weapons clashing against the goblins'. Gandalf's sword and staff glow with a bright light. He moves with a grace and power that belies his age, his weapons felling goblins left and right.

Despite the chaos, despite the danger, I can't help but feel a sense of hope. Yes, we're outnumbered, outmatched, but we're not backing down. I plunge my sword into another goblin. We're fighting, and we're surviving!

"Run!" Gandalf finally yells at us all before turning and taking off into the darkness.

Oh, NOW we're running? Jeez!

This time, my body is ready. Walking all day, every day, uphill has toned my muscles and running is actually...well, it's actually easy! I keep up with everyone and don't need Kili and Fili to push or pull me along this time. Which is very convenient, because now is not the time to lag behind.

We race along the wooden catwalks with hoards of goblins closing in.

On multiple occasions, I barely evade or block a sword swung at my head or other scary looking weapon. The labyrinth of timber and rope is a terror to navigate. Fili and Balin diverge on a different pathway in order to dodge a Goblin assault, only to thankfully rejoin us several platforms later. Up and down, left and right- the platforms seem to extend on every level. Dwalin and Gloin hurl a ladder across a chasm for us to sprint over.

The warm stench is oppressive. I pant through my mouth, tasting the acrid air as I run quickly. The wooden planks tremble under the weight of our group rushing over them. I nearly trip on loose boards several times, almost impaling myself on Varzsiel.

I'm a little distracted, if I'm being honest.

My company of fun loving dwarves are suddenly the most badass people I have ever had the privilege of knowing and the transformation has me reeling.
Balin swirls his sword around him as if he's a Master Sifu of Martial Arts. The only thing sharper than Dwalin's axe is his mind as he thinks of ingenious ways to use the terrain and wood around us to his advantage. He creates pathways and hinders the goblin's pursuit. Kili and Fili work in tandem as they cut and slice through their enemies, a dynamic duo. Gandalf is as courageous and vibrant as when I watched him defeat the Balrog in Moria. And even the others who are not fighters by profession hold their own and slam goblins in the face left and right!

But the dwarf that captures and holds my attention the most... is Thorin. Of course.

My steps briefly falter as I watch Orcrist dance around him with a grace I've never seen him use. His expression is fierce, terrifying even and goblin parts fly everywhere as he cleaves them in rage. The Goblin-Cleaver. The sword was aptly named. But the sword is only as good as it's wielder. It's like he's dancing. A graceful, deadly dance.

Valar above, he's beautiful.

My mouth hangs open, watching him slide and twirl his blade with incredible skill until black blood flies onto my coat. Ooookaaaay, better keep my mouth closed then.

Suddenly, Gandalf raises his staff to an incline above us and another blast of white light BOOMS! out of it. A large round chunk of stone falls off and Dwalin wastes no time in using it to his advantage as he and the company roll it down the path before us. I feel euphoric from the adrenaline rushing through my veins and I let out a breathy laugh as the rolling stone crushes the goblins in front, shielding us.

"Whooo! Gandalf, you rock!"

Literally...

We reach a section of catwalk where a sudden explosion of splinters and wood comes from the wooden planks before us. My soul almost leaves my body as the terrifying body of the Great Goblin smashes upwards through the catwalk. I shriek and pull back it utter shock. How is he still alive?!

The destroyed catwalk and hulking form of the Goblin King cause our group to come to a complete standstill.

"You really thought you could escape me?!" He bellows, large arms flailing about, "You're in my kingdom."

We are completely surrounded and the dwarves create their circle of protection, back to back. My heart pounds in my chest after all that running. I reach out a hand to touch Thorin's coat to ground myself, grateful that he’s stayed near me this entire time.

I know I'm not a warrior like he is, but this is what Dwalin and he trained me for and I will make them proud. I let out a soft shaky breath before raising Varzsiel, prepared to fight once more.

The Great Goblin chuckles evilly, "You're all done for." He bangs his staff on the already old catwalk before slicing his staff towards Gandalf with a growl. Gandalf has no choice but to stagger back with a grunt and is caught by Ori and Dori.

The Great Goblin lunges towards us, his massive body moving with surprising speed. Thorin's positions himself in front of me, his body shielding me from the impending attack. But before the Great Goblin can reach us, Gandalf leaps forward with a gruff angry yell, brandishing his staff and sword. They both clash against the Great Goblin's weapon.

The impact sends a shockwave through the tunnel, causing the goblins to stumble back. Gandalf uses this moment of distraction to his advantage, his staff glowing with a bright light that illuminates the dark cavern. With a swift movement, he strikes the Great Goblin, sending him sprawling back. He slams him across the face with his staff before slicing his gelatinous gut with Glamdring.

"Oh...Oh dear." The Great Goblin sounds surprised, his cruel face now sheepish. “That’ll do it.”

Gandalf wastes no time in shoving Glamdring up into his goiter and through his throat in a fatal move. The Great Goblin chokes out his final breath before collapsing onto the boardwalk. It all happened so quickly. Both the goblins and company are silent as we stare in shock at the dead body of the Goblin king.

Before anyone can move, out of the silence comes a heaving groan from the boardwalk beneath us. Because the Great Goblin had broken through the wooden planks, the structure is weakened. The collective weight of the company is too much for the already ancient ropes and the whole structure creaks in warning.

"Hold on!" Thorin yells to the company, reaching for me and pulling me close.

No. Wait, wait, wait, hold on a moment! We're not really going to-

"NOO-Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" I scream as, for the second time that day, I find myself falling into a dark chasm with the company.

Not again!

Burying my head into Thorin's shoulder, I cling to him with all my strength, his arms wrapped around me proectively as well. The company all echo my terrified sentiments as our catwalk goes down, sliding along the cavern walls.

Thorin's balance is legendary but...

So...is...the catwalk???!

I stop screaming after a while, and look around myself in confusion. Why haven't we started rolling yet?

Gandalf stands there, in the middle of the platform; arms stretched out, grey robe flapping about him eerily, muttering words in a strange language. I can't hear anything except the company and Bofur's screams. All I can do is stare at Gandalf in wonder and amazement. Just like a hitchhiker through the galaxy needs a towel, every adventurer needs a wizard. They're indispensable.

We land…gently! All things considered! Divine intervention at its finest.

I jump off onto the soft powdery floor (I don't even want to know what it's made of) as a breathless laugh of adrenaline bursts out me.
I yell out an ecstatic, "Whoo-hoo!" Before turning and hugging Thorin once more in euphoria, forgetting myself for a moment. I pull back and, ignoring his surprised expression, look back at the company, sandwiched by wooden slats and yell, "Hell yeah people! We got PLOT ARMOR! Whoo!"

I look happily upwards back the way we’ve come, "Thank the Valar for Gand- OOOOOH NO!"

The Great Goblin's dead body lands with a horrible crash onto the catwalk, painfully squishing the dwarves underneath him as they cry out in pain.

That's..that's vile. That is just VILE!

"Oh you've got to the jokin!" Dwalin wheezes in pain, echoing my thoughts.

I immediately go to him, doing my best to pull him out from under the wood, but I'm only able to make a difference when Thorin pulls his other hand. With a final tug, we both manage to free him from the wreckage. He grunts in pain but manages to stand.

A sensation blows across my face and I pause, noticing that the air feels…cooler down here. Still horribly damp, but..is it my imagination or is there a soft, barely perceptible breeze blowing? I take a deep breath, grateful that it's not an oppressive stench.

Shrieks and cries above us cut the positive mood short as we all look up. Goblins are running along the edges of the walls, like little geckos, closing in. Why the hell did they even make all those catwalks if they can just stick to the sides of the caves?!

"Only daylight will save us!" Gandalf yells, "Run!"

As Gandalf's words echo through the cavern, a sense of urgency grips us once again. The company scrambles to their feet, pulling each other up and checking for injuries. Thorin's eyes meet mine, a silent command passing between us as he grips my arm once more.

We need to move. NOW.

The goblins are closing in, their beady eyes gleaming in the dim light. I can see the malice on their faces, the rage that we killed their king. Why they'd be attached to such a foul creature, I'll never know.

"This way!" Gandalf orders the company, his voice carrying over the chaos.

The rest of the dwarves follow Gandalf through the narrow paths, weapons ready for any surprises. I grip Varzsiel and follow after Thorin.

And then, just when I think we're done for, a ray of light pierces the darkness. Daylight! Straight ahead! Behind me, I hear the goblins recoil, their cries turning into shrieks of pain. Gandalf's words ring in my ears. Only daylight will save us.

With renewed vigor, I push forward, the goblins aweful shrieks growing farther. The light grows brighter, the air fresher. We're getting closer to the exit! And then, finally, the company breaks free from the clutches of the Misty Mountain's belly.

The sunlight blinds me momentarily, but I've never been so happy to see the sun before. I'm battered, bruised, but I'm alive! We all are! We actually did it!

YEAH!

Even after emerging fully into the daylight, the adrenaline coursing through our bodies doesn't allow us to stop. We keep running until we are quite a ways away. This side of the mountain is actually rather pretty. Large pine trees surround us, with dry bits of green and foliage underneath. It reminds me of the Sierra Nevada Mountains! Much better than the monotonous grey stone on the westside.

Gandalf finally stops up ahead, and turns back to us, unconsciously signaling that it's the place to stop. We continue to rush towards him and he counts us again.

"Five, six, seven, eight, nine, Bifur, Bofur, that's eleven. Fili, Kili, that's thirteen. And Bombur. That makes fourteen."

I put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I've never run so far or so long or so scared in my entire life.

"Where's Bilbo? Where is our hobbit?"

I stop breathing. Ice flows through my veins and I look up and meet Gandalf's questioning look before letting out a choked gasp.

I whirl around to look back at the way we've come. Oh no.

Please...please Bilbo...

Chapter Text

"WHERE IS MY HOBBIT?!" Gandalf's voice booms through the air, full of anger and desperation.

My gaze remains fixed on the path we've traveled, leading towards the imposing mountain. The towering pine trees obstruct my view of the cavern entrance, but still, I cannot tear my eyes away from where I know it's located. I can't bring myself to look back at the others. The feeling of joy that had coursed through my veins, ignited by the warmth of the sun, now fades into oblivion as a black dread consumes my heart. We faced the goblins, confronted our fears, but has it all been in vain?

Please, Bilbo... please be okay. You have stronger plot armor than I do, damn it! If I can make it, then so can you!

Amidst the chaos behind me, I hear Dwalin muttering a string of words in Khuzdul. His gruff voice barely cuts through the tension that hangs in the air. Gloin's voice joins in, rough with stress, "I thought he was with Dori!"

"Don't blame me!" Dori's voice rings out, laced with panic.

"Well, where did you last see him?!" Gandalf's voice trembles with despair, searching for answers.

"I think I saw him slip away when they first cornered us!" Nori suddenly remembers, his voice breaking through the silence that follows.

I draw in a sharp breath and finally force myself to turn my eyes from the mountain to seek Nori's. "At the beginning? When we first fell down the chute?!" I ask urgently.

All the company's gazes seem to have already been fixated on me before I'd even turned around. Their expressions are full of remorse, anxiety, and pensiveness at how I'll react to Bilbo's disappearance.

"Aye, I saw him slip away right at the very beginning," Nori says softly, as if choosing his words carefully.

I turn back to face the mountain, my mind racing. Bilbo would have taken the opportunity to quietly follow us, I know it! So why didn't he? Where is he now?

"And then what happened?" Gandalf pleads when the dwarves fall into an uneasy silence. "TELL ME!"

"I believe that Master Baggins saw his chance, and he took it," Thorin's deep voice rumbles calmly. Even though he's responding to Gandalf's question, I can feel his words directed towards me. My eyes are still focused on the way we’ve come, still holding onto a sliver of hope. "He's been yearning for his soft bed and warm hearth ever since he set foot outside his front door," Thorin continues.

"NO!" I whisper, closing my eyes to try and shut out the horrible idea. I take deep breaths, but my breathing is ragged. I finally glance back in anguish at Thorin. He's standing there to the side of the company, watching me solemnly.

I shake my head at him fiercely, tears welling up in my eyes, "Bilbo would NEVER do that!"

Thorin's blue eyes show a hint of pity, but he doesn't retract his words, choosing instead to remain silent. I turn my gaze back towards the mountain, a sense of hopelessness washing over me. Bilbo wouldn't... would he? I'm suddenly unsure. Especially with how he had been talking by the entrance to the cave.

How could he even climb back to the trail with how twisted the chute was?! What happens next in the book?

More likely than not, Bilbo is now wandering around the catwalks of Goblin town looking for a way out, surely about to be captured. A surge of despair clouds my thoughts, threatening to drown me and my breathing becomes frantic. Tears well up in my eyes.

I've failed him.

But I can't just stand here. I can't just leave him behind and continue on with the others. I would never be able to forgive myself.

But...what can I possibly do?

Grim determination takes hold as I start to  walk slowly back up the hill without looking back, planning on retracing our steps. But my feet feel heavy, knowing that I’m willingly walking towards my own doom.

Protests immediately erupt from the company behind me, and suddenly, my arm is grabbed from behind, forcefully turning me to face Thorin.

His voice is harsh, filled with anger and disbelief. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm going back," I choke out, my attempt at sounding firm failing as my voice cracks. "I know it's foolish. I know there's little hope of accomplishing anything. But I can't just walk away."

"Your hobbit is dead, Peyton!" Thorin's thunders out, his voice pierces through me, cutting like a blade. "Can't you see that?!"

His other hand grabs my other shoulder, turning me fully back towards him. He looks as if he wishes to shake some sense into me

"His name is Bilbo!" I cry, my body wracked with the weight of my grief. "And he’s my best friend! I can't just leave him! I can't just...It's my fault he's... he's..."

I clap my hand over my mouth and start to sob as the absolute horror of the situation washes over me.

The weight of my failure and despair is suffocating, and I find myself leaning into Thorin, unable to help myself. I feel weak, hopeless, but when I think of strength, I think of Thorin Oakenshield.

I feel his thick, strong arms gently, almost hesitantly, wrap around me. Comforting a distraught woman is probably not what he signed up for with this quest, but he's doing a surprisingly good job. I'm enveloped in his warmth. Since being pressed up tight against one another in the dwarf pile, we've remained close through the chaos and danger of the goblin tunnel. It's almost like an invisible barrier has disappeared between us and any touches between us now seem mild and innocent compared to being literally squeezed together uncomfortably and breathing in each other's necks.

He says nothing for a moment, just holding me as I cry into his fur lined coat. And then his deep, gentle voice rumbles through me, murmuring into my hair, "Bilbo may yet be alive and on his way back to the Shire. But even if that is not the case...there is nothing you can do for him now."

I shake my head, trying to breathe, "He's a-always been there for m-me and I f-failed him! I've failed e-everyone!"

And then a voice I thought I'd never hear again speaks up, cutting through the despair, "No. You haven't."

I gasp, turning my tear stricken face to see Bilbo Baggins himself, standing there beside a tree, a tender expression on his face.

"BILBO!" We all shout at the same time, a mix of voices filled with unimaginable joy and confusion.

I rush over to him, overwhelmed with relief which causes me to cry even harder. I squeeze him in a huge bear hug.

“We'd given you up, Bilbo! It's a miracle!" Fili exclaims as he and the rest of the company join us.

I finally pull away, my hands trembling as the words spill out like an angry torrent. I grip his shoulders and shake him, frustration bubbling over at the years this hobbit has taken off my life from stress. "YOU. NEARLY. GAVE ME. A. HEART ATTACK!!! Where were you?!"

Gandalf calls out, his voice filled with amusement as he leans on his staff in relief. "Careful with our burglar, Miss Peyton. It's obvious he has quite the story to tell."

I immediately stop shaking Bilbo, finallt noticing him grimacing and wincing. I register his extra dirty clothes and disheveled appearance, concern filling me once more at the few developing bruises on his face.
I go back to hugging him tightly instead of shaking him, "Are you okay? What happened?"

Bilbo breathes out a relieved chuckle, hugging me back. I think he mouths a 'thank you' to Gandalf over my shoulder before saying out loud, "I had a tussle with a goblin and took a nasty fall into a deep crevice. I'm a little bruised but... I'll be alright."

"How'd you make it past the Goblins?" Kili breathes in wonder.

I stop squeezing the life out of him and allow him some space, taking a small step back so he can explain. Bilbo gives a shrug, a strange almost sly smile on his face. A glint of yellow winks from his hand before he puts it into his pocket. My mind goes momentarily blank before I snap out of it and a smile spreads across my face.
He's got it! He's got the Ring! Oh, praise the Valar!

"Well what does it matter? He's here!" Gandalf says, his voice taking on a strange quality.

"No. I want to know." We all turn to see Thorin still standing where I had abruptly left him, his expression cool and unreadable, as if he's personally offended that Bilbo ISN'T dead. "Why did you come back?"

Bilbo puts a hand on my shoulder, perhaps sensing that I'm about to go off on Thorin for asking such a thing before stepping forward to face him himself. "Look, I know you doubt me. You always have," Bilbo speaks with frankness, causing me to do a double-take at him. He’s using a direct approach with Thorin? "And...and you're right! I DO miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden! Because, well, because that's where I belong. In Bag End, that is. That's my home." He doesn't shy away from the truth, acknowledging that it's okay for him to miss home. "And I stayed because... well, because you don't have one. A home, that is. It was taken from you." Bilbo's expression is pure, his words sincere. "But I will help you take it back if I can."

Shocked into silence, we all can only look at him. The company’s faces reflect how touched their hearts are by his words. My own throat tightens, overwhelmed with emotion and a sense of astonishment. A stronger hobbit than I've ever seen stands before me now. The rest of the company can feel it too. Bilbo ventured into the darkness of nightmares and came out as a conqueror.

I glance over at their King to see if Bilbo’s selflessness is affecting him at all and, in a rare moment, Thorin Oakenshield looks ashamed. Embarrassed, even, in the face of Bilbo's heartfelt conviction. I don’t think he’s truly considered Bilbo's sacrifice until now, the enormity of it sinking in.

It's okay to miss home. Every single person in the company misses home. Maybe even Gandalf.

I wipe away the new fresh set of tears rolling down my cheeks, trying to compose myself. Ugh, I love this story so friggin' much! I'm such a mess.

At my soft sniffles, I quickly wave away everyone's concerned looks in embarrassment, "Don't mind me everyone, I'm fine." Sobbing because I thought Bilbo was dead and now crying because Bilbo's amazing...I'm SO exhausted right now. My nerves are ragged and open and I would love nothing more than to sleep. It's been a long night and day.

Ever the considerate one, Bilbo hands me our handkerchief that we share joint custody over, which elicits a small chuckle out of me at the familiar offer. There are so many funny memories associated with this now very un-white piece of embroidered cloth.

Thorin, a bit subdued, tries to cover his embarrassment by grumbling in a resigned tone, "Did you at least get the ring?"

Bilbo's eyes widen in shock before glancing at me questioningly. I smile at him, offering an embarrassed grimace. Crap. I feel chagrined, having told Thorin about the ring before telling the ring-bearer himself. It's not like I wanted to! Why did I make that stupid oath with him?!

"Well!" Bilbo says with an annoyed twitch of his nose, before giving me a betrayed look. "It would have been nice to know about the ring before anyone else knew about it."

I open my mouth to apologize profusely and explain but a gruff voice cuts me off, causing me to freeze, "Ring? What ring?"

Gandalf's whole body is tense as he holds his staff tightly. My mind races as I frantically think of an excuse. I cannot, under any circumstances, reveal the true nature of the ring to him. He's supposed to go to Gondor to do research about it. The book, cartoon, and live-action Lord of the Ring movie are ALL (for once) in agreement: Gandalf is meant to be oblivious to it.

I wave off his concerns like little butterflies around my head, trying to sound nonchalant. "Psssh, oh, don't worry, Gandalf. It's just a ring! It'll help us with our journey."

Liar liar, pants on fire.

Gandalf looks at me, torn between curiosity and suspicion. He's obviously wondering if my 'out-of-world knowledge' extends to the Ring of Power, but he seems to relax just a little at my words. Thankfully, he doesn't have a lie detector.

"What's all this about a ring, then?" Balin speaks up with a stern eyebrow raised, his tone suspicious. He might actually have a lie detector.

Bilbo clears his throat, seeming uncomfortable with the fact that everyone is now aware he has a secret ring. He didn't plan on keeping it a secret, did he? In the book, he was very open to everyone about it.

"Uh, yes. I, uh, I won it in a game of riddles with a frightfully odd fellow in the goblin caves," Bilbo explains, putting his hand in his pocket but not bringing out the ring to show us. "It... makes me invisible. That's how I made it out of the mountain unseen."

Gandalf furrows his brow, clearly puzzled. "Peculiar. I've never heard of a ring doing such a thing."

I mimic Bilbo's shrug, trying to play it cool as well. "Yeah, it's special. Not as special as some rings, perhaps, but it'll help us."

Only two people ever had the One Ring in their possession after Sauron; Isildur and Sméagol. And it's not like they went around broadcasting that it made them disappear to everyone.

"Good. Then the trip through the Goblin tunnels wasn't a complete waste of our time," Thorin mutters lowly, shooting me a frustrated look. I can tell he's very displeased, as if it's my fault that we went through the Goblin Tunnels after he’d gone to such lengths to avoid them.

"Hey, I'm innocent of this whole thing!" I hold my hands up in surrender and smile cutely at him, feeling giddy about how everything’s turned out so far. "I told you the future, you tried to avoid it, and it still happened! Just be happy that everything is back on schedule and you're still well on your way to get your mountain back! Besides, now Bilbo can burgle even better than before!"

I shoot a smile at said burglar, the joy of him being alive (and with the ring, no less) makes me feel in a teasing mood.

"And what of Azog?" Thorin demands. His anger seems to simmer at my nonchalant attitude, but his eyes flash with concern. "What is this about him looking for you?"

My throat tightens and my giddiness falters as I realize that this is indeed a serious matter.

"I... Do you remember those dreams I told you about?" I clear my throat, hating that my voice trembles slightly.

Thorin furrows his brow, his gaze fixed on me. "Aye. Your family mourning your death, and the being of darkness in a castle? I thought you haven't dreamt of them for some time?"

I'm surprised that he remembers; it's been so long ago. "Well, yes, the dreams of my family stopped...but the 'mist monster' didn't. And I guess they aren't exactly dreams." I grimace, feeling a mix of fear and uncertainty. "Apparently I'm...dream walking? Or something like that? I don't fully understand it myself. But, anyway, I guess the dark guy is called the Necromancer who-"

"The Necromancer?!" Gandalf interrupts, taking a step forward, his blue eyes gazing intently at me.

I wither under his gaze, feeling, yet again, a twinge of guilt for not telling him or Bilbo anything while at the same time confiding in Thorin with EVERYTHING. To be fair though, Gandalf isn't around most of the time, and I kept forgetting to bring it up whenever he was.

Nodding, I manage to keep my voice steady this time, "Yeah, have you heard of him?"

Gandalf's eyes widen with concern. "Radagast told me about him. He-"

A horribly familiar howl pierces through the air, cutting off Gandalf's words. I whirl towards the sound, blood rushing out of my face.
Wargs?! It's not even nightfall yet! I thought we had more time!

Fear grips all of us as we realize the danger we are in. Frantically, I turn in a circle, scanning the surroundings for a large tree to climb. But panic sets in as none of the trees seem suitable for sixteen people to 'chill' in. We should have been running instead of chatting here!

"Uh, yeah, we're gonna have to talk about this later guys," I proclaim. "It's cardio time again! Chop chop!"

Without waiting for a response, I turn and sprint downhill, desperately searching for a large tree that can accommodate all of us. I glance behind me to check on them but, like idiots, they're all staring up at where the wargs are coming from. Apparently the wargs are coming from up higher on the mountain.

"Come ON you guys!" I yell back at them as I continue running. Every single one of them runs faster than me anyways, even Bilbo, so I know they'll catch up. But worry grips me as I leap over rocks and logs, almost tripping over them. I feel...weary. My body is exhausted from running through the Goblin tunnels and I realize I won't be able to run from the wargs like we did last time.

The dwarves catch up like I knew they would. I only risk a backward glance once the sounds of fighting reach my ears.

The sound of the snarling wargs unleashes a rush of sensations like a tidal wave.  A suffocating pressure on my chest, the moist putrid stench from a gaping pink throat, and the image of terrifying sharp teeth, the feel of a flood my senses.

I force myself to face forward and urge my tired leg muscles to move faster. Thankfully, gravity is on my side, and I allow the downward slope to propel me forward. I have to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other, hoping I don't trip and DIE at this speed.

Sprinting full-pelt towards what I think is safety, my speed abruptly halts as someone grabs my coat from behind. My arms flail wildly as I find myself at the edge of a sheer hundred-foot drop, teetering over the edge of the cliff. I'm yanked roughly back by the person holding my coat before the fall can claim me.

"Thanks Nori!" I breathe out when I see the familiar star-shaped hairdo of my friend.

"Where do we go now, Pey?!" He asks in response, glancing back the way we've come worriedly.

I take a moment to draw air into my lungs and quickly analyze the situation. We must have taken a wrong turn! But the trees are thankfully denser and taller here and there's a few with some low branches. Perfect for a short girl like me to climb. Nothing big enough for 16 people though.

I immediately run over to a tree, ignoring my muscles protest as I desperatly hoist myself up, gripping the dead stubs of branches. The tree's rough bark scrapes against my palms and pine needles snag at my hair, but I press upwards.

Gandalf and the other dwarves observe my pitiful attempt at climbing before Gandalf finally stirs them into action. "Into the trees! CLIMB!"

Gandalf comes up the tree after me and I'm surprised about how fast he can do it while in his grey bathrobe. I chuckle a little in an odd moment of distraction. I'm glad I didn't climb up after him! Hopefully he has some grey shorts underneath-

"They're COMING!" Thorin's roar snaps me out of my ridiculous musings. He and a few others had arrived late and are now climbing into three of the trees in front of us. Wishing I was in his tree as this one is too close to the edge for comfort; I cling tighter to the rough trunk.

Craning my neck, I'm shocked to see Bilbo, still on the ground with his sword firmly lodged in a warg's skull. My mouth drops open. Did he actually...did he actually kill a warg single-handedly?! Whaaaaaa?!

"Bilbo! Hurry!" I scream at him, terrified as I see more wargs rushing into the clearing.

By a hair's breadth, Bilbo scrambles up into the safety of a tree just as the grey fur of the wargs rush underneath. I let out a sigh of relief. We're safe!

Well, I mean, as safe as we can be in a situation like this.

The company is spread out over three separate trees. We were supposed to only be in one large tree but we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Obviously my fault since I was leading the company towards a friggin' cliff.

The low growl of the wargs resonates through the silent night. The danger is too close to focus on anything else as the yellow eyes gaze upwards, promising violence. I get myself comfy in the tree, hoping to hear some orcs start singing. This should be good!

But my tired, odd thoughts are disrupted when a pale figure in my peripherals captures my attention. I look towards it in curiosity only for my blood to run cold.

A HUGE pale orce rides slowly into view upon an enormous white warg.

Azog the Defiler.

The symmetrical scars are a vibrant red against his pale white skin, covering his hulking body as they stretch across the expanse of his broad torso and down his muscled arms. The hand that Thorin had chopped off is sporting a long metal prong, stabbed right through his bone. The sight causes my stomach to swirl.

This is the guy that I'm supposedly supposed to save Thorin from?! He was born and bred for this! For destruction! For death.

I want to turn and glare at Gandalf. To look at his ashen face and raise an unamused eyebrow in a clear 'I-told-you-so!' fashion. But fear keeps my gaze locked on the pale monster. I decide that the red scars on Azog, despite their intimidation, are not the most alarming part about him.

It's his eyes.

His blue eyes shine out brightly, almost too brightly, against his pale skin.

And then he speaks and it sounds like a guttural nightmare- a strange, oozing language that seeps out of his strange lips like sludge. Glancing over at Thorin, I see his back heaving with anger. I'm glad I told him Azog was alive. Even though I had NO idea he'd show up sooner than the Battle of the Five Armies...at least it gave him some preparation for this.

But then Azog's unsettling eyes rest on me.

Panic rises within me and my stomach feels like it's full of solid ice as his strange lips transform in a triumphant grin, revealing sharp glinting teeth.

But I pause, his expression oddly familiar. And suddenly it hits me, I recognize the expression on his face from when I gazed at Galadriel's mirror! Despite the tension of the stressful situation, I actually feel a huge rush of relief. We must be in the right place at the right time! So, we're doing good, right?

His bright evil eyes remain fixed on me as he continues his torment in harsh syllables. The dwarves tense up, their worried glances flicking towards me from the various trees. Confused, I realize that Azog must be talking about me, but what could he possibly be saying?

"What's he saying?" I turn to Fili, who's perched beside me, hoping for some answers.

But Fili simply shakes his head, not replying. Annoyance seizes me at his non-answer. I hate not knowing!

"Fili!” I hiss, panic underlying each word.  “What's he saying?!”

"You don't want to know," Fili growls, glaring at Azog with hatred. I've never seen Fili's cheerful laughing face look like that.

"The hell I don- Ugh! FINE." If you want something done around here you have to do it yourself. Out of sheer frustration, I resolve to find out myself. "Uhh, excuse me!" I call out loudly to Azog, catching everyone off guard.

"Peyton!" Fili's head snaps to look at me, shocked by my audacity. "Don't!"

I feel confident! Or exhausted beyond reason... But my plot armor must be pretty good since we survived the Goblins despite all odds. And Bilbo did, in fact, find the ring! I wasn't sure if we would survive, but we did. So, I'm 99% sure we'll survive this too.

I ignore Fili, my eyes locking with Azog's unsettling gaze. He's silent, so I take it as him listening. "Yes, you! Uhh, I don't understand a word you're saying, so if you could use English, I mean...uh, Westron? You know, the common tongue? Then I would really appreciate it. That will be all. Thank you." I tack on the awkward thank you towards the end.

Mother taught me to be polite, but I don't think she meant in these kinds of situations.

Silence engulfs us. It's so deafening, that for a moment it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

And then an evil laugh echoes out into the night as Azog finally breaks the silence. The sound sends a shiver down my spine, like I'd just told him a malicious joke. It's so menacing that I'm instantly reminded of the Necromancer.

But it seems to do the trick because this time Azog does speak in Westron. "You have courage, human," he sneers. "I will indeed savor crushing it after presenting you to my Master." His accent still carries the same guttural quality, but his words flow in strange patterns, as if his tongue and throat are unaccustomed to shaping sounds in English.

I bristle, and call out to him defiantly, "Yeah? W-well, tell your Master that his days are numbered! He's not even around in the next fifty years! So, he'll be dead within a human lifetime from now. Or…wait…isn't he already dead? He's like, a spirit, right?" Confusion mixes with my anger as I contemplate the notion of killing someone who is already dead. How do you kill an already dead person?

"Peyton, do stop talking," Gandalf wisely interjects, realizing that my exhausted brain isn't functioning at the same caliber it usually does.

Azog narrows his eyes and raises his menacing mace, clearly done with attempting communication, "Feast on their bones! Spare the human. And bring me Oakenshield's head!"

I can tell he said that in Westron with the intent to scare me.

The wargs yip and growl excitedly, rushing toward our tree at his command. Their hunger drives them to tear off every limb they can reach, causing the trees to all tremble. With jaws like steel traps, they snap at the branches, pulling them down as if they were mere twigs. Thankfully, their inability to climb prevents them from reaching us easily. However, a few tenacious wargs manage to make their way up, requiring well-placed kicks to knock them back down.

Suddenly, the two trees in front of me begin to topple, weakened by the wargs' weight tearing at the branches and roots.

My soul leaves my body as I watch the company barely make it from tree to tree. I have to close my eyes and look away as I watch Bombur struggling to stay on his branch, almost positive that he will actually fall, but miraculously, impossibly, he manages to hold on. At last we're all in a single tree, like sixteen happy birds. Except we're not happy.

The wargs continue their relentless assault, but it's harder for them to reach us in this particular pine tree as we're literally on the cliff's edge. I desperately scan the now dark skies, hoping to catch sight of any winged creatures approaching.

"Gandalf!" I yell down to him, before looking around me frantically when I see he’s not there. Relief fills me when I see that he's climbed above me while I'd been distracted, "Please tell me you've called the eagles already!"

"Yes!" he calls back, his gruff voice filled with urgency. "But they will not arrive for some time!"

Shoot. I look back down at the wargs, chomping and scratching away at our tree. We need to find a way to distract them or else we won't make it!

A fireball suddenly shoots out from above me, smacking right into a warg below! The animal yelps in pain and whimpers like a pup as it runs back to its master.

I look up in astonishment to see Gandalf passing around flaming pinecones like the seasoned fire wizard he pretends not to be. He proceeds to pass the hot pinecones down to the rest of the company, encouraging us to throw. It works, and soon the wargs have scampered away from the tree as the fire burns hot and bright in front of us, filling the air with choking smoke.

And then our tree goes. And everything becomes a blur.

All I know is that Dori and Ori are suddenly clinging to Gandalf's staff, their lives hanging by a thread and that Thorin is swiftly pulling me up from where I had almost fallen as well. His strong grip is an anchor amidst the chaos and I cling to the branch he sets me on, but then he stands up, his dark hair the only thing I see amidst the heat and flames, his gaze fixed on Azog.

"Thorin? What are you doing?!" I ask in horror, my grip tightening on the tree branch. It's almost as if he can't hear me. The anger emanating from him is palpable as he begins walking with precision towards Azog. "No! No, don't!" I call out in disbelief, struggling to get up so I can stop him.
He breaks into a run, intent on finishing Azog now rather than later at the Battle of the Five Armies.
I have to help him!

But as I move to stand, my branch breaks, and I fall again, catching the branch. The pine needles pushing at my face and neck don't even faze me as I scream out for someone to stop him and cling tighter to my branch which is now hanging broken from the main trunk.

"Somebody stop him! Please! Don't let him go!"

Panic courses through me as I frantically hope that someone, anyone, will stop him. Gandalf would, but Dori and Ori are dangling from his staff, their lives depending on him. Dwalin, always quick-witted, rushes to help, but his own branch snaps and he is suddenly dangling by strips of wood just like me.

"Somebody help him!" I cry at whoever is up there, someone who isn't hanging on for dear life. "Please! Help Thorin!"

I can't see anything happening. I can't stop anything. I cry, turning to look at Gandalf whose teeth are grit tightly as he holds Dori and Ori as best he can, but his eyes are on whatever's happening between Azog and Thorin. And whatever he's seeing is not good.

"Thorin! No!" I sob hopelessly. That stupid dwarf is getting himself killed! I think I can hear a commotion but I can't be sure, an orc shrieking in agony. Could it be Azog? Did Thorin win!?

Suddenly a hand appears before my face and I look up in surprise and relief at Kili's beardless face. I grip his hand with all my strength, allowing him to pull me up. I notice Fili pulling Dwalin up as well.

"COME ON!" Kili yells at me through the chaos. He turns and the others sprint away from the tree with me right behind them.

But...then, I catch sight my first sight of them, and my muscles weaken with despair. Thorin is lying motionless on the ground. But Bilbo is standing in front of him!

Bilbo?!?!?!

He holds Sting with determination and swipes it into the air to fend off the encroaching wargs. Impossible. But...here he is! Even though Thorin has treated him with nothing but disdain this entire trip, Bilbo is stranding in front of Thorin, the only one not struggling to stay on the tree and to hear my cries for someone to help him.

Dwalin and the others reach the wargs first, slicing at their necks and snouts. Swinging Varzsiel, I slice at a warg's nose, cutting deep into its grey fur. The hideous creature howls and barks in agony, retreating momentarily with its nose bleeding profusely. However, the orc riding atop the animal bares his blackened teeth at me. Fili comes out of nowhere and smashes his sword upward and inwards, killing the orc underneath his jaw.

Woah. I shoot Fili a thankful glance.

I turn my attention back to where Thorin lies and rush to his side, both fear and hope swelling within me. "Thorin! THORIN!? CAN YOU HEAR ME?!" I desperately grab his bearded face with my trembling hands, hoping to get a reaction.

He's still breathing!

He moans softly, but doesn't open his eyes. His lips seem to murmur something, but I can't make out the words. The strange rhythm of his breathing sends a chilling realization through me. His lungs sound like they've been punctured! Did he get stabbed?!

A surge of anger mixed with tears washes over me, and I can't help but whisper furiously, "What were you thinking?" My voice wavers with a mixture of frustration and concern as I take in the sight of his cut and bloodied face between my pale hands. The foreign feeling of his thick beard on my fingers creates an unexpectedly soft reaction inside me, and I feel a brief flash of sympathy. He was trying to avenge his family. It was stupid, yes, but if someone murdered my brother and father and grandpa...would I not be as equally stupid?

Before I can check for any other injuries, my attention is diverted as Bilbo is unceremoniously thrown over us, crashing onto the unforgiving ground. I glance over to see his dazed expression, but fear clouds his eyes, his attention captured by something behind me.

The growl that follows confirms my worst fears, and I turn to meet the gaze of Azog, still astride his menacing white warg. Panic grips me as his strange eyes lock onto my proximity to Thorin with interest, my hands still lingering on his warm bearded cheeks.

Reluctantly, I release his unconscious face and slowly rise to my feet, never breaking eye contact with the Defiler. His pale skin reflects the orange glow of the flames, and a malicious smirk plays across his lips as he studies me standing before him. In that moment, a crazy thought floods my mind: This is the perfect opportunity to kill him! If I can somehow end his reign of terror now, then Thorin, Fili, and Kili will be saved!

Obviously, Thorin and I are on the same level of stupid because we both think of the same idea. I'm worse though, since I clearly didn't learn from Thorin's horrible decision earlier. But, I have plot armor, don't I? I turn to fully face Azog, Varzsiel gleaming at my side. A rush of determination courses through me, blurring the lines between bravery and foolishness.

"I do not know what my master wants with one such as you." He sneers, his voice a mix of deep rasp and rumble, the words themselves struggle to escape his tongue. "You hardly seem worth the effort."

The words hiss from my lips in anger before I have a chance to fully consider the consequences, "Get off your dog and find out!"

Uhh, Peyton? You idiot! Why did you just say that?!

For a moment, Azog pauses, considering me, before his smirk widens and he gives me a mocking nod of acknowledgment. He dismounts his towering white warg as I requested, causing me to almost pee my pants.

Regret instantly entangles itself with the adrenaline rushing through my veins. How can I be so stupid?
Distract him, sure, but fight him?!

Even now, I feel my strength slipping away. I barely have the strength to hold Varzsiel! Hiking through a storm, riding a Rock Giant's knee, falling down a chute, getting scratched up by Goblins, running from said Goblins, bawling my eyes out over Bilbo, only to run again from wargs and cling to a pine tree for dear life? And I’ve barely eaten all day! Just some bread and jerky on the Goblin King's front porch!

Azog lifts up an enormous white hand, tipped with claws and beckons once to me in twisted amusement. "Come," he goads, his confidence in the outcome sure.

Dread swells within me like a tidal wave, but in that moment I really don't have a choice. Glancing back at Thorin, still unconscious on the ground, and Bilbo, struggling to recover nearby...no one else is here to defend them except me. The others are still engaged with the wargs and other orcs, so I can't run away screaming like every cell in my body is pleading for me to do.

I have to face him, even if it feels like a mouse facing a lion. My mind also helpfully supplies the fact that Azog has a freaking metal prod stabbed through his bone. That sort of constant daily pain means I have to strike a vital organ like his brain, neck, or heart (multiple times) in order to have an effect on him. I can't even land a hit on Thorin without cheating!

As I reluctantly approach the pale orc, my earlier bravado settles into a heavy pit of regret. Only a glimmer of hope remains, if I can even call it that. He said he would take me to the Necromancer? So, that means he doesn't plan on killing me, right?

But if the Necromancer is as terrifying in real life as he is in my nightmares, maybe death is the better option. But then again, if Azog does kill me...couldn't the Necromancer theoretically bring me back? He is a necromancer, after all.

Better not test that theory. I grip the hilt of my sword tighter, arm trembling, as I ready myself to defend Thorin and Bilbo.

Azog's amused smirk turns to disdain and ridicule as I raise my sword and take my stance, trembling from head to toe. But instead of striking at me, his icy eyes bore into me, as if trying to understand something. "You are a fool," he sneers, his peculiar voice oozing a mixture of mockery and confusion. "You cannot hope to defeat me, yet you insist on facing me. Why?" He obviously didn't expect me to actually do it.

I take a deep breath, willing myself not to tremble, "Because I won't let you hurt Thorin without a fight. Or any of my friends."

"Ahhh," a revelation seems to hit him, and the Defiler gives me a downright evil grin. "You care for the exile King, then."

I freeze at his words.

"So. Not only a fool, but a fool in love," He taunts, his sharp teeth sharper than usual.

That does it! Without a second thought, I swing my sword.

Azog effortlessly parries my blow, his enormous mace sending a painful vibration up my arm as my sword bounces back. He then proceeds to disarm me with a single powerful stroke. My epic sword of legend clatters to the ground, as useless as if it were a practice stick and I find myself defenseless before the Defiler. A painful reminder that a sword is only as good as its swordsman. Dwalin and Thorin went too easy on me, obviously not expecting me to engage the Defiler in a fight.

This is it. I'm so dead.

A menacing chuckle erupts from Azog as he towers over me. He smirks as if pitying me for my foolishness, but I know it's false. Azog pities no one. "I will allow you to carry your dwarf love's head as we ride to Dol Guldur," He says, as if offering me a boon.

I bare my teeth, rage filling me, and I roll to the side, grabbing Varzsiel and lifting it up in front of me to face him again. Azog scowls, his icy eyes drilling into mine, but I meet his gaze with a defiant growl, "You'll have to carry both of our heads!"

Suddenly, a massive shape emerges from the smoke above the flames. An enormous beak, feathers, and two enormous claws. I gasp in fear, but then my brain catches up with what I'm seeing.

The eagles are here!

My fear transforms into uncontainable joy as I gaze in awe at the sight of the majestic bird descending upon the orcs and wargs. Its immense wingspan blocks out the moon for a moment as its powerful claws snatch up an orc, swiftly lifting it into the smoky sky before dropping it to its death.

The cries of the eagles pierce through the tumultuous air, their harsh screeches echoing as more and more of them join the fray. With each passing moment, their numbers multiply, descending upon the wargs left and right with ferocity and grace.

Azog's arrogance fades into shock and dismay, his face contorting in disbelief at the sudden turn of events. I can't help but revel in the sheer exhilaration of the moment, my heart pounding in sync with each beat of their wings.

"YEEEEAAAAH! That's what I'm TALKING about!" I pump my fists in the air, a surge of excitement coursing through my veins. "EAGGLLLLEEEESSSS!" My voice rings out, awe and disbelief fills me to the brim.

Azog's face is etched with anger and frustration as he realizes the tables have turned against him. A guttural roar escapes his throat, while his warg cowers like a frightened puppy, desperately seeking shelter from the approaching birds of prey.

The eagles swoop down with great gusts of wind, fanning the flames and causing the wargs to howl in pain and the orcs to cry out in fear. The sight is both mesmerizing and chaotic, as the cliffside becomes a whirlwind of swirling wind, ash, and panic.

An eagle descends upon me, and my heart lurches in anticipation, but to my surprise, it bypasses me and picks up Thorin with great care in its enormous talons, flying away as Azog roars again in fury. I turn and shoot Azog a triumphant smirk as another eagle grabs a freaked out Bilbo.

However, my triumph is short-lived when Azog does something unexpected. He charges towards me, his intent on grabbing me clear. I step back with a frightened gasp, raising Varzsiel in warning before a wave of pain rushes through me as powerful talons seize me around the chest, lifting me abruptly off the ground.

I know the eagle is trying to be gentle, but the force of its grip temporarily takes my breath away, leaving me struggling to expand my constricted diaphragm. The power in just the creature’s talons is incredible.

But then I feel a large hand wrap around my arm, not willing to be defeated. I gasp, my arm twisting at an unnatural angle and-

POP!

Pain, unlike any I've felt before, erupts like a lightning bolt, jolting through my body, and I scream in agony. Azog lets go, but only because he has to in order to not rip my arm from my body as the eagle flies away. Deep, throbbing agony radiates from my shoulder, while the sensation of my arm dangling, disconnected from its socket, makes me sick to my stomach.

"Go back!" I manage to wheeze out at the eagle. "Go back! He needs to die!" My vision blurs with frantic, hurt tears as my arm hangs limp, a grotesque and unresponsive extension of my body. Why didn't the eagles throw Azog off? Most of the other orcs were thrown off the cliff except the most important one!

"You're no match for him, little one," a commanding voice thunders from above me. I halt in surprise. I've always talked to animals my entire life. But this is the first time an animal is talking back.

It's the surrealist feeling ever.

“I... I didn’t mean me,” I hiss, forcing the words out through my tightened lungs. I shut my eyes as my arm is jostled. “Can you go back, grab that Orc, and throw him off the cliff? That would actually be very helpful—AAAHHHH!”

The world blurs around me as I hurtle toward what feels like my inevitable death. I barely have time to catch a choked breath before I land with a painful jolt on the downy softness of another eagle’s back. Although the impact should be considered gentle, it sends waves of torment crashing over me, jostling my arm painfully. I bite my lip to stifle my screams, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth as my teeth sink into my flesh in a desperate attempt to distract myself from the agony.

Desperation and helplessness well up inside me, mingling with anger and frustration. The eagle must not have realized I'd been injured to drop me like that. I cradle my arm close to my chest. Sweat mingles with my tears as I fight to control my trembling, trying to breathe through the searing ache. In that moment of agony, I realize the fragility of my own body, the vulnerability that lay beneath my bravado and arrogance.

I keep silent and shivering in the windfor quite some time after that. Tears stream down my cheeks as I cradle my injured arm in the darkness. I can't see the others as we glide through the night sky, and if anyone is trying to reach out to me, I can't hear them. The only thing I can sense is the sound of the wind blowing in my ears and the pain pulsing throughout my entire being. Every heartbeat echoes through my arm, a constant reminder of my own stupidity.

Chapter Text

Eventually, the cold seeps into my arm until it's numb and I finally relax. As long as it stays perfectly still, I can almost forget that my shoulder is dislocated.

I desperately try to recall any information on how to get my arm back into place, besides obviously forcing it myself. The only thing that comes to mind is hearing that you can damage your arm worse if you don't know what you're doing. I never learned how to do this in school, it being my first year and all. My stomach twists. I don’t know how to do it.

Not good. What will happen if I can't pop it back in? Will it go back in naturally over time?

Suddenly, the first rays of sunlight crest the horizon, illuminating the tall mountaintops and filling my vision with bright yellow. Relief washes over me and I blink my eyes against the glare. The bright light of the sun breathes life into my weary soul, and I smile against the warmth on my face, banishing (for a moment) the anxiety that has plagued me while I couldn’t see in the darkness.

In a world with no artificial light, the gratitude I have for the sun rising every morning has changed. It makes sense why primitive cultures may have even worshiped the sun.

With my newfound clarity I can finally see everyone. The eagles soar all around me, the company on their backs. Their magestic wings cut through the morning breeze with effortless grace, completely free. I've always dreamed of flying.

I anxiously look around for Thorin, hoping to see him waving at me. But from my limited vantage point, I can't find him. His eagle is likely beneath mine. And suddenly, as I look down at the silky golden-brown feathers beneath my fingers, an idea sparks in my brain.

Why not ask the eagles to fly us straight to Laketown myself?! Then we can completely avoid the evil spider-infested Mirkwood forest!

"I have to try," I whisper to myself, determined to seize this once-in-a-lifetime chance. Gandalf won't do it, so I must.

Bracing myself, I lean forward to the enormous creature beneath me, gathering my thoughts before taking a deep breath, "Erm...excuse me? Uh...Great and powerful Eagle? Can..can you please tell me your name?"

"I am called SunTear, tiny human," the voice that reaches me has a regal tone, easily carrying to my ears even in the wind.

Again, the fact that an animal is talking back to me is kind of mind-blowing! I've always dreamed of speaking with animals when I was a little kid, and now it's actually happening?!

"Very nice to meet you, SunTear! My name is Peyton Silva," I introduce myself, eager to establish some form of connection. He's probably wondering why I'm finally talking to him after spending the entire night in silence.

"A strange name," SunTear muses.

"Uhhh, I guess?" I hesitate, a little put off by the comment, but I press forward. "So...I wanted to thank you for saving us, and...I was also wondering...would you be so kind as to drop us off near Laketown? I imagine it's about four or five hours from here by flight."

I wait for SunTear's response eagerly

"No." The eagle responds simply.

"N-no?" I gape. A feeling of frustration and disappointment fills me. "But why?! How come?!"

"The Valar have sent you on a quest, have they not? We must not interfere in that quest," SunTear explains with a majestic air.

"But... but you’re interfering right now! You are literally saving us!" I retort, my frustration growing.

"Only in response to Gandalf's call for aid, a call sanctioned by the Valar," he responds simply.

"Well, how about you just take ME over Mirkwood? That way I can complete the task the Valar gave me by not dying! And I can meet Thorin on the other side.”

The words slip out of my mouth without thinking. I’m not originally part of this story, but guilt hits me anyways. Could I really abandon Thorin to travel through Mirkwood without me? Would I really forsake the dwarves and Bilbo, just like I used to leave my brothers behind when we played?

I mean Gandalf does! So why can’t-

"Does your task intertwine with this Thorin you speak of?" SunTear asks, the rhythm of his massive wings slowing in pace.

My thoughts are cut short, "Well... yes. But-"

"Where your quest lies, there you should tread," SunTear firmly states, as if that's the end of it.

A frown creases my forehead, and a whirlwind of emotions stirs inside of me.

The Eagles are supposed to be, like, awesome! And awe-inspiring! But I had NO idea they were so hard to negotiate with. I mean, no wonder Gandalf was so adamant about NOT calling them, as well as being wary of offending them with the ferry service idea. Those beaks and claws are sharp.

And…yeah, sure, SunTear has a valid point. But I have a more urgent one!

“Look, I know it's not your problem...but, this is a life and death situation!! There are enormous spiders in Mirkwood! And I have extreme arachnophobia, which means that my soul leaves my body when I see a spider. The bigger the spider, the further my soul leaves. Spiders as big as those will surely kill me! Then I won't be able to complete the task the Valar sent me to do!" My words rush out of me in a jumble, fast and panicked.

For a moment I'm not sure he understood what I said until he breaks the silence, "True courage is born from confronting, and overcoming, the things we fear," SunTear's voice resonates with wisdom and his words strike deep within me, sounding like Gandalf. "The road you walk is difficult and uncertain, yet the challenges you face hold the seeds of great courage. Stand tall against your fears, Peyton Silva, and find the strength to move forward. Only then will you conquer your fear."

I mull over his words, trying to make sense of them. But before I can form a response, the eagles suddenly plunge down a cliff and I gasp as my stomach lurches. My good hand instinctively clutching at his soft and enormous feathers. A twinge of pain shoots through my numb shoulder but soon passes, replaced by the exhilarating rush of the wind and the breathtaking view of the waterfall. I wish I could spread my arms wide, imitating the eagles in flight as if I were one myself, but I know my shoulder wouldn't be so forgiving of such a whimsical act.

A flashback of Galadriel's ethereal and sad expression fills my mind. In order to change the future, you must use all your courage. If the line of Durin is to survive, a great sacrifice will be required at your hand.'

Could the key to saving Thorin's life lie within the perils of Mirkwood? Mirkwood is a path of torment and struggle, everyone starving, and then narrowly escaping being devoured. And then, after all that, being imprisoned in Thranduil's jail. Did I mention they were starving?

That's simply no bueno for me.

Desperation completely overtakes my voice, my plea bordering on recklessness. "SunTear, I'm desperate! PLEASE! I will do anything you ask! I just need an Eagle that doesn't have eggs this season to fly me over Mirkwood. Name your price!"

A tense silence ensues as the giant eagle considers my plea. I don't want to make him mad, but I only have one shot at this. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his response is a solemn promise, "Complete your task, little one. Then I shall fly you anywhere you desire."

SunTear's words hangs in the air, a beacon of hope and surprise amidst looming shadows of doubt. That is a very generous offer. One that perhaps no human has ever received.

But…but that's not what I WANTED!

"SunTear, I really think-" My words halt in my chest as I finally spot Thorin, unconscious and laying on the ground of a very tall rock. My heart clenches and fear crawls throughout my body. "THORIN!"

All thoughts of giant eagles and Mirkwood spiders vanish.

Is he...?

SunTear lands on the elevated rock pillar, his massive wings folding gracefully. I slide off the eagle's smooth back, cradling my injured arm, and rush towards him. "THORIN?! THORIN?!"

I can’t breathe. The gust of wind that accompanies SunTear's departure barely registers in my brain.

Thorin is completely still and I hear footsteps approaching as Gandalf runs to us. "GANDALF! He's not breathing!" I turn to him frantically. "We need to perform CPR again!"

I lift my arm to free it from my coat, but a sharp, horrible jolt of pain shoots through me, reminding me of my injury. GAHH! I gasp in pure agony and grit my teeth against it, freezing my body.

"Peyton!?", "Pey, are you ok?", "What's wrong lass?"

I don't respond to the din of inquiries, unable to focus on anything except the realization that….I can't do this.
Even if my arm wasn't injured, I'm much too tired and weak to help Thorin effectively. As CPR on Nori taught me, dwarf physiology is denser than a human's. With someone as...exceptionally fit...as Thorin is, I won't be able to push on his chest hard enough or long enough to do much good.

I turn to Dwalin, the strongest member of the company, "My arm got dislocated in the fight. I need your help to perform CPR on him."

Dwalin would do just about anything for his king. So I'm confused when his face pales considerably and a shocked and hesitant expression overtakes him. "M-me? Nay, lass. I...I'm can not...I..."

In a flash of inspiration, I realize why he's hesitant.

"I need you to press on his chest while I give him air." I insist, upset at the delay.

Dwalin's eyes light up in understanding and he relaxes, nodding and stepping forward. I roll my eyes. I'll reserve the mouth to mouth part for myself.

But as I turn and look at Thorin's mouth, my heart beats faster for reasons other than fear. Can I do this? I take a quick internal analysis. I'm pretty sure there are medical ethics somewhere in nursing that state that you can't enjoy doing CPR on someone.

I'm soooo going to hell for this.

But even so, I lean closer to his lips...

Gandalf puts a gentle hand on my uninjured shoulder, causing me to pause. "Let me see him first, Peyton," he says calmly.

I freeze, his words breaking through the fog in my tired mind and pulling me out of my inappropriate fantasies. Gandalf's here this time so...there's no need for any of that. Erm.

I quickly step up and back away, cradling my injured arm to give them space.

"Of course," I mutter, slightly flustered.

But, of course I can’t help but hover anxiously nearby, unable to tear my eyes away as Gandalf kneels down next to Thorin. His touch is gentle as he reaches out towards the Dwarf King while murmuring over to me, "You didn't see it, but Azog's warg bit him on his chest. Chest compressions might aggravate his injuries."

My heart plummets at the revelation and I choke, "A warg... bit him?!"

I then remember the strange sound of his wheezed breathing on the cliffs.

Gandalf doesn’t respond and closes his eyes, touching Thorin's head and murmuring strange under his breath. His hand moves down Thorin's face and I watch in awe as the ring on his finger flashes, so quickly and imperceptibly that if I blinked I would have missed it. Thorin's chest suddenly moves, taking in a large breath as if he was brought back to life. He probably was.

Finally, my lungs feel like they can work again and I want to collapse with relief.

"The halfling?" Are the first words Thorin murmurs, much to all of our surprise.

"He's alright.” Gandalf smiles, “Bilbo is safe. He's right here." He turns to indicate Bilbo who has hung back away from all of us surrounding Thorin.

Thorin slowly gets up, his steps unsteady and Fili and Dwalin rush to help him. He faces Bilbo, his voice harsh,"You! Why did you do that?! You nearly got yourself killed!" He sounds confused and angry.

Bilbo swallows and blinks rapidly. He glances over at me, then back at Thorin.

Thorin advances on him, "Did I not say that you were a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?" His tone is raw, as if he's forcing the words out of his lungs, "That you had no place amongst us...

My eyes start to water and my hand presses over my mouth to stifle my silent cry of pain at his words. I can't believe what I'm hearing! How can be so cruel?! After Bilbo saved his LIFE?!

Bilbo looks down, crushed by Thorin's harsh words. The urge to rush forward and comfort him wells up within me, but my whole body feels heavy as if wet sand was poured inside. The revelation of Thorin's cruelty has left me stunned, completely speechless.

But Thorin's breathing is ragged, as if fighting some great emotion before he surges towards Bilbo, "I never have I been so wrong in my entire life." He envelopes a shocked Bilbo in a tight, heartfelt hug.

The air whooshes out of me at the same time it does Bilbo and I stare at the two of them embracing in shock. I rapidly blink away the tears so I can make sure I'm really seeing what I'm seeing. The company share similar reactions as they cheer, their expressions mirroring the rollercoaster of emotions we've all experienced these past couple of days. This moment, though, is so special. It's as if all the pain and fear of the past night have been washed away by this moment of triumph and peace

Thorin‘a voice is laced with genuine remorse once he pulls away. "I am sorry I doubted you."

"No, no, it's okay! I would have doubted myself too!" Bilbo shakes his head, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm not a hero! Or a warrior..." he looks at the rest of us, "Or even a burglar." We all chuckle at that and he smiles, amused himself, before a penitent look crosses his face, "I've been a bit fussy during the trip so far. I realize that now. And..." he pauses, before looking back at Thorin and whispering so softly I can barely hear him, "and I know why you've felt threatened by me."

That last part is said very quietly, seemingly intended for Thorin's ears only. But, somehow, I hear it. Bilbo's words carry a weight of both forgiveness and an apology, his empathy shining through. He glances at me and then back at Thorin who also glances at me.

Confusion furrows my brow as some kind of unspoken understanding passing between them that I'm not privy to. I cannot see Thorin's face to gauge his response but he slowly inclines his head regally in acknowledgement, while Bilbo returns it with a self-demeaning smile and a shrug.

Threatened? How could Thorin feel threatened by someone like Bilbo?

"What do you mean, Bilbo?" I wonder aloud, feeling left out of the unspoken conversation. The need for clarity tugs at my heart, urging me to seek understanding.

Bilbo's eyes widen in surprise, as if he only now realizes I'm listening before he blinks and looks back at Thorin, asking abruptly, "Is that what I think it is?"

He motions with his hand to something behind the two of them, giving Thorin a cheeky smile while ignoring my question. Thorin looks at me too, a deep chuckle coming from him and he smacks a friendly hand on Bilbo's shoulder as they walk towards the edge together, their sudden and miraculous camaraderie evident.

My mind races, struggling to piece together the fragments of the unspoken conversation. Did I miss something? If my brain wasn't feeling so drained of glucose, I might have understood the different nuances and deeper meaning behind their exchange. But right now, my thoughts are as blurry as my eyes. I just want to curl into a ball on this nice hard stone tower and fall asleep.

Instead, I stagger tiredly with the company as we walk to where Bilbo and Thorin look out over the horizon.

"The Lonely Mountain," Gandalf announces grandly to those of us in the group who've never seen it before. "The last of the Great Dwarf Kingdoms of Middle Earth." His words hang in the air, carrying the weight of history and destiny.

My sarcastic brain wants to ask him if he knows of any Great Dwarf Kingdoms that AREN'T from Middle Earth, but my tongue gets caught in my mouth as I look at the teeeeeny tiny mountain in the very far distance.

Seriously?!? The eagles couldn't have dropped us off any closer?? ARGH!!!

"Our home." Thorin whispers, his awe and excitement evident. He doesn't even seem to notice the distance.

The sheer magnitude of those words seem to resonate within the group, as if he's voiced the collective longing of all of the company. That mountain represents home to them all, but it also represents home to me too. Once I complete my task, the Valar will tell Gandalf how to send me back to my world.

It's the end of the road. For all of us.

An annoying bird twitters overhead, flying in the direction of the mountain. Its presence only serving to irritate me further since it's a bird and can fly itself to Erebor.

"Look! A raven is returning to the mountain! It is as the prophecy foretold!" Oin calls out excitedly, breaking the silence.

I frown tiredly at the small brown bird. Ravens sure look different in Middle Earth.

"That, my dear Oin, is a Thrush." Gandalf wisely informs us.

Oin must be going deaf AND blind.

I blink up at the flying brown speck in the distance, my brow furrowing. A thrush? Why does that name sound familiar?

"We'll take it as a sign," Thorin murmurs. His face, although scratched and weary, exudes a peace and happiness I rarely see on him. He glances over at me across where I stand on Bilbo's other side and adds wryly, "A good omen."

I huff a tired laugh, and raise an eyebrow back at him for his 'seer' quip, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as my heart warms to see his joy.
Stinging wasps and flying birds are omens in Middle Earth, apparently.

"You're right." Bilbo agrees, standing between us, a calm smile on his face as well. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

I frown, turning to look at him in dismay. What? He thinks the worst is behind-...oh, Bilbo. No.

"Oh, Bilbo." I close my bleary eyes against the wide expanse of green carpet between us and the mountain. Cradling my aching arm, I muster a weary chuckle, my voice laced with exhaustion as I try to keep from crying, "You couldn't resist jinxing us, could you?"

Bilbo glances at me with an apologetic smile, before gently bumping my shoulder affectionately like I always do to him.

Agony zips through my arm, tearing a scream out of my chest, throaty and anguished.

The company freezes, turning to stare at me in shock.

“I’m...fine.” I pant, trying to pull myself together and gritting my teeth against the pain. “Just…just give me a minute.”

There goes our nice peaceful moment.

“What happened? What's wrong?” Thorin demands, even as Bilbo apologizes profusely, confused how his little nudge could have hurt me. The tranquility of the moment is now shattered as Thorin strides over, placing a concerned hand on me.

"I...ahh...dislocated my shoulder." I hiss, closing my eyes and breathing out my nose against the pain that still hasn't faded.

"How?" He demands, upset.

"Azog."

Thorin's face darkens in rage.

He expels air through his nose before his expression becomes resigned and a tad regretful and he begins tugging at his belt, pulling it off.

“Whatareyoudoing?!” I ask him frantically, staring at his pants with eyes too wide.

“You’re going to need something to bite down on," he murmurs, his voice steady.

I stare down at the action of him removing his belt and trying my hardest not to let my wild fantasies get away from me. Your arm's dislocated, crazy-head! Now’s not the time to think about- wait a minute….

“You want me…to put your belt…in my mouth?” I question with a frown before continuing slowly, not seeing the connection, "Why am I going to bite your belt?”

I'm obviously way more tired than I imagined because the odd idea of Thorin’s belt in my mouth is strangely attractive. My tired brain is obviously out of wack.

“We have to reset your shoulder, Lass.” Oin speaks up, coming over and taking the belt from Thorin.

I finally take notice of how ominous he and the other dwarves' expressions look. This can't be good. Panic seizes me.

"Nope. Nope. I’m good! I am fine. Really. Thank you for your concern, but I can take it from here.” I turn to retreat, scouting for a way down. There must be some stairs around here.

“Peyton-“ Thorin’s hand reaches for my arm and pain, sharp and hot, zaps through my nerves. A high keening sound escapes me and he releases me instantly, but doesn’t move away.
His hand relocates to support my good arm, “Peyton, please...You’re hurt. You must let us help. It will only get worse if we do not put it back into place.”

“Yeah, help..." I pant, turning to level a frustrated glare at him. "If you hadn't gone after Azog like a damn hero then none of this would have happened!"

He flinches back from me, dropping my good arm, and my anger evaporates into confusion at the anguished look on his face.

He begins to shake his head, "I truly did not intend-...I never meant to-..." His uncharacteristic lack of words has me watching him in confusion.

Balin steps forward, putting a hand on his shoulder and speaking softly in Khuzdul to Thorin, as if comforting him.

Thorin's throat bobs, and his tortured eyes watch me, until he looks away, not meeting my eyes. Is this another dwarf culture thing that I'm not privy to? Like...when I insulted the company’s fighting skills? Am I not supposed to point my finger and blame a dwarf for a foolish battle move? I feel so perplexed, and I didn't even mean to offend anyone this time!

Balin takes over the conversation, gently addressing me, "You won't be able to climb down without your shoulder set, Peyton. It's too steep. It will hurt at first, but the pain will disappear immediately afterward. Trust me."

His words are earnest, and his expression is one of affection and care. I can't help but feel a sense of security.

I finally nod, my stomach trembling. "Ok."

"One of us will have to hold you while I push your arm back in," Oin steps forward, his eyes also are kind but resolved. He gives me a regretful look, "Who do you trust to keep you still during the procedure?"

I don't understand why he says it that way. I look around at the dwarves, all of their eyes on me. Someone that I 'trust'? To keep me still?

"I don't understand." I finally admit, my tired brain not catching and holding onto the information like I want it to. It should be easy to understand, but it's not, so I decide to just go with honesty.

"The pain will make ye struggle, lass," Dwalin explains. "Someone will need t'keep ye still so Oin can pop yer arm back into place."

Terror and anxiety fill me once more. I have to bite a belt and be physically held down as my arm is worked on?! I consider trying to flee again, but know it's useless. I have to do this. I need to be brave like SunTear had said. I can't go around with my arm disconnected.

Pondering the situation, I realize that I trust all of them and any of them could potentially do it. None of them would ever purposefully cause me pain. But there's only one person whose arms I'm the most comfortable in.

"Thorin." I decide resolutely.

He hasn't met my eyes throughout the conversation, and now he looks up, surprise on his face. Does he think I don't trust him because of Azog? What am I missing here?

"Excellent! Let's get your shoulder fixed then, shall we?" Balin seems much warmer than before as if extremely pleased by my decision.

Thorin comes forward, his voice low so only I can hear him. "Are you certain?" He rumbles, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Even though you were wounded because of my actions?"

I sense a deeper meaning behind his words, but I have no clue what it could be. "Well...yeah...But, I mean, this is how you can make it up to me!" I would shrug if I could.

Technically it isn't REALLY his fault, since I’m an adult and decided to face Azog on my own, but I don't want to admit that right now.

He maintains eye contact before giving me a solemn nod.

"Come this way, Peyton, towards the center, away from the edge," Oin gently presses my good arm, leading me to the middle of the towering rock with all the dwarves following.

"It'll be alright, Pey," Kili says kindly. He and Fili pat my good arm in comfort as I walk through them.
Fili gives an encouraging smile, "Don't you worry, Oin will fix you right up!"

"Keep a stiff upper lip!" Nori chimes in, trying to lighten the mood, which I've learned is a defense mechanism of his.

Their odd attempts to comfort me only make my apprehension worse.

"Don't fret, Pey! A quick pop and it'll be done in a jiffy!" Bofur says, also trying to lift my spirits. He walks beside me to the center. "This ain't nothin'! Why, me pal Gildo once had both his arms popped out at the same time! Not a pretty sight... but it was-"

I pale at his words and start trembling at the idea of how TWO dislocated shoulders might've felt while Oin indicates for me to sit down. I vaguely hear Bofur getting a smack from Bifur, who scolds him in Khuzdul for lacking sensitivity to my situation. At least...that's what I imagine he's saying.

I tremble until the moment I sense Thorin sit down slightly behind me. He hesitantly, but gently, wraps one thick powerful arm around me and my terror is slightly replaced with relief at his presence. I’m enveloped by his strength and scent. A feeling of protection, like I had felt in Goblin town, moves through me and I desperately cling to that feeling, lifting my uninjured arm to hold onto his thick arm wrapped securely around my chest.

My breaths quicken in dread of the impending discomfort, a mix of fear and anticipation. “Don’t let go of me," I plead to him in a frightened whisper as Oin puts the leather belt into my mouth to bite down on. The musky taste of leather fills my mouth, but not unpleasant. The dwarf medic then positions himself next to me with a gentle but firm touch, ready to perform the deed.

“Never.” Thorin reassures me, squeezing a little tighter.

I pause. Did he mean it like…

The intense agony of my dislocated shoulder being moved surges through me and I grit my teeth, trying to stifle my shriek of pain.

My eyes squeeze shut as tears well up. Oin manipulates my shoulder, trying to figure out the best way to put it back into place and sharp, searing pain shoots through my arm, causing me to cry harshly against the belt clenched between my teeth. I have a sinking feeling that this memory will forever be associated with the taste of leather in my mouth.

The pain is excruciating. I attempt to arch away from Oin's touch, but true to his word, Thorin doesn’t allow me to budge an inch. He holds me firmly, so that I cannot thrash or flail around from the pain. I register his face pressed into my hair and murmuring something, but the sound of my own harsh breathing and crying fills my ears, echoing the tumultuous storm of emotions swirling inside me.

It drowns out all reason, all words.

"...You're doing well...It will pass soon..." I manage to catch snippets of Thorin's voice through my pain.

Sweat pours down my face, mixed with tears forming tracks through the dirt onmy cheeks. With a final, decisive movement, Oin manages to pop the joint into its rightful place. The pain abruptly stops, relief washes over me and the sensation causes me to go completely limp in Thorin's arms. The lack of pain is like a balm to my tortured nerves and I'm lost in a haze of relief and exhaustion.

I hate pain. But the feeling that I have for Thorin? I...I don’t have a name for it. Gratitude and devotion swirl within me, leaving me at a loss for words.Thorin wasn't just a physical support in this moment, but a mental one since his presence had taken my focus off of the sensation of cartridge and sinews grinding against each other.
His presence was the only thing I could hold onto (literally) and now he's supporting all of my dead weight in his arms. My exhaustion leaves me feeling completely limp. No one has ever shown me such care and consideration before except maybe my mom when I once had to get stitches.

"Thank you," I breathe, my frail fingers reaching out to pat his bearded cheek in pitiful gratitude, the closest part of him I have strength to reach.

He doesn't respond, pressing his face further into my hand before gently lowering me slowly down to the floor. I discover that someone has placed their rolled up coat underneath my neck as a makeshift pillow.

My eyes close and my breathing evens out. I feel more than see Thorin start to get up, and a sudden panic comes, as if the pain will come back if he leaves.

I reach out with my good arm to find something of him to hold on to. “Stay," I murmur weakly.

“I will. I must speak to the others briefly and I’ll be back.” He replies.

The fear is irrational, I know, as my lifeboat leaves me alone adrift in the ocean. But thankfully another presence takes his place and I'm not alone. I look up at Gandalf who is smiling down at me kindly.

“How are you holding up, my dear?” He asks.

I barely can form the words as they slur tiredly from my mouth, “Better. Sooo much better.” 

Wasn’t I supposed to be upset with Gandalf? I can’t even remember what I was angry at him for. After he saved our butts from Goblin Town, helped us throw fireballs at the wargs, and called the eagles…all I can feel is gratitude and relief that he’s here.

I close my eyes, wanting sleep.

"We have much to discuss you and I, but that can all wait." I hear him try (and fail) to keep the sternness and frustration out of his tone, obviously wondering why I hadn’t told him about the dreamswalking sooner.

Someone else kneels on my other side and I open my eyes, expecting to see Thorin again, but I'm pleasantly surprised to see that it's my best friend instead. He grips my cold clammy hand in his.

I attempt a smile but it comes out pathetically tired and my words slur, "Well, there's my little hero...You were amazing."

Bilbo smiles and shakes his head, "I told you, I'm not a hero."

I snort and close my eyes again, "Could have fooled me. I've never seen someone as brave as you, saving Thorin the way you did."

"I have."Bilbo says, taking my limp hand in his and giving a gentle squeeze. "You."

I pry open my eyes to look at him confusion, "Me? I didn't have a choice; Thorin forced me to hold still."

"No, not that, even though you certainly were brave." His voice becomes a whisper, turning gruff with emotion, "I watched as you attempted to come back for me...to go back into the goblin tunnels to try and find me. If that's not bravery, I don't know what is."

Tears smart my eyes, but happy ones this time. My heart clenches with the deep friendship we share, touched.

Actually, I am sooo glad I didn't actually have to do that. I don't think Thorin would have let me go anyways.

I try and brush it off, turning the focus back on HIS heroic act, "I couldn't leave my favorite hobbit behind! And, besides, it's easy to save someone you care about...but not someone who's treated you like an enemy for months."

Sleep calls to me. I'm so tired, but I need this question answered, "Why Bilbo? After all he's said and done to you since Day ONE of this quest, why did you risk your life for him?"

Bilbo nods and looks up into the distance, as the sun slowly gets just a little higher, pondering. Finally, he whispers, "Y-...You were screaming...begging for someone to save him. And...in that moment...it was like...a revelation from the Valar - I knew why you had come to Arda, to Middle Earth. What your purpose here is. And I couldn't let you fail. I couldn't let him die like that."

I gaze back at him stupidly, in shock. How did he find out? Did Gandalf tell him? Duh, Peyton. He literally just said that the Valar revealed it. That's amazing.

"Don't tell him, Bilbo." I whisper, glancing around to make sure no one is around. I see the dwarves all gathered on the far side of the carrack looking off the cliff, annd talking anmongst themselves. Obviously they are searching for a way down. "You cannot tell him. I have to wait until the right moment to break it to him."

"I think he already knows." Bilbo gives a patiently amused smile.

What?! He already knows he's going to die?!

"Who told him?" I ask, panicked and confused, "He isn't mad at me?" I'd be less than pleased to find out my life depended on someone like me.

Now it's Bilbo's turn to look confused, "Why on Middle Earth would he be mad, Peyton? This is happy news! It's something he's probably dreamed about for years!"

Uhhhhh, are we even talking about the same thing? Why would Thorin be dreaming about me saving him from Azog for years?

"What are you-...He wouldn't dream about something like that! No, that's-...I don't-...he's asked me to tell him about future stuff, but I haven't told him why I'm here! That's why he would be mad! I haven't told him and it's literally the most important future event of all!"

Bilbo just looks confused before he huffs a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head. He pats my hand, "We'll talk about it later. For now, just rest. I can't reason with you, when you're like this."

I frown, feeling offended, but suddenly too exhausted to feel offended. "Ugh, you're infuriating." I murmur, before closing my eyes and relaxing once more, knowing that he's right.

"I feel the same about you." I hear Bilbo chuckle, giving me a kiss on my forehead before letting go of my hand and moving away. "Sleep well, Pey."

Chapter Text

"Now, my dear, we must have a very important conversation. The Necromancer, yes?" Gandalf's expression carries a stern expression, but I detect a worried undertone.

"Yes. I think he called it ‘Dreamwalking’,” I nod, exhaustion clinging to me like how my good arm clings around his neck as he carries me bridal style in his arms.

My other arm is snug against my chest, wrapped inside a makeshift sling, courtesy of Oin. The company only allowed me a couple of hours before the sun rose a little too high and hot for their liking. And since everyone needed their sleep as well (preferably in some shade) the company deemed it too dangerous to climb down one-handed.

So, here I am, cradled in Gandalf's embrace, feeling small and vulnerable like a child.

I try very hard not to look down.

"Yes, I gathered that," Gandalf murmurs, his voice troubled as he navigates the stone steps with caution. Many of the steps require careful consideration. "How long has this been going on?"

My brow furrows as I struggle to sift through my tired thoughts for an answer. "Since...the night before the quest began. It scared me enough to remind me that I wasn’t home and I needed to get back. But it wasn't until Galadriel showed me the future that these dreams started occurring every night." Worry creeps into my voice as I look up at Gandalf. "What do you think it all means?"

Gandalf's bushy grey eyebrows furrow, his clear blue eyes focused on his footing as he continues down the steps, lost in thought. After a long moment of silence, he doesn't provide an answer but instead asks, "What occurs in these dreams of yours?"

I want to tell him that the Necromancer plans to resurrect Sauron, but I worry about it interfering with the timeline.

"He asks me questions. He wants to know about my world and about the future," I admit reluctantly.

Gandalf scowls at this. "And what have you told him?"

"Nothing useful," I sigh, closing my eyes against the bright light. “I'm surprised I didn't dream of him on the Carrack.”

Gandalf grunts and then, falls into a pensive silence, his focus on the steps ahead. Eventually, he murmurs to me reassuringly, "Do not trouble yourself, my dear. Dreamwalking is a common occurrence for us wizards. Perhaps your ability stems from being from a different realm as I am? Your soul is not as tethered to this world as others. Why you are being pulled there of all places is questionable. But it may mean nothing. Forgive the worries of an old man."

I raise an eyebrow at him, amusement and suspicion tugging at the corners of my lips at his 'old man' act. This 'old man' is literally carrying me down a rock tower.

He responds to my look with a pleasant smile, his blue-grey eyes open too wide.

I shake my head with a snort, unable to resist teasing him, "'Innocent' is not a good look on you, Gandalf."

He chuckles, amused before murmuring in a voice that no one else can hear, "I forget that excuse doesn't work on you." He gives me a meaningful look.

"Damn right it doesn't," I retort, closing my eyes with a smirk.

Suddenly, Bofur's laughter erupts from behind us, his unique voice piercing through our quiet conversation as we descend the carrack. "Indeed, Gloin! But methinks Thorin would have preferred the CPR!"

Aw, crap. And the morning was going so well too...

"Bofur!" I snap out, turning my head to level a glare at him over Gandalf's arm. He, Gloin, and a couple of the other dwarves are talking amidst themselves a couple of dwarves back. They stop abruptly in wide-eyed anticipation, aware that they've been caught. "Shut..Up!" I insist, narrowing eyes to intimidate them.

Bofur gives me an unrepentant smile, and holds his hands up in innocent surrender while the rest of the company chuckles at my predictable response.

They love poking the bear in me.

Thorin and Bilbo have been climbing behind Gandalf and me, listening intently to my explanations about the Necromancer. Thorin turns back to the company, confusion etched on his face. "What about CPR?" he asks Bofur.

Oh, right. He was unconscious for it all.

I sigh, debating on whether or not to just tell him. He might as well hear it from me. Otherwise, the company will spin it into a wild tale. I swear, they gossip more than old biddies at a quilting bee.

Glancing over Gandalf's arm down at Thorin, I admit, "While you were unconscious, I noticed that you weren't breathing. Same situation as what happened with Nori; I was going to perform CPR on you, but Gandalf was able to help instead."

Thorin stumbles unexpectedly, surprising everyone. The entire company surge forward, shocked cries as their hands reach out to help, but he steadies himself before they can. My heart races at the unexpected clumsiness. What was that?!

"I'm alright," Thorin mumbles, waving away the concerned looks and suddenly questionable smirks of the company. He resumes his climb in silence for a moment. I watch with wide eyes, my heart still racing. He looks up at me, and his eyes are filled with a mixture of incredulity, "You would do that?"

"Of course I would!" I reply, turning my flushed face towards the front, embarrassed and annoyed that I’m embarressed. I add hotly, "I mean, what? You think I would just let you die or something?"

"No, but..." He seems at a loss for words.

Desperate to turn the focus off of me, I turn my head back to face him, giving a mischievous smile across Gandalf's arm. "Actually, Dwalin was going to help me perform it on you.”

The company erupts into shocked chokes and laughter at my innuendo, fully aware of the truth behind the situation.

"No, Thorin, I wouldn't have. She would have kissed ye, not me." Dwalin growls, his face turning a deep shade of red that suggests a possible burst blood vessel.

Now it’s my turn to flush and sputter “It's NOT kissing! It wouldn't have been a kiss!" (Even though that DOES sounds nice) “I've already told you! It's just..."

"Breathing air into his lungs?" Bofur finishes my sentence, his laughing voice drips with sarcasm. "Now where have we heard that one before, Nori?" He nudges Nori, who cackles in response.

They aren't helping matters as the company erupts into stifled laughter.

I roll my eyes and growl to myself, "You guys are impossible." I discreetly watch as Thorin carefully selects his footholds, and I can’t help but tease him further by addressing the company with mock indignation, "At any rate...quit embarrassing your poor king over here! Royalty isn't allowed to be teased, remember! You can't just discuss things like that around him!"

"I can handle discussions like these just fine, thank you," Thorin remarks dryly, glancing up at me with what I'm surprised to see is laughter in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure you can, Thorin," I shoot him a sweet, innocent smile, "But can you handle Dwalin's breath?"

Now all the company are in danger of falling off the trail, choked laughter wheezing from the dwarves and echoing off the rocky walls. Even Gandalf chuckles under his breath, his chest shaking with suppressed laughter as he struggles not to drop me to my death. Strong old man…..I mean Maiar.

Bilbo shoots back with a strange sparkle in his eyes, “Dwalin made it clear that you would be the one to breathe air into his lungs. So, the question is: can he handle your breath?” 

BILBO BAGGINS!!!

I laugh, unable to stop myself, joining in with everyone else. Touché Master Burglar.

Continuing the joke, I hold my hand up to my mouth and blow on it, checking my breath. I smell nothing.

But I grimace playfully, “Sorry Thorin, my breath is horrendous. I wouldn’t want you to die from the smell.”

I wink at him, and he grins at me before sighing as if regretful, and shaking his head in mock solemnity, “It appears I am doomed then.”

Actually, without sugar on this quest, the bacteria that causes halitosis hasn’t been an issue at all for me. In fact none of the company have bad breath despite the lack of toothbrushes! I’ve learned an incredible truth while here that without refined carbohydrates and sugars, dentists aren’t needed. I’ve always wondered why some skeletons from ancient civilizations have good teeth even though there was no toothbrushes or toothpaste. Now I know.

“You might have better luck with Dwalin,” I tease nonchalantly.

"I’d watch your words, lass," Dwalin growls threateningly, but a hint of a smile betrays him, so I know he’s not entirely upset.

"Or what? You’ll perform CPR on me?” I retort, quick as a flash.

I know we all need sleep. I think that’s why we’re all laughing, honestly. I’m really not that funny, but when you’re tired it’s more the emotion than anything.

"No, but your sword practice is tonight. I might be inclined to make it more interesting if you don’t tone it down," Dwalin insists.

"Sword practice?! With my shoulder the way it is? Hah! Good one,” I scoff, rolling my eyes defiantly.

I’m not doing it. Point blank. Dwalin will just have to deal with my refusal.

Thankfully, the others back me up.

"She's right, Dwalin. She can’t!" Kili laughs, grinning with mischievous eyes. "Not with a sword, or an axe, or even a bow! Our poor Peyton is helpless!"

I’m nodding in smug agreement until that last part, then I send Kili an annoyed scowl.

“Aye, she won't be able to practice until she’s healed. In another few days or so, and then she’ll need to start again for her arm to strengthen,” Oin adds pragmatically, after Gloin signs to him in Kuzdul what the discussion is about.

Dwalin hrmphs and grumbles something inaudible about how I didn’t hurt my sword arm, just my left one. But it’s clear his threat suddenly loses its weight.

I give him a cheeky smile and haughtily proclaim, "Besides! I claim Thorin as my sword teacher, so you can't touch me!"

My eyes meet Thorin's and a small smile graces his face, warming my heart. But just as quickly as it appeared, his expression suddenly changes. He looks troubled and averts his gaze, focusing on where to walk, refusing to meet my eyes again.

I furrow my brow, concerned by the sudden shift in his demeanor. It's clear something is bothering him. Does he not like the idea that I almost kissed hi- err, I mean…performed CPR on him? Or is it something else?

The rest of the descent is full of laughter and teasing amongst the others, but I don’t join in anymore, my thoughts in a snag. What’s bothering him?

As we finally reach the forest at the bottom, I can't help but let out a relieved breath I didn’t know I was holding. Gandalf sets me down on my feet and I look around. The dense forest envelopes us, its towering trees casting cool shadows on the forest floor that are a relief from the heat.

This isn't Mirkwood thankfully. It's too green, and light.

I stretch my arm that isn’t in a sling, feeling the strain of the journey in my muscles. But despite the weariness, I can't help but feel a sense of peace.

We've come so far, and despite the dangers we've faced, we've managed to keep our spirits high. Every-time we escape death it only seems to knit the company tighter together, like a well-made sweater. By the time this journey is over, I wonder if we'll be so closely tied together that it'll be impossible to untie us. Where will my identity begin and end? Or will these dwarves become so much a part of me and me of them that it'll be hard to even distinguish ourselves from one another?

"Alright," Gandalf declares, turning to face the company. "We've had our amusement, but now it is time to rest. We have a long journey until we arrive at the forest of Mirkwood."

I grimace, my mood instantly plummeting.

My conversation with SunTear comes back to me. What am I going to do?? Just go into Mirkwood willy nilly with the knowledge that there's giant spiders??

We all find different trees to rest under. Once more, the weather is as it was before the Misty Mountains, warm, but not quite so hot. With the temperate weather, I can sense the days of summer are nearing it's end. However, today is definitly hotter than normal. The sun’s hot rays pierce through the thick foliage and cast dappled patterns of light on the forest floor. Beads of sweat form on our brows, and we can't take off our thick coats fast enough. It's incredible that we managed to run with these things on.

After struggling with mine for a bit, Oin comes over and gently helps me remove the sling and slip my arm through. Ahhhh, that’s better. The sweat immediately cools me down. I look around for my pack so I can put my coat inside before the terrible realization crashes over me...there are no packs.

There are no bedrolls to sleep on. There is no food to eat.

All of our packs, clothes, and supplies were taken from us and abandoned in Goblin Town. And if it hadn't been for that horrible storm before the Rock Giants, we would have left our coats and heavy clothing at the bottom of our packs too.

Now all we have are the thick clothes on our backs.

"Is there anything to eat?" Bombur asks, his hopeful gaze searching the company for any sign of food. But his innocent question hangs in the air.

The happiness and mirth that had filled the air moments ago dissipates like a fleeting breeze, replaced by a somber silence that settles upon us all as we realize our great loss. Just our lives and our swords remain with us now.

"Get some rest." Gandalf rumbles again, "I will see if there are any fruit trees or berries nearby." And with that, he sets off into the forest.

With sad and resigned expressions, the members of the company lay down in the coolness of the forest shade to rest, our movements slow and weary. I roll my coat up to make a pillow and think sadly about all the things I lost in my pack. My three Shire dresses, extra clothes, my books, my university hoodie, jeans, and yup, even my cellphone – all gone.

Everything that was a piece of my old life AND this new one is just...poof!...gone.

All except for Varzsiel and...

I put a hand into my pocket, wondering. My fingers touch a hard circular lump and I pull it out with a sigh of relief, revealing my gold Malkuzdar coin flashing in the sun. I always carry it on me. I'm surprised however when, in my other pocket, I uncover the little wooden elephant I had been whittling with Bifur a week ago.

Random. And completely useless.

Nori has lost his cherished 'keepsakes', Bombur is without his cooking gear, which affects us all, and Bilbo's heartbroken over his silver spoons, his mother's homemade mittens, a feather pillow (plus the one I had taken too), a cat figurine carved by his father when he was a boy, and various other useless trinkets. Like two teacups and matching saucers from his great aunt that he brought for 'company teatime' (Which he learned on our first day would never happen. Neither would 2nd breakfasts).

Bofur's lost his lucky underwear but somehow kept hold of his ugly hat, and Gloin's mirror and comb from his wife are gone but he still has the photo of her and Gimli but it seems to be cracked. Oin lost his medic bag, a HUGE loss, but thankfully managed to keep his (now damaged) ear trumpet. Surprisingly, Kili seems unaffected by the loss of all his belongings aside from his bow, displaying a lack of materialism that sets him apart from the other dwarves as he still has his bow.

He's very unique when it comes to materialism it seems.

Fili, on the other hand, has lost an array of weapons, including an axe, spade, one of his dueling swords, a mini-cimitar, and a pair of knives given to him by Dis. However, I find it difficult to feel pity for him, as he still has his main sword and seven or eight knives still hiding in crazy places on him. In my opinion, he didn’t need so much.

Dwalin refuses to even talk about what he lost, and Bifur, well, who knows what he lost since I can't understand him.

Thorin's shield made of oak is missing, and Ori...dear little Ori...well, he lost all of the papers that he (and I) painstakingly worked on for months to document the quest. His ink, quills, writing table….everything is gone. The weight of his loss is palpable.

A very heavy price.

"Could have given us a warning, lass," Bombur grumbles, his voice laced with hunger and frustration, echoing the sentiment of the entire company as we all lay down to rest.

I feel awful. "I'm sorry, Bombur. I miss all my stuff too, but we had no other choice. We had to go through Goblin Town," I sigh, avoiding the looks of the company.

"But if you had warned us then we could have saved some things!" Dori agrees with Bombur, his severe tone reprimanding and angry.

"She did," Gloin gruff comes to my defense before I can say anything. He levels Dori with a look, "But you don't believe in seers, remember?"

"I didn't until I met her!" Dori shoots back angrily.

Suddenly all of the dwarves are standing once more and arguing amongst each other, just like at Bilbo's house.

"We had to get the ring, guys!" I yell, trying to calm down the mayhem and make them see reason. I stand up as well, "Without the ring, we wouldn't survive the rest of the journey! At least Ori can write about the whole thing after we reclaim Erebor! Bofur get can get new underwear, and Nori will get new cards!"

"But you should have told me, Peyton!" Ori insists, his voice is sad and laced with a hint of betrayal. "I trusted you as the assistant scribe!"

Ouch. Can't say I blame him for that, honestly.

"I'm sorry, Ori! But Thorin tried to change things so everything I knew was up in shambles! I didn't even know if we even would reach the goblins until the very last moment!" I raise my arms into the air in defeat, finally at my wits end, "But I really DID tell people!"

"Ah eh? WHO??" Oin rumbles in anger, which isn't fair since he can barely hear anything I say to begin with.

"Thorin, Fili, and Kili!" I exclaim loudly. "AND Gandalf. AND Bofur! And I know they all told the rest of you because you all talk!”

The company settle down just a little bit, trying to remember.

"Aye. She told us we'd be meeting Goblins along the way." Fili nods solemnly, "And we did tell everyone." I shoot him an annoyed look as he confirms my suspicions. He shrugs a shoulder, "They wanted to know why you were upset at Thorin!"

Of course. Everyone wants to know about me and Thorin. I roll my eyes.

Nori huffs, and petulantly mumbles, "Yeah, but she didn't mention that we'd lose everything, now did she!"

"What do you think happens when you're taken captive by goblins, Nori?!" I round on him, frustrated. I only slept two hours and at this point I'm belligerent. "That they would just send us on our way with a pat on our head and a cookie? In the original timeline they even ATE our ponies!!"

The company give a bunch of ‘Hurmphs!’ and grumbles. Never mess with a hungry group of dwarves, you'll never win. But never mess with a tired Peyton either.

"She told you all more than she told me." Bilbo speaks up, surprising everyone. He shoots me a frustrated look and gives a half shrug, "I've been kept in the dark more than anyone."

"Bilboooo!" I groan, feeling even more guilty and completely overwhelmed. Honestly, he's lost more belongings than anyone but that's because he brought a bunch of stupid items on this quest! "I'm sorry! Ok? I really am! I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't."

”But you said you would!” Bilbo says angrily. “You told me the first time I met you that you would tell me anything I wanted to know.”

”That was a ‘One-time offer’ only!” I shout back.

"Now, now, gents," Bofur puts a hand on Bilbo's shoulder before he can argue back. He tries to smile in an attempt to bring the cheer back to our group, "If ya'll remember, way back in the beginning, I did tell ya that 'the lady seer' had said that we would meet trolls, orcs, rock giants, and goblins. And none of us believed it was true. Including me! The only one who believed was Gloin and Oin and Bilbo."

"Oh!" Bilbo frowns in contemplation before his eyes light up, "Oh yes, I do actually remember you telling the group that. Very long time ago. First week, I believe?"

Where was I during that conversation? I scowl. What else do the company talk about behind my back?

"She did." Thorin agrees, his frustrated glower returning from before, not having enough sleep either. "However, if I had been successful in avoiding them we would still have all our supplies. We faced them regardless of my desire to do so." He glances at me, his expression strange.

I raise an eyebrow at him, annoyed that, even now, he still wishes we had gone around them. I understand goblins better now though, so I don't blame him. It was so close to being an absolute disaster.

Still, his head is so hard!

I lift both hand to the sky and drop them in resignation, "Yeah, then we'd all be dead from Azog hunting us down sooner and wouldn't be able to use any of the supplies anyways! Does THAT sound good to you?"

The annoyance I feel is replaced by anxiety when he looks away from me at the mention of Azog, subdued rather than facing me head on like he usually does. Why is he acting like this? Could it have something to do with Azog?

"That's quite enough! All of you." Gandalf thunders out, hitting his staff to the ground, and startling all of us. I didn't even notice that he's back from berry hunting. "Peyton bears no responsibility for the Goblins seeing how Thorin, the leader of this company, admits to having avoided her counsel and advice. Which..." Gandalf looks suddenly confused and gives me look, "Which was to go through the Goblins and would have resulted in the same scenario...?" he hurumphs, realizing his speech wasn't lifting anyone's spirits and tries a different approach, "At any rate, it is for the best! Do you not remember we had wargs hunting us down? With less belongings we traveled lighter. Most of what you brought along was nonsense anyways. You only need one pair of clothing, not five. I mean, look at me!" He holds his arms out, indicating his grey Snuggie.

It would be comical the way all of our eyes lower to the grey robe on his body at the same time if we weren't so upset about our stuff missing.

I shake my head at the tattered bathrobe he wears everyday, "Gandalf, that's not as much of a flex as you think it is."

He huffs, properly offended now, "Never mind that. The point is, stop bickering like a bunch of children! We must exercise caution going forward as I fear our troubles have not reached their end. Come. We must rest, and we shall continue toward Mirkwood at first light tomorrow.”

"You heard Gandalf," Thorin speaks in low authority to all of us, "It is time to rest."

And with that, the argument is over.

Many hours later...

The company are all asleep in the shadowy trees. The leaves above us rustle softly in the breeze and the sun is slowly making it’s way to the horizon.

I'm not sure why I’ve woken up. I’ve slept for a long time, but certainly not enough, if the scratching burning in my eyes and foggy headache is any indication.

After the putrid stench of the Goblin’s tunnels the fresh air is bliss and so I simply lay here, eyes closed, breathing deeply and listening to the horrible relentless chorus of cicadas buzzing in the background.

After realizing I’m not going to drift back to sleep, I sit up with a sigh and quietly glance around at the sleeping dwarves. Their snores resonate around the space, especially Gloin and Oin’s. But the dwarf I’m looking for is missing.

I finally spy him a short distance away. Thorin meticulously sharpens Orchrist which gleams in the remaining light of the day.

I watch him, somehow sensing the turmoil inside him as he sharpens it. He must be exhausted, but perhaps he can’t sleep either? An overwhelming urge to reach out and alleviate his inner demons comes over me.

Taking a deep breath of the warm air, I gather my thoughts before standing (which is a struggle when you can only use one arm) and approach the log where he sits on guard duty. I know he hears me coming but he doesn’t glance up, somehow knowing it’s me without even looking.

"Hey,” my voice comes out in a whisper.

"Peyton," he acknowledges in a low rumble, but I’m disappointed when his gaze remains fixed on his blade.

I settle down next to him on the log, warily, giving him a little space. The frustration and resignation etched on his face speak volumes. My eyes gaze out over at the sleeping company, curled up in their makeshift beds and snoring while I gather my thoughts. I was hoping for this exact moment, to have some time alone with him to ask him what's wrong.

"You should rest. You need your strength," he murmurs to me, still sharpening his sword. But I shake my head, dismissing his suggestion at leaving him to his depression.

"Slept all day. Not tired," I lie with a shrug, wincing slightly at the soreness in my arm.

"How is your shoulder?" He asks hesitantly, watching me massage it.

I offer a small smile in response, "It's better. How's your chest?"

He must be in a lot of pain from that bite.

His answer is simple yet vague. "Better," he rumbles, leaving me unsure of the truth behind his words.

I worry about how deep those teeth wounds go. Without Oin's medic bag, the threat of infection looms over us. I have plenty of goblin scratches on my arms that have started to itch and burn as well. We all need to take a bath. 

A sigh escapes my lips as I glance back at Thorin, the heaviness of his emotions evident. But my unspoken feelings for him hang even heavier on me. I'm just so glad he's safe, after all is said and done! I'm glad everyone is.

"I know you're upset at me. So, what did I do this time?" I ask, my voice tinged with resignation. He stiffens, but remains silent, his gaze fixed on the ground. With the past few days swirling in my mind, I attempt to decipher the cause of his discontent. "Are you upset that we went through the goblins?"

"No," he denies, but then, with a hint of irritation, reluctantly admits, "and yes." His indecisive words reflect the turmoil within him.

I fold my arms and give him a pointed look.

He ignores me for a moment, gives a few vigorous swipes of his sharpening tool against his sword, before gruffly continuing, "It should have never happened."

I huff, allowing my frustration to seep into my tone, "You ordered me to tell you, so I told you the future. You tried to avoid it. That's not my fault. So why are you angry at me?"

“I’m not angry at you,” Thorin turns away, his hands clenched into fists, but still refusing to answer why he’s upset.

Growing impatient with his brooding and confusing demeanor, I lean over and grip his shoulder and give a slight frustrated shake. "Then tell me why, Thorin!"

"Because I couldn't CHANGE IT!" he bellows, finally releasing the pent-up emotions and stands up to face me. I stare at him, wide-eyed, as he begins to pace angrily, unable to contain the torrent of emotions any longer. "I chose a different path! I chose to go a different way to protect the company….to protect you…but in the end it meant nothing!”

Finally understanding the issue, a rush of sympathy comes over me. I recognize his frustration and desperation to fight against a pre-determined path. One dictated by a book, no less. He longs to escape the confines of a predetermined fate, to break free against the constraints placed upon him. An unexpected warmth also floods through me as at his concern for me.

He finally stills, heaving a sigh and his shoulders fall. "The path is already set before us, and I...I am helpless to change it," he finishes in a bitter murmur.

"It's okay, Thorin," I nod gently, "I know how you feel."

"No," he snaps with sudden aggression, startling me. He turns to looks at me. His eyes burning. "Do not presume to know how I feel." The word 'feel' escapes his lips with a growl, as if his own emotions are unwelcome intruders that refuse to leave him in peace. It reminds me of when he told Gandalf, that his feelings were irrevelant.

"You feel trapped, don't you?" I murmur. He says nothing, watching me. I know that I'm right.

"You feel confused and lost and maybe even afraid," I continue calmly, looking down at the callouses on my hands from sword fighting. Memories of my own struggles when I realized I was trapped in Middle Earth resurface. "Afraid of which way to go, because you have no solid ground beneath your feat. You feel as if everything is spiraling out of your control and there's nothing you can do about it. And that it's not fair."

I hear his foot steps as he approaches me. I look up with a bitter smile, a sense of connection forming once more between us. "I know because I've felt it too. I still do, almost every day. Coming to Middle Earth? Not my choice. Coming on this quest? Gandalf's decision. Being chosen by the Valar for a task I’m completely unqualified for? Yep, didn't have a single say in that."