Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue:
“Do not leave me. I beg you. Do not go where I cannot follow. Please.”

But the pleadings went on deaf ears, for those ears were numb to the world of the living.

A calloused hand gently fingered golden curls atop the head of the young hobbit, lying unconscious in the too large bed, pale and deathly still.

“Please my flower. Please return. I cannot see another sunrise without you with me. Please, please come back. I beg you.”

The sobs of a broken man filled the still chamber, echoing down the hall.

Chapter 1:

Lyla Baggins was a very respectable hobbit lass, thank you very much. Or at least that’s what she pretended to be. Many years before, said Baggins was wild, unruly and Tookish to a fault. She loved to explore the woods, chasing fireflies and hoping to catch glimpses of the ethereal Elves that roamed the kindly West. It was no concern of hers if mud smattered her frocks or twigs entwined themselves in her hair (though her father often cringed when he took in the sight of her). She had no time to look prim and proper and play the part of a lady! She needed to experience the world. She needed freedom and excitement.

‘It was a pity’ the gossips murmured to one another whenever little Lyla traipsed by, looking feral and unkempt. ‘Poor Bungo must have felt so ashamed of such a daughter!’ But who could blame her really? Her mother was the infamous, adventurous Belladonna Took. And such unruliness was bound to pass on to their children. Thankfully, they all agreed, Bungo had Bilbo to keep up appearances. Lyla’s twin brother was nothing like his sister, save in appearance. Every bit the respectable hobbit, Bilbo preferred calm solitude reading a good book or gardening with his father. He enjoyed a good meal and the calm of the front porch. He had no desire to travel beyond his front door if he could help it and could often spend an entire day without leaving his family smial.

Of course, Lyla thought this was a horrible way to live and often teased her brother for his sensitivities.‘Come now! What good is sitting at home, when there’s so much out there to see!’ she exclaimed to him time and time again.

‘I’m quite content where I am thank you!’ Bilbo almost always replied, usually curled up in a chair with a book in hand, ‘You’d do well to appreciate the comforts of home.’
‘And you’d do better to learn to live a little!’ Lyla would reply heatedly, ‘I wish I had a brother who acted like my brother and not my father lecturing me so!’ and nearly every time, she’d storm away towards the woodlands that called to her, leaving her brother to his own comforts.

So what changed? What prompted the most unruly hobbit child to tame her ways? What encouraged Lyla Baggins to represent the essence of respectability?

The Fell Winter.

In one fell swoop of bitter cold, famine and danger (with white wolves crossing into the Shire), Lyla lost the three most important things in her life. It began with her father. Poor Bungo was unprepared for such harsh conditions and his health deteriorated quite rapidly. Lyla and her mother and brother did all they could to keep his spirits aflame, but before the days signalled the middle of the winter season lit became horrifyingly apparent that Bungo was not destined to see another spring. This revelation took Belladonna to her own bed in grief, where she began to fade as rapidly as her husband. Almost overnight her once righ chestnut hair turned grey and deep lines rimmed her now dull eyes. Soon, she lost contact with the world around her and slipped into the shadows, never to awaken again. And much in the same way did Bilbo’s diminished spirits impose upon his health, for he felt the death of his parents keenly. He too, slipped further from Lyla’s grasp, wary of the outside world and convinced that life was no longer worth living.

There was nothing she could do to save them in the end. Each passed on quietly in the night, as if they sensed the pain their deaths would cause Lyla and in their own way attempted to ease the burden she would bear.

To their credit, the other hobbits took pity on poor wild daughter of Bungo Baggins. No one should see their family disappear like that. It was all rather tragic and they sent pitying stares towards the young lass as she walked numbly through town day after day following the loss of her parents and brother, avoiding her smial that was now so empty.
But Lyla wouldn’t need their pity. No indeed she would not. In the weeks following the deaths of her parents and twin, something in Lyla locked itself away. No longer was she the wild rambunctious child. No longer would her fantasies rule her attitudes. She’d give her father the one thing he always wanted: a respectable daughter. She could do that one thing for him. She could uphold the respectability of the Baggins name.

She would do it for them.

And for many years it worked. The boys trousers went into the cupboard and instead, Lyla donned frilly dresses and ribbons. She tended the garden and entertained houseguests, and acted in every way the respectable hobbit her father hoped she’d be. Eventually she forgot what it was like to explore the unknown mysteries of the woods. She ignored the call for adventure that ran through her veins and pushed the longing for freedom aside. She was a Baggins of Bag end and that should be enough.

And it was. For a time. Being a Baggins was more than enough for Lyla.

Until Gandalf the Grey stood at her gate, a twinkle in his mischievous eyes that is. Lyla could only stare on in surprise at the wizard whom she hadn’t seen in many years. Not since Old Took had his parties and the wizard brought those marvelous fireworks. What on earth could he be doing here?

“My dear Lyla,” Gandalf said with a smile, “I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

Lyla’s eyes widened at the prospect. “An-an adventure?”

Chapter Text

Lyla fingered her golden curls with a mixture of trepidation and dread. Her once rich, tumbling locks were cropped close to her ears, framing her delicate face and making Lyla feel even smaller than she was before. She felt vulnerable.

“This is never going to work,” She murmured glancing at her reflection in the mirror next to her bed, “No one will ever buy this farce.”

Dressed in her brother’s old cropped brown trousers and green suspenders, her small chest bound tightly as a precaution, she admittedly look quite similar to her brother. But, her features were too delicate. Even she knew that. She wasn’t the most feminine hobbit, but her thin cheeks and pointed chin and small hands and wrists, gave her a distinct softness that most male hobbits did not possess.

Lyla sighed. It was highly unlikely that those small differences would not go unnoticed by her impending guests. Honestly, what had she been thinking accepting Gandalf’s ruse? Curse her Tookish blood for rearing its ugly head when her life had settled into a very comfortable pattern. Yes. She was quite content before that confounded wizard popped into her little smial with an enticing offer to escape the Shire.

Admittedly, it didn’t take much to convince Lyla to forsake tradition and welcome a group of Dwarves (Dwarves!) into her home. Clearly she was as mad as Gandalf. And she was certain that tongues would be wagging once word got out that Little Lyla Baggins had turned Took once again. She smirked at the thought of Lobelia, purple and spluttering in fury once she realized that Lyla was no longer acting like a “respectable” hobbit lass.

And despite all the fear of the impending introduction to a gaggle of surly, battle hardened dwarves, she couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision to go along with this half-baked plan. The appeal of adventure was just too strong to resist for a young hobbit with Took blood flowing freely through her veins. She’d stifled her desires for too long and Gandalf’s appearance at her doorstep was the push she needed; the push she longed for (though she hadn’t realized it at the time).

She couldn’t help but note, with a pang in her chest, that she was breaking the promise she had made to uphold the respectability of the Baggins name. Would her father forgive her? And how would she handle being addressed as her brother? The mere thought of Bilbo's name sent tremors of grief and guilt through her chest.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to consider such thoughts. A swift and hard knock echoed through her quiet home and Lyla turned a frantic eye towards the door, butterflies flittering in her chest, her stomach twisting in knots acceptance. Padding softly down the hall, she reached the wide door and, taking a deep breath, pulled the latch forward.

Lyla thought she knew what to expect with dwarves, but she could, in no way, prepare for the gruff character standing outside her door. Towering over his petite frame, this dwarf bore strange tattoos on his bald head. His knuckles, arms and chest were clad in armor and various weaponry. His beady dark brown eyes assessing his surroundings, narrowed as he took in her small form cowering in the doorway.

“Dwalin,” the dwarf addressed dipping his head in respect, “at your service.”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf for a moment, clearly stunned. After he narrowed his eyes at her, clearly expecting her to do something other than stare, Lyla came back to her senses.

“Yes, yes of course! Bil-“ she cleared her throat to prevent her voice from cracking, “Bilbo Baggins at your service. Come in. Sorry.” She pulled the door open wider and the massive dwarf lumbered forward flicking his cloak off in a huff.

“Which way laddie?” He queried surging forward, tossing said cloak at the unsuspecting hobbit and tromping inward, his boots thundering through the silent house, “is it down here?”
Lyla was confused by that question. “Uh-is what down…where?”

“Supper. He said there’d be food and lots of it,” Dwalin remarked in a clipped tone, cleared miffed at the lack of the promised supper. His heavy footfalls trudged down the hall as he explored Lyla’s smial.
Supper?! Gandalf didn’t mention supper. Thirteen dwarves wanting and expecting supper?! She wasn’t prepared for this.

Lyla felt her eye twitch in annoyance.

Leave it to that finicky wizard to withhold vital information.

Oh confusticate it all!

Her doorbell rang at that moment and Lyla turned back towards the door she had just shut.

She had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

Two hours later and Lyla could feel the start of a headache pounding behind her eyes.

And the noise from her dining room was only increasing.

The second Dwarf to arrive had been Balin. The white-haired creature, clad in red robes, smiled kindly (if a little apologetically), commented on the possibility of rain, and meandered into Lyla’s entryway. She was surprised to discover that Dwalin—who had gotten his hand stuck in her biscuit jar—was Balin’s younger, much more intimidating brother. They had greeted each other affectionately and to Lyla’s horror smashed their foreheads together. She had cringed at the sickening noise their two heads made when they connected and fancied that she'd never try that form of greeting.

The next time her doorbell rang, Lyla was surprised to find not one, but two rather young looking dwarves standing at her door, identical smiles plastered on their faces.

“Fili” stated the blond dwarf with the braided mustache

“And Kili” the dark-haired youth remarked

“At your service.” They both bowed deeply.

“You must be Mr. Boggins!” Kili grinned cheekily pushing past her without waiting for answer.

Fili followed with a smug smirk, dumping his weapons in her unsuspecting arms and trundling down the hall towards Dwalin and Balin’s hulking forms. Were they moving her furniture around?!
Shortly thereafter, chaos ensued. The next time she answered her door, an entire gaggle of dwarves tumbled into her doorway, nearly crushing her in the confusion. The largest dwarf (by far) was crushing several others. A hat went flying as they tumbled into a heap of groans and grunts of annoyance and pain.

And behind them stood a tall wizard clutching his staff and looking somewhat apologetic (which wasn’t apologetic at all really. How sorry can a wizard actually be?).
Lyla felt her eye twitching.

“Gandalf” she had breathed grumpily.

Now however, after two hours of listening to loud laughter, watching her pantry diminish in its contents, witnessing food flying through the air, Dwarves walking on her table, her dishes flying through the air and Gandalf—that blasted wizard—sitting calmly with a smile on his face watching Lyla run about making requests and demands only to be ignored. It was infuriating. They were her dishes after all. And her maps and books. And her doilies! The least her guests could do is respect her property.

Then a pounding echoed throughout her home and silence stifled the dwarves as they turned towards the sources of the noise. Gandalf rose quickly, and moved past Lyla to answer the door.
Lyla felt her mouth go dry at the figure who stepped into the light of the candles in her entry. Long ebony locks streaked with silver, a straight prominent nose, and piercing blue eyes pummeled Lyla’s vision and she felt her neck warm up as a blush crept up to her ears.

He was very…handsome…not even that word did him justice! He was exceptional, powerful, intimidating... majestic? Regal? Whatever he was, his presence filled the whole room, that was for certain.
“Allow me to introduce the leader of our quest: Thorin Oakenshield”

Those piercing blue eyes turned towards Lyla, assessing and calculating, sizing her up.

“So this is the hobbit?” He gave a derisive snort, his eyes flicking across her face. She half wondered if her ruse would be unraveled by his man’s penetrating gaze. Her heart started pounding.

“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” He pushed past her, not bothering to even attempt being polite.
Well that was…rude, selfish, arrogant…

She sent a glare towards Gandalf, who had the decency to look apologetic at this insult (and maybe he really was apologetic this time). This was certainly NOT what she was expecting when she agreed to this adventuring business. This was frustrating, annoying, terrifying. She certainly didn’t think she’d be dealing with such a pompous creature. It was enough to drive anyone batty.
It was also exhilarating.

Chapter Text

A week into their travels, Lyla eyed the grey skies with trepidation from atop her pony. She could smell the rain in the air and knew it was only a matter of time before the downpour began. Of course, when she voiced her concern about traveling in the impending weather to her companions, her queries went on deaf ears. They didn’t appear the least concerned about the rain.

“We have much road to cover master Baggins,” Thorin’s deep voice rumbled signaling slight annoyance as he peered down his nose at her, “We can’t stop every time the weather disrupts your comfort.”
The majority of the company sniggered at the obvious slight. Bofur, however, with his hat firmly planted on his head, gave her an encouraging smile. Out of all the dwarves, he was the one willing to befriend her. And she was indeed grateful to the toymaker. His cheerful disposition calmed her fraying nerves as they moved further and further from the Shire.

The skies cracked and groaned in warning and the first droplets of rain began. In a way, the weather matched her mood: stormy. That gammy wizard neglected to mention a few important details about the journey until well after Lyla had signed the contract. It was only once the ink dried that the dwarves mentioned Smaug the Terrible.

A dragon of all things. They wanted Lyla to steal from a dragon! Just the thought of coming face to face with what would surely be her end, made Lyla’s heart hammer in her chest. But a contract was a contract, and she had signed it. She had to see this through…even if she wasn’t technically a burglar.

Or male for that matter.

Ah but those were details that were unimportant. Or at least that’s what Gandalf tried to reassure.

The rain picked up in speed, the droplets growing ever larger. It didn’t take long before Lyla was completely drenched, no matter how many times she tugged her waistcoat closer to her body. Her curls were matted to her head and the scent of wet pony assaulted her nose. She glanced at the dwarves with a tad bit of envy. Each had a cloak, far more resistant to water than her own comfortable clothing. As a result, they seemed relatively unperturbed by the torrential downpour.

She glanced balefully at Bofur’s hat, somewhat spiteful at his good fortune. Out of all of them, he appeared the least concerned by the weather. In fact, he looked rather content and warm beneath the hat and cloak.

Lyla gazed down at her soaked clothing painfully aware how unprepared she clearly was for this journey. She didn’t have the type of supplies necessary to be making this trek. Arguably it really wasn’t her fault. Her parents never thought to actually acquire such items and with the short notice of this journey, Lyla didn’t have time to go hunting for such items in Hobbiton (not that it was likely that she’d actually find anything). No, she had to make due with what she had in her possession.

She grimaced though, when she noted the state of her bedroll.

Lyla jumped when a heavy weight fell across her shoulders, blocking out the unceasing rain. Surprised, she jerked her head up and was met with Dwalin’s intimidating form next to her pony.

“You won’t do any of us any favors by falling ill in this weather,” Dwalin grumbled, fastening the ties around her neck.

Embarrassed, Lyla tried to refuse the gift, “Oh I couldn’t take your cloak. I appreciate the sentiment, but-“

“There’s nothing sentimental about it,” Dwalin snapped, “It’s merely practical. Best take the cloak and be done with it laddie. No more of your frilly conversation if you please.”
Shocked, she merely nodded dumbly. With a satisfied nod, Dwalin flicked the hood of the cloak atop her head and without another glance in her direction, led his pony back towards his brother and Thorin at the head of the company.

Lyla just stared confusedly at Dwalin’s back. Out of all the dwarves in this company, she did not expect the most intimidating one to show her kindness…even if he claimed it was for practical reasons.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was a small mercy that they came upon the remnants of the farm house as the sun started to set. The rain had dwindled to a slight drizzle (you could barely call it rain at that point) but that didn’t prevent the company from feeling the lingering chill on their damp clothes. The dilapidated walls and crumbling roof would provide enough shelter to get a large fire going. Lyla relished the thought of drying her bed roll out and getting a warm meal in her stomach.

It appeared, however, that not all the members of the company were not as eager to rest as Lyla. Gandalf gazed around hesitantly, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the damaged home. His gaze lingered on the top of the structure and he muttered something too low for Lyla to hear. It appeared, though, that Thorin heard for immediately his form bristled and he turned to face the wizard, drawing himself up to full height (which admittedly wasn’t much in comparison to Gandalf).

“I will not go near that place,” his voice carried over the company, who still and observed the scene before them.

Lyla strained to hear what Gandalf replied, but only caught snatches. “We could get food, shelter…advice!”

‘Where?’ she thought confused. If such a place was close by, why would they not seek out comfort such as what Gandalf described?

“I am the leader of this company and you’d do well to remember that wizard!” Thorin shouted. Lyla stiffened. Were you allowed to yell at wizards?

It appeared you could. Gandalf only huffed in response and drew his grey robes closer to his body, clutching his staff tightly. Turning quickly, he made a hasty exit of the company.

“Gandalf?” Lyla questioned, worry and confusion interlaced in her words, “Where are you going?”

“To seek the only person who has any sense!”

“And who’s that?”

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

Lyla’s stomach dropped. A disappearing wizard did not bode well. But there wasn’t much she could do. She couldn’t follow after the wayward wizard and demand his return. Wizards did as they pleased. And she had a contract to uphold.

Pushing the thoughts of Gandalf out of her mind, she assisted Balin in unloading the ponies and collecting wood for the fire. She would have liked to help with dinner too (who liked eating burnt stew?) but Bombur was a fierce guard of the food stores. If she didn’t want to lose a finger or two, it was best to stay away.

And few hours later, after the stew had been dished out, Gandalf had still not returned. The skies had darkened, and night fully descended. Lyla paced by the fire, unease coiling uncomfortably around her.

“He’s been a long time,” she murmured peering out into the darkness. Her eyes weren’t good enough to distinguish much though.

“Who?” Bofur asked, half listening, as he ladled stew into two waiting bowls.

“Gandalf.”

Bofur grinned gently at her, “He’s a wizard!” he remarked as if that answered everything. “He does as he chooses. Now, do us a favor and bring those to the lads.” He thrust the two steaming bowls into Lyla’s unsuspecting hands.

With a stiff nod, she trudged out into the waiting darkness and headed towards the soft snorts and shuffling of the ponies. When she got closer, though, Lyla noticed something odd. Both Fili and Kili stood stark still, gazing into the group of animals, identical panicked expressions on their faces. Lyla looked between the two of them confused.

“What’s the matter?”

“We’re supposed to be looking after the ponies,” Kili began

“But we’ve encounter a slight problem,” Fili continued.

“We had sixteen”

“Now there’s fourteen.”

This didn’t make any sense. How did one lose ponies?

“What were you two doing to lose the ponies?” Lyla quirked her eyebrow at the two of them.

“Ahh..” Kili trailed off awkwardly, looking quite embarrassed.

“Look!” Fili whispered pointing behind Kili’s shoulder, “There’s a light!”

He darted into the trees, Kili fast on his heels. Lyla was torn between returning to camp to alert the others or following the two boys into the wilderness to face…whatever that light was. With a long-suffering sigh, she stumbled her way towards Fili and Kili. She just knew she’d come to regret this decision.

Halfway to the two dwarves, however, a rather loud crash directly overhead had her dropping the bowls of stew and cowering under a bush, her eyes going wide. She poked her head up when the soft neighing of ponies rang out close to her. She sucked in a startled breath at the image of a giant creature lumbering through the overgrowth, downing trees with his wide gait. Under each arm, a pony squirmed desperately trying to get away, though it appeared like a useless endeavor.

As the figure moved away from Lyla, she scrambled to her feet and hastened towards Fili and Kili’s crouched forms.

“What was that?!” she whispered, panting, adrenaline running through her veins, making her heart pound.

Kili’s eyes narrowed at the scene, “Trolls,” he ground out, darting closer to the light, Fili and Lyla close on his heels.

Crouching behind a downed tree, Lyla noted that the light was a rather large fire and surrounding that fire were three monstrous looking trolls. The ponies were placed in a makeshift pen, bucking and neighing frantically.

“I hope you’re gonna gut these nads,” one of the trolls grumbled smacking the pen, “I don’t like the stinky parts. Never have.”
The troll who sat stirring the giant pot atop the fire, grumbled about ingratitude and continued to stir his concoction. Lyla’s nose wrinkled at the pungent smell wafting towards her. She’d take Bombur’s stew any day over that putrid creation.

“We have to do something,” Fili whispered.

“We need to get Thorin,” Lyla remarked, not taking her eyes from the campfire of trolls, strangely fascinated by their presence. She’d never seen something so…unusual and terrifying in her life. Her Tookish curiosity was getting the better of her.

“Ah…no. Best not to worry him,” Kili remarked hastily, guilt lacing his words.

“Right. Yes, we thought as our official burglar that you’d like to look into it.”

Lyla snapped her head back to look at the dwarves. Were they mad?!

“Wha-I-no! I can’t!”

Kili pushed her forward, “It’s perfectly safe! Mountain trolls are slow and stupid and you’re so small! They’ll never see you. And we’ll be right behind you!”

“Yes! If you get into any trouble, though, hoot once like a barn owl and twice like a brown owl.”

Lyla stumbled, searching for her balance, “once like a brown owl? Twice like a barn-are you sure this is a good-” she gazed behind her and noted that her companions had disappeared, “idea.”

Bother.

Right then! Straightening her jacket determinedly , Lyla crept closer to the fire, wary of stepping to close to the light. The shadows would hide her far better. Grateful for her light footsteps, she snuck quietly towards the pen, where the ponies stamped their feet and shook their heads frantically.

She noticed a knotted rope near the edge of the shadows that held the pen together. If she could just get it loose then the ponies could break free. Lyla grasped the thick frayed rope and tugged. The blasted thing, however, wouldn’t budge. She felt her eye twitch in annoyance. What was she to do now?

Letting out a shriek, thoughts of freeing ponies fled her mind as her feet were pulled from under her and she swung through the air, the blood rushing to her head. The hideous face of one of the trolls swam into view. She was, without a doubt, Middle Earth’s WORST burglar. It didn’t take more than five minutes for her to be captured.

“What are you.” It demanded shaking her lightly, “Some oversized ferret?”

“Ferret?!” Lyla squeaked with indignation, “I am not a ferret! I’m a burglar-er-hobbit.”

“A burglarobbit?” a second troll questioned, his eyes flicking in two different directions. “Can we cook it?”

“Ah no no! Not me. I wouldn’t taste very good. All skin and bones I am. Nasty business really” Lyla scrambled with her words.

“He’s right. He wouldn’t make more than a mouthful,” the troll crushing her ankles remarked, his foul breath blowing in her face. Her stomach churned at the repulsive stench.

“Perhaps there’s more burglarobbits ‘round these parts. Maybe enough for a pie,” the third troll remarked, wiping a filthy rag across his running nose.

“Oi, are there any more of you running around where you shouldn’t?” her captor grumbled in her face

“Nope,” Lyla replied.

“He’s lying!” the second troll retorted

“No I’m not!”

“Hold his toes over the fire. Make ‘im squeal”

A mighty chorus of cries erupted, however, and Lyla was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, as the gaggle of dwarves descended upon the trolls. Landing with a sharp pain to her shoulder, Lyla scrambled to her feet and backed away from the large feet tramping through the makeshift campsite.

Dwalin and Thorin slashed through the legs of the three monstrosities, with Nori and Bofur close behind with mattocks and hammers, crushing toes and trying to get the trolls off their feet. Ori and Gloin aimed for the heads knocking teeth out, while Dori and Balin slashed at the stomachs and arms. Oin, Bifur and Bombur came at the trolls from behind, stabbing and hacking at the calves and lower backs while Fili sliced at hands and fingers. Kili stood a short distance away, firing arrows at the creatures’ necks.

Lyla, who didn’t have a weapon, tried to stay well out of the fray and instead focused on the ponies. She could try and free them at least. Hesitantly, she inched towards the pen once more and started to tug at the ropes once more.

But, once again, her legs were tugged from underneath her.

‘Come on!’ she thought dourly. She’d never live this down.

“Lay down your arms,” the troll shouted, “Or we’ll rip ‘is off.”

Thorin pushed his sword into the dirt and the rest of the company soon followed. Without their weapons they were quickly stripped of their armor and half (including Lyla) were stuffed into sacks. The others, were tied together on a spit over the newly invigorated fire. Lyla could feel Thorin’s piercing glare on her. He’d never forgive her for this degradation.

Double bother.

There had to be something they could do.

“’urry up! Don’t bother cookin’ em. Dawn ain’t far off and I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

Dawn? Stone?

‘Stall Lyla’

“Wait!”She shouted rolling to her feet. Her shoulder gave a painful jerk that made her wince, but she ignore it. “You’re going about this all wrong!”

“What do you know about cookin’ dwarf burglarobbit?” one of the trolls questioned stomping closer.

“Oh plenty! Like cooking them on a spit does nothing but dry them out. They’ll get all leathery and tough that way.”

“What would you have us do then? Squash them into jelly?”

“Ahh…actually-“what could she say?

“Yes, go on then? What’s the secret?”

“The, uh, secret to cooking dwarf is…is-“

“Go on then.”

“The secret is to-“ she sent an apologetic look to the group in sacks, “skin them first!”

An uproar of angry voices descended on Lyla. She could hear Dwalin’s above the other’s declaring he’d not forget those words.

Terrific.

“What a load of rubbish! I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on! I say stuff ‘em boots and all!”

“He’s right, nothing wrong with a bit a raw dwarf!” the bug-eye troll declared picking up Bombur’s hulking form, “Nice and crunchy!”

“No! Not that one he’s…he’s infected.”

“You-wha?”

“Yeah he’s got worms…in his…tubes! It’s a terrible business really. I wouldn’t risk it. I really wouldn’t.”

Her remarks had the desired effect as the troll dropped Bombur back onto the rest of her bound companions. But then his attention turned back towards Lyla.

“I say the little bugger’s lyin’” The troll fixed both swiveling eyes on her, “Let’s start with you first then, eh?”

The putrid creature wrapped its thick fingers around her small frame and Lyla’s heart started hammering.

“We’re all infected really, though. Didn’t I mention that?” She murmured frantically.

“Yes we are! I’ve got huge parasites!” Kili’s voice chimed in.

“We’re riddled.” Ori.

“Yes we are, badly!” Dori.

“Shut it, you lot!” The troll holding Lyla squeezed in annoyance at the clamoring voices. Lyla gasped in pain. It was as though stone were crushing her ribs and with her bound chest, the pressure only intensified. Her vision swam slightly.

“The dawn will take you all!” The all too familiar voice of their wayward wizard echoed through the small camp.

Lyla turned her head in time to see Gandalf standing atop a boulder, raising his staff. With a loud crash that rivaled the thunder of the storm the previous day, the contact between the staff and stone split the boulder in two, sending streams of golden sunlight upon them. The trolls hissed and groaned in pain. Lyla dropped from the grasp of her captor as his arms stiffened and his features hardened. Soon, each of the trolls stood still.

Stone.

Lyla breathed a sigh of relief, wincing. But happy.

Incredibly happy.

Gandalf hurried to her side, and untied the sack from around her neck. Then carefully, the two went through and freed the rest of her companions, Lyla focused on the sacked dwarves, and Gandalf focused on those tied to the spit. Most were grateful for the help. Kili clapped her on the shoulder lightly, a grin on his face. Apparently near death experiences made him happy?

“That was brilliant! Perfectly brilliant” he remarked rising to his feet and assisting her.

When she came to Thorin, however, he said not a word. His glower said it all though. Swiftly, she undid the tie to his sack and he jerked away from her fumbling fingers to rise to his feet.

“You!” He launched into a tirade, “What were you doing?” Thorin’s hands were balled into fists, “Tell me master Baggins, would you consider yourself an adult?”

“Well yes, I-“

“Then I would think you’d have more sense than to traipse into a troll camp with naught but your limited wits about you.”

“Now see here I-“

“And,” he continued on, interrupting her, “I’d expect you to have the intelligence to come and seek out the leader of this company before following in the foolish footsteps of its younger members.”

“But I-“

“Are we clear master Baggins?” Thoring narrowed his eyes at her, silencing the retort she would have given.

Lyla felt a blush rise on her cheeks and she nodded curtly, refusing to say a word, her anger boiling near the surface. With a stiff nod, Thorin turned towards the pile of weaponry that the trolls had heaped together when they’d stripped the dwarves of their things. The company stood still, eyes shifting between Thorin’s skulking form and Lyla’s frozen one. No one said a word.

They didn’t have to though. Lyla’d heard enough from Thorin, thank you.

Stiffly, she began to help collect any wayward article that belonged to a company member, staying as silent as possible. She was embarrassed and furious at the same time and wanted nothing more than to reprimand Thorin for his haughty behavior. She was not a child to be chastised. But that wouldn’t get her anywhere. He was still the company leader. Much to her annoyance.

Oh confound the pride of dwarves!

Chapter Text

Thorin elected to maintain camp for the day to allow the company the rest they’d been deprived of thanks to their unfortunate encounter. No one objected to the small reprieve, especially Lyla. Her torso ached fiercely from being handled so roughly by the trolls and though she was fairly certain no lasting damage had been inflicted, she was grateful to rest her weary body. Each breath she took ached within her chest and the thought of marching through dense foliage or riding a horse that would jostle you about certainly turned her stomach sour.

That being said, though, Lyla was not anxious to remain in the company of one Thorin Oakenshield. That pompous, self-righteous…blasted dwarf. Lyla watched the other dwarves hunting for the troll hoard that Gandalf had reminded them to search for, while she elected to remain behind. She didn’t care for treasure hunting anyway (ironic since she was hired to burgle treasure from a bloody dragon). Sitting in the shade of a rather imposing tree, the horses lazily rooting for grass to consume, Lyla scrunched her face up in annoyance as her mind replayed the horrid humiliation.

Thorin’s words had sufficiently embarrassed and shamed her in front of the entire company. And she still didn’t believe she deserved such a tongue lashing. Least of all in front of people who already held a stiff suspicion towards. And had she been more Took in that moment, Thorin might has received a similar condescension and malice laced within her retort. However, the Baggins side—the ever proper and peace-abiding heritage running through her veins—deemed it best to remain silent.

Lyla was regretting that choice right now.

It had been at least a few hours and the majority of the company had given her a wide berth, as though she were as inferior as Thorin deemed her to be. She did feel the pitying gazes of the two princes, though they too kept their distance. Bofur, however, remained completely unruffled by the events and determined it his personal mission to elicit a smile from her lips.
It was all for naught though. Lyla was in no mood to smile and soon enough even Bofur wandered away in search of treasure.

And so that left Lyla sitting under a tree, alone and conflicted. Her stomach clenched in knots that seemed ever-present lately. The stinging pain of loneliness pricked at her making her frown deepen on her face. She just didn’t understand the malice and contempt that Thorin held for her. It was ridiculous really, and yet he continued to show a complete lack of respect for her presence. It appeared that she was neither needed nor wanted by the great king under the mountain and the only reason she was on this daunting quest was because of the word of a wizard.

“Confusticate blasted gammy wizards,” she grumbled closing her eyes, blocking out the painful throb in her torso.

As soon as her eyes closed, exhaustion overtook her senses. All the adrenaline having finally worn off, and her anger and wounded pride subsiding, Lyla started to slip into a peaceful slumber beneath the tree surrounded by the soft noises of horses grazing.

What she didn’t notice, however, was the pair of watchful eyes, gazing at her slumped and resting form. The eyes, which belonged to a very observant dwarf narrowed suspiciously as he watched the young hobbit wince whenever they moved.

Lyla didn’t know how long she had slept, but suddenly rough hands were upon her shaking vigorously. With a hiss of pain she opened here eyes to the frantic gaze of Bofur.

“On yer feet laddie, we have to get moving,” He remarked, his usual cheerful demeanor exchanged for a harried and haggard appearance. Worry spiked in Lyla’s chest, as she slowly got to her feet, hissing at the movements.

“What’s happened?” she murmured, her voice low and pained, noticing the dwarves scuttling about packing their belongings in a hasty manner.

“Kili spotted wargs a few leagues away. We need to leave this place. Quickly,” Bofur eyed her carefully, his eyes assessing her face. “Are ye alright lad?” He questioned quietly.

Lyla was suddenly defensive. Though this wasn’t Thorin’s demanding presence hounding her with questions, she wasn’t too keen on letting anyone in the company know about her pain. With her current status as an ‘unwanted member’ of the company, she half expected Thorin to leave her behind if he found out. Dramatic as that sounded, she was hesitant to risk anything.

“I’m fine,” she replied (though the bindings around her chest dug painfully into her skin and the throbbing pain in her torso only continued). “Just a little sore is all. It’s been a long night.”

“Aye it has laddie.” Bofur didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t question her further, “Let’s get a move on then shall we?”

Lyla nodded and helped to collect that rest of her belongings and loaded them onto Myrtle’s back and hastily mounted as the rest of the company did the same.

“Try and stay on your guard,” Thorin remarked, facing the company, “We know not how many scouts may be out there and we can’t risk alerting an entire part of hunters upon us.” He shot Lyla a pointed look and she felt her cheeks flush slightly.

The nerve of that dwarf!

Unfortunately, they didn’t need to remain on their guard. A deep, bone-chilling howl filled the air as a monstrous beast leapt at Dori, who had yet to get on his speckled pony, pinning him underneath two large brown paws. Kili and Thorin quickly dismounted, followed by Nori and Bofur, attacking the beast and pulling Dori to safety. At the same time, a second black beast descended upon the group, this time aimed at Balin, though Dwalin was quick to leap on the back of the beast before it could tackle his brother, burying his large battle axe in the monster’s skull. Lyla’s stomach rolled as she stared in shock at the large beasts and sheer ferocity that the dwarves exhibited as they attacked. The best Lyla could do in the situation was grip Myrtle’s reins to try and steady the quaking creature.

“Warg scouts,” Thorin muttered darkly pulling his sword (something Lyla had never seen him wield before now) from the warg’s back, “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

Orc pack?! Oh this was…

Simply lovely.

“We must move. And move quickly,” Gandalf admonished, grabbing the reins of his gelding.

No one moved, probably due to confused panic. Or at least that’s what Lyle felt.

“Move!” Gandalf bellowed and at his admonishment, the ponies took off by their own volition, nearly knocking Lyla to the ground in surprise.

Thankfully, Myrtle was a sure-footed creature. She quickly navigated through the thick underbrush of the forest, avoiding large stones and roots, following Gandalf’s figure, making up the rear of the company along with Bofur and his dark mare. But no matter how quickly they were moving through the trees, howling followed after them, getting ever louder. Lyla tightened her grip on the rein and chanced a glance behind her, her eyes widening in panic as she spotted three dark shadows weaving through the dense foliage, getting closer and closer to their party. One in particular, was nipping at Bofur’s heels, though the kind dwarf did not notice.

To Lyla’s horror the beast following Bofur seemed to gain a burst of adrenaline and suddenly leapt towards the dwarf and his pony. The warg landed with precision on top of the two knocking Bofur off his mount and pushing the pony far from him.

“Bofur!” Lyla shouted, yanking her reins to stop Myrtle’s movement. She had to do something.

Urging Myrtle towards the scene (though the pony resisted) Lyla quickly grabbed the scruff of the stunned dwarf’s coat and yanked him up with all the strength she could muster. Her ribs groaned in protest and spots danced before her eyes, but she refused to let go. She refused to give up her friend to the snapping jowls of that…that beast.

Thankfully, her touch seemed to pull Bofur from his stupor for he quickly grabbed onto the pommel of the saddle and hoisted himself in front of Lyla, grabbing the reins and turning the pony around (his own having bolted after the warg collision). With shaking hands, Lyla clutched onto Bofur’s tattered jacket and buried her face into his back, her heart hammering in her chest and her breathing coming out in short gasps. The heady scent of wood smoke and sweat laced her senses and she willed her hear to stop hammering so. She prayed they’d make it past any further attacks.

Luck, however, was not on her side.

Just as they broke the tree line and were swiftly catching up to the rest of the company, a large snarling warg pounced in front of them, sending Myrtle reeling back and throwing Lyla and Bofur to the ground. The startled creature, freed of its burden, darted back into the trees, completely ignored by the warg. No it seemed the creature preferred a hobbit and a dwarf over pony flesh. Lyla scrambled slowly to her feet, sweat pouring off her brow as the pain in her chest increased by the sudden descent to the ground. She back into Bofur who quickly pushed her behind him, pulling out his mattock and gripping the handle tightly.

To her horror and dismay a second and third warg jumped down from the high rocks ensconced on either side of the tree line, their snarls and snapping filling the air around the two.
The wargs had cut them off from the company.

“Mahal help us,” Bofur murmured, his grip tightening on his mattock. There was no way past the beasts, except through fight. However, Lyla was unarmed and a vulnerability to such a plan. They needed a distraction.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed in thought as she and Bofur slowly backed up towards the forest once more.

The forest.

Trees!

“Bofur, we have to climb!” Lyla whispered fiercely, “If we can get into the trees, maybe we can hold them off until the others come for us.”

Bofur didn’t say anything, but the sharp nod of his head suggested he agreed with her hasty plan. Taking a deep breath Lyla glanced at the distance between herself and the nearest tree. Only a few feet. She could make it.

They could make it.

“Bofur now!” She shouted and the pair took off towards the tall pine, as the snarls and snaps of the wargs followed closely behind. Bofur grabbed Lyla’s wrist and thrust her upward as he too jumped into the branches. Thankfully, hobbits were excellent climbers. Lyla quickly ascended to the topmost portion of the tree, keeping a wary eye on the scene below, with Bofur quickly coming up behind her, panting heavily.
“Quick thinking laddie,” He remarked, patting Lyla’s shoulder. Lyla would have smile or remarked but her senses were so jumbled and shaking that she could hardly string two words together anymore. She elected nodding her head and resting it against the bark of the tree base, gasping for breath.

Beneath them, the wargs howled and jumped trying to get to the top where Lyla and Bofur sat. The branches beneath them snapped and bent to the abuse the three monstrosities inflicted on the tree. Their weight pounding against the tree shook the entire plant, jostling Lyla and Bofur. But try as they might, the creatures could not reach.

The relief she felt swelling in her heart, however, was short lived. The abuse the three monsters were inflicting upon the tree, weakened the roots. Slowly the tree began to tilt at an odd angle. Lyla’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

Then she heard it. The guttural sounds of dark speech seeped into the howls of the wargs.

The orcs had found them and there was still no sign of Thoring, Gandalf and the rest.

They were alone.

“We have to jump master Baggins,” Bofur’s harried voice whispered in her ear.

Nodding as dread filled, her, Lyla steadied herself for the moment when their tree connected with another. As the top most branches collided with the tree nearest to them, the jolt sent Lyla sprawling towards the lower branches, her movements unsteady and her vision unfocused. Her grip slipped and Bofur shouted her name (or rather Bilbo’s)as she felt the wind rush past her.

Blast.

Chapter Text

It didn’t hurt as much as Lyla thought it would, crashing to the ground, her mind in a haze of confusion and panic. However, each leaf—brilliantly green and glistening through the streams of sunlight caught her attention as she drifted to the ground (in a far slower pace that she would have supposed). So, too, did she detail to memory, Bofur’s panicked face as he watched her tumble to the forest floor. Lines of worry etched in his brow, rising well into the spaces his hat hid, and his mouth pulled into a horrified gape. She knew there were wargs surrounding them and she knew that she was more than likely to die very shortly. Nevertheless, for the life of her, she simply couldn’t share in the panic that Bofur’s entire visage seemed to emanate. Instead, she could only admire the beauty of the forest around her—the different colors and the soft scent of flowers, pine and soil. It was…

Like home.

A dark shadow washed over her face, then, as the hot breath of a warg spewed its vile scent into her nostrils, pulling her muddled mind from the depths of starry-eyed contemplation. Lyla’s eyes widened as the warg bore down on her, a deep growl emanating from its throat. The orc who sat atop the ward grinned wickedly at the small dazed hobbit. His face—contorted with boils and colored a sickening shade of green—held only a twisted amusement, his pointed teeth glinting like small daggers in his mouth. The sinister creature started speaking down to her, his guttural and gruesome language lost on her delicate ears, though she doubted they meant anything good.

She also knew that trying to move away from the beast would be a futile effort, though her legs shifted of their own accord.

‘It’s funny’ she thought, ‘I never thought I’d die under the paws of a warg. It’s certainly an…interesting way for a hobbit to go.’

“Oi you snarling pup, get off ‘im!” A furious roar emanated from Bofur as he hurriedly descended from the tree, his movements light and sure (much to Lyla’s surprise) and his mattock grasped firmly between his white-knuckled hands. His eyes were narrowed and deep frown was set in his normally jovial face. “I’ll not let you touch him.” He sauntered forward towards the towering beast, a dangerous glint growing in his eyes (a glint, Lyla later learned, showed his determination to fight or die trying).

Bofur, while his heart was in the right place, was severely outnumbered. The warg perched above Lyla didn’t even move as the others charged at Bofur’s ready form. Lyla’s heart clenched painfully in her chest as she knew the outcome of this. There was no hope for his escape now.

“Bofur you have to run!” she hissed gazing at him, “Just-just run. Please.” It didn’t seem right, Bofur standing against all these terrifying beasts on her behalf. It didn’t seem fair that he should have to try to protect her.

“I’ll not leave you,” He murmured in reply, tightening his grip on his weapon, his gaze never leaving the advancing troupe of wargs “You’re part of the company. We stick together.”
While the sentiment was certainly appreciated Lyla knew this was a fool’s errand and after all the effort to protect him from harm, he would willingly throw away his life to protect her? He was daffy that’s for sure. Now it seemed likely that neither one of them would make it out alive unless outside assistance came and came quickly.

With a fiercely guttural bellow, Bofur raised his mattock high as the wargs converged on his person. He swung deftly, connecting with one wargs jaw as another snapped at his arms but didn’t have a chance to connect before Bofur’s strong swings knocked the warg aside, the animal crashing to the ground with a yelp. Despite his swift movements, however, the sheer number of wargs outnumbered Bofur’s movements and soon enough he was pinned beneath a warg of his own—his had knocked from his head—and the large beast clawing at the miner’s shoulder. Bofur howled in agony at the contact.

Lyla let out a shriek of protest and started to rise to help her friend, only to be pressed back towards the ground by a rather large paw and the snapping teeth of a warg on her own shoulder. The pain elicited from the serrated teeth of the huge snarling beast was like nothing she had ever felt before (not surprising since she was a hobbit from the Shire, but that was beside the point). Tears sprang to her eyes as she tried to shy away from the creature and hideous orc who look far too pleased with the damage inflicted. He spoke in low clipped tones and the warg slowly dragged Lyla up by her arm growling and snarling, the foul odor and saliva washing over her making her gag. It appeared they were going to drag out this torture.

Mercifully the warg clamped around Lyla’s shoulder released her with a painful thud as a loud chorus of battle cries erupted throughout the trees, and the rest of the company came charging through the underbrush, swords drawn and their faces contorted into matching scowls of anger. Dwalin and Bifur, looked particularly enraged and bloodthirsty. Even Gandalf appeared, his newly acquired sword glistening in the sunlight as he charged the orc pack.

The orc and warg retreated hastily—nearly trampling Lyla—as Bombur and Nori converged, weapons at the ready and a malicious glint in their eyes. Lyla rolled to the side to avoid the fray and (ignoring the pain) slowly maneuvered herself toward Bofur, who had yet to rise.

“Bofur,” Lyla whispered, hoarsely as she noted the dwarf’s sallow complexion and closed eyes, “Please Bofur open your eyes for me.”
A low groan escaped the miner and he cracked one eye open, taking in Lyla’s worried features. He let out another groan as he moved his body slowly, attempting to rise, a weak smile playing on his lips.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” he mumbled, hissing as he moved his shoulder. Lyla quickly grabbed his elbow to steady him and slowly the two rose to their feet amidst the confusion (thankfully, Fili and Kili were keeping a perimeter of safety around the two of them).

“It could’ve been better you idiot,” Lyla retorted a weak smile gracing her own lips, “You didn’t have to do that you know.”

Bofur’s cheerful face contorted, then, into one of sadness and confusion. “You don’t understand do ye lad. You’re part of the company. That makes you as good as family in my book. And you saved my life. I’m in yer debt. It’s the least I can do to protect one I consider kin.”

A painful knot settled in Lyla’s chest and she rubbed it absently, trying to quell the sudden onslaught of discomfort. Not since the passing of her parents and brother had she felt this deep rooted thrumming in her heart. And here stood Bofur, a dwarf (a dwarf!) claiming her as one of his own family. They’d only known each other a few weeks! That’s hardly any time to get to know someone (let alone someone of a different race than you) and he was fully accepting her and her hobbitish manners. They were a family.

A family.

Oh how that word sent trills of longing through her! Until that moment, Lyla didn’t realize how lonely she felt. She didn’t have anyone back in Hobbiton who’d truly miss her. Distant relatives may inquire after her, but no one would truly miss her. Their lives would go on. They’d have others to take up their attention. Lyla, though, had no one. She didn’t have a mother or father to call on her. She didn’t have a brother to look in on her well being. She was alone.

Was that why she dashed off after this gaggle of dwarves?

“Are you alright laddie?” Bofur’s gentle hand rested on her shoulder. Lyla snapped to attention, taking in the brows knit in concern and the eyes conveying worry directed at her face.

“Erm-yes. Yes I’m alright. Sorry,” she murmured in reply, heat rising to her neck. Bofur gave her an encouraging smile and clapped her on the shoulder.

Prickles of pain shot through her at the contact, reminding Lyla of the injuries her shoulder (and ribs) had sustained in the last few days. Momentarily dazed in a haze of pain, she crouched to her knees, biting back a groan. She noted, however, that the battle seemed to have died down (the howls of the wargs had diminished completely) so she was safe from an further attacks.

Or so she thought anyway.

“Confound it all Halfling! Are you so incapable of staying out of danger that you’d compromise the lives of the company because of your foolishness?!” Thorin roared sauntering towards Lyla, grabbing Lyla by the scruff of her shirt and pulling her to her feet. She whimpered in pain at the rough handling and stumbled to catch her balance. Her eyes narrowed at the accusation. Bofur narrowed his eyes at the interaction, carefully assessing the pain on Lyla’s face, though he said nothing (for what could he say to his king?).

He didn’t have to say anything however. Lyla’s frustration (and pain) had reached its boiling point.

“Now you listen to me, dwarf,” She hissed biting back a sob of pain, “I am not half of anything and I’d thank you to remember that. And I may be a member of this company and I may be under contract but I am still a Baggins of Bag End and that does not give anyone the right to criticize me in such a manner! How dare you!”

“How dare I?! How dare I?!” Thorin growled his eyes narrowing, his mouth set into a thin line of disgust. “How dare you address your superior in such a manner! I am a king and the leader of this company and as such I demand that you respect my position and my criticism.”

“You may be my leader, Master Oakenshield,” Lyla replied her voice hushed to a fierce whisper, pressing her pointed finger to his chest, “But you are NOT my king. I’ve had it with the stubbornness of dwarves! You and your blasted pride and ego,” she frowned as her shoulder and chest throbbed painfully (the adrenaline rush was wearing off) “It would do you good to remember that it is the entire company working together to reclaim this mountain, not you alone! We’re all risking our lives to reclaim your kingdom. The least you could do is show some compassion or gratitude!”

“You’re more of a burden than you’re name’s worth Master Baggins,” Thorin retorted pushing past her with a rough shove, “And you’d do well to remember that.” Turning on his heels, he walked towards Gandalf and a strangely clad fellow in brown (‘when had that person arrived?’ Lyla absently contemplated).

If it were anyone else—like Lobelia for instance—then Lyla wouldn’t have hesitated to set them straight, to tell them just how important she was. But this was Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf whose pride and stubbornness ran as deeply as the mountain of gold he was attempting to rescue. There’d be no way to convince him that Lyla was a valuable asset. No, in his eyes, she was nothing but a burden. And that knowledge hurt a lot more than Lyla would’ve cared to admit. So here she stood with one dwarf despises her very existence, and another prepared to go to battle for her (Bofur’s glare at Thorin’s retreating form was enough to convince her of that). And Lyla didn’t know how to feel about it all.

Once Thorin was well away from the small group of dwarves gathered around Bofur and Lyla, Bofur stumbled (slightly) towards her.

“Ignore that ‘king under the mountain’ lad,” Bofur remarked, setting his hand on the small of her back, “We’ll get him sorted out in no time. You’ll see. For now, though, let’s get your injuries tended to, eh?”
Lyla’s eyes widened and her heart sped up in panic. Yes, tending to her injuries…well that posed a problem. While she knew it was wise to get her injuries looked at—especially since they ached something fierce—it would present a rather awkward situation for her since no one actually knew she was…well a she. That was far more questions and inquiries she’d rather not deal with. At least not at the moment anyway. Plus, Gandalf presented her as a male for a purpose (one he only knew of) and if it came out that she was a female, that would only give Thorin more ammunition to sever the contract between them. And even though she was unused to traveling and fighting and basically thriving outside of the Shire, something about this adventure brought her a sense of normalcy, of comfort. She couldn’t give that up. Not now.

“Oh no Bofur, I’m quite alright,” she rasped out, giving a weak smile, “Just a good night sleep is all I need. Yes. That’s the ticket.”

Bofur gave her a questioning look, his eyes narrowing. “Aye laddie, a good night sleep will do ye some good. But only after Oin takes a look at yer shoulder and ribs. And I won’t hear any argument about it. We both could use a good look over.”

“Is this really necessary,” panic welled up in her chest. “I feel fine. Really. No need to fuss. And Thorin-“

“Don’t you worry about Thorin,” Kili chimed in, “If you are injured you need tending to.”

“But-“

“You fell from yer pony and the trees lad!” Bofur exclaimed gesturing to the fallen vegetation, “And I know you were hurtin’ something terrible after the trolls got a hold of ye and I saw that warg take a lovely nip outa yer shoulder. It’s best to get a once over.”

Oh Bofur. Sweet Bofur. His heart resided in the right place, but she just…couldn’t. Despite the injuries she knew were there, she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t prove Thorin right. She couldn’t give up her secret.

Not now.

“Bilbo my dear fellow!” Gandalf’s voice jostled the small group surrounding Bofur and Lyla, “Come here for a moment. I wish to speak with you.”

Lyla blew out the air she didn’t realize she’d been holding and slowly maneuvered past Fili, Kili and Bombur towards Gandalf and the brown clad man standing next to him, grateful to the wizard’s interference for the moment.

Now if she could just convince Bofur and the rest that she was perfectly fine, she’d be golden.

Chapter Text

Avoiding Bofur proved far easier than Lyla originally anticipated. In fact, she didn’t really have to do much to stay away from the hatted dwarf who was being fussed over by Oin. Thanks to Gandalf’s meddlesome person, Lyla was ushered near the wizard’s side. His purpose (he claimed) for calling her near, was to present her with a small sword.

“It’s about your size and it’s of Elvish make which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.”

She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to the small trill of excitement that flittered down her spine as Gandalf placed the cool metal and sheath in her small hands. An Elvish weapon! And an Elvish sword no less! Yes, a sword would come in handy (It would have come in handy before now…when wargs were attacking them) Though…

“But, I’ve never used a sword in my life Gandalf,” she admitted, the ever realistic Baggins side of her keeping her Tookish behavior in check (somewhat).

The wizard, in an almost grandfatherly way replied, “And I hope you never have to. But know this: true courage is not knowing when to take a life, but when to spare one.”
And that was all the advice he gave her. And a fat lot of good it’d do her, her Baggins half whispered. Without any training, she’d probably be dead before she could consider whether or not it was a worthy cause to spare someone’s life. And more than likely, she’d injure herself more than her enemy ever could.

It was a hopeless case really.

But sighing in resignation and unable to part with something so beautiful, taking the sharp object, she carefully belted the sheath of her sword around her hips (mindful of the pain radiating from her ribcage). Lyla followed Gandalf towards the man(?) clad in brown, who smiled brightly at her (and was that bird droppings on his face?) and regarded her person carefully.

“Ah a young earth child!” He exclaimed exuberantly, “It is a most welcome sight to see a young hobbit for I have not had the pleasure of company from your kind in a very long while.”

“Oh, uh, well, it’s nice to meet you I s’pose,” Lyla replied. Who was this man?

“Ah, Bilbo, allow me to introduce to you, Radagast the Brown. Another wizard like myself.”

Brilliant. Another wizard. He must think her daft.

Radagast, however, only smiled. “Gandalf tells me that we must make haste to Rivendell and that you may be the key to convincing your..erm…company of dwarves to comply with this?”

Now Lyla was confused. Why did they need her to convince anyone of anything? Her mind was struggling to move past the constant presence of pain and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. How could she possibly do anything? She shook her head lightly. This was indeed a strange day.

“I don’t really see how I can be of any assistance honestly,” she remarked giving Gandalf a wary glance. The wizard wore a cheerful expression and completely ignored the hobbit’s worried and questioning gaze. What was he up to?

“It’s quite simple my dear,” Gandalf remarked, “All you must do is accompany Radagast on his sleigh and the rest will work itself out. The dwarves are sure to follow after their burglar.”

“Uh-“

“And this way, your injuries won’t be jostled further,” Gandalf gave her a knowing look.

“What-what if the dwarves don’t follow?” She murmured, sucking a small breath, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’m not exactly a favorite member of this company…”

Gandalf smiled gently and nudged her towards the sleigh, “My dear hobbit, all is not how it appears to your eyes. Dwarves are a stubborn lot, it’s true, but often their stubbornness is a ruse to hide their true feelings. Take heart. You’re far more valuable than you realize.”

Radagast was behind her now whistling softly at the rabbits tethered to the sleigh. Each animal jumped quickly to an alert position, waiting expectantly for Radagast’s command. With another low whistled the rabbits darted forward through the underbrush. Lyla gripped the sleigh too late and nearly toppled off had it not been for Radagast’s presence preventing such. Letting out a shriek at the speed they were travelling she was soon dizzy as bushes and trees blended into a multi-colored blur.

“Halfing!” she heard a cacophony of shouts echoing after her—anger, panic, and annoyance lacing the word—as Radagast’s rabbits darted further and further from the dwarves.

“We-we can’t lose them,” she puffed out in a winded whisper, hiding her eyes from the rapidly moving landscape (it was making her nauseous).

Radagast laughed lightly, “Oh we shan’t lose them. These are rosgobel rabbits. They’re quite intelligent you know. Follow directions and whatnot. No. Gandalf thought it best to give the dwarves a bit of a…motivator…to encourage their cooperation.”

“You mean they think I’m being kidnapped, yes?” Somehow she wasn’t surprised

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

‘Oh Gandalf’ Lyla thought dourly, as her stomach lurched painfully as the sled suddenly twisted violently to the left, ‘What a terrible trick!’

The trip ended quite abruptly, though the wizard urged the sled to weave left and right through (what Lyla assumed) trees and rocky terrain. Radagast pulled to a stop suddenly (so suddenly that Lyla nearly toppled over again) and gave another small chuckle.

“Alright, little earth-child, this is where I must leave you. Your companions will arrive shortly,” he remarked cheerfully.

Lyla opened her eyes, expecting to see beautiful buildings and statuesque Elvish men and women gliding about. Instead, she was met with a dark tunnel.

“You aren’t going to Rivendell?” She was confused. Hadn't Gandalf said-?

Radagast laughed somewhat uncomfortably, “No no. I-er-prefer the solitary life. Too much company for my liking. And I had best return to the forest before I’m missed there.”

Lyla stared at him questioningly.

“Rivendell is just through that tunnel there. You’ll follow it down towards an over look and pathway that leads to the heart of the Elrond’s home.

Radagast, much like Gandalf, gently nudged Lyla forward (off the sled) and towards the tunnel. Stumbling forward, she eyed the tunnel warily.

“Couldn’t you just-“ she turned back towards Radagast but realized the wizard has disappeared, nearly silently back towards the forest. “Nevermind.”

Sighing in resignation, Lyla turned once more towards the looming tunnel, neatly ensconced between two large rock faces, and debated on whether or not to enter the dark cavern on her own. The sooner she made it to Rivendell, the sooner she could assess the damage to her shoulder and torso. But, would the dwarves find her?

“Halfing!”

Well, it seemed they already had.

Lyla whipped around once more (still careful to not jostle her protesting body) and gazed in wonder (and amusement) as the dwarves lumbered towards her, weapons drawn, and fury written in their features. Gandalf trailed leisurely behind a small smile on his face and using his staff as a cane.

Dwalin and Bofur were the first to reach her, Bofur engulfing her into a tight hug (much to her surprise) and Dwalin peering at her carefully, his eyes narrowed and assessing.

“Did ‘e hurt you? Are ye injured further?” Bofur’s hands were roaming her shoulders and arms (carefully) gazing for signs of malicious handling.

“N-no I’m, ah, alright, just a bit shaken.”

“I’d say so!” Kili exclaimed coming towards her, “Your shout startled all the birds from the area! We thought you’d been taken by orcs or something.”

The heat returned to Lyla’s ears and neck as she gazed at the ground while Kili only laughed and clapped her lightly on the back. It was embarrassing enough, being carted off by a decidedly odd wizard under the guise of kidnapping, but to have made such a noise in fright! Oh bother it all.

She chanced a glance back at Thorin, dreading the reaction she’d receive from him. His attention however was directed, not at the battered hobbit, but back towards the tall grey wizard, strolling calmly towards the company.

“What is the meaning of this!” he thundered, “You have our burglar kidnapped? And for what exactly?”

Gandalf chuckled, “I did no such thing. As you can see master Baggins is quite safe and sound. I do, however, suggest we move towards the tunnel before any more scouting parties come after us.”
“Wizard!” Thoring rumbled, standing tall and proud, “My men and I are not stepping foot inside that tunnel. Not until you give us some answers.”

“It’s quite simple really,” Gandalf murmured, completely unruffled, “That tunnel leads us towards safer paths where we may rest and tend to our wounded or did you forget, Thorin Oakenshield, that at least two of your company require attention?”

Thorin shot Lyla a deep scowl, obviously still blaming her for the resulting injuries, but sighed in defeat at Gandalf’s logic. He was wise enough to concede that arguing with a wizard was a futile mission.

“Fine. Lead on then.”

Gandalf replied with a deep hum of approval and walked past the exiled king and the rest of the company and into the dark passageway. Slowly, the rest of the company filed in after the wizard, one by one (because the pathway was too small) and carefully made their way through the darkened path. Lyla could make out a small blue light coming from the top of Gandalf’s staff and relied on that to navigate as she marched slowly between Dwalin in front of her and Bofur behind, the latter dwarf’s hands resting gently on the small hobbit’s shoulders.

After a few short minutes, a light loomed ahead of the company, higher than even Gandalf’s towering form and a collective murmur of relief whirled through the company as they slowly continued to move forward. As they got closer to what Lyla assumed was the exit point of the narrow passageway, her sensitive ears began to pick up soft snatches of birdsong and the soft rush of water flowing gently. A soft breeze blew past the company and Lyla inhaled the scents of tree blossoms and warm grass, her tense muscles beginning to relax at the familiar scents. A smile slowly crept on her face.

That smile, though, would be replaced by a gape of amazement and wonder as she stepped into the sunshine and gazed at the valley below her.

“Oh.”

Carefully hidden away from the outside world, sat a beautifully situated settlement. Lyla scanned the area, noting the delicate architecture that blended with the natural backgrounds, vines creeping up pillars and flowering trees lining walkways. Water poured from the mountain faces and small streams wound throughout much of the settlement itself. Lyla closed her eyes in contentment at the sight.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf remarked cheerfully, “In the common tongue it’s known by another name…”

“Rivendell,” she whispered, excitement and peace bubbling up inside of her. She’d always wanted to travel to Rivendell.

“This was your plan all along,” Thorin growled and Lyla opened her eyes, noting the dwarf’s furious glare focused on the wizard. “To seek refuge with our enemies!”

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf sighed exasperatedly, “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!”

Lyla’s widened in surprise at Gandalf’s tone towards the dwarf king.

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin contended, less furious this time, “They will try to stop us.” He almost sounded pained.

“Of course they will,” Gandalf replied as though her were talking to a small child, “But, we have questions that need to be answered.”

He had a point and Thorin knew it.

“If we are to be successful,” Gandalf eyed Thorin, “This must be handled with tack and respect. And no small degree of charm…which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

And thus the company moved forward towards the heart of Rivendell, Lyla’s eyes soaking in every color and tiny detail, her heart feeling more at ease than it had in many days. So caught up in the general splendor surrounding her that she nearly forgot about the radiating pain in her shoulder and torso. Almost. She gazed above her at the archways and the delicate engravings adorning each piece of architecture, admiring the beauty the Elves created.

So caught up in gazing at her surroundings was she that she was thrown off balance when Bofur grabbed her shirt roughly and shoved her into the center of the company, whose weapons were drawn. The pain, once nearly forgotten, came back in full force and sweat erupted on Lyla brow as she bit back a small groan. She was, however, able to distract herself as at least half a dozen elves clopped towards the band of dwarves, riding their large stallions. The beasts pranced around the smaller folk, with the elves (clad in armor) eyeing them warily. One elf, a dark haired fellow adorned with a burgundy breastplate, leapt from his horse and embraced Gandalf.

“Lord Elrond,” the wizard greeted warmly.

The two exchanged pleasantries in Sindarin, the meaning lost on the entire company, including Lyla (though she noted how fluid and musical the language sounded in her ear). And then the elf turned his gaze on the dwarves huddled before him. Spotting Thorin he slowing walked forward.

“Welcome Thorin son of Thrain,” he replied with an air of mutual respect.

Thorin narrowed his eyes, questioningly, “I do not believe we have met.”

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” Elrond replied, “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed,” Thorin almost sneered, “He made no mention of you.”

“Nartho I noer, toltho I viruvor. Boe I annam vann a nethail vin,” Elrond remarked gazing back towards Gandalf.

The dwarves, clearly offended at Elrond’s ‘unitelligable’ speech started murmuring and bristling at the presence of the other elves around them.

“What does he say?! Does he offer us insult!” Gloing exclaimed pushing forward, axe in hand.

Gandalf chuckled, “No master Gloin, he’s offering you food.”

The company converged together whispering and casting suspicious glances towards Elrond and Gandalf. Lyla suspected they were not sure if they could trust the elves or not.
Gloin cleared his throat as they pulled apart. “Well, in that case, lead on.”

Lyla would have chuckled if it wouldn’t arouse suspicion that she was sympathetic towards a race that the dwarves clearly did not affiliate with.

As they followed after Gandalf and Elrond, Bofur’s grip only tightened on Lyla’s shoulder. On either side of her, too, stood dwarves, Fili and Kili flanking her sides and Dwalin and Gloin walking ahead of her. She was surrounded. It was rather…

Odd.

Especially considering that she wasn’t a member of the company. Not really. Sure Bofur admitted to liking her. But most of the others didn’t even bother to associate with her. More than likely due to her not truly being a dwarf. She was just an outsider in their eyes. She didn’t really belong did she? At least that’s what Thorin insinuated.

She was immensely grateful when Elrond offered rooms to the dwarves and Lyla and though most of the company refused separate from one another, she jumped at the chance for a few moments alone before their meal. It would give her ample chance to clean up and assess her injuries away from prying eyes.

Bofur started to protest her departure until Oin loudly proclaimed that the hatted dwarf still needed assessing. Tugging the miner towards himself, the elderly physician tutted and complained at irresponsible behavior. The two slowly worked their way through the crowded hallway into the large room Elrond had conceded to give the dwarves. Much of the company started to follow, sending wary glances between the elves waiting for Lyla and the hobbit herself. Perhaps they fancied she’d be carted off again?

“Oi but you need to take a gander at master Baggins. He’s in worse shape than I!” Bofur proclaimed loudly, trying to scramble backwards towards the paling hobbit. She needed to sit down soon. She was getting dizzy.

“Master Baggins?” Oin questioned, shooting a glance her way, “Aye we’ll take a peek at him once you’ve been sorted. Now off with ye.” He lightly shoved Bofur forward.

In the chaos, however, Lyla was able to slip past Dori and Nori before anyone could reach her and hurried down the hall, the Elves trailing alongside her—shooting curious glances—but remaining silent. The anxious miner’s voice slowly faded into the background and Lyla felt a pang of guilt and she hoped that Bofur would forgive her.

With a relieved sigh, she pushed into the room the two stalwart (and silent) elves pointed her too, giving her thanks to Elrond and their assistance. She was momentarily distracted by the muted beauty of the architecture. The light rose coloring on the walls matched the small blanket stretched on the bed. Cream colored pillows cool and inviting were perched on top of the blanket beckoning Lyla’s tired body forward.

At the moment sleep sounded far more appealing than food.

First, though, she needed to get cleaned up and spying a large basin with cool crisp water and linens waiting on the table in the far corner, her spirits rose.

Unfortunately, her pack had been lost on Myrtle so she had no clean clothing to change into but that wouldn’t stop her from getting as clean as she could.

Wary of the door and unexpected visitors, she quickly glanced around before slowly removing Dwalin’s cloak (filthy and bloodstained to her annoyance) and then her red jacket and green vest, hissing at the movements and panting for breath. She hazarded a glance at her shoulder where the warg tore through her clothing and into her flesh and nearly gagged at the sight. The fabric on her shoulder was caked in blood and sticking to her skin. She pulled down her suspender straps and, shuddering, slowly unbuttoned her shirt and as carefully as she could, removed her arms from the sleeves and dropped the clothing to the floor.

By now her breathing was coming in gasps and, with the decreased adrenaline, she felt every prickle of pain coursing through her body. Again she cringed as she observed her torso. The bindings around her chest were digging painfully into her skin that was turning a deep shade of purple. She needed to remove the bindings.

Carefully, she unwound the bandages and gave a shudder of relief as her lungs expanded and her breathing came easier. And for a moment she sank to the floor and reveled in the pure exhaustion and relief she felt at no longer having to hide. She never would have suspected that Gandalf's ruse would be so difficult.

A loud banging interrupted her thoughts and she gave out a startled squeak of surprise and scrambled to her feet with a groan darting to grab her things.

“Halfling open the door.”

She didn’t have time to put the bindings and shirt back on, so she hastily threw the cloak around her shoulders, grasping the edges to conceal her body and shuffled to the door as another loud pound erupted against the wood.

“Hobbit! Open up.”

Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open an small degree and peeked her head around the edge.

“Master Dwalin?” She questioned hesitantly as the hulking dwarf stared her down.

“Aye lassie. It’s best if ye let me in before the rest of the company comes looking for you. We’d best have a chat aye?”

Lassie?

Oh no.

Chapter Text

Several thoughts crossed Lyla’s mind in that silent moment, as she stared at Dwalin’s expectant face. The first thought she considered was the attempt to run. She was small enough that she might be able to slip past the dwarf and dart a good distance before he could start towards her. But she didn’t think her tender ribs could take the abuse. Not to mention the fact that she was shirtless. Such a display would hardly appeal to the better nature of her hosts (and Dwarves!) No no indeed she didn’t need THAT type of attention (nor such a spectacular way to blow her cover). And she was fairly certain that her father would roll over in his grave if something like that happened to his only daughter.

Another thought she entertained was to simply slam the door in the dwarf’s face and hurriedly lock it before he could get it open. Though, as she gazed at Dwalin with his taught arms, thick fists and steel boots, his battle axes slung over his shoulder, she knew this would be a foolish pursuit. He could either stop the slamming door with his boot or chop the offending wood with one of his axes if he so desired. And if nothing else, the sheer muscle force in his arms could loosen the wood from the hinges in short order.

‘And what a shame that would be’ Lyla mused, ‘The door is rather beautiful’

No, she sighed in resignation, there was really only one option. First things first though…

“Just, uh give me a moment master Dwalin,” she murmured blushing at her current state of undress, “Let me make myself presentable if you please.”

However, Dwalin didn’t seem to consider her request as an excuse to avoid the impending conversation and pushed his way into the room anyway.
Lyla blushed scarlet from her toes to ears and clutched the cloak (Dwalin’s cloak!) tighter around her frame.

“Ex-excuse me! I don’t really think this is a-appropriate!” She stammered, her face aflame.

Regardless of her protests, though, heavy footfalls entered her small sanctuary. She heard a loud ‘thwump’ and hazarded a glance into the room, noting the dwarf sprawled out on her bed (and he was filthy too!).

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be calling my actions inappropriate lassie,” Dwalin muttered (though he had the decency to keep his eyes closed), “I’m not the one deceiving a company of dwarves, s'pecially one who could end yer 'burglaring career' right quick, if ye follow me. Hurry and dress yerself then. Balin’s the one with patience, not me.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Lyla quickly grabbed her filthy, bloodstained shirt and turned, facing away from Dwalin’s reclined form. Dropping the heavy cloak, she quickly (or as quickly as she could) threw the shirt around her shoulders, shoving her arms through the designated holes and fumbled to work the buttons up. Her fingers were shaking so badly—from a mixture of embarrassment, exhaustion and pain and fear—that her usually nimble fingers couldn’t function properly. As it was, it was taking far longer than normal to perform such a menial task.

She had successfully gotten the first three buttons done, when a grumble of annoyance filtered towards her ears. Dwalin sighed in frustration and she heard him approach, his footfalls matching the hammering of her heart.

“Come here burglar,” He muttered lowly, turning the startled hobbit around (carefully) to face him. She was grateful she HAD managed to get most of the buttons done up (successfully covering her chest and most of her stomach), though that didn’t lessen her embarrassment as Dwalin grabbed her. She simply wasn’t used to being handled this way!
Grasping her shirt forward he deftly buttoned the remaining pieces of her shirt together and then pushed the hobbit back towards the bed.

“I think it best if ye sit down a few moments. Don’t need you fainting on me before we’ve had our talk.”

Lyla nodded mutely and slowly clamored on the bed. Dwalin, spotting a chair in the far corner plopped himself down and peered at the nervous hobbit carefully.

“I suggest ye start talking before I decide to inform Thorin of this little…deception of yours aye lass?” Dwalin, it appeared, wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He stared at her expectantly before his eyes narrowed, “And don’t think of denying the truth lass, it’s as plain as the freckles on yer face.”

Was it really that obvious? Had her ruse really not amounted to much?

“Well…I-uh…” Lyla wrapped her arms around herself (hoping to disappear from the piercing gaze of the warrior dwarf before her, “It-Gandalf suggested that it be best if I-“

Dwalin swore, then, and leapt to his feet and started pacing about the room clenching and unclenching his fists, “That wizard!” he grumbled heatedly, “Always playing tricks and deceiving. He can’t be trusted I tell you!” he swiveled his gaze back to Lyla, “WHY did he suggest ye disguise yerself? What does ‘e mean by sending out a young hobbit lady to the wild under the guise of a male name? What’s his plan then lass, eh?”

Lyla didn’t really have an answer to that. She suspected that it was because the company wouldn’t take kindly to a female member of the company. But, she couldn’t say for sure what the definitive reason behind Gandalf’s actions was.

“I-er-I’m not really sure…” she trailed off, “I guess he wanted to make certain I was coming along I s’pose.”

Dwalin stopped pacing and stared at Lyla and grumbled something unintelligible to the hobbit’s ears, before plopping back down into the chair he had vacated only moments before.

“Yer sure he doesn’t have another motive for lying?”

When Lyla shook her head in a solid ‘no’ Dwalin grumbled something in the dwarvish language Lyla had heard a few times around the campfire. “That wizard,” he spat the word, “doesn’t know a thing about dwarves then I reckon.”

Lyla was confused. Apparently dwarves like to speak in riddles.

Dwalin stared at her for a moment and then sighed, “Female folk, at least for the dwarves, as well respected. There bein’ so few of them, they’ve had to learn to survive, so it’s no surprise if a female dwarf goes along in a company or down into the mines ter work and earn their keep. They aren’t gentle folk. They are hardy lasses who know how to wield a sword.”

“Oh.”

Dwalin snorted at her response, “Fili and Kili’s mother, Dis, now she was a warrior.” His eyes softened at the mention of the lady. “She bested her own brother in the fighting ring. Ye didn’t want to mess with that lass. She was a force to be reckoned with.”

“Her brother?”

Dwalin fixed her with a firm look, a smirk playing on his lips, “Aye, her brother. Thorin.”
Oh.

Oh!

Lyla’s eyes widened at the thought of Thorin’s sister (his sister!) besting him at fighting. The dwarf who represented all things rough and battle-hardened, had been bested by his sister!

It was a comforting notion to say the least.

“Aye, lasses can be fierce warriors,” Dwalin scanned her face, “in most cases. Which is why I figure that two-faced wizard concocted this disguise of yours.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Lyla murmured, unable to tear her gaze away from the dwarf’s battled hardened one, confused and intrigued by the dwarf's assertions.

Dwalin snorted again and quirked his eyebrow at Lyla, “Oh don’t you? I didn’t take you for a simpleton MASTER Baggins. I thought you were smarter than that. No, I think Gandalf decided to disguise your gender to convince Thorin that you were a valuable MALE asset to this company.”

What?

The blank stare Lyla gave Dwalin made the surly dwarf grumble in annoyance. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and he gazed long and hard at the hobbit curled up on the bed.

“The wild is no place for those who cannot fight nor fend for themselves. And womenfolk who cannot defend themselves certainly wouldn’t convince Thorin to include them in his company, no matter how deceptively charming that wizard can be. We dwarves are protective of women, regardless of whether they can defend themselves or not. But a woman unskilled in weapons and fighting is the type that should not be traveling to meet a dragon. A male could be excused for their inability to fight and taught how to properly defend themselves. Thorin would accept that. Somewhat.” Dwalin sighed, then and rubbed his temples closing his eyes briefly, “But not you. He’d never accept YOU.”

Lyla felt the sting of truth run through her veins at Dwalin’s words. She wasn’t cut out for adventuring. It was far more dangerous and terrifying than she had supposed and she was floundering to earn her keep amongst her fellow company members. Thorin had made that clear. And Thorin never would have accepted her (HER) no matter how marginally, if it weren’t for Gandalf’s ruse.

With a defeated sigh Lyla closed her eyes and leaned her head back on decorative headboard of the bed.

“I’m sorry to have deceived you all. Truly,” She whispered tiredly, “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins. I suppose I should have never run out my door. I should never have listened to Gandalf. This was a mistake.”

Dwalin gave a grumpy ‘hmph’ and Lyla opened her eyes, her hazel ones meeting his brown (hidden beneath large brows that were knit together in a contemplative gaze aimed at the hobbit upon the bed) “I may have said that you can’t trust a wizard but I never said that you shouldn’t follow his counsel. He appointed YOU to this company. You were his choice and though we may not know the reason, I believe he see something in ye that we have yet to discover. Perhaps there’s a lot more to hobbits than meets the eye and ye have a lot more to offer than any of us know. Including yerself.”

“But I can’t even-“

Dwalin held up his hand, “If ye look about the company you will see many different dwarves with different problems. Bifur. Bifur can’t communicate exceptin’ in Khuzdul makin’ it hard ter understand him sometimes. And Fili and Kili,” Dwalin rolled his eyes, “Those two young pups are hardly fit to enter battle. They’re barely old enough to be considered adults in our culture.”

Fili and Kili? Really?

“Truly?”
Dwalin smiled (and Lyla was speechless because of it), “Aye it be true lass. We’re a rag tag bunch of dwarves off te fight a dragon. I guess that makes you a perfect fit for our company aye?”

Lyla was speechless as she observed the dwarf before her. She never in her entire existence would have pegged Dwalin for the comforting type and yet he sat before her telling her that she belonged in the company. Just as Bofur had. Her chest tightened and a warmth spread through her veins at his words.

“But what about…that is…are you going to inform the others of my-er-of the truth?”

Dwalin shook his head, much to Lyla’s surprise. “I think it best if Gandalf gets his way fer now lass. I don’t know his plans but I’ll not be contendin’ against a wizard.” He fixed her with a firm glare, “But if ye jeopardize this mission, don’t think I won’t hesitate to inform Thorin of yer deception. Clear?”

Who was she to argue with that? She nodded in quick agreement.

“I-er-that is…thank you. For-for understanding I s'pose.” She smiled hesitantly completely baffled by the turn of events the evening had brought. It just proved that this day was marked as one of the most bizarre of her life.

Dwalin cleared his throat and straightened up at her voice, “Yes…well then it’s time for ye to start earnin’ yer keep in the company.”

“But I-you just said-haven’t I helped?” She MAY have felt a little indignant at that comment.

Dwalin snorted again and cracked his knuckles, the sound making Lyla’s heart jump (and reminding her once more that one of the toughest creatures to cross her path held her fate in his calloused hands). “Aye you’ve helped in camp, but ye are still untrained and unskilled with a weapon. Yer a liability until ye learn to defend yerself. And I’ll not be lettin’ Thorin’s quest falter because of the weakness of the young hobbit lass dressed up as a man.”

True.

Lyla sighed in resignation at that comment.

“What must I do?”

“We’ll start yer trainin’ in a few days once you’ve rested up a bit and properly healed up that shoulder and ribs of yers. And don’t go thinkin’ you’ve been sly and keepin’ the truth from those of us who are observant," He quirked his eyebrow at her, ”Aye lass, I may not look it, but I’m clearly the smartest of the group.”

Lyla gaped at him though she did acknowledge that the rough-cut dwarf had a point. Out of all of them, he was the one to figure out the truth first.
Really she figured it'd be Dori, or Balin or Ori. One of the more contemplative, thinkers of the group. Not this battle-worn, tattooed giant of a warrior who sat quite smugly before her.

And what an interesting notion it was really.

Chapter Text

“Ouch!”
Dwalin let out a low grumble of annoyance.
“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d hold still Halfling.”
Once they’d established that Dwalin was not, in fact, going to relate his discovery to Thorin, the hulking dwarf insisted upon attending to Lyla’s numerous scrapes and bruises. He had stood and started to pull various pouches of fine power and herbs from the many confines of his person (she wasn’t going to ask just how many different hiding places he possessed) along with several crisp white bandages.
“How did you…?”
Dwalin snorted in amusement, “I nicked them from Oin when he wasn’t lookin’.” He gave her a pointed look, “I was figgerin’ you didn’t want anyone else to know about your…condition aye?”
Lyla nodded in apt agreement, “Yes…that would be…best I think. Though I don’t really need you to look after-“
“No. None of that,” Dwalin cut her off, “I know yer hurt and if I don’t tend to those bites and scrapes and whatever else yer hidin’ then things could take a nasty turn.”
“But I’m perfectly-“
“Don’t make me pin you down hobbit. I’ll not warn ye again. Now relax.”
And that was that really. Lyla couldn’t very well argue with a dwarf who appeared to be twice her size. It would have been a futile fight and she deemed keeping what little she had left of her dignity in tact thank you very much.
Dwalin, though, sensing the hesitancy, was very considerate to not reveal more of her should or torso than absolutely necessary. He asked her to unbutton the uppermost buttons of her shirt and slid her arm out of the sleeve and then he carefully maneuvered her arm out of the shirt so he could assess the damage.
He gave a low whistled at the oozing bite marks, “I’d say yer in a fair amount of pain,” He muttered bringing the wash basin closer and proceeded to clean her wounds.
Which led to her jerking movements and exclamations of pain.
When he she shied away from his touch a third time, Dwalin huffed and gave Lyla a firm look, “Now ye best hold still. I don’t have patience for this and times wastin’. If yer willing to blow yer secret then keep movin’, otherwise hold still.”
Lyla tried to steel her nerves after that. To be honest, Dwalin’s glare was a fearsome thing to behold and she didn’t want to tempt her chances of maintaining such a strong ally so soon.

Her nerves couldn’t prevent the hiss of pain escaping her lips as Dwalin applied a poultice to the lacerations on her shoulder.
‘Lacerations. Hmm..at least this particular injury had been covered in the contract’ she mused drily.
“There,” Dwalin whispered triumphantly, “Done. Now take care not to jostle yer shoulder too much or all my work will be for naught. Now onto yer ribs.”
He quickly—though gently—unbuttoned a few of the bottom buttons of her shirt and shifted the article of clothing upward to get a better look at her stomach.
Lyla tried to stop the blush. Really she did. But the red hue proudly stained her cheeks, declaring to the world just how embarrassed she was.
That is, until, Dwalin pressed lightly on her ribs. Then, the color drained from her face and she let out a low groan of pain.
Dwalin muttered something quietly and pressed again, this time in a new spot.
The same response bubbled up from Lyla’s lips.
“Hmm..” The dwarf murmured sitting back, “Well it doesn’t appear that you’ve broken anything, though there may be a crack or two. The best I can do is give you a poultice for the pain and a draught te help ye sleep tonight.”
“You came prepared didn’t you?” Lyla whispered with a pained gasp, unable to lift her head from the cushions of her bed.
“Well, Oin did anyway.” She chuckled at his response.
Mixing a few of the powders together in his hand, Dwalin poured a little bit of water into the mixture, and slowly worked his index finger into the mix, creating an unusual green paste. Once we was satisfied with the consistency he turned back towards Lyla’s torso and gently rubbed the cold mixture onto her stomach.
Then, after, cleaning his fingers, he grabbed the remaining bandages and lifted Lyla forward enough to wrap them around her middle.
If she was red before, she most certainly was cherry-colored now.
Dwalin, to his credit, didn’t acknowledge it.
When the bandages were snuggly tucked around her torso, Dwalin gently laid the hobbit back down and gazed at her face for a moment contemplating.
“It’s best if ye get some food in yer belly. Helps to stave off fever and infection. And, we don’t need the other te ask questions before they’re due aye?” His eyes drifted to her shoulder, “And we’d best get ye something new to wear. Yer shirt’s well done for and I’ll not have ye passing out because yer trying to disguise…” he trailed off a little gruffly, clearing his throat, “Ye can borrow one of mine. It’ll be plenty big.”
Lyla nodded, “I-erm-thank you master Dwalin.” She appreciated the generosity despite her embarrassment.
“Don’t mention it lass,” Dwalin muttered gruffly rising to his feet (and Lyla half wondered what would happen if she did, in fact, mention his kind nature). “I’ll be back in a minute with yer shirt. Stay put and let that poultice work.”
Lyla wasn’t about ready to move so she nodded her head and closed her eyes, listening to the heavy footfalls of Dwalin’s boots and then the almost too forceful opening and shutting of her door.
She let out a long low breath as her muscles slowly relaxed and the pain in her torso and shoulder started to subside. The paste Dwalin had administered felt cool and calming on her skin, like crisp water from a lazy stream, washing over her body. Each knot and throbbing stab of pain slowly ebbed away as the paste continued to emanate a cool radiating pressure on her.
It was a glorious feeling.
But with this relief from pain came the opportunity for Lyla’s mind to start running at full speed. Thoughts flitted through her head at an alarming rate. So many questions bubbled to the surface, begging for answers.
And when Dwalin returned with a rather large blue woolen shirt with a matching coat and belt, Lyla carefully approached her list of questions.
“How did you know about-about the truth?” she murmured accepting the clothing and carefully rising from the bed, Dwalin having to steady her shaky footing.
Dwalin, the gruff and ferocious dwarf that he was, seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking sheepish (sheepish!).
“Eh-well it wasn’t hard really. You-ah-when it rained I first suspected your secret because you were too slight of build to be male. Of course I wrote that off as a difference between hobbits and dwarves, but throughout our travels I noticed other things too. Ye’d sleep farther away from the company and ye'd constantly fiddle with the buttons on yer jacket always trying to cover yer chest. And then...ye'd slip away during our rests to, ah, relieve yerself…” he trailed off. He really didn’t need to finish the sentence.
Was she really that obvious?
“I’m surprised no one else noticed,” she muttered with a frown as Dwalin turned his back so she could put the shirt and coat on.
Dwalin remained silent.
True to her assessment, the shirt swam on her, falling to her knees, with the worn sleeves reaching to her fingertips. The tattered blue jacket wasn’t much better, the blue sleeves falling well past her finger’s reach. But they were clean and warm…and comforting .
She grabbed the large brown belt from the floor and wrapped it around her waist (low enough to disguise her figure) and tried to cinch the thick leather together.
It would have dropped from her waist, clattering to the floor.
Dwalin turned around with a ‘hmph’ and a muttered comment about skinny little hobbits with no meat on their bones and grabbed the belt from Lyla’s hands. Eying the belt with a scowl, he reached into his boot and drew out a long silver knife and added a few more notches to the worn leather. Without a word he wrapped the belt around her waist and carefully buckled it around her frame. It hung loosely on her hips, relieving any and all pressure on her torso and shoulder.
“Thank you.”
It seemed she was saying that a lot today.
Dwalin just shook his head. “We best head down to dinner so yer not missed. Bofur was pitchin’ a fit when last I saw him.”
Yes. Bofur. The others. She’d have to see them soon enough.
“Lead the way then,” she muttered with a sigh.
This was going to be a long night. She was certain of it.
*************************************************************************************
Dwalin’s heavy footfalls clamored ahead of Lyla’s as they slowly meandered down the tapestry-filled halls towards the dining hall. Lyla could hear snatches of music softly winding through the air—a flute and a harp—creating a delicate, airy melody that described the character of the elves perfectly (at least to Lyla’s estimation that is).
The pair remained silent for the most part. Occasionally, Dwalin would make a low mutter in his native tongue, but no conversation was exchanged between the two of them.
But something niggled in Lyla’s brain refusing to abate and leave her in peace. And the closer they got to the dining hall, the more persistent the niggling became.
“Master Dwalin, I have to ask,” she stopped in the hallway. Dwalin turned to face her, his features schooled into an unreadable mask. Lyla took a breath, “I have to ask, why. Why are you protecting my secret? What do you gain from keeping this from Thorin?”
“I thought I told ye I wasn’t going to argue with a wizard. It’s bad form to do that,” he replied giving her a quizzical look, his bushy brows knit in confusion.
“I know that,” she replied in a rush, “But I want to know why you’re giving me this chance. I’m nobody to you, so-so why do you care about protecting me?”
Dwalin stared at her for a moment, carefully assessing her face, his eyes jumping from feature to feature (nose, mouth, chin, eyes) and then with a small sigh, his gaze dropped. “I don’t profess to fully understand your motives for this quest, but I do understand that everyone deserves a chance te prove themselves. I’ll not be takin’ that away from ye. Maybe ye can return the favor with some of yer scones then, aye?”
“Oh. Well-I-that…” she was at a loss for words. He'd protect her secret. He'd give her a chance. (and scones? Really?)
Dwalin cleared his throat. “Let’s get some food, aye lass? No more talk tonight.”
She nodded her head and the pair entered the double mahogany doors where inside, the quiet murmur of voices and the clatter of dishes resonated.
Dwalin entered first, his firm footsteps causing the company (who sat huddled around a large table piled with various vegetables and breads and cheeses) to look up from their meals. Their gaze drifted from Dwalin’s person to Lyla’s and back again. Balin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he took in what she was wearing.
Bofur leapt to his feet.
“Bilbo! Where’ve ye be hidin’ away? I want Oin to take a look at you,” he grabbed onto her shoulders, mindful of her injury, and gazed down at her attire, “And where did ye get these things?” he questioned taking in her too large coat and rolled sleeves.
“They’re mine,” Dwalin’s gravelly voice grumbled above the soft music. All heads turned towards the warrior who sat scowling at the food selection.
“But-“ Began Dori.
“Master Baggins was in need of new clothing so I lent him my old coat and shirt,” Dwalin growled.
“His injuries?” Bofur questioned.
“Taken care of. Now let’s eat, aye?” Dwalin’s temper was rising and he demanded no further questioning.
“Aye, come on Bilbo and sit by me then?” Bofur gave Lyla a smile and carefully led her to an empty seat between himself and Bifur. Once she was seated the low hum of voices resumed, though several members of the company shot her curious glances. Thorin’s gaze, thankfully, was drawn towards Lord Elrond who appeared to be studying Thorin’s sword (‘Orcrist’ he called it). She was spared further glares from the leader of their company. At least for now. The other members though, didn’t hesitate to gaze unabashed at Lyla’s dress.
‘So much for blending in’ she thought with a huff
Instead of focusing on the questioning looks and low murmur going on around her, she turned her attention to the food on the table. She knew she should be hungry. She was a hobbit after all (an underfed hobbit mind you). But her stomach was still in knots and she didn’t think she could stomach very much.
Bofur had other ideas.
“Here ye are lad!” He chattered, piling her plate high with breads and cheeses, “The salads not to my taste but the bread’s mighty fine and it’ll get yer strength up.” He poured a burgundy liquid into her goblet, “Can’t have ye losing strength after today’s adventure!”
He stopped then and gazed at her for a moment and then whispered quietly.
“I never did properly thank ye for saving me life Master Baggins. It’s a debt I’ll not easily forget and it’s one that I’ll eagerly repay.”
What?
“You don’t have to repay anything!” she exclaimed in a rushed whisper, “You saved my life too remember. I’d say we’re even on that score.”
Bofur considered her words for a moment, “Aye, I suppose so, but don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ yer kindness.”
“Nor I yours Master Bofur. Believe me.”
He gave Lyla a bright smile and the hobbit felt a twinge of guilt shoot through her at her deception. How could she tell him though? Would he still accept her if she did?
“Now!” Bofur’s voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts, “Ye must answer this question for me then.”
“Okay.” She hesitated.
“How did ye convince that old sour-faced dwarf Dwalin to tend to yer shoulder AND lend his clothes?”
“Yeah!” Kili cut in, overhearing Bofur’s questions, “He’s never nice like that to me.”
“Or me,” Fili joined in.
“How’d you do it then?” Kili’s curiosity was insatiable.
“What does it matter?!” Dwalin snapped, shooting a glare at Kili and then to Fili and Bofur, “What I do is my business and ye’d do better to leave yer noses out of it!” Grabbing a few loaves of bread, the dwarf rose, battle axes still slung over his shoulders, and testily escaped the confines of the dining hall.
Lyla felt her ears heat up and heard Bofur chuckle at Dwalin’s outburst.
“I best leave that questioning alone then?” He chuckled, “Just wanted te rile ‘im up a bit.” He winked at Lyla, who suppressed her own smile.

Chapter Text

Dwalin really couldn’t have known that he was giving Lyla too much of the draught mixture. Really he couldn’t. And, in his defense, he’d never dealt with a hobbit patient before. Let alone, what he deemed to be, a frightfully small hobbit patient.

So it came as a cause for concern among the company, when their burglar didn’t appear for breakfast the next morning.

Initially, Bofur wrote her absence off as exhaustion, but when lunch rolled around and neither hide nor hair of the young hobbit had been seen by anyone, both Dwalin and Bofur became concerned and determined to root out the location of their Halfling.

Perhaps she’d been carted off by the elves for safe keeping?

Dwalin marched down to Lyla’s room with Bofur, Oin, Fili, and Kili trailing in his wake. Reaching the ornate door, his knuckle dusters scraped at the door as he pounded his fist on the thick wood.

“Halfling,” he bellowed, “Open up.”

Silence.

Dwalin tried again, pounding on the door harder, “Halfing, are ye in there?”

Silence.

Perhaps she really had been carted off by the elves. Dwalin's scowl deepened at the thought.

Foregoing another round of knocking on the door as a waste of time, Dwalin jiggled the handle and found the room to be unlocked.
He didn’t hesitate to barge in, the others following in his wake, a cacophony of limbs and grunts as they stumbled through the door.

The room was dark, except for a few rays of light filtering in through the curtains and the doorway. And not a sound flitted through the hobbit’s temporary sanctuary.

Except for the low hum of breathing.

There, under the monstrously large blanket, curled up with a large pillow a head of curly golden hair peeked out from the bedding.

Blast it all the hobbit WAS still sleeping!

“Oi Bilbo!” Bofur chortled with a large grin, “Time te get up laddie! You’ve nigh slept the day away.”

When the hobbit made no movement of acknowledgement, Bofur approached the sleeping creature and gently shook Lyla’s shoulder.

Still no response.

“Halfling!” Dwalin thundered also striding towards the bed. He shook the young hobbit a little more forcefully than Bofur had (though gentle enough not to harass the injuries the hobbit was nursing).

Nothing.

“How much of that stuff did ye give ‘im?” Bofur exclaimed as they watched the hobbit sleep peacefully on, oblivious to the audience that was gathered around the bed.

“Aye, I think we’ve gone and given ‘im too much draught for his small body te handle there Dwalin,” Oin muttered, ear trumpet picking up the conversation though his attention was turned towards the hobbit. Dwalin sent a glare his way, but Oin kindly chose to ignore the offended dwarf. Instead, he checked the pulse point on the wrist staring intently at the sleeping form nestled on the bed. Finding things to be satisfactory he grunted in approval and turned back towards the rest of the dwarves, “The lad’ll be sleepin’ a good long while I wager. Maybe a few hours extra. And he’ll be mighty groggy, but no harm’s been done so it’s best to just wait it out and let the lad sleep.”

Dwalin muttered a few choice obscenities in Khuzdul, “Aye, best let Thorin know we’ll be here at least another day,” he muttered in a defeated tone of annoyance. And as much as he hated to admit it, Dwalin knew he’d be the one to have to tell Thorin.

Though his admission of guilt didn’t stop him from cuffing Kili’s ear when the younger dwarf started to laugh.

He’d admit his mistake, but he wouldn’t be laughed at.

At least his oversight would only cost a few hours.
****************************
It was two days before Lyla opened her eyes blearily and stifled a yawn.

“Oi yer awake!” Bofur’s voice exclaimed as a dark blur clambered towards her. Lyla rubbed at her sleep-drenched eyes to bring them back to focus as warm arms encircled her shoulders.

“Er,” She coughed trying to clear her throat (Bofur placed a cup of water into her hand) “Yes. Sorry. I’ve never had a pain draught before. I suppose I slept a tad longer than normal.”
She took a long swig of the cool water and then rubbed her eyes again. Slowly the world came back into focus.

She noticed Bofur perched on a chair near the foot of her bed, a large smile lighting up his face.

“A tad longer?” he mimicked her language, “I’d say ye nearly gave Dwalin a fit with how long ye slept! He’s been stompin’ up and down the hall mutterin’ about ingratitude and finicky hobbit needs. ‘Course he’s the one that gave ye the draught an’ all…” He trailed off his smile only growing.

Lyla stifled another yawn with her hand, slowly sitting up so that her head was propped up by the headboard.

“How,” yawn, “How long was I asleep then?”

Bofur chuckled. “Nigh near two full days.”

“What?!” Two days?! She’d slept for two days? “Oh dear.”

“Aye. Dwalin gave ye too much draught to handle. We couldn’t rouse ye not matter how loud we shouted at ye. Nearly roused the elves into a panic with the ruckus we created,”
Bofur grinned again, “Oin said ye’d only sleep a few hours longer, though, so after a whole day went by we started te worry. Thorin was right furious.”

‘Of course he was’ Lyla thought with a cringe.

Well that was the last time she’d be using a pain draught. Though she couldn’t deny the fact that her shoulder and torso felt immensely better, if a little stiff.
With a huff, she threw the covers from her bed and stood up.

And then promptly fell to the floor with a ‘thwump’.

Bofur was by her side, hoisting Lyla back onto the bed.

“Give ‘em a minute to remember how te work!” Bofur chuckled and Lyla joined in with a few giggles of her own as she massaged her numb feet.

The yawns continued.
*******************************************
The delicate garden surrounding Rivendell beckoned to Lyla and after two days of lying in bed—sleeping off the effects of Dwalins draught—or finding herself flanked by several members of the company (as she had for most of the morning), she was able to escape for a few moments to enjoy the peaceful solitude Rivendell’s gardens offered (promising to refuse any more medication Dwalin offered to her).

Her ribs were feeling immensely better and her shoulder (according to Dwalin) was healing nicely, though it itched something fierce. She had to consciously refrain from scratching at the bandages, though she didn’t know how long her resolve would last.

But none of that really mattered once she stepped into the gardens and inhaled the sweet scents of jasmine and lavender, her lungs humming happily. The songs of the birds in the trees, and the gentle breeze whipped around her, enveloping her entire body in the glorious spoils of nature that so reminded her of her beloved shire.

Oh how she missed it.

So it was exceptionally pleasant for her to find a small bench off in a secluded alcove of ivy and lush trees, safely cocooning the small section of the garden in a green blanket. Clearly this place was meant for reprieve from the world and Lyla eagerly entered the small sanctuary. Sinking slowly to the ground near the bench, Lyla couldn’t resist the urge to recline onto the grass reveling in the feel of the springy plants beneath her palms, back and legs. She stared upward at the light dancing through the leaves and a bright smile crept on her face.

“It gladdens my heart to see someone as fond of the forest and flowers as I,”

Lyla shot up at the low lilting voice and gave a startled gasp at the figure standing before her. Clad in a deep blue gown, with flowing wavy locks of golden hair, an Elvish woman gazed down on her, a smile playing on her lips and her sapphire eyes twinkling in amusement. The light seemed to gravitate towards the woman, bouncing off her translucent skin only lending to her ethereal beauty.

Lyla caught herself gaping and quickly shut her mouth. “Oh I’m sorry if I’ve intruded upon your solitude,” she babbled, scrambling upward and (slowly) sitting straighter, her ears prickling with the familiar heat of a blush.

The woman held her hand up to silence Lyla, “You have not disturbed my thoughts, Lyla Baggins. I came here seeking you.”

“How did you…?”

The elf smiled, “I know many things. Things that were, things that are…and some things that have not yet come to pass.”

“Uh-“

“A great power moves in the shadows, unseen, hidden from my sight. It will not show itself. Not yet. But I fear that this quest has set in motion things of a dark nature. Things that cannot be undone, though they still remain hidden from me.” The elf seemed to be talking more to herself, deeply troubled. She eyed Lyla, her gaze narrowing, “But every day it grows in strength. Soon it will reveal itself.”

Why was she telling Lyla this?

“ You were appointed to this company for a specific reason that stretches beyond the desires of the Dwarves to reclaim their homeland. Very soon, your actions may shape the fortunes of all. And if you cannot complete your task, then I'm afraid no one will.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not sure I follow.” Was the woman addled in the head? Lyla was just a simple hobbit out on an adventure that was already proving to be too large for her to handle. She couldn't possibly be left in charge of the fates of...anyone really.

The lady smiled and stretched forth her slender hand towards Lyla. Hesitating for only a moment, Lyla grasped the offered hand and pulled herself to her feet, gazing up at the
Elf’s smiling face.

“I’ve said all I can for the time being I’m afraid,” she hummed lightly, “But do not be afraid for that which you do not yet understand. All will be revealed to you in time.”
The elf woman bent down and gently kissed the top of Lyla’s head and for a moment a thought flashed through her mind… A thought terrifying and utterly confusing all at once. Her eyes slipped closed and she shuddered.

No. She needed to rid her mind of this…confusion.

Shaking her head to dispel the thoughts, she looked up at the elf, only to meet empty space.

With a sigh she sat down on the bench and seriously contemplated returning to her room to take a nap. She wasn’t too certain what she just experienced wasn’t some elaborate dream her mind had conjured.

‘She didn’t even tell me her name. I must have been dreaming.’ Determined to throw the thought of the elf woman from her mind, she scrounged her brain for something to distract her.

And then she heard it.

A low, gravelly hum slowly wound through the leaves and settled in her sensitive ears. Instantly her mind turned towards the soft melody. It was coming somewhere to her left. Slowly, she rose from the bench and quietly edged towards the trees, peeking her head through the leaves and low hanging branches.

A figure sat underneath one of the larger trees, back to Lyla, dark hair splayed in rivulets down his back. Clad in a dark blue tunic and black breeches, the dwarf (for that is what he was) was busy whittling a piece of wood, the shavings pooled around his legs. All the while, he hummed a somber, dark tune.

‘Thorin’ Lyla’s mind whispered in a hushed reverence for the moment. To her the dwarf king appeared more vulnerable than she had ever seen him before. His great coat missing, and his sword laying carefully at his side, the dwarf seemed almost at complete ease.

Almost.

As Lyla watched, the low hums slowly turned to low words, his deep timbre echoing inside Lyla’s head as a deep aching pain settled in her heart.

‘The pines were roaring on the height
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it blazing spread.’

“The trees like torches, blazed with light.” He murmured the last part, with a soft sight as his fingers deftly brought the sharp knife to the wood, working with exact precision to create…well Lyla wasn’t quite sure. She couldn’t see that well.

She took a step closer to get a better look.

The sound of a snapping twig beneath her feet alerted Thorin who stiffened, turning his gaze towards the sound and, consequently, falling on Lyla. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her.

“Spying is rude,” He muttered darkly, rising to his feet, “Or were you not taught that as a child.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” Lyla mumbled embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping.

“Why is it, Halfling,” the word came out almost as a sneer, “that you seem to be the source of all my ire on this journey? You manage to derail all our plans. Tell me how you are of any benefit to me if all you manage to do is confound this mission.”

“I’m not trying to ‘derail’ anything,” Lyla replied her own ire rising, “It’s not as though I’m intentionally mucking things up.”

“Mores the problem,” Thorin snapped stepped towards her adjusting his sword back around his waist (the knife and block of wood missing), “As far as I can see, you’ve been nothing but a hindrance and a burden. I know not why that wizard decided you were fit to embark on this journey if only to laugh as you bumbled through the wilderness coaxing all manner of ill will to fall upon us.”

“Hey!” Lyla squeaked indignantly, “You can’t write me off as a bumbling idiot. You’ve never given me a chance.”

“I don’t need to give you a chance, Master Baggins,” Thorin was inches away from her, peering down his nose, blue eyes blazing, “I know you cannot fight and that is testament enough to know of your ineptitude at survival. One day alone in this wilderness and you’d be dead. If not for the charity of some of the company, you’d have been eaten by those blasted trolls. Be thankful you have been show such kindness thus far. But don’t expect me to stoop to such a level. You deserve neither my kindness nor my charity. I cannot and will not guarantee your safety. Nor will I be responsible for your fate.”

“I never asked you to.”

“And,” he pushed past her, ignoring the retort she threw back at him, “I suggest you acquire an ounce of humility for you are far more expendable than you realize.” He stopped then and cast a glance back at her, “Be prepared to leave at dawn. If you aren’t ready, we’ll leave you behind. I will no longer cater to the weaknesses of our so called burglar any longer.”

Lyla watched the dwarf disappear beyond the trees. She carefully rubbed at her chest to quell the pain that blossomed there.

Chapter Text

“You have to move Halfling. Don’t stand there gaping at me like a dead fish. Do something!” Dwalin’s stern reprimand pierced the air as Lyla desperately tried to retain all the information the dwarf was throwing at her.

The morning after her uncomfortable interlude in the garden, the dwarves and their hobbit burglar had silently slipped from the confines of Rivendell’s borders thanks to Gandalf’s foresight that the white wizard would impede their journey further.

‘I will meet you in the mountains when I can spare a moment’ he had said.

And now as they camped at the base of the Misty Mountains, Gandalf had still not arrived. And Thorin, anxious to prevent further delay to his plans, was not apt to wait for the finicky wizard much longer. In the morning they’d head into the mountains without their wizard guide.

The few days journey—with Bofur, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin relieving her of hernewly acquired pack (thanks to the elves)—did give Lyla a chance to heal up enough to begin training with the warrior-dwarf Dwalin.

That very evening during supper, he had thrust a short, broad piece of birch into her surprised hands and declared her fit enough to start ‘earnin’ HIS keep’. Though he did promise to start out easy and slow for her since she was still on the mend.

“I’ll not have ye hurtin’ yerself further,” he had grumbled, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over Lyla’s shoulder.

So here she stood awkwardly gripping a stick, trying to remember all the instruction Dwalin had just mentioned, with the salty sting of sweat trickling down her forehead and into her eyes, matting her cropped curls to her scalp and making her feel rather ghastly to be honest.

And this was the easy training? She was already exhausted and dreaded what a regular training session would consist of.

“Move yer feet hobbit!” Dwalin growled again as he slowly circled her, “Ye’ll be dead in short order if ye keep staring off like some lovestruck pup. Move it!”

Right.

Stay focused.

Move feet.

Got it.

Unfortunately, her attempts to focus didn’t prevent Dwalin from knocking her stick to the ground with a loud ‘thwack’ with only a stinging sensation smarting across her palms as proof she had at one time held the ‘weapon’.

That was the third time he’d done that.

Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible to Lyla’s ears (though she suspected it was a curse) and sent the hobbit a glare.

“And ye have to move yer feet Master Baggins,” Dwalin was exasperated by this point, “Standing still makes ye more of a target. Now retrieve yer practice weapon and we’ll do this again. I’ll not let ye rest until ye show some improvement!”

Lyla had a feeling that it was going to be a very long evening.

After Dwalin knocked her practice stick out of her hands a fifth time, Balin interjected.

“If I may ask, Master Baggins, do ye know how to dance?” The wizened dwarf sent her a small, placating smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Lyla replied regarding Dwalin’s shorter, less intimidating brother suspciously. “Every hobbit knows how to dance.”

“Well that’s good then!” Balin remarked cheerfully getting comfortable on a large boulder near Lyla and Dwalin’s sparring match, “Just employ those dancin’ skills to your sword fightin’ and you’ll be grand!”

Lyla stared confusedly at Balin. Clearly, the dwarf had never actually seen how hobbits danced. It was nothing like the movements Dwalin was trying to teach her. It was more…flowery, exaggerated, intricate…

And to top it off, Lyla wasn’t very good at dancing a hobbit dance anyway. Her graceless movements never complimented her partners (if she ever actually HAD a partner at a dance that is) So, that advice wouldn’t do her much good.

Sort of like the advice Gandalf had given her about using a sword in the first place.

Still, she might as well try. With a long-suffering sigh, she readied the stick in her hands and faced Dwalin, careful to watch his footwork. That was a key to hobbit dances really. Matching your partner’s movements and mirroring your body to theirs. She didn’t need to bother with aesthetics.

Dwalin moved left.

Lyla moved right hesitantly, wary of what the dwarf would do next.

She didn’t have to wait long for some large display of power as Dwalin quickly dispatched his weapon and lunged forward. Lyla, noting that the dwarf was heading towards her right quickly maneuvered her body left, dodging the majority of the blow he delivered on her.

It wasn’t enough, however, to prevent her stick from flying from her fingers, nor stop her from tumbling to the ground with an ‘oomph’ as her bare feet stumbled over the rocky terrain.

But she moved. That counted for something right?

“Aye laddie,” Dwalin said, “That’s a start. Not much of one, mind ye, but a start nonetheless. Now, up. We do it again. This time try and block my blow with the hilt of yer sword.
Yer weapon is more than just an attack piece. Ye can defend yerself nicely with the right movements.”

She tried Dwalin’s advice on using the hilt of her sword to block his hit.

Her knuckles smarted from the contact and she dropped her practice stick again.

“Again halfing,” Dwalin commanded, readying his stance.

“Let me Dwalin.”

Lyla’s head jerked up in shock as Thorin Oakenshield strode forward, having removed his great coat and tied his long onyx hair back from his face, the streaks of silver glistening. He took the whittled stick from Dwalin’s surprised fingers and turned to face Lyla, who was still on the ground.

“On your feet Hobbit,” Thorin remarked gruffly, flexing his fingers, “Let’s see if you can dodge a few of my blows.”

Bebother it all.

Lyla’s stomach twisted in knots as she noted the entire camp had stopped to stare at the two of them curiously. Apparently she wasn't the only one surprised by Thorin's sudden interest in her weapons training. She noted that Bofur had his eyes narrowed, shifting between gazing at Lyla and Thorin, his own fingers taut on the handle of his mattock.

Was Thorin doing this to prove a point? About how inadequate she was?

Resignedly (for she knew there wasn’t much she could do about the situation) Lyla rose to her feet and gripped her own battle stick in her hands, her knuckles going white.

Thorin’s movements were far more controlled than Dwalin’s had been. Where Dwalin used his brute force to intimidate his opponents, Thorin did not. He didn’t outright lunge at her.

Instead he prowled.

Slowly circling the small hobbit, as though a predator stalked its prey, he inched his way ever closer, muscles taut in anticipation, yet his face the picture of composure and ease. Lyla could see just why Thorin Oakenshied was such an efficient warrior. He betrayed nothing. She couldn’t decipher what the master dwarf was thinking. All she could do was mirror his movements (sort of) and hope for the best.

Then his eye twitched.

In that infinitesimal moment, where Thorin’s stony façade faltered, Lyla suspected something was about to happen. She tightened her grip once more and prepared for the onslaught from the dwarf who she knew would move too fast to dodge.

She wasn’t disappointed.

The force of Thorin’s blow against her own weapon was like stone crashing against sand. Her wrists buckled at the bruising force and her grip started slipping as a shockwave jolted through her arms.

But she wouldn’t let go. She had to hold on. She couldn’t give Thorin more ammunition in his disregard for her.

Where Dwalin was good at striking to the side, using brute force to knock her grip off balance, Thorin attacked her straight on, his movements more tightly controlled, forcing his opponent to give their all to protect themselves. But his method of attack did give her a small leeway to keep the weapon in her hands.

And she did. She gritted her teeth and held her shaking arms upward, as Thorin’s weapon bore down on her. She fought against the sheer weight he put into his attack and managed to keep her own weapon securely clasped in her hands.

For a moment at least.

Her wrist finally buckled completely, and she lost the grip on her practice stick, the force of Thorin’s body pressing her backwards, stumbling. His face was inches from her own, a furious glint in his sapphire eyes as he peered down at her.

And then he stepped away.

“Again, Halfling,” He murmured, his low timbre echoing. The camp was silent except for Lyla’s panting and Thorin’s soft command.
So she grabbed her stick and prepared to go against the king again.

Thorin ran her through her paces six more times, attacking her from different angles, forcing her to move her stick to try and block his onslaught. He varied his speed and force of the attack, throwing Lyla off guard and making it impossible to associate a pattern to his movements.
She never managed to keep a hold of her weapon for long as a result.

Thorin never said a word either. No instruction was given, nor praise or derisive comments exclaimed. The dwarf remained completely silent, assessing their sparring match with a critical eye and only speaking when he commanded her to rise time and time again to prepare for another attack.

Finally, when her muscles cried for a reprieve and sweat poured down her neck, her cheeks flushed from exertion, did Thorin concede to ending their practice. Giving Lyla a curt nod, he turned to Dwalin and handed the practice stick back to his dwarf comrade.

“He needs to work on his grip. And make sure to practice footwork or he’ll never keep his sword in his hands,” Thorin remarked offhandedly, walking further from Lyla and Dwalin.
What he said was true, though that didn’t stop the embarrassment from creeping up her spine. She knew that he, like Dwalin, had been holding back and the thought that she couldn’t even handle the ‘easy’ sparring matches, sent an uncomfortable weight plummeting into her belly. Swordplay was not her forte but she wanted to prove she deserved to be on this quest.

She was grateful that, at least Thorin wasn’t yelling about her ineptitude this time

Which was…decidedly odd.

And utterly confusing. Lyla was certain she’d never fully understand dwarves.

“We’ll take this up again tomorrow if the terrain allows it. I expect ye to be practicing when ye have a chance though,” Dwalin gave her a stern look, his bushy eyebrows knit into a furious ‘V’ shape.

Lyla sighed and nodded, her body exhausted from the new exercises she’d endured. Dwalin’s face softened slightly as he gazed at her.

“Yer an observant creature,” He remarked, clapping her lightly on the shoulder, “use that to yer advantage to outsmart yer enemies. You’ll make yerself less helpless that way.”

“Alright,” She murmured, casting her eyes at the ground, a small sense of pride swelling in her chest where Thorin’s disparaging comments once resided. She wasn’t good at sword fighting. Far from it. But, she was learning and Dwalin acknowledged that.

That counted for something. Right?

After she had mopped the sweat from her brow thanks to Bofur’s handy little—if a bit dingy—pocket square, she simply sat on her bedroll and stared at the stars, content with solitude. The others—barring Thorin and Balin—sat near the fire, merrily trading stories and roasting bits of meat over the flames. Their voices of merriment floating over the entire encampment made Lyla feel a sense of ease she had not known in awhile.

Bofur shot her a toothy, genuine smile which she returned with an honest sense of gratitude for the dwarf’s friendly behavior and acceptance. But she was too tired to move and was far more content to observe the interactions of the company around her.

Ori, with his thick green sweater, sat near his brother Dori, furiously scribbling in his journal, a bit of ink smudged on his hand. His brother, Dori was carefully sharpening his sword, shooting his studious brother curious glances every few moments, a soft smile on his lips. Nori, Bombur, and Bofur sat together roasting their meat and conversing quietly laughter erupting every few moments. Bofur’s hat sat askew on his head as he tumbled backward, his laughter getting the best of him for the moment. Dwalin and Bifur sat quietly, both absorbed in their own tasks—Dwalin polishing one of his many weapons and Bifur carefully carving a figure from wood. And Fili and Kili were reclined on their bedrolls, boots discarded and eyes closed, soft murmurs escaping their lips every few moments.

It was quite the serene picture if Lyla was honest.

Then she shifted her gaze to the leader of the company who was in a rather intense debate with Balin. Their heads were knit together and Balin’s hands were gesturing wildly around him. Thorin was shaking his head adamantly, newly freed ebony locks tumbling past his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest.

She half wondered what the fuss was about (the other half of her didn’t want to attempt to know the answer certain that it would bode ill for her).

A soft, contented smile worked its way on her lips at the scene before her. Despite the hardship, she felt a sense of accomplishment and familiarity out here in the wild with thirteen dwarves for company. Before Rivendell that didn’t appear to be even a remote possibility. And now?

Now she felt a kinship to this unruly, confusing group of stubborn, pig-headed, arrogant creatures.

Yet another odd development indeed.

Chapter Text

Something wet was tickling Lyla’s nose. Annoying thing it was really. She grumbled and swatted at her face.

Drip.

Blast it all! What was that?

Grumpily, she opened one eye. And was splashed by a water droplet for the effort.

Of course it would start raining.

Heaving herself to her feet, her joints stiff from the earlier bout of weapons practice, she noted that it was still mostly dark, but everyone was on their feet and collecting the supplies. They couldn’t sleep through the impending downpour (if the dark billowing clouds were any indication) so it was prudent to either continue the journey or find shelter.
She didn’t need Thorin Oakenshield’s shout to move on to know which they’d be doing. She’d been in the company long enough to recognize an impatient dwarf when she saw one.

And Thorin was the epitome of impatient. And hot headed…

And he was pointedly ignoring her.

Which rubbed Lyla the wrong way if she was being honest. True she wasn’t the most battle ready member of the company but just because she wasn’t as skilled as the other didn’t give that pigheaded grumpy sod the right to gruffly mistreat her. And with their sparring match Lyla found herself even more confused by the Dwarf king. His actions and emotions seemed to flit back and forth to the point where her head ached just trying to deduce his true character.

Well, there was nothing for it really. She was certain all her worrying would do is give her a headache. And why should she care whether or not the dwarf even remotely cared a little for her? She wasn’t so selfish and proud to expect to acquire everyone’s good opinion was she?

With a sigh she stuffed her now sopping bedroll in her pack and donned the cloak Dwalin lent her (cleaned of blood and stitched up nicely) and hefted the pack onto her shoulders. She needed to focus on other things instead of the dwarf who was adjusting his sword around his waist, his dark hair dripping down his shoulders in soft waves and the way his shirt clung to his broad chest because he’d forgotten to put on his coat…

‘Stop it Lyla’

She felt the heat on her neck and drew her eyes away from the company’s leader. How absurd that she should admire that over-zealous dwarf!
But he was handsome…

Bah! Stop it!

**************************************************

Six hours of slogging through muddy and rocky terrain and the entire company was grumbling in annoyance and frustration. Tempers were running high and Lyla knew better than to attempt conversation with anyone. Barring Bofur of course. That dwarf never seemed ruffled by any inconvenience and cheerfully whistled a tune as he lent a hand to Lyla, who had slipped on the steep incline, the frigid water running down her back.

“Careful there master Baggins! Wouldn’t want to take a little tumble, aye?” Bofur chuckled.

Lyla did NOT share his sentiment. That LITTLE tumble, had it happened, would have sent the hobbit careening into the darkness below…far below…

Little tumble indeed.

Still Lyla was grateful and mumbled her appreciation accordingly. But for the most part she remained silent, determined to keep her footing in this muddy, slick terrain that her hobbit feet for so unused to. She observed how the dwarves moved, carefully, sure-footed, and she envied their ease in navigating rocky terrain, rain or shine. No, her feet were far more suited for woodlands and small dirt paths leading to her smial where a nice warm cup of tea, her armchair, a cozy blanket and a good book would be most welcome—

Another fat splash of rain trickled underneath her clothes and she sighed.

It’d do no good to dwell on home. She was far from it and needed to focus on the reality of her situation.

A large blast of thunder drew her gaze upward. And her heart nearly stopped in shock.

The rocks were moving!

“This is no thunder storm!” Balin exclaimed, “It’s a thunder battle. Look!” He pointed and Lyla’s eyes widened at the realization that the mountains were starting to take on the forms of men, with legs and arms, a torso…

“Well bless me the legends are true!” Bofur chattered, clamping a hand down on his hat, a grin on his face, “Giants! Stone giants!”

Lyla was certain that THIS right now was a good reason to stay in the Shire. Stone giants? As if she weren’t short enough. Now she had to contend with giants impeding (or in this case completely destroying) her pathway, making it impossible to continue on this journey!

Then the ground started moving beneath her feet and Lyla was pitched forward, nearly toppling again into the ravine below if not for Dwalin’s quick grasp on her cloak and Kili’s steadying hand on her arm. Lyla gazed upward again and her stomach plummeted (probably down to the ravine) as she gazed at the form of a stone giant rising to meet its opponent.

And they were trapped on a stone giant’s knee of all places.

Lyla watched the horrified faces of half the company disappear (Bifur, Thorin, Balin, Oin, Gloin, Fili) around the other side as they two were trapped on the opposite knee of the giant.

“Kili!” Thorin’s and Fili’s voices cried above the fray of battle and rain and Lyla watched the panicked look overshadow Kili’s features as his uncle and brother disappeared.
They appeared a moment later, however, and Lyla watched in fascinated horror, gripping onto the stone any way she could, that they had jumped from the knee of the giant a more stable (i.e. not moving) mountain face.

They were safe.

Thank goodness.

The same, sadly, could not be said for Lyla and the rest of the company. They each clung to the rocks, desperately trying to find a sure foothold against the movements of the giant, who—by the looks of things—was losing his battle.

A massive boulder was tossed at the giant’s head and the force of the blow knocked the stone creature sideways, its legs twisting, so that Lyla, Bofur, Kili, Dwalin and the rest were sent careening towards the rock face Thorin and the others had safely leapt to. The speed at which they were travelling, however, ensured that Lyla and the others would not be as fortunate to enjoy such a soft landing. The giant’s knee was going to smash into the rock face. Each of the dwarves grasped each other’s arms as they braced for impact.

But just before connection, Lyla slipped, the slick terrain (and lack of footwear) sucking her beneath the armholds of her companions. She tumbled, pitching forward and threw her arms out, desperately trying to grasp onto something.

Anything.

Her fingers found purchase (thankfully) on a small ledge holding and Lyla clung for dear life (for her life DID in fact depend on it). She tried to call out for help, but the words were stuck in her throat, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

Was anyone even alive to hear her anyway?

Thorin’s voice echoed above her as he shouted his nephew’s name

“No! Kili!” And then a relieved sigh.

“It’s alright!” Gloin exclaimed, “They’re alive!”

Lyla tightened her grip on the rocks trying to pull herself upwards.

“Where’s Bilbo? Where’s the hobbit?” Bofur’s voice, tinged in worry rocketed her ears and a small squeak of fright escaped her lips.

“There!” Shouted Ori and Kili and suddenly, as Lyla looked upward, she saw Kili, Bofur and Ori above her, arms outstretched trying to reach her.

“Grab my hand!” Bofur shouted extending his arm as far as he could.

Lyla let one hand go and reach upward.

Her grip slipped.

With a startled cry, she fell further, her palms scraping against rock. By sheer will she clung to the side of the mountain, her feet dangling, unable to find a foothold.

“Get ‘im!” Dwalin’s voice roared above the others as he too tried to reach her.

Kili, with Fili’s arms encircling his legs, dropped down and reached the startled hobbit.

“Grab my hand master Boggins!” Kili shouted, extending his arm towards her.

Lyla reached out again and scrambled to grab ahold of the young dwarf’s fingers. His large warm hands encircled her tiny wrists as he brought the hobbit closer to his own body, his grip tight and comforting.

“I won’t let you fall. I promise,” He reassured.

But Kili should have known that you can’t make promises like that. Not on this adventure.

The footing beneath Fili’s feet crumbled and he, along with Kili and Lyla tumbled over the side of the mountain.

The only sign of their presence were the surprised and startled cries that escaped their lips.

And the horrified howls of the company and Thorin Oakenshield as they shouted their fallen members' names.

“Kili! Fili!”

“Bilbo!”

Chapter Text

The first time they collided with the mountainside as they plummeted, Kili managed to turn Lyla and himself, and holding her as close as he could manage, placed himself so that his body took the brunt of the force. He let out a low groan as they were rocketed downward and Lyla felt her heart constrict in fear.

She would never forgive herself is he didn’t survive.

*************************
The second time they collided with the mountain, Lyla bounced from Kili’s grasp with a muffled cry.

“Bilbo!” She heard him shout at her, desperately trying to reattach his hold on Lyla’s arms.
But it was all for naught.

And she felt the sting of the rocks on her bare arms as she tumbled and scraped along the mountain’s edges.
Her shouts echoed in her ears as the wind whipped past her.

“Fili! Kili!”
***
She wasn’t aware of the third collision with the mountain.
***
She was forced back to consciousness by rainwater, trickling into her nose and mouth causing her to choke and sputter, gasping for air. Blearily she opened her eyes and found herself gazing at a looming mountain face above her, water droplets relentlessly pounding her face. Her head throbbed and the world tilted slightly as she tried to sit up.
She had landed on a small ledge leading into a cave.

But she had landed alone.

There was no sign of Fili or Kili.

But sitting in her hand was one of Kili’s rings, having slipped off his finger in their tumble. She brought the ring up to her face with shaking fingers

The blood rushed to Lyla’s ears, like crashing waves and nausea overtook her senses.

By Aule no.

Oh please no!

“Fili! Kili!” She shrieked, her voice drowned out by the thunder and rain, “Fili! Kili! Please!”

She screamed until she was hoarse.

And, when no answers came, bile rose in her throat and tears pricked her eyes as her stomach relieved it contents, soft sobs escaping her lips.

They had tried to protect her.

To save her.

She clenched her fist to her mouth to bite back the sob the threatened to overtake her. Her shoulders started shaking as fat salty tears slipped down her scratched cheeks.
She rocked back and forth trying to quell the surge of emotions, but they would not abate.

Blast those foolhardy, proud, reckless, wonderful and caring dwarves!

More tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing in with the rainwater.

And she was responsible for their-

No. She couldn’t think it.

NO.

Taking a shuddering breath, Lyla slowly crawled to the mouth of the cave, sending a pleading to the makers above for the safety of two young, foolish, kind-hearted dwarves.

It took Lyla a good few minutes to get her footing steady enough to explore the cave. After all what other option did she have? It was either face the ledge or try and find a way out of the mountains and back to the company.

Though she wasn’t sure she’d be too welcome back.

She had to take a few deep breaths to keep her emotions in check.

The cave expanded back into a series of tunnels leading down into the mountain and Lyla, whose eyes were unused to such dark places stumbled her way further and further from the entrance. She hoped that she’d find somewhere that would take her back up to the pathway. Somewhere that she could find a familiar face or a familiar road.

She was fortunate that she had retained her sword, though she hoped she wouldn’t meet and unsavory creatures.

Her new pack was gone though, and with it any supplies she had so finding her way out was a paramount issue. One that needed to be remedied quickly. Not that it mattered much. She could care less than two straws about that pack or finding her way out really. She was just a lowly hobbit. She’s much rather-

‘Stop Lyla. Stop.’

Her foot caught on a large unseen stone and she tumbled forward, rolling down a steep incline and downward, unable to stop her momentum.
With a gasp of shock she splashed into a frigid body of water, the air from her lungs bursting from her lips with a loud ‘whoosh’. She floundered, kicking her feet, waving her arms and gasping desperately for air, trying to keep her head above water.

Then something grabbed at her, heaving her upwards and onto dry ground. Choking, she hazarded a glance at her rescuer.

And blanched.

There before her crouched an unusually pale creature with scraggly hair, pale, spotted skin stretched too thin over his bony limbs, a wide gaping mouth with rotting teeth and two large, haunting blue eyes.

Two large blue eyes that were peering at her in a most curious manner.

“Well bless us and splash us,” the creature crowed, “that’s a meaty mouthful.”

Lyla was on her feet and had her sword out before the creature could lay a finger on her. The creature’s already wide eyes widened further and it started hacking

“Gollum Gollum.”

“Back,” she whispered hoarsely, “stay back! I-I’m warning you.” She waved the sword in front of the creature, who continued to stare at her curiously, as if it were trying to piece together a puzzle.

“What is it, precious?” it asked confusedly, “what is it?”

Was he talking to her?

“I-I’m a hobbit from the shire. Bil-Bilbo Baggins.” She wouldn’t give her real name. Not to this creature.

“Oh! We’ve had batsses, goblinsess and fishes, but we haven’t tried hobbitsess before!” The creature’s features lit up in a sinister smile of glee as it slowly advanced towards

her, “Is it soft hm?” it whispered maliciously, “is it juicy?”

Lyla’s sword was at the creature’s throat again.

“Stay back!” She shouted, her voice cracking, “Don’t you understand? I don’t want any trouble. I just want to find a way out of here.” Her arms were shaking.

“Why?” the creature whispered, sitting on its haunches, “Is it lost?”

Yes.

“Yes. Yes. And I want to get unlost as soon as possible.”

The creature’s features shifted to an innocent look of delight.

“Oh we know safe paths for hobbitsess, safe paths in the dark!”

“Shut up!” the creature replied, it’s features hardening into a sour scowl

Lyla was confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

The creature sent her a glare, “We wasn’t talking to you!”

“But we was precious, we was.”

Was this-this thing talking to itself? She needed to get out of here.

She started to back up slowly while it was distracted.

But tripped over yet another rock (blast it all) falling on her rear. Her sword clattered to the ground and her hands scrapped against the jagged floor.
And something else.

Something cold and round was hiding underneath Lyla’s small fingers. She hastily stuffed whatever it was into her pocket and retrieved her sword, as the creature’s gaze returned to her.

“Wait!” it screeched advancing towards her. Lyla’s sword shot out again and it halted a few feet from the blade. “Hobbitsess cannot leave!” it howled loudly.

She’d had quite enough of this place.“Look I don’t know what your game is but I-“

“Game!” it suddenly crowed like an exuberant faunt. “We loves games! Does it? Does it? Does it like to play?”

Play? Play what?

“Uh-I-“ she was completely confused and terrified by this point, “Maybe?”

The creature’s face scrunched up in excitement. “What has roots as nobody sees. Is taller than trees, up, up, up it goes and yet…never grows?”

Oh.

Riddles.

“The mountain.” Lyla replied cautiously, never lowering her sword.

The creature crowed in delight. “Go on, its our turn!”

And suddenly the scowl returned to its face. “NO!” it hissed, “No more riddles.” It scurried towards her bony hands raised in anger, “Finish it! Finish it now!”

Lyla steadied her stance, “No I-“ she had to stall. She had to do something! “I-I want to play. I do! And I can see that you are…very good at this.”

The creature stilled, its face transforming into one of childlike delight. It was working.

“So…why don’t we have a-a game of riddles. Just, just you and me.”

The creature edged closer, “Yes! Just-just us.”

Lyla nodded, “Yes. And if I win…you show me the way out of here yes?”

“And if it loses?” that sinister timbre had returned to the creature’s voice, “what then?”

“Why then we eats it!” the joyful voice crowed delightedly. The creature turned to Lyla, “If Baggins loses, we its it whole.”
A startled gasp escaped her lips and she blinked in shock.

Then with a resigned sigh, her shoulders drooped, but her gaze remained fixed on the creature, “Fair enough. But one riddle apiece and no more unless we tie. So we best make them difficult yes?”

The creature nodded excitedly and hopped onto a large boulder near Lyla’s left.

“Very well then,” she remarked, “Go ahead.” She waved her sword lightly, keeping a wide berth from the boulder and the creature.

“All things it devours,” the sinister voice was back,
“birds, beasts, trees, flowers.
Gnaws iron, bites steal.
Grinds hard stones to meal.”

Oh.

Oh no. no, no, no.

She didn’t know this one.

“Answer us,” the creature crowed jubilantly obviously sensing her hesitancy.

“I-I” she sighed, rubbing her aching head.

Confound it all. Tears of frustration threatened to fall as her mind—overwhelmed as it was—struggled.

“Ah! It’s stuck!”

“I’m not,” she retorted, heatedly, “Just give me a moment please!”

She started pacing, wracking her brain for the answer. But she’d never heard this riddle before. She had to think of something!
But no thoughts came to her exhausted mind.

The creature let out a small groan of delight, “Baggins loses. Time’s up.”

No.

Lyla’s heart started hammering. She just needed another moment. Just a little more-

Time.

“Time! The answer is time!” She let out the air she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

The creature’s face contorted into a furious scowl as it eyed her suspiciously. “Very clever hobbitsess,” it hissed, “Very clever. But we won’t be so easy to defeat. Ask us a question then.”

Ah. There’s the tricky part. She knew plenty of riddles, but were they clever enough to befuddle this frightening creature?

The teeth riddle perhaps?

No. No she needed something. Something that would completely throw this creature off.

“Ask us!” The creature shouted again, its eyes narrowing impatiently at Lyla.

“Yes, yes alright,” she replied, trying to placate the creature, wracking her brain for something.

Her hand slipped into her pocket.

What on earth-?

“What have I got in my pocket?” she murmured more to herself, her fingers sliding over cool metal.

A ring? Kili’s ring? A pang shot through her chest.

No that was in her other pocket.

This one. This one was different. Heavy.

Her fingers rubbed over the smooth metal gently as it slid onto her third finger with ease.

The creature gave a strangled cry and tossed a rock at her feet. “Thief!” it howled lunging towards her. It’s thin, brittle fingers found their way around her neck, clawing at her, suffocating her, and Lyla bucked backwards in surprise, her air supply dwindling. She tried to twist away from the creature, to put her hands up to stop it…something!

But her sword was still in her hands.

Raising the hilt up above her head, even as spots danced in front of her eyes, she brought the hilt down on the creature’s head with a loud ‘crack’.
The bony fingers released from her neck and the creature crumpled in a heap of pale splotchy skin at her feet.

Gasping for air, Lyla backed up, her watering eyes glued on the creature who was already starting to stir.

She didn’t hesitate further. Turning, she took off down a small alcove, hoping that he was going in the right direction. And that the hideous nightmare she’d been sparring with wouldn’t be able to find her.

She went left and then right and then right again, unsure of where she was be desperate to get away. But not far behind her she could hear the scurrying of feet and the anguished howls of the creature.

“Baggins!” it shrieked, “Thief!”

She quickened her pace.

And came face to face with a dead end.

Her heart started hammering harder and she turned to evacuate the room post haste.

But she stood face to face with the creature, its eyes wild and its movements jerking. Fingers dug into the ground, nails scraping against rock. Lyla winced, waiting and watching the creature.

Who turned around with another howl of sorrow and darted down the passage way to her left.

What-?

Why did he not attack?

Lyla gazed down at her hand and noted the thick band of gold resting innocently against her slender finger.
Could it be?

Was that what she had ‘stolen’?

And somehow it made her invisible?

She silently darted after the creature, sure that it would lead her to freedom.

And for once she was safe.

For the moment.
***
As she followed the creature, silently stepping behind its shrieking, hulking form, anticipating freedom from the mountain, she never would have expected to see the dwarves and Gandalf (Gandalf!) darting past, frightening the creature who cowered behind the large stone that obscured the tunnel from view.

She was trapped. She had to get away from the creature somehow. Her grip tightened on he sword and her gaze shifted between the weapon and her obstacle.
Could she do it? Could she take a life?

Unbidden, Fili and Kili’s faces swam into her mind and a sudden anguished anger overtook her.

Why shouldn’t she take the miserable creature’s life? After all did it not deserve to die? All the pain and hardship she and the dwarves had experienced on this journey, all of the miserable louses that mucked up the way, did they not deserve some small respite?

Yes.

With a purposed stride, Lyla edged closer to the creature, who now was turned towards the entrance, its gaze following the dwarves’ retreating forms as they darted from the cave. This was her chance. To end its suffering and free herself.

She raised the sword back with both arms, prepared to swing.

When the creature turned around again gazed forlornly into the darkness, looking through Lyla’s invisible form. Those large blue eyes—dimmed by a haze the ring must have created—betrayed the anguish and utter despair the creature felt. Tears welled up in its eyes and a soft sniffle escape its thin, cracked lips.
Her anger deflated and her heart suddenly flamed with a deep ache of sadness for the creature’s plight as much as her own, for Kili’s, for Fili’s, and even for Thorin’s.

She couldn’t do it.

She backed up again and sheathed her sword, a new idea sparking in her brain.

The ‘clank’ that her sword made, alerted the creature that something was there with it. It’s face twisted from anguish to fury and it gazed around wildly, snarling.

But Lyla was already running.

And leaping.

Her left foot connected with the creature’s jaw accidently and she saw it go sprawling.

But she didn’t stop. She bolted through the entrance of the cave and down the hill into the sunshine, running as far away from that miserable mountain as she could.
Down she travelled searching for her companions, desperate for a familiar face, touch, voice. Anything. Anything to take her mind away from the pain, the guilt she felt.
There!

At the bottom of a small alcove of trees she spotted them, not even a hundred yards away.

She darted forward, relief and exhausting taking over her senses. Ripping the ring from her finger she shoved the cool piece of metal into her pocket and called out to her companions.

“Wait! Wait!” She croaked.

Twelve pairs of eyes turned, shocked, towards Lyla.

“Bilbo!” Bofur exclaimed leaping towards her and enveloping the small hobbit into a tight and warm embrace. Lyla closed her eyes and inhaled the scents of pipeweed and earth laced within Bofur’s jacket.

“We saw ye fall lad,” the miner exclaimed pulling away. His eyes shone with concern and joy, “How-how did ye manage-?”

“I-“ she swallowed, her throat suddenly thick with emotion.

“Where are my sister sons Halfling?” Thorin’s quiet, yet powerful baritone voice erupted around her.
He strode forward, his eyes carefully complacent, his face the picture of composure. He carefully pulled Bofur away and stood infront of the hobbit.

Lyla averted her eyes, her stomach dropping, guilt welling, and the memories flying through her mind.

“I’ll ask you again, Halfling,” Thorin’s soft, deadly calm whisper reached her ears, “Where are my sister sons?”

She swallowed again, staring at the ground. Unable to meet Thorin’s eyes. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell him that.

With a roar of anger, Thorin grabbed at Lyla and picked her up by her shoulders, “Confound it all Halfling answer me!” He shouted, giving her a violent shake, “Where are they for Mahal’s sake!”

“They-th-they…” she stuttered staring into the panicked gaze of Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarf who looked more vulnerable now than she had ever seen before. His hair was tousled and his eyes searched her face expectantly, panic and anguish marring his features. “I-we were separated,” tears were welling up in her eyes, “I’m sorry. I-they must have...” she trailed off.

Thorin dropped her suddenly a strangled noise escaping his throat. He stumbled backwards away from her as though he’d been burned.

“You!” his voice cracked with fury, “You don’t belong here. You should never have come! You’ve been nothing but a burden since the day we set out on this journey and your presence has brought nothing but trouble!”

“I-I'm so sorry. I never-“

But a long low howl cut over Lyla’s weak voice.

Chapter Text

“Run!”

Gandalf’s shout reverberated inside Lyla’s head even as she gazed back at the mountain where the Durin brothers were still missing or-

“Come on then on yer feet Bilbo,” Bofur murmured, his gentle grip encircling Lyla’s arm. He all but hoisted her to her feet and started to drag her forward.
Even as she was turned towards the mountains gazing forlornly at the packs of wargs and orcs converging together after the company, following the lead of a pale orc.

Her feet moved of their own accord as she whipped her head forward and followed after the rest of the dwarves.

Though part of her was still in the mountains.

They leaped into the trees, at Gandalf’s behest (for they had run onto a ledge and had not other options), Bofur tossing Lyla upwards, into the Dwalin’s firm grasp, as he jumped onto the lowest branch after her. Dwalin gave her a little shake and she gazed questioningly at the dwarf who sent her a pitying look—his eyes conveying the heartbreak he himself felt—and a soft reassuring squeeze on her shoulders.

The wargs were quickly upon them, snapping branches and rocking the trees to and fro.

Lyla hated being in this situation again and strained to keep a sure footing on the tree this time around as the tree buckled beneath the weight of the angry wargs. They tilted forward and Dwalin tossed Lyla onto a waiting branch in the tree closest to them, the rest of the dwarves (Balin, Bombur, Bofur) in the toppling tree following after.

But the wargs would not cease their tirade against the tree-bound company. With an even more ferocious determination, they leapt and attacked tree after tree, felling each one and forcing the dwarves and Lyla to jump closer and closer to the cliff’s edge until at last, they were all corralled onto the only remaining tree that sat perched at the edge of the cliff face.

Then a low guttural growl had the wargs retreating as a horrifying orc rode forth, his pale skin glistening in the low sunlight. Astride a white warg that matched his own pale flesh, the orc—who had replaced one of his arms for a multi-pronged hook—set his pale blue eyes on the company in the trees. He let out a low laugh that contorted his scarred face into a twisted grimace.

“Azog?!” Thorin whispered his voice panicked, knuckles white as he gripped a branch. “No. It cannot be.”

The pale orc inhaled deeply and chuckled again, eyes sweeping over the company’s predicament.

“Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?” The orc’s gaze settled on Thorin and narrowed in a sinister delight “Ganzilig-I unarung obod nauzdanish, Torin undag Train-ob.”

Shivers trailed down Lyla’s spine. She knew something terrible was about to happen.

The orc pointed its large, jagged mace towards Thorin, “Kod, Toragid biriz.” And then raising his mace into the air he growled, “Worori-da!”
In a fevered frenzy, the wargs resumed their attacks on the lone standing tree.

“Sho gad adol!”

The wargs converged upon the company once more, ramming into the trunk of the tree, scraping the wood bare and jarring Lyla and the dwarves, trying to get them to fall. Lyla’s stomach knotted as cold dread coursed through her veins.

But then she let out a surprised squeak as flaming pinecones suddenly descended on the monstrous beasts at their feet.

Gandalf!

Lyla’s head jerked upwards, away from the scene beneath her feet, towards Gandalf who tossed the flaming spheres to the waiting hands of the company members.

“Throw them! Drive the beasts back!” He bellowed, lobbing a pinecone towards Lyla, who scrambled to grab ahold of the warm object. He threw another downward and it plummeted to the base of the tree, igniting the brambles and bushes beneath.

Lyla didn’t need to be told twice. With soft breaths of encouragement, her own pinecone burst into flame and taking careful aim, she hurled it at the feet of a rather nasty black warg near the base of the tree, who howled and stumbled backwards. She felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the horrified noise it made.

Smoke billowed and the wargs hissed and whimpered retreating from their destructive mission as the flames licked at their paws. A cacophony of cheers rose up as the pale orc growled in annoyance, his eyes narrowing to glare up at Gandalf.

However, the combined weight of the wargs’ snapping, and pawing and the dwarves’ presence in the branches, brought the proud pine tumbling downward over the edge of the cliff.

But the company was spared a complete tumble downward as the stubborn roots clung to the thin soil spread on the rocky terrain. Lyla desperately twisted her fingers around her branch in a desperate hold, her feet seeking desperately for a foothold.

Oh please. They couldn’t fall again.

Not again.

Azog—as Thorin had called him—chuckled deeply taking in the scene of the scrambling dwarves. Dori was suspended above the mountainside, desperately clinging to Gandalf’s staff as Ori grasped onto his brother’s legs, a panicked grunt escaping his lips. And the others weren’t faring much better

They were trapped and he knew it.

Then suddenly, Azog straightened his hunched form as he sat atop on his white warg and a sickening smile spread on his face. His eyes narrowed. Lyla turned to see Thorin rising to his feet, a determined yet detached look on his face, fury ignited in his eyes. He raised his sword and the oaken branch strapped to his wrist and started marching forward, down the tree and into the flames.

Towards Azog.

He cast a glance towards Lyla and her heart stopped.

He gaze flickered for a moment changing from fury to utter anguish and back again and Lyla knew then what he was planning.

Fight. Or die trying.

‘no.’ he heart whispered. He was giving up on his quest? Why? Why would he do that? He couldn’t take on the wargs and orcs! It was suicide. He was forfeiting his life.

A rock settled in her belly as she realized one of the reasons (and her role in that reason), and she scrambled to pull herself to her feet. She couldn’t let him!

Thorin raised his sword and growled as he charged forward to where Azog waited for him. He raised his oaken branch to protect his face and with a mighty shout, leapt towards the white warg.

Azog gave a loud, unintelligible yell and charged forward, the massive paws of the warg colliding with Thorin’s upper body.

With a groan the dwarf king fell.

Lyla was frozen in shock.

“Thorin!” Dwalin let out a guttural bellow as he tried to rise upward. “No!”

The branch the warrior dwarf was holding onto snapped, sending him scrambling, unable to rise to his feet to assist his fallen companion and friend.

Thorin was slowly getting to his feet, his grip still firm on his sword, even as blood poured from a large gash across his nose.

The warg charged again and rammed into Thorin's back, sending him sprawling, the grip loosening on his sword, the long dark tendrils of his hair falling into his eyes, obscuring his view.

Azog took not hesitation and hissed a command. The white warg dug its teeth into the dwarf’s shoulder.

Thorin let out a loud cry of pain as the warg swung Thorin around and released him into the air.

He landed with a sickening thud in front of the tree, his sword clattering to the ground just out of reach.

And he didn’t rise.

An icy grip settled around her throat as smoke stung her eyes. He-he couldn’t.

NO.

She unsheathed her sword and tried to steady her heart even as Azog turned towards the slimy orc with the misshapen mouth to his left.

“Biriz torag khobdudol.”

Azog’s minion hopped down from his own warg and unsheathed his angular sword, slowly advancing towards the dwarf who could no longer raise his head. A sickening smile spread across Azog’s face as Thorin weakly tried to reach for his own sword, his breathing labored and eyes wild.

Lyla’s feet were moving before she could register her thoughts and with a fierce cry she launched herself at the orc who had it’s sword raised to strike Thorin.

Caught off guard, Lyla and the orc tumbled to the ground, Thorin forgotten. Pinned beneath the slimy grasp, Lyla struggled to move her arm as the orc raised its weapon to strike.
Twisting her body, she got her sword arm free and sliced at the orc’s arm. The orc hissed and Lyla too the opportunity to ram her shoulder into the foul creature, propelling herself upward and reversing their positions.

She didn’t hesitate to grasp the hilt of her small blade with both hands and bury her sword in the creature’s chest, slicing through flesh like butter.

The orc let out a howl of agony and clawed at Lyla’s arms

She stabbed again.

And again.

Dark, foul smelling blood coated her sword, splashing onto her jacket, as the creature finally stilled with a gurgling gasp and Lyla scrambled off the orc and stumbled to stand before Thorin’s prone and unmoving form.

She turned to face Azog, her sword raised at the ready (just how Dwalin had shown her). Her eyes narrowed at the orc and she tried desperately to quell the panic bubbling in her chest. But raw determination was winning out and she would not be swayed.

She could not be swayed.

She would not risk losing another person. One who deserved to return to his homeland. One who had seen too much suffering.

NO.

She would NOT allow that to happen.

She’d die first.

Her life meant nothing as significant as Thorin’s. He had a purpose, a duty to his people. And she’d caused so much suffering for him. She couldn’t just stand by, an ordinary little hobbit, while someone so obviously destined for greatness, suffered. And what was she? Nothing so mighty as a king.

Azog seemed to feel the same sentiment towards Lyla's life as he descended from his warg and slowly advanced towards her, his eyes narrowed into fierce slits, a furious scowl marring his distorted features. Raising his mace high, he spat something in his guttural tongue and stepped towards her as his warg went alongside his left.
Lyla backed up, closer to Thorin, wary of the warg’s movements as much as Azog’s.

“I’ll not let you touch him,” she hissed.

Azog laughed in a condescending tone and uttered something lost to Lyla’s ears.

But the wargs and orcs in his command understood and with a chorus of howls and snarling 'whoops' they started through the flames and towards the tree.

And the dwarves who were trying to pull themselves to their feet.

“No!” She gasped, her attention diverted.

Which is what Azog was hoping for.

She was distracted long enough for the white warg to pounce with a mighty howl, bowling her over and to her back with a sound ‘smack’ on the ground. Its paws rested on her chest, constricting her lungs, making it hard to catch her breath.

But that didn’t stop her from raising her sword—the sword that she was determined to keep a hold of—and blindly striking at the warg’s legs and chest.

Her clumsily placed hits, thankfully, forced the warg to lift a paw off of her in pain, freeing Lyla’s arm long enough to bury her glowing blue blade into the white beast’s throat. Blood splattered across her face and arms, running into her hair, as the creature choked and stumbled backwards, falling to a heap.

Lyla rolled and leapt to her feet, placing herself more firmly between the orc and Thorin. Facing Azog, whose face blackened, she raised her sword again, blood pounding in her ears, her vision tunneling to focus on the looming figure in front of her who was flexing his fingers on his mace and stalking towards her, with a purposed predatory gait.

Chapter Text

Lyla could feel the warg’s cold, sticky blood dripping down her face as she watched Azog slowly creep towards her, a furious glint sparked in his beady blue eyes. His fingers were taut around the handle of his mace and his mouth was pulled into a deep frown, making the scars along his cheekbones stand out. He spat something, in his black speech, low and menacing as he slowly edged ever closer.

And she wasn’t stupid. Lyla knew the odds were stacked against her. She was small, with no armor and only one measly weapons practice under her belt.
And here she was facing down a giant, monstrous creature, bloodthirsty and enraged.

Heart pounding erratically, she hazarded a quick glance back at Thorin’s still form, desperate to assure herself that he was still breathing before tightening the grip on her sword and her resolve.

If she was going to die, she mused, she may as well die trying to protect someone deserving.

That didn’t seem such a terrible thing.

Azog stopped a few feet from Lyla, narrowed his eyes and smirked, baring his serrated teeth.

Lyla narrowed her own eyes in response and readied herself for what she knew was coming.

And Azog did not disappoint.

With a loud roar, he charged with surprising speed, his mace raised high and his clawed arm thrust forward, as though to impale her.

Lyla raised her sword upward to meet his mace, while trying to dodge his long sharp clawed arm. She felt the metal nick the fabric of her cloak, but missing all contact with her body.

Her arms buckled at the contact of Azog’s powerful swing. Her fingers started slipping as she tried desperately to hold her grip on her sword and stop the mace from connecting with her skull.

With a growl of annoyance, the giant orc raised his clawed arm and swung, connecting with Lyla’s face, ramming into her chin. Her grip slipped, her sword clattering, as the force of the blow sent her sprawling.

Azog chuckled as Lyla tried to scramble to her feet.

Only to meet the orc’s boot in the stomach, knocking the wind from her and sending her downward again.

The orc kicked her again, forcing Lyla to roll onto her back, the orc's thick leather boot pressed firmly on her chest.

And then he was on top of her, the cold metal of his clawed appendage crushing her windpipe, cutting off all air from her lungs.

He didn’t want to kill her quickly, she realized. He wanted to draw this out.

To torture her.
She dug her fingers into the orc’s flesh, trying to push the monstrous beast off of her. She kicked her legs furiously, trying to wiggle from his firm grip. But the sheer weight of the monster, was more than her slender form could manage.

Azog only laughed at her attempts and pressed the metal harder into her throat, spitting vicious words at her, his saliva dripping over her cheeks and into her eyes.
Her hands started searching to her sides, trying find something, anything, she could use to defend herself. Her sword was nowhere within reach.

But then she had a brilliant idea.

An incredibly stupid, brilliant, Tookish idea.

And she was no simpering Bracegirdle or a snooty Sackville Baggins.

She was a Took. And a Baggins.

Probably mostly Took if her current predicament was any indication.

And dammit if she wasn't going to use her wits to her advantage.

Bringing her right knee upward in a jerking motion, she connected a hit to the pale orc's groin. The surprised creature let out a small annoyed grunt, his grip loosening marginally.

Lyla hit him again and this time, brought her tough feet into the orc's belly and kicked upward, propelling the orc over her head and on his back. She rolled and heaved herself to her feet, certain that nothing she was doing was considered proper fighting technique...

But then again she was never proper to begin with was she?

Azog snarled, his mouth stretched into a wide gaping scowl as he charged her his mace at the ready, and his clawed arm outstretched.

But being small had its advantages. Lyla took the opportunity to slide underneath the orc's legs and then with a quick jump to her feet, she leapt onto the orc's back, her arms encircling the flustered orc's thick, cold neck.

A furious roar escaped Azog's lips as he tried to claw at her, but her position behind his back ensured he was unable to inflict any pain on her without doing so to himself.

Her gaze shifted and she noted the battled raging between the dwarves (who thankfully had found their footing) and wargs, acknowledging that the company was actually quite capable of taking care of themselves (barring Dori and Ori who were clinging to Gandalf's staff).

Yes. Yes it was all quite brilliant.

Then, to his credit Lyla acknowledged, Azog managed to connect a blow. His massive, bald head rammed into Lyla's much smaller one, smashing into her nose and causing stars to dance before her eyes.

She dropped from her perch with a low hiss mixed with a tired groan, as blood poured from her nose, down her lips, splattering into the dirt.

'blast it all.'

And then Azog was back on top of her, the metal of his claw pressed constictingly against her throat once more, this time a murderous hatred burned deep in orc's eyes as he stared down at her, snarling and hissing. He had pinned her legs as well so she well and truly couldn't move.

Well, a fighter she may not be, but she sure knew how to piss off an orc.

Time seemed to slow down as she struggled. He arms became heavy, sluggish. And her mind started to shut down. But she thought she heard her name being called.

‘I’m sorry Thorin. So sorry.’ The thought played over and over, as she lost sensation in her finger, her vision clouding. Her eyes flicked to the dwarf, his hair splayed around his head like a dark ebony halo and she couldn't help but note how utterly beautiful he looked.

"so sorry. I'm sorry." she tried to whisper to him, even as she choked for air.

The world was starting to go black and Lyla knew she was dying.

Then something happened, she did not expect.

Nor, too, did Azog.

An arrow whizzed through the air and tore through the flesh of Azog’s good arm, launching the orc backwards, his grip released form Lyla’s throat.
She let out a strangled gasp, her chest heaving, trying to clear her vision.

Another arrow connected in Azog’s leg and the orc let out a furious howl of pain searching for his attacker.

Rolling to the side, Lyla tried to pinpoint just where the shots were coming from. Not the tree where the rest of the company was. No.

Then she heard it. A fierce battle cry as two figures charged from the shadows.

Lyla was certain that her heart stopped for a moment as she watched Fili and Kili propel themselves at Azog, swords drawn and snarls of anger tearing through their throats.

Fili.

Kili.

Alive.

They were alive!

Kili was sporting an enormous bruise across his cheek and eye while the firelight enhanced the deep gash on Fili’s brow.

But they were walking (well running) and fighting.

Which was far more than she could have ever hoped for.

Lyla desperately struggled to her feet, searching for her sword, determined to drive Azog and his minions away from Thorin; away from the company.

“Biriz torag khobdudol” Azog roared even as Fili and Kili’s combined efforts drove the pale, gruesome orc away from his prize, hacking and slicing from both directions, forcing Azog into defense mode.

Another battle cry resounded as the others seemed to break through the wall of wargs and fire, pushing the beasts back, distracting them from their leader's commands. Dwalin and Dori were teamed up, Dwalin smashing warg skulls with his war hammer as Dori sliced through the orc riders, launching the foul creatures from their perches atop their wargs. Balin, Ori and Bifur had launched an attack against three other wargs, slicing at legs, Ori shooting at eyes and knocking the giant wolf-beasts senseless.

A grim smile broke across Lyla's face.

Her dwarves were a hardy bunch.

Despite the distraction, however, Azog’s words triggered a response from a lone warg and rider, unimpeded by the dwarves' resilient attacks. With a high-pitched shriek, it came barreling towards Lyla and Thorin.

She readied her sword and swung as the warg leapt overhead, nicking a paw and sending the creature stumbling, bucking its rider off.

But the hind legs of the beast, knocked Lyla in the shoulder, sending her off balance as well. She toppled backwards and landed atop the unconscious Dwarf king, the air whooshing from her lungs again, leaving the small hobbit dazed.

The orc, a grey, snakelike creature with mottled flesh and scraggly hair gave a loud shriek, raising a crude knife, and charged Lyla, who braced for the onslaught--even as she lay upon the ground--sword at the ready. She wouldn't let anyone touch Thorin. Rising, she quickly squeezed the dwarf's fingers gently.

The orc towered over her, trying to drive her wearied body to the ground, and away from Thorin. Lyla grit her teeth in resolve and held as firm as she could, though her arms were shaking.

That’s when chaos erupted around her. Merciful chaos.

To her utter surprise and horror, two massive claws attached to the largest bird that had ever seen, descended from the shadowy skies and plucked the orc off the ground and over the cliff. Another bird, attacked the warg as well, and with a yelp it too tumbled off into the dark.

Giant eagles circled the battle, plucking off wargs and orcs, tossing their distorted bodies off the cliff.

And then they started reaching for the company. She spotted Dori, Ori on the backs of one of the eagles, with Bombur clasped in the claws of another, Bifur riding the great bird's back. Oin and Dwalin were quickly plucked up, followed by Balin, Gloin, Bofur and Nori.

They were all safe. Every one of them.

A large pair of talons encircled her own shoulders before she could even cry out a protest, and suddenly she was airborne.

And then she was being dropped. Lyla let out a mighty shriek as air ripped past her, colors and shapes blending into one blurry mess.

With a small thud, she landed on the back of another eagle, whose path gave her a view of the battle along the mountain.

She saw a deep golden colored bird stretch out its thick claws, and snatch up Thorin’s unmoving form wrapping it's taloned feet securely around the unmoving dwarf's body cocooning Thorin from the scene going on around him. Two other eagles, with matchign echoing screeches, plucked Fili and Kili out of Azog’s immediate grasp.
The pale orc’s roar echoed into the sky, as Lyla let her head fall against the soft warmth of the eagle’s neck.
*******
The eagles flew them high above the mountains, until the sun peaked over the horizon, their massive wings slicing through the biting wind with ease. Lyla's grip remained tight against the soft feathers of the bird's neck and she hoped she wasn't causing the massive golden bird any pain. But she didn't dare let go. She'd done enough fall lately and wasn't eager to do any more. Ever so gently they deposited their respective cargo atop a rather impressive rock formation that looked Eastward, down into a deep valley and surrounding forest.

Lyla watched as Thorin’s body was gently placed down, his sword landing beside him with a soft clatter.

And suddenly Gandalf was there, the rest of the company following shortly behind him. The grey wizard jumped from the eagle, with a murmur of thanks and rushed to the fallen dwarf’s side.

“Thorin,” he whispered assessing the damage "Thorin?"

‘Please let him be okay.’ Lyla chanted in her head, ‘Please please.’

Gandalf rested his hand over Thorin’s bruised and swollen eyes and started chanting, the words too low for Lyla to decipher, but a warm charge filled the air as she gazed on.

Then there was a gasp for air as Thorin’s eyes slowly slid open. He let out a pained hiss and groaned as he stretched his fingers and moved his battered arms.

Lyla released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Thorin was in pain, but he was alive.

Thorin gazed around confusedly, more than likely trying to figure out how they came to rest atop massive rock face. His eyes swept Gandalf's face as he murmured:

“The company?” his cracking voice betraying his exhaustion.

“It’s alright,” Gandalf soothed, “They’re all accounted for and quite safe mind you.”

Slowly, Gandalf helped the dwarf king into a sitting position as Fili and Kili pushed their way towards their uncle, dropping to their knees. Thorin let out a strangled cry, his nephews murmuring consolingly as his shaking hand reached up to touch Fili’s braided mustache. He tugged the blonde dwarf forward and gently rested his forehead against Fili’s, a contented sigh escaping his lips as Kili, too, leaned forward to rest his bruised forehead again's his uncle's.

“Thank Aule” Lyla whispered, her heart threatened to burst with emotion.

Then suddenly (almost blessedly so), her legs couldn’t support her anymore, the adrenaline she felt during battle wearing off, leaving her limbs feeling wobbly, the world tilting. She slowly slumped to the ground, even as arms came under her shoulders to keep her steady.

Chapter Text

“Master Baggins!”

Someone was helping her to the ground, though she wasn’t sure who. Her vision was swimming and her thoughts felt…

Muzzy.

Disjointed.

“What’s happened?”

“Why is he covered in blood?”

Thorin?

Lyla was confused. Why was he asking so many questions?

Dwalin’s face filtered into focus in front of her. He gently grasped her chin and tilted her head back, his brown eyes sweeping over her. His thumb rubbed her cheek tenderly, barely ghosting her flesh.

Then he sighed and scowled deeply and shook his head.

She tried to rise.

“Alright there lad, easy does it,” Bofur whispered a wrapping his arms around her arms to keep her in place, “I’ve got ye. Just relax.”

“Th-thorin?” She questioned as her muscles spasmed and she shivered. Her tongue felt swollen and her throat thick and clogged, “Fili? Kili?”
She had to make sure they were alright. She had to-

“Aye, laddie,” Dwalin reassured her gently, patting her shoulders, “Safe and sound. Don’t worry yer little head about it. Just rest.”

Rest?

My, that did sound lovely. But only for a moment though. She didn't want to cause delay.

Leaning back, her head found purchase against rough fabric that smelled like like smoke and earth. She closed her eyes and drifted.
******
“s’goin’ on?” She slurred coming to semi-consciousness. She could feel herself moving, in the arms of…someone…wrapped up like a fauntling.
She tried to wiggle her arms and legs free, but was held firm by a strong grip. Azog’s face flashed in her mind as he pressed against her throat, pinning her, suffocating her. She started panicking, arching her back and twisting.

“Easy lass, easy,” Dwalin was hushing her, his breath tickling her ear, “I’ve got ya. Just hush. Relax. Everything’s fine.” He tightened his grip again.

Everything was fine?

Oh.

“S-sorry,”

Dwalin chuckled lightly, “Aye, don’t fret. Just get some more rest. We’ll be down on solid ground soon enough.”

“M’kay,” She inhaled deeply and the scents of cinnamon and pine filled her nostrils, soothing her quaking muscles and sputtering hear and lulling her back towards oblivion.

“Aye lass. Just rest. Ye deserve it.”

She wasn’t awake to hear the compliment.
******
How could it have come to this?

Thorin Oakenshield prided himself on his sound judgment of character. He could tell the nature of a person by the way they carried themselves, their speech, their demeanor. In fact, his talent for reading people was so precise, he was hardly ever wrong.

How, then, could he have been so utterly wrong and misjudged the hobbit so abominably?

How could he have been so stupid?

When he’d first seen the blood smattered across the hobbit's face, Thorin had been angry with the halfing, supposing the creature to have gotten underfoot and in harm’s way out of sheer ineptitude for battle. Indeed the creature had been in the wrong place on the mountain and if it weren’t for the hobbit’s clumsy footing, his nephews never would have fallen…

The thought of their terrified faces as they tumbled sent a shiver down his spine even as anger had welled up in his heart.

But then the flash of a memory jolted him and his anger dissipated. He remembered with startling, vivid clarity, the orc, that had loomed over him, prepared to sever his head as a trophy for Azog’s pride. And he certainly remembered that the orc had been stopped by an impossibly small creature with a tiny blue sword.

The hobbit had launched himself at the enemy, ill equipped and alone and defended a dwarf who had done nothing but insult and reprimand him.

He swallowed the emotions back down, averting his eyes from Bofur and Dwalin who were gingerly wrappiing the hobbit in a cloak.

His eye zeroed in on a lonely peak, snow covered and forlorn.

Erebor.

It was a strange feeling, seeing his homeland again. A sort of giddy excitement filled his veins.

Then he hazarded a glance back at the halfing and his spirit drooped, a pang of remorse filling him.

His family was safe, his own life spared, and his quest could continue.

All because of one stubborn and stupid, yet impossibly brave little hobbit.

And the company was quick to regale the story of Bilbo’s heroics (or the snatches they caught amidst the chaos) as they followed Gandalf down the winding steps of the rock face.
The deeds the hobbit had performed after Thorin had lost consciousness had his head spinning.

According to Dwalin, that small creature had faced down wargs, orcs and Azog himself, nearly losing his own life in the process. But the hobbit would not leave his side.
“Aye he was pinned beneath the white warg, but the little sprite managed to slice at its paws, and cut the beast’s throat clean through.”

“Oh and it was simply amazing uncle!” Kili chortled as he and Fili helped Thorin down the steep steps, “Master Boggins launched Azog into the air! Brilliant! I never would have thought of that.”

Had he indeed? Thorin stared at the pale lipped creature a sense of confused wonder filling him. How on this good earth had someone so small bested a giant orc like Azog?

“Aye I’ve never seen such a fierce spirit. Wouldn’t leave yer side for anything. Nearly paid the price for it too,’ Dwalin mused as he laid the bundled hobbit against a rock, his brows knit in consternation, his face dark with a fury Thorin had only seen once before…

The day Dis had died.

Dis, the woman Dwalin thought of as a sister and protected with a ferocity unparalleled; whose death nearly destroyed him, reducing the proud warrior to howls of anguish.
The thought that the hobbit meant THAT much to Dwalin did nothing to ease his conscience.

Dwalin threw a look his way, his eyes hooded and unreadable as Thorin lowered to the ground, suppressing a groan. He knew Dwalin’s thoughts, though his friend was too respectful of Thorin’s position as king to admit them. He respected him too much, even when Thorin said or did stupid things.

He knew now that his actions running towards Azog had been rash and foolhardy and it appeared that the one to pay the price for it had been a creature who had no ties to the king at all. The hobbit had fought, clawed and outsmarted the pale orc all for the one dwarf in the company that had spurned his presence from the very beginning.
And as the other dwarves stumbled to the river to wash and drink, he rested beneath a tree near the at the base of the carrock (his body too tired to do much of anything else), and watched Oin and Ori wipe the blood from the halfling’s face, with the cool water nature had provided them. As the dried flaking blood disappeared, Thorin got a full view of the damage his foolishness caused.

Or the visible damage at least.

The hobbit’s nose was turning a deep purple and another rather ghastly bruise ran along one pale cheek. His arms were coated in angry red scratches.
But it was the hobbit’s throat that made Thorin’s heart constrict. Encircling the slender neck were deep welts and bruises.

Azog had tried to choke the halfling.

A stone settled in Thorin’s belly at the knowledge.

With a grunt of approval Oin stepped back and gave a firm nod.

“Not perfect mind you, but better than he was. I won’t know the extent of that damage he sustained until he awakens,” He gave Thorin a look his eyes narrowing, “You’d do wise to follow his lead and get some rest while we can.”

“Please,” Thorin murmured, “Let him rest near me. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Oin gave Thorin a questioning look but nodded and gently tucked the unconscious creature near Thorin’s side, under the cool tree shade before he and Ori retreated to the bubbling stream to refresh themselves with strict orders for Thorin to shout if he needed anything.

Thorin stared down at the sleeping form nestled next to him. Very carefully, he adjusted his arm to allow his sleeping charge to rest his head on Thorin's shoulder. And for a long time he gazed at the mop of blonde curls still flecked with copper from blood, each bruise and scrape that marred the hobbit’s pale face, committing them to memory. And then he sighed.

What a fine mess he’d created.

Chapter Text

Lyla felt content even as she felt confused. Her mind was muddled, trapped somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She was aware that someone was near her, but her body was too tired to respond.

“Will he be alright?” Thorin’s voice floated around her.

“Aye. Far as we can tell it’s just a nasty shock,” Balin’s voice carried in reply, “We’ll let him rest for a few more hours then try and get some fluids in him. Gandalf mentioned a friend nearby who could give us shelter and supplies.”

“Very well…”

Lyla slipped back into darkness.

***
“Here Master Baggins,” Someone placed a cool cloth to her lips, gently nudging her mouth to open.

Cool, blessedly, cool water trickled down her throat, and awakening a deep thirst.

She drank greedily.
***
The next time she awoke, the sky was dark but a small fire glowed nearby. Several of the company members were sitting around the orange flames, their quiet murmurs rising to the sky.

But a good majority of the company were scattered near her, deep asleep.

Bofur lay at her feet, hat propped over his eyes, arms tucked behind his head. Ori and Dori lay next to him, Dori’s massive legs jerking every now and then as his hand searched to
find comfort by grasping Ori’s sweater. It appeared that even in sleep, Dori was protecting his young brother. Dwalin, sat propped against a small boulder, his arms crossed over his chest, a deep frown pulling at his mouth, head bent forward ever so slightly.

Most surprisingly, though, was the fact that she was cocooned between two young dwarf princes.

Fili and Kili flanked either side of her radiating warmth, their arms twisted around her own, heads tilted on her shoulders and a couple of cloaks covering their legs. Soft snores whistled through their lips.

Lyla studied each of the brothers quietly. Kili’s dark, bedraggled locks were flopped over his eyes, hiding the bruise she knew to be there. His mouth was quirked upwards in a gentle smile even as he slept, and he appeared carefree and content, which brought a smile to Lyla’s own lips. Fili’s long blonde braids were coming undone, and the gash on his forehead was hidden beneath his furrowed brows. The older of the two, Fili appeared far more thoughtful in his demeanor.

It made Lyla’s heart swell with emotion to be near two people who had risked their lives to protect hers; who had nearly died…

But they were here and they were whole (mostly) and as she watched their breathing, she was filled with a deep gratitude for their presence near her. Her gaze flicked back towards the fire where Thorin and Balin sat conversing.

Thorin’s eyes were trained on Lyla, studying her carefully, his dark brows knit in confusion, his sapphire eyes narrowed.

Lyla swallowed and looked away, eyes searching for a distraction away from the dwarf king with his tussled hair, his scraped and bruised face.

“I’ve come to find,” Gandalf’s voice made her jump, “That hobbits are most remarkable creatures.”

Lyla inclined her head towards the tall grey wizard who had been sitting in the shadows this whole time, smoking a pipe, his hat resting on his knee. Gandalf’s eyes were twinkling and a large smile broke out on his face.

“You seemed to have acquired an affinity for doing foolish things,” he continued, the soft smells from his pipe filling Lyla’s nostrils. “Running off with a band of dwarves to defeat a dragon, facing a pack of bloodthirsty orcs…you are quite a bit more Tookish than I originally supposed.”

“I-er-thank you I s’pose?” She gave the wizard a suspicious look.

Gandalf chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening in mirth. “My dear fellow, I believe that your Tookish-ness is just what this company needs.”

Lyla leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree and smiled.
****
“Mister Boggins? Are you awake?”

Kili’s voice was tickling her ear.

She let out a low grumble and tried to swat at his voice and received a chuckle in reply.

“Very smart Kili,” It was Fili this time admonishing his brother.

Lyla’s eyes cracked open a sliver but then widened in surprise.

Kili’s was perched right in front of her, his face mere inches from her own, his large brown assessing her face.

“Eh, hello there Kili,” she mumbled, “Can-er-uh help you?”

Kili grinned and sat back on his haunches. “Just checkin’ up on ye. Thorin said we’d be heading out this morning and we wanted to make sure you were fit to walk.”

“Ah, uh yes yes of course,” she remarked confused, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The brothers gave her an incredulous look and Kili started spluttering.

“You can’t be serious Mister Boggins!” Kili’s eyes had gone wide.

“Indeed!” Fili agreed with a fervent smile, “While your actions were most certainly brave, bravery does not prevent injury.” He gave Lyla a firm look.

“Yes well,” Lyla scratched the back of her head awkwardly, uncomfortable with being singled out. “I-uh-I just did what any one of you would do had you the opportunity really. Hardly brave when it comes down to it.”

Kili pushed his wayward locks out of his face and scoffed, “Well whatever you call your actions, they could not prevent injury,” He was echoing his brother, “We saw how Azog handled you. You must be hurting.”

Lyla shrugged noncommittally, “I’ll be alright. I’m fine.”

And despite the matching pair of skeptical looks, she would be. The aches were only minor. She could deal with it.

But it was her thoughts that scared her more than any physical pain could.Every time she closed her eyes, flashes of fire and leering gruesome creatures loomed above her.

She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts immediately. Best not the dwell on such subjects.

“I’m fine.” She repeated, giving the boys a small smile.

Kili pursed his lips in obvious displeasure, but Fili gave a Lyla a warm smile.

“Alright then, we’ll take your word for it,” He winked, “But don’t think that we’ll not be keeping an eye on you.”

“That’s certainly true!” Kili agree cheerfully, patting her shoulder.

Lyla noted the deep scrapes arcoss his knuckles and the way his finger was red and scratched.

Oh!

“That reminds me,” she remarked, fishing into her pocket, “I’ve almost forgotten. Here.”

She grabbed Kili’s hand and placed his small ring into the dwarf’s hand.

Kili gazed at the small object with the glittering blue stone with a mixture of wonder and reverence. His fingers gently closed around the ring.

“Where…did you find this?” He whispered his eyes hidden, a deep sorrow lacing his voice.

“I found it in my palm when I-after I-“she swallowed and trailed off looking sheepish, “I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“No don’t apologize…My mother,” Kili cut her off, “Gave this to me when I was younger…before she…” He cleared his throat and looked up at Lyla, eyes sparkling with a gentle fondness and a faraway look. “She always said that Mahal, our creator, made gifts like this for his children to show his devotion and love for them. Look here,” He opened his palm and pointed to a tiny symbol carved into the band, “This, this stands for Mahal. It means protector,” He laughed gently, “She always said that this ring would serve as a reminder of her devotion and love for her own children and that as long as I wore it, I would bear the protection of Mahal with me wherever I wandered.”

Kili pressed the ring carefully back into Lyla’s hands and closed her hand around the trinket.

“You remind me of her sometimes, you know…my mother. And I would be honored if you would keep this as a reminder of the importance you hold within our company and…our family. You are a protector of Durin. And a friend of the dwarves.”

“I-oh, no I don’t think it’s quite so grand as that!” She fumbled for words, “I just…I mean I couldn’t even protect you when we fell…”

Kili’s fingers squeezed her hands gently, “Our fall was an accident no one could have foreseen. You are not responsible. But, you DID protect our family when Fili and I could not. You protected this company. You saved this quest. We are indebted to you.”

“But I-“

Fili’s fingers touched her lips as he crouched next to his brother, his blonde hair and bearded face a stark contrast to Kili’s appearance. Fili smiled, “We are a proud race Master Hobbit and we take acts of bravery very seriously. This is only a small token of our eternal gratitude.” He ruffled Lyla’s hair, “Please accept it. It will stand as a mark that you are beloved friend of the dwarven race.”

“Oh. I-uh thank…thank you.” Lyla tightened her grip on the piece of jewelry feeling completely inadequate to handle such a significant token.

But she was humbled by the two princes who knelt before her, their large eyes shining with a warmth and affection that her mind craved and she found that she could not refuse them.
******
Several hours later, as the company followed Gandalf towards their refuge, many members of the company pestered her concerning her health.
Though she understood why, now.

Before they marched out, she had made her way to the stream flanked by Fili, Kili and Bofur, to get a drink and, hopefully, clean the grime off her face, all the while harangued by the pesky Durins and the cheerful miner with question after question.

‘Are ye alright to walk?’

‘Do you want some help getting to the river?’

‘You won’t fall in will you?’

‘Are you always that pale? Maybe you should sit down’

It was enough to drive her crazy. But after repeatedly explaining that she was indeed relatively capable of taking care of herself, they left the questions alone. But they followed her like faithful sheep, keeping an ever watchful eye on her walking and breathing, lest she suddenly lose her balance.

She learned that Oin and Ori had tended to her while unconscious, but there remained a sense of unease within her, knowing that she still sported blood in her hair and on her face. She needed it off of her.

But as she leaned over the side of the bank to cup water into her hands, she a startled gasp had escaped her lips.

Her reflection presented, with startling clarity, each bruise welt and angry red scratch on her face. Her nose was the color of lilacs, her throat mottled with green and deep purple bruising, a long scratch ran down her cheek.

Well. She’d certainly seen better days.

And she did hurt. Her stomach, she knew, was probably several shades different than her normal coloring, and her throat ached something fierce.

But it seemed that Azog had not intended to break any bones when he had kicked her. No. He had relished inflicting pain on her in a slow deliberate manner, drawing out the pain as long as possible.

She had then closed her eyes and dunked her entire head into the frigid water silencing the thoughts, and refused to look at her reflection again.

She had felt immensely better, though, when Dwalin returned her little sword to her, cleaned of the grime from her scuffle and glinting in the sunlight.

Now as they traveled, she patted the hilt reassuringly and felt an odd sense of calm settle over her knowing that if push came to shove, she could use her little sword to defend herself.

Somewhat.

So, she wasn’t completely helpless after all.

Her fingers traveled to the ring that Fili had tied to a leather strand for her and gazed contemplatively at the leader of their company who was walking near Gandalf, his hair tousled by the breeze and his gait slowed and a tad unsteady (though his nephews were there to lend support—discreetly—when needed). He’d shed his jacket, opting to carry it instead and Lyla could see the strain of his muscles through his tunic, the way they rippled and moved as he marched forward. She could also see the pain radiating off of him.

And since she had woken up, she’d been greeted (mostly with warm reception) by every member of the their rag tag band of misfits. Even Bifur had grunted at her and gave her a light clap on the back.

Not so with Thorin Oakenshield.

In fact, the dwarf didn’t even acknowledge her presence. He never looked in her direction or said two words to her.

He was ignoring her again.

And she couldn’t figure out what she’d done this time to incite his ire.

She let out a puff of air as her throat twinged in pain, the collar of her shirt rubbing at the raw skin and pushed thoughts of the leader out of her head. Though she’d admit that it did hurt that no matter what she did, Thorin Oakenshield was determined to think ill of her.

“Master Baggins?”

Lyla’s head jerked up and she stared at Ori who had come up beside her. He gave her a hesitant smile, his freckles standing out against his pale skin and his red hair shining in the sunlight.

Lyla gave an encouraging smile. Out of all the dwarves, Ori seemed to be afflicted with shyness and barely spoke to Lyla (or anyone other than his brothers) if he could help it.

“What can I do for you Master Ori?” She replied, putting a hand on his shoulder to, hopefully, instill some comfort to the sweater-clad dwarf.

Ori rubbed the back of his neck carefully and gave Lyla a hopeful look. “I was wondering if you’d allow me to draw your portrait when we have a moment to rest.”
Her portrait?

“But why?” She saw Ori’s downcast face and quickly tried to make amends, “ I mean, of course you can Ori, you mistook my words. I don’t mind that at all. I’m merely confused as to why you wish to capture my likeness.”

“Oh!” Ori’s eyes lit up, “I’m the record keeper of the company you see! It’s my job to detail our journey, our successes and-“ he cast a glance at Thorin’s back, “our pitfalls. I’ve been working on portraits of all the dwarves, but I’ve yet to draw you.”

“But I’m just a hobbit. Surely your people won’t care much to know about me.”

Ori gave her a smile, “You are not ordinary Master Baggins. True I haven’t met many hobbits, but you certainly outshine many dwarves that I’ve come across. I know the people will want to hear your story in this grand adventure.”

Lyla’s heart fluttered at the compliment and she ducked her head in appreciation and embarrassment.

“Thank you.” She murmured.

“Aye that’d be true there Master Ori!” Bofur chimed in, throwing an arm around Lyla’s shoulders, “This is no ordinary hobbit indeed.”

The three lapsed into a companionable silence, Bofur refusing to remove his comforting hold on Lyla (and she suspected it was because he was concerned. Her steps HAD started to falter a bit as exhaustion seeped into her bones again). Lyla tried to enjoy the sunshine and the scenery. The woods rose high into the sky and birds twittered and soared above the company. Small wildflowers dotted alongside the path they travelled on and she resisted the urge to go and pluck one.

‘That’s what hobbit lasses do Lyla, not men.’ She had to remind herself, though she doubted that the dwarves would know the difference.

But as the sun started to set, the noises of the forest died and an eerie silence settled around the company. The air started to feel heavy and the hairs on the back of Lyla’s neck rose.

Then she heard the low rumble of a growl

The company stilled and Bofur pushed Lyla behind him as the company huddled together, weapons drawn.

She noticed a massive shadow hiding in the denser part of the forest, before it suddenly darted towards them, felling bushes and branches in its haste towards them. Lyla’s eyes widened in horror as an enormous bear broke the tree line and sauntered towards them, saliva dripping from its massive, sharp teeth.

It let out a low, rumbling, roar and rocked back on its haunches, sniffing the air.

Then it charged towards the company, its powerful paws kicking up dirt and a low growl rumbling through its chest.

“MOVE!” Thorin shouted as the beast neared them.

They scattered, Bofur tugging the collar of Lyla’s shirt with him, forcing her to follow him towards the bushes.
And the bear followed.

Bofur tripped in shock as the beast bore down on them, causing he and Lyla to tumble to the ground so that Lyla was staring at the sky peeking through the trees.

Oh bebother it all!

The bear let out a low grumble and sniffed at Lyla’s feet and up her legs.

She scrambled backwards trying to get away, as Bofur let our a roar of his own.

“Leave ‘im alone you oversized rug!”

The bear turned to Bofur who was pointing his mattock at the bear’s face. With a deft movement, it swatted the weapon from the dwarf’s hand and knocked Bofur to the ground once more.

The bear turned back to Lyla, who had scrambled near a tree, and slowly advanced again on the small hobbit, sniffing the dirt and growling lowly.

Lyla’s heart hammered and she squeezed her eyes shut as the animal’s warm breath blasted in her face.

It let out a massive grown and a terrified squeak erupted from Lyla’s lips.

She refused to open her eyes.

Another large blast of warm air and then…

“You most certainly are NOT a dwarf.”

Chapter Text

Lyla’s mouth dropped open in surprise and confusion as the largest man she had ever seen stood before her.

Granted she hadn’t met many tall folk in the confines of the Shire, but still!

And hadn’t there been a bear pawing at her a moment ago?

Now, there stood a man, easily twelve feet tall—towering over every member of the company including Gandalf—with long scraggly black hair, a bushy tangled beard, clothed in a deep green tunic that reached well below his knees, his feet bare of any footwear.

And he was staring at her, his dark eyes, narrowed and assessing.

“You most certainly are NOT a dwarf,” he repeated, “But what are you then?”

He reached down and fingered her blonde curls between his massive fingers, then poked at her ears and shoulders.

“Leave him alone!” Thorin thundered from behind the man, his sword drawn and eyes blazing. Dwalin stood next to him, his battle axe poised at the ready, eyes narrowed into slits, and muttering in the dwarves’ ancient tongue.

The man snarled and whipped around to face the dwarf king who held his position and sent a glare of his own at the hulking man, his blue eyes blazing.

“Do not think you can command me, dwarf,” he growled at Thorin, “You trespass on my land and have no authority here. My judgment decides your fate so choose your actions carefully.”

Thorin, to his credit, did not advance again. Though his stance stayed firm and his annoyance radiated from him in waves.

Beorn turned back to Lyla and grabbed her ankle, hoisting the hobbit—upside down—into the air.

She let out a squeak of surprise as the blood rushed to her head making her eyes water.

“I know that orcs and goblins," he spa the words, "have been roaming these lands, so tell me now, little one, what type of creature you are before I decide that you share the same fate they experienced.”

From her vantage point, hanging upside down as she was, she noted that the man’s eyes were narrowed and his lips curved into a deep frown.

“I’ll have you know,” she mumbled straightening her tunic and belt as best she could, “I may be nothing so fierce or terrifying as a goblin or orc, but I AM a hobbit from the Shire and I am not used to such calloused handling!”

“And just what is a hobbit then?” He growled and gave her a little shake.

The company howled in annoyance, prepared to charge.

The man sent them another snarling command to keep them at bay. “Do not come near me! I control the little one’s fate.”

‘Blast’ Lyla groaned silently at the predicament. She'd become a bargaining chip to the two groups.

“A-a hobbit? “ How did one explain a hobbit? “Well, it’s nothing so interesting really. We’re known as little people or Halflings in the West from where I hail,” She rattled off answers, “We-ah are small, smaller even than dwarves and cannot grow beards. We live in little homes tucked away in the hills and enjoy good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts such a home can provide us. And well,” Lyla paused for a minute considering just how to placate this obviously distrustful giant, “we possess no magic, except perhaps the stealth required to slip away unnoticed by enemies if we choose.”

‘Except for now’ she thought in annoyance. ‘Of all the times I could use stealth, I manage to be hung up like some prized fish!’

“You hail from the West?” The man asked in surprise, “What brings you so far from home then? And with a company of dwarves no less. For I see no other ‘hobbits’ in your midst.”

“I-ah…I’m on a quest of sorts…” she trailed off not wanting to divulge the dwarves’ secrets to this complete stranger who held her captive (by her ankles no less).

“Now, little hobbit,” The man gazed at her curiously righting her in his hands and bringing their faces impossible close together, “What are you and your band of dwarves doing on my land?”

“I believe,” Gandalf’s voice cut through the tension, “That I can answer that Master Beorn.”

‘So that’s his name.’

The giant man, Beorn, turned towards Gandalf and let out a low chuckle, “Ah Gandalf the Grey. I do not believe we have ever met, though I do know your close friend Radagast quite well.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf remarked drily, “Radagast is a most valued friend. A great lover of animals and nature like yourself,” He sent Beorn a charming smile, “Now, if you’d be so kind to place Master Baggins back down, I believe I can explain everything. It may take some time however, and we are terribly weary.”

Beorn sighed, “I see your tricks wizard,” he growled (though with less ferocity than before), “ And youo must know how I feel about those who trespass on my land. But I am intrigued by this tale of yours.”

Instead of placing Lyla on the ground, however, he raised the protesting hobbit higher and perched her on his shoulder much to her consternation.

“Put me down now!” she screeched clinging to the giant’s hair. Beorn only chuckled at her antics, clearly unruffled by her actions.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied to her, “I see you are injured and the fastest way to get to my home will be to ride on my shoulder.” And then he winked at her. Winked! “But more than that, I find you fascinating and would very much like to indulge in your company.”

Beorn then turned to the dwarves who were still poised to attack, looks of rage lacing each of their features. “Far better company than dwarves I imagine,” he muttered and then sighed, “Follow me then you lot. And keep up. I’ll not be wasting time gathering you together should you become separated.”

And then he was off, his massive footfalls rumbling through the forest.
*****
Only when they were all safely tucked away in Beorn’s impossibly large hut, did the giant relinquish his hold on Lyla and lowered her from her perch atop his shoulder. He did, however, place her in a large chair next to himself, on a chair large enough to impede escape from his attentions.

It was all rather disconcerting to say the least.

Mercifully though, he presented the dwarves with large tankards of ale and even larger plates of sweet bread, butter, honey and spicy leafy greens carried on the backs of ponies no less!

That had surprised Lyla a little. She’d never been served by a pony before.

It was…

Unusual.

Though, the whole situation seemed a bit odd.

But her mouth watered at the feast before her, her stomach giving a low rumble of protest at her hesitancy to touch the food. Beorn, however, took a large chunk of bread, slathered in whipped butter and golden honey and thrust it into the hands of the famished hobbit.

“Here you are little hobbit. Best eat up! You look a bit thin for someone claiming to love food as much as you do.”

Lyla didn’t argue, but sat (quite contentedly now) munching on the warm flaky bread. The honey was rich and delightfully soothing. So too was the large mug filled with ale that the giant handed to her.

She nearly giggled at how absurd she must look sitting in a rather large chair with a tankard of ale that could very well satisfy the thirst of at least four hobbits. She felt like a tween again.

And she supposed she had been too hasty with her judgments of the giant.

She took another large slice of sweet bread Beorn offered her and tucked in.

“Now!” the giant boomed, once everyone was situated, “Let’s here this grand tale of your Gandalf. It had better be good if you are to remain in this house. I’m not particularly fond of guests. And so many besides! If you can convince me of your need, then I shall supply it.” He turned and smiled at Lyla, his eyes twinkling in mirth, “Though I may keep the hobbit for myself.”

He winked at her again.

A murmur of annoyance spread through the company as more than one dwarf shot Beorn a glare. And she thought she heard the low rumble of Dwalin’s voice spouting threats of bodily harm should the giant try to cage her up.

Lyla could feel her ears going pink and she rescinded her earlier silent apology.

The brute was intentionally pushing the dwarves’ patience. And for what really? Amusement? Clearly he did not enjoy their company and was causing a stir to satiate his ego. And Thorin wasn't helping matters by glaring viciously at Lyla as she sat atop her chair. His arms were crossed, his face set in a deep frown as his hair cascaded over his shoulders, hiding some of the bruises on his face.

Bebother and confusticate all of it! And Everyone!

She took another large bite of her bread determined to ignore everyone and the growing tension.

“Well, let us begin then!” Gandalf remarked cheerfully, launching into the tale.

He had Balin recount the events of the mountain pass, the thunder battle, Fili, Kili and Lyla’s fall (Thorin and Beorn both shot Lyla inquisitive looks), and their imprisonment in Goblin Town.

Lyla’s attention was riveted as Balin wove his tale of how hoards of goblins had converged upon them dragging them to the great goblin king, who demanded Thorin’s head. Her heart clenched at the images that flashed through her mind of the orc she’d seen threatening Thorin’s life.

Then Balin mentioned how Gandalf had rescued them, they’d slain the great goblin king and escaped the mountain’s caves.

“And how, did you all come back together then?” Beorn questioned eying the dwarves and Lyla, “If three of your company fell over the side of the mountain as you claim,” here doubt seeped into his voice, “How did you manage to survive such a fall?”

Lyla’s throat constricted and she hazarded a glance at Fili and Kili.

The brothers, however, seemed rather unruffled.

“Well it was nothing so dramatic,” Kili replied waving his hand, “Fili has an exceptional skill with knives you see. Managed to get one to grip onto an overhanging ledge and we found a small alcove to hide in until the rain stopped and we were able to climb up.”

So that’s how they’d done it!

“We did have a nasty run in with a rogue band of goblins. Nasty creatures really,” Fili wrinkled his nose, “Had to push them over an outcropping ledge to get away. Nearly tumbled over with them.”

Then Beorn turned to Lyla.

“And what of you?” He remarked gruffly eyes assessing the tiny hobbit, “What’s your harrowing tale?”

Lyla was caught in a quandary for a moment, considering her own experience: the slimy creature, the game of riddles, the ring.

She found herself wanting to escape the memory, and protect her secrets.

But why should she?

“Well,” She mumbled averting her eyes from any the onlookers, “I, uh, managed to land on a ledge and stumbled through the tunnels.”

“You managed to make it through the tunnels without meeting any foul creatures?” Beorn questioned incredulously, “That is a rather impressive stroke of luck if I do say so!”

Lyla laughed nervously.

Luck indeed.

It was here that Gandalf took over the conversation, though Lyla did catch the way the wizard narrowed his at her questioningly.

He recounted their dart into the trees, the fire, the falling, Azog and Thorin’s scuffle and Lyla’s defense of the dwarf king.

Her ears were burning by this point and she wished people would stop commenting about her earlier actions. But Beorn seemed immensely impressed and gave a bright toothy smile.

“Indeed?” He boomed, “This little rabbit managed to best a slew of orcs and wargs? I can’t believe that!”

“I am NOT a rabbit,” Lyla huffed in annoyance even as she fought back a yawn. Her belly much more full than it had been in a long while, her eyes were starting to droop.

Beorn laughed, “Oh little bunny, getting drowsy from bread and honey?” He ruffled Lyla’s hair, the dwarves grumbling in annoyance at the giant’s antics.

“NOT A RABBIT,” she repeated.

“But I confess it is true,” Gandalf remarked pulling out his pipe, “This little hobbit showed remarkable courage and reliance.”

Beorn cast a glance her way again, a thoughtful look clouding his features, “That certainly explains the injuries to your face and arms.” Then he let out a chuckle, “And it certainly explains the dwarves’ obvious protectiveness over you.” Then he frowned and turned to face Gandalf, his smile disappearing, “Though that doesn’t explain WHY your company of dwarf warriors would permit a woman to enter battle in the first place.”

Lyla’s eyes widened in shock, as the comment rocked her back to full alert.

Had he just…?

Did he really…?

‘Oh no’

Chapter Text

It was as if Lyla’s stomach had shrunk, coiling into knots making her regret that third slice of buttery bread. Bile rose into her throat as thirteen pairs of dwarven eyes bore into her. Heat rose to her cheeks, making the bruise across her nose tingle.

She swallowed painfully and waited with baited breath for the tirade to start.

“Well it’s about ruddy time!” Bofur remarked grabbing his tankard and taking a slurping gulp. His hat was askew and he bore a marvelous grin on his face. “I was wonderin’ when we’d get this out in the open. A relief to finally have us the know the truth, aye lass?”

It was Bofur’s turn to wink at Lyla.

Wait, what?

How did he…?

“Durin’s beard, you’re a girl?!” Kili questioned incredulously, eyes going wide.

“Well of course she is, you dolt!” Fili countered, “I mean look at her face! That’s a girl’s face if ever I’ve seen one.”

Lyla’s ears went pink at the assessment.

“But you haven’t ever seen one! And you certainly didn’t realize that Master Baggins was a lass!” Chortled Nori with a cheeky grin as he puffed on his pipe.

Fili sat glaring at Nori, muttering in the dwarves’ private tongue (and Lyla suspected that they weren’t kind words).

Voices rose and chaos erupted around the wide-eyed hobbit who sat perched in her oversized chair, watching the dwarves gesturing, shouting, banging their glasses down, and shooting Lyla inquisitive looks.

“I said she was a girl this whole time didn’t I?” There was Bofur again. “Aye the little lass couldn’t fool me.” He grinned triumphantly at the company.

“Frightful bad luck to bring a woman on a journey like this,” Gloin muttered darkly, “Nothin’ but trouble it’ll be.” He shot her a grumpy look.

“Time to pay up Dori!” Nori crowed, and a small cheer went up within the company.

Dori grumbled in a low voice and produced a few pouches from a hidden pocket in his coat and tossed them to Bofur, Nori, Bifur, and Balin.

What?

How did so many guess her secret?

And then they’d bet on whether she was female?!

How utterly ridiculous!

“Now just a minute here-“ She began.

The voices of the company rose louder, drowning out Lyla’s voice.

“Is your name really Bilbo then?” Ori questioned quietly, curiosity shining in his large brown eyes.

“Well uh-“

“Has your hair always been that short?” Dori remarked, “Don’t tell me you cut it just to fool us! You could have braided it you know. We dwarves would have never known the difference.”

“You see-“

“Do hobbit lasses always wear trousers then? Like the men do?” Kili.

“Not particularly-“

“Can you cook then? I’d like to have someone else in the company cook once in awhile,”

“Well Bombur actually-“

“This certainly explains why she’d disappear when we’d bathe or…”

“Or why she slept further away from the rest of us.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me check her injuries then, yes?” Oin muttered grumpily, turning towards Dwalin, who had yet to speak.

Dwalin sat arms folded, an unreadable expression on his face, “Aye, that’d be the truth of it,” he muttered lowly, “I handled her injuries just fine both times, so lay off questionin’ me.” He sent a glare to the grizzled face of the medic.

“Dwalin knew?!”

“Why’d you tell him Master Boggins?”

“When did ‘e figure it out then?”

“Why’d you keep it a secret from the rest of us?”

The dwarves were firing questions and thoughts around her so fast that she couldn’t answer anyone. Bifur too sat, gesturing wildly at Bofur and Bombur who were laughing and nodding their heads.

Nori was smirking as he counted his coins, while Ori fidgeted with his sweater, shooting Lyla curious glances, a blush marring his cheeks.

Thorin remained like a statue, his face darkening as the chaos continued around him.

Instead of even bothering to answer, she sat there, slack-jawed at the turn of events. She could feel Beorn chuckling beside her and she noted that Gandalf had an amused look on his face.

Her head was spinning from the cacophony of noise and tittering excitement that flitted through the company and she couldn’t decipher really who was speaking anymore.

“How’d he figure it out then I wonder?” Dori remarked contemplatively, clearly referring to Dwalin’s knowledge concering Lyla’s gender.

“Must ‘ave been her hands. They are dainty little things.” Bofur commented thoughtfully

“Or maybe her nose? It’s rather small as well. I don’t suppose the hobbit women folk don’t have large noses. Not like dwarves in any case”

“Aye that’s true enough!” Gloin retorted. And then they launched into a bet against one another concerning the TRUE reason Dwalin had figured out Lyla's secret.

“I don’t get what’s so different about women folk anyway. What’ve they got that the menfolk don’t have?” Kili remarked, sending Fili into a fit of laughter nearly choking on his ale.

“Are we going to make her fight the dragon then?” Ori questioned, “I mean her being a lady n’all. Would it be proper?”

“Shazara!” Thorin finally roared rising to his feet. His eyes were blazing as he turned to Lyla.

The room went still.

“What game is this then?!” He growled, “What trick are you trying to play?”

“I beg your pardon?” Lyla questioned confused.

Trick?

“I will not tolerate your ignorance any longer!” He thundered sending a glare her way, his blue eyes piercing into her hazel ones. Lyla’s stomach clenched painfully and resisted the urge to squirm at the scrutiny in the dwarf’s gaze. “Why did you deceive this company?”

“I-“

“I believe,” Gandalf cut in, “That I was the reason behind the hobbit’s deception. I knew you would have refused her had you known the truth.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed further as he turned to Gandalf.

“Confound it wizard of course I would have refused! What did you hope to gain from this little charade?!”

“My dear fellow,” Gandalf waved off Thorin’s attitude flippantly, “I hoped to gain nothing more than an exceptional burglar for your quest.”

Thorin was sputtering, “That burglar of yours is a female! Women do NOT belong on quests!”

Gandalf had risen to his feet, “If I say that Master Baggins is burglar, then a burglar she is! There’s a lot more to her than meets the eye and she’s got a great deal more to offer than you suppose!”

“And Master Oakenshield, surely you can see how the hobbit’s been an asset to this company.” Bofur tried to placate the furious king.

Thorin threw a glare at him for his efforts. “Stay out of this miner. It is MY home we are trying to reclaim and I won’t allow some soft shelled simpleton of a woman detract from success.”

Soft shelled? Simpleton?! Lyla’s eyes narrowed.

“Aye soft she may be, but certainly no simpleton,” Bofur muttered darkly. “And you’d do well to remember that you highness.”

“And you!” He turned back to Lyla ignoring Bofur’s blatant threat, “Come with me now Halfling. We have matters to discuss.”

He advanced towards Lyla with an almost predatory gait the tension rippling off his shoulders, his face set in a firm and unmovable frown.

Beorn started growling at Thorin’s movements and grabbed Lyla by the collar of her shirt, hoisting her into the like a kitten, out of Thorin’s grasp.

“Stand down dwarf!” he thundered, “You shan’t harm this little creature! I forbid it.”

“That creature is a member of MY company, and I’ll do what I please. Now release her!”

“I shall not!” Beorn growled, “Perhaps I should make good my threat and keep the little bunny here with me then! I shall not allow further harm to come to this tiny creature.”

Thorin sighed in frustration and pinched his nose, wincing at the large gash running across the bridge of it.

“I mean her no harm,” He muttered in annoyance and then he sighed and gave Beorn a firm look, “I promise not to harm her. You have my word.”

“And where was your WORD,” Beorn sneered, “when she entered battle on your behalf? You did not protect her then. How can I believe that you’ll protect her now? I thought dwarves prized women above all other things.” Beorn’s glare tore through the company.

Lyla had quite enough of this. It was all getting simply ridiculous.

“Master Beorn,” He muttered with a defeated sigh,” Let me down please. I wish to speak with Master Oakenshield.”

Beorn let out a noncommittal growl but let the hobbit down to the ground gently. Lyla steadied herself and straightened her tunic.

“Alright then Master Dwarf,” she huffed, sending a glare at Thorin, “Lead on.”

Thorin gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, slowly walking towards the entry to another room.

Dwalin was immediately on his feet, battle axe drawn and following the dwarf king.

“Come along then lass,” Dwalin grumbled, “Let’s get this over with.”

Huh?

Thorin shot Dwalin a surprised look, “I don’t need a sentry on guard while I talk with a Halfling. Sure you know that?”

Dwalin sent a glare to the king, “Aye I know that,” he muttered, “But I wasn’t coming for you. I’ve seen yer temper when yer good and riled. You tend to forget yerself when yer angry.”

Lyla’s eyebrows shot into her hair line and Thorin sported a dumbfounded look upon his face.

Had Dwalin really just insulted his king? And for what?

A hobbit?

“And we best not forget ‘bout me either,” Bofur’s hand came to rest on Lyla’s shoulder and he leveled a look at Thorin, challenging him.

The dwarf king, to his credit, merely nodded and then lead the way from the room.

With a resigned sigh, Lyla followed, flanked by Dwalin and Bofur, with Gandalf trailing behind.

***
“Now tell me Halfling” Lyla was keenly aware that Thorin was refusing to use her name, “Just why you chose to lie to this company.”

Lyla squared her shoulders and gave Thorin a firm look, “I only did what Gandalf recommended and I meant no harm with my actions.”

Thorin scoffed and sent her a glare, his arms clasped behind his back. “So was this all a game to you then? A way to go exploring was it?” His ire was rising and Lyla could see it.

“That’s not it at all really-“

“Isn’t it?!” Thorin muttered darkly, “Isn’t this just a game for a hobbit lass who can’t fit in with her own people.”

Ouch.

“Now just a minute here-“

“No!” Thorin grumbled, “I will not cease. You!” He pointed a large finger towards Lyla, “Have come into this company through false means and should leave at once. This isn’t a game for a simple country child to play. There are real consequences.”

“I understand that!” Lyla huffed in annoyance, her own anger boiling. “I came on this journey fully aware of that.”

“Do you? Do you really?” Thorin scoffed, “It seems to me that you’re merely a child playing a game. You know nothing of hardship or the world, nothing of war, and certainly nothing of loss! You do not know how to survive in the wild. Tell me Master Baggins,” he sneered her name, “What was the motivation for your actions earlier? The search for fame and purpose? Trying to find meaning in your life outside of the Shire where you never belonged to begin with? What a pity if must have been for your mother to have such a daughter-“

CRACK!

Lyla’s palm connected with the dwarf king’s face before she even had time to process her actions.

“How dare you!” She seethed at the stunned dwarf, “Don’t ever mention my mother! You know nothing of me Master Oakenshield. You know not my life nor my history so I suggest you remain silent on the subject! I came on the quest at the request of Gandalf. I hid the truth because he suggested it. For no other reason than that! You would not have let me come otherwise. I meant no offense and I certainly don’t treat this excursion like some sort of game. I know the stakes, I know how much it means to you!”

And to her annoyance, tears of anger welled in her eyes, “I know you doubt me. I know you always have, and you’re right I am soft. I’ve never really experienced life out of the Shire. But I do know hardship.” She swallowed back the emotions and memories of the Fell Winter, “And that’s why I did what I did.” She shrugged, “I couldn’t let you lose your chance. You deserved a chance. And confound it all!” She huffed, “I care about your happiness!”

Her eyes widened and then she blanched.

Had she really just said that?

Had she really just done that?! Aule help her.

“Oh, save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” She growled sending Thorin—who had yet to move—a glare and then turned on her heel.

“Goodnight,” she muttered stalking away.

She’d had enough of dwarves for one day thank you!
***
Thorin watched the Hobbit retreat with a clouded expression, still reeling from the slap he’d received. It hadn't hurt so much as surprised him.

Something strange bloomed in him as he watched her (HER!) retreat through the doorway.

Respect?

Surprise?

Something.

“Well I’d say ye fair deserved that,” Dwalin grumbled crossing his arms over his chest. “And here I was afraid the lass couldn’t hold her own.”

Bofur sniggered, “Aye, full o’spirit that one is.” Then he sent Thorin a glare, “Though not deservin’ of yer ire yer highness.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf chimed in, eyebrow raised, “Your pride has clearly clouded your judgment Thorin Oakenshield. And that,” he huffed, “Will be your downfall.”

Suddenly Thorin was defensive. “You cannot be serious! I am the leader of this company and as such I should know the truth! Why did no one tell me what was going on?”

“And what good would it have done you?” Gandalf was suddenly angry, towering over Thorin, “As far as I can tell you’ve done nothing but condemn that creature since the first day of this journey!”

“But a woman isn’t fit to be travelling in the wild!” Thorin growled, glaring back at the wizard. Didn’t he understand this? Women should remain at home, where it was safe. “I will not have that guilt on my conscience if something should befall the lass.”

“I seem to recall you mentioning that you could not guarantee her safety,” Gandalf muttered, “Nor that you would be responsible for her fate.”

“She’s a woman! Had I known that from the start, I would have refused to allow her on this journey. A bumbling male, perhaps, but a woman? She’s incapable of surviving!”

‘nor should she have to’ he thought dourly. ‘She should be back in her warm little hole. Protected. Safe.’

He couldn't allow that to dwell on his conscience.

“Aye, but that woman has saved this company more than once,” remarked Balin coming through the doorway.

“The trolls?” Thorin retorted, “They were her mess in the first place!”

“That’s not true Uncle,” Fili cut in, “It was our fault the ponies got loose and Master Baggins was only trying to help.”

“And she saved my life!” Bofur retorted glaring at Thorin, a firm grip on his mattock.

Thorin was surprised at the fierce loyalty the hobbit had garnered in such a short amount of time amongst battle hardened dwarves.

Had she bewitched them somehow.

'Women and their seductive ways! Bah!'

“She saved your life Uncle,” Fili remarked quietly, sending Thorin a confused look, “She defended you when we could not.”

“She defended me?” He scoffed, “You would have defended me had she not caused you to go tumbling over the side of a cliff!”

“Do you truly believe that?” Balin questioned patiently, raising an eyebrow at Thorin.

He didn’t know what to believe anymore

“He’s taken her!” Ori cried, stumbling into the room, “Master Beorn has carted the hobbit off and says he’ll not return her until he’s good and ready!”

A cry of outrage ran through the company at Beorn’s impertinent attitude many of the company muttering about ways to exact justice for their burglar.

Thorin groaned and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

Mahal help him

Chapter Text

“With all due respect Master Beorn,” Lyla huffed indignantly as she rested on the giant’s shoulder once again, “As much as I appreciate the sentiment of you protecting me from the company, kidnapping me hardly seems a logical reaction.”

Beorn laughed as he set the hobbit down on a rather high table and patted her on the head gently. “Indeed little bunny, don’t worry yourself so! I have not kidnapped you!”

Lyla hazarded a glance to the ground and surmised that jumping would be a stupid idea.

It probably wouldn’t kill her.

But it would certainly hurt.

Hadn’t kidnapped her?

Ha!

She grumbled in annoyance and folded her arms around herself. “I’m hard pressed to believe that.”

She had been scooped up and whisked away (despite the protests of a few of the company members) as soon as she had come back into the giant’s presence. And now she found herself in a bedroom of sorts, a massive door standing between herself and her dwarven company, and sitting on a rather large table with no foreseeable method of getting to the floor.

Beorn could say what he liked, but Lyla was certain she’d been kidnapped.

As it was the giant simply grinned and handed her a large piece of honeycomb.

Lyla, much to her embarrassment, felt her stomach rumble, and she took the proffered treat without hesitation, delighting in the silky texture of the morsel as it slid down her throat.

That is until a large finger poked at her stomach gently.

“I beg your pardon!” She stuttered, her cheeks flaming, “What on earth are you doing?!”

Beorn chuckled, “I was trying to determine just where all my food seems to disappear to. I’ve never met a creature so small, who loved food so much! Indeed you have quite the appetite.”

Lyla sniffed, “I’ll have you know that I have the same appetite as your average hobbit. I’m not a glutton thank you very much!”

The giant laughed again, “I meant no offense, little bunny. Truly I did not. I am merely astonished.”

“As I told you before, I am NOT a bunny or a rabbit or an animal of any kind,” Lyla muttered, a scowl playing on her lips even as she continued to nibble on the honeycomb.
Bunny indeed.

Beorn brought forth a bowl of water and a large rag.

“Never you fear little bunny, I promise that you haven’t been kidnapped,” He reassured her earlier suspicions, but stopped quite suddenly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together and his expression going thoughtful, “Well, not permanently anyway. Though perhaps I may rescind that testament and keep you here after all.”

Then he winked at her, a toothy grin gracing his face.

“But you can’t just keep me here!” She admonished with a deep frown, “I’m not some pet for you to lavish your attentions on!”

“Oh but you’d be very content here!” Beorn remarked cheerfully, “You’d want for nothing: food, shelter, a relaxing bed. It’d all be provided for you. I could take care of your every need my little rabbit.”

“I am NOT a rabbit Master Beorn. I have a name you know!”

Beorn waved off her remark, “And you’d be safe here! Much safer than you have been,” His eyes darkened as he gazed at Lyla, eyes darting across her face and down to her neck.

She rubbed her bruised throat self-consciously and gazed at the floor..

Then the giant laughed again suddenly, his face brightening and ruffled her hair, a smile tugging at his lips as he dipped the rag in the warm water, “No you are not to remain here I suppose, my little bunny. Much too spirited to be caged up. Though I may not return you to your company anytime soon. Best let them stew over their actions yes? So let’s get you cleaned up and refreshed and then you get some rest. I’ll take care of your dwarves.”

“You won’t be too…harsh with them will you?”

Would he throw them from the safety of his home?

The thought didn't sit well with her.

Beorn stared at her for a moment, confusion written on his features. “Too harsh with them?” Then he scoffed, “They deserve none of the comforts I provide.”

He scowled at the wall.

“Dwarves,” He spat the word, “are a selfish race. They destroy the beauty of the forests, the mountains and for what? Riches?” He scoffed again, “They pride themselves on their treasures of gold and jewels and care nothing for the true beauty of nature, of family.”

Beorn’s gaze shifted to Lyla, “How they’ve come to garner your affections I cannot guess. You are a child of the earth, it’s quite clear. You care nothing for the conquests of the dwarves, their insatiable thirst for power and gold. And yet you treat them like rare jewels.” Then he frowned, “But I find their treatment of YOU immensely displeasing. Especially the leader of your company. A woman should know she is valued. She should not be abused as you have been.”

“They are not as terrible as you paint them. And in all fairness, Master Beorn,” Lyla remarked, a desire to defend her dwarves welling in her, “They did not know I was a woman. Not at the time.”

Beorn fixed her with a firm gaze, all traces of mirth gone from his features, “You willingly sacrifice your life for Thorin Oakenshield? Why?”

Lyla’s ears heated up and she ducked her head.

“I don’t rightly know exactly,” She murmured, “I just. It was the right thing to do. I knew it was. I couldn’t let him suffer. He deserves so much.”

“So much of what? Gold? Riches? Jewels? What?”

“He deserves his home back,” she replied quietly, reaffirming her own feelings on the matter, “Regardless of what he’s said to me,” anger bubbled at the memory, “He deserves to have his dream fulfilled, his home back, with his family by his side. And if I could help him achieve that, then,” She swallowed, “It’s all worth it.”

“So you forgive him then? For his actions?” Master Beorn asked incredulously, “You’d simply follow him even after all that?”

Lyla scoffed, “Oh I didn’t say I forgive his words,” her eyes narrowed, “Thorin Oakenshield has a great deal to learn about womenfolk it seems. No I am far from pleased with him. But,” Then she smirked her eyes twinkling. “But I believe that I can get my point across.”

Beorn laughter rolled forth and he ruffled Lyla’s thick blonde curls affectionately.

“Oh but if I could keep you here. You’d make for delightful company I’m sure!”

Very gently (almost absurdly so) Beorn wiped at Lyla’s face, clearing whatever grime was still on her, as he hummed a low tune.

The water was soothing and Lyla closed her eyes, relishing in the deep baritone of the giant’s voice.

“What is that?” She murmured quietly, a softy yawn escaping her lips.

Beorn chuckled, “It is the song of my people. A very old tune that my mother sang to me when I was a child.”

“It’s beautiful.”

The rag disappeared from her face and Lyla opened her eyes to see Beorn studying her carefully, brows knit together. A soft smile graced his lips.

“Long ago, my people used to live in the mountains. We were a part of them. But then, we were driven out, forced to abandon our homes and lives.”

Beorn’s face contorted into fury and Lyla's heart clenched for such a painful loss. How it must have hurt Beorn to witness the loss of his homeland.

“The orcs and goblins have scattered us, and weakened us.”

Then the smile returned. “The song of my people tells of a time when we will be reunited, when we will take back our homes and finally be whole once more.”

His gaze found Lyla’s.

“Much like your dwarves I suppose.” 'Indeed. Very much like my dwarves.' she thought 'How interesting...'

He winked at her again and patted her shoulder.

“Now little bunny, it’s best if you get some sleep. You look ready to fall.”

Setting aside the bowl of water and the rag, he lifted Lyla up and carried her over to an impossibly large bed.

“Oh no Master Beorn That’s far too grand a bed for me! I’ll be fine with the rest of the company.”

Beorn scoffed.

“Nonsense you silly little creature. I do not intend to allow you near those dwarves for quite some time. They need to learn a lesson I’m afraid. And you?” He winked at her again, “deserve a small reprieve from your travels and such tedious company.”

He sniggered at his own joke.

Yes, she had, indeed, been kidnapped.

Though the prospect of remaining a captive to Beorn didn’t appear all that unappealing…

Carefully, Beorn settled Lyla amongst the enormous pillows and pulled the worn blanket around her shoulders.

Lyla yawned involuntarily and snuggled down, each knot and bruise finding a small respite amongst the comfort.

Beorn chuckled again, “Sleep well little one and please do not venture out of doors this night. I do not wish something bad to befall you.”

“mmhhmm” she replied drowsily.
*****
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Bofur exclaimed, adjusting his hat, even as he nursed a tankard of ale, “The lass is a gem. Really. She’s an asset to this company.”

A low murmur went up.

“Certainly not bad looking,” Conceded Ori with a blush that sent his brother Nori guffawing.

“And a quick wit she is too,” Bofur praised, “Right smart thing. Never would’ve thought te kick Azog THERE! Aye, she’s a perfect companion.”

“But yer forgetting one important detail Bofur,” Thorin murmured, as he fiddled with his pipe, “She is a woman.”

“And it’s frightful bad luck to bring a woman on a journey this dangerous.” Gloin conceded.

Nori scoffed, "Superstitious stiff. That's ridiculous. She's been a woman this whole time and as far as I can tell she's kept the company together."

Murmurs swept through the group.

“And why is that so bad Master Oakenshield, that she’s a woman? How are women anything inferior to men?”

Thorin sighed. Things were not coming out of his mouth the way he intended.

“I mean that women, they are rare creatures that should be protected. We cannot allow her to travel with us any longer. We cannot send her down to the dragon’s belly.”
The company went into an uproar.

“She hasn’t slowed us down!”

“She’s saved our lives more than once!”

“What are we to do without a burglar?”

“But she signed the contract!” Kili exclaimed, “Doesn’t that mean she wants to come with us?”

“Did SHE sign the contract?” Thorin questioned.

Perhaps that was the key he needed?

“Aye lad, she did.” Balin remarked, a small smile on his face. “She a right smart one. Signed her name hidden in the signature of ‘Bilbo’.”

Fleetingly, Thorin wondered what her real name was...

“Aye,” Thorin remarked his frustration rising, “Be that as it may, I don’t think she realizes the severity of the situation. She doesn’t understand what she’s getting herself into.”

Dwalin snorted. “Aye you keep tellin’ yerself that if it brings you comfort,” He muttered, a dark scowl on his face.

“Dwalin!” Balin admonished, “He is your king!”

“Aye that’d be true,” Dwalin hissed, “But I’ll still call him an idiot when he is one. Ye can’t deny the foolishness of what yer planning Thorin.”

“I’m doing what I feel to be right,” Thorin retorted, his ire rising. Dwalin knew what buttons to push, “We can’t ask a woman to follow after us, into almost certain death. She’ll slow us down or get hurt. We can’t ask her to take part in that.”

“If I recall correctly,” Dwalin snapped, “WE didn’t ask her anything. Gandalf did. And now I know that she’s a necessary part of this company, whatever you may say about it.”
Thorin scoffed, “She got lucky. One day her luck will run out.”

Dwalin growled sauntering towards Thorin, “Luck had nothin’ to do with it. It was pure fightin’ spirit and quick wit. I saw it. We all did. Without HER, our entire company would have fallen! You owe her your life.”

“She cannot come with us.”

“We cannot leave her behind!” Dwalin thundered, “What will you have her do then? Travel all the way back to her home, alone in the warg infested plains we just escaped? That’s a suicide mission!”

“No it’s a suicide mission if she comes with us!”

“She made that decision. We should let her choose.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing! She can’t make a decision like that. She’s never had the experiences to know what she was getting into.”

And then Dwalin was upon Thorin, pressing the dwarf king into the wall, the warrior’s arm flush against Thorin’s throat. Dwalin’s eyes were blazing. Thorin kicked his legs out and connected with Dwalin’s knees.

He let out a low groan of pain, but the warrior would not budge.

“Don’t judge her Thorin Oakenshield,” Dwalin hissed, his voice dangerously low. “She has a lot more to offer than even you will acknowledge. She saved your life. I watched you fall," Dwalin's voice cracked at that point, "I watched you let pride rule over sound judgment, nearly losing your head for it. And I watched that little lass place your life above her own. SHE protected you. She SAVED you when we could not. YOU are indebted to her.”

“I know that,” Thorin croaked, as he pushed against’ Dwalin’s shoulders in frustration. His head was spinning, his chest clenching painfully. Oh how he knew that. Truly. “I…can’t let her do something so dangerous. I won’t.”

Dwalin shoved Thorin into the wall as he released him, “You didn’t make that decision for her. SHE did.”

Then astonishment and understanding dawned on Dwalin’s face, “Aye…that’d be why.”

He sent Thorin a pitying look.

“Ye can’t stop her.”

“I can try” Thorin murmured, rubbing his shoulder

Dwalin’s sighed, “Nothin’ good will come of this. I know what yer thinkin’”

“Then you know that you can’t refuse me. I am the leader and your king. You are bound to follow my orders.”

“Aye,” Dwalin muttered darkly, “That’d be true. But it doesn’t mean that I won’t make yer life hell for yer stupidity.”
***
Lyla shot up in bed, sweat pouring from her brow.

Azog’s face had greeted her in her dreams. He loomed over her, his filthy mouth pulled into a gruesome and terrifying mile as he pressed his clawed arm against her throat,

cutting off her air supply even as she watched another Orc bring its blade down on Thorin Oakenshield’s throat.

She hadn’t been fast enough to save him.

Then the image had twisted into the Fell winter and the wolves. Running from Old Took’s smial back home had nearly cost her life as a pack of wolves descended upon her. If not for the Rangers, she would have surely perished.

But memory of coming home to find that her father had passed on flashed through her subconscious. The deathly pale, still form laying on the bed, the forlorn look on her mother’s face. And the knowledge that she hadn’t been there.

She hadn’t been there.

Lyla mopped at her brow and tried to smooth her unruly hair, noting that the pale dawn light was starting to peek over the mountains.

And it would have been a comforting view if but for the warning in her heart.

Something was wrong.

Chapter Text

The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was starting to lighten as the company assembled together silently, tying their newly acquired packs to the ponies Beorn was lending them.

Thorin could feel the tension rolling off many of his company members and the master of the house himself.

Dwalin and Bofur in particular had not taken the news cheerfully. Their narrowed eyes and furious scowls followed Thorin’s movements. Low curses in Khuzdul reached his ears whenever he was close to them.

But he would not be swayed.

Mistress Baggins—who still slept peacefully—would remain behind with Beorn until Gandalf (who was travelling south) could see her safely back to the Shire when it was convenient.

When Thorin approached Beorn concerning his wishes, the giant went into a rage and nearly attacked the king had not Dwalin and Bifur stepped forward to protect their king.

“You’d have me betray her?” Beorn growled infuriated.

“I only ask that you protect her. She shouldn’t come on such a perilous journey.” Thorin argued, trying to keep his own temper in check, “A woman has no place in such a company.”

Beorn scoffed, “Clearly you do not understand the worth of a woman.”

But the giant’s growing affection for the hobbit won out over his ire at the dwarf. Beorn didn’t want further injury to befall the Halfling and begrudgingly agreed that he would keep her safe.

“Don’t think though, dwarf,” He hissed, “that your concern for the hobbit has won you favor in my sight. I know it is not your heart that governs your actions. Something festers in you that clouds your judgment.”

Beorn glared at the king who tried his best to keep his resolve firm.

He’d received plenty of spiteful comments. What was one more?

“I cannot dictate your actions,” Beorn finally sighed, “I will keep her safe so long as she permits it. But, should she desire to chase after you, I shall not stop her.”
Thorin started to protest, but a growl from the giant stopped him.

“I will not take that choice from her. I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve her loyalty, but she gives it to you freely and I will not impede upon her happiness. If it is you she seeks, then I shall not stand in her way.”

Thorin sighed. He knew it was a fruitless endeavor to argue with Beorn on the subject further. This giant had no care for the dwarves (that much was obvious) nor was he
confined by allegiance to Thorin’s status as a king. No. Beorn could do as he pleased.

‘So could the hobbit’ his voice whispered, ‘yet you take that from her.’

Even as he thought those words, the image of the small hobbit floated into his mind and a pain radiated in his chest.

He knew she didn’t want to be left behind.

He knew his company wanted her to stay.

But he needed her to be safe. He couldn’t risk another-

Thorin shook his head to dispel the thoughts.

No.

The hobbit lass deserved far better than a harried group of dwarves in search of their homeland.

He turned back to securing his provisions, determined to push his doubts aside and get ready to depart within a half hour.
*****

Lyla stared at the looming forest with trepidation, fingering the leather strap around her neck where Kili’s ring sat.

True to his word, Beorn had let Lyla go.

After Lyla shouted at him for a good twenty minutes for his treachery.

"I'd rather you stay here," he had muttered, his eyes betraying a deep sadness, "You make for delightful company."

“I have to go! You cannot keep me here against my will." She muttered.

“I thought you’d say that,” he had replied with a wink, “Knew I’d be inciting your anger by agreeing to the dwarf's demands.” He started chuckling, “Let that dwarf think he’d gotten his way, but I knew yer heart. You’d follow those dwarves to the ends of the earth. They’re your family.”

When he’d said that, she’d blanched, surprised by his assessment.

Her family?

Surely not!

But the more she stewed atop her pony, Beorn escorting her towards the path into Mirkwood, the more she came to see the truth in his words.
Why was she so invested in this journey? She had nothing to gain from it.

But she had everything to lose.

She cared about those stubborn arrogant dwarves. There was nothing waiting back home for her other than trinkets and doilies. There was no laughter, no stories, no smiles, and –Lyla giggled—no disastrous sword training.

The dwarves WERE her family.

And she was certain that some of them felt the same.

And family sticks together.

Bofur’s earlier comments came flooding back:

‘yer as good as family in my book.’

She couldn’t just abandon them.

“There!” Beorn remarked, pointing a finger ahead of them, “Just over the ridge. I see them.”

She let out a sigh of relief, even as her annoyance reached its peak.

Bebother that dwarf! He was going to get a piece of her mind.

*****
Thorin should have been prepared for it. He really should have known that the blasted giant would escort the hobbit towards them. And with a speed they could not match for thirteen dwarves atop ponies were much slower than a single hobbit.

But he had denied it until even HE believed it was impossible.

And then he heard her voice calling to them, anger prominent with each syllable.

By Durin’s beard she was a stubborn one!

“Thorin Oakenshield!” she had shouted, causing the company to come to a halt, “How dare you!”

With a sigh, Thorin turned his pony to face her, and gave a glare, “Why are you here hobbit?”

He hoped his tone would frighten her, subdue her somehow.

It only seemed to incite her anger further.

“Why am I here?! By Aule are you dense? I signed a contract! And while you might not place value on one’s word, I, on the other hand am a Baggins. And Bagginses do NOT forgo their duty.”

Thorin scoffed. Duty? Surely she didn’t feel it was her duty to go after a dragon.

“You signed that under the guise that you were a man.”

“What does that matter?” She retorted, climbing down from her pony and stalking forward, her blonde curls bouncing with each step she too, her lips pulled into a frown.“Women are just as capable as men.”

‘Her gait is still slow.’ He mused, ‘The bruises must be bothering her’

Dwalin muttered in agreement to the hobbit’s comment, throwing Lyla an apologetic smile.

“I beg yer pardon lass,” He murmured, “I too was ‘duty’ bound.”

He threw a glare Thorin’s way.

But Thorin was glaring at Beorn.“You lied to me!” He thundered, “I had your word!”

Beorn laughed. “Yes you had my word. But do not take me for a common liar. I told no falsehood!” Beorn chuckled again, “I told you I’d look after her unless she tried to go gallivanting after you. And I’m not one to meddle with the fury of a woman.”

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Blast it.

“She can’t come with us. It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t decide that for me!” The hobbit ranted, throwing her hands up in frustration, “I can make my own decisions. Plus, I’m bound by the same contract you are. And I am no oath breaker.”

Thorin tossed his own hands up in frustration, “But you aren’t capable of defending yourself in the wild!”

“You don’t know that! I’ve done pretty well so far!”

“Dumb luck.”

“Then fight me.”

Thorin’s head jerked in surprise and a low murmur whipped through the group.

Had she just…?

“Excuse me?”

Lyla narrowed her eyes at Thorin, “You heard me Master Oakenshield. If I’m as incapable as you claim, prove it.”

Was she mad?!

*****
Lyla was absolutely mad.

What had she been thinking threatening to take on this dwarf? She’d sparred with him. She knew what he was capable of. And she knew she was unskilled. She couldn’t best him.
But she had to do something!

“fight me,” she repeated again, “If I lose, it’ll prove your theory correct. But if I win, you allow me in this company with no further argument.”

“I will not fight you,” Thorin muttered, eying Lyla carefully.

“Aye lass, yer injured.” Oin commented, “And so is Thorin. And I’ll not take kindly to you both engaging in such reckless behavior.”

Lyla huffed, “It doesn’t matter. If Thorin believes that women are incapable of defending themselves, let’s prove his theory. “

Beorn started laughing.

“Are you afraid that this little bunny will best you, your highness?” He chuckled as Thorin shot a glare his way.

Bofur and Nori were sniggering.

"Aye let's see if ye can take on that little sprite," Bofur exclaimed. "She bested Azog. Let's see how ye handle 'er."

Thorin muttered darkly, descending from his pony.

“So be it.” He growled unsheathing his sword.

Lyla pulled her small weapon forth and readied her stance.

Thorin was quick to initiate.

With lightning speed, even for one injuried as he was, Thorin brought his blade downward, striking Lyla’s own small weapon. Her arms shook and she nearly dropped her blade in surprise at Thorin’s sheer power. She knew he had been holding back the last time they sparred, but she never would have suspected that he had been holding back so much!

By Aule he was strong!

Then the dwarf was retreating, a scowl on his face.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, adjusting his hands and darting forwards again.

Lyla noted that his feet were pointed to the right.

He was going to strike on her right.

She adjusted her stance and raised her weapon just as Thorin’s strike descended.

Metal clashed with metal and the dwarf bore down on her, a growl escaping his lips.

Then he did something completely surprising.

Thorin swept his foot forward, and knocked Lyla clean off her feet.

She went tumbling to the ground in a heap.

“I suggest,” Thorin muttered, stepping away and sheathing his sword, “that you stay down. You aren’t prepared for the hardships out here. You’d never survive.”

Anger boiled in Lyla’s veins, her heart was pounding furiously as she watched the dwarf walk away, his back turned. Clearly he was done with this fight. But Lyla wasn’t.

Not by a long shot.

She launched herself upwards and darted at Thorin tackling the dwarf and knocking the wind from her lungs as she and the solid mass of a king landed in a heap. But she was on top of him pinning him to the ground.

She glared at the stunned dwarf whose hair splayed around his head in the most fetching manner.

“Yield.” She commanded ignoring how her heart was hammering.

But Thorin had regained some of his senses and scowled at the hobbit, his face contorted into a deep annoyance. He brought his knees upward and jerked his body to the side, throwing Lyla off.

He quickly rose to his feet.

But Lyla was right behind him, shoving him backwards.

“You are an idiot!” She growled, “An arrogant idiot!” She tried to shove Thorin again, but the dwarf grabbed her wrists.

“Be still!” he commanded.

She kicked him in the shin.

“I will not!” She hollered, jumping on the dwarf again, knocking him back down to the ground.

But Thorin was prepared this time.

He rolled before Lyla could pin him. Instead, he swept his foot forward for a second time and knocked Lyla’s feet out from under her.

Then he was on top of her, pinning her wrists down and leaning close to her face, his blue eyes glittering with fury and the long tendrils of hair tumbling around them both.
Lyla’s heart was hammering in her chest as Thorin leaned closer, his warm breath floating over her cheeks.

“Yield,” he murmured lowly, his lips barely moving.

"I will not."

Then a howl echoed in the distance.

Thorin swore and released Lyla slowly rising to his feet with a groan.

“Wargs,” he muttered darkly staring in the distance, squinting.

Then they widened in shock.

“Move!” He bellowed, grabbing Lyla’s arm and hoisting her to her feet. He shoved her behind him, his sword drawn once more.

“Get the packs! We have to get into the forest.”

Beorn had leapt to his feet and was shaking, a low growl forming in his chest as Lyla noted the dark shapes getting ever larger.

The company scrambled off their horses to get their packs.

And then the wargs were upon them. Seven large wolf beasts howled and snapped, bolting into the midst of the company members.

But Lyla’s attention had been diverted to Beorn whose whole body had started shaking, a guttural growl escaped his lips and his eyes darkened.

Suddenly, limbs started shifting, fingers shrinking, fur growing. Instead of hands, he now had paws. His ears shifted to the top of his head, taking on an entirely new shape. His
mouth and nose elongated.

“By Aule” she whispered.

Beorn had turned into a massive black bear.

He had been the bear!

The bear gazed at her for a moment it's large brown eyes fixing her with a tender look, before darting into the fray, his massive paws crashing down on the heads of two wargs, whose yelps ceased quite rapidly.

The bear turned towards Lyla and Thorin again, gazing at her again with the same tenderness.

‘Run’ she thought she heard 'stay safe'

“We have to move into the trees!” Thorin shouted, grabbing her arm again and dragging her away.

She noted that the rest of the company was also headed for the shelter of the forest as Beorn contended against the remaining few wargs not cut down by an axe or sword.

She prayed that he would be alright.

Chapter Text

They ran.

They ran even once they passed far into the darkness of the forest, Thorin faithfully tugging her arm, urging her to move faster through the dense foliage.

“Quit your bumbling and pick those feet up,” He snapped, as she tripped over roots and rocks trying to keep his pace. Trees blurred together in a muted cacophony of colors and shapes.

She could hear the voices of the other company members shouting and gasping for breath. She caught snatches of dark blurs moving through the trees, weaving in and outside her field of vision. She wasn’t sure if wargs were coming after them, or the company keeping pace.

Quite suddenly, Thorin thrust Lyla to the ground as he whipped around, drawing his sword. Lyla barely had time to blink before a large grey warg descended on them, snapping and snarling.

The beast lunged at Thorin who gave a growl of his own and brought his sword down upon the warg’s skull, termporarily immobilizing the creature. Dwalin, Dori and Bifur were close behind, Ramming their weapons into the beast’s hide, ensuring a swift death.Then Thorin was yanking her to her feet again and they continued running until Lyla was certain her lungs would burst.

Finally, when they were a good distance down the old pathway into the forest, Thorin’s strides slowed, his grip on her wrist loosened and he stopped, panting.

A large portion of the company, Lyla included, sank to the ground gasping for breath. But even as they sat wheezing and huffing, Lyla strained her ears listening for the sounds of howling or Beorn’s bear growls.

She heard nothing other than the sounds of the company as they rustled and groaned, their heavy footfalls and breathing ringing in her ears.

Part of her was thankful.

The other part fretted over Beorn’s condition. Was he alright? Had they hurt him?

She shook her head to dispell the thoughts of harm coming her new friend's way. He had to be alright.

She refused to consider anything else.

But then her mind struck on a thought that had her shuddering:

Not a sound was reaching the company.

Apart from the noise her companions were making, the entire forest was silent. No birds twittered, no beasts scurried, no leaves rustled. It was a deadly silence that had the hairs on Lyla’s neck prickling, a trickle of fear creeping down her spine.

Then… a noise. Barely there, an infinitesimal snapping of a twig set Lyla on edge, eyes scanning into the darkness.

She scrambled to her feet and waited with baited breath, muscles tightly wound, heart hammering, panting agitatedly.

Waiting.

But nothing happened.

The air escaped Lyla’s lungs in a loud ‘whoosh’ as her muscles slowly uncoiled themselves, her stance relaxing slightly.

Then a growl reverberated in the shadows, low and dangerous. A hissing whisper followed.

Lyla’s hand went to the sword around her waist. But, surprisingly no one else moved.

And nothing charged them.

But she could have sworn that…

“Easy there lad,” Bofur chattered, clapping her on the shoulder, “I figger we outran ‘em. Ye can let go of yer sword if ye like.”

Warily eyeing the darkness surrounding her, she released the grip on her sword, her fingers aching from holding so tightly.

Had she imagined it?

With a low sigh, Lyla tried to calm her thundering heart. But the feeling of unease would not abate. And the more she gazed around, the more her stomach coiled in dread.
The massive trees stood dark and ominous, their long spindly roots jutting through the densely packed soil of the pathway. Low hanging branches obscured her view and made
the forest feel suffocating. And nowhere could she find a patch of direct sunlight streaming through the branches or leaves. Only muted light dispelled some of the darkness. But overall the forest was dense and dank.

And quiet. So utterly quiet that it was disconcerting. She could feel in her bones, the filth and decay and disease running abundantly throughout the foliage, seeping into her skin as she stood there, her bare feet grazing the ground.

And it made her sick. Her stomach rolled and her hands balled into fists to quell the onslaught of nausea.

“Ye all right there lassie?” Balin’s hand came to rest on her arm, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Y-yes. Yes I’m fine,” She whispered, forcing the bile down. Her fingers moved to the ring around her neck, seeking comfort.

Balin gave her a questioning look, Bofur gave her a sympathetic one and edged a little closer to her person.

“It’s alright there lass. Yer safe now. Just rest a moment.”

Thorin snorted, leaning on his sword, “Hardly safe. She’d have been much better off back in her little hole in the ground.”

“Well that’s a long ways away isn’t it?” Lyla snapped, glaring at the dwarf, “As it is, I’m here with you. You best get used to it I think.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed at Lyla, and Bofur’s grip on her shoulder tightened slightly as the dwarf king gazed at her, annoyance written in his features, “Yes as it is you are stuck with us for this leg of the journey. But mark my words, Halfling, you will most certainly NOT be accompanying us all the way to Erebor. We’ll secure safe passage for you once we make it through this accursed forest.”

He sheathed his sword and turned from her, his lips pulled into a frown, eyes gazing warily around as Balin launched into discussion.

“We’ll see about that,” Lyla grumbled, hand reaching for the ring around her throat, “And I do have a name you know.”

Thorin ignored her.

“Aye lass about that,” Bofur remarked, steering her towards Nori and Oin who were rummaging through their packs.

*****
Thorin was only half listening as Balin indicated the route they needed to take. He knew they were under strict orders from Beorn to follow the old forest road and not deviate from the path for any reason. He also understood Balin’s concerns regarding a few of their missing packs (his and Lyla’s included) and how that would affect their rationing.
But his attention continued to drift towards the little hobbit being led away by her ever faithful guard, Bofur, towards Oin and Nori who were sifting through their packs.
Softly, Bofur eased Lyla to a sitting position and Oin maneuvered in front of her.

‘Ah they were looking for injury. Of course’ He hoped he hadn’t caused her any more pain than she was feeling.

She looked far to pale as it was. Her milky skin highlighting the dark purple bruises and the angry red scratches her battles had won her.

“So tell me lass,” Bofur was cheerfully emphasizing the feminine term, “If yer name isn’t Bilbo then what might it be? I can’t just call you lass now can I?”

The hobbit smiled lightly, wincing as her bruised nose wrinkled when her lips curved upwards. Thorin’s guilt spiked at her pain.

“Well,” she murmured, her golden curls falling in front of her eyes, as she gazed downward, “It’s Lyla if you must know. Lyla Baggins.”

Nori whistled suggestively and Bofur knocked him in the back of the head, “Mind yer manners in the presence of a lady!” Bofur retorted, halfheartedly. He turned back to the half…Lyla, “Well bless me, that is a beautiful name that is!”

She turned her face upwards and gave Bofur a small smile, as oin inspected her arms, where a few scrapes were bleeding sluggishly.

Her name was Lyla?

He wondered what her name meant.

No.

No he didn't. What did he what her name meant? It was nothing to him.

“But where did the name Bilbo come from then?” Nori questioned unabashedly. Thorin's ears perked at the question. Where DID that name-

“Thorin?”

Thorin jerked back towards Balin’s voice.

“Yes?”

Balin gave him a smile, “I suppose my words aren’t as interesting as the ones Bofur and the young lass are exchanging aye?”

“Pardon?”

Balin’s smile widened, “Ye were starin’ lad.”

Had he been?

“I was merely curious,” Thorin huffed gruffly, “That hobbit should not have followed us here.”

Balin raised a white brow at his king, “Aye lad, she’s a stubborn little thing.” He amended, “But were you not also wrong in trying to take that choice away from her?”

Thorin snorted. “You of all people should know why I did it.”

“So that IS what this is about then. I had suspected.”

And suddenly Thorin felt a little better knowing that someone understood. To some degree, Balin understood his motivation.

“And Dwalin,” He huffed in frustration, “He’s far too invested in the halfling’s fate. If anything happened—you know what happened last time. It nearly killed me. But Dwalin? I can’t watch him go through that again.”

“Aye lad I do remember. I do indeed," Balin's face held a deep sadness, his eyes darkened with emotion. "But you can’t control everything.” He rested hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Dwalin knows the risk, as does Mistress Baggins,” He held his hand up when Thorin tried to interrupt. “Say what ye like, but you know she’s aware of the danger. After all we’ve been through and all you’ve seen and heard her do, even ye can’t deny that any longer. Just trust her.”

Thorin sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

The hobbit—Lyla (he amended)—was turning everyone to her side. Convincing anyone in the company that she should no longer be welcomed (for her own safety) was becoming more and more a remote possibility.

He grumbled lowly as his gaze drifted back towards the hobbit, who had gained more of the company members around her. He watched her eyes light up and an easy smile fall on her lips.

He certainly had his work cut out for him now.

Chapter Text

Hobbits are sensitive to the changes in nature. They can tell when the slightest shift in seasons will take place. So, naturally, the more the days dragged on and the longer Lyla trudged through Mirkwood, the more nauseated she felt. Her palms were sweaty, and her stomach clenched painfully. The air was stuffy, animals nonexistent, and always the whispering hiss hummed in the darkness. This was nothing like the Shire. There was something dark and sinister living here. She could feel the taint in the trees, in the earth, everywhere.

And it frightened her.

She craved the sunlight and the flowers. She craved the fresh air and the peace of birdsong.

She hated this.

She hated how the trees—once a beautiful edifice for her—were crowding her, caging her in, their dark wood only managing to push her into a haze of confusion. She never had felt claustrophobic before. But now? Now, her heart hammered at the closeness of the trees. She was so jumbled, mixed up, confused and flustered. And she could no longer tell between night and day.

And the eyes, staring unflinchingly at her within the darkest reaches of the forest, made her skin crawl. She wanted something, anything to distract her from those relentless orbs, gazing predatorily in the darkness. But they could not start a fire. Kindling was scarce along the path, the living trees too tough to cut, and the first night they had managed to ignite a small flame, enormous moths, the size of Lyla’s hands, swarmed the company, sending the dwarves and their hobbit burglar into confusion.

They were forced to remain in darkness as a result.

Gloin, determined to keep the company’s spirits up, took the time to spin elaborate tales of the Elves that ruled the forestlands here in the East.
“There’s a witch they say,” he began, his voice soothing and riveting all at once. “An elf witch who rules the forests of Lothlorien. Travelers say that she will ensnare you with her beauty. They say that all who look upon her fall under her spell and that she knows their thoughts for she has been gifted with a rare talent.”
Most of the company had snorted at that, as they all slowly sank to the ground.

“What a load of rubbish,” Dwalin had grumbled, gruffly. “What an absurd notion to believe. I thought ye had more sense than that Master Gloin.”

Bofur and Dwalin would not let her quake in the dark however. They remained near her side almost constantly. And when they could not, Fili and Kili usually found a spot next to her. Usually Bofur’s arm found its way around her shoulder as he tucked her into his side, shielding her from the darkness.

“It’ll be alright lass,” He murmured, placing his hat on her head, “Just breathe. Things will be right as rain soon. Ye’ll see.”

And then he started humming, low and comforting.

A smile spread on Lyla’s face as she recognized the tune.

“I do believe,” she murmured, closing her eyes, “That you need my dishes to sing that song.”

Bofur chuckled, “Aye lassie, that we do. Can’t sing about what Bilbo Baggins ‘ates without tossing a few plates about.”

He continued to hum, lowly, other members of the company joining in.

*****
Lyla jerked awake, her heart hammering in her chest as she tried to bury the images that surfaced every time she closed her eyes.

Snow-covered hills.

Wolves, howling and snapping at her heels as she ran from her Uncle’s smial.

Her father’s still form.

Her mother’s stricken eyes.

Her brother’s defeated gaze.

Azog smiling wickedly down at her, teeth bared.

The sword descending

Thorin’s bruised, still face…

No.

A shiver ran down her spin. Between the darkness of her dreams and the reality she was stumbling through, her body and mind felt weary.

“You need to eat something,” Thorin’s voice was next to her ear, making her jump lightly.

“I’m fine,” she murmured in reply, careful to avoid raising her voice. She didn’t want to wake Fili or Kili, who were nestled on her other side.

Thorin snorted, “You haven’t eaten in quite some time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you rejecting your ration. I thought hobbits were supposed to love food.”

Lyla sniffed clearly affronted, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you.”

“Indeed.” Thorin replied drily, “However, that’s not the issue. Something’s bothering you, Mistress Baggins. I’m no stranger to disturbing dreams.”

Lyla didn’t say anything.

“Eating will help settle your nerves Lyla,” Thorin murmured. His hands curled around her own, his fingers calloused and warm. He placed a small morsel of food in her palm. “If you won’t tell me what’s bothering you, eat something at least.”

Lyla nodded into the darkness, confused by Thorin’s bizarre actions.

The next day, she learned, the food was gone.

“But I’m hungry!” Bombur grumbled as they marched, single file, through the overgrown path, the low hanging branches making Lyla feel particularly small.

“We’re all hungry,” Dori grumbled, “As it is we’ve got nothin’ to feed ourselves, so there’s no point in complainin’ about it.”

The reprimand silenced the round dwarf.

For a little while at least.

But soon enough, a low murmur of annoyance was winding through the company. And it wasn’t just Bombur complaining about the lack of supplies anymore, though Lyla, for her part, remained silent, her hand grasping the morsel of food Thorin had given her.

She couldn’t bring herself to eat it.

She didn’t think her stomach could handle it.

Instead, she decided to hide it away, determined to give it to someone more deserving of the nourishment.

Her fingers brushed against cool metal as she dropped the food into her pocket and for a moment she forgot just where she had acquired this particular piece of jewelry.
Unbidden, the hissing voice returned to her ears, as her fingers closed around the metal ring, urging her to put on the ring and whispering that all her worries and troubles would end.

‘It’ll be so easy,’ the voice crooned, ‘So simple.’

A jolt ran up her arm and immediately she dropped the ring back in her pocket and tried to dispel the thoughts.

The low hissing noise came back, reverberating in her ears and she swayed.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, steadying her. “Ye alright there lass?” Dwalin asked, concern lacing his gruff timbre.

“Fine,” she gasped lightly, “I’m fine.”
*****
That night (as far as they could tell anyway), with empty bellies and exhausted feet, the dwarves and their hobbit hunkered down to get some rest.

Thorin, normally riveted by the strange, looming eyes, listened in the darkness, as the breathing of his companions gradually evened out and slowed.

All except for one that is.

The Half…Lyla was still awake. He could hear the rustle of Dwalin’s overly large cloak as she twisted and turned her body, undoubtedly trying to get comfortable.

A soft sigh escaped her lips and in Thoirn’s mind’s eye, he could imagine her face, pulled into a frown, a pout playing on her raspberry colored lips, the soft tendrils of her curls falling into her eyes, her nose wrinkled in annoyance...

Thorin dismissed the thought immediately.

Rubbish.

But he knew that the Hobbit’s dreams were bothering her. Despite her claim that she was ‘fine’. He watched the way her steps were growing more and more unsteady. He noted the bags under her hazel eyes growing ever larger, marring her pale skin. And he knew she wasn’t eating. She’d hardly eaten a bite since they entered the forest.

He knew the forest was bothering her, creating a deep unease. Even he felt exposed and uncomfortable within the confines of this stifling forest prison, his dreams often marred by images of the forest around him. But he had a sneaking suspicion for the main cause of the hobbit’s unsettled sleeping patterns.

And the thought made him furious and a little guilt-ridden.

He listened to the Halfling twisting and sighing, trying to get comfortable and he let out a soft snort.

Oh yes, she was ‘fine’ indeed.

*****

“We have to eat something Uncle!” Fili’s voice broke through Lyla’s musings and she turned her head to see the young blonde dwarf leaning against his brother, his face ashen. “We have to have something in our stomachs. We can’t keep any sort of pace up for much longer.”

The forest had jumbled up all concept of time, and the days blended together into an endless sea of confusion and walking. Lyla wasn’t sure how long they’d gone without food, but by the way most of the company was standing, hunched in on themselves, eyes dulled and listless, she knew it must have been a long time indeed.

She turned back to see Thorin nodding his head in agreement, though his eyes were conflicted.

“We were instructed not to stray from the path,” Thorin muttered, scanning the trees. The trees that remained utterly devoid of signs of life.

“But there has to be something out there that we can eat!” Kili exclaimed releasing his brother and, with shaking hands, drawing his bow forth. “I can go out and scout around for something.”

“Absolutely not,” Thorin admonished, his eyes narrowing on his nephew, “I’ll not send you on a fool’s errand Kili.”

“But-“

“That’s final!” Thorin roared throwing a glare Kili’s way, “I’ve heard enough of this discussion. We remain on the path. Period. Now move on.”

Lyla sighed as the company grumbled and groaned. They had to do something.

But they couldn’t stray from the path?

Perhaps if…

Oh but Thorin would be angry…

She didn’t bother to think on it too much.

Instead, Lyla leapt forth and grasped the lowest hanging branch of the nearest oak tree and hoisted herself up.

‘Let him be angry’ she thought.

“Oi! Hobbi!” Oin hollered, “What are ye doing?!”

“Lyla!” Bofur exclaimed worriedly, “Where do ye think yer going?”

“To get a better look,” she huffed, pulling herself upwards, higher and higher into the tree as the dwarves cried for her to stop.

“Halfling!” Thorin thundered, “Get down here! We have to stay on the path.”

“Technically I’m still on the path.” Lyla grumbled, ignoring the king’s command, “And if I can get a better look, perhaps we can find some way to get some food.”

She thought she heard the word 'impertinent' escape Thorin's lips.

Slowly she moved upward, into the topmost portion of the trees, hoisting herself between branches. Higher and higher. Sunlight started to peek through the thinning branch overgrowth.

Lyla’s spirits lifted and she quickened her ascent.

Finally, her head broke through the leaves and branches and she could feel the radiant sunshine on her skin, warming her cheeks and sending a smile to her lips.
She took lungfuls of the cool fresh air surrounding hr and marveled at the large colony of butterflies fluttering into the sky.

“Beautiful” she whispered, gazing around. And for the first timein many days, her heart felt peaceful.

“Hobbit!” Someone was calling below her, “What do you see?”

Oh ! That’s right…

Lyla scanned the tree line in the direction of their current course. And at first her heard sank. There were trees everywhere. Nothing but dark congested, suffocating trees, obscuring her view and hiding the layout of the forest path. In fact, she couldn’t even see where the forest ended!

Despair filled her.

But then, her eyes caught a glint. Just a sliver of shimmering color.

“Water!” She shouted, “I see water ahead of us. There must be a river!”

A low, excited murmur swept through the group.

“Hurry back down, Halfing,” Thorin’s voice floated upwards, “We need to get moving if there’s water.”

The excited murmur grew in volume and with one last long gulp of fresh air, and a longing look up at the sky, Lyla ducked her head back into the forest and slowly started to descend.

Apparently, however, she wasn’t fast enough.

“There have to be fish in that water!” Bombur exclaimed, his voice eager and desperate.

“Wait! Bombur, don’t go off on yer own!” Bofur shouted for his brother, and Lyla heard footfalls rapidly growing softer.

She concentrated on getting down from the tree, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, her hands reaching for sturdy branches.

She was halfway down the tree, when she saw it. A dark, shapeless shadow darted from the thick of the forest, straight towards, her a high pitched shriek escaping its massive form as it winglessly muttered through the trees. Lyla reeled back in surprise, a startled cry escaping her lips.

The branch in her hand snapped.

She went tumbling to the ground.

Chapter Text

With a low ‘oomph’ Lyla landed on something sturdy. Something Solid.

“Confound it all Halfling,” Thorin muttered, pushing her off him gently as he struggled to his feet, “What happened?”

“Slipped,” she murmured distractedly, gazing upward into the tangled web of tree branches above her. Her hands were shaking, her heart racing. The shrieking noise that…thing...made was still ringing in her ears.

“Halfling.”

What on this good earth WAS that? What had she just seen?

“Lyla.”

Had she imagined it?

Thorin grasped Lyla’s chin, turning her face towards him, as he kneeled next to her, his eyes narrowed and assessing. “Are you alright?” He questioned, his blue eyes searching her face.

Lyla’s heart rate spiked at the contact.

“Fine,” She murmured, “I’m fine.”

Thorin’s narrowed gaze remained on her as he released his hold on her. Clearly, he didn’t believe her.

“Here Mistress Boggins,” Kili was by her side bright toothy smile on his face as he offered his arm to her, “Let me help you.”

Lyla nodded, but retorted, “It’s Baggins Kili, not Boggins, and if it’s all the same to you can you NOT call me Mistress anything anymore? I feel terribly old when you do that.”

Fili and Kili both laughed laughed as the younger dwarf wrapped his arm underneath her own and hoisted the flustered hobbit to her feet. “Alright then, no Mistress Boggins from here on out.” He gave her a wink.

Lyla gave a grumble of agreement as she stumbled forward, trying to dispel the dizziness from the fall. Kili’s grip was firm on her arms and she gave him an appreciative look.

“Where are the others?” she queried, brushing off her coat, and plucking leaves from her hair. Only Fili, Kili, Thorin Dwalin and Balin had remained behind. Surely they had not ALL taken off down the path?

“Took off down the path after Bombur,” Balin remarked with a low sigh.

Apparently they HAD.

“Aye, that dolt just couldn’t be patient,” Dwalin snorted, his eyes sweeping over Lyla’s face in a careful manner. “And if yer done climbing about like some wild animal, I think it best if we catch up to that lot before they do something completely reckless, aye?”

Lyla would have been offended by Dwalin’s gruffness, if the dwarf had not given her a grin and a clap on the shoulder as he walked by.
She felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little at the familiarity and friendliness of Dwalin’s company and snorted at his comment (appreciative of it and annoyed all at once).

Wild animal indeed!
*****
It took several minutes, of blindly following the overgrown and gloomy path in search of her companions, before Lyla could hear the snatches of conversation from the missing company members.

“Can you see any-“

“A boat on the other side-“

“Where are-“

“Look! I see-“

“Bombur don’t!”

A loud chorus of yells and a louder splash echoing into the silent air had Lyla and the others scrambling forward, towards the rest of the company. As they crested a small overgrown hill and Lyla and the others came upon a startling sight. Bombur had fallen into the water. Why wasn’t he moving?

“What’s going on?!” Thorin shouted sauntering forward, “Get him out of that water! Why’s he unconscious?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Bofur grunted in annoyance, hat askew, as he stood on the steep, muddy riverbank and hefted his brother’s beefy leg upwards, “The big lummox fell in and…well that was that.”

Dori, Bifur and Nori also grabbed onto the plump dwarf (or the parts that weren’t resting in the water) and slowly dragged the snoring dwarf to shore.

Thorin swore as he hovered over Bombur, trying to rouse the sleeping mass. He tried nudging the dwarf’s shoulders. He ventured a quick, light slap on the cheek.
And then a harder slap.

Nothing worked.

“Come on wake up!” Thorin growled finally shaking Bombur’s forcefully. The red bearded dwarf’s head lolled to the side as he snored on, oblivious to the world around him.
Thorin swore again and then sighed pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Did he hit his head?” He wondered aloud, as Oin came forward and knelt close to Bombur, peering at the dwarf curiously, his wizened eyes, eagle sharp and scrupulously attentive to detailing every aspect of Bombur’s condition.

“It’s not likely,” Oin remarked, inspecting Bombur, “I find no wound. There’d be a wound if he did hit something.”

“Will he be alright?” Bofur exclaimed sitting next to his red-headed brother.

Oin sighed, “Aye. As far as I can tell, he’s only sleeping. Though I can’t figure out WHY.”

‘If it’s not a head wound then what…?’

Lyla turned towards the river, and leaned as close as she dare, carefully inspecting the water. If it wasn’t a hit to head, perhaps something in the water was affecting Bombur.
The more she gazed at the rushing river, the more she was convinced of that likelihood.

Unlike the tall, dark trees with looming branches and dingy moss, the water that meandered through the path, was crisp and clear, devoid of debris, mud, or unsavory animals. She couldn’t even spot a fish. It was a startling contrast to the surrounding landscape.

Too startling.

“The water. There has to be something wrong with the water,” She remarked, turning towards Bofur and Thorin and gazing at Bombur.

Groans resounded through the company.

“This accursed forest will be the death of us!” Dwalin growled, “If the water’s a danger, then how’re we to get across?”

And what of Bombur? How were they to get Bombur across the river? Surely they wouldn’t just leave him.

“There’s a boat tethered to the other side of the bank,” Ori remarked in a quiet whisper pointing to a small grey boat bouncing lightly against the bank across from them, “Perhaps we can cross that way?”

“And how are we to get that boat if we cannot touch the water?” Dori remarked in a huff, “Do YOU dare risk going into that river?”

Ori swallowed nervously, eyeing the water with trepidation, and shook his head.

“If I can get an anchor over there,” Fili remarked attaching one of the ropes in his pack to a small axe, “maybe we can ferry the boat back to us,”

“What do you think—Uncle?” Kili’s voice held confusion.

Lyla turned from the river in surprise at Kili’s tone and looked back towards Thorin curiously.

Only to meet empty space.

Here eyes widened in shock. Where on earth…?

“Uncle?” Kili called again, abandoning his spot near Fili by the riverbank, and searching the area.

“Thorin?!” Dwalin shouted catching Kili’s panicked gaze, “Thorin!”

They received no reply.

Where had that blasted dwarf gone?!

“What do we do now?” Dori huffed, gazing at Dwalin expectantly.

Dwalin turned, eyes narrowed as he peered into the dark forest, searching for any sign of their leader.

“Get the boat, and start getting the company across. I’ll go look for Thorin.”

“You can’t go alone!” Balin admonished, white brows knit together in worry, “We need to stay together. That’s the best chance we have.”

“We can’t very well leave him,” Dwalin hissed at his brother, a dark scowl on his face, “And we can’t leave that dimwitted sleeping beauty to fend for himself.” He jerked his thumb towards Bombur.

“That’s a suicide mission,” Balin remarked.

“Do ye have a better idea then?!” Dwalin retorted quickly losing his patience, “We can’t just leave Thorin out here alone.”

“I’ll come with you.” Lyla remarked, stepping up to Dwalin. Several members of the company protested.

"Are ye mad lass?" Bofur groaned.

The warrior dwarf eyed her with a raised brow, “Aye lass, I thank ye, but I’ll refuse that offer.”

Lyla narrowed her eyes at Dwalin, “I wasn’t asking or offering,” she retorted face turned upwards to gaze into Dwalin’s eyes. “I was informing you.”

Dwalin grumbled something foreign to Lyla’s ears as he rubbed a thick calloused hand over his face. “Aye but yer a stubborn lass.”

“Indeed.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes and turned to the rest of the company, who stood or sat, staring at Dwalin with mixtures of confusion, trepidation and unabashed curiosity. “Oi the rest of you lot,” he growled, “get that boat and start ferrying people across. And for Mahal’s sake be careful!” He turned to Lyla still eyeing her questioningly, “Come on then lass.”
Lyla hesitated a moment before stepping off the path and following after Dwalin. Her feet stung as they tromped through raw, infected wilderness of undergrowth and roots.

They walked into the trees, until Lyla could no longer hear or see the company.

“Thorin!” Dwalin shouted stamping a path through the bushes and bracken, “Thorin!”

No reply.

Dwalin swore lowly and gazed around in annoyance.

“Blast this forsaken forest,” he muttered, “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

He continued to stomp through the forest, calling for his leader and friend.

Lyla remained several feet behind, quiet, gazing around nervously. She kept hearing tapping noises overhead, yet she could see nothing in the gloom above her. She felt more vulnerable and exposed now that they had stepped away from the path and her heart beat itself into a panic as she imagined how Thorin must be feeling, alone, possibly lost.

Was he afraid?

But she couldn’t figure out WHY he’d leave the path in the first place. He’d been so adamant about his nephew not abandoning the path, why would he?
Nothing was making any sense.

But then…then she noticed something. Something in the trees that had her stomach coiling in dread.

‘By Aule no. Please no.”

“Dwalin!” She hissed, pulling her gaze away from the branches above her, “I think we might-“

Her words caught in her throat.

She was alone.

She strained her ears, listening for any familiar gruff grumbles

“Dwalin?!” She shouted, “Where are you?”

No reply.

“Dwalin!”

Lyla cast a glance upward again and sighed, piecing things together.

“Bother”

She took off sprinting back towards the rest of the company. She’d need their help to get this all sorted out. As she broke through the tree line, however, her heart plummeted.
The trees near the river were covered in silky veils of white gossamer thread, draped like white blankets.

And, just like Dwalin and Thorin, the rest of the company was missing. The boat, gently beating against the near shore, Fili’s rope and anchor lying forgotten on the ground.
She let out an exasperated sigh.

“Why?” She whispered in defeat, “Why couldn’t it have been something else. Anything else.”

She gazed at the trees, noting a distinct pathway created by the thin white draping on the trees overhead.

Well at least she had a path to follow.

“Why?” she muttered again in annoyance, “Why couldn’t it have been follow the butterflies? No instead I get spiders. Damn spiders!”

She stepped closer to the edge of the water, gazing upward, noting the path moved through the trees above the water and into the darkness on the other side. She could use the boat or perhaps she could climb across…

A sharp stabbing sensation pierced her back and Lyla’s vision spun, a deep drowsiness overtaking her. She knew what had happened as she sank dazedly to the ground, the colors of the forest around her bleeding into one another, making her stomach roll. Her arms felt heavy, numb, and her throat felt tight, her breathing labored.

“Damn,” she muttered again as a dark, blurry shadow, loomed over her.
*****
She awoke sluggishly, to the sensation of something slimy being wrapped around her legs. Thin . Blearily, her eyes opened, and she was greeted with a massive, dark shape in front of her.

Oh!

She jerked her legs away and gave a shriek as her vision swam into focus.

A massive spider stood over her, its long black legs caging her in, as it worked to wrap her in its webbing. Sensing that its prey was alert, the spider hissed at Lyla and tried to pin her to the ground

She scrambled to get away from the large pinching grasp, twisting her legs to wiggle them free from the webbing, but they wouldn’t budge. The thick substance clung to her legs like tree sap.

The spider hissed again and lunged for her it's jowls snapping.

Thankfully, her arms were still unbound and she scrambled for her sword, drawing it forth as the large foul mouth of the spider bore down on her, snapping and spitting in her face.

By sheer dumb luck, her sword imbedded itself into one of the massive eyes of the horrid creature, with a loud ‘squelch’. The spider’s long, spindly legs buckled and it collapsed slowly, the large head landing on top of her, knocking the wind from Lyla’s lungs.

The putrid smell of the spider’s blood filled Lyla’s nostrils and she gagged as she twisted and wiggled her way from beneath the carcass . Taking her sword, she quickly, sliced through the webbing around her legs, and scrambled to her feet, stumbled backwards, her arms and legs shaking.

She hated spiders.

Fortunately she was alone.

Unfortunately, as she gazed around her, she knew that wouldn’t last. She was surrounded by webbing. It covered the ground she was standing on and wound upwards into the trees, high above her head.

She squinted at a spot in uppermost reaches of a pair of trees

Several solid masses, wrapped in white, were wiggling bundled together like eggs in a nest.

A spider's nest that is.

Could it be?

“It had better be!” she huffed.

Quickly she sheathed her sword and scrambled to the lowest branch she could find, shuffling past the massive spider’s legs, a shiver running down her spine.

She prayed that it was the company (the entire company) up the tree.

And she prayed she could get them down before any other unsavory creatures returned.

Grasping firmly onto the branch, she hoisted herself up, and scaled the tree, snorting derisively at the situation she found herself in.

“And he said I was the one to cause delays. Ha.” She grumbled, shooting wary glances downward in case any more spiders returned from…wherever they were off to.

The higher she climbed closer to the bundled masses, the more she recognized that they were indeed creatures trapped as she had been (well, FAR more trapped than she had been). They struggled and murmured, twisting and desperately trying to break from their web cocoons.

She hastened her pace, and after what felt like an eternity, she reached the bundled creatures that were trussed up on a lower branch. Hesitantly, she unsheathed her sword and carefully cut away at the webbing where she heard muffled noises of protest.

She really, REALLY hoped these weren’t orcs or goblins.

Chapter Text

“Master Baggins!” Nori’s face appeared beneath the webbing she removed, a relieved smile lighting his features. “You truly are a burglar and how I thank Mahal for that! How on earth did you get past the spiders?”

"I didn't," Lyla snorted as she worked to get some of the webbing off the squirming bundle next to Nori, "Not really. I just got lucky that there was only one skittering around.”

Nori chuckled, “Well whatever happened, I’m much obliged to you.”

“Master Baggins!” Gloin’s face held utter relief as Lyla removed the sticky substance from the dwarf’s eyes, nose and mouth, “I’m mighty glad to see you lass.”

“Yes well, let’s be mighty glad when we’re all safely away from this place.” She smiled kindly at Gloin, “I’ll help you get free and then we’ll get the rest of the company down, yes?”

“That’d be a lovely treat, that would,” Gloin agreed heartily returning the smile “And here I thought that women were bad luck on journeys. Seems we can’t survive without you lassie.”

Lyla felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "Yes well..." She trailed off flippantly, but nodded her head and started to carefully cut away at the sticky fibers surrounding the ginger dwarf, mindful of his long bushy beard. She knew dwarves were…particular about their hair. Thankfully, though, she made quick work of the webbing. In a few short minutes she’s made it past Gloin’s neck and shoulders and was close to freeing his arms.

However, she should have been more observant.

She really, really should have.

“Master Baggins!” Nori shouted as a something large and painfully solid connected with Lyla’s back, knocking her off balance, sending her tumbling from the branch. With a grunt she connected with one of the lower lying branches, scrambling to keep her hold on the rough bark, her sword nearly slipping from her grasp.

She hazarded a glance upward and saw, unsurprisingly, a massive spider, standing guard over the web-bound company, its massive jowls snapping, its legs clicking against the wood as it slowly advanced towards her, its numerous round dark eyes staring her down, challenging her.

Her eye twitched in annoyance and trepidation.

She had to do something. She had to get that massive, hairy brute away from the company.

“Gloin!” She shouted, jumping carefully down to a lower branch, “try and get free and help get the others down if you—“

Another knock from a giant leg, sent the air from her lungs and her sword tumbling from her hands as Gloin and Nori’s voices shouted her name in alarm.

Bebother it all!

Now what?

She jumped to another branch, swinging downward. She had to get to the ground. She had to get her sword back.

She was dead if she didn’t

She stopped for a moment and gazed upward again and let out a groan of annoyance. The spider wasn’t just guarding its prey anymore. Its long spindly legs were skittering down the tree at an alarmingly rapid rate, its giant pincer-mouth snapping and spitting at her.

It was coming for her.

“Splendid” she muttered darkly.

She ducked as the spider tried to strike her again, and felt the air ‘whoosh’ above her head as the massive leg connected with the tree bark, sending splinters flying.

She hazarded jumping down the last fifteen feet, landing with a soft tucked roll, grabbing her sword just as the giant hissing spider leapt down nearly on top of her. One of its legs pinned Dwalin's cloak to the ground as it loomed over her, saliva dripping in her face. She struggled to get the clasps undone.

Its stinger shot towards her chest, trying to immobilize her and Lyla let out a shriek as the clasps finally snapped open and she scurried away. She shot to her feet and ducked and tumbled sideways, as the spider tried to impale her again, and nearly lost her balance. She brought her sword up and slashed at one of the massive legs that surrounded her.

The spider hissed, its stance buckling on one side as Lyla rolled to her feet and slashed at another leg, severing the massive appendage in half.

The spider shrieked and snapped towards Lyla, but it could no longer stand. With heart pounding, Lyla turned and, using the spider’s crippled legs as leverage, hopped up onto the beast’s back, driving her little stinging sword into the spider’s rounded black body.

The spider shuddered as warm sticky liquid deserted its body, pooling around Lyla’s feet and slithered slowly down, splashing to the floor. A low hiss escaped its mouth and then silence and stillness followed.

Lyla was panting, her ears ringing. But a morbid satisfaction pulsed through her veins as she gazed at the carnage her little sword had inflicted.

She was capable.

She could defend herself.

Then her sensitive ears picked up the sounds of rapid clicking and she turned to see four other spiders darting towards her, snapping, hissing beady eyes trained on one lone little hobbit standing atop a dead spider.

She let out a groan.

She took it back.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t defend herself.

She was going to die.

“Of all the blasted rotten luck,” She grumbled, “Give me a dragon any day. Any day at all.”

With a terrified yell, Lyla hopped down from the spider carcass and darted into the trees, the hissing from the giant monsters getting ever louder. She had to hide. But she couldn’t just leave the company to be sucked dry by those rabid, spitting hideous things!

But what could she do?

Her foot connected with a large root and Lyla tumbled to the ground, her sword clattering at her side. Her hands scrambled to heave her upwards.

Then déjà vu struck Lyla and a memory surfaced.

A cave.

A slimy, wide-eyed creature.

And a ring!

She slipped the ring from her pocket, tossing Thorin’s food to the side, and slid the thick gold band on her finger. Instantly her world dimmed and muted in color, as a haze settled in the corners of her vision.

But her head started pounding and the rolling in her stomach increased ten-fold. And the growling she’d heard when they’d first entered the forest, echoed in her head.

She didn’t like wearing this ring.

Not one bit.

But as the spiders descended around her, searching for the murdering culprit of their kin, Lyla ignored the adverse effects of the golden band and thanked the powers above that she was invisible.

She didn’t fancy being spider food thank you very much.

Lyla lay as still as possible, clenching her fists in panic, her heart hammering, as she tried to make her breathing shallow and silent. Warily she watched the spiders scuttle about, hissing and snapping, their legs clicking and clacking against trees and the hard ground.

But the spiders found nothing, and their shrieking cries filled the air as they darted through their webbed clearing in search of Lyla. She let out a low sigh of relief as the massive creatures moved further and further from her resting spot.

But the relief soon turned to horror as she noticed that the spiders’ renewed interest in their food.
In the company.

“Blast” she muttered, slowly rising to her feet and walking as silent as possible towards the spiders, two of which were slowly climbing up the trees surrounding the webbed company.

She had to do something.

“HEY!” She shouted, making her voice as loud as possible, “HEY you monstrous, ugly beasts!”

The spiders stopped their ascent and gazed around, their eyes sweeping over where Lyla stood.

An idea sparked in her brain. And being invisible held great advantage for her.

She started to whistle lowly, the notes carrying over into the trees even as she charged at one of the spiders waiting on the ground, her sword thrust outward. She sliced at the creature’s leg and it went stumbling with a low hiss its round body suddenly unsteady and awkward.

The spiders in the trees had reversed their movements and were now scurrying down the trees once more in search of the attacker.

Lyla continued to whistle, a familiar tune that would have had her laughing at any other time, as she sliced into the other grounded spider’s legs, hacking one clean off and severing another. Warm blood washed over her hands and she resisted the urge to gag at the putrid smell.

Then, with quick movements, she leapt into the trees, as the other two spiders reached the ground, searching frantically for her, hissing and spitting all the while.

She kept whistling as she climbed the tree leading to the company. She spotted Gloin nearly free and Nori struggling to get at his hands out of their bonds.

With quick, precise movements, she sliced at Nori’s bonds much to the thief’s surprise.

“What is Mahal’s name…?” he muttered stunned.

“Get free and help the others!” She hissed at the surprised dwarf.

Nori just nodded dumbly, his eyes darting around in search of the hobbit, but finding nothing but empty space.

“How did you…”

“Just get free!” She hissed again.

And then she was jumping back down, towards the spiders, her whistling getting louder.

The two spiders she’d struck in the legs were struggling to stand, their legs shaking and buckling from the weight they tried to place on it.

Lyla leapt on the closest one and buried her sword in the massive hairy creature’s back, cutting through its shell with a low cracking noise. Blood oozed forth and the great spider stiffened and then tipped sideways, its legs curling, a low growl escaping its mouth.

Then Lyla was back to the other spider and with rushed movements, she was sawing at the rest of the creature's legs, making the beast hiss and groan in agony. The spider stumbled to the ground and struggled to rise, even as she struck it’s mouth with her blade, stilling its movements.

Two down.

But Lyla gaze around in confusion. Where were the other…

She looked upwards and swore. The other two spiders were scurrying back up the tree towards the company members.

“Dammit.”

She darted after them, leaping into the tree and scrambling up the branches as quickly as her feet would carry her.

She noted that Nori and Gloin were both free and were working on getting some of the other members down from their perches.

“Watch out!” She cried, trying to quicken her pace without losing her balance.

Nori turned in time to see one of the spiders, throw its leg outward, hoping to knock dwarf down. But with blindingly fast movements, the thief had one of his knives out and had nicked the spider’s long pointed leg.

The creature hissed and retreated a few paces, as Nori took over guarding Gloin who was hacking furiously at the webbing around Bifur.

Lyla heaved herself up to a standing position just below the other spider and with a sweeping motion brought her sword around to slice at the spider’s legs.

The massive body tumble sideways as the creature lost its balance. It scrambled with a shriek to gain purchase on the branches. But Lyla wouldn’t let it. Bring her sword upward again, she hacked at the two legs just above her head, severing them at the joints.

The spider tumbled from the tree and with a loud squelching crash, hit the ground below.

Lyla turned her attention back towards Nori who had managed a few solid hits to the spider’s legs. She could see dark stick, foul smelling blood staining the bark. She leapt to a closer branch and pulled herself upwards until she was standing parallel to the massive spider’s torso.

“I really hate spiders,” She muttered with a deep scowl and buried her sword into the creature’s soft underbelly.

The spider’s legs curled, it’s eyes instantly dimming as blood trickled downward coating her sword and hands and running like a river down the bark of the tree. The creature stilled and then tipped backwards, its body falling through the branches, and too the forest floor below.

Lyla stood panting, hands shaking, and her stomach rolling from the stench she was now coated in.

“Remind me,” Nori muttered gazing around in confusion, “To never get on your bad side little hobbit.”

Lyla chuckled and sheathed her sword, prepared to remove her ring.

But the sound of horns had her stilling for a moment.

She gazed downward.

Four tall figures had charged into the clearing their low murmurs lost to Lyla's ears. But she could recognize their features even from this distance.

“Elves.” She whispered.

They couldn't be worse than spiders. Could they?

Chapter Text

A low groan passed by Thorin’s lips as he came back to consciousness. He tried to will his sluggish mind to work through the haze he was under, but it was a slow-going process.

What had happened?

The last thing he remembered was the company preparing to anchor the boat and tug it across the river.

And then the light. He’d seen a light in the distance.

After that though?

Thorin drew a blank. He simply could not process things after that point, no matter how hard he pushed himself.

It was utterly frustrating.

He brought his hand up to his face.

Or tried to at least. It appeared that his hands were bound in what felt like rope.

He then tried to open his eyes, only to be met with darkness.

Soft fabric had been placed on his face, obscuring his view.

And, he noted, he was laying on piled straw.

He could hear the soft drips of water running down stone. The air was cool and musty.

Confound it all where was he?!

“Welcome, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin Stiffened.

*****
A sense of unease settled in Lyla’s stomach and she hesitated to take her ring off.

There was something…offsetting about the elves below her though she couldn’t place WHY she felt uncomfortable. The elves at Rivendell had been hospitable and friendly.
But these elves set her on edge.

She wanted to get a better look.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to Nori and Gloin who’d gone still watching the elves below them with trepidation.

She checked the tie of her scabbard and then slowly maneuvered down to the lower branches, trying to remain as silent as possible. She noted that more elves had come into the area, numbering more than a dozen now, each stood tall and slender, their long hair swaying around their shoulders as they moved. Each wore green or grey tunics and they were speaking in a hurried manner, their tones too low for her make out.

She lowered herself closer.

And nearly went tumbling as an arrow whizzed past her ear. Letting out a terrified squeak, she pressed herself flush against the tree and gazed downwards. A tall elf, with long blonde hair and grey armor stood, staring at the tree, his bow out and an arrow poised to fire. His eyes were sweeping over the tree, flicking through the branches searching for movement.

He’d shot an arrow at her!

His eyes narrowed and he slowly lowered his bow and murmured something to one of his companions nearby, his had rising up to point to the top of the tree. Towards the company.

She pressed herself against the trunk of the tree as two elves ascended the tree towards the struggling company. She did not trust these elves. Especially now that she’d almost been impaled by an arrow.

So she remained hidden, wary of what would happen to the company.

Nori and Gloin—who had freed themselves—balanced on the branch their knives drawn and furious scowls on their faces.

The first elf, the tall blonde male who’d fired the arrow, approached slowly, eyes narrowed as he assessed the fury in the two freed dwarves’ faces.

“I think it best if you relinquish your weapons,” he remarked, his lilting voice quiet and disturbingly calm.

Lyla could hear the power behind his words.

Nori snorted condescendingly, “Why would I want to do that elf?”

“Because I will strike you where you stand if you do not dwarf.”

Lyla turned her head upwards in surprise and found a tall red haired elf maiden standing high above Nori and Gloin, bow pulled taut and an arrow aimed at the ready.

Her green eyes flashed dangerously. “Do not think I won’t kill you.”

Nori’s face betrayed his surprise at being caught unaware. His eyes narrowed and a deep expulsion of breath escaped his lips. He muttered something low and foreign to Lyla’s ears.

She assumed it wasn’t something overly kind.

But Nori knew when he’d been beaten. So in defeat, he lowered his weapon and raised his hands in surrender.

*****
Lyla was still perched in the tree, watching as more than twelve elves worked to get her company down from the trees. Bombur, who was still unconscious, proved rather difficult to safely deposit on the ground.

Her heart nearly shattered in horror when two dark haired elves nearly dropped the giant, round, snoring creature.

But somehow, the spritely creatures managed to get twelve bundles down to the ground.

‘Where was Thorin?’ she wondered in a panic. Even Dwalin was within the group. But Thorin? That blasted, arrogant dwarf was still missing.

And as for the rest?

The poor dears.

The dwarves were surprised to find their rescuers were elves.

As each member was released from their webbed prisons, they gazed up in shock and alarm at the elves that loomed over them, carefully peeling away the remnants of the spiders’ attacks.

They were even more surprised to find themselves freed from one binding and placed into another.

“Oi what’s the meanin’ of this!” Bofur exclaimed trying to extract himself from the grip of two dark-haird elf men, only to have a small knife pointed at his throat in order to silence his protests.

The blonde dwarf that had first addressed Nori stepped forward, his eyes narrowed, and a deep frown on his face as his hand rested lightly on the sword around his waist.
“You have been caught trespassing on the king’s land. He’s requested your presence and an explanation of what has transpired since your initial entrance into Mirkwood.”

One by one the dwarves’ hands were bound, blindfolds placed over their eyes and they were positioned in a single file line with elves standing on either side of them, the tall blonde who she’d first seen, stood at the head of the party, his finely made armor betraying his elevated social status.

‘Obviously the leader’ she thought quietly watching the way the elf moved as if he was a part of his surroundings. She envied his natural grace.

Another four elves made up the rear, hefting the snoring Bombur in their arms. Lyla silently sniggered at their predicament.

Imagine if she and the rest of the company had to haul the sleep dwarf for miles!

Her ears perked up and she could hear the low mutters of disgust emanating from their lips as they strained to keep up the grueling pace.

Her face pulled into a frown.

“Fat load of rubbish,” One blonde haired elf muttered, rolling his eyes in annoyance, “Not worth the effort it will take to carry him back.”

Lyla’s blood boiled.

How dare they!

A low growl escaped her lips and she grabbed at the thinner branches of the tree, breaking off a small twig. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the twig soaring through the air, knocking into one of the rude dwarves carrying her unconscious friend.

The elf stiffened and stopped moving. He turned his head back, eyes narrowed, searching.

But, of course, he found nothing. The elf’s face contorted into confusion and he muttered lowly, turning forward once more.

Lyla grinned as she hopped from her station in the branches wary of any loose leaves or grass.

Served him right.

She followed silently behind the elves and their dwarf captives as the elves marched the dwarves at a rapid pace, wary of her surroundings and fearful that she’d lose her company for a second time.

But the further they moved from the spider’s nest, the worse Lyla was feeling. Adrenaline was wearing off, and with renewed force, the nausea was returning. Her head was pounding and she longed to take the ring off and to leave this accursed forest.

Above all that, however, she really really wanted a bath. The putrid smell emanating from her close made her nose wrinkle with each inhale of breath. It was a wonder that the elves didn’t suspect they were being followed because of the smell she exuded.

Oh what she wouldn’t give for her bathtub at home with nice steaming water, a warm cup of tea and her favorite robe.

She could certainly sneak away, being invisible as she was, and just return…

‘Why care about them?’ A voice in the back of her mind hissed at her, ‘They didn’t want you in the first palce. Just leave them. They don’t matter. Take care of yourself.’

But if she did that, she’d never see her dwarves again.

Lyla frowned and shook her head. Why would she think that at all? She cared about the dwarves!

She couldn’t allow anything to happen to them. And as it was, she was the only one capable of actually helping them. She could remain unseen.

She was their best chance.

‘Come on Lyla’ she reprimanded herself silently, ‘It isn’t as bad as you make it. You can do this. Chin up, feet forward. That’s the ticket.’

She straightened her coat (already mourning the warmth Dwalin’s cloak had provided her) and silently traipsed after the company and their guards wary not to get too far behind or too close to be trampled on.

How alarmed would the elves be to discover an invisible creature following them!

They marched onward for a good while, and with each step, the dwarves (and Lyla) were wearing down to the point of stumbling and nearly knocking each other over.

Some of the elves sniggered at the company’s obvious exhaustion.

Lyla was really beginning to hate these particular elves and she glared at each one who dared to open their mouths in derision against her dwarves. They were nothing like the elves found in Rivendell and she wondered how they could be so unkind, so calloused towards those who were obviously suffering.

But her anger was lost and replaced by shock and stunned appreciation as they rounded the bend and started their descent into a deep cavernous valley. And then she saw it.

Oh…

Her mouth fell open in wonderment, her breath catching in her throat.

She stood before an enormous cave that spanned higher than she could have ever imagined. Intricately carved stone doors stood before her, depicting the changing of the seasons with elvish scrawl engraved above and below the images. Just outside these stone doors, water flowed freely, weaving in and out through the trees, it’s clear water inviting and enticing Lyla. The pathway was lined with bright beech trees, that stood proudly reaching for the sky.

The elves marched the company one by one down the steep path and over the bridge to the entrance and its enormous doors.

Surely they could not open such a massive door with so few men?

To her surprise, the gates swung open of their own accord and a tall slender elf man stepped forward, dressed in a rich silver(that even Lyla could see with her muted vision) robes and his brow was crowned in a headdress of thin delicate branches and summer flowers. His blue eyes swept over the group in a condescending manner as he regarded the blindfolded company. His lips pulled into morbid, almost resigned, smile (though the company couldn’t see it).

“Welcome, company of Thorin Oakenshield, to the great elf kingdom of Mirkwood.”

Chapter Text

Lyla ghosted behind the group slow and silent, as the dwarves were marched through the massive doors following the path of the elf with the headdress, along a large walkway and past a large ornate iron portcullis, that reminded her of the branches of the beech trees outside, winding around itself in an intricate and deceptively delicate pattern.

Said portcullis slammed shut as Lyla walked past, startling the invisible hobbit who barely avoided being crushed, and a massive ‘whoosh’ of air blasted around Lyla at the force of the impact. She turned to find the large stone doors sealed shut as well.

She—and the rest of the company—were well and truly trapped inside the Elven halls.

Bother it all.

And, while that information certainly filled her with a sense of trepidation and foreboding, her astonishment grew as she took in her surroundings.

As she followed after the company, Lyla noted the polished walkways, arches and pillars of stone carved with detailed attention, making the stone appear very much like a forest of tall, proud trees undisturbed by time. Winding around these stone walkways and pillars, that stretched outward and upward in every direction, were large roots from the trees above this cavernous home, weaving through the space, connecting the stone and wood together in one harmonious combination of delicacy and power. Lyla noted many smaller beech trees dispersed throughout the hillsides within the Elven halls, as well as the pure and delicate waterfalls and rivers that flowed on either side of her and far beneath the stone and wood bridges.

She inhaled the fresh air gratefully (and quietly) and marveled at the small snatches of sunlight streaming through the ceiling of intertwined branches and stone that encapsulated the entire Elven settlement together. The unease she felt walking through the filth of Mirkwood slowly seeped from her pores, relieving her spirit and lifting her heart even as her throat burned with desire to quench her thirst in the crystal streams she spied.

The elves lead (and carried, for Bombur was still unconscious) their captives upward to a large stone platform atop of which sat an impressive wooden throne, adorned with enormous antlers on either side of the chair and long thin branches that twisted upwards. Leaves and white blossoms surrounded the entire structure, like a halo of earthen paradise, as soft light cast an ethereal glow around the Elf, who had greeted them at the door, and now stood and faced the company.

“It has been many years,” The stoic elf murmured interlocking his long pale fingers together, “since I entertained the company of the dwarves.”
Narrowed sapphire eyes swept over the blinded dwarves slowly as he studied the pitiful shape her company was in. The elf’s gaze settled on Balin’s form at the front of the line and with a nod of his head, the red haired elf woman removed Balin’s blindfold.

“Tell me,” the elf at the doors remarked lowly, gazing at Balin’s bruised and wearied face, “What are you doing in these parts of my kingdom?”

Familiarity sparked in Balin’s eyes as he gazed at the stoic creature before him, but the wizened dwarf said nothing, his lips remaining thin and pursed.

The Elvenking (for that is what he must be Lyla thought) tilted his head to the side, his gaze going thoughtful. He stepped forward a few paces. His gaze shifted until he was staring down his nose at Balin, a look of suspicion clouding his fair features.

“You refuse to explain why you’ve trespassed on my land? You refuse to oblige me this courtesy? Why? What have you to hide I wonder.”

Balin still said nothing, though a scowl appeared on his face.

His response was clear, even without any words.

The elf king snorted, “You value your pride over comfort and safety I see. Very well,” He turned to the golden haired dwarf who’d nearly struck Lyla from the tree (and she noted how similar they looked), “Escort our ‘guests’ to their chambers, Legolas, if you will,” he murmured dismissively, his eyes hardened and he turned sharply on his heel and ascended to his throne.

The elf, Legolas, bowed his head quickly and then hastily retied the blindfold over Balin’s eyes. With a quick jerk of his head, and silent as the grave, he urged the line of dwarves to start forward again, and through the enormous doors.

Lyla pressed herself against one of the closest pillars and waited until the company had passed by. She didn’t want to expose herself by bumping into someone or something. She was determined to follow after her dwarves.

But the king’s next word stopped her in her tracks.

“Bring me Master Oakenshield.”

*****

“On your feet, dwarf.”

Someone was pulling Thorin up from his straw bed, making him stumble blindly, fumbling to find his balance even with his hands bound.

He was pulled roughly by his wrists, and prodded forward with a hard jab to his back, making him grunt in pain.

*****

Lyla’s heart caught in her throat has she watched Thorin Oakenshield paraded before her. Four different elves flanked either side of the dwarf, their weapons creating a carefully constructed cage as the dwarf king was being led up to the throne, bound and blindfolded, angry red welts on his wrists, hair in disarray with straw sticking in his long ebony tendrils.

Anger boiled hot in Lyla’s veins as one of the elves shoved Thorin until the dwarf stumbled forward to his knees before the throne where the elf king was perched.

Soft sniggers escaped the two dark-haired guards who had escorted Thorin from wherever they had been keeping him. They smiled wickedly at one another, their features contorted in a angry, gleeful sneers.

Lyla’s hands balled into fists and her eyes narrowed.

Those dirty rotten…!

“Where does your journey end I wonder,” The king murmured as the blindfold was removed from Thorin’s eyes.

The dwarf king stared contemptuously back at the elf king, his eyes blazing.

“You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule,” The king continued on, as he rose to his feet and slowly stepped forward, towards Thorin’s silent form, his eyes narrowed, “The quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. Is this not why you have come?”

Thorin remained stoic and silent, his eye betraying nothing.

“Speak dwarf. Why have you trespassed into my kingdom?”

Thorin raised his chin defiantly, eyes glittering with fury.

And remained silent.

The cracking of a pale hand against flesh sent Lyla reeling in horror. The elf king’s eyes blazed as he stood mere steps from Thorin, his hand raised, poised to strike the dwarf again, and a deep frown set on his face.

A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop herself and a few of the guards’ eyes shifted in surprise as they searched for the source of the noise. For it did not come from their dwarf captive.

He remained silent, though his eyes said more than enough.

Murderous rage swam beneath the blue orbs of Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes.

“You try my patience Master Oakenshield,” The elf king whispered dangerously his face mere inches from Thorin’s, “Think ye that I am a mere simple fool? I know what you hunt. I know what it is you seek.”

The king turned away from Thorin and paced back to his throne, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Then you know why I seek what I seek,” Thorin’s deep voice carried far, even as he whispered the words, fury laced with each syllable.

“You are filled with revenge and anger and you bring a great evil with you,” The elf king remarked, his face pulled into a frown. “This will only lead to your downfall. And Erebor will remain a lost cause.”

Thorin visibly bristled at that remark and his eyes narrowed as he slowly rose to his feet to face the elf king.

“You know nothing of the suffering of my people. You know nothing of dragon fire and sorrow. The vengeance I feel is justified, Thranduil of the woodland realm.”

And suddenly the elf king, Thranduil, was next to Thorin, inches from the dwarf’s face once more. “Do not speak to me of dragon fire,” The elf hissed, contempt written on his face, “I know its wrath and I have seen sorrow. Do not pretend that your plight is the only one deserving of pity.”

Thorin raised his chin in defiance and glared back at Thranduil’s tall, slender form hovering before him.

He had retreated to silence once more.

“You cannot pursue such a foolish mission,” Thranduil’s voice had gone soft. Dangerously soft.

“You cannot prevent me from securing my homeland,” Thorin spat, “And what care do you hold for the dwarves anyway? You abandoned us in our hour of need.”

Thorin said nothing, but his sight remained on Thranduil, commanding the elf’s attention.

Lyla could hear the raw pain in his voice at the memory he’d just conjured.

The dwarves had been abandoned by the elves?

But why?

Thranduil’s eyes flashed dangerously his brows knitting together in a deep seeded anger that made Lyla shudder. “Do not spew your petty judgment at me! I would not risk my kin against the wroth of that dragon. I had to protect my own. I abandoned no one.” And then Thranduil reclined into his throne, his fingers curving around the arms rests tightly. He scoffed, “And it is not you that I claim to worry over. There are others in Middle Earth affected by an angered dragon. Do not forget Dale and all those innocents lost. There are many who would be affected by your hasty foolishness.”

Thranduil leaned forward, his anger replaced by a deep curiosity. “Tell me how your actions will secure anything if that beast is released? How will you manage to ensure the safety of the men of Laketown? Of the elves within my woodland realm? Will they only be casualties for the greater good in your eyes?”

Thorin glared contemptuously back at Thranduil.

Lyla silently commended him for his stubbornness, even as she contemplated Thranduil’s questions. How were they to protect innocent people against a dragon? Certainly Thorin had considered this.

Right?

“As it is,” Thranduil continued flippantly, “I cannot allow your journey to continue until some sense has entered that head of yours.”

Lyla’s eyes narrowed in fury at the king’s hasty ruling. How dare he!

“You cannot keep me here!” Thorin uttered viciously pulling at his bonds only to be physically restrained by the elf guardsmen surrounding him.

Thranduil scoffed again, “I can do whatever pleases me against those who trespass on my land.”

The elf king waved his hand dismissively to one of the guards. “Take him back down. I can see this is a waste of time. Perhaps the darkness will open his eyes.”

Lyla watched, with fury coursing through her veins, as the blindfold was tied once more across Thorin’s eyes. The dwarf didn’t protest as he was dragged forcefully away. And she would have followed after him, had not the elf Legolas and the red-haired female he’d been with earlier blocked her path.

Oh confusticate it all!

Bebother all of them!

The two elves paused at the bottom of the throne and bowed their head in respect.

Lyla fisted her hand in her mouth to keep from snorting in contempt. This king deserved no respect.

Not from Lyla at least.

She scowled at the haughty king.

“Tell me what troubles you. I sense your unease.” Thranduil murmured, gazing off to his right. His eyes were sweeping over the room thoughtfully. And then he stopped, and narrowed his sapphire orbs.

Right where Lyla stood.

She took a step back, out of reflex, finding security (even while invisible) behind the pillar, creating a barrier between herself and the piercing blue gaze of the elf king. Did he suspect her presence?

Surely not.

Right?

“The dwarves are secure,” Legolas remarked, his head still bowed in deference to Thranduil’s superior status. Then he hesitated, “However, something…unusual has happened.”

Thranduil’s gaze flicked to the blonde dwarf and his red-haired companion in surprise.

“Tell me.”

Legolas’ face took on a thoughtful appearance as he turned his gaze up to the elf king who stood, expectantly before him.

“The spiders,” He murmured, “They were dead when we came upon the company of dwarves and yet the dwarves were bound in the trees.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, and Lyla sucked in her breath.

Waiting.

“It would appear,” He muttered, “that the dwarves have a hidden ally. Double the guards if you must and set the watch to patrol the area to find this hidden…creature.”

Chapter Text

Lyla didn’t dare move from her hiding spot near the pillar. Not for quite some time.

Even after Legolas and the red-haired elf retreated from their position in front of the throne to carry out their king’s command for reinforced patrols.

Even after the elf king himself retreated down a long winding corridor, shooting a suspicious glance at the pillar where Lyla stood invisible, his lips pursed and brows knit in contemplation.

She didn’t dare move.

She hardly dared to breathe.

How did he possibly suspect her to be standing there? How could he have know?

She was invisible.

Right?

But she knew that Thranduil KNEW there was something lurking in the shadows. It was almost as though he could sense it, and she half wondered if the elves would go to so much trouble if they knew that it was a simple little hobbit they were trying to capture.

But, mostly, Lyla wanted to groan in frustration. She held her tongue, however, as paranoia swept over her. She didn’t know who was watching, or listening.
Slowly and silently, she sank to the ground and cradled her head in her hands in frustration.

What was she to do? It was obvious that she needed to help the company. She was the only one who really could. But, how were they to escape with doubled patrols?
Not to mention the fact that she didn’t even know where her friends were being held.

‘It’s a lost cause’ the sinister voice in the back of her mind whispered, ‘You can’t save them. Why bother trying? It’s a fool’s mission.’

‘But if I don’t help them, then they’ll remain here. They’ll never recover their home. They’ll never truly be happy.’

‘You aren’t even a dwarf.’ The menacing voice retorted, ‘You don’t owe anyone anything. You aren’t really a member of this company.’

No.

No, that was not true.

She WAS a member of this company.

Her gaze hardened and she forcibly pushed those negative thoughts from her mind.

And as Bofur had said, ‘being a part of this company made you as good as family.’

It wasn’t a lost cause. They’d made it this far. They’d escaped from trolls, fought wargs, orcs, spiders, hunger and fatigue.

They could get out of this too.

They had to.

She’d make sure of it.

Somehow.

She hoped.

*****

Thorin Oakenshield sat rubbing his wrists gently, contempt written on his face as he glared out his cell door.

Oh how he despised the elves

They had no right to keep him from his quest. They had no right to try and stop him. It was his homeland! His heritage, his life. He could do what he wished.

He understood the risks involved with trying to retake the mountain and the possible danger to others. He’d weighed the options. He’s stewed over the possible outcomes.
But he still knew that his quest was right. That he was right.

However, another concern gnawed at him.

Where was his company? Had Thranduil’s men captured them as well? What had happened to his nephews? Or Dwalin? If he had harmed ANY of his company in any way…!

His thoughts turned to a small creature with a mop of blonde curls and impossibly large hazel eyes.

He could have sworn that he’d heard Lyla’s gasp of surprise as he knelt before Thranduil, when the elf had slapped him out of anger.

He was certain it had been HER voice that had filtered through the air.

But, that was impossible. Lyla hadn’t been in that room. There had been no one there besides himself and that nasty, filthy…

Thorin sighed and rubbed his abused wrists again.

Mahal help him, he must be going crazy.

*****

Lyla’s paranoia made quick work of dispelling her awe and reverence for the elven kingdom’s startlingly beautiful architecture. Too consumed with being caught, Lyla remained bound by the ring’s power (subjected to the sinister whispers it seemed to produce), wandering silently through the long winding halls and ducking into alcoves at the slightest hint of movement, all the while searching the impossibly large settlement for signs of her friends. She’d attempted listening for information about the dwarves, but the elves were never too keen on gossiping in public, preferring instead, to walk silently, stoically to their destinations.

She’d then tried to follow some of the many patrols around in hopes of getting a glimpse of where her friends might be held. But again this proved fruitless. There were so many different groups of guards patrolling, making it impossible to keep track of some of their routes. Often she wound up lost down one of the many corridors found in this kingdom and then she’d be forced to wait until another group of elves meandered by before she could find her way back to the main floor.

The anxiety and exhaustion wearing at her bones made the picturesque archways, waterfalls, and intertwining roots and rocks start to turn Lyla’s stomach sour with contempt.
This fortress home had become nothing more than a prison, a magnificent prison, but a prison nonetheless. It was no longer a refuge from the disease of the forest.

Lyla felt as suffocated now as she did wandering down the path through the darkened trees.

And as the days passed on in this gloom, Lyla’s spirit drooped further and further and she began to despair that she’d never find her friends.

And the voice in the back of her mind grew ever louder, making her heart feel like a lead weight in her chest, as it became harder and harder to ignore the gloom and depression the voice instilled in her.

‘You’ll never succeed.’

‘This is a fool’s errand.’

‘They don’t care for you.’

‘It’s a lost cause.’

‘You’re a failure. You’ll never be able to save them.’

She truly hated the ring even as she relied on its power to protect her.

The only thing Lyla DID manage to find that brought her any comfort were the pantries stocked with food. And though she didn’t dare take much to silence the pangs of hunger in her stomach, she did find a small respite for her weary legs beneath the lowest shell tucked behind a barrel of apples. The smells of the apples, freshly baked breads, ale, and grains reminded Lyla of home and brought a small sense of peace to her aching heart.

However, it also brought more anguish. The warmth and comforting smells she sought in the pantry drudged up the memories of all the things she missed. She missed her little house beneath the hill with its garden of flowers and vegetables. She missed the warmth of the fire in her heart as she sat in her good chair with a warm cup of tea, wrapped in her favorite robe. She certainly missed her bed with its crisp clean linens and getting a decent night’s sleep without gruesome images haunting her dreams.

But, mostly, she missed the company of rowdy dwarves who’d brought a new sense of purpose to her life, who made her life brighter. The same dwarves, who were crude and calloused and dense and arrogant, and who pulled her from her lonely isolation.

The dwarves who gave her the chance to have a family again.

She missed Bofur’s cheerful face comforting smile and his warm embrace, Dwalin’s stern glower but kind eyes, Ori’s shy blushing face, Oin and Gloin’s arguments, Dori’s mothering harassment of his brothers, Nori’s sly smirking face as he pilfered something from one of the packs. She missed Bombur’s stew and his enthusiasm about food and Bifur’s wild gestures and quizzical stare and Balin’s fatherly kindness.

And she even missed Thorin, with his richly colored hair, brilliant blue eyes, his calloused hands grasping her chin, his soft murmurs in that rich timbre of his voice…

And as she curled in on herself, tucking her knees to her chest, behind the large barrel of apples, she felt each sting of longing, each barb of fear and sadness wearing at her exhausted soul and she allowed herself to do something he hadn’t permitted this entire journey.

She let the salty tears slip down her cheeks as silent sobs wracked her body.

‘Oh Aule please help me find them. Please. I beg you…’

Chapter Text

Lyla knew she was dreaming. She knew it. But, for the moment the fear she felt was so palpable she couldn’t breathe.
Wherever she looked, she was surrounded by white. Crisp, clean, bitterly cold white. In the distance she could just make out small shapes slowly advancing dark and light shadows with black eyes.
And then the howling reached her ears and she shuddered. She had to get away.
She tried to run, but her feet wouldn’t move.
And the shadows were getting ever closer, their growls filling her ears.
Wolves.
‘You’re a fool’ a sinister voice hissed in her ear as she stumbled backwards falling to her rear, a strangled cry caught in her lips, ‘I told you that you’d fail.’
One of the wolves, a giant, white monstrous beast, prowled around her, sniffing and growling, preparing to pounce.
She let out a shriek as the creature launched itself into the air towards her.
But then it shifted and was no longer a wolf.
Instead, Azog was on top of her, spitting in her face, suffocating her.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t breathe!
His laughter filled her ears as he spewed insults at her
‘Worthless Halfling.’
She struggled, twisting her body, trying to get away. But the giant orc had her pinned. She couldn’t move.
She was trapped.She closed her eyes, afraid to see the distorted face of the pale orc above her.
She was dying.
‘Stay away from my daughter!’
Lyla’s eyes shot open. How in this great earth…
Mother?
Azog’s weight disappeared, his face melted into a blur of colors. She could breathe again.
And suddenly Lyla was back home, sitting near her little fire, wrapped in her old tattered blanket as she rested her head in her mother’s lap.The tears fell freely and she felt so content, so at peace. How did she…?
‘Do not cry my little flower.’ Belladonna murmured running her hair through Lyla’s thick blonde curls.
‘How did you? Where’s Azog-‘
Belladonna placed two fingers to her daughters lips, as her deep chestnut curls bounced lightly. ‘Don’t you worry about him dear. I’ll not let him touch you, my brave little flower.’
And the tears returned as she hugged her mother close, the soft murmurs of comfort reverberating in her ears as thin fingers twisted in her hair. Oh how she wanted this to be real, even for a moment. To be back in her mother's arms, to feel her warm embrace...
‘Hush don’t you cry. I’m here my sweet darling. It’s alright. You’ll be alright I’m here. I’m always here…’

******
Lyla rubbed her eyes groggily, smearing the remnants of her tears from her face as she shifted her legs to a more comfortable position and blinked back to wakefulness.
She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, though she was grateful for the small mercy.

Her mother’s voice was still ringing in her ears and she could almost feel the soft warm caress of her mother’s fingers running through her dirty, matted curls. It had been quite some time since Lyla had dreamt of her mother like that. It brought her a sense of comfort to remember a happier time.

But the feeling didn’t last too long.

Soft laughter filtered into her little hiding spot and Lyla’s mind shot to high alert, waking her up fully and nearly causing her to bash her head on the shelf above her in surprise.

Out of reflex, her muscles tensed and she sat a little straighter, evening out her breathing, her ears straining to tune into the conversation above her.

A few elves were in the pantry, their light laughter echoing louder. This was the first time she'd heard anything other than a disappointed comment or a soft whisper escape one of these creatures!

“I’ve never seen him so flustered,” one of the elves whispered lowly. Lyla hazarded a peek around the edge of the barrel and noted that there were only two elves standing in front of the shelf she was currently hiding beneath.

They were FAR too close to her hiding spot for comfort, even with her invisibility. She scuttled backwards and tucked her legs to her chest again, wrapping her shaking arms around herself. She fancied that if she made herself small enough, she’d feel more comfort.

“That’s true enough,” the other elf whispered, cheerfully and conspiratorially, “All this time of living in isolation and suddenly the kingdom is converged upon by all kinds of ‘guests’” he sneered the last word.

Both the elves laughed again but Lyla’s heart was fluttering in excitement.

They were talking about the company! This was the first time she’d heard anything about them since their initial meeting with Thranduil.

She wanted to giggle in excitement, but held her tongue.

‘You’ll be alright.’ Her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

“You know he tried questioning some of the others this morning? Ha! That lot spewed so much filth back at the king even I was blushing in embarrassment! I thought for certain he’d have their heads for it.”

Lyla felt a small surge of satisfaction at that knowledge. It served that idiot elf king right harassing her dwarves like that!

“Well it’s no better than when he questioned that Oakenshield fellow earlier. The gammy dwarf remained completely silent. Refused to even acknowledge the king was there.”

The second elf snorted, “I don’t understand WHY he’s put up with them for this long. They’ve trespassed. They should be punished, not fed from our stocks. And with the fat one awake now, our supplies will be depleted in short order. ”

Bombur! He was awake!

Lyla let out a silent breath as a small smile rose on her lips.

“Indeed.” The first elf remarked dryly, “But he’s still after whatever it was that dispatched those spiders. Can’t figure out where the creature might be and the only ones who may have any information are the dwarves. He’s no other choice.”

Lyla’s heart stuttered.

Thranduil was still looking for her.

And the dwarves were protecting her from him.

She felt so…

Wanted.

Cared for.

Loved.

A warmth spread through her chest and flowed through her arms and legs.

‘Thank you, Aule. Thank you. Thank you.’ She murmured silently as she stumbled after the two elves, nearly knocking her barrel of apples over in her haste to catch up.

‘And thank you mother.’

*****
It made sense now, after following the two guards, why she couldn’t locate the dwarves before.

Not twenty feet from the kitchen, the two elves, laden with a large tray of food, ducked to their left and disappeared. For a moment, Lyla thought they had disappeared into the wall.

Panic started to well in her once more and she started to doubt herself.

Were they ghosts? Illusions?

Had she only imagined them?

But when she inspected the wall, she spotted a small opening that lead downwards, into the dark, her heart dropped to her stomach in relief.

A secret passageway was tucked away into a small alcove not visible from the main portion of the hallway.

Of course.

She sighed in annoyance. Why couldn’t she have figured that out?

Hesitantly Lyla stepped into the archway and slowly shuffled down the staircase, wary of any missteps in the dim light.

The further down she got, however, the more her confidence grew. Each step became more firm, more assured because she could hear voices chattering away.

‘It could be a trap’ the voice in her head whispered, ‘You’re a fool for going down here.’

No. She shook her head. She could hear voices.

And not just any voices.

Voices she recognized.

Her dwarves.

She could hear her dwarves!

“Oi ye droning dizzy-eyed clotpole!" Bofur’s voice rang out, “Is that all we’re to expect of the hospitality of the Elves? Some stale bread?”
She nearly burst into tears hearing Bofur’s insults. She didn’t care what he said, so long as she could just hear his voice!

“You should be grateful that you’re being fed at all,” one of the elves, at slender brown-haired fellow, snapped as Lyla rounded the last step and walked into the little block of cells.

Even in the dim light, she could make our three cells with two dwarves inside each. Dori and Bofur were in the cell closest to the door. The hatted dwarf sat with his arms wrapped around the bars of the cell, a cheeky grin on his face as he taunted the two elf guards who were doling out rations of bread and water, though his eyes were hardened in a cold stare, betraying his fury and deep seeded contempt.

“Aye ye think this lot’d know what courtesy is?” Nori retorted from the cell across Bofur’ s. He and Balin occupied this cell. “They think that flat stale bread IS good food! These lumpish hedge-born foot-lickers wouldn’t know good food if it bit ‘em on their dainty little hands. Too busy prettying their hair and lookin’ like little lasses to be concerned with proper food.”

Sniggers erupted

“You impertinent little,”

“Galion!” the other elf, a blonde fellow with large green eyes remarked, exasperatedly, “This is hardly helpful.”

The elf, Galion, sighed and snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing into a glare at Nori.

Lyla tried to hide her own snigger of amusement as relief washed over her. After all this time searching, she was in the midst of her company again.

And oh how she needed their quick wit to cheer her up!

“Here,” Galion grumbled handing over a small plate to the third cell in the room.

“Aye,” Dwalin’s voice rumbled, though his face was hidden from Lyla’s view, “I’d thank ye for yer kindness, but…”

The dwarf trailed off condescendingly.

The elf ‘harrumphed’ indignantly and stuck his nose in the air slightly.

“Sevig thû úan” he remarked snootily, wrinkling his nose in disgust “Do you ever bathe I wonder? You smell worse than a troll hoard.”

Dwalin snarled and Lyla could see his fingers reaching through the bar to grasp onto the elf’s jacket.

If the elf had been standing close enough to allow that to happen, that is.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed in disgust. These elves were positively the worst creatures imaginable. She was appalled by their behavior.

Though, admittedly, her dwarves weren’t behaving much better.

But they had a good reason for their actions so she couldn’t fault them.

“Easy lad,” Bofur remarked cheekily, “He’s just upset ‘cause his tender little nose can’t handle the smell. His dainty little feelins are hurt is all. Don’t worry yer pretty little head there elf lass,” Bofur turned his attention to Galion crooning, “I’m sure ye’ll go and get yer perfume and pretty clothes and be right as rain and smelling oh so dainty again soon.”

More sniggers left the company’s mouths as Galion glowered.

The other elf, wisely was remaining silent.

“Come on,” Galion muttered to his tall blonde companion.

But not before Bifur’s voice cut through the room.

“Khagam menu reliku pembu rukhas.”

Deep echoing laughter filled the air, and though Lyla wasn’t sure just what had been said, she knew that it was no compliment.

“Easy there cousin!” Bofur remarked, “Don’t want to go injruin’ their delicate feelings with that kind of talk! We are in the presence of ladies after all!”

Laughter followed the elf duo who slowly made their way further into the darkness.

And Lyla was hot on their heels, itching to talk to the company, but knowing that now was not the best time. She couldn’t risk rousing suspicion of her presence here. Especially since no one really knew she WAS here. Not even the dwarves.

No, it would have to be enough for now to simply be in their presence, to listen to their breathing, to hear their voices.

It was more than she’d experienced in quite some time.

Slipping slowly past the iron bars and her caged companions, she followed behind the two elves who were muttering darkly in their native tongue. Lyla tried to match their stride so as not to set their suspicions on high alert if they heard anything.

When they rounded another corner, Lyla saw three more cells, with six more dwarves. Her heard gave a little leap in relief.

“Here,” Galion grumbled, his mood severely soured by his encounter with Bofur and Nori.

“What? More stale bread?” Bombur’s voice caught Lyla’s attention, “Can’t you ate least be a little more creative? Is this really all you know how to cook?”

“Be grateful you are getting anything you overgrown pig!” Galion snarled in reply. Bombur only laughed.

“Well it’s no wonder you’re so short tempered and can’t grow beards. You’re forced to eat this!”

More sniggers erupted around the two elves.

“Galion,” the blonde elf warned, his eyes narrowed at his companion.

Galion was visibly trying to restrain his temper from the insults he was enduring, though from Lyla’s perspective, it didn’t seem to be working too much.

But the short-tempered brown-haired elf held his tongue as he handed Ori and Fili their rations.

When he got to Kili and Gloin, however, chaos erupted.

“You know,” Kili remarked, “It must be a sign of your stupidity being forced to serve us food. What? His highness could think of no other job for you?”

Galion bristled at the comment as he walked past to the next cell where he handed Oin and Ori their food. Ori, remained silent, eyes wide, as he took in the events around him.

“Here, take this,” Galion muttered thrusting the bread and tankard of water forward.

“I can’t here what yer sayin’ laddie” Oin remarked casually, eyes fixed on Galion.

“Aye that’s right!” Kili remarked, “That’s only because he can’t hear Elvish stupidity.”

Laughter erupted around Lyla as she watched Galion glower at Kili again, his teeth bared.

“How dare you!”

The elf stepped forward menacingly, as Kili leapt to his feet, a large smirk on his dirt smudged face.

“Galion stop!” The blonde elf commanded, “You are being utterly disgraceful. This certainly won’t help Lord Thranduil any.”

“But-“

“No. It’s enough. Calm yourself.”

"Aye best take some advice from yer sister there, you cockered clapper-clawed barnacle," Gloin's lilting accent echoed around the group as the dwarf sat quite contentedly with his back leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his face even as his eyes were narrowed in a challenging gaze directed at Galion.

Kili sniggered, and even Ori hid a smirk in his sweatered arm as Galion stepped back and shot his own companion a glare.

“Now,” the blonde elf remarked, “Be of some use and got take the last rations to our other guest if you will.”

Galion muttered under his breath but did as he was told and quietly shuffled away.

But the blonde elf remained.

And Lyla only hesitated a moment before she resigned herself to follow Galion down the hall, slowly slinking past the blonde elf who stood staring at each of the rest of her company members.

She needed to see who this other ‘guest’ was and where they were being held.

Though she had a sneaking suspicion she knew just who it was.

“Now, tell me what you know of this hidden creature that rescued you from the spiders,” the blonde elf’s voice echoed as she hesitantly made her way after Galion.

Said elf was hastily walking down the darkening hall, his angry mutters filling her ears, making it easy to follow after him. The elf turned left and hurried down a small flight of stairs, into the ever increasing dark that forced Lyla to cling to the wall for safety.

But, Galion’s mutters were enough to keep her following without fear of getting lost.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, she noted the elf’s shadow disappearing to her right and she hastened her pace after him, barely avoiding a large dark puddle of water.
She caught the glimmer of faint torchlight as she scurried after Galion and rounded the corner. She gave a soft gasp at what she was.

Caged in a tiny cell, stripped of all his weaponry, his great coat, even his boots, sat Thorin Oakenshield. His hair was disheveled, his gaze vacant as the elf Galion approached him carefully.

“Here you are ‘you highness’” the elf sneered condescendingly, tossing the small plate of bread into the cell, and shoving the tankard of water in after.

Thorin said nothing, his face stone still, tilted downwards, staring at the ground in front of his feet.

Galion scoffed. “You know, your companions could take some advice from your example,” the elf sniffed again (and Lyla rolled her eyes in annoyance at the gesture) as he wiped his hands together, “Nasty lot they are. Though I suppose we can’t have you teach them a thing or two about manners can we? They aren’t supposed to know you’re here.”

Lyla’s blood boiled and she glowered at the elf, a new hatred rising in her veins for this accursed kingdom, for the accursed, miserable creatures.

She pressed herself against the cold stone wall as Galion sauntered past, a smug grin on his face. She fancied that he supposed he’d bested the dwarf king.

She wanted very badly to trip the dimwitted git and send him sprawling.

But she refrained.

Barely.

She waited with baited breath for his footsteps to retreat down the hall and up the stairs. And even then she peeked her head around the corner to make sure she was well and truly alone before she turned back to the small cell tucked away in the darkest reaches of this forsaken kingdom.

She approached slowly, taking in Thorin’s features. His posture was slumped his hand folded together. She noted the red welts on his wrists and the scratches on his arms.

Thorin gave a low sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly, his tangled ebony locks pooling around him like liquid obsidian.

“Mahal help me,” he muttered in a strained voice and then groaned and fisted his hand into his eyes, “Please.”

He sounded so…

Defeated.

Miserable.

Lonely.

And her heart broke for him. Here she had fancied herself alone and miserable wandering the halls of Mirkwood. But Thorin? Thorin was trapped in utter darkness, alone, forsaken. So close to his companions, but unable to see them. So close to his homeland, but unable to reach it.

Forever trapped from those things he loved.

An ache settled in her chest as she thought of all the anguish he must feel. And she longed to comfort him. To assure him that everything would be alright. She longed to smooth the lines of worry on his brow.

Oh Thorin.

Thorin’s back went rigid and his head shot up, his blue eyes glittering in the dim lighting, betraying his surprise as he gazed around frantically, hands balled into fists.

“Lyla?”

Oh!

Had she spoken aloud?

Chapter Text

Oh Mahal help him he was mad!
Absolutely mad.
He couldn’t have just heard…
Could he?
Thorin gazed around the dimly lit hallway searching for any sign, any sign at all that the hobbit was near.

The air was as dank as ever, the lighting just as dim. And there was no spot in which she could hide, especially from him or the elves. There was absolutely no sign of the hobbit.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense.

Yes. He was absolutely mad.

This forsaken little blackened pit beneath the cavernous hideout for the elves had clearly addled his brain. Now he was hallucinating and hearing voices.

But not just any voice.

It was the hobbit’s voice. Her light timbre laced with concern and compassion and even a hint of cheer, even in the gloomiest of moments. It matched her smile. It matched her
golden curls. It matched her large hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes…

Thorin shook his head.

Yes, he was clearly going mad.

But he couldn’t deny the relief and comfort hearing her voice brought him.

Even if it wasn’t real. He was like a drowning man in need of something familiar.

So perhaps…just maybe…if he said her name again…

*****

“Lyla?” Thorin’s voice was hesitant, strained, as he spoke her name again.

And then he shook his and muttered lowly, “Mahal what’s wrong with me?”

“Thorin,” Lyla breathed a quiet reply, a deep sense of relief igniting in her chest as the name passed through her lips.

It was familiar. Comforting.

The dwarf king’s eyes widened in surprise as he gazed around.

Lyla almost giggled. She’d never caught the dwarf king off guard before.

“Durin’s beard, it really WAS you. But, where are you? How did you…? You really are here, right?”

Oh.

“Yes, yes of course,” she replied, “I am most certainly here.”

“HOW?” Thorin’s confusion was tangible as he ran a hand through the tangled mass of hair on his head, “How?”

Yes.

Well…

About that…

How could she explain what she’d been doing?

“It’s…complicated,” she finally whispered in reply, “I-I can’t really explain.”

“Try.” Thorin’s voice was soft, but commanding.

Lyla sighed. How could she explain this to him? Her magic little ring…

She suddenly felt a need to defend her little secret. There was something decidedly…uncomfortable about the little trinket firmly attached to her finger. And the lot had fallen to
her. It was hers. Hers to protect. As were its secrets. This…thing seemed the type of article that needed to remain hidden away. Never spoken of. No one else needed that burden. Especially Thorin. He had more than enough to contend with.

But perhaps…

Perhaps she could see him face-to-face, freed from the constraints of invisibility.

“Is it-is it safe?” She cleared her throat, hesitatingly, “I mean will your guard becoming back any-any time soon?”

Thorin chuckled darkly, “That? You consider that…that-he is hardly a guard.” Lyla saw a small smile work its way onto Thorin’s lips, “More a drunkard with a short temper than anything. And he won’t be back until tomorrow with my ration, or to take me to ‘discuss’ business with his majesty. You’re quite safe.”

Lyla nodded, though she knew Thorin couldn’t see it. Perhaps she could take the ring off for a few moments.

Just a few moments.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly pulled the thick band of gold from her finger.

*****

Thorin jerked backwards in surprise, a startled gasp escaping his lips, as the small hobbit suddenly appeared before him.

Confusion clouded his thoughts.

She had appeared out of thin air!

How was that even possible?!

Durin’s beard, what on earth…?

“How did you-“ He started to demand…but then his voice halted and his eyes widened in surprise, “What happened to you?” He murmured quieter this time, taking in Lyla’s appearance.

He noted her sallow cheeks, and pale skin. Her large hazel eyes shone brightly (too brightly) even in the darkness, though they were marred by deep circles of exhaustion. Her cheeks and hair were matted with mud and muck. Her clothes that she’d borrowed from Dwalin, as he remembered, were far too large for her now, burying the hobbit in folds of
dirty, tattered fabric.

Then he spied the tear tracks that cut a path through all the filth.

And his stomach clenched painfully at the sight.

She looked positively pitiful.

Miserable.

Exhausted.

And for what? A rowdy bunch of dwarves trying to reclaim a mountain?

She didn’t need to be here.

‘But she wanted to come,’ a voice (that sounded remarkable like Balin) murmured in his mind, ‘She wanted to be here with you. With the company.’

A small smile lit her features, and utter relief clouded her eyes. Thorin watched fascinated and worried as she sagged against the wall and slowly slid down.

“Are you alright?” He hesitated as he spoke as he watched her eyes flutter lightly. Was she going to faint?

He hoped not.

“Nothing. Fine. I’m-I’m fine.”

Thorin’s hands twitched as he watched her slowly slump down, a deep concern coursing through his bones.

She was too thin, too frail. She needed to be taken care of.

But by who?

Him?

Absurd really.

He couldn’t…he never had wanted to in the first place…

Right?

*****

“It’s such a comfort,” she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment, “to see the world clearly after so long. Such a relief.”

It felt as though a dangerous, suffocating weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Lyla felt utterly light, carefree.

For the moment at least.

As she started breathing in the cool air, her muscles relaxing , the wheels in her head started turning. By Aule she’d made a promise to get the company out. And there was still so much to do. She needed to figure something out.

She hazarded a glance at Thorin who was standing, his bare feet covered by the dirty straw in his cell. His eyes, that sparkled even more brightly without the haze of the ring to mar her vision, were hooded carefully observing her, never blinking.

She quickly averted her gaze and forced her brain to focus on the tasks at hand.

She’d need to find Thorin’s boots certainly. And of course he’d want his weapon. As would the others.

But first she needed to figure out how to get them out.

Though the thought of moving seemed highly unappealing.

“Just what is this sorcery you’ve performed?” Thorin muttered, “How did you manage to disappear in that way? Is this some hobbit trick?”

Hobbit trick?

Ha.

“Hobbits are hardly known for their magical capabilities.”

She waved her hand dismissively, too tired to do much more than that. Wearing the ring for so long had completely depleted her energy.

“And that’s not important right now,” she remarked. “What is important is figuring out how to get you out of here. To get you all out of here.”

Thorin grumbled lowly, “This most certainly is important, halfling. How did you manage-“

“I am half of nothing Thorin Oakenshield and you’d do well to remember that.” Lyla’s voice came out clipped and annoyed. “And this is hardly the time or place for you to question me. We have to worry about getting out of here first. Then we’ll talk.”

Thorin’s brow had knit together in surprise and a bit of fury. His eyes flashed at her hasty reply. He, however, forewent a reply and merely nodded his head.

He agreed with her?

Well that was…interesting.

Lyla cleared her throat turning the subject back to more important matters, “Yes well. I’ve-ah-been wandering around the halls for quite some time and I can’t seem to find an exit to this wretched place.” Her gaze shifted back to Thorin, who still stood staring at her, “And now that I’ve found you lot, I can, ah, hopefully find a way out of here.”

“That’s a tall order for such a small burglar,” Thorin remarked dryly, his face still as stone, “how do you propose to evacuate thirteen dwarves from under the nose of the one of the
most perceptive and annoying creatures in all of Middle Earth? I’m afraid we dwarves aren’t as adept at disappearing as you wee hobbits.”

Well, she hadn’t gotten to that part yet.

“I’m not sure, Master Oakenshield,” She huffed in annoyance refraining from rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t quite that far in the plan.”

Thorin snorted, a smirk on his lips, “That’s obvious.”

Lyla grumbled. Why had she missed him? This dwarf! Oh, he was so petulant and…and…

Ugh!

‘Manners, Lyla’ Her mother’s voice chimed in her head.

“I’ve mentioned before that we only have guards once a day down here. And the ever charming Galion,” Thorin snorted at the mention of the elf’s name, “Is far more fond of his tankard of ale than his duties to Thranduil. Perhaps…” Thorin trailed off, giving Lyla a small smirk.

Oh it was brilliant!

“Yes! That’s wonderful. We get him drunk. I take the keys. Simple!”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

“We’ll need our weapons too burglar, and I do not know where those might be hiding.”

Blast.

“Yes, yes of course,” Lyla replied absently, chewing on her bottom lip. Where was she to find their weapons?

Thorin’s deep chuckle startled her and she turned to the dwarf with a curious look.

Thorin was smiling and shaking his head.

“What?”

Thorin shook his head again, “Never you mind little hobbit. Never you mind,” his smile softened as he gazed at her, “Just relax for a moment and get your strength back. I’m certain you’ll need it.”

*****
Thorin sat close to the bars of his cell watching the steady rise and fall of Lyla’s chest beneath the heavy blue fabric of her borrowed, tattered jacket.

The hobbit had fallen asleep.

Thorin’s gaze flicked over Lyla’s face carefully, a deep sadness building in his chest at her ruffled and unkempt form.

Then her fingers twitched and Thorin’s eyes zeroed in on the thin delicate fingers and the impossible small hand that lay near his cell.

His own fingers twitched and before he realized what he was doing, his hand was extended towards hers.

Thorin pulled back his hand swiftly, appalled and astonished at his thoughtless actions.

This was highly inappropriate.

The poor creature was asleep for Durin’s sake!

And he didn’t feel anything towards her other than concern as the leader of this company.

Right?

His hand reached out again of its own accords and his large calloused fingers wrapped around her dirt-caked, tenderly soft hand, his thumb gently grazing her wrist lightly.

And he sat and watched the little hobbit sleep.

Chapter Text

A short while later, when Lyla’s eyes fluttered open, she noted that her muscles didn’t feel so thoroughly beaten down. And she hadn’t had a nightmare. She stretched her arms forward and tried to ease the small ache that had settled in her lower back as she stood.

Lyla gazed over at Thorin, who sat in the corner across from her, his arms resting on his knees, hands tucked beneath his chin.
Staring at her

“I’ll be back,” she murmured, tiredly, “I-I need to see the rest of the company. To let them know you’re here. And then I’ll have a look around, see if I can’t find your weapons or…or something.”

Thorin nodded mutely. He’d gone back to sitting on his straw pile, but his eyes never strayed from Lyla’s face. He watched her carefully, with thin pursed lips, his brows knit tightly together.

She gave him a hesitant smile and slipped her hands in the pockets of her coat, the fingers on her right hand brushing over the cool metal of the little gold band.

She slipped the ring on and heard Thorin’s sharp intake of air, as his eyes went wide.

“Be careful half-Lyla. Be careful.” His quiet, pleading whisper reached her ears.

She smiled lightly and slipped silently back down the hallway and towards the staircase.

Lyla hesitated before ascending the stairs, wary of anyone coming downward. Her ears strained for sounds of elves still harassing her dwarves.

When she heard nothing, she hastened her pace.

And nearly barreled into a tall figure standing in the doorway.

A tall figure clad in grey and carrying a large staff.

“Gandalf!” She breathed in surprise.

“Mistress Boggins?!” Kili’s quipped from his cell. “Durin’s beard, what’s going on?”

“My dear hobbit,” Gandalf murmured gazing around, “Where are you?”

Lyla quickly put her hands behind her back and pulled the ring from her finger, slipping the gold into her pocket.

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed as she appeared before him.

The dwarves were nearly in an uproar.

“How’d she do that then?” Ori muttered, astonishment lacing his words.

“A true burglar!” Oin remarked amused.

“By Mahal…” Fili muttered.

“There are many magic rings in this world, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf remarked, eyes contemplative as he gazed down his nose at the tired hobbit, “and none of them should be used lightly.”

Lyla nodded in reply, “I’ve come to find that out myself actually,” She murmured.

Then Gandalf chuckled shaking his head, “In all my days. I never supposed…you can learn all there is to know about Hobbits, but even after a hundred years, they might still surprise you.”

He winked at her.

Lyla could feel the heat on her neck and smiled lightly.

“It’s good to see you too Gandalf.”

The grey wizard chuckled again, “Indeed. I was just telling these lovely dwarves that tonight is their chance to make an escape.”

Lyla’s eyes widened in surprise, “You’re going to help?”

Gandalf shook his head, his beard swaying lightly, the smile disappearing from his lips.

“I’m afraid I cannot aid you…outright. There’s a great many things that I must attend to, but I will do my best to distract, your ah, host.”

Lyla looked confused, but Gandalf merely shook his head.

“It is best if you follow along and observe. It will take far too long to explain things twice.” Gandalf gestured for her to follow as he slowly made his way past the cells.

Lyla followed closely behind.

Until someone snatched at her collar, pulling her backwards, flush against the cool metal of one of the cells. Arms wrapped around her and a small kiss was placed on her cheek.

“I’m glad you are safe Mistress Boggins,” Kili murmured his grip tightening his grip before releasing the hobbit, “Please stay safe my sister.”

Lyla’s heart skipped a beat.

Sister?

He thought of her as a sister?

Oh.

A faint smile worked on her lips as she glanced back at Kili’s beaming face. She also caught Fili’s gaze as she passed by and noted the reverence in his eyes as he watched her.

“Mahal protect you, little sister,” He murmured quietly.

“Come along Master Baggins!” Gandalf admonished from up the hall.

She could hear the faint murmur of surprise coming from the rest of the company ahead as she cast one more quick glance at the six dwarves in the cells she’d just passed.
They were all staring at her, looks of wonder and curiosity burning in their gazes.

She ducked her head and scurried away.

Only to be snatched up by Dwalin in a fierce hug that pressed her face against the metal of his cell.

“By my beard,” he exclaimed quietly, his breath tickling Lyla’s ear, “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone little lass.”

Dwalin pressed his forehead lightly against her own and then released her, “Stay safe.” He murmured a command, his eyes brown eyes bright, a small smile on his lips.

“I promise,” she murmured a reply, backing through the room as she gazed fondly at Dwalin.

Then it was Bofur’s turn to grab a hold of the hobbit.

“Lass!” he exclaimed in relief, “Yer one mighty spritely creature. I’m glad yer alright.”

Bofur, too, rested his forehead gently against Lyla’s brow as he pulled the hobbit into a warm hug, soft murmurs being recited in the language that she could not understand.
She hoped they were pleasant words.

Then the hatted dwarf released Lyla and gave her a bright smile, “Stay safe my sister. I’ll be seein’ you soon, aye?”

Lyla nodded her head with a grin and hastened from the room, as she heard the calls from the other members of the company to stay safe.

Oh how she missed them!

*****
“You cannot be serious!” Gandalf admonished Thranduil as they sat conversing in Thranduil’s throne room.

Lyla had returned to her spot near the pillar, golden ring firmly back on her finger.

“The enemy moves against you. Surely you will not turn a blind eye with danger so close? You cannot hope to defeat them without a plan!”

“Such is the nature of evil,” Thranduil muttered darkly, “In time all foul things come forth to destroy the beauty of the world around them. But what care I for such news? I have my
fortifications. The enemy cannot penetrate my doors.”

Gandalf scoffed, “Surely even YOU are not so proud as to believe your halls to be impenetrable. The enemy is cunning. They will find a way.”

Lyla watched Thranduil’s eyes flash in anger, “Do not question me wizard,” he hissed, “This is my kingdom and I neither sought nor rely on your advice. What care I for some pale orc? He is nothing to me and has no reason to attack my city.”

“That, is where you are wrong Thranduil son of Oropher. If I’m not mistaken, you have in your midst a dwarvish company lead by the great Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thranduil glowered, “the term ‘great’ is debatable, but yes I have acquired a few members to my prison ward,” and then Thranduil leaned forward, “and I’ll not hear your lectures about propriety or honor. Those dwarves trespassed on my land and will be dealt with accordingly.”

Lyla wanted to smack Thranduil. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the haughty elf sitting atop his throne, completely unruffled by Gandalf’s news.

Lyla, however, knew a bad omen when it was spoken. And Azog coming here did not bode well.

Not for anyone.

“You must release them to prevent a direct attack on your people. This orc is cunning, and malicious. And he will stop at nothing to obtain the head of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thranduil scoffed again, “Perhaps I should just offer it to him then?”

Lyla gasped lightly, but tried to keep her voice muffled.

But her gasp was not the only one to be exclaimed. The red-haired elf and the tall blonde, Legolas, also stood shocked, small noises of surprise escaping their lips.

“Father sure you cannot be serious?” Legolas inquired staring at the king (his father!).

Gandalf’s eyes narrowed further, a deep frown etched on his face, his eyes losing their mirth, only to be replaced by a bitter coldness.

“It is a dark day, then,” Gandalf muttered with a frown, “When elves have dealings with orcs. I pity the legacy you will uphold.”

Thranduil remained brooding and silent.

His son, however, did not.

“Surely we cannot err if we take precautions against this enemy father,” Legolas murmured, his voice soft and respectful, “There is no harm in this.”

“And it is not only the orcs that have gained my concern,” Gandalf cut in, “Something lurks in the old fortress and I feel that it is moving. You must be prepared for anything.”

Thranduil’s gaze flicked from Gandalf’s harried expression and landed on his son’s. The elf king gazed for a long moment at the tall blonde elf before him, a frown pulling at his lips.

Legolas, to his credit, stood firm under the scrutinizing gaze of the king of Mirkwood, and his father. Bright blue eyes clashed with stormy dark blue ones as father and son stared at one another.

Lyla held her breath.

And then Thranduil sighed and waved his hand in dismissal.

“Very well. Take a few extra men to patrol the weaponry and the barrel transport entry. That’s the only other place any orc could find hope in entering our halls.” Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes, “Ill news is an ill guest,” he muttered darkly.

Legolas and the red-haired elf both bowed and hurried away.

Lyla darted after them.

They WERE heading to the only place available in this entire kingdom where escape was possible.

*****
Conveniently enough, the armory was relatively close to the large port entrance where massive wine barrels were stored and pushed off into the river.

‘That might just work’ Lyla mused as she gazed at the size of the barrels. Even Bombur could fit in those things.

Legolas and his companion stopped first to inspect the barrel port quickly, informing the two guard to be careful in observing any movement outside. And then hastened to the armory.

Lyla was pleasantly surprised to find the dwarves weapons among the elvish stock. Even Thorin's boots were sitting amongst the company's weapons. She edged slowly towards the corner where they were stacked, warily gazing back at the two elves were were appraising the amount of weapons available in their armory.

“When did we allow evil to become stronger than us?” the red-haired elf murmured as she fingered some of the bows on the wall, “We should not be hiding away in our halls. We should be defending our home. Protecting the forest.”

“This is not our fight Tauriel,” Legolas sighed, gazing at his companion with a soft frown, “The orc comes for Thorin Oakenshield. We should not interfere. We should protect our halls and that is all. We cannot go hunting down such creatures. ”

“You are wrong,” Tauriel’s eyes narrowed and a frown tugged at her lips as she turned to face out the balcony, “This IS our fight,” she remarked with her green eyes glittering, challenging Legolas, “When evil encroaches on our home, we should protect it. No matter whom the enemy seeks out. We cannot hide away forever. Someday the enemy will break through our strongholds and overpower us.”

Legolas sighed and dropped his hand from one of the swords on the table.

“Perhaps you are right. But it is not my decision to make.”

And then Legolas stopped, his gaze drifting out towards the tree line. Lyla leaned closer and observed how the elf prince narrowed his eyes, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“We must hurry,” he murmured, “Gather the guards. We need to form a plan.”

The two hastily exited the armory and Lyla hazarded a glance out into the trees.

She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

But she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. The painful feeling in her chest warned her against believing that nothing was out there.

She had learned that Azog was a fiercely determined creature.

Hurrying back to the barrel port, she noted that the two guards in charge of the area were also missing.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Scurrying back to the armory, she gathered as many weapons in her arms as possible. Fili’s knives, Dwalin’s axes, and various swords and scabbards were scooped up and Lyla slowly, and warily made her way back to the barrels, depositing the precious defenses into one of the barrels and sealed a lid on top.

She was headed back towards the armory, when a large group of elves sauntered past her, nearly knocking Lyla from her feet in their haste.

“Orcs scaling the tree line!” Someone shouted as they darted by.

Lyla, who was pressed against the wall, gave a low groan and abandoned her second trip to the armory.

Instead, she turned on her heel and darted down to the lower level where the pantry was.

And where a secret alcove entrance lead down to her dwarves.

She descended the stairs, yanking her ring off.

“We have to-“ Her voice abruptly left her as she noted someone else amongst her dwarves.

A tall brown-haired elf with blue eyes gazed at her with a mixture of shock, disgust and annoyance.

Oh bother.

Chapter Text

“What are you?” Galion muttered, his speech slightly slurred, “Some sort of rabbit?”

Lyla huffed.

Was everyone blind?!

Did she truly look like a rabbit?

Honestly…

“I am NOT a rabbit thank you. I’m a hobbit.” She stepped back as the elf slowly inched forward.

“Leave the hobbit alone, ye little snivelin’ princess elf lass,” Bofur growled, his fingers grasping tightly at the bars of the his cell.

Galion chuckled darkly eyeing Lyla, “Oh I think not.” The elf smirked, “I think I’ve finally found that missing creature you’ve all been hiding. And-“ He glanced over at Bofur who was seething, “I think I’ve found something that finally annoys you.”

The elf turned and lunged at the hobbit, who let out a small squeak of surprise and tried to duck out of the way.

But there wasn’t much room. And Galion was very tall. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She ducked between his legs and stumbled backwards towards the cells.

Galion growled, “Get back here you ugly little rat!” he snarled turning towards the cells as Lyla scrambled to her feet backing up down the hall.

She had to get away from him.

But she had to get the keys as well.

“Ah no thanks, I’d rather not,” She replied knowing her next words would get her in trouble. “I’m certain that I don’t really need to enjoy the company of someone not even fit enough to protect his home. That’s why you were sent down here isn’t it? Couldn’t handle the chaos upstairs.”

Oh her Tookish mouth!

Galion snarled and stalked towards her as Lyla took off down the hall pulling the ring from her pocket. Thank goodness for the element of surprise.

She gave a shriek as her legs were pulled out from under her and nearly dropped the ring.

Galion, it appeared, was far closer than she suspected.

Element of surprise indeed.

Said elf hauled Lyla to her feet and, fisting the collar of her jacket in his large bony hand, lifted the hobbit into the air until her feet were dangling and she was face to face with the enraged elf man.

“You petulant little sniveling rat!” He hissed in her face, “How dare you!” Then he gaze narrowed further as his eyes travelled down to her hand.
Her hand that was clasped into a tight fist. Hiding her ring.

“What do you have there,” he muttered darkly, trying to reach for Lyla’s fingers.

She tried to jerk away, kicking her feet.

And she refused to unclench her fist, a dread filling her belly at the strange glint in Galion’s eye.

He couldn’t get the ring.

She couldn’t let him.

“Give it to me,” The elf whispered dangerously, eyes flashing as his fingers closed around Lyla’s hand, trying to pry them open.

She struggled to pull her hand away.

“No.”

“You carry something,” Galion murmured, “Something of great power. Give it to me.”

His grip tightened around Lyla’s hand until it was alarmingly painful.

Lyla hissed but would not release her fingers. She kicked her feet and twisted as far from his reaching hand as possible.

Her kick connected with the elf’s stomach.

Infuriated, Galion rammed Lyla’s back into one of the cells that stung but wasn’t hard enough to cause any real damage. His grip on her jacket twisted and tightened until breathing was getting difficult. The elf’s nails dug into the skin of her hand, clawing at her closed fist, trying to pry it open.

“Give it to me! It should be mine.”

A hand shot through the bars next to Lyla’s face and grabbed a hold of Galion’s tunic yanking the elf closer to Lyla…

And the cell bars where Bofur and Dori were trapped.

Galion’s face connected with the hard metal with a sickening crunching noise and his grip on Lyla loosened.

She dropped to the floor gasping and coughing, her lungs searching for air. Lyla gazed upwards, noting the choking noises coming from a very startled Galion.

Dori had his massive arms wrapped tightly around the thin elf’s neck. Galion was clawing at Dori’s arms wildly, trying to get the dwarf to loosen his grasp.

But Dori held firm, a dark fury written in his features that startled even Lyla.

“Don’t-“ she coughed trying to clear her throat, “Don’t kill him!” She gasped out.

Dori cast her a curious glance, “It’s not better than he deserves. He tried to kill YOU!”

Dori had a point. Galion had been nothing but unkind and nearly cruel.

But did he really deserve death as a result?

She gazed into the face of the elf whose eyes were bulging, his face going a spectacular shade of red. Panic welled in his blue orbs and he gazed beseechingly at Lyla who lay on the floor.

And she felt pity for him.

Aule help her. She hoped she wouldn’t regret this.

“Don’t kill him. Please.” She remarked, “Please. Just-just knock him out or-or something.”

Dori gave her a strange look but nodded and with a quick jerk backwards, connected Galion’s head forcefully with the metal of his cell walls.

The elf stilled in the dwarf’s grasp and Dori rereleased the limp form into heap at Lyla’s feet.

Lyla hesitantly reached for the keys connected to a leather strap around the elf’s waist and scrambled to her feet, thrusting the ring back into the confines of her pocket.

“Mark me, my dear,” Dori murmured as she unlocked his cell, “I’ll not be lenient to that filth a second time.” He gave her a pointed look, as a small smile crept on his face, “You’ re far too kind to the undeserving you know that?”

He patted her shoulder as he exited the cell, Bofur hot on his heels, crushing Lyla in a large, warm embrace.

“Aye, ye are far too kind,” he murmured as he tightened his grip on her, “Far too kind indeed.”

He knocked his forehead against hers again and then pulled back with a grin.

“Now!” He remarked cheerfully, “Let’s abandon the lovely hospitality of the elves shall we?”

Lyla nodded in eager agreement.

“We have to hurry,” She murmured going to each cell and setting the dwarves free. She received several claps on the back and a bone crushing hug from Dwalin in the process.

“Aye lass we know that,” Gloin remarked giving her a small nod of his head, “Weren’t plannin’ on dilly dallyin’ around this place.”

Lyla snorted and shook her head, “Yes yes of course I knew that. It’s just, we’re going to have more company than expected.”

She hurried to the other room with Bofur in tow.

“Who do ye mean lass?” He queried confusedly, eyebrows quirked upwards.

Lyla sighed and stilled for a moment the keys firmly locked in her hand. Her throat went dry at the thought of…

“Azog,” she whispered lowly, “Azog is coming. Gandalf headed him off, but he-he knows you are here. That Thorin’s here.”

There was a low cacophony of curses thrown into the air, propelling Lyla to finish the task at hand. She quickly unlatched the three remaining cell doors and freed the rest of her companions, earning praises and thanks for her efforts.

“Head out to the main cell area,” Lyla murmured amidst the murmurs and movement of limbs, “I’ll-I have to get Thorin free.”

She darted down the hall towards the staircase that lead to Thorin’s cell.

When she rounded the corner, she noted that Thorin was standing, alert, his hands clenched around the metal bars of the cell, eyes narrowed questioningly.

“What in Durin’s name is going on?” He murmured eyeing her cautiously.

Lyla sighed and fiddled with the keys, trying to find the right one, “We’re leaving. Things have certainly gotten…complicated. Ah ha!”

She pushed a rather old, ornate key into the keyhole of Thorin’s cell door.

The lock made a loud click and she pulled the door open for Thorin.

Thorin stepped hesitantly out of the cell, eyeing the hobbit carefully, his barefeet silently slapping against the cold stone.

He stood close to the hobbit, peering down at her, his nose nearly brushing the top of her head, as his hands encircled her arms in a gentle yet firm grip.

“What is going on. We’ll not more another step until you explain.” His warm breath ghosted over her cheeks and sent a tingle down her spine.

Oh Aule help her. This is ridiculous.

Lyla sighed again, and gave Thorin a firm look.

“Azog.” She replied. “He’s here.”

Thorin’s eyes widened and he stepped back, releasing her arms as though he’d been burned.

“When?” He muttered darkly, the startling blue of his eyes dimming.

“I’m not sure, but soon. The guards are preparing to defend their settlement, but Thranduil doesn’t seem to think that Gandalf’s words are of much concern. There’s a-a way out.”

She inwardly cringed. They weren’t going to like her plan.

But then again, they didn’t have much choice, did they?

“I’ve got some of the weapons retrieved and I’ll try to get more, but we have to hurry.

Thorin rubbed his face and let out a low groan.

But then his face contorted into a resolved determinate scowl. He eyed Lyla for a moment and then nodded.

“Lead on.”

*****

It was far easier that she could have hoped for, getting from the cells to the barrel port. She supposed that most of the guards were busy with Legolas’ orders.
At least that’s what she hoped.

That and Galion wasn’t available to inform anyone of their escape. Bofur and Dori had ensured that.

The unconscious elf currently lay inside one of the cells that the previous occupants had just vacated. And Lyla had a firm grasp on the keys.
He wouldn’t be discovered for awhile yet.

The company moved silently through the halls…or as silently as dwarves could move that is. They followed Lyla without a word, as she navigated the staircases and hallways leading towards the barrel ports and the armory.

Of course her luck would run out when they actually reached the barrel ports.

As she rounded the corner into the room, she met the startled faces of two of the guards, patrolling the small alcove and lever systems that led in the river.

Their eyes widened as they took in the small, disheveled hobbit before them. Then their gazes hardened and they pointed their swords towards the small creature, who didn’t have a chance to unsheathe her own weapon in defence.

Not that she had to.

Thirteen dwarves rounded the corner after her, their gazes furious and hardened, challenging the two guards to charge the small hobbit.

And then Dwalin and Nori were upon the guards, their fists silencing any cry of alarm that would escape the elves’ lips.

“Get in the barrels!” Lyla hissed warily, her stomach clenching painfully.

Something was going to happen.

She could feel the foreboding taint in the air.

“Are ye mad woman?!” Gloin retorted.

“This hardly a reliable plan burglar,” Thorin remarked wrinkling his nose in disgust, “We’ll be dashed to pieces travelling down that river.”

A low murmur of agreement swept through the company.

Lyla ground her teeth in annoyance.

“Oh I’m sorry, did you have a better idea your majesty?” She turned and narrowed her eyes at Thorin, “Perhaps you’d like to go back to sitting in your cell while Azog makes his way to you?”

Thorin glowered at Lyla. And she knew she was being impertinent. But she didn’t care.

They were wasting valuable time.

Someone must have heard the commotion they’d caused.

With a resigned sigh Thorin gestured, “Into the barrels. Now.”

Lyla fiddled with her pocket and gazed at the company who were maneuvering into position, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to try and get the rest of your weapons if I can.”

“Lyla!” Thorin called warningly after her.

But she’d already put the ring on and was dashing from the room and towards the armory.

She skidded to a halt as she heard all the commotion coming from within. Chancing a quick glance around, her eyes widened in alarm. The place was swarming with elves.

Taking a deep breath she darted between thin bodies, dodging feet and wayward arms and made her way towards the small pile of dwarvish weapons and Thorin’s boots that sat untouched by the creatures around her. She was going to cause a stir by moving them, that was certain. But, time was not on their side at the moment.

She just hoped that the elves were distracted enough to not take too much notice.

She gathered up what weapons she could, forced to leave a few of the larger swords behind. And then with Thorin’s boots in hand, she waddled her way back through the may lay of people and towards the entrance.

“Orcs!” the call came, just as she reached the door, “To arms!”

And suddenly people were rushing around her, out the door, pushing, knocking her to ground. The weapons tumbled and a few elves gazed down curiously, but did not stop to investigate. For all appearances, it looked as though someone had knocked over the pile of dwarf weapons.

Thank Aule for that.

Lyla scrambled to gather what she could and again hastened her pace back towards the barrel port.

But her heart gave a painful lurch as she realized just where the orcs were, where the battle was.

She was astonished to see Thranduil, clad in rich armor, sword pointed towards Thorin, who had his hands raised in submission.

On the other side of the elf king stood his son, Bow notched with an arrow.

Pointed at Azog.

Lyla let out a low groan. What a fine mess this had turned into! If all adventures were like this, she'd do well to stay at home.

That being said, though, she knew she had to do something.

But what?

A distraction came, however, of its own accord. Out of the corner of her eye, Lyla spotted something.

The faintest of movements from the trees outside. Her eyes widened in realization.

Dammit.

Lyla shoved the dwarvish weapons and boots from her hands and tore the ring from her finger and darted forward.

Straight into Thranduil.

Surprised by the sudden presence of a very small hobbit, Thranduil lost his balance and the two tumbled to the floor.

Just as an arrow whizzed overhead and rammed into a guard’s shoulder.

Well better someone’s shoulder than Thranduil’s chest.

Or at least that’s what she tried to reassure herself as she scrambled from atop the stunned elf.

“I’ll take that your majesty,” She huffed, pulling Thorin’s sword from the surprised elf’s grasp.

And then chaos exploded around her.

And this was the chaos that Azog seemed to appreciate. Legolas’ attention had been diverted to the would-be assassin and his arrow fired into the trees as Azog lunged forward towards Thorin who was propelling backwards.

The elvish guard, thankfully, moved into action and cut off Azog’s march forward.

Just as the rest of the orc’s company leapt into action.

Chaos erupted.

“Get into the barrels!” Lyla cried to the dwarves as they scrambled to collect the fallen weapons. Lyla darted for Thorin’s boots.

And was shoved to the ground by a dark skinned, slimy creature that hissed lowly at her, crude knife raised. She let out a low shriek of surprise.

But a thick wooden staff cracked over the creature’s head and it fell like a floppy reed into the river.

Lyla gazed up in surprise at Gandalf’s grim face.

“Hurry now!” He commanded, “I’ll do what I can to shield your escape, but you have to hurry.”

Lyla nodded again and scrambled to her feet, Thorin’s boots firm in her grasp. Most of the dwarves were in the barrels, though Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Thorin stood, eyeing the battled and attacking any orcs or elves who came to close.

“Move!” She cried, tossing Thorin his sword, “Into the barrels!” The dwarves hesitated, eyeing her with unease. "MOVE!" She bellowed.

They didn’t need a second warning.

Backing up slowly, one by one, the four remaining dwarves darted into the empty barrels as Lyla ran to the lever that controlled the chute they’d travel down. She tossed the boots into one of barrels and grasped onto the switch.

Aule, let them be okay after all this was over.

“Stop!” cried one of the elves and Lyla turned surprised to see, the blonde elf she’d met when he and Galion had given the dwarves their food, coming towards her a surprised yet annoyed look on his face.

A surprised look that turned to pain and horror as an orc blade sliced through is abdomen. The pale elf's eyes dimmed, his mouth gaping into a silent scream as he slid slowly downward, his fingers clenching and unclenching and crimson life stained his clothing.

She narrowed her eyes, biting back a scream of terror (and sorrow for the fallen elf) as Azog growled, his eyes ablaze with recognition and fury.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her shaking hands, amidst cries of concern from her companions

And pulled the lever.

Chapter Text

No.
Lyla turned briefly to look up at Thorin’s horrified face. She looked panicked, tired, and terrified. But then, a small, resigned smile lit her features and a look of calm affection sparkled in her large hazel eyes for a brief moment. She gave Thorin a quick nod of her head and then she quickly turned around.

Thorin’s stomach dropped at the realization.

No!

Mahal, no!

“Lyla!” He thundered, trying to scramble from his barrel, reaching his arm for her, trying to grab her jacket, her arm, anything, as she pulled the lever, dropping the companions down a chute and into a fast-paced river. The last image that he caught was a mop of matted, dirty golden curls disappearing from his view as his barrel plunged into the river.

No!

That foolish, impertinent, annoying, brave hobbit. Why would she do that?! Why would she purposely put herself in harm’s way like this?

Mahal help him, no.

No.

****
Azog’s roar was deafening as the barrels containing Lyla’s dwarves tumbled down into the chute, safe from the pale orc’s mal intent.

The same couldn’t be said for their small hobbit burglar.

She knew that by pulling the lever she’d have a small chance of making it through the chute along with her company members. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting those she cared about to safety. That was the most important thing to her.

And part of her wanted to gloat of her success, to triumphantly stand in from of Azog, with a calm demeanor and a large smirk.

She had bested him after all. How many creatures could claim such a title as their own?

But as she stared down the pale orc, whose beady blue eyes betrayed the utter hatred and contempt he held for the small hobbit, she didn’t feel smug. Far from it in fact.

She felt fear. Heart-stopping, limb shaking fear from the tips of her ears to the bottom of her soles.

Her gaze flicked down to the still, blonde elf lying in crimson, his breath still, his eyes closed, mouth pulled into a silent cry. Anguish filled her veins for the loss of an innocent life.

‘Aule bless him,’ she thought pleadingly.

But then a panic welled up inside her, threatening to destroy her rational thinking as she realized that she too might end up like that.

Lyla looked back to Azog’s scowling face and saw the look in the orc’s eyes and knew that he wanted her dead as well. There would be no games played, no dancing around the issue.

He intended to kill her.

But despite this earth-shattering fear, the terrified knowledge that this moment could likely be her end, Lyla felt no regret for her actions. She knew it was the right thing to do. And she’d do it again if the opportunity presented itself to her.

Thorin’s face flashed in her mind and then Fili’s, Kili’s, Bofur’s, Dwalin’s and the rest of the company’s. She smiled at the thought of those thirteen rowdy, unusual, boisterous, creatures.

Those dwarves meant more to her than anything in Middle Earth.

They were her family now.

And she’d protect them, even if it meant never being able to see them again.

Because after all, she was just an ordinary little hobbit.

Nothing special really.

But they were important beyond all measurable treasures.

Lyla swallowed the bile that had risen into her throat and blindly searched to grab hilt of her sword with shaking hands.

Time seemed to slow down, colors becoming brighter, shapes more defined, expressions forever burned into her memory. She noted the battled swirling around her. Elves of all shapes and sizes, with their bright silver swords, and bows, moved gracefully around her, dancing and spinning as they slew orc after orc, slimy flesh and snarling growls falling to the floor.

She also saw, with startling clarity, Azog’s large scarred hand clenched into a tight fist, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared. She could see the taut, bulging muscles the beast’s neck and the dark scowl that took up the entirety of his face as he charged forward, a guttural cry falling from his blackened lips.

Surprised at the orc’s speed, Lyla stumbled backwards with a cry as the blow from Azog’s clawed arm connected with explosive force to the blade of her sword. She felt her grip buckle, but with a gasp, she forced her arms to remain firm and still. She would not buckle against this.

She couldn’t afford to.

The orc snarled at her and bore down, the sheer weight of his presence bending her form until she nearly toppled.

Her muscles protested, her back groaned in agony, her hands shook.

“mother,” she whispered desperately, a deep panic settling in her heart.

She was going to die.

But then a loud cry shattered Lyla’s ears as Tauriel lunged forward and drove a knife into Azog’s arm.

The surprised orc let out a howl of agony and released his hold over Lyla who toppled backwards, gasping for air, her heart hammering in her chest.

The elf rammed her body into Azog’s pushing the still howling orc backwards. And then she stood, between Lyla and Azog, tall and proud, her auburn air tousled and tumbling down her back, with her knife in one hand and her sword (a thin delicate thing) grasped tightly in her other hand. A spectacular scowl graced her features as deep, forest green eyes glittered with fury and Lyla could feel the anger radiating from the lithe creature before her.

“Back!” She hissed, a deep biting fury lacing her words as her fingers twitched, “Stay back.”

Azog growled and straightened, baring his pointed, rotting teeth his eyes narrowed into slits as he gazed at the elf before him. Azog’s glanced down at his arm, his dark blood dripping slowly to the marbled stone floor. His fist curled and a low roar escaped the orc’s lips.

And then he charged the elf, who stood unruffled by the pale orcs sheer intimidating power.

“Run.” Tauriel murmured behind her, towards Lyla. “Run little one. Go!”

And the orc was upon the elf. She twisted herself backwards, dodging a blow and brought her sword up to parry the second shot the orc threw at her. Metal clashed against metal, the stinging sound reverberating in Lyla’s ears with shocking force.

She stumbled to her feet and backed up, her eyes wide her head confused. Why would they help her.

Azog noticed her movements and with a quick shove, knocked the elf downwards, lunging towards the hobbit once more. She tried to bring her sword up, to defend herself.

Someone jerked Lyla backwards as another elf leapt in front of the quaking hobbit.

Legolas, stood, bow notched with an arrow aimed between Azog’s eyes.

“Move and I bury this arrow in your skull, you filth,” Legolas snapped, his lips pulled into a thin line as he stared down the orc.

Azog’s eyes twitched and he let out a low growl, his speech marred by the fury he obviously felt.

Lyla, however, was pinned by an angry and frazzled looking Thranduil, who grasped the hobbit’s shoulders, his grip bordering on painful.

Oh for Aule’s sake! Was he serious?!

“Why!” He muttered darkly his golden hair tumbling in his face, “You let them escape! You helped them! How did you get in here?! Tell me!”

He stopped suddenly and peered down at her, his mouth forming an ‘o’ and a look of disbelief clouding his features.

“It was you I sensed. In the throne room. YOU!” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and a twisted frown worked onto his face, contorting it into something hideous as he fisted the collar of Lyla’s shirt in his thin, pale hands, “You were the one to kill the spiders. You’ve been here the entire time.”

He shook hobbit forcefully, until Lyla could feel her teeth start to rattle in her head.

“How!” he uttered furiously, “What power are you hiding! Tell me how!”

He was crazy.

She needed to get away from him.

She arched her back and brought her foot upwards, landing a solid kick into the elf king’s stomach. The elf seemed to come to his senses due to the force and backed away from the hobbit quickly, his hands balled into fists, a frown on his face.

But Lyla let out a low groan and she launched herself upwards and into the arms of the startled king, pushing the elf to the side just as an orc knife whizzed past. Lyla let out a hiss as the serrated edge of the weapon broke through the fabric and nicked her skin. The orc was upon them both, snarling and hissing, clawing at both Lyla and Thranduil. Lyla pressed the king backwards, away from the attack as she pushed her legs outward, connecting with gangly legs of the creature. Losing its balance the orc toppled awkwardly to the side, a startled screech escaping its lips.

Then a loud cracking noise caught Lyla’s attention. She was shocked to see Gandalf the Grey standing before her, staff outstretched as he brought the hard polished wood down again.

Onto the mottled flesh of the surprised green-grey orc. The creature slumped on top of Thranduil and the elf king sighed in disgust and, shoving the still body to the ground, tried to rise again.

Lyla scrambled away from both the orc and the elf, a wearied nervousness wearing her down. She didn't even know if she could trust this elf!

But not before still another crack from Gandalf’s staff sent Thranduil grunting backwards in surprise and pain.

“I’ll not have any of that. You are not yourself Thranduil son of Oropher. You have to let her go Thranduil. Do it.”

The elf king growled lowly, but his thin bony fingers released their hold on Lyla’s jacket bregrudgingly.

She pushed herself backwards, away from the elf king, her eyes warily scanning around for signs of the pale orc, who was still being detained by Legolas and a few other of the elf guard.

“You fool of a Took!” Gandalf’s gruff, harried voice was in her ear as he straightened her up and shoved her to the side. “Get to the barrel. Tauriel will take care of the rest.”

Lyla stood for a moment gaping at the wizard.

“Move!” He admonished again shoving her again even as he surged forward to aid Legolas who, while distracted by his father, had been tackled by the orc. The elf was struggling to pull the pale creature from atop him, reaching desperately for his belt, where a sheathed sword lay.

Then Gandalf was there, staff and sword in hand prepared to strike. With a low cry, he brought his sword downward with surprising force and speed.

He would have connected with Azog’s shoulder, had not the orc been prepared for the attack and parried his movements, rolling off of Legolas in order to stand and defend himself against the grey wizard.

Lyla’d seen enough.

She darted to her left and skirted around the slowly dimming battle--a battle she noted with relief, that was being won by the eles--as she made her way back towards the barrel port and to a barrel that sat atop the platform, ready and waiting for her.

How did they?

When?

WHY?

Tauriel gestured her forward, “Into the barrel shireling, hurry!”

Lyla scrambled up to the platform and sheathed her sword, stumbling, with some difficulty, into the large wooden barrel that smelled faintly of apples. She gazed at Tauriel confusedly.

“Why?” She murmured lowly, uncertain if the elf could hear her.

But hear her she did. Tauriel gave a grim smile even as Lyla heard Thranduil’s cries of protest for the red-haired elf to stop her movements.

“Stop!” the elf king thundered, “Do not aid in his escape! Bring the hobbit here, now!”

“The elves are indebted to you little hobbit. Thank you,” Tauriel murmured, her face contorted into a grimace as the shouts from Thranduil continued.

Then she pulled the lever.

Lyla gripped the edges of the barrel, digging her nails into the weathered wood as she felt a strange rushing sensation shift through her body, making her stomach drop to her toes, as the barrel rolled down the platform and towards the chute.

But, before she disappeared from Thranduil’s halls completely, Azog’s murderous growl erupted in her ears, and a heavy thud echoed around her as something crashed into the barrel.

Lyla let out a startled scream as a long clawed arm shot into the barrel and Azog’s pinched, scarred face loomed over her, a snarl tearing from his lips as he gazed into the barrel.

And into the face of the frightened hobbit he had trapped.

Chapter Text

The furious orc spit in her face and lunged towards her. Lyla scrunched downward, pressing herself as flat as possible against the bottom of the barrel while searching to get a hold of her sword before the pale orc managed to impale her. But, she was at such an odd angle that she couldn’t quite get her sword to move.

Then another ‘thump’ resounded around the inside of the barrel and, to Lyla’s surprise, Azog’s form was pulled backwards.

She heard the shout of a man.

An elvish man.

The barrel dropped suddenly and Lyla was pitched forward as the barrel tumbled top over tail into the water. The barrel filled with the frigid crystal water and Lyla choked and sputtered, trying to keep her breathing stable.

She heard more shouts above her as the barrel twisted and pivoted, rocking Lyla’s small frame from side to side, slamming it against the hard wooden sides of her temporary home.

Azog gave a low, bitter yell and then a pale white arm was reaching into the barrel. It grasped onto the back of Lyla’s coat, and she was yanked upwards, clawing at Azog’s grasp, kicking her feet.

The barrel rocked sharply to the left as it tumbled down the river, sending Azog and Lyla over the side, the orc’s grip still firm on Lyla’s jacket.

She was pulled from the barrel and into the frigid water. She gasped as the breath was knocked from her lungs as the water rushed around her pressing her body with such force, filling her nostrils, making her dizzy.

But even as she could feel Azog’s grip on her coat, pulling her downwards, something snatched at her arm and tugged upward, pulling the hobbit’s face above the waterline.

Lyla coughed and kicked her and gazed up into the face of Legolas, who was cocooned inside the barrel and was desperately trying to keep a hold of the tiny hobbit.

“I’ve got you,” He murmured pulling upwards his grip firm but gentle.

Lyla reached her other arm out to grab at the wooden rim of the barrels mouth, trying to aid in Legola’s rescue attempts.

But Azog would have none of it. The pale orc brought his clawed arm upwards and pulled his weight around the hobbit’s neck, pulling Lyla backwards with such force that her grip on the barrel slipped. The orc hissed lowly in her ear, contempt dripping with every syllable.

Her heart started hammering.

But Legolas would not release her arm. He strained to pull her upwards, the distance between them straining Lyla’s arm in a painful way.

“I’ll not let him take you,” he whispered to her, “I promise.”

How many times had she heard that promise before?

A large wave of water washed over her head as the barrel caught a rapid and twisted violently to Lyla’s left. Lyla was whipped in a circle, the force of which threw Azog backwards and off of her back, as she desperately clung to the determined elf’s grip.

He head was spinning as she spun around, her fingers digging into Legolas’ arm as the the water ebbed at her resolve and her grip.

They hit a bump as the current picked up, rocking the barrel to one side and then the other.

And suddenly Lyla was airborne as Legolas tugged quite forcefully, pulling the water-logged hobbit back inside the barrel, grasping her tightly to him as they continued down the river.

“Sweet Eru,” Legolas gasped panting as the barrel rocked and twisted, “You attract a rather large amount of danger for someone so small.”

Lyla turned her face up to gaze at the elf who had a firm hold on her. A small smile lit his face, his blue eyes sparkling in amusement. With his blonde hair sticking to his head in a haphazard way, he truly looked a sight.

Especially for an elf.

And she would have laughed at the sight and his remark had not her gaze caught movement behind Legolas’ shoulder.

Aule help her. Why couldn’t things go according to plan?!

Instead of laughing, her grip tightened around the elf and she yanked the creature backwards, slamming her back against the wall of the barrel, forcing the entire contraption to rock violently to one side, allowing water to wash over them again.

But it served its purpose.

It got Legolas out of harm’s reach.

Azog’s surprised and infuriated face came into view as he scrambled to climb atop the barrel, to trap his prey, his arms reaching for the Lyla’s throat.

But something happened that neither Lyla nor Azog could have anticipated.

With a sickening crunch, the barrel collided with a large rock situated, like an island, in the center of the river.

The force of the impact rocked against the side of the barrel, cracking and splintering the thick wood and tossing the inhabitants within the barrel into one another, as Azog toppled off the barrel and into the water.

Lyla started to panic when she couldn’t see the orc any longer. Where had he gone? Was he coming to attack?

She bit back a scream. She didn’t know what to do.

But they had a bigger problem at the moment.

The splintered wood allowed water to come pouring in, washing over Lyla’s face as she struggled to kick her legs and propel herself upwards and outwards from the sinking barrel that continued to beat against the rock.

Legolas’ hand grasped her own and he tugged, pulling the hobbit closer to him as his powerful legs urged them upwards, breaking the surface of the water.

“We have to get to shore!” he shouted above the roaring and rushing rapids, as they were pulled further downstream. He hoisted Lyla higher onto his back so that her arms were encircling his neck.

“Keep kicking your feet!” He commanded gently.

Lyla heartily agreed with this plan though all she could manage as a reply was a cough.

Hobbits weren’t particularly fond of water and the sooner she could get out of this raging river, the better she’d feel.

She quickened her kicks to match the speed of Legolas’ and together they cut slowly through the water, clinging to one another, grasping at rocks and branches, making their way to the shore.

‘Aule help us’ Lyla chanted in her head as the shoreline loomed ever closer.

But it was as if all the evils of Middle Earth were conspiring against the little hobbit far from the comfort of her home.

Something grabbed onto Lyla’s leg and yanked her downward again.

‘Azog’ her mind supplied, ‘It has to be.’

With a shriek, she lost her grip on Legolas and sank back beneath the rushing current.

She chanced opening her eyes and nearly choked on what air was in her lungs as the water distorted the face of the pale orc as he grasped onto her arms, his face contorted and twisted into a murderous gaze.

Lyla kicked her feet and broke the surface of the water.

“Legolas!” she gasped as she was dragged back under.

*****
They were making their way back up the hillside. Thorin wasn’t about to let the foolish, brave actions of their burglar cost her. He had to do something.

Thorin could hear the low murmurs of concern and worry trickling throughout the company as they hastened their pace back towards Mirkwood and the Elvish king’s halls. Dwalin in particular was practically buzzing with pent up fury, just waiting to be released.

However, his mind was far more engaged in a memory, a thought, an image.

Curls.

Dirty, matted, blonde curls.

And tear stains running down thin cheeks.

‘That blasted, foolish brave little hobbit. Why would she do such a thing? She assured their safety at the cost of her own? She’d risked everything for retrieve their weapons, rescue them from their cells…She even remember his ruddy boots for Durin’s sake! Had she no sense of self-preservation?’

That’s when Thorin heard it.

A faint cry.

A cry that almost sounded like—

Then there was a loud growl and another cry.

An elf.

“Legolas!”

Thorin’s eyes widened.

Lyla!

“Hurry!” he commanded his companions .

They had to hurry.

*****

Lyla couldn’t which was was up as she and the orc tumbled in the water, bubbles cascading around her. Her ears felt as though they were going to burst from the pressure. Her lungs felt constricted and in desperate need of oxygen.

The orc’s grip tightened on Lylas arms, squeezing painfully.

Azog pulled Lyla upward as he made his way to the far bank, safe from Legolas’ grasp. Tossing the choking hobbit onto the bank, the enraged orc pounced on the wary creature, his grip finding purchase on Lyla’s throat.

A wave of Déjà vu struck her as she gazed into the narrowed blue eyes of the pale orc.

This time, however, the orc’s grip was much firmer, far more deadly in force as he squeezed at her tender neck, his eye twitching, a sickening smirk gracing his twisted features.
Lyla tried to kick her legs, tried to move her arms, but Azog had anticipated that she would.

And he wasn’t going to make that mistake a second time.

A deep laugh escaped his mouth as he gazed down at the choking hobbit, his eyes glittering in amusement.

Spots danced before Lyla’s eyes and her hearing started to dim.

But an arrow, a blessed arrow hit Azog square in the shoulder, the force of the impact sending the howling orc backwards and off of Lyla.

Déjà vu hit her again.

Hadn’t Kili…?

Lyla rolled and staggered to her feet, gasping for air as she stumbled away from the orc. She noted Legolas, standing across the river, bow ready and waiting for the orc to rise.

Oh bless him.

Bless anyone who knew how to use a bow!

A small grunt escaped her lips as she stumbled further away from Azog and drew her sword.

With an earth-shattering howl, Azog started to rise to his feet, plucking the arrow from his arm with a sickening ‘squelch’.

And Lyla knew this would happen.

Even with an elf archer across the way, Azog was determined to obtain what was his.

He was determined to kill her.

Running would do no good.

No.

No, Lyla had no choice but to face her enemy.

Azog cast a quick glance across the river where Legolas stood at the ready, and then his sinister gaze flicked back towards Lyla. With a low growl, he sauntered forwards, building up speed the closer he got to Lyla.

Lyla noted the arrow that sailed towards the orc as he darted towards Lyla, but the way Azog changed his speed resulted in the arrowed missing its intended target and imbedding, instead, into a tree.

The force of Azog’s impact at Lyla, sent the hobbit sprawling backwards. Her fingers, still numb from the river sent her sword clattering to the ground.

She let out a startled cry and rolled to her left, dodging the large fist that slammed down where she had by lying. Kicking her feet, she scrambled away and to her feet, grasping at
her sword once more.

But Azog was one step ahead.

The large fist that had missed her before, made connection to her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and buckling her knees. She tumbled backwards again.

Back into the water.

With Azog following closely behind her.

She lost hold of her sword once more as water filled her nostrils and poured into her mouth as the orc leapt on top of her grasping at her jacket, his clawed arm tearing through the material and wrapping the jacket around the metal arm.

Pulling back, and rising to his feet, he hoisted the squirming sputtering hobbit upwards with his claw until her feet dangled and he his eyes were level with hers.

His eyes narrowed as he assessed her wide eyes and panicked demeanor.

This position allowed him to intimidate the hobbit. And it kept him safe from any attempts by Legolas to fire another arrow.

Clever orc.

Azog smirked, his face contorting into a look of victorious malicious revenge. And, then spit at her, the putrid filth dribbling down Lyla’s cheek.

The pale orc brought their faces close together, mere inches apart and whispered one word:

“Matum.”

With a growl that increased in volume, until it rattled Lyla’s ears, Azog brought his fist high, raising Lyla’s higher, prepared to strike.

Chapter Text

He’d gone on ahead of the others when he’d heard the cry. He didn’t want to risk being too late.

Thorin’s heart stopped as he made it through the trees and noted the frightened little hobbit dangling in the air, her legs kicking out, trying to stop the orc who had her raised up like a fish on display. Her face was flushed, her hair dripping, a look of resigned horror marred her features.

A burning stone of dread ignited in his belly at the sight.

Azog growled and raised Lyla higher into the sky, his fist clenching an ever growing roar echoing in the air.

And then Thorin was charging, full speed, sword drawn a furious roar of his own escaping his lips.

Not her.

*****
She heard him before she saw him.

Lyla’s heart rate sped up as she heard the familiar roar.

That blessedly familiar rich, baritone roar of fury that only Thorin Oakenshield could produce.

Oh it was like music.

But, Azog too, heard the dwarf’s charge and pivoted, too late as the infuriated dwarf king lunging towards him, sword drawn.
The collision of the two was an earth shattering experience that sent the hobbit reeling.

Lyla’s torn jacket ripped further, as Thorin slammed into Azog’s pale form, sending the orc sideways and Lyla tumbling into the river, the orc and dwarf landing on top of the hobbit, forcing the air from her lungs with the cold water washing over her head and her back landing awkwardly among the rocks. Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to the side as her head broke the surface. She noted two blurs rolling past her in the water, as she lay blessedly forgotten for the moment. Her hands grasped at the smoothed stones beneath her palms, trying to gain traction in order to rise.

She let out a hiss of pain as her left hand found a grip on something sharp.

Lyla gazed down and her eyes widened in shock as she raised her little sword from the water, the crimson of her blood dripping down her palm and wrist and splashing into the water, blending with the cool, clear liquid.

But another roar of anger startled the hobbit—dashing curious glances at her sword aside—and she rolled in the shallow water, climbing to her knees and scampered onto dry ground as she took in the scene before her.

Thorin was charging Azog, Elvish sword drawn, his lips pulling back to reveal a snarl, crystal blue eyes narrowed in contempt for the pale orc.

Azog only stood there, smirking, a dark chuckle reverberating from his throat.

Lyla’s heart twisted painfully.

This is what the orc had wanted all along. Another confrontation with Thorin.

Another chance to kill him.

Oh Aule help her.

Help him.

She cringed as Azog charged forward and connected a blow to Thorin’s shoulder with his claw, sending Thorin’s arm reeling backwards, nearly causing the dwarf to lose his sword. Azog then brought his claw downward, slicing through the dwarf’s tunic and into the flesh of his lower arm. Thorin hissed in pain, his teeth gritted, eyes blazing, but he tightened his grip and pushed back against Azog, raw determination sweeping across his face.

And, Thorin, to Lyla’s surprise, was very agile in the water. Even as the frigid water rushed past his knees, his feet remained firm as he twisted his upper body to dodge the orc’s continual onslaught of frenzied advances. With taught muscles, the dwarf swung upwards as Azog brought his clawed arm down, clashing metal to metal. Baring his teeth, he let out a low growl and pressed his shoulders forward, increasing the weight behind his sword, forcing Azog back and stumbling into the river.

But the orc had one more trick up his sleeve.

Even as he fell, Azog thrust his arm outward and grasped onto Thorin’s tunic. The dwarf’s surprised cry echoed in Lyla’s ears as she watched Thorin’s sturdy stance falter, as Azog’s weight pulled him down into the water.

A scream tore at her throat as she stumbled to her feet.

This was…

Not good.

Not good at all.

Then she was darting back into the water, towards the fight, small sword in hand, fingers slick with her own blood, advancing towards the creature who’d tried to kill her only moments ago.

She ran towards him.

Even as she heard her name being called for her to halt.

“Lyla!”

“Don’t!”

“Come back!”

Even as she recognized the voices, voices of the company, behind her.

Her family was calling to her.

But she wouldn’t just stay on the banks of the river and watch Thorin die.

She was closer than they were. She could move faster than they could. She’d get there first.

Isn’t that what mattered most?

Azog had managed to pin the struggling dwarf beneath the water, his fingers pressed over Thorin’s mouth, his legs pinning the dwarf’s arms.

Lyla noted the rich ebony locks floating, mixing together with the water.

Fury ignited in her chest, stifling the panic and horror she felt.

How dare he!

She wouldn’t let him.

And so intent was Azog on finally succeeding at his goal to kill Thorin, that he neglected the hobbit.

Again.

Foolish orc.

“Get off him!”

With a small, fierce cry, she launched herself atop the orc.

Faintly she could hear splashing in the background.

Azog roared and reared backwards, trying to buck Lyla off his back. His arm reached upward, releasing Thorin long enough to allow the dwarf to gasp for air, and he clawed at
Lyla, trying to get her to move.

But she wouldn’t.

Not until Thorin was free.

Curse her and her stubborn Tookish blood.

It was a miracle she’d lived this long. She was rubbish with a sword and petrified of the creature before her.

And yet here she was again staring at potential death.

Well, no matter…

She brought her sword upwards, as Azog snarled and snapped at her, reaching for her collar.

And sliced through the orc’s remaining fingers.

Lyla’s eyes widened and she gasped in shock as blood smattered her face, the missing appendages falling like small white stones into the water.

Oh, Aule she thought she might be sick.

Azog let out a deafening roar and twisted his body, falling backwards, throwing Lyla off of him. His claw swung around and connected with the hobbit’s arm.

She went splashing into the water, her head cracking against something, sending stars before her eyes. Her grip loosened, and bubbles escaped her mouth as her vision went fuzzy as she gazed at the swirling mass of colors surrounding her.

The water was distorting her perception of images, with colors blending together.

Her lungs were starting to hurt.

She needed to surface.

But, for some reason, she couldn’t make her limbs move properly. She felt her body tumbling in the water, moving further downstream.

Then someone grabbed a hold of her waist and was propelling her forward, and upward. Her head broke the surface and she was pressed against a log trapped against the bank.

“I’ve got you little hobbit,” Legolas’ voice murmured in her ear as she let out a relieved sigh.

“Legolas,” she breathed tiredly, numbly, “Thank Aule for that.”

"Stay with me little hobbit. Stay awake."

*****
Thorin rolled onto his stomach, rising from the frigid water, his fury blazing. He turned to face Azog who was still howling with fury and agony, the missing digits of his hand still gushing blackened blood.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed further as he spied Lyla’s letter opener of a sword wedged between two large rocks.

That foolish, stupid, brave hobbit. How many times was she going to put her life at risk for him?

And here he was trying to save HER.

Confound her stubbornness.

But then his fury reignited in his veins as he noted what Azog had done to her and he grasped the tiny sword in his large hand and stalked towards Azog, teeth bared and snarling.
“You dare to hurt her!” He thundered, “You dare to strike her?”

He brought the small blade down, as Azog parried with his clawed arm, a grimace on the orc’s face.

He no longer had the use of his good hand.

Thorin surged forward, shoving the orc, forcing Azog to stumble.

“You took my grandfather,” He snapped, his anguish and fury rising, “You drove my father away.”

He swung the sword around and connected with Azog’s shoulder.

The orc let out a low growl and moved away from the infuriated dwarf.

But Thorin would have none of it.

“You tried to kill me. More than once!” He hissed, his swing cutting upwards, slicing into Azog’s other shoulder.

The orc howled in agony and swung his claw towards Thorin, nicking the dwarf’s shoulder and knocking him sideways so that Thorin stumbled

But Thorin hardly felt it. His eyes burned with hatred for this parasite, this nuisance, the bottom feeding vile scum. He straightened himself and watched as Azog prepared to strike again, a growl building in the orc’s throat.

Thorin beat him to the punch.

He lunged forward, straight at the orc, who was hissing and growling, bringing Lyla’s sword to his left.

Burying it in the orc’s belly.

Azog’s eyes widened and a gurgling, choking noise bubbled from his lips. Thorin removed the sword as Azog tried, half-heartedly to claw at the dwarf king, even as his knees buckled and he knelt in the water.

“And you dared to harm her,” Thorin spat venomously, “You dared to harm an innocent. She was nothing to you. And you dared to strike her.”

He growled.

“Never again. Never again will you touch those I love.”

Thorin raised the small elvish sword back readying his swing.

Azog turned his face upwards, his glare defiant and goading as he raised his metal claw once more to strike the dwarf king.

Thorin’s stroke fell.

And with it, Azog the Defiler.

The pale orc dropped slowly into the water, his blue eyes dimmed in death, dark thick blood pooling around Thorin’s knees in the water.

Thorin stood panting, glaring at the water, willing the pale orc to defy and rise once more.

He would not let that foul creature rise. Not again.

Not this time.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Thorin jerked around, sword at the ready.

Balin dodged the intended blow with ease, a small, grim smile on his wearied face.

“Laddie,” he murmured, reaching slowly for Lyla’s sword, “It’s done. It’s done.”

Thorin’s grip loosened around the hilt and he gazed about in wonder, his vision startlingly clear, brightly colored, crisp.

He noted the company on the bank of the river helping someone out of the water.

Two someones.

A tall blonde elf (for what else could he be?) was rising slowly from the rushing depths of the water, cradling a small bundle.

Dripping curls, a small button nose, raspberry colored lips, delicate fingers attached to impossibly tiny hands and wrists.

A tiny pale hobbit lass, dressed as a man.

“Lyla,” he whispered surging forward towards the gathering dwarrows.

They parted when they noticed him standing there and Thorin quickly tore to Lyla’s side as she sat cradled in the elf’s arms.

His hands came up, of their own accord, and tenderly grasped either side of Lyla’s head. He felt a sticky residue and pulled his hand away to note a dark crimson staining his fingers.

He placed his fingers gently into Lyla’s curls and tilted the hobbits head so that her eyes were facing him.

“Look at me,” he commanded quietly, “Look at me Lyla.”

The hobbit’s unfocused gaze settled as she peered at Thorin. A small frown flitted over his face as he gazed back.

“Confound it all, why would you do that? What were you thinking?” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered at the touch, “Did I not say that you were unfit for this journey? Did I not say that you would be a burden?”

Some in the company started to protest. The elf tightened his grip on the small creature in his arms.

“I said you were unfit for the wild, unfit for this quest.”

Thorin’s hands slid down Lyla’s neck until they rested upon her shoulders and he shook her slightly.

And then pulled her forward, out of the elf’s grasp and into his arms, wrapping them tightly around the small frame of the hobbit who had saved his life repeatedly.

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life,” He murmured into her hair, “I am sorry. I am so sorry I doubted you.”

And he held the small hobbit close to his chest as sobs wracked her body, whispering words of gratitude and comfort and peace.

Chapter Text

Long after the sobs subsided and her tears were spent, Lyla sat curled into a warm embrace, staring idly at the scratchy fabric of a dark blue tunic. She noted flecks of yellow thread interspersed with the damp blue cloth. Tiny stitches that ran like seams of gold through an ocean created an intricate pattern that Lyla had never noticed before. It was all rather beautiful, in a subtle way.

It reminded her of the flowers along the pathway near her smial. They grew wild in the summertime and she always marveled at their simple, understated beauty.

It certainly was a peaceful thought at least.

And all the while, as she entertained thoughts of tunics and thread and flowers, shudders wracked her body and gooseflesh encased her arms.

But she didn’t let her mind drift to anything other than studying the stitching of the fabric in her field of vision and listening to the slow rhythmic ‘thump thump’ reverberating in her ear.

No. She wouldn’t dwell on it.

She forced the memory back down. Down into the depths of the deepest lake. Hidden in the far reaches of her mind.

She focused on the arms encircled about her shoulders, the fingers running gently through her hair. And the constant ‘thump, thump, thump,’ next to her ear.

It was soothing, calming.

It was just what she needed. ..

And she would enjoy it. She would revel in the sweet simplicity of feeling safe again.

Just for a moment.

She closed her eyes and focused on the beating of a heart and the soft, warm breath ghosting over her cheek.

And she did feel safe.

*****

Thorin sat quietly, cradling the quaking hobbit (whose shivers had yet to abate), his fingers running idly through thick blonde curls, soft as spider silk as he listened to Lyla’s breathing slow, and even out, her hiccoughs and gasps subsiding into soft sighs and expulsions of air.

The little hobbit was contented and calm.

For now.

But even as he took comfort in the small creature nestled in his arms, reveling in the knowledge that he’d managed to assuage her tearful come apart (a sight that had sent his heart plummeting to the bottom of his soles), his heart still hammered furiously in his ears and a deep seeded regret anchored his heart downward.

He took note of the blood trickling from beneath her short hair, as well as the long gash that ran across her hand, dripping blood onto his tunic, staining it a deep, rich red.

But his heart nearly stopped as he looked once again to the delicate throat of the small hobbit, whose eyes were mercifully closed. He noted more dark angry bruises forming on pale skin.

Azog had tried to choke her again.

Again.

Curse that black-blooded, filthy-

He clenched his jaw and scowled.

Oh Mahal, how could have been so blind?

So stubborn?

So…

Wrong.

So utterly and completely wrong?

But then, as he gazed at the hobbit’s thin, delicate throat, he spied something else. Something unusual. Thorin furrowed his brows in curiosity and turned his head a little peering at the oddly familiar object with confusion.

A thin piece of leather served as a necklace. And while not all together unusual or curious, it was what was ON that necklace that held Thorin’s attention. For on that necklace was
a small, delicate ring with a blue stone.

A small delicate ring, with a blue stone that he knew well.

A small delicate ring, with a blue stone that HE had made.

The ring he had made for his sister.

For Dis.

He remembered it well. He’d given it to her on her wedding day. A gift from Mahal.

For protection and good health all her days.

He also remembered the day that she’d given it to Kili.

The day before she’d—

Thorin shook his head, forcing those thoughts back down. Refusing to allow those images to bombard him.

‘Not here. Not now. Not after almost—‘

He brought Lyla closer to his chest and placed a kiss atop her head, his nose buried in her damp locks, and closed his eyes to hide his anguish. Oh he’d been so stupid.

Loyalty.

Honor.

A willing heart.

‘I could ask no more than that.’ He had spoken those words to Balin back at Bag End (back in Lyla’s hallway).

So why did it take him so long to see the wiling sacrifices of one little hobbit?

And more importantly, how could he ever repay her? How could he ever make amends?

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” He murmured again into her hair.

“Aye it’s about time ye said that,” Dwalin’s voice was soft as he knelt next to the dwarf king and his charge, placing a gentle hand on the dwarf king’s shoulder gazing fondly down at Lyla, “I’d say she’s been deservin’ that apology for awhile now, aye?”

The warrior dwarf, cast a sidelong glance at Thorin, who swallowed back the pang of guilt.

Dwalin was right of course.

He’d been right the whole time.

And Thorin was certain that his friend would NEVER let him forget this fact.

Ever.

“Yes, I suppose she did deserve that a long time ago,” He murmured to his oldest comrade quietly, wary of disturbing the gentle breathing pattern of the creature in his arms.

She needed rest.

“And I don’t suppose ye’ll be dashin’ off and leavin’ her here the fend for herself again will ye?” Bofur quipped, his normally jovial eyes hardened, one eyebrow quirked upwards, challenging the dwarf king.

He noted how the attention of the rest of the dwarves had pivoted to him, their gazes questioning and frowning. Daring him to refuse refuge for the one who had saved all their lives.

Thorin shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips, even as remorse gnawed at his insides.

What a faithful band of followers the little hobbit had acquired. It seemed she could command loyalty better than the highest official.

“Indeed not, master Bofur,” Thorin remarked lowly, his emotions still a whirlwind as he tightened his grip on his hobbit bundle, “I could not leave her here. I have been wrong on many scores, but never this terribly. No, she has more than earned her place amongst this company. And we are nothing, if not protective of each other.”

A low murmur of agreement swept through the group. Thorin noted the bright (if haggard) smiles Fili and Kil exuded.

“Splendid!” Kili exclaimed coming forward quietly, “I was going to be rather upset with you, uncle, if you had tried to refuse.”

Kili knelt in front of Thorin and his eyes swept down to Lyla’s huddled form. And he smiled at the little creature fondly, “She’s like a little sister now,” he murmured, reaching forward and fingering a tuft of blonde hair.

“So that is why you gave her the ring?” Thorin questioned quietly, gazing at his youngest nephew.

Kili laughed lightly, “One of the reasons yes. But the real reason,” his gaze turned serious as it drifted to Thorin’s face, “The real reason I gave her that ring because she saved your life. Because she saved all our lives from the trolls. And because,” He scratched the back of his head, “Because she, she reminds me of mother.”
Kili’s face turned contemplative and pained, his eyes darkening and a small thoughtful pout gracing his lips, “In so many was she’s like mother was. In how she treats others. In how she…” He blew out a puff of air, “I don’t rightly know. I just—she deserved that ring. She’s the protector of this company.”

Oh.

Thorin’s throat constricted.

He’d never supposed that Kili held such an attachment before now.

And he’d never taken time to see.

To see what Kili saw.

Until now.

Until he’d nearly lost someone.

“I find it very disconcerting,” A soft, lilting voice startled Thorin. He looked up to see the elf (Legolas was it?) staring at Thorin intently, brows knit and a strange look on his face, “That you left a member of your company behind to begin with. And a woman no less. Have you no reverence for women at all?”

Thorin bristled at the comment.

“You don’t understand any of what has gone on elf,” he growled, “I did it for her own good.”

“And what good did it do her exactly?” Legolas remarked quietly, his gazed turning thoughtful as he looked down at Lyla, “It appears that you had underestimated the small

creature, pushed her away, and abused her abominably. Why would you have done this to someone who has done so much for you?”

Thorin glowered at the elf, but said nothing.

He knew now that he had been wrong. So terribly wrong.

But he didn’t need to admit that to an elf.

No. Never an elf.

The idea was absurd really.

“Aye, and what would an elf have to say of it?” Dwalin grumbled as he came to Thorin’s defense, though he more than anyone knew of Thorin’s misguided attempts at protecting those he cared for. “If I remember correctly, it was the elves who imprisoned our company and it was one of your own that nearly killed that lass there.”
Dwalin was nearly snarling at Legolas by this point.

“Galion,” Legolas mutterd, realization dawning. His eyes narrowing as he looked back to Lyla, “Not the wisest of elves, that is for certain.” His gaze drifted up to Thorin’s surprised one (For Thorin had not heard of Lyla’s encounter with such an elf), “For his part I humbly apologize. But I hope that the actions of some of us will persuade your company of the elves’ general good nature.”

Thorin gave Legolas a hard look, suspicion coursing through his veins. Why had he…?

“Why did you help her?” He questioned, “She’d been hiding in your hall for weeks. She helped us escape. What would tie you to her to the point that you’d protect her?”
Thorin’s eyes narrowed at the elf expectantly.

Legolas smirked, “I suspect she helped you out before you were ‘escorted’ into my father’s halls,” he snorted softly, “Imagine. A hobbit besting giant spiders. I never thought it possible.”

“Aye, but possible it most certainly was,” Gloing retorted a bit heatedly, “Fought those wretched creatures, she did, all by her lonesome too. What a sight it was, I tell you.”

Thorin’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn't known about that little hobbit tale.

This hobbit was full of surprises it seemed.

And the entire company was indebted to her for many things.

“There are several reasons why I helped her,” Legolas admitted quietly, “One of which concerned the spiders. But I believe that this should be a conversation between myself and the lady perhaps?”

Thorin’s arms tightened infinitesimally around Lyla’s shoulders as he made to protest.

“And why should we trust you elf?” He snapped, wary.

Legolas held his hand up, trying to placate the battle-wearied dwarf king.

“If it’s all the same to you, Master Oakenshield,” he whispered, his gaze flicking back towards Lyla, “Might we set our feud aside to help a mutual friend? Hobbits aren’t as hardy a folk as you or I. We need to get her warmed up and she’ll need a tending to before those wounds fester. Which means we’ll need to get to Laketown before too long.”

Thorin’s gaze returned to the little hobbit who as still shivering in his arms.

He sighed.

“Yes of course.”

*****

“Lyla,” Someone what murmuring her name in her ear, pulling her back from the blessed oblivion her mind had retreated to.

“Lass?”

Cool hands on her forehead.

A gentle nudge on her shoulders.

Warm breath on her cheek.

Lyla’s eyes fluttered open and she gazed confusedly at Dwalin.

Dwalin who knelt before her, concern written in his eyes, his brows furrowed, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Lass are ye with me?”

“Hmm?” She remarked straightening up a little. She felt …odd.

“Lass,” Dwalin said again, “Are ye alright?”

Lyla gazed around at the company members, noting that some were starting a fire away from the banks of the river. Legolas had a bundle of kindling in his arms, towering over the Bofur Gloin and Ori who were slowly building up the flames. The rest were further upstream converged around…something.

Her gaze returned to the glowing embers, the orange flames licking the dry kindling. Her fingers twitched and her shivers increased.

“You’re still shivering,” a voice was in her ear. And it registered in her head that she was curled into someone’s embrace. Warm, strong arms. A firm, steady grip that encircled her completely, and nestled her cheek against a warm chest.

Thorin.

Unbidden the face of a pale snarling monster flashed in her mind and Lyla sat up straighter and stiffened, trying to calm her beating heart.

‘It’s alright,’ she reminded herself, her fist clenching. It was fine.

He was safe.

They were all safe.

“Are you alright?” Thorin broke through her thoughts as his arms grasped her shoulders, his rich blue eyes peering into her own. His voice had taken on an edge to it and he frowned at her silence. “Lyla?”

She closed her eyes for a minute and willed the thoughts down, forced them away.

“I’m alright,” she murmured shivering, “I’m fine.”

"I'm fine."

Chapter Text

Thorin sat upon a rock, downstream a little way from the throng of dwarves carrying about, his gaze trained on the small fire that his company had managed to start.

A sense of pride filled him at their unflappable nature and ingenuity.

More specifically, though, Thorin’s gaze was trained on the shivering little creature who was sitting in front of the flames, curled in on herself, head bent low.

Lyla sat unmoving in the same spot Dwalin had guided her to, with her knees pulled close, her chin resting atop them, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as she huddled near the warmth of the fire, staring into the rich orange flames that crackled and snapped as they consumed the dried branches.

Thorin noticed when she winced and jerked her head to the side as Oin’s fingers danced over the wound hidden beneath her hair. He’d already wrapped the the wound on her hand in a bit of torn cloth. And there was nothing he could really do for the blossoming bruises on her throat.

“Ye’ll have to hold still lass,” Oin grumbled in mild annoyance, grasping Lyla’s head gently to still her. “I can’t see anythin’ if yer movin’ about.”

A scowl worked its way onto Thorin’s face and the dull roar of fury started to bubble up again.

If Azog were still alive…

Thorin let out a huff of air and cast his gaze upward at the trees. Mahal help him. This stream of thought was getting him nowhere. He would be much more useful putting his energy into taking care of the issues at hand rather than dwelling on the past.

His eyes flicked over to Lyla again.

The first issue to take care of was to stop that insufferable shivering the hobbit was doing. The elf (and Thorin sneered at the thought) had pointed out that Lyla was far more likely than they to suffer some adverse effects from their trip down the river. She was not as hardy or impervious to climate changes as the dwarves or elves were.

‘They are easily affected by the cold,’ he had remarked quietly, ‘And with her open wounds, she could become rather ill if we don’t act soon.’

Thorin snorted. He could see it for himself in every shiver and shudder that the little hobbit exhibited. He wasn’t blind. He saw how delicate she was.

He saw that she needed to be taken care of.

And so the dwarves had rallied, most willingly, to get a fire going and dispose of…unwanted reminders of what had happened only a short time ago. They wanted to afford every comfort to their hobbit, even if it was so little an offering such as a bit of warmth and friendly guards to watch over her.

But even as the fire crackled merrily, Lyla’s shivers only subsided marginally. And they couldn’t stay where they were for long. They needed supplies. They had no food and relief from their journey. They needed to head to a settlement and get reorganized, recuperated and ready to head to Erebor.

Right now, though? Right now they just needed warm beds and hot meals in their bellies.

He gazed at the little hunched figure by the fire once more, a strange feeling filling his chest.

They needed to take care of her.

He needed to take care of her.

Make amends. Make things right.

Erebor could wait a little longer.

*****
Oin had finally left her in peace, his mother hen act ceasing for the time being. But, now, to Lyla’s befuddlement, she had different company bombarding her with questions and attention. Fili and Kili flanked either side of her, trying to keep her warm.

And talk her ear off apparently.

“Mistress Boggins, how are you feeling?” Kili pestered again and again, “Is there anything you need?”

And Fili was right there trying to hush his brother. “Can’t you see that she’s not in the mood for conversation Kili!” he hissed across her face, towards his brother, “Just be quiet for a few moments.”

“But I just want to make sure she’s alright!”

“Leave her be. You don't make sure someone's alright by shouting in their ear.”

“I want to take care of her! Mistress Boggins deserves our attention, especially after everything that’s happened.”

“Not if it’s annoying Kili. What good will annoying her do anyone?”

“I am NOT annoying.”

“Could have fooled me,” Fili snorted, “As it is she just needs some quiet. Right Mistress Baggins?”

“Sorry, hmm?” she murmured distractedly her gaze drifting towards Fili’s furrowed brows. She’d only been half listening to their conversation. She’d only been half listening to anything really.

Her mind was muddled, heavy, and tired.

She supposed it was still a bit waterlogged.

And she was purposely trying to avoid thinking too hard on certain events. Azog, Thorin, the river, Thranduil’s halls…

Her shudders rocketed through her body. She needed to forget those things. At least for now.

It was for the best.

Fili gave her a gentle look and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, as worry creased his brow, “Are you alright? You look rather pale.”

“Fine,” she murmured, “I’m fine.”

No use in worrying them over nothing really.

She would be fine.

She would.

“Don’t worry Mistress Boggins,”

“Baggins Kili. It’s Baggins.”

“Baggins, then,” Kili smiled at Lyla, “We’ll take good care of you!”

Lyla curled in on herself a little more and smiled into her knees.

These two were incorrigible.

The trio lapsed into a comfortable silence.

For a moment at least.

“Are you sure you’re alright Mistress Boggins?”

Lyla groaned inwardly.

*****

A short while later, Bofur and Ori were the next ones to sit by her side as Fili and Kili went with the elf Legolas to scout the terrain ahead per Thorin’s request.

Bofur draped his arm around her still shivering form, plopping his hat atop her head much to Lyla’s surprise.

Bofur never parted with his hat.

“You don’t need to give this to me…”

“Yer lookin’ mighty cold there little one,” Bofur remarked drily, pulling Lyla back gently, until she was nestled near his side. “I’ll not have you freezin’ yer ears off.”

“I’m fine,” she remarked, her voice muffled by the sleeve of Bofur’s jacket. “I’m fine.”

“Are you-are you sure?” Ori’s hesitant voice wafted into Lyla’s ear, “You don’t look like you’re fine Miss Baggins. Rather pale actually.”
Oh Ori.

Sweet Ori.

Lyla smiled and turned to face the hesitant, shy dwarf on her right. He looked at her with reddened cheeks and a half smile on his face as he ducked his head.

“Yes,” she murmured quietly in response, giving him a bigger smile in thanks, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Aye,” Bofur nudged her head back against his shoulder, tightening his arms around her, “Maybe not yet, but ye will be.”

*****

“Mistress Baggins? Lyla?”

Lyla’s eyes fluttered open and she nearly tipped backwards in surprise, wincing as her head pounded behind her eyes. Her clothes felt stiff, her muscles aching.

Thorin Oakenshield was crouched in front of her, his face a few inches from her own, his blue eyes glittering with an intensity that sent Lyla reeling.

When had he gotten there?

Had she fallen asleep?

“Easy lass,” Bofur murmured, tightening his grip and helping her to straighten up. “Oi, that’s a fine way to wake someone up yer majesty.”
Bofur sounded indignant as he addressed Thorin.

To his credit (and Lyla’s incredulity) the dwarf king looked a bit remorseful.

“Sorry,” he murmured and then his eyes hardened a little as he gazed at her, “We need to get moving. Are you alright to walk?”

“Y-“ Lyla swallowed back the scratchiness in her throat, “Yes of course. Of course.”

Thorin stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed, assessing.

And then he sighed and rose to his feet slowly, keeping a firm gaze on Lyla’s face.

“Yes. Yes of course,” he mimicked her earlier phrase, “Master Bofur, I’ll leave you in charge of her welfare for now?”

Lyla’s head came up in surprise.

What?

“Aye yer majesty,” Bofur remarked, helping Lyla to her feet, keeping a firm grip around the hobbit’s waist, “I’ll be right be her side. Never you fear.”

“That’s not really necessary-“ Lyla started.

Thorin gave her a firm look.

“I beg to differ on that score my dear,” he remarked quietly and resolutely as he straightened his coat.

Lyla bristled at his tone.

“I beg to differ,” She mimicked him this time, wincing as the words felt garbled in her mouth, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Thorin titled his head thoughtfully, and stepped closer to Lyla, the distance between them growing very small.

She could feel his warm breath on her face as he peered down at her, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Lyla replied confidently, pushing the tickle in her throat back. She was fine. She didn’t need them to worry about her. They had more important things to do.
Honestly.

Thorin stepped even closer to Lyla and her heart started hammering.

“I,” his words were low and careful as his blue eyes glittered challengingly, “I would really reconsider that statement my dear. You’re face is flushed, you’re shivering and her gaze is unfocused. It’s a safe option keeping Bofur with you. And I’ll not brook any further argument from you. You seem to have no sense of self-preservation.

Lyla’s eyes widened and a frown formed on her lips.

Had he really just…?

Did he…?

She narrowed her eyes and glowered at the dwarf king.

“I’m fine.” She muttered, her nose twitching. “I’m perfectly-“

She sneezed.

Bofur chuckled.

Thorin smirked.

“Indeed,” he remarked.

Bother.

*****
Lyla felt smothered as they made their way down the bank of the river, towards the settlement that Legolas called Laketown.

Apparently the elf had scaled one of the tall pines in the forest and spotted the distance from his perch.

What confused Lyla was why Legolas was still helping them. He had no ties to their quest. And weren’t the elves and the dwarves supposed to despise one another? Thorin, in particular, Lyla was certain, would have found ill favor with an elf tagging along on any portion of the journey, no matter how small the timeframe might be, especially considering
that the elf following along towards Laketown was, in fact, Thranduil’s son.

It made no sense.

Despite her confused thoughts, however, she did take comfort in Legolas’ report.

“It’s only a few leagues away from here,” he had remarked, “If we make good time, we could be there by nightfall.”

‘Nightfall? That didn’t seem so far away’ Lyla had thought at first. Even though she was tired, her head muddled and her joints aching. She could make that distance.
She’d gladly walk that distance if it meant the hope of a warm bed tonight.

That sounded glorious.

Yes. She could do this.

But once they’d gotten underway, however, she was rethinking her optimism.

Her aches increased with each step she took, her exhaustion making her stumble. All she wanted to do was find a nice warm blanket and curl up somewhere, anywhere.

But what baffled her was the fact that despite her protests that she was capable of looking after herself (even as she sneezed repeatedly), she was surrounded by dwarves! At least two on each side of her, boxing her in like stalwart sentinels or guards. Bofur and Dwalin were on her left, casting curious glances her way every few moments with, while Nori and Balin on the other side peppered her with the same questions:

“Are ye alright?”

“Do we need to rest for a bit?”

“Are ye sure yer alright?”

Lyla was completely baffled by their stifling behavior. It was driving her mad really. They wouldn’t even let her carry her own things! Dwalin carried Lyla’s small sword and absolutely ignored her whenever she stated that she was perfectly capable of carry anything, the dwarves would nod their heads and ignore her again. .

Didn’t they trust her to take care of herself?

Lyla sighed.

Dwarves.

The stubborn, confusing company was enough to zap the rest of Lyla’s energy.

She bit back a yawn and stumbled as her foot connected with a rock.

Hands instantly steadied her and a gaggle of dwarves converged around her, helping her to the ground, their faces pressed tightly around her, peering at her carefully as
concerned questions floating into her ears.

“What’s going on?”

“Are ye hurt lass?”

“Should we stop?”
“She’s IS a bit warm, perhaps we should look for some soothing herbs?”

“I’m fine.” She murmured trying to stand, “Just a bit clumsy is all.”

She tried to push her way up, but two pairs of arms hoisted her to her feet instead.

What in Eru’s name was going with these blasted dwarves?!

“I’m fine,” Lyla repeated, trying to pull away from Dwalin’s and Nori’s grasps, “Truly.”

The dwarves ignored her.

“Perhaps someone should carry her then?” Balin suggested sagely.

“Ah but I have a better suggestion.”

Lyla and the rest of the company froze—words left unspoken, conversations halted mid-sentence—as a tall man stepped from the bushes, his dark hair and clothing allowing his the blend in with the scenery quite effectively.

They dwarves much have overlooked him while they say debating about Lyla’s welfare

Lyla wanted to roll her eyes.

And would have had not the man been pointing an arrow at her.

“I suggest that perhaps it is time you explain your presence here.” The man gazed around the group , calculating and analyzing. “What business do dwarves, an elf, and,” He peered at Lyla for a moment, eyes narrowed in curiosity, “and this…creature have wandering through the woods near Laketown?”
Creature?!

Lyla huffed even as she sniffled, her head feeling a bit stuffy.

“I’ll have you know,” she grumbled lowly, “that I am a hobbit.”

The man quirked his head slightly to one side gazing at Lyla with an air of suspicion. His bow was still taut and waiting for an arrow to be released.

“A Hobbit you say? Hmm…” The man peered down his nose at Lyla, “And what business do you have here in the East then, hobbit?”
The company tightened around Lyla, trying to shield her from the arrow pointed at her chest.

“Er well, uh..”

How did Lyla explain this?

Chapter Text

“Well?” the dark haired man’s voice held a bite to it as he narrowed his gaze at Lyla, “What have you to say then halfling?”

Lyla narrowed her eyes in return, meeting the challenging gaze that the man had thrown at her, “I am half of nothing.” She muttered, “And as it is, I come on this quest by request of an old friend and in the aid of new ones.”

And then she sneezed.

“And what is this quest you speak of. We’ve not had dealings with dwarves in quite some time,” The man remarked, his gaze still narrowed, though curiousity shone in his brown eyes.

“You’re a man from Laketown if I’m not mistaken,” Balin interjected coming to stand at the head of the group as someone pulled her gently deeper into the folds of the company’s collective embrace.

“What of it?” The man remarked contemptuously.

“Perhaps we can come to an accord of some kind?” Balin suggesting, playing the peacekeeping delegate role with perfection. His calm demeanor and kind eyes gave him an air of trust.

One that the man with his hair pulled back and eyes narrowed, didn’t seem to approve of. He gazed at the white-haired dwarf cautiously.

“I do not know of any ‘accord’ that can be reached with a group of travel wearied dwarves who’ve got naught but a penny to their name.”

“I believe what my companion means to suggest, is that we may have a similar interest, man of Laketown,” Thorin’s voice carried the air of authority and majesty Lyla had come to find inherent in his character, as he stepped forward next to Balin, while the rest of the company rallied behind him, shielding the hobbit from the arrow in the man’s bow. “I am Thorin some of Thrain son of Thror, rightful king under the mountain.”

“And what if,” the man retorted, his voice dripping with contempt as realization dawned in his demeanor, “what if, Master Thorin, we are not aligned in a common cause? What if I simply choose to strike your company down now?”

Legolas, to Lyla’s utter surprise, was suddenly in front of the company, his own bow drawn aiming at the bowman before him, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Then you would die before your stroke fell.”

Why was he protecting them?

“We come to reclaim our homeland,” Thorin remarked unruffled by the growing tension between himself, Legolas and the dark-haired man, “Surely the people of Laketown could benefit from this quest as well?”

The dark haired man deflated at Thorin’s declaration, a deep frown upon his features as he lowered his bow. “If you awaken that beast, you will destroy us all,” He murmured, his eyes betraying the worry he must have felt. “Your coming, I fear, brings more harm than good to my people.”

Lyla’s heart hitched at the sight and she wondered, as she did in Thranduil’s halls, if Thorin considered the possible repercussions his actions could cause. How many lives might this endeavor cost?

A shiver wracked her body and Bofur pulled her closer, rubbing his hand on her shoulder affectionately.

“I have a duty and a right to my home,” Thorin remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly, a frown tugging at his mouth, “You cannot expect me to sit idly by and ignore the plight of my people. We deserve our homeland. The reign of the beast must end.”

“And if you fail, what then?” The man asked, bitterness seeping into his voice as he stepped closer, “What happens if the dragon awakens and you are defeated? What happens if it wrath is inflicted upon the innocent of Laketown? Would you really send the guiltless to the slaughter?”

Lyla's worry spiked when Thorin didn't answer.

But the bowman was the only one who seemed to hold a wariness for the dwarves and their quest to reclaim Erebor.

“That’s enough if you please!” A high nasally voice commanded as a tall, plump man with graying hair an and beady bird eyes stepped from the bushes to stand near the man with the bow, “Why do you harass guests of Laketown with your fanciful questions and superstitious attitude?”

‘Fanciful questions?’

None of those questions had sounded fanciful to Lyla’s ears. They were all rather logical if anyone were to ask her.

“What are you doing here Egarion?” The bowman sighed in frustration, “Can you not trust me to do my patrols without feeling the need to interfere?”

The fat Egarion scoffed and wiped his obviously sweaty hand on the lapels of his jacket, “Hardly. You’ve already proved your uselessness tonight by harassing these travelers! Travelers that have brought the most fortunate news!”

Then Lyla’s ears picked up the excited murmur that swept through the trees as at least a dozen men stepped forward, their eyes alight and smiles gracing their features. Her eyes widened at the sheer number of people who had surrounded them without their knowledge. And each man was armed with fine weapons, whether they be a bow or a sword, suggesting, to the weary hobbit, that the inhabitants of Laketown were a suspicious bunch who would were not afraid to fight.

“It’s the sign!” One man, a short balding fellow with a scruffy grey beard whispered, “The Master had said that we should be aware of the sign! And here, the Dwarves of Erebor return!”

A low echoing of ‘hurrahs’ floated about as a few of the group slowly advanced towards the now surprised dwarves.

The dark-haired fellow, Lyla noted, appeared rather displeased by the declaration.

“That’s hardly important right now,” He snapped at the group of men, “They cannot be allowed to simply march on the mountain. It could spell disaster for Laketown!”

To Lyla’s surprise, no one seemed to pay the man any mind anymore. Instead, the men swarmed the dwarves with praises and exclamations of excitement and reverence, pushing the bowman behind them, much to the man’s consternation.

“Come!” the balding man stated, standing near Thorin, “We must take you to The Master of Laketown. He will give you a most hearty welcome I can assure you! Plenty of ale and warm food to settle your bellies!”

A murmur of agreement passed amongst the dwarves as Thorin nodded his head, clapping the bald man on the shoulder.

“We cannot do this Bromwen!” the bowman thundered, pushing through the crowd of men and pulling the bald man away from Thorin, “This whole venture spells disaster. We have to proceed with caution! The Master is a fool on this matter!”

The bald man, Bromwen scoffed and pulled his arm from the bowman’s grasp, “Your position was given to you out of pity Bard the Bowman. By the very man you just insulted,” he sneered, face contorting into an ugly twist mass of lumps and purple veins, “Do not think that you are truly respected amongst the ranks.”

A dark chuckle cascaded through the company as the men rallied around Bromwen, clearly favoring his opinion over Bard’s. Bard, in turn, growled and lunged towards Bromwen a frustrated fury marring his features.

Only to be held back by a few of the guards surrounding the group. Bard struggled to get his arms free, kicking his feet outwards, a low growl of frustration leaving his lips.

“This is madness!” He huffed, straining his muscles as he twisted, trying to escape the guards’ grips.

Lyla winced as they, in turn, jerked Bard backwards and thrust him to the ground a cacophony of laughter echoing up through the group as the men then stepped past him leading the dwarves and Lyla into the forest.

Indeed the rest of the men did not respect this Bard fellow.

Her attention turned back towards Thorin and the man, Bromwen at the head of the new group travelling through the woods towards Laketown. She felt a strange pang run through her.

She gazed back at Bard as Bofur ushered her gently along, though she had the urge to return to the fallen man who had been cast aside by the others.

A few resounding sneezes escape her even as her mind contemplated things.

Something felt…off.

The man, Bard, looked flustered and worried as he hoisted himself to his feet.

But beneath that, Lyla saw something else. Something that set her heart tumbling downwards.

But her muddled mind simply couldn’t figure out what that feeling was.

*****

The niggling feeling that Lyla felt in the woods increased tenfold as the company stood before the Master of Laketown.
Something was definitely wrong.

In the dim light of the night sky, Lyla gazed around at the people gathered into the square of the center of the town that sat atop the lake, near the tributary where the forest river and the mouth of the lake met together. Threadbare clothing, thin, dirty faces, and tired gazes greeted her. And from what she could see of the houses in the faint light, the wooden edifices mirrored the inhabitants quite well. Thin, dilapidated walls stood, caked in grime. By all account, it appeared that these were hard working people, who received far less than what they obviously needed.

The man who stood atop the staircase of the central home, a lavish thing with stone pillars and intricately carved wooden placards, however, was nothing like what she had expected.

Fat, lavishly clothed in a brightly colored coat trimmed in rich furs, his blonde hair was scraggly and greasy, plastered to his overly round head. A thin mustached, rotting smile was painted on his face as he stretched out his arms in greeting.

But what made Lyla shudder were the eyes. The Master’s eyes were small, beady, little things. The color of dull grey stone, that shone with a hard, miserly quality, making him appear shrewd and calculating.

He certainly stood in stark contrast to the rest of the inhabitants of Laketown.

Not like Bard (and she spied the bedraggled bowman shadowing the few people who stood further back, his hair creating a small shield from prying eyes and a spectacular frown on his face). No Bard blended in with the rest of the town. He looked as though he belonged.

The Master however?

Certainly not.

“Welcome dwarves of Erebor!” The Master of Laketown exclaimed raising his round arms, palms facing upwards, as he bent his head in a mock display of ceremony.

Lyla cringed. Even the man’s voice sounded greasy.

The bloated man stepped forward and extended his jeweled hand towards Thorin in greeting.

“Surely your presence in our fair city is a sign that spectacular things are to befall us!”

A low cheer rose up from the crowd.

Thorin took the proffered hand hesitantly, his face contorted into a smooth mask, though Lyla could see that his eyes were suspicious and hesitating.

“Indeed. Thank you for the warm reception. My company and I are in your debt Master of Laketown.”

The Master pulled Thorin upward, to stand near him on the stairs and, smiled jovially.

“Think nothing of it my good sir! Every comfort shall be give to you and your companions to aid in your journey.”

The man’s eyes swept over the company, eyes analyzing each dwarf in turn. When he got to Lyla, however, his eyes narrowed and his gaze turned thoughtful, calculating.

Lyla wanted to shrink from the gaze, to disappear into Bofur’s grasp. She felt so…

Exposed.

A dark foreboding filled her as she gazed back hesitantly, as a familiar low hissing noise made her wince.

But as quickly as the gaze had landed on her, with a derisive snort, The Master’s studious gaze disappeared and the smile returned to The Master’s lips as he turned his attention back to Thorin.

The hissing disappeared.

“Come my friends! It will take some time but we shall have a house prepared for you. And while we wait, let us feast and make merry!”

A grumbled of approval met Lyla’s ears as the dwarves followed after Thorin and the Master into the ornately constructed building.

Lyla’s stomach churned and her head pounded in protest.

She sneezed yet again and huddled down into the warmth of Bofur’s guiding arm around her shoulder.

“It’s alright lass,” he murmured into her ear, “Ye’ll be restin’ up soon enough. Let’s get some food in yer belly, aye?”

Lyla cringed at the thought of food (something she never thought a hobbit would do).

She’d much rather be in a warm bed.

Yes. A warm bed sounded most pleasant.

She wasn’t particularly hungry.

Nor was she particularly eager to enjoy the company of The Master of Laketown.

*****
Lyla was surprised to find herself separated from the main body of dwarves as they sat at the large banquet table laden with food.

The Master had insisted that the ‘heroes of Erebor’ be given the highest seats of honor. That is to say, a seat next to him.

This invitation did NOT, in fact, include Lyla, much to the consternation of many of the company members.

"Oi! The hobbit's a member of this company. What's this about havin' te separate us?" Gloin remarked heatedly, the veins in his hands pulsing beneath the skin as he clenched his fingers into a tight fist.

"The hobbit's a member of this company, and you'd do kindly to afford the burglar a place of 'honor' amongst friends," Bofur exclaimed his eyes narrowed.

Dwalin in particular had a difficult time with separation.

“The hobbit is part of the company if ye please. No reason why we should be separating us! Why do ye think we deserve to be shown such disrespect? Are we not your 'honored guests?'” He exclaimed heatedly leaning forward to glare at the spluttering head of Laketown..

The dwarf’s temper had The Master scrambling to placate the nervous attitudes he’d kicked up.

“I meant no offense of course! Forgive me.” He garbled as his sausage fingers twittered nervously, “It will not happen again.”

Dwalin made to protest, but Thorin’s hand on his arm stilled the warrior dwarf. He turned and shot Lyla an apologetic look and worried look.

But Lyla understood. She knew that they couldn’t afford to make enemies in Laketown. They were in desperate need of supplies.

No. They had to comply with the demands of The Master.

At least for now. Though that didn’t stop him and the rest of her dwarves from gazing at their hobbit frequently, their eyes alight with concern and contemplation.

Lyla suspected that this seating arrangment was done chiefly for political purposes, as the round man didn’t hesitate to demand Thorin’s undivided attention. A fact that the dwarf seemed very keen to avoid as he dodged questions or changed the subject.

Lyla felt a bit of pity for him.

Perhaps it had been a small mercy that she was seated further away?

And as it was, SHE wasn’t in bad company.

A man sat on one side of her, completely ignoring the small creature sitting next to him. But on the other side she had Legolas.

And though the elf hardly spoke a word, his somewhat familiar presence brought her a sense of comfort and peace.

It was a peace she clung to, as her head pounded and her joints ached, longing for the blessed reprieve that sleep could provide.

The reprieve she had to suffer through dinner to get to.

An immensely long, boring and tedious dinner that left her feeling far more drained than she would have liked.

It was a peace that she clung to as she caught snatches of The Master’s conversation with Thorin as they sat at the head of the table.

“Your coming here has brought to pass many old prophecies!” The Master exclaimed exuberantly, “Truly it shall be a delight for the dwarves to return to Erebor.”

Thorin snorted quietly, “Yes it indeed it will, though some in your town seem to feel…otherwise.”

Thorins’ voice had gone soft. Predatorily soft

The Master waved off Thorin’s hesitancy.

“Don’t you worry about Master Bard, my good dwarf. The man,” Lyla spied him fiddling with his fork, “the man certainly has a flair for the dramatics. I can assure you that the town welcomes and reveres your company coming here.”

Lyla’s stomach did a strange flip-flop again as she sneezed.

So, The Master didn’t like Bard either.

Her eyes flicked around, searching for the bowman, who had escaped this tedious dinner.

Even with her muddled mind, Lyla’s curiosity was running rampant considering the reason WHY this Bard character was so…rejected by his own people, the master of the town included. What could he have done to cause such disrespect?

Or perhaps there was another reason?

Her gaze travelled back towards Thorin and That Master.

She jumped when her gaze locked with the greasy man’s own gaze. His lips were pursed into a thin line, eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

She felt Legolas’ hand on her shoulder as she winced as the pounding in her head increased and the low sinister hissing noise returned.

“Are you alright?” He murmured quietly, his voice like rich chimes echoing in the wind.

Lyla broke the gaze with The Master and turned to face her elf companion with a smile. She noted his blue eyes darting between herself and The Master, a small frown playing on his lips as his gaze hardened.

“Yes,” Lyla remarked tiredly, “I’m fine.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile, “You’re a terrible liar, little hobbit. A terrible liar and a beacon for acquiring all manner of unwanted attention.”

Liar indeed!

She sneezed again and returned to her dinner pushing the contents around on her plate, her stomach churning with unease.

Yes indeed. If Legolas suspected something to be wrong then…

something was definitely wrong.

Chapter Text

Dinner seemed to stretch on forever.

Or, at least for Lyla, it did.

Most of the dwarves (barring Thorin) appeared to enjoy the festivities, food, and drink. Their spirits rose ever higher (and their voices louder) as the night wore on and the ale flowed freely.

She caught snatches of Bofur recounting their adventures in getting to Laketown to some rather anxious children who sat in rapt attention, their eyes as wide as saucers. Other dwarves, like Gloin, were expounding upon the utmost importance of their quest because of the stability and comfort it would bring their families back in the Blue Mountains.

And then there were the dwarves like Fili and Kili and Nori and Oin who were starting a boisterous round of singing, their voices raised in a raucous drunk chorus of laughter and verse.

It was heartwarming for Lyla to hear.

All the merry making and music didn’t stop the dwarves, however, from giving Lyla worried looks every few minutes. Though every time they tried to rise to approach the hobbit, they were surrounded by a myriad of curious townsfolk, filled to the brim questions or expulsions of gratitude and admiration.

So they remained down the table from her, as Lyla sat in blessed silence next to Legolas, neither one of them bothered by an inhabitant of Laketown, more than likely due to the fact that they weren’t dwarves.

And that suited Lyla just fine. She didn’t seek nor invited attention of any sort.

Her head pounded, her throat felt tight.

And she most certainly could not stop the sneezes from coming.

All she wanted was to sit in silence, blessed, calm silence. And Legolas didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. He sat straight, like a sentinel of calm.

But Lyla was so bone-achingly tired that eventually her head found purchase against Legolas’ arm (at his insistence of course) and she drifted to the point between wakefulness and sleep.

Eventually though, as all things do, the dinner (for her at least) finally came to an end and someone was shaking her.

“Alright then, up you get, your companions are getting ready to depart. It wouldn’t do for you to be left behind,” Legolas’ light, soothing timbre was near her ear as he helped her into a standing position, his arm firmly wrapped around her shoulders as she stumbled forward and towards the door.

She hazarded a glance around to the table and noted that many of her companions weren’t faring much better than she, though for an entirely different reason. They too stumbled slightly—the result of too much ale—as they followed Thorin and a guide from the large hall, towards (what she hoped) as a place where they could rest.

Colors blended and the dull roar of voices washed in her ears. The walls vibrated around her.

She felt, very much, as though she were walking in the midst of a dreamscape.

‘One foot in front of the other Lyla. Just keep moving. You’re fine.’

Part of her knew she was lying to herself. Her aching muscles and growing fatigue felt remarkably similar to the time when she’d fallen asleep on her favorite bench and woken up drenched in the surprise spring rain shower that had descended upon the Shire. She’d been abed and miserable for nearly a week as a result. And right now, she was certain that a cold was coming. Coupled with the bruises she could feel forming on her stomach from Azog’s hit, and she was right certain she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a nice cool, comforting bed and forget the world.

She was tired. Remarkably, thoroughly tired.

But, a larger part of her fought the drowsiness. For some inexplicable reason she felt the necessity to walk of her own volition from the building.

Perhaps she was just stubborn? She was part Took after all.

But, as she gazed at the round, preening face of The Master, she withheld another shudder and acknowledged that it was more than her stubborn nature that prevented her from foregoing walking from the room under her own power. The man was staring at her, the same sneering, calculating expression on his face.

Her stomach flopped.

Yes, it was much better if she walked of her own accord. She needed to show as much strength as possible.

She didn’t trust the man.

Blessedly, though, as she stepped over the threshold and into the night, the cool night air shocked Lyla’s mind back to alertness and she managed to straighten her gait so that she needn’t rely on Legolas so much. Following closely behind Dori and Ori, Legolas still on her left, his arm never leaving her shoulder, she noted how dark and silent the town had become. Hardly any light shone except for a few lamps dotting the narrow wooden walkways and the torch that their guide held.

Her gaze drifted upwards, scanning each darkened window, each silent home. She wondered what type of lives these people lived. It couldn’t be comfortable. It couldn’t be easy. She wondered if they were happy.

And she worried for them.

What would happen when she confronted the dragon? What would happen to these people if the dwarves did not succeed?

And then her eyes caught sight of…

Something in the shadows.

She focused her gaze to the rooftops as the shadow darted across the closely knit houses, never making a sound. She could make out the shape a little clearer as the shadow moved.

Two legs, two arms, a straight, powerful stance.

This shadow was a man.

And as the man leapt to another rooftop, ghosting in front of one of the few lamps lighting the wooden street, Lyla caught a face in her vision.

Bard.

She stopped, pulling out of Legolas’ hold to stare upwards, into the dark, her mind puzzling over the bowman.

Why was he jumping across the rooftops?

Said bowman must have sensed someone watching him, for he stopped as well and peered downward. His face pulled into a frown as he gazed at the company of dwarves meandering down the narrow walkways, lead by one of The Master’s servants.

Then his gaze landed on Lyla and Bard’s eyes widened in surprise.

And then, they narrowed slightly. Not in a mean way, but in a rather thoughtful manner, as though she were a puzzle that he was trying to sort out.
He was studying her.

She watched as his gaze shifted once more and he gazed behind her, as a deep, resigned sadness filled his eyes and he turned away with a nod in her direction.
“We best start moving again before your company discovers your absence,” Legolas’ voice was so close that Lyla jumped in surprise. But she nodded to the towering blonde elf in agreement and started following after the company (whom she noticed were not too far ahead).

In her muddled, tired mind, however, there rolled questions. Questions she desperately wanted answered.

She wanted to understand this town, the people, and Bard.

“It would appear,” Legolas ventured quietly, his voice carrying softly to Lyla’s ears, startling the hobbit, “That the taint from Mirkwood is slowly spreading. Just as predicted.”

What?

“Pardon me?” Lyla whispered back, her voice scratchy, throat sore.

Why was he saying this?

Legolas’ arm tightened around her shoulders as he steadied her deteriorating footing and cast a sidelong glance at her.“I mean that the taint of Mirkwood, little Shireling, is spreading. Surely you’ve felt it growing here. Spreading not through the trees or river, but through the people.”

Ah.

So that’s what she had felt. The familiar unease tugging at her, making her fingers and toes tingle with suspicion and worry.

The feeling that filled her with a creeping sense of dread.

Legolas nodded his head thoughtfully, “The Master of Laketown appears, by all accounts, to be a charismatic leader, well adored by his subjects.” Then Legolas’ eyes narrowed, “But I’ve seen that growing, festering, sickness covering in my home for far too long not to notice the wickedness hiding beneath the man’s façade.”

He looked again to Lyla with a frown, his bright blue eyes flashing with an unidentifiable emotion, “Never travel alone little one. You above all must stay safe while you are housed here.”

But then Legolas’ gaze shifted and his focus seemed to transcend the recent moment. He gazed far off murmuring lowly.

“There is still hope though,” he mused thoughtfully, “There are a few warriors left unscathed by the growing evil of this world. The world of men may yet endure.”

Lyla furrowed her brows as she gazed at the elf warily.

He had utterly confused her.

A smile worked its way onto Legolas’ lips as he blinked back to the present moment and surmised the reason behind Lyla’s contorted facial features.

“Worry not Mistress Baggins. For now, let’s get you somewhere to rest.”

“But-“

Legolas shook his head. “No. No, it is best to focus on the present. You have far too many tasks ahead of you at moment to concern yourself with. Worry for the future as it comes. Not now. For now, to bed little one. Nothing else.”

*****

Thorin stood atop the steps of the home The Master of Laketown had leant for the dwarves’ use and watched each member of his company trudge slowly into their temporary quarters with a wearied sense of relief. They were finally returning to some sense of normalcy.

They weren’t imprisoned by elves.

Captured by spiders or trolls.

Or starving in the darkened forest of Mirkwood.

And Azog wouldn’t be bothering them again, that was for certain.

No they were safe for the moment, with full bellies, and warm beds awaiting.

And all of them relatively no worse for wear.

Well…almost all of them.

His gaze shifted towards Lyla as she and the elf made up the rear of their group. He squinted and noted that the tall blonde creature had an arm firmly encircling the small shoulders of their burglar’s as he steadied her wobbly footing.

Thorin noted the hobbit’s face beneath Bofur’s large hat, with flushed cheeks and glassy gaze as she followed along silently, except for the spectacularly loud sneezes that escape her small form. Thorin knew the little creature was feeling the effects of her recent brush with death.

A pang of guilt shot through him.

Not only had he been responsible for her foolishly brave actions at the river and in Thranduil’s halls, but he was also the cause of her delayed recovery.

She should be in bed, not gallivanting through Laketown in the dark, chilled autumn air.

But they’d had no choice. The Master had insisted that they dine and, not wanting to offend the first person to extend courtesy to them in a long while, he had accepted.

But Lyla still suffered for it.

And worse still, none of the dwarves were able to ease her discomfort. They had been harangued by the townspeople, peppered with questions, while Lyla sat with an elf (An elf!) down at the other end of their long table, silent and alone.

They couldn’t even talk to her for Mahal’s sake!

His eyes narrowed at the thought of the rotund, pompous Master and his lofty seating arrangement. He’d purposely separated Lyla away from the dwarves.

For what purpose, though, he did not know.

He did know, however, that he did not trust the man. Despite all the comfort they were afforded, something gnawed at the back of his mind like a parasite, infesting a suspicion in his brain. There was something decidedly odd about Laketown, about The Master, about all of it. And he wanted to avoid the greasy if he could.

But as leader of their company, Thorin had been forced to endure the tedious company of the leader of Laketown, when he would have rathered to attend to the needs of their company’s burglar.

And the meetings with The Master were only beginning. Beginning in the morning, he’d be making negotiations and plans to start their journey towards Erebor.

It was a trying evening and Thorin’s nerves were on edge.

And the stress he felt was only enflamed as he gazed at the elf, Legolas, doting upon Lyla.

He could feel his eye twitching in contempt (though he wasn’t sure WHY he felt such an emotion).

And then Legolas flashed Thorin a small smile as they ascended the stairs after the rest of the company.

Thorin frowned and narrowed his eyes. He trusted this elf, the son of Thranduil, as much as he trusted The Master.

Which, is to say, not at all.

“Come along burglar,” he murmured, pointedly ignoring Legolas. He tugged the drowsy Lyla from the elf’s grasp and wrapped his own arms around her shoulders, “You need to rest.”

He noted out of the corner of his eye that Legolas was still grinning.

*****

Lyla had been right.

The next morning her sneezing and scratchy throat had blossomed into a full-fledged cold.

She felt terrible. Absolutely terrible.

Her mind was so muzzy that she couldn’t even remember having laid down on the bed. And as she gazed down and noted the clean shirt, and beneath that, the crisp white bandages around her torso and hand, she felt a sort of strange detachment from reality. She simply couldn’t remember when she’d gone to bed or who had taken care of her.

So confused was she, that she could bring herself to feel embarrassed for having been so exposed while unaware.

But instead of dwelling on trying to remember what had happened, Lyla simly sank back down among the warmth of the bed and drifted back to sleep.

*****

Her dreams were filled with all manner of strange and terrifying things.

She saw her mother and Thorin arguing at Bag End, the little hobbit woman poking the much taller dwarf in the chest as she berated him for EVER thinking so ill of HER daughter.

‘You know nothing of the Tooks!’ she scoffed, ‘Or of the sheer stubbornness of a Baggins. And combined together, my daughter is certainly a force to reckoned with. You best watch yourself Thorin Oakenshield!’

Then the scene twisted, colors blending, distorting, making her nauseous.

She saw wolves. Large, white wolves gliding silently through the snow, their deep growls filling the air around her as she scrambled over the frozen Brandywine, trying to get away from their snarling, snapping advances.

She slipped on the ice, skidding into the frigid snow bank, scrambling to her feet, trying to get away.

One caught her cloak, dragging her down, and its toothy growl in her face, bearing down on her.

The world spun…

She saw Azog leering at her, perched overhead, his clawed arm pushing down on her, forcing her beneath the water of the river, until she was completely submerged. She kicked
and clawed at the hand trying to force it off her throat. She couldn’t breathe.

Azog’s eyes glittered in a sinister, twisted glee and he laughed, his gravelly voice echoing in her ears.

He pressed harder against her throat, crushing her. Lyla arched her back, twisting, trying to get away.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t breathe.

“LYLA!”

Lyla jolted upwards, back to consciousness at the shout of her name, gasping for air, coughing, as the world spun back into focus.

Dwalin had a firm hold on her shoulders, his brows knit together in worry, eyes flashing.

“It’s alright,” He grumbled lowly rubbing her shoulders, “Drink, then sleep.” He ordered as Oin pressed something to her lips.

She drank but couldn’t taste anything.

And slipped back to sleep within a few moments.

*****

Thorin stared at the mop of blonde curls as Lyla curled on her side, knees tucked, one hand fisted into her pillow. She muttered lowly, incoherently in her sleep, as her fingers twitched.

Thorin sighed and leaned closer, watching the hobbit carefully.

He knew she was having nightmares. He was no stranger to them

He just wished they weren’t afflicting her, that she'd never have had to suffer from them in the first place.

Lyla turned in her sleep, knocking the blanket down from her shoulders.

Thorin automatically reached out and readjusted the blanket, brushing some of Lyla’s sweaty locks from her brow as she slept.

He found himself fascinated by every noise she made and every way her body twisted, trying to get comfortable.

He wanted to understand her.

He ran his hand across her cheek gently and sighed.

Mahal, what was wrong with him?

*****

She didn’t dream this time around, though she was bombarded with images and noises. Strange faces, colors, shapes.

A dragon, red scales, bright yellow eyes, and large sharp teeth snapping together with a sharp ‘click’

A darkened cave, a murky, black lake and the soft lapping noise of water hitting against rock.

A great red, lidless eye, engulfed in flames. The familiar sinister hissing whisper that set her heart racing.

“Mistress Boggins,” Someone was lifting her up, “Wake up. Open your eyes.”

She obeyed tiredly and met Kili’s rich chocolate orbs, his face was inches from her own.

“Here, drink this.”

A cup was touched to her lips and she drank deeply, nearly choking on the bitter dregs of whatever had been placed in the cup.

Someone was patting her on the back.

“Sleep,” Fili’s voice wafted in her ear, “We’ll be here.”

She slept.

And this time, she didn’t dream.

*****

She could hear the low murmur of conversation.

“Still warm.”

“But better.”

“Nightmares?”

“More draughts when she wakes.”

“She needs to eat. Too thin.”

“Tea perhaps?”

She drifted back off.

*****

“Mistress Baggins.”

A dull rumble was near her ear, low and soothing.

Something brushed against her forehead.

“Mistress Baggins.”

She recognized that voice that tickled her ear, warm breath ghosting over her cheeks and nose.

They were disturbing her sleep.

She grumbled and pulled at the covers, trying to roll onto her side.

“Lyla.” Someone was shaking her this time.

Her eyes fluttered and opened slowly.

Someone was leaning over her, their face nearly touching her own.

She screamed in surprise and thrust her hand upwards as she kicked trying to get away.

Thorin let out a low groan of pain as he clutched his nose, eyes watering as he stumbled backwards.

Lyla’s eyes widened and then she winced.

Thorin shot her a glare as he clutched his nose tighter, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

Heavy rapid footfalls echoed up a staircase and the loud exclamations of several company members reached the hobbit’s ears.

Four harried dwarves burst into the room, weapons at the ready, eyes blazing.

“Where is—“ Bofur exclaimed and then stopped short as he gazed between Thorin and Lyla.

A grin broke out on his face.

“Oh that’s beautiful, that is.” He chortled, dropping his mattock and pushing his hat further down on his head as laughter escaped his lips.

Dori, Gloin and, Nori soon joined in, their stances relaxing. Booming laughter echoed around her.

Thorin let out a long suffering sigh and removed his hand from his nose. Blood trickled down and small bruising was already starting to form.

He shot Lyla another glare as the dwarves doubled over in laughter again.

“Sorry,” she murmured hoarsely as a small smile worked its way onto her own cracked, dry lips.

*****

By the afternoon, after hitting Thorin in the nose, Lyla was feeling immensely better.

Well sort of.

Her mind didn’t feel so muddled at least though her nose was stuffed and her ears felt as though they had cotton in them.

But she wasn’t shivering any more.

And she was actually hungry.

Which pleased Bombur greatly. He sent Fili and Kili up with a tray laden with a variety of fruits, breads and warmed broth with the demand that the little hobbit each as much as possible.

Lyla could only stomach the broth, after having gone without food for so long. But, to her, it tasted heavenly. The warm rich concoction slid down her throat, easing the
scratchiness and soothing the dull throbbing ache.

“Thang you bery buch,” She had remarked, causing the two young princelings to grin and snort in amusement at her obvious inability to speak coherently.

They had a good laugh at her expense.

But afterwards, they forced tea down her throat and by the bitter aftertaste, she knew that they were giving her another draught.

“It’ll do you good,” Fili remarked, plopping down into a chair, as he fiddled with one of his many daggers.

“And we’ll be right here Mistress Boggins,” Kili exclaimed flopping into another chair to her left, “We’ll keep an eye on you.”

And of course she dozed after that.

When she woke again, she noted that Ori, Dwalin, and Bifur were sitting in her room. Bifur and Dwalin were carving blocks of wood, their eyes focused on the precise movements of their fingers and the blades they held.

Ori, the shy sweater-clad dwarf he was, sat hunched over an journal of sorts, his quill flying across the page, only stopping so that he could refresh the ink on the tip.

She smiled as she watched them drowsily, each absorbed in their own tasks, lost in thought and concentration.

‘It’s nice’ she thought, letting her eyes slip closed.

*****
The comfort and love she felt because of the dutiful attentiveness of the company, however, soon wore off.

Not that she wasn’t appreciative to them of course. She would forever be grateful for the attention they paid to her, especially after the torture of not knowing where they were in Mirkwood.

But after a few days of being confined to a bed, forced to drink draught after draught, and having the constant company of one dwarf or another, Lyla was at a loss for what to do.

She wanted out of bed. She wanted to be out of doors, walking around, exploring, feeling the sun on her skin.

She craved it. Her Tookish nature demanded it.

She didn’t want to be cooped up here anymore.

And she wanted a bath for Aule’s sake!

As it was, the dwarves didn’t pay much mind to Lylas requests. They brushed off her comments and insisted that she either eat or sleep whenever possible.

Or rather they pretended to brush off her comments.

Thorin was, by far, the worst dwarf to contend with on the subject. The others were sympathetic to her plight, but claimed that the dwarf king held them in command as their ruling superior. They were bound by loyalty to oblige him.

“Aye lass, if I could choose te let ye go, I would,” Bofur exclaimed, ruffling her damp, sweaty curls.

Lyla cringed, though Bofur didn’t acknowledge anything amiss.

Ugh.

Yes indeed. She REALLY wanted a bath.

So when she broached the subject with the dwarf king, he had scoffed lightly and gave her a firm look.

“You’ve been ill,” He remarked pointedly, “And you aren’t sufficiently recovered yet to be getting out of bed unless absolutely necessary.”

She insisted that, yes, a bath was an absolute necessity, but Thorin only shook his head and smirked at her.

Lyla glowered at the dwarf who was so overbearingly oblivious to how normal creatures functioned that it was a miracle he hadn’t been throttled before.

(Even though deep down she was touched that he cared about her.)

But this was the last straw.

She was going to have to sneak out.

*****
Legolas sat, quite comfortably, on the ledge outside the window across from the house, and the window, where Lyla had been recovering. He watched the interaction between Thorin and Lyla with amusement a soft smile tugging at his lips.

The little hobbit was certainly full of spirit.

With her mussed curls, and wrinkled clothing, she huffed and stood toe to toe with Thorin, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed at him.

She certainly could hold her own.

‘You must protect the hobbit’ the voice reminded him as he hopped nimbly down from the ledge. ‘She will restore the balance.’

Oh how his father had scoffed at those words!

But oh how Legolas clung to them. He saw the descent his father was spiraling down. And he dared to hope that one tiny creature could change the course of the future.

Legolas sighed and nodded his head absently, quickening his pace, heading towards the docks at the edge between the lake and land.

He knew what Lyla was planning. It was obvious that she longed to feel the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze.

And he was determined to help her. For by helping her, he was helping his people, Laketown, all of it.

First and foremost, though, he needed to find Bard the Bowman.

It appeared that the man was to have a guest that evening. A guest that the bowman was most anxious to speak with.

Chapter Text

Thorin was fidgeting, something he only did when he was flustered.

Or worried.

His fingers twitched, spasms convulsing through his wrists as he sat once more at the large banquet table and half listened to The Master of Laketown discuss the future restitution and repayment for the town’s service to the dwarves.

He had the urge to run his fingers through his hair, but the image that would present to the portly leader before him, would not display Thorin’s natural, regal heritage. No, best to play the part.

He hated it.

“Of course once you’ve reclaimed your grand kingdom,” The Master exclaimed jovially picking a bit of food from his teeth, “We can discuss a fair ‘price’ for our generosity.”
Thorin snorted silently, withholding a cringe, but nodded his head in agreement, to appease the leader of Laketown.

Thorin had always supposed that generous people didn’t seek out rewards for their good deeds.

The man was clearly self-serving and cared nothing for the welfare of the inhabitants of Laketown. And it was clear that the only reason he was helping the dwarves in the first place was because of the potential for a large gain.

But he was nothing like…

Thorin shook his head lightly to dispel the thoughts of bright hazel eyes and soft smiles.

But what did he know of men?

What did he know of anyone really?

What motivated a person to perform an act of service?

And as The Masater droned on, Thorin’s thoughts drifted to the hobbit, nestled in her blankets, sleeping peacefully.

But his heart pounded as worry niggled his brain.

****

Lyla was not sleeping peacefully.

Not by a long shot.

Her argument with Thorin had left her feeling far more wound up than she already was, making the nightmares far more potent than normal. She had imagined she was drowning again, but this time, Thorin had sat on the water’s edge and laughed as Azog attacked her.

She had woken up panting, muscles aching and head pounding.

Instead of even attempting to return to sleep, she sat in one of the chairs in the small bedroom and gazed out the window, stewing over the disagreement.

‘You can’t keep me here!’ She’d grumbled heatedly.

But Thorin had not listened. He had the audacity look considerate and compassionate as he replied that they were merely trying to take care of her.

‘We’re doing what’s best for you. Surely you can see that.’

And while her chest tightened at the notion that someone WANTED to take care of her (and yes she COULD see the genuine concern the company held for her), her ire rose at Thorin’s strange behavior.

How did he know what was best for her anyhow? He never bothered to ask!

Or listen for that matter. He believed that his methods were the only correct ones.

Did he really think he would keep her locked up in a room? That THIS was what was best for her welfare?

A better question rose in her mind then, would she really allow him to make that decision for her?

No.

No, indeed!

His heart may have been in the right place, but his head was muddled and confused. While she respected the arrogant, stubborn dwarf (and found comfort in his presence), she knew that Thorin didn’t fully understand who Lyla Baggins was.

She was a Took. And a Baggins. And as stubborn as they come.

With a firm nod of her head, she rose and headed towards the door ignoring the teacup and tray of food that her companions had brought up for her.

*****

“I’m leaving,” Lyla announced as she stepped gingerly down the stairs, wary of her still wobbly footing.

Dwalin, Fili and Kili’s heads shot up in surprise at seeing Lyla standing here.

“Why aren’t you resting?” Kili questioned confusedly setting his work on crafting a new arrow aside, “We gave you your tea. And where are Ori and Bifur?”

“They’re upstairs obviously,” Lyla remarked offhandedly as she thought of the two dwarves who were sitting outside her bedroom door like sentinels. “Ori’s working on updating his new journal and Bifur was carving…something. And of course I didn’t drink my tea,” She stopped at the railing a small smile on her face, “And I’m telling you what I told them. I’m going out. They didn’t seem to mind my decision, so neither should you.”

Dwalin had slowly risen to his feet, a flash of curiosity and amusement crossing his face. “Ori’s intimidated by ye, ye mean.”

He raised an eyebrow at Lyla who just shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and said nothing. It’s not like she had been rude to the sweater-clad dwarf. She’d only told him, quite firmly, what her plans were and the poor dear had gone completely tongue-tied, only capable of nodding his head in agreement.

And Bifur? Well Bifur had just grunted and winked at her before turning back to his carving.

“Why are ye so anxious to go lass? Ye are still on the mend. Ye should be resting,” Dwalin remarked patiently his eyes hooded.

“And I’m telling you, master dwarf,” Lyla stepped closer, unafraid of the warrior dwarf with his display of tattoos and grumpy demeanor, “I told you that I am going out. Just for a few minutes. I need the fresh air, the sunshine. I’m a hobbit. I need to feel the comforts of nature.”

She gazed up at him unabashedly, her look firm and steady, waiting…

A large, toothy grin spread on Dwalin’s face and he ruffled Lyla’s hair, “And I’d wager that ye’d want a bath as well.”

Lyla grimaced as flashes of her recent…adventures…shot through her mind. She wanted to be rid of the tainted feeling that crawled over her skin.

“Yes. A bath sounds lovely.”

Dwalin’s grin spread wider and he grabbed a hold of Lyla’s shoulders and touched their foreheads together gently, affectionately.

“Aye. I was wonderin’ when I’d see that stubborn streak come back lass. I’ve been missin’ it. Alright then, off ye go. There’s a bathhouse down in the shopping district. Ye’ll find what ye need to be taken care of.”

Lyla grinned and stepped back, her eyes alight in gratitude.

“But we can’t just let her go out!” Kili exclaimed horrified at the idea, his brown eyes widened in shock as he stared at Dwalin, “Uncle will kill us!”

“And she’s still ill,” Fili interjected, giving Lyla a pointed look, “Look at her flushed skin and the bags under her eyes. She needs to rest.”

“I NEED sunshine,” Lyla remarked, giving the two boys a firm look, her gaze resolved but pleading. “You can’t force me to stay in a room. I can make my own decisions.”

“What of Uncle though?” Kili muttered the question again, his voice resigned as he tugged absently at the dark locks by his ear. Apparently, he figured he couldn’t get out of this one. “We don’t want to take your freedoms from you, Mistress Boggins. But Uncle?” He wrinkled his nose. “He’ll be furious.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

Both Durins shot Lyla a confused look. Even Dwalin looked slightly surprised at her statement, though he hid it well.

But she only smiled placatingly, “I meant what I said, you know. I’ll only be gone a little while. I just want…to feel the sun, to see the town for a moment, to listen to the water. I…I need it.”

“And if we don’t let you?” Kili’s brows knit together thoughtfully as he peered at Lyla’s reaction to his question.

Lyla just smiled, if a bit warily. “Then I would ask why you don’t trust me.”

Kili started to sputter, his eyes going wide, “I never said that we didn’t—“

Lyla held her hand up to silence the young dwarf, “You know I could very easily have snuck out of here without you being any the wiser.” She watched Fili’s eyes narrow in confusion and suspicion. Lyla nodded her head. “I could have very easily slipped away and you would have been none the wiser. But…” then she sighed, “But I trust you and I care about you. I didn’t think it fair of me to sneak off. I thought you deserved to know that I trusted you to make the right decision.”

“But,” Kili interjected, “Aren’t you sneaking off without Uncle knowing?”

Lyla grinned at the young dwarf affectionately, “You’re very perceptive. But, I don’t necessarily WANT to sneak away. Thorin just isn’t…listening. You’ve all listened to what I’ve had to say, but he never did.”

Lyla snorted and rolled her eyes.

“He fancies he knows how to take care of everyone without actually listening to their needs.”

Dwalin started chuckling at that comment.

“Aye lass, that’d be the truth of it. A fierce warrior he may be, but often he’s not the smartest diplomat. Which is why my brother takes good care of things,” He remarked
clapping his hand lightly on her shoulder, “But don’t be so hard on ‘im. He’s tryin’ the best he knows how.”

Lyla smiled kindly at Thorin’s oldest friend, “Yes I do understand that. I just have to prove to him that I am capable.”

“Aye, lass, but I think ye’ve done that more than enough times.”

“Alright,” Fili amended as he cut in between Dwalin and Lyla, grabbing the hobbit’s arms, “alright. I understand. but you can’t go alone,” he admonished, “That’s asking for

trouble. And no desire that you have will sway me on that score.”

“Well then, we best get ready to go then, aye?” Dwalin remarked tugging on Fili’s collar, causing the blonde dwarf prince to stumble backwards in surprise.

“Pardon me?”

“Aye lass, Fili’s right. We’ll be taggin’ along if ye don’t mind. That’s the stipulation.”

Lyla sighed with a resigned (but grateful) smile. A compromise was better than nothing she supposed.

*****
Laketown, she learned, was much the same at night as it was during the day, barring the mere fact that the small wooden walkways suspended over the lake were teeming with all manner of people.

The houses were still dilapidated and constructed in muted shades of grays and browns, crammed so tightly together that hardly any light could stream between the spaces. The small windows that adorned each home remained firmly closed with a drape pulled tight to prevent anyone from peeking inside.

And the walkways?

Lyla’s heart pounded lightly in her ears as she navigated the narrow planked streets that matched the color of the homes and shops. She was so close to the edge of the walkway—and not being overly fond of water—she found it hard to enjoy the unique attributes the town afforded.

Not the mention the people didn’t seem to acknowledge her presence.

Tall, dirt-smudged faces, and thin-lipped frowns greeted her wherever she went. She noted the disrepair of their clothes, the scratches on thin wrists and the general sense of resigned exhaustion that most of the inhabitants exhibited.

What set her on edge, however, was the lack of children. Not one child roamed the street with their parents. It was as if they didn’t exist, though she was certain she had seen SOME during the banquet.

Lyla frowned as she gazed about.

It was all rather disconcerting.

But because of her much shorter stature, she was nearly pushed into the water several times because the inhabitants were either moving too fast or simply did not see her. If not for Dwalin keeping a firm hold on her arm, she would have been shoved aside and forgotten and lost amongst the bustling bodies around her.

But true to his word, they managed to make it down towards a small round building near the water’s edge and dry land. And while the coloring of the building matched the drab décor of the rest of the town, the small tendrils of steam rising from the roof cheered Lyla’s heart immensely.

And she was thankful when the dwarves did NOT follow her into the bathhouse, electing, instead to keep watch outside.

She tried to hide the blush she was certain marred her cheeks as she ducked inside.

The isolation gave the small hobbit plenty of time and space to relax in steaming, warm water and scrub her skin until it was a bright pink before dunking beneath the steam to clean her hair.

When she came outdoors again, she shivered against the chilled air, but her spirits were remarkably improved.

She felt cleaner. Much, much cleaner.

And as another small gust of wind blew past her, making her shiver as she adjusted her jacket around herself, she found that she would be contented to return to their small lodgings.

She noted soft white snowflakes starting to fall from the cloudy sky above and pulled her jacket tighter.

She wasn’t so stubborn as to demand an entire day out of doors in the cold while still nursing a monstrous cold.

And she didn’t know when Thorin would be returning.

She cringed trying to avert her thoughts from dwelling on his temper should he find out about her little…excursion. She’d never forgive herself if anyone in the company had to
face his wrath because of her.

No. Best not press her luck too much then.

But as she gazed around, she had a hard time spotting her companions.

Which confused her.

Hadn’t they said that they were going to stay nearby?

Lyla fingered her damp curls thoughtfully, meeting several curious glances from the townsfolk as she gazed around for her dwarves.

Then she heard it, a slow growing murmur sweeping through the throngs of people traveling amongst the busy walkways as they gathered together in a group, their excitement evident.

“We thank you for your kindness, but if you’ll just excuse us for a—“

Aha.

She heard Fili’s voice and knew that the townsfolk were gathered around her dwarf companions.

Lyla tried to edge closer, but her small stature made it rather difficult to push past the growing number of bodies pressed tightly together, trying to get as close to Dwalin, Fili and Kili as possible.

“Dwalin!” she called into the crowd as she slipped between two men standing together murmuring excitedly.

“We’ll be better off when they kill the beast.”

“Master Baggins!” Fili’s voice carried over the crowd and she caught a glimpse of golden hair as she tried to edge ever closer, past a trio of womenfolk tittering and gossiping excitedly amongst themselves as they rose on their toes to see over the crowd, much to Lyla’s envy.

“The Master’s to hold another banquet for them! And he’s invited the whole town! We’ll have a decent meal tonight!”

Lyla found that statement odd but didn’t stop to consider what they were talking about.

A rough shove, had her stumbling sideways into the side of a man who gruffly maneuvered out of the way, a string of curses on his lips.

“Watch where you’re going little child!” he hissed moving further away from her.

Lyla scrambled to her feet before she could be trampled.

“Fili! Kili! Dwalin!” She called again completely turned around amongst the sea of people.

“Master Baggins!” she heard again, as the dull murmurs of the crowd grew ever larger.

“Bofur?!”

“Ah! Here we find the rest of our celebrated party!”

Lyla cringed as The Master’s voice boomed over head. She pushed more frantically through the sea of arms and legs, trying to get to her companions.

She earned several annoyed curses and a few shoves for good measure.

“We’ve come seeking you, dear ones! Your presence is need at the feast! Come, for the great Thorin Oakenshield awaits!” The Master’s voice still carried above the dull roar of the crowd as Lyla finally broke through the throng of people and spotted Bofur, Nori, Dwalin, Fili and Kili being ushered away from her, the crowd’s pace picking up as they too, rushed towards the large, ornate dining hall.

“Bofur!” Lyla shouted over the roar of the crowd, “Bofur!”

The hatted dwarf gazed around searching, his face betraying his worry.

His eyes locked on hers and he made to turn around.

But the crowd was moving too fast. They merely pressed him backwards, towards the banquet hall, their exclamations of joy at his presence echoing in Lyla’s ears.

“Lass!” Bofur called, ignoring the crowd as he fought towards her his eyes frantic, “Just stay there! I’ll find ye. Don’t move!”

That, however, was far easier said than done.

The movement of the crowd and the haphazard swinging of arms along with the utter disregard for someone so small, sent Lyla stumbling backwards.

“Git with ye! Back to yer mommy,” a large calloused hand shoved her behind a balding man with thin, shriveled wrinkles and a hard stare.

“Move out of the way!” A high nasally voice shouted at her, as a woman with scraggly brown hair, tattered, stained clothing and beady birdlike eyes set in stark contrast to her taut pale skin, shoved her to the side.

The air was forced from her lungs as she tumbled.

Into the frigid lake water.

The shock of cold sent her reeling and panic kicked in as she started kicking her feet, waving her arms, trying desperately to get to the surface. Her hands scratched at the wooden slats of the walkway as her head broke the surface, gasping and coughing.

'so much for being clean' she though dourly.

She heard laughter as someone tugged on her now sopping coat and tugged upwards, pulling her from the water, dumping her onto her stomach.

“Well well well!” A low, sinister voice hissed gleefully as she scrambled to her feet, shivers wracking her body. “I’ve gone and caught me quite the prize!”

Lyla gazed upwards into the face of a tall lanky fellow, his chestnut hair pulled back, long hooked nose crinkled in sinister mirth as his overly large green eyes peered at Lyla’s shivering form.

He was clearly dressed in a fine linens with a breastplate and scabbard, denoting his status in the town guard.

Lyla’s stomach flipped as she scrambled to her feet, watching the man warily as a few stragglers hurried past her.

The man chuckled as he watched her, “The Master said you’d be safe and tucked away in bed, but here we find you out and about. Clearly disobeying your own ‘master’ I see!”

Lyla’s heart rate sped up, as she noted the man’s condescending tone and his reference to The Master of Laketown. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

The man started towards her, slowly, a devious smirk on his face, eyes narrowed in amusement as he approached.

Aule help her, what was going on?

“Really, you’ve made this far too easy and for that I thank you little creature. My own master will be well pleased.”

Lyla tripped backwards as the man lunged, too surprised to even scream.

Chapter Text

The man was pulling her to her feet before she had time to register just what was happening.

Lifting her by the scruff of her jacket until her feet dangled, he sent her a sickeningly bright smile.

Lyla tried to suppress the memory of her dangling in a similar manner with a pale orc sneering in her face, but found the task rather difficult.
Her heart started hammering.

“Yes indeed,” the man crooned at her, in an almost childlike voice, “You’ve made this so wonderfully easy. The Master and I certainly thank you for your consideration.”
Lyla started to struggled, kicking her feet, teeth chattering , arms reaching out grasping onto the man’s arm, soaking his sleeve with her dripping hands.

The man gave her a little shake, growling in annoyance, his beady eyes narrowing into a glare.

“You stop that you little rat,” he hissed, “Quit your jerking about. You’re dripping onto my clothes.”

“Oi let her go!” A strange voice erupted behind the man and then…

‘THWACK’

A surprised look crossed the man’s face as his grip loosened and Lyla dropped back downwards. She rolled away as the man crumpled to his knees with a groan and Lyla gaped in surprise at the young boy who stood behind the guardsman, a large pole in his hands.

“Are you Mistress Baggins?” he inquired, his green eyes wide and anxious, his dark curly hair catching the falling snow.

Lyla nodded her head and scrambled to her feet, distancing herself from the guard who had stilled momentarily.

“Who-whose asking?” she muttered through chattering teeth.

The boy shook his head and eyed the guard warily, “I’ll have to tell you on the way. We best hurry.”

The boy made to grab Lyla’s arm, but she pulled back hesitating.

She’d much rather find her companions.

“I’ve had quite enough of gallivanting off with strangers if it’s all the same to you,” she muttered gazing upward at the lanky youth before her.

He stood like awkwardly, his tattered clothing and too big boots making him appear far more filled out than he actually was.

The boy sighed, “I’m Bain. My father, he knows Legolas Greenleaf, as do you. Now please, we need to go.”

“Hey! Stop!” Lyla jerked in surprise as another guardsman barreled towards the two of them.

The boy, Bain, grasped her wrist and tugged her along, causing her to stumble momentarily.

“Begging your pardon miss,” He murmured politely, “But we need to go.”

Lyla didn’t argue this time. She just focused on keeping her footing firm as Bain tugged her along, darting down narrow walkways past empty, shuttered homes and shops.

“Get her! We need the girl,” She heard a guard shout from behind them. The footfalls were getting louder.

Closer.

Lyla followed blindly, panic welling in her chest. She was completely confused and utterly lost by this point.

So intent were they on getting away from the ever looming guardsmen, the pair nearly barreled into the dark shaped the leapt from the rooftops.

Arms encircled Lyla, pulling her backwards as Bain was pulled into the grasp of the shadow.

Bard’s shadow.

Lyla struggled and kicked a terrified shriek squeaking from her mouth.

“Let her go!” Bard thundered as he released Bain, “She’s of no use to you! Release her.”

The man tightened his arm around Lyla’s throat as he chuckled darkly.

“Oh isn’t this lovely!” He sneered, as Lyla tried to quel the panic rising, her arms clawing desperately at the man’s arm.

The man growled and gave her a firm kick to the back of her leg.

“No more of that now, little pet,” He snarled his putrid breath washing over her, “The Master will be most displeased if you aren’t brought back alive.”

“Braimand!” Bard commanded stepping forward, the child Bain, scurrying back into the darkness, “Let. Her. Go.”

Braimand chuckled darkly and tightened his grip for good measure. Lyla choked as he head started going light.

She was getting rather tired of being suffocated thank you very much.

“Now, Bard,” Braimand commanded, “You see that I have the upper hand so you’ll do as I say thank you. You’ve already let one of our little servants escape. I’ll not be letting this little treasure here dart off again.”

His other hand swept through Lyla’s curls, giving them a hard tug.

Lyla winced in pain, still clutching at the arm that was securely chained around her neck.

Bard held up his hands in surrender face resigned.

“Alright,” he murmured shooting a look into the darkness, “Alright. What is it you want?”

“Nothing so complicated really,” Braimand retorted relinquishing his overly tight grip on Lyla’s neck. She gasped in a lungful of air, her head feeling light. “The Master merely wants to talk to this little creature and he’s rather interested in getting YOUR…imput on matters. You are, after all, his closest relation.”

What?

Bard growled lowly and huffed in annoyance, his eyes shifting to the darkened corner to her left again.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. As will the hobbit,” He sent Lyla an apologetic look.

The arm tightened around her throat again and Lyla’s struggles renewed.

Braimand laughed, “I do believe I have the upper hand as we discussed previously.”

Bard chuckled darkly in return, his brown eyes narrowing into a firm glare.

“How certain are you of that really?”

And a blessed sight greeted Lyla as Legolas stepped from the shadows bow drawn, eyes firmly trained on Braimand’s face.

Lyla had no doubt that the elf would not miss, if he released the arrow.

“Release her,” Legolas murmured, his light voice dangerously soft.

“Braimand. Release her.” Bard snarled lowly.

Braimand only laughed and stood firm, his grip never loosening.

“You think that I would come unprepared?” He muttered, a sinister joyful timbre lacing his words, “I am never unprepared Bard the Bowman. You’d do well to remember that.”
A low cry resounded and Bard stiffened, his eyes going wide as another guard (the one they’d knocked down earlier) came into view, his own arm encircling the young Bain’s throat.

Bard let out a strangled noise as he watched Bain’s eyes go wide in terror.

“Let him go.” He commanded furiously, “Let him go dammit.”

Braimand laughed, “Oh I think not. He’s just the little piece of persuasion we need. But…”

Bard frowned, his shoulders taut in anxiety. “What would have me do?”

Braimand’s grip loosened once more around Lyla’s neck as Legolas lowered his bow and watched the scene warily. Braimand chuckled.

“As I said before. Nothing so complicated. You come with me and this little sprite here,” He gave Lyla a soft shake, “And the three of us will have a nice conversation with The Master. Then your precious little boy can stay out of prison for the time being. And it’ll all be golden.”

Lyla’s eyes widened in understanding and trepidation.

Of course Bain was Bard’s son.

But what could The Master want with the both of them?

It made no sense.

Bard remained silent for a moment, his gaze flicking between Lyla and Bain, a look of frustration marring his features.

“Well?!” Braimand shouted tightening his grip once more.

Lyla registered Bain’s choking gasps and surmised that he same thing must be happening to him as well.

“Alright!” Bard conceded, putting his hands up in defeat, “I’ll come. Just…release him.”

The grip dropped from Lyla’s throat, and tightened around her waist as she struggled to get away, coughing and shivering.

The guard Braimand gave her another small kick in the back to stop her protests.

“Now now darling,” He murmured jovially, “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that innocent little child now would we?”

Lyla stilled and sent a pleading look towards Legolas.

But the elf was already gone.

“Release him Farad,” Braimand remarked flippantly, “He’s of no use to us now. And make sure you bind Bard’s hands will you?”

Lyla felt the man’s head turn towards Bard once more.

“And don’t think about fighting either Bard dear, I’ve got an archer trained on your son, should your change your mind.”

Braimand spun Lyla around so that she was facing him, her nose pressed into the man’s chest, as he grasped her wrists and pulled the tightly together, pulling a piece of rope from his pocket.

“Now my dear,” he murmured contemptuously, “You’re a feisty little thing, but I’ll not put up with your jerking about any longer.” He tightened the rope around Lyla’s wrists forcefully, making her wince.

He pushed Lyla back until he could see her face properly and peered down his nose at the hobbit before him, his eyes flashing in warning.

“One more move from you and I’ll make sure your company won’t recognize that pretty little face of yours.”

Lyla’s heart plummeted to her toes as she stared at the cold calculating gaze before her.

She nodded her head in agreement but remained silent.

Braimand gave her a hard smack on the back and smiled again.

“Good! I’m glad we could teach you a lesson then little one! Your master will be most pleased I think!” He winked at Lyla. “Now! Come, you lot, we’ve got a meeting to attend to!”
He grabbed Lyla’s hands and threw the shivering hobbit over his shoulder like a small bag of vegetables.

From her tilted view, she could make out Bard’s furious and worried glance as he was marched behind Lyla and Braimand.

Aule this was bad.

*****
Lyla stood bound and shivering in a small room at the back of the large banquet hall, the dull murmur of voices and laughter filling her ears.

She was so close! So close to her dwarves.

But as she gazed warily at the two guards standing watch at the door, she knew that if she were to shout that things would end badly.

And who would hear her anyway?

“Ah! My favorite guests have FINALLY arrived!” Lyla wrinkled her nose as The Master sauntered in his pompous demeanor oozing a greasy arrogance, making Lyla’s stomach coil in dread.

“You’ll have to forgive my delay, my dears,” He remarked stepping forwards, his large belly swinging lightly as he lumbered about, “I’ve been entertaining such splendid guests.”
The Master’s eyes shone with glee, as he smirked at Lyla, “But of course you know that don’t you little hobbit.” He stepped forward flexing his chubby, jeweled fingers and grasping her chin, “You’d know that very well wouldn’t you. Tell me Master Baggins was it? Tell me how you enjoy the company of dwarves. Is it rather tedious?”

Lyla remained silent, glaring at the fat fingers squeezing her chin in an uncomfortable manner.

The Master chuckled unruffled by her defiance.

“I knew that there was some spirit in you!” He crooned releasing her chin, “I could see it the moment you stumbled into the hall. And then,” He eyes took on a faraway look as his lips into a thin line, “And then the whispering. So tantalizingly sinister…and beautiful. It just oozed from you. I could hear it.” He jerked back to the present and gazed down intently at Lyla whose heart rate had spiked at the mention of the voice.

He’d heard it?

She prayed he didn’t search her pockets.

“Well! No matter,” He remarked ruffling Lyla’s hair, “You’re here now and quite conveniently I might add. Yes. You’ll do splendidly as my leverage.”

“She’s got nothing to do with this and you know it,” Bard hissed interrupting The Master’s tirade.

A surprised smirk lit the fat man’s face.

“SHE?” He gazed back at Lyla, his eyes scrutinizing her face carefully, “Ah that does make a difference doesn’t it! Yes. Yes this is most splendid indeed. I knew they were attached to you, but NOW?! Oh now the fun really can begin.”

Lyla caught Bard’s gaze and saw the regret swimming in his large brown eyes.

She gave him a gentle smile. There was no way he could have know.

“Now! My darling guests, shall we discuss our little contract?”

“Pardon?” Lyla murmured in surprise before she could catch herself.

The Master smiled, “Ah! The angel speaks! What beautiful music escapes thy lips sweet flower,”

Lyla wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Yes your contract milady. You see it’s all quite simple,” He stepped closer to her, his eyes betraying a sinister calculating nature that bubbled beneath the surface of his perceive joviality. “When this quest of yours is complete and you slay your dragon, I need you to assure that my town will receive their dues.”

Was he serious?

Lyla snorted.

“What do you need me for? Can’t you convince Master Oakenshield of your ‘need’?”

She sent The Master a glare.

It was returned with a placating smile. “Indeed, the dwarf king and myself have been in discussion this morning but I felt that his attention was rather…unfocused at the time. I need to reassure myself that I will receive my due when the time comes.”

“And what if this plan backfires?” Bard interjected, snarling at The Master, but standing firmly rooted to his spot as the guards stood at the read with bows drawn. “What if the dragon is NOT slain? What then? What of the people?”

The Master laughed, “Oh you simple fool, honestly I don't know WHAT my sister saw in the naivety of your little mind. Do you not read the prophesies? No? Well!”
He clapped his hands and paced towards Bard, a sickeningly sweet smile gracing his lips, scraggly blonde hair swinging around his shoulders. “I believe it’s an ancient Dwarvish prophesy really. It states that ‘when the birds of yore return to Erebor, then the reign of the best will end.’”

Lyla's head was spinning. The Master and Bard were related? It seemed so...

odd.

“That’s hardly reassuring.” Bard snorted derisively. "What tangible guarantee do you have that Laketown will be spared?"

“Oh none at all, but what care I for this rickety old town?” The Master murmured contemptuously his voice darkening, “I deserve a town that glitters, adorned with jewels and brightly colored homes. No more grey drab, hideous homes, rickety walkways, nasty little…”

He cut himself off abruptly forcing his breathing to even out. Lyla watched in a terrified fascination as the red coloring slowly drained from the rounded face.

The sickening smile returned and he turned to face Bard again.

“No I have no guarantee that Laketown will be spared. But I do have guarantee that the dwarves will be successful. The White Wizard has confirmed it.” The Master smirked, “Though he complained that the quest was foolishness and a vain glory search, he did remark that fate seemed to reside with Thorin Oakenshield.”

The Master clapped his hands together delightedly, “And as it is, I have my plans all in order for when and if the dragon descends upon us. So you see, it’s really nothing to worry about.”

He turned abruptly to Lyla a devious, sinister light dancing in his eyes.

“That my dear darling lovely little lady, is where you come in. You must assure me that I will receive my fair share of the treasure as compensation for my generosity.”

Lyla was stunned.

Was he mad?

“How can I guarantee that?” She muttered confusedly, “I can’t even guarantee I’ll make it out of this whole ordeal alive.”

The Master laughed, a false hollow laugh, and stepped closer, his putrid scent filling Lyla’s nose. Out of reflex, she leaned back, away from the offending smell.

“Oh I believe you highly underestimate yourself, little hobbit,” He muttered darkly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hear the dark callings, the hissing whispers that surround you. I know you have something hidden away, a trick that will aid you in the future. I know you will succeed.”

Abruptly he leaned back and straightened his furs as he spoke, “So assure me, little one, of your loyalty to my cause and I’ll happily return you to your company. Though,” And The Master chuckled, “I’m sure Master Oakenshield will be most
displeased that his little pet had escaped.”

Pet?

Lyla Baggins was no pet.

Indeed not!

She glowered at The Master and forced her shivering form to stand straighter, more defiant.

“Ah! There’s that fighting spirit I’ve come to recognize. Spritely little thing you are.” The Master clapped his hands together in merriment, “So, my dear, do we have an accord.”
He gazed at her expectantly.

“No.”

The smile dropped in a flash and two beady eyes narrowed in contempt.

“I had feared that you would say that my dear.” The leader of Laketown sighed dramatically lacing his fat fingers together, “And now I fear that I must show you MY leverage in order to sway your decision I think. Come, the two of you, follow me.”

Lyla was pulled forward by the guard Farad as Bard was shoved along with Braimand’s help.

They were marched along a narrow passage at the back of the hall that twisted quite suddenly and then started to descend downwards. A dark murky staircase led lower, beneath one of the only structures to reside on the lakeshore.

Lyla’s eyes had a hard time adjusting and she stumble frequently, ramming into the back of Farad, who hissed in contempt.

The narrow staircase opened up quite suddenly as light filter into Lylas vision from the various lamps and torches dotting the large underground cavern of a room.

Lyla’s eyes widened in horror and her hands raised to her mouth as she fought he urge to relieve the contents of her stomach.

Oh by Aule no.

NO.

The Master peered back at Lyla, twisted glee adorning his face.

“So what do you say now little hobbit? I already KNOW I've secured Bard's loyalty for this quest. But, what of you? Do we have an accord? Or do I bring the structure down?” He smirked at her, eyes far too bright in merriment, “Do I drown the little dears?”

Lyla swallowed back the bile rising in her throat as she start at the small huddled forms of dozens of children, filthy and terrified, as they sat chained together on hard dirt floor, their haunted eyes and thin faces forever burned into Lyla’s mind.

She tried to quell the tears and bit back a choked sob as her voice cracked.

“Yes. Yes, we have an accord.”

Chapter Text

Lyla’s eyes stayed fixed on the tiny frightened faces, the large eyes filled with fear and pleading, begging her to help them. Her heart was twisting in knots as she was pulled out of their sight and back up the stairs.

She heard their soft whimpers and cries of anguish and terror as they were once again left alone.

A fury built up in her chest as she tried to maneuver from Braimand’s grasp.

She didn’t want to leave them.

They were helpless.

They didn’t deserve this.

She dug her heels into the ground and twisted her torso trying to tear away from the annoyed guardsman’s grasp.

Her arm was wrenched painfully for the effort.

“Come along then darling,” The Master crooned mockingly, running a chubby finger along Lyla’s cheek, “We best get the little pet back to her keepers, yes?” He chuckled, “Oh what a glorious reunion that shall be.”

Lyla stopped walking, hissing at the man’s advancements and jerked her face away, glaring up at The Master.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” She snarled lowly, eyes narrowed and a furious scowl on her face.

The Master merely laughed in reply.

“Oh what spirit!” He chortled, the folds of his belly moving as laughter fell from his foul lips. He then nudged her, none too politely, up the staircase and back into the winding hallway, “My my. How interesting a creature you are. I wouldn’t mind keeping you here while your dwarves went on ahead. There’d never be a dull moment! That’s for certain.”

Lyla’s stomach dropped and nausea pummeled her senses.

He wasn’t serious was he?

She gave him a hard look even as her heart hammered in her chest.

The man only leaned closer, his putrid breath wafting through Lyla’s nose.

“I could keep you here, you know,” He whispered mockingly, “No one could really stop me. And there's something about you, something powerful. I can feel it calling to me.” He whispered lowly, making Lyla's stomach twist uncomfortably.

Lyla’s heart hammered harder the blood pumping in her ears as The Master leaned closer, his lips barely ghosting her cheek.

She jerked away and spit in the man’s face.

And she knew it was a mistake to do so as soon as it happened.

The Master’s eyes darkened and a cold fury washed over his features as he wiped the spit from his cheek slowly.

His hand suddenly whipped around and caught Lyla’s own cheek with a loud *SLAP*jerking the Hobbit’s head back from the sheer force of the blow.

Bard let out a horrified gasp and Lyla’s ears registered the signs of a struggle from behind her.

“Don’t you touch her!” He thundered at The Master, grunting when something connecting with his abdomen.

The Master ignored Bard’s admonishment.

“You are one pet that has a little too much spirit,” He hissed in her ear, eyes narrowed a deep scowl on his face as he dug his fingernails into her upperarm, making Lyla wince.
Seemingly satisfied with that small display of weekness, The Master straightened his coat and admired himself for a moment before turning his attention back towards Lyla.

“Come along then, little creature,” he shoved her again, her awkward footing making her stumble.

She heard Bard’s angry growl.

And The Master only laughed harder.

The guard, Braimand, grabbed ahold of Lyla’s rope bound hands and started pulling her forward, like a sheep, towards the main hall.
Where the company was.

Lyla was confused though. Wouldn’t giving her over to her companions merely incite their anger against The Master? What advantage would he have against the dwarves if she were set free to them once more?

She didn’t understand.

What else was The Master hiding?

She cringed in understanding, though, as they stepped into the large hall. Dozens of soldiers stood, stationed around the room, weapons drawn and at the ready, waiting for their command to strike.

Weapons pointed at the room that was packed with the citizens of Laketown, their faces wary and mistrustful of Lyla and The Master as they stepped forward. Lyla’s eyes flicked between the citizens and the members of her company who were separated and being guarded by three men apiece.

Ah.

The bell chimed in her head as the pieces of the puzzle slid into the place.

It was a power play. The Master wanted to show his dominances, to show just how much control he has over the people of the town.

The Master had planned this all along, to separate the company. And, he was using the members of the town to enforce that separation.

And judging by the firm, thin frowns and the hardened gazes she received from the men surrounding the dwarves, they were taking their task VERY seriously.

But she couldn’t blame them for that.

Not really.

Not now that she understood what had been done to them.

What had been taken away. And what they could lose if they didin’t obey.

Lyla swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and searched the familiar faces of her scattered company members. Stripped of their weapons, which were laying in a pile near the head of the table, each dwarf wore a similar scowl, their stances taut and rigid. From her vantage point, she noted Dwalin’s hands were balled into fists and Dori’s bared teeth and enraged glare. Bofur had a deep scowl and Balin stared contemptuously at The Master, his eyes darting between him and Lyla. The rest of the dwarves, though, were obscured from her view.

But, she did note, that none of the dwarves fought to get away and get to their weapons.

They must have understood the severity of the situation, even if they didn’t know the exact reason. Surely they must have known that The Master was controlling the citizens of the town.

They wouldn’t willingly harm someone who has just as much a victim as they were.

And, even if they could get past the citizen sentry, there were still the actual guards to contend with.

The guards who had very real and very dangerous weapons in their possession.

And so everyone remained still, caught in a dangerous silence.

“Well!” The Master’s voice broke the suffocating tension, “I would say welcome, but I can see that you’re already rather dissatisfied with this evening’s developments.”
The Master stepped past Lyla and patted her on the head.

“But fear not, oh great dwarves of Erebor, I come with a gift!” He turned back and smirked at Lyla, “A wayward little pet, returning to her masters. What a glorious reunion!”
A dull murmur of indignation rose amongst the dwarves.

The sight of Thorin, though, made Lyla’s mouth go dry with fear. He stood, tall, proud, blue eyes blazing with a fury that she’d never witnessed before. His hands were balled into fists, much like Dwalin’s, but he was making such at tight, restraining fist, that the veins on his forearms were bulging outward.

With teeth bared, and a low growl escaping his lips, he watched with hawk eyes as The Master approached.

“What did you do,” He murmured, his voice a dangerous husky tone, “If you’ve harmed—“

“Oh nothing so absurd, don’t be ridiculous!” The Master chastised, “Your little, hobbit, was it? Well, she and I had a little chat.” And then, he smirked at Thorin, standing a few feet away, his round form blocking most of the dwarf king from Lyla’s view. “Mistress Baggins has agreed to the conditions of a new contract, one that ensures a fair share of the treasure being turned over to the citizens of Esgaroth for their hospitality towards you and your company.”

Whispers erupted from the townspeople as they gazed between Lyla and The Master in confusion. Some of women started to wring their hands together in stress, their eyes nearly wild looking as their gazes darted around the room.

Undoubtedly betting their chances on whether or not they’d survive should they try to make a dash for the cellar where the children were kept.

Lyla also noted that several members of the company were getting restless as well, their stances shifting, their frowns deepening, eyes narrowing.

‘Don’t do it,’ she pleaded silently, ‘None of you. Don’t risk it.’

Thorin’s reaction to The Master, however, was to merely scoff derisively. “It does not sound as though this ‘contract’ was a valid one.” Thorin muttered condescendingly, “It sounds rather like you coerced her into agreeing. Am I correct?”

The Master chuckled, “Well that’s certainly one way of putting things. I prefer, though,” The Master chuckled, “I prefer to call it having the upper hand. And as it stands,” He stated flippantly, picking at his fingernails, “You’re not really in a position to argue the ‘validity’ of a contract.”

Lyla felt the cool tip of sharp metal against her throat and cursed silently at her inattentiveness.

She heard the company erupted into furious mutterings and promises of harm to anyone who dared to harm the hobbit.

Lyla’s eyes locked onto Thorin, as The Master moved to give the dwarf a clear view of his ‘persuasive techniques’, and she registered the dark fury marring Thorin’s features as he assessed her predicament. His gaze softened for a moment as he gazed at her, meeting her own stare with his.

But in a flash that gaze was gone and he snarled at The Master.

“Release her. She’s of no use to you.”

“Oh you are a stubborn one!” The round man laughed heartily, sending shivers of trepidation down Lyla’s spine, “However, I can assure you that she is a most valued asset. She can ensure that I receive my dues.”

“And why would she ever do that?” Thorin hissed, his eyes narrowed as he stood, anxious and infuriated.

Thorin’s gaze swept through the crowd of townspeople thoughtfully, his face contorting into one of suspicion and realization.

Lyla could see the wheels turning in his head and she knew that he suspected that everything came back to the people of the town.
The Master caught his looks and chuckled again.

“I see you’ve started to catch on,” the fat man crooned cheerfully, “Yes indeed, I’ve merely appealed to the young hobbit’s sensitivity and concern for others. Nothing special really. And as it is,” He clapped his hands together again, “As it is she’s agree to help defeat Smaug to get to that lovely lovely treasure.”

Thorin shot Lyla a curious look. It was clear that he was unsure just what The Master was holding over Lyla’s head.

Or the townspeople for that matter. But he knew it was significant.

But he merely sighed and gave The Master a hard look.

“And what if we don’t succeed. What if the dragon destroys us and the town?”

The man hummed thoughtfully as he stared back at Thorin.

“Well,” he remarked after a moment, “What care I for this dilapidated and depressing town? It might be a mercy to have it destroyed. And should that happen, don’t you worry yourself about how I will fare.” He remarked dramatically at Thorin, “I know how to take good care of myself, you rest assured. “

Lyla wanted to gag at The Master’s pompous and sinister nature.

The blade at her throat prevented this though.

Thorin gave The Master a long hard look, clearly sizing the man up, judging him.

But he said nothing.

This made The Master smile contentedly.

“Well then, Master Oakenshield, do I have an agreement on your part that you will uphold the contract that your little hobbit has entered into, or do you, perhaps, need more motivation?”

Lyla felt the small sting of pressure as the blade at her throat lightly pierced the skin.

She let out a hiss of surprise as she felt the slow trickle of warm liquid running down her throat.

The company went into an uproar, furious howls of contempt escaping their lips in both Westron and their native tongue. They pushed against the townspeople who desperately tried to hold the dwarves back.

“Stop!” She cried, trying to quell the growing chaos.

But Bifur managed to knock two of his ‘guards’ down and made to get out of the third’s grasp.

Bofur, too, had broken free, and was clamoring towards Lyla, as the townspeople desperately tried to contain and enraged dwarf.

“Let me go, ye simple minded gluttons!” He cursed as he tried to push past them.

An arrow whizzing past his ear had him stopping short, gazing around at the guards who stood, with bows up and waiting.

And then another arrow fired at one of the townsmen—hitting him in the arm—as he charged towards the doorway leading down to the cellar where the children were chained. He dropped with a groan of agony, clutching at his arm, where the shaft stuck out awkwardly.

Another arrow flew over Dwalin’s head and hit a fleeing woman in the shoulder as she tried to make it towards the door, her sobs switching from horrified and terrified to agony-filled cries of pain.

But no one dared move to help the writhing woman.

It became apparent that the guards were ready to fire at ANYONE who dared to move from their spot. And the size of their numbers and speed at which they dispatched their weapons, made it nearly impossible to move at all.

The dwarves stilled and stared about in confusion and horror. Their gazes eventually swiveled back to Lyla as they gazed at her warily, clearly wondering just what she had gotten herself into.

The Master laughed again and came closer to Lyla, ruffling her curls.

She cringed.

“You see, Master Oakenshield, it’s all quite simple. You do what I want and I don’t harm your company, or your little ‘pet’ or any other…innocents that might come to harm should you refuse me.” He ran his fingers through Lyla’s hair again.

She felt as though she was going to be sick.

Thorin’s face had darkened, his frown a terrifying thing to behold, as he nodded towards The Master in resigned agreement.

“Most wonderful!” The man cheered, clapping Lyla on the back as the guard released the knife’s pressure on her throat. “Well, I believe that this has been a rather productive and tiring meeting. You do have a long day tomorrow after all.”

He smiled cheekily at the dwarves and Lyla, giving the hobbit a wink as his gaze passed over him.

Turning slowly, he gave a small bow and clapped his hands together again.

“My guards will show you out one by one and then you’ll be free to return to your lodgings for the night. You can retrieve your weapons in the morning, of course, before you leave. Can't have you facing a dragon without any weaponry!” He smiled a big toothy grin, his rotting teeth truly an appalling sight.

He turned back to Lyla and regarded her carefully for a moment.

“And make sure, little pet,” he sneered at her, “That your masters abide by MY rules. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate events to take place, now would we?”

Chapter Text

The walk back towards their lodging house was a tense one.

Guardsmen were posted along the entire walkway from the banquet hall, their tall, masked faces, sending shivers down Lyla’s spine

Bofur and Dwalin stood on either side of Lyla their gazes darkened with a fury that set Lyla more on edge than the guards did. She suspected that the slightest disturbance would set them off.

Dwalin, though, kept a firm hand on Lyla’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers every few moments to reassure Lyla of his presence.

‘And to keep himself in check most likely.’ Lyla considered, thoughtfully.

But as she watched Thorin leading Bard (whose hands were still bound in rope) towards their lodgings, her steps started to feel like lead.

She could feel the tension rolling off the dwarf king like giant crashing waves. His posture was rigid, one hand balled into a fist as he stomped down the walkway ahead of her, his wavy ebony hair swinging with each step he took.

Lyla wrung her hands together in trepidation.

To Lyla’s horror, as soon as they stepped through the door, Thorin let out a guttural roar of anger and twisted Bard around, slamming the tall bowman into a wall. His fist connected with man’s jaw.

“What did you do?!” He thundered his eyes narrowed, teeth bared as he stared at Bard. “Answer me!”

“NO!” Lyla shouted trying to break from Dwalin’s grasp, but the warrior held his hand firm as Bofur, too, grabbed onto her other arm.

“No lass,” He whispered, “No. Let him handle this.”

“No!” Lyla shouted again, twisting her arms to break free from their firm grips, but her friends held firm, refusing to relinquish their hold on the little hobbit. “He’s got it wrong. He didn’t DO anything! Thorin let him go!”

Thorin’s head jerked towards Lyla’s voice, his eyes narrowed, a cold fury written on his face.

“Let him go,” She requested again, her gaze firm as she stared back at the enraged dwarf, “He didn’t do anything.”

“If I remember correctly,” Thorin snarled at her, his grip tightening on Bard’s tunic as he slammed the bowman into the wall again, “He tried to kill you when we first arrived. What could have possibly changed since then?!”

“He tried to protect me,” she murmured leveling her gaze and narrowing her eyes at Thorin. “He doesn’t deserve your anger. He’s in the same predicament.”

The change was so sudden that Lyla was left breathless. Thorin suddenly dropped his hands, sending the stunned bowman tumbling to the floor. Turning on his heel, he marched back toward Lyla and pried her from Bofur and Dwalin’s protesting grasp.

“Come with me,” he muttered, his voice clipped, but devoid of the fury she’d just witnessed.

Dwalin, however, was hesitant to release his charge.

Thorin growled and ran a hand through his hair.

“Dwalin,” He commanded, his voice steady and low, “Let her go. We have to talk. Too much has happened.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Dwalin remarked, unmoving from his post next to Lyla, “But I’ll not be leavin’ her to fend for herself when yer ragin’ on like this.”

“So be it.” Thorin remarked, “Stand outside the door if you must, but this is one conversation I’d prefer to have alone.”

His furious blue eyes never left the hobbit’s face. He stared at her, his face contorted into a scowl, eyes narrowed, calculating as he grabbed ahold of Lyla’s upper arm and pulled her along up the stairs, towards her bedroom.

Lyla’s head was spinning, her heart hammering in her chest.

And a great stone had settled in her belly as Thorin pushed her gently through the door and shut it behind himself.

Lyla sank onto the bed, her feet dangling over the side as she wrapped her arms around herself, her still damp clothing making her shudder. She felt the cold crushing fingers of dread as she stared at Thorin Oakenshield, who was muttering and pacing, his hands clenched into tight fists.

Thorin turned to her, his eyes bright and blazing, his face contorted into an angry scowl.

“You purposely disobeyed my request to stay here!” He grumbled his face pinched in fury, “Do you not have ANY sense of self-preservation? Any at all? You set yourself up to get captured! You played right into The Master’s trap.”

She didn’t understand. Not completely

“It was a BATH Thorin. All I wanted was to get cleaned up. How could I have known…they would have caught me either way.” she remarked her eyes narrowed in contempt. “The man who captured me knew where I was supposed to be. Either way they would have come after me.”

“But you would have had more protection had you just listened!” Thorin’s ire was rising along with his tone, “Dwalin or Fili and Kili could have stayed and watched over things. We might not be in this predicament if you had just stayed put!”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf king dumbfounded, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Had he really just said that?

Her eyes narrowed and she frowned at Thorin.

“How was keeping me imprisoned here going to prevent that…that rotund piece of filth from scheming to get what he wants?!” She muttered darkly.

“I was trying to keep you safe!” Thorin growled, “Haven’t you had your fill of all the strain and stress? I did what I thought was best.”

“You can’t keep me locked up!” Lyla shouted her own anger spiking, “And you can’t make decisions for me Thorin Oakenshield. Haven’t you learned that yet! I am not to be chastised, coddled or treated like I am an incapable creature! It’s MY decision what I do, thank you. And all I wanted was to get cleaned up and you begrudged me that small relief.”

“I should have known you’d try something like that. I should have figured that your…your charms would sway the others.” He mutterd, shooting her a glare, though it was half-hearted.

Lyla blew out a puff of air and rubbed at her temples. She could feel the beginnings of a headache forming.

“Charms indeed,” she muttered in annoyance, shooting Thorin a glare of her own “You are an idiot Thorin Oakenshield.”

The dwarf’s eyes widened and he started to protest, but Lyla held her hand up.

“Whatever has happened has happened. It’s done. I’ve agreed to give The Master what he thinks is a fair share of the treasure. And that’s the end of it really.”

“And what in Mahal’s name could you have possibly been thinking doing such a thing?” Thorin growled as he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Do you realize what you’ve just done? You’ve made a deal without knowing just how much The Master wants!”

“I’m sorry,” Lyla remarked quietly. And she was. To a degree.“But I did what I felt to be right in the situation. I know it’s not ideal, but I didn’t really have a choice.

Her emotions swelled, crashing overhead and Lyla had to choke back a sob as the image of the small frightened faces flashed through her mind, their eyes pleading for someone to save them.

“If gold will solve the problem then I’d gladly give it away.”

Thorin groaned at her response.

“Do you truly not understand what you’ve done? How are we to pay a debt we cannot estimate? He could demand the whole mountain for Durin’s sake! He WAS vague enough to get away with something like that. So, why? Why? Would you do that so willingly?”

“Because—“ She swallowed closing her eyes, trying to halt the onslaught of anguish she felt for the people of Laketown, for the frightened children…

“Because I couldn’t…”

“What?!” Thorin demanded eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Couldn’t what? What did he do to you?”

“Not me.” She remarked quietly wringing her hands together out of habit, “It’s not me. It’s the townspeople, they…he’s—“

“And what care I for those ruddy money grubby filthy scavengers?” Thorin snarled, “They’re manipulating us into serving them. Why should I care about their—“

“He has their children!” Lyla shouted, cutting Thorin’s tirade off. Tears were in her eyes as she gazed at the stunned dwarf, his mouth was still agape, his eyes widened in shock.

“Their children Thorin. He took their children. He—he’s keeping them locked up. That’s why they didn’t fight back. That’s why they went along with his scheme. They didn’t have much other choice.”

“And you? What method of ‘persuasion’ did he use on you.” Thorin’s voice had gone soft, his anger dissipating as he gazed warily at the hobbit.

Lyla swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly, trying to assuage the tears that threatened to fall.

She tried to steel her nerves.

“He’ll flood the cavern with them in it if I don’t…” She bit back the sob that was stuck in her throat. Her chest felt tight. “if we don’t complete this quest and give him what he wants, they’ll-they’ll…”

She brought her hand up, pressing it to her mouth to stop the noises coming from her throat as shudders wracked her body.

They were just children. Innocent helpless children.

Children for Aule’s sake.

Thorin swore and started pacing, his posture going rigid once more as he rubbed at his eyes tiredly, another growl escaping his lips.

“Of course.” He muttered pacing once more, “Of course he’d do this. And we played right into his…Confound it all!”

Thorin growled again and turned abruptly, striding towards Lyla, eyes hooded and unreadable, fists clenched tightly.

Lyla unconsciously flinched and shifted backwards at the dwarf’s sudden approach.

Thorin’s eyes widened and he stilled, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face before he let out a low grown of frustration and brought his hand up to rub at his eyes again.
“Forgive me,” he muttered forcibly, flexing his fingers as he removed his coat. “I’m not trying to frighten you. It has just been a…trying day.”

He took a hesitant step forward, not nearly as forceful or menacing this time, and gently placed the soft, fur-lined coat around Lyla’s shoulders tugging the material until it completely wrapped Lyla inside its warm embrace.

And then he stopped and gazed at the small bundled hobbit, his eyes studying her face thoughtfully. His thumb brushed over Lyla’s cheek where she’d been struck and Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he must have guessed the reason for her marred skin.

The dwarf king sighed again, his expression shifting to one of contrition and defeat.

“Forgive me for my harsh words,” he whispered placing his hands on her shoulders as he knelt before her, “For now, let us focus on what we can do to solve this unfortunate…problem.”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance on that score?”

Lyla’s eyes widened and Thorin jerked to his feet in surprise as they both turned to the doorway. Lyla’s face split into a relieved, if confused, smile.

“Gandalf,” She breathed as the grey-clad wizard stood tall in the doorway, leaning on his staff, a small smile playing on his own lips.

“I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf conceded, his eyes alight in relief and contentment. “And I would have been here sooner, too, but it appears that Mirkwood is far more dangerous than we had originally supposed,” he shook his head thoughtfully a small frown marring his features. His eyes looked…tired.

“I am very glad to see you Gandalf,” Lyla remarked, a sense of hope flooding her veins. “It’s been an…interesting adventure thus far.”
Gandalf chuckled humorlessly and shook his head.

“Yes. I’ve come to recognize that. This quest has not turned out quite as I had anticipated. And, from what I’ve been told, it would appear that the sickness in Mirkwood has spread.”

“How did you…?”

Lyla noticed how Thorin’s eyes narrowed and he turned with a frown, to see Bard the Bowman standing in the doorway, his bonds cut free. And behind him, stood Legolas, the elf prince, a small smile on his face.

“Legolas!” Lyla exclaimed surprised, “When did you arrive? How did you…” and then she gazed back at Gandalf confusedly, “How did BOTH of you manage to get in here without being seen?”

Gandalf chuckled again and smiled at the hobbit, “I can avoid being seen if I wish. And Legolas was tending to some…urgent business. He knew that his efforts would be better spent tending to the plans.”

Plans?

“What plans?” Thorin muttered suspiciously, his gaze shifting between Gandalf, Bard, and Legolas.

Bard’s large, brown-eyes gaze landed on Lyla, a small, contrite smile playing on his lips.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” He muttered, stepping more fully into the room, “But I believe that we must speak of this issue together.”

Thorin snarled and was on his feet, “And why should I trust YOU?” He took a step forward, eyes flashing dangerously as he stood in front of Lyla’s huddled form on the bed.
But the hobbit wasn’t grateful. In fact, she was rather annoyed.

“Oh hush,” she remarked, “He tried to save my life Thorin. I told you that before. And The Master hates him as much as he does us. Why else would he be sent here with us?”

“Indeed, the hobbit is correct, Master Oakenshield,” Gandalf remarked in a clipped tone eyes narrowed at the dwarf. “And we do not have the time, nor I the patience, to contend with your stubbornness today. Far too many things to do.”

Thorin folded his arms, a scowl on his face.

But he remained silent.

*****
“These guards of The Master are not normal men,” Gandalf remarked puffing on his great pipe, his face thoughtful as he stared into the roaring fire.

Thirteen dwarves, an elf, a man, and a hobbit sat squished in the main room, sorting through the complicated, chaotic situation they found themselves in.

“What do you mean, they aren’t ‘normal’?” Gloin wondered aloud, his brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wizard. “How many different types of men are there?”

“He means, “Bard remarked quietly, his voice gravelly and filled with anger, “That the men The Master has employed are not men from Laketown. They do not hail from here. When The Master took over, those men became the main guard.”

“They are the Easternlings from the valley of Rhun,” Gandalf remarked, “They are a people who swear a deep hatred with all free peoples and have frequently made alliances with the enemy in the past.”

Gandalf let out a large puff of smoke and frowned.

“I confess I had not anticipated them having taken over Laketown. That is a most unfortunate development. But,” He sighed and turned towards Thorin, “There is far more at work here than just the evil of Smaug. And it will not be ignoring us, I can tell you that.”

What was he talking about?

“You must stop speaking riddles, wizard,” Thorin snapped, his eyes trained on Gandalf, as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, “What is Durin’s name is going on? And what has it got to do with Erebor.”

Gandalf’s pipe disappeared and he rubbed his hands together carefully, eyeing the members of the company assembled together.

“There is talk of a necromancer, a sorcerer who can summon the dead, living in Dol Guldur, the old fortress deep within the heart of the Greenwood. And though Smaug may owe allegiance to no one, if he should side with the enemy, he could be used to terrible effect.”

“So you believe this…necromancer plans to build up his forces and try to enlist the help of a dragon?” Lyla remarked confusedly, “Why?”

Gandalf frowned as he eyed the hobbit carefully, “That I do not know yet. Things remain hidden, unseen. I cannot say for certain what the enemy plans. But this quest of yours has set in motion things of a sinister nature. Things that cannot be undone.”

Lyla furrowed her brows, her heart hammering. Things didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense.

“But why aid The Master?” She blurted, “He wants us to defeat the dragon. He only cares for gold…” her eyes locked with the wizard’s wearied ones and doubt crept into her heart, “doesn’t he?”

“I have no doubt,” Gandalf remarked carefully, “That The Master does indeed desire the treasures guarded by Smaug. However, his schemes seem to run far deeper than a mountain of gold. He has far bigger plans in store, that I can promise you. And, I do not believe that he holds hope that your quest will be successful.”

Lyla let in a sharp breath as her eyes widened.

If he didn’t believe that they’d survive, then why…?

“Why make a deal then?” She choked out, panic welling in her, “Why promise to release those children if—if he didn’t think that we’d survive?”

“He means to use this quest as a means to remove us permanently,” Balin muttered lowly, his voice laced with contempt and weariness.

“But what if we DO succeed?” Fili inquired, his face contemplative, “What if Smaug IS defeated and we reclaim the mountain?”

“Then I’m certain the Master would collect on his debt, however high that may be.”

Thorin frowned and glared at the wizard, “It would appear that he never actually ‘settled’ on a price with our burglar. She did, however, agree to his conditions.”

“Ah..” Gandalf remarked shooting Lyla a pitying look, “And he used the children of Laketown to appeal to your better nature I’m assuming Master Baggins?”

Lyla didn’t say anything, her throat was tight.

She nodded.

Gandalf snorted. “Yes, well. Then at least we know what he plans to do should your quest succeeds.”

He leveled his gaze at Thorin, his lips pulled into a thin line as he studied the dwarf king carefully.

“Mark my words Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf muttered, “The Master of Laketown and whatever other alliances he has, mean to start a war, should your quest succeed.

“Bah!” Bofur exclaimed folding his arms together, “That’s a nasty bit of work right there, that’s certain.”

Thorin snorted, “That’s a foolhardy plan,” He muttered gazing around the quiet room, “No one can guarantee that the dragon Smaug will cooperate. What if he lays waste to Laketown? What if he kills The Master, the Easternlings. Everyone?”

Gandalf sighed again, “I agree that there is a chance that such desolation will happen. In fact, it seems rather likely that Smaug will retaliate and attack the surrounding peoples. However,” He fixed a firm look on Thorin, “I believe that The Master has unseen forces at work. And, there’s still this necromancer to contend with. If he IS summoning the dead, he certainly can appeal to a dragon.”

Gandalf leaned back in his chair, “They are not so uncooperative as you might suspect,” He ruminated, “Dragons are cunning and highly intelligent and will listen to reason if they get a bargain for it. And, since the enemy does not care for the gold within The Lonely Mountain, it might be easier to sway the dragon into allegiance. Think of it, if Smaug was given the chance to have free reign over the land, control over the people, without the worry that someone will attack his trove of glittering jewels, don’t you suppose he’d take that chance?”

Lyla’s head was spinning.

How could this be happening?

Things were falling apart.

“Why do the people not fight?” Dwalin demanded, his glare shifting between Gandalf and Bard. “Surely they’d risk the chance to get their children free and escape from The Master’s hold?”

Bard sighed, “They would.” He conceded, “But by the time they realized what was happening within the town, it was too late. We all trusted The Master, we all believed him to be a good man.” Bard snorted, “I believed he was a good man. But little by little, we were stripped of our goods, our food stores…our weapons. Many are too sick or too weak to defend themselves.” He gazed around at the company of dwarves, sorrow marring his features, “And then he took their children. It forced the people into near complete submission. They cannot hope to free their children, the pit is guarded constantly. And they cannot hope to fight The Easternlings while so ill equipped. It would be suicide.”

“And why have the elves not helped before now?” Dori countered, his face pulled into a look of anxious annoyance. “What has stopped them from marching against the Easternlings?”

“We’ve had our own evil to contend with,” Legolas remarked lowly, “Surely you remember the state Mirkwood was in?”

“So you abandoned these people, just as you abandoned the dwarves with they were forced from their homes when Smaug first came!” Thorin thundered, eyes filled with contempt.

“We did not know that the enemy was so far entrenched within the structure of Laketown, Thorin Oakenshield,” Legolas narrowed his eyes at the dwarf king before him, “And if you were not already aware, my father is not…as he once was.” Quite suddenly, Legolas’ gaze dropped and a thoughtful faraway look washed over him, “His thoughts have been clouded…until recently.”

Bright blue eyes locked onto Lyla’s face and a small smile formed on Legolas' lips, much to hobbit's confusion. What did she have to do with all this?

“We couldn’t do something then, but we CAN do something now.”

“But, what would happen if we didn’t enter the mountain?” Ori questioned quietly, his eyes betraying his trepidation.

“Then you would sentence those children to death,” Bard remarked, “Would you condemn the innocent?”

A heavy silence fell over the dwarves as they gazed at the floor. A heavy, invisible weight seemed to settle on each of their shoulders

This quest had taken a rather dark turn and more was at stake than just their lives.

“What are we to do then?” Lyla whispered, her eyes wide with trepidation, her heart pounding, stomach twisted into knots, “How are we to go about this whole…mess? We have to get them out…we can’t.” She sighed, trying to control her rolling emotions, “We can’t let harm come to those people. They are innocent. We-we just can’t!”

“That is why,” Gandalf remarked, a small smile on his face as he gazed fondly at the little hobbit, still bundled in Thorin’s coat sitting near the fire, “Legolas is here.”

“And,” Bard remarked, stepping forward, retrieving an item from his coat, “Why I have this.”

Resting in his hands was a thin, black arrow.

Chapter Text

Lyla sat, knees tucked to her chest with her hand resting under her chin as she stared out the window of her temporary bedroom. The light snow had turned into bitterly cold rain that pelted the window, obscuring her view of the muted houses and pitter pattered overhead like the gentle thrum of a drum.

Normally she’d find this calming. She used to sit like this as a little girl. She loved watching the rain fall from her own windows at home and marveled at the delightful scents that the rain always brought.

But today, the rain did nothing to ease her worries.

Lyla had begged to go upstairs after their longwinded strategy planning, which, frankly, left her head spinning.

She’d even foregone dinner, much to the surprise of many of the company members. They’d started to protest her request for solitude, until Bofur got a good look at her face.
He must have seen something akin to utter confusion and wearied panic in her eyes and the desperate need to be alone.

“Aye lass,” he had pulled Lyla into a tight, but brief hug, touching their foreheads together gently, before nudging her towards the staircase. “Of ye go. But we’ll be here if ye be needin’ anything.”

Lyla sighed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, sifting through the thoughts racing about in her head, trying to stop herself from sinking into a pool of despair that threatened to consume her.

The plan they’d devised was much the same as the original. At least for Lyla anyway. She would, as was always agreed, figure out some way to thwart Smaug and restore Thorin’s place back under The Lonely Mountain.

Of course that type of mission appeared nearly impossible to begin with. Lyla had no idea how to tackle a dragon. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what she’d be facing in a few day’s time.

Her elevated stress since leaving the Shire was to be expected. She was facing down a fire-breathing creature that could incinerate her (as Bofur had kindly put it). But she’d still signed that contract. She’d agreed to this foolhardy quest. She’d promised her services to aid a gaggle of dwarves.

She knew the consequences.

But now?

Fear niggled at her brain, doubt casting a long shadow over her thoughts as she stared out the window at the pattering rain and the growing darkness.
Now things were far more complicated.

Her role in this quest meant so much more than ever before.

And in that moment, Lyla never felt more exceptionally ordinary, inadequate and insignificant in her life.

There were families, men, women, and children, longing to be reunited with each other and to overthrow the wickedness permeating Laketown. They were relying on her to succeed.

They had to deal with The Master's sinister machinations.

The brute force of an evil race of men aligned with the desires of evil.

And a necromancer (whatever that was really).

Every time she closed her eyes Lyla could still see those little faces, tearstained and dirty, the large eyes, filled with terror gazing back at her, pleading with her to do something.

Sure Legolas had a (brilliant) plan in the works to free the children from The Master and Bard had his arrow, which could pierce through the hardest armor at a blindingly fast speed (or so he said).

But none of that mattered, if Lyla did not perform her duty.

‘You can’t really expect anything good to come from this mission’ the voice of doubt rang in her ears, making her cringe. ‘It’s a fool’s errand you are on. You’ll never really succeed.’

She wanted to refute these thoughts, cast them aside and brush off the growing unease in her heart.

But she was finding it rather difficult.

She was just an ordinary hobbit.

She had no special skills. No talents that were useful in these types of situations. Even after all she’d been through: The trolls, Azog, Mirkwood…she shuddered and cast the thoughts aside as soon as they entered her head.

It’d been foolish luck that had preserved her. Perhaps that's why she was feeling so completely unprepared for the road ahead. She'd survived this long on unexpected Tookish luck.

And now, with more at stake than ever before, what could she really do to assist in this mission?

Lyla sighed.

Aule, what had she been thinking when she signed that contract?

Of course she’d never refuse to complete her task. First and foremost, she was a Baggins and Bagginses did NOT go back on their word. But more important to her than that was the fact that she couldn’t leave those children and the dwarves to suffer when she could at least TRY to help. She’d made a promise.

A promise that she intended to keep.

But she half wondered if perhaps Gandalf had been wrong in his recommendation of this little hobbit lass.

“Such disparaging thoughts are hardly worth your time Lyla Baggins.”

Lyla’s head jerked upwards in surprise and she turned to see Gandalf’s tall silhouette standing in her doorway. He leaned heavily on his staff, his eyes half closed as he watched her, his brows furrowed and assessing.

And in his hands he held a small, steaming cup of tea.

Lyla stared at the wizard in astonishment (though really she shouldn’t have been so surprised) and wondered how he could guess her thoughts to accurately.

With a small smile, Gandalf eased his way into her room and handed her the cup of tea as he lowered himself tiredly into the chair closest to her bed. "It would also appear that your companions are a bit concerned for your well being. And even if you hide away from their concerned gazes, they're quite determined to see to your health” he remarked, his eyes shifting between watching her face and gazing at the warm cup in her hands.

“Ah.” Lyla replied knowingly, setting the cup of tea aside. No doubt Oin had put a draught in the cup to ease her into sleep. A flicker of warmth wound its way around her heart at the thought of the dwarves for showing such a fierce loyalty to one who was not even a member of their race.

Sometimes she still couldn't fathom why they cared about her, even as she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. Something she hadn't felt in a long time.

“You know,” Gandalf remarked with a false cheerfulness as he set his staff aside and leaned forward to gaze at the small hobbit sitting on the bed, “I’ve come to find that hobbits are most remarkable creatures, though they themselves don’t seem to agree.”

At the curious look she gave him, Gandalf only smiled wider,“I can see your thoughts written on your face, my dear,” He answered lightly.
Lyla snorted derisively at his comment.

“Hobbits most certainly are NOT all that remarkable Gandalf. Particularly the Bagginses. You’d met my father. And you’ve certainly been to The Shire. You know how hobbits think and feel. Especially about adventures.”

Even as she tried to remain lighthearted, the crushing weight of doubt pressed upon her as her mind clung to the truthfulness of the statement.
She most certainly was not remarkable.

However, a small, genuine smile worked its way onto Gandalf’s face. “And yet, here you sit. It would seem to me that you don’t follow the standards of an ordinary hobbit.”

Lyla sighed but returned the smile half-heartedly. “I’ll have you know, that before you came along, this Baggins was entirely respectable, thank you. Before you came along I was very well thought of.”

“Indeed?” Gandalf quirked an eyebrow at her.

Lyla nodded her head emphatically, “Yes, indeed. I never had any adventures or did anything unexpected.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Indeed not. Though, I seem to remember a young hobbit who would have loved nothing more than to learn what was beyond the borders of the Shire. A young hobbit was always off in search of elves in the woods, and who would come home after dark trailing mud and twigs and fireflies.” He leaned back and his smile broadened, “I appears to me that you are far more Took than you are Baggins.”

“And what good has that done me?” She muttered, casting her eyes to the floor. “I’m stubborn to be sure and foolhardy for coming on this adventure, but Took blood doesn’t give me any special talent to help on this quest.” Lyla sighed, “I don’t know what I was thinking honestly. Perhaps I should have never run out my door Gandalf.” She pulled her eyes upward and met the wizened face with a look of frustrated worry. She didn’t want him to know her doubts and fears. “I’m so afraid that I’ll let them down. That it was a mistake to even consider me for this quest. And I couldn’t bear it if-if someone suffered because of my failure.” She sighed, “Perhaps you’ve picked the wrong hobbit.”

“Indeed I do not believe that,” Gandalf remarked, his voice firm, eyes flashing. “Did you know that your Great-great-great-great Uncle Bullroarer Took was so large that he could ride a real horse?”

“Yes.”

“Well he could! At the battle of Greenfields, he charged the goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard that it knocked the goblin king’s head clean off and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole.”

“But I don’t see what this has to do with me Gandalf,” Lyla remarked.

The Grey Wizard only chuckled, “The same spirit and courage that coursed through his blood also flows in you. You have a lot more to offer than even you know. There’s a great deal more to you than meets the eye and that, my dear hobbit, gives us a distinct advantage.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a warrior or…or someone who KNEW how to contend against a dragon?”

“Are you saying that you do not wish to fulfill the contract?” Gandalf’s eyes flashed with surprise as he gazed at Lyla.

“No!” She remarked a blush covering her cheeks as guilt coursed through her for having giving Gandalf that thought, “No that’s not it at all. I just…” Lyla sighed again, “I just I don’t want to let anyone down. I couldn’t bear it. There are so many people counting on me and what have I got to recommend myself for this task?”

Lyla ruffled her curls in frustration, trying to press the terror that threatened to consume her aside. Where was this doubt coming from? After dealing with a hard-headed dwarf king whose words tore at her and demeaned her abilities, stumbling her way through escaping from trolls, wargs, orcs, spiders and even an Elven kingdom, she had still stood firm in her belief that she was the right person for this quest.

And now, when the dwarves (ALL the dwarves) were showing her the love and companionship she’d not known since she was a faunt, now she was feeling doubt, feeling inferior.

Why?

“You know,” The Grey Wizard remarked thoughtfully, “There are some who would say that it is only great power that can hold evil in check.” He smiled at Lyla, “But that is not what I have found. I’ve found it is the small things…everyday deeds of ordinary folk…that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love.”

“Why?” Lyla ventured hesitantly, “Why me?”

“Why you Lyla Baggins?” Gandalf smiled, “Perhaps it is because I am afraid…and you give me courage. Do not let the fear of the unknown rule your heart, Lyla Baggins,” Gandalf admonished, his tone kind, “It is a tool of the adversary. Trust yourself. You do not need the skills of another to complete this quest. You have your wits. You’ll do quite well. Believe me.”

He reached over and patted Lyla on the head before rising.

“And I suggest you drink that tea before you have a swarm of dwarves after you.”

He sent a wink her way and produced a biscuit from the some hidden pocket in his cloak, setting the flaky morsel down near her saucer.

Lyla gave a small smile and lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the rich aroma with the subtle, bitter undercurrent.

Chapter Text

Lyla slowly sipped her tea, marveling at the small tendrils of warmth that spread through her body, filling her chest and moving towards her fingers and toes.

She hadn’t realized how cold she felt until the warmth from the tea started to spread outward, making her feel a fuzzy contentedness that started to ebb at the darkened fear that held a firm grip her emotions.

Soon her eyes were drooping, the muffled hums of Gandalf’s rich voice fading into the background as she slowly sank down among the pillows, marveling at their soft, inviting presence.

She half wondered if they gave her too much draught again like in Rivendell, as she slowly slipped into a peaceful oblivion.

*****

Gandalf watched Lyla’s rather rapid descent into slumber with a mixture of amusement and worry. His hums diminished as he noted the heavy shadows under her eyes and her gaunt expression.

She wasn’t getting enough sleep. And he supposed, logically, that it was due to nightmares.

It made sense of course. The hobbit had been through quite a lot.

A lot more than he had ever anticipated when he’d recommended the little Shireling for this adventure.

The Grey Wizard sighed and watched the soft rise and fall of blonde lump curled under the blankets, a fond smile on his lips as he recalled another young hobbit lass who ran off on an adventure with the tall Grey-clad Wizard.

Yes, Belladonna Took’s daughter was just like her mother.

He could see the bright, cheerful adventurous sparkle in Lyla’s eye, even though it had been dimmed by some unfortunate events of late. He also noticed the resolute nature of her decision to go through with the rest of this quest. She was determined to see it through. And while he knew that the Baggins side of her wanted to do this to keep a promise (something Bagginses were notorious for), Gandalf also suspected that her Tookish nature wanted to complete this mission just to know she could be brave and do the right thing, even in the face of insurmountable odds.

But, that wild Tookish streak was tempered with a calm, witty, resourcefulness that the Baggins family inherited in abundance. What Lyla lacked in weapons skills or sheer strength, she certainly made up for in quick thinking. Of course, the Tooks were no slouches when it came to intelligence, but the Baggins family held a certain refined method of planning and logic that Lyla seemed to grasp onto, even when the plans themselves were more Tookish by nature.

Gandalf shook his head in wonder at the small, seemingly ordinary little creature who was anything BUT ordinary.

What a force this little hobbit was.

The smile slipped slowly from Gandalf’s face as he peered closer at the sleeping creature. His gaze turned thoughtful, his eyes straining to decipher, his ears listening intently. He could hear a low thrumming coming from the Hobbit’s form. Gandalf narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, closer to Lyla. Something was…
Odd

It almost appeared, to the wizard’s eyes as if thing black tendrils were slowly circling around Lyla’s left hand, thing threads of blackness, slowly inching their way up the hobbit’s arm.

But when Gandalf blinked, it was gone.

And then a soft knock sounded at the door.

Gandalf quickly catalogued the information away.

He’d think on these things when more pressing matters were taken care of.

He turned to see Ori, Bifur and Bofur standing quietly in the doorway, their questioning, worried gazes, giving Gandalf a pleasant reminder that the hobbit was well cared for.

He smiled and nodded his head, gesturing for the trio to come into the room.

*****

The silence downstairs was palpable as Thorin stewed by the fire.

The other dwarves (barring the three who’d gone upstairs to fetch Gandalf and check on the little hobbit) milled around the large room, quietly conversing with one another and sorting through the minimal supplies they had in their possession.

But there was none of the usual raucous laughter or light hearted banter that had become a trademark amongst the company. Everyone seemed to feel the weight of the situation.

And Thorin was having a difficult time keeping his emotions in check.

The new plans and knowledge he’d gained in the last few hours swirled through his mind like angry hornets, attacking every thought and feeling he had.

It was no longer just about recovering their home.

It was about protecting those who could not protect themselves.

Children.

By Mahal, The Master was using children as pawns to further his vain desires.

Children!

A fierce hatred burned through Thorin’s blood when Lyla had revealed that information. And it made sense that she agreed so quickly to meet The Master’s demands.
He might have done the same thing, had he been in that situation.

Thorin turned towards the staircase and noted that Gandalf was returning downstairs, Bofur, Bifur and Ori trailing behind him slowly, trying to remain as silent as possible.

Lyla was still upstairs.

A low growl escaped his lips as he thought of how The Master had kidnapped and manipulated Lyla, twisting her good nature to suit his purposes. He had seen the potential the first time he laid on eyes on the hobbit, Thorin wasn’t stupid. She radiated a gentle compassion, even he could see that.

That’s why Thorin had been trying to keep her here. She was far safer here than anywhere else in town.

Only, that stubborn little hobbit didn’t realize that until AFTER she’d been captured.

The foolish little…

“She’s resting now, Thorin Oakenshield, so you can stop scowling at the staircase if you please.” Gandalf murmured coming to sit across from the dwarf king, a soft smile playing on his lips. “She quite alright, I can assure you.”

Thorin turned his scowl towards the nosy wizard but said nothing.

His eyes darted to the staircase again and he felt his leg twitch.

Balin’s low chuckle reached his ears.

“You were starin’ again Laddie,” He remarked with a clear joviality in his voice.

Thorin turned his gaze away from the staircase to frown at Balin (and consequently, every other dwarf in the room within in earshot of the comment)

He was not staring.

That was absurd.

“I was just thinking,” he muttered, his voice low.

And it was true. He had only been thinking.

Thinking about those frightened hazel eyes, wide and endlessly captivating. The words tumbling from the hobbit’s lips that something terrible, truly terrible had forced her to make such a deal with The Master.

“She shouldn’t have been placed in this situation,” he ground out, shooting an angry, though sympathetic look towards Bard, “She should never have become a pawn like this.”

“Yes, I agree,” Gandalf remarked, his voice holding a bitter edge, “But evil strikes at what they find to be a convenient advantage.”

Thorin bristled at that comment, “She’s more than just an advantage for the enemy wizard,”

And Gandalf smirked at the flustered dwarf before him.

“I never suggested otherwise. What I was going to say, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling, “Was that the enemy has clearly underestimated our hobbit.”

Oh.

Well.

Yes.

“That’s true,” he conceded, averting his eyes from the wizard’s face.

And Balin’s face too.

“So you mean to tell me that the hobbit is truly going to confront the dragon?” Bard sounded incredulous as he gazed around the room in wonder, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I knew that you were all fond of her. That’s why I suspected The Master’s intentions to use her as leverage. But, I never thought…so the plan, her part…?” he trailed off.
He gazed over at Legolas. Curious brown eyes met calm blue ones. And then Legolas nodded.

“She’s really the only one who can do this, I’m afraid,” The elf remarked with a light sigh.

And Thorin bristled again..

But this time he wasn’t the only one.

“Oi, that hobbit is more than qualified to contend against the dragon!” Bofur exclaimed, his normally cheerful demeanor replaced with a granite stare.

“Do you doubt the hobbit’s abilities?” Thundered Dwalin, his face contorted into an angry scowl.

“If I recall correctly,” Thorin snorted, leveling his gaze at Legolas, “That hobbit saved your father’s life, did she not?”

Legolas let out a small smile, “Twice in fact. And my own as well. And you mistook my meaning.” Legolas eyed the dwarves carefully, “Though it pleases me that you are all so protective of the small creature.”

Legolas turned back towards Bard, who still wore a confused and suspicious expression on his face.

“What I mean, Bard of Laketown,” Legolas remarked, smiling at the bowman, “Is that despite the dangers that we’re placing her in, though I would prefer not to, Lyla Baggins is the only one who can complete that part of the task.”

“I don’t understand,” Bard confessed, his eyes wary of the dwarves around him, “Surely you won’t send her in there alone. Why can we not send someone else?”

“You must trust me on this,” Gandalf stated lowly, his eyes staring down the bowman, “Hobbits are incredibly light on their feet,” Gandalf interjected, gazing at the bowman who stood in the far corner of the room. “In fact they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is most certainly accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him.”

“And before it gets any later,” Gandalf remarked cutting off Bard’s protest, “Let us finish our preparations. Legolas and myself must be gone before first light if we are to be successful.”

*****

Thorin sat in the chair nearest to Lyla’s bed and watched with rapt fascination as the hobbit slept, her breathing slow and steady, the gentle rise and fall of her chest bringing him a sense of relief and comfort.

He and Dwalin had retreated up here while the rest of the company got what little rest they could before they were summoned in the morning to head towards The Lonely Mountain.

Thorin knew that he would get no rest this night. His mind was too caught up in plans and anticipation for the journey ahead.

And worry.

Worry for the citizens of Laketown (the children specifically)

But also worry for a little hobbit who seemed to carry the weight of this quest on her shoulders, and hers alone.

His eyes swept over the golden curls that had grown longer since the start of their journey, and noted with a pleased eye how they gently framed the delicate face of the sleeping hobbit. He took careful consideration of the flushed cheeks and silently thanked Oin’s foresight to give her a draught. His gaze caught hold of the dark circles bruising the fair skin beneath the hobbit’s eyes and he inwardly cringed at the amount of sleep she must have lost to acquire such prominent markings.

And then Lyla sighed, her lips puckering and parting as she turned inward, burrowing deeper into the covers of the blanket, nestling her cheek against the soft fabric. But then her brow furrowed and a frown worked its way on her face.

Thorin watched the hobbit wrinkle her nose and clench her fists as small unintelligible murmurs escaped her lips. Without a second thought, he leaned forward and gently grasped Lyla’s small hand in his own, rubbing small circles across her wrist and the back of her hand.

Thorin’s eyes were riveted on the hobbit and he forgot that Dwalin was in the room with him for a moment.
Until the warrior dwarf started to chuckle startling the dwarf king.

Thorin gazed at his closest friend a little embarrassed (though he steeled his expression into a stoic mask) as he pulled away from Lyla, who had stilled again, her features smoothing into a contented peace that deep sleep usually provided.

“Aye she’s a fair one to be sure,” Dwalin remarked quietly, a small, fond smile on his face as he cast a look at the sleeping creature.

He rubbed a cloth carefully over the small sheath of Lyla’s sword, removing the mud and debris coating the delicate leather.

Then his gaze hardened as he turned his attention towards the dwarf king. “And if ye hurt her, I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”

Thorin eyed Dwalin carefully.

Of course he’d never hurt her.

The thought was absurd. He’d made amends for his wrongdoings. He knew, now, just how foolish he’d been.

He cared about her.

“I’ll not make that mistake again,” Thorin murmured in reply, “She is a member of this company. She deserves to be protected.”

But the words felt wrong in his mouth as he spoke.

She was more than that. She was more than just a member of the company.

She meant more than that.

His gaze drifted back towards the sleeping hobbit and a soft smile graced his lips as he sat, content to watch the hobbit sleep peacefully.

“Givashel,” he murmured absently, brushing away one of Lyla’s wayward golden locks from her forehead.

Yes.

That sounded better.

That was a fitting name for someone so remarkable.

Yes. He liked that name very much for her.

But he didn’t notice the way that Dwalin’s brows rose in surprise even as a smirk rose to the warrior’s lips.

*****

The Master of Laketown sat near the window of his bedchamber, fiddling with a small rolled piece of parchment, a sinister smirk played on his lips as he waited.

Waited for the news he was certain would reach his ears.

A loud pounding on his door brought a brighter smile to his face as he set the rolled parchment gingerly down on his desk.

“Enter.”

A rather stout guard marched into the large, warm room, his face mottled and pocked with the marks of sickness, hair scraggly and patchy at best.

A rotten toothy grin was spread across his face.

“We’ve found it m’lord.” He hissed lowly, nodding towards The Master.

The Master clapped his hands together delightedly and rose slowly to his feet. “Splendid! Where?”

“About a league up the river.”

The Master chuckled, “Perfect! Simply perfect.”

All the pieces were falling into place.

Yes. His plan was coming together nicely.

Very nicely.

Then he put his fingers to his lips and whistled.

A rather large black bird entered through the window and perched on the back of The Master’s chair waiting patiently.

The leader of Laketown gathered his rolled parchment and carefully attached the missive to the leg of the large black crow, paying careful attention to tying the knots securely.
He didn’t want this letter to go astray.

Satisfied with his work, he gave the large black bird a small pat on its head.

“Now, go back to your master. Inform him of the delightful news I have enclosed in this letter.”

With a low ‘caw’ the bird hopped around and retreated back out the window, its large black wings flapping silently through the darkened skies.

The Master stood, hands behind his back as he grinned staring at the town below him.

Yes. Things were coming along perfectly.

Chapter Text

“When will you return?” Bard’s low voice prickled through the still air like the quiet crackle of a log consumed by flame. He stood near the door and stared at Gandalf and Legolas expectantly, the grip on his bow tight, his knuckles white from the strain.

He was, understandably worried.

The sun was just starting to lighten the sky—soft shades of pink and peach beginning to peek over the horizon—and the elf and wizard were making their quiet escape before they were noticed by the guards who were undoubtedly on their way to rouse the sleeping company of dwarves.

“Three days. At most.” Gandalf remarked, “It will take at least a day for the company to get up to the doorway and Durin’s Day is not yet upon us for a few more days. They’ll have to wait until the last light casts its shadow over the keyhole. Then, and only then, will the door be opened.”

‘And they will unleash the beast’ Bard thought morosely, anxiety swirling in his head, ‘It could destroy us all.’

Gandalf placed a warm hand on the bowman’s shoulder, a soft smile on his face, “Do not fear. There is yet still time.”

Bard gave a quick nod to the grey wizard. There was still time, it was true, and even though he’d rather leave the dragon well enough alone, he knew with The Master’s insistence on the matter, they didn’t have much choice anymore.

The hobbit would have to fulfill her task.

And he would have to fulfill his, especially should the dragon descend upon Laketown.

Bard then turned his attention to the golden-haired elf. “You’ll take care of him? Don’t let any hardship befall my son.”

Legolas mimicked Gandalf’s movements and placed a comforting hand on Bard’s shoulder.

“He will be quite safe,” the elf remarked. “They all will.”

Bard gave Legolas a stern, leveled look, “I will hold you to your word, then,” his voice was hard, firm.

Legolas bowed his head gently towards the bowman, “Let it be an oath then,” He murmured gently, his blue eyes conveying the truth behind his words as he slipped through the door, behind Gandalf.

Bard was left standing, staring at the dark grey wood, memorizing each indentation, each divot, crack and imperfection of the doorframe, and listening to the low murmur of conversation in the other room.

“Let it be an oath then,” he whispered.

*****
“Mistress Boggins!”

Lyla groaned lowly as her eyes fluttered. Her head felt heavy, like a lead weights were attached to her ears, pulling her back towards the darkened oblivion of silence.

“Mistress Boggins!” Kili hissed again “You have to get up. The Master’s coming.”

Lyla’s eyes flew open at that statement and she gazed up, drowsily, into the large brown eyes of the youngest Durin.

His gazed was worried, his face pulled into a frown.

“Durin’s beard, how much draught did they give you?” he questioned warily, tugging on the hobbit’s arms until she was in a sitting position.

Lyla blinked a few times to try and clear her head, but it felt so dull and compacted together.

It felt heavy.

And she didn’t feel at all rested.

True she didn’t dream (something she WAS grateful for), but she didn’t really get a true sleep.

She had just been pulled under the effects of a concoction meant to induce sleep, and a heavy sleep at that.

Though…a thought niggled at her brain.

She could have sworn that something soft had brushed against her cheek and forehead while she slept…

“We’ll have to blame uncle for that one,” Fili interjected, pulling the covers off of Lyla’s still unmoving form. He cast the hobbit an apologetic look, “I’m sorry you can’t sleep longer, Mahal knows you need it, but we have to get ready.”

“I-“ she yawned, surprising herself, “I understand.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hopped to her feet, nearly toppling as her balance worked to catch up with her movements.

Both brothers steadied her with light chuckles.

And then a loud banging noise sounded from downstairs and the trio stiffened for a moment, their eyes darting between one another.

Kili bolted for the door, tugging Lyla’s arm, forcing her to stumble after him down the stairs, with Fili hot on her heels.

The sight that greeted them downstairs made Lyla’s stomach coil in dread.

“Ah! The sleeping beauty has awoken I see!” The Master’s greasy voice slithered over her ears, as the man himself stood in the doorway of the small house, his round figure decorated in bright yellow and oranges.

He gave Lyla a large toothy grin.

She cringed and Kili came to stand in front of her, blocking The Master’s view.

“Best to leave this one alone,” Fili remarked, pushing Lyla gently behind him as well so that the brothers acted as a barrier. His voice was dangerously low, “You’ve already made enemies of this company by kidnapping her once. Don’t think that we’ll take kindly to any further harassment.”

A low murmur rose amongst the dwarves.

Lyla felt a light pressure on her shoulder and turned her face upwards to see Thorin standing near her, his face frozen into a scowl.

“What business might you have here then?” he ground out, the low timbre of his voice gruff with disapproval as he addressedd The Master.

The Master just laughed his chin wobbling with each movement is mouth made. “My, what fierce companions you have here little Halfling! No wonder they were so quick to agree to my demands. Indeed I chose wisely did I not?”

Lyla peeked through the gap between Fili and Kili’s shoulders and noted The Master’s face peering back at her, his beady eyes locked onto her face.

She tensed and averted her gaze her hand clenching into a small fist at her side.

The Master chuckled again, his voice echoing through the silent room.

“Well, as to my ‘business’ here, if you will,” The Master remarked taking a step forward, “I’ve come to collect you lovely creatures and send you on your way. We have provisions and your weapons waiting for you in the boats along the outer docks. If you’ll but follow me then.”

The Master stopped for a moment and let his smile widen, “Oh but I’m forgetting something!” He chortled lowly, “Miss…Baggins, was it?” He turned his head to peer around Fili and
Kili at the small hobbit who stood cocooned by dwarves. She didn’t miss the way his eyebrow quirked at Thorin’s grip on her shoulder.

He smirked at her.

“Yes, Miss Baggins, if you’ll kindly follow me, I’ve got something rather…special to show you.

Thorin’s grip tightened on Lyla’s Shoulder and he yanked her backwards as the rest of the Dwarves surged around, standing in a firm line against The Master.

“Ye’ll not be touchin’ her” Dwalin snarled stepping forward, brandishing Lyla’s sword as he did so.

The Master’s guards sprang to attention and thrust their weapons towards Dwalin, forcing the dwarf to stop his advancement or be impaled by spears and swords.
The Master only chuckled again.

“Brilliant,” He remarked regarding Lyla again, “Simply marvelous, really. How you managed to secure the loyalty of so many, little hobbit, is a truly remarkable thing. And! And you managed to hide a weapon from me.” The man smiled, his greasy face contorted into a sickeningly pleased face.

“My, my, I must learn your secrets!” he appraised clapping his hands together in approval, “And one day I believe I shall! But come little darling, let’s not make this harder than it needs to be shall we? Are you not fond of your dwarf here, even if he has got a dagger to defend himself with?”

Lyla bristled and narrowed her eyes, trying to pull herself from Thorin’s grip, though it was a difficult process.

“Yes, alright,” she remarked finally stepping forward, pushing her way through the dwarves who were glowering at The Master and his guard.

Lyla stepped forward and met the sickeningly pleasant gaze of the leader of Laketown.

The man who would kill without a second thought.

The hobbit squared her shoulders and stepped closer, pushing her doubts from the previous evening deep down inside of her.

“Lead on.”

“Excellent,” The Master remarked and with a nod of his head, the guards lowered their weapons and stepped back.

The Master grabbed onto Lyla’s thin wrist and tugged her through the doorway.

The dwarves weren’t far behind, their indignant cries bouncing around the hobbit’s head.

*****
Lyla was seething.

Absolutely seething.

Even as her heart was breaking.

Standing before her and the rest of the company were five tiny figures, dressed in dirty raggedy clothing, their ankles shackled together as they held provisions in their grasp, with more pooling at their feet.

Wide, frightened eyes gazed back at the hobbit and the company of dwarves.

Lyla noted the thin cheekbones, the vacant despondency that these little children exuded.

And her fury burned brighter.

She sent a withering glare up at The Master and kicking the man in the shin.

“Ah I see you’re rather delighted with this sight,” he retorted cheekily without so much as a flinch of acknowledgment, “Yes, indeed, these little…helpers have collected everything you’ll be needing for your journey. You know,” His eyes flashed amusedly, “The townsfolk were most willing to assist in providing the necessary material for your endeavors.”

Lyla gaped at the man before her, disgusted by his behavior as she yanked her hand from his grasp.

Or tried to at least.

The Master’s thick, sweaty hands tightened around her wrist painfully, making Lyla wince.

That was enough to send the dwarves into an uproar.

“Let go of her!” Dori and Ori demanded stepping forward.

They were met with spear tips pointed at their throats.

Thorin and Balin tried to step forward as well, only to be met with a terrifying sight.

Not only were enough guards surrounding the dwarves, but enough were also standing by the five little shivering children shackled together.

These guards had their swords out and at the ready.

Lyla’s breath caught in her throat.

“Stop!” she hissed trying to pull away, her eyes narrowing at The Master, “Just stop!”

The round man just laughed again, the timbre of his voice grating on Lyla’s nerves.

“Oh fear not little Halfling,” He admonished patting Lyla on the head again (she shrank away from his touch). “I don’t intend to hurt them…if you comply with my demands that is. Think of these little children as a…reminder of our bargain.”

“As if I could forget it,” she muttered darkly, eyes narrowed, “I’d never forget what I saw.”

“Indeed, I should hope not! Wouldn’t want those little children to suffer now would we?” He pulled Lyla forward again and bent down until his face was inches from her own.

Gone was his disturbingly cheerful smile and in its place as a truly frightening, crazed look. The Master’s eyes flashed with a coldness that left Lyla inwardly shuddering as he bared his teeth at the small hobbit before him.

“If I recall correctly, an elf was with you when you first arrived,” The Master remarked, “And my guardsmen tell me that this same elf tried to help you escape when we first…acquired your attention.”

The man squeezed Lyla’s wrist tightly, and brought their faces closer together.

“If anything,” He snarled, “Anything at all, should go awry, or if any…surprises… should spring up, do not think I won’t hesitate to kill them. And their deaths shall rest on your head. Remember that.”

Lyla glowered and said nothing.

“Now! Dwarves, to the boats,” The pompous man remarked, his grip on Lyla’s wrist as firm as ever. “Once you’re all safely in your boats and out of dock, then will I release the little hobbit here into another boat.”

Thorin growled, “You will do no such thing!” he snarled, shoving one of the guards out of the way as he charged forward.

Another guard grabbed one of the children by the scruff of his shirt and brought his sword up to the small struggling child’s throat.

Just as The Master brought forth a dagger of his own and placed the blade delicately against Lyla’s own throat.

She stilled instantly, her eyes going wide.

She hadn’t expected that.

But she really should have.

“I suggest,” The Master’s voice dripped with disdain, “that you do as I say, lest you lose a member of your company.” And then The Master scoffed, “And even if you were to succeed in besting these men here, I have many more stationed throughout the town, waiting for any sort of disturbance to carry out my orders. Remember…those little children are still under my control. Do not think I won’t use that advantage.”

Thorin’s eyes were blazing with fury as he gazed between Lyla, The Master and the young boy being held captive by one of the guards. Lyla was silently pleading with the dwarf king to relent. She was certain that the horrid man would live up to his threats if provoked long enough.

And, without his weapons, Thorin did not have the upper hand in this battle.

‘Please’ she silently whispered, ‘Just go. Into the boat. Please. Don’t let them hurt that boy.’

Thorin’s eyes locked onto Lyla for another moment. He studied her face carefully and then with a sigh, stepped back in submission.

“Good! Very very good!” The Master crooned, never lowering the blade from Lyla’s throat, “Now, all of you into the boat, and be quick about it if you’d please. Daylight is wasting and I’ll not have this mission delayed any more thank you.”

With a nod of his head, he gestured to the boat nearest to the dwarves and one by one they company filed into the boat, but before Bofur could get into the vessel The Master called him to halt.

A guard pushed the hatted dwarf backwards, causing Bofur to snarl in annoyance and Bifur to rise from his seat in the boat.

“If Master Bard will kindly get into the boat and be their guide, I shall send the hobbit, her friend here and the weapons and other supplies along once you are further out in the water,” The Master remarked as another guard shoved Bard forward and into the boat, nearly sending the Bowman sprawling into the water. “You’ll be able to all gather into one boat once you’re a good distance away from shore.”

Thorin and the others growled in contempt but seated themselves as Bard took up the oars.

*****
“I’m beginning to think,” the bowman remarked as he helped Lyla into the boat while some of the other dwarves scrambled to gather their weapons and the supplies that Bofur and Lyla’s vessel had brought over, “That you do, in fact, attract quite a bit of trouble.”

“Aye that’s true enough, Gloin remarked in agreement earning a few sniggers and a few annoyed snarls from the group crammed together in the boat. “The lass can’t seem to find a safe place to set her feet! Certainly keeps things interesting, aye lass?”

Lyla shot the bowman and the ginger dwarf a glare as she settled near Kili and Nori, wrapping her arms around herself she keep the bitter wind at bay.

“It’s not my fault,” She muttered contemptuously, “None of this ever happened in The Shire. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this until I came on this accursed adventure.”
She let out a puff of air, running her hand through her knotted curls.

“You know, we have a saying in The Shire. ‘Remember your homeland and never travel East.’”

Bard snorted as he took up his oars again, as the rest of the dwarves settled back, divvying up their weapons while casting glances between Lyla and Bard.
Kili had wrapped his arms around Lyla’s shoulders to keep her warm.

“Tell me then, master hobbit, WHY did you travel East then?”

Lyla sighed, but smiled softly as she gazed at the bottom of the boat.

“I don’t rightly know,” She finally remarked as she settled against Kili’s side and further down from the wind, “I can certainly see why such advice would be given…” She trailed off and then looked up at the bowman watching her curiously, “With men like The Master roaming about, who would want to travel Eastward? And then her gaze turned thoughtful as a half smiled fondly.

“Though I suppose it’s because I’m not like most other hobbits. And, I have a wizard to blame as well.”

Then the smile slipped slowly from her lips as she cast her eyes back towards shore. She could make out The Master still standing on the dock, his full guard along with him.
But her eyes were pulled towards the five little figures huddled together, peering out onto the water, watching the company row away.

She hoped, desperately so, that Legolas and Gandalf would be successful in their mission.

But for now, she had to stay positive and focused on her own tasks. She had to confront a dragon.

She had to do it for her dwarves and for those children.

She had to.

“We’ll get them to safety,” She whispered, more to herself than anyone else, trying to reassure herself of her abilities.

‘Alright then Lyla, best foot forward. You have children needing you. Counting on you. You can’t let them down.”

She squared her shoulders and hardened her gaze, determination coursing through her veins.

‘We can do this.’

She gave one last fleeting glimpse at the shrinking persons standing on the dock before turning her gaze towards the growing visage of a snowcapped mountain.

Chapter Text

There were a great deal many more guards than Legolas had originally anticipated.

Much to his chagrin.

He should have been more aware of things.

But nothing was making any sense of late.

He’d gotten through town easily enough, his light footsteps making it easy to slip over rooftops unnoticed.

Gandalf, too, had no trouble navigating the winding walkways, listening to the cues that Legolas would whistle lowly down towards him.

It was easy to get out of town.

Far too easy.

But, it was the woodlands, back on dry ground and heading back towards his father’s halls, that left Legolas surprised.

Men were everywhere, slowly maneuvering through the foliage, searching for something.

Or someone.

Of course being an elf, and a woodland elf at that, had its advantages. The woods were his home. He knew how to remain as silent as a rabbit, and well out of sight.

But the fact that the men were patrolling the woods was rather disconcerting.

He shot a glance towards Gandalf and met with the wizard’s concerned face.

They needed to hurry to his father.

*****
“You are a fool Thranduil,” Gandalf admonished, his eyes narrowed, “You condemn those children to death if you stand idly by and do nothing!”

The sun had not yet reached midday when they’d crested the hill and the elf saw the high walls of the gate surrounding his home.

Legolas had been relieved to see Tauriel with Bard’s young son Bain when he returned to the halls.

He had enlisted her help when he’d first snuck back into the halls, after the hobbit had taken ill and he suspected something foul permeating the town of men.

And Tauriel had watched over the whole proceedings down in Laketown and made sure that Bain had escaped from any on-looking guards. She’d warned him of the other guards and, thus, prevented the elf from being captured as well.

Legolas was grateful to Tauriel’s Loyalty to the cause against evil. Because of her willingness to assist him, an innocent boy was well protected.
However…

He hadn’t been relieved to see his father standing behind them, a thoughtful frown on his face as his son made his way back towards home.

“What care I for the men of Laketown?” Thranduil hissed, glaring at Gandalf, “I have my own battles to fight here. If evil has spread to Laketown, it is none of my concern. “

Gandalf scoffed, “It IS your concern if the enemy should overthrow all your allies, leaving you more weakened than you already are.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed and stepped down from his dias, “Do not think that I do not know that the dwarves reside there. I know the people of Laketown have aided those who, by right, deserve to be locked in my halls.”

Thranduil’s piercing blue eyes for his son’s and he glowered at the young elf who stood near the grey wizard.

“And you aided them. You aided their escape!” he accused a frown marring the elf king’s perfect features, “I did not know that my own son preferred to be a wizard’s pupil instead of honor bound to obeying his father and king.”

Legolas’ eyes widened and then narrowed.

His father was still influenced by the tainted spirit pervading the forest.

Even after all that had transpired?

“If you recall correctly, father, the dwarves had already escaped before I was involved with anything. I only helped the hobbit.”

Thranduil’s eye twitched ever so slightly at that statement.

“Ah yes, the hobbit…” the elf king trailed off, “Tell me, why you did assist when I requested you detain the creature?”

“You remember the counsel we were given shortly before the dwarves arrived. She needed to be protected.”

Thranduil scoffed, but his fury had dimmed somewhat.

Instead it was replaced by a curiosity that seeped into his gaze.

“She?” he questioned.

“Yes.” Legolas remarked slowly, still wary of his father’s reactions, “She. Lyla Baggins of the Shire. And SHE needs our help.”

Thranduil’s gaze hardened again, “Why should I help her? I did not believe Galadriel’s words when she spoke them, why would I trust them now?” He frowned, “And, it would seem that the hobbit is lacking in some wit to embroil herself into the quests of others.”

“She had no choice in this matter, Ada,” Legolas murmured heatedly, his eyes fixed on his father.

The father he didn’t know or understand.

“She’s being manipulated,” Bain cut in, much to the elves’ surprise. Legolas regarded the young boy with his curly mop of brown hair and thin cheeks with curiosity and interest, admiring his bravery.

“She was kidnapped and then forced to meet with The Master, just like my father.” The young boy swallowed and cringed, “They tricked him and they took her away. I know they brought them down into the cave where the children are.”

“She could have said no, young one,” Thranduil admonished, eyes bright and flashing with indignation, “She could have merely stayed home in the West and never had to deal with all this. She brings trouble with her.”

“Now that is quite enough of that!” Gandalf thundered, stepping in front of Legolas, “It was I who suggested the hobbit for this mission to reclaim The Lonely Mountain. I am the one who set the dwarves on their way. And I still maintain the goodness of this quest.”

Legolas watched with rapt attention as the grey wizard stepped forth, his presence growing in power as he stared down the king.

“And could you, oh great king, have disregarded the plight of the innocent when faced with their terror as she was?”

Thranduil glowered at the wizard but said nothing.

Though his silence said enough.

Gandalf nodded his head thoughtfully, his presence shrinking back, though the air still crackled around him like lightning, “Do not condemn a lone hobbit for her pity and compassion. For, it might be the compassion of Lyla Baggins that controls all our fates.”

“Ada,” Legolas whispered, stepping forth once more, “The evil of Mirkwood is spreading, it’s black, decaying fingers slowly seeping throughout the land. Do we sit idly by and let others fall? We’ve lived peaceably with the men of Laketown, trading freely with them. Can we not fight?”

“Yes,” Thranduil conceded, “Yes, we have. And we can. But, what do I owe Thorin Oakenshield and his little hobbit companion?”

He sent a glare at Gandalf.

“That dwarf seeks out the wrath of a dragon. Why should I aid in THEIR quest?”

“Because, both quests have now intertwined. Their success will determine the success of Laketown.” Gandalf remarked, “The Master is the puppet of a larger force that would use the dragon against the free peoples of this land, binding them. Lyla Baggins goes, not only to help the dwarves reclaim what is, by right, theirs, but to hopefully dispose of the potential threat that Smaug poses.”

“And remember father,” Legolas smiled slightly, “She saved your life. Twice.”

Thranduil frowned at that comment and narrowed his eyes at his son.

Clearly this was a sore spot for the elf king to concede.

“And she saved my own,” Legolas continued (unashamed of the hobbit’s actions), watching as his father’s gaze turned to surprise. “Even after all the suffering her company endured while imprisoned here, she still risked her life to save us. She pulled me out of Azog’s reach as we tumbled down the river in that barrel.” Legolas inwardly cringed at that memory and the shock he’d felt as they tumbled down. The utter lack of control and the desperation and panic swimming in two large hazel eyes as water sloshed around.

“We are indebted to her as much as the dwarves or anyone else.”

Thranduil shook his head, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“A hobbit will shape the fortunes of all,” he murmured, echoing Galadriel’s earlier admonishment to the elves on her return from Rivendell.

Then Thranduil’s gaze shifted between Gandalf’s and Legolas, a soft, resigned expression coloring his features.

“Think you that the Lady Galadriel would lead you astray?” Gandalf questioned, his voice soft but commanding as he leaned heavily on his staff, watching Thranduil through hooded eyes, “Think you that she would deceive you in any manner? She saw something and chose to inform you of its coming. Now you must choose if you heed those words.”
Legolas already knew what path he would choose, regardless of whether his father would travel that path along with him.

He focused on his father’s face, studying him, and waiting.

And Legolas saw something he had not seen in some time.

His father’s eyes were clear, their depths not clouded by the wickedness overshadowing the woodlands.

He was thinking clearly.

He was coming back to himself.

Finally, Thranduil sighed and folded his arms together, “Very well, then. I shall not stand in your way. Call up the troops and be prepared to march at dawn. We rely on stealth and swiftness for our success.” He turned to Gandalf with a sigh, “And it would appear that I cannot escape your counsel even if I should wish it. So come, Mithrandir, tell me of this plan that we must enact on the morrow.”

Legolas quickly bowed and retreated, giving a silent prayer of gratitude for the powers that persuaded Thranduil’s return.

*****

“Come here lass and lemme take a peek at yer arm,” Bofur’s voice cut across the boat, pulling Lyla from her distracted thoughts.

Thoughts of dragons and fire and darkened tunnels.

“Huh?” she questioned stupidly, “My arm?”

Bofur rose slowly and made his way over to where Lyla was squished between a sleeping Kili and Nori.

“Aye lass, yer arm,” He crouched in front of Lyla and gently grasped the hobbits wrist, where The Master had grabbed her not once, but twice.

Barely visible bruises darkened her flesh slightly as small nail prints glared an angry red back at the hatted dwarf.

Bofur let out a small growl of annoyance but released her arm gently.

“Aye there’s nothin’ I can really do. But mark my words, if he lays another hand on ye, I’ll not be listenin’ to any pleadings to spare his life.”

Lyla’s eyes were wide at Bofur’s stern face, but she nodded quietly.

She didn’t have much sympathy for The Master and though she wouldn’t wish death on anyone…

She couldn’t be responsible for the decisions of others.

Though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Bofur’s gaze softened as he gently ruffled her hair and then rubbed her arms, giving them a soft squeeze.

“It’ll be alright lass,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes, guessing the road her thoughts were travelling down, “We’ll get through this, don’t you fret. And you won’t be alone.”
Lyla gave a small smile in return and nodded her head.

“Yes,” she whispered, “Yes I know.”

And she did know. She knew that her dwarves would not abandon her (even though they would not be entering the mountain alongside her).

“Now, try and get some rest, aye?” Bofur remarked quietly, touching his forehead to Lyla’s in an affectionate, brotherly manner. “I imagine we’ve got a ways to go before we reach the shoreline.”

“That’s certainly true,” Bard remarked kindly, as he continued to row, with Dwalin helping him. “It’d be best for you to rest while you can. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”
Lyla turned to see Bard smiling comfortingly at the hobbit surrounded by dwarves, huddled against the wind and growing cloud cover.

She nodded her head in appreciation and surprise.

She didn’t expect the bowman to be genuinely friendly with the hobbit. After all, she had caused this whole issue for him, didn’t she?
But, she’d accept the thoughtfulness where she could find it.

Despite the kindness however, and the fatigue she was feeling, her eyes were caught up in surprised, nervous wonder as she gazed around her. She huddled closer to Bofur (who had shoved Nori out of the way to sit next to the hobbit) and stared upwards, her breath visible in the growing cold.

Long Lake—which earned its name quite spectacularly by its size—gaped wide the further they rowed from Laketown. The shoreline, that she could see, was surrounded by jagged, rolling hills covered with the darkened forms of what she supposed were trees at one time.

Trees that were undoubtedly burned by dragon fire.

But looming high above these lower lying rocky outcroppings, was a lone, jagged peak stretching towards the sky. A beautiful mist swirled and surrounded the base of the mountain. And capped in a crisp white blanket of snow, this peak stood as a towering edifice of power and prominence. It was breathtaking and ethereal.

It was quite the site to behold, especially for one who had only known the little rivers and small rolling hills of The Shire.

“It’s a treasured sight, is it not?” Balin’s voice startled Lyla from her dazed gaping.

She turned to see the white haired dwarf smiling at her as he too admired the scenery.

In fact, most of the dwarves were staring upwards, their faces alight in joy and a hushed reverence.

Thorin’s face, in particular, was riveted towards the mountain, his eyes alight in wonder and delight as he stared at his home, his arms folded over his chest, mouth partially opened in an unspoken exclamation of joy at being so close to The Lonely Mountain once more.

Lyla’s heart stuttered at the sight.

“I’ve lived a long time.” Balin mused, “I’m nothing more than an old warrior now. But I still remember what things used to be like. What Erebor used to be like.”

Lyla’s curiosity had been piqued at that statement and she turned her attention fully towards the elderly dwarf.

“Will you tell me about it?” She whispered, her voice betraying her hopeful curiosity.

Balin only smiled, “Erebor…where to begin really? It was a kingdom unlike any other. And it is certainly not one that you’ll find in the world today.” Balin sighed, leaning back and getting more comfortable, his eyes gaining that faraway look so prominent in one escaping to their memories. “Erebor was probably the greatest in all of Middle Earth during its heyday. Being the stronghold of Thror, mightiest of the dwarf lords, this fortress city was legend. It’s wealth lay down in the darkened earth, in precious gems and in great seams of gold running like rivers through the stone. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires…all were encased in the rock and the skill of the dwarve was unequaled. Only we could fashion objects with so many precious stones. This made trade within the city of Dale quite prosperous for out people.”

“Dale?” Lyla questioned confused.

Balin’s face sobered rather quickly and the smile ghosted away, replaced by an anguished sorrow that shook Lyla to the core.

“Yes. Dale,” he remarked quietly, his eye losing their reverence, “It’s markets were know far and wide, always full of the bounties of vine and vale. It was so peaceful and prosperous.”

And then Balin’s gaze shifted to the enraptured hobbit. His look was so pained that she thought he might be physically ill.

Balin swallowed, “This city was the only one to lay before the doors of Erebor. And it was the first place that Smaug struck when he attacked.”

Lyla gasped, horrified.

Oh, no.

All those people?

“They had no warning,” Balin continued, “No time to prepare. The only thing we heard was the wind, coming down like a hurricane…and then fire blazing brighter than torches.”
Balin swallowed again and stayed silent, his gaze drifting back towards The Lonely Mountain.

Lyla cast her eyes away from the dwarf and stared at the bottom of the boat in wonder and trepidation.

What was she going to meet once they arrived? The ruins of a city turned to ash? Would she encounter that same dragon fire?

But something bothered her.

“Why,” she began hesitantly, “why would he attack Dale? Surely his eye was on the mountain the wealth there. Did he really only deal out death simply because he could?”

Thorin’s gaze found her own, “Wanton death was dealt that day, little hobbit,” The dwarf king’s eyes were hard, bitter. “The city of men was nothing to Smaug and therefore he
cared not for its fate. He is not quite so sentimental as you or I.”

Lyla swallowed as the fear increased ten-fold.

She felt the crushing weight of responsibility bearing down on her. If she failed or angered Smaug, he could attack Laketown. What would he care for the countless lives lost?

Oh Aule help her.

She brought her knees to her chest and rested her chin upon them, staring at the mountain, her thoughts swirling.

*****

Long after they’d stopped talking Thorin’s gaze shifted between watching the mountain—his home and heritage—to watching Lyla as she tucked in on herself, a habit (he noted) she did whenever she was nervous or worried.

In this case, he suspected it was both. With her small arms wrapped around her knees, she hid her face and stared out towards the mountain, her eyes (framed by her unruly curls) the only thing he could get a good look at.

They betrayed the look of anxiety she was feeling. Her hazel orbs were wide, unblinking as she gazed at the ever-growing visage of a tall, snowy mountain ahead of her.

He watched Lyla shudder again and pull herself tighter together. Bofur’s arm came around her in comfort.

And Thorin was shrugging off his coat and rising before he knew what he was doing.

Quietly, he stepped towards the hobbit and laid his fur-lined coat around her shoulders, tucking the material together.

He hoped it would bring her some small semblance of comfort and peace during this tense time.

“I-I can’t take this!” she admonished quietly, her eyes wide and surprised.

Thorin spied the small smirk on Bofur’s face, though Lyla did not.

The dwarf king laughed lightly, “No, keep it for now.” He remarked flippantly, “We dwarves are not as impervious to the climate as you might be." He winked.

And then sobered at her widened eyes. She hadn't caught his jest.

"If you are impervious, why would you give me your coat?"

Perhaps because she had never witnessed him make a jest...

"Keep it," he quickly remarked before she could remove his coat and give it back. "The cold does not bother me, as it might you. We can’t have you freezing.”

A blush worked its way onto Lyla cheeks and she gazed in back in appreciation for his generosity. Bofur snorted in amusement at the exchange.

“Oh. Uh, thank you, Thorin.” Came her whispered reply as she burrowed deeper into the warmth the coat provided, the words floating over Thorin’s skin like rainwater, and he felt something alight in his chest as he heard his name fall from her lips, her lilting voice gentle.

With a nod of his head, he turned back towards the mountain.

‘Givashel’ he thought the word again fondly.

*****

Further to the West, in the heart of Mirkwood, a lone elf stood and waited. His brown hair was disheveled, his eyes almost wild as he gazed around nervously and if it weren’t for his pointed ears, others might have found it hard to classify this anxious creature as an elf, whose name evoked visions of a stoic and patient race.

But, an elf he most certainly was. And, this elf was nervous.

Galion had never been this fall from Thranduil’s halls before. And standing here, alone, in the heart of the forest so tainted by evil, left his skin crawling in fear.

A low twig snapped and he jerked his head around in fright.

A long creature stepped forward, weapon at the ready.

Galion stood face to face, with a pimply, pocked orc, it’s overly large yellow eyes wide and suspicious as it hunch forward, until its long arms were almost dragging on the ground.
“What news?” the creature hissed at Galion, its slimy hands gripping a menacing axe firmly, as it bared its teeth at the elf.

Galion swallowed hesitantly and tried to reinforce his nerves, “Azog,” he murmured, “is dead. A hobbit, Lyla Baggins, was the one to do it, I believe.”

“A hobbit?” The orc hissed again, saliva dripping from its jagged teeth, “What is a hobbit to us? We seek after Thorin Oakenshield the dwarf, not this hobbit.”

Galion nodded quickly, hoping to avoid angering the creature. He was unarmed after all--his weapons taken by the guards to ensure his docility when faced with the orc general.

“Yes, I know this. And the hobbit was one of the companions to follow him on their quest. According to the others who witnessed the event, the hobbit tricked Azog and released the dwarves down the river in Barrels, heading towards Laketown. Azog followed after her and it was reported this morning that his remains had been found by the leader of the city.”

The elf’s thoughts soured as he thought of the tiny creature who had tricked him and helped the dwarves escape, leaving him trapped in that cell for hours and making him an outcast among his own people.

He was humiliated.

But more than that, an anger burned in him for the power he KNEW she held. A power that he wanted to get his hands upon.

Something whispered in his ear when he had stood near her. Some delightful wickedness called to him.

Oh how he longed to make that power his own.

The orc snarled and stepped closer, his grip tightening around his weapon as he gazed at the elf.

“And what good does this news do me?” The orc spat, his blackened saliva splashing onto Galion’s face, “You’ve let them escape.”

Galion held up his hands in surrender, trying desperately to quell the growing tension, “Yes, yes I know that,” he agreed hastily, “But the city has been overrun by men who share a similar alliance to yourself. They serve the dark lord and would be most anxious to make an…arrangement with you as well…I’m most certain…”

Galion trailed off gazing at the orc before him with a growing sense of unease.

He hoped this plan would work.

The orc, to his surprise, chuckled, a low guttural and grating sound on his sensitive ears.

“Yes, we’ve known about this arrangement for quite some time. Our…benefactor…has been in contact with this ‘Master’ for many months in preparation for the dwarves. But tell me, where are the dwarves now? Where is this…hobbit you speak of?”

“I-uh-overheard that they are headed towards Erebor as we speak. They go to reclaim the mountain from the dragon.” And then Galion’s face went thoughtful, “And even if they succeed, they are just numbered fourteen, hardly an army to contend against the might of the orcs and goblins surely?”

“And what of the pathway? Is it cleared for us?” The orc hissed, eyes narrowing, “Do not think that I won’t suspect treachery on your part, elf.”

Galion nodded eagerly, trying to reassure the impatient creature before him. “Yes. The rumor I started concerning the passage way being overrun by goblins has spread. No one dares travel that road. You are quite safe to make your way towards Laketown and Erebor.”

The orc nodded, a sickening smile spreading across his face. “Good. Very good. You aren’t completely useless to us then.”

Galion nodded his head in appreciation. “I’m much better suited for this type of work than what my kin seem to believe me capable of.” He muttered lowly. “But I must return or they might suspect something of my absence.”

The orc nodded again and watched the elf, with hooded eyes, his face contorted into an unreadable mask of thoughtful assessment.

But it wasn’t until Galion turned his back, that he learned the true nature of the orc’s look.

Something sharp and jagged tore through his back, making the elf gasp in surprise and anguished pain as he slowly dropped to his knees, the wind being pulled from his lungs.
He felt as though he were underwater, unable to breath.

He felt like he was choking.

He heard the orc laugh as he dropped further to the ground, unable to control his arms any longer.

He felt lethargic.

He felt the numbing pain creeping over his limbs.

He spied the spiked boots of the orc’s as it came to stand in his line of sight. The creature crouched down and rolled the elf over, causing Galion to groan in pain as stars dance before his eyes.

The orc leaned close, its putrid breath filling the elf’s nostrils.

“I’m afraid,” he hissed in Galion’s ear as the elf gasped for breath, “that you are no longer of use to us.”

The orc brought his knife to the elf’s throat.

Chapter Text

The clouds were clearing away, the bright blue of the sky peeking through, when their boat reached the far shore of Long Lake.

The sun cast a gentle warmth on the backs of the company as Bard hopped ashore and appraised the sloping cragged and prickly hillside that rose steeply upwards, the blackened remnants of trees dotting the hillside. He admired the new life that had begun to spring as well. He noted the small saplings, blooming brilliant green as the frost of Autumn had not yet touched their young branches.

He heard birdsong and his eyes traveled upwards towards the flittering wingspan of thrushes twittering overhead (something he had not seen in many a year). The gentle thrum of crickets swelled within the trees and he felt the cool breeze against his cheeks.

And hope swelled within him. For if life could spring forth after the wroth of the dragon had descended upon this place, then certainly he could hope that the will of a wizard, the resolve of a hobbit and her dwarves, and the determination of the elves and honorable men of Laketown would be enough to secure their survival.

They were like the saplings, pushing upwards, growing stronger each day.

Just so long as they had hope.

Bard cast his gaze towards the company as they slowly moved from the boat, grabbing packs and supplies in an orderly line. Thorin had been the first to embark from the vessal, after Bard, and he quickly organized the dwarves into an efficient mass of moving muscle, his natural leadership taking command of the situation.

“Get the supplies unloaded, we don’t have a moment to spare,” He barked quietly, but forcefully, his gaze shifting towards the sloping hills. “We can make it to the upper ledges by nightfall if we’re careful and move quickly.”

The dwarf with the hat, (Bofur was it?), hopped from the boat onto the rocky shoreline and reached in, grabbing the little hobbit, under her arms like a child and lifted the protesting creature onto dry land near himself.

“I could have gotten out on my own you know,” She remarked a slight scowl on her face, though even Bard could tell that it was a halfhearted gesture. He noted the way her eyes crinkled around the edges and flashed with mirth.

Bofur only laughed, “Aye lass, I know that you’re quite capable of takin’ care of yerself, but I’ll be keepin’ me eye on you. Best accept that yer family now and be done with it.” He ruffled her air affectionately and she snorted in annoyance two soft patches of pink alighting her fair cheeks and tried to step away, nearly tripping over Thorin’s coat that pooled at her feet.

Bofur chuckled and steadied her, but Bard didn’t miss the way Thorin’s jerked towards the hobbit, his expression twisted into worry as he watched the small creature tip backwards. The dwarf king’s eyes lingered the hobbit, scanning her face carefully, eyes assessing.

Bard knew that look well.

It was the same look he had given Freida when they’d first started courting.

Bard’s heart suddenly ached for his wife, her rich mahogany curls, and startlingly fierce green eyes. She was a spirited and beautiful creature who brought light and joy to Bard’s life, even amidst the trials of destitution.

And here he stood now, observing that same look of careful adoration and reverence that he once held, marring the features of a king.

Bard was also certain that the young Lyla Baggins did not fully understand the depth of the dwarf’s affections for her.

Nor, too, he surmised, did the dwarf himself.

'Freida' He thought wistfully, a deep ache hollowing out his heart.

He was grateful she wasn't here to see the suffering of her people.

To see the wickedness of her brother.

But the obvious attachment between the dwarf and the hobbit made it all the more clear to Bard just why The Master had chosen the little creature to be his puppet for the journey. It was obvious she was endeared to the hearts of the company. BUT, it was also apparent that the king (the most influential of the group of dwarves) held a special regard for the hobbit.

And The Master had manipulated that fact and twisted it towards his advantage.

Bard’s gaze drifted back towards the hobbit and his thoughts turned contemplative. He wondered how someone so small and seemingly insignificant could sway so many.

How could she hold so much power?

“I wouldn’t bother laddie.” Bard swiveled to the side and noted the white-haired dwarf standing near him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

How had the creature snuck up on him?

“Excuse me?”

The dwarf smiled again, “I said I wouldn’t bother laddie. Try as you might, you’ll never quite figure out the strength of that little hobbit lass over there. She’s a mystery to us all. Best just trust the wizard’s word and be done with it.”

“I wasn’t-“ Bard fumbled for words, “I WANT to trust her. I’m just…I—“

He sighed, running his hands along his coat gently.

The dwarf smiled again, “Aye I know. You are afraid. Afraid of what might happen to that town of yours. Afraid of the dragon.”
Bard nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Yes. Though Esgaroth is not my true home, I do fear for its safety.”

“Where do you hail then?” The dwarf asked genuinely surprised. “I had supposed, because of your fierce defense of the people…”

Bard smiled softly, “My mother said we hailed from Dale. My bloodline was one of the few to survive the scathing rebuke of the dragon’s fire. We sought refuge in Esgaroth.”

The white haired creature’s eyes lit up in understanding, “Ah. Yes. I understand your doubt more fully now. You fear that the same fate to befall Dale will befall Laketown as well.”
Bard nodded, his eyes drifting back towards the little hobbit who was now removing the overly large coat and folding it in her arms, her face contorted into a pinched look of worry and hesitation.

“I only want what is best for the people. I want to ensure their safety. And I’ve never known a hobbit to willingly enter battle against such insurmountable odds to aid others.”
The dwarf let out a low chuckle and adjusted his sleeves, his beard swaying gently in the growing wind.

“Aye, but I trust the wizard’s judgment. That little creature over there has a great deal of courage and is determined to protect her friends.” His gaze turned towards Bard, and the bowman was surprised by its hard fierce look. “And though I understand your reasonings, you should not doubt her. Mahal knows she’s saved our lives numerous times already. Who knows what the little one has in store for the dragon.”

Bard bowed his head in agreement and let out a low sigh. “I do not doubt her heart,” he murmured, “Only the reach of her arm.”

But then his face contorted into a soft smile as he thought again to the little saplings sprouting up along the side of the mountains, their small leaves reaching heavenward.

Perhaps Lyla Baggins’ reach would be just enough after all?

*****
Lyla was loathe to give back Thorin’s coat.

Sure she’d miss the warmth it provided her. But more than that, she’d miss the smell that encased her senses as she had hunkered beneath the soft material, cocooned and warm.

He smelled of cinnamon and pipeweed.

And apple blossoms in springtime.

And a deep heady scent that reminded Lyla of the forests of East Farthing—rich and musky and earthy—where she spent many days of her childhood wandering around, imagining grand adventures and searching for Elves and the familiar pointed grey hat of her mother’s wizard friend.

It was a blessedly comforting familiar concoction of smells that left Lyla utterly contented and relieved.

And it brought back to mind the moment near the river.

Warm arms encircling her, fingers running through her hair slowly, softly.

The strong, steady, gentle thrum of a heartbeat.

Yes. She was loathe to give that coat back.

But even she wasn’t daft enough to expect sure footing to be her ally is she had to contend with the pooling fabric around her feet.

Nor, too, did Thorin insist she keep the coat.

He seemed to agree with her assessment, his fingers brushing across her knuckles as he took the article without a word or complaint, and donned the coat once more and giving Lyla a soft nod of his head as he stepped past her and towards Gloin and Bifur.

“Be prepared for a hard climb,” he murmured briefly, giving her shoulder a small squeeze has he ghosted past her.

Lyla turned her head and watched him for a moment, memorizing the wavy ebony locks cascading over his shoulders, his bright blue eyes alight with activity, calculating and thoughtful. His mind was working rapidly to assess their situation and plot the best course. She admired the way his mouth pulled into a small frown, his lips puckered into a pout.

Her thoughts were jumbled, her chest tight and she felt a familiar heat rise on her neck.

‘Stop it Lyla. Do not think such thoughts.’

Too many emotions were flooding her system at the moment, making it impossible to decipher them. She didn’t need to dwell on Thorin.
No indeed. She needed to focus.

And what could would such thoughts do anyway? It’s not like…

‘Stop.’

Lyla closed her eyes for a moment and let out a small breath of air, trying to clear her head.

‘You must think on other things Lyla. Stop this foolishness. Nothing will come of it.’

“This is where I must leave you all, I’m afraid,” Lyla’s eyes snapped open as Bard’s voice filled her ears. He stood near Balin, his face pulled into a look of Stoic determination. “I must try to make it to the far shore by nightfall. And you have a long trek ahead of you.”

His gaze briefly settled on Lyla and he tilted his head gently in her direction.

A sign of respect.

One that Lyla returned in kind.

“I wish you all the luck in the world. May fate be with you until our next meeting,” Bard’s eyes locked with Lyla’s again and a soft smile graced his worn and wearied face.
“Good luck,” he murmured quietly, nodding his head again as he retreated into the trees.

*****

Thorin hadn’t been jesting.

The trek proved to be quite taxing. The pathway was in disrepair, cluttered with all manner of fallen rock, contorting what would have been a smooth upward sloping road, into a hazardous ascent through loose rubble that, with one false move, could send rocks clattering down upon the company members. So bad was the damage, that Lyla nearly doubted the existence of a pathway at all, though Balin reassured her that there had, indeed, been a rather marvelous road, smooth and steady.

“Aye it was a wonder to behold. Made trade between Dale and Esgaroth a marvelously easy task.”

Now, though, after the ravaging of the Dragon, and the long years of disuse, the road had reverted back to a rocky, uneven walkway that threatened to turn your ankle if you placed one foot wrongly.

That being said, had they tried to navigate off the marked path, their going would have been much slower. Loose, charred sandy soil greeted them with blackened trees interspersed among even more rocky juts and pivots. In other parts, the rocky ledges were so steep that, it would have been nearly impossible to travel upwards without someone becoming injured in the process.

No, it was actually far safer to travel along this ‘roadway’.

And truthfully, they were making marvelous time all things considered. The company moved as one solid unit, lined up single file, with their packs hoisted on their shoulders. Thorin led with precise movements that the rest tried to mimic carefully, aware of the hazards that flippant behavior would elicit.

Even Fili and Kili refrained from their usual raucous behavior, electing, instead to focus on carefully placing their feet. Though that didn’t stop their boisterous laughter from permeating the stillness that surrounded the company as they moved upwards.

Lyla had found herself wedged between Bofur and Bombur at the back of the line, with Bombur’s hand frequently coming to rest on her shoulder as he gently nudged her up the steep incline. Bofur, too, would extend his hand during the particularly jagged points, pulling her upwards carefully, so as not to jostle the loose ground.

Occasionally, though, despite their best efforts, rocks would tumble downwards, sending sprays of chalky dust (not dampened by the rain the previous night) clogging airways as the rocks pelted their heads and arms.

More than one gave Lyla a nasty knock on her arm or head.

But thankfully, none of the falling objects were overly large so as to cause true damage, for which the small hobbit was thankful.
Overall, though, the climb was tedious and tiring and took several hours.

Lyla tried to focus on the nature around her. She tuned her ears towards the soft sighs of the wind as it breezed past her ears, cold and refreshing. The soft smells of pine and oak mixed together with the distinct smell of ash, the blackened trees from years ago still standing among the vegetation growing and thriving.

The scent of dampness also tickled Lyla’s nose, bringing on memories of the forest rains in The Shire.

She gazed around her thoughtfully, noting the contrasting colors of black and green and grey that surrounded her. These colors were harsh, vibrant and contrasting and swirled together in a pool of death and life.

She wondered at all the things that had been destroyed by the dragon.

A small shudder ran through her at the image of fire burning bright in the sky, consuming everything in its path.

And then the soft twitter of bird song reached her sensitive ears and Lyla looked upwards, her face alight in wonder and reverence for the small creatures who winged through the blue, their wings fluttering and flapping, their voices trilling through the air.

“A raven!” Oin regaled excitedly, “The birds are returning to the mountain.”

A soft smile worked its way on Lyla lips.

“That, my dear Oin,” she murmured, “Is a thrush.”

“Aye, it’s true then. The portents.” Gloin remarked contemplatively as he too gazed upwards, halting for a moment behind Balin and Thorin. “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, then the rein of the beast will end.”

Lyla’s thoughts flashed back to The Master. Hadn’t he said something similar?

The familiar weight of unease settled back in Lyla stomach.

The sensation only increased as they crested the large hill and gazed from atop the peak of the lower lying hill lands into a valley.

Lyla’s heart hitched into her throat and she let out a low gasp of anguish.

The mountain loomed even larger than before and she noted just how prominent and powerful it stood against the blue of the sky, it’s white peak like a beacon of grace and justice and a reminder of the kingly heritage that founded the home hidden beneath the outward façade.

Lyla frowned and blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes as she looked upon the dwarves’ home.

Soft white billowing mist swirled around the lower valleys, creating an ethereal vision.

An ethereal vision marred by destruction

What stopped her thoughts of wonder, was what lay at the feet of the mountain’s powerful visage.

She gazed through the valley towards the remains of what must have been a spectacular city.

Dale.

Sitting atop a small hill of its own, the city stood in tatters. Tall, proud buildings, decorated in enchanting golds and burgundies were marred by crumbling rooftops, cracked walls and the blackened scorch marks of fire. The wall that surrounded the city, buckled in many places, weakened by age and destruction. And in many other places, the rocks had disappeared entirely.

Lyla squinted and spotted a tall rounded building, its roof knocked in half. It would have served at one time (she supposed) as the meeting hall due to its size and location.
The destruction wasn’t limited to the confines of the city either. The outcroppings of land, the sloping hills surrounding the city were flat, desolate, devoid of life.

No trees grew, the remnants of a once proud forest stood as a testament of what this thriving metropolis must have looked like.

Lyla’s heart twinged in anguish at the realization that even had the townspeople of Dale and Erebor escape from the Dragon’s destruction of the city and the mountain, they still had to trek through the fiery wasteland surrounding their home.

The suffering they must have seen.

The hobbit’s ears twitched and she acknowledged, with a twinge of trepidation, that the air had gone still, the sounds of forest life (the crickets, the birds) had dwindled.
They were left in an eerie silence.

The wind blew softly, much colder now and Lyla’s breath came out in a puff of visible air.

She shuffled closer to Bofur, whose arm wrapped around her instinctively, and gazed towards their leader.

Thorin’s own eyes were stilled by the scene before him, a frown on his face. The dwarf kings brows knit together as he leaned on his axe and stared upon the destruction.
The desolation of Smaug the dragon, that he had not seen since he had been driven out all those years ago.

Lyla’s heart ached for him, for all the dwarves in this company who had experienced the pain and the sorrow of having their home taken from them.

And in that moment, as she looked closely at the stoic vision of the king before her, Lyla could see the lines of age, the worry, the fear and the doubt that Thorin held for their quest. She could see the toll this entire journey—from his exile from Erebor, through all his years of displacement, and to this very moment—had taken on the dwarf.

He was wearied.

Lyla quelled her trembling courage and forced herself to stand straighter.

It would not do.

She couldn’t bear to see anyone like that. To see such life-ending sorrow, such despair.

Not again.

So Lyla Baggins would do whatever she could. She understood their pain, their loss.

And she would help them take their home back is she could.

Fear be damned.

She was going to be brave.

*****

Despite her resolve, despite the words of encouragement from Gandalf, despite the comfort of the dwarvish company surrounding her, when Lyla laid herself down to sleep that night, her mind—wearied from travel, trial and strain—conjured up her worst fears and memories and brought them forth into a terrifying cacophony of images that her susceptible state could not repress.

She’d been grateful that she had pulled her bedroll far enough away to not accidentally kick any one while she slept.

She’d woken up gasping, clutching her chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart trying desperately to suppress the images that flooded her senses, forcing tears of anguish to fall from her cheeks as beads of sweat gathered on her brow.

Over and over again she saw her mother, withering away, diseased sorrow clouding her mind, destroying the life that used to burst from every fiber of Belladonna’s being.

She saw her father, stilled, pale on his bed. She’d never spoken to him. She’d never gotten to say goodbye.

And Bilbo, listless, eyes wide and unseeing, muttering something lowly in the darkness of his bedroom as he too faded form existence.

And then Azog. The terrifying spectre of death haunted her every footstep. His crushing force and snarling face, loomed over her as white wolves from the Fell Winter crowded around, each snapping and snarling and scratching at her.

Azog had laughed and she was forced to watch as the orc took the dwarves, one by one and…

Lyla balled her hands into tight fists.

And now, as they sat at the doorstep of their next great challenge, Lyla’s mind played upon the desolation she’d witnessed. She saw countless bodies strewn throughout the streets of Dale. She saw the soot covered faces of dwarves and men as they scrambled from their homes, desperate to get away, to preserve their lives.

But then she also saw fire descending from the sky, towards Laketown, engulfing the old wooden city in flames that licked every building, tearing homes and families apart.
And the screaming of little children filled her ears as she lay helpless to stop the destruction or to help.

The crushing loneliness she felt was unbearable. The guilt that coursed through her made her stomach churn in disgust.

Lyla let out a shuddering breath. And squeezed her eyes shut, willing her sobs back. Forcing herself to be silent.

But a hand resting on her shoulder, jolted Lyla and her mouth opened of its own accord to let out a loud scream of terror.

Or she would have, had not a large hand hastily covered her mouth to muffle the sound another arm snaking around her shoulders to still her panicked movements.

Lyla gazed up with wild eyes and into the face of Thorin Oakenshield.

“Hush,” He murmured sternly but quietly, “Be still.”

Relief flooded her and her movements ceased and she tried to calm her hitched breathing and wildly beating heart.

Slowly, the dwarf king released his grip on her shoulders but hesitated a moment to release his hand from over her mouth.

He gazed at her thoughtfully, his dark blue eyes narrowed, the low burning fire casting an eerie orange glow across Thorin’s cheeks.

“Come,” he murmured after a moment, “We must talk.”

Slowly, his fingers slipped from her mouth and he rose to his feet, holding his hand out for Lyla to accept.

Confusedly, the hesitantly reached upwards and grasped onto Thorin’s hand.

The dwarf king hoisted her to her feet and, never releasing his grip, led her from the huddled group of sleeping dwarves, carefully stepping over limbs.

The pair moved silently away from the camp, the warmth of the fire growing fainter and fainter, as they travelled down a small slope and towards a low outcropping out of sight and downwind from the rest of the company.

Shrugging off his coat again, he turned to face a confused hobbit and quickly placed his coat once more around her shoulders.

“Sit.” He commanded quietly, tugging the material of his coat downwards, the force pressing Lyla downwards until she was, indeed, sitting on the rocky ground.

Thorin crouched in front of her and pulled his coat around her tighter, staring into her eyes for a moment, his look hooded, as tendrils of his dark hair tumbled over his shoulders and into his eyes.

With a sigh, he rose again and ran a hand through his hair, his feet beginning to move.

He started pacing, muttering something lowly as he cast Lyla a long, measured look before stilling and leaning against the rock face, his arms folded over his chest.
“Tell me what troubles you ,” He murmured quietly, his voice low, eyes narrowed.

Lyla gazed back utterly surprised and confused.

Why did he care about that?

Well she KNEW he cared. He’d said as much. All the dwarves did.

But this wasn’t important. She didn’t need to bother him or anyone with her…

She swallowed and forced the images back down, locked away into the recesses of her mind.

“Nothing.” She finally remarked, averting her gaze, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Thorin’s growl made her jump and she looked up into his face and noted that his eyes flashed dangerously, his face contorted into a furious scowl.
“That’s hardly the truth,” He ground out, “And I’ll not here those words come from your mouth again.”

Lyla bristled.

“Are you ORDERING me not to do something?” she questioned indignantly, shrugging the coat off and trying to rise to her feet. She glared at the dwarf king before her.

The dwarf king who only sighed in annoyance and marched over, forcing Lyla to sit back down as he rewrapped his coat around her.

“Would you stay still you foolish creature?” He grumbled, “You’ll freeze if you don’t.”

“What would that matter?” She grumbled petulantly as she stared at the dwarf’s boots, her eyes narrowed and a scowl on her face.

Thorin sighed exasperatedly. “I didn’t mean to cause an argument.”

“Must come naturally to you then.”

She was surprised when she heard the deep chuckle reverberating from Thorin’s chest and she looked up at the dwarf’s amused face. His eyes were crinkled around the edges, a thin smile on his face.

“You’re beginning to sound like Dwalin,” He remarked, his voice devoid of the previous annoyance.

A small smile found purchase on Lyla’s lips as well.

“I’ll take that as a high compliment then.” She remarked casually, her nostrils filling with the all too familiar scent of Thorin’s coat, as she snuggled deeper beneath its fabric.
Thorin nodded his head in agreement, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. “Indeed you should. Dwalin is an honest, perceptive friend. And he would have said the same thing, mark my words.” Thorin chuckled again, “When we were younger, he and D-”

Thorin's mouth snapped shut and he sobered, the mirth fleeing from his gaze as he stared back at the hobbit.

He cleared his throat and a soft remorseful smile replaced the amused one. “But, we shall talk of that another time.”

His gaze found Lyla’s and he searched her face for a moment.

“I know you say you are fine, mistress Baggins,” he started slowly, watching her face carefully for signs of annoyance, “But I see the shadows under your eyes. I hear the muffled gasps you make when your dreams force you back towards reality. I know you are haunted.”

Thorin stepped forward slowly and crouched near Lyla again, his hands reaching beneath the coat to grab her smaller ones.

“Tell me what troubles you. It would help ease the burden you bear. Please.”

Lyla stared back, feeling the heat rising on her cheeks as Thorin knelt before her, his eyes piercing into her own, locking her gaze in a firm grip that refused to release her.
She felt drawn to it even as she felt a sense of panic and fear at the strength of the connection between them.

And his tone had been pleading.

But she didn’t want to burden him with this. He had so many other important things to deal with. He didn’t need to concern himself with her.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” She remarked slowly, “I-I don’t…I’ll be alright. Just memories getting the better of me.”

Thorin’s head dropped forward, his hair falling around his face, obscuring him gaze from her own.

He let out a sigh as his grip softly tightened on her hands. “Stubborn creature,” He murmured.

“I hope,” he whispered softly, his thumbs rubbing small circles on her palms, “I hope that you will learn to trust me one day. Your relationships with the others are so easy going, so effortless. I hope that…I would wish that you would trust me as you do them.”

Lyla’s eyes widened at the confession and she felt a pang of guilt course through her. “I do trust you!” she remarked quickly. “Of course I trust you.”

Thorin’s face rose to meet hers, a deep sadness piercing his gaze.

“I have much to make amends for,” he murmured leaning closer to her, his warm breath washing over her face, “I have much to atone for with you. I have wronged you in countless ways. But do not bear this burden alone. Do not struggle with the weight of despair upon your shoulders. Do not let fear weaken you.”

It shook Lyla to the core. She saw a raw pain a true camaraderie in his looks. He truly understood her nightmares. He knew the pain she was going through. And she knew he was right. And though it would be painful, she did need to release this anguish.

Then a thought struck her.

“And what of you?” She whispered back, “What cares weary your dreams Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin’s eyes widened for a second as he peered at the hobbit. "They are nothing." He remarked after a moment.

"Stubborn creature," She mimicked his earlier statement.

Lyla gave a small smile back towards the dwarf king, who knelt humbly before her.

“Tell me your cares, oh great dwarf king,” She replied softly, “And I shall tell you mine.”

Chapter Text

It was a strange concept for Thorin’s mind to grasp onto.

This little hobbit, with her wide, innocent, unassuming—yet compassionate—eyes sat before him, a soft smile on her face. And she asked about HIS welfare.

HIS!

Worse still, she was using his request to take care of HER against HIM.

Somehow, the little hobbit managed to turn things around to care for others before herself.

And While Thorin found it mildly annoying and frustrating, he also found it endearing.

‘Sneaky, stubborn little thing…’

She cared for him. She cared for HIS happiness. She cared to ease his burdens.

And that baffled him. WHY would she care about him? After all he’d done? After all he’d said? Why would she still desire to ease his worries?

He should be the one to shoulder the burdens. She didn’t deserve the anguish he and this journey had put her through.

And yet, she sat here desiring to know his fears, his troubles, his cares.

WHY?

“You’ll never cease to amaze me I think,” he finally murmured with a small smile of his own.

Thorin pulled back from Lyla and stood with a sigh, combing through his hair and gazing down at the hobbit’s upturned face, her expectant look, her kind smile.

He could feel the cracks of resolve spreading, feel the tendrils of fear seeping through the façade he’d careful held onto for so long.

Here he stood so close to home, after so many years of hardship, loss and anguish.

And Lyla’s one simple request was breaking the wall he’d built to repress all of it.

Thorin sighed and closed his eyes briefly, refusing to allow her to see the fear he felt in that moment.

He steeled his resolve and squared his shoulders

“Perhaps it is time I took my own advice,” He remarked quietly, opening his eyes again and gazing down at the hobbit whose face betrayed her concern.

“I don’t mean to cause you such sorrow. Forgive me,” her voice held chagrin and he noted how her brows furrowed, her eyes filled with remorse.

Mahal help him, her eyes…

“You do not cause me sorrow,” he remarked lowly, swallowing the emotions down, “I have borne this for too long. And I cannot ask something of you when I am unwilling to do the same.”

He smiled softly, but it was pained. He could feel the tightness around his mouth, the strain on his cheeks.

But he would do it.

For her.

“Clearly you know that I had a sister,” He stated slowly, noting how the hobbit nodded her head, her delicate hand moving to her throat to grasp at the small leather band encircling her neck.

Where his sister’s ring resided.

“Dis,” He sighed, “was my younger sister. Mother to Fili and Kili, obviously, and my dearest friend.”

He gazed back at the hobbit, the tempest of emotions welling up in his chest.

“But I had a brother as well. Frerin. He was the youngest of us, always trailing after Dis, and Dwalin and I…”

His eyes lost their focus on the world around him as the thoughts slowly descended, completely engulfing him in memories that he had fought so hard to keep at bay.

“Dwalin probably had a better relationship with Dis than I did. Those two were thicker than thieves, you know. They did everything together. He was her best friend, her protector, and her confidante. Much more than I could be anyway.”

Thorin smiled softly.

“When you are true siblings, you don’t always get along, you see. And she and I, being so close in age and temperament, would get into some spectacular fights. But Dwalin was always there for her, always patient and thoughtful…even when she was betrothed…”

Thorin blinked a few times, coming back to himself and gazed down at the hobbit, who had tucked under the warmth of his coat, her head resting on her knees, eyes riveted to his face, her gaze filled with trepidation.

“After the dragon took The Lonely Mountain, my grandfather, was devastated. His mind was consumed with the gold sickness, the desire to have untold amount of wealth…”

Thorin swallowed, “He became...bitter, hardened…and then…” Thorin sighed, “Then he tried to reclaim the ancient lost Dwarf kingdom of Moria.”

Thorin felt his own panic rising, his own fear taking hold.

He wanted to stop these memories from coming, to push them back, to lock them away again.

But the dam had burst and he couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Of course Frerin and I were expected to fight. Being the heirs of Durin held certain responsibilities. Dis’ husband, too, was called to the front lines. But Dis? Though she was probably a better warrior than any of us, my grandfather refused to allow her to enter battle. And I agreed with him.”

Thorin’s eyes slipped closed and he sighed.

“She and I got into the worst fight over the matter. Dwalin told me later that our voices had carried over the entire encampment.”

‘You cannot force me to comply with this! Grandfather knows! He knows that I can do this. He knows that you need me there!’ she hissed stepping toe to toe with Thorin, ‘I’m a better fighter than all of you combined!’

‘‘So sure of yourself!’ Thorin spat in return, ‘Just let it go Dis! It’s not worth it. You need to stay here and be safe!’

‘‘Safe?’ She remarked incredulously, ‘What do I care about being safe if my family is lost in the process? All of you off to war to reclaim a kingdom…Why should I sit idly by when I can DO something to protect you?’

‘‘You know nothing of battle!’ Thorin thundered, ‘And grandfather is right in keeping you here. You are a wide-eyed innocent little simpleton to desire to fight. It’s not a glory search! It’s war. Hard, bloody war. It is not something you should desire.’

‘‘And Frerin should?’ Dis remarked, ‘He’s barely of age, isn’t skilled in battle, and you’ll condemn him to this…this fate?!’

‘‘It is not me that condemns anyone!’ He thundered in reply, ‘I go because I must. HE goes because he must. We are bound by orders of the king.’

‘‘A king who has lost his mind,’ Dis muttered lowly, her eyes downcast her dark hair shielding her face, ‘This is a fools errand. And we cannot stop it. But, I could protect you…’

“Thorin?” Lyla’s voice broke through his senses. He saw her hazel eyes alight with worry, her face pinched into a confused, hesitant look.

The dwarf king shook his head lightly to clear it. “I’m alright,” He murmured, “forgive me.”

Thorin cleared his throat.

“That argument was the last time she and I ever really spoke.”

His chest tightened painfully.

“And it’s the last time she spoke to Dwalin either because he sided with me. He…he didn’t want to see her hurt, you see. He cared too much for her…But, all she felt was betrayal.”

Thorin clasped his hands together and started pacing slowly, refusing to look at Lyla’s face for the moment.

It was hard enough thinking of these things. He couldn’t bear to look at her face when he said this…

“When we arrived at the gates, we discovered that our enemy had gotten there first. The halls had been overrun by legions of orcs. Giant, hideous orcs, led by the most vile of all their race…” Thorin sucked in a breath, “Azog the defiler.”

He heard Lyla’s sharp inhale, the small squeak of surprise and panic escaping her lips.

But he wouldn’t look at her.

He couldn’t.

“When Azog saw us marching on the gates, he swore, then that he would wipe out the line of Durin...and he began with my grandfather, the king. “ Thorin clenched his fists as anger started to pulse through his veins, the memories still fresh and haunting even after all these years, “He beheaded him and in a fit of spite tossed my grandfather’s head at my feet. But then, then he turned his attentions to my brother. Dis had been right, you know, Frerin was not ready for battle. Barely older than Fili and Kili, and my grandfather had forced him into armor…He never wanted to fight anyway. He preferred peace and diplomacy...But my grandfather insisted and berated him until he conceded...”

Thorin still and swallowed several times to stop his voice from cracking.

“And it wasn’t hard for Azog to pick him off. His back had been turned…he was completely engaged in fighting…and then…”

Thorin trailed off, frowning.

He’d been too far to aid Frerin. He had seen Azog descend upon his brother, but his cries went unheard. And he couldn’t get there in time.

“Frerin fell swiftly, and I thank Mahal for that small mercy, though having to witness such an even was a terrifying ordeal. And then, Azog turned his attentions towards me, for which I was unprepared. My armor had been rent, my shield lost” he whispered, “But then…then...I saw it.”

Thorin suddenly turned his back completetly Lyla as the familiar scene played in his head, the images crisp in his mind’s eye.

“I saw myself. A young dwarf prince facing down the pale orc. Only…”

He turned with a tight smile to face Lyla again, “it wasn’t me.”

He watched Lyla’s eyes widen in understanding, and Thorin’s eyes dropped to the ground.

“She and I always looked so alike; we were often mistaken for twins. And that blasted…”

He clenched his fists again.

“She’d dressed up in my old gear, and had taken to using my name. Everyone thought she WAS me, so it was easy for her to get lost among the ranks. We, her closest family and friends, were none the wiser.”

Thorin frowned, “And she stood there, facing Azog, trying to defend her brother, her last brother, from facing death. But even with her skills…even with her determination, her armor was weak.”

He could feel the warmth pooling in his eyes and he tried desperately to quell the aching anguish that was sweeping over him.

He’d been such a fool then…If only…

“I watched her fall…it was almost graceful. I saw her face when the last light of life flickered from her eyes.”

He shuddered.

“She smiled at me. Our last parting had been an argument and then there she lay, dying for me.” His voice was rising, “FOR ME! And, and she smiled…”
A tear slipped down his cheek and he hid his face from Lyla’s view as anguish took hold.

“Somehow, I-I managed to drive Azog away. That’s how his arm…” he trailed off clearing his throat again, “And we were able to drive the orcs back, back into that accursed hall. But our victory was so bittersweet…our dead were beyond the count of grief. I lost everyone. My father disappeared, wandered away, driven mad by grief. Even Dis' husband fell that day.”

He lifted his head and gazed at Lyla again. “And when Dwalin found her…that look will haunt me forever. It nearly destroyed him. She was everything to him. He lived to please my sister and their last parting…he never got the closure. He had stood by me, by my word and it had cost him his friendship. If he had agreed with her, and known of her plans perhaps he could have…”

Thorin shook his head.

“But, he listened to me. He followed his duty. He followed me. And it cost us everything…”

*****

It felt as though the air had been crushed from her lungs. She felt like she was drowning.

Aule…

She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to fall.

“Thorin,” She whispered starting to rise. She needed to do…something…anything…

But Thorin held his hand up to stop her.

“No…” He murmured, “No, be still. I have more yet to say.”

Thorin slowly came towards her and knelt once more in front of her, his face contorted into a raw pain that she had never seen on his face before. His blue eyes sparkled and swirled with sorrow and untold years of pain.

“First, however,” He whispered, reaching up and wiping a tear from her cheek, “Tell me what troubles your heart.”

Lyla felt a deep seeded guilt. Surely her worries were nothing compared to his.

“My life is not so terrible, all things considered,” She remarked slowly, “I should not complain…”

“Stop.”

Thorin’s gaze was firm and strong as he stared back at her.

“So stubborn. Always so stubborn," He muttered in annoyance, "Mahal, would you stop for one moment? Do not think that your worries are so inconsequential!" He chided, "I’ve never forgiven myself for what happened between my sister and Dwalin. And I cannot change the past. But,” A small smile worked its way back onto his wearied and sorrowful face “I’ve only seen my closest companion so fiercely loyal to one other person in my life.”

Lyla was confused. Her brows furrowed.

Thorin reached out and grabbed a hold of both her shoulders.

“You came to this company under the guise of being your brother. You dressed as he did, you took on his name…fought for us…” He trailed off his eyes going hard, as Lyla’s own widened in recognition.

“I didn’t…” she was fumbling for words, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Hush.” Two fingers rested on her lips as Thorin smiled lightly. “I meant no offense, but I find it no coincidence that YOU were chosen for this quest. Of course, there was no way you could have known. But Dwalin must have…and he saw something in you that reminded him of Dis. The same spirit…” Thorin snorted lightly, “Mahal knows you’re as stubborn as she was. And he was determined to protect you, to give you a chance…”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pursing into a thin line, “And while I’ve certainly made many mistakes up to this point, doubting you, fighting against those memories that you unknowingly conjured up, I am determined to make things right. You deserve that much at least. And so does he.” His gaze softened, “Dwalin cares deeply for you. And he’s worried for you. I’ve seen it in his eyes as he’s watched over you these last few weeks and I know that he would never forgive me if I let this go, Mahal knows I’ll not forgive myself…”

Thorin shook his head lightly and muttered something Lyle couldn’t quite make out.

And then he brought his face closer to her own, his nose touching hers as he peered into her eyes carefully his forehead coming to rest against her own.
“If you’ll not do it for me, then do it for him.”

At that Lyla cracked.

Tears filled her eyes and Thorin gathered her into his arms, pressing her head into his shoulder, as she recounted the Fell Winter and how she’d gotten into a fight with her brother before storming out into the snow to visit her uncle.

“I wanted to get away from Bilbo,” she murmured, “decided to go get the herbs my father needed for his tea that evening…even though he protested and begged me to stay and sit with him for awhile…”

She trailed off, as the tears dampened Thorin’s shirtsleeve.

A soft hum of understanding reverberated from Thorin’s chest as he ran a few fingers through her hair.

So she pressed on.

She talked of the giant wolves that had descended upon Hobbiton, catching her unaware as she made her way home that evening. She’d been surrounded by snapping and snarling faces, their growls echoed in her ears. One had caught her cloak, trying to drag her into the woods…

Until the rangers came that is.

“The wolves scattered and I was able to get away and rush home, my herbs lost…But I was alive,” she murmured, “But when I walked through the door, I knew-“ she choked back a sob, “Something was wrong. And when I went in to see my mother I saw my father and…and he had passed on.”

Lyla swallowed thickly pulling back from Thorin’s embrace to wipe at her eyes.

“He begged me to stay and all I cared about was getting away from my brother…if I had only…”
She sighed.

“You know, Bilbo never really spoke much after that. My mother either. I watched them…fade…until they weren’t there anymore and I was left behind. Left to pick up the pieces. Left to carry the guilt.”

Suddenly she pushed away from Thorin and stood.

“I was just a child really. And I was so selfish!” She ranted starting to pace, “Most of our neighbors and family said that perhaps if I was better-behaved then my father would have been in better health instead of wasting it worrying after me. Oh, if I had been the respectable daughter instead of a wild little nuisance perhaps…perhaps he would have lived…perhaps Bilbo and I wouldn’t have disagreed so often…and my mother would have…”

“No, Lyla. No. They were fools. All of them. Your neighbors, your family. Even me.” Thorin came towards her again, standing near her side as he watched her carefully, “Do not wish to be anyone other than you. You’ve never had a chance to grieve. You were forced to grow up far too quickly…much as Fili and Kili were…”

He reached out and grasped her shoulder again.

“Never wish to be anyone other than yourself. It was Lyla Baggins who tricked the trolls, Lyla Baggins who faced down Azog, more than once in defense of a dwarf king who did nothing but demean her, Lyla Baggins who fought spiders and wargs and elves to ensure the success of this quest. And it is Lyla Baggins who fights for the welfare of townspeople she does not even know.”

"Anyone would have done that..." she muttered averting her eyes.

He turned her until they were face to face again. “No," He replied, "No, not all would do what you have done. And don’t hold onto the unfounded guilt you carry. You could not change what was to happen, though my heart grieves for one so young having to face so much. But, never think that it was your fault.”

He brought her into a tight embrace, much to Lyla’s surprise, resting his head atop her own as he continued to murmur softly.

And she felt a heat rise on her neck as his arms came around her and the soft smells of cinnamon and pipeweed filled her nose. And she savored the contented feeling flowing through her veins, and even if it was an unfounded regard, Lyla would cherish this moment.

“Promise me that you will never hold to that loneliness anymore. You may have lost much as a child, but you’ve gained so much on this quest. They love you. You have endeared yourself to the company.”

He shuffled back slightly and gently touched the small ring hanging around Lyla’s neck, a fond smile on his lips.

“You are family now,” He murmured, pulling her back into his hold, as her tears started afresh.

He held her close as the sky lightened, the first rays of the sun beginning to peek over the horizon, his own tears dampening her curls as they both finally released the grief they had held onto for so long.

****
Unbeknownst to the hobbit and dwarf king, a warrior, a miner and two princes crouched above the outcropping, watching the scene unfold before them.

“Aye, it’s about time,” Dwalin muttered lowly, a soft, sad smile on his lips as he thought of Dis and Moria and Thorin.

Of course the king had been wrong to think that it was his fault for Dwalin’s grief. No, Dwalin's remorse and grief were his own, and he had dealt and would deal with them accordingly. Thorin should not have blamed himself.

But that was Thorin’s nature and the warrior couldn’t fault him for it.

Though he was certainly ever more grateful for the tiny hobbit lass who had wormed her way into the hearts of the company and who had, finally, coaxed the grief from Thorin’s lips like a poison.

And he was equally grateful to his oldest friend for returning the favor towards Mistress Baggins.

He cast a glance towards the other three, who sat gazing between him and the duo down below.

“Now, I think it’s ‘bout time ye lads paid up then, aye?”

Chapter Text

“Mithrandir, if what you say is true,” Thranduil remarked rubbing his thumb across the tips of his other fingers, “Then the world is in grave danger.”

The elf king watched the Grey Wizard warily from his chair within the small, secluded alcove off the throne room, his eyes sweeping over Gandalf’s wearied form. Thranduil noted the way the wizard leaned, quite heavily, on his staff.

Gandalf nodded his head quickly, absently, his unfocused eyes betraying his strayed thoughts,

Something troubled him greatly.

A piece of information that he had overlooked nagged at his brain, begging to be acknowledged.

But he couldn’t figure just what it was.

“Indeed,” he finally replied quietly with a sigh (determined to ruminate on these thoughts later), “And I believe that Dol Guldur is only the beginning. Something far more powerful is at work here, though I cannot yet see it.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed slightly and he tilted his head to the side in thought.

“And what if this whole plot with Laketown, Dol Guldur, and The Lonely Mountain—supposing they ARE connected—proves to be a trap?”

Gandalf’s gaze locked with the elf king’s and a thin, humorless smile formed on his face, his grey eyes flashing.

“Oh, it’s undoubtedly a trap.” He murmured, “And you’ve already felt the effects of it, I believe. So, too, has Thorin Oakenshield and his company. And I believe, that we will yet feel more.”

“And Thorin does not know of what you found on your search of the old fortress?”

Gandalf shook his head once, a clear indication for the negative. “No, indeed not. Not yet at least. I plan to tell him AFTER they contend with the dragon.”

“And you would share this information with me?” Thranduil tried to hide his confusion, but the timbre of his voice faltered, “Why?”

“Because you, above all others, know of this power permeating the forest, its influence, its corruption. And,” Gandalf’s eyes narrowed in thought, “And you’ve witnessed it destroy your family as well.”

Thranduil’s eye twitched for a brief moment, barely long enough for Gandalf’s quick eyes to catch the movement.

But, catch it he did. And that small, infinitesimal movement proved that Thranduil understood.

The elf king had not been himself.

He was not still quite the elf he used to be, but he was getting better.

But, what the wizard had spoken was true.

A dark power had closed around him and clouded his judgment, poisoned his mind.

It was the same power he’d fought against with his father so many years ago, the same power that TOOK his father, leaving a still very young elf prince to oversee the welfare of his people.

Yes, Thranduil could see the trap closing in around his people and the men of Esgaroth.

And for the moment, he also held a small shred of pity for the dwarf king’s plight.

The question now, though, was what were they going to do about it?

“How are we to complete this…mission…of yours when it is almost certain that The Master has learned of my son’s presence within his town? And with the dwarves no less,” Gandalf didn’t miss the way Thranduil spat the words, “Surely he will suspect something if we were to march down upon them.”

“Yes,” He conceded, “Yes I had thought of that…”

Then Gandalf smirked.

“And it is precisely the leverage that WE need in order to combat against the current leader of Laketown.”

“You ask me to put my son at risk?” Thranduil replied incredulously, “And for what? Some dwarves?”

Thranduil snorted at that thought.

“Dwarves, that by right, should still be in my dungeon right now.”

Gandalf sighed, “Save me from your stubbornness and pride! You are far too quick to anger. You are worse than Thorin Oakenshield, holding onto these grudges and I do not give you counsel and advice on for you to hold onto the past injustices inflicted upon you!”

“You ask me to forgive them then?” Thranduil retorted, his eyes flashing, “To forgive those who betrayed my people and brought the wroth of the dragon so close to my borders?”

“No.” Gandalf remarked, “In fact I’m hoping to use your…distaste for the dwarves to our advantage. All I ask is that you set aside your contentions, for now, in order to aid the people of Esgaroth, who are innocent of any crimes against you and deserve none of your derision.”

Thranduil nodded thoughtfull, “Yes, of course I know that,” His eyes dulled for a moment and a brief flash of sadness splashed across his features.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “I have not been myself lately and I fear that my temper has suffered for it.”

Gandalf smiled and nodded his head again, slowly this time. “Another advantage in our favor, I think. The Master must have suspected the sway the forest was having on you, for how else would you have missed the goings on about Laketown? And he knows that the dwarves came from your palace, as well as your history of animosity …that way your inquiry about your son’s location will not rouse so much suspicion and persuasion will convince the enemy to trust you. Hopefully, by then, Legolas and his troop will have completed their task.”

Gandalf noted the hesitation in Thranduil’s eyes. He could see the elf king warring with himself over something.

“And what of this halfing?” He murmured, his voice low and questioning, “What part does SHE play in all this?”

Gandalf chuckled. “Well, her official title is burglar, for the purposes of the company. She’ll be taking on the initial scouting of the mountain and of the dragon Smaug if it comes to that.”

Thranduil looked rather baffled by that statement. “Surely she is not equipped for such a task. She is only a hobbit after all.”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at the king, “Hobbits are much more than they appear, Lyla Baggins in particular. She is no dwarf, and therefore not swayed by gold or riches. Nor is she an elf with a contentious relationship with the dwarven race. She had ensured the safety of her companions on numerous occasions; she has a quick wit and sound judgment. I trust her to complete her task. No other can.”

Thranduil’s brows drew together and Gandalf contemplated the reasoning behind the elf’s flashing eyes. Thoughts were whirring in Thranduil’s head.

Concerning the hobbit.

“What concerns you of Mistress Baggins then?”

Thranduil visibly started at the wizard’s voice.

“Nothing so much to be concerned with,” He muttered in reply, “Just curious. How one so small and ill suited for travels and adventures of this sort could have endeared herself to such a large group. Dwarves, elves, men, a wizard.” He eyed Gandalf carefully, “There is much unanswered about the hobbit. You speak vaguely of her as does Legolas. And though I didn’t listen to her then, I believe the Lady of Lothlorien knows the creature’s fate and influence far better than we.”

“Indeed, I did not think that Lady Galadriel knew of the hobbit’s presence in Rivendell those weeks ago, but it appears I am wrong on that score.” The wizard smirked thoughtfully, “It would appear that the hobbit does INDEED have many more roles to play in deciding our fortunes.”

And then Gandalf winked at Thranduil.

“Including, purveyor of clarity, wouldn’t you agree?”

Thranduil frowned at Gandalf’s obvious jest, his eyes narrowed.

But Gandalf could also see the curiosity burning behind the derisive façade. The elf king was genuinely curious about Lyla Baggins and her purpose and place so far to the East.
And, Gandalf would admit this to no one, but a curiosity also burned within him as well. He was anxious to know of Galadriel’s regard for the hobbit and what that meant for Lyla, for it was no small thing to be known to the elf queen with the gift of foresight.

That familiar nagging sensation tickled his brain and he felt, once more, that there was a piece of information he was overlooking.

But all questions and curiosities would have to be answered in time.

For now, they had a task to fulfill, and a very short window of time to do so.

“Come, then, we must prepare for the dawn.”

*****
The words had been spoken.

The tears had been shed.

Lyla had finally relished in the grief she’d held onto for so long. She’d finally spoken of her fears, her guilt, her family, all of it.

Well all that Thorin didn’t already know.

He knew of Azog and the Trolls and the forest…

But not of her family.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone of her feelings on that matter.

Until now.

Lyla knew that she should feel relieved and at peace and content. And she DID...

But she also felt the renewed scarring pain that she’d so carefully tucked away and ignored. And that pain made reality distort, made her thoughts slow. She seemed to lose concept of time as she drowned in the memories of her mother’s stories by the fire, her father’s exasperated smile whenever she came into the house caked in mud and Bilbo’s playful banter whenever it was too cold to go outdoors.

Oh how she missed them.

She wasn’t sure WHEN the crying had ceased or when she ended up back on her bedroll, wrapped in her blanket and Thorin’s coat.

But that is where she found herself as she blinked back to reality.

Comfortable and warm…

And surrounded by the low bustling noise of the company as they prepared for the day.

Lyla’s eyes travelled upwards to gaze at the sky and she was surprised by how light it was. The soft pinks and oranges of dawn were giving way to the rich blues of morning. Low clouds, white as snowdrops, slowly lazed overhead, propelled by the light, chilly breeze of Autumn. A single bird chirped somewhere in the distance.

Lyla bit back a sigh and started to rise. Best not to delay the journey.

A hand on her shoulder halted her movements and she was eased back down onto her bedroll.

She jerked in surprise and tried to roll away.

Thorin’s deep, throaty chuckle reached her ears as he face appeared, looming over her.

“Easy, burglar,” He murmured lowly.

“Sorry,” she remarked, “You startled me.”

Thorin smiled in understanding and amusement, though the sparkle of happiness didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So jumpy all the time,” He remarked, “We must remedy that someday. But for now, rest a moment longer. It’s been a trying night.”

Lyla wanted to protest.

She wanted to declare that she could handle things just fine, thank you.

But today, her heart wasn’t in it.

She didn’t need to prove him wrong.

She didn’t really want to prove how strong she was either.

She just wanted a moment of peace.

And that’s what Thorin was giving her, so she wasn’t going to spoil it.

Judging by his pinched expression, his wearied eyes, tight smile, and disheveled hair, the dwarf king could use a moment as well, for he had been through just as much emotional turmoil as she had.

A twinge of guilt sparked in her. He had comforted her, but had she returned the favor?

"Thorin?" She murmured, noting the way his gaze fixed on her intently, his eyes curious and piercing.

Lyla swallowed and scooted upwards, to the dwarf's protests.

But she'd have none of that.

"I ah, wanted to thank you and...apologize."

Thorin looked confused. "Apologize? Whatever for?"

She felt the familiar creep of warmth on her neck and averted her gaze in embarassment. "I, ah, I-that is," she cleared her throat lightly, "I know that you, you were very...kind to me last night and I feel as though...er...as though I let you down by not returning that kindness towards...you."

Her gaze flicked upwards and she noted that the confused expression had not changed, though the dwarf's blue eyes had softened.

And then he smiled and shook his head lightly.

"Stubborn creature. Always so stubbornly concerned about others before herself."

He gestured for her to lay back down, but when she didn't he sighed and nudged her shoulder with his hand.

"Do not be so hasty of assume that you did not bring me comfort," He murmured, as she got comfortable again, tucked under Thorin's wonderfully smelling coat. "In fact you brought more comfort to me than, I'm afraid, I brought to you."

When Lyla made to protest, he hushed her with a gentle hand on her lips.

"No. Do not worry about it. Just rest. We have a long day ahead of us."

So, with her heart fluttering and a strange sensation in her chest, Lyla let her eyes slip closed and relished in the soft warmth of the sun on her face.

And the even softer caress of fingers running through her hair as Thorin hummed a low tune.

Though her emotions were confused concerning the dwarf, she relished in the comfort Thorin’s presence brought her.

It was quiet.

But as all things do, eventually, a soft shake of her shoulders roused her into alertness as Thorin murmured in her ear that it was time to prepare, and she rose to attend to pack for their ascent to the hidden doorway that led to the lower halls.

Or at least that’s where Balin had told her they were going back on the boat.

She had just finished rolling up her bedroll and was attaching it to her makeshift pack when a large shadow dimmed her vision.

Lyla gazed up slowly, expecting to see Thorin, or Bofur or Dwalin.

She was surprised, however, to see Bifur standing before her, a rather serious look upon his face.

With wide eyes, she slowly rose to her feet and gazed at the dwarf carefully. She knew full well that Bifur could not speak Westron. His head injury prevented it.

But she knew that he could understand it well enough at least.

“Erm, uh, hello Master Bifur,” she fumbled for words as the dwarf’s unblinking gaze caught her off guard, “What-er-what can I do for you?”

At that question, Bifur finally blinked and stepped forward, muttering something in the secret language that only the dwarves knew. He reached forward and grabbed hold of Lyla’s hand, his larger one coming to rest atop hers.

Something small, but heavy dropped into her palm and then Bifur was closing her fingers around the object slowly, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

Carefully he pressed her hand against her chest and then, with his finger, he tapped his forehead and then tapped hers.

A gesture of affection.

Giving her shoulders a gentled squeeze, Bifur slowly turned and walked away, leaving a stunned hobbit staring after him.

She noted, too, that she wasn’t the only one who appeared surprised. Fili and Kili had stopped their packing to watch the exchange, eyes alight in with fascinated wonder. And Bofur, too, wore a gaping, grinning, expression and gazed between Lyla and his cousin with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Lyla gazed down at her hand, pulling it away from her chest and slowly uncurling her fingers, her curiosity piqued.

A surprised smile split her face as her heart swelled with affection for the dwarf who couldn’t speak.

But his gift spoke volumes.

In her hand was a spectacular carving of a star flower.

It was Lyla’s favorite flower (though she wondered if the dwarf knew that bit of information)

But it was the meaning of the flower that sent warm tremors of appreciation down her spine.

All hobbits knew the language of flowers. And Lyla was dually surprised and impressed at Bifur's attention to the tiniest detail, (for each petal was delicate and lifelike) as well as his knowledge of flowers and their symbolism. She KNEW that his choice of flower could not be a mistake.

It was a fitting gift for one who was about face a dragon and Lyla noted that a small notch was worked into the back of the carving so that she might attach it to her leather necklace.

‘They care for you…’ Thorin’s words echoed in her head as the healing pains worked to mend the rift in her heart, slowly helping to bind the wounds that resided there and making her feel...

whole.

She untied the leather and slid her treasured gift from Bifur next to Dis’ ring (another irreplaceable treasure of friendship) and retied the leather around her neck, admiring the delicate beauty of Bifur’s skilled craftsmanship again.

And she was thankful for the dwarves, her dwarves, and the little token now residing near her heart,

Her little symbol of courage.

Chapter Text

Legolas’ sensitive ears picked up the delicate whispers of movement through the trees as a doe slowly picked her way through the undergrowth, her gait cautious and wary. His ears also picked up the faint chirping of insects, whizzing about through the branches.

But what he was straining to hear were the low murmurs of men’s voices, carried by the wind. He knew there were still patrols combing the woodlands on the outskirts of Laketown.

And he was doing his best to avoid them.

Gazing from his perch high in the trees, he peered down the slow sloping hill and fancied he could see the dark shapes of men as they lumbered through the undergrowth.
And then, the soft murmurs he’d been hoping to hear were gradually growing in volume.

The men, The Master’s men, were making their way up the mountain.

Undoubtedly in search of the Bowman’s son.

As well as himself.

They had been witnesses to The Master’s dirty work after all.

A small shifting movement on the branch he was crouched on, alerted Legolas that Tauriel had returned.

“What news,” He murmured, never taking his eyes from the growing shapes.

“Twenty at least,” Tauriel’s lilting voice hummed through the air, "Though we can't be certain of how many more men are up the river on patrols."

Legolas could feel the tension radiating from her form as understanding raced through his mind.

This was going to be tricky.

“Then we best get moving,” Legolas sighed shooting the she-elf a look of resigned determination. “You and the archers will head South-East, bypassing the group coming up the mountain. I’ll be taking the rest North-East towards the lip of the lake, where we’ll meet up with Bard and make our way down towards the banquet hall. By then my father will have made it and, Aule willing, he will have created a sufficient distraction so that we may slip in relatively unnoticed.”

“And what of these forest-combers?” Tauriel questioned warily, casting her gaze down towards the shadows who were still a league away, “How are we to bypass them?”

“We’ll stay upwind of them if we can help it—travel a few leagues before heading down. But,” His brows knit together, “If you run into any trouble making your way to the lake, you know that we cannot allow anyone to sound the alarm. Make sure your spotters are alert.”

A low whistle, disguised as a birdsong, pricked at Legolas’ ears, making them twitch. Two low, long pitchy reverberations rolled through the air.
It was familiar.

And two whistles signaled they were a league upstream.

“Time to move,” he muttered.

*****

Thranduil kept his face pulled into a frown as he spied the first wave of men patrolling the forests near the docks leading towards Esgaroth. His guard stayed close at hand, encircling the elf king at every angle to ensure his safety.

He knew that even in the trees, scouts observed the activities below, their mistrust on high alert.

They would not allow harm to come to him, should anyone attack their party.

Thranduil’s sharp eyesight caught a glimpse of the banquet hall, situated right on the shoreline. It was the first building that you passed by as you entered Laketown and one of the only buildings to actually rest on solid ground.

It was the only place large enough to house the children beneath it.

And though Thranduil trusted Gandalf, trusted his son’s judgment, and trusted the truthfulness of the young boy, Bain, a shred of doubt still flickered in his brain.
Or rather he had HOPED it wasn’t true. For who would wish such wickedness upon a people?

Yet the closer to he came to the town of men, the more he could feel the crushing weight of evil spreading before him, increasing in strength and size.
Such news to his heart, made him frown in contemplation.

He had missed all the signs, all the warnings.

He had been too consumed by the evil to prevent it.

His gaze hardened has they approached the a trio of guards, who appeared wary and surprised to see them. He noted the way their grips tightened around their weapons as their eyes narrowed.

Thranduil came to a halt and stood staring.

Waiting.

“What brings a convoy of Elves to Esgaroth?” One man, a bearded fellow with bright red hair and narrow, pinched eyes stepped forward, challenging the elves that stood before him.

Thranduil was not impressed.

“I am Thranduil, king of the woodland realm, the great halls of Mirkwood. And I come,” He remarked coldly, “in search of my son.”

A spark of recognition lit the eyes of the man before him and a low murmur of curiosity overtook the other two members of their group as they watched the elves with interest and a predatory gleam.

Thranduil suspected their thoughts, but feigned ignorance. Cleaving, instead, to the anger and the discontent his senses had be awash in a few short days ago. Until a little hobbit…

It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

“And why are you travelling towards Esgaroth then? What suspicions do you have of our town?”

The same red haired man frowned at the elf king challenging him, trying to bait him. He wanted an excuse to attack.

But Thranduil was thinking clearly now and would nto fall for such a trap. No, he had his own game to play.

The elf smirked derisively. “Because he was taken down river, trying to assist a small hobbit and her dwarven companions out of my halls a fortnight ago. I have not seen him since then.”

The man’s weapon came up and pointed towards Thranduil’s throat as his companions raised their weapons.

Thranduil’s guard brought forth their own weapons and aimed their arrows, their bows pulled taut. Waiting for the enemy to make the first move.

“If your son,” the man spat, “is in league with those dwarves then you, by association are considered criminal.”

Ah. There is was. The perfect excuse for the men of Esgaroth to wage war against the elves.

Thranduil snorted at the thought of being in league with Thorin Oakenshield. He raised his brow in challenge to the man’s accusation.

“I can assure you, that I am not privy to my son’s thoughts and motivations. Nor did I encourage the dwarves’ escape from my halls.” He frowned narrowing his eyes at the man, challenging him as well.

He wanted to assure him, that he thought little of the affairs of the dwarves and that he did not suspect the wickedness engulfing the town.

“I simply desire to see my son. And, if the dwarves,” He spat the word, “ARE held somewhere within the confines of your town, I’d hope to have them returned to my halls. They were captured for trespassing, I wish to exact justice upon them.”

The man’s gaze was still narrowed, suspicious and assessing, hoping to find a flaw or flinch in the elf’s gaze.

But Thranduil was stoic, a statue in expression. He kept his gaze stiff, frown firmly in place.

The man’s own gaze faltered and his eyes shifted between his small group and Thranduil’s well-equipped guard.

He sighed and lowered his weapon. “Come, then. I’m sure The Master will wish to speak with you concerning the dwarves and your son’s hand in their troublesome appearance.”

“Indeed,” Thranduil muttered, stepping forward to accompany the man and the rest of the guard that were closer to the borders of the lake.

He hoped that this would serve as enough distraction.

Overhead a low rumble of thunder echoed through the skies.

*****

Bard’s glance strayed, every few moments, towards the shoreline as he picked his way through the undergrowth. The longer he traveled the more of Laketown he was able to behold and the more his heart hammered in his chest as worry gnawed at his stomach, setting him on edge.

Only resting for a few hours during the night, he was anxious to make it to the northern shoreline, where Legolas was supposedly (hopefully) waiting and where they would take a wide arching route towards the banquet hall.

He wasn’t so anxious, though to become careless in where he walked. He marched ever closer towards Esgaroth, well hidden in the tree line, wary of patrols.

He had a task to fulfill and he could not hope to accomplish that if he were lax.

The time he took, carefully marking his steps, did give his companion a chance to converse with him.

A small thrush fluttered near his head, its whispers tickling his ears.

Since he was young, his mother had taught him of the gift his family held:

They could communicate with the ancient race of thrushes that inhabited the area surrounding Dale. The first time he realized that he could understand these species of bird, and the fact that they WILLINGLY listened to his remarks or requests, sent a thrill down Bard’s spine. And since then, he’d used the birds to his advantage, spying and gathering information.

It was certainly a handy little advantage to hold. And, it gave him a scout who would signal whenever danger lurked by.

So far it had worked. Every few minutes, the bird would fly on ahead, circle the area and quickly return to report any findings.

He’d managed to avoid two small patrol groups because of it, though it surprised him that patrols were up this far.

Doubt tickled his brain. Did The Master suspect?

“Anything ahead?” he murmured quietly as the thrush, whirred past his ear, the soft flutter of its wings blowing air in Bard’s face.
A series of low chirps whistled through the air, sounding ordinary to anyone listening.

But to the bowman, the phrase was as clear as the water from long lake, lapping against the smoothed rocks of the shoreline.

‘Nothing yet. No guards. But crows. Many crows. Be careful.’

Bard nodded his head in thanks and continued to gaze about warily. He could feel danger lurking in the shadows, the whispers of a nameless fear sending shudders down his spine.

But of course, he was bound to encounter some sort of trouble. That’s how evil worked, wasn’t it? Always hiding in the most unlikely places, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And even if his little thrush was a sharp-sighted creature, there were undoubtedly times when even his spotter missed something.

Like now.

A strange unease had settled in his stomach as the world around him fell into silence.

A silence that blotted out the noises of all other life.

The birds.

The rustling of wind.

The insects that hummed.

All of it was gone, in a flash, except for the soft flaps of the thrush.

Bard stopped walking and pulled out his bow, his eyes narrowing. He forced his breathing to slow, the erratic beating of his heart to ease.

He willed the panic back down and waited, straining his ears, listening for any sort of sign, movement, rustling.

But only silence remained. An eerie foreboding silence.

And then a twig snapped, a few meters away.

“Go,” he whispered into the air, “Go and find the hobbit and bring me word. Be wary of the dragon.”

The little thrush, twittering around his head circled once and then with a loud ‘chirp’ fluttered away as Bard brought forth an arrow and notched it into his bow, aiming it carefully towards the trees to his right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the thrush’s small form growing ever smaller.

“Hurry,” he whispered as the high-pitched cries started to echo in the skies as clouds billowed overhead.

A trio of hideous orcs burst from the trees, battle-axes raised, snarling and shrieking at Bard as they charged.

And overhead crows, dozens of crows, cawed and flapped around the bowman’s head, diving towards him, pecking at his flesh.

Bard released the arrow he was holding notched in his bow and impaled the one of the snarling beasts’ throats, cutting off the angry cry.

‘Hurry’ he thought again as he notched another arrow in his bow.

*****

They'd reached the outskirts of the city of Dale when Lyla heard it:

The low rumble of thunder as the ground shook.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes and gazed upward, marveling at the storm clouds rolling forth, like massive billows of smoke. She felt her heart start to hammer and her chest tightened. And overhead more thunder rumbled.

Chapter Text

Bard grunted as he was overpowered by two orc warriors, their knives drawn in anger, their low guttural cries of fury ringing in his ears.

He managed to take down three with arrows before the crows managed to distort his field of vision and harangue him with their incessant pecking—not enough to pierce skin or inflict real damage, but enough to bother him terribly.

Now as he fell, trying to fend off the scraping nails and claws of the green and grey skinned creatures, he acknowledge a growing dread and fury welling in his chest.

These damnable creatures were going to be the death of him?! The thought was so utterly absurd and ridiculous!

And yet here he laid, pinned beneath a vicious monster of a creature, staring down the jagged end of a knife. He could die in this moment

And he would have let them down.

Everyone.

His son.

The children.

Even the little hobbit.

With a roar of frustration, he thrust his arms upward, catching one orc in the jaw. He kicked his legs and sent the other orc sprawling in a tangled mass of flopping limbs and annoyed cries.

Rolling, he managed to jab his bow into the orcs throat, pushing the creature completely off balance and giving Bard a chance to rise to his feet.

For a moment at least. Several crows dived at the man, sending him stumbling backwards in surprise. He tripped over one of the orcs and tumbled backwards, landing on his back with a groan of surprise.

And then an orc was on top of him again.

The orc he’d caught in the jaw, backhanded the bowman and managed to yank the bow from Bard’s grasp, his knife poised to strike the man in the chest.

But something connecting with the orcs backside made the creature jerk forward in surprise and confusion, a look of pain crossing its features as the knife slipped from its grasp and it dropped forward landing atop the struggling man.

The body was utterly still and Bard tilted his head, as he pushed the deceased creature off of him.

He noted two arrows embedded into the creatures back. Bright golden and white arrows, far more pristine and elegant than anything he owned.

Elvish arrows.

“Get them!” Legolas’ voice thundered through the air. “Don’t let anyone escape.”

The bowman scrambled to his feet as a large gathering of elves encircled the few remaining orcs, picking them off one by one.

The crows, sensing defeat, retreated, their caws echoing in the air. Bard dreaded where they might be heading, but there was very little he could do about them at the moment.
Retrieving his bow, he adjusting his sling of arrows, ensuring that the black one remained and then he turned to face the elf prince, who stood, his lips thin and pursed as he gaze around.

“Sorry we’re late,” The elf gave Bard a small smile and gentle clap on the back, “I was not expecting to find so many adversaries in these woods. This is bad news.” He shot a more somber glance at the bowman, “Those were no ordinary birds and they've returned to report to their master. We've but a short time to complete our task. We must hurry. My father would already be in the city by now.”

Bard nodded and followed after the tall, graceful creatures feeling a worry tickling his brain. If orcs were this far out, surrounding the lake, had they already infiltrated the city? Just what sort of alliances did The Master have?

He quickened his pace as he gazed at the cloudy sky, noting the lateness in the day. It was afternoon. They needed to hurry.

He hoped the little thrush had found the hobbit.

*****
The silence was deafening as they passed through the city, the city that lay in tatters, in ruin and completely undisturbed for decades.

Lyla’s eyes shifted, absorbing every minute detail. She knew that the City of Dale must have been a truly remarkable edifice at the height of its glory. Everywhere there were buildings and winding streets, paved ever so carefully. The city was far larger than her little Hobbiton.

And what should have been a grand and bustling city, surrounded by a thriving, rich forest, by all accounts, lay in ruin, a town of ghostly memories and unspoken horrors.

The outer wall was crumbling, entire sections missing.

Houses had been demolished, rubble cluttering the streets.

Overturned baskets charred by fire lay, undisturbed, gathering dust

She even spied a small doll, obviously handmade, lying beneath a few strayed pieces of stone.

And everywhere there was ash.

Piles of ash, and bone (and Lyla bit back a gasp when she realized that it WAS bone) littered the streets, tumbling into the open doorways with their splintered, sooty wood. Scorch marks, undimmed by times movement grazed most walls.

And surrounding the walls, skeleton trees, blackened and barren dotted the hillside.

It was as if Dale was forever trapped in that moment where life and death connected.

It sent tremors down Lyla’s spine.

Dwalin set a comforting hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“Don’t think too much on it lass,” He murmured, his tone barely above a whisper and gruff with a bitter timbre, “Don’t think about it.”

The hobbit nodded her head and tried to brandish the disturbing thoughts from her mind as the silent company worked their way slowly through the streets.

That, however, was easier said than done. Each step she took brought her further into the city, further into the desolation.

She felt an odd, emptiness take hold of her. A sad bitterness swept through her veins.

She caught Thorin’s eye and knew that he shared the same bitterness. His face was pulled into a frown, his eyes hard with a weariness weaving through the blue orbs.

And she was grateful that they didn’t linger longer than need be, not only for herself, but for her companions as well. It seemed that no one was particularly anxious to remain in such a still and desolate tomb of memories.

Though, she wasn’t particularly anxious to reach her destination either.

Inside that tomb of a mountain, a dragon lay.

A dragon she was going to face.

Her eyes swept over the mountain in awe and trepidation and she had to remind herself of the reason WHY she was doing this.

Why she was stepping into a dragon’s den.

And WHO she was stepping into it for.

As they reached, what she assumed to be the main gate of the city, a wide, expansive roadway met her feet and she gazed with renewed awe at the vision before her.

The mountain sat, regal, unshakeable and proudly looming over the valley Lyla stood in. And the cloud cover only seemed to enhance this image, illuminating the jagged outcroppings and twisted, rocky spiraling peaks dusted in snow.

Lyla’s breath caught in her throat as she stepped onto the road and saw before her two exceptionally large figures hewn straight from the rock of the mountain itself. Two giant dwarven guards stood like sentinels, their immovable axes at the ready, protecting, what must have been a grand entrance into the mountain, now crumbled and buried beneath rubble.

The breath disappeared from her lungs and she stopped for a moment spellbound by the image. It was almost surreal in quality and sent strange tingles down her arms and to her fingertips.

It was magnificent.

“Erebor,” Kili whispered, coming to a standstill next to Lyla, “I-I never thought that we’d ever get here.”

“Our home,” Fili murmured coming to stop on Lyla’s other side.

“It’s beautiful,” Lyla whispered in awe, her breath ghosting through the air.

“Aye lass, it’s certainly a sight,” Balin had stepped back near the two young princes and the stilled hobbit. Even his voice held a strange reverence. “You should have seen it in all its glory. Truly magnificent.”

“Yes.” Thorin had also turned and Lyla noted the dazed, faraway look on his face.

The same look that many in the company shared as they too took in the sight.

“Yes, it was magnificent. And it will be again one day.” Thorin’s gruff voice was soft, gentle. He gazed at Lyla thoughtfully, some unknown emotion flitting across his face. “We’ll make it whole again. You’ll see.”

He gazed her a moment longer and then turned with a blink back towards the mountain in silence.

Lyla memorized the dwarf king’s silhouette as he surveyed his home, a home that he had not seen since he was forced from it so many years ago. The man stood proud, his shoulders squared, a determined air about him.

“Come.” His voice carried over the stilled, silent company. “We still have a ways to go yet and the day is half over.”

Bofur turned back to catch Lyla’s gaze with a small smile and a quick wave of his hand as they resumed their march forward.

She supposed he meant to comfort her.

So, too, she suspected, did Fili and Kili and Dwalin, as they remained on either side of her, as they followed their leader and king towards the entrance of Erebor.

The closer they marched, however, the more Lyla learned of the dragon’s damage. One of the guards had been cracked, chipped, and disfigured, nearly broken in two, a sign that something powerful and sinister lurked beneath the façade of grandeur.

Lyla blinked a few times, her awe lessening as she was constantly reminded of the tainted spirit that hung over this place.

A low chirping noise made the hobbit visibly start. She gazed up in surprise and confusion as a small bird careened towards her a ball of fluttering wings and anxious movement.
Kili chuckled lightly, “Mistress Boggins!” he cajoled, “Startled by a tiny bird? How are you ever to face the terrible Smaug when you’re so flighty and skittish?”

Dwalin’s grip on her shoulder suddenly disappeared.

“Ow!” Kili cried pulling away and rubbing the side of his head, “What was that for then?” he scowled back at Dwalin.

“Oi you blockhead,” Fili retorted, “We’re right in front of the mountain! You can’t be makin’ jokes about the dragon, when it’s right there inside!”

Lyla gazed back towards Kili who had a sheepish look on his face.

“Oh, uh yes…” he trailed off giving Lyla a bashful smile. “Sorry.”

‘Oh give me strength’ she murmured silently turned a wide-eyed gaze towards the mountain, ‘Aule give me strength to do this.

And then, suddenly time seemed to speed up in Lyla’s eyes. The ascent to the hidden doorway was over in a flash. They traveled, single file, up the tall dwarven statue where a small path had been carved along the dwarf’s arm and axe handle, silent as mice towards a low lying outcropping tucked away from view. Once or twice someone’s footing slipped (even Lyla’s), but Balin’s suggestion to loop rope to their belts was a well thought plan, one that saved all their lives when Nori took a tumble backwards, nearly falling to his death on the jagged rocks below.

Lyla also thought it was a stroke of genius to keep Bombur at the BACK of the line.

When they were all safely situated in the alcove and untied, the dwarves dispersed and clamored about the space, searching, whispering and gazing about in wonder. The sun was still too high, and they could do nothing but watch and wait for the right moment when the door would be revealed to them.

Lyla chose, instead of following their example, to rest herself for a moment.

And all the while the little bird twittered and chirped near Lyla’s head, much to the hobbit’s surprise.

“What is it you want little creature?” she murmured, curling into the inner most alcove of the outcropping as the other surveyed the view and hunted for signs of a doorway. She started, perplexed a at the fluttering wings and black eyes that swirled in her vision. “I’m afraid I’m not particularly good company.”

The bird gave a mighty chirp and then pecked at the hobbit’s nose before settling on her shoulder with a small shake of its feathers.

Lyla rubbed her nose agitatedly and shot a perplexed glare at the small, flighty creature resting on her shoulder and turned to gaze at the sky, watching the way the dwarves fidgeted and explored, their energy coiled into every movement.

Bofur stood closest to the hobbit, his face turned towards the valley, leaning on his mattock and tapping his fingers in a very careful rhythm. Ori stood across from him, jotting furiously in that journal of his (And how he managed to keep track of the infernal thing through all their travels Lyla had no idea). Every few moments the scribe would pause and gaze around at the company, eyes assessing and critical and then return to his task, his deft hand moving quickly across the pages.

Bifur, Dori and Oin were gazing upwards at the height of the mountain, their mouths open in wonder, eyes wide. Occasionally, one would whisper and point upwards, the other two following suit.

Nori’s eyes, in contrast, were shifting around the ground, inspecting something or another, as he dragged his foot through the dirt, his face was pinched and contemplative.
Perhaps he was inspecting the reliability of the stone?

But the others were huddled together, whispering heatedly as Balin and Thorin pointed at the map that the dwarf king held in his hands

“Durin’s day is upon us,” Thorin muttered his eyes shifting around “How-how will we know where the door is?”

“How indeed,” Lyla murmured gazing about.

All she knew was that they were to stand by the grey stone at the last light of Durin’s Day. That didn’t exactly narrow things down did it?

Everything was grey.

“I see you have the right idea Lassie,” Oin remarked slumping down next to her.

The bird on her shoulder gave an angry chirp and flapped forward, starting to peck at the unsuspecting dwarf.

“Hey!” Lyla cried, “Leave him alone. He’s not going to hurt you! Or me…or anyone really, so just calm down!

The bird chirped again, pinched the tip of the hobbit’s ear and settled back on her shoulder, its feathers puffed up and a glare (or that’s what it appeared to Lyla anyway) on its face.

“Temperamental little bugger,” she grumbled as Oin stared at her, a look of confusion written on his face.

“How’d ye get that little thrush to perch on yer shoulder like that lass?”

Lyla huffed and shot a glare at the bird, the thrush, that had closed its eyes for the time being.

“Nothing. I did nothing.” She remarked gruffly, folding her arms and scrunching her legs up, “The thing won’t leave me alone!”

Oin chuckled again and rubbing his cheek where an angry red welt was growing, “Mighty fierce little thing isn’t it...” he trailed off giving Lyla a thoughtful look, “Kind of like you hobbit folk I’d say.”

Lyla gaped at the dwarf in surprise, her mouth falling open slightly.

Did he really just compare her to a tiny little bird?

“Aye that’s a true comparison isn’t it!” Bofur chortled, swing his mattock lightly, a grin on his face. “A little bird of a hobbit facing down a monster of a dragon!”

He gave Lyla a cheeky smile and shuffled nearer to the Shireling.

Lyla just frowned up at the dwarf, trying to ignore the truthfulness of his comparison.

“That’s hardly fair, you know,” she retorted heatedly, “You lot are hardly much taller than I am.”

Bofur ruffled her hair teasingly, “Aye lass, that’d be true, but we’re not going in after some giant furnace with wings are we?”

Furnace with wings?

Lyla swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“I don’t think yer helpin’ much there lad,” Oin remarked, his gaze drifting between the hobbit and the miner. “Best not talk of the dragon right now…”

But for some reason, Bofur was takin’ delight in this conversation and he waved the concerned doctor off. “Oh it’ll be nothin’. This lass here can handle anything. Lacerations…incineration…”

Lyla’s eyebrow twitched. “Incineration?! Are you suggesting that I’m going to die?”

Bofur only laughed some more and slung his arm around the confused hobbit. “Nah, nothin’ so terrible ‘s that! Just givin’ ye a description of the chiefest and greatest calamity of
our age.” He turned and winked at Lyla, who was utterly flummoxed by the dwarf’s actions. “Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks…extremely fond of precious metals…”

WHY was he saying all this to her?!

Lyla closed her eyes trying to block out the growing panic. She was starting to feel a bit faint. Here they say at on the doorstep, so close to the dragon.

It was all so real now. No longer just a dream or a story.

And did Bofur think he was being helpful by saying all those things?

Was he really that DENSE?

A hand grasped her chin and Lyla’s eyes flew open in surprise and wariness.

Bofur turned her face towards his own and brought their foreheads together, a soft smile on his face.

“Aye lass, it may be a scary thought to go after that monstrous beast. But, he’s got somethin’ coming that he’s never seen before. Ye’ll be just fine. Smaug doesn’t stand a chance against ye.”

Lyla’s brows knit together in confusion. Was he being serious?

“All of this is hardly comforting,” she remarked pulling away. “I’m going to face a dragon. I’m not a hero, or a warrior…or even a burglar! How am I to do this?”

“Aye,” Bofur leaned away but tucked his hand inside her own, “A burglar or a warrior ye may not be, but yer a quick-witted thing. Ye’ll think of somethin’.”

Lyla snorted in derision, but gave the dwarf’s hand a gentle squeeze.

In his own strange way, the miner meant to bring her comfort.

She snuggled into the crook of the dwarf’s arm, mindful of the little bird that still sat, perched and asleep on her shoulder and stared out into the valley, watching as the dwarves also began to settle down, with most sitting and staring around in awe, trepidation and confusion.

Lyla caught the familiar mass of long dark ebony hair and the stern gaze of the dwarf king as he gaze about in frustration, his hands clenched into fists. When he noted her gaze upon him, the dwarf sat straighter, his eyes softening ever so slightly and a small smirk appearing on his lips.

He gave a nod of his head towards her and Lyla felt a creeping heat warm up her neck.

But she returned the smile hesitantly.

And then, the sun’s light burst forth from the clouds and bathed Lyla and the rest in a brilliant bright light. The hobbit, cringed and put a hand up to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness.

The little thrush on her shoulder chirped loudly in the hobbit’s ear and then twittered away in the flurry of movement, out into the open sky.

‘What could have possessed that creature to finally move? The sun?’ She thought in confusion.

Her confusion only heightened, however, when the thrush returned just as swiftly, something small and round captured in its beak and returned near Lyla, sitting on a small jagged piece of rock above the hobbit’s head.

Lyla scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, when the bird started to knock, what she now recognized as a snail, against the side of the mountain.

She heard Balin’s intake of breath and felt the rest of the dwarves clamor around, watching the bird in rapt attention.

“Stand by the grey stone,” She whispered. By Aule this was happening…

“Where the thrush knocks,” Thorin’s rich voice was near her ear, “And the last light of Durin’s day will show the key hole.”

A large warm hand wrapped around hers, a thumb rubbing soft circles across her wrist, as the sun’s light slowly filtered down, setting below the horizon.

And in a flash of brilliance, a small keyhole was illuminated before the wide-eyed audience of the company members.

Chapter Text

Bard’s grip on his bow never loosened as they slunk towards Laketown. His gaze was wary as he peeked around, suspicious and terrified of being spotted. He would never forgive himself if carelessness lead to innocents losing their lives.

Especially children.

He was certain that any sentries on patrol would know that Bard was supposed to be escorting the dwarves and their hobbit into the mountain. He had no reason to be heading towards Laketown.

And that would set the suspicious creatures on high alert.

No. It was far better to remain hidden.

And he supposed that they were fortunate that no one spotted them on their entry into the outer lying banks of the river near the town, though he figured that Legolas and keen-eyed companions had something to do with that.

But as he gazed from the marshes towards the banquet hall, the sun setting lower into the sky, he knew that they could not remain hidden for long. Patrols would find the bodies of their comrades. The crows would more than likely report back to their master and the word would spread like wildfire.

They had to hurry.

“How many do you see?” He whispered to the elf prince, well aware that his eyesight was not comparison to that of Legolas.

“Eight at least. I cannot tell how many more are inside.” The golden-haired creature murmured lowly, his eyes narrowed and assessing, “It would appear that this master of your is no stranger to deceptive tactics.”

Bard wanted to snort. Of course The Master wasn’t easily fooled.

“Still, though, if Tauriel and the others arrive soon, we might be able to launch an attack without much clamor or chaos.”

Bard nodded his head in agreement.

Clamor and chaos would certainly not be advisable at the moment.

Of course, though, when evil has its sights set on you, it’s hard to shake them from detecting your presence.

One of the Elven guards spied the bird too late.

A mighty cry went up from its feathered throat, even as an arrow was dispatched to silence the winged creature.

It was enough to cause a stir among the men.

“Go!” Legolas hissed lowly at his companions, “Shoot!”

Six elves rose, bows drawn, eyes narrowed.

The men of Rhun let out fierce cries and launched themselves forward.

Arrows sliced through the air and with deadly precision, embedded themselves beneath armor, sending the warrior men tumbling.

Three fell in a flash.

But three more were advancing, this time with shields raised in a protective manner.

The elves readied their arrows.

But Bard noticed the other two were not assisting their companions. Instead, one was pulling forth an object—a horn!

And the other was silently darting towards the banquet hall.

No!

“Legolas! Horn!” Bard thundered, charging from the marshes and towards the banquet hall drawing his own bow forth.

He released an arrow with a loud *thwack*as the echoes of a solitary horn blast filled the air

*****

Thorin didn’t hesitate to insert the key—pulled from the folds of his great coat—into waiting keyhole as the last bright rays of the sun filtered past the faces of the company.
The key slid in easily and with a slow turn, a lock clicked and an outline of a door appeared as Thorin pushed on the rock, making Lyla’s eyes widen.

‘It all fit so seamlessly. How…?’

Slowly the dwarf pushed the door aside completely and a warm gust of stagnant, stuffy air, blasted into her face.

She half wondered how the door could be so silent having never been used before.

Not that she wasn’t grateful, mind you.

She stared into the darkened tunnel, her heart leaping into her throat as the musty smell of the mountain filled her nostrils.

No, she was indeed grateful that a door had not woken a dragon.

A dragon!

She swallowed and clenched her fist. She was aware that eyes had turned to her, the company members staring at her unabashedly.

And she registered the low murmur sweeping through the lips of her companions.

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

They had finally reached it.

They were at the door.

And it was open and beckoning her forward.

Into the darkness.

A low, numbing sensation tingled over her limbs and she felt detached but filled with trepidation at the same time.

It all seemed so surreal.

So unusual.

Yet here she stood.

‘And a lot of good standing is going to do you , Lyla Baggins.’ She internally scolded herself, trying to will her limbs to move. ‘The longer you stand here, the longer you are denying help to those children and to the dwarves. What good are you to anyone standing still as stone?’

No. That just would not do.

Steeling her courage, Lyla took a step forward, eyes narrowed and focused on the door.

Now was as good a time as any, she supposed.

But a hand stopped her.

Lyla turned, blinking, to face her captor.

Thorin Oakenshield, flanked by Dwalin and Bofur, all who wore identical expressions of concern.

“Wait.” Thorin murmured, trying to pull her back from the door, “You don’t have to do this.”

What?

“That’s absurd,” Lyla replied confusedly, “Isn’t that what I’m here to do?”

“No,” Thorin remarked with a frown, “I mean yes, but now…” He cleared his throat, “I just-you can’t-you shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Aye lass,” Dwalin remarked, “It’s a dangerous road yer going down. Are ye sure this is what ye want to do?”

The warrior dwarf fixed her with a quiet, contemplative gaze, his eyes devoid of anger or reproach, merely searching her face thoughtfully, his lips pulled into a small frown.

Did they not understand?

Surely they understood…

“Of course,” she murmured, gazing about. Fili and Kili were also close to her, their faces identical masks of surprise and….admiration?

‘Well that’s an odd thought,’ She mused, and then shook her head.

She was imagining it.

And she needed to go face this dragon before she lost her nerve.

“I understand your concerns, but I did sign up for this. I am your burglar after all.”

Her smile felt like a grimace on her face. She didn’t think anyone was WILLING to enter the dragon’s lair.

But she was determined. She had a duty to fulfill, and by Aule she was going to do it.

She shrugged from Thorin’s grip and stepped forward again. “It’s best. I have to do it.”

His grip returned and he yanked her backwards, closer to himself.

“Wait Lyla, just,” He turned her to face himself and Lyla caught the intensity of his gaze. “Just...” He sighed in stepped backwards his eyes squeezing shut and his fists clenching, “By Mahal…”

Dwalin grasped Lyla’s shoulder and shifted her away from Thorin pulling her forehead against his own.

“Just be safe lassie,” He murmured, “And don’t do anything stupid.”

And then he nudged her forward towards the door again.

Lyla felt her heart flutter in appreciation for Dwalin’s comforting confidence.

But Thorin would have none of it. “She can’t go Dwalin. You-she…it’s unsafe.”

Dwalin turned to his friend and gave him a long thoughtful gaze, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Aye I know that, but she’s capable. Let’s give her a chance.”

“She can’t-“ his tone was soft but firm, conveying his frustration.

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed, “She can!” He growled, stepping forward, “I’ll not try and stop her either. I made that mistake once and I’ll not do it again.”

Thorin stilled, his face going slack and shoulders drooping as pain flashed in his eyes.

A long sigh escaped his lips and then turned back towards Lyla, his eyes dark, brooding and haunted.

He stepped towards her slowly and placed his hands on either side of her face and brought his own forehead down to hers slowly, his eye closing for the briefest of moments.
Lyla’s heart sped up.

“Yes,” he murmured quietly, his warm breath washing over her cheeks, “I made that mistake too.”

Slowly he released her, his fingers rubbing across her cheeks as he gazed at her with a pained expression, “Just…be safe. Please.”

Lyla couldn’t speak. Her voice refuse to surface and her eyes felt moist.

A warm sensation was on her cheeks.

But she managed to nod her head.

Thorin gave a small smile and nodded his head in return.

Ori came forward and pressed a small torch into her hands and gave her a soft smile of his own before scurrying back towards his brother.

Lyla cast her eyes around at the dwarves, and even in the growing dark, most wore expressions of contrition and trepidation. She noted Fili’s and Kili’s eyes were saddened, but small smiles lit their faces.

“Good luck Mistress Boggins. May Mahal protect you.” Kili’s voice was pained but resolute as he spoke.

Lyla swallowed again and straightened, giving Kili another nod of her head.

It was now or never.

She turned and, with a soft inhale of breath, stepped into the dark tunnel.

“Be safe,” Thorin’s low voice caressed her ears again as she disappeared into the inky blackness.

*****

Thorin couldn’t understand the emotions coursing through his veins.

He knew Dwalin was right.

He couldn’t make the same mistake he made with Dis.

But, Lyla? She was…

He couldn’t bear the thought of her entering that cave alone.

To face a dragon.

A dragon!

But what could he do?

A hand came to rest on his shoulder as he stared into the doorway, watching the soft flicker of torchlight slowly fade away.

Thorin didn’t need to guess who it might be

“She’ll be alright Thorin,” Dwalin’s voice echoed in his ear.

But Thorin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the doorway.

“You don’t know that,” He murmured, “None of us know that.”

He heard Dwalin sigh deeply as the large hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Aye, Lad, I do not. But I have hope. And faith in that little hobbit. She’s stronger than she looks. Let’s hold onto that, aye?”

Thorin nodded his head absently, but did not reply. Fear pricked at his heart, the memories of Moria still far too fresh in his mind.

‘Be safe’ he thought again silently, ‘Please be safe.’

*****

He was walking slowly along the corridors of the city, in the company of The Master and his insufferable expulsions of praise and wonder, when Thranduil’s ears picked up the sound of the horn.

It was almost a welcome relief from the tedium and annoyance of The Master’s voice.

Almost.

Instantly his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword hidden beneath the folds of his cloak.

He watched as realization dawned on the men’s faces and as they scrambled or their weapons, eyes narrowing at the elves.

“They’ve tricked us!” one man hissed, his bloodshot eyes narrowed as he pointed his sword towards Thranduil.

The elf just cocked his eyes brow and gazed back at the man, his lips pulled into a thin line.

But The Master did not appear ruffled by this panicked declaration from his guards.

No, he’d started laughing instead.

“You think that I did not know that?” He chortled, his round face reddened in mirth, “Of course I KNEW that hobbit couldn’t be trusted! Slimy little sniveling rat that she is. And you, to think that I was so easily deceived? Ha!”

He turned his beady eyes on Thranduil, his brows raised in challenge, “Tell me then, great king of Mirkwood,” he sneered the name, “Did you really think that I would believe your ruse?”

Thranduil snorted and then smirked at The Master, “Indeed I did not.” He remarked lowly, “I knew that your guards would believe me however, and that’s all that I needed.”
Chaos exploded around the elf king as he drew his sword, One of the guards came towards him even as The Master scuttled backwards his eyes widened.

Apparently the man had not considered that his attackers would be aware of his suspicions.

The king of Mirkwood deftly sidestepped the lumbering man and with a quick jut of the hilt of his sword, knocked the man into the water.

His guards charged the other men who hand their weapons brandished and were snarling and careening, headlong into battle.

But the elf king had his eye set on The Master who was stumbling backwards calling up to the rooftops.

“Shoot them! And secure the hall! Don’t let them break it down!”

A few paltry arrows were shot towards Thranduil, but his own archers had been ready and waiting for their chance.

Apparently Gandalf’s plan was working.

He heard splashes of water as them were felled, their bodies dropping into the water like stones in the river.

He continued towards the fat, stumbling man, a scowl on his face, his eyes narrowed. His mind was clear, his understanding of justice precise. He knew that his earlier actions and accusations and declarations of flippant disregard for the welfare of the people of Laketown were planted in his mind by the same wicked seed that was overrunning his kingdom.
Had he not chastised Thorin Oakenshield for showing no compassion on the people of Esgaroth with his foolhardy quest?

No.

No more of this.

His frown deepened as the battled raged on around him, but his eyes were locked on the sniveling fat man who was tumbling and tripping, trying to get away.

*****

The men were pouring from the banquet hall, and from across the bridge.

Bard dodged one man and stuck another with his knife as he gazed about, noting the runners along the rooftops, their bows drawn.
This was bad.

He twisted again as another man launched himself at the bowman, his fist catching Bard in the jaw, sending him sideways.

But he was quick to recover, sending a mighty kick into the man’s knee, a small ‘snapping’ sound and a howl from his attacker assured Bard that he had broken the man’s kneecap.

But another was atop him before he could blink, a jagged knife slicing into his arm, causing the bowman to wince and twist. He grabbed ahold of the man’s wrist and arched upwards, slamming his head into his assailant’s, knocking the man temporarily senseless.

Long enough to allow him to rise.

He pulled out an arrow and his bow and released on into the next man that charged at him.

And again at the next man that made a move.

But Aule help him, he needed to get inside, though no matter what he did, men crowded towards him

There were too many of them.

The elves were scattered around, as men clamored after them, their weapons drawn.

He punched another man in the face. And then pulled an arrow from his holder and sent it soaring into a man's chest.
Where was Tauriel?

And Gandalf?

They needed help.

HE needed to get inside the banquet hall.

*****

The tunnel wasn’t as long as Lyla had expected.

Or hoped.

Soon, the musty, narrow channel opened into a wider room with an alcove off to the side. And beyond that it widened even more.

Lyla caught snatches of flicker light and a warmth washed over her, heating up her face and producing sweat at her hairline.

She was close.

Hesitantly, she set the torch down in the alcove, where its soft light would not be noticed, and where it would be safe (hopefully).

She edged her way closer to the wide opening, her heart hammering. She noticed, coming to the edge of the opening that a few stray coins had landed at the edge of this hidden room. A small incline led upwards into what she assumed was the treasure room. She crouched low and slowly crawled up the walkway, her eyes darting about wildly.

Lyla bit back a gasp of astonishment at the sight the greeted her. The soft light was coming from the stone walls themselves. An intricate swirl of greens, grey, and white, the stone stretched upwards, high into the ceiling, forming the pillars and walkways. These stones seemed to exude an iridescent light of its own, bathing the cavern in something akin to soft moonlight.

And beneath this soft lighting, mountains of gold twinkled like stars, their shine taking Lyla’s breath away. She hadn’t expected treasure to be so beautiful. But here, now, in this setting, it almost reminded her of many nights sitting out under the stars, watching the shift of the heavenly atmosphere revolve around in the sky.

It was spectacular.

But there was no dragon, much to Lyla’s curiosity.

Where could it be?

She raised her head a little higher, peeking past one of the small dunes of gold.

She shoved her fist in her mouth to bite back the scream of surprise.

There, in front of her and not fifty feet from where she crouched, a large, scaled beast lay sleeping. His long snout curved in a sinister way, his warm breath making is unbearable hot.

Smaug’s head was turned to the side, exposing the underside of his neck and his chest, his massive clawed front legs resting one atop the other.

But, most of his body was buried beneath piles of gold and jewels.

But something caught her eye and she edge closer to get a better look.

Perhaps…

Her hand knocked a large golden goblet off the small pile of gold she was slowly crawling up, sending a soft tinkling of coins clattering downwards, towards the entry into the doorway.

Lyla grasped the cup before it could fall and ducked away, her heartbeat reverberating in her ears as she heard a loud snort of air escape the massive beast.

Oh no.

A living, breathing dragon lay before her.

And she had dropped a cup.

‘Oh you fool of a Took.’

She needed to leave.

A low rumbled started to echo through the mountain, growing steadily louder as Lyla slid back down and scrambled away from the gold, away from the dragon, her eyes wide.
The rumbling grew, deafeningly loud as Lyla darted down the walkway, scrambling to grab hold of her torch.

“THIEF!” The dragon’s roar pierced her ears, “THIEF! FIRE! MURDER! I WILL FIND YOU!”

The whole mountain shook as she sprinted down the walkway and towards the door.

*****

Thorin stopped pacing when the mountain started to shake.

The hairs on the back o his neck rose and his eyes widened.

“Was that an earthquake?” Dwalin ventured, his brows knit in confusion.

Balin shook his head lightly, his face pulled into a worried scowl.

“That, my lad,” he remarked lowly, “Was a dragon.”

Thorin turned towards the doorway, his heart filling with dread.

Oh Mahal, what had she done?

*****
Thranduil’s movements stopped and he gazed upwards as the ground shook lightly beneath his feet.

Everyone had stilled for a moment, straining and listening.

Suspicion lanced through the elf king.

He hoped that it wasn’t…

The shaking grew louder and a might roar filled the air.

His eyes narrowed.

Chapter Text

The mountain shook as Lyla darted further from the treasure and the dragon, her heart racing.

‘Not far enough’ she thought dismayed, ‘Not nearly far enough.’

She could hear the echoing roars behind her, making her feel as though something were chasing her.

And though she didn’t think it very likely to be true, Lyla hazarded a glance behind her to reassure herself that nothing was, in fact, following her.

And nothing was.

But another powerful rumble sent the hobbit tripping through the doorway with a cry of surprise.

She stumbled with an ‘oomph’ into someone’s arms, her nose squished against a broad chest, the both of them tumbling down, the torch and goblet flying from her grip.

The mountain shook again and Lyla squeezed her eyes shut, wincing at the noises the rocks made.

“Lyla, what in Durin’s name did you do?!”

The hobbit’s eye shot open and she realized, with embarrassment, that it had been Thorin who had cushioned her fall.

And it was Thorin who was peering at her, his eyes wide with curiosity and worry.

“I…I…”

“THIEF!”

The roar had her stiffening, eyes going wide.

Someone was pulling her to her feet as Thorin rolled to his side and rose as the mountain shook again.

“By Mahal,” Balin whispered, and Lyla looked up to see that the white-haired dwarf’s gaze was turned outward, his head tilted up towards the sky.

Lyla’s heart stopped.

“THIEF!”

She heard the roar again as the giant silhouette of a dragon darted through the clouds.

Eru help her, it was searching for them.

‘Some burglar!’ she thought dourly, fear lacing up her spine at the image before her.

“Move!” Thorin shouted, “Into the cave! NOW!”

He wrapped his hand around her arm and all but dragged the stunned hobbit back into the tunnel, the other dwarves clamoring behind them.

“Get the door shut!” Dwalin shouted ushering the rest behind him, “Dori help me with it!”

*****
Thranduil stared at the sky, watching the massive red beast sail through clouds, flame spewing form it’s massive jaws as a roar of fury shot through the air.

And while the beast was still at a safe distance from Esgaroth, the elf king winced as his sensitive ears picked up the growing fury in the dragon’s timbre.

Stealth had, clearly, not worked for the dwarves and their hobbit companion.

‘Unsurprisingly’ He thought derisively. ‘And Gandalf had such faith in them’

And now the fury of the dragon had been unleashed.

They had to evacuate the city.

“Retreat!” he called quietly to his guardsmen, “Retreat to the woodlands. Get everyone out. Now.”

His guards did not hesitate to follow orders. They quickly dispatched their weapons, catching the men off guard, and retreated back towards the outskirts of the city, their eyes darting to rooftops and their swords contending against the now startled men gazing up at the sky.

Some of the others were shouting, pounding on doors and calling to the city folk inside.

“We need to leave!” they shouted at windows, “Evacuate the city! The dragon approaches.”

Thranduil cast a glance back at The Master who was still cowering on the ground his gaze turned upward.

But what surprised him was the smile on his face.

And then the pudgy man started to chuckle.

“I see that Smaug the Terrible is alive after all,” he murmured lowly, “That little creature has awoken the beast.”

The man turned back towards Thranduil, “And I see that you are no longer held by the power of your forest home. You would risk your welfare to save these MEN?” He sneered at the thought, “All to help dwarves. I had always supposed they were your enemy.”

Thranduil snorted, but remained silent, his face still and devoid of emotion.

That didn’t deter The Master from speaking though, as his gaze shifted back towards the sky, where the roars were growing in frequency.

“You will not get them out.” The Master retorted with a glare at the elf king. “Your plan was a foolish one. I was prepared for an attack. I knew that hobbit was not to be trusted.
You think I was so unprepared?”

The man started to laugh lightly.

“But it matters not. This city is a worthless pile of floating wood. What care I for it or its people?”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, his own gaze darting between the fat man who was slowly rising to his feet, the dragon circling in the sky and the buildings surrounding them.

His companions were watching the exchange warily, but continuing to call into the houses, commanding that the towns people evacuate.

But no one had emerged.

‘Ah. Of course.’

“You’ve trapped them all,” He murmured stepping towards the man, the grip on his sword tight, his lips pulled into a frown. “You condemn them to die.”
He absently noted that the scuffling had resumed, though the dragon still roared in the sky.

The Master chuckled again but took a step backwards, his eyes betraying the slight panic coursing through his veins.

Thranduil quirked his eyebrow at the man, noting the sweat beading on the round face and the flushed cheeks.

“Well, I shall remedy that. We will get those people out,” he took another step forward towards the man shuffling awkwardly backwards.

The elf king appraised the rounded cheeks, the brightly colored clothing and the gaudy jewelry with disdain as he raised his sword upwards.

*****

A roar.

Confused murmurs surrounded Bard as many of the men surrounding the banquet hall stilled, their gazes turning upward.

“Dragon!” one called pointed, “It’s the dragon!”

Bard stopped only a moment to glance at the sky.

Sure enough he could see the outline dark spot shifting through the clouds and sky, though it was still a distance away, staying relatively close to the Lonely Mountain.

The dragon.

Gandalf had warned that this would happen.

And while it filled him trepidation to see that massive beast, to hear the echoing roar pierce the sky, it also presented him with an opportunity.

He shoved his way past the men, still distracted calling for aid as he neared the hall doors.

“Legolas!”

Some of the men regained their senses and blocked the bowman’s way, their swords drawn as he dodged their blows and caught one man in the throat with his arm and another in the chest with an arrow.

The fighting resumed full force as the men of Rhun pulled themselves from their stupor, guttural cries of rage escaping their lungs.

“Bard!” Legolas’ soft cry filled the air, “Behind you!”

The man turned too late to find an archer aiming for him.

He did have time to twist to the side as the man’s arrow was released. It missed his chest (the intended target) and only grazed his arm.

But then an entirely different sound filled the air and a crashing echoed in the trees, their branches swaying as something approached

Even Bard stilled, eyes going wide.

A massive black shape broke the tree line.

Followed by a tall man clad entirely in grey, a staff clutched in one hand a powerful sword in the other.

It took Bard a moment to realize that it was Gandalf who had charged forth.

The large bear proved to be rather distracting.

Though he didn’t complain when that bear charged forward, snarls of rage escaping its large mouth, its paws swinging forth, catching many of the men in its sharp smack.

“Confound it all, Bard!” Gandalf exclaim giving another man a sound ‘thwack’ over his head, “Move!”

The bowman blinked and nodded his head, shoving past the men as the elves finally came together, the bear taking on the slew of men nearest the tree line.

Cries of surprise, outrage and fear swept through the men as the elves and Bard pushed their way towards the door, the elven guard gracefully weaving through the clamoring, growling men, their weapons piercing flesh with deadly precision.

Bard slid through an opening of limbs and rammed his shoulder into one of the doors, smashing men against the side of the building with the heavy wood.

And then he pushed forward, knocking another man down, sending two others stumbling.

And elven arrows rained down as the group pressed their way forward into the building.

Once inside the building, Bard noted that there were far more people than they had anticipated.

The townsfolk sat at the large tables, their hands bound, as they stared at the proceedings, their eyes wild with panic.

“You have to run!” cried Bard to the people, whose eyes sparked with recognition as they spied in among the fray, “The dragon flies high! You must make for the trees! Go!”

But the citizens didn’t move, their faces were contorted into looks of shocked resignation.

Resignation?

Why?

A sharp pain, caused the bowman to turn his attentions back to the fight. He noted, with annoyance, that one of the corrupted guardsmen had landed a lucky swipe at his shoulder.

Bard’s eyes narrowed and fury filled him. He would not let them give up.

Not now. Not when they were so close!

“FIGHT!” He roared, barreling into another man, inching ever closer to the back of the room, towards the doorway that lead downward towards the children.

A loud snarling bear growl filled the room and Bard registered the splintering of wood and cries of surprise as the men suddenly scattered, dodging the fury of a bear.

He heard women scream and men cry in surprise.

“Run!” He shouted again, glancing backwards, at the townspeople, “Run! To the trees!”

“Do as he says!” Gandalf’s voice erupted over the chaotic clamoring and cries, “Quickly! Up! Run!”

Bard didn’t wait to see if the people moved. Instead he headed towards the door and down the corridor leading downwards into the dark.

“We are with you,” Legolas’ voice floated in his ear as he maneuvered slowly, silently down the narrow hall, his mind growing ever more angry and spiteful as the memories flashed of his last decent.

He heart heavy footfalls and the low cursings of the men as they made their way upwards.

The grip on his sword tightened and he prepared for battle.

Four wary, panicked, but determined guardsmen charged upwards at the bowman and his companions, their cries of fury tempered with the worry of the cries blasting above them.

Cries of pain.

Cries of a dragon.

Cries of an enraged bear, smashing and crushing anything in its path.

Bard swept his leg, catching the knees of the first man, sending the surprised guardsman stumbling and tipping backwards.

And arrow, precisely aimed, rocked the man completely off balance as it pierced his chest, forcing a grunt of pain from the startled man’s lips.

His knees buckled completely and he fell backwards, catching the others in his fall.

And Bard and Legolas charged downward, a giddy excitement sweeping through the man’s veins as he passed over the struggling men and turned to see the wide, dark, musty cave, bathed in soft torchlight.

And the wide-eyed, smudged faces of the children huddled together in fear.

Relief poured down upon him and he gave a soft sigh of praise to the powers that had brought him to this point.

And for that briefest of moments, Bard wouldn’t worry about what was to come, or the dragon looming overhead.

The children were safe.

He would bask in that feeling.

*****

The dwarves and their hobbit, waited, peering out the small sliver of doorway not obstructed by the door itself, as they gazed at the circling monster whose cries filled the air, the fury evident.

Each time she heard the word ‘thief’ soar through the air, Lyla cringed, and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her hammering heart to cease.

This was her fault. She’d gotten too curious and careless.

What if the beast planned an attack on Laketown?

All those innocent people.

“How far does this tunnel go before it reaches the throne room?” Thorin’s voice was next to her ear, his tone strained but gentle.

“Uh…about two hundred feet?” She mumbled, her voice coming out more like a question than a statement. “But, ah, there’s an alcove of sorts about thirty feet from the entrance to the throne room.

She heard him sigh and felt the soft warm breath tickle her ear.

His fingers brushed against her own.

“That will have to do then,” He huffed thoughtfully, “Much better than risking entering the throne room anyway. Let’s get the torches lit and head inward. I have a feeling that Smaug won’t be abating from his search anytime soon.”

Lyla cringed again and watched silently as two glowing balls of flame brightened the dark tunnel. Lyla noted the grim, yet curious gazes of the company members as they took in their surroundings.

She supposed that most of them had never actually been inside of Erebor before. And certainly NONE of them had ever seen this tunnel. It was a new experience for all of them.
But while they gazed around, eyes assessing and faces contorted into looks of contemplation, their looks strayed back towards the door and the dragon circling the mountain, its cries muffled but ever-present.

Thorin pulled away from Lyla’s side to retrieve one of the torches that Balin held and Lyla felt the loss immediately. The warmth was gone and her fingers twitched at that knowledge.

She wished that he would return. His presence brought her comfort.

Instead, though, he grasped the torch and maneuvered past the others and towards the head of the line heading further into the tunnel.

“Lass,” Bofur whispered coming to stand next to her, draping a careful arm around her shoulder as some of the others passed them by, “What did you do to that creature to rile it up so bad?”

He smiled down at the hobbit who stiffened and cringed.

“I-uh…knocked over…that…er, cup.”

She felt the heat rising on her cheeks and her gaze flittered to the floor in embarrassment.

It was all rather humiliating and aggravating.

“This tiny thing?” Nori exclaimed lifting the cup from the folds of his coat pockets. The gold caught the firelight’s glow and a lovely glint sparkled in Lyla’s eyes. “THAT woke the dragon?”

Lyla nodded with another cringe.

“Yes,” She sighed dejectedly.

Yes indeed THAT had woken the dragon.

And she was a foolish Took of a Hobbit for even thinking she stood a chance of not awakening a giant brute like that.

Balin surprised her, though, by chuckling.

WHY was he chuckling?

“Aye lass, take heart,” he remarked coming near her as they walked down the corridor, “All the books in the world won’t tell you that dragons are fickle creatures with great senses. Especially when it comes to treasure. Anything would have set that beast off, rest assured.”

He squeezed her elbow affectionately, his eyes crinkled and twinkling, his lips turned up into a soft grin.

“Just be glad that you managed to escape before he caught you! That’s a talent, right there.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Gloin's low gruff grumbles echoed around the hall, “I can’t be that stealthy.”

Nori sniggered, “Probably would have been eaten before you realized there was dragon in the room.”

The thief turned back and winked at Lyla.

“Don’t worry yer head about it Lass. We’ll get it sorted, ye’ll see.” Bofur’s cheerful murmurs tickled her ear as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. “At least we know he’s alive then, aye?”

Lyla snorted but nodded her head in silent agreement. Yes, she supposed it was good to know that the fire-breathing menace was still alive.

Though she didn’t know why they weren’t as miffed or upset about the turn of events as she was.

On the one hand, she was grateful for the comfort the others were obviously trying to give her.

On the other hand, she thought they were all nuts.

They SHOULD care about this. What were they going to do with a monster patrolling the skies, possibly destroying the city on the lake?

They should be more upset about this.

Aule knows that SHE was.

As the rest of the company squeezed into the small alcove, Lyla elected to sit in the hall across from them, though the others protested.

But Lyla wouldn’t be swayed. Even by Bofur's kind persuasions.

“I’ll just be right here. There’s more room out here for me anyway,” she retorted shuffling down to the ground and pulling her knees up to her chest in a comforting motion.
Mainly she wanted a bit of distance to think and sort through everything, to figure out what she could do about this whole mess.

And while she appreciated their affectionate sentiment, she needed to look at things practically.

She’d awoken the dragon. And she needed to fix it.

“You shouldn’t think so viciously,” Fili’s voice made her jump as he sat down with a huff next to her, “I see the angry on your face. Give yourself some credit.”

Lyla sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, really I do, but-“

“But what?” Fili murmured softly fixing Lyla with a firm gaze, “You’ve worked hard to gain our good opinion and then when we offer it, you scuttle away like some frightened animal. It will not do.”

A pang of guilt washed through Lyla and she lowered her gaze.

“I’m sorry if I appear ungrateful,” she whispered at the rocky ground, “I just—“

Fili placed a finger to her lips and gave her shoulder a little nudge with his own, “You need to just let it all go and move on. What’s done is done. Don’t carry that weight with you. Whatever happens you’ve done your best, no one asks more of you than that dear sister.”

Sister?

Yes. She liked that.

Leaning his head to the side, the blonde dwarf rested his head against the side of her own and moved his hands from her lip to lace his fingers through her own, giving her hand a small squeeze.

“You know he was right,” Fili remarked lightly with a chuckle.

Lyla’s brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced sideways at the massive of blonde braids obscuring her view of Fili’s face, “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, that he was right about you.” Fili commented, “You ARE a lot like my mother. Same spirit and stubbornness…and compassion.”

He gave her hand another squeeze before releasing his grip and moving his head.

“Just relax and don’t feel guilt for something that wasn’t your fault.” The dwarf gave her a winning smile before rising and stepping back down the hall, towards the alcove.He passed by Thorin who stood, watching Lyla carefully, his eyes hooded and unreadable, but a small frown on his face. His gaze shifted between his nephew and Lyla’s crouched form.

And then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Burglar,” He murmured taking a step towards her, “Come with me.”