Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She doesn’t know that Bilbo hears her cry at night.

They usually sleep near each other, two people out of their element, sharing their quiet misery on the hard ground.

Of course, he feels sorry for himself throughout the day—and especially at night—but her well-practiced, stifled sobs are something more.

Longing. Despair. Homesickness.

They’ve all asked where she’s come from. She doesn’t tell them. When Thorin finally cornered her against tree, spewing a mix of dwarven and common threats, demanding to know her origins, she just closed her eyes.

She spoke, and her lilted voice fought against a tremble.

“Somewhere I want to go back to.”

 Bilbo believes she cries about home. It’s the place the mind wanders to before dreams overtake. Her home must have been a wonderful place if she misses it so deeply. She mentions it in passing, occasionally, vague comments though they are. Her parents, her siblings. Her vegetable garden. There is a moment when she forgets the sadness attached to the memories, and her soft smile illuminates her entire face.

She hums songs as well. Bilbo doesn’t recognize them. He hasn’t mustered up enough courage to ask if she’ll sing one just yet. They are very odd, but they are also pleasing to hear when he does catch the melody.

Gandalf speaks with her in privately. Once, Bilbo caught her wiping tears away while the wizard consolingly patted her shoulder. She didn’t truly smile for a week after that—no matter how hard the dwarves tried to make her laugh.

Bilbo finds himself turning her way. She has her back to him; in the silver moonlight, he sees her shoulders quake. She is kind to him even when the rest of the company isn’t, and to have her face the grief alone isn’t fair.

He reaches out and touches her arm. The noise stops, and she stills.

Oh, dear, he’s made a mistake. He should have let her be in a private moment.

Bilbo begins to withdraw—

She haltingly turns so she faces Bilbo. It’s hard to see her face in the darkness, but he doesn’t need to. The sniff she makes is an answer enough.

Her hand takes his. It’s slender in nature, and Bilbo swallows. She was an unusually well-groomed, beautiful woman. She kept her black hair plaited, and her olive skin had darkened even more so on their journey.

“I am…I am sorry,” Bilbo whispers to her once he finds his voice. “That you miss your home.”

He can tell she smiles, even in the shadows. “Thank you, Bilbo. Do you miss yours?”

“Every single day.”

She sniffs again. “I, uh, I’m waiting for the day when I don’t cry if I think about home too long. But it just hasn’t come, yet.”

“It will. I promise.”

Bilbo has little right to give such a promise, but he has no idea what else to say.

She, on the other hand, always does, even to Thorin when he’s in a foul mood.

After he sighs, a few more words come to his stammering mind. “Maybe…maybe if you talk about it a little? It may help.”

They lay in silence for several moments. Bilbo’s eyes begin to adjust better to the darkness, and he can pick out her conflicted expression.

Then, “My parents’ house has hollyhocks growing around the front porch. I would hide in them during the summertime as a child. My mother makes this…drink in the summer. It’s full of strawberries and lemons, with a hint of mint. When I grew up and moved away, I learned how to make it. I, uh, I can’t get it to taste the same as hers, but it’s still pretty good.”

“I’d like to try it someday,” Bilbo says.

A small smile flickers across her lips.

“Maybe—maybe when all this is over, I can make you some.”

“I do grow terrific strawberries, after all,” Bilbo can’t help but brag.

She snickers.

They whisper a little while longer into the night until her eyes eventually close, cheeks dry of tears.

-

She treks behind Bilbo, occasionally lifting him up so he can reach the broken rock path instead of having to clamber.

“How…how are you not—dizzy?” he manages to gasp out. Earlier, she explained the differences in height could cause “altitude sickness” if somebody wasn’t accustomed.

“Oh,” she says, hopping up to the path. Bilbo lends a hand, and she takes it for balance. “I, uh, I lived in a very mountainous area before. And I also traveled to a couple places with high elevations.” She flashes a grin and adjusts her pack. “This mountain air actually smells really nice.”

Bilbo slips on a slick rock; she steadies him before they continue.

“You lived in the mountains, eh?” Bofur asks from behind the both of them. “Which range?”

“Not one you’d know,” she replies. It’s in that clipped, withdrawn tone implying it’s a subject she does not wish to speak about.

“Is it a nice place?” Bofur, pushing her boundaries, keeps the question ambiguous enough that she can answer at the same level.

“Yes. It is. It’s very beautiful. Especially when the wildflowers bloom.”

Bofur hums and doesn’t follow up with anything else.

When night falls and they take shelter under a craggy overhang, she and Bilbo huddle together. Their cloaks are wrapped around them to try and conserve whatever warmth they have left. She has her hood pulled up. Tendrils of black hair cling to her temples from the misty weather.

Her deep brown eyes fixate on Thorin, Fili, and Kili, all of whom are conversing quietly a ways off. Can she even see properly? Without a fire, she's left in more darkness than Bilbo and the dwarves.

“Bilbo,” she whispers, and her voice is different enough that it immediately draws his attention.

“Yes?”

“I…I think I realize why I’m here.”

“That’s…er, good?” He winces at how he sounds, but she doesn’t mind. She takes another bite of elven bread.

“Yeah. Guess it is.” She mumbles something in that foreign language neither Bilbo nor the dwarves recognize, but it’s done with a smile.

-

She hugs Bilbo tightly after he escapes the tunnels. The sun sets low in the sky, and his breath remains ragged. He doesn’t know what happened to her in the pit of the goblin fight, but she bears shallow scratches on her face and neck. Her trousers have been hastily retied. They’re also littered with thin and vicious scratch marks.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo worriedly asks her. She chuckles and steps back to pull her hair in a sloppy bun. The strange hairpiece with fantastic elasticity keeps everything in place.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The goblins just…”

She pales, then lowers her hands to put them on Bilbo’s shoulders. “I’m just glad you’re in one piece. I knew you’d make it out.” She sounds so certain, and Bilbo smiles through his exhaustion.

The shrieks and screams of goblins echo through the sparse forest the Company has found themselves in. They flee, and when Bilbo struggles to keep up, she throws him onto her back despite her shaking legs.

They have both found their reason for running with these dwarves, it seems. For staying with these dwarves.

“We’ll get through this, Baggins,” she breathes to him as they race down the mountainside. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

-

The heat of the fire sears Bilbo’s skin. He’s stabbing, jabbing, killing orcs and wargs as they lunge at him. Off to his left, she fights with her twin elven blades. Her black hair whips as she spins, and she curses in that rapid, rolling foreign language.

Fili cries out in pain amidst the blazing fight. A warg had swiped at him, and he tumbles to the ground, weapon flying from his grasp. The warg rears back to mangle him, but then she’s there, blades sinking into the warg’s neck. It yelps and goes limp. Fili gets back up. The young dwarf grins at her, she grins back.

Bilbo sees a figure rushing behind her, veiled in shadow and teeth gleaming in the firelight.

He shouts her name, but it’s too late—

Fili screams, “NO!”

The fire loses all warmth, and Bilbo ceases to hear the world.

She stares down at the blade protruding from her chest, tarnished with her own blood. It rips back out.

The orc wails as it is hacked to death by Fili a moment later. She drops to the ground. Bilbo begins to run to her, but the white warg barrels into his side. He lands against a large rock, and his thoughts become consumed by the snarling Pale Orc towering above.

Is this their purpose? To die together amidst smoke and flame?

Eagles save the company, and Bilbo is swept away in one of their claws. Tears blur his eyes, but he can still see her lying among dead wargs and orcs. A pool of dark, glistening red spreads beneath her. Fili kicks and shouts for the eagle carrying him away to let go. He reaches out to her body, but they’re flying away, away, away, and he cannot take her in his arms.

“Valeria,” Bilbo sobs.

Smoke blankets her small, broken body, and he loses sight of his friend. “Valeria.”

The hobbit, the dwarves, the wizard, weep amongst the night sky.

-

She awakes in the cold morning light.

Blood stains the inside of her mouth, and her chest throbs with pain.

A warg corpse stares back at her, tongue lolling out. It’s the one she killed—right before she got killed.

That hurt.

And they left her. Fantastic.

She groans and stiffly rolls away from the mat of her own dried blood to examine her chest. Through the split leather and cloth, she sees a red, angry—but healed over—patch of skin.

“Hijo de puta,” she whispers.

Then she staggers to her feet, sheathes her nearby swords, and wearily walks to the edge of the cliff.

It’s a long way down.

A moth flutters past her line of sight. “Hey,” she calls to it. “Could you get an eagle for me? I’m…not dead. Surprisingly.”

The moth continues on, slightly changing its course.

She sits.

And waits.

Her reason has yet to be fulfilled.

Chapter Text

“I, ah, thought you might want some dinner before Bombur eats it all.”

Bilbo more-than-hesitantly handed me a bowl of soup. I took it with a small smile. The bottom warmed my hands. The thick wooden spoon resting on the rim still felt a little awkward to use, but I was getting better at it.

“Thank you.”

He started to turn away, stopped, tried to leave again, then failed. “Would—would you, erm, perhaps like some company?”

Bilbo haltingly gestured to the empty spot beside me.

The question had to sink in for a couple seconds before I nodded.

Nobody really wanted to sit next to me this past week of strange travel. Bilbo knew me the best just because we were forced to share a pony together after Gandalf advised Thorin to take me, the possible spy in the dwarves’ eyes, with the Company. The hobbit didn’t complain about doubling up. In fact, he actually seemed happy I could handle the reins instead of him. Not so happy about having to lean against a woman for most of the day—and even less happy that the dwarves poked fun at him for it—but I didn’t particularly care.

We managed some small conversations at first. It began with my shoes. The muddy Nikes were a big hit among the Company. My whole outfit was! Athletic leggings and a dry-fit, long-sleeved tee weren’t common attire in Middle-earth. Who knew?

I knew. They knew. And it made them all the more suspicious.

The conversations gradually grew longer the more I grasped the reality of my circumstance, and pretty soon, I made my first acquaintance in a fictional world. Bilbo was nice, and I found similarity with him because we both missed home.

Even if his homesickness was based off of not having teatime and a proper armchair, and mine was based more off of being in an entirely different world.

But this was the first evening he had come to me once they made camp. I almost started to cry. I didn’t need to be absorbed in my own dark and lonely mind even more, so the company was much needed.

“Of course you can,” I said, lifting the bowl and patting the ground to my left. “It’s nice and damp.”

“Lovely,” Bilbo sighed. He sat down and crossed his legs to eat his own dinner. It gave me yet another opportunity to stare at his massive hobbit feet. They were like bricks, and I thought they’d be gross since his people went barefoot, but they were actually well-kept.

“Oh. And thank you for the soup.”

Bilbo gave a quick smile and started eating. I curled my knees up and sipped at the broth, avoiding the chunks of whatever meat had been chopped up for tonight’s dinner. Eating a plain meal outdoors and near a fire reminded me of work, of friends, of home, and for the millionth time, I felt the urge to cry. But I had trained myself to be good at keeping my emotions in check with everything I witnessed doing my jobs, so the tears wouldn’t fall until I was alone.

We ate in silence, and I watched the dwarves laugh and converse in their own language. Khuzdul. I only knew because Luis was obsessed with all this shit, so he’d tell me about it. I never got as much into nerd stuff as he did, but I had always been a casual fan of a lot of things, so we’d share our common sibling interests with one another. I liked seeing the spark in his eyes as he talked.

I just liked my little brother.

A few times, I could catch that the dwarves were talking about me. They shot glances my way and followed with murmurings. I’d been around enough foreign languages to get the gist of a conversation by focusing on how they spoke with their bodies.

It shouldn’t have been me in this place. This world.

I wanted to go home.

But Bilbo was too real beside me, and the night air nipped at my skin. I took another breath to stem the ache in my throat. I had been thousands of miles away from my family before. I could get through this trip.

Because there had to be a way home.

The best way to remedy homesickness, I found, was to make friends. The dwarves still didn’t trust me, especially Thorin and Dwalin—but that was just because I threw a rock at Dwalin’s big ass head when we first came across each other. I’d already informed Gandalf of my true…origins…so there was that, but I had a feeling that he preferred his own company during the evenings.

That left the one person I had been partnered with since the beginning.

“Bilbo?”

Hearing his name caused the hobbit to jump. I shifted so I sat cross-legged to face him.

“Mm, yes?” he inquired mid-mouthful.

“Do you, uh, know any good stories?”

The question caught him off-guard. Bilbo tilted his curly head and considered it. “I…I cannot say that I do. Not the ones that are thrilling, anyway. The Shire holds no great tales of heroes fighting for good and evil.” His eyes then lit up. “But! I do know a few good riddles.”

I covered my ah face with surprise. “Really?”

It was a poor act, but Bilbo didn’t see through anything. He was too distracted thinking about riddles. “I do, I do.”

He also turned so he faced me. A pang of guilt zipped through my chest. My continual standoffishness left him alone, too, and just to talk about something he enjoyed made him excited. Just like Luis.

He would have been much better off here than me. Or, rather, we would have been much better off here together.

As Bilbo cleared his throat, I thought that this was going to be good practice for him.

“I am an insect, and the first part of my name is the name of another insect. What am I?”

His mischievous grin at the end of the riddle sealed the deal for the friendship. At least on my part.

It took the better part of a minute for me to figure it out, but after muttering some insect names under my mouth, I snapped my head back up to him. “Bee. Beetle. Beetles!”

Bilbo groaned a laugh, but he was pleased that I found the right answer. “Correct!”

I finished off my soup and rubbed both hands together. “Bueno. I’ve got one for you. Ready?” Bilbo nodded. “You can hold it without using your hands or arms. What is it?”

Literally three seconds passed before Bilbo answered, “Your breath!”

I stared, then let out a huff. “That was fast. Have you heard it already?”

“No.” Bilbo didn’t hide his hint of smugness. “Now! My turn. I can run but can’t walk, a mouth but I can’t talk, a head but I can’t think, a bed but I can’t sleep. Who am I?”

“Psh. Easy. A river.”

We went back and forth until I ran out of riddles. Bilbo didn’t, though, and by bedtime, I had a mild headache. Higher spirits, too. We even slept next to each other, and I used his dirtied corduroy jacket as a blanket since I didn’t have anything but the clothes on my back—and the dwarves didn’t want to share with a possible spy.

But as sleep crept in, I thought of my family worlds away like I did every night. I covered my mouth so nobody heard my sobbing. The last thing I needed was the dwarves thinking even more poorly of me.

So, I suffered alone under the foreign stars.

-

“Alright, up you go,” I grunted as I gave Bilbo a lift into our shared saddle. His thick hobbit foot pressed into my linked hands, and he hauled himself onto the pony. The sky hung overcast above us, and the casual smell of rain on the breeze reminded me of home.

A finger tapped on my shoulder. I turned to look down at a blond, smirking dwarf. He hid something behind his back.

“Lady Valeria,” Fili said with a decent bow.

I frowned. “Yeah?”

He dramatically unrolled the secret present: his cloak. “For you. It’s most likely going to drizzle today, and you are woefully underdressed for the weather.”

I narrowed my eyes at Fili, but I took the cloak. Though it was worn, the condition was fair enough. “Thank you.”

“And what about me?” Bilbo shot from atop the pony. Fili grimaced and splayed his fingers.

“Unfortunately, Master Boggins, the lady must be cared for first. And I don’t have a spare cloak. Just toss your jacket over your head, and you should be fine!”

Bilbo made a noise. I brought the cloak around me and fastened it.

Fili’s smirk returned. “A perfect fit!” he decreed.

I spread my arms out to examine it. “It’s a little short,” I couldn't help but comment.

“Aye, but it’ll keep you dry when the rain comes.”

“Fili,” Thorin barked from the lead. He pierced the two of us with an icy gaze. “You’re wasting time. Get ready to leave.”

Something flashed across Fili’s face, but he nodded to me before he departed. I watched him go for a few seconds, brows furrowed.

None of the dwarves had been this nice to me. Balin and Bofur were probably the most accepting, though they still kept their distance. I hadn’t exactly been super involved, either, and I didn’t constantly reiterate and prove that I wasn’t a spy for the “enemy.”

…Even if I already knew who that enemy was, where the Company was going, and what would happen to everyone at the end of this quest. But how the fuck could I explain that?

Sometimes, the situation was still too hard to wrap my head around.

But maybe the dynamic was changing just a little? Or maybe Fili just felt bad that I had nothing the rest of them did, so he offered his cloak to make the both of us feel better. I was accustomed to that kind of giving, in a sense.

I got into the saddle and took the pony’s reins from Bilbo. I hadn’t ridden ponies before, but I had traveled on horses, mules, donkeys, camels, and even an elephant once. The more traditional modes of transportation came with my kind of work

With his hands free, Bilbo dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of wild strawberries. “Oh, you sneaky little hobbit,” I hissed as I kicked the pony into a lumbering walk.

Bilbo clutched the strawberries close to his chest. “I found them this morning, alright?” He whispered like the fruits were stolen gold. “Don’t tell the others. They’ll demand to have some.”

“Just how many did you pick?” My tone edged on incredulity, grin widening. Bilbo threw a shifty-eyed glance around to make sure we weren’t being overheard or watched. Then his left hand crept down and stretched open his breast pocket. I glimpsed several tiny, ripe strawberries.

But that wasn’t all. He also stashed more in both coat pockets, the right breast pocket, and both trouser pockets. I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.

“You…you’re going to get the shits,” I eventually breathed out.

Bilbo squawked, “I am not! And it is very impolite to speak like that, my lady.”

I rolled my eyes but kept grinning. “Give me some, and I won’t tell the dwarves that we have nature’s candy.”

I opened my palm and wiggled my fingers.

“Nature’s candy,” Bilbo repeated in an amused whisper. “That’s quite a good description.” He dumped all the strawberries from his hand into mine. I ate one as discreetly as I could. The berry’s sweetness blossomed in my mouth, and it reminded me of Mom’s special summer drink.

I brushed the memory away before I could get too sad.

It did sprinkle by early afternoon, and I tugged up Fili’s cloak hood. Bilbo grumbled at the downpour, as slight as it was, and ate more of his picked findings in a dour manner.

In an attempt to make him feel better, I used the same technique on the hobbit as I did children in refugee camps and crumbling villages.

“I spy with my little eye,” I drawled, “something gray.”

Bilbo snorted. He probably already knew the game and the ages it was meant for. Yet through a mouthful of strawberries, he answered, “The storm clouds. Obviously. Or Gandalf.”

“I spy with my little eye…something stinky.”

“All thirteen dwarves.”

I laughed, and this time so did Bilbo. After finishing off the last fruit in his hand, he wiped the sticky residue on his trousers and said, “I spy…something grumpy.”

“Thorin.”

I spoke the dwarf’s name too loudly, apparently. Several heads swiveled back to us, Thorin’s included. “Oops,” I whispered, shoulders hunching. “Mierda.”

“If you have something to say, woman, say it,” he snapped. “Otherwise, keep your cackling with the hobbit quiet.”

I scowled at the back of his head and hoped he’d feel it, and I uttered pendejo under my breath just to vindicate myself.

Three beats later, Bilbo put delicately, “I…hope I’m not being rude, but what is that language you speak?”

I knew I’d get that question soon enough, especially when I spoke it around Bilbo. Still, my reply came out awkward. “It’s, uh, Spanish. My first language.”

“Are—are you from the far east? Or across the sea? Is that where the language originates from?”

“Sure?”

Bilbo turned enough in the saddle to give me a dubious glance. “Sure? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do not pry on doors that are not yet ready to be opened, Master Baggins.” Gandalf rode up beside us on his pony, and I held back a relieved breath so Bilbo wouldn’t feel it.

“I—I was curious—”

“Leave it be.” Gandalf was sure to point his gaze at Bilbo, who shifted in his seat and began eating more strawberries at a disgruntled pace.

I shot Gandalf a grateful expression. He dipped his head. Of course I wasn’t ready to tell any of them. How could I be?

So, I straightened my back and stared ahead at the wooded trail we wound through. A great mountain range stood proudly in the distance. I had an ominous feeling that the mountains didn’t hold anything good for us.

“I spy with my little eye,” I resumed, lightly poking Bilbo with my elbow, “something red.”

Then I plucked a strawberry out of his grasp.

“Oh, I wonder what it could be,” he remarked.

The rain lightened, and the sun shone through once more.

-

Thorin watched the human woman from across the campsite. She sparked kinship with the hobbit, and together they sat and conversed, ignorant of the others around them. Unsurprising. Two people who didn’t belong in this Company were bound to find comfort in the other’s presence.

The cloak Fili gifted to the unwelcomed still hung about her shoulders. The rest of her bizarre clothing fit snugly against her frame, which belied a lean build. The woman had indeed exhibited remarkable sprinting skills when she fled from their initial encounter, but he would never admit it.

“Do not worry yourself, Thorin,” Gandalf said when he followed the dwarf’s gaze. “I believe she has come to us with reason.”

“And what reason might that be?” Thorin growled.

Her brown eyes caught the light of the fire, and she stared into it a moment too long before responding to whatever blather the hobbit spouted.

“We will find out, in due time.”

Gandalf leaned back against the stone, where they took refuge in a small outcropping of rocks for the night. The woman carried no bedroll with her, no supplies, and still she did not complain—nor did she ask for anything. Only obliged and followed. Useless. Suspicious. “Her predicament is quite intriguing. I would not dismiss her so easily.”

“A woman has no place among us. She will faint at the first sight of bloodshed and become a burden.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Balin joined in on the low conversation. He, too, regarded her. “Look at those eyes, Thorin.”

The fire illuminated a portion of her face one more. Colors of orange and red and yellow danced across brown skin. “Those are eyes that have seen war.”

As if sensing that she was being spoken about, the woman looked their way. Her smile faltered. Thorin despised the way she viewed him. Like she knew who he was, his innermost desires, his plans.

Valeria.

A name that would bring no good to this Company.

Chapter Text

It was my first time bathing while with the Company, and oh boy, was it needed. I had gone without bathing for longer periods of time, depending on where my work took me, but I always had baby wipes, bottled water, and deodorant on hand.

I didn’t have those luxuries here.

Bilbo lent me soap, a comb, and some sort of powder I probably guessed was for hair. It smelled faintly of lemongrass and some other scent I hadn’t come across. I thanked him, unable to keep from ruffling his damp curls. Bilbo laughed and ducked away. He put his fists up.

“I wouldn’t do that, my lady,” he said, exaggeratedly squinting one eye. I strained to not call him unbelievably adorable. He looked just like Luis.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll go before I get a beating,” I joked, then headed off to the stream left unoccupied for me.

“Don’t get yourself into too much trouble, lass!” Nori called. “Those things swimmin’ in the water are just fish!”

I ignored his guffaw and the other dwarves’ snickering.

The stream, rocky and bubbling, came up to my thighs. I stripped first and used the soap to wash my clothes. Everything was stanky, but because all the fabric except for the underwear and socks was made for exercise, it’d dry fast enough. The cloak seemed to be made from woolen material and would easily wick moisture out, so I washed it as well.

With the clothes draped on a couple branches, I plunged into the water. Better to just get through the initial shock, scrub, and leave. The frigid temperature locked me up for a moment, but then I brought my head to the surface and breathed deeply. Sunlight dappled the grass and water between emerald leaves. Sweet-smelling, unfamiliar wildflowers clung to the base of trees and rocks, dotting the landscape with whites and pale pinks.

Bathing in a stream reminded me of work. Not that I took actual baths in one, but more often than not the water was always cold, whether it be in China, Kenya, Columbia, or even Mexico.

I should have been in Nepal, by now.

Weeks of grease and grime ran into the stream when I dunked my head underwater again to wash the soap out of my hair. After I came back up, I gave it all a few twists. Excess water ran down my front, and as I followed its paths, I found myself staring at the faded, dark pink splotch that sat on the top of my right rib cage.

A wild boar gouged one of its tusks in the spot three days into this world. I had been bathing in a stream then, too, and couldn’t outrun the animal.

I bled out beneath the late afternoon sun.

And woke up to the pale orange sunrise.

Nervous that there was another wild boar somewhere nearby waiting to spear me, I clambered out of the stream and started to air-dry since nobody offered a towel of any sort. I doubted such necessities existed among a pack of thirteen hairy men traveling to reclaim their lost kingdom.

After checking the state of my clothes—which were close to being good to wear again—I laid out Fili’s impressively dried cloak and sat on it once my bum wasn’t too wet. I took out Bilbo’s comb and started the long process of detangling my hair. But without conditioner and other helpful products to manage my curls, it quickly became a fight with the angry Hispanic waves.

“Ow. Fuck. Ow! Hijo de puta! Come—on—”

Snap!

I froze.

Half the comb stuck in my hair while the other half now lay broken in my grasp.

I gritted my teeth and uttered a few forsaken curses.

With a grimace, I tore out the other half of the comb from my hair. Poor Bilbo. He probably had this comb in his family for, like, five generations or something, and thirty seconds into brushing my own tangles, it got destroyed.

“Is everything alright, my lady?”

The voice that called me was unmistakably Balin’s. They must’ve heard my aching around with the comb and decided to check.

Sighing, I replied, “Um, yes! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I didn’t get a response, so I set the split comb aside and dressed, smelling infinitely better. The only problem was my mat of wet hair. I could already feel it drying out into a coarse nest.

The dwarves got a good laugh when I came into view. “Fuck off!” I shouted, which then produced a chorus of “Ooooohs.”

Bilbo made a sad little noise when I showed him the broken object. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I—my hair—it was just too much. I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was just an accident.” Bilbo took the halves from me and packed them away. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

He gave a wink for assurance, and some of the weight lifted from my chest.

“Oi, need a decent brush?”

I turned to Bofur, who wiggled a much thicker and more durable brush toward me. “Looks like you got dwarf hair, lassie.”

“Something like that,” I half-laughed.

Bofur tossed the brush my way, and I caught it. He made an indignant noise when I inspected the bristles for any…inhabitants.

“Worry not! This is a clean head of hair!” Bofur rapped knuckles on his noggin for good measure. “It’ll be some time before you’re itchin’ your head. Unless you use Bifur’s brush, of course.”

The brother barked something in Khuzdul and made a rude gesture. I laughed along with Bofur, which I had never done before. “I—well, thank you. I’ll return it as soon as I can.”

“Aye.”

Bofur walked away to his bedroll in the campsite, leaving me standing there a few moments longer than normal before I got ahold of myself and retreated to my spot for the evening. Bofur’s brush worked exceptionally better against my hair, and after a short struggle, it hung past my shoulders in smooth strands. That smoothness would turn to bushier waves once it dried completely, and I had a black scrunchie on my wrist to pull it back when it did.

“Can I ask what kind of accessory that is?”

Bilbo was, coincidentally, pointing at the scrunchie.

I frowned and considered my options. There was no harm showing it to him, right? He’d already seen it in action.

I slipped the scrunchie off gave it to him. “It just keeps my hair in place.”

Bilbo hooked two fingers around it and pulled. A delighted laugh erupted from him.

“It’s so—stretchy!” he exclaimed, and I couldn’t help but grin. “What’s it made of? Where did you get it?”

“Uh, I don’t know what it’s made of. I didn’t make it. And I got it from home.”

Bilbo glanced at me, aware that my home was a touchy subject. “That’s nice,” was all he said, then continued to play with the scrunchie.

We got the attention of a few others, too. Bofur was only returning to “get his brush back,” but Ori, Dori, Fili, and Kili had no proper excuses. They wanted to see the scrunchie, so I let them. It got a pretty good reaction. They were all fascinated, and when Kili accidentally launched it a few feet away, he looked at me, shocked, and asked, “Is that supposed to happen?”

I got to my feet and snatched it. “Yeah.” Then I pointed the scrunchie back at Kili and snapped it from my fingers. He let out a yelp when it hit him. The scrunchie bounced off harmlessly, leaving him red-faced from his response—and the laughter from his kin. But he was good-natured about it and handed the scrunchie to me.

“It’s unwise to keep such a dangerous weapon in your possession,” Kili pretended to warn.

I rolled the scrunchie back on my wrist and smirked.

When it came time for dinner, Bilbo and I stayed with the dwarves. The scrunchie got passed around until my thick mane of hair was finally dry, which I braided and twisted the hair piece around the end. Gandalf watched me from his comfortable spot, smiling as he smoked his pipe.

But it was his smile that jolted me back into homesickness. For a short while, I’d forgotten how much I missed my family, my bed, my work. My world.

And that I was in a different one.

That night, as I used Fili’s cloak to separate my body from the cold ground, I clung to images of my parents, of Luis and Elena, and I wept.

-

The hobbit spoke to the woman in low tones, but Thorin sat near enough to hear it all in the quiet dark. Neither of them realized his proximity, or otherwise the woman would not have said anything. He and the Company were aware she cried at night; she was not as quiet as she thought.

Scornfully, Thorin shook his head. Of course the woman could not contain her tears.

She couldn’t stem her tears earlier in the week, either, after having a conversation with the wizard. Whatever news he gave her did not sit well. Yet despite his displeasure, he did not stop the Company from trying to cheer her up.

Thorin Oakenshield would not have weeping women on this quest.

“I am…I am sorry,” Baggins whispered into the night, almost afraid of the volume of his own voice. “That you miss your home.”

Thorin stilled.

“Thank you, Bilbo.” He heard that enigmatic smile in her voice. Why did she always smile? Even as she slept on the cold ground, even as Thorin turned his shoulder to her in frigid exclusion, her cheer never left entirely. “Do you miss yours?”

“Every single day.”

A hobbit would indeed miss the soft comforts of his home. The statement reminded Thorin that there was no place for him here.

He sank lower against the trunk of the tree, irritation rising.

“I, uh, I’m waiting for the day when I don’t cry if I think about home too long. But it just hasn’t come yet.”

Why would a woman so far away from the place she loved be here? And why did she not choose to leave? How had she come here in the first place, when she plainly told Thorin there was no clear way of her going back?

Why did she continue on with them?

“It will. I promise.” The hobbit carried more assurance than Thorin expected. “Maybe…maybe if you talk about it a little? It might help.”

Thorin’s attention focused. Any details of her home, any late-night divulgences of her true identity could give a discernable direction toward her homeland. Her intentions.

The woman weighed the decision. Perhaps she was choosing her thoughts and lies carefully so as to not give herself away. Smart.

“My parents’ house has hollyhocks growing around the front porch. I would hide in them during the summertime as a child.” A pause. “My mother makes this…drink in the summer, too. It’s stuffed full of strawberries and lemons, with a hint of mint.” Her voice filled with a mixture of wistfulness and nostalgia. “When I grew up and moved away, I learned how to make it. I, uh, I can’t get it to taste the same as hers, but it’s still pretty good.”

The strange cadence and inflection of her speech shined in the confession.

“I’d like to try it, someday.” Of course the hobbit would say such things. No concern for the larger picture of the information he was given.

“Maybe—maybe when this is all over, I can make you some.”

“I do grow terrific strawberries, after all.”

“And you’re good at finding them.”

Thorin held back a derisive snort. The woman could betray them at any second, yet the hobbit planned to make sweet drinks with her.

“You know,” she said, inching closer to Bilbo. Thorin strained to hear if the next sentence revealed anything. “One time, I left home for a while and forgot to pick my zucchinis beforehand. When I came back, a couple were as big as my arm.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve had that happen. Terrible. They lose all taste.”

“But there’s a trick you can do to use it differently. Just peel all of the zucchini, cook it in a pan for a little bit, and then you have healthy pasta.”

Thorin could tell Bilbo made a face with his tone. “That sounds…not as good as actual pasta.”

“I mean, no, nothing is as good as actual pasta. But it kept the zucchini from going to waste. Or you can cut them lengthwise, carve out some of the middle, and put some beef in it—I don’t eat meat, but there are plenty of tasty substitutes. Top it with tomato sauce and a bit of cheese, and then bake it. Turns out real tasty.”

“Now that sounds ideally better.”

Thorin attempted to block out their rambling once he realized they were only sharing memories and topics from home, yet he could not. Their whispers reminded him of his home, of Erebor. What fond memories did he have that weren’t tainted by dragon fire?

What did they know of wandering the world, unable to rebuild a home for their kind?

Nothing.

He did this so his kin could whisper the same things the hobbit and the woman whispered about home, undamaged and unburned from the past.

-

“I’m not a spy,” I muttered for the thousandth fucking time. “No querría espiar a enanos malolientes.”

Thorin glowered at the language he couldn’t understand. It wasn’t like he believed me anyway, so I wasn’t trying extra hard to prove my innocence. But from the distrustful glare he sent me before continuing to argue with Gandalf about a ridiculous culmination of things, I imagined he got the gist of the insult.

 We had stopped by a burned-down homestead, and I had a sinking suspicion that things were about to get worse from here.

While Gandalf grew more aggravated with Thorin, I examined the remains. I had seen this type of ruin a lot. Maybe not exactly from fire damage, but the hollow despair left in its skeletal wake was all the same.

Balin came up to me as I rifled through bits of broken wood. A dash of blue fabric caught my eye, and I picked up the charred remnants of a doll.

“I’m sure…I’m sure they fled before whatever did this could cause them harm,” he kindly spoke.

I didn’t look at him.

“You don’t need to shelter me,” I replied, standing upright. The doll had black-stitched eyes and a red triangle nose. Whatever hair it might have had was burned away. A finger traced the rough-hewn texture. “Those who are undeserving of death…they’re also the ones who fall to it most often. I just hope it ended quick.”

Balin opened his mouth to say something but was too stunned at my somber words to give an actual response. I smiled, tight at the corners of my lips, and walked away from him.

Just as I searched for a place to lay the doll to rest, Gandalf let out a loud, angered grumble and stormed off from Thorin.

“Everything alright?” Bilbo asked. When Gandalf continued past him, he followed up more anxiously. “Gandalf? Where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one around here who has got enough sense in him!” The wizard picked up his pace and moved toward the tree line we just broke through.

“And who’s that?”

“Myself, Master Baggins!” Muttering, he added, “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.”

Well, I was right there with him, but you didn’t see me snapping.

Thorin barked for Bombur to get dinner prepared. I resumed my search and eventually found a sparse pile of rocks. Since I couldn’t actually bury the doll without having to dig bare-handed, I gently set it down and began stacking stones atop it.

“I hope you are with those who love you,” I whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

Though I would never know this family, the child who clutched this doll, they heard that I would remember them. That was all I could do, more often than not. Remember the nameless, the faceless, the forgotten, and continue on.

Bilbo made me jump when I turned around and suddenly saw him there. “Shit,” I hissed, clutching my chest. But if he continued to be offended by the bad-mannered language, he didn’t show it.

“What are you doing?” he inquired politely. His nose tweaked.

I gestured to the small stack of stones. “A memorial service, I guess you’d call it.”

His expression fell. “Ah. Right.”

Bilbo looked about him, hummed, and picked a couple of dandelions from the ground. Bunching them together, he laid them at the base of the stones.

I smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Together, we walked back to the Company. The fragrance of stew drifted in the evening air.

That, and decay.

Stopping, I sniffed the air again. And again. “You smell that, Bilbo?”

“Smell what?”

I frowned, and Dwalin, standing nearest to us, turned.

“Aye, what does that delicate nose of yours smell?” he asked dryly. I met Dwalin with a sharp gaze he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Rot. And shit.”

I moment later, I remembered just what it was that I smelled.

And right. This stuff happened.

Dwalin now regarded me differently. Sharp, but not outright suspicious. He trudged off to Thorin, who sat near the edge of the encampment, and they started a low conversation in Khuzdul.

“I can’t smell anything,” Bilbo put in. We grabbed bowls and utensils for the stew.

“I’ve smelled it a lot,” I admitted quietly. “In the thick of it, I can’t smell anything at all. But when it’s mixed with things it shouldn’t be, then I do.”

He paused to look at me. Then, softly, “How…how were you in the thick of it?”

I gave him a sad glance that put an end to the brewing conversation. Bilbo sighed but nodded. “Well. Let’s enjoy dinner, shall we?”

We did. The smell eventually disappeared, but that was probably due to my own adaption to it. Bilbo grew more worried about Gandalf’s absence, meaning he couldn’t sleep, meaning I didn’t get sleep. When he asked Bofur about it, the dwarf just shrugged, said something along the lines of, “He’s a wizard!” and handed Bilbo bowls of stew for Fili and Kili.

My heart started pounding. What good would I do getting mixed in? Everything would play out the same—probably. Yeah?

I realized I was walking to join Bilbo before I could stop myself.

“Oh—Valeria!” Bilbo squawked when I was suddenly at his side. “I’m not going anywhere. Just need to give the brothers their dinner.”

“Cool. I’ll come with you.”

His brows raised in confusion, but he continued walking.

Luis would have died to be where I was right now.

Fili and Kili had their backs to us when we approached. Bilbo came up between them and handed out both bowls, but the brothers didn’t take their stew. I walked to the side so I could see their faces and found Fili and Kili rightly concerned.

“What’s the matter?”

“We’re supposed to be looking out for the ponies,” Kili answered, not taking his eyes off the area before him.

“Only we’ve encountered a…slight problem,” Fili said.

“We had sixteen.”

“Now there’s fourteen.”

The smell returned.

Chapter Text

The sight of a troll—yeah, a fucking troll—set freezing fear into my heart. Bilbo suffered the same symptoms, but unlike me, he got pushed into getting the ponies back before I could stop anything.

Fili and Kili ushered me to a safer distance, though I could still hear the trolls talking in their gravelly voices. Kili started eating his soup Bilbo was kind enough to bring this far down the hillside, both him and his brother content to let the little hobbit do his burglar stuff.

Not me.

I whipped around on Fili, who recoiled at my movement. “Are you fucking insane?” I spat. “He’s going to get killed!”

“He’s a burglar,” Kili reiterated. “He’ll do just fine.”

Fili agreed with his brother. I shifted my gaze back and forth between them, fuming, and then knocked both of their bowls out of their hands out of sheer spite. 

“Estúpido!” I shouted over my shoulder as I ran to camp.

Fili and Kili both groaned and cursed back at me, shaking the stew off them but joining the sprint. They were fucking slow, though, so I burst ahead in no time and found myself in the clearing.

I was met with glinting weapons. They must’ve heard me breaking through the underbrush and took precautions.

“Bilbo is in trouble,” I panted out, pointing to where I came from. “Trolls.”

They looked to Thorin for permission to take my word. He pinned me with his stare for a second, then stood and drew his sword. The others followed. I let them take the lead, and upon passing, Dwalin tossed me a dagger near the size of my forearm.

“Don’t cut yourself,” he said with his usual gruffness.

Fili and Kili hadn’t even made it to camp when the rest of the Company interrupted their ascent, moving down as quietly as they could. Fili gave me a really? gesture as I jogged past him. I shrugged my shoulders, and he fell in line behind me.

I had no idea how to use a dagger—or any weapon in this world. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to cower. I had run headfirst into danger before, no matter the vest color, the helmet color, the armband color. The only friend I had in this world needed my help.

The firelight in the distance drew closer and closer, and my ears flooded with a thundering heartbeat, feet running solid under me, and this—this—was familiar.

Kili had somehow gotten to the front of the Company. A troll roared in pain, Kili shouted something, and then all became calm in the chaos.

I didn’t stop, even as a massive, oh-shit-that’s-real troll took a swipe at me. I slashed its arm with the dagger and almost lost grip of the hilt. He screeched and got preoccupied with thirteen other dwarves all hacking and hitting him and his troll friends.

Luis could do a spot-on impression of them.

“Bilbo!” I screamed into the disorder. “Bilbo!”

A maroon coat flashed in the corner of my eye—then a massive troll foot preparing to stomp down on me. I dove out of the way, landing hard on the ground, and got scooped back up by Bombur.

Well. More like tossed, since I was suddenly slamming dagger-first into another troll. He reeked of death and something much fouler that I’d only smelled when searching a house with burst sewage three weeks after a flood.

I yanked the dagger out and backpedaled, bumping into Dori. He and the rest of the dwarves all fought like a cohesive unit, and here I was, stumbling my way through a life-and-death battle with a weapon I could barely hang onto.

“Out of the way!” Thorin yelled, and I got shoved into to the ground again just as he blocked a massive club swinging for me. I would have pushed upright, but Ori landed ass-first onto my back, which promptly knocked the wind out of me.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he exclaimed, and he drug me out of the fray until my breath returned. But as soon as I found my footing, again and held the weapon in front of me, I froze with the rest of the dwarves.

“Put down your arms!” One of the trolls shouted as he and the two others held a snot-covered, terrified Bilbo aloft, ready to tear him limb from limb. “Or we’ll rip his off!”

He stared at me, pleading for help with wide eyes. I’d seen that same look before in so many others, and it set off a near-uncontrollable fire in my chest. I gripped the hilt of my dagger, wanting to do something stupid but knowing that if I played it safe, we’d still get out of this alive.

Thorin drove his sword into the ground, and it was followed by the clanging of more weapons. I set mine at my feet more gently than the others did since it wasn’t my dagger to throw around.

Then I got tied up and shoved into a moldy-smelling bag with the rest of the dwarves. “Look ‘ere, Bert! We’ve got ourselves a lady!” the troll who held me by my feet laughed.

I thrashed and swore in reply.

“Save her for dessert, Bill,” Bert greedily chuckled. “Women always got the sweetest taste.”

Bill hooted and threw me into the dwarf pile, where I landed right on top of Oin and Fili. “You alright?” Fili whispered while the trolls continued to plot and plan on how they’d cook us. Jellied, sautéed, grilled, and seasoned with sage. The works. Dori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, and Dwalin were down to their long johns and being roasted on a spit.

I always thought this part was hilarious.

Not so hilarious now, though.

“At least I’m not the one getting eaten first,” I grunted.

“Forget about the seasoning! Dawn ain’t far away. Let’s get a move on! I don’t fancy being turned to stone!”

I tried to get a good look at Bilbo but was at too odd of an angle to see him. This was his moment to shine, right? Right?

“Wait!” he cried out, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief. “You are making a terrible mistake.”

“You can’t reason with ‘em!” Dori shouted as he was slowly roasted alive. “They’re half-wits!”

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

Bilbo inched and jumped to his feet, still tied up in the bag, and hopped over to the trolls. My neck strained trying to watch him. He did pretty well, and it was true about what Bofur said. The dwarves couldn’t tell that Bilbo was obviously bluffing. He even did a worse job standing a few feet away from me in real life, but their genuine reactions made it all the better.

“The secret ingredient—the secret ingredient is to…skin them first!”

I got bustled around by Oin and Fili as they caused a ruckus about Bilbo’s betrayal. But if I just kept breathing, kept staying calm, then everything would be fine. I had already slipped my feet out of the rope binding them together and now worked on my wrists.

“Tom,” the troll talking to Bilbo waved, “get me filleting knife.”

If this hadn’t been so purely terrifying, I’d laugh.

“What a load of rubbish!” the other trolled jeered. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on! Scarf ‘em, I say, boots and all!”

If I died via being eaten by a troll, would I wake up the next morning in its pile of shit?

“He’s right!” The troll named Bill, who had first picked me up, shuffled to the pile of dwarves. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf.” He snatched Bombur up by his feet, and thick cords of red beard swayed above Bill’s gaping maw. “Nice and crunchy!”

“N-n-not that one!” Bilbo shouted, jumping a in his bag. “He’s infected!”

“Huh?”

“You wot?”

“Yeah, he’s got—worms! In his…tubes.”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the absurdity of the statement, at the troll’s disgust, at how Bombur landed on a majority of the dwarf pile and made them all groan and wheeze.

“I-in fact, they all have,” Bilbo went on more bravely. “They’re infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it! I really wouldn’t.”

“Parasites? Did he say parasites?”

The Company started getting riled up again. Because, you know, dwarves.

“We don’t have parasites! You have parasites!”

“Slander!”

“Parasites? Fuck off!”

I butted my head against Fili and Oin, who were both making a loud fuss. “Shut up,” I whispered.

They stopped just as Thorin gave Kili a good kick in the shoulder.

Silence. Then, “I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!”

“Mine are the biggest parasites! I’ve got huge parasites!”

“We’re riddled! Riddled, I say!”

“They wiggle out me bumhole!”

“I see ‘em move in my tubes!”

I shrieked when I was suddenly grabbed by my feet and the world flipped upside down. Fucking Bill!

“It don’t matter!” he giggled. “Women don’t get parasites!” His rancid breath rolled onto me.

Oh, fuck no. I was going to be eaten—and I didn’t want to wake up in a pile of shit!

“Looks like dessert is gonna come first, boys.”

Think! Think!

“I—I gave them the parasites!” I screamed, and Bill stopped lowering me to his horrendous mouth filled with jagged, uneven teeth.

“Eh?”

“That’s right!” I put on my darkest expression, which wasn’t very dark at all considering the fact that I was three seconds away from getting my head chomped off. “I gave them worms through their willies! I carry all the parasites in me!”

That concept horrified Bill, who screeched and chucked me back into the pile as if burned. I cracked my skull against Kili’s boot. Stars burst in front of my eyes, but it was hardly enough to knock me out. Instead, I had to suffer through throbbing pain.

“What would you have us do then?” The troll who Bilbo had been mainly talking to left his post at the spit and stomped over to Bilbo. “Let ‘em all go?”

“Well—”

He thumped Bilbo’s chest with a meaty finger, causing the hobbit to stumble back. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

“Ferret?”

“Fools?”

“The dawn will take you all!”

CRACK!

Beams of sunlight flooded the troll camp. They erupted into screams, and a powerful wave of rancor and cooking meat hit my nostrils. I watched—literally watched with my own two eyes—as living creatures got turned into fucking stone.

The moment of shock was quickly overcome with laughter and shouts of joy. Bilbo turned to us and Gandalf—who made his way down to the camp—with a look of disbelief scrawled on his face. I couldn’t help but grin at the sight, as shaky as it was.

I sat upright. The last of the ropes came free from my wrists, and I wiggled some fingers through the bag’s opening and loosened it enough so it’d slip off. When it fell to the ground, I kicked off the rope around my feet and went over to Bilbo, ignoring the shouts of, “How’d you do that, lass? Cannae ye not help us too?”

He breathed raggedly as I pulled him in for a hug. “Did—did that just happen?” he asked me. The snot covering him had begun to dry, giving his hair a crusty texture.

“It did indeed.”

I worked the bag so he could get out. Bilbo squinted his eyes. “If I recall correctly, did—did you say that you gave the dwarves parasites through their…privates?”

I snorted a laugh. The sack came loose, and I undid the knotted restraints around Bilbo’s wrists. “Uh, yeah. Thought it’d be pretty disgusting to put it that way.”

“Yes, it was!” Bilbo, for all his propriety, grinned. He rubbed his wrists when the ropes came undone.

“You’d better go wash up or something,” I suggested. “You kinda stink.”

“Why—of course I do. A troll used me as a handkerchief! A troll, Valeria. Even a troll has a handkerchief, whereas I do not.”

“So terrible.”

“It is!”

-

We found the troll cave by mid-morning a day later, when all our supplies had been packed up and we recovered from the ordeal. After it all died down last night, I slumped against a rock and fell asleep with the cloak wrapped tightly around me for warmth. The habit of sleeping anywhere, anytime, came naturally. And with Gandalf back, Bilbo didn’t keep me up with his constant worrying.

I dreamed I clawed my way out of troll shit in the middle of a Costco.

Bofur gave me some hard tack after I’d awoken. “Here, need to keep your strength up if you’re to be giving more men parasites through their willies,” he cheekily said. I snatched the lunch out of his hand, smirking, and shoveled it down.

With the ponies secured, we trekked the rest of the way on foot. Bilbo had washed his face and hair and got most of the troll boogies off his clothes, though the jacket and vest were certainly looking worse for wear. I had bruises on my ankles and cheekbone where I hit Kili’s boot, but at least my clothes held up pretty well in a troll fight.

Dwalin came up to me as we walked. “Here, lass.” He gruffly handed me the dwarven dagger, which was now sheathed and had a belt to strap around the waist. “Need to learn how to use it better, but you’re gonna need something to defend yourself with.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I stopped and tried to buckle the dagger, but there wasn’t a notch for my size.

Dwalin sighed as though inconvenienced and pulled out yet another, smaller dagger. He twisted the tip with a generous amount of precision and produced a notch far enough along the belt that it’d stay on me.

“There. Now get on with it.”

I belted the dagger so it sat firmly around my hip. Dwalin nodded, gave another grunt, and left to rejoin Thorin at the front of the group.

They still hadn’t told me who they really were. What Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, really ventured to reclaim. No, they continued under the guise of traveling merchants. But they had to see that it was a shoddy cover. They had no items to sell, for one, and far too many weapons. And a hobbit that was their official burglar. And they journeyed with a wizard.

But I didn’t say anything. If I kept playing along, eventually they’d either want to tell me or be forced to tell me, in which case I’d save my ass from having to divulge all the secrets I knew about them. As if I’d give Thorin a reason to really think I was a spy.

The foul stench of the troll cave hit us from a distance. It got worse as we approached, and by the time we stood at the entrance, some of the dwarves with weaker stomachs were already gagging.

Bilbo covered his nose with the crook of his elbow. “I—I—I’m not going in there,” he pointed.

“That’s perfectly fine.” A pause. “I am, though.”

“What—Valeria!” Bilbo half-heartedly chased after me. “You act like you’re not even bothered!”

“Oh, I smell it,” I said. “It’s really acidic, isn’t it?”

He refused to go any farther when I ducked my head under the cave entrance. Torchlight illuminated the massive hoard, and it echoed with the dwarves’ conversations. I passed Bofur, Nori, and Gloin, who were shoving gold coins in a chest. Since I already knew what their plans were, I didn’t ask.

Thorin and Gandalf talked about a pair of cobweb-covered swords, so I left that alone, too. Junk and other trinkets I had no use for mostly made up the rest of the hoard. I rummaged through a few piles out of curiosity, but their lack of substance made me frown since I came in hoping that I could get some cool token that would save my life in a perilous situation. 

I walked back out of the troll cave empty-handed when Thorin said it was time go. Bilbo waited for me, arms crossed with an expectant look on his face.

“Well? Did you find something spectacular?”

“No,” I sniffed. “But at least now I’ve seen a troll hoard. That in and of itself is an experience.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. He could be such a snarky little hobbit when he wasn’t too busy being scared or worried.

I saw Luis in the eye roll. Fortunately, Bilbo got called away by Gandalf before he saw me struggle to keep the surge of sadness in check. 

Then a hobo on a sled pulled by giant rabbits burst through the brush, and, well, I’d seen it all before. Radagast the Brown. Another wizard. It was cool to get a good look at his…appearance in real life, though.

While Gandalf and Radagast discussed serious topics a ways off, I sat with Bilbo and the Company. The hobbit showed me his new sword. I almost said, “Whoa, that’s Sting, right?” but caught myself at the last second.

“What’re they talking about?” Dwalin muttered, shooting a suspicious glance at the wizards.

“Pay them no mind,” said Thorin, though his expression mirrored Dwalin’s. “It is none of our concern.”

But it would be.

I thought about the future of this world. Of Frodo and Sam and the Fellowship.

And what if I was still here when it happened? Would I still be sitting in a forest, cloak wrapped around me, a dagger at my side, wondering about the threatening darkness?

No. No. I would be home by then. I had to be. I had—I had to be—

A low howl diverted my attention. Standing with everyone else, I drew the dagger and held it as best I could.

“What was that?” Bilbo anxiously questioned. “Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out there?”

“Wolves?” Bofur clutched his hammer close to him, ready to swing it at a moment’s notice. “No, that is no wolf.”

Oh, fuck.

A huge, wolfish, distorted beast leapt down the hill, barreling right into the Company. Its snarled teeth glistened in the light, and in two bounds it toppled Gloin over and snapped down on him. I threw my arm around Bilbo, and we ducked from the fight to let the dwarves take charge. The sounds growling and shouting in these woods could almost be replaced for bombs and the screams of the innocent.

Another warg attacked us, but it too was quickly dispatched. After the final thunk of a sword driving into the beast, I lifted my head to check if everything was clear. Bilbo’s small body shook as I hauled him back to his feet, but he steadied himself despite his pale countenance.

“You good?” I asked the question but didn’t expect him to answer.

Thorin spat on the beast. “Warg scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo squeaked.

“Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?” Gandalf demanded, closing the gap between him and Thorin.

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?”

“No one, I swear!” Thorin’s gaze crossed to me, and his wrath rose. “It is the spy! She led them here!”

“For the last fucking time, I am not a spy!” I shouted back, finally losing my mind. “But it’s not like it’s fucking hard to track thirteen dwarves through the country! You guys leave your shit and piss everywhere you go!”

“Enough!” Gandalf’s voice rose above everyone. “You are being hunted.”

“We have to get out of here,” Dwalin said. “Let’s—”

“We can’t!” Ori yelled, running back down the hill from where the wargs came. “We have no ponies. They bolted.”

Bilbo squeaked again.

“I’ll draw them off,” said Radagast. A glint shone in his eyes.

“These are Gundabad wargs! They will outrun you.”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits,” Radagast returned. “I’d like to see them try.”

My mouth moved before my mind could stop it as I whispered the iconic phrase a beat after Radagast. Luis and I liked to quote it whenever there was an inconvenience or an improbable chance.

“The game starts in twenty minutes! And traffic is going to slow us down,” Mom called while she hustled through the door, arms full of bags because when were her arms not full of bags.

Luis sauntered out, dressed in his baseball uniform. He slapped the SUV.

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits,” he mimicked, rubbing his hand over the vehicle. “I’d like to see them try.”

Elena then pushed him into the car with all the roughness of the eldest sister, and I laughed at his impression. 

I would be back by the start of Luis’ baseball season, and nobody—no wizard, dwarf, hobbit, elf, orc, dragon—could tell me otherwise.

Chapter Text

We ran until the tree line broke and gave way to plains scattered with jutting rocks. I kept up at an easy pace despite the lack of proper food and water these past few weeks. The other dwarves…not so much. They tried sprinting, but it just wasn’t in their forte with their short, stocky legs and high-density content. I actually wound up right behind Gandalf, who ran super well for an old wizard.

Then again, I didn’t know any other wizards to compare his running skills to. And the old hippie who called himself Weed Wizard and ran the dispensary five minutes from my house didn’t count.

The howling from the wargs and their orc riders speared through the mid-afternoon sky and raised the hairs on the back of my sweaty neck. We only got breaks when we hid behind rocks and waited for Radagast to lead the pack away on his rabbit-pulled sled. This went on for the better part of an hour, but we were bound to be spotted before we reached safety.

My dread was validated when we stuck our backs against a large, lichen-covered rock. The dwarves tried to stifle their panting and wheezing. I glanced at the stone surface, and it took me back to hiking in Colorado between work stints. Craggy rocks and coniferous trees hid lakes and rivers, and mountains reached up to the heavens while the rest of the world sprawled beneath.

The sound of a warg scrambling on top of the rock we hid behind jolted me out of the recollection.

Thorin put a finger to his lips, then nodded for Kili to take the orc and its warg down.

I remembered how this was going to go.

Kili breathed once, twice, then nocked an arrow and darted out into plain view. The warg snarled and Kili shot it, but the arrow didn’t land in a fatal spot. As the beast thrashed and roared, the orc attempted to blow a signal horn. Another arrow whizzed into its chest, but that hadn’t been fatal, either. They both toppled down in front of the Company, injured but alive, and got back up.

The orc didn’t need to blow a horn to alert the rest of the pack. The screams and squeals of both warg and rider sufficed.

I hid my eyes behind a hand, grimacing in second-hand embarrassment and terror, as the dwarves hacked their loud enemies to death.

The howling drew our way. “Move!” Gandalf shouted, and we broke into sprints again. “Run!”

I lost track of time, and I ended up holding Bilbo’s hand so he wouldn’t fall behind since his legs were shorter than everyone else’s. Wargs darted in and out of my line of vision. This wasn’t natural, not natural, not natural. How the hell did I deserve being chased by mutant wolves and the literal spawn of evil?

My foot caught on a hidden rock, and I pitched forward with Bilbo in tow. He yelped as we started to go down, but Balin managed to catch my elbow and pulled me back upright. The old dwarf shot me a wink before focusing once more on the danger all around us.

It didn’t matter, though. That danger closed in, forcing us to stop running and move tight together. Arrows whizzed past, and one landed too close to Bilbo and me for comfort. Weren’t we supposed to be finding a secret tunnel? Right? I couldn’t think about the plot of a movie when there were fucking arrows flying at us.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili shouted. Kili shot arrows back at the orcs, but we still remained outnumbered. Bilbo drew his sword, and I unsheathed Dwalin’s dagger, both of us brandishing weapons we knew nothing about. 

Stay calm, I chanted to myself, a familiar mantra. Stay calm.

“Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s abandoned us!”

The pack drew farther in. I locked in on a warg and its orc. Better I died than Bilbo, because the chances of me coming back were, so far, proven to be substantially better than a normal hobbit’s.

Or maybe the boar that killed me was just magic.

But it didn’t account for what happened two days later, when I fell off a cliff in the middle of the night and died then, too.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin commanded. Orcrist (Así se llama, ¿sí?) gleamed a shining blue in his grip.

Bilbo’s sword also glowed blue.

An orc charged at us, and I stepped in front of Bilbo to face it head-on. The orc rider raised its jagged weapon, the warg opened its jaws—

One of Kili’s yellow-fletched arrows brought down the rider, and its sudden shift in weight threw the warg off. It careened past us, and I took the opportunity to repeatedly, frantically stab the dagger into the warg’s neck. Hot, nasty-smelling blood covered my hand and the warg screamed a noise that was far too humanlike, but I refused to falter.

Bilbo yanked my shoulders to pull me away from the very dead warg. Gandalf shouted something at us from a rock, waving his staff, and the dwarves ran to him. All I could hear was the roaring of wargs, but I stood up to full height and grabbed Bilbo’s hand again. We booked it, more beasts snapping right behind us, and fell heel-first into an abrupt tunnel entrance. I got smacked in the neck by one of Bilbo’s brick feet on the way down, which didn’t help the disorientation from the tumble.

A few sturdy hands helped me up, and as soon as I was righted, Oin handed me a dirty cloth.

“Here, lass.”

When I took it and stared, he said, “It’s for your dagger. Can’t have blood on it. It’ll rust.”

Nodding, I wiped the dagger clean with shaking hands. Better to be shaky and ride the adrenaline through. Being aware of its effects meant that we were safe. Not feeling the adrenaline meant we were still in deep shit.

“I just killed a warg,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone. But Oin responded anyway.

“Aye, you did. Try cleaning off your hand with the rag while you’re at it.”

The blood didn’t come off easily with dry cloth. A fact I was already aware of, but it still made me want to cry when I rubbed and scraped at my skin and the blood only smeared.

Kili and Thorin were the last to slide into the tunnel. The king gave me a once-over as though to make sure I was alright, then turned his head back to the jagged sliver of blue sky above us.

Bilbo squeezed my arm, causing me to look down at him. His pale face and wide eyes made his terror clear. My own expression wasn’t too far off from his. A warg almost killed us, and had it not been for Kili’s arrow, I probably couldn’t have saved Bilbo or myself.

“Are—are you alright?” he whispered amid the tense silence.

I patted his head. “Yeah. And you?”

“Oh, I’ve seen better days.”

I smiled at Bilbo’s resilience, and he smiled back.

Another horn rang out in the air, this one high-pitched and true. Hoofbeats thundered through the stone, and an instant later, an orc came rolling into the tunnel we all sought refuge in. I flinched away, knowing that in the back of my mind it was dead, but unable to think past the present danger.

Thorin tapped the corpse with his sword, then yanked the broken arrow out of their chest. He examined the arrowhead with a mixture of relief and disgust—an expression Thorin Oakenshield had mastered.

“Elves.”

Oh, thank god. We were going to be safe. We were going to be safe, and I wouldn’t have to carry the racing heart in my chest for much longer.

(And finally, I could get some vegetables in me.)

-

Rivendell. Imladris.

Luis and my dad tried building it on Minecraft. They gave up pretty quick.

Here I stood, without them, in complete awe of its…everything.

The dwarves weren’t happy, of course, and they grumbled despite the beauty before and around them. But in all my weeks of being in this stupid world, I hadn’t felt this calm since…since…

I hadn’t ever been this calm, come to think of it.

The elves were, unsurprisingly, beyond beautiful, just like their home. I failed not to stare at each and every one of them.

And holy shit. I saw Elrond. The Elrond. All majestic and regal and graceful. Luis would have crapped his pants if he were in my place.

(But when Elrond looked at me, something akin to sadness deepened his gray eyes.)

Two elven women guided me to my chambers. I got separated from Bilbo and the Company, so we walked alone. Well, I walked. The elves glided.

“Such strange garments you wear, my lady,” the elf with the light brown hair said. Her voice carried an ethereal quality to it.

“Oh? Uh, yeah, they are,” I stuttered. A glance down at my clothes showed they were dirty and blood-spattered more than anything.

“It is finely woven and made with incredible material,” the other elf said, whose hair was so black that it had blue hues to it. “Tis like nothing I have ever seen.”

“They’re from home.”

“And where do you hail from, my lady?”

I let out a weak laugh. “I, uh, I don’t think it’s anywhere on your map, I’m afraid.”

The two elves exchanged glances, though their faces were so well-sculpted that I couldn’t tell what they might have been thinking.

“Very well. I am Tiriel.” The brown-haired elf placed a delicate hand to her breast.

“And I am Gallien,” said the one with raven hair. She smiled, and I almost fainted from the overpowering radiance.

With an undoubtedly dorky grin back, I said, “I’m Valeria. It’s so nice to meet you both.”

Gallien’s smile remained the same, but the inflection of her tone changed near-imperceptibly. “Your companions may think otherwise.”

“Yeah. I’d, uh, apologize for them? But they aren’t going to be sorry anyway. So, so just know that I am happy to be here.”

“And we are honored to have you, Lady Valeria,” Tiriel said. “Your name is most interesting. It holds a sacredness to it.”

I thought about what she could have meant, trying to remember all of Luis’ lessons and ramblings. When it clicked a few seconds later, my brows shot up. “Right! The…the Valar. Valeria. But, uh, it just means to be strong where I’m from.”

“And strong you must be,” said Gallien, “for traveling with dwarven men cannot possibly be an easy task.”

Tiriel laughed, soft and light. Mine sounded rough and cracked compared to hers.

“No. No, it isn’t. But Bilbo makes things better.”

“Bilbo? The halfling?”

We turned a corner, and the new, spectacular view displayed in front of me momentarily took my breath away. When I regained some cognitive function, I replied, “Yes. Bilbo Baggins.”

“Hobbits are seldom found away from their homes, I have heard.” Tiriel gestured to an intricate door made of pale gray wood, and Gallien opened it for me.

“No. But he’s…not your usual hobbit.”

They smiled and accepted the answer. The room had a canopied bed and a writing desk seated against one of the three tall, veiled windows in the chamber. Late afternoon sunshine poured through them, casting an orange glow throughout the room. On the far side stood a full-length mirror, where I caught a glimpse of my grimy appearance.

I wanted to jump into the bed like it was some kind of hotel, but I withheld the temptation in front of the two most beautiful women I’d ever seen. “Your bathing chambers are through here,” Tiriel said, opening a door near the bed. “All the proper soaps and lotions are at your disposal. When you are done, we will have a dress prepared for you while your clothes are being washed.”

“We ought to have asked, but since you are…different from your dwarven friends, we presumed you would not mind such things.” Gallien bore a twinkle in her light blue eyes.

I nodded vigorously. “Thank you so much,” I beamed, “like, really. Seriously, thank you.”

Both elves returned with demure smiles. “Dinner will be in three hours,” Gallien informed. She and Tiriel bowed. I bowed back, though definitely stiff and awkward. When they departed and left me standing alone in the room, I covered my mouth with both hands and stifled the rise of giggles.

And yeah, yeah, everything was real. But the most important real thing?

The hot water.

I stripped, and after a few minutes trying to figure out how to get water into the concave bath seated in the middle of the chamber, it poured out from three sides in delicious, fogging streams. The soaps Tiriel talked about sat on a low stand made from the same gray wood like my door. The bars were held in glass trays, and vials for my hair and body were contained in matching glass vials. I didn’t know if there was a step-by-step process for everything, but at this point, I wasn’t going to worry too much.

This girl just wanted to be clean.

I enjoyed a long soak before getting to the actual scrubbing. By the end of it, the soapy water was murkier than I cared to admit. But my hair, moisturized and happy, smelled like roses, and the scent of something like sandalwood drifted from my shiny brown skin.  

And the elves had towels, thank god. Though they weren’t like the material I was used to, they served the same purpose. I patted myself dry, slathered on lotion from head to toe, and detangled my hair with the brush provided.

The chamber gave me a place to sit in front of a vanity. Kili’s boot bruise still clung to my face, and I had grown darker in the weeks of travel under the sun. Had that much time passed already? Shit.

A minimalist tattoo hung on the upper part of my chest, lining in the center. I went through a phase back when I taught English in Thailand and got the tattoo there. It wasn’t much; just three overlapping triangles that occupied the space between my breasts. Real white girl shit. It looked good in a super low-cut shirt. I meant to get another tattoo, but they were too expensive for me to justify the cost of one.

And I came here before I could talk myself into it.

Whatever hair wash I used must have been magic, because after giving everything a good ruffle, it was practically dry. Still damp by the nape of my neck, but air-drying usually took hours.

“I love elves,” I whispered to myself in the mirror. After I got dressed, I had to find Bilbo.

Tiriel and Gallien were waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom, dirty clothes piled up in one arm. Tiriel held out a linen bag for me to put them in. I left my shoes out. The Nikes could survive.

They made no comment about my tattoo or the overall state of my nakedness. Not that I expected them to, but the anxiety subsisted until I put on nice, brief-shaped underwear and a sheer slip. The dress itself wasn’t as flowy and gauzy as the women’s dresses, but it  still had an incredible make and design. Dusk-blue fabric fell just above the floor, and it hugged my frame—but not so much that I’d be uncomfortable. The sleeves, while long, were breathable, and the collar scooped out wide to give a considerable view of my shoulders. Enough that the faded scar from a bullet wound right below the edge of my left collarbone was visible.

Gallien sat me down in front of the full-length mirror and wove a few simple braids into my curls. “You have beautiful hair, Lady Valeria,” she commented. Tiriel nodded as she watched.

“Ha, thanks. It’s frustrating, sometimes, since it’s so thick.”

“I can believe it would be.”

The braids pulled the front part of my hair away so I wouldn’t have to constantly be tucking strands behind my ears. It also made me look more elfy, so the dwarves would probably make a comment or two because they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. The rest of my curls flourished behind me, free in their natural state.

Tiriel gave me silver slippers to put on. “There,” she said. “Now you are ready to walk the Valley of Imladris.”

“Again, thank you both so much.” I gave them quick but meaningful hugs, and the women reciprocated. Gallien even laughed a little. “Now, could you show me to Bilbo’s room? If he hasn’t gone off to explore already.”

“Of course.”

-

Bilbo stared at me with his mouth open a little after he opened the door to his room. I grinned and did a horrible curtsy. “Valeria! You look…” He huffed, then sincerely said, “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to see you and your clothes are cleaned up.” I poked his chest.

“Yes, so am I. But now I’m starting to wonder why I didn’t get a new set of fine elvenwear.”

“Just ask! I’m sure they’ll give you something.” I stepped back and extended an arm out to the view before us. “Shall we go on our own adventure before it’s dinnertime?”

Bilbo promptly bowed, grinning ear-to-ear. “I’d quite like that.”

We lost ourselves in Rivendell. I found that in any new place, it was the best way to get acquainted. Bilbo hung right there beside me, drinking in the sights and sounds. We passed through halls, through gardens, through galleries and courtyards. Over bridges, under waterfalls, and on and on until a kind elf told us that dinner was to be served for the Company.

The dwarves had already been seated by the time we got there, and some of them didn’t bother to hide the displeased to downright offended expressions thrown our way.

“Oh, dear,” Bilbo whispered as we took up empty seats. “They’re angry.”

“Because we’re having fun? They can fuck off.”

Now accustomed to the curse words I spewed more often than a lady here should, he didn’t flinch.

Balin had enough decency to be kind. He leaned over and said to me, “You look quite lovely, my lady.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you, Balin.”

A few pair of eyes bore into my back from the exclusive table a few feet away, but I focused on the salad being plated in front of me. A tiny, personal pitcher full of salad dressing accompanied it. My mouth watered. I missed fresh vegetables, just like I started to whenever I was overseas doing work for long periods of time. While the dwarves sneered and sniffed at the greens before them, I scarfed everything down. Fresh baby tomatoes, crunchy spinach and kale, dill, arugula, crisp cucumbers, sliced carrots, purple cabbage, cranberries—all doused in a creamy dressing dotted with poppy seeds.

Basically, the works. The best of the best. A salad of this size and array would have cost about twenty bucks in Colorado Springs. The golden-baked bread with a smear of fresh butter topped it all off.

Dwalin shoveled through his bowl as if searching for something. Dori prodded his little brother to try some of the fresh lettuce, and he reared his head back reproachfully to if they had chips instead.

When I came up for air, I had a chance to take in the location. The sunset view was astounding, and light glittered off the dozens of waterfalls falling into the valley before us.

Dividing the two tables set up for the Company sat a small, circular dais.

Familiarity struck.

I swallowed the last of my food and chased it with a gulp of water. We were here, weren’t we? Raucously dining in a place that’d eventually mark the start of legends.

“Oi, lass, does that rabbit food taste good to ye?”

Gloin’s cheeky comment snapped me back into reality, where elves played lulling music on harps and lutes that set an ambiance the dwarves didn’t care for. I stared at him for a second, then let out a chuckle. His eyes narrowed. “What, ye got something to say?”

“No. No, it’s, uh, it’s just that…my father would say things like that about food like this.” I gestured to my half-empty bowl. “He likes his red meat. Can’t ever hardly get him to eat anything green.”

Gloin seemed to like the comparison. He nodded and stroked his beard. “Aye, your father sounds like a man with good sensibility.”

Bilbo showcased his hobbit appetite by clearing two plates of bread rolls, his entire salad, and a tray of cubed cheese before I even finished my meal. He was far from being done, too. I got full just on the salad and bread alone.

I doubted he would find the same amount of humor as a person on Earth if I said, “Damn, little lady, you sure can put it away!” So I kept the quote to myself.

My eyes glossed over to the rest of the dwarves, and I noticed Kili smirking at the elf playing the harp. His brows twitched in a slight suggestion that made me shake my head.

Somebody caught him attempting to nonverbally flirt, and the smile dashed into a look of indifference. “Can’t say I fancy elf maids myself,” Kili said to Dwalin and Bofur to compensate. “Too thin.”

I shifted forward to get a better view of their expressions and found it worth the effort.

“They’re all…high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me.” After glancing at a passing elf playing another instrument, Kili leaned in and conspiratorially said, “But that one there’s not bad.”

Dwalin also leaned in. “That’s not an elf maid.”

The elf turned and did in fact show himself to be of the opposite gender. Kili’s shock and embarrassment colored his face, and it didn’t help that the entire table started laughing at him, myself included.

What a fuckboy.

Bilbo overheard the distant conversation carrying over from the table where Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and Thorin sat. Elrond was telling them about the swords they picked up in the troll hoard, and I abstained from looking over my shoulder to watch. Curious about his own blade, Bilbo unsheathed it to examine the top few inches.

“I wouldn’t bother, laddie,” Balin spoke consolingly. “Swords are named for the great deeds they do in war.”

“What’re you saying? That my sword hasn’t seen battle?”

Balin grimaced. “I’m not actually sure it is a sword. More of a letter opener, really.”

The twinkle in his eyes belied the serious statement.

I nudged Bilbo with my shoulder as he put the weapon away, disappointed. “Elves may be tall, but they don’t open their letters with something that big.” I sent a smirk Balin’s way. “He’s just fucking with you. And hey! Even if it doesn’t have a name, it means you can give it one.”

Bilbo smiled a little sadly. “Oh, I doubt I’ll do anything worthy enough with this to give it a name.”

“I think you will.”

He started at the certainty of my tone, brows crinkling together. I just offered a smile.

Bofur interrupted the soothing music for a proper dwarven tune. He stood up on the dais—the dais that would have the Ring placed on it—and stomped his mud-ridden shoes on it. The mess and noise the Company caused from his singing made me, once again, hide my eyes behind a hand from sheer mortification.

A bit of salad flew into my hair that Bilbo helpfully picked out.

But at least Bilbo and I had the decency to help the elves clean up after the dwarves had the audacity to fling food around like some fucking cafeteria food fight.

Chapter Text

The time had come to sit down with Lord Elrond and explain my…predicament. I laid everything out with careful words, and he listened without betraying any emotion except the slight incline of a brow from time to time.

One: I came here without any knowledge how.

Two: The last moment I remembered before waking up in the middle of the woods was jogging five blocks away from my house. Nothing beyond glancing down at my black Nikes and hearing my breath in my ears.

Three: I did indeed do such a line of work, and I went to various places because of it.

Four: I was scared.

Five: I wanted to go home.

With a nervous glance at Gandalf, I decided to divulge more to Elrond than I had to him.

I knew this world. Some of the events. The defeat of the Dark Lord and the loss of his Ring. What would happen to the Company, as well as dark things that had yet to transpire. Their world—this world—was a story in mine. Nothing more. Beloved by many, but nothing more. I knew of Bilbo and Thorin, of Gandalf and Elrond, of Rivendell and the Lonely Mountain. I probably remembered more, but pouring it all out at once left me with gaps in my memory.

I wished Luis were here.

After a moment of recovery, Gandalf nodded. “That is why you were so willing to accompany us. There was no reason to distrust those you had already been acquainted with. How…remarkable.”

“The reason for your coming may run deeper than originally thought,” Elrond said.

I pursed my lips into a line. Desperation swelled in my chest, then abated as I took even breaths.

“Look. I just want to go home. Please. Do you know a way?”

Elrond sighed, giving his answer before any words came out. “Unfortunately, such magic is beyond my realm.” He and Gandalf exchanged glances. “As it is for even the wisest and eldest among us. The only being I would be inclined to think had a part in your coming has not visited this world since the Second Age, when the Last Alliance was forged.”

Elrond’s voice was strained, like he struggled to speak of the person he referred to.

“You…Okay? What happened to them?”

“They were banished from Middle-earth and all its heavens.”

“So, they’re bad?” The desperation rose back up in my throat again like bile.

“No,” Gandalf said. He lit his pipe and began releasing puffs of smoke into the late evening sky. Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose as if to block unpleasant memories. “They are meddlesome. Chaotically so. But it could explain your sudden transition from your world to ours.”

“Oh.” Unsure what to say next, I remained silent. The vague depictions left me confused, and I didn’t want to ask more questions they’d deny answering, anyway.

“It is just one of many possibilities, my lady,” Elrond smiled, returning to his kind demeanor. “Worry not. I am sure the answers will reveal themselves in due time, and your home may become within reach once more.”

He stood, and Gandalf followed. “We will discuss this new information with our comrades when they arrive, if that is alright with you.”

I got to my feet. “Oh. You’re…it’s the…” I scrunched up my face trying to remember the movie. “The White Council. You’re all meeting.”

Both men paused. The air stilled. “Yes,” Elrond eventually muttered. I tried not to fidget from the way he examined me. Not that it was untoward, but it felt like getting lanced. “I hope to speak with you again, Lady Valeria.”

He bowed, and I awkwardly nodded my head because I had no idea what else to do. Elrond said something to Gandalf in elven, gave me one last glance, and departed from the small, gazebo-like terrace.

The first stars began to appear in the darkening sky. In the distance, an outdoor campfire glowed like an ember among bone-white wood—a dwarven entity standing stark against their elven hosts.

“My dear Valeria,” Gandalf said, clasping a travel-worn hand on my shoulder to lead us away. “You are very intriguing, indeed.”

I didn’t want to be intriguing. I wanted a way home.

Gandalf sensed my discontent. “Now, now. Do not despair. You may not have the answers you seek, but you may be an answer something else entirely.”

The words struck true.

I wanted to be the answer to people who needed help. The answer to fighting fires. To teaching and learning languages. To aiding war-torn countries and those within. To preserving the environment. To making the world better in what little ways I could.

But I wanted to do it on my world.

After Gandalf left me to my thoughts, I wandered down to the campfire. I didn’t want to be alone right now. The grief could crush me unchecked.

As I approached, I remembered I hadn’t told Gandalf or Elrond that I died twice here and came back both times. Once by a boar, and once by falling off a fucking cliff. Terrible, stupid ways to die.

Maybe it’d be best to keep those occurrences to myself and deal with one complicated situation at a time. And I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain the whole popping-up-from-death thing at all, because that meant I fucking died in the first place.

“Ah, our mysterious lady returns!” Bofur cried, earning a scattered round of cheers. I picked out Bilbo seated near Balin and Ori. All their bedrolls had been sprawled out in defiance and camaraderie. “And what secrets did you reveal, seeing as you’ve come to spy on us?”

He laughed and got elbowed by his brother. Thorin stayed at the edge of the camp, separated but included at the same time. A pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, and though he looked relaxed, he was still going to study my every word.

I sat down next to Bilbo, tucking my knees under me to keep from flashing anyone. “I told them how all of you cried and shit your pants when the trolls captured us.”

“Deceitful lies!” Gloin shouted with a hearty laugh. Bofur and Nori threw a spatter of wilted greens at me. I ducked them as best I could, but leaves still landed in my lap, the collar of my dress and, once again, hair.

“You got a mouth on ye, lass,” Dwalin said. He held a flagon of some alcoholic substance in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other. “Do ye speak to your mother with that tongue?”

“My mother taught me how to speak like this,” I corrected with a wry smile. Dwalin chuckled.

The conversation turned away from me, and I sank back and listened to a mixture of language I understood and Khuzdul. Bilbo placed a platter of sneaked tarts between us, and we shared them. The jams folded within the pastries brought up memories of home.

Just about anything could, it seemed. I let my mind get lost in the twisting firelight. Flecks of cinder drifted up to meet their silvery cousins.

As the night carried on, the dwarves’ talking melted into singing. It started hectic like Bofur’s song at dinner, which left me laughing into Bilbo’s small shoulder at the lyrics. But slowly—slowly, they transformed into deeper tones of melancholy. Heartache. Mourning. Glistening eyes and somber expressions replaced the grins and guffaws. Low melodies and cadences rose into the night. And though I did not understand the words, I still understood.

They were songs of home.

A wave of grief hit me so powerfully I almost drowned in it. I bit my bottom lip, scrubbed at my face, and held back the air in my lungs until I could be certain it evened out.

Balin’s hand found my knee, and my bleary gaze blurred his kind smile.

“Sometimes…sometimes it helps, lass, even if it hurts. Try a song from your homeland. We’d enjoy hearing one. Truly.”

I blinked away the filmy haze. Balin was right. Songs helped. In schools, in refugee camps, in the middle of the night when there was nothing else to cling to but music-tied memories.

It hurt. It always hurt.

Yet solace lay within the hurt.

My fingers laced together, and I stared down at them as my breath threatened to quaver.

A scratchy song poured from trembling lips.

“Remember me
Though I have to say goodbye
Remember me
Don’t let it make you cry

For ever if I’m far away
I hold you in my heart
I sing a secret song to you
Each night we are apart.”

Thoughts of my family made me pause and take a half-sobbing breath. I shouldn’t have picked this one. It always made me want to cry anyway, especially if I listened to it when I was across the world, far from the comforts of home and loved ones. This was Luis’ and my song, both ironically and unironically, in memes and reality. We watched Coco on a weekly basis when I was around. The only thing that saved me from total devastation was choosing to sing in English. I wouldn’t have been able to get a single Spanish syllable out otherwise.

“Remember me
Though I have to travel far
Remember me
Each time you hear a sad guitar

Know that I’m with you
The only way that I can be
Until you’re in my arms again…”

Tears rolled down to darken the blue dress beneath.

“…Remember me.”

A silence trailed after the last wavering note, save for the calm, crackling flames.

Then Nori handed me an uncorked flagon. I tossed it back, and the mead burned at my raw throat. I drank just enough to let the alcohol heat my chest.

“Beautiful song,” Kili said sincerely. Both his and Fili’s eyes were red-rimmed. And the more I dared to look around, the more I saw the same state of the other dwarves.

“Thank you.”

I handed the flagon back to Nori and smeared the tears away with the back of my sleeve. Drained of absolutely everything, I settled my head on Bilbo’s leg. Cool air soothed the hot grief.

The intent to return to my room before I grew tired fled too fast for me to catch it.

 -

Dawn hadn’t yet blessed Imladris with its beams when I awoke. Inhaling, I recognized the familiar corduroy coat bunched up under my head. In his own bedroll, the hobbit lay curled up near me, still fast asleep. The drone of dwarf snores disrupted an otherwise untouched morning.

I sat up. A rough blanket slid from my shoulders. God, what a bunch of softies.

After I folded the blanket and Bilbo’s coat, I moved to leave as quietly as I could. But at these hours, a few missteps wouldn’t be noticed.

Partway out of the encampment, I realized I wasn’t the only one up.

Thorin. It had to be Thorin, didn’t it?

He sat on his bedroll, fingers twined mid-braid in dark hair. We exchanged no words. Rich blue eyes stared back at me.

I gave him a nod, ran my hands over a rumpled dress, and returned to the solitude of my own room.

-

Ori paced pensively outside of the library. He then stood on his tip-toes as if trying to get a peek inside the open layout of books, scrolls, and other fine literature. His bound notebook and traveling writing set was tucked firmly against his chest.

Bilbo and I perused through books, though I didn’t speak a lick of elven. (“Not simply elven, Valeria—there is Sindarin and Quenya,” Bilbo explained with an unwarranted huffiness to his tone, “and those are but two of the main elvish languages, not to mention the various dialects of each.”) But the writing was pleasing to look at, and I didn’t have much else to do except contemplate my reason for being in this world while wandering an ancient library.

“Hey,” I waved, and Ori jumped when he was pulled from his thoughts. “How are you?”

“Oh, I am—fine,” he replied with a duck of his head. “Just fine.”

I pursed my lips at Ori and walked over. In the background, Bilbo mumbled incoherently over some text before giving a delighted shout.

I wasn’t a tall person by the usual standards. Five foot three since seventh grade. So yeah, it did feel good having some height over the men. Even Dwalin, the tallest, had to tilt his head to meet my gaze in close proximity. And now Ori looked up at me from his short view, eyes timid and body skittish. He clutched his writing kit closer to him.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, I bent forward enough to be conspiratorial and not demeaning. “Do you want to come into the library?”

“Well—I—Dori said it’d be unwise, since the elves aren’t trustworthy—” Ori glanced down at his shuffling feet. “But…but I would…”

I straightened and looked about for any unwanted dwarven gazes upon us. Finding none, I snaked my fingers under Ori’s arm and yanked him into the threshold of the library. He yelped but didn’t fight the action.

“It sounds like you don’t agree with your brother’s sentiment,” I said. “And I think the elves would be happy to share their knowledge with the dwarves. I’ve found that the more informed people are on any subject, the better relations they can build through good communication and commonality.”

“That is a mighty mouthful.”

“But true, isn’t it?”

“Er, yes. I suppose.”

A sheepish but excited smile broke out on Ori’s face. We went over to Bilbo, who was nearly hidden behind his fortress of books. I wanted to ask him if there were any documents about people getting transplanted from other worlds—or beings from other worlds, like Gandalf and Elrond had mentioned. But that’d just give everything away, and what would have been the point of keeping it to myself in the first place?

So I sat next to the hobbit and dwarf, and the two of them lapsed into eager discussion as Bilbo helped Ori translate some scrolls. As nice as it was that they nerded out together, I got bored after twenty minutes since Bilbo no longer spoke to me about his incredible findings. I stood, declared my intent to leave and said goodbye, and didn’t even get a glance as I left.

I wandered Rivendell again, only this time alone. It felt pretty cool winding through elven halls in an elven dress, but part of me whispered that I didn’t deserve this opportunity. Not when I wanted to leave it all. Not when I didn’t want it in the first place.

Bilbo’s enthusiasm toward the haven made up for my doubt, and I held onto his brightness as I explored.

The lively atmosphere faded into something more somber. I climbed up spiraling staircases that led to one of the many small, sacred halls of Rivendell. A type of tangible stillness pressed on my shoulders. A sacredness.

A sadness.

Then I saw it. The shards.

I stopped in front of the statue bearing them. Luis would have known everything about this broken blade, about its significance and history, right down to the age it was crafted in. I just…I just knew it’d be remade. Aragorn would wield it. Narsil.

My eyes fluttered shut in an attempt to recall something I never had the intention of remembering. “All that glitters is gold—no, fuck. All that is gold does not glitter…not all those who wander are lost? Mm. Renewed…the blade or some shit…the crownless shall again be king.”

Sighing, I gazed upon the shards once more with a weight in my chest. “Oh, Luis. Necesito tu ayuda.”

I stared at the broken blade for a while longer, taking in each crack and edge. 

Please, I whispered. Don’t let me be here to see this in one piece.

The mural behind it took my attention. The Last Alliance. I knew that, but only because I knew this scene. This moment. I watched it over and over with every family gathering and holiday and random weekend, from when Luis was little to when I saw him three days before falling here.

Such bright light against the darkness. Hope against the void. One man alone against an enemy greater than armies. He faced Sauron because he had to. Because otherwise, all love and goodness would vanish.

It was so easy to understand, wasn’t it? Light fighting dark. So why was it such a hard thing to do?

I wished…I wished my world had such a discernable foe to face. That balance could be restored by vanquishing one giant evil.

It never had been and never would be like that.

Middle-earth got it so easy.

No. No, I wouldn’t discount all the horrible things the people of this world had suffered just because it was a different suffering than mine. We all felt the same in the end. Grieved the same. Hoped the same. Fought the same.

Look at Thorin, a dwarf who just wanted his home saved from the clutches of evil. I’d seen countless others seek the same.

The Ring, golden and sharp against the mural’s muted, gauzy palettes, instilled fear in me despite being such a small—but crucial—detail. How could something that little hold so much power? How could it nearly bring this entire world crashing down?

Maybe…maybe I’d tell Gandalf about what I knew when Bilbo returned with it. Maybe the evil could be defeated before it fully arose—

Shut up.

This wasn’t my world to deal with. My own had enough problems as it was, and I intended to go back and alleviate them as best I could.

But who was I to turn my back on a problem I knew full-well was coming? Who was I to turn away from the chance of preventing death and destruction?

I clenched both fists, anger and uncertainty swelling the longer I stared at the stupid ring.

I’d be home before any of this happened. Trying to predict what I could do for the future meant nothing in the long run. Best to just get over it.

Still, as I departed from the shattered sword and its mural, lingering doubt trailed on the hems of my dress.

Chapter Text

A shadow blocked the sunlight. I glanced away from my lap and saw a pair of familiar, mud-covered boots pointed at me.

“Yes?” I asked Dwalin, unmoving from my toe-touch stretches. My body had suffered these past few weeks, and I wasn’t as flexible as I wanted to be. The slight, cathartic burn in my calves and glutes proved it, so I bore down more into the fold and increased the strain.

“What’re you doing, lass.”

“Well, I’m stretching right now, then I was going to go for a jog up this one mountain path.”

“You’re gonna jog for fun?” Skepticism, but not full-fledged derision, edged Dwalin’s voice.

“Yeah. Keeps me in shape. And since we haven’t been traveling the past couple of days, I decided to do some exercising on my own.”

I pressed down hard for a few seconds before releasing the stretch and coming back up. Since Dwalin’s big head shaded me from the sun, I didn’t have to squint at him. I wore the same Nikes and dry-fit clothes I came here in, hair pulled back into a ponytail. Dwalin, it seemed, finally conceded that the elves wouldn’t murder him in his sleep and no longer donned his heavier armor.

“This is normal for your people?” He had his arms crossed, and I wasn’t sure about the point of our conversation, but I answered.

“Oh, some. It’s encouraged to be fit, but not a necessity. I personally like it.”

“Aye. You’re a fast runner, I’ll give you that.”

Dwalin didn’t say it like a compliment, but I took it as one. “Thanks,” I smiled. “And, uh, I guess I should apologize for running from all of you in the first place. I was…scared.”

He rubbed the side of his head in remembrance of the rock that struck him. “Pretty good aim for someone scared.”

My smile broadened. 

Dwalin started to walk away. He gestured for me to follow him. “Come on,” he gruffly said. “You can run for your own amusement another time. You need to learn what to do when you can’t flee from danger.”

I rose to my feet, eyeing the dwarf. He didn’t look back at me to see if I trailed behind, so sure that I would join. An idea of what we were going to do nagged at the back of my mind, but Dwalin didn’t explain himself, and I didn’t have much desire to ask. Let it be a surprise!

About five minutes later, the surprise confirmed my idea. I held a heavy wooden sword in my hand that matched Dwalin’s. He showed me the proper ways to hold it and where to put my feet, and I asked questions about everything. Though he answered like it was an inconvenience, I took the information all the same. I dealt with rough and annoyed people on a daily basis at work; the attitude rolled off you after a while.

While Dwalin taught the basics, the Company started to gather, little by little, and soon coins glinted in the daylight from the corner of my eye. A training session with an audience. How fun. I even glimpsed Bilbo’s curly mop of hair and corduroy jacket amidst the crowd, as well as Thorin lounging in the back.

“Go on, let’s see some fighting!” Bofur shouted, and the others loudly agreed. Dwalin looked at me, and for the first time since we’d met, he directed a smile my way.

It wasn’t a good smile.

“Ready, lass?”

“No?”

Dwalin moved so fast that I didn’t have time to do anything but block once before the wooden tip of the sword pressed against my neck. My hands stung from the hit.

“Again.”

The next hour ensued with me either getting my sword knocked out from my grip or knocked into me with the blows. Though I had muscle and a height advantage, I still couldn’t match Dwalin’s years as a battle-hardened warrior. I maneuvered too slow with the heavy sword, and that got me in trouble.

“Move yer feet, lass!”

“Block! Strike! Block—no!”

“Raise it up higher!”

“You’d be dead with that move!”

“Pay up, Bombur! The lass is still standing!”

“The sword’s too big for her! She need something smaller!”

I dropped my sword and pointed in the general direction where Fili shouted the last sentiment. “He’s right. I’m no good with this size. It’s too big, and this is just a practice sword.” Then I added, “Though, I’m decent at disarming and hand-to-hand combat. So I’m not completely useless.”

I refrained from shooting a glance at Thorin.

“Hand-to-hand, you say?” Dwalin inquired, eyes glinting. He dropped his sword and I dropped mine, fully aware of what was about to happen.

“Dwalin, no!” Kili groaned. “Don’t hurt Valeria more than you already have!”

His protests were lost in the exchanging of bets. Dwalin crouched a little, putting his fists up. I moved into a different stance, feet slightly apart, hips solid, hands at my sides. The strange form got a few good laughs, and the corner of Dwalin’s lip quirked up a second before he struck.

As a fist came swinging, I moved into a natural, instinctive reaction. Arm under his, twisting, shifting the position of my feet. Dwalin’s heavy body rolled over my back—

Wham!

The dwarf wheezed on the ground. I stood there and took in the mixture of groans and cheers as respective wins and losses of the bet got tallied up.

They wouldn’t understand my successful years of self-defense, judo, karate, and taekwondo. Nor would they understand that I had multiple medals and trophies in my childhood room from track and softball. Or my stint with boxing.

I liked being active. Same went for my whole damn family. And with some of the places I went for work, I needed to know how to defend myself.

Throwing Dwalin wasn’t the wisest in a real-life situation, but I wanted to show off enough that my proficiency could get through their thick dwarf skulls.

“Alright, alright,” Dwalin said, pushing up to his feet. A new edge sharpened his voice. “That was fun and all, lass. But let’s get serious.”

He came at me again before the Company could place a second round of bets. I dodged the first punch, then the second. Two beats later, I had him on the ground again, knee digging into his back. His arm wrenched up beside me.

“Ow! Damnit! I yield!”

I got off Dwalin, laughing, and extended a hand to him. He still growled, but he gripped his thick, calloused one around mine. I helped him stand up.

“Do we need to get more serious?” I asked him with a teasing nudge. He scoffed.

“No, we do not. But I don’t think the lads are done with this…event…just yet.”

Dwalin gestured to the Company. Both Fili and Kili rose. I sighed and tilted my head.

“Can’t we save this for another day?”

“Not while I have money on myself, we can’t,” Kili grinned as he approached. Fili hung back, waiting his turn. The brothers were quicker than Dwalin when it came to reflexes, so I had to step up my game.

Kili rushed in to grapple me. I evaded the first attempt, but by the second he had his arms wrapped around my waist from behind. My feet lifted off the ground. Brutal instinct crept in.

I slammed my elbow down on his brow. Kili shouted and reeled back, grip slipping enough that my feet touched the stone. I threw him off me and, as he stumbled to regain his footing, I shifted and extended a swinging foot out. Since I had the height, I didn’t have to bring it up super high to meet its mark. It cracked against the side of Kili’s face, heel-first, and he crumpled to the ground.

The dwarves, by now, were in upheaval. Despite a throbbing elbow and foot, I crouched down next to Kili. He hadn’t been knocked out of his senses, but he groaned and held his face.

“Consider it payback when your boot bruised my face,” I said, and he cracked an eye open. My cheek was still faintly discolored.

“That was an accident, and you damn well know it.” But a wry smile broke his pained demeanor, and I helped him back up as well.

Kili trudged back to Fili, muttering, “Good luck, brother.”

The elder sibling took up a spot a little ways off from me. Despite his casual smirk, his eyes were determined and fierce. He didn’t underestimate me like Dwalin and Kili had.

I tightened my ponytail.

And unlike the others, Fili didn’t immediately attack. We circled each other, keeping at a cautious length. He wasn’t going to make the first move, the bastard. He wanted me to go so he could react instead of being reacted upon.

Fine.

I rushed in, and we locked into a grapple. Fili’s strength could easily overwhelm me, so I needed to use whatever momentum he used as an advantage. When he tried to get me onto the ground, I twisted so he’d go first. Fili responded quickly enough to resist the pin I attempted to put him in, but I got his arm in my grip and prevented him from moving it out by wrapping a leg over the same shoulder and back around his neck. A judo-style pin.

He and the two others were used to just brawling. They didn’t have technique.

Fili’s untrained struggling only fueled his loss. I managed to roll him over, tucking the other leg under his free arm and pulling up so he couldn’t use either. My own free hand ran parallel with the leg and offered extra support in keeping Fili’s arm in place. Then he was on his back again, except this time more restrained.

My own forehead dug into the stone and my ass pressed dangerously close to Fili’s face, but he was pinned. His short legs kicked in the air. The dwarves roared with laughter, and Fili swore.

“You—you win,” he gasped out. I released and moved up on my knees. Fili dropped his legs, rubbing the arm I used to take the rest of him down. When I saw his face, I found a grin. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Oh, you can learn it where I’m from.” I leaned back onto my butt. Fili sat up.

“It wouldn’t help you in a real fight,” Thorin said, voice cutting through the Company’s chatter. I looked at him and shrugged.

“No, not that style, at least. It’s a…what I did with Fili is more of a sport. Not meant for real combat, in a sense. I used actual defense against Dwalin and Kili.”

A bruise was already forming on Kili’s cheek where I kicked him.

Thorin said nothing in reply. That was…good? Usually, he had some biting remark about me.

“So they let lasses fight like that?” Bofur asked. He loudly clinked money into his coin purse. The dwarf bet on me and won, which was nice and supportive of him. I should have bet on myself, too, though I didn’t have a single coin to wager.

“Yeah, they do.”

“Hm. Sounds pretty un-humanlike, if I say so myself.”

Bofur was goading me. A little more information from the strange woman in strange clothes who didn’t say much about where she came from.

I lifted my chin. “Then maybe you need to meet more humans.”

Bofur laughed at that. “Aye, maybe I do! If any of them are like you, then I’ll be a rich man from placing all the right bets!” He waved his heavier coin purse at the other dwarves, who scoffed and grumbled at him.

“You’re quick,” said Fili. He turned his head to Dwalin. “She needs smaller blades. Daggers, maybe?”

Instead of arguing, Dwalin nodded in agreement. “Aye, though daggers might be too small. We’ll see what we can come up with.”

They spoke like they expected me to continue accompanying them on the journey. My gaze flickered back to Thorin. He remained unreadable.

Fili stood and held his hand out for me to take. The smirk he wore at the start of our brawl had returned to a smile, which was full of mirth and charm and sincerity, and it brightened his blue eyes.

Had he always been this hot? Fuck.

Grinning back, I took it and got up. It was about time for dinner, and Bilbo complained that he was absolutely starving.

-

“She’s got an arrow wound,” Dwalin said to Thorin. They sat some distance from the fire pit the rest of the Company gathered around. If Valeria felt their gazes upon her, she pretended not to notice. The most likely explanation. She was teaching several of them—including Bilbo and Thorin’s sister-sons—a card game where one slapped their opponent’s hand to get cards. For all its impracticality, they got a good laugh from it. “You think she’s seen battle?”

“I’m not sure.” Thorin readjusted the pipe in his mouth. “But she can choke an enemy, if need be.” He glanced at Dwalin. “Did you find some blades?”

“Aye. Had to sweet-talk the elves.” Dwalin went to spit, then thought better of it at the last moment. “I’ll give ‘em to her tomorrow. Have Fili teach her more. He’s better at handling two blades at once.”

Valeria slapped her hand down on Bofur’s, who howled into the night air. She tossed her head back, laughing and cursing in her foreign tongue, as Bofur collected his cards. Her black curls hung loose around her shoulders, and she constantly had to tuck them behind her ears. As always, the hobbit stuck by her side, and he watched the cards get redistributed with keen eyes.

They would be leaving soon. Dawdling with the elves only increased the danger of missing Durin’s Day. Ever since the elf lord deciphered their map, a sense of dread crept up Thorin’s neck with each passing hour. If they timed their stealthy departure right, they could pass unseen from elven gazes.

The woman would not stay here. Though she enjoyed her time far more than the Company, it was less than the hobbit’s own enthusiasm, and she exhibited similar signs of restlessness.

And Thorin did not doubt that even if they attempted to leave Valeria behind, she would find her way to them again. Her humble and bright demeanor hid a great tenacity that showed itself in the fight with the trolls, fleeing the orc pack, and besting his three greatest warriors in the group within moments.

Thorin was still certain that Valeria would bring trouble to the Company. Her odd traits and vague background made sure of it. Whether she brought any good in spite of it had yet to be seen.

Gandalf proposed an idea to Thorin this morning. Balin solidified the idea on parchment.

Valeria just needed to sign it.

-

I swung the blades in slow motions, repeating the technique until I got it down enough to move to the next. Fili was a more patient instructor than Dwalin, and definitely much nicer to be around. He was quick to fix my grip and footing while staying respectful, and together we trained.

The activity brought familiarity, so I threw myself wholeheartedly into learning. The blades I had been gifted with only hours ago were elven. They seamlessly curved upwards and back at a slight angle. They were smaller than the practice sword I held yesterday—but bigger than the dagger Dwalin gave me. Soft and sturdy leather wrapped around the hilts. And yes, they’d glow whenever orcs and goblins were present. So sick.

Maybe I’d get to take them back home with me. Luis would freak.

“Perhaps I can teach you how to work a bow after this!” Kili shouted from where he was seated. The young prince cut and ate slices of an apple with his knife. “Then you can say which brother is a better teacher. It’ll be me, of course, but dear Fili at least needs the chance.”

Without pause, Fili drew a small knife from some hidden place and threw it at Kili. It landed a foot away from where he sat, causing him to scramble. Kili yelled something in Khuzdul and made a rude gesture I’d seen them toss around before. The two brothers exchanged some loud words, but by the end of it, they both were grinning.

It made me miss my siblings. Elena and I bickered the most, but she was also my older sister, so that was kind of a given. Luis and I only ever joked and goofed off because of our wide age gap.

Fili caught me watching them with more bittersweet sadness than I could hide. He unsheathed his blades again, and we settled back into the motions. “You have any siblings, my lady?” Fili asked, not looking my way.

I didn’t look at him either. It was easier to answer. “Yes.”

“How many?”

“A younger brother and older sister.”

“Ah, so you’re a middle child. It all makes sense now.”

A wry smile collected on my lips. “If you say so.”

“Were you close with them?”

Fili tossed his blade up a couple inches and grabbed it in a different position. I tried the same, albeit more clumsily.

“I was. My little brother more so. But my sister and I still got along well, especially in these later years.”

“And where are they now?”

I finally gave Fili a sidelong glance. “Home.”

“Where is home?”

“Far away.”

Fili sighed. I wasn’t going to let up just because training brought us physically closer together.

“What are their names, then? That doesn’t need to be kept a locked secret, does it?”

I repeated the slow, slashing motion he made through the air. “Luis and Elena.”

“Curious names.”

“Not where I’m from. All of your names are strange to me.” The motions started faster, and then we were moving across the small courtyard lined with wildflowers and vibrant bushes. White, time-worn and beautiful pillars marked each corner, and blossoming vines climbed up them.

“Truly?”

“Mm hm.”

Though I didn’t see it, I could almost feel Fili smile. “I am eager for the day when you decide to divulge your whereabouts, Lady Valeria. I have no doubt it will be most interesting.”

“Believe me,” I said, not entirely happily, “it will.”

-

“Valeria.”

I looked up from spreading flour on the table. The elves had been kind and enthusiastic enough to let me make my own food, and if it all went well, then I’d serve it to the dwarves either here in Rivendell or on the road.

Thorin approached, alone and unarmored. He kept something behind his back.

“Yes?”

Stone-blue eyes surveyed the table I was working on, then noted the ignited fire pit and a black, iron-cast skillet. “What are you doing?”

“Oh. Um. Just trying to make some food from home.” I lifted the linen from a bowl so Thorin could get a peek of the rising dough. “I wanted to see if I could get the ingredients right—and that the ingredients here would be suitable.”

“And what food are you trying to make?”

“They’re called tortillas. It’s a type of bread, I suppose, that goes with a lot of meals.” I prodded the dough with a finger, then twisted a piece off the larger bulk. Thorin watched as I stretched it out a bit before slapping the dough on the table. I then took a rolling pin, dusted it with flour, and set to work. “You should set that pan over the fire for me.”

Wordlessly, Thorin moved the pan onto the rack above the open flame. “Did you need me for something?” I asked, rhythmically rolling the pin over the dough and occasionally rotating it.

He dipped his head. “I am here to offer you a place in the Company.”

Thorin revealed what he’d been hiding behind his back. He carried a thick, folded piece of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill.

I stopped rolling out the dough. When words wouldn’t come to mind quick enough, Thorin said, “I imagine you are already aware of our true intentions on this journey, but allow me to explain in earnest.”

He rose to his full height and met my gaze. “I am Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain. I am embarking on a quest to reclaim my home, Erebor, from the dragon Smaug, who laid waste to it and my kin one hundred and seventy-one years ago. We will slay the dragon and take back what is rightfully ours.”

He was right. Despite the fact that I knew everything already, the stories and conversations I picked up about their quest hadn’t exactly been secretive, though they did try at times. But to hear Thorin say it with weight and honesty settled deep within my bones.

I nodded once. “Yes.” My voice came out hoarser than intended. “I…I knew a bit.” A weak smile dashed across my lips. “None of you kept up a good guise of simple merchants.”

Thorin smiled as well. It was the first time I’d been the cause of one. “No, I imagine not. But you have proven yourself to not be…an enemy of ours. Forgive me of my suspicions.”

Though curt, his apology was still genuine. I nodded again, a jerky motion, to accept it.

He set the parchment and writing utensils on the table where there wasn’t any flour, then unfolded something similar to what I’d seen Bilbo nervously pour over when he particularly missed home.

“A contract for you. If you are to continue venturing with us, an official statement of your accompaniment is required.”

I glossed over the terms and conditions. Since the writing here was styled differently, reading was a dizzying labor more than anything. But I didn’t need to go over each technicality. I would keep doing what I had done since meeting them: running, fighting,  and traveling. Now it was just official running, fighting, and traveling.

Brushing off the flour from my hands, I picked up the quill and wrote my name on the marked spot for a signature. The ink dripped and splotched because I had no idea how to write with a quill, which Thorin certainly observed, but it sealed my name nevertheless.  

Valeria Juarez.

“Juarez?” Thorin spoke my last name slowly and mispronounced the J. “That is your family name?”

I gently corrected the pronunciation before saying, “Yes. And I know, I know, it’s strange here.”

“Indeed,” Thorin said dryly.

He then took the quill and signed his name beneath mine to make the contract official. 

I rolled out the dough one last time and threw it onto the skillet. “If you want to wait a couple minutes, you can try some,” I said when I caught him eyeing the process. “It won’t take long.”

Thorin grunted but did not reject the offer. He came around to the other side of the table while I rolled out more dough, falling into the rhythm. “Where is your pet hobbit?”

I shot him a look. “He’s not my pet, and his name is Bilbo. And right now, he’s nose-deep in books with Ori at the library. A library, I guess I should say.”

Thorin’s dark brows shot up a smidge. “Ori?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” I asked with feigned ignorance. Thorin frowned at my sarcasm. “Ori and Bilbo have been in the library a lot since we came here. It looks like the little dwarf’s appetite for knowledge outweighs, uh…everything else. I’m not too clear on why you hate elves so much.”

I did, but I decided against revealing that tidbit. Because one tidbit would turn into another, then another, and then I’d be explaining myself in full.

“They refused to offer aid when my people needed it most,” Thorin said, no small amount of malice in his words. “We were left, homeless and roaming, while they sat in their guarded realms, uncaring of our plight.”

“I’m sorry.”

Thorin took my sincerity with a single nod.

“I…I’ve seen what withheld aid does to people. Displacement is a terrible thing, and I would never wish it on anyone.” My work, in the past couple years, had taken me to camps full of displaced families seeking refuge and asylum.

The suffering I saw there still gave me nightmares, but the endurance that fought through it all still gave me hope.

“You speak as though you have seen war and suffering,” Thorin said, tilting his chin. “Have you?”

I hummed and responded with the usual vagueness. “I’ve seen some, yes.”

“Are there wars in the East?”

My fingers plucked the hot tortilla from the pan, and I placed it in a linen cloth. “There is turmoil everywhere.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at me. “You speak in riddles like the wizard.”

I gave him the tortilla he was promised and threw another on the skillet. “Maybe so,” I smiled innocently.

Thorin blew on the steaming tortilla, then took a tentative bite. His demeanor visibly brightened, which made me grin.

“This is good,” he complimented.

“Thank you. It’s even better when you can dip it in something or wrap food in it. I think you’d like burritos.”

“Burritos? Explain.”

Chapter Text

I was advised to begin gathering my things. For no reason whatsoever, of course.

Tiriel and Gallien, bless their hearts, gathered things for me when we’d inevitably set out again. Two changes of clothes and four pairs of underwear, not counting what I’d be wearing. Instead of thin exercise gear, I could now wear clothes suited for colder regions. Boots, warm but flexible leggings (that tied up on the sides, which I needed to get used to), wool socks, an undertunic, another thicker shirt, and a supple leather vest that was as soft as it was hardy. I rolled everything into the water-resistant pack Gallien had made for me. I also tucked away soap, a hairbrush, hair wash, a toothbrush and some sort of tooth powder to go with it, tweezers, lotion, a foldable compact mirror, a nail file, minor healing ointment, stitches and needles, and absorbent cloths for my “monthlies.”

But I still had two-and-a-half years to go on my Nexplanon, which stopped my periods, thank fuck.

I also got a proper bedroll that strapped to the pack. Tiriel slipped extra lembas bread and water bladders in the pack since I had room left thanks to my practiced way of packing clothes into a small space. My new blades hung off each hip, and Dwalin’s dagger was concealed in my boot.

“And this,” she said, leaning in close like we’d be heard—even though it was just the three of us in my room, “is some special spice for cooking.”

Tiriel unclasped the tiny wooden box. A savory aroma hit my nose. It looked to be a mixture of salt, pepper, rosemary, thyme, basil, and another spice I couldn’t discern. The scent alone was relaxing. “Use it if your companions suffer from poor mood.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I slipped the box into a side pocket of the pack. “Thank you all so much for everything. You’ve been so generous.”

Tiriel and Gallien dipped their heads. “You are welcome,” said Tiriel. “We’ve greatly enjoyed you and Mr. Baggins’ presences here in Imladris. If—”

“When,” Gallien corrected.

“When you return from your quest with the dwarves, please come visit. We cannot wait to hear the tales.”

I hugged them tightly, then planted a kiss on each of their cheeks. Tiriel blushed, and Gallien grinned. Evening was fast upon us, and the two elves needed to leave so they wouldn’t “see anything” amiss.

“Be careful.” Gallien squeezed my shoulder. Fili’s cloak, cleaned and mended, draped over it. “The world is growing ever more dangerous, Lady Valeria. Evil lurks in the shadows, waiting for you to stumble so it can extinguish your light.”

“I will.”

Tiriel and Gallien said something silent to one another before Gallien took out a small, wrapped item. She gently folded back the forest green cloth to reveal a delicate, silver chain necklace. A drop of light sat in the center. “For you,” Gallien whispered, reverence apparent.

My lips parted. The sun had dipped below the valley, plunging us in bright twilight. “Did…did you make this for me?”

“Tis a gift from the Lady Galadriel,” Tiriel replied, voice quieter than her counterpart’s. “It contains light that will serve as some protection from the darkness that awaits.”

Speechless, I let Gallien put the necklace over my head, and I hid it beneath my clothing.

“But,” I finally managed to get out, “I—I haven’t even met Galadriel—”

“She is the wisest among our kin,” said Tiriel. “Her seer-power allows her to see what one might need.”

Their somber expressions aged them the violet pallor. They didn’t have to tell me what they thought. I was already putting things together.

I would need this to defend myself against evil. But what evil? And when?

And what if it was too great?

I gave Tiriel and Gallien another hug for good measure. The necklace felt pleasantly warm against my skin. Tiriel pulled my cloak hood up. “Novaer,” she spoke.

“Novaer,” Gallien echoed.

I fought back the tears and headed for the door.

“Nunca es adiós,” I said to them, managing a smile, and slipped out.

I ducked through empty halls as twilight turned to night, moving in silent elven boots to join the Company.

Bilbo was especially despondent with each step that took us away from the Homely House. He, too, had gotten an elven cloak, but his hobbit clothes remained underneath. I put a hand on his hooded head.

“You’ll be back, Bilbo,” I promised.

He sniffed. “I’d like to hope so.”

Lady Valeria.

I slowed, breath stuttering. It was only because of the dwarf pack I walked in that I kept moving. An incredibly powerful being filled the inside of my head, pressing against my skull and blurring the world.

Your presence has worn on my mind ever since you arrived. I am saddened we could not meet in person, but I have been blessed with a gift I was bidden to bestow upon you. I believe it will aid you and the company you keep.

I tried thinking of a response, but I wasn’t too great at the whole telepathic, mind-reading shit. Jumbled, I asked her if she knew what would happen to us.

I do not. But you do.

Yes, I did. And I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing in keeping it a secret.

There is great danger in knowing the future, child. Treading the path only you can see brings risk—and grief.

But it also brings opportunity—a chance for brightness where before there was none.

Did she know how I came here? And why? And how could I get back home?

Be patient, Valeria. All will reveal itself to a light such as yourself.

I sighed, but thanked her anyway. Then—wait—I frantically told her that the Necromancer—the danger—the orcs—it was Sauron.

Sauron.

The pendant flashed hot for an instant. I winced.

A sense of dread and acceptance that wasn’t my own weighed heavy. I suspected…but wished it would not be true.

Keep this to yourself, lest the world be thrown into chaos before it should. And please, do not show me more. It may become too tempting to change what could be, leaving little possibility for the light to seep through cracks of darkness at the right time.

Alright. I kind of got the gist of what she was saying.

Galadriel’s voice grew fainter as we snuck out the same pass that we came in. Be brave, Valeria, and be kind. You have seen much despair, and yet it only compels you to continue doing good.

Flashes of finding civilians in rubble, carrying a bleeding child in my arms, fighting fires from consuming houses, and wading through floodwater as rain poured down swept through my mind. I winced at the memories. Each felt like I was back there with the searing heat and freezing cold, inhaling rubble and ash, blood in my mouth.

Valeria. You possess a light forged by battling the dark. Let it pass to others, and it may change the hearts of the most stubborn.

Curves of a woman’s peaceful smile pressed like a kiss inside my skull, and I was left with my own mind.

Thorin’s outlined figure stood ahead of me, leading the way for us all.

-

The dwarves had taken to their own tonight now that we were back on the road. Bilbo sat up, sewing a new hole that tore in his vest after a tough journey through some prickly brush. I sprawled out on my bedroll, hands laced behind my head, staring at the stars. One of the dwarves burped insanely loud, earning a wave of boisterous laughter.

Bilbo muttered something under his breath. Ever since we left Rivendell, he hadn’t been himself. Quieter, more conflicted. It worried me.

He wouldn’t leave, would he?

“Hey, Baggins,” I said, shifting my position. I raised my hands up and created a dog in the firelight’s shadow. “Look.”

His eyes followed where my hands went. When he saw the dog, he let out an unexpected light laugh. I grinned.

“That—that is fantastic,” he said, setting his vest aside to get a better look. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Oh, I just picked it up.” I changed the dog to a rabbit, then to a bird. “Do hobbits not have shadow puppets?”

“Of course we do. I just haven’t seen those exact shapes.”

I turned the shadow into an upright rabbit that moved its front paws up and down. Bilbo laughed again. “Show me how to do them!”

Chasing the hobbit’s brightened spirits, I sat up and helped position his hands. Pretty soon, he had a goat, and I had a bear. I made a fake roar and moved the bear’s head toward the goat.

“No, don’t eat me, Mr. Bear!” Bilbo squeaked from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m hooongry,” I growled. “Blegh!”

 The bear turned into twisting fingers and consumed Bilbo’s goat. We both laughed, then I made an elephant puppet and moved a finger to lift its trunk.

“What’s that?”

“It’s an elephant.”

Bilbo’s eyes went wide.

“An oliphaunt?”

I grimaced. “Um, yeah? No. An elephant. Kinda the same. Not as big as an…what was it? Oliphaunt?”

“You mean you’ve seen one? I thought they were only legends!”

“No, they’re real,” I chuckled, hoping Bilbo wouldn’t hear the sour note in my tone. I couldn’t help it! whenever I spoke about home, that was how my voice sounded. “I, uh, I’ve seen elephants. They’re very kind. Still huge.”

“Do they have great big tusks, too?”

“Yes. But for the most part, they’d never use them if they’re safe.”

I needed to stay guarded and cut the conversation off, but it was elephants! I spent three months on a reserve to help them and other savannah wildlife.

Wiggling my finger again, I said, “Their trunks can wrap around you and pick things up like food. They also suck water up them and either spray it out or release it into their mouths.”

“That’s incredible!” The glow returned to Bilbo’s face, and he listened with clear fascination. “Do you have them where you’re from?”

I made a face. “In—”

“In a sense, I know,” he grumbled, but not unkindly. “Still. It is amazing that you’ve seen them. I’d like to gaze upon one, someday.”

I remembered the oliphaunts and what they did in battle. My smile slipped a bit. But I continued on and said, “Maybe you will, Bilbo. Who knows? Once you’ve gotten a taste for this adventuring, you might not be able to stay put in one place for too long.”

Bilbo scoffed. “I think not. Once this is all done, I’m going to return home, have a nice cup of tea and a poppyseed muffin, and be in bed by nine. No more adventuring for me, thank you very much.”

My brows raised doubtfully. “If you say so,” I said, unconvinced, and settled back down onto my bedroll.

Bilbo pursed his lips at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I made an “I don’t know” noise and shrugged.

“Yes, you do,” he tersely huffed.

Bilbo’s sudden crankiness made me tilt my head back to him. “Whoa, hey. Don’t be talking to me like that, nuggito. I’m just saying that by the end of all this, you might like the person you’ve become. It may be miserable now, but just wait until you can look back on it. Then you’ll wish it had never ended.”

Immediate remorse deflated Bilbo. He opened his mouth, closed it, then quietly said, “I am sorry. You have been nothing but a friend on this journey. I—I just miss home. Rivendell reminded me of it, and…”

“And you find yourself wanting to go back.” I rolled onto my stomach and propped my chin on folded arms. “I understand.”

He weakly smiled. “Yes. Of course you do. Again, I’m sorry.”

I held a thumb up. “You see this? If I make this gesture, it means we’re good. Nothing to worry about.”

“Does it apply right now?”

“It does indeed, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo haltingly returned the thumbs up. I grinned. “There you go. Now we have a secret sign none of the other dwarves know about.”

He looked down at his thumb, pleased.

“Oi, lass! Get on over here so we can play a game of cards!” Gloin shouted. He waved a deck in his hand.

“Do you want to come?” I asked Bilbo.

“And get my fingers crushed by Bombur? No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on!” I lightly slapped his shoulder as I stood. “You can just watch. But I don’t want you moping here all by yourself as you tend to a tear in your vest.”

“Well, I can’t just go walking around with a hole in my clothing, Valeria!”

“Yes, you can,” I said, and Bilbo squawked as I lifted him up onto his feet.

“Alright—alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled. I gave him another thumbs up, which brightened his demeanor, and we joined the Company.

-

I hummed as we walked up the path, eyes wandering to the trees and sky. It was quite beautiful, and I wanted to enjoy the moments between life-threatening danger. If I had my phone or Polaroid, I’d be taking pictures.

“What song are you humming, my lady?” Fili called from behind Bilbo and Oin. “I don’t think I ever heard the tune, before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at the blond dwarf.

“Let me guess,” Bilbo said. He adjusted his pack, and its shifting weight propelled him forward a couple feet. “It’s from your home?”

“Sí.”

“Well go on, give us the lyrics,” Dori prodded from his place ahead of me. “We need a good song, and if Bofur knows it, he’s just gonna take over!”

“I do not hold myself responsible for whatever my melodious voice produces,” Bofur shouted from the very back. “It has a mind of its own!”

Bifur barked a retort in Khuzdul, and the dwarves laughed. I needed to start learning the language.

“Come on, Valeria,” Kili whined next to his spot beside Fili. “Entertain us!”

I rolled my eyes. “No! If I’m going to sing, I’d better get paid!”

Two seconds later, a silver coin bonked against the back of my head. I spun, glaring at the half dozen dwarves all looking away inconspicuously. Bilbo picked the coin up from the dirt and handed it to me. “Thank you,” I said, and I moved my pack around to the front so I could toss it into a pocket. “Now I have one coin to my name.”

“Aye, and we’d better get our money’s worth!” Gloin crowed. “Song! Song! Song!”

The Company joined in on the chanting until I waved for them to be quiet. “Alright, fine! Just if you all shut up.”

I got a round of cheers. After drinking a bit of water, I started to sing “Despacito”. I learned the lyrics partially because I went through a hardcore phase loving it, and partially because the song became a meme afterward. My voice lost some of its grace at a louder volume, but singing in Spanish made up for it. I started swaying my hips a little as we walked, and my hands climbed up to the air with the music I heard only in my head. I wanted to dance, but I stamped the desire down to a bit of feet shuffling and finger twirling.

I only sang half the song. When I finished, it earned applause. “Not terrible, lass!” said Bofur. “Now, what do the words mean?”

“Oh, I don’t think you could handle the translation,” I laughed.

“Do ye think so little of us?” Nori questioned. “We’re all adults here!”

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.

But it was what Luis would have wanted.

“If you really want to know what the song is about, then I guess I can tell you,” I placated. “Um, the beginning talks about getting close to someone and dancing together, looking in their eyes, and as they get closer, they’re starting to think of a plan, and just thinking about that plan is starting to make their heart race. Uh, duh, duh, I want to breathe in your neck slowly, let me whisper things in your ear, and then I want to undress you in slow kisses? Something like that, and be in the walls of your labyrinth.”

Somebody loudly cleared their throat.

“It goes on, and then, I want to see your hair dance, be your rhythm, I want you to show my mouth your favorite places. Let me enter your danger zones until I make you scream and you forget your name—no, last name. What’s the next good part…oh, come try my mouth and see if you like the taste, wanting to see how much love can fit in you, start slowly then savagely, and yeah, it’s all just about sex. Oh! I didn’t sing this part, but it kinda ends with singing about doing it on a beach until the waves scream—”

“Your people sing about things like that?” Kili interrupted in an octave higher than his normal pitch. I glanced back and saw that there were several reddened and uncomfortable faces. Bilbo was the worst of them.

I replied with an overtly-plain voice. “Well, yeah. Sex is amazing. And it makes for a good song, especially if there’s great music that goes with it.”

“It’s—it’s completely inappropriate!” Dori fussed.

“Hey, all of you were just dying to know! Now you do! And no, not all our songs are about sex. It can be about other things like love and loss and all that sweet stuff. But sometimes? Sometimes, it’s just about getting that good pussy and dick.”

I grinned as I earned collective groans.

-

“What was your mistake?” Fili relinquished the blade from my neck.

“I left myself open too long,” I said. “And I chose to strike instead of defend.”

“Well put. Again.”

I snapped into a defensive position, unwilling to repeat the error this session, and Fili came down with a single sword. I learned enough to the point where I could successfully fight back with my blades, though I was nowhere near good enough to win in a duel.

Fili managed to grab my wrist and wrench it, causing me to drop the right blade. I came down with the left one, but since it was my off-hand, Fili was quick to block it with his sword. Unable to block something straight-on, I kicked him hard in the stomach. He moved his arm under my knee, though, and as he fell back, I went with him.

But my own blade, for once, aimed down at Fili’s throat—despite the fact that his sword was also at mine again.

“Hey, would you look at that!” I smirked. “It’s a draw!”

“Better than a complete failure,” Fili conceded. We both drew back our weapons, and I lifted my knee from his chest. That damn smirk beneath his trimmed blond beard was hard to look away from.

We moved to a low, flat rock to cool off. I drank water and ate from a pouch of dried fruits.

“Want some?” I shook the pouch toward Fili.

“Where’d you get that? And yes, I would.” He snatched a dried apricot and popped it into his mouth.

“Turns out that when you’re nice to people, they’re nice back,” I smiled. “Since I didn’t bathe in sacred waters and have nightly food fights like the rest of you, I got special gifts from my elven friends.”

Fili sighed but nodded sagely. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“You probably should, seeing as you’re going to be future king and all,” I said, chewing on a slice of dried apple. The comment sobered the prince, and he took a sudden interest in his palms.

I swallowed, choosing my words, then nudged him with an elbow. “Hey.” I took a softer approach. “You’re going to be a great king. Thorin is a good example of how to be one, and you get to watch him every day.”

“There is a difference between watching and doing, my lady,” Fili said. He lifted his gaze to the rocky forest beyond. We had another day or two of travel until we reached the base of the Misty Mountains, and the change in terrain made sure to remind us of what we’d be hiking on pretty soon.

“Well, sure.” I took another apricot and placed it in Fili’s hand. He glanced my way and briefly smiled, as forced as it was. “But you’re still going to be a leader even before you’re a king. And in my opinion, it’s better to do something and take the chance of failing rather than do nothing at all and fail before you even try.”

The sports girl in me believed those cliche words more than anything else, but it was the ideal that pushed me to do greater things, be a greater person.

Fili’s eyes turned to me once more. Some of the ease in them returned. “Wise words. Tell me, Lady Valeria, what are your kings and queens like in your homeland?”

“Ehhh, we’re mostly past the whole monarchy phase,” I said, gazing up at the sky and squinting. “It’s more of a democracy.”

“A democracy? What’s that?”

I gave Fili the overall rundown of a democratic system and how it distributed more power to the people. His eyebrows drew together the more I went on, and when I finished, he asked, “But how can you trust the people to make the right decision? They…do not know the ways of politics and leadership.”

“And how can you trust a king to make the right decision when the source of his power is derived from his own birthright and not the rights of the people?” I countered with a gentle smile. I felt like I was back in a 101 government class again. “People may not be informed in all aspects, but they know what they want, and that’s safety, prosperity, and, at least in my homeland, liberty. Democracy is messy. No doubt about it. But in a sole monarchy, there are more ways to abuse power because the ruler has no checks.”

“Tell me, what happened to the leaders who abused power for too long?” Fili seemed reluctant to pose the question, but he’d been keeping up well with the entire conversation. I was actually a little surprised, then scolded myself for thinking he was a feudal chad. The dwarf was heir to a great kingdom and nephew to a strong king. He had been taught politics and governing his entire life.

“Generally? Overthrown and executed by the masses.” I made a neck-cutting motion with a sound. Fili grimaced, and I quickly added, “But the good kings and queens? They went down in history. There’s nothing greater than a king who has the love of his people. It’s when the ruler disregards the love that things get bad.”

Okay. Maybe that wasn’t completely true. But I wasn’t about to go saying that monarchies absolutely sucked in front of a future monarch. I wasn’t an asshole.

“If all the people are as well-educated as you, then a king would no doubt stay in line, lest he find himself on the chopping block.”

Fili’s kind words and the smooth flow of his voice made me heat up, so I disproved his compliment by noisily stuffing my face with fruits. He laughed at the sight.

“Save some for me, eh?” Fili swiped the pouch from my hand and poured himself some more. I covered my mouth and tried not to laugh so the half-chewed food wouldn’t go spraying out.

While we sat there, snorting and chuckling in wholesome amusement, boots trudged through the brush behind us.

“Fili.”

I turned like any normal person would. Fili turned like he got caught doing something bad.

Thorin’s piercing gaze glossed over me, then focused solely on his nephew. “Come. Enough foolishness. It is getting dark, and our enemies lay in wait.”

“Of course, Uncle.” Fili bowed his head. I said nothing. Thorin shot me one last look before he headed back to the campfire, which I could now see aglow in the dimming light.

On one hand, it was nice that Thorin personally came to tell us to return. On the other hand, I had a feeling that Thorin probably came to ensure that the strange woman wasn’t defiling the heir to the throne.

Which was ridiculous, of course. I wouldn’t do anything to Fili—at least not out in the open like this. I had some sense.

“He’s so dramatic,” I muttered as I gathered my things.

“He is my king.” I wasn’t sure if Fili meant it as a sincere correction to my comment or if he tried to remind me who I spoke about.

Nevertheless. “All the more reason to be dramatic.” I slung my pack over a shoulder. “Do you look as…oh, what’s the word…fuck, I can only think of it in Spanish. But do you have his look down? The—the serious one. Yeah, that’s close enough.”

I did a poor impression of Thorin’s stoic face, all intense eyes and deep brows and strong jawline.

Fili nodded once he understood. “Ah. No. I…I do not think I’m there just yet.”

He paused, then swiftly did an exaggerated version of the King Thorin Face. It was much better than mine, and it couldn’t have gotten as good as it was if he hadn’t already practiced the look before.

I tossed my head back and cackled.

“You should see Kili’s,” Fili said, lowering his voice as we neared camp. “It’s uncanny.”

“I’m sure it is.”

With a fair amount of reluctance—which surprised me—I left Fili and wandered back to my bedroll. Next to it, Bilbo fretted over his finger.

“What’s the problem?” I asked. I carefully dropped my pack and blades, then unceremoniously dropped myself on the bedroll.

“I—I’ve got a splinter,” Bilbo said irritably. He showed me his index finger, but in the firelight all I could see was pink skin.

“Where?”

“Right there.” He pointed at something invisible to my eyes. “It’s completely inflamed, Valeria, and I’ve been trying all evening to get it out. But I cannot!”

 “Oh, dude, I got you,” I said, not bothering to correct my speech, and I rolled back up to dig through my pack.

“Got…me? Got me how?”

I found the small leather kit and unrolled it. Tucked in a little pocket was the pair of tweezers. When I held it aloft to Bilbo, he took in a sharp breath.

“How…where did you get those?”

“The elves.”

“They—they didn’t give me anything like that!” He pointed at the kit with his wounded finger.

“Hm. Probably because there were guy elves taking care of you. Women know what other women need. We’re pretty awesome.”

Bilbo huffed but didn’t argue. Which was good, because I’d smear his hobbit ass into the ground on the topic of gender. But maybe hobbits really did have more sense than other races, and that was the reason why they lived such good lives.

I took Bilbo’s hand and tilted his finger to the firelight. Once I searched for a few moments, I found the tiny perpetrator and snapped the tweezers together. “Do you need a swig of alcohol? Or leather to bite down on? This could get nasty.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You are incorrigible. Just do it before I lose my wits completely.”

My thumbnail pressed the splinter upward so the tweezer could get a better grip. And I’m sure that because it was elven made, the tweezer snatched the sliver in no time. I drew it from under Bilbo’s skin, who sighed in relief.

“You had him at death’s door,” I said to the teensy bit of wood. “But you won’t take his life today.”

“Alright, you can stop that.”

I shot a grin at Bilbo and released the sliver into the ground. As I tucked the tweezers away and rerolled the kit, he said, “You have a steady hand.”

“Thank you. It’s a good skill to have.”

Bilbo didn’t need to know about the wounds I had stitched with these steady hands, nor the horrors I had seen that caused them to shake.

“Dinner is ready!” Bombur shouted over the pot of stew.

“Stay here,” I said, patting Bilbo’s shoulder. “You need to rest and recover from your injury.”

“Oh—really?”

The mad dash had begun, and it didn’t matter that I was a “lady” in the midst of men. When food was involved, I had to fight just like the rest of them. I used my height to an advantage and reached over shorter bodies for bowls and utensils. “Salir de mi camino!” I snapped playfully at Nori when he wouldn’t move fast enough to give me the soup ladle.

“Don’t be throwing your foreign language at me!” he spat back, managing to box me out while he dished his bowl to the brim with soup. “I may not know what you’re saying, but I know the tone! And you’re just gonna have to wait your turn!”

I threw my head back, groaning. After Nori slowly poured himself the last bit, he went to give the ladle to me—and pulled it away at the last second.

“Oh, come on, you fuck!”

“Hurry up!” Gloin complained. “I’m about to faint from hunger!”

I snatched the ladle from Nori, who laughed and backed out of the mad crowd. I quickly filled the bowls a decent amount--making sure that Bilbo’s was fuller than mine—and returned to our bedrolls.

“What’s the special today?” I inquired, scooping up a chunk of pale meat.

“Quail, I think? I saw Kili and Dwalin come back with some type of fowl.”

“Nice.” Bilbo held out his bowl to start the regular ritual. I dumped the meat into his soup, then repeated until I was pretty sure I got everything out. He was the only one in the Company who was aware of my…preference. But even though Bilbo didn’t get it, he wasn’t going to complain about getting more meat.

“Hey, I have a riddle for you,” I said midway through dinner. “I just remembered it a few hours ago.”

“Go on, then! Tell me.”

“What makes more as you take them?”

Bilbo tweaked his nose. “Hm. Hm.” Setting the bowl aside, he scratched the side of his curly head. “What…makes more…take…”

I enjoyed the whole ten seconds of Bilbo being stumped. Then he triumphantly answered, “Footsteps!” and I accepted the inevitable defeat. He lived up to his cleverness.

The Company soon settled down to sleep. I couldn’t see in the dark like the dwarves did, so I got out of night watch and enjoyed a full night’s rest.

I hadn’t cried from homesickness in the past few days. The ache still forced me down into the earth, but I no longer woke up with dried tears crusting my eyes. It was an improvement; I didn’t feel like I was dying in the silent hours. I still needed to keep my body moving and mind occupied at all times so I wouldn’t fall into a bottomless pit of despair, but it was lessening, little by little.

As I drifted into unconsciousness, Thorin and Balin softly sang an old song from their home.

Chapter Text

“Lake up ahead!”

Tomorrow morning, we would cross into the Misty Mountains. The craggy spires of earth rose in front of us, their peaks blanketed by an ever-present fog. They reminded me of the mountains back home, as well as the Tian Shan range in China. The dwarves would love the sight of both.

Scattered hoots echoed through the marching order. “A lake means a nice bath before we head into the mountains,” Bofur explained to me.

“I know what a lake means. But isn’t it going to be freezing? It’s mountain water.”

“Aye, lass, that’s the best kind!”

I chuckled and shook my head. “You guys are fucking insane. But I wouldn’t mind a bath—”

“Oh, no, no,” Dori interrupted. “Begging your pardon, Lady Valeria, but by bath, Bofur means…” He struggled for the right words, but I understood nonetheless.

“Ahh. It’s less bathing and more swimming. Fun times. And you’re all probably going to do it naked.”

“We wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed, that’s all.”

I rolled my head at him, expression deadpan. “Dori. Do I look like the kind of woman who gets embarrassed over a bunch of cocks?”

“Well—I—I would assume—”

“You’re not trying to sneak a peek at the young heir’s…sword, are ye?” Bofur asked me with waggling eyebrows. My jaw dropped, and Dori shushed him so loudly that it drew more attention than deterring it.

“Uh, no! Fuck all of you! I’m going to go swimming if I want.”

I stomped ahead to find better company.

We made camp about three hundred feet from the lake shore, under the cover of trees. I sat there, fuming, because I had to “keep watch” while the men went off to have a play date in the water. Even Bilbo went, giving me an apologetic look as Bifur and Bofur hauled him off. “Oh, we hobbits don’t swim, no, not at all, very dangerous business,” my ass.

Apparently, they couldn’t risk a human woman seeing the king’s mighty manhood. Not that anyone said those exact words, but I figured it all the same. So no. I couldn’t go swimming.

I chucked rocks and pinecones into the brush. Laughter and splashing echoed in the distance.

Swimming with a bunch of naked dwarves wasn’t something I sought out. But purposefully being excluded? Not cool. I did not do well with being left out.

A pinecone landed right into Thorin’s bedroll. By the time it hit, I was fishing out my towel from the pack. I gently placed Galadriel’s gift into a side pocket, then stripped my clothes off until I was in my sports bra and underwear. The nice thing about elven undies was that they were made with peak comfort and practicality in mind, so they covered my butt cheeks and came midway down to my thighs. My scrunchie sat on top of the clothes pile, too. I didn’t want to get it wet so it smelled like lake water.

I kept my boots on and, with the towel tucked under an arm, trekked to the shore.

Everybody was too occupied with swimming to notice me. Fili and Kili were apparently trying to teach Bilbo how to doggy paddle. Some chicken fights raged on.

Dwalin jumped off a rock overhang into the water, causing a mighty cannonball explosion. They all yelled and hollered in Khuzdul, and Dwalin came up with a victorious roar.

I set my towel down and took off both boots. Then, skipping over the pebbly shore, I made my way to the overhang. The cool, late afternoon air nipped at my skin, and the rock was smooth under my hands and feet.

When I reached the top, the view from the overhang brilliantly spread out before me. Light reflected off the dark blue waters, and emerald green pines encircled the lake like a protective ward. Off to the left, the Misty Mountains proudly stood watch. I wished I could take a picture.

But since I couldn’t, I placed two fingers in my mouth and released a shrill whistle. Fourteen heads all swiveled to me from the lake below. I proudly placed both hands on each hip and proclaimed at the top of my lungs, “I am Valeria, King of the Rock! And there ain’t nothin’ you dwarves can do about it!”

Silence. Then Bofur started chanting, “Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!”

Fili and Kili joined in, then a few others until it was the whole Company, including Thorin. Grinning, I took a few steps back, breathed, and ran off the edge with a wild scream. My legs kicked in the air for a second before I curled into a cannonball, eyes squeezing shut. When I hit the water, its frigid temperature nearly sucked out the air in my lungs. I sank, sank, sank, and when my knees gently touched the sandy bottom, I pushed myself back up to the surface.

“Fuck! Hace frío!” I shouted once I inhaled a fresh breath. My legs kicked to keep me upright, and I moved my arms back and forth.

“This is no place for a woman!” Gloin yelled at me as if he hadn’t told me to jump with everyone else. “We’re all indecent!”

“She’s part of the Company!” Bofur lent a supporting voice. “Let her be!”

I beamed back and pushed wet strands of black hair from my face. Then I swam away at a leisurely pace, teeth chattering, and gave the dwarves a bit of room so they could maintain their privacy. I got my fun time, and I was good to leave them so I could explore.

Though the water was somewhat dark, it didn’t have as much murkiness as I’d expect. Once I acclimated to the temperature, I dove under, eyes open, and crawled on the lake floor until my oxygen ran out. A few ancient, large bottom feeders lazily grazed in their underwater pasture. I let them be, though I was definitely going to tell Bilbo about them later. When light occasionally reached the floor, shining rocks glittered amongst the silt. I swam down and grabbed a couple, then tucked them in my sports bra where they’d hopefully stay secure.

I started swimming back when the sunlight began to disappear. I hadn’t realized I was so far out until I saw the distance between me, the dwarves, and the shoreline. Fili, Kili, and Bilbo waved to me, and caught their faint grins. I waved back and continued swimming sidestroke.

Had the snorkel been invented here? Maybe I could draw up something and have one of the dwarves take a look at making one. It’d come in handy. And, oh, I couldn’t feel my toes. But it was worth it. The rocks settled between my breasts still weighed down to assure they hadn’t fallen out.

Okay. I had to take one more dive.

I breathed and went beneath the surface. By now, the light barely broke through the water, meaning that I was almost in complete darkness. The silence of the void, the faint brushing of hair against my shoulders, took me back to swimming in the ocean.

In the near darkness, something zipped across my line of sight.

Something big. Something recognizable.

Panic spiked me into motion. I desperately swam back up, and splashes of a loud and hasty swim collided with the pounding in my ears.

The shoreline was still far off. Shit. Shit. Shit.

My new friend bumped against a leg, and I involuntarily shrieked. That got the attention from the Company. “Valeria?” Thorin shouted, wading a bit farther in.

I didn’t have the breath to shout back, so I swam faster.

Thorin dove forward, Fili behind him. “Valeria!”

Teeth sunk into my ankle and drug me under the lake surface so swiftly that I almost inhaled a lungful of water. Pain and pressure erupted as teeth sunk into my skin. My muffled screams filled the quiet of the water, and I frantically kicked with my free leg. It connected with a smooth, hard surface.

Upon being hit, the hold released.

A shark (A fucking shark? What the fuck?), blending in almost perfectly with the darkening water, swam away, but it circled back around. Its six-foot, prehistoric form glided elegantly in its environment. I wouldn’t have been able to see it at all had it not been for its pale underbelly.

My chest burned, and a fierce throbbing pulsed up and down my leg. Tendrils of my own blood ribboned and blossomed in the water around me.

Then, as the panic surmounted to a point beyond comprehensive thought, I became calm. All the lessons and advice I’d been taught about shark attacks—that I never thought would be of use—took over.

The shark came back for me. I dodged its snout and wildly punched at its eye and gill area. Though they didn’t feel like strong hits, the shark jerked away and quickly receded back into the lake’s depths. I watched it go for as long as I could before my searing lungs forced me to resurface.

I gasped greedy breaths of air. My arms flailed for a few moments before I regained a sense of the present and forced them out to buoy the rest of my body.

Thorin and Fili were closer, now, though they didn’t move as fast as I could through the water. I started swimming again, still in the intense state of calm. When I reached them and felt sturdy hands clasp each arm, I finally let some of the electric tension propelling me release.

“Are you hurt?” Thorin asked, voice rough but not unkind. His hair clung to his face and neck, and the genuine concern directed at me nearly took out all the remaining energy I had left.

“I—I’m alright. My ankle’s bit.”

“Can you swim back?” Fili’s grip tightened. The strain of my weight lessened.

“Yes. And, and I should be safe now that I’m not alone.” I almost began spouting random facts about sharks, but Thorin pushed me through the water so I was ahead of them. I robotically moved my arms and legs again.

My mind blanked out for a bit. I didn’t realize we reached the shore until my fingertips touched rocks. The moment I stopped swimming, more hands were there to pull me out of the water.

Worried dwarves set me on the towel I had brought. It was spread out, so I laid down on it, gulping in air and staring at the amber-colored clouds. I couldn’t stop shivering. The Company put their long johns or underwear back on, which was nice since I didn’t want to be staring at wieners just after being attacked.

Bilbo, who had redressed in his trousers and cotton shirt, knelt next to me, pale and shaking himself. He took my hand and squeezed it tight.

Oin examined my ankle. It hung off the edge of the towel. Watery blood ran into the rocks. “What gotcha, lass?”

“Shark,” I answered. “Because of course there’d be freshwater sharks. Fuck.”

“A what?”

I lifted my head and looked at everyone tightly gathered around me. “None of you know what a shark is? Like a big fish, but gray and has sharp teeth? They only live in the ocean where I’m from. Not a damn lake.”

“Never heard of it,” said Kili. I went to say something else, but a lance of pain jolted through my ankle and up my leg. I groaned, gripping Bilbo’s hand even more, and instinctively pulled my bloody ankle away. Except Oin’s hold was surprisingly strong; he kept it secured beneath him.

“¡Eso duele! Fuck!”

“Well, would ye look at that,” Oin said, awed, as he held something up.

A bloody—but white—triangle-shaped tooth shone in the early evening.

“Whoa,” I whispered. Bilbo and Fili helped me sit up. Oin gave me the shark tooth. “It didn’t bite me that hard. Must’ve been a loose one.”

“Never in my life have I seen any sort of teeth like that,” said Dwalin. His statement garnered soft murmurs. If the warrior himself didn’t know what attacked me, then it must’ve been a big deal. “What kind of beastie tried eating you up?”

I wiped water from my face and let Dwalin see the tooth. Part of my tattoo poked out from under my sports bra, but if any of them noticed, they had enough sense not to say anything at the moment. “I can probably draw it for you. I just…having one in a lake and not the sea is crazy. But—but I suppose it’s not entirely impossible for some to be here.”

Because this was Middle-earth. If it had dragons and trolls and wargs, of course it would have lake sharks. Why not? Like some damn direct-to-television, low-quality horror shit. “I’m just glad it wasn’t as big as it could have been.”

Bilbo solemnly asked, “How did you fight it off?”

“I, uh…” I mimicked a few fist throws. “Punched it. Sharks are sensitive around the eyes and gills.”

Bofur lowly whistled. “You punched a monster away, huh? What’d you do before then? Put it in a chokehold?”

I laughed, which eased the remaining tension among everyone. “That’s what we’re told to do if one attacks. But it…it was probably more curious than anything. That’s why it didn’t injure me as bad as it could have.”

Then I lifted up my ankle. It had only a few jagged, shallow bite marks now that I could see better.

“You’re being extremely generous to a creature that almost had you for dinner.” Dwalin passed the tooth to Thorin, who ran a thumb across the serrated edge. His blue eyes filled with captivation.

“I was in its territory. Nothing to be angry about. But now I can add ‘shark attack survivor’ to my long list of achievements.”

The dwarves asked more questions about the nature of sharks before they decided to move me back to the camp. Fili helped me up, threw the damp towel around my shoulders, and lifted me into his arms princess-style. I went to protest, but he smirked and gave me a look.

“Do you wish to walk barefoot to camp? Or put your boots on and fill one with blood?” The questions, while polite, were pointed.

I glanced at the boots Bilbo carried and sighed. “Fine.”

His smirk sweetened, and I tried not to think about the glimpse I got of his butt after he helped me from the lake.

Let’s just say it was nice.

A warm fire crackled in camp. While Bombur prepared dinner, Oin cleaned and dressed my wound. “It’ll be sore for a little while,” he said. “But there should be no permanent damage save for some tiny scars.”

“Thank you.”

The old dwarf winked at me and packed his things. I retreated into the woods to change into dry underwear. When I stripped my sports bra off, shiny rocks tumbled out, which had been completely forgotten in the chaos. I barked a laugh and picked them up.

“Here, take a look at these,” I said to Bilbo once I came back and sat down on the bedroll. “I found them at the bottom of the lake.”

Stricken, Bilbo repeated, “The bottom of the lake? You swam that far down?”

I shrugged and pulled out my hairbrush, then set to work on detangling. “Yeah? It wasn’t that deep. But aren’t they neat?”

He picked one up and inspected it, though his heart wasn’t in it like I thought it’d be. “Yes. They are.”

Bilbo set the rock back with the rest of the cluster. I tilted my head into the brush, and the sounds of bristles scraping through hair rang loudly between us.

“What’s the matter?”

He glanced at me, then away, then back. Bilbo got twitchy whenever something heavy was on his mind. Finally, he sputtered out, “There—back there in the lake. You were so far from us. Then, then you screamed, and the next thing I knew you disappeared under the water.”

Bilbo sniffed and dropped his gaze to the rocks. “For a moment there, I was not certain that you’d come back up.” He took a deep breath, like saying it relieved the weight. “We hobbits aren’t swimmers, as you well know. I doubt I could keep myself up for more than a minute or two, even though Fili and Kili taught me some techniques mere hours ago. I…I have no idea what I would have done if I was in your place.”

Bilbo rubbed his cheek, the dark circles under his strained eyes apparent. “I am…just glad that you’re alright.”

I had stopped brushing out my hair and listened to him. At the last sentiment, I smiled and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I’m glad, too. That would have been a shitty way to go.”

For an instant, I considered telling Bilbo about my…revivals. But the thought was fleeting, and a moment later it left altogether.

He breathed out. “Well. I already had a healthy fear of water. Now it seems those fears are all the more justified.” Bilbo picked up another rock. “The thought of swimming as deep as you did gives me a stomachache.”

“You should see the ocean,” I grinned, dropping down to a sneaky whisper. “It’s deeper.”

Bilbo gulped and shook his head. “Nope. Nope. I will hear no more of it, lest I faint right here.”

“Aw, come on! That shark in the lake? It’s tiny compared to some I’ve seen.” I didn’t explain to him the one time I went into a shark observation cage. Bilbo wouldn’t possibly understand why we willingly put ourselves in the middle of the ocean just to look at great whites that could swallow us whole. “But they’re usually docile. And cute.”

“Cute? Cute?”

“Oh, Bilbo, if you wanna know what’s cute, let me tell you about whales. They’re bigger than this entire camp—”

He clamped hands over his ears and squeezed both eyes shut. I grinned and nudged for him to drop them. “Alright, homie, I’m done messing with you.”

“Thank goodness.”

I put the rocks in my pack, save for two. I gave one to Bilbo, and I had Gloin inspect the other so he could tell me what it was made of and if it had any value. Bifur cleaned my blood from the shark tooth and wrapped a leather cord around it to fashion a necklace. He said something in Khuzdul as he lowered it over my head. I thanked him, and beneath his beard, the dwarf beamed.

Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a shark tooth necklace—I wasn’t a fifth grade boy or a surfer.

But since it literally came from a shark in the middle of a landlocked lake, I figured it’d be cool.

“I can’t wait to tell my family I punched a shark,” I told Bifur, who laughed in his gravelly way. He clapped my back, and though I couldn’t understand him, I still grinned.

When nobody was looking, I slipped on Galadriel’s gift. I wished she had told me what it was made from. The closest thing I could describe it to was crystalline starlight. Though it didn’t shine as brightly like when I first got it, the faint, strange power emanating from the drop remained.

Ori came into view as I lay on my back, filing my nails and digesting dinner. “My lady,” he spoke meekly, and he offered his writing kit. “Would you…mind trying to draw the creature that attacked you?”

I sat up, tapping the file on a knuckle. “Of course I can.”

The young dwarf smiled and gave me his precious set. Instead of having to use a quill to draw, I got a fine-tip paintbrush. Ori, who stood there unsure of where to go without his kit, seated himself next to me when I motioned for him to.

“Alright, let’s try this out,” I muttered, and I poised the brush above the blank parchment. I wasn’t horrible at drawing, but I had never used ink and brush to do it.

Ori watched as I lightly outlined the shark. “It looked different from some of the other sharks I’ve seen. It was…older. I didn’t get a great glimpse at it. Meaning that some of the proportions might be off, so don’t take it too seriously.”

“I won’t.”

I did a pretty decent job, though I might have drawn the fins too big and didn’t get the pattern exactly right. “That looks frightening,” Ori said with a shudder. “Makes me want to never step foot in a lake again.”

“Oh, chances are you’ll never come across one,” I assured. “And I can’t draw it, but I will write it out that sharks have rows and rows of teeth hidden underneath the ones they already have. So if one pops out—” I tapped at my chest where my new necklace sat, “Another one is ready to take its place.”

“I don’t like that at all.” Ori paused for a moment. “How do you know all this, my lady?”

I shrugged. “It’s just information I picked up in my life.”

“Do you…live near the sea?”

“No, but I have traveled there a lot.”

He nodded, taking the bit of information about me to ferret away. I also drew an aerial view of the bottom feeders I saw. They were most likely some type of sturgeon, gentle and happy to just exist.

Gloin came back with the rock I found. It was white quartz, although the quality wasn’t anything to brag about. How it ended up at the bottom of a lake, Gloin didn’t know, but he said it’d bring me good luck if I kept it.

I fell asleep clutching the quartz, and I awoke the next morning with it tangled in my hair.

Chapter Text

Rain fell in fat, icy droplets. Mixed with relentless buffeting wind and the mountain path’s incline, it concocted a sour mood in the Company. Thorin occasionally barked orders at the front of the line, but I couldn’t hear him from my spot in the back. I started in the front with Fili and Kili, but Bilbo had fallen behind the longer we walked. He was unused to marching on the harsh uphill terrain, and it wore him down.

So, I slowed my pace until I fell behind him. Bombur and Oin made up the very last in line, and I occasionally helped the oldest dwarf through a rough patch of rock, earning, “Thank you, lassie,” each time.

My legs started burning by mid-afternoon (or what I thought was mid-afternoon), so I couldn’t imagine how Bilbo felt. Despite his hood being up, his russet curls clung to his forehead and cheeks from sweat and the ever-present curtain of mist. The hobbit trudged on, and his despondency grew with each step.

Meanwhile, I had “Con Calma” stuck in my head. The bad part was that I only remembered the chorus. I matched my footsteps as best I could with the beat and quietly sang to myself. It served as a distraction from the muscle strain because fuck, I was not in the shape I wanted to be.

Bilbo stumbled and collapsed in a heap. I rushed forward and knelt next to him, legs groaning in relief at the pause. “Hey, hey, you alright?” I asked over the howling wind.

“I—my legs—” he whispered, eyes shut.

“I know. Mine hurt too. But we have to keep moving.”

When Bilbo didn’t take the hand I offered, I gently but firmly grabbed hold of his arm and hauled him up.

“What is the problem?”

Thorin made his way through the line, blue gaze drilling a hole in my stomach. His hair had been pulled back into a bun, highlighting sharp and unbroken features.

“Bilbo’s tired,” I replied, still gripping his arm. “This isn’t an easy climb, after all.”

“If the hobbit is too weak to continue, he can turn back and go home.”

Anger flashed hot. “Everybody is tired, Thorin. We’ve been walking up this fucking path all day with no breaks!”

Thorin’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t accustomed to being talked back to, let alone yelled at. I didn’t flinch as he stepped closer, though Bilbo did.

“Do you think the orcs hunting us are resting? Do you think they wait for their weak to recover before journeying on?”

My back teeth ground together. “It’s a good thing we aren’t orcs, then.”

The comment made Thorin darken. He pointed a finger out to the craggy mountains we weaved our way through, and I braced myself for the real storm. “Have you seen what orcs will do to their victims? What they intend to do with soft hobbits and women? You have not faced the horrors of war and what their ilk are capable of. You know nothing of what I speak, and you know nothing of what will come upon you should we slow down for the sake of one hobbit!”

My eyes widened with rage, restraint snapping.

“I haven’t seen the horrors of war?” I shouted, letting go of Bilbo’s arm to jam a finger in the center of my chest. “I may not have fought fucking orcs and goblins, but I have seen more death and suffering than you could ever imagine! I have seen towns destroyed! I have carried dying children in my arms to safety, only to realize that they’ll never be safe! I have been buried under rubble for two days, wondering if anyone would ever find me!”

I stepped close enough to Thorin so he was forced to glare up at me. “And still. And still I will rest when I need to, because otherwise we will be too tired to fight when the actual enemies are here.”

Thorin and I stared at each other. My heart pounded against my ribs, and for a moment I bitterly wondered if Thorin would push me off the edge of the mountain path. Squaring up with a king was probably punishable by death, right?

But I didn’t back down. Thorin’s visage reflected nothing but cold fury. I hoped I didn’t betray anything different.

“We. Keep. Moving.”

He spun on his heels and moved back to his spot in the front, fists clenched. The Company backed against the mountain wall to let him pass, eyes cast downward. After Thorin resumed his position, more than a few glances were shot my way as I stood there, chest rising and falling. Fili watched me a second longer than anyone else.

The line began moving again. I rubbed a wet brow and sighed.

“How fucking embarrassing,” I murmured to myself. If Bilbo was going to say something, I didn’t let him. “Come on. Vamonos.”

I guided him back in front of me again, and we trekked on in the rain and wind.

I wanted to go home.

We found shelter in a cave by early evening since the storm made us lose daylight faster. For a few minutes, I feared that this was the goblin’s trap cave. But the fight between the stone giants hadn’t happened yet—wait, shit, that was going to happen.

Hoping that none of the dwarves noticed me, I brushed my feet across the sandy ground, trying to see or feel a crack. When there didn’t seem to be anything, I unsheathed a blade and set it next to my bedroll. At least it would glow blue if there were goblins.

Bofur and Bombur started making dinner. Tonight was our last night with a fire, seeing as we didn’t want to draw attention in these parts and didn’t have enough firewood to burn for more than a few hours.

I undid my hair and combed through it. We all stripped down to our undies so our soaked clothes could dry out, too. Bless Tiriel and Gallien, because my pack kept everything dry inside despite being in the rain the entire day. I threw on trousers and a tunic undampened by water, keeping Galadriel’s gift tucked within my sports bra so nobody would see it while I changed. When I tugged dry socks on, the wave of exhaustion finally hit.

Bombur and Bofur argued over how to best prepare the watery soup, seeing as they didn’t have meat or many vegetables. As I lay there listening to them bicker in the otherwise tired silence, an idea—a remembrance—hit.

I rolled onto my side and dug through the pack, finding a small box near the bottom. Groaning, I got up and shuffled over to the brothers. They didn’t notice me until I tapped on Bofur’s shoulder. He jumped and turned.

“Yes?”

A yawn hit, and I attempted to futilely wave it off. Bofur waited for it to subside. I blinked away the water in my eyes and held out the box, unclasping it with my thumb and finger. “Here. This might make dinner a bit better.”

Bofur and Bombur leaned in to smell the spices. They both hummed. “Ooh, that smells good, that does,” Bombur said. “Where’d you get this mix?”

“Rivendell. They said it’s something that’ll cheer everyone up.”

“Eh, I dunno if this lot can be cheered up with a bit of thyme,” Bofur drawled, but a smile inched up his cheek.

“It can’t hurt, can it?” Bombur took a pinch from the spice box and deftly sprinkled it over the bubbling pot of stew. An immediate aroma blossomed in the cave, and the Company sat up and sniffed the air.

“What’s that?”

“Is that dinner? I’ve never smelled anything nicer.”

“Oh, I’m hungry.”

“When’s it going to be ready?”

I closed my eyes for a moment and whispered, “Yummy.”

Bofur looked about the cave and the dwarves with rising spirits. “By my beard,” he said. “Those damn elves were right.”

“Best save the rest of that, lass,” Bombur advised, tilting his head to the box while he stirred. “For other nights like these.”

“Aye. There’ll be plenty ahead, I’ll say.”

I nodded at them, smiled, and returned to my bedroll. Bilbo had even perked up and tweaked his nose at the fragrance. “That,” he said to no one in particular, “smells quite lovely.”

Instead of saying something back, I just reached over and patted his knee.

My gaze then flickered to Thorin. He’d already been watching me, calmly smoking his pipe. I didn’t know what to say to him since I wasn’t sorry. But I doubted he’d like hearing that. I was, however, apologetic about the situation in general. I wasn’t the type to harbor bad feelings for more than a few hours. And besides, the rain washed out all the fire I had from our argument, leaving me cold and worn.

So I held up a thumb to him and offered a faint smile. Thorin and the rest of the Company saw Bilbo and me exchange the gesture a lot already, and they were beginning to do it amongst themselves.

He raised both brows at me, head tilting to the side, and otherwise remained motionless. The bastard.

I lifted the other thumb up and moved them back and forth in a Fonzie style. I even opened my mouth a little, ready to say the, “Ayyyy.”

Thorin doubled-down on the stare. Amusement twinkled in his eyes, belying his stoic demeanor. Just as I was about to change the thumbs up into the middle finger, he lifted his fist against his chest and popped a thumb up.

I grinned and, now content, flopped back down on my bedroll. At some point, I took out my shark tooth to examine, and the gentle rhythm of running a finger up and down the edge put me to sleep for a bit.

Luis hit the baseball all the way into left field. I rose, screaming beside Elena, Mom, and Dad, and watched him and all the three other teammates run to the home plate—

A foot tapped my leg. I jerked awake with an inhale.

Fili stood above me. He held two bowls of soup, and he raised one. After I rolled up, he gave it to me. “Thanks,” I muttered. I expected him to return to his brother’s side, but once I took the dinner, he lightly coughed and sat beside me.

I poorly hid my grin and ladled a chunk of potato floating in the soup. The Rivendell spice had turned the thin broth into flavorful stew, and I could taste things that weren’t actually in the mix.

“How are your bite wounds, my lady?” Fili asked, pointing his spoon at my ankle. I wiggled my toes inside a dark gray woolen sock.

“They’re fine. A little tight. But the elves gave me this kind of ointment to help with healing, so I’m even better off.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ve been meaning—”

Fili was cut off by his black-haired brother noisily dropping down beside him. Kili failed to keep his smirk innocent.

“Hello, brother. Lady Valeria. Master Boggins.”

Bilbo huffed at the purposeful mispronunciation and muttered something into his soup. Kili slurped down some broth. “So? What are we talking about on this fine evening?”

I pretended to not see Fili shooting his younger brother a side-glare. Luis would do something exactly like this, so I wasn’t annoyed by it. Just tickled.

“We’re talking about you,” I said, “and how much you like elves.”

Fili laughed. Kili scrunched up his face. “You were not. Liar. And I do not like elf women! They’re too graceful, I say.”

I just gave him a Look. He’d like an elf here pretty soon.

Then he would die, leaving her all alone in this world.

The taste of the broth turned ashen for a second. I tried not to think about the fates of the three Sons of Durin—nor my place within that fate.

But didn’t some things need to stay as they were, no matter how tragic it might be?

I internally punched myself for letting the thought rise in my mind. Again. How could I ever be okay with letting people die? Especially people…people I had grown to care for?

Fili and Kili had somehow gotten into a brawl, and they wrestled around while the other dwarves griped and laughed at them. One glance at Thorin and the fond smile he wore showed that he enjoyed watching his nephews goof off.

How many times had I wished people lived? How many times did I wish I could have saved them myself?

Why did I run in to give aid if that hadn’t always been my drive?

I swirled the half-empty contents of my bowl, peering at the potatoes and carrots and onions as if they were sources of divination. When they only bobbed up and down, I turned my head to Bilbo. He drained his soup, and once he finished, he burped with a velocity no body as small as his should have been able to produce.

And, as always, I blurted a laugh.

What would Bilbo have done if he knew what I knew?

A stupid question. He’d try his hardest to save them.

“Here,” I spoke, offering Bilbo my soup. “You can have the rest of it.”

His forehead wrinkled in concern. “Are you feeling well?”

“Yes. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I’d be tonight.”

Bilbo peered skeptically at me but took the bowl. I smiled to reassure him and laid down on my bedroll, pulling the blanket up. I pretended to fall back asleep, and I turned my back to Bilbo and curled up so the blanket hid most of my face. I took even breaths in hopes of drifting off.

But my mind wouldn’t still.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said an hour into my failed attempts at sleeping. “Is she ill?”

“Hm? Oh, no. I—I don’t think so. She’s just tired, that’s all.”

“We spent all day in the rain,” said Fili, voice quiet but firm. “Sickness might’ve come upon the lady without her realizing it. Check her temperature.”

I lay motionless as a hobbit hand pressed itself against my cheek. Part of me was tempted to scare Bilbo, but then that’d blow my cover completely.

“She seems fine?” The hand went to my forehead. “No, she’s not feverish.”

Thorin grunted. “Whoever’s on watch, keep an eye on her. We can’t have illness running through the Company.”

I had enough muscle control to keep a smile from forming.

-

By the fourth day of travel through the Misty Mountains, my leg muscles had grown accustomed to the incline, and every breath of air took me back home to Colorado. I loved it. The mist rolled thick in the morning and evening, but it cleared up to a light veil for most of our travel during the day. I was perpetually damp, but it hadn’t stormed like it did on our first day.

The path itself grew narrower and rockier, with more broken rocks and big enough rubble that we have to climb over some. I kept watch over the dwarves for any signs of altitude sickness. They suffered around the second day when we really hit higher elevation. My ears filled with pressure a few times, but I hadn’t been away from home long enough for my body to stop being accustomed to it. That was a strange thought. It felt like I hadn’t been home in years, even though it was only about a month-and-a-half. Maybe two. I was bad at keeping track of time here.

Bilbo struggled to get up a large boulder obstructing the path. I grabbed his waist. Like a child, Bilbo crouched and jumped so I could propel him over. He landed on the other side with an oomph.

“Sorry!” I winced, following behind. When my boot slipped on the slick stone, Bofur was there to catch it and give me a lift. These boots, as fine and elven as they were, didn’t have traction like my Nikes. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem, my lady!”

I landed right behind Bilbo and adjusted my pack. He plugged his nose, using the technique I taught him to pop his ears.

“How…how are you not—dizzy?” Bilbo wheezed once we got on the move again. Another sudden rise in the path made us repeat what we’d done just a couple minutes ago. Only this time, Bilbo offered a hand out to me so I could keep some balance climbing up.

“Oh,” I sighed, half-distracted from regaining my footing. “I, uh, I lived in a pretty mountainous area before…all this. And I also traveled to a few places with high elevations.” I grinned at Bilbo. “This mountain air actually smells really nice. And are you still dizzy?”

“Not as much as I was yesterday, thankfully—” Bilbo slipped on a rock, and I instinctively caught him. It had become a habit as of late.

And, of course, Bofur eavesdropped on our conversation. “You lived in the mountains, eh? Which range?”

I pursed my lips. “Not one you’d know,” I said, hoping it’d cut the conversation off.

But Bofur always pushed the limits of my courtesy. “Is it a nice place?” He used his playful voice so nobody could accuse him of being too intrusive.

“Yes, it is,” I exhaled, kicking a stray stone off the mountain path. If I was afraid of heights, I’d be having a come-apart. Though I couldn’t see the bottom of the canyon through the layers of fog, I could safely imagine how far up we were on a trail barely wide enough to fit Bombur’s girth. “It’s very beautiful. Especially when the wildflowers bloom. The mountains would be covered in them this time of the year.”

Bofur hummed in response and stayed quiet. No doubt a majority of the Company overheard, and now they were trying to think of all the mountain ranges they knew.

The rest of the day’s journey went on uneventfully. Being in single file made it difficult for longer conversations, and I spent the majority of the time lost in my thoughts. I remembered the Tian Shan mountains and how much I loved my time in China. The people, the places—all so beautiful.

One day, I’d go back.

“Oin!”

The line came to an abrupt halt at Gloin’s shout. Being the tallest, I peered over everyone and saw that near the front of the line, the elderly dwarf had slumped up against the mountain’s wall. His brother, Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin crouched around him as best they could.

“Hang on,” I said to Bilbo. “I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t pride myself on being a medical professional, but I did get my CNA senior year of high school, and I picked up on a bunch of things from the places I’d been and tasks I had to do.

Weaving my way through the line, I came up beside Dwalin. “What’s the problem?” I asked him. The dwarf barely gave me a glance because if he turned his head too far, he could lose his balance and careen off the edge.

“Oin nearly fainted.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Oin exclaimed, trying to wave us off. His skin was clammy, though, movements sluggish. “Just this damned mountain air is making my head all funny!”

“You were fine yesterday, and the day before,” I said. “The effects should be wearing off or gone completely.”

Dwalin cursed as I used his thick shoulder to step over him and get closer. Balin made room for me, and I managed to have enough space to kneel beside Oin. I unslung my pack. “How much have you eaten today?”

Oin recognized the questions I prompted him with. Despite his narrowed eyes, he replied, “A couple pieces of jerky.”

“Mm. We didn’t eat breakfast like usual. You been hungry?”

“Aye, but isn’t everybody?”

I nodded, then leaned in close to check Oin’s pupils. They weren’t dilated, thankfully. “You got blurred vision, along with the light-headedness?”

“…Aye.”

“Heart feeling funny? Like it’s shaking inside of you? Are you shaky in general?”

“Yes, yes, lass.”

“Alright. I think you just have low blood sugar levels.”

“What’s that mean?” Gloin questioned.

“Means when your body doesn’t get the nutrients it needs, it can make you sick,” I said, trying to explain as simply as I could. “And at your age, Oin, you need to take better care of your body, at least food-wise. You can’t let yourself go hungry for as long as you did.”

“I think I know what my body needs better than you, lass,” he grumbled.

I plucked out lembas bread and unwrapped it. “Don’t you be getting cranky with me, you stubborn dwarf,” I said back. I snapped the hardened bread roughly in half and handed part of it to him.

“Where did you get that?” Thorin asked me.

“Rivendell. Lembas bread lasts a long time, and it should get your levels back up.” I started out addressing Thorin but wound up speaking to Oin. “They told me they hardly give the bread to outsiders, so be thankful that I have any. Eat until you feel better.”

Oin grumbled some more but took a bite. He grimaced. “Ack. Tastes like sandpaper.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I took a bite of my own piece. “It just tastes like biscuits.”

When Oin began to turn his nose up at the elven food, Gloin heatedly said, “Go on, eat, you old goat! We can’t be waiting here all day fer you to get back on your feet! If the lass says it’ll help, then it’ll help! You know better than anyone what a stubborn patient is like. Now you’re treating her the same way. Put it to bed!”

The brothers stared each other down before Oin gave in. He mumbled, “Apologies, lass,” and took another bite of the bread. “It does taste just like biscuits.”

I smiled and gave a thumbs up. “Está bien. We’re all good. Just get better.”

Oin ate about half of the lembas piece, then he announced that he felt like a spry lad again. Gloin helped him up, and I wrapped the bread back in the protective, flexible leaf it came in. I instructed Oin to eat some more if he started feeling faint again, then packed the rest into his bag. Thorin also told Oin that if he needed to rest, they would wait for him. Ever since he and I got into it our first day in the Misty Mountains, he had been more lenient with us taking breaks here and there.

“It seems we have another healer among us,” Balin said with his kind smile. I wiped the wet pebbles off my shins.

“Not a healer. I just know a few things.”

“A few healer’s things, apparently.”

I squinted playfully at Balin, and my face made him chuckle.

Thorin started moving the line before I could get back to Bilbo, so I hoped Bofur and Dori would help him with any vertical challenges. I trekked ahead of Fili and Kili, which I didn’t mind. Fili quizzed me on blade techniques since we hadn’t been able to practice in a few days, and I moved my arms and hands pretending to wield them.

“Oi, Valeria,” Kili called, and I could just tell that he was up to no good. It was that little brother voice. “How many men have you had chase after you?”

He then went oof from whatever Fili did to him from behind me.

I huffed a laugh. “Too many to count.”

“And how many had their love accepted?”

“Um, four? No, five.”

“Five?”

I shot a frown over my shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well—well, I mean, being with five men…that’s…”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck you. Just because I was with five guys didn’t mean I had sex with all five. And even if I did, what does it matter to you? Who cares if I’ve had sex with more than five men? How many women have you slept with, Kili?”

“Oh—I mean—that’s not—”

“Yeah, see how it feels?”

“I ought to push you right off this mountain,” Fili said to his brother. “Stop being a prig!”

“I’m not!”

“Apologize.”

Kili sighed loud enough that it echoed through the entire mountain range. “I’m very sorry, Valeria.”

“Good. And it’s okay. You just let your mouth get you in trouble, don’t you?”

“He does.” Fili answered for his brother. “All the time. Especially with the ladies.”

“Fi!”

Fili and I laughed. “Well,” I said as I lightly jumped over a rock. “If the first thing you ask them is how many men they’ve had sex with, it’s understandable.”

“I do not start out with that.”

“Sure, brother.” Fili drawled. “It’s sad, Valeria. It really is. He can’t even get ten words in without insulting the lady, somehow.”

“Now I’m going to push you off this mountain.”

“If you do, it’ll save me from watching you embarrass yourself over the next dam that comes your way.”

“Like you’re so charming! Remember that one dwarrowdam you kissed, then you—”

“Don’t say another word—”

“—Got your teeth stuck in her nice little beard? Ended up pulling out a whole patch?”

I stifled the burst of laughter so Fili wouldn’t hear me cackling at his romantic failures.

“That’s it. I’m going to push you off the mountain. Say your goodbyes.”

“Uncle! Fili is attempting to murder me!”

“I’ll throw you both off this mountain myself if it means I can get some peace and quiet!”

The brothers hushed for a moment. Then I heard the distinct thwick of an ear getting flicked, which started it all over again but in rapid whispers.

I shook my head at their bickering, but they didn’t see my wide grin. The brothers reminded me of my family.

Sweetness drizzled over the ache.

We found shelter in a smaller cave for the night. No storm yet—no mountain giants or whatever the hell they were called, yet—but the mist had rolled in and created such a thick haze that we could barely see in front of us. Without fire and the unobstructed light of the moon, it became difficult to pick out where everyone was in the cave.

Bilbo huddled beside me, shivering from the damp and cold. It’d warm up in here pretty soon with the small size of the cave and the thirteen living heaters all crammed in it.

Fumbling, I rummaged in my pack and pulled out some lembas bread. Three dark figures conversed on the other side of the cave, all standing, all muttering in low Khuzdul.

I broke off a piece of bread and handed it to Bilbo in my partial blindness. He thanked me. Despite not being able to see that well, I continued to watch Thorin, Fili, and Kili. A king and his princes.

Each to be dead, soon.

I think...I think I knew a long time ago what I was finally admitting to myself now. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t try to save those heading for death. At first, I tried to say that I would do it for Luis and his love toward this world. But I loved this world myself, didn’t I?

And maybe—just maybe—I could make it better by saving three lives.

Because I didn’t want to see them die.

I didn’t want to see Bilbo and the Company grieve over their deaths.

Since I got here, I denied pondering the goal because of what it could do to this world should I change it. I wasn’t some god. I had no letter telling me, “This is your right! Your purpose! The explanation of your presence here!” I was as blind on how to do anything like I was in this cave.

But in all reality, I made up my mind when Fili gave me the coarse cloak that I wrapped myself up in, when Kili tried cheering me up during my depressive I’m-not-going-home-anytime-soon week, and when Thorin…well, Thorin was never an instant moment, really.

He might not have been my king like he was to the rest of them. But he was my friend, and he was still a dwarf worth saving.

“Bilbo,” I whispered.

He paused nibbling on the lembas bread. “Yes?”

I fruitlessly wiped a fine layer of mist on my cheek. If I could confide in anybody, it was my hobbit. “I…I think I realize why I’m here.”

I anticipated Bilbo’s slow and unsure reaction. “That’s…er, good?”  

Smiling, I took a bite of lembas bread and chewed on it. “Yeah. Guess it is. Tal vez esto pueda funcionar, después de todo.”

Bilbo didn’t respond. He curled tighter into his cloak, and we ate our lembas bread in silence.

The faint moonlight that managed to break through the sheet of fog grew weak, leaving me blind in the dark. As I lay down to find fitful sleep, I drew my blade from its sheath a few inches. No glowing. Good.

The Durins’ inaudible conversation came to an end, and soon a body settled beside me. I kept my eyes closed because it wouldn’t matter if I opened them. Hopefully, it was Fili. Please be Fili.

Out of every crazy fucking thing that happened to me in Middle-earth, the last thing I expected was developing a crush. A crush on a dwarf. On a fictional—and incredibly real—dwarf.

It was Fili’s damn smile and damn pretty eyes and just how nice he was. Always willing to talk, never trying to embarrass me, continuously supportive. He exhibited a little more maturity than his younger brother, but he still wasn’t afraid to goof off.

Most of all, Fili cared.

I never thought I’d like a boy shorter than me. Oh, man, I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Luis and Elena. But Fili could take a lot of teasing from them since he and Kili had such a similar relationship like mine.

But they would never get to meet him, so I shouldn’t have been thinking about it.

Sadness welled up in me—

“Valeria.”

Fili’s distinct, faint whisper made me open my eyes to the darkness. It was him. Okay. Cool. Cool. He chose to lay down in very close proximity. Cool.

“Hm?” I shifted and shut my eyes again, pretending to be much more tired than I actually was.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Fili.”

In a ballsy move, I rolled a smidge over in Fili’s direction, close enough that my forehead pressed against his shoulder. Though he stiffened, he didn’t move away. About a minute later, I felt the brush of a knuckle rest on my thigh.

Shivers ran up my back.

I fell asleep trying to stifle a smile.

Chapter Text

The mist pulled back just to deliver the sight of heavy storm clouds looming above us. For the first half of the day, they only threatened a downpour. Without the thick fog to hinder our sight, we made better progress. Things were looking pretty good!

Then rain burst from the clouds, and everything went to shit.

Thunder clapped so loud and close that it nearly deafened me. Lightning cracked through the black sky, running rampant as it offered split-seconds of harsh, deadly white light. Sometimes, struck so close that if I reached my hand out, I could grasp a bolt.

But it was only in those moments that I could really see. Between the strikes, I was completely blind. Dwalin kept a firm grip on my shoulder, and Bilbo hung tightly onto my hand. He was ahead of me this time around, and I placed my trust in him to guide me through the craggy mountain pass.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight, wasn’t it?

“Ah!”

Lightning arced through the storm. Its temporary, unkind light showed Bilbo slipping right off the path. He yelped and twisted in an attempt to use me as an anchor, but it only threw me off-balance as well. Bilbo careened over the edge, and I followed close behind.

Dwalin’s large hand dug into my shoulder, hard enough to bruise. He hauled both of us from the brink of falling hundreds of feet. I accidentally yanked Bilbo so hard that he slammed into the mountain wall.

The whole near-death was over by the time the last of the electric light faded, returning me to the cold, pitch black.

I found Bilbo’s face and pressed a hand to his freezing cheek. “Are you okay?” I shouted over the wind and thunder. Another bright crack sheared through the sky, and I glimpsed Bilbo’s wide-eyed terror.

“We gotta keep moving, lass!” Dwalin yelled. I wanted to cling to the light given to me, but it slipped away and left bursts of afterimages in my vision.

I moved my hand down and found his, blinking the rainwater away. “Lead on, Baggins.” I thought I heard a shaky breath, but in the stormy chaos, I wasn’t sure.

Bilbo tugged on my hand, and we skirted against the thin path once more.

Whenever I had eaten almonds on accident, I was always hit with that Sense of Impending Doom before the anaphylaxis set in. But after all the years of being in my line of work, that same sense matched up with the moments before disaster struck.

And the Sense of Impending Doom crawled up and down my spine, sickening my stomach.

“We must find shelter!” Thorin bellowed. An instant later, thunder swallowed the world, and lightning tore the sky open.

In the terrifying radiance, a massive silhouette of black rock sailed through the storm.

I appropriately screamed, “HOLY SHIT!”

“Look out!” Dwalin shoved Bilbo and me against the wall just as the rock collided with the mountain. It shattered upon impact and shook the earth so violently that I was afraid the ground would come right out from under us.

As chunks of stone rained from above, I entered a state of panic-induced calm. Where existence slowed and sped up, sounds faded but became louder, and my body went into hyper-awareness. I stopped thinking. Stopped fearing.  

The only thing that mattered was coming out of this safely.

“This is no thunderstorm!” Balin cried. He pointed to the opposite canyon wall. A piece of the mountain tore itself from the rock, grating and groaning in an ethereal language too wondrous for the sheer brutality it embodied. “It’s a thunder battle! Look!”

Lightning now streaked and scattered with such constant viciousness that it kept me from being plunged back into darkness. The thunder no longer paused; it persisted with bone-buzzing roars, like I would never hear another sound again without it.

“Well, bless me!” Bofur clung to the top of his hat to keep it from flying off in the wind. For a moment, we were caught up in beholding the sight of something so primordial that it had no words—only song. “Giants! Stone giants!”

The elemental being pitched another huge chunk of rock our direction, but this time it sailed past us. We watched as another giant stood in the storm, and it was hit with the projectile. It cried out in trilling fury and crashed back against the mountain, creating another rumble.

I clutched Bilbo’s hand and pulled him close to me while I took steady, even breaths. “Hang on!” I told him, hoping he’d hear over the storm and giant battle.

Because the rumbling didn’t stop. Our tiny path crumbled more along the edge, and the dark drop below nearly pulled me from my calm. But I took another breath, widened my stance, and got ready for one of the worst roller coaster rides of my life.

The path split, and the mountain wall yawned open. Bilbo screamed and about lost his footing again, but I threw us against the stone and braced as best I could without any traction on my boots.

Giant song reverberated in my skull, and I watched with my head craned back as another stone creature removed itself from its resting place. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend its ancient enormity. All I could do was press a hand against slick rock and hope we wouldn’t go careening off the giant’s kneecap.

I gritted my teeth as the giant got headbutted by another, pushing it into the mountain and swinging us to the right. It allowed Thorin’s half of the Company to reach the path undisturbed by the giants, but our side was still too separated to do anything.

It moved again. I stopped trying to watch the giants and focused on keeping Bilbo and myself from falling off. Dwalin still held my shoulder in his strong, unwavering grip. The dwarves shouted and cursed as we got swung around again, but I was thankful for the gravitational force that pressed down because of it. It was what kept us in a relatively locked position.

Another boulder hurtled right toward our giant, and a second later, a shudder rocketed through the stone. Imbalanced, we careened around again, this time moving and spinning so far that in the torrent of lightning, I saw Thorin and the other half of the Company pass in front of my eyes. If we were just a few feet closer, we might have been able to jump and hope they would catch us.

But the giant leaned back, dropping the pressure on us. For a moment I stared up into the stormy sky, almost weightless. Razor blade raindrops streaked across my cheeks. A scream strangled in my throat.  Bombur pleaded to the heavens, “Mahal, be merciful!”

The giant’s body swayed forward. We pitched straight into the mountain, and the toppling behemoth blocked out the light given to me. I shielded Bilbo as best I could, but upon impact, Dwalin lost hold on me. I went flying and hit the stone head-first.

Stars burst in my blackened vision, colorful and gradient and unlike the echoes of lightning streaks.

The calm turned into distant, numb relaxation. Immovability. Splitting pain centralized in my head where I collided with the rock.

No. No. I didn’t want to die again. Not in front of them. Not at all. Please.

A different kind of darkness enveloped me. One without rain and cold.

Maybe I would go home.

-

“…Valeria…”

“…Valeria!”

I groaned at the noise. The pounding headache. The chill of damp clothes. The patting of a thick hand against my cheek.

“Oh, thank Mahal, she’s awake.”

“No quiero estar despierta,” I mumbled. Acrid cotton filled my mouth.

“Can ye open your eyes, lassie?”

Oin’s voice crept through my stuffy head. I cracked one lid open, then the other. That post-awakening sickness soured my stomach.

“Ugh, no me siento bien.”

“You’re speaking in your language, Valeria. What’d you say?”

I swallowed, coughed, then hazily fumbled for the waterskin by my hip. In the darkness, somebody grabbed it for me, and a moment later it pressed to my lips.

“Small drinks, lass.”

“I know,” I whispered. I said the same thing to plenty of other people. I could follow my own instructions.

As my bleary eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that Oin, Thorin, Fili, Dwalin, and Balin surrounded me. We had taken shelter in a cave—probably when I was unconscious—and the storm weakened to light rainfall.

“Do I…is my head…?”

I couldn’t think of the word for what I wanted to use in English, so I just gestured with a weak hand.

“We’ll have to see,” Oin said, knowing what I referenced. “Why don’t we sit you up, eh?”

He lifted me up and seated me against the side of the cave wall. The movement momentarily made me dizzy, but afterward, my mind started to clear. That was a good sign. I remembered how I got knocked out, and the sickness dissipated.

“Bilbo,” I said, turning my aching head. “Is he—”

“I’m fine, Valeria.” A small figure emerged from the darker side of the cave. Bilbo took my hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “No need to worry about me. Just save your strength.”

Something troubled him. What was I forgetting? What happened? Was it just because I hit my head?

“Your assistance is not needed, Master Baggins,” Thorin snapped. Bilbo swallowed as the harsh words spear through him.

Oh. Oh. The—what happened after the stone giants—Bilbo hanging off the ledge—Thorin—and fuck, I wasn’t there to defend him like I planned. Shit.

Bilbo went to withdraw, but I held tightly onto his hand with my returning strength. “No. He’s good.”

“His uselessness nearly killed you—”

“No it did not, Thorin,” I sighed. “I rammed headfirst into a stone wall because I couldn’t see anything. And I got knocked out because my skull isn’t as thick as yours, thank god.” I took another small sip of the tepid water. “Leave him alone. And where the fuck is my pack?”

“She’s back to herself, alright,” Balin said with a light chuckle.

Fili handed me my bag, and I rummaged around for the jar of elven ointment. An aroma of lavender and other magically-imbued scent drifted up when I opened the lid. I dipped a finger in, scooped out a dollop, and smeared it across my aching forehead and the back of my neck.

“If this makes me break out, I’m gonna punch a wall.”

The ointment did the trick like I suspected it would. A soothing tingling sensation, like Icy Hot or something, settled into my skin. Within a couple minutes, hardly any pain lingered. I hummed contentedly, then put my pack on. I wasn’t about to lose it if goblins got us tonight.

Well. Not if. When.

Still, I was tired from the arduous day and subsequent giant battle. After a small meal of lembas bread, dried fruit, and water, I settled back and wrapped my cloak around me.

“How are you, Baggins?” I whispered as I closed my eyes.

“Oh. I…I’m doing well. Still cold. But the rain has let up, at least.”

I slumped farther down and shifted so my head leaned against Bilbo. “Don’t let Thorin get you down, alright? You are incredibly important.”

He didn’t answer.

The lull of drizzling rain tapping against mountain rock pulled me to sleep, no matter how much I resisted it.

I decided that I would close my eyes for just one moment.

Just one moment.

“…can’t turn back now. You’re part of the Company. One of us.”

Bofur’s hushed voice and the distinct absence of a little body beside me was like a bucket of water dumped over my head. I snapped awake, blinking furiously to try and adjust my vision to the dark. The moon, unhindered by mist or cloud, cast its silver light upon the entrance of the cave just for me.

I sat up, back creaking from the odd position I hunched into during my not-so-momentary slumber.

“I’m not though, am I?” My heart broke at the sound of Bilbo’s resigned belief. “Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I’m not a Took. I’m not Valeria. I’m a Baggins. I don’t know what I was thinking.” A bare foot shuffled against the ground. “I never should have come.”

“Bilbo,” I called as quietly as I could. I stood and stepped over slumbering dwarf bodies to meet them. He and Bofur turned to me, and in the dim light, his look became only more doubting. “Bilbo, no. You belong here.”

“Aye, she’s right,” said Bofur. “You’re just homesick. I understand.”

“No—you don’t. You don’t understand. None of you do. You’re dwarves. You’re used to—to this life. Living on the road. Never settling in one place. Not belonging anywhere!”

The harsh words toward Bofur—the one dwarf who constantly supported the two of us outsiders—slapped me in the face.

“Hey.”

I put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and fixed him with my gaze. He tried to glance away, but I guided his cheek back with a finger. “That’s not true, and you know it. Bilbo, you…you have so much greatness waiting for you. This quest—our quest—will only succeed if you’re with us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do.” I spoke with all the soft sternness my mother taught me.

He wrenched his shoulder free and stepped farther back to the entrance. “No, you don’t, Valeria. You don’t know anything—”

Bilbo caught his grimace before it could fully encompass his face. He took a breath. “Well. I—I’m sorry. But I must be off.”

“You can’t go.”

My emotions got the best of me and broke the calm I had maintained thus far. Just imagining what things would be like without him at my side hurt more than anything else. Bilbo’s throat bobbed at my pleading, pained features.

“It’s the two of us, yeah? You…I promise, Bilbo, that you’ll get there. You will. Just trust me. Please.”

Bilbo’s eyes gleamed. He bit his lip and clenched his fists, but he remained where he stood.

With a sigh, I went to hug him—

And a faint blue glow on his hip grabbed my attention.

Fuck. No, no, no.

I had been so distracted and tired that I forgot to take out the one thing that could alert us of enemies.

I twisted and yanked my blade from its sheath. Blue, relentless light flooded the cave. I inhaled sharply, and my eyes moved past the blade to the other awake figure frozen in its pallor.

(How long had he been up? What did he hear?)

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to Thorin.

Dirt hissed through an opening crack in the middle of the floor. Contraptions groaned and creaked in the terrified silence. Thorin bolted upright, kicking Dwalin as he shouted, “Wake up! Wake up!”

I managed to sheathe my blade, and I shot Bilbo a fearful, apologetic glance.

Then the ground gave way, and I pitched through the air with Bilbo and Bofur.

Chapter Text

The next few seconds catapulted into dizzying chaos. Dwarves rolled over me—and I rolled over dwarves—as we tumbled through a slick tunnel straight out of the more deranged version of a Willy Wonka movie. I didn’t even have the chance to get the wind knocked out of me as I fell, screaming and legs kicking. Thankfully, I landed on top of Kili and Bifur, who were far enough along the edge of the cage we landed in that Bombur didn’t crush me.

Kili moved himself on top of me, hastily pulling my cloak hood up. A protective edge sharpened his scruffy jaw. “Stay out of sight, Ria!”

Shrieks and squeals filled the enormous cavern we had been tossed into.

This was what I wanted to avoid.

Kili shouted and cursed as he was dragged off me. A flurry of clawed hands pulled and pushed me upright.

Goblins were horrifying in their own slimy, rancid way. Though they only came up to my waist, their bulbous eyes, pale skin, and broken yellow teeth made up for the small statures. Though I tried to keep my hood up and face from view, a goblin yanked the hood down when it pushed me along the rickety bridges we were herded across. More eager snaps and shrieks bounced off the cavern walls as soon as the goblins saw my loose curls and feminine face, adding to the cacophony of the subterranean city.

Scaly claws groped my thighs and butt. I screamed savagely, getting a good kick at a goblin. It stumbled away, but two more just took its place with the same snapping grins.

The path opened up into the main city, the—oh, fuck, what was it called—the Goblin Town. Bridges and ropes twined through the vast open space. Infinite yellow-orange torchlights scattered across the city, and it would have been beautiful had it not been for the endless skittering mass of goblins who poured out to watch the spectacle. Odd-pitched drums and trumpets beat down on us in jagged rhythm, a vicious tune to go with the vicious things the goblins had planned.

An ugly, cracked song burst forth, and in the distance, I spotted a swollen mass waving a staff around as he belted out lyrics.

Down, down, down in Goblin Town.

Holy fuck, so they did sing.

A mirthless, half-manic laugh bubbled up from my raw throat.

The Goblin King was even uglier up close. All pustules and goiters, rolls and rashes. The bone-hewn crown atop his bald, liver-spotted head looked tiny compared to the rest of his fat girth. As he belted out his final notes of the ear-bleeding song, he shook the flimsy platform we stood on. The dwarves collectively shuffled me back to Fili and Bombur to put all of them between myself and the Goblin King, but Fili and Bombur guarded me from behind so I wouldn’t be vulnerable to more goblin groping.

He held my hand.

“Catchy, isn’t it?” the Goblin King crooned as he sat his boil-riddled body onto the makeshift throne. “It’s one of my own compositions.” Spittle flew as he spoke.

“That’s not a song,” Balin barked. “That’s an abomination!”

The dwarves voiced their concurrence as the goblins prodded us with prongs and spears. “Abominations, mutations, deviations! That’s all you’re going to find down here! Strip them of their weapons!”

My glowing blades were ripped out of their sheaths and thrown into a pile with the rest of the Company’s swords and axes. The goblin handling them screeched when he saw it was of elven make and cursed at me in his own language.

They didn’t find the dagger in my boot.

The Goblin King stood back up and rattled the bridge with his giant steps. “Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?”

“Dwarves, your malevolence! And a human woman!”

“Dwarves? And a human?”

“We found ‘em on the front porch!”

“Well, don’t just stand there! Search them! Every crack! Every crevice!”

I pressed myself far enough back into Fili that they wouldn’t see my pack. I lost my bedroll to the fall, so it didn’t stand out as much. The goblins’ height disadvantage worked in my favor since they missed it completely.

Nori’s items also distracted them. The dwarf had pilfered junk from Rivendell like candleholders and dining utensils. But it put us in league with elves, apparently, and Nori’s defense was a muttered, “It’s just a couple of keepsakes.”

“What’re you doing in these parts?” the Goblin King demanded.

Oin stepped up before Thorin could answer, but his stalling didn’t last long. Then Bofur tried it, but his stalling was even worse than Oin’s, being all, “We went here, but not really here, and then we meant to go here, but ended up here, but it wasn’t really there, and our cousins in the Dunland gave us the wrong directions, and we found ourselves on a path, but not exactly a path, more of a track, come to think of it—”

“Shut uppppp!” the Goblin King roared, causing his giblets to shake.  “If they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk! Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bonebreaker!” He pointed at me with a devilish grin, and my legs went numb. “Start with the woman!”

Several claws wrapped around my arms and legs. I screamed and thrashed, trying to hold onto Fili’s hand. He shouted my name, but our grip was severed when a goblin bashed my wrist with a club. As soon as I let go, the goblins lifted me off my feet. The other dwarves tried to grab me, and for one desperate moment, Thorin pulled me back toward him. But he was beaten back at the same time I was hauled away, and he hoarsely yelled, “No!”

My fingers scrambled to reach his outstretched hand, but they grasped empty air.

“Thorin, Thorin—!”

“Valeria!”

 The goblins threw me in front of the Goblin King.

I stared up at him. The stench of rot and unwashed skin rolled off his putrid form, and he grinned back like he couldn’t wait to make me his next pretty plaything.

My teeth ground together. Let him come, then. I started reaching down to the boot with my dagger in it. I’d stab his fucking eye out—

“Wait!”

The king’s beady eyes locked on Thorin, and the grin directed at me now turned to him. “Well, well, well,” he laughed. “Look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain!”

The Goblin King bowed mockingly, but while he was distracted, Thorin surged forward to haul me upright. He kept a firm hand on my lower back, body positioned to throw himself in front of me at a moment’s notice.

“Oh! But I’m forgetting—you don’t have a mountain, and you’re not a king. Which makes you a nobody, really.”

The Goblin King’s eyes narrowed, grin morphing into a sneer. “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just a head. Nothing attached. Perhaps…you know of whom I speak.”

He stood back up to his full height, which was daunting this close. “An old enemy of yours.”

Thorin darkened.

“A pale orc, astride a white warg.”

“Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” Thorin snarled. “He was slain in battle long ago.”

“So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” The Goblin King moved over to a shriveled goblin strung up in a seat-like contraption hooked to a zipline. “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize.”

The goblin messenger chittered, wrote something down on a crude piece of parchment, and zipped off, cackling as he went.

Then the king turned back to us. His grin returned. “I think our defiling days have just started. Isn’t that right, human?”

In a strikingly fast move, the Goblin King snatched me up before Thorin could stop him. My legs kicked in the air, fists pounding against damp flesh. His meaty hand wrapped around my entire waist. The Company shouted promises of death.

“Now, what is a woman doing with a band of dwarves? A Haradrim? Easterling spy? A whore for their entertainment? So far from home, poor thing!”

He tossed me to the ground, and my shoulder cracked against the wood. “Show her the hospitality of our people!” the king cried.

The howling of excited goblins drowned out the dwarves’ yells. All at once, I was overwhelmed by fetid bodies, each of them scratching and clawing at my hair, face, breasts, and legs.

Screams—my screams—filled my ears. I managed to reach down and pull out the dagger from my boot. It slammed into a goblin’s chest, and a rush of air left him as he toppled over. I threw two more goblins off me, wildly slashing the dagger around so they had to give me space in order to avoid it.

I staggered to my feet. The shallow claw marks they left on my cheek and neck seared more than they should have. One goblin was brave enough to launch itself at me. I dodged and threw it off the platform.

That only egged the goblins on. “Go on, get her!” the Goblin King bellowed. “Whip! Scratch! Claw! Bash!”

“Valeria! Behind you!”

Fingers twisted in my hair and jerked me backwards. Colors exploded in front of my eyes as my head collided with the floor. A goblin pried the dagger from me with a snarling cheer, and ten more rushed forward to hold me down.

I shrieked furiously, mixing in both Spanish and English curses. Scurrying goblins tore at the cinches on my leggings, and the second I felt one side come loose, bony fingers tugged them down.

The goblins flipped me over on my stomach, grinding the side of my face into the splintered wood. As I helplessly thrashed, I glimpsed the Company fighting to get to me through writhing goblin bodies that blocked my view, Thorin at the forefront. They were whipped by more vermin and sequestered in an even tighter circle. I shouted for him even though he couldn’t do anything, and when he heard me, he struggled more fiercely. But both the assault on them and the sheer number of goblins kept him, kept all of the dwarves, separated from me.

A yawning pit of despair and terror opened up in my chest—

Then my resolve snapped it shut. I refused to close my eyes, to go limp and accept my fate.

A surge of frenzied strength gave me enough power to tear my pinned arm free, and I rolled over and kicked the two goblins pulling my pants down.

“Get! Off! Me!”

When another tried to wrangle my arm back, I punched it right in its juicy eyeball.

“Such spirit!” The Goblin King stomped on his throne with a great guffaw. “Break her! And make sure her dwarves are watching!”

A goblin raised a whip to lash at me. I brought my arms up to shield myself from it—

Radiant light washed through the cavern, filling the world with strange silence. The goblins on top of me were blasted away by the light’s tangible force. I would have gotten up and moved, but the pressure from the light was too great.

All the fear and fight in me subsided for a few blissful moments.

When it faded, a kind of stunned quiet ensued. I sat up, blinking away the residual white spots, and watched a figure emerge from the shadows. Staff, hat, robes, beard.

I broke out into a grin.

In the temporary stillness, like a breath before the leap, Gandalf spoke.

“Take up arms. Fight. Fight!”

The chaos resumed. I leapt up and hastily retied my leggings. The glowing blades were easy to pick out from the weapons pile, and as soon as I had them back in my hands, I thrusted one into a goblin.

I still wasn’t used to the feeling of a blade sinking into a living thing.

But I couldn’t afford to let the shock, the ramifications, swallow me up. Because otherwise, I would be speared through the stomach.

And I didn’t want to die today.

All the maneuvers and motions Fili taught me coursed through my body, though adrenaline made them more brutal than fluid. Once Thorin knocked the Goblin King off the platform, we ran, jumped, and hacked our way through goblins.

We followed Gandalf down bridges and stairs, and it was just like hurdles—except the hurdles could lead to death, the opponents could lead to death, and just about everything could lead to death. Goblins swarmed us from all sides, and a few times I wasn’t sure we’d make it through no matter how much I sliced and slashed. But the dwarves were fierce fighters. What I lacked in skill, they made up for it tenfold.

I ran next to Fili at one point. We both shot wild grins at each other despite the enemies all around us.

Gandalf aimed us to a bridge clear of goblins. Not ten feet in, though, the massive king burst out from under it and climbed his way up. Our stopping meant we were surrounded once more within seconds.

I held my blades up.

“You thought you could escape me?” The Goblin King swiped at Gandalf with his crude scepter, but the wizard dodged both attacks with unnatural dexterity. Behind me, some of the dwarves fought goblins trying to pick us off. “What are you going to do now, wizard?”

Gandalf jabbed his staff into the Goblin King’s eye. As he reeled backward, yelping in pain, Gandalf sliced the fat on his belly, then lunged forward and sliced his throat. Dark blood sprayed onto the bridge, and an acrid, metallic smell permeated the air.

The Goblin King heaved forward; his weight became too much for the bridge. It groaned and snapped, its last support beams giving way.

We were going to fall, weren’t we?

I sheathed my blades just before the thought became a reality.

Screaming, we plummeted into the city below. I clung to a beam for dear life as the breaking bridge shot down, down, down, crashing through other ropes and platforms and goblins. The bridge then caught a dip and went airborne for a few weightless moments.

My head about popped off my body from the whiplash of landing on the slippery stone surface. The platform broke apart even more as we scraped into a crevice. It slowed, almost stopped, then dropped another ten feet. The wood shattered upon impact, leaving us in a heap of rubble.

Though I had one giant, cumulative Pain everywhere, I struggled out of the platform while the rest of the dwarves groaned and recovered from the jarring freefall. Gandalf, who had risen to his feet, pulled me up from the mangled pieces of wood.

He squeezed my shoulder and did a once-over. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“Yeah,” I panted. “Yeah, I am. Thank you.”

“Tell me,” he said, leaning close. “Did you know this would happen?”

I nodded. “I tried…I tried to stop it.”

“Mm. Yet some things will be as they are.”

“Well,” Bofur said in the background, “that could have been worse!”

“Oh—watch this,” I whispered, and we turned to the platform just in time to see a very dead Goblin King land on top of the Company. Laughter pealed behind the hand I slapped over my mouth from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Gandalf chuckled beside me as well, which made it even better.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Dwalin yelled.

Gandalf and I helped the Company from the platform. Not twenty seconds in, though, a horde of howls drew our attention back to the city we just sledded away from. Hundreds—maybe even a thousand—goblins barreled toward us, ready to strip the flesh from our bones.

“There’s too many! We can’t fight them!”

“Only one thing will save us,” Gandalf said, ushering me into a run. “Daylight!”

And with that, we fled.

-

I collapsed onto a tree trunk and unslung my pack. We had been running for the better part of the day. The primary waterskin I carried got lost in Goblin Town, but the backup ones Gallien and Tiriel gave me were still secure. I took a swig, barely restraining myself from downing it all. This was a small break; I couldn’t be waterlogged for the next round of sprinting.

“Oi, you alright?” Nori asked me between tired breaths. He pointed to my face. “You got some shiners there.”

The scratches still burned. I nodded, sealing the waterskin back up and changing it out for the elven ointment. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His bushy brows raised dubiously, but he said nothing. I hissed as I applied the ointment. It worsened the burning sensation for a few agonizing seconds, then soothed it over beautifully.

“Where’s Bilbo?”

I jerked my head up at Gandalf, who posed the question to the Company. “Where is our hobbit?” When nobody answered, he repeated the question more angrily.

“Curse that halfling!” Gloin spat. “Now he’s lost? I thought he was with Dori!”

“Don’t blame me!”

“Where did you last see him?”

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

“Then what happened, exactly? Tell me!”

Gandalf looked to me for an answer. But as I opened my mouth to give him one, Thorin cut me off. “I’ll tell you what happened. Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it!” He ignored my protests and continued on. “The hobbit has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he first stepped out of his door.”

Thorin folded his arms. “We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone.”

The wizard watched me scowl and shake my head at Thorin’s accusations.

I was proven right a moment later.

“No,” Bilbo said, stepping out from behind a tree. “He isn’t.”

Grinning, I stood, and I didn’t bother to look surprised. Bilbo glanced my way. I winked at him. A bright, nervous smile fluttered across his lips.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf declared with a boisterous chuckle. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

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

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

The hobbit laughed awkwardly and, had I not been paying attention, I wouldn’t have seen him slip something into his pocket.

Some of the happiness in me soured.

“Well, what does it matter?” Gandalf said, motioning his staff to Bilbo. “He’s back!”

“It matters,” said Thorin. He took a step toward Bilbo. “I want to know. Why did you come back?”

Bilbo tweaked his nose. Brows scrunching, he said, “Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you’re right. I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. That’s why I came back, because…you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back, if I can.”

The humble sincerity and compassion of the hobbit put the dwarves into a stupor—even Thorin, who tipped his head to Bilbo and said nothing. A good sign, I had come to find.

I walked up to Bilbo, fell to my sore knees, and threw my arms around him. He tightly hugged me back, breath becoming ragged and shallow. “I’m sorry, Valeria,” he whispered. “For what I said earlier.”

“It’s okay. It really is.” I pulled back just so he could see my thumbs up. Weakly, Bilbo returned it. His quick eyes scanned my injuries and disheveled appearance. Concern stiffened his countenance. He brushed a thumb against my cheek, right next to a shallow claw mark.

“Are you alright?”

I forced a tight smile and stood back up. My scrunchie, thankfully, was still on my wrist after the whole goblin ordeal. I twisted my sweaty hair back into a messy bun and secured it with the scrunchie. “I’m fine, I’m fine. The goblins just…”

As soon as I tried to describe the assault, my throat went dry. I always had the ability to overcome terrible sights and situations in a short amount of time without lingering trauma, but it seemed I hadn’t made it to that point yet.

So, I placed both hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and deflected. “I’m just glad you’re in one piece. I knew you’d make it out.”

Bilbo smiled through his exhaustion.

Maybe it was because Bilbo said earlier that I didn’t know anything about what was going to happen, but I lowered my voice and conspiratorially asked, “So, did any of my riddles help you out?”

The smile vanished. Bilbo opened and closed his mouth, making a hoarse, baffled noise. I patted his curly head.

Before he could get a word out, familiar howls echoed through the mountainside, which broke our moment of peace.

“Out of the frying pan,” Thorin started.

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

Bilbo was on his last legs, and he could barely keep up as we raced downhill. I was also wearing thin after running for so long, but I still put my pack on him while we sprinted. Once he had it, I paused to crouch.

“Here! Come on!”

I gestured for Bilbo to climb on. He did so without protest, and I hooked my arms under his legs and pushed back off the ground. My muscles shook as I caught up with the Company, but I wouldn’t collapse if I kept a solid sprint.

“We’ll get through this, Baggins,” I uttered, voice raspy and sure. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

Night was upon us when the wargs caught up. I had to drop Bilbo in order to fend off a snarling beast, and when I turned back around to him, I saw his Not-Yet-Sting embedded in a dead warg’s skull.

“Up into the trees!” Gandalf yelled. “Hurry! Bilbo! Valeria!”

I yanked the sword back out for Bilbo and dragged him away. The dwarves had already climbed into sickly pine trees, and more wargs bounded down the mountainside. I could almost feel their hot breath on my neck.

I boosted Bilbo into a low tree branch, making sure he didn’t flip over the other side before I jumped up as well.

“Valeria!”

A warg snapped the space I occupied a moment ago. I climbed higher, trying to make out the dark branches in the night. The full pack of wargs snarled below us, and they circled the trees we found ourselves both saved by and stranded in.

I didn’t need light to see a white warg approach, a large pale shape mounted on its back.

“Azog,” I whispered.

He shouted something in a guttural language, then signaled for the wargs to resume the attack. Their ferocity amplified, and the pine trees shook under their weight. One leapt so high and close that I could see strings of glistening saliva in its maw.

Bilbo’s and my tree shuddered and began to tip sideways. “Hang on!” I shouted, and I clung to the spindly trunk as it toppled over. The tree smashed into others, creating a catastrophic domino effect. Somehow, I managed to leap from one tree to the next like the rest of the dwarves, and we clambered together in the sole pine still standing.

Of course it had to be at the very edge of the cliff. Was this fuckery in the movie? Or was it its own horrible set of events?

Whatever it might have been, I remembered one thing.

“Gandalf!” I called, trying to hang onto the branch I looped myself around. “Fire! Use fire!”

Though I couldn’t see the wizard’s face, I knew he heard me, for a smoldering pinecone illuminated his visage. Once it ignited into full flame, he chucked it down at the wargs below. With the dry grass and trees, it spread fast. Heat vented upward, and the smell of wildfire brought forth scalding memories.

One of the dwarves pulled me up fully onto the branch. I plucked a large pinecone, and Bilbo passed the flame to it from his glowing orange one. I breathed into the pinecone, ignored its rising temperature, and aimed the pinecone at a warg. Now that the fire had spread, I had no trouble seeing where everything was.

I threw it at the warg and watched it hit. The beast’s oily fur caught on fire, and it howled and fled. Bilbo pitched his own pinecone at another, and it squarely hit the warg’s side.

“Nice shot!”

“Thank you!” Bilbo chimed.

We cheered as the rest of the wargs fled from the fiery scourge—for a moment. Then the tree supporting all of our weight gave in, and the bulk it flung off the edge of the cliff. Pine needles and bark dust rained down on me, and I nearly lost my grip.

But, I mean, it’d just be a test to see if I could come back from being a smear on the rocks.

I watched Thorin stand up and start walking to Azog, his sword drawn. “Thorin!” I cried. “Don’t! Don’t! Thorin! No! You dumb fuck!” I frantically grappled the branch I hung onto. But my pleas were lost amidst the Company’s own, and we watched as he engaged in battle with the Pale Orc.

“He can’t beat Azog,” I said aloud, not sure if anybody would hear. “Not on the warg. He’s going to die.”

In the rising cinder and smoke, a small, brave hobbit stood upright on the fallen trunk. I gazed up at Bilbo and the vast amount of strength he held in such a little stature. His sword glowed brazenly in the firelight.

This was supposed to happen, I told myself as I watched Bilbo run down the tree. He was incredibly light on his feet, and he weaved through the branches faster than anyone else could have. This was supposed to happen.

The chant did nothing to quell the raging fear in me.

Watching Bilbo go off alone replenished my stamina. I struggled on the branch, swinging one leg over, then moved upright. Chips of bark dug into my palms. Smoke seeped into my lungs.

And I was ready to fight again.

The white warg mangled Thorin’s oaken-shielded arm and threw him several feet away. Before he could even get back up, the warg bit down on him, and Thorin’s screams of agony cut through the night. It repeated the throw. Thorin hit the side of a jutting rock, and when he lay unmoving, another orc dismounted from his warg and approached the dwarven king, ready to finish him off. It raised its blade—

A hobbit slammed into its side with a shout. Bilbo rolled to the ground with the orc, and he drove his blade into its chest before it could do anything. Then he was up again, swinging his sword at the wargs now encircling him.

He looked so small.

I pushed myself onto my feet, both blades raised. With a shout, I broke into a sprint, jumping and tripping over branches. Others joined my side. We ran into the fire, outnumbered but unafraid.

Another fierce scream ripped from my throat when I plunged my blades into the flank of a warg closest to Bilbo. It yelped and snapped at me, but I ducked and jammed the right blade up into its throat. Fili felled orc riding it, then I slashed the gut of an orc who charged at me.

“Pinche orco!” I took on another warg, and Dwalin finished it off with a blow from his war hammer. Kili shot down a rider, and I ran it through with the left blade to silence it forever.

A warg drove its snout into my side and flipped me off my feet. I hit the ground hard but scrambled away to avoid its jaws. It barked and backed off when I delivered a shallow cut to its head. I goaded it with, “¡Ven aquí, puta!”

The warg lunged again. A throwing knife lodged itself into the rider’s skull, and the suddenly off-balance beast took its last breath an instant later when I slit its throat. The move felt reckless, and I wasn’t watching my footing, but the fighting was too chaotic for me to concentrate on all the technicalities.

The throwing knife belonged to Fili, who fought a few feet away from me. He cried out as an unmounted warg swiped at him with its massive paw. Fili tumbled to the ground, losing his sword upon impact. The warg reared back to bite down on him, but in the vivid hyper-calm, I found myself staring down at my blades, which were now embedded into the beast’s matted neck. Foul blood covered my hands and wrists.

I wrenched the weapons out. Fili picked up his sword and stood again. We shared the same kind of grin like the one back in Goblin Town. Wild and sharp.

But I left myself open too long. I chose to strike instead of defend.

I almost felt the blade coming, really.

From somewhere in the smoke and flame, Bilbo brokenly shouted my name. But by then…by then, the orc blade stuck out of my chest.

It was so strange, staring down at something that shouldn’t have been there. Something glistening with my own blood.

The fire’s warmth grew cold, and all was calm.

When the orc’s sword slid free, blood filled my mouth. It had no taste. Just heat.

Darkness pulled over my eyes. I was swathed in nothing.

I became nothing.

Chapter Text

“I am sorry I doubted you, Master Baggins,” Thorin said to the hobbit, releasing him from the embrace. He hurt—but he hurt because he had been saved by the most unlikely of people. He hurt because he was alive.

Thorin owed his life and the future of Erebor to Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

The hobbit sniffed and weakly smiled.

“But there has always been someone who never doubted you, hasn’t there?” Thorin turned, half-smiling, to the Company. He searched for the black-haired woman amongst the dwarves but did not see her taller form. “Where is Valeria?”

It was then that the sorrowful expressions, red-rimmed eyes, and absence of answers all came together. At first, Thorin thought it was worry for him. And in part, it likely was.

Except—no. No.

No.

Shame and dread weighed heavy in Thorin’s stomach, making his knees weak.

“Where is Valeria?” he repeated.

Thorin looked to Fili, who scrubbed futilely at his downcast eyes. The eldest nephew had been keen on her since the very start, foolishly and endearingly so. Kili held his older brother. Tears flowed from them both. Dwalin clasped Balin’s shoulder, the two despondent. Dori dabbed at his wet cheeks with a handkerchief. Bofur clutched his hat in his hands.

“Where is Valeria?”

Bilbo sniffed again, and a small whimper scraped up his throat. Thorin shifted back to the hobbit. A shudder ran through Bilbo. He clamped both hands over his mouth while his eyes screwed shut, but it did little to stifle the sobs that wracked his small frame. Ori, also weeping, put an arm over Bilbo’s shoulders and drew him close.

Fresh, bone-deep pain flooded Thorin at the sight of their grief.

“She was left behind,” Balin choked out. “She…she…”

“She fell,” said Dwalin. The warrior did not weep like others, but Thorin knew him well enough to see his struggle to remain stoic.

The air left Thorin. He staggered back a step, and his blurred vision turned to the golden sunrise. It cascaded over the mountains, bathing them in a brilliant light they did not deserve.

“We must go back for her,” he spoke after a silence. As much as he tried to steel his voice, a cracked fissured through it nonetheless. “We cannot—we cannot let her lie among the filth of orcs and wargs.”

“I am sorry, Thorin,” Gandalf spoke gravely. Out of all of them, the wizard remained the most composed. “But we have flown too far away. The proud eagles would not take us back for the sole purpose of carrying a corpse.”

“A corpse?” Anger mixed with the anguish. “Is that all she is to you now?”

Gandalf remained patient. His eyes, as sorrowful as they were, did not betray frustration. Only sympathy. It made Thorin want to fight and collapse all at once. “Valeria Juarez was many things. Many great, valiant, kind things. Her passing—her memory—are what we will carry with us.”

He stepped forward, clasping Bilbo’s and Fili’s shoulders as he went.

“She has not left us. Not unless we will it so.” Gandalf tipped his staff to the northeast. “We must continue on. Otherwise, the pain of Lady Valeria’s death will be but untethered grief without respite.”

Thorin and the Company followed the direction of the staff until they beheld the meaning of this quest. The place they wished to call home once more.

The Lonely Mountain.

It stood in the violet haze of dawn, peaking above brushstrokes of clouds. The sorrow pulled back its veil over Thorin’s soul. He breathed in the cold, morning mountain air atop the eyrie.

Valeria would have called the sight beautiful. She’d always gawk at sunrises and clouds, mountains and meadows. Thorin, in all his ignorant cruelty, thought less of her for it in the beginning. And by the time he’d come to accept—respect—her willingness to pause for the simple, resplendent beauty of the world, she was…gone.

Thorin hoped that one day, maybe one day, the gutting pain of loss would fade, like wearing broken-in leather. He had endured so much of it already.

But that desire would not be granted today.

In a moment twisted by both grief and grace, Thorin chose to see like Valeria would as he gazed upon the Lonely Mountain. For such a destination, a dream, a future…it had to be beautiful, indeed.

-

A warg corpse greeted me with its dead face when I awoke.

Dying—at least dying this time—washed all the agony away. I wasn’t sure I even sensed the sword jamming right through my chest.

Now, though? I felt everything.

I groaned into the dry, crackling grass. When I lifted my head, I found that old blood glued pieces of it to my cheek. The inside of my mouth tasted like I sucked on quarters, and I would have died all over again if it meant I could get water.

Blood, dried and soaked into both the front of my clothes and the ground, stuck unpleasantly to me as I stiffly rolled away. My chest fucking hurt, like I was one giant pulled muscle.

With another groan, I sat up in the bright morning light. The orcs hadn’t bothered to carry away their dead. Some corpses had been scorched in the fire, and now only blackened patches of trees and earth remained.

I might have died, but I was glad I didn’t get toasted while I was at it. I couldn’t imagine how I would have woken up, seeing as all fatal injuries left scars.

The most recent one, as healed-over as it was, looked angry and red. I poked at it between ripped cloth and leather, wincing at the tenderness.

“Hijo de puta,” I whispered.

Shit. I died again.

I wasn’t sure what my constant reanimation meant in the grand scheme of things, but to me it just said that I sucked at living in Middle-earth.

And even worse? I was a dumbass and didn’t tell oh, you know, Gandalf or Thorin or anyone that when I died, hey! Just wait a few hours and I’d be up and at it again! Like a fucking weed.

But because they didn’t know, I got left behind. And what a dick move on the eagles’ part. Thorin was almost dead, yet they still picked him right up.

Maybe their great bird intelligence told them I wasn’t worth carrying, seeing as I was a lump of useless bones. But still. Incredibly rude.

I briefly wondered if the Company grieved for me—then the mental image of them crying over my death caused a heart-wrenching pain. Of course they grieved. I didn’t want to even think about Bilbo and Fili, let alone the rest of them.

Guess they had a surprise in store.

“Oh, fuck me,” I wheezed as I staggered to my feet. Had I been this sore the other two times I died? Wait. Yes. The boar tusk left my entire abdomen on fire the next day. And when I fell off the cliff…yeah, my neck and back were all cramped the day after, too.

It seemed that, after dying three times, a lot of the shock factor wore off.

I spotted my blades laying nearby. Black orc and warg blood still smeared across them, but the metal itself no longer glowed. That was a good sign at least. I bent over and picked them up, reaching behind me for my pack to grab a—

My hand closed around empty air. I rattled off a loud, aching sigh.

“Tienes que estar bromeando.”

Bilbo. I gave my entire pack to Bilbo when he temporarily took its place. And now he and the Company were fucking right off to the Lonely Mountain. Without me.

I used a dead warg’s wiry fur to wipe off as much of the crusted blood as best I could, but without water and cloth, the attempt wasn’t too successful. I sheathed them anyway and trudged to the edge of the cliff. The toppled pine trees were blackened, skeletal victims left from the attack, and I could tell where the last one we clung to had been uprooted.

I stayed a few feet back from the very edge. It was a long way down, and I had enough mishaps with falling from cliffs. But the view, unsurprisingly, was spectacular. Dawn gleamed on the dark pines, which draped across the other mountains across from me. Straight below, a river ribboned like liquid silver in the bursting light.

No sign of any dwarves. Or eagles.

But there was a little brown moth dotting the air in front of me with its halting flutters. I sucked in a breath as memory and realization flooded my semi-hazy mind.

“Oye! Hey! Little buddy!” I followed the moth as it continued past me. “Could you—could you get an eagle for me? I am…not dead. Surprising, I know! Wait, you can understand me, right? Oh, shit, please, please be able to understand me.”

The moth changed its course and headed back to the direction of the edge of the cliff. Whether it was just a moth flying like a moth or it really heard me, I had no fucking clue.

So I sat back down on the ground, crossing my legs and wishing I had some damn water. I started peeling strings of sticky grass off my cheek while I waited. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

Well. Things weren’t all bad, I supposed. When a person really died and didn’t bounce back like me, they pissed and shit themselves. My underwear was unsoiled. And I managed to close my eyes, too, so I woke up without burning eyeballs. The blade also just missed my tattoo, which was pretty nice.

The main con? The front part of me was straight out of Carrie. Completely stained with blood. Did blood come out of elven-treated leather? It didn’t have a tag with washing instructions on it.

I rubbed more blood flakes off my face.

“Mama, Papa, Luis, Elena,” I sighed into the quiet, burnt mountainside, “I miss you. I miss all of you. I wish I was home. So much has happened here. So much more will happen. And…”

Tears sprung to my eyes. “And I know what I have to do—what I want to do. But then what?”

I coughed from the combination of crying and being thirsty.

“It’s just so crazy. It’s just so crazy.”

Jolts of sore pain ran through my chest as I broke down into sobs. Tears scraped away some blood that stuck to my skin. I doubled over, forehead pressing into the gritty dirt, and let it all out. The cries weren’t stifled and soft like they had been since my arrival. The delicateness was gone, leaving me wailing into the earth with massive strains of silence as I inhaled long enough to unleash another wave of upheaval. Dirt soon coated my cracked lips, and I saw nothing beyond the endless void of grief.

Just when I thought I would die all over again, the agony subsided like it always had. Like it always would.

I was left hollow. Hollow and bettered.

The last stuttering breaths faded from my aching lungs. I opened my blurry eyes to clear them and used the back of a blood-stained sleeve to wipe the dust from my mouth. The breakdown left me thirstier than ever.

I sat back up on my knees and took in the morning sun, which perched on a mountain peak. Its rays dried the residual tears that clung to my face. The warmth then reminded me of Galadriel’s gift, and I unstuck my leather vest, shirt, and sports bra to reach down and pull the droplet of light out.

It shone brightly as ever, a bead of starlight in my grimy palm. I didn’t know what to expect from it. Galadriel was pretty vague when she whispered her whisper-things in my head, but holding it settled my stomach and relieved the lingering soreness in my throat. Even if it did little more than serve as a nightlight, I’d be happy.

Eventually, I let the droplet rest unhidden in front of the stained, rust-red color of my vest. I didn’t need to keep it stashed away when I was the only living soul on the mountainside. Then I pulled the scrunchie out from my greasy, smoke-scented mass of tangled hair and redid it as best I could. Moving was a little tough when it felt like I got ran over by a truck.

Or, I supposed it was more appropriate to compare my pain to getting run through with a sword.

I absently rubbed the scarred-over spot and waited.

These dwarves couldn’t get rid of me yet.

-

The speck on the horizon grew bigger. And bigger. And bigger.

“Whoa,” I whispered, standing on creaky legs. Was I actually seeing this? Or was dehydration and starvation finally getting the best of me?

The moth I’d chased down like a lunatic flitted back into my line of sight. I lifted a dirty finger for it to land on. Its fuzzy little antennae and legs delightedly tickled my skin.

“You are the greatest moth I’ve ever met,” I grinned. Its dust-gray wings buzzed. “And I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you. But thank you so much. So much.”

I had seen a lot of crazy shit in my life, both back home and here. Especially here. But to witness a literal giant eagle the size of a small airplane land in front of me definitely made the top ten—no, top five.

The moth flew from my finger as gusts of wind rocked me off-balance. The eagle towered over me, nestling its wings against its enormous body. It was so freaking regal, with feathers reflecting gold and bronze in the sun. Its intelligent eyes pinned me with a deep black stare.

The eagle opened its beak a sliver. “Greetings. I am Landroval, brother of Gwaihir the Windlord.”

I stared.

“Forgive us for not rescuing you from the clutches of the orcs.” Landroval dipped his head in the semblance of a humble bow. “We thought you already departed from this world.”

“O-oh. Well, well, you weren’t wrong.” I snapped back to the reality of speaking to a living, breathing giant eagle and spread my arms out. I hoped he wouldn’t see how my hands shook. “I seem to have a rare condition where if I die, I pop back up a short while later.”

Landroval tilted his head, keeping true to his bird-like nature. He stepped forward and lowered his front so his eyes were nearly level with mine. Heat rolled off him, as well as the scent of wind and rain. “You do not smell of corruption.”

“That’s…good?”

He continued to stare into my soul. I couldn’t look away despite every primal instinct yelling at me to run from something that could bite my head off in an instant. “You do, however, smell of a land I am unfamiliar with. Not of South, not of East.”

His deep, rumbling voice tingled on my skin. I tried to put on my bravest face. This would have been so much easier if I wasn’t completely alone.

“I…that’s probably because I’m from a different land.”

“And do your kin also return from the dead, alive and untainted by darkness?”

“No. It’s just, uh, just me.”

I touched the spot where I got stabbed. Landroval’s quick, darting eyes went down to it. “I wish I could explain it. I wish I had explained it to Gandalf before all this happened. But…but I can’t go back now. I can only ask that you take me to them.”

“Take you away from here, I can. But Gandalf, the dwarves, and the halfling are in the depths of the Misty Mountains. I fear we shall not find them for another fortnight.”

I sighed and glanced down at my mud-and-blood covered boots. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

The shakes and exhaustion receded long enough for me to look back up at Landroval. My voice regained a small amount of strength.

“So, I want you to take me to Beorn.”

Landroval straightened. “Beorn? The Skin-changer? Why would you wish to seek him? A man he is fair, but a bear he is wild. One does not willingly cross his path, and most certainly not a stranger.”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s where my friends are headed next.” I paused, losing steam, then asked, “Is that alright? Would you…could you take me that far? You’re not obligated to, but…”

The great eagle stood proud and tall. “We have brought dishonor to our kin and master by abandoning you in the dark with naught but your enemies. I will take you to Beorn the Skin-changer. For you bear a pure and kind and valiant heart, Valeria Juarez, that has been shaped by hardship like a river stone.”

How did he know my name?

Landroval dipped his head again. The massive tip of his beak nudged at the droplet hanging from my neck. “And you have come into the possession of a great gift. A gift I have not seen since the Second Age.”

“Oh, yeah?” I nervously said as Landroval retreated and lowered himself to the ground. “Lady Galadriel gave it to me.”

He hummed. With his chest pressed against the dirt, I felt the reverberations in my feet. “A gift from Lady Galadriel it may have been, but of elven make it is not.”

“Wait—not of elven make? Then who made it?”

Landroval’s rumbling, melodic laughter shook the ground even more. “A being that the Lady Galadriel should not have communication with.”

It sounded suspiciously like Gandalf and Elrond’s conversation about who might have brought me here. Still definitely vague, but Landroval was much more amused than they had been. I didn’t expect to get any answers from Landroval at all, so I exhaled through my nostrils and said, “Well then. Let’s get out of here, Mister Landroval.”

“Indeed, Valeria Juarez.”

Landroval spread a wing out for me to climb on. I moved delicately so I wouldn’t step too hard or pull any feathers out. Once I settled on the firmest spot of his back, Landroval turned to the cliff hang and walked over. His bipedal gait was unlike anything I had ever felt. Muscles corded and shifted underneath smooth feathers, and I swayed side to side.

“Where I come from,” I loudly spoke as nerves tightened my sore chest, “we travel through the air. Giant machines carry us. But we’re kept inside it the entire flight. This is…this is new!”

“An odd and marvelous creation,” Landroval said. “I would like to see how something without a heartbeat can fly in the air.”

His talons clutched the rocky edge of the cliff; two giant wings spread out, catching sunlight in their feathers and turning the gold hues molten. I hunkered low against his back and swallowed my fear.

“But this is how we eagles fly!”

I gripped Landroval’s feathers as he pushed from the ground and dove off the cliff. Momentary vertigo made me woozy as I stared straight down at the land below. The sudden rush of wind pushed my head back, and my body lifted up. Luckily, with no air to breathe, I couldn’t embarrass myself by screaming.

Then Landroval straightened, I released my clenched butt cheeks, and I gazed out upon Middle-earth.

Everything was so…breathtaking. From the rivers I couldn’t name to the green and blue of the mountain landscape to the plains beyond. I could barely comprehend it.

Landroval soared with the air currents, rising and gliding, then dropping and tilting. I laughed each time he did. Once, we moved so close to mountain rock that I could have reached out and touched it.

I was even bold enough to sit up for a minute. Landroval chuckled again and didn’t say anything about me moving into a different position. I breathed in the cold air, stuck both hands above me despite the soreness, and shouted into the sublime blue sky carrying us.

“Do you enjoy the freedom?” Landroval asked. Though the wind rushed past my freezing ears, I heard him clearly. He caught an updraft, and I leaned back down onto my stomach.

“Yes!” I shouted back. “This—this reminds me of a time when I did something called hang gliding! And skydiving! But much, much better!”

“Your dwarven friends were not as fond as the height as you are, my lady.”

“They have a hard time appreciating spectacular things!”

I laughed again and rested my head down on folded arms, watching mountains and waterfalls and clouds pass by. Landroval’s feathers were impossibly soft to lay upon; probably the nicest surface I had felt since leaving Rivendell. No—since leaving home, where one day I’d get to sleep on my memory foam mattress and gel pillows again.

With his warmth radiating in me and the returning fatigue from everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours, my eyelids grew heavy. I initially fought it so I could keep looking out at everything. One would think that after dying, you’d come back well-rested. Like having a nice snooze. But you’d be wrong!

I was fucking tired. Now that I had no worry of getting off the cliff and meeting back up with the Company, my energy left me again.

“Rest, Valeria Juarez.” Landroval’s soothing voice lulled me even further to sleep. “Rest, and awaken whole.”

With his command, I shut my eyes and drifted off to the sound of gliding wings and my own heartbeat.

Chapter Text

I was in and out for the rest of the journey. I woke up at one point, hungry and thirsty as usual, to a rich golden sunset that made the clouds pale pink and lavender. Another time that I stirred, I had rolled over on my back and stared up at an expanse of stars so brilliant and pristine that I almost couldn’t believe I was conscious. A tendril of whatever galaxy this world nestled in broke through the infinite night sky, white and gold and blue. I fell back asleep in the midst of swearing that I would stay up to stare at everything for the rest of my life.

Between the ebbing periods of consciousness, I caught glimpses of sky and land. Landroval hummed soft songs that wove its way into blurred dreams. Goblins and dwarves, Bilbo and Luis, running and laughing, dying. Fili. Eagles. Mama. Swimming and sharks. Dying.

“We are here.”

Landroval’s voice brought me from my daze.

I tried wetting my lips and the inside of my mouth, but saliva was hard to come by without any moisture. Not to mention that I still had blood stuck in my teeth and gums. Getting murdered made for horrible breath.

I sat up, much less stiff now that I had slept, and scrubbed the crusties from my eyes. Beneath us was a patch of open plain, gleaming with green grass and surrounded by forest. The Misty Mountains stood proudly behind us, gray-blue against the sky. I couldn’t say that I would miss them.

Ahead sat a large farmhouse. It seemed unthreatening for a dangerous man such as Beorn. It had a barn, a vibrant, fenced-off garden, sprawling orchards, and a small field off to the left. Old, lush trees shaded the house itself from sunlight.

“It’s pretty,” I said to Landroval.

“Yes. Let us see if its inhabitants will allow you to dwell here.”

He tucked both wings and descended. I squinted my eyes so they wouldn’t dry out too badly. The ground drew near, and I had to come to terms with the fact that my private commercial flight was at an end.

The grass rippled in waves as Landroval brought his wings back out to soften the landing. His back shifted, and he touched the ground in a smooth gait. As soon as he stopped, I sat up, stretched, and slid off the side of the right wing. My feet stumbled from long disuse, but I caught myself before I fell face-first into the grass.

“Oof, ow,” I winced. I spread my legs apart and moved side-to-side.

Unfortunately, I was still in the awkward stance when the massive door to the house swung open, and a great, hulking man strode through. Or. Sort of a man. At around eight feet tall and with grizzled hair running down his back, Beorn was not human in the way I was.

“What is the meaning of this?” Beorn boomed. “An eagle? And a woman? Stinking of orcs and death?”

“That’s my bad,” I waved. “I…Hello! I’m Valeria Juarez.”

I walked forward, fingers brushing on Landroval’s feathers in slight reassurance. Beorn folded his arms and disdainfully stared down at my pathetic, blood-covered self. He was all sorts of fierce, with wild golden eyes and too-large pupils.

Was this how Bilbo felt compared to literally everybody? Teensy?

“I do not know you,” Beorn grunted.

“No. Of course you wouldn’t! But I, ha, I know you! In a sense. You see—I have friends that are coming this way, soon, and I was wondering if I could stay—”

“Friends? What friends? I do not expect nor want any friends of yours, if the scent of dwarf on you is true.”

Silence. Then a nervous laugh on my end. I glanced back at Landroval. He shrewdly watched the exchange.

“Yes. I’m sorry that you probably smell a lot of bad things on me, given my current state. But. Yes. Dwarves are one of them. Gandalf the Grey accompanies them, as well as a hobbit from the Shire.”

I took a deep breath and began fidgeting with the droplet. “I myself am not from around these parts. But, um, the leader of the company is Thorin Oakenshield—”

Beorn’s eyes went to the droplet. They widened, and his arms dropped to his sides. He uttered something in a twisting language and took a knee.

I froze.

His finger lifted under the droplet and slid it from my grasp.

“You bear a seal,” he muttered, voice overcome with intense reverence. His golden eyes met mine, and my mouth went drier. “No. You are not from here. You hail from another realm entirely, don’t you?”

I couldn’t find the words to answer, so Beorn stood and addressed Landroval. “Fear not. I will bring her no harm. She is welcome here.”

Landroval dipped his head in gratitude. “Many thanks, Beorn the Skin-changer.”

His gaze turned twinkling when it fell on me. “Farewell, Valeria Juarez. You have been a fair companion. May we meet again.”

I threw my arms around Landroval’s neck and pressed my face into his feathers. He rumbled a laugh and bent his head down so it nuzzled my body. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry I slept for most of the way. When we see each other again, I can’t wait to talk more.”

“As am I.”

I let go and stepped back. Landroval treaded away, spread his wings, and lifted off the ground. Beorn and I watched him ascend and become nothing but a small speck in the summery, mid-afternoon sky. Seeing him leave tugged at my heart. Even though I knew the eagle for only a short time, I would miss his calming presence.

Then it was just Beorn and me.

“Come.” By the time I turned, Beorn was already halfway back to his house. “You are in need of a bath and a change of clothes. You stink of blood.”

“Well—” I huffed as I jogged to catch up. “Can you really blame me?”

“You have a tear in both your leather and shirt, yet you are uninjured.”

“Yeah. I, uh, I got stabbed by an orc sword up in the Misty Mountains. Died. Came back healed.”

This time, Beorn paused to glance back at me. I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s a long story, alright? And I’ll be very happy to explain it to you.” I hastily pointed a finger at him. “If—if you tell me what the heck this thing is—” I held up the droplet. “And how you know that I’m not from here.”

Sunlight dappled the ground as we came into the cover of trees. Droning honeybees drew my attention, and I slowed to observe the apiaries dotting the area to my left. The bees inhabiting them were super-sized, and I immediately wanted to hold one and love it.

In fact, all of the brewing tension concerning Beorn’s knowledge and my true origins dissipated when I saw his animals. Goats, sheep, pigs, chickens, and ducks roamed freely. So did a few wooly cattle and their calves.

A particularly round goat trotted up to me and playfully butted his horns against my leg. I bent down and gave him a good scratch behind his ear. “I don’t have any treats for you,” I spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you fond of animals?” Beorn inquired. I stood straight and continued on to meet him at the large, barn-like entrance of his home’s door.

“Yes. I love animals.”

He grunted and unlatched the door’s bar. Beorn beckoned me inside and went in. I gave the goat one last pat on its head and followed.

The pleasant scent of wood, spices, and hay hit me when I entered. This end of the house was like another barn with a couple fluffy cows penned on each side. Barrels of what I assumed were some kind of alcohol ran along the right wall. Clean piles of straw for the stalls also dotted the entryway. I couldn’t help but pet one of the cows as I walked by, and her thick black eyelashes fluttered gently.

Beorn led me to a wing of the house with bathing room. One giant wooden tub sat in the center. A stand with a couple melon-sized soap bars stood next to it. Interestingly enough, above the tub was an open hole in the roof. Sunlight poured in. A kind of duct tipped into the opening.

Oh, please, please let water come down from it.

“Wait here.” Beorn left me in the chamber, and rustling echoed from another room. He came back with a huge, thick tunic and a strip of leather. Underneath them was a folded linen towel, also extra-large. “This is my wife’s. You can wear it until your clothes are cleaned.”

Wait.

“Your…wife?” I sputtered out dumbly.

Beorn cracked an almost-smile.

“Aye. She is not here right now. She is visiting our son and his family near Fangorn for the next month. But I imagine she will be disappointed to have missed a guest such as yourself.”

I thought Beorn was the last of his kind. Right? Or had I forgotten that part completely?

“Thanks. Thank you.”

He set the items on a mirrorless vanity.

“Start and stop the water by pulling on the rope over there. Then you can wash your clothes afterward out back.”

Beorn didn’t give me a chance to get another word in. He left and closed the door with a resounding thud.

I peeled everything off me, grimacing at the sensation of dried, sticky cloth removing from my skin. My sports bra, thankfully, was black and wouldn’t have a stain when I washed it. The gray elven underwear, unfortunately, would be perpetually blemished, and I didn’t have high hopes for my shirt, trousers, or vest either.

If I just had my pack with me. With any luck, Bilbo would still carry it.

I hoped he and the Company weren’t too sad about me. All their grief would be for nothing once they came here and saw that, surprise! I wasn’t dead.

The fresh scar running down my front set about an inch underneath my tattoo. The scar itself measured about six inches in length. I hadn’t noticed how big it was until now, and I expected the one on my back was the same.

I pulled my scrunchie out. My hair could have stayed in the same place if I really wanted it to since it was so greasy and crusted. I hoped I hadn’t made Landroval stinky with all my sweat and grime.

After I tentatively pulled on the rope Beorn told me to, the sound of rushing water filled my ears. A few moments later, a stream fell from the duct and splashed into the tub. I stuck a hand in and felt the temperature. Cool, but not as freezing like the water I had to bathe in more often than not. Also, bonus points for it being more of a shower instead of a bath. I preferred not to sit in a stagnant pool of my own filth.

I stepped in and got to work. The tub had a grated wooden hole in the bottom that allowed the water to pass through. I took the liberty of using the nearby soap and lathered up. Face, body, hair—all scrubbed repeatedly until I was free from blood and dirt. Then I rinsed my mouth out and drank some of the falling water, hoping that it wouldn’t make me sick. But from my experience, I’d been lucky with the cleanliness. I supposed that if I could come back from the dead, I could drink unfiltered water.

When I was done, I tugged on the rope again to stop the stream. Then I patted dry with the towel given to me, chuckling at its sheer size. I didn’t even need to unfold it all the way for it to wrap around me completely. I was sad I didn’t have any kind of brush or comb, but I figured ratted hair was better than the greaseball it had previously been.

With all of my clothing dirty, I went commando under the tunic—which was more of a dress that fell almost to the floor. Its material, however, was thick enough to not show any private parts. I realized Beorn had given me the leather strip to tie around my waist and cinch the tunic around me so I wouldn’t be completely swallowed up. I mean, I still looked swallowed up, but it wouldn’t fall off completely this way. I had to roll the sleeves up several times to see my hands, and the collar showed a generous amount of shoulders because of its width.

The delicate, silver chain of the droplet necklace contrasted with the leather cord that strung my shark tooth.

I gathered my clothes and boots and headed back out. The worn floorboards were grainy under my bare feet. I followed the sound of chopping wood and went through another door of the house by the kitchen area.

Beorn split wood in two with an axe built for his size. He saw me and the makeshift dress I wore and barked a laugh.

“You are tiny.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me about it,” I wryly said as I approached. Beorn gestured to a washing area with soap and fresh water a few yards away from where he worked.

“Clean your clothes. The animals do not like the stench of orc and warg.”

“And don’t forget goblin.”

I sat down on a big stump and threw everything but my leather vest into the tub of water. While the water grew murky from washing, I said, “So explain to me what you know, Mister Beorn.”

He stopped chopping and leaned on the giant haft of his axe. “You are not the first person I have met who was born of another world.”

My working hands stilled, and my heart picked up pace. “W…what?”

Beorn wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “When Azog the Defiler came down from the north, he enslaved and killed many of my kin. We suffered all manners of torture from the orcs for sport.”

The recollection twisted Beorn’s face into a snarl, and he spat on the ground. “But one night…One night, a shadow moved through the fort and killed a number of orcs without raising the alarm. She came across my family and a few other remaining skin-changers. The shadow told us that she had come for Azog but found that the orc had gone south to war.”

I slowly began to resume my laundry washing. “The war…Moria. Was it Moria?”

“Aye. The shadow was upset, but she freed us and ensured that we all safely escaped. When we made it out of the mountains, she told us she would return east. That was where she came from.”

Beorn nodded to my necklace. “She bore the same casing of starlight as you, only it had been driven into the center of her left palm. And she carried the same scent as you, faint as it was.”

I leaned back and propped an elbow on one knee, processing all the information. “And what was her name?” I finally managed to ask. “Do you know?”

“Her name was Amelie.”

My jaw dropped into an open-mouthed grin. “Amelie? Amelie? Yeah—yes, that is most definitely an Earth name. Wow. Wow!”

Beorn was pleased with my reaction. “I owe my life and my family’s life to her. I have not seen her since then, but I hear the birds’ whispers from their travels in the East; a strange woman would walk with two blue wizards, moving from tribe to tribe, city to city. She now has a large number of her own forces.”

I stared at Beorn. Two blue wizards. The wizards that Gandalf couldn’t even remember the names of! And there was a person like me with them! And—what the fuck? Her own forces? Holy shit.

“Do you…do you know why people like us are sent here? And who brings us?”

“It was explained to me by the woman Amelie that those who guide and watch over this realm cannot control the waves a soul from another world creates. You are not bound by fate here. You are untied. Whether or not it is for the good of Middle-earth is yet to be seen.”

He hummed with a dismissive shrug of his shoulder. “Yet she saved my kin when she did not have to. That is, to me, good.”

Okay. So Beorn just straight-up gave me an answer I had been searching for the second I came here. An answer Gandalf and Elrond couldn’t provide. An answer Galadriel freaking swerved.

“So who sent me? Sent us? Brought? Gah, lo que sea.”

Beorn tilted his head and sighed. “I know not the name. Only that it is forbidden from uttering, lest the Valar strike you down.”

“You know, I’m starting to get the general consensus that whoever brought me is not well-liked among the saints.”

“No. They are not.”

“So does that mean I’m also not well-liked?”

“Most likely.” I snorted at his frank response. “But there is nothing they can do about it—or they choose not to. I do not assume to know their plans for the unplanned.”

Beorn’s bluntness made me huff in a way Bilbo would be proud of. I turned my attention back to the laundry, which by now had turned the water a solid brown.  

“I have told you my part. Now tell me yours and why you lowered yourself so much that you would seek the company of dwarves.”

“Alright, let me start from the top. Then maybe I can sway you towards letting these dwarves stay for a while. It’ll be like a sales pitch. But anyway! I was jogging a few blocks away from my house on Earth, when bam! Suddenly, I’m rolling down a grassy hill…”

-

I stared into the dark. My poor vision could barely make out the ceiling’s wooden beams. I slept in the pile of straw just like they did in the movie. Beorn offered me his own bed, but I declined, saying that I wouldn’t make much use of the space. He liked being reminded of how small I was, so he conceded that I could make my bed with the animals.

Not that I minded. Four chickens settled on top of me, and two goats flanked both sides. A countless number of mice burrowed every which way. The animals came into Beorn’s house or went to the barn for the night. Regardless, they kept me from feeling too lonely.

Amelie. Why did she stay in the East? Maybe she was aware of something I wasn’t. But it sounded like she tried cutting off Azog’s head before the orc could stir up shit. Though she came a little too late, she ended up saving an entire race of people. That was a win.

I wasn’t the only one.

I wasn’t the only one.

The simple, profound truth made me grin in the dark.

Another chicken clucked its way over and plopped down in the crook of my neck. If I had the option of moving earlier, I didn’t now. The rules of having animals on you were simple; once they found their spot, you had to stay still for the entire duration.

Beorn came back from his patrol about an hour ago. Once I told him about how Azog was hot on the trail of Thorin Oakenshield, he went bear-mode after a dinner of vegetables roasted in a heavenly spice—and tortillas. Cooking was another way I could repay him for letting me stay. Beorn liked them a lot, too, so it was a success.

He confirmed Landroval’s estimation—the Company wouldn’t be out of the Misty Mountains for another couple of weeks, and that wasn’t counting how many times they needed to dodge orcs.

I couldn’t wait to see them.

How would I break my alive-ness?

“Hey guys! Guess what! The orcs couldn’t put me down!”

“¡Soy una fantasma! Ay, just kidding!”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? Death isn’t really my thing.”

Or I could just hide behind something and surprise them all when they came in. That’d be hilarious. And horrible. But hilarious!

No matter what happened or how long it took, though, I just wanted to see them.

Particularly Fili. If he still liked me after watching me suffer a terrible death, that is. Witnessing something that traumatic might have been a turn-off.

I petted one of the goats beside me. If anything, Fili would want to stay away from me because I smelled like all the animals I cuddled with. But if that was the case, then I didn’t need his negativity anyway.

Bilbo probably wanted an answer as to how I knew about the riddles, so I would tell him. And I would tell all of them about my “foresight” or whatever. No point hiding it since I was already here.

He was going to like it at Beorn’s. After all the traveling and hardship, seeing a garden and eating a hot meal with fresh fruits and vegetables would delight him.

Maybe they’d finally get to try breakfast burritos.

-

An emptiness followed the Company.

Gandalf led them, and for the first time, he did not receive any argument or dissent on which way they should travel. With orcs practically hanging off their coattails, there was little time for rest. When it did come, conversation was short.

The dwarves were familiar with loss. They coped in their own ways. Gandalf, too, kept to himself and mused longer than usual as smoke drifted from his pipe.

Bilbo Baggins, however, was not accustomed to death. He had lost his parents, of course, and mourned their passing for some time. But they did not leave suddenly. They were not torn from this world in violence and fire.

Valeria should have been in the cold, empty spot beside him.

Oh, how upset she would be if she saw Bilbo like this. All curled up and despondent, shivering on the ground without blanket or bedroll. Nor would she be happy that they ate all her lembas bread when she meant to save it.

But Bilbo doubted Valeria could stay too mad. Her pack was the only one that survived the goblin attack. It was the lembas bread, dried fruits, and extra waterskins that kept them from falling apart days ago.

He did not touch most of Valeria’s other belongings. Not her tightly-rolled clothes, the kit she pulled out for a plethora of problems that ranged from slivers to sewing, or the box of elven spices used to remedy a suffering soul. Indeed, smelling the spices would only increase Bilbo’s grief; he would just remember Valeria more. Even the general scent of the pack brought tears to his eyes because it was her. Lingering.

Bilbo had, however, found Valeria’s stash of quartz she picked from the bottom of that lake near the base of the Misty Mountains. It all seemed so long ago. He still carried the one she gave him in his right breast pocket.

They were supposed to bring luck.

So why had she been lost?

He rolled the quartz between dirty fingers calloused by this quest. 

“Remember me,” Bilbo sang to himself, voice barely a whisper, barely a noise at all. “Though I have to say goodbye…”

Fool that Bilbo was, he couldn’t recall the rest. But he knew the tune because Valeria would absentmindedly hum it to herself on occasion. She did that a lot, humming songs from her homeland without notice. Bilbo never said anything because he always enjoyed listening.

Now he wished he would have asked her to sing more. Captured the memories in the quartz and sealed them away.

Bilbo’s mind conjured Valeria’s death again without permission.

He had dreamed of showing her the Shire once all this was over. He could finally bake the famed peach pie he boasted about and watch her reaction when she ate it, give her the comforts of home they both longed for.

But the memory of light leaving Valeria’s brown eyes tainted everything else. Bilbo could no longer see her smile or hear her laugh—all that came to him was her gasping lips, head tipping back, the acrid ash around her and bright flame dancing on the blood-slicked blade that ran through her chest.

Now he dreamed of standing on the same fire-filled cliff, and he shouted Valeria’s name to warn her, to prevent the inevitable. But his legs would not move, no, and not even when he tried to crawl across the blackened earth could he reach her.

The blade always ran through, Valeria’s head always tipped back, and the light always left her eyes. Then Fili screamed "No!", then the orc blade jerked away from her chest and she crumpled and fell and died, looking so small without the magnificence of her soul within her body. Over and over—a ceaseless nightmare.

Bilbo jolted awake more than once the past week with Valeria’s name on his lips and tears on his cheeks. Then he wept more into the dark, unable to ignore the empty spot continuously beside him.

If he had just been closer, then maybe, somehow…

He glanced away from the quartz and to the blond-haired prince. Fili rested against a tree, eyes closed, expression blank. Did he see the same horror as Bilbo? And like Bilbo, did he think of all the ways he could have prevented Valeria’s death?

Bilbo failed to find the right words to comfort Fili. What could he possibly say? The dwarf prince had…affection for Valeria. It was always the talk of the camp whenever they went off for sword practice. Bets had been placed. Opinions spoken. Jokes shushed—especially when they thought Thorin would overhear. The dwarves were worse than hobbits about gossiping. Bofur even swore up and down that he’d have a ballad composed for the two by the time the Company reclaimed Erebor

What happened to that ballad? Did it lie crumpled in the back of Bofur’s mind now, half-composed, never to be finished?

Bilbo sat upright and grabbed Valeria’s pack. He lifted the soft leather fold that protected the top, then uncinched the opening. Though Bilbo had steeled himself for the initial scent of Valeria’s belongings to waft up, it still made his throat ache and rekindled the yawning grief. But he reached down anyway and pulled out a tightly-rolled cloak.

Valeria said it needed drying after the tumble with the stone giants, and when it was no longer damp, Bilbo watched her roll it with practiced precision and tuck it into her pack.

Then he went and undid all of it.

Once the cloak unfurled, Bilbo got to his feet, smartly being reminded of how exhausted he was, and walked over to Fili. When the prince did not open his eyes, Bilbo cleared his throat.

“Yes, Master Baggins?” Fili murmured, voice hoarse and quiet.

“I, erm, I thought you might want this.”

Though forced to regard Bilbo, Fili’s eyes never actually saw the hobbit—only what he held outstretched.

“I…I thought it was lost to the goblin cave,” Fili whispered as he straightened. He tenderly took the cloak from Bilbo—and for an instant, Bilbo wanted to cling to it a bit longer because it was her, it was Valeria—but he let it slip from his fingers.

“No, she was always one to be prepared,” Bilbo said, trying to muster a smile. It didn’t work.

“Yes.” Fili stared at the cloak like it was all the fortunes of Erebor. “Yes…she was.”

He finally looked up at Bilbo, who chose to ignore the sudden gleam in the prince’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re—you’re welcome.”

Bilbo bowed and turned stiffly on his heels. He did not glance back at Fili. The prince needed whatever privacy he could manage, and Bilbo noticed how pointedly the rest of the Company did not turn their gazes to Fili.

He lay back down in his pitiful spot, quartz between his fingers yet again.

The area next to him remained vacant.

-

“Beorn! Look!”

The skin-changer paused from gathering vegetables to watch how I carried a wooly red calf in my arms. He was almost as tall as me, but he didn’t seem to mind that I had picked him up under his front legs. Grinning, I nuzzled my face against the back of his furry head and peppered him with kisses.

Beorn chuckled. “You are spoiling him.”

“No, I’m not!” In a baby-talk voice, I said, “If he wants love, then he’s gonna get it! Isn’t that right?”

The calf licked his wet nose in agreement. I gave him more kisses before setting him back down on the ground. I still wore Eira’s (Beorn’s wife) shirt as a dress, but I put my boots back on so I wouldn’t be walking around barefoot. I didn’t have the constitution of a hobbit, and despite the callouses, I still preferred to wear shoes outdoors. I also put on my sports bra and underwear. The black straps of the bra were visible with how the collar of the dress slid off my shoulders.

“Come, put yourself to good use and help me. You are much closer to the ground than I.”

Unable to argue with that statement, I trotted to the garden and unlatched its large front gate. Though Beorn’s animals were well-behaved, it didn’t stop them from trying to eat the finer greens in life.

I made my way through lush rows of vegetables, noting—not for the first time—the red strawberries standing brilliantly in their patch. I’d make sure Bilbo got some when he arrived. The Company was still roughly another week out, and each day passed with all the swiftness of mud.

But the animals made it better. Really, if I had to wait in any sort of place, it’d be here. Beorn, for all his famed fierceness, kept a quiet and loved farmstead. I think he enjoyed the company, too, with his wife away. When he wasn’t patrolling the area and chasing off small orc packs, we hung out. I was easy to entertain because of the animals and small chores Beorn gave me. I was pretty sure he liked me more, too, when I detailed my time working on animal reserves. In the evenings, we sometimes played chess on his skin-changer-sized board. I had to sit on a crate on top of the chair like a toddler in a booster seat.

This amused Beorn to no end.

He pointed out which vegetables he wanted me to pick. I tugged out carrots, radishes, and onions, then threw them in the half-full basket nearby. With the late summer sun reaching its full height, Beorn went and sat in the shade, leaving me all by myself.

I stood straight and griped, “What, you put me to work just so you can get out of the sun?”

“Yes!”

Beorn laughed heartily and pulled out a pipe. I shook my head at him but continued picking. The garden had some fabulous ripe tomatoes and beautiful zucchini and yellow squash. Like, oh man, I couldn’t wait to show Bilbo this garden.

The crowning jewel of the garden was, in my opinion, the little jalapeno bush pressed up along the edge. Beorn said he got the seeds from a South Gondorian merchant. His wife didn’t like them that much because they were spicy, but Beorn enjoyed putting them in his food from time to time. To me, the jalapenos were on the mild side of mild, but I was coming to find that Middle-earth—at least this part of it—didn’t put any sort of heat in their meals. It was sad, really, but then again, there were a whole lotta white people here.

I plucked a few small, ripe jalapenos and put them in the basket. I was going to try my hand at making salsa. Because, like, Beorn had cilantro, too? No blender, unfortunately, but he did have a handy mortar and pestle for me to grind everything together, so I had a little time to perfect it before the Company arrived.

They’d be disappointed that they couldn’t eat any of the livestock. Like me, Beorn lived a vegetarian life. We did eat eggs, however, so the Company wouldn’t bemoan the lack of anything but green food. I told Beorn to make sure we were stocked up on eggs and other things in his pantry because there were thirteen dwarves and a hobbit on their way, and thirteen dwarves and a hobbit ate a lot. Just ask Rivendell. They probably still hadn’t financially recovered from the sudden depletion.

Beorn and I fell into our evening routine. Dinner, chess, then bed for me while he went to patrol. The salsa turned out slapping with fresh-baked tortilla chips, but I wished it was spicier. If I could come back from the dead, then why couldn’t I get a decent heat to my food?

I cuddled a goat named Basil. Beorn taught me how to say “hello,” “good morning,” “good night,” and “you are cute!” in animal speech. The livestock went crazy over it, and even if I couldn’t understand their responses, I was happy that it made them happy—and happy that I could talk to animals! Who wouldn’t be?

When I got home, I’d try it on the animals there.

…Home.

Where Luis and Elena and my parents were. Where all my friends were. Where my work was.

Home didn’t have wizards and dwarves and hobbits. Home didn’t have Bilbo. Or Fili. Or Gandalf. There would be no fighting back the darkness with swords and magic. No laughing around campfires and sleeping under the stars.

No lake sharks, thankfully. No goblins or orcs or dragons. No Sauron.

No dying. Maybe.

But was there a going back at all?

I fumbled with the makeshift pocket between my chest and sports bra to pull out the droplet. It always seemed to know when it had my attention because its light grew a fraction in the darkness of the farmhouse.

It was like looking at my phone screen in the middle of the night with the brightness too high. I squinted, and a few disturbed chickens clucked unhappily.

“Sorry, sorry.”

I closed my hand around the droplet so just a tiny sliver of light shone through my curled index finger. Another person like me—like me, from the same world—carried one, too, but it was apparently embedded in their hand. How uncomfortable. I mean, the jewel was small, but still.

How long had they lived in Middle-earth before even helping Beorn? He didn’t know when I asked him, so I was left to my own imagination. Probably a while. Which sucked to think about because it meant that if they couldn’t go home even though they had whatever the droplet was, then I couldn’t either.

Or what if they could go home? And they chose to stay?

Better yet, what if they could go between here and Earth?

I would actually like that option a lot.

Without much hope, I shut my eyes and poured a wish into the droplet. Send me back home. Send me back home. Please send me back home. Please.

What could this thing do?

Maybe it was a key. A key to the door back to Earth.

As I silently pleaded to the drop of starlight, it burned hotter in my hand.

I wished more strongly, fervently, and I moved upright to bow over it, clutching my fisted hand to my chest.

“Please,” I uttered, and I squeezed my closed eyes tighter as if it could help transform my desperation into reality.

“Please.”

Something skirted at the corners of my mind.

I reached out to it, pushing beyond broken, plain begging. It blossomed in my chest and glimmered prismatic against the inside of my skull without being color at all.

“Whoever you are, send me back home.”

The droplet seared my skin so fiercely that I cried out and let go. The droplet fell into my lap and erupted with light, which seemed to burrow its way into every nook, every crevice, to chase the shadows out. The animals scattered in flurries of wing flaps and hooves against the floor.

I went to stand and shove my burning palm in water, but as soon as I moved, a wave of extreme exhaustion hit me. The kind that wasn’t right or natural. The kind that pulled at the back of your hair and kept you from reaching the surface for air.

I struggled, weakly grasping out to empty air and hoping that I’d find something real to cling to.

But it failed, and I fell limp onto the pile of straw.

Chapter Text

It rained.

I sat on the farmhouse’s backdoor steps, absently munching on a small apple packed with flavor and enjoying the cooler temperature. Beorn had left four days ago. He said he might be gone for a while if the orc problem worsened. Part of me knew he was going to be okay. The other part naturally worried.

But I could handle being here without burning the entire place down. The animals and I hung out, and when I wasn’t distracting myself outside, I tidied up the farmhouse as best I could by focusing on the low areas the tall skin-changers wouldn’t normally notice. I ate meals alone, picked the garden alone, and fed the animals alone.

I was never the type of person to enjoy being on my own for long periods of time, though. It drove me up the wall to not be interacting with others or just having people near me.

Besides, being alone meant I had time to think about all the ways I could fuck up this entire thing.

On the dinner table, written in splotchy Spanish, was a list I looked at for too long.

-Make it to Beorn’s.

-Go to mirk. G leaves bc bad guy.

-Get lost in mirk.

-Spiders.

-Get captured by elves. Lego. Tiffany? Tara? Redhead.

-B frees everyone. Invisible.

-Barrel ride down river. Orcs show up. K poisoned.

-Laketown. Lake Town? Bard sneaks us in. Get caught somehow.

-K and F stay. Others go to mountain. Redhead heals K. Dragon wakes up. Attacks Laketown.

-B gets the white stone.

-Bard kills dragon. Laketown displaced. Go to the ruined city.

-T goes crazy over gold. B gives stone to elf king and Bard. G comes back?

-Orcs attack. Big battle. Battle of the Five Armies.

-F, K, and T die near tower thing. A dies.

-B leaves with ring. End.

I had no idea about the timeframe of this whole ordeal or the events of the Fellowship. If I knew I needed to be nerdier with Luis, I would have paid more attention to his factual interjections during the movies. Looking at the lame list reminded me how woefully uninformed I was.

But somehow, somehow, I’d see to it that the three dwarves lived by the end of the battle.

Exactly how that would happen, I still didn’t know. But I was okay with improvising! I thrived in high-stress environments. And hey, it didn’t hurt that if I died doing something stupid, I could just pop back up in in a few hours and try again.

I bit into the apple. Something crunched between my teeth. The bitter flavor of its seeds bloomed in my mouth, and I realized that I had eaten it down to the core. With a huff, I spat the seed out from the protection of the farmhouse roof and into the mud. Two pigs, Nan and Pan, were the only ones willing enough to sit out in the rain in the hope that they’d get some treats from me.

Well. They wouldn’t wait for nothing.

Snapping the apple core in half, I tossed the pieces to them. They caught the cores mid-air and snorted in delight.

I smiled and grabbed another apple from the basket next to me. Summer thunder rolled in the sky, like the gentle hum of a half-remembered song. Nothing at all like the storms of the Misty Mountains, where each lightning strike was a death threat.

My gaze wandered down to my other hand. Though faint, the droplet’s burn left a distinct scar. It was a thing for me these days, and the scar almost seemed to mark the spot where it would reside in the future. I winced at the thought of having anything jammed into my palm.

The incident didn’t give me fancy visions or promises of returning home. I didn’t even die. At least, I didn’t think I died. I woke up without that oh-shit-you-actually-came-back-from-the-dead body ache.

The droplet and I made a tiny bit of progress, though. If I willed it to gleam brighter, it would. If I wanted it to dim, it’d dim. The whole burning-then-passing-out deal aside, I now had a telepathic flashlight. Which was cool. It’d come in handy in Mirkwood.

I hoped.

More thunder rumbled. The pigs perked their heads and sniffed the air.

Then the thunder came again, only…only this time, it was grating. Reverberating.

My breath hitched. I shot to my feet.

It wasn’t thunder.

Before Beorn left, I jokingly told him that in what I’d seen, he chased the Company all the way to his front door, and they locked his bear ass out of his own home. Beorn thought that quite rude, and now that he knew the dwarves were my friends, he wouldn’t try to tear their heads off. Though he was wilder and more aggressive as a bear, he still maintained his reason.

“But I might just give chase anyway,” he said with a twinkle in his deep golden eyes. “Dwarves deserve a good scare every so often.”

I turned on my bare heels and booked it inside. The “thunder” intensified.

“Beorn, you piece of shit,” I whispered with a grin.

The farmhouse’s front entrance slammed open, and in tumbled the entirety of thirteen dwarves, one wizard, and, somewhere in the mix of shouts and scrambling bodies, one hobbit.

“Close it!” Gandalf boomed. “Quickly!”

The dwarves all braced their bodies against the large doors to shut it. I watched from the kitchen area, half-hiding behind one of the smooth wooden pillars. Another roar shook the house. Dori shrieked since he was the one right between the cracks of the two doors—which then split back open as a massive bear head barged through.

I had never seen Beorn in bear form. Even knowing that he was playing around still floored me as I took in the enormity of the bear—his head alone was the size of a fucking compact European car.

“Close it!” Dwalin ordered. “Close it now! Push!”

He shoved the door back against Beorn’s huge muzzle. They unified their defense and heaved their bodies into the wood with shouts and curses.

Lemme tell ya. A bear that size could easily mow all these homies down. But, bless Beorn’s heart, he let them think they got the upper hand from the way his head slipped out.

Bilbo stood beside Gandalf, brandishing Not-Yet-Sting and bravely willing to lay down his life to protect his friends.

My faltering grin returned, and I came all the way around the corner. I should have been nervous since these people were about to find out in a very jarring way that I wasn’t dead.

But wanting to see them again stomped out the fear and replaced it with bursting excitement. After two-and-a-half weeks, I was impatient to be in their midst again.

Dwalin brought the wooden latch down on the door, and the Company breathed a collective sigh of relief. Kili turned to Gandalf—

And his eyes brushed past the wizard to me.

He promptly screamed.

The Company went up in arms again. They all spun around to see what scared the shit out of Kili, saw me as well, and joined in on the screaming. Bifur whipped out an axe and hurled it at me, but since they were in such a frenzy, it arced wide and solidly embedded into the wooden column instead of my head. That made me shriek myself, which added to the cacophony.

Bilbo, of course, fainted. The sound of him hitting the floor was lost in shouts of Khuzdul.

“Whoa, whoa!” I yelled, waving my arms. “Hey! I’m not dead!”

“What wicked place have ye brought us to, Gandalf?” Dwalin, always the first one to jump to the worst possible conclusion, hollered. “Where we see bewitched apparitions?”

Bifur unslung another hand axe and aimed to throw it at me again.

“I AM NOT DEAD! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

I thrusted out a thumbs up like it was some sort of gesture to prove my existence. When they all stilled, I wheezed out a half-laugh and treaded forward. “Okay, yeah, I—whoo! This is crazy, right? Holy shit!” I took a massive bite out of the apple I forgot I still had in my hand. Through the noisy chewing, I said, “Like, I can’t imagine how freaked out you guys might be! But it’s me!”

I did a little run-in-place. “Orcs can’t put me down! Too fast!”

Nobody laughed.

Gandalf approached with more than a touch of wariness. “How have you come to be, my dear?”

I recognized the tone. He used it back when they first found me running wild a couple days outside of Bree. Not unkind, yet still guarded.

My shoulders slumped a fraction. I told myself this would happen, prepared myself for this to happen. Of course they wouldn’t just be like, “Hey, Valeria! How goes it? Glad you’re not dead!”

I swallowed the mouthful of apple and set it on a wooden stand about as tall as I was.

“That…that is a complicated story,” I drawled, untying the knot that kept my thin leather belt in place. The back of my neck burned. Why was I getting all bashful now? “One that I’m happy to explain.”

“I do think that would be best,” Gandalf said patiently. His bushy gray eyebrows lifted a touch.

Once the belt was in my hand, I grabbed the bottom of the large dress and lifted it up. The dwarves had the decency to initially avert their gazes at the sight of a lady becoming immodest, but soon all eyes were back on me.

On the vertical scar running down the lower half of my chest, to be exact.

“I did get run through.”

Explaining it out loud to the Company felt strange. I rehearsed it so many times in my head that at some point, it stopped being an inevitable reality.

“I did die.”

I turned around and bunched up the dress to the side so they’d see the matching scar on my back. It didn’t lay right on my spine; the sword had glanced off bone when it entered, so it instead ran parallel.

“But…” I dropped the dress and retied the belt. My stare glossed over the entire Company so I could address them all. Bilbo had awoken, bleary and pale, and Bofur and Nori helped prop him up. He still carried my pack with him. “I have this weird thing that when I die, it’s not permanent.”

Gandalf hummed, tilting his chin up speculatively.

“Go on.”

I shrugged and splayed my hands out. “That’s—that’s all there is to it, really. I die, I come back, I die again, I come back again.”

“And what do you see when you pass into shadow?”

“Uh, shadow?” I grimaced at how lame that sounded. “I don’t remember anything. It’s just like I’m sleeping.”

“Hm. Truly, you see nothing?”

I stared at Gandalf. What was he fishing for?

When the answer struck me through hazy memories of Luis and the movies, I tilted my chin up and said, “No. I don’t see white shores.”

He straightened, and those old blue eyes filled with concern. “Curious. Curious indeed.”

Gandalf stepped closer to me. From the sleeve of his gray robe, he extended a large hand. My heart involuntarily beat faster as it reached out to my face. I didn’t move, though, and Gandalf placed a thumb in the center of my forehead while his calloused but gentle fingers rested against my temple.

I continued to stare into Gandalf’s eyes, trying to take steady breaths. He murmured something I couldn’t understand, whispers like water cascading on rocks.

Light swallowed my vision for an instant, harsh and truthful and good, but so, so terrifying. Then—then—

Then it was gone, and I gazed up at Gandalf once more in the warm light of Beorn’s house, blood pumping painfully in my ears. Joy replaced his grave expression, and a great smile encompassed his face.

I grinned back.

“Oh, my dear Valeria,” he laughed, bright and clear.

All the fear melted away as if it never existed at all. I threw my arms around the wizard’s sturdy waist, and he returned the hug with love and care. “It is good to have you with us once more.”

When I let go, another, smaller person was waiting for his turn. I scooped the hobbit up in my arms and squeezed Bilbo so tight that his ribs creaked under the pressure. Bilbo returned the embrace with just as much fervor, his arms wrapped around my neck, and he gasped out a blend of laughter and sobs.

“Hey there, Baggins,” I whispered, and I pressed a kiss to his curly auburn hair.

“Hullo, Valeria.”

The sound of my best friend’s voice renewed the hugging vise I had him in.  Bilbo finally squeaked, so I set him down with a laugh. He dabbed his eyes with the back of a dirty corduroy sleeve.

I didn’t have empty arms for long. The Company practically piled onto me, and I wished I could hold them all at once because I loved them all.

I loved them all so much.

Dwalin ruffled my hair and heartily proclaimed, “Nice to see yer not an evil spirit come to haunt us, lass!”

“Well, would ye look at that! You’ve put some meat on those bones of yours! What’ve ye been eating here?”

“Ouch! Not enough meat, I say! Just got stabbed by a hipbone!”

“Have ye gotten taller? Or is it just me?”

“Fight another lake beast while we were away?”

I hadn’t laughed this much for this long in weeks. My cheeks ached in a good way, and as I let Kili go from yet another bone-crushing dwarven hug, I then slipped into Fili’s arms.

He held me tight, but his embrace separated itself from the others I received. On his damp shoulders was my cloak—his cloak—and I felt all the little hidden daggers and throwing knives within the folds of his clothing.

“Mahal, I never thought…” Fili murmured in my ear, low voice covered by the raucous talking. His arms wrapped a fraction more around me, and I rested my cheekbone against his head. “I am happy to see you live.”

Fili didn’t sound pleased with his words for some reason, and he let go with a tiny, frustrated sigh. I still beamed at him. We’d have plenty of time later to sort through all the awkwardness and unresolved sexual tension that came with my whole not-being-dead thing. But for now? For now, the happiness that sang in me overwhelmed everything else.

“Thorin,” I said when I came face-to-face with the king. “Glad to see you’re alive, too.”

He cracked a smile. He wore his hair twisted back into a bun, and black strands still clung to his damp skin.

We shared a quick but meaningful hug. Thorin had tried to protect me from the goblins, and I doubted I would ever forget his look of rage and fear when he couldn’t.

I was important to him, just like he was important to me.

 “And you as well, Valeria,” he replied with a hint of wry fondness. Then Thorin turned stoic as I assumed he would and asked, “How did you know to come here? We made no aim to flee to this exact place when you were…”

Thorin couldn’t say “alive,” so he trailed off.

My heart tightened. These poor guys.

I gripped his shoulder in the firm dwarven fashion I picked up from the Company. “I’ll tell you everything,” I promised. “But first, let’s get all of you dried off and put some food on the table. You’re a few days late, and I didn’t expect all of you to come when it’s raining. I’ll get something set out quick enough, though. Beorn would hate me if I was a poor host in his place.

Shit, I was even starting to talk like these assholes. So proper and in Ye Olde English.

“Who is this Beorn?” Dori inquired. “And how has he fended off the beast that gave us chase? These lands aren’t safe!”

Gandalf and I shared a look. My forehead wrinkled with arching brows and an amused wince.

“Beorn,” I said when the wizard stayed awfully silent, “is the bear who chased you.”

The Company burst into furious chatter.

“Hey! Hey! Shut up! He just chased you because he wanted to scare you, right? It was a joke!”

“A joke?” Kili yelled, so quick-tempered and brash. I missed his loud remarks. “Running mere inches ahead of snapping jaws? That’s a joke?”

“Yes! Believe me, if he wanted to kill you, he could have. Right, G?”

Gandalf harrumphed an affirmative.

“And—and now that I’ve already talked all of you up, you’re not going to have to persuade him to let you stay!” I plastered on a shit-eating grin. “He’s already given you a warm welcome.”

“By my beard!” Bofur proclaimed, clapping me hard on the back. “She’s as cheeky as ever!”

-

Clothes, cloaks, and one hat draped across the barn section of the farmhouse to dry. I set out food from the pantry as the dwarves gathered around the massive dinner table. The only person who had adequate proportions for it was Gandalf.

“What is this—mush?” Nori inquired. He suspiciously examined a jar of salsa.

“That is a cultural staple of my food,” I said, setting out a heaping bowl of fresh tortilla chips. “And all of you have to try it.”

I took a chip and scooped some salsa, then offered it to Nori. Though dubious, he accepted it and sniffed at the food.

“Bah. Smells like vom!”

“Shut the hell up and just eat it!”

Nori stuck out the tip of his tongue and barely touched the salsa with it. Then he made a disgusted face and gave it back to me. “Tastes like vom, too.”

“You are so fucking rude!”

I ate the chip and salsa myself, then slapped the back of Nori’s head while I continued getting enough food out to satiate the starving parasites. I had practically been thrown back to my waitressing days the summer between junior and senior year.

And these greedy bastards wouldn’t even bother to tip.

But eventually, I was able to sit down and serve myself some bread and jam with slices of light, slightly sweet cheese. “What, no meat?” Bombur had to complain as he inhaled food at a perilous rate. “We saw pigs and cows outside!”

“Those pigs and cows are here just to be cute,” I said, taking a bite of my bread. As expected, I got a multitude of head shakes and discontented noises. My eyes rolled, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

“You mean we’ve been running for our lives this past month, and still we don’t get a hearty meal?” Oin griped.

I spread my arms out at the table, incredulous. “Look at all this! It’s a fucking feast! And it seems like all of you are more concerned with lack of meat than you are with the fact that I’m alive and well!”

The dwarves all replied with a mixture of platitudes and quips and complaints.

“I’m happy you’re alive, Valeria,” Bilbo said in the ongoing ruckus, true as ever. His head barely peeked above the table we sat at. I smiled at him.

“Thanks, Baggins.”

The loud joyfulness that came with a large family bonding over food didn’t last as long as I had hoped. Really, I wished everyone would forget that this was my destination before it ever was theirs so we could get on with our lives. There were much more serious things to worry about besides me, anyway.

But Thorin slammed down his tankard of mead (that was really more juice in terms of alcohol, which Dwalin bitched about) and garnered the table’s attention. I shot a hesitant at Gandalf, who saw it and gave a nod of encouragement. If he thought it was okay to tell them, then…then I guess I could do it.

“Silence,” Thorin commanded. The table hushed, though many tried—and failed—to continue eating quietly. His gaze settled on me. “I believe a proper explanation is in order.”

I finished eating my apple slice and nodded. “Agreed.”

Wiping my fingers on my dress, I stood so I could get a clear view of everyone. It felt kind of dumb to talk about everything that I was about to when I looked like a kid at the too-big table with the rest of them. However, all the heads peeking up past the table like ripe cabbages eased the seriousness of the subject, which helped me forge ahead.

“Okay!” I clapped my hands together, took a deep breath, and said:

“I’m from another world.”

No reaction.

Maybe slight confusion—nope, that was just Ori tasting a vegetable he didn’t like.

Balin squinted his eyes a little. “Er, what?”

“I’m from another world! Like, you know, in the stars?” I pointed up at the ceiling for extra effect. “This is Middle-earth. My world is just called Earth. Similar names, different solar systems. Maybe different galaxies? A different universe entirely? I’ve tried not to think about it too much.”

It sunk in for Bilbo first. He went slack, stared, then stammered, “But—but that’s impossible!”

I snorted and looked down at him.

“You’d think so! I thought so. But here we are! It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? My clothes—the clothes that I came in—couldn’t possibly have been made here.” I snapped my black sports bra strap. “Spanish isn’t a language you speak here either. That’s why I was so homesick! Because, like, how can I ever get back to where…where…”

Where my family was.

A sudden wave of sadness hit me, but I rode through it just as I always had.

“Listen. I’m telling the truth. Gandalf, back me up.”

The wizard took the stem of his pipe out of his mouth and lightly coughed. Shifting in his seat, he said, “Er, yes. Lady Valeria speaks true. She hails from another world not our own. How she has come to be here, I know not, but the timing of her arrival is not coincidental.”

I didn’t think it was an appropriate time to mention to Gandalf that Beorn met another Earth person like me.

“And what is the reason for your descent from the heavens?” Thorin questioned. He laced his fingers in front of him, spearing me with that piercing gaze.

“That? I’m not sure. I have no connection to this world whatsoever. And I didn’t ‘descend from the heavens.’ My world is…fuck, it’s messier than this one. If anything, I ascended. Though, I do miss all the technological advances this one doesn’t have. Oh, and I should mention that there are only humans on my world.”

“What do you mean?” Ori had pulled out his journal and hastily scribbled in it with a quill looking worse-for-wear.

I placed both hands on my hips and swayed side-to-side.

“I mean that there are no elves or dwarves or hobbits or wizards. There are no shape shifters and dragons. Nada. We have humans. We have science. That’s it! The only darkness that we’ve fought has come from our own kind.”

I stopped swaying and touched my chest, right above the visible part of my sports bra. “I myself am Hispanic. My family is from a country called Mexico, but we live in another called the United States of America. And yes, in case you’re wondering—which you aren’t, but I’m gonna throw it out there anyway—there is a lot of racism where I’m from. Human beings can be that way to one another. An apparently, it’s here too.” Dourly, I added, “Unfortunately.”

“And do people where you’re from simply…pop back up from the clutches of death as you do?” Balin said with a humorless chuckle. His pallor, along with everyone else’s at the table, had taken on a pale sheen.

“Ha. No. No, death is typically as permanent there as it is here. Nobody has ever been immortal. Religious figures aside.” I shot a glance at Gandalf to see if he showed what he was thinking. But other than furrowed brows, the wizard betrayed nothing as he smoked on his pipe.

I bowed my head for a moment and took a breath, readying myself.

“So. If you thought that repeatedly coming back from the dead and being from another world was weird, check this out.”

My hands clapped again and rubbed together. “This world? We know this world in mine. In fiction. Books. Films. This world is not meant to be real because it was a made-up story. You—” I moved a finger across the gathered Company, starting with a stricken Bilbo on my left to a somber Fili on my right. “You were all supposed to be imaginary. So that was a real shock to me when I saw…when I saw you guys right before my very eyes.”

Thorin wouldn’t let me tear from his gaze.

“How can this be possible?”

I shrugged helplessly. “Honestly, I have no idea. I really don’t. This—but this story—what’s happening right now, it was written down. It was filmed.”

My breath came out less steady than I hoped.

I stared at Thorin and said, “And I know how it ends.”

He was practically standing himself by now, and he spoke just above a whisper.

“What becomes of this quest, Valeria?”

The back of my neck flushed. This was it. This was the moment. Tell them their fates so we could prevent it. So they could live.

Or what if I just sealed their fates by revealing it to them? What if I ruined it all before I even had a chance to reverse it?

(I was afraid.)

“You reclaim Erebor,” I spoke with a smile.

The Company gasped and cried out in celebration. They clapped each other on the back, called in wages, and made plans for partying.

But I was a bad liar, and I was pretty sure Thorin saw through it. Though he released a shaky exhale with the revelation, he did not cheer like everyone else.

“And what of Smaug?” Kili shouted above the rest. He grinned ear-to-ear. “Who slays him? It’s me, isn’t it? Come, Valeria, tell them of my victory so they can overcome their grief before it happens!” He shoved off a swipe Fili aimed at him.

I laughed a little, hoping that it could ease my tense heart. It’d be a bad sign if I keeled over from a coronary.

“Actually, Kili, I’m afraid that it won’t be you.” He groaned and waved me off. “It’s…it’s…” My smile slipped the longer I thought. “Oh, shit, I actually can’t remember his name. Have to look at my notes. But he helps us out later on, I promise!”

Unless I changed things so much that the path I was familiar with suddenly diverged into unknown territory.

Kili was undeterred. “Then tell me, do readers dote over me? Am I the hero they sigh about in the candlelight?”

I wanted to say, “In the movie? Hell yeah. But they thirst over Thorin more.”

Except I wasn’t about to give the little shit that gratification or mortify Thorin to an early grave. No, I’d wait until either of them got on my nerves enough to dole it out.

“Sorry, but no.” I sat back down in my chair before my legs got too shaky from the residual adrenaline pumping through me. My hand ruffled Bilbo’s curly hair. “The main hero of the story is, in fact, one Bilbo Baggins!”

It was a poor time for the statement. Bilbo, being a nervous eater, had stuffed his mouth with an assortment of fruits and cheeses while I talked. When I announced that he was the protagonist, Bilbo choked and spat out everything across the table, which earned groans and guffaws from the dwarves, then threw himself into a fit of red-faced, apologetic coughing.

The model of a hero.

Dwalin, used to Bilbo’s behavior, curled his lip at the sight of the wheezing hero.

“Ye can’t be serious, lass.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” I smirked, patting Bilbo’s wracking back like he was a child. “The book you’re all in is literally called The Hobbit. Not Thirteen Stinky Dwarves Stomp to The Lonely Mountain Complaining All the Way.”

“That’s rightly unfair,” Bofur said. He surreptitiously whipped out his own pipe. Overall, the dwarves were miffed at the fact that Bilbo outranked them all in terms of the story. Except for Fili, who hid his smile behind a large tankard of mead, and Thorin, who was too distracted by everything else to be bothered.

Gandalf blatantly laughed at them all. He basked in his smugness for bringing the hobbit along.

“Whoa, hey, I can’t do anything about it! But Bilbo was my favorite in the version I’m most familiar with.” Then I cooed, “He’s my favorite in this version, too.”

Bilbo, still coughing, waved me off.

“But,” I continued to help the dwarves heal from their injured pride, “people still loved a lot of you guys, too. Bofur and Dwalin, you were my brother’s favorites.”

The two instantly lit up. Dwalin, for all his roughness, couldn’t resist raising his mug to me. “Sounds like a smart lad.”

“Incredibly,” Bofur agreed, and he puffed out a happier trail of smoke from his pipe.

Now with a proud glint in his eyes, Dwalin asked, “Is he a warrior like myself?”

I laughed. “No. No, he isn’t. We don’t really have warriors in my world. We’re long past the days of swords and arrows and battlefields. But he still likes to swing sticks around in the backyard and pretend to be one, even at his age.”

“And how old is he?” Balin’s kind smile returned, and if I knew him like I did now, Bilbo would have had serious competition for favorite. “Your brother.”

My head tilted, and I poked at an errant blueberry on my plate. “Luis is seventeen. He’ll be eighteen in a couple more months. We have an age gap between us, but we’ve always been close. He’s the reason why I know anything at all about you guys. He was way more into this stuff than I ever was.”

“An age gap, indeed!” Oin said. “You must be four times his age!”

I drew my brows together. A confused smile crawled up my lips. “Wait,” I slowly said, “do any of you actually know my age?”

“You’re around forty,” Kili said with a sure nod. “Perhaps nearing fifty.”

“I wagered fifty-five,” Gloin confessed slyly. “Bifur believes its sixty.” At this, Bifur barked a Khuzdul affirmative and thumped his chest.

My confusion grew more apparent.

“Do none of you really know how human years work?”

“They’re shorter, aye,” Bombur nodded sagely as he munched on a hard biscuit.

“But…they’re a lot shorter than I think all of you realize.” I popped the blueberry I was playing with into my mouth, and its sweetness burst on my tongue. “You idiots really need to meet more humans.”

“What, so you aren’t nearing fifty?” asked Kili.

“No! I’m fucking twenty-six!”

The table went silent. Bilbo’s coughing had ceased, so he too stared at me open-mouthed. Raindrops struck the roof of the farmhouse.

I turned my head in both directions. “What? I’m twenty-six. It’s still the younger side of human years!”

“Why, you’re just a babe,” Bofur uttered. He, like the rest, regarded me differently. Like I was suddenly a fragile, priceless object that somehow got tossed into a rucksack.

“I’m an adult,” I reminded gently—but firmly. “And I’ve done a lot in my life already. Even in my own world, I was considered…adventurous.”

A poor way of putting it, but I couldn’t describe my endeavors to them without going into longer, darker details.

When nobody spoke, I shrugged.

“So I guess in a twisted way, it makes sense that my next big thing would be this.” I plucked another blueberry and ate it, then made a face at their grave expressions. “Oh, seriously—you’re all acting as if me being twenty-six is a bigger deal than coming back to life and being from another world!”

“Forgive them, Lady Valeria,” Gandalf said. “I believe they are struggling to come to terms with human mortality. How quickly they forget that you and mortality have a…unique relationship, as it so happens.”

We shared smiles. Then, disgruntled by the Company’s odd quiet, I slammed a fist on the table and shouted, “Come on! Ask me about home! You’ve all been dying to hear about where I’m from since the very beginning. And I’m dying to finally tell you!”

Fili took the opportunity.

“Very well!”

He reached for a tortilla chip in the bowl and scooped up a heaping amount like I had earlier. I opened my mouth to tell him to take it easy, then stopped and settled for a smirk.

The prince held it out to me like a toast, smiling and arrogantly unaware of the salsa’s taste.

But damn, was he cute doing it.

“What is this lovely dip made from?”

He answered his own question by valiantly eating the entire chip in one go. At first, Fili hummed pleasantly at the taste and nodded, but his expression went from amiable to tense to red-faced. He opened his mouth and went, “Hoo,” as if air would quell the spiciness.

The Company returned to good humor at Fili’s expense. They laughed at him while he swallowed the salsa and gulped down his mead like his life depended on it.

“Oi, look at the little princeling—can’t even handle his lass’ own food!” Nori cackled, and I pretended not to hear the possessive pronoun.

“The salsa is made from fresh ingredients in Beorn’s garden,” I explained, taking the jar and pouring myself some on the plate. I grabbed a handful of chips and started to eat them. “Tomatoes, onions, garlic, cilantro, salt, and jalapenos. It’s lacking a few other ingredients, but it’s a taste of home for me. And the heat to it? It’s nothing but flavor! Like, it’s not even spicy!”

“Must’ve gotten something burned off, then, to not feel that fire,” Fili coughed as he recovered from the ordeal. I shot him a grin, and if he wasn’t already red in the face, he might have blushed.

“Nah. You just got white people palates.”

I snickered at my own comment. Having saved the conversation from a depressing lull, Fili sat back in his too-big chair and nursed on a biscuit while the dwarves and Bilbo threw more questions at me. I didn’t need to look at him again to know that he was smirking good-naturedly.

The Company wasn’t my blood family. They could never replace my parents and siblings. But we were bonded through battles and injury, through long days and summer nights, through death and revival. Ori jotted down notes while I spoke, Bilbo listened with keen interest and a mouth filled with food, Kili asked how cute my sister was, Dwalin wanted to know about our armies, and Bofur made me promise that I’d sing more songs from home.

All the while, Thorin kept us under his watchful gaze. He smiled whenever I glanced his way.

A family like this was good enough for me. 

Chapter Text

Beorn arrived later the same night, once the rain stopped and left the sweet scent of its gentle storm on the cooler breeze.

The dwarves, for all their excitement, had dropped like rocks after dinner. As they settled down for the night in piles of straw, I showed them my neat trick by plopping into it, spreading my arms wide, and proclaiming, “Come to me, mis bebés!” Then, in a swarm, I chickens, goats, mice, ducks, and a wooly calf blanketed me.

They weren’t as impressed as they should have been. But it made Fili grin, so he was definitely in the clear.

I had to sneak and shimmy my way out from my sleeping companions to meet Beorn, who was eating the plate of food I left out for him on the table. The warm glow of candlelight illuminated the dining area.

“There is an axe sticking out of the wall,” muttered Beorn as I came in and climbed into a chair.

“Yeah. Surprising dwarves isn’t always a good idea.” I propped my elbows up on the table. My black hair tumbled loose around bare shoulders since the dress I wore was still tugged down enough to expose them. I picked out bits of straw from the strands.

“I did not think they would arrive today,” Beorn said, then groaned tiredly as he took a seat. “You said it would be sunny.”

“Obviously I’m not always right.”

“Mm. That could be dangerous in the future. Almost knowing, but not.”

I let out a sigh of my own. “I know.” Then with a smirk, I said, “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Chasing them?”

Beorn chuckled. “They were not harmed.”

“Physically. But mentally? You might have given a few some nightmares.”

“Bah. Doubt it.”

We shared smiles. A stray mouse who had been tangled up in my hair found its way out, so I picked up the tiny thing and cupped it in the palm of my hand. It curled up and went back to sleep under the gentle brush of my thumb.

“So, did you tell them?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Everything?”

“Mostly everything.” I did not look at Beorn, and because of this, the skin-changer grunted and chewed on a strawberry.

“Tis a hard thing, holding possible futures in your grasp, unknowing to which the right one could be.”

“Or none of them could be right, and I’m just a dumbass who thinks she can do anything about it.”

Beorn patted me on the head. His thick hand enveloped the top of my skull. I laughed, as faint as it was. “Worry not. You are strong and resourceful. I am certain that whatever may pass, you shall weather it.”

“Thanks, Beorn.”

“Now go back to bed. I’m sure tomorrow will be as busy for you as it was tonight.” He smirked half to himself, half to me. “Since you wanted them here so badly, you can worry about feeding them until the orc numbers clear enough for travel.”

“Rude.” But I chuckled and pushed myself out of the chair. My feet landed softly on the worn wooden floor, and I held the little mouse close to my chest. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I left Beorn to his own late meal and returned to my patch of straw and animals. Thorin, though sleeping, sat upright against the wall, arms folded across his chest and head tucked down. He had probably fallen asleep making sure all of us were still being watched over.

Bilbo slept deeply on my left side. A couple of hens huddled close to him. He and some of the other dwarves had been given blankets and pillows where they could be spared, so while he currently enjoyed the warmth of a green blanket covering him, he still used his corduroy jacked as a makeshift pillow. Or, rather, something to separate his head from the straw.

The clothes Bilbo wore—the clothes all of them wore—looked ratty and stained with dirt and sweat. His vest was missing buttons, and the necktie was little more than a raggedy piece of cloth at this point. I doubted that even if the clothes got washed, they would ever be really clean.

And yet we still had so much ahead of us.

Fili slept on my right side. I would have been pissed if he picked a different place to sleep other than next to me. The prince was curled on his side, one hand tucked under a pillow. My cloak—his cloak—covered his lower half. Fili, like practically everyone else in the Company, stripped of his armor and weapons and lay in a cotton tunic since he was no longer under constant threat of death.

I reached over and touched the spot on Fili’s forearm right before it disappeared underneath the pillow. Delight radiated through me.

Fili, the fucking light sleeper, shifted and opened his eyes. I could barely see in the darkness, but I recognized his smile.

He pulled his hand out and placed it over mine. A calloused thumb grazed my skin. My fingers lifted to find his, and he exhaled when they twined together. Flowers blossomed in my stomach.

“I missed you, Ria,” he whispered, so soft that it might not have been spoken at all.

“I missed you, too,” I whispered back, then closed my eyes while a wide, sleepy grin encompassed my face. I would have rolled closer to Fili, but I had an obligation to the animals surrounding me. And maybe it was for the best. I wouldn’t have wanted the entire Company butting in and gossiping about our cuddles.

So we held hands in the quiet farmhouse broken by familiar choruses of snores.

And though my eyes were shut, I didn’t sleep for a long while.

-

The rain left the early morning air cool, and since it hadn’t turned muggy yet, I took advantage of the temperature.

Fili had turned over on his other side at some point in the night, breaking our chaste connection. Or my arm had fallen asleep so I moved it. It didn’t matter either way. I sat up, brushed the animals off me, and grabbed my pack Bilbo had dutifully guarded.

My Earth clothes were tucked away just as I left them. The pack itself was considerably lighter, seeing as lembas bread and extra waterskins no longer burdened it. I expected as much.

I pulled out my clothes, cinched the pack up again, and went to change. It felt nice being in leggings and tennis shoes again. Though I wore my long-sleeved shirt outside, it promptly became too stifling to wear even in the cooler temperatures. So, I slung it on a fencepost, which left me in my sports bra, and walked out to where the horses were grazing.

“Hello!” I called in animal speech. They perked their heads up, ears twitching, and gave low whinnies of delight as they trotted over. I scratched below their whiskery chins and kissed a few soft noses. In English, I asked, “Do you want to go for a run with me?”

I stretched, feeling the strain of tight muscles, and started off. The herd loped beside me, playfully kicking and nipping in the crisp air as they went.

Soon my lungs burned. Two weeks of not doing much left me a bit softer than I wanted. But still I ran, occasionally touching a nearby horse just to remind myself that yes, I was jogging beside creatures twice my size and twice as gentle, and it was fucking awesome.

We went only a couple of miles from Beorn’s house. Too much farther and we’d be beyond his borders, and orcs could snatch me up. I’d be more embarrassing than anything, so I stayed well within the boundaries.

The horses and I stopped by a small stream, and I splashed water on myself to cool down. Afterward, I stretched out on my back and stared up at the early dawn sky. The horses took to grazing again, and whenever one came close enough, I drew it in for a few smooches on their face. Crickets still chirped their morning ballads, and the peaceful rush of water in the stream nearly put me back to sleep.

Away from prying eyes, I took out the droplet from its usual resting place within my sports bra. I made a small, disgusted noise when I grabbed it since it was soaked in boob sweat, so—sorry, divine powers. My shark tooth didn’t suffer the same fate; I left that out so it wouldn’t cut me while I ran.

I wiped off as much sweat as I could from the jewel and held it aloft so I could peer into its facets. The longer I looked, the more I discovered. Its cuts, for one, weren’t symmetrical. Some were too long and others too little, but it was so smooth and small that I didn’t initially notice. The delicate necklace chain also didn’t have a hook or a loop that connected it to the droplet. The two just…stayed together. But when I tried pulling them apart, nothing happened.

Not that I wanted to damage otherworldly property.

Once I felt rested up again, I made the run back with the herd. I was tempted to stop and pick wildflowers, but by the time I reached the farmhouse again, they’d be wilted and close to death because of the movement.

As I was making mental plans on everything I would do with the Company and what food to make, I heard the clanging of metal, then saw a short, lone figure working in the blacksmith forge near the barn.

Thorin didn’t notice me approach until the sudden influx of horses distracted him. When he stopped and glanced up at me, I waved and slowed to a walk.

“Good morning!” I called, slightly out-of-breath. The heat from the forge vented out from the entrance, so I didn’t go all the way in.

Thorin returned to his work. He had tied his hair back, gray streaks prominent. “You’re indecent,” he said over rhythmic hammers. I pressed a hand over the scar on my chest and felt a faint twinge.

“It gets hot when you run a few miles,” I replied. Thorin didn’t mind when I hopped up on a closed barrel and watched him work. The king had also stripped down to just his tunic and rolled the sleeves up past his elbows. Sweat glistened on his skin in the forge’s firelight glow. “What’re you doing?”

“I informed Beorn that we would offer services as repayment for his hospitality,” Thorin said. Preoccupied with familiar work, he held no bite or brunt to his words. “He needed more horseshoes, a new axe, and some hinges. So here I am.”

“When did you talk to Beorn?”

“This morning before he left to patrol.”

I frowned. “Aw, man. I wanted to say goodbye to him.”

“Where did you go? Tired of us already?” A faint smile crawled up the corner of Thorin’s mouth.

I snickered. “I went for a run with the horses. Not too far, I promise—just a couple miles out. Now that I got my tennis shoes back—” I lifted up my feet to showcase the dirty black Nikes, “I can be freaking fast again.”

“Did you see any orcs?”

“Do you think I’d forget to mention if I saw orcs?”

Thorin’s smile grew. He picked up the half-finished horseshoe with a tong and stuck it back into the forge.

“If you’ve seen other pressing things, your priorities might have changed.”

I tilted my head and squinted. “And what other ‘pressing things’ could have been more important than orcs?”

Thorin paused and lightly tossed his hammer up and down. “Pretty birds? A nice cloud? An interesting rock?”

My jaw dropped in exaggerated offense. I pointedly ignored the fact that I almost stopped to pick wildflowers. Thorin chuckled and went back to smithing. “Rude! I’m not dumb!”

“No.” His smile turned to wistfulness. “You are not.”

I crossed my legs on the barrel. Thorin sighed, suddenly overcome with something that wearied his gaze, and let his hammer fall silent.

Absently, I picked at flecks of dirt on the hem of my legging.

“Did it…hurt?”

His question was so quiet that I almost didn’t hear it. Thorin looked to the visible scar. Deep remorse carved out his features.

“No, it didn’t. Not this time. It was fast.”

I touched the other scar on the side of my waist. Thorin followed the movement.  

“This one did, though.”

“What happened?”

“Wild boar.” I half-smiled at the ridiculousness of it. “A few days into this world. It hurt like hell.”

The screech of the beast, splashing water, terror so consuming that nothing existed beyond it.

The hand went to the back of my neck, where I felt straight vertebrae bumps. “The time after that, I fell off a cliff. I think…four days before I met all of you? That one left no scars. I just broke my neck. I don’t even remember much from that one.”

A flash of bursting pain, a scream caught in my throat.

 “But getting stabbed—no, I didn’t feel anything, really. Just the—just the shock of looking down and seeing that there was something sticking out of me.”

I could remember it all so clearly that if I thought hard enough, I’d be back there among fire and battle like I had never left, suspended in the surreal moment with Bilbo’s cry of my name still splitting the air, the orc’s hot breath on my neck, strange blood in my mouth.

“So, had it not been for your…abilities…you would have died before you could even join us?”

A wryness touched Thorin’s voice. It made me grin.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m shit here. But I was pretty good at staying alive back in my world.”

He nodded his head to my shoulder where the old scar rested. “And that is a testament to it?”

I glanced down. “Oh, yeah. Bullet hole. We have weapons—guns—that shoot out these tiny little projectiles called bullets. They go so fast that you can’t even catch it with your eye. And the impact is so brutal that, in the right place, it can kill you instantly. The bullet went clean through me.”

I turned so Thorin could see the exit scar, bigger and splotchier.

The information brought out an excited tension in Thorin. He crossed his arms, still holding the hammer. “How did you come to receive it? You are no warrior.”

An old, familiar heaviness settled in my chest, like it always did whenever I spoke about my time as a volunteer.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not a warrior. But my work…I’ve worked in a lot of places around the world, just wanting to help, you know? The world, though, my world, it’s—it can be very bad. We don’t have wars like you do. There aren’t big battles anymore that last days, and at the end of that day you see a victor. Our wars have lasted years, and there isn’t an end in sight. Then there are even wars within wars, and all the while innocent people get slaughtered. If they’re not slaughtered, they’re bombed. If they live through the bombs, they lose their homes.”

I rubbed off sweat from my brow. “I went to an active war zone not to fight, but to save lives and get people out of there. But often times, there isn’t a place for anyone to flee to.”

Then I waved myself off. “I won’t get into the details of the horrors of refugee lives. You…you know their plight. Displacement, having others turn their backs on them. Nowhere to return and nowhere to go.”

Thorin nodded once, solemn.

“Active war zone means shooting and bombs. I was standing in the street when bam!” I splayed my hand out past the back of my shoulder. “I’ve been shot, I’m down on the ground bleeding, there’s shouting and gunfire, and civilians are dead next to me.”

I bowed my head to stare down at my Nikes.

“I went home after that. Took a while to recover, both physically and mentally. But being with my family helped a lot. Then I was back at it again that summer, fighting fires and planning to go back to do more humanitarian aid.”

“Fighting…fires?”

“We get a lot of forest fires where I live? Since it’s so hot and dry in the summer, and even the concept of fires and land has been colonized. So there are literal people who go to contain and put them out.”

Thorin raised a brow. “And is it successful?”

I grimaced. “Fires destroy no matter what. Success is relative.”

He hummed low and started up the smithing again. “You sound like you seek to throw yourself into danger for the sake of helping.”

“Well—yeah.” I sputtered out a laugh. “It’s been like that sometimes. Often, the people who need the most help are the people in the worst places.”

“True words. It seems that being here with us is not entirely unfamiliar. We are, after all, trying to get our home back, facing a perilous journey, and we require your help to do so.”

It took a little while to respond through the warmth in me.

“I’m not sure if you exactly need me, but I can help,” I eventually said. A small smile appeared. “And no, it’s not a complete shock. Not anymore. But I think…yeah, the main difference is that I…”

My throat clogged up without warning, but Thorin didn’t mind waiting while I controlled it. His hammering rang in my ears like a pulse all on its own, and I wondered how peaceful this work was to him.

When I could breathe in and out, I said, “The main difference is that I could always go back home. You—you know that I could actually talk to my parents and siblings even though we were separated by thousands of miles? All thanks to technology. I could see their faces each night and tell them about my day.”

“And now you have no promise of returning,” said Thorin. “You are separated from them completely.”

“Mm hm.” I groaned and stretched both hands upwards. “But you guys have to get your home back. And if anything, all I’ve ever wanted for the people that I helped was for them to have a home again.”

Thorin wouldn’t likely know soon about the countless bodies I covered up with sheets, carrying starving, sick children, wading waist-deep to drag life rafts that crossed the ocean onto the shores of Turkey, or seeing such depths of poverty that it was barely comprehensible.

But he recognized the pain. The weight. The desire that still rose through it like green grass through cracked stone. How could he not when it was in him?

“Go clean yourself up,” Thorin instructed with the gentleness that always caught me off-guard.

Then he returned to his typical tone. “The Company should be waking soon, if they’re not up already. Make them help you with breakfast. They shouldn’t be lounging.”

I smiled again and hopped off the barrel. “I’ll have someone come get you when there’s food ready.”

“Thank you.”

I left Thorin to his work, then took my time walking back to the farmhouse, languidly stretching as I went. And, of course, I had to stop and pet all the animals that I came across.

Couldn’t we all just stay here? On a farm with fresh produce and cute animals?

Beorn could stand me—and probably Bilbo and Gandalf. He’d kick everyone else out, though. But still! We’d make do!

I threw my shirt back on and went inside, leaving behind yet another fantasy where we could avoid any strife. Gandalf was already up, smoking a pipe at the table and skimming through one of Beorn’s books. He heard me enter and partially turned. “Ah, good morning, Valeria.”

“Good morning, G. Are you the only one awake?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You hungry?”

“Mm. Peckish is a better word.”

I strode past Gandalf and to the rest of the sleeping Company. If I could turn on a light or open any curtains, I would. It’d be gentler.

Instead, I cupped both hands around my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Wake the FUCK UP!”

That did the trick.

-

Breakfast was three kinds of chaos. Lots of yelling. Plenty of swearing. At least three brawls. Food everywhere. I kept them from going completely savage like they had at Bilbo’s own house (he certainly looked like it gave him a traumatic flashback), but dwarves were dwarves, and they were hungry.

I made them help wash and put everything away, and they were both delighted and disturbed to hear that yes, I saw them all at Bilbo’s own home, and yes, if they cleaned up there then they had to clean up here.

Then it was time for laundry. The Company went a little downstream from the creek where Beorn got his running water. I showered myself, then tended to the garden in Beorn’s absence. Gandalf never got dirty—I blamed his wizard cheats—so he took up a spot under the shade of an oak and puffed on his pipe.

I needed to tell him about the droplet. About the other person from Earth who also had one. Gandalf, of all people, would definitely be like, “Hmm, interesting,” in his deep voice, then he would give me a look with those raised, bushy brows that was always a little intimidating. But I had no reason to think that he’d be upset in any form.

Every time I turned to go to Gandalf, though, I stopped. Like there was a failsafe in me.

Not yet. Not yet.

Maybe I would work up the courage tomorrow. When we met back at Erebor. After I saved the three dumbass Durins.

When they set on a quest to destroy The Ring.

No—I wasn’t going to be here that long. I’d tell him. For sure. Sometime later.

But speaking of The Ring.

Bilbo found me by the apiaries a few hours later after his clothes had dried and he had bathed. I looked up from the paper detailing all the events that’d happen and grinned at him.

“Looking good, Baggins!” I hooted, refolding the paper and tucking it in my sports bra. The hobbit spread his arms out and gave a complimentary spin.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to wash,” he beamed—then abruptly stopped when a fat bee buzzed his way. He swerved it in a panic.

I laughed at him and said, “They don’t sting. Look!” I shifted and showed Bilbo my left shoulder, where a happy, plump bee perched. “They just want to say hi.”

“O-oh. Well—bee. Hi. Hello.” Bilbo awkwardly waved to the one buzzing around him. It drifted off to a nearby patch of wildflowers growing at the base of an oak tree.

“You’re quite comfortable here, aren’t you?”

He sat down beside me. My hair had been pulled back into a half-pony, and the rest of the wavy black tresses sprung free. The shirt-dress I wore was cream-colored, and I went barefoot since this part of the farm was covered in soft, green grass.

“I am. Aren’t you?”

He smiled and relaxed against the tree. Bilbo’s hands and hobbit feet dug into the grass, and a look I hadn’t seen since Rivendell encompassed him.

“This reminds me a lot of home. The Shire.”

“Yeah?” I placed my foot next to Bilbo’s and compared the sizes. My toes wiggled, which made Bilbo chuckle. He always got a kick out of my frail human feet. “It is kind of like the Shire, isn’t it? Green and good.”

He stilled. His musing smile flickered. “I—I was excited to show you the Shire. It meant to be quite the surprise. But come to find out, you’ve already seen it. It’s, er, well, I don’t quite know how to put it. Is that normal?”

“I honestly don’t know. No? Probably not?” I slouched farther against the tree and laced my fingers on my lap. “Believe it or not, but this is my first time ending up in a world that was, by all means, fictional.”

“Not so fictional now, though, right?”

I giggled. “No, definitely not. But! I will be surprised to see the Shire no matter what. Because it’s the Shire. It’s famous.”

Bilbo glowed with well-placed pride. “Then my own anticipation shall remain ever steadfast.”

The bee on my shoulder lifted and bobbed away back to its apiary. Maybe the insect could feel the peace slipping from me as a harbored question worked its way into my mouth.

“Hey, um, Baggins.”

I couldn’t look at him, so I instead stared out at a giant apiary and fiddled with the shark tooth. “Back there in the goblin caves…”

Even after hours of rehearsing the conversation in my head, I still struggled to talk about it.

“Bad. Bad stuff. Truly.”

Bilbo was oblivious—or intentionally avoiding—to what I alluded to. “I still have nightmares. And you must, as well, with what all you went through. The dwarves, they—they told me a bit about what the goblins tried—tried to do.”

He swallowed, horrified at just the thought of it.

“We do not have such terrors in the Shire. I’m so sorry you had to suffer through a second of it.”

I leaned into him. “Don’t worry about it. After everything else that happened, I…I haven’t even thought about it. And the nightmares don’t last.”

Still gazing out at the apiary, my voice quieted. “But…but I wanted to ask you about what you found in that cave.”

It was my turn to swallow, mouth dry.

“You mean this?”

A flash of gold caught my eye. In Bilbo’s open palm, small and shining underneath the shade of the tree, lay it.

The Ring.

He tentatively smiled. “Figured you might know about this, too, so I shouldn’t bother hiding it, eh? It’s a handy little thing, isn’t it?”

I expected some kind of foreign temptation or evil emanating from it that my Catholic upbringing drilled into me would recognize. Because, like, holy fucking shit, this was the Ring. The One.

But the droplet didn’t even burn against my skin, and I was left to gape at the little piece of jewelry shrunk down to fit a hobbit-sized finger.

“Bilbo, wey, that is…whoo, that is some bad shit right there.”

He frowned but didn’t close his fist. “What do you mean? It’s just a ring with some sort of invisibility charm on it. Here. Take it. I don’t mind. I trust you.”

But I didn’t want to take it—

And wasn’t that, like, the opposite effect it was supposed to have?

I cringed away.

Bilbo’s frown deepened. “Valeria,” he spoke. “What is it.”

“Bad shit, man, bad shit.” I pointed to the Ring. “Bad. Shit.”

“What—Valeria—”

Bilbo squeaked as I closed his fingers around the Ring. “You’re gonna need this. You are. So don’t lose it. But it’s probably best if you put it away. And not be obsessing over it in the middle of the night.”

“I, I won’t. I promise.”

For the first time since I had met Bilbo, I saw a twinge of fear in his eyes not for me, but because of me.

I leaned back, realizing that I had grown close from the intensity. He snuck the Ring back in his vest’s small pocket, and once it was gone from view, I let out a breath.

“What is it?” he inquired. A slight quaver came with the question.

Did he mean: what was wrong? Or: what was the Ring?

I didn’t want to answer either. This whole deal of having insight about futures and fates was a shitty one because I had no idea how to handle it.

“It’s…complicated,” I eventually muttered, then sighed at how stupid I sounded. “I’m sorry.”

A silence lulled between us. Bilbo fidgeted.

“So, you are not going to tell me.”

When I opened my mouth to say something, Bilbo cut me off with his infuriating sternness. “And don’t try to be all dodgy, Valeria. You’re a terrible liar. At least be honest.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Shit, Baggins, why you gotta call me out like that? Damn.”

He fixed me with a stare that I couldn’t tear away from. “Valeria.”

“Okay, okay, fine, I’ll—okay.”

I scrambled to find the right words while Bilbo patiently waited. My voice lowered. “Look. I don’t think I can tell you some of the things I know. Because…because it’ll mess everything up! And some very important things are going to happen that I’m not sure should change.”

“Are they bad things?”

Bilbo saw the pained, conflicted sorrow that filled me.

He rubbed his mouth at the revelation and slumped against the tree once more. “Am…am I the cause of these bad things?”

“No. No.”

Hopefully that was convincing enough, especially since Bilbo no longer looked directly at me. He wasn’t the reason—that piece of shit ring was.

“But, like, Bilbo, these things. Events. They’re fucking huge. And if I change one thing, what else will that change? And after that? One person might not do one thing, and if they don’t do that, other things might not happen and because of that, the whole world could—”

I swallowed hard to keep from saying what I was about to say. The whole world could be destroyed.

“The whole world could be in even greater danger.”

A softer blow. Maybe.

It didn’t comfort Bilbo. He scrubbed his entire face. “Oh, dear,” he moaned. “Oh, dear.”

His distress made me want to freak even more, but I refused to spiral. I was a big girl—or at least I pretended I was a big girl.

“Hey, hey, Baggins.” I turned and gripped him by his little shoulders so he faced me. “This stuff? This is my deal. Don’t worry yourself about it. Okay?”

“But—but how can I not?”

“You just have to.” I scrunched my brows. “Do you trust me?”

He huffed, then said, “Yes. Of course.”

“Then trust that I got this. I’m…I’m going to do my best. And if I fuck up and die, then guess what?” I offered a smile, as faint and scared as it was. Bilbo weakly returned it with his own. “Then I come back and try again.”

Better me than anyone else.

“That’s an awfully big responsibility, Valeria.”

“I’ve had lots of big responsibilities.”

None as big as this, no. But hadn’t I always wished I knew the future so I could stop all the horrors I had seen? Here, I did, even if it was to a tenuous degree.

“I’m sorry for freaking you out.” I gave Bilbo’s shoulders a final squeeze and let go. “Keep that ring. And…well, I guess when the right time comes, I’ll tell you what it all means.”

If. If the right time came.

But Bilbo nodded, satisfied with my words, and hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. He tweaked his nose. “Well. I was promised a tour of the garden, which always has and always will be the perfect place to calm down. So, shall we?”

I grinned at Bilbo’s adaptability. Whether it was for my sake or his own, or it was just his nature, he bounced back from our unhappy conversation in the blink of an eye.

“We shall.” I stood and helped Bilbo upright. We walked from the shade of the tree and into the afternoon sun. “Let me get my shoes on first, though. I don’t have hobbit feet. They’re tender.”

“And incredibly small.” Bilbo pointed down at them, snickering again when I splayed my toes out. “Look at them! Absolutely tiny!”

“Don’t be fucking rude.” I gave him a playful push, and Bilbo’s laughter restored some of the joy that I lost so quickly in the past few minutes.

Gandalf had been right to make sure that a hobbit came on this quest. I didn’t know where I’d be—where we’d be—without him. Bilbo was an anchor for the Company, and while the dwarves would dwell on their darkness, he’d spring back from it. He kept them going (and would keep us going until the very end) in places they’d otherwise give up.

And he wasn’t even aware of it, was he?

No, Bilbo’s sole concern at this moment was determining if Beorn’s garden could rival a hobbit’s own.

Chapter Text

Fili twisted his sword against mine and did that stupid thing where he made me lose my grip. My own blade flew into the grassy meadow, and I let out an irritated grunt.

We trained away from the farmhouse, purposefully distancing ourselves so prying eyes couldn’t peek in on us. The sun had just dipped beneath the Misty Mountains to the west, leaving the world in the afterthought of bright, pale blue and purple light.

It was one of those late summer evenings that reminded me of high school, where the car windows were rolled all the way down, feet propped up on the dashboard, singing whatever was the hit song of the season on our way to football and soccer games.

The pang of homesickness didn’t cause me to stumble like it used to.

“I hate it when you do that,” I said to Fili. He stepped back with a smirk.

“Get better and you won’t have to worry about it happening to you.”

Like me, Fili had shed his shirt at the start of our spar to, as he put it, “even things out.” But if he could sneak welcome glances of my shoulders and waist and cleavage, then I could sneak welcome glances of his toned, solid muscles beneath a healthy, hairy stomach and the trail of dark golden hair that ran past his belly button and under the waistline of his trousers.

I picked up my blade and raised them both to start again. Fili lunged. The clang of metal hitting metal resumed. I had lost a lot of practice during the separation, and it showed. Fili didn’t help, either, with his playful teasing and quips. I almost missed the days when we weren’t as familiar and he kept a more polite attitude because of it.

Almost.

When he poised his blade against my throat for the thousandth time, I finally let my well-earned frustration get the best of me. Fili laughed boisterously as I drove both weapons into the ground and walked a few feet away. “Oh, come now, Ria, it’s not so bad! You’re doing better than you believe.”

Ria. I had never been called that before. It was always Val or Vali. Kili used it back in the goblin caves, and now Fili had taken it up, too. I liked the difference.

“Sure, sure, keep telling me that,” I said as I shook my hands out. “I died because I thought I was better than I really was.”

The words struck Fili more harshly than I intended, and his lively demeanor sank.

Nobody discussed the details—the aftermath—of what my third death did to the Company. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear the grief I caused, and I doubted the Company wished to recount it. But still, I caught more than one bleary-eyed, disbelieving, choked-up glance thrown my way when they thought I wouldn’t notice, which told me more than words ever could.

“You’re right.” Fili nodded to himself more than anything. “Perhaps I was too soft on you. The fault lies with—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey. Ima stop you right there.” I closed the gap between Fili and me. “Nothing was your fault, alright? It just—happened. And I think in the back of my mind, I wasn’t as careful as I should have been because I figured I’d come back.”

When Fili didn’t appropriately respond with his kind smile and twinkling blue eyes, I gave his shoulder a shove. Unprepared, he stumbled back with a surprised yelp. I crouched a little and pointed.

“Wanna make me feel better?” I asked with a smirk. Fili’s eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lip twitched upward. “Let me demolish you in some hand-to-hand.”

“Demolish?” As quickly as it left, the smile I liked looking at returned. “My lady, you can demolish me any time you’d like.”

I barked a laugh and attacked. Fili dropped his blades and caught me in the grapple. Part of me hoped that he’d be too proper to touch the bare skin on my arms and waist so I could take advantage of it, but his firm hands gripped them without pause.

Fili wrestled me to the ground using his strength in hopes to pin me before I could win with technique. But my arms and legs were longer than his, and after a couple of minutes that definitely weren’t charged by the heat of our sweat-slicked skin coming into contact, I put Fili in a judo-style scarf hold. He almost got free by nearly lifting me up off the ground through sheer force, but I spun into an armbar and locked in tight.

I put just enough pressure on it for him to shout, “I yield! Mahal, woman!”

With a triumphant whoop, I released and sprawled out next to him in the cool grass. Panting, Fili wiped his brow. “Give me a moment,” he said. “Next round, I’ll have you.”

“Sure,” I drawled, and Fili shot me a weak side-glare that turned into breathless chuckles. I grinned back.

Fili shifted on his side so he faced me and propped his head up with a hand, not at all striking up the position to flex his muscular arm.

“You wound me!”

I mirrored his pose. Fili had a ring of gold around his pupils, bright as their kingdom’s treasure they sought to reclaim, a centerpiece to the Durin blue irises. His breath had evened out from our tussle, and his sculpted chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm.

“I would never,” I said, tasting how sweet my smile was the longer I stared at Fili. His precious breath hitched again, almost imperceptibly, and he glanced away to softly chuckle. The edges of his dwarven ears dusted a shade of pink, though he would blame it on the spar.

“Valeria…”

The way Fili spoke my name gave me shivers in the twilight air.

After a passing moment of hesitation, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger down the curve of my shoulder and against my upper arm, so gentle that it might have just been a breeze. But the world was still, and crickets sang in the violet-gray sky.

He met my half-lidded gaze.

“I must confess something to you, for I fear that if I do not, these unsaid words will torment me to madness.”

I loved the way men in Middle-earth spoke. If they were ever capable of sending unsolicited dick pics, they’d at least preface it with poetry.

“And what words are torturing you?” I asked, taking Fili’s hand once his finger trailed down to my wrist. He shuddered, and a nervous, dimpled smile appeared.

“Mahal, I think you already know.”

I didn’t even notice the gap close.

Fili’s lips pressed to mine, warm and dry. I inhaled a pleased breath, reciprocating, then laid back on the cool evening grass and pulled him with me. Fili readily positioned himself so his chest hovered against mine, his elbows bent at either side of my head. His thumbs stroked my cheeks before one hand slipped behind my neck to cradle it.

Every inch of my skin that touched Fili’s lit on fire, ecstatic and eager. I wrapped my arms around him, indulging in the hardened planes of his back. My tongue darted across his lower lip, and he exhaled a strained breath. Kisses deepening, his tongue found mine. A soft moan twisted in my throat, and a pool of desire gathered deliciously between my legs.

I pulled on Fili’s torso more to bring him on top. Without any restraint, he readjusted so he lay fully on me. Our tongues slid across each other. I ran my fingers from the base of his back to his scalp, twining them in his golden hair and tugging. Fili raggedly moaned and nipped at my lower lip, then trailed his intoxicating kisses to my cheek, jaw, and neck. I hummed at the pleasure that his mouth seared into my skin. His hardening length pressed against my hip, and we adjusted so it lined up with my core. Our height differences called for a bit of maneuvering, but between our laughter and kisses, we made it work.

As soon as Fili was centered perfectly, he tentatively rolled his hips into mine. The pressure elicited soft gasps from the both of us, and I met him on the next gentle thrust. His groan caught in the crook of my neck, back muscles coiling. One hand glided down, trailing over a breast and finding purchase on my bare waist. I whimpered and writhed at his touch.

(Were Middle-earth boys supposed to be this naughty?)

Fili choked out a surprised laugh when I used my strength to roll us over, so he was the one laid out on his back. Face flushed and gaze heady from our rapid undoing, he didn’t look away from me as his other hand found my waist. I lowered myself onto him. My ponytail of curls curtained one side of our faces. Fili eagerly met my mouth again, his hands hot against my back as they roved up to my shoulder blades, then down to my sides, where his thumbs ghosted the sides of my breasts before they skirted along the bottom of my sports bra.

I was tempted to take the whole thing off myself, but I did maintain some preservation. We were, after all, in the middle of a flat meadow with the farmhouse not that far in the distance. And even with twilight darkening around us the longer we enjoyed each other’s company, dwarves could see incredibly well at night—and leave it to Kili or Bofur or Nori to innocently “come look for us” and find me topless with the heir.

Still, I loved having Fili’s undivided attention. His intentional touches and movements created goosebumps on my heated skin and left me gasping and sighing and grinning. After months of travel and no opportunity or energy to pleasure myself, I was sensitive enough that if Fili and I continued grinding like we did, I would peak. And from the way his kisses grew more incessant, rhythm increasing, the impulse to chase the need grew in him too.

Then my hand, which cupped the back of Fili’s neck, started to burn. I tried to ignore it in favor of making Fili come undone as well as satisfying myself, but the burn grew too fierce and stinging to be distracted by better activities.

With an annoyed sigh that differed from the ones Fili drew out of me, I pulled away from his mouth with a grimace. “Ow. Ow. Fuck.”

I sat upright on Fili, straddling his waist, and examined the area where the pain radiated from.

“What is it?” Fili, for all his concern, still massaged the sides of my thighs.

I squinted and peered closer. In the near non-existent light, I barely picked out two tiny puncture marks in the center of spreading redness.

“Shit. I got bit by a spider,” I muttered as I shook my hand out.

“I’m sorry. Let me take a look.”

With our tryst abruptly and disappointingly ended by a spider bite, Fili sat up while I rolled off him with great reluctance. He took my hand and tenderly brought it close to him for examination. I smiled at his sincerity.

“It’s quite swollen for such a little bite.”

“I have…allergic tendencies toward spider venom,” I admitted. Fili glanced up at me, brows drawn.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that in an hour, my entire hand is going to look like Bombur’s,” I chuckled. “And it’ll stay that way for another two days, if untreated.”

“That sounds serious.”

“Oh, it isn’t. I’m sure slathering on some of that elven ointment will bring the inflammation down. It’s almonds that you have to worry about. You know what almonds are, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ria, I know what almonds are. I’ve even eaten some! They’re good in cake.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be dead ten minutes if I ever eat one, plain or in a cake. Even almond residue isn’t safe for me. I have medicine back home that would increase my chances of survival until I got proper treatment, but here? I’d be shit out of luck.”

I leaned in for another kiss, and even though it was quick, I put meaning behind it. Fili willingly returned with his own, and his thumb traced the curve of my jaw.

Though resistant to the idea of separating from Fili, my fingers had already turned uncomfortably tight with pins-and-needles numbness. But the Company was heading into Mirkwood, which from what I remembered, wasn’t a great place to have sex. And who knew how long we’d be in there? Call me horny, but I didn’t want to wait that long to resume what we started here.

“You’re about to say that we should return, aren’t you?” Though Fili sighed the question, he still grinned and leaned back. “How cruel.”

I laughed and grabbed our nearby shirts, tossing Fili his and pulling my own over my head. The athletic fabric didn’t do anything to help warm me up since it was as cold as the air.

“It’d probably be crueler to keep you here and have somebody come searching, only to find that their prince is busy banging.” I stood up, grabbed my blades, and sheathed them.

“Not entirely. I’m sure several members of our illustrious Company will have won good coin if our affair was revealed.” Fili got up as well and put his blades away.

I gave him a doubtful, teasing look. “Would you win money if that happened?”

“Ah. No. I would never take part in betting how fast I could bed a woman.” He grimaced at his choice of words. “Not that I have bedded many women. Not that it’s a factor at all! You…I…”

Fili’s sputters trailed off, and he and rubbed the side of his face. I snickered at his self-inflicted discomfort. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

“No, no, keep it up. You can’t be a smooth-talker all the time.”

I took up Fili’s hand with my good one and started to lead us back to the farmhouse. A mote of orange light glowed in the distance, and I wondered if Beorn had come back and started up a campfire. It’d be a perfect night to have one, especially with the Company around.

My bitten hand curled loosely to my chest, and I resisted the urge to itch it.

“This will break Kili’s heart, though,” Fili said with dramatic sorrow. “For he did proclaim that he loved you mere hours after you crossed the Company’s path.”

“What? Oh my god. But—yeah, that does sound like Kili. Did he say what it was that made him fall in love with me?”

“I think it was how hard you hit Dwalin’s head with that rock. He’s been wanting to do the same thing since he was a little dwarf.”

I tilted my head, and a cheeky smile appeared. “And you? What made you like me?” I jutted a hip out, childishly belting, “Ooooo!”

Fili brought my knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Well, I thought you beautiful the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Before or after all of you chased me through the woods?”

He chuckled. “After. That was when I got a good look at you.”

“You liked me? Even though I didn’t have a beard?”

“Yes. I thought your hair very pretty—and I had never seen such legs or an arse like yours on a woman.” I barked a laugh. “These trousers, ai! They leave very little to be wondered about.”

Fili exhaled, sincerity bleeding through. “But in all honesty, I saw how kind you were even when none of us were particularly kind in return. And then that kindness remained. You’ve proven yourself to be incredibly brave and selfless and good despite—despite being from another world. If any of us had known your spirit as we do now, we would have welcomed you with wide arms into the Company from the very beginning. It is something we’ll regret for the rest of our lives.”

We neared the farmhouse. A campfire was indeed going, and a few members of the Company gathered around it.

My skin flushed from the sudden influx of genuine compliments. “Oh, well, don’t be too hard on yourself,” I muttered. I had been mostly joking when I asked why Fili liked me, but I should have expected such an answer from someone as sweet as him.

He gave my hand one final squeeze before letting go. His pinky grazed against mine in one last attempt to touch me before he retreated. “Come. Let us face the true test of will.”

“You mean suffering through bunch of dwarves who are definitely going to tease us, because for some reason, they’ll just know that we were up to no good.”

“No good, my lady?” Fili glanced up at me with his mischievous smirk that made his blue eyes shine. “I’m not sure about you, but it felt very good for me.”

I shoved him, and his delighted laugh made my insides melt. It was so distracting that I couldn’t think of a retort. Instead, I wound up with the back of my neck all hot and wishing that we could continue what we stopped in the meadow.

We walked to the campfire, which was situated away from the pens and gardens. Blocks of wood and blankets were strewn across for sitting, and about half of the Company took up spots.

“Well, well, they’re finally here!” Bofur proclaimed through a mouthful of dinner. “We were wondering if we’d even see you two before tomorrow morning!”

“And miss out on your campfire songs? I would never, Bofur.” I plopped myself down on a vacant blanket. Fili sat in the same space but at a comfortable, entirely respectful distance.

“Dinner is inside,” Dori said, pointing to the farmhouse. “Bombur made a stew.”

Since this was Beorn’s house, there would be no meat in the stew, so I didn’t have to worry about flinging any bits over my shoulder. Fili offered to get me some—as well as ointment for my mitten hand—, which I took him up on. As he went into the farmhouse, Bilbo came out carrying a bowl filled to the absolute fucking brim with a massive hunk of bread between his teeth.

Hobbits and their food, man.

I waved for Bilbo to join me. The scent of campfire settled in my hair and clothes, just like the good, early days of the quest when we didn’t have to worry about being attacked or falling off a mountain face.

He let me take the bread from his mouth because I figured he wanted to talk. But instead, Bilbo immediately slurped at his broth, which was about to spill over at any moment. So, I bit into the bread while I waited for my own bowl of soup.

Bilbo squawked. “Ah! That is not for you, you fiend! Get your own! There’s plenty inside.”

“It’s payment for making me hold your bread just because you had to test the limits of your soup’s surface tension.”

“No idea what that last bit means, but I do know that there’s no such thing as interest when it comes to assisting a friend with their food. And you are my friend, are you not?” Bilbo tutted. “This is a mighty betrayal. A might betrayal, indeed.”

With a very convincing despondent face, I went to take another bite, and Bilbo snatched it out of my grasp.

-

Unclouded stars shone above the Company as we lounged outside. The fire staved off the cold, and with hearty servings of stew and bread in our bellies, everyone was content to tell stories and sing songs while others listened as they smoked their pipes.

Many of the dwarves’ stories and songs intertwined. So as Thorin weaved the tale of Durin I, Durin the Deathless, he moved back and forth from his rich storyteller’s timbre to a low, unbreaking melody, which he purposefully sung in the language that Bilbo, Beorn, and I could understand. Then others would join in since they knew the lyrics.

Bilbo and I listened in a trance. The Company listened raptly, too, even though they had heard the same tale since their childhood.

“The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep,
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.”

The same blue eyes passed down from Durin the Deathless swept over the attentive group. Even Beorn let himself fall into the trance of Thorin’s storytelling.

“One day, we will return to reclaim Moria,” Thorin promised, a fist clenching over his heart. “And Durin will awake not to filth and evil, but to a kingdom worthy of his gaze. Worthy of his descendants.”

The dwarves all nodded in concurrence, and puffs of pipe smoke rose rapidly into the night air.

When the quest had just begun and I sat secluded at the edge of the campfire instead of near it, I listened to the story of how they failed to reclaim Moria, which had fallen long ago to something dark, something vast, something lost to history and time.

But the dwarves called it one name.

Durin’s Bane.

They had no idea just what Durin’s Bane was—only that the awakened evil slew both King Durin VI and his son, King Nain, and forced the dwarves to flee. It was the Nameless Terror, the reason why Khazad-dûm had been given its second name: Moria. The Dark Abyss.

I knew what lay in the lost kingdom’s depths, though.

A Balrog.

For now, I kept the information to myself. It’d ruin the atmosphere and snuff the hope in the dwarves’ hearts at the thought of not getting back just one kingdom, but two. If Erebor would become theirs again—as I so promised—then what could stop them from the other?

Just a literal demon, that’s what.

Gandalf, as if sensing my darkening thoughts, sent me one of his looks. One that calmed, one that said, Do not worry just yet, my dear. But remember.

So I eased back on the blanket, elbow propping me up, and said, “The dwarves were created by Mahal. Aulë. Before the elves? And…and he was one of the Valar, right? He wasn’t supposed to. But the first Durin was one of those original dwarves.”

Several nods. “Aye, lass,” Balin smiled. “Though the elves may have been the first to dwell in these lands, it was our ancestors who were the first to step foot on it.”

I smirked. “Sounds like Mahal was naughty.”

“We like to use the word impatient. And how could he not be? When something is beautifully crafted, it should not be hidden away. It should be shared. Used. Appreciated.”

“That’s cool. So…” I tilted my head back and paused to consider if my words would offend or amuse the dwarves. “Mahal was kind of…rebellious. Meaning that you all are living, breathing proof of a big ‘fuck you’ to the elves.”

Gandalf coughed out pipe smoke a little too loudly, but his sputtering was covered by the laughter of the Company. Beorn, too, allowed himself a mirthful chuckle. “Don’t be telling that to them, lass!” Dwalin howled. “It’d make their shiny hair curl!”

Kili, Bofur, and Nori rolled back onto the ground as their laughter overcame them. The rest looked close—Thorin included. I managed to restrain myself from falling backward, though I had to admit that it was a habit I picked up from them when something was particularly funny.

“Oh, the Valar will strike us down, I swear,” Bilbo bemoaned, hunkering down as if bracing for a heavenly lightning bolt. Hobbits lacked irreverent traits.

I patted him on the back with my significantly less-swollen hand. When the raucousness died down, I jerked my chin to Beorn. “And you? Where did the skin-changers come from?”

He exhaled a long stream of smoke. “The first of my people were blessed by Oromë with the ability to change into forms of animals. They pledged themselves to protect beast and bird alike, for though the hunt is great, it is not to be spoilt. Shape shifting also gave them a better chance to defend and pursue dark creatures.”

A faint but fond smile twisted Beorn’s mouth. “We may not be as we once were in numbers, but we continue to uphold our promise and fealty to Oromë, lest our gift be taken.”

“And though ages have passed, the blessing has not,” said Gandalf, nodding. “And I doubt we shall see its diminishment in ages yet to come.”

I bumped Bilbo with my shoulder. “What about you, Baggins? I’m on a Middle-earth history roll right now. Tell me about where the hobbits came from.”

“Ah. We were—we are descended from man. Big People.” He waved his pipe around and tweaked his nose. “Don’t know exactly when that happened. Our genealogy does not go back that far.”

He jumped when I blew a raspberry. “Boo. You do not come from humans.”

“It—it’s true!” Bilbo’s eyebrows scrunched. “At least that’s what we believe is the truth.”

“Hey, G, is this for real?” I asked.

“Though my wisdom far surpasses any of yours…” Gandalf was sure to raise his brows to add to his dry tone. I rolled my eyes. “The origins of hobbit folk is beyond me.”

“Okay, look, I’m not a biologist or anthropologist or whatever—”

“A what-a-what-ist?” Bofur interjected. I ignored him.

“—But I you ain’t from man.” I flicked at Bilbo’s massive foot. He yelped indignantly. “At least not entirely.”

“So, what do you suggest Master Boggins is, eh?” Fili questioned, trying—and failing—to maintain a neutral expression.

I went with it and rubbed my nose in thought. “Maybe a…hybrid? Dwarf-elf-human? Dwelman? Ew, that sounds ugly. But that wouldn’t explain how you ended up the shortest race. Also, if you were descended solely from humans, wouldn’t you think that your lifespan would be similar to theirs? And humans don’t suddenly sprout pointed ears like you have. Or eat their literal weight in food.”

Bilbo sniffed. “You make it seem like those qualities are a bad thing.”

“No, no! I’m just saying that things still don’t add up. Hobbits are awesome. Everybody loves hobbits on my world.”

“And what about dwarves?” inquired Dori.

“Meh. I think it depends.”

They grumbled at my response, but I continued. “Maybe you are descended from—what did I call it? Dwalins? But that just means that you have the best traits of all three races.”

“And whatever would give you cause to believe that we have any bad traits?” Kili gasped. He clutched his chest in affront.

“We’ll be up till morning if I start counting them off,” I retorted, and Kili groaned like he had been shot.

I went back to my musings. “Or, or hobbits were plopped into this world like the other races. You just don’t remember when it happened—or if another Valar was naughty like Mahal. Which one of them was the saint of eating ten times a day and wearing dapper clothes?” I went to flick Bilbo again, this time on his vest, but he deftly smacked my hand away.

Gandalf rumbled with deep laughter. “I fear your questions will have to go unanswered for the time being, Valeria.”

“Ah, that’s okay, G. I’m done asking shit for the night! Consider me content!”

Nori piped up, “Aye, you’ve been asking alright, but what about a story?”

I made a face. “You want a story? From me?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” said Fili.

With a skeptical frown, I propped my arms on both knees. “I’m terrible at telling actual stories. Not in the same sense as yours.”

Then my eyes widened a fraction, and a faint, innocent smile appeared. “Wait. Hold on. I do think I have a story to tell.”

The only story I had ever been told enough times to remember. The story that Elena and my cousins would tell me when I was little to scare me. The story that I, in turn, told Luis so he’d be scared—scared enough that he peed the bed because he was too afraid to get out at night to use the bathroom.

A story that wasn’t scary to me anymore because I was an adult and had seen real horrors during my work. But a story that nobody in Middle-earth had ever heard until now.

They were severely lacking in the fear department.

“I wanna tell you guys about La Llorona.”

-

That night, the Company slept close to each other. And, well, in hindsight, I should have waited on painstakingly describing The Weeping Woman and her penchant for stealing children because she drowned her own. We were about to venture into a place literally called Mirkwood. It didn’t need more fuel for inducing nightmares.

But I just couldn’t help myself.

Neither did it help that in the middle of the night, I hoarsely wailed to mimic La Llorona.

A cacophony of screams startled the livestock.

Chapter Text

“I wish there was something I could give you.”

Beorn looked down, fondly smiling, and patted my head. “Worry not. You gave me nice company, and you cared for the animals and garden while I was away. All I can ask is that you return some time to meet my wife. She will wish to see another from the world of our own savior.”

“I will.”

Then I sprawled myself onto the ground so the animals could swarm around me. “And I’m going to miss my babies! Ay, mi corazón! It’s almost too much to handle!”

It hurt to leave Beorn’s house. His home and hospitality gave us so much respite, and now we left to a place that would rip away all this calm.

But it had to happen. I was sure of that more than anyone, as much as I didn’t want it to be.

Beorn hauled me upright once my animal attack subsided. He gave me my pack, acting like a father sending his kid off to school. Only, school was the trek between Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain, the test was Smaug, and the final was a fucking army.

It was like Beorn thought the same thing. “Be cautious.” He gripped my arms with massive, steady hands. “You may return from death, but it does not mean you should throw yourself into its grasp.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. And do not be afraid to crack a few dwarven skulls if they become too difficult. They are stubborn enough as it is; Mirkwood’s mind-addling enchantments may worsen their…condition.”

“Oh, I know.”

I looked over my shoulder at the gathering Company. Bifur and Bofur were trying to haul Bombur up on one of the massive draft horses. When he about tipped backward, Fili and Kili rushed in to provide extra support. The rest just laughed as they watched.

They had no idea what awaited them. And even when I would warn Thorin that they were about to get fucked up, it wasn’t going to change anything. We’d still have to go in there.

Gandalf walked toward us, intent on having a private conversation with Beorn. I gave one final farewell to the skin-changer and left to join Bilbo.

I said goodbye to many people that I didn’t want to leave. The separation process was easier—you had to do it quick and keep your feet moving until you were in a private place to be sad—But the ache of departing never eased.

My practiced brave face stuck true as I mixed back in with the Company. Bilbo stared up at the horse we’d be sharing, rightly aghast.

“This…this is a big pony,” he uttered.

The draft horse gently nickered.

“I think she’s trying to say that she’s not a pony,” I said.

My pack weighed comfortably on my back again, and I bound my hair back in a tight French braid. The day was heating up, meaning so was Thorin’s temper. He wanted us out of here thirty minutes ago. Mirkwood was a full day’s ride, and our window of opportunity to slip past orcs unnoticed grew slimmer the longer we dallied.

But breakfast had been good, and all the dwarves had to take shits because of it, so that set us back.

“Alright, here we go, nuggito pequeño.”

I propelled Bilbo’s hobbit foot up. He grappled onto the saddle and, after a few huffs and Shire curses, swung his leg onto the other side of the saddle. His tiny legs stuck out comically on either side. I followed much more easily and settled into the familiarity of us sharing a horse. We were just a lot farther from the ground than before.

Gandalf mounted on his horse, signaling to Thorin that he was ready. I gave one last glance back at Beorn, at the farmhouse, at the little patch of green and lovely land, imprinting the sight in my mind as best I could.

Bilbo followed my gaze, and our wistful expressions mirrored the other’s. I wrapped a tight arm around his little waist to keep him from falling to his death, noting that he had significantly less of his hobbit tummy.

“Do you think we’ll ever be back?” he quietly asked me as our horse followed the herd.

Bilbo? Definitely.

But myself?

I wanted to go home. Home, on another planet. I wanted to wrap this story up and get out of here because—

(Because the longer I stayed, the more I wouldn’t be able to ever leave.)

Still. It didn’t hurt to stay hopeful. For Bilbo’s and the Company’s sake. For mine.

“I do,” I replied. The landscape opened up before us, and the horses picked up into gallops. Despite our horse’s easy, sound gait, Bilbo clung to the front of the saddle with white knuckles. “It’s too nice of a place to not return to, isn’t it?”

“Very true!” Bilbo raised his voice to be heard, but our pace felt like nothing more than a brisk bike ride. “This is—this is very fast, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah. I’ve been in faster things, though.”

“Oh, my! Like what?”

“Back on Earth, we have—” I had to swallow from the rush of air drying out my mouth. “We have cars. They go…very fast, if you want them to. If we were traveling in one, we’d be at the Lonely Mountain in a few days. Oh, and we also have planes. They fly in the air so fast with us inside them that instead of days, we’d be at our destination in a couple hours.”

He gasped in shock and delight. “No!”

I grinned. “Yeah! It’s like…flying on an eagle, but you’re inside so you don’t feel the wind. You can see the world from how high up you are. It’s pretty fucking spectacular.”

Bilbo went to respond, but a bug flew in his mouth, and all I heard was him coughing and sputtering for the next minute.

-

Mirkwood should have been beautiful. The towering, entangled trees should have been lush with green leaves, and the gates should have been a peaceful sight to see.

Instead, twisted brown vines crawled up the archway, and the leaves had prematurely died. Peering farther into the unnatural dimness evoked a sense of dread. Not even the sunlight filtered in properly.

“This forest feels…sick,” Bilbo said, coming up to me as he, too, solemnly gazed at the daunting shadow before us. “As if a disease lies upon it.”

I adjusted my pack’s straps. “That’s because it does.”

“Must we go through this place?”

“Yeah, buddy, we do.”

Gandalf heard us talking. “It is either this, Master Baggins, or travel two hundred miles north. Or twice that distance south.”

I walked to meet the wizard as he ventured into the forest. Gandalf stopped at a tall statue swathed in the same brown vines. It had elven features, and even though she was an inanimate object, the care that went into sculpting her brought life to her face and form.

She shouldn’t have been covered in the same illness that riddled Mirkwood. But Gandalf, lost in his own thoughts, ripped the vines off for a different reason.

He inhaled sharply as the they tore away to reveal what—who—had defaced the statue with a jagged, violent red brand.

“Hey, uh, G.”

Gandalf half-turned to me, and I wanted to shrink back from the intense pressure of his gaze.

“I just…yeah.”

I lowered my voice, afraid that my own heartbeat would drown me out.

“Yeah. He’s back.”

I had never seen Gandalf pale since being on this quest—not even when I surprised them all with my revival. But those simple, soft-spoken words made the wizard’s pallor whiten beneath his gray beard, complexion matching the shade of his knuckles that wrapped around his staff.

He leaned down enough that his face hovered a few inches from mine. “Are you certain?”

I nodded once.

“You…you have to go,” I murmured. “You won’t be able to beat him. But he can be slowed. I think.” I didn’t dare pull out my notes to double-check the facts.

Gandalf made a noise between a hum and a grumble. He straightened. Two bushy brows lifted toward me. “Am I safe in assuming that war is upon us?”

My stomach clenched.

“Yeah. War is coming.”

I glanced back at the Company. At Bilbo.

“And a lot of it.”

Gandalf mumbled something under his breath that wasn’t any language I understood. Maybe it was the wizard-angel-whatever equivalent of a prayer. Or a curse.

“Tell me, my dear Valeria…”

The clench in my stomach traveled up to my heart.

“Could you prevent these wars if you but uttered a few sentences?”

I opened my mouth. For a few moments, nothing came out.

The Gandalf before me, asking me such terrifying questions, was the Gandalf I didn’t like interacting with. He exuded concealed power, and it made my body seize up as my human instincts whispered to me that he was something more.

My eyes fluttered shut. The back of my neck grew hot and sweaty.

“I—I don’t know. I want to make things better, if I can. But I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll only make things worse by saying things I shouldn’t. I don’t know what I’d do to this world if I tried fucking—sorry, messing—with stuff.”

Apparently, that was what Gandalf wanted to hear. His demeanor visibly softened, and a weight come off me. I shuddered a breath and sent him a weak glare, to which he kindly smiled back at.

 “It would be wise to err on the side of caution. If what you say is true, then not only will Middle-earth become more perilous, but also your choices of when—and if—you should intervene. What may be changed might not need be, and what can be changed should not.”

He clasped my shoulder, and I wanted to beg him to stay because Gandalf was Gandalf. He could lead and protect us in this horrible place.

But I meant what I just spoke, so I kept my mouth closed despite the frown that weighed at my lips.

Wrinkles webbed around the corners of Gandalf’s eyes as his smile turned fond. “You are full of wonders, Lady Valeria. Were it anyone else burdened with your knowledge—and I assume the responsibility you’ve accepted—I might not have faith in their abilities, their reasoning. But you bring me great hope for this quest, and we may see an even brighter end than the one you have witnessed. All thanks to you.”

I smiled back, though it was bittersweet. “G,” I whispered, throat aching. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“And I, you, my dear. Take care of the dwarves and my burglar. And most importantly, take care of yourself.”

Gandalf and I embraced, and I clung to the warmth of his divine presence long after he returned to his horse and raced away to tend to the same darkness that permeated Mirkwood.

I told him that there would be wars. A war at the Lonely Mountain, and wars in the future.

But as I looked at Bilbo, who stood idly by while his fingers dipped into the pocket of his vest, I wondered if I could stop it all. Toss the Ring into Mount Doom before it went to shit.

A dangerous thought, and one that my abilities could not match.

“Are you alright?”

I blinked and automatically smiled at Fili. “Oh, yeah. Just contemplating the possibly shattering effects of my actions here.”

His forehead creased. “Sounds terrible.”

“A little.”

Fili glanced around as if he wanted to do something. I half-hoped he would despite the fact that the Company was near. But his fists clenched at his sides before they unnecessarily adjusted the coil of rope slung over his shoulder, and he let out a terse sigh at his own inaction.

Understanding Fili’s hesitancy, I shot him a wink.           

“Let’s be off,” Thorin said, ready to lead us into Mirkwood. If he was afraid of what it held, of what it could do, he did not show it. Not that he ever would for the sake of those who followed him.

And I, being one of those loyal dummies, took tentative steps on the leaf-strewn path with fourteen others.

-

It rained. Because in a place as awful as this, it might as well happen.

Fili gave me back his—my—cloak, which I wrapped around me. The weather had been warm just outside of Mirkwood, but now that we were in the forest, it was as if the season turned.

We couldn’t start a fire, either, because any warm light drew the attention of swarms of moths. Their pillowy wings nearly suffocated poor Ori during our second—and failed—attempt. I doubted he had recovered from the attack.

So we were left in the dank and dark, where things creaked in the trees and howled in the distance.

I wasn’t affected by whatever powerful magic saturated Mirkwood. It had gone unnoticed in the beginning; the first week passed in relative calm. Our little path steadily wound us through the forest, and when it got too dark for me to see, I held onto whatever dwarf was nearby.

Usually Fili.

Then Gloin thought he saw his wife walking amidst the trees, and it went downhill from there.

The mutterings were the most normal aspect of the magic’s influence. Occasionally, a dwarf would start to wander off, and it’d be up to me or somebody else lucid enough in the moment to pull them back. The worst was when the dwarves would get paranoid or irritated and cause arguments.

But I was good! I mean, I was always on edge because the forest freaked me the fuck out and I expected to go off the deep end at any second, and that didn’t help with the exhaustion of being a nanny to the Company. But it was better than being as bad as them.

I devoured my small ration of dried fruits before they could get soggy in the rain. The Company usually behaved better when they settled in for the night, so I wasn’t as alert. They sang songs to lift spirits. I even tossed one in earlier; when it was in Spanish, nobody had to know that I made up some of the lyrics I forgot.

My sight diminished until all I could see was the faint outline of my hand inches from my face. I popped the last dried apple into my mouth, sucked out all the flavor, and swallowed the mush it turned into. Then I nestled against a tree trunk and closed my eyes. Nobody could lay flat on the ground because of its perpetual dampness, so we were consigned to be even more uncomfortable.

One of the tree’s roots shifted underneath me, and a moment later, a small piece of it wrapped around my ankle. Instead of panicking, I thumped my head against the back of the trunk and said, “Please don’t, arbolito.”

They liked it when I spoke Spanish to them. I think they liked it that I politely acknowledged their existence in general. I found that if I was nice to the trees and occasionally touched one while saying a compliment, the path we followed was clearer of roots and tangles. It got the dwarves to be nice to them, too, instead of, oh, hacking at them with weapons.

Because everything in Middle-earth was alive. And anything alive just wanted to be shown respect and love.

The tree root slipped off a moment later. I smiled and nestled more. “Thank you.”

“They’re active tonight, aren’t they?” Oin commented. He was near enough to me to catch my conversation.

“I think it’s the rain,” I said, and speaking those words made me shiver. “They’re soaking it all up.”

“So are we,” said Kili. “Bloody storm. I’m drenched!”

“The noise will drown out all the unnatural creepers, at least.” Fili was closest to me, and once his watch duty was over, we would coincidentally find ourselves shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Mm. Creepers.” I folded my arms tighter against my chest, which made the scar tissue twinge. “That reminds me: there are giant spiders here in Mirkwood. They’re going to web us all up if we’re not careful.”

“That would have been nice to know earlier,” Thorin growled.

I shrugged. “I forgot until I looked at my notes this morning. I have a lot on my mind, alright? But you’re all gonna be pretty fucked up by the time that happens, so I’m not sure if it can be stopped.”

“Are you going to at least attempt to stop it?”

“Obviously.”

I didn’t think it best to mention that Bilbo would be the one to save their asses, seeing as most information about his future deeds made the hobbit frantic.

“Will they get us tonight?” Though I couldn’t see Ori, I was sure that he wrung his hands while he asked the question.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen much spider webbing. When we start seeing a lot of it, I’ll be sure to speak up. Not that any of you will pay attention to me. Like, I mean, all of you are going to be really fucked up. More than you are now.” I paused for a moment, then added, “Please don’t try to kill me. I don’t want to die in Mirkwood.”

“We would never lay a hand on you,” said Thorin, and I believed him.

Maybe telling them that their minds were going to get messed with even more would help them sense it happening.

I quieted and let the sound of cold rain pattering on leaves lull me to sleep.

-

Luis tried to throw a softball from underneath a leg, but it went wildly off-target. I ran to catch it and felt the solid weight of the ball land in my mitt.

“Oof. Sorry!”

In retaliation, I threw the ball particularly hard back at Luis, but he effortlessly raised his own mitt. His grin shone bright in the sun, and he wagged the caught ball back and forth.

“Round two!” Luis spun so his back was to me, and he chucked the softball up over his shoulder. It was short, so I lazily jogged forward. But the ball got lost in the sun, and as I looked back to my brother—

He stood there, mitt on the ground, orc blade sticking from his chest.

I cried out. Luis’ blood ran into the green grass beneath us, swift like a wellspring. He choked on my name, and from behind me, my mom shrieked as she watched her baby boy die in front of her. I sprinted to him—

I sprinted through war-torn streets, helmet bouncing lopsidedly on my head, scrambling to help a woman who had been partially trapped within rubble from an explosion. Crimson pooled from her temple. It soaked her dark hijab, and she clung to me like I was the only person in the world. The whites of her eyes shone like starlight.

Gunfire popped, a discordance in the hazy hair.

I hauled her upright; her body was stiff and disjointed next to mine. We ran into a building, where other people lay—

Fili, Kili, and Thorin lay before me on the snowy bank of a frozen river, eyes glassy, bodies bloodied. The Company wailed with loss, just as it had been designed by the divinities who watched over this world, who watched me fail and fail again with scornful starlight in their celestial veins.

“Valeria? Did I cause this?”

Bilbo stared up at me in anguish and betrayal. I shook my head. No, no, you didn’t, I spoke, but my mouth would not move and so he did not hear me.

He tweaked his nose.

“I think I can fix it, Valeria. I can fix everything.”

A flash of gold from Bilbo’s vest pocket. The ring slipped onto his finger—

Agony washed through my being, filled with fire and darkness, fire and darkness like the fire around me on the cliff and the darkness around me in death. A force reached through, taking shape through the fire and darkness, and it sunk its claws into me and dragged my soul from my body.

I fell backwards on the ice, which shattered and flipped me upside down, headfirst and soul-strung into the frigid depths of Durin blue water. But not even the freezing temperatures could quell the flames of complete and utter doom—

Doom, the Sense of Impending Doom, almond sweet and sickening in my mouth, nothing in my lungs, wheezing for air—

I wheezed for air beneath the crumbled, unending weight of the bombed building that buried me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. The world shook; I clawed at the cracks of light between reality, between this home and that home, but all faded to black. Black, black as I died and I didn’t want to die and dust and despair filled my mouth—

And I screamed.

-

“—Hold her down!”

The weight on me was warmer and lighter. I thrashed, finding my arms and legs mostly pinned, which tore another panicked scream from my throat. It was all black, so black, and I needed to get out—

“Valeria! Valeria! Listen to me, you’re alright—hey, you’re alright.”

A hand cupped my cheek, another chest to mine, heart thumping more steadily than my erratic one.

Fili.

I was in Middle-earth. Mirkwood, specifically, with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit on our way to fight a dragon and get a kingdom back.

Shit.

Even though I calmed, cries fading, nobody released me. “I’m okay,” I breathed. I inhaled the scent of wet wood and wet dwarf. “I’m okay. You can get off me.”

The weight lifted, and a hand clasped mine to help me sit up. I blinked numbly in the night.

“Did I have a bad dream.”

It wasn’t much of a question. I could guess the answer.

“Bad dreams do not include screams like that nor cause an attempt to run into the woods.” Thorin’s voice, while gentle, cut through.

I rubbed my chest scar. Everything had been so, so vivid, no matter if it had been a tumultuous churn of memories and fears.

“You were speaking in another language, lass,” said Balin, and I tilted my head in his direction. “Not the language we speak, and not the language we’re familiar with you speaking.”

“Oh. Must’ve been Arabic. It’s…I picked up some of it during my work so I could talk with the people I was involved with.”

I propped my knees up and pressed my forehead against both shins, curling around the pit that formed in my empty, aching stomach.

“It was more than a dream, wasn’t it?”

I kept still, voice muffled, and answered Thorin. “Probably.”

“Then it seems this accursed forest has finally found a way to worm itself into your mind.”

A wrongness gnawed inside me. My chest scar throbbed with pain, and I swore I could feel the blade’s cold edge just under my skin, just between my organs.

After I rolled my cheekbone against a shin, I sighed, “If that’s the case, you’d better get used to the screams.”

Unfurling, I staggered upright to stretch the sore abdomen muscles. My entire backside was sopping with forest muck. I tapped the side of my head. “Because I’ve got a shitload of traumatic things rattling up in here.”

Fili guided me back to the resting spot I had moved from during my night terror. My fingernails dug into the rain-slicked roots under me, and my jaw clenched so tight that my teeth couldn’t chatter, so they buzzed in my mouth.

Despite the darkness, I sensed tangible gazes on me. They likely recognized that my shivering wasn’t from the cold alone.

I close my eyes and hoped I could find sleep again.

The moment I drifted past the cusp, a bullet shot through my shoulder, and the world tore apart with screams and metal and pain.

I jerked awake with a frantic sob. A solid, familiar presence was beside me, and I reached out. Not a moment later, Fili’s hand gripped mine. He pulled me in his arms, muttering soft comforts and uncaring of who watched.

But even the safety Fili provided could not keep away the terrors springing, clawing, biting their way out of my skull.

Chapter Text

A lifetime ago, Luis told me that there was an enchanted river or some shit in Mirkwood that would cause anyone who touched its water to fall into a deep slumber.

I figured this specific river was the one, seeing as the bridge crossing it was conveniently broken, and in its place, vines and roots hung unevenly for an ultra-safe passage. And though the water was slow-moving, there was no telling what lurked beneath—or how deep it went.

Bilbo went across first since he was the lightest. My teeth gritted each time Bilbo’s foot slipped on the damp vines. When he paused and stared down at the calm, algae-covered surface with uncharacteristic stillness, I clapped my hands and jumped up and down.

“Look alive, Baggins!” I hollered. “This is magic water! It’s gonna try to put us asleep!”

The hobbit jolted from the fugue. He bobbed his curly head once and forged onward.

“You heard her!” Thorin said to the rest. “Fight its trickery. Be careful.”

Bilbo slipped on a vine and went down on it hard. He squeaked at an awfully high pitch. His legs stuck out in an upside-down V, shoulders trembling and back ramrod.

We all winced and groaned for him.

Thorin added, “Don’t do that either.”

Through a yawn, I called, “You alright?”

Another squeak. Then a wobbling thumbs up. Bilbo staggered upright and continued on, mumbling things that I was too tired to catch. When he made it to the other side of the bank, he jumped off a thick vine. A patch of wet-looking mushrooms softened his clumsy fall, and he crawled away to a tree and pathetically curled up at its base.

“Poor guy,” I said to Fili and Kili. “A hit to the scrote is lethal.”

“Aye, that it is, my lady,” Kili nodded. We readied ourselves to jump onto the vines. Bombur was in front of me, and he steadily grabbed one and put a foot out. “Be glad that you women do not bear such a burden.”

“Crotch shots hurt for us, too.”

I set my foot right where Bombur had and repeated the motion. The vine underneath wobbled, but I stayed balanced. It was just like being on a lily pad at some swimming pool. Only instead of falling into blue chlorine water, it was enchanted, rancid river water, and it could induce a magic coma.

Maybe I needed to take a dive in for that very reason, though. I was so. Fucking. Tired. The nightmares had only worsened, meaning I got no sleep, meaning I shuffled through Mirkwood half-awake while simultaneously trying to keep fourteen cabrones alive.

“Oh?” Fili followed after me, genuinely amused and interested in our conversation. It was probably too inappropriate for such a dark and mysterious forest, but we couldn’t ignore such an important subject. “How is that?”

“You hit bone,” I replied. “Straight bone. Like, you know when you hit your elbow on something—Wake up, Dori!—and it makes you want to cry?”

“Of course.”

“It’s like that with your chocha. Only worse.”

I hauled myself over to the next vine that Bombur was on as well. He had stopped, so I nudged his back with a hand. “Hey, snap out of it, we’re halfway there—”

A grating snore interrupted my sentence, and I yelped as Bombur, now unconscious, toppled backward. I managed to careen out of the way so he didn’t crush me, but once Bombur hit our roped vine, its elasticity bounced him back up and off.

And like a trampoline, if he bounced, I bounced.

Was it bad that part of me hoped I could sleep for the next few days?

Bombur hit the water, and I splashed in a second later. The foulness of it burned my eyes, and the rocky bottom dug into my palms and knees. The temperature of the small river wasn’t as cold as I expected it to be, nor as shallow. It did, however, carry a filminess to it that clung to my skin.

But—I was very much awake.

My head broke through the stinky surface. “Blegh!” I shouted. “Yuck! Yuck! This water reeks!”

Bombur floated face-down beside me. I rolled him over and slapped at his thick face. “Hey! Come on, wake up!”

“It’s no use!” Thorin yelled from his safe point on the bank. I scrubbed the nasty-ass water from my eyes and blinked. The burning had faded, fortunately, but I was still left smelling like something I couldn’t place. “The enchantment has taken him.”

I raised my arms above the water, which came up to my breasts. I was wet, smelly, and not asleep.

“Fuck, wey, este lugar es el peor!”

A rope smacked my face. I sputtered as it splashed and got more nasty water in my mouth. Of all the places I could get dysentery or giardia, this was the least appeasing spot.

“Think of it this way, lass!” called Bofur. He was one of the last to jump off the vines and onto the other side. “You’re in there, which means that we don’t have to be. It’s a win for everyone!”

I looked down at Bombur, blissfully lost in the sauce. The sheer force of his snores should have caused ripples in the water. The sight infuriated me—if only because I was jealous.

At least I wouldn’t have to carry him.

“Whatever,” I sighed, then said a few things in Spanish that the dwarves didn’t need to hear. I took the rope, wrapped it around Bombur’s girth, and tied it in a knot. The dwarves heaved him to shore while I waded behind. The water felt too heavy, like it wasn’t water at all, and it squelched in my boots.

“Are you unhurt?” asked Fili.

“Yes, I am, thank you for wondering,” I said back, shooting everyone else a glare for their failure to consider my well-being. “But you probably shouldn’t touch me—or Bombur. We got water on us. Could make you sleepy.”

On cue, Bifur yawned, then I yawned, and it caused a chain reaction. Bilbo was the last victim. He hadn’t been able to stand again, and his cheeks were pale.

I took my pack off and found that, thank fuck, everything remained dry despite being doused. I was tempted to change into dry clothes, but that meant lugging around my wet ones—boots included—so I opted to carry a couple extra pounds in the fabric. Besides, everything was elven made; their fabric dried quickly enough.

The Company had to fashion a crude stretcher to carry Bombur on. I was too tired and irritated to help, not to mention that I didn’t have good enough eyesight to pick out viable pieces of wood in the forest.

I undid my greasy, river-stink hair so it could dry out and not sprout mold. Bilbo got a pass, too, because he beamed himself so hard that he could barely move. We sat against one of the too-dark trees, basking in our misery.

“Aren’t we just a sad sight,” I said.

He huffed a laugh, and it was a good sound. “We are indeed. I honestly don’t understand how you’re still on your feet.”

“I’ve had to work with no sleep like this before,” I answered. “But yeah. If Mirkwood doesn’t drive me crazy, then sleep deprivation will.”

Bilbo glanced at the dwarves, who griped about trying to get Bombur onto the stretcher. Nori suggested that they just leave him. Disagreements were slow to come, as if they actually considered the proposition.

I snorted and shut my eyes. Their tempers hadn’t been in a bad bout, today, so I wasn’t going to worry about Bombur getting dropped like excess baggage.

Bilbo let me rest for ten blissful minutes, until the sound of arguing dwarves faded out, replaced by wails of despair as families found their loved ones rotting under tarps after the hurricane. The stench of death and stagnant water overwhelmed me, and a body under one of the tarps moved. Their decaying hand slipped out from underneath, clawing for the life they would never get back—

“Valeria. Valeria.”

Somebody held tight to my wrist and shook it.

I awoke in the middle of reciting commands.

“—Apply vapor rub to block out the smell, and if you have to vomit, please use the bag—”

Bilbo had grabbed me so I didn’t walk right back into the river.

I drew in a breath.

“Hurricane floodwater,” I muttered, still dazed from the horror of memory and imagination. “That’s what this fucking river smells like.”

“You alright?” Bilbo gently inquired.

I blinked and turned, then forced a smile. “Yeah. I got a bit of sleep. That’s what matters.”

He didn’t believe me. He didn’t have to.

The Company hefted Bombur up with unanimous curses. God, I wished it were me.

“Come on,” I said, jerking Bilbo’s arm up so his fingers wouldn’t dip into the vest pocket. “If you’re gonna obsess, wait until I can’t see you do it.”

“I’m not—” He cut himself off with an irritated sigh. We started walking on the path again, and I wondered how long it’d be until we lost it. “Is…is it truly that obvious?”

“To me. But that’s because I already know what to look for.” I pursed my lips. “I doubt I’ll pay much attention soon, with all the sleep I’m not getting.”

After a moment of sincere consideration, I wondered aloud, “Maybe I should kill myself so I can get a few hours in.”

Bilbo shot me a warning look over his shoulder. “You will do no such thing, Valeria. Don’t even joke about it.”

“I won’t, I won’t…at least until Bombur wakes up. Then nobody will have to worry about carrying two people.”

“Valeria!”

“Okay, okay, I’m done.”

Without the dark humor, though, we had only the darkness.

-

They veered from the path when I couldn’t see anything. And come the dim light of the morning, we were in an even more unfamiliar place.

The Company’s descent into delirium furthered. They would wander off in search of the path, thinking they’d seen it, then get scattered. If I hadn’t signed on as the official dwarf wrangler, Mirkwood would have eaten at least two of them a day.

Five days into aimless trekking, I made the Company tie themselves together with a rope so I could lead. Fifteen minutes later, half of them had untied themselves and headed right toward a craggy ravine. I doubted they could unbreak their necks like me.

I tried to ignore the unraveling that started in my chest and spread outward. No sleep and constant vigil gnawed away at my motivation, and the all-too persistent thoughts of falling over and letting the forest consume me worried the part of my brain that knew the contemplations were seriously unhealthy.

Bombur awoke two weeks later. He was lucid for a while, which was great for me, but he wasn’t happy to find out that our food rations were concerningly low. In another week or so, we’d be out completely. Nothing in this forest was safe to forage, and I hadn’t seen a single animal since entering. And even though not a single one of us was in the right state of mind, we weren’t so far gone that we’d consider eating any of the mushrooms that blanketed the forest floor, sometimes so thick that we had to step on them to get across.

At night, strange bugs floating beneath the thick canopy of trees. They didn’t glow brightly enough to offer any light, but they swirled around in psychedelic patterns, changing the colors of their light from orange to yellow to white, then to pink and red and violet. I thought I imagined them from the lack of sleep since it looked like something straight out of Fantasia, but the dwarves saw them, too.

The trees were more active as well—and trickier. They liked to grab at our ankles to trip us up and flick branches at our ears, and I swore they’d move around so when we had to double back, we felt like we were in a completely different area.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t going to lose my fucking mind the next time I heard another dwarf cry, “I need air!”

The trees, apparently, felt the same way. Bofur, a moment after bemoaning the most common phrase this past week, let out a hearty scream that snapped us out of our haze. He was flipped off his feet, dragged face-down through a patch of mushrooms, then disappeared into a thick bunch of trees.

“Bofur!” Thorin shouted, running after the abducted dwarf. We raced behind, and the sudden surge of action rudely pointed out how slow I had become without proper rest.

“Somebody! Bloody! Help me!”

The trees dragged Bofur over a pile of roots that bounced that big dwarf head of his around. He unevenly unleased a flurry of Khuzdul swear words that I knew were bad.

I passed up Bombur, Dori, Ori, and Bilbo on our chase, which made me feel a little better. The trees jerked Bofur around another bend, but they went in a direction that allowed me to run diagonal and intervene before the forest swallowed him up forever.

Footsteps followed behind me as I veered off. I jumped over a fallen, decaying tree trunk like it was a track-and-field hurdle. Bofur’s passing form dotted in and out of view, and in the gray, dappled light, I saw that he wasn’t being drug by just one long root—the trees sinuously passed him from one to another. If they heard Bofur’s threats of cutting them up and using them for firewood, they paid no mind—or it made them angrier.

“Shut the fuck up, Bofur!” I yelled, as hoarse and breathy as it was. I jumped over another fallen trunk, closing the gap between myself and the abducted.

“Save me, lass!”

“I’m trying to—Oof!”

I didn’t see the sudden decline, and I catapulted into the air before I hit the ground hard and rolled Princess Bride-style down a small dip. When I came to a painful stop, sputtering out crunchy leaves from my mouth, I was met with a familiar…sound.

My head lifted as I got up on all fours.

A tree with its root wrapped around Bofur’s leg raised him off the ground. His hat somehow remained on his head (I blamed it on the sweat and grime that glued the hat to his skull), and he thrashed and kicked with his free leg to try and escape.

But I didn’t care about him.

I cared about what sat a few feet in front of me.

Static snow wobbled and waved on the screen of a bulky black VCR, complete with the little flap for a VHS tape to go in at the bottom.

“What…in the…absolute…fuck.”

The Company crashed through, some rolling like I did and some maintaining their balance. “Help! Help me!” Bofur cried frantically. “These trees are gonna turn me into one of them!”

“Stop! Calm down!” I raised my voice enough to be heard. Thankfully, the Company listened.

I scrambled to my feet, and I pointed a finger not at Bofur, but at the root holding him. “Put him down, and I’ll help you with this…problem, if I think this is what it’s about. You want your tv fixed? Huh?”

Then I pointed the same finger down at the outdated technology.

The trees around us groaned and creaked so suddenly that it made me jump. The dwarves brandished their weapons in defense, but they didn’t attack the vegetation at random. The root around Bofur’s ankle withdrew, and he landed in an awkward heap with a choked curse.

“Okay, good. That’s good.”

I knelt back down and stared into the tv.

“What in the name of Mahal is that?” Thorin questioned, leaves crunching as he stalked forward.

I didn’t look at him. The static was entrancing; it whisked me back to a childhood where I sat in the exact same position, except instead of dead leaves covering the floor, it was my abuelita’s thick rug, and I had a plate of chicken nuggets in front of me as an afterschool snack.

“It’s a…it’s something from my world,” I murmured.

My hand neared the screen, and a ghost of a smile curved my lips when I felt the static prick at my palm. “Question is: what the fuck is it doing here? In the middle of Mirkwood? With no electricity?”

I craned my neck around to see where the plug-in cord went—only to find that there was none. A manic laugh bubbled up. If the Company wasn’t here to see it as well, I would have thought that I finally lost my grip on reality.

“What does it do, lass?” Balin, ever the scholar, inched toward it with his weapon still raised.

I leaned back. “It’s a television. It plays shows and movies.” I glanced around at the trees and asked, “Is this what you all do? Watch stuff? That’s why you made us come here? So it could get fixed?”

Another cacophony of shuddering wood replied. I laughed again.

“Of course you would. It’s a fucking television! Duh!”

I checked once more to see if there was any outlet, but only leaves and dirt and roots surrounded the television. To Balin and the Company, I said, “This has to have some type of magic on it. Otherwise, it would just be a hunk of junk with no signal or power.”

Still, I could barely contain my excitement as I began to fidget. I switched the channels first. When all I got was either static or a vivid blue screen, I tried another well-proven method: banging the top of the TV, the sides, and the back.

“Is that how ye make it work?” Dwalin asked dubiously. I snickered.

“Sometimes, it gets things back in focus.”

I placed both hands on the sides of the television and rocked it side-to-side, then back-and-forth, trying to jostle whatever cord or receiver back into place. The trees moved nervously, but that nervousness turned to joy when—in a blast of sound—the static flashed to moving picture.

“Mahal!” Gloin exclaimed as he and everyone else reeled back. “What in the name of all the Valar is that?”

“That, Gloin,” I spoke, sitting on my heels, “Is Golden Girls.”

Blanche said something funny. I pealed with laughter. The trees shook in delight, and leaves cascaded to the ground.  

I told the Company what a television was a while back at Beorn’s house, but they didn’t get a good grasp of what one looked like or how things showed up on the screen. But with a real one now before them, they became just as enraptured as I was, and they all sat down around the screen with wide eyes.

Changing the channel got a good ooh from them. A vintage commercial for Hot Pockets blared. I switched. A weatherman predicted the 1992 Fourth of July weekend forecast in Pocatello, Idaho.

“See that date down there?” Static coated my finger as I tapped at the screen. “This was a year before I was born. That’s crazy.”

“What is that oddly-dressed man doing?” Kili asked.

“Telling us the weather for the next few days. Not the weather here. The weather on my world. Twenty-seven years ago from when I left. So—fucking—trippy.”

I changed the channel again. Cher belted out “If I Could Turn Back Time” on MTV, and for a little bit, I sang along. Another change. Will Smith was in the middle of roasting Carlton, and it followed up the laugh-track. I beamed.

The trees shook again, and I raised both hands and settled back. “Alright, yeah, we’ll leave it here. I freaking love this show anyway.”

When the opening finished and went into the show’s song, I enthusiastically sang with it—complete with voice inflections and expressions, much to the Company’s amusement. Warmth bled back into their features as they watched the warmth bleed back into mine. Then, once the show went to commercial break, I turned to Thorin.

“Can we watch at least one episode? Please?”

I didn’t need to put any emphasis on my begging because I genuinely, desperately wanted to stay. The oppression and exhaustion had lifted for the first time in almost three weeks, and I didn’t want to let go of it yet. “You’ll really like it. I promise.”

Thorin only pretended to consider the idea before he nodded. “One. Then we must be on our way.”

I grinned again and flipped back around to watch television. Advertisements blared in both color and sound, and though they were all old, they were a piece of home—a piece of home in the depths of Mirkwood. I didn’t bother to understand the reality of it, the logic. In Middle-earth, sometimes it was best to accept that things just were, no matter how strange or inexplicable. My mind was already on the brink of breaking. To consider what this meant, how it got here, who put it here…

Nah, I wouldn’t do that to myself. Not until I had a repaired mental constitution and got some Vitamin D in me.

So, the Company settled in to watch The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, complete with over-saturated and slightly blurry visuals, peak early 90’s clothes, and jokes that initially I only laughed at. But once the thirteen dwarves and one hobbit started picking up on the humor, it got even better. Bilbo liked Carlton (not surprising), several voiced the attractiveness of Hilary, and they thought Will was a complete riot.

And when the episode ended, Kili blurted, “What, that’s it?”

“Episodes are thirty minutes long.” I leaned over to look at Thorin, eyebrows raised high up on my forehead. “We could watch one more…”

He made sure everyone heard his grumble. “Fine. One more.”

One more turned into another, then another, until all light had receded from the forest and television light bathed us. We passed dinner around, and my head rested against Fili’s, enjoying his long-unheard laugh even more than the comedy itself.

“This is what people who are together do in my world,” I whispered to him. “We watch television. In a house, not a forest, of course. But right now, you’re getting a taste of what we’d do.”

“It’s quite lovely. And I do think I’d like it much better if we were not in this accursed place.”

Fili’s voice quieted. “…Also alone.”

I smiled at his implication, and my hand moved to cover his. He readily accepted it. “You would.”

“Does your home look like…that?” Fili gestured to the Banks’ fancy interior.

“Ha, hell no. It’s a lot smaller. This family is rich. But one day…one day I hope I have a big house to live in, with a big kitchen and a big backyard for a garden.”

Fili did not say anything else, and I was too tired to try and decipher the reason. We watched the rest of the episode, and when it was over, the channel moved on to infomercials.

The Company decided to stay the night, seeing as we were all comfortable and temporarily saved from the enchantments’ haze.

I didn’t sleep like I should have. I stayed awake, laid out on my side, and watched television through the night. When MTV played one of Selena’s live performances, shining as she sang “Como la Flor”, I let myself cry. The television brought a massive wave of homesickness, Selena sang in a language that only poured from my own lips the past six months, and I was tired beyond description.

I cried because I wanted to go home.

Because I didn’t want to go home.

Fluorescent bugs replaced the stars above, twirling in their euphoric dance. Between the soundless sobs, I hoarsely whispered lyrics I alone understood.

And when Fili touched my back with absolute tenderness, I wanted to sink into the ground and die without returning.

-

“…If it gets this way again, just give it a shake like I did until reception comes back,” I explained to the group of trees that had moved a lot closer to us during the night. “It’s probably a good idea to keep some of these tiny roots out of the VHS thingy.” My finger wiggled the plastic flap. “But you’ve got a lot of good shit to look forward to. Tv just gets better.”

The current station played reruns of Happy Days. “That funny man,” said Dwalin, pointing to Fonzie, “he does what you do.”

Dwalin put both thumbs up, and several others copied it. I grinned. My dried-out eyes ached.

“It’s a pretty common thing where I’m from, but he’s popular for doing it.”

I gave a thumbs up back and wandered off to be alone for a bit while the Company finished breakfast. I couldn’t eat like I wanted; the nausea made me want to throw up what little food I got down. Because I had stopped eating properly, a new kind of weakness set in—the one where my legs floated and all my bones shook.

Once I was by myself, I crouched down into some tangled roots and slipped out the droplet. It was still its little old self. When I gripped it with the same hand it left a scar on, the droplet warmed. I let out a soft breath and placed it close to my chest. Mornings in Mirkwood were always chilly, so I tried absorbing what faint heat it provided.

“Please,” I whispered. “Let me make it out of here. Please.”

The droplet continued to radiate warmth. Uncontrolled tears pricked my eyes, and I looked up to the thick canopy of dark leaves. The movement made my head dizzy.

“I just…want to feel the sun.”

The trees heard my plea. A root gently wound itself around my thinned-out waist and lifted me off my feet. I sagged, relieved from the pressure of supporting my own weight. Wood groaned and creaked, but in my half-delirium, I heard a rhythm. Patterns of noises. Melodies.

They were speaking to one another.

Were they scared of what their forest had become? The gloom that settled in the air? The creatures that tainted green life with black?

They set me on a high, sturdy branch, and once I had good enough footing, I climbed the rest of the way through the canopy on my own. Restrained desperation tightened my joints, and I forced myself to breathe evenly so I wouldn’t fall off in the clamber.

For the first time in weeks, a breeze kissed my skin, and then—and then—

Sunlight blinded me so gloriously that I thought I had died for a final time.

Then I laughed, ragged and unburdened.

Tree bark dug into my bare palms, the wind made my ears cold, and this was real. There was a world outside of Mirkwood, outside of blighted darkness. A world where I could sleep without evil finding a way to torment me.

Leaves fluttered, and a symphony of butterflies, dark-winged and matte, sprung from them. Farther above, birds flew in the early autumn-blue sky, and memories of home—untwisted by nightmares—tasted sweet.

The Lonely Mountain stood in the north, solitude in its grandeur, its absolute certainty.

“We’ll be there soon,” I promised, hoping my words would carry on the wind. If they didn’t, then it was a promise to myself. We would not stay in this forest forever. Its hold on us would pass, just as all things did.

I stayed up above for a little while longer, soaking in cool fall sunlight. The weather made me crave Starbucks and warm donuts and pozole.

Then, when I heard distant voices calling my name, I reluctantly descended back into the depths. The light cut off, and despair knotted around my ankles so it could drown me.

“I’m here,” I called to the Company, who had started to search for me. I couldn’t pick out exactly who they were since my eyes hadn’t yet adjusted. “I’m here.”

“Aye, and what’re ye doing there?” Gloin’s voice shouted back.

I didn’t have it in me to tell them that I was about to lose my shit. They’d only worry, which would take up what precious lucidity they could grasp throughout the day.

Hopefully, nobody would see the way my limbs shook as I climbed down unaided. My feet landed on the forest floor. An ankle lightly twisted from an uneven root, but I couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the twinge of pain.

“I wanted to point us in the right direction,” I spoke, and I banked that exhaustion would mask the lie. It didn’t help that I felt like a complete dumbass for not thinking about doing it earlier. “The Lonely Mountain is that way.”

I pointed in a rough northward direction. “So we go that way, yeah?”

The only problem was that beyond the tip of my finger, an even deeper yawning and terrible blackness beckoned us.

Thorin trusted my words. “Then we press onward,” he said before he barked a few commands in Khuzdul.

As they prepared to depart from this special little grove, I leaned up against a tree and gave it thanks. It was the least I could do. The tree reverberated something I couldn’t understand. Did it know who brought the television? Would it even give me an answer if it did? They must have known that the tv and I were from the same world. So, who gave it to them?

When I opened my eyes, I stared down at the droplet. I forgot to hide it after I took it out.

It went back into the confines of my sports bra. The moment its weight returned to the familiar spot, Fili’s hand touched my shoulder.

“Are you ready?”

I turned to him. His blue eyes glossed over in concern at my appearance.

“Yeah.”

No.

But we had to go anyway.

Chapter Text

Though his head was full of cotton, Thorin watched Valeria as she managed to drift into a fitful, shallow sleep. Her eyes never stilled beneath their lids, and soon she’d either try to wander off, babbling mundane conversations that belied concerning memories, or scream herself awake.

Valeria kept them from walking straight into their death on an almost daily basis when their grip on the real world loosened the most. And she did it without complaint—at least none that Thorin heard.

How steady of a soul she was.

But Thorin and the Company did not fail to see the dark, heavy circles beneath her eyes or the sallowness of her cheeks that pronounced her cheekbones. She rarely ate, and, within these past two days, her eyes darted as though she heard things they could not. Though it was from sleep loss rather than the twisted magic that plagued the rest of them with hallucinations, the cruel toll it took on her too-thin body was the same.

Thorin worried part of Valeria would forever be lost in this vile forest if they did not make it out soon.

He absently chewed on the end of his pipe. They had run out of pipe-weed a week into Mirkwood, but he took comfort in the familiar weight of it. The forest was ripe with sound, tonight, chitters and chatters of creatures unseen. They most likely discussed how they would eat the Company. Valeria told them of great spiders who intended to feast on dwarven and hobbit flesh. And, in recent days, more and more silk webs appeared, and the trees quieted—which was eerier than when they had been active.

The woman herself did not make it any better. Valeria stood, eyes still shut, and began to mutter in her native tongue. It was rapid and pleading, and she motioned calmingly to a figure present only in her dreams. The sleepwalking initially disturbed the Company, partially due to the unsettling nature of her conversations and partially due to their helplessness with it all. Now they mostly managed to block it out unless Valeria stepped on them in her wanderings or produced an unholy scream.

(Thorin heard the likes of her screams before. He heard them in his nightmares, his memory, of when Erebor was consumed by dragonfire.)

Valeria’s language slipped mid-sentence into one Thorin understood. “—Not your real name. Please. You can tell me. You’ll be safe, now, and once we get the paperwork handled—”

Valeria stopped as if she had been interrupted. Her lips pursed and her head bobbed. “I understand. I understand. But we cannot process you if we don’t have full credentials—No. I understand. Yes. Yes.” She reached for something invisible. “Here. You and your children need water. Have you been to the medical tent for that hand?”

A pause, then a sigh. “I understand.” She turned as if she was glancing around. “Look. Go to the medical tent, please. Tell them that Valeria Juarez sent you. Valeria Juarez. Yes. Tell them that your papers are in process.”

Valeria’s hand moved as if she was writing, then she stretched it out. “Give them this note. But please. Come back afterward. We can get this sorted out—”

Thorin recognized the abrupt change in her dreams. The sudden tension, the labored breaths, the twitching fingers.

“No. No, no, no. I was going to save them. I promise—I had to, to save—"

Valeria dropped to her knees and let out a low, desolate wail that struck Thorin cold.

Loss. Unbearable, terrible loss.

She sobbed, and if there were light, her tears would have glistened. “They were mine to save. Please—please—please, they’re my reason.”

Valeria’s chest heaved, and she clawed at the scar left behind from the orc blade. A gutted, half-dying sound left her lips. She lifted her shaking hand like she examined the blood on her fingers. Thorin’s gut twisted.

“I don’t want to live again and again and again if they were—if they were always going to die.”

What were these words? Whom did she speak of?

Slow-building, sickening dread burrowed into Thorin’s bones.

Valeria saw the future. The outcome of this quest. But Thorin could not deny the flicker of deception that glanced off her smiling face when she told them of their success.

What did she hide? And why?

Valeria gasped and wrenched back, like the blade that drove through her had jerked out.

(“The lass fought with us till the very end,” Dwalin murmured when Thorin pressed him for details about Valeria’s death on the cliff. He was careful to keep his voice low. “She was fierce, but we did not keep a watch on her like we should have. Fili’s protection was not enough, not with the skill she lacked. An orc got her from behind. Ran her right through. She was dead before she hit the ground.”)

Her voice almost rose to a scream, but it cut off with a wounded choke.

Then, unlike any of the nightmares Thorin witnessed Valeria’s sleeping form mirror in the waking world, her teeth bared savagely. It jarred the face Thorin had grown familiar with—a face full of good humor and kindness and exhaustion, of homesickness and consideration and deadpan. He had not seen its like since he failed to prevent the goblins from assaulting her right before his very eyes, and she had screamed his name for help but he could do nothing—

So, Valeria drew from her own deep well of the fight and fury to save herself.

She rasped dreaming, smothered breaths, and spat out one word.

One name.

“Sauron.”

Thorin’s blood curdled to ice, and the pitch black bore a tangible weight so crushing that, for a moment, he thought he would suffocate.

Then Thorin gripped Valeria’s thin shoulders so tightly that he knew it would leave bruises. He shook the woman to wake her, but her eyes did not open. The choking noises grew fainter. Her neck tensed strained, veins pulsing.

The wild fear that clutched Thorin’s soul, born not only from him but from his very ancestors, turned to fervent panic when Valeria limply slouched forward against him, all air strangled from her. He caught her, cradled her, but just as he was about to shout her name in a frightened plea to wake up, Valeria jolted with a raw, hoarse shriek. Though the noise itself was rending, it was still a noise that meant she lived.

Thorin shuddered a relieved breath. He held her steadfast through her initial bout of thrashing, one hand at the nape of her clammy neck while his other arm secured her frail waist. Individual ribs shifted beneath his arm, and her heart pounded like a wild rabbit’s.

“Ria, Ria, it is me. Calm yourself.”

Frightened eyes darted where they thought Thorin to be, flickering in the blindness of the night. Valeria stilled. She struggled to swallow.

“…Thorin?”

Uttering his name broke Valeria so devastatingly that her frail insides shattered like glass. She crumpled into a wave of muted, exhausted tears, her head fallen against his shoulder. Her throat had been injured in the dark terror of her dream from the way her sobs came out strangled and stilted, and Mahal, she was so thin.

Thorin did only what he could do, and he continued to hold her until it subsided.

Never had he seen such grief in Valeria. It shook her entire body, and she clutched Thorin’s dirty coat as though it would keep him from—

From death.

It all came together, twisting in his mind until he thought his skull would dislodge from his spine. Thorin struggled for air, and Valeria’s whispery wails stitched the dreadful tapestry in full.

Her reason. Her reason.

“Mahal have mercy,” he whispered, pleaded, wondering if it would reach the Valar through Mirkwood’s endless, oppressive canopy. Sharpness splintered his chest.

He was meant to die.

Valeria sobbed like scratches on a post until there was no air left in her lungs. Thorin’s arms had stiffened as his fate solidified to stone, so they continued to hold her even though she was spent. His voice had fled, breathless shock in its place.

She said they. Thorin was not alone in his end. But who else? Who else would—

“Uncle?” Fili roused from his slumber, finding the spot beside him empty.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but the second revelation hit him with such force that he almost ceased to exist.

His nephews. Sister-sons. Fili and Kili, heirs to the line of Durin. His nephews.

For they would follow him into death unflinching.

Death, which awaited him.

“Is she alright?”

Fili stood and met Thorin, who could only stare up at his nephew. His golden hair shone like his father’s, eyes blue like Thorin’s, like Durin the First’s, and he carried a heart consumed by the woman from another world.

This could not be. Thorin promised his sister, swore on his life that he would return her sons to the kingdom they reclaimed.

But what use was an oath if he walked the Halls of Mandos?

Perhaps this was not true. Perhaps Thorin was wrong. Yes. Yes, perhaps this was all a misunderstanding made from Valeria’s cryptic, nonsensical nightmares.

But Sauron she spoke, which Thorin could not deny.

(“He bore the Ring of Power,” Grandfather said while Thorin sat on his knee, pouring over a text with a dark figure made of shadow and wrath. “And with it, he sought to control all races of men, dwarves, and elves.”

Grandfather thumbed the beautiful ring on his finger. “But we dwarves are not so easily corrupted. Remember that, my grandson, and remember it well. Darkness has no place in our halls of stone.”)

Thorin blinked and cleared his throat. Fili crouched down beside him to brush Valeria’s head.

“She has fallen back asleep,” Thorin muttered. “We will see how long it lasts. Take her.”

Fili heard the weight in his voice, and he gave his uncle a curious look. But he obeyed, and he lifted Valeria from Thorin’s arms.

“Ai,” sighed Fili, “she’s light as a feather.”

And, Thorin noticed, void of sound.

He quickly pressed a finger to Valeria’s neck. Blood still pumped beneath her cold skin, though it did little to reassure Thorin.

“Uncle? What’s wrong?” Fili held Valeria closer to him, concern sparking. Thorin then pressed a hand to her cheek and found it feverish, and her chest shallowly rose and fell.

“She has not been this quiet during sleep for a long while.”

“Maybe she finally has reprieve.” But Fili’s words lacked surety, and he swiftly laid Valeria back down on her crumpled cloak.

Their movement and speech awoke the others. Dwalin and Kili sat upright, hands halfway to their weapons. When they saw Valeria’s too-still form and how Thorin and Fili crouched next to her, however, they rose bearing concern.

“Is she dead?” Kili asked nervously. Fili shot him a warning look.

“No,” said Thorin, “but something is not right.”

“What happened?” Fili said. “You must know.”

The question reminded Thorin of the awful weight chained around him, but he betrayed nothing and continued to try waking Valeria.

“She was despondent from a nightmare. It overwhelmed her, and once her cries faded, she was still.”

“Tis unnatural,” muttered Dwalin. “She’d be up on her feet again or speaking by now.”

Frustration flashed through Thorin like a wave of nausea. He needed answers only Valeria could give, and now, of all times, she would not move?

But shame doused his rising temper not a moment later. Valeria was sick and suffering, and whatever—whoever—had found her in her dreams did something dark enough to tarnish her unwell spirit even more.

Fili patted her cheek, and a tremor ran through his voice. “Ria? Ria, wake up. Ria, I need you to wake up.”

Her head shifted, lips parting, but she did not return to them like she should have. Fili tensed. “Valeria? Valeria?”

Fili then pressed his ear to her chest. “Her heart beats, but it is far too fast.”

Oin, who had been shaken from his slumber by Kili, shuffled over. “Let me see, laddie. Give her a little room.”

He knelt down and listened to Valeria’s chest with furrowed brows. The rest of the Company had risen by now, and they all gathered around their human companion. “What is it?” Bilbo questioned, wringing his hands in front of him. “What’s wrong with her? Please—what is it? She’s not well!”

Though the hobbit did not get an answer, he kept asking until Oin finished his examination.

“Aye, her heartbeat is much too quick, and her lungs sound irritated.”

Oin shook his head, and his hand hovered over her throat. “And by Mahal, it’s as if she was strangled!”

Fili snapped his head to Thorin, a rare spark of betrayal igniting. Thorin raised a hand to his nephew to calm him and quickly explained, “In the throes of her nightmare, Valeria acted as if…something was choking her.”

The name she spoke echoed in his mind, like a drop of poison rippling outward. Thorin pressed on before it could further spread its rancor through his blood and soul. “She awoke in the midst of it, wept, then fell silent.”

“I understand dreaming as if you were being choked,” Oin said, scrubbing his beard, “but having physical evidence of it? What tormented her so? What evil is powerful enough to reach through?”

His questions unsettled the Company, and they glanced around the forest like they would find an answer.

An acrid taste filled Thorin’s mouth.

The name, the name, beat in his head like drums.

“Will she be alright?” asked Fili.

Oin sighed. “That remains to be seen. This, this trance does not stem from her body. It stems from her mind, which has obviously been under great duress since we stepped foot in this forsaken place. And a mind can only take on so much torture before it collapses. Hopefully…hopefully, this is a sign of her body protecting the rest of her, and not…”

“And not what?” Bilbo whispered.

“…Not failing her, laddie.”

-

Before my eyes even opened to the dim, distant light filtering in through the leaves above, there was a wrongness in me. It was more than the way my throat was on fire, more than how my lungs rattled and chest ached. It went deeper than bones and organs, deeper, deeper.It was more than the way my throat was on fire. More than how my lungs rattled. It went deeper than the physical. Deeper, deeper, transcending something and corrupting another.

Then I remembered.

He had been in my nightmares, the towering figure shrouded in such visceral blackness that it was like staring into a void. And the void reached out to me, took me, and sunk his claws into my soul to shred me open and peer maliciously into my every thought and memory. When I fought—when I fought back—he wrapped those claws around me throat and promised utter, hopeless death.

Sauron.

Had he always known that I was here? Or had he simply sensed me, vulnerable and unprotected in this cursed forest, and swept in to take me at my weakest?

It didn’t fucking matter. All that I mattered was that he wanted me.

And for a moment, he almost had me.

Maybe he did take something. Because as I lay there, staring up at burgundy-black leaves, I didn’t feel whole. Even after I passed out in Thorin’s arms post-meltdown, the nightmares didn’t return. They didn’t have to.

Their job was complete. To break me. Break me so that next time, I couldn’t resist the evil that wrapped its claws around my throat.

I should have been terrified beyond thought, beyond belief. But the dread that blanketed me since my first nightmare in Mirkwood had become another appendage, and all I could do was live with it until it killed me.

And hey, maybe dying would benefit my mental state rather than fucking it up.

“Oh, thank Mahal,” I heard Fili say next to me, and I slid my bleary gaze his way. He grinned and picked up a limp hand. Warm lips peppered my cold knuckles. “You’re awake. She’s awake!”

Conversation burst forth, but Oin beat them all to it by coming into my line of vision. I had no energy to return his smile. “How are ye feeling, lass?”

As soon as I weakly attempted to reply, pain scorched at my throat and blistered away all notions of speaking, which shocked me a little more into reality. But in spite of the heat pressing on all sides of my neck, I was fucking freezing.

“Your throat took quite the beating.” Oin’s eyes clouded with concern. “Can you tell me how that happened?”

What would I have said even if I were able to speak?

I shook my head the slightest amount. Even then, another wave of fire seared down my mouth and into my esophagus.

“That’s alright. I’d advise that you not try to use your voice for the next couple of days.” He took my hand from Fili. “Now, what about movement. Wiggle these fingers for me, eh?”

My index finger twitched. Oin’s smile tightened, but I probably just needed to fucking dethaw.

“Are ye hungry?”

Another small shake.

“Thirsty?”

The tiniest of nods. Oin put my waterskin to my lips, and I allowed a teaspoon of water into my mouth. The water sharpened into razors when I swallowed, but I expected the pain, so I took it with a grimace and a soundless whimper.

“We must be on our way,” came Thorin’s voice.

I glanced over at him. His gaze lanced through me, and the way his jaw set implied some sort of anger—or was it distrust?

No.

Fear.

It was fear.

Of me? For me?

I saw him die last night, just as I saw him and his nephews and more die every night.

“The girl can’t move, let alone walk,” said Oin. “If we’re to venture on, she has to be carried.”

“Then somebody carry her,” Thorin barked back.

An awkward silence followed. It usually went that way when he was unnecessarily—or uncharacteristically—harsh. But Fili, bless him, picked me up as gently as he could. The new position gave me a better view of the Company. Bilbo muttered and paced in a neat line he had made in the dirt, Dori and Nori argued, and Bombur snuck a piece of hard biscuit that he shouldn’t have.

Fuck.

These assholes were going to die.

All I could do was rest my head on Fili’s shoulder, live through the pain, and watch as the Company fell apart without me to string them together.

Around us, gauzy webs covered life like a layer of mold.

-

“Look!” Ori exclaimed. “A tobacco pouch.” He held it inches from his face—then Dori took it away from him.

“There are dwarves in these woods.” Dori suspiciously looked about as if he would see them.

Kili unslung my arm from over his shoulder and let me rest against a rock. I was able to reuse my legs two days after the attack, but they still wobbled. I tried to keep Kili close to me even though he badly wanted to check out just where these other damn dwarves were in Mirkwood. I found that whoever assisted me throughout the day stayed more lucid than if they weren’t, but Kili still missed how I grasped at his coat and didn’t hear my whispered pleas.

“By my beard,” said Bofur, examining the tobacco pouch. “This is exactly the same as mine!”

“Because it is yours.” Bilbo said what I couldn’t. “Do you understand? We’re going around in circles. Without Valeria, we’re even more lost than we were before!”

I feebly smiled at the hobbit’s defense.

“We have been heading in the direction she gave us,” Thorin snapped back.

“That was nearly a week ago!”

“We’ve lost the sun,” Oin bemoaned. “We have no way of knowing if we’re still going the right way!”

Not for the first time, I watched from a distance as the Company argued themselves silly. Bilbo, however, spoke to himself, glancing from his feet to the obstructed sky several times.

I glimpsed him mouthing, “Sun.”

Wait. Wait.

Fuck. Shit. No. I wasn’t ready for this. Not yet! Not while I was a fucking vegetable!

Bilbo spun around to me, coherence unmasking the veil over his mind. I bit back a groan and pointed a shaking finger up to the canopy. I guessed if it had to happen, it might as well. Spiders attacking meant elves swooping in, and elves meant getting the fuck outta Mirkwood.

He scurried over to me and crouched. “Is it safe?” Bilbo hissed. “Is it safe to climb up?”

I swallowed, then whispered, “You…gotta. Yes.”

His eyes darted to try and find more meaning to my words, but I slapped him on the arm with all the strength of a wet noodle. “Baggins. Go.”

After a quick nod, Bilbo began to climb the nearest tree, tutting and grumbling at the cobwebs sticking to his palms. Several feet away, the dwarves really got into it, going so far as to push others and let the volume of their arguing escalate while the logic behind it dropped lower.

So, this was what would happen to me. Get webbed up by the spiders and wait to be saved.

What a shitty prospect.

I craned my neck up at Bilbo; the strain in my throat renewed. I examined it with my little mirror this morning and saw that while mottled bruises still darkened my skin, there wasn’t any specific handprint left over. But I distinctly, viscerally remembered Sauron’s hand wrapping completely around my neck. He could have snapped it like a toothpick.

Fucker.

Spite rose in my empty stomach. Him and his fucking spiders and this fucking forest.

I hoped he heard me when I uttered, “You’re going to fucking lose, you stupid bitch.”

Nothing happened.

I smirked. Saying it out loud returned some light to my vision that the sun couldn’t provide. And as I watched Bilbo climb higher, I started to laugh at it all. Mirkwood sucked ass and smelled like it, too, and there was no way in hell that I was going to let myself sit here so giant spiders could burrito me.

The dwarves didn’t notice me stand, waver, then follow Bilbo up the tree. My entire body shook the moment I used my upper muscles, and on the second branch, my arms almost gave out entirely. But my mom didn’t raise a quitter, so I clenched my butt cheeks and tried again.

Bilbo, the deft little shit he was, had already made it to the bottom of the canopy by the time I was only a quarter of the way up. Sickly sweat broke out on my forehead and neck, and my throat burned with every gulp of air I took.

By all means, I should have been well-rested since the dream encounter. I stopped having nightmares. But instead (instead!) bone-crushing darkness trapped me in its cage like some inescapable trance until someone was loud enough or the light was bright enough to draw me back from being consumed. Which was, of course, fan-fucking-tastic.

I mumbled half-formed Spanish curses as I climbed. It didn’t help my vocal chords at all, but I couldn’t give a shit. Not when the promise of fresh air and sunlight was so close—and not when I could almost hear spiders coming for us. I had no idea how well my insides would reform after they got liquefied by spider venom, and I did not want to find out.

Bilbo squawked when my bony hand grabbed his ankle. He ducked his head down from under the canopy and let out another yelp at the sight of a half-dead, sweaty Valeria staring up at him.

“V-Valeria! What are you doing up here?”

“Spiders…coming,” I rasped, “I’m not gonna get…eaten.”

Bilbo’s face went white. My laugh sounded like a wheezing cat.

“Better get your sword out, nuggito.”

In the distance, trees snapped in a consecutive pattern. Bilbo and I looked in the direction where it came from. I gripped the hilt of one of my blades. Anticipation filled me with a vigor I hadn’t felt in a long time.

A fight was on its way.

The hobbit leaned a little too far out, though, and he careened forward. We both reached out for each other. His hand clasped mine, but I wasn’t strong enough to pull him back up, so instead he slipped from my grasp, huffed a fear-riddled and affronted, “Oh, really?” and toppled into the forest with a yell.

I froze for a beat.

“Fuck me,” I coughed, then promptly released any and all rational thought the same time I pushed off the tree.

Bilbo clotheslined down three branches, spiderwebs trailing behind him, and the second he caught onto one, he realized that it was not a tree branch.

The spider whose leg he clung to emerged from the cloud of webs.  It opened its maw to bite down on Bilbo—

The sound of air being let out of a soda can hissed through the forest, followed by a hundred-and-five-pound Mexican hitting the spider straight on its swollen back.

My neck just about broke on impact, but the blade I had whipped out lanced into the spider’s abdomen. It screeched and hardened, its limbs curling up underneath it. Bilbo swung himself to another tree branch before he could fall again.

Despite spotty vision, I yanked my blade out and rolled off the spider. As soon as I had tree underneath me instead of arachnid, the corpse tilted and plummeted to Mirkwood’s floor with a heavy crunch.

I held my throat and winced. The stunt probably just ruined any healing it’d gone through. Not to mention that all my limbs felt like rubber and not-good pain shot up the arm that held my unsheathed blade, which was covered from tip to hilt in spider ooze.

Bilbo’s frightened voice broke through the cotton in my ears. “…thinking? Eh? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

He didn’t like the smart, smug look I gave him. I missed how he did it, but he had moved from the branch he fell on and to mine.

“More coming.” I fumbled to sheathe my blade. “I’m fucked up. But you, Baggins…”

“No, no, I know what you’re trying to say. No!” Bilbo pointed a stern hobbit finger at me and fixed me with a Very Serious look. “I am not leaving you!”

I was so stupid. I should have just left myself to the spiders like a good girl. Or, really—I should have killed myself so whatever the hell was wrong with me would get fixed. Like a system reboot.

But suicide—because that was what it’d be, literal suicide, no matter how I dodged the actual terminology—was an unpleasant notion.  

I trained my eyes on Bilbo so he wouldn’t go out of focus. “The dwarves are going to be spider food. You need to go. I…I’ll follow.  I promise.”

“Valeria, no!”

“You have to. It’s important—ow, fuck!”

I clenched both fists at the sharp pain in my throat and punched down at the tree branch. Nothing more than a scratchy whisper came out, and it hurt.

“…Bilbo. You have to go. Now.”

His face went through a complete journey until it finally landed on reluctant acceptance. “Fine. Fine! But—but I will be back for you. Do not, under any circumstance, try to play hero.”

I smiled at Bilbo’s assertiveness. He made me so proud.

“Got it.”

He pursed his lips like he was about to say more, then thought against it a second later. He squeezed my shaking leg and firmly repeated, “I will be back.”

Bilbo unsheathed Soon-To-Be-Sting, which caught light in its metal despite the gloom. He squared his shoulders, too a breath, then hurried off, jumping down onto a lower branch with surprising dexterity and disappearing into the dark.

Oh, shit. I forgot to tell him to use the Ring.

Eh. He’d be fine.

Whether or not I would be fine was a different story.

My chances of doing alright were higher if I sat here like Bilbo wanted, but we both knew that I wasn’t going to stay. Serious injury and/or death on my part was likely. And did I give a fuck at the present? No! That was why I went feral on that spider just a minute ago!

I pulled the droplet’s chain over my head and wound the thin, silvery metal between my fingers and wrist so the droplet rested in the center of my palm. “Okay, listen here,” I said to it. “You’re gonna help me. Got it?”

The droplet warmed and brightened. I closed my hand around it so tightly that it burned, and the light illuminated my skin until it was almost translucent, hinting at faint veins and the outline of bones. Strength and stamina flooded my weakened body, and the pain in my throat receded.

As I stood, fist now a small beacon, I accepted that this was only temporary. I could feel the weakness lurking behind a closed door, and it already crept underneath the gap to brush at my knee joints. I had no idea how much borrowed time the droplet gave me, but I wasn’t about to waste it.

This was when you’d cue the rock music, right?

I jumped down onto the same branch Bilbo did with less sound than I expected. The droplet spread warmth, and when I glanced down at it while moving through the wide tree branches, I saw that the warmth was, in fact, blood. It glistened a crystalline red in the droplet’s light and seeped through my clenched fingers.

My right hand gripped a blade. It glided through spider webs, and when the first spider found me running and jumping through its home, the blade cut through it too before I moved on.

Wild energy built inside me, siphoned off from the droplet’s power that pumped through my system with every thunderous heartbeat. It was every mad dash to the home base, every sudden lead in track, every teeth-gritting move to keep an opponent pinned.

Spiders shrieked and chittered around some invisible opponent about two hundred feet away. On the ground below, spider silk wrapped up thirteen stocky bodies. I veered from Bilbo, who looked (metaphorically speaking, since I couldn’t actually see him) and sounded like he was doing just fine, and descended to the dwarves as the sound of trees groaning and snapping closed in.

I did something to my knees when I landed on the ground, but the droplet’s vitalization pushed the pain and glimmering weakness away. Mushrooms squished under my feet while I ran to the dwarves, kicking up fungal mush behind me.

“¡Espabílate! Come on!”

I crouched, set my blade by my side, and tore off the webbing from a dwarf’s face. Nori’s slack visage greeted me.

“Get up! Get up!”

He only groaned. I moved on to the next. Kili. “Wake the fuck up!” I yelled in his ear. Barely a reaction. Great—they had some venom in them.

Copper tinged the back of my throat. The wildness cranked up another notch, causing my heart to nearly palpitate, and this was what it felt like to be hopped up on cocaine, wasn’t it?

I dove back for my blade and charged into the fray of spiders now too close to ignore.

Once they were dead and I had been doused in their rancid ichor, I spun back to the Company. They were wiggling more, which was a good sign. I helped strip off their cocoons. When I got to Fili, he blinked at me a few times before thickly saying, “Valeria? Whatreyouu…”

His gaze dropped to my glowing, bleeding fist. “Trying to keep your insides from being liquefied,” I replied, then pulled off a large piece of webbing from his blond hair.

Somebody to my right retched. I stood and surveyed the Company. Dwalin, Bifur, and Thorin were on their feet, but they were unsteady. Up from above, Bilbo had led the spiders away, but the whole forest was awake, now, and we would have enemies bearing down on us in another minute.

I swore under my breath.

“Up, up!” Thorin commanded. “Gather your wits!”

He looked to me and the droplet’s obscured light. When his eyes begged for an answer, I just shrugged in an “I’ll explain later” way and helped Fili to his feet. He leaned heavily against me for a few moments, muttering about an unwell stomach. His skin was hot to the touch. But in spite of being sick, Fili still took in the sight of me covered in webs and ooze and smiled like I was the most beautiful thing in this entire forest. Which I was, obviously, being a complete hottie, but his very clear urge to kiss me couldn’t have come at a more hilarious and horrible time.

We settled for squeezing each other’s hands like we had done since we entered Mirkwood.

Though half the Company was still groggy, they had shaken off the worst of the venom. We broke into a run with Thorin at the lead. Spiders gathered around us, crawling down from their trees and through thick veils of webs. I slashed into one, then another, coinciding with the rhythm of the Company’s fighting.

It felt good to be this energized again, even if that energy baked me from the inside out.

A spider lunged from out of nowhere while I was preoccupied with one of its family members, though, and its pincer sunk into my thigh. I screamed as molten venom flooded into muscle, momentarily seizing up my entire leg. Dwalin rammed his axe into the spider a moment later, and I finished it off with my blade. Two more tried for us, but we ended their lives in quick succession.

Carcasses littered the forest, and in the brief moment of peace, I sheathed my blade and held onto my other wrist, forcing the droplet’s light to dim. I was afraid that if I carried it in my palm for much longer, I would burn up from the inside out. My skin was sweat-slicked, body flush with near-unbearable fire.

The light faded enough for me to open my hand. I sharply inhaled.

In the center of my palm, bloodied and shining, sat the droplet. It had burrowed part of itself in like a tick. Once I unwrapped the chain, I grunted and pulled the jewel out. It dislodged with a wet sound.

It didn’t hurt like it should have. I put the chain back around my neck before the droplet could try to sink into my skin again. As soon as it settled, every ounce of pain it had staved off for me returned with consuming vengeance.

All air left me. I hit the ground face-first.

“Ria!”

The agony squeezed at my throat, twisted my knees, collapsed my chest. The hollow despair that the nightmares left behind took up its position once more. But in all of the storm, the center of this hellish torment radiated from my thigh where the spider got me.

The Sense of Impending Doom roiled through my psyche.

Fili rolled me over. “S-spider v-v-venom,” I stuttered out through clenched teeth, clawing at the wound. But he didn’t remember the brief conversation from so long ago, and he hauled me to my feet and slung my arm over his shoulders.

“Quickly! There are more coming!” Thorin shouted. I half-ran, half-staggered against Fili as another wave of spiders approached. “Come on! Keep up!”

Another vicious wave of the Sense of Doom made me gasp. Fuck, fuck. No. Not like this.

(I didn’t want to die like this.)

A crawler leapt in front of Thorin. Just as he brandished Orcrist to fight it, arrows streamed through the air. The spiders closest to us died a tumbling flurry, replaced by long-haired, agile figures who launched arrows so fast that their arms blurred.

One specific elf landed right in front of Thorin, aiming an arrow right at the dwarf king’s forehead. His blond hair still shone in the dreary forest, pale blue eyes deadly.

“Do not think I won’t kill you, dwarf,” Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, spat. “It would be my pleasure.”

Since I would not throw up in front of him, I held back the rising bile and rode through the waves of nausea that tipped off the first portion of anaphylaxis.

Kili cried for help in the distance, and Fili spun to shout his name. The movement was too sudden for me to handle, so I crumpled with an agonized cry. The pain from the spider bite was so intense that it almost felt cold, cold enough to turn my leg black and dead with frostbite. I instinctively tried to grip my thigh, but the world spun, simultaneously weightless and heavy, and I fell back writhing on the dead leaves.

Fili and several members went to rush to my aid, but elves separated them for searching. One elf with hair the color of red autumn leaves knelt in front of me. Though her hazel gaze was intense, it also gleamed with concern, and she gently tilted my chin up for inspection. Unlike Legolas, she was beautiful in a sharp and wild kind of way. Full of grace, yes, but also full of lightning.

“And who are you?” she asked, but I could only wheeze as my traumatized windpipe closed up. She frowned when she saw the rash spreading from my lips, and her frown deepened into an enraged scowl at the mottled bruises on my neck. “Have these dwarves hurt you?”

Balin, so mild-mannered and respectful in every situation—overheard her soft interrogation and harshly shouted, “Get away from her, elf! She is under our protection!”

She scoffed. “This does not look like protection, dwarf.”

My eyelids drooped. The weight on my chest increased, pushing oxygen from my lungs. I had never gotten further than this stage. I always carried an Epi-Pen with me to stave off the anaphylaxis until I got to the hospital—and my last reaction happened when I was thirteen. From almonds, too, not a dumb spider bite.

Legolas, who was searching Gloin, found his locket and popped it open. “Hey! Give it back!” Gloin yelled. “That’s private.”

The prince sneered. “Who is this?” he inquired. “Your brother?”

“That is my wife!”

“And what is this horrid creature? A goblin-mutant?”

“That’s my wee lad, Gimli!”

The elf no doubt mistook my hiss of broken laughter for faltering sobs.

Luis would be so happy right now.

I spasmed, laughs turning to desperate attempts for air. The red-head shouted something in elvish to her companions. She gathered me in her arms and pushed sweaty strands of black curls from my forehead.

Fili then remembered my words, my swollen hand from the bite at Beorn’s, and saw the puncture wound weeping blood on my thigh. He surged forward—and the elf guarding him held him back. Fili thrashed helplessly. “Spider venom!” he yelled. “It’s spider venom! She has a reaction! Please, she needs medicine! It’s in her pack!”

Cariño.

“She needs a healer!” Oin roared. “Let me through! Let me see her!”

He went ignored. The elf pressed her palm against the puncture wound, and her words turned quick and instructional. Then Legolas’ voice cut in, calm but firm. She responded with a bite that even I picked out in my state. I blinked up at the elf’s curtain of hair that hung around her, and past that, the canopy. In the disruption, shriveled leaves drifted down. One fell on her shoulder. Her hazel eyes darted over me as her focused distress mounted.

A few moments later, something cool spread over the bite. It soothed the worst of the fire, but the Doom wouldn’t abate—instead it swelled, lifting me up like a wave of strange water in a strange river to carry me away on its current. My heart beat too rapidly, and a foreign—but familiar—nothingness crept in.

(So. It would be like this after all.)

Against discolored leaves and dark soil, my twitching, bloodied fingers curled until I formed a thumbs up. Hopefully, the Company would see the gesture and take comfort in it.

It would be okay. It would be okay.

(I still didn’t want to die. I never wanted to die.)

“Stay with me,” the elf spoke through the dim gray that coated my vision. Maybe she gently rocked me back and forth. Maybe I imagined it. Either way, it was nice. “Stay with me.”

It’s Tauriel, the last fragments of my consciousness whispered. Tauriel.

“Stay in the light.”

My dying breaths were wasted on a question.

“What fucking light?”

Chapter Text

“Uuuhhhhhhhh.”

Bilbo Baggins, currently invisible, slammed his back against the wall of the small chamber. The wood elves had enough decency to prepare the Company’s fifteenth companion for a burial service after her untimely demise in their realm, and she rested on an austere granite slab with stark white linen covering her.

Yet still—watching one rise from the dead did not make Bilbo comfortable in the slightest.

Especially when she made disturbing sounds from underneath the sheet.

“Uuuhhhhhh.”

He pressed into the wall even further, fingers splaying against the cold stone, watching with half-shut eyes so he could close them the instant it all became too much for him. The linen rose with the exhale of a breath. Bilbo squeaked. Was she—was it—

“Uuuhhh—ack—pbbbbt—what da—”

Valeria sat up, tugging the linen out from her mouth with a sputter. But the sight of her before Bilbo about shocked his heart into apoplexy and pushed him into an early grave.

She was ethereal, composed of translucent matter that was not quite in this world and not quite beyond it. What were once merry brown eyes were now pale prisms of light. The scar from the orc blade marred her front in a dark charcoal, as well as the scar on the side of her waist. But even all of that would have been bearable to look at were it not for the droplet of light burning a hole into her chest. It did not cast a blueish-gray glow like the rest of Valeria; no, it was so deep and endless that it could have been a piece of Varda herself.

The droplet was almost too powerful and consuming to gaze upon at all, and the ring singed his finger.

“Bilbo?” Valeria’s voice, just like the rest of her, did not belong entirely to this realm. It echoed and rippled, familiar tone accompanied by a strange pitch. She looked about the small chamber, starry eyes moving over him without pause. “I can hear you, Bilbo. You’re breathing really loud.”

He tore himself away from the blinding void of the droplet and frantically slipped the ring off before it severed his finger entirely. Then Valeria—his Valeria was there, brown-skinned, black-haired, and in solid form.

Her brows jumped up at the sudden sight of Bilbo, but it was followed by a happy smile.

And Bilbo, of course, would have smiled back, but his heart hammered too loudly in his ears for him to appropriately respond.

“H-hello, Valeria—it’s good to, it’s good to see…you.”

The smile turned to an amused grimace. “Really? It doesn’t sound like you are.” She looked down at the gauzy white gown she wore underneath the linen. “Were the elves getting ready to bury me?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe so.”

Valeria ran her fingers through loose tresses. Her expression brightened. “Ooh, they washed my hair for me.”

The delight then halted. She tossed the linen off completely and inspected her arms. “And washed the rest of me, too, pervertidos.”

Bilbo swallowed and regained his functions. He needed to be composed if they were to escape from the Elvenking’s halls.

“Aw, man, I’m thirsty as hell.” Valeria rubbed at her neck, and her eyes widened. “Oh, hey! My bruises are gone. So are all the other hurts. Sweet.”

“What—what, if I may, did that to you?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. “Hurt your neck like that. None of us ever did get an answer from you—not that you were in any shape to give it, of course.”

Valeria wandered around the room, seemingly searching for something. She paused for a moment at Bilbo’s question, then continued on.

“Nothing you need to worry about right now, Baggins,” came her gentle—but fixed—reply.

Bilbo made an ah face. So it was one of those things. Future…business.

Valeria said not to be worried, but worrying was a habitual, well-bred Baggins trait, so he did anyway.

“Where’s my pack? And all my clothes?” Valeria tossed her hair back over a shoulder. The gown she wore was obviously meant for elves; it copiously draped over her feet and pooled in silken waves on the floor. Beautiful in its simplicity, yes, but not meant for someone as slight as she was. The cut of the dress showed a fair amount of shoulders and neck, and Bilbo silently fretted over her visible, jutting bones. In such fair lighting that the forest lacked, Valeria’s half-starved features were even more prominent.

On the front of her spindly chest hung her shark tooth, and half-concealed behind it was a small jewel, discreet and unthreatening.

What was it?

Bilbo forced his eyes back up to Valeria’s and found that she expectantly waited for him to respond. “O-oh,” he stammered, remembering the task at hand. “Yes. I do believe the elves took your belongings to one of the offices.”

“Do you know the way?”

“I do.”

“Then let’s go! We probably don’t have much time. Did you get the keys to the dwarves’ cells?”

The initial surprise at Valeria’s knowledge took Bilbo off-guard for a second before he reminded himself that it was normal. The ring of keys he swiped and haphazardly stuffed into his trouser pockets jingled when he patted them.

She gave a thumbs up and a grin. “Awesome. Now let’s get outta here.”

Bilbo turned to open the chamber door, but as his hand hovered above the latch, he tweaked his nose and spun back to Valeria with a pointed finger. “Don’t—don’t think that I’m not upset about you not staying away from the whole mess,” he chastised. “Look where it got you! Right where I said it would!”

Valeria didn’t even have the decency to pretend to be ashamed. She hiked up the bottom of her dress so she wouldn’t trip over the fabric while they walked. “Yeah, okay, I didn’t stay put. But how could I? And look at me now, Baggins!”

She squatted—noticeably favoring the right leg—then kicked her feet out as if to do a little jig. Bilbo stared flatly back at her. “I’m even better off. Dying really is good for the body.”

“How did it happen? One moment I was gone doing what you told me to do—”

“You would have done it without me saying anything—”

“—And the next I’m watching your poor, rashy corpse get thrown over an elf’s shoulder!”

He placed both hands on his hips and glared up at Valeria. “So?”

“Don’t give me that look! But here. This is what happened.”

Valeria pulled her dress up the side of her left leg to reveal the lethal wound.

Bilbo poorly stifled a gag at the sight of it. She frowned at him. “It’s not that disgusting. A spider got me. I had a bad reaction. It was a pretty horrible way to go…but I guess every way I’ve died has been horrible because it is dying, so…”

She shrugged a scrawny shoulder, nonchalant.

Bilbo begged to differ about the wound not being disgusting. The single puncture was a mass of dark colors, and the hole itself was still a hole. It sunk a bit into Valeria’s skin, unevenly puckered and irritated.

She dropped the gown and huffed. Bilbo let out a loud sigh of relief, which caused her to roll her eyes. “Oh my god, come on. Before you puke all over the place.”

-

Dying didn’t make me less tired, but it didn’t make me more tired, so that had to be a win. I was clean, too, though I felt sorry for whatever elf had to give my nasty corpse a sponge bath.

Bilbo led the way down through twisty, turning halls and stairs that I couldn’t keep track of. The fact that he remembered where everything was attested to his keen mind. I followed the pats of his hobbit feet against the stonework, paused when they stopped, and moved when they started up again.

Like all my other fatal wounds, the one in my leg hurt like a bitch post-awakening. I tried not to make my limp too apparent, but when I had trouble zooming down some steep, spiral stairs with Bilbo, he slipped off the Ring and looked back to me.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. My leg just aches still.” I had more of a pant to my voice than I would have liked, but at least I had a voice again. “And this dumb dress isn’t helping. Are we almost there?”

Bilbo’s head bobbed. “Almost. The office will be at the bottom of these stairs and the second door on the right.”

I hadn’t really bothered to wonder why Bilbo was so jumpy around me after I first woke up. I figured that when you saw a dead body suddenly become not dead, it was understandably unnerving. But as he spoke to me, he didn’t quite meet my eyes, and his fingers twitched.

Was there something wrong? Or something that he hadn’t told me?

I would have asked, but Bilbo put the Ring back on and descended the rest of the stairs. I moved as quietly as I could in my condition. We avoided elven guards milling the halls a few floors above; I didn’t doubt that there were more down here.

The thought of Luis telling me to play more video games swam up in my mind. All this sneaking and stealthing made me feel really stupid, considering I had no idea what I was doing. Why was I crouching in an open hallway? Didn’t know. Tip-toeing around when the guards had ultra-sensitive hearing? Didn’t know either. If I played video games, I might have had a better go at it.

But nothing could have prepared Bilbo and me for an elf coming from one of the doors in the hallway we tried our best to creep through. He was probably a servant given his soft, earthen-colored clothes, but servants could alert guards, and guards could capture us, and capture was, of course, game over.

Our eyes locked onto each other.

I stopped. He stopped.

Bilbo squeaked. But Bilbo was invisible. Great for him! Not great for me.

The elf paled so instantaneously that I thought he was going to faint. It took me another second to figure out why.

I was supposed to be dead.

There was a moment of paralyzing doubt. But I could either run and get imprisoned instead of buried, or, or I could scare the shit out of this poor servant and hopefully clear the path.

I was a horrible, terrible actress. A complete dumbass when it came to lying in any shape or form.

Once I moved, there was no going back. I had to fucking commit.

My lifted dress dropped to the ground with a faint whoosh, and my face twisted into a mask of malice and despair. All the nightmares I had for the last month really helped me tap into my current character.

White dress? Dead? Mexican? I was no longer Valeria Juarez. No, I was La Llorona, and I had an elf to terrify.

I let out a ragged wail, and the elf backtracked with a strangled scream. “¡Estoy hambrienta! Mis pies están fríos!” 

My arms raised above me, hands clawed, and I treaded forward. The elf tried to cry out again, but complete and utter fear silenced him.

I turned my throat back to the horrible way it sounded after I got choked out by the Dark Lord himself. “¡Manzana! Gato! Colorado! Estás asustado, y me estoy quedando sin palabras!”

Feeling finally returned to the servant’s legs, and he booked it down the hall with some frantic elvish prayer. He skidded around the corner, half-sobbing, and left me standing alone with my teeth bared.

I dropped my arms and coughed to clear my throat.

Bilbo took the Ring off. “Was that scary?” I asked him. “Be honest.”

“Y-y-yes, yes it was.”

I stared incredulously at Bilbo as he scurried to the office door. “Wait, wait a minute,” I said, trailing behind. “Did that actually scare you?”

“I mean—well—no, of course not. I was objectively, er, saying that it was scary.”

Bilbo opened the door and peeked his head in, then slipped into the office. I followed. “Not scary at all in actuality. Actually.”

The office had low-burning candles to illuminate it. My pack sat on top of an intricately-carved desk, and I let out a relieved gasp and walked over. Bilbo stood guard.

I slipped the dress off me. It pooled around my bare feet. “Okay, buddy, you’ve been acting funky ever since I woke up. Did I do something?”

“No—” Bilbo squawked when he turned to talk to me and got an eyeful of brown ass while I pulled up a cleanish pair of underwear. The elves took the ones I had been wearing when I died. “Ack! Valeria!”

“What? It’s just a little bum!”

“You’re—you’re naked!”

“Not anymore!” I mean, I was still topless, but I quickly threw a tunic on, then unrolled a pair of trousers. My sports bra was glued to the bottom of my pack somewhere, and I didn’t have time to wrap a breast band around my chest.

I found my scrunchie laying on the desk. It had probably fascinated whoever worked in here like everyone else. Snatching it up, I threw my hair into a ponytail. My boots were nowhere to be seen, and I didn’t want to drench my sneakers during the upcoming barrel ride we were about to get into. So, sadly, I stayed cold-toed and barefoot. The office also didn’t have my—Fili’s—cloak anywhere either, which sucked.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, pack now secure and my modesty returned. Bilbo glanced back at me with more than a fair amount of hesitancy, then relaxed. I fastened my blades onto my hips. “What happened? Did it freak you out to see me come back?”

“I—no. Well.”

Bilbo nervously scratched his head when he failed to find the right words. I walked back to him and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey. It’s alright. You can tell me later. But we should probably get out of here, huh? Before more elves come to investigate La Valeria?”

When Bilbo smiled, weak as it was, I grinned and playfully bit my tongue between my teeth. “Yeah, there’s the hobbit I love!”

“Yes, well, let’s be off…” His eyes dropped down to the extra item in my hand before I could hide it behind my back. “What is that?”

I ushered him out into the hall, which, thankfully, remained empty. Echoes of laughter and music drifted from several floors above. Was there a party going on? Was that why slipping through had been easier than I thought?

If that were true, then I would have to reevaluate the pride I’d taken in sneaking.

“The elves took the clothes I wore, including my vest, shoes, and undies,” I said, holding the item Bilbo spotted in front of me. His brows scrunched at the inkwell. “That’s a pretty dick move, don’t you think?”

“I understood only half of that.”

“It’s rude, Baggins. They also locked up our dwarves, right?”

“…Right?”

“That’s rude, too. And I’m pretty sure that Legolas told Tauriel to let me die, which is a complete dick move.”

“Legolas…Tauriel…?”

“The elf-prince and the redhead. Come on, Baggins, keep up!”

“I’m going to bop you on the head, Valeria.”

“Anyway.” I stood straight and popped open the inkwell’s stopper. “I think, if they’re poor hosts, then we should be poor guests.”

I faced the wall we stood by and dipped a couple fingers into the inkwell. Black, viscous liquid coated them, and it reminded me of spider ick.

“What…what are you doing?” Bilbo gasped when he saw me press my fingers onto the wall and begin making a large, horizontal 3 shape. “You’re defacing an elven palace!”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything facial about this,” I muttered with a stupid smirk. I channeled my inner teenage boy (Luis) and continued on with my work of art.

Bilbo’s jaw continuously dropped as the masterful mural came to life.

“V-V-Valeria! That’s a…that is…”

I completed the tip of the fat, giant, lopsided dick.

“One of the greatest things I’ve ever drawn? Yes, it is.”

It was as if Bilbo had to stare at my spider puncture all over again. He groaned and grimaced like any proper hobbit would. I didn’t blame him. I made it a really unattractive pito. The ball sack had nasty little hairs covering it, there were squiggly veins, and, as a finishing touch, I drew oblong spurts that represented an explosive ejaculation.

I shook with snorting giggles the whole time.

“Are you quite done?” Bilbo huffed. His face contorted in disgust after another glance at the Monster. “It’s going to give me nightmares!”

“Don’t be so rude, Dildo Baggins.”

“I have no idea what that means, and from that awfully childish look on your face, I do not want to.”

I set the inkwell on the floor and blew a kiss to the huge penis as Bilbo dragged me away. “Adios, mi niño! You will be missed.”

We left the massive dick in the hall to go and rescue some dwarves.

-

“I’ll wager the sun is on the rise,” Bofur lamented. “Must be nearly dawn.”

Ori sighed, and sorrowfully said, “We’re never going to reach the mountain, are we?”

Bilbo popped into view, then me, grinning ear-to-ear. “Not stuck in here, you’re not,” the hobbit said with a jangle of the prison keys.

The dwarves rushed to the prison bars confining them. They shouted our names with well-earned excitement, but Bilbo shushed them all. “There are guards nearby!” he hissed as he unlocked Thorin’s cell door. The key to all cells was the same, so I watched Bilbo set the Company free while I waited at the bottom of the stairs.

I got a lot of quick but meaningful hugs from the Company and a big hug from Fili. “The elves were suspicious of us,” he said. He took my hand and kissed it. “We did not act…appropriately to your death.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, since we were all quite certain that you’d pop back up from the clutches of death like a spring daisy,” Bofur said cheerily, “we weren’t, oh, how’d you say…”

“Despondent,” Dori finished.

“Right. We’re not a trained theatre group, I’ll have you know, so our tears and wails were a wee bit forced. And a wee bit loud. But we did our best under the circumstances!”

“Kili tried composing a poem for you,” Fili promptly informed with a shit-eating smirk. “It was awful.”

“Oh my god, can you please repeat it for me when we’re not trying to break out of this joint?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her!” Kili punched Fili in the arm, and his brother would have returned the hit, but Bilbo stamped through all of us in a huff.

“We could be caught at any moment!” he chastised. “Let’s get a move on! Follow me.”

Bilbo took the lead and hurried down the steps. With Fili there to support me, I didn’t have to solely rely on my own strength to keep up. “Where are we going?” he whispered to me as fourteen dumbasses and a hobbit fled down staircases. I didn’t have time to appreciate the architecture of the elven palace; all I knew was that we were partially underground, and if I craned my head up, I could barely pick out natural light.

“To the cellars,” I said back. “Bilbo’s found a way out for us.”

Fili nodded. We made it down another floor when he said, “Oh, I forgot to mention.”

He shimmied, then hauled out the tightly-rolled cloak that had been partially tucked into his pants and covered with his tunic.

I gasped, “Yes! Thank Christ!”

“Thought you would want it back. I nicked it before the elves could take your stuff. Said that it had sentimental value.”

“I bet you put on your saddest face.”

“Ah, it didn’t take much acting. I was telling the truth, after all.”

This guy.

“Luckily, the elves didn’t see just where he stashed such a sentimental item,” Kili put in. “I, on the other hand, had to watch him stuff it down his trousers.” He then flashed a grin at Fili. “But dear brother has plenty of space down there, don’t you—”

Kili dodged Fili’s fast punch.

The cloak didn’t have much time to breathe. I shoved it in the pack while we half-stealthed, half-ran down the last flight of stairs and into the cellar. The scent of wine and wood hit my nostrils, and the low roar of running water reverberated around us. I shivered at the cooler temperature, and suddenly, the prospect of being barrel-tossed into a freezing river wasn’t all that appealing.

Two elven guards were asleep at one of the tables, overindulged in wine. My eyes locked on their platter of cheese and bread, which sparked a ravenous hunger in my stomach that I managed to ignore so far.

While the dwarves quietly argued with Bilbo about the validity of his plan, I snuck off to cram my face with food as silently as I could. It was all I could do to not moan out loud. The cheese was bomb, the biscuits were banging, and the small sip of wine I washed it all down with was divine.

“Valeria, where’s Valeria?” came Bilbo’s curt whisper. He hurried around the barrels the dwarves had stowed themselves into and saw me picking at the food like a rat.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips. “Oh, for—really?”

I splayed an arm out in defense. After horking down one last biscuit, I tip-toed back over and examined thirteen dwarven heads peeking out from the barrels. “Dying makes you hungry, Baggins. And I haven’t had the best time eating, either—”

“Alright, yes, I understand, now will you please get into a barrel?”

I took a couple steps toward the last available one. I supposed that if I had to escape down a river (and possibly evade orc attacks at the same time) at least I wouldn’t have to do it swimming.

Then a thought struck me dumb.

Fuck.

How could I have forgotten?

Spinning back around, I grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and shook him. “You dumbass, you can’t swim!”

Bilbo’s startled expression mirrored mine. Apparently, the not-at-all important detail slipped his mind as well.

“Will the two of you hurry up?” Thorin growled, poking his head out like a badger. “Or we’ll never make it out of here!”

I swung my pack off and made Bilbo put it on while he tried to whisper-argue with me. “You don’t—I need to—this is part of my plan, Valeria. It’ll be fine! Just get in!”

“Don’t fucking try to be bossy with me!” I shoved him toward a barrel. He tried to fight me, but I had a good foot on him and more muscle—even after starving in Mirkwood—so I wound up partially packing Bilbo down into a barrel with a bare foot.

Up from above, guards shouted.

“Shit.”

I went back to the lever. Fili lifted his head out to see what I was doing. He startled when he saw me several feet away from the barrels and not specifically in one. “Ria! What—”

Bofur interrupted him. “What do we do now?”

I shot them a reassuring grin. “Hold your breath.”

Then I cranked the lever back. The Company shouted their surprise when the floor beneath them tilted, and they rolled unceremoniously into the river below.

Instead of watching the last of them go, however, I jumped onto the platform. My left leg gave out from the sudden strain, so the two-second improvised plan of running after the barrels got turned into a sliding scramble. And, shamefully, I wasn’t as graceful as the elves that rushed down the cellar stairs to find the escapees.

Tauriel led them, and her face filled with palpable shock when she saw the not-dead woman flopping across the uneven floor like a fish. I did feel bad for Tauriel. If the dwarves’ reactions were anything to go off of the first time they saw me standing after I died, she was probably having a rough time processing the sight of my awkward, very much alive tumbling.

So, I shouted out a half-hearted, “Sorry—aaaah!”

View of the elves abruptly disappeared. The floor gave way, and I plummeted through the air. Trained instinct put me into a vertical position with my arms crossed over my chest. I managed to suck in some air and hold my breath before I plunged into icy cold water. When I swam to the surface, strong hands lifted me up and into a barrel.

I came chest-to-chest with Fili. Both of us were soaked, and our barrel was half-filled with water. His brows quirked. “Are you comfortable, my lady?”

The barrels moved with the current, and the rocky overhang that we were under pulled back to reveal undeniable, glorious sunlight. 

While the river was still calm, I tilted my head back and grinned.

“Right now, I am.”

His arm wrapped easily around my waist. To keep me secure, of course.

I looked over Fili’s head and sighed through my shivers at the nasty path before us. “In my world,” I explained a little too-calmly, “we have this fun thing called white water rafting.”

The barrel spun, giving Fili a good look at the small but roaring waterfall drop. His smirk vanished. “And is…this like that?”

“Not exactly.”

A rush of adrenaline surged in my chest, the same kind that pumped through you right before the drop of a rollercoaster, or as you stared at the tiny world beneath as your feet toed the edge of the plane door, or when your body was certain that what was about to happen in just a few moments was completely and utterly unstoppable.

I braced numb hands against the barrel. Fili locked up, and his breathing hitched. “It’ll be okay,” I spoke despite the terrified yells that accompanied the barrel drops in front of us. “Just hold your breath and hang on.” The roar of rapid water filled my ears. “And don’t drown.”

If Fili had something snarky to say, it was lost as our barrel pitched off the edge. There was a moment of weightlessness. Water misted my face. I screwed my eyes shut. We dunked into the river again and violently whirled around its current. I held my breath despite the river’s attempt to tear it away from me, and my head cracked against Fili’s.

Then cloudy dark burst back into bright daylight, and I drew in a shuddering breath the same time I opened my eyes. Fili, who hadn’t been so fortunate in holding his holding his breath, retched up all the water he inhaled onto my chest, coughing, “S-sorry!”

I cleared my vision just in time to see the rapids. Bilbo, a ways in the front, hung onto dear life as all of our barrels bounced and thrashed through the churning waters like pinballs. The barrel scraped against rocks faster than I could try to steer away from them, and wood ominously cracked. In front of us, Ori’s barrel tipped forward and spun him head-over-heels before tossing him back up. He cried for Dori, but there was nothing any of us could do for each other with how fast the river moved.

Then a shrill horn sounded, dashing my dreams of making it past the gate like I hoped.

“Shit,” I hissed. The river grew narrower and steeper on the sides, and as we came bobbing around the bend, the elven-guarded checkpoint stood stark against the otherwise beautiful autumn day. One of the guards raced down the stairs and pulled the lever to close our only way through. The heavy metal creaking of the gate was a shrill companion to the roar of the river.

We got backed up like boats in a delayed ride through Pirates of the Caribbean. But while the dwarves readied themselves to be dragged from the river, I happened to look to the forested embankment on our right.

Figures, discolored and clad in armor and carrying blades that would happily run right through me again, swarmed through the trees like a plague.

I forgot about the little dilemma in front of us and diverted all attention to the big one.

It felt good to have my voice back so I could scream at the top of my lungs:

“ORCS!”

One of the elven guards who snapped around to see where I was looking did a Matrix-esque move and narrowly avoided an arrow. I reached down and pulled both blades out, giving my left one to Fili. We were in ridiculously tight and unsteady quarters, but it didn’t hurt to have a weapon when orcs—bellowing and screeching—descended down on both dwarves and elves alike.

I hadn’t seen them since one killed me.

Several launched themselves onto the Company. I rammed my blade into an orc’s gut with an angry shriek while Fili repeatedly stabbed another that landed on the side of the barrel. The weapons, along with Sting, sang blue in the daylight. I didn’t think as the water roiled black with orc blood. I didn’t think about how the heat of flames replaced the freezing river. I just sank my blade into whatever orc body came near enough, feeling the scrape of metal against bone and muscle—

“Kili!”

I swiveled around.

An arrow, nasty and big, protruded from Kili’s leg. He had tried to pull the gate’s lever open himself, and I got so swarmed in killing orcs that I didn’t have a chance to make him stop, to let me go instead.

The sight of shock and pain on Kili’s white face made me let out a wordless yell. That was Kili. My family. And I didn’t give a flying fuck about what the books or movies said. Right now—right now—he was on the ground with an orc planning to chop him in two. All the elven guards who were posted at the gate had diverted to the embankments in the fight, leaving him all alone.

He was going to die.

I tried to scramble out of the barrel with Fili, the both of us screaming—

Our screams cut off the moment an arrow hit the orc with such force that it toppled back into the gate’s wall.

Tauriel.

I would have looked in the direction of the redhead, but Kili threw himself back onto the lever and cranked the gate open. The barrels surged forward. Kili rolled back into his, and he let out a strangled cry as the arrow shaft snapped on the rim. I tried grappling his barrel to see if he was okay, but we were thrown over another waterfall, and the unforgiving current almost dragged me out. Fili’s reflexes saved me the instant he felt my body dislodge, and he wrapped a crushing arm around my waist to keep me inside.

The barrel bounced back up just to be plunged under again. Another fall, another moment when I held the breath I didn’t have, then repeat. A couple arrows embedded themselves into Fili’s and my luxurious transport. It was only because we moved so erratically through the rapids that they didn’t hit their targets.

And no, I didn’t want to find out what an arrow to the fucking skull would do to me.

“Ria!”

I jerked to the side so Fili could take a swipe at an orc on the rocky riverbank we grated against. The orc squealed and fell into the river, disappearing underneath the white froth of water. But there were more. So many, many more. Their yellow broken things for teeth glistened in the sun, and their weapons were dark and jagged.

Through the icy numbness of the river, my chest ached.

While our barrel wildly spun, my fingers fumble for the droplet’s chain. Fili shouted to Bifur and Kili, who were nearby, as they tried to strategically take out orcs as best they could. Elves darted along the riverbanks, arrows loosing from their bows and blades whirling a second before an orc dropped to the ground.

Legolas and Tauriel raced among the forces. They worked together in a way only hundreds of years of practice and friendship could perfect. I would have watched them longer, but an orc hurled itself at Fili and me. Twin blades drove through its abdomen, and the orc let out a horrific howl inches from my ear.

We dumped its body aside. In the sparse moments of not being assaulted, I threaded a numb, clumsy finger beneath the droplet’s delicate chain and pulled it over my head. The droplet fit warmly in my palm, bringing feeling back to my frozen hand. Fili watched me wrap the chain around my fingers and wrist like I did before in Mirkwood. His gaze sharpened with the memory of the light I bore while we fought, which hadn’t just been a hallucinogenic effect of lingering spider venom.

The droplet shone strangely in full daylight, and when I squeezed it tighter, blood welled up between the creases of my closed hand.

My heartrate spiked. The world, as chaotic and dizzying as it was, snapped into clarity. Fear and cold faded away to excitement and an unhealthy amount of energy.

The river tossed the Company around another sharp bend. Legolas took the chance to literally step on the dwarves’ big fucking heads to shoot at orcs. I was glad the droplet pulled me out of the numbing panic, because otherwise I couldn’t have paid enough attention to watch how hella extra this fucking elf was. Legolas even did a twirl on Dwalin’s shiny gourd as he simultaneously shot three orcs down. When he finally jumped off, Dwalin spat Khuzdul curses at him, and I laughed.

Legolas heard my laugh, apparently. He spun around, unnatural eyes searching for me. When I passed into his range of vision, I gave an open-mouthed, sarcastic grin and flipped him off. Legolas did not seem as shocked as Tauriel; rather, great confusion dawned on his face. It wrinkled his forehead and drew his lips into a frown the same time he shot two more orcs—all without looking away from me.

 And then the barrel whirled me away, and the hellish battle resumed.

“Up ahead!” Thorin bellowed. The light of the droplet dimmed, and terror crept back in beneath the closed door.

Orcs lined both sides of the river’s low, rocky walls. Thick, large arrows were primed to be loosed from their bows, and with them came paralyzing howls that rose above the thunder of the water.

The dwarves screamed, Bilbo ducked into his barrel, and I did the only thing I could do.

My closed fist lifted into the air. The creaking of bow strings filled my ears. In a few more moments, we’d all be dead, and I would be the only one to come back.

Just the thought of returning to this world without any of them beside me, with me, was enough to draw a furious screech from the pit of my stomach.

I opened my hand, and the droplet shined.

Starlight. Relentless, searing, consuming starlight unleashed its brilliance through the expanse of millions of years. Unforgiving heat flowed up my left arm and lanced through my jaw, but I held the light for as long as I possibly could. It drowned out the sound of the river, the orcs, the blood beating through me—leaving nothing but a similar silence that overwhelmed me the moment before I fell between life and death.

And just like that same soul-stretching suspension, I existed between worlds, a place that held nothing but blank, infinite emptiness.

It wasn’t comforting.

Not the pain, but the pressure became too great, and with another cry, I closed my fist around the droplet again.

The light winked out. It ripped away the energy it gave me, which left my body shaking from the abrupt cut off. Had the water always been this frigid? Had my muscles always ached like this?

Disjointedly, I felt myself leaning into Fili, who held me upright, and my shins dug into the barrel.

When I managed to lift my gaze, I saw that we were out of the worst of the rapids and now floated down a swift—but calm—current. Blood poured from my hand and into the water-logged barrel, which was already murky with orc gore.

I followed the collar line of Fili’s tunic, noting how the strings that had kept it tied shut were now loose and revealed dark golden chest hair. My eyes drifted to his collar bone, then to the trim of his beard, then up to his utterly baffled expression. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing more than a hoarse scratch came out.

Since I didn’t have the slightest clue about what to say (not to him, not to myself), I lifted my trembling hand from where it rested on the barrel rim. Rivulets of red dripped off. When I unclenched my fist, Fili unevenly inhaled.

The droplet, like before, had burrowed itself into my palm. I wanted to yank it out again, but I was afraid it’d slip from my grasp and be lost to the river.

“What…” Fili gulped as if his throat was dry, even though we were absolutely drenched. “What is it?”

I answered honestly.

“No goddamn idea.”

Chapter Text

Twenty minutes of shivering and hand-paddling later, we reached a sloping, rocky shoreline. The bleeding had stopped, though an unnatural feeling of something sinking and hooking underneath my skin replaced it.

I wished Thorin's reaction to the light was as calm as Fili's.

As soon as our barrels scraped against the ground, he marched to me, expression stormy and frightening.

“Whoa, wait, hold on—” I tried to explain, but he put my arm into an iron-forged vise and yanked me out.

“Uncle!” Fili yelled as Thorin half-dragged a few feet away. I instinctively fought back, but I was a soggy, starved, weakened mess, and I couldn’t put much into resisting.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Unhand her!” Bilbo demanded from his barrel, which hadn’t made it to the riverbank yet. He paddled faster. “Thorin! Wait!”

I writhed and twisted my arm. Thorin grunted at the exertion, but he didn’t release me until we were farther onto the rock. Thankfully, he didn’t throw me, but he wasn’t gentle either.

“What manner of magic was that?” he snarled.

I scrambled back from him and propped myself up on my elbows. Bilbo leaped the rest of the way from his barrel and hurried to his feet. He raced over, waterlogged but determined. Then he pushed past Fili and Thorin to kneel next to me, and he fixed Thorin with an anxious yet defiant look.

“Tell me!”

“I was fucking going to!” I yelled back, which fueled his anger even more.

The rest of Company had crawled out of the barrels by now, and they tensely watched everything unfold from their respective spots on the rock. They might have gathered closer, but the barrel riding ate up everyone’s energy, and they were exhausted. I was exhausted, though, and still I had to deal with this shit.

I sat up with Bilbo’s help, and in doing so, glimpsed my chest. At some point in the struggle, my sopping tunic had been tugged down, revealing more cleavage than comfortable. And though the fabric wasn’t see-through, it clung tightly to my breasts—which, I realized, didn’t have any protection from my sports bra or binding. And because of the cold, I was full-on nipping.

So yeah. That fucking sucked.

With a grunt, I unstuck the tunic from my titties. Thorin folded his arms and waited for an answer, fuming.

“First of all, you’re welcome,” I said when I managed to get my voice back. The statement did not improve his mood, nor did I expect it to.

I then opened my palm to him and displayed the embedded droplet. “Second of all, this is what did it. Not me. Not entirely. I mean, I can get it to do what I want. Shine more, shine less. But every time I hold it, the stupid thing likes to try and make itself a part of me. Do I have any idea what else it does? No! Lady Galadriel had the elves back in Rivendell give it to me, but it’s not even from her. It’s from somebody else—somebody that nobody in this fucking world will even talk about! So if you want answers, Thorin, you’re not gonna get anything more than that!”

I wiped away the residual blood from my palm and unwrapped the chain. Thorin didn’t speak, and instead watched me pull the chain up. The droplet followed—with more resistance, this time. I tugged on it harder, and something below the jewel moved. My grimace grew. I gave it one final yank—

The droplet popped out with a squelch. Thorin’s eyes narrowed in a wince. Fili hissed. Bilbo gasped. But when I lifted the droplet, some friends came out with it.

“Oh—oh my god! Puah! Puah! Fucking nasty!”

Silvery, hair-thin, bloodied tendrils attached to the droplet emerged from the tiny gap in my palm. I could feel them dislodge from their places inside my palm, and pain zinged up my hand and wrist. I almost rightfully panicked and flung the entire necklace away, but I steeled myself to keep the removal steady.

“Mahal have mercy…” Fili uttered as he, too, watched the spectacle unfold. Bilbo made a noise like he felt queasy.

I panted as the last of the tendrils came free. Before I could morbidly examine them, however, they disintegrated on the breeze.

Blood gushed out from the hole it left behind. I hung the droplet back around my neck and looked to Thorin, Fili, and Bilbo. Their lost, astonished expressions didn’t comfort me.

Kili diverted the attention to him when he threw up dark bile on the rock. Watching me pull out the droplet probably spurred the nausea on. Fili helped Bilbo and me up, and the three of us hurried to Kili, who was flanked by Bofur and Oin.

“You’re hurt, brother,” Fili stated as he examined the black hole the orc arrow left behind.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kili said back, but his breathing was labored and skin pale.

I opened up my pack, which Bilbo still carried. Its contents remained mercifully dry. What little water that had slipped in was absorbed by the cloak on top. Shoving it aside, I searched for a few seconds, then fished out bandages and ointment. Once I hurriedly wrapped my bleeding palm, I focused on Kili.

“Is the arrowhead still in there?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Kili managed to reply. “It—ah, the shaft got ripped out during the fight.”

Oin and I looked over at the bile he’d left. Our eyes met, concern matching.

“Ye did some damage, that’s for sure,” Oin said. I unscrewed the ointment’s lid and scooped up a dollop. Kili watched me. He tensed when I hovered my covered fingers over his wound.

“Hold him down,” I instructed Fili and Bofur. Something dark poisoned him, and I had an inkling that elven medicine would cause a volatile reaction. And though I doubted it would draw the poison out completely, it might stem the effects.

“It’s nothing,” Kili protested unconvincingly.

My brows drew up, and I gave him a sympathetic frown. “I’m sorry. This will probably hurt.”

I swiftly smeared the ointment over the puncture. Kili thrashed against Fili and Bofur’s restraint, and Bofur covered his mouth to muffle his agonized yell. But his pain didn’t get in the way of my work; I made sure ointment evenly coated the wound, then deftly bound it with a fresh bandage. Tears leaked from Kili’s eyes, and through his ragged cries, Fili offered quiet words of encouragement.

“Easy, lad, easy,” Oin comforted. “It’ll be over soon.”

“We must be on our way,” Thorin cut in. I glared at him over my shoulder. “The orcs will be upon us again if we stay any longer.”

“Your nephew literally got shot,” I said, venom in my voice.

“Do you think orcs care?”

This conversation produced an eerie sense of déjà vu. I scrunched my face up and finished tying the bandaged. The ointment mixed with Kili’s dark blood and already seeped through the fabric. From his fluttering eyelids and gaunt pallor and rough, audible breaths, he risked fainting.

While I worked, I muttered, “I think we’ll be out of here before the orcs can catch up, vato.”

The foreshadowing went completely over Thorin’s head. He just wanted to be upset with me.

(Did he have the right to be?)

The creak of a bowstring interrupted our conversation.

A man had sailed so quietly into the small dock near the northern end of the bank we crawled onto that not even acclaimed dwarven hearing picked up on him. He donned a thick, patched coat for the cold weather, and his black hair was pulled back to keep out of his face.

While the dwarves readied themselves for a fight, I tightly smiled and sat back on my knees. “Oh, hey,” I said, pointing to the man. “Guys. This is Bard. He’s gonna help us get into Lake-town.”

The man’s bow lowered a fraction as his expression sharpened on me. Bard’s complexion was a lighter shade of brown than mine, but I couldn’t help feeling a little kinship.

“How come you upon my name?” Bard questioned, his arrow directing at me. Kili, with help from Fili and Bofur, sat up.

I raised my hands and slowly moved onto my feet. “That is a funny story. But why don’t I redirect you to my, uh, associate over here.” I gestured to Thorin. “He’ll tell you everything you need to know about us!”

“Valeria,” Thorin growled. “We cannot trust this human.”

My smile morphed to a scowl.

“Thorin, I swear to god, I’m gonna fucking sock you in the jaw if you don’t cooperate.” I lowered my voice to a not-so-quiet whisper. “You’re not going to succeed if you try to be all secretive, anyway. So just…be honest…and we’ll be fine, okay?”

We stared each other down until Bard darkly said, “Explain to me what a company of dwarves is doing with battered barrels from King Thranduil’s halls—before my suspicion outgrows my patience.” An accent I hadn’t heard before accompanied the threat.

I mouthed to Thorin, “I’ll kill you” when he didn’t immediately answer. It caused his Durin blue eyes to alight with fury, but a beat later, he stepped forward and addressed Bard.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain. We have come to reclaim our rightful home, Erebor, from the dragon Smaug.”

He didn’t try to hide how much he hated saying the words, and I got a lethal side-eye before he continued. But how could he argue against me? I was that bitch who knew every important thing that would happen on their quest.

“We…request that you take us to Lake-town, where we may seek counsel with the master and find shelter against the elements.”

Bard’s expression turned more severe. I stayed optimistic.

“You would dare go into that mountain and awaken such a monster? It would lay waste to my home.” He fully lowered his bow, however, and jerked his chin to our sad, beaten barrels. “And who would do such a thing, eh?”

I stepped forward to stand beside Thorin. “Orcs,” I said, and Bard’s lip curled.

“If orcs are after you, then you truly have no right to ask for shelter in Lake-town. They would slaughter my people in their sleep before the dragon could burn it to the ground.”

“No, they won’t.” I placed a hand to my chest. “Believe me. We…we have money we can give you to pay for transportation, if you’d like.”

“Do you think I would sacrifice the lives of my family and kin for a bit of gold?”

“I think that great things are in store for your family and kin,” I spoke slowly. I wasn’t a natural at being persuasive and eloquent, so I had to put in extra effort to make it work. “Because…because you’re Bard, descendent of the Lord of Dale, right?”

Intense gazes fell on me from all sides. With Bard in the front, Thorin at my side, and the dwarves behind me, I was trapped in the impromptu, revelatory information I’d just given.

“Are you a witch? A seer? How do you know of this?” Bard’s bow and arrow, though lowered, tensed as he treaded towards me. Bilbo shuffled closer; his shoulder brushed against my arm.

I put my hands up more. The bandage around my palm was stained red, and any time I moved my hand, it squished the hole in my palm.

“I am…an idiot, most of the time,” I said with a meek smile. “And these dwarves even more so.”

Beside me, Thorin muttered something indecipherable. My bare foot landed a solid hit to his calf.

“But I try to help in what ways I can,” I continued. “Because…yes, I do know certain things that transpire at certain times between now and, uh, well…”

(When Bilbo and Frodo left for the Grey Havens.)

I didn’t glance at the hobbit. My throat started to burn, and a confusing swirl of emotions rose up so abruptly in me that there was a tangible shift in everybody’s demeanors.

Getting randomly emotional while talking about the future didn’t sit well with them.

“And a while longer yet,” I finished in a lame breath, then cleared my throat to recompose. “But with these dwarves going to the Lonely Mountain, it means that Dale will…Dale will be returned.”

I extended a hand out to Bard. “And it’s going to need someone to lead it.”

It was going to need someone to make sure it still stood after the battle.

Bard’s intensity shifted to Thorin. “Does what she say is true?”

Thorin replied with single nod.

I shivered as a fall breeze passed through my wet hair and clothes. Bard’s expression belied great thought, and I didn’t blame him. He had just been hit with a whole bunch of wild shit—and under less comfortable circumstances like the dwarves had.

But, but, he eased a fraction and said to me, “If these dwarves journey with company such as yourself, they must have some sort of wit.”

Nearby, Gloin grumbled.

“I do not know if this future you speak of is forthcoming, but you may travel with me to Lake-town.”

My shoulders slumped with relief.

Bard slung his bow around him and gestured to the beaten barrels. “Come. Help me get them on the boat.”

I tilted my head to Thorin and saw his deep glower. “You heard the man,” I sarcastically murmured. “Get the barrels, Thorin.”

He growled something in Khuzdul, but I picked up “woman” and “human.” Whatever insult it might have been, though, it didn’t stop Thorin from barking to the dwarves to collect the barrels for the barge.

With some help, Kili got to his feet and stayed up on his own. I walked back over to him and collected my pack, then felt his forehead and pulse. “How’re you feeling?” I questioned.

He shot me one of his signature smirks, but it lacked its vitality.

“Like I could fight an army, Ria.”

Five minutes later, we sailed out onto the lake. The gentle lapping of water against the side of the barge tempted me into sleep, but I rubbed my eyes and fought it. “Go on,” Fili urged from where we sat with our backs to the wood. “Rest. You need it.”

He didn’t smile when I jokingly scoffed. “Are you kidding? I can’t do that.”

“Valeria. You have not slept more than a handful of hours for nearly a month. We are beyond the forest, now. Take this time to rest while you can.”

I looked around the barge. The dwarves were similarly exhausted, too tired to even be suspicious of their ferryman. But maybe they didn’t need to be since I vouched for him. Bilbo even made conversation with Bard while he steered.

Still. If I fell asleep, something bad could happen.

Which was a ridiculous thought, especially considering that I had more knowledge than anyone about what was to come.

“I…I don’t want to,” I spoke more softly. My knees curled up to my chest, and my too-sharp shins tapped against ribs and clavicle. “Doesn’t quite feel right. I mean, I’ve gone this long.”

Fili sighed, then pursed his lips in exasperation. “Valeria,” he implored. “Sleep.”

Perhaps I was being paranoid—or I had simply gotten used to the unending tension and fear, which was then followed by fighting and death and more fighting these past twenty-four hours. Now the absence of it all left me freaked out.

Before I could sink into the anxiety, Fili took the cloak out of my pack, threw it over me, then pulled me close to him. We both stank of river water and orc blood, but he was warm and his heart beat a soothing rhythm. I relaxed into him.

“You need to get something in your belly when we reach the town,” Fili commented while sleep dragged my eyes shut. “You’re naught but bones.”

“It’s a technique,” I said drowsily, lips barely moving. “If Smaug snatches me up, I’ll just be annoying bones for him to pick from his teeth.”

Fili’s chuckle reverberated a tangible sweetness, and it chased away the lingering nerves.

“Hey, Fili,” I mumbled. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I did a bad thing in the elven palace.”

“Oh?”

I managed to smirk, as tired as it was. “I drew a big penis on the wall before we went to go find you. Like, a fucking giant, fat, ugly dick that the elves will have to scrub off their walls.”

Fili slid a hand down his face as silent laughter overtook him. We were both so exhausted that its funniness only amplified, which left us breathlessly stifling our giggles.

Then he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my damp head. “Mahal, you are terrible,” Fili muttered. “And I believe once the rest of the Company hears of this, you’ll be elevated to as high a status as our ancestors of old.”

“Do you think Mahal would be proud?” I inquired, words slurring once the laughter faded. I’d be gone in another few moments.

“I do.”

“And Thorin?”

“The proudest.”

“And you?”

“You already know my answer.”

My smile lingered after a blank, blissful unconsciousness took me.

-

The master of Lake-town was, in other words, disgusting.

I remembered thinking, “Oh, wow, the movie really went that hard in making a repulsive character, didn’t they?”

But standing in front of the human version of the Goblin King, I realized that they spared the audience.

It went beyond looks, beyond his yellow-toothed smile, beyond the weasel of a man who lurked behind his bulbous figure. It was how he flippantly commented on how the poor and starving people of Lake-town deserved their state of living, how the riches of Erebor would get him a bigger manor, and how he was the embodiment of everything—everyone—I despised at home.

Grossly Rich. Apathetic. Uncharacteristically white compared to the darker people of Lake-town.

The master threw a lavish party in celebration of the dwarves’ quest to reclaim Erebor, and with it, as Thorin promised, forthcoming prosperity to Lake-town. While the manor clamored to prepare, I got a small, private room with a hot bath, and servant women took my dirty clothes to be washed. One spoke to me in a language I hadn’t heard in this world before, but she wasn’t offended when I told her that I didn’t understand.

So, I asked her what life was like in Lake-town. She was reluctant to respond at first, but after some gentle goading, she spoke quiet things about the master and the guards and the citizens. I thanked her, and she left me to scrub and soak.

The gouge the droplet left stung in the water, but I cleaned it anyway. It’d leave a nasty, inconvenient scab, but there wasn’t any terrible damage. My spider wound, by now, had simmered to a forgetful throb. Strength returned to my leg.

All in all, I could have been in worse shape.

The servant laid out a simple maroon dress on my bed. It was made from thick fabric that cinched around my waist with a belt. The sleeves came down to my wrists, but the collar, which was lined with white stitching on the edges, dipped low enough to reveal the bumps of chest bone, sharp collar bones, and a hint of cleavage from the way the dress pushed my breasts together.

I left the shark tooth visible, but the droplet stayed hidden underneath the dress. Its chain was so thin that nobody would notice it anyway.

The sound of chairs and tables scraping mixed with faint conversation floated up from the floor beneath me. The party wouldn’t start for a while, so I’d probably spend the next couple of hours napping, taking it easy, maybe finding Fili alone so we could continue where we left off in the meadow—

The harsh knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I groaned and stood to answer it.

Thorin stared up at me with not exactly a glower—but definitely a far from pleased look.

I notched my brows. “Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

“Uh…okay.”

There were a million possible things that Thorin wanted to discuss, especially since the Lonely Mountain was in arm’s reach—as well as the dragon who slept there. Oh, and then there was the war afterward, and Azog, and the Arkenstone, and the elves, and Gandalf, and Kili’s wound, and who would kill Smaug because I hadn’t yet told them that it was specifically Bard that shot the arrow—

I needed to get my list out.

Thorin shut the door behind him. I crossed back to the other side of the room, and I poured him a cup of wine to distract myself from the rising nerves.

Hey, maybe I was overthinking. Maybe Fili told him about the big dick I drew and Thorin wanted to commend me for my act of valor, then we’d laugh and toast and he’d encourage me to do the same in this vile manor.

“And what,” I said, handing the goblet to him, then sitting down in the lounge chair that had seen better days, “is it that you want to discuss, Señor Oakenshield?”

A few moments of his looming silence distinguished Thorin’s usual pissiness from something more serious. He sat opposite from me in the worse-looking chair that had some mysterious stain on the threadbare fabric.

After an uncharacteristically heavy drink of wine, Thorin wiped his mouth and took a breath before he spoke.

“Valeria.” His voice was lower, softer, and it set me on edge. I hated how he could pin me down with his gaze. “What becomes of my sister-sons and me?”

Thorin stiffened when my expression turned forcefully neutral.

“Tell me.”

Fire crackled in the hearth, and a drizzle of rain pattered against the dirty windows.

This was a second-story room. If I jumped out head-first, would I break my neck and die so I could escape the question?

No. I’d just wake back up and still have to answer. Fuck.

“Thorin, I don’t think…” I started, but my throat felt achy.

(Don’t get emotional. Don’t. Please.)

But the thought that Fili, Kili, and Thorin were bound for death twisted my resistance, and I couldn’t keep the mist from settling over my eyes. The dreams in Mirkwood I had about their fates haunted me.

(Blood leaked out of the corner of Fili’s mouth, Durin blue eyes staring vacantly into the ashy sky, blond hair dimmed.)

I was going to save them.

If Mirkwood had heightened the nightmares of their deaths, though, then it had also fortified my resolve to prevent them—no matter what.

No matter what.

“It isn’t your problem,” I said when I met his gaze once more. My tone changed; addressing something so big aloud set me into a cold finality. We would not discuss it. If I said but a single word, my entire idea of what would play itself out could change. I tested it with Bard and Lake-town and the master. I would not test it with the Thorin’s life or his nephews’ lives. “You take back Erebor. That’s all that matters.”

Thorin gripped his goblet. He was controlling his temper, but he hated riddles and vague answers. And the fact that I purposefully spoke that way didn’t ease his troubled mind.

“That’s all that matters?” he repeated, and I felt like I stared into a storm that hadn’t quite reached me yet. But when it did…

I sat still. My hands were placed too properly in my lap. If I moved them, they would shake. “Yes.”

Anger flashed in Thorin’s ancestral blue eyes. “You would keep me from the truth?”

“I’ve told you the truth.”

“Not all of it.”

When I chose to stay silent, Thorin set the goblet aside and rubbed his brow, abruptly tired from it all. Tired and weighed down. If he was trying to guilt me, it—it wouldn’t work. Probably.

“Mahal,” he whispered to himself, like a half-prayer.

I shifted in my chair. A long quiet followed, and I played with my shark tooth while Thorin was lost to his thoughts. By not speaking, I gave the answer anyway.

So, I stared into the low fire and hoped that he would leave.

But then.

But fucking then.

“You whispered a name in Mirkwood.”

I didn’t thought Thorin could get any more serious, but his unsettling, gravelly words sent a chill down my spine and crawled into my stomach. I could not look at him. Would not.

That memory was hazy at best, and in Mirkwood, dreams and waking blurred together. I doubted that I had ever uttered that name aloud. But…but the way he looked at me the morning after it happened should have been a clue. I just didn’t stop to think in those moments of lucidity.

“Did I?”

My lips barely moved. A phantom hand wrapped around my throat, soul thin. The fire’s entrancing dance of orange and yellow beckoned me to step away from reality so I wouldn’t have to face it.

“You whispered—”

The chair scraped as Thorin leaned forward, his tone quickening and turning…scared? I didn’t blame him. I had been scared beyond thought, beyond humanity, beyond existence when he tried to unmake me.

The wine taste in my mouth soured. The fire did not give off enough warmth.

Thorin tried to finish his sentence. “You whispered…his name. The servant of evil. The darkness that all of Arda fears. Why? Why?”

True terror poured from Thorin’s lips. The kind of terror that was almost silent because if it became too loud, then the nightmare would be real.

But I supposed that in a sense, it already was. He already was.

I slid my gaze back to Thorin, to the dwarf king who stared at me the same way he did Mirkwood, only this time unbridled. Desperation etched into his worn visage, the plea stranded on his parted lips.

A surge of choking truth rose in me like nausea. I wanted to tell Thorin—I wanted to tell him everything, just as I always had, just as I always would. The air in the room pulled back to make both of us vulnerable, with only the meager hearth to keep us from dying in the dark.

I wanted to tell him.

(Tell him.)

(Tell him.)

Another truth struck—the one that was darker, deeper, and nearly unbearable to face. It was like being stabbed with a cold blade all over again.

But I could not hide from it, no matter the ties, no matter…no matter the love.

Voice empty, expression blank, I said to Thorin:

“I don’t know. I’m going home before I find out.”

Chapter Text

Fili came into the room and saw an upturned chair, a spilled goblet of wine, and me crying on the edge of the bed.

“Mahal, what happened here?” he asked fervently, coming around to kneel in front of me. His expression dropped when he took in my swollen eyes, tear-stained front, and how I clutched the droplet like a rosary.

When those blue eyes lined with gold filled with concern and love for me, I broke again. Wordlessly, Fili sat on the bed, cradled the back of my neck, and pulled me into his embrace. My sobs were muffled by his new Lake-town coat, and through the salt and grief, I smelled whatever crisp soap he had used.

“What happened, Ria?” Fili whispered. He gently pried the droplet from my hand before it could burrow and placed it back around my neck. “Tell me.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Not any of it.

Once I got my crying under control, I adjusted the droplet chain and sat back, though my hand still tightly held Fili’s. His thumb stroked the spot right above my wrist, calloused but kind. Always so kind.

(Much kinder than me.)

“I, uh,” I started out, voice thick and gaze downward. My bare feet barely touched the floorboards. They were cold. “Thorin came to talk to me.”

Fili tensed but said nothing. I wiped my runny nose with the back of the dress sleeve. “It…it didn’t go well.”

“What was the conversation about, if I may ask?”

I gave a slight head shake. “It was....”

A fresh wave of tears loomed, blearing my vision again. “I don’t…I can’t…”

Fili breathed in like he was about to say something more, and I closed my eyes to brace for it.

Then he lifted the hand he held and gave it a chaste kiss. I bit back a sob.

“Very well. I would not cause you more despair than what you already face.”

Tears leaked out, raking lines into my raw cheeks.

“But you will tell me another time, won’t you?”

I nodded. It was the only thing I could do; if I opened my mouth or eyes, then I would lose everything I fought to hold together, and out with it would come the truth. Something I couldn’t bear to watch consume Fili. Not only would he have to carry the knowledge of his and his family’s deaths, but also the fact that I was going home. I didn’t have a way, yet, but the intent stayed the same.

And it would break his heart, just like it did mine.

Fili removed his coat and boots, and before I realized what he was doing, he had moved farther onto the bed and guided me to lay down. The frame creaked with the movement, but I let my head hit the worn pillow. A deep exhaustion washed over me, and Fili moved the blanket around so it covered my cold feet and weary body. He pressed a kiss to my forehead—the only part on my face that wasn’t wet—and went to leave.

I squeezed his hand, though, and murmured, “Stay.”

He paused for only a moment before a warm and familiar weight settled next to me. Fili brushed black hair from my face, unsticking strands caught in the tears. “How can I say no to that?” he breathed, and I heard the smile in his voice.

I managed to open my eyes, which were partially glued shut from crying, and took in his familiar face. He was beautiful in the soft light, and I missed seeing him so clearly and calmly now that we no longer suffered through Mirkwood’s purgatory.

Fili continued to smile, and I didn’t have it in me to feel ashamed. Not right now, when he was under the blankets with me, the both of us too fully dressed for the bed. I craved the security, the intimacy that Fili brought. That he willingly gave.

Though it would hurt the both of us later, I was too selfish to deny it.

I shrugged off the fatigue and kissed Fili, so gentle and careful that the air left him. He cupped my face, returning the tenderness, and drew me close enough that his heart thrummed against my chest.

There was no pretense this time. We had a bed, we had privacy, and we had each other.

Though our kisses, our touches, started out chaste and slow, the desperation to feel each other bled through. I stripped him of his shirt, hands greedily roving over him, and I wanted to cry again when Fili hastily untied my dress and touched my bare back with a ragged, starved groan before he kissed my shoulder with heated devotion. His welcome weight on top of me made me sigh and want to melt into him, and we captured all the noises we drew from each other in our mouths.

I sunk into hazy, breathless pleasure, and I forgot about the truth, the reality. There was just Fili and me, underneath the blankets, with Fili’s warm body that chased away all ideas of cold. We muttered and laughed low against each other’s skin, and he called me beautiful in words I understood and words I did not. I couldn’t let go of him—wouldn’t let go of him.

(Wasn’t this life nice? Didn’t it promise love and hope and happiness? And that wasn’t so bad at all, right? Wasn’t that what I always wanted? What everybody wanted?)

(Why push it away?)

Fili moaned, soft and stifled, when he entered. I shuddered into his shoulder, telling him that I was fine, that he felt good, so fucking good, just like that. I held onto him tighter, hands splaying against his taut back. His hips rolled with mine, each thrust attentive so as not to hurt me. But of course he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. This golden-haired dwarf, who now shared a piece of himself with me in the confines of my room, whose lips were languid and hot as they moved over the skin of my neck, couldn’t hurt me if he tried. It just wasn’t in his nature.

I hadn’t thought it was in me either.

Still, I clung to him, legs bent up at the knees and soft gasps escaping at each strike of pleasure. Fili whispered my name a moment before he was undone, and it was more than a name, more than sex. It was a confession comprised of a tangle of vowels and consonants that, up to this point, were mine to own. But as Fili professed them with his forehead bowed on my shoulder, they wrapped around his bones, his being, becoming part of him.

And though I didn’t dare think the words, they had already come, flowing through my veins, because how could I be this happy and still so sad? How could the thought of going home fill me with such despair? How could the thought of staying bring me joy?

When Fili lifted his head to kiss me, I smiled at him, and it was true.

-

“You’re rather late to the party,” Bilbo had to chime in when I silently sat next to him. My presence went unnoticed in the loud disarray of the festivities, but I wouldn’t put it past Bilbo to see the rumpled state of my dress and add things together.

“I was sleeping,” I muttered, grabbing a stray slice of bread and biting into it. Bilbo was pleased to see me eat, and he brightly nodded at my chewing.

My explanation was partially true; almost immediately after Fili and I had sex, I fell asleep curled up to him. He was gone when I awoke, but I didn’t worry over his whereabouts. He currently sat with Thorin and Kili at the head table with the Master of Lake-town and other important shits.

Fili caught me staring and grinned, and he subtly raised a goblet toward me. I grinned back.

Then my gaze shifted to Thorin, who did not smile.

I glanced back down to the bread in my grasp. The feast hall’s smells were overpowering; wine and bodies and spiced foods didn’t make a good mix, and for all the excitement that surrounded the thought of eating, my appetite dried up.

“Valeria? Is everything alright?” Bilbo asked. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise.

“Mm. Yeah.”

I shifted to face him. The little curly-haired hobbit with concern furrowing his brows and crumbs on his threadbare vest, whose feet swung a few inches above the table bench, looked downright adorable.

If the thought of leaving Fili and the Company and this world was bad enough, staring at my first friend, one of my best friends, in all his halfling sincerity, just about killed me for the fifth time.

I smiled and leaned over to give his forehead a quick peck. Bilbo squawked, but it was a good kind, and he came away grinning.

“I’m gonna step out,” I told him. “This party stuff really isn’t my thing.”

“Are you certain? I—I mean, not that I blame you, but there’s decent food, good wine, and surely you must eat something, else you’ll blow away in a strong breeze!”

When Bilbo saw my resolute expression, he changed the course of his thoughts. “Do you want me to come with you? I don’t mind.” He put on an air of faux pomp. “I do like to think that I’m wonderful company, after all.”

“You are,” I smirked. “But enjoy yourself here. People are far more enamored by a hobbit than they are with plain ol’ me.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Plain? Where?”

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. “Okay, well, I mean, there are some pretty fucking interesting things about me—but things that would make them shit their pants.” I stood back up and patted the top of Bilbo’s head. “Don’t drink too much.”

“I won’t. Are you sure you’re fine to go on your own?”

Bilbo had noticed something was off with me, but if he accompanied me to wherever I went, whether it was back to my room or out into Lake-town, I would definitely spill it all to him and undo the emotional hole-patching I managed to sew up.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

I winked at Bilbo for extra effect. I wasn’t sure he bought it, but he let me leave by myself after a smidge of fussing and tutting on his end.

I went back to my chambers but found it to be stifling, so I grabbed a coat gifted to me and my pack (I didn’t trust the Master’s people enough to leave it behind), then headed outside through a side entrance.

Candlelit lampposts that sidled the boardwalk streets illuminated Lake-town. It stank of fish, but the scent was mellowed by firewood smoke and the chilly autumn air.

Those who weren’t soldiers or held high enough standing with the Master had taken to their shanty homes, and the lights in their curtain-drawn windows cast soft glows. I wandered from light to light, home to home, until I was wholly lost. The damp cold seeped into my feet and fingers, and my nose and ears numbed. Visible breath billowed from my lips.

My thoughts slipped from one to another, moving too quickly to be tethered to any single emotion. And besides, if I cried now, it would only make my chafed nose run more.

The heels of my boots scraped against the damp planks that held up Lake-town. A lazy fog settled over the world, and the nearly-full moon was hidden by an endless veil of clouds. I started mumbling a song in Spanish. The appetite I’d lost earlier came back, and my stomach grumbled. I wasn’t as good as keeping track of time without a watch like everybody else in Middle-earth, so I couldn’t be sure how long I meandered through the streets.

But I was glad I chose to do one more loop around some random houses before finding my way back to the Master’s house. The sudden creak of a door swinging open gave me a reason to pause. I hadn’t seen a single person out walking except for the occasional random person a ways off tending to things near their home.

Warm yellow light flooded onto the house’s narrow stairway, and out came several men and women, huddled and murmuring farewells to each other and the man standing at the door. They dispersed into the night, shielding their faces from the light of the house, and the few who caught me staring at them cast suspicious glares before treading quietly into the fog.

I looked back at the man from my spot underneath a sagged awning. His intense gaze pinned itself to me. Yet despite the tension radiating from him and the others, I couldn’t help but smile.

So I lifted a couple fingers in greeting and walked to the bottom of his steps. In the light, they glistened with the perpetual slick of water.

“Hello, Bard,” I said, and my voice sounded loud in the night. He tilted his chin up, mere seconds away from retreating back into his home and slamming the door shut.

“What are you doing here?”

There was no point in being dishonest. I shrugged. “I hate the Master of Lake-town. Hated his party, too. So, I left and stumbled on…” I glanced around. “Whatever this was.”

“And where are your companions?”

“At the party. They were having more fun than I was.”

Bard surveyed the area before half-slipping back into the entryway. “Go back,” he said solemnly. “You have no business here.”

I lightly leaned on the post at the foot of the stairs. Its cold surface made me shiver. “Bard,” I said just as solemnly, but the bearing of a smirk gave me up. “Are you planning something naughty?”

That only made him graver. “I said go—”

“I can help, you know.” I tapped at the side of my head and made a mental note to cut my damn fingernails at some point. “I’ve got information, remember?”

“You are a guest of the Master. I would not trust anyone who steps foot in his halls.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. You trusted me before, remember? Like, it literally hasn’t even been a day.” I took a couple steps up the stairs. Bard tensed but didn’t retreat. “You’re a salty guy. I get it. Who wouldn’t be when you have to deal with that disgusting fuck? But…” I took a breath, and it billowed back out like the fog around us. “Would you trust me when I say that I’d be willing to help?”

Bard glanced around again, then huffed. I waited for his verdict with lifted brows.

It pained him to speak, but he gestured me forward and held the door open. “Quickly. Before unwanted eyes catch us.”

I stifled a smile and trotted up the steps to Bard the Bowman’s home. The heat of the interior kissed my face. His house was small and cramped, but comfortably so, like any home overflowing with family and love and comfort. The scent of dinner lingered, and three children were cleaning up when I came in. The two girls—the eldest and the youngest, I assumed—were fairer, probably like their mother, but the son took more after his father.

“Who’s this?” the oldest asked her father. The cloth she used to wipe the worn table down wrung slightly in her hands.

“This is Valeria,” Bard said grudgingly. I waved and shrugged off my coat off from the sudden warmth. The little girl lit up while her two older siblings held a mixture of surprise and caution.

“The magic woman?” the little girl spoke excitedly. “The seer?”

She rushed forward and clung to her dad, looking up at me with wide blue eyes. Bard patted her head, and his harsh demeanor softened in her presence.

“Oh, so I’m magic?” I grinned at him.

“Are you?” the littlest asked in earnest.

“Hush, Tilda,” Bard chuckled. “Why don’t you ask her if she wants some dinner?”

“Do you want some dinner?”

Since I was raised in a Hispanic family, it wasn’t in me to ever decline an offered meal. “That’d be wonderful,” I said to Tilda, and she scurried off to her older sister, who was actually the one to dish me up whatever leftover soup remained in their pot. Bard took my coat and hung it up on a wall hook. He motioned for me to sit at the table bench.

I saw the ragged parchment plans strewn on the table. It only took about four seconds for me to figure out what they were.

“Are you going to smuggle all these things out at night?” I inquired, looking at one parchment in particular that had hasty scrawls of how many baskets of produce could be supplied. Bard went to hide it from me, then thought second of it. Tilda served me dinner with a shy but enamored smile, and her older sister offered a goblet of some tame ale. “Thank you.”

“While the Master’s attention is diverted to pleasing the company of dwarves, we took the opportunity to meet and plan,” Bard explained, and he let out a small groan as he seated himself opposite of me. “Your words did not bring me comfort. You were careful about how you spoke, meaning that there is something you’ve hidden so as to not frighten me—or your companions.”

I took a guilty bite of bread. It was dense and delicious.

“The dragon. He will awaken, won’t he? You know of this. I can see it in your eyes.”

With a grumble, I set the bread aside and ran fingers through my loose hair. I forgot to bring my scrunchie, and I had no idea how to use leathers and beads for braiding like the dwarves did. “Yeah,” I eventually sighed. “He does. At least from what I’ve seen—which has been known to change. But yeah.”

Bard’s gaze grew distant. “And the lake will shine and burn,” he murmured. “We will return to Dale because Esgaroth will be destroyed by Smaug.”

Instead of focusing on my knowledge—and my inability to properly talk about it—I simply returned to the scattered papers. “It’s a good idea to get things smuggle out. Just in case. That way, you won’t be taken by surprise.” After another pause, I asked, “Are you planning on doing the same with people?”

He grimaced. “That’s not as easy. But it’s a possibility. The Master’s spies are everywhere, and they’ll throw me into the cells if I so much as stand in one place too long.”

“You’re really that hated, huh?” Before Bard could answer, I smiled again and dipped my bread into the soup broth. “That’s okay. You’re…you’re a man of the people, right?”

“I am a man, and only that.”

“Don’t talk about yourself that way, father,” said the eldest daughter. She sat down by him, now more comfortable with my presence, and spoke to me. “He has fought hard for the people of this town. But the Master does not take kindly to resistance.”

Those were good words to hear.

I took a drink of ale, then wiped my mouth with the back of a hand. “Bien. Okay. If…if it’s alright, I’d like to go over the details of this—this plan.”

Bard looked at me curiously. “And why would you wish to help us little folk in this way, when your dwarves carry such a grand and frightening quest?”

It felt good to say something honest tonight.

“Because caring about other people is what I do best.”

-

I had been laying in the lumpy bed, staring at the ceiling while the hearth fire crackled low in the room’s mantle, when quick knuckles rapped on the door. I could tell who it was just from the knocking’s pace and sound.

“Valeria?” came Bilbo’s timid voice, trying to be quiet in the late hours of the night.

“Yeah? Come in. I’m awake.”

The door creaked open, and the manor’s hallway light spilled into the room. A little form slipped in.

“Sorry for interrupting.” He sounded nervous. I frowned and tossed the blankets off. I was given a proper nightgown to sleep in, and I still had on the woolen socks from Rivendell to keep my feet warm. “It’s Kili. He isn’t doing well, and Oin was wondering if you, ah, could spare some more of the salve.”

The steady and focused calm that always accompanied work set in. “Of course.”

I grabbed my pack from the chair and followed Bilbo out. Fili, Kili, and Thorin’s room was three doors from mine. When Bilbo opened their door, I saw Thorin, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, and Oin dispersed about the chamber, with Oin and Fili by the bed where Kili lay.

My gaze went to Kili, then Fili, then Thorin, who sat near to the fire. He did not acknowledge my presence.

I refused to feel the sting.

“There ye are, lass,” said Oin. I unslung my pack and dug around for the ointment. “Sorry if Mr. Baggins awoke you.”

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep. And I would have come even if I was.”

I found the ointment and pulled it out, then sat on the edge of the bed to examine Kili. He offered me a smile, but it was weaker than before, undoubtedly feverish and skin a sheen of gray.

“Hello, Valeria,” he rasped, and despite his pain, I heard his attempt at being humorous and light. I smiled back, not letting the worry show. “We…missed you at the party.”

“I know, sorry,” I said as I unscrewed the lid. Oin had unwrapped the bandages we put on his leg earlier. The infection had spread, but I assumed the ointment helped stave it off a little. “Has he been vomiting again?” I asked Oin.

“No, but the fever’s worsened. He seemed well, but it was after the party that he took a turn for the worse.”

“Mm. Alcohol weakens the immune system. The infection most likely spread because of it.”

“So…you’re saying that my suffering is caused by…by merry indulgence?” Kili’s snark barely broke through his sickness.

“Yes. But you wouldn’t have gotten better, anyway.”

I intentionally turned my head down to scoop out ointment so I could avoid eye contact. “The arrow was coated in poison. I tried…I wanted to stop you from getting hit, but there were so many orcs coming at us and I just—” I breathed in through my nostrils. At this point, I was basically swirling my fingers in the salve rather than taking some out. The sharp, herbal fragrance wafted up. “Well. It didn’t happen. And here you are.”

“Poison?” Balin repeated softly, horror woven through the word. “What kind of poison?”

I kept my expression neutral and finally slathered the ointment over Kili’s festering wound. The medicinal scent suddenly mixed with something festering, something unnatural. Kili stifled his cries of pain, and Fili held his hand through it.

“I don’t remember the name. But it’s the bad kind. Either it will kill him, or it will turn him into a…oh, what is it called?”

“A wraith,” Dwalin finished darkly.

Oin wordlessly handed me clean bandages. I started to wrap them around Kili’s bare thigh.

“Hm. Yeah. A wraith.” My voice sounded too disjointed from what bubbled up inside me. My failures, my sorrow, my fear—it was all caught by the placid expression I learned to wear when treating patients or working in high-stress situations.

“You knew of this, and yet you told no one.”

Thorin’s growl reverberated throughout the room. I firmly tied Kili’s bandage and leaned over to check his vitals the best I could without medical equipment.

“I know a lot of things,” I responded. If Thorin wanted to fling shit around like he did earlier in my room, let him do it. Then somebody could calm him down and keep me from being tossed into the lake. “But I’m sorry for not telling someone earlier. I meant to—but I died before I could.” My refusal to place emphasis on the word died had its own effect. “And then everything got so crazy that I didn’t have the chance until I watched it happen right in front of me.”

“So what will happen to him?” Fili questioned fearfully. I pushed strands of Kili’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. Unlike his older brother, he didn’t seem afraid. Sick, but still strong underneath.

Kili spoke before I could. He wouldn’t let me look away from him. “I won’t go to the mountain, will I?”

“No,” I answered, and a weight fell upon the chamber. “You won’t.”

“And will I live?”

I blinked, then smiled. Some optimism returned to Kili’s hazy eyes. “Obviously,” I said, and I meant it. He’d live through this. He’d live through what came after. He’d live. “Otherwise, I’d save the ointment for something more useful.”

“You wouldn’t,” Kili grinned, and I noted that his gums were dark. “You’re too kind. And…if I were to live anyway, then the ointment wouldn’t be necessary, now would it?”

“True,” I chuckled. “But you’d probably be shitting your pants right now and hallucinating if I didn’t put some on.”

“And I thank you for that, my lady.”

I addressed the rest of the room of dwarves and a hobbit. Bilbo had somehow found a piece of bread for nervous eating. “He’s going to be fine. I’ve, uh, already procured a place for him and everyone else who is going to stay with him since I don’t think the Master will want us staying here if we’re not getting him his gold.”

Dwalin folded his arms and leaned up against the wall. “And what place is that?”

“Bard’s house.”

“Bard? The bargeman? When did you speak to him?”

“Just a little while ago.” I glanced at Thorin. “I’m not always useless when it comes to things like this.”

“Nobody said you were,” Fili reminded. He turned to his uncle. “If Kili is to remain here, so shall I.”

Thorin bristled. He rose to his feet. “Don’t be a fool. Your place is with the Company.”

Fili initially went to adhere to his uncle’s commands, but something in him steeled over, and his gaze grew hard. “I belong with my brother.”

Of course, watching Fili stand up to Thorin made him hotter.

Oin eased the tension by saying, “Aye, I’ll stay with the laddie, too. If I’m being honest, Thorin, a healer has no place in the heart of that perilous mountain when there are sick who need tending to.”

Thorin nodded once toward Oin, and I was glad he didn’t speak so we could avoid his wrath.

Then it was my turn. “I’ll stay as well. Help Kili and Bard and Lake-town while all of you are away.”

“N-no!” Bilbo protested, and I turned to him. “You’re meant to come with us, Valeria!”

I smiled sadly. “I wish I was. But I think this is for the best. The Company already has their burglar; they don’t need me messing things up.”

“You’ve never messed anything up.”

The sight of Bilbo so distressed by my news almost broke the calm I forced myself under. I wanted to hug him, to cry, to confess everything. Because I had fucked up a lot of things in some places while not fucking up enough in others. I just hoped that if I stayed away from the Lonely Mountain, I wouldn’t waste all my luck before I actually needed it.

“Hey, listen, Baggins,” I said to him, voice firm enough so it’d divert his attention from a nervous breakdown over my absence. He was close enough to touch, so I reached for his shoulder. “Since I’m not going to be there, I’ll give you some advice. In fact…”

I straightened and turned my head to Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin. “All of you had better listen. Smaug is not dead. He’s buried himself underneath the gold, and at some point, Bilbo, you’re going to wake him up. But—” I raised a finger before he could open his mouth to spout terror-induced ramblings. “But it’s a good thing. You’ll see what I mean. And it could be an even better thing if he’s awake and you dwarves manage to kill him while he’s still in the mountain. That means Lake-town will be safe. Otherwise, Smaug will torch this city.”

Bilbo swallowed but continued listening.

“Bard is already prepping for the worst-case scenario. While you travel to the Lonely Mountain these next couple of days, I’ll be helping him smuggle shipments of food, blankets, supplies, and—hopefully—families to the western shore. So if you guys don’t manage to kill him, things might not be so devastating.”

“If we cannot kill him, who will?” questioned Dwalin.

“Bard.”

Dwalin and Balin murmured with each other, and Thorin glowered. “I haven’t said anything to him; that way, there will be less pressure on his success. He has a, a black arrow or something? Left over from Dale.”

“Girion was his ancestor, you said?” Balin stroked his beard. “Interesting. It must’ve been passed down through the generations.”

“Aye, and it’ll fit in that windlance upon the tower we saw earlier sure enough,” Dwalin added.

“And the Arkenstone?” Thorin demanded to know. “Will our burglar find it?”

Bilbo darted his eyes to me. The rest of the room waited to hear my answer.

I tilted my head back to Bilbo so nobody else could clearly see my expression except for the hobbit.

“No,” I answered, and Bilbo kept his cool better than I would have when he saw the clearly-etched lie. My voice, however, didn’t betray me, and it held the appropriate amount of resign and worry. “But maybe something will change.”

“Let us hope,” Balin muttered.

I busied myself by pouring Kili some water and getting him upright to drink it. He was shaky, but if everything went in the chronological order I knew, he would be okay at least for the night. And while the others conversed by the fireplace and Bilbo doubled down on his nervous eating, Kili spoke to me in a hoarse whisper.

“Ria…Ria, come close.”

My brows wryly drew together. Even when deathly ill, I could still tell when he was up to no good.

I wrung a cloth out in the water basin and pressed it to his hot forehead.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me, how am I healed? What cures me?”

I didn’t smile, but it shone everywhere else. “More like who,” I whispered back. Kili intensely waited for me to talk more. “She’ll be here soon. She heard…she heard you were hurt, and she doesn’t like orcs running around. Made for the perfect combination.”

Kili almost couldn’t believe my words. “…She?”

“She. Her.”

I gently pressured him to lay back down on the bed so he wouldn’t die prematurely from the shock. By the time Kili settled his head on the pillow, I was smiling again. Her name rolled off my tongue in a small breath.

“Tauriel.”

A moment passed. Then Kili grinned and weakly laughed. His hazy eyes brightened, and a bit of life returned to him at the thought of her.

“Tauriel,” Kili repeated, relaxing with the utterance of her name. He gazed past the ceiling, past the clouds, to the thought of love and starlight and an elf with autumn red hair. 

I’ll save him, I swore, I’ll save him.

Mind preoccupied with far better things than the poison pulsing through him, Kili thankfully fell asleep. I draped a freshly-wetted cloth over his forehead, then looked to Fili. He paused in his discussion with the dwarves to return it.

Fili smiled, small and sure, and my heart ached.

And I’ll save him, I swore, but it came with a swell of unshed tears. And I’ll save him.

Chapter Text

Whatever soft things Valeria murmured to Bilbo were lost in the noise of the eager crowd. The Company would be departing for Erebor—without a few of its members.

Fili accepted the pain in his chest and endured. For Kili, for Valeria, he would.

He watched her while one arm supported his brother. She encouraged him, reassured him, but it did little to ease the hobbit’s anxious mind. He wore a Lake-town coat slightly too big for him and an ill-fitting guard’s helmet.

Valeria leaned down and gave him a tight hug. Bilbo returned it, his knuckles white as they gripped her own Lake-town coat.

Thorin barked for Bilbo to join them on the skiffs they would take to the edge of the lake. She smiled one last time at him, patted his shoulders, and sent him off. Valeria did not bid farewell to Thorin like she had the other dwarves, and he continued refusing to acknowledge her presence.

Whatever transpired between them yesterday was beyond Fili, no matter how hard he tried to think of what it could have been. His best guess was that it had something to do with the future, and Uncle did not enjoy hearing what it held.

The thought made Fili uneasy as well, but he did not show it to Valeria or anyone. She had regained her steadiness in spite of being ignored by Thorin like he had done to her when she first joined the Company. He would not take away her dignity.

Fili did not hear the Master of Lake-town’s presumptuous, overstuffed speech signifying the departure of the Company. He only saw Valeria, with her curly tendrils of black hair framing her face and her brown eyes surveying the departing dwarves with worry. She always showed her worry, Fili found, when she thought nobody noticed.

He took Valeria’s hand in his. His touch brought an immediate smile to her ruddy cheeks, and she turned her sweet-brown gaze to Fili.

We will be fine, he wanted to assure her. We will see these people are safe if the dragon comes.

But Valeria knew more of the future than Fili, so he stayed silent rather than give promises that could ring hollow. Her smile was a beautiful thing, after all, and Fili wished for it to remain as long as possible.

Despite the cold weather, Valeria’s skin was still silken. Fili wanted to lose himself in it again, lose himself in her again, until the Lonely Mountain itself crumbled with the weight of time.

He did not tell Valeria that he hadn't given himself to anyone else like he had to her. His throat tightened too much with cowardice when he attempted to, even though he knew she would not laugh or judge him for it. But if Valeria saw through his trembling front, she didn't make mention of it. Instead, she held tightly to Fili, whispering encouragement and praise in his ear between sounds so sweet that they etched runes in his bones. 

The thought of her noises, accompanied by memories of the heady, impossible pleasure of being inside her, made Fili's neck burn and started a fire low in his belly.

Valeria did not talk of love, though, of the heart. And if Fili did, would she return it? Their confessions for each other laid only in touches and tight-gripped passion, as it was yesterday. Why did she cling to him so? It almost seemed to be born from fear.

Then what was she afraid of? They would reclaim Erebor. Smaug would be slain. All would be well.

Would it?

Once the Company was beyond the borders of the town, the crowd began to disperse, and Valeria adjusted her pack. She needed a scarf, Fili thought, with her slender neck bare to the colder temperatures. Perhaps Ori could knit her one once they were reunited.

“Alright, let’s get to Bard’s house,” she said.

Valeria never noticed when she slipped into a leader-like demeanor, but Fili did. Her shoulders grew straighter, jaw stronger, eyes focused on things Fili could not see.

She would not freely speak about her hardships on Earth when she was conscious and clear-headed. In Mirkwood, however, when her mind could not discern past from present, when her memories transpired in the exact moment they occurred, Fili caught snippets of her murmurings and pleas. They were not meant for him to hear, he knew, but he listened anyway despite his guilt.

Bodies buried under the weight of buildings, children screaming as poison ate away at their faces, women weeping over their deceased families. Corpses of humans and animals floating bloated because cities—cities larger than Rivendell, Minas Tirith, Erebor—had been viciously consumed by sea and storm. Sweeping fires, starving babies, rotting flesh. Shock, blood, war.

Valeria could not smell death because it was so familiar to her.

In all her twenty-six years, Valeria had seen more calamity and horror than Fili, and still she shone bright. Mirkwood nearly stole it from her; perhaps it was a kindness that she had died so she would not have to endure its disease a moment longer.

(And yet Fili wanted to claw out his own eyes from his skull those first few moments after he watched her pass into shadow yet again, shuddering and spasming until she stilled in the she-elf’s arms. Dead. Dead because he failed to protect her twice over now.)

Fili wished to ask more about the television and her world’s peculiar technology. Television. Such a funny word. Such a funny thing. Those people were not in the box, Valeria had to remind, and yes, the colors of their clothing really were that bright. Valeria said she did not know Master William or Master Carlton personally, but Fili saw the way she looked at them as though they were friends, family.

And that woman in the glittering violet, with brown skin and black hair like hers, whose mother tongue rolled off her crimson lips in stunning song…She caused Valeria to weep, and the forest floor caught her tears, feeding the knotted mass of trees older than the first light that touched the world.

She missed home.

Was Fili not home enough for her?

No. Mahal, no, how could he possibly be? He could not be an entire world, a blanket of familiar stars, the laughter of her mother and father, brother and sister. He could not give her sharp spices for food, televisions, or the sight of a Colorado sunset.

But he could give something, though he was unworthy to offer it at all.

Bard let them into his small house, suspicious eyes picking them apart before scanning the town. “You’re late,” he muttered to Valeria, voice all grave and gravel.

“The Master likes to fart from his mouth,” Valeria responded.

The littlest bairn, innocent and fair-haired, giggled at her choice of words. Fili didn’t keep a smile from his face either. Valeria always made him smile and laugh, more than William or Carlton or any television could.

“Lie him down here,” said the eldest girl, similar in appearance to her sister. She had prepared a small but comfortable-looking cot for Kili by one of the house’s dirty windows. Fili and Oin—and Bofur, because the idiot had slept too long and the Company couldn’t find wherever he had passed out before leaving—guided Kili to it, and Valeria conversed with Bard in low tones.

“It takes two days to reach the Lonely Mountain,” Fili heard Bard say, and probably not for the first time. “We have a few smuggling shipments in the day, but we will be busier at nightfall.”

“The Last Light of Durin’s Day comes from the moon, not the sun,” Valeria responded, and Fili drifted toward the conversation. “So, you’ll have all day tomorrow, too, and some of the night.”

“Do you acquire assistance?” he asked, and the two humans turned their heads to him. Valeria’s gaze was much softer than Bard’s. “Dwarves can see well in the dark. If you intend on smuggling without torchlight, you could use my sight.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Valeria nodded, then said to Bard, “He can go with you tonight. Tomorrow, though, we’ll need him here.”

Bard looked as if his tooth ached. “Exactly why I did not want them under my roof in the first place.”

Shame kindled in Fili, but he did not let it show. Orcs were on their way. That was how things would be. At least with Valeria, they had forewarning and could not be taken by surprise.

“But you’re not a cruel guy, and so here we are,” Valeria smiled. She removed her coat, and Bard did not miss the hilts of elven blades on her hips. “You should go; we can take care of things here. The Master wouldn’t harm Thorin Oakenshield’s nephews, nor the family who housed them.”

“You do not know the Master.”

“I know people who like money. But if he really does want to harass us, I’ll just stomp on his toes. Gout makes that a sensitive area.”

Bard almost smiled at the sentiment. He kissed his daughters goodbye and motioned for his only boy to follow him out the door, quivers on their backs and bows unstrung.

Then they were left with the sound of simmering flame, Kili’s fevered breaths, and the gentle lapping of the lake beneath the house.

Valeria moved over to the eldest. She took off the belt that supported her blades and rinsed her hands in a basin. “I can help with that dough,” she said.

“Oh, no, it’s really no matter—”

But Valeria had already started sprinkling flour on a section of the table. She then took a bowl with dark, risen dough in it and set to work with practiced movement. “Fili,” she called, “this is Sigrid, by the way. And that’s Tilda. Their brother is Bain.”

He bowed to them, garnering smiles. “Fili, my ladies. At your service.”

Sigrid curtsied as best she could at her spot at the table, and Tilda imitated it. Oin and Bofur took the opportunity to introduce themselves as well, and Kili told them his name with a flourish of a clammy hand.

While Valeria and Sigrid worked to make hard biscuits for the smuggling venture later tonight, Fili gave his attention to a very curious Tilda. Those blasted elves took all his blades, knives, shivs, and daggers in Mirkwood, leaving him with naught but calloused fists to fight. So instead, he unsheathed one of Valeria’s blades, admiring their weightlessness and elegance, and beckoned Tilda toward it.

“You hold it like this,” Fili said while he showed her the proper way to grip the hilt with his left hand. He then gave Tilda the right blade and observed her handwork. “Perfect! You must be a natural.”

Tilda giggled and brandished the blade a fraction. Fili’s mind eased from the tension caused by his ill brother and the retaking of a mountain. He delighted in teaching, and he instructed Tilda on how to stand with a blade in the small confines of her family’s home. She was slight even for a human bairn, but as Fili found with Valeria, the slightest were not the weakest.

(Valeria would protest that she was not slight, especially not before Mirkwood. But although she stood taller than him and proved her strength many times, it still did not make up for how little her wrists felt in his grasp. Mahal, it was like she had bird bones!)

Fili could not stop himself from sparing a glance at Valeria. Her loose curls brushed against her temples,  and white flour smeared on her jawline. She said something that made Sigrid laugh before separating more dough on the tabletop.

When Valeria caught his gaze on her, she put her tongue between her teeth when she grinned and winked.

And though darkness loomed, Fili dreamed.

-

Fili and Bofur went with Bard and Bain to smuggle shipments of food, items, and some families with infants, young children, and elderly to care for. The few able-bodied adults, children, and grandchildren would watch over the shipments as they trickled in.

Sigrid put Tilda to bed. She tried to stay up herself, but all the work she did and the stress over her father and brother’s well-being wore at her. I told her I’d keep watch over the house until everyone returned, and soon after, she slept alongside her little sister.

Oin, despite his best efforts, also couldn’t stave off his exhaustion that came with tending to Kili for over thirty-six hours. He snored away in the house’s only armchair, beard bunched up from how he propped his chin on his chest. Fatigue burned at my eyes as well, but at least Mirkwood gave me the endurance to fight it off. I would be fine for a while yet.

There hadn’t been this kind of silence for a while. I sat next to Kili in a chair, humming softly while I took the time to sew up a hole in one of my tunics. I didn’t startle, however, when Kili jolted from his feverish dreams with a gasp.

“W-water. I need, I need…”

I reached for a waterskin and helped him hold it. “Hey, take it easy,” I said, pulling the water away when he tried to chug it, but Kili didn’t get the Nacho Libre reference, so he simply shot a weak smile at my voice.

“Ria, tell me,” he rasped, and I freshened the wet cloth on his forehead. At this point, all we could do was make him comfortable. We already gathered kingsfoil, whose scent I now recognized in the Rivendell ointment, but Kili couldn’t be cured without an elven touch.

“Tell you what?” I softly inquired when he threatened to drift off again.

“Tell me…about her.”

“Tauriel?”

“Yes.”

What was there to say about her? She was a movie character added in for a half-assed attempt of female representation that the books lacked. She fell in love with Kili fast, Kili died fast, and the last we saw of Tauriel was her crying over his body.

(She had gently rocked me while I died.)

So, I did the best I could. It wasn’t exactly hard. Tauriel exuded kindness and life, and she extended it to me even in my dying moments.

I returned to sewing. “She fights for what is good and light. When Thranduil closed the gates to their palace to seal themselves off from darkness, she left before she could be trapped.”

“And she…left for me?” Kili smiled with closed eyes.

“I’d like to think that you were what pushed her to action. It’s not every day that somebody defies their king’s orders.”

He hummed.

I finished the stitching and knotted it together. The snap of string was loud in the quiet room. “She’s tall, isn’t she?”

“Very.”

“Are you willing to stand on your tip-toes to kiss her for the rest of your life?”

“If I weren’t…would I have fallen in love with her in the first place?”

I smiled. “Fair enough. But you wanna know something? I think the funniest thing I’ve found with you, Tauriel, and all the other love stories I’ve heard, is how fast everyone falls in love here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You fell in love within a day of meeting her, Kili, and it was the same for her. Beren and Luthien, all the other elves, your mother and father, basically every other romantic story…love just pops up as soon as you lay eyes on them.”

“Is that…is that such a bad thing? Being doubtless?”

“No. But the whole ‘love at first sight’ isn’t a thing that happens in my world. Instant attraction? Maybe. But that’s not the same as all-out love.” I gave Kili more water. “If it does happen, people think it’s silly. Not real.” Quickly, I added, “But here, it’s real.”

“So you did not—” Kili coughed, then continued. “You did not love my brother at first?”

“From the first moment I saw him? No. You guys were chasing me through the woods. And in case you forgot, I was shunned the first few weeks by all of you, so that wasn’t exactly ideal conditions for love.”

“But after?”

I set to work on patching one of Kili’s socks. “My world, my experiences, have taught me to be slow with love. There is less hurt when love is not the first step.”

“If not love, then what?”

“Interest. Care. Similarities. You don’t know anything about Tauriel other than the fact that she loves the stars and hates the darkness of this world.”

“Well, we did not have as much time as you and my brother,” Kili sniffed.

“Plus, you were technically her prisoner.”

“Simply details, Ria.”

I snickered. “Yeah. Maybe…maybe this world and the people in it are just better with their emotions. It’s easy to love, it’s easy to hate. There isn’t much conflict in matters of the heart. But perhaps that’s just for elves and dwarves, and we humans have to deal with the complications.”

“It…makes sense. For you.” Kili quieted. “You have complications.”

Though I hummed, I didn’t answer until I had patched the sock halfway. “Of course I have complications. I’m from another world.”

“And love cannot cross the two?” Kili shifted so he could look at me sitting next to him. My head tilted down to sew his sock, expression carefully blank. “Because you do love him.”

“Sometimes, Kili, it’s not always about love.”

“You lie. You…have done nothing that wasn’t for love. Not in this world. Not in yours. Why keep it…why must you keep it from yourself now?”

My mouth twisted at the question, and for several seconds, it was difficult to breathe.

Still, I finished patching the sock and broke the string. Kili didn’t protest when I slipped it back onto his foot. By the time I pulled it over his ankle, he could no longer resist the strain of the fever and sunk back into unconsciousness.

Then I was left alone with my thoughts and a hungry stomach.

I wished all of it was easier. I wished there was a door that I could step through that would take me back to my little rented house ten minutes away from my parents’ home. I wished that door could then bring me right back here to the Company, to Bilbo, to Fili.

And I wished that I knew why I was sent here at all to suffer through this.

But when Fili came back an hour before dawn, the knotted mass of my heart didn’t stop me from sinking into his arms and sleeping for a few blissful hours next to him.

-

“Ah, damnit,” Fili swore as he looked at who pounded on the door in the early afternoon. “The Master’s rat is here.”

“Father said he would come,” Sigrid spat. She gathered Tilda up and ushered her little sister to their bedroom. I glanced at Sigrid; her face had gone pale, teeth gritted, eyes angry. I’d seen that look before in countless other women.

“He’s come onto you, hasn’t he?” I asked her. Then I corrected my language before she could be confused. “He’s been inappropriate.”

“That gaze is inappropriate enough,” Sigrid muttered heatedly. “But he’s caught me in the market when Father or Bain isn’t around. Tries to touch my arms and back, leaning in close with that awful breath. He’s done it with most of the girls my age.”

Oin spat something in Khuzdul, meaning that he thought his words were too crude for Sigrid to hear. I picked up “head” and “shit.” Bofur nodded in agreement.

“And he gets away with it,” I concluded. The pounding grew louder, and Alfrid’s muffled voice demanded to speak with Bard.

“Always,” Sigrid huffed.

“Somebody needs to toss him into the lake,” Fili said, coming up beside me near the door.

A smile flickered on my face.

“That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea.”

Sigrid stayed out of view when I opened the door. Alfrid was mid-knock, so his fist abruptly caught air and threw him off balance. He scowled, straightened himself, and sneered, “Where is Bard? By order of the Master—”

“He’s not here,” I interrupted. “Those of us who were unfit to venture to the Lonely Mountain are staying under his roof.”

Alfrid’s scowl deepened. “We have reports that he has been shipping illegal goods—”

I looked over Alfrid’s lanky, hunched shoulder. Only a small crowd gathered to see what was happening. I said, “You have no soldiers with you. This isn’t an arrest. You’re just coming to intimidate.”

Alfrid took a step closer. He was taller than me, but I was stronger than him and didn’t cower away. Sigrid was right about his bad breath, holy shit. “I’ll come back with soldiers, you can be sure of that,” he spoke lowly, trying to sound threatening. And maybe it worked on the people of Lake-town.

But we weren’t from Lake-town.

“The soldiers won’t even need a reason to arrest Bard. He’ll be locked up, and soon his head will be on a pike—”

Fili came into full view in the doorway. It startled Alfrid to see Thorin’s nephew—heir to the throne—next to me. Righteous anger rolled off him. Alfrid must have sensed it, too, because he took an involuntary step back. His heels edged the drop of the staircase.

“And what will my uncle, King under the Mountain, think when he hears of the mistreatment of Bard? The one who rescued us from orcs, who housed us and our ill kin?”

Fili’s voice rang clear and noble.

“Do you truly believe he will look kindly upon you and the Master for what you’ve done? Perhaps he will reconsider the promises of gold he gave to you. Or, better yet, he will see the corruption of the Master himself and ensure that changes are made. How does that sound to you?”

I stood proud next to Fili.

We didn’t need swords to protect us.

We just needed bigger threats.

More Lake-town citizens stopped to watch the altercation. I placed a hand on Fili’s shoulder. Alfrid was caught between sneering and running. The sight of him and all he stood for filled me with surprisingly sweet rage. I guessed all my suppressed emotions from the injustices I had seen on my world and this one broke through.

Now that I could do something and get away with it, I was unable to stop myself.

“You’ll hear from my master, and you’ll be sorry, I swear it—”

Before Alfrid could decide between fleeing and fighting, I made the decision for him. In one swift move, I gripped his coat and tossed him off the side of the staircase’s railing, where he fell into the lake water below. The crowd gasped—then laughed and cheered.

Alfrid’s greasy head came bobbing back up, his equally greasy hat floating beside him.

“Mahal, Valeria!” Fili exclaimed through his bout of loud laughter.

“Go swim back to your master, rata!” I stuck two fingers up in a V at him. “And think real hard before coming back here!”

Alfrid shouted for help, but the crowd dispersed the more he cried for it. Bofur uproariously sniggered as he and a delighted Sigrid watched Alfrid scramble onto one of the boardwalks all by himself.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said to me when the door closed resolutely behind us, but her grin betrayed any fear or criticism.

“I was a woman possessed,” I said back with a grin of my own. “We have more important things to worry about than Alfrid. The orcs will be here tonight, as well as Smaug.” I paused, then asked, “The Master can’t really stop people from leaving, can he?”

“He’s going to try.”

A new idea sparked and formed. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Then we had better get some dwarven-approved evacuations, huh?”

I looked to Fili, Bofur, and Oin. “What do you say? Wanna save people from being turned into nothing but a pile of ash?”

Bofur pulled out his tobacco-less pipe and stuck it in his mouth. “Lady Sigrid,” he drawled, “D’you happen to have some ink and parchment?”

-

“By order of King Thorin, citizens of Lake-town are to depart immediately! The terrible calamity named Smaug has been prophesied to raze the town tonight! Take only what you can carry! There is shelter on the eastern shore! Women, children, and the elderly travel first! The great calamity named Smaug comes tonight! I repeat: the great calamity named Smaug comes tonight!”

The three dwarves swept through the city, brandishing forged papers that listed the order and was signed and stamped by Thorin. Fili swore that he could imitate his uncle’s penmanship and signature. It might not have mattered since nobody knew Thorin’s handwriting, but it made the documents look “mightily official,” according to Bofur. It also helped that the small signet Fili bore on his pinky finger was the same as the one Thorin had, and he happily smashed it into the melted wax to further the documents’ validity.

 When soldiers finally came to try and stop them from panicking the public, Fili shoved the parchment in their faces, spouted some bureaucratic shit, then went on his way again, ushering people into boats and repeating key words like, “Destruction! Calamity! Dragon! Evacuation!”

The soldiers couldn’t do anything. I heard that the Master stayed in his mansion, fuming over the schemes of dwarves and Bard, but he wouldn’t risk his chance at riches. I wondered if he would leave before nightfall like most of the townsfolk, or if he thought he was too good to follow the likes of peasants.

Not that I cared about whether he died in dragonfire or not.

By late afternoon, Kili couldn’t keep water down, and his fever spiked. The whites of his eyes were jaundiced, veins and gums tinged charcoal while the arrow wound blackened more—but not in any way I had ever seen. When I asked Oin if it was necrosis, he vehemently shook his head. These were the effects of Morgul poison.

From the haunted look that came over Oin, he had seen the poison’s work before.

I squeezed his shoulder to reassure him, empathetic towards whatever memories that resurfaced because of it. Oin reached up and patted my hand.

When early evening arrived, Kili’s coherent thoughts turned to thrashing, screaming delirium. I was relieved when the pain rendered him unconsciousness.

I kept applying ointment and whispering to him, “She’ll be here soon. She’ll be here soon.”

But my worry persisted, and so did Fili’s. By the first hour after nightfall, Sigrid and Tilda had packed up bags for themselves, their brother, and father, the dwarves returned from their propaganda peddling. Fili was by Kili’s side in an instant, holding his sweaty hand and murmuring things in Khuzdul.

“He does not look well, Ria.”

“He’s not well.” I gazed out the window, where specks of lantern-lit boats made their way from Lake-town to the shore, and prayed that I hadn’t changed something so Tauriel wouldn’t show up. “But he just needs to hold out.” I leaned close to Kili. “You hear that? You need to hang in there.”

“Where are your father and brother?” Oin asked Sigrid. “Ye need to get leaving.”

“I’m not sure,” Sigrid replied, concern creasing her brows. No doubt the same question had been on her mind. “But they should be returning.”

“Aye, it’s getting dark out there.” Bofur adjusted Tilda’s shawl around her shoulders. “Maybe the Master did do something with them. Purely out of spite.”

Sigrid put a hand to her stomach. “Oh, I hope not.”

The possibility concerned me too much to let it go. I looked to the bunches of herbs and garlic loops hanging above the table, catching the single black arrow hanging up there. I had half a mind to take it, but if something bad were to happen to me, I’d just put the only chance at killing Smaug in jeopardy.

Instead, I grabbed my coat and tightened my blades around my waist. “Where do you think you’re going?” Fili demanded, taking my wrist.

“See if I can find Bard and Bain.”

“You cannot go alone.”

I squarely faced Fili and cupped his bearded jaw. “You have to stay here. The girls and Kili can’t be undefended when—if—the orcs come.”

Fili tried pinning me with the kingly gaze he learned from Thorin, but it didn’t do what he hoped it would to me. I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back. Have some faith in me.”

The statement pained him. “Mahal, I do trust you,” Fili murmured. “But that does not remedy my fearfulness.”

“I know.” I looked to Sigrid, who pointedly tried to ignore Fili’s and my conversation. “Take your things down to the boat. Might as well start preparing to leave.”

She nodded once and gathered up their bags. I swept my eyes over the room a final time, then once more memorized the color of Fili’s irises in the firelight. My thumb grazed his cheek.

Then his hand slipped from my wrist, and my feet carried me out of the house and into the chilly night.

Halfway to the eastern port of entry Bard said he would sail out of, a rumble shook the lake. It rattled the posts, and shingles from a nearby house clattered to the ground. My heart lumped up in my throat. Families who dragged their feet in getting out of the town were suddenly running, shouting, screaming.

I quickened my pace. The urge to set the droplet in the center of my palm doubled.

It took the better part of half an hour to reach the port by foot. I tried jogging, but my body had been damaged from the month in Mirkwood, so running even a little made me pant. Unwillingly, I decided to conserve what energy remained. The port was busy, but thankfully, thankfully, at the center of the madness was the bowman I’d been looking for.

“Bard! Bard!” I waved my hand at him over the crowd.

He spotted me and made his way through fleeing bodies. Bain followed close behind.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—I was just afraid that you had been taken or something,” I said, and he breathed in relief. Something tiny and dark flitted past his shoulder.

“No, fortunately. I got caught up helping the people. But it is good you are here. They could use your assistance—”

“Da,” Bain interrupted. He pointed to one of my blades. “What is that?”

I glanced down and yanked up the hilt of my right blade. It shone blue in the moonlit night. I snapped my head back to Bard. His face was grave and fearful.

“Just kidding,” I said, turning and going into a full-sprint despite my body’s resistance to the speed. “Something is wrong!”

Another quake from the Dragon in the Mountain jarred the world, but it didn’t slow me, Bard, or Bain, who followed close behind. I was thankful for the moon’s light; it illuminated the orcs crawling on the roofs of emptied-out houses, gangly yet agile.

I drew both blades, which shone magnificently in the dark, and shouted, “Hey, fuckface! Over here!”

One of the nearest ones heard me. It screeched and jumped down from the roof, shaking the deck and scrambling upright to charge. I met its crude sword with the left blade, and the right one jammed itself beneath its sternum. The orc’s armor was weak, and it let out a small squeal before slumping. I twisted it down so it’d slide off the blade.

Bain clung to his father, paralyzed. Bard kept an arm in front of him to put his body between Bain and the orc.

“That’s only one of them,” I panted.

“Remind me again why I let you and those dwarves into my home?”

I saved my breath and didn’t bother to answer Bard. We kept running, trying to track the orcs who didn’t stop for us. With the way air wheezed in my lungs and stitches gathered on one side, I wished I had stuck the droplet into my palm earlier. But I couldn’t stop to do it now—another orc had finally dropped from a roof to assault us.

This one was bigger than the other, and he wielded a heavy mace instead of a sword. I went on the defense in hopes of finding a weak spot in his armor. We exchanged blows. Both hands that gripped the blades shook from exertion. I should have eaten something.

Right as the orc was about to clip me in the shoulder with his mace, an arrow pierced his neck, and he collapsed without a sound.

Bard strode past me, bow in hand. I sent him a grateful look, which he nodded back at. “We must hurry.”

“What, we weren’t doing that in the first place?”

The sounds of screaming and fighting could be heard from a block away. More orcs swarmed around Bard’s house, and he and Bain didn’t wait for me to keep up with them. Arrows flew from Bard’s bow at orcs the roof and balcony of their damaged home, taking them down despite the poor lighting.

I wondered, for a split second, how he managed to hit with such precision.

Then I saw the tiny form flit by him once more.

Against the backdrop of the house’s illuminated window was the silhouette of a little bird. It zipped back beside Bard’s ear, who then turned to his left and loosed an arrow that sunk right into an orc’s eye. The enemy toppled from the roof and crashed into the water.

I glanced into the window again. There was a flash of red hair, followed by a feminine-sounding yell. I grinned even though I shouldn’t have been distracted.

She had come. She was here.

Bard and Bain broke through the orc swarm at the door and entered the house. I went to join them, but three orcs jumped from the neighbor’s roof and advanced on me.

“They say you died in the Misty Mountains,” one of them spoke, guttural and deep. He pointed his sword at me. I brandished mine the way Fili taught. “Yet you walk.”

“Yeah—too bad you won’t be able to say the same in a bit.”

The orc beside him laughed. “Sharp tongue. Sharp tongue. I can’t wait to wear it around me neck.”

All three roared and swooped in. I drove one blade deep while the other blocked a swing. I didn’t hear my own shouts or feel the strain in my arms, abs, and legs—I only heard unnatural growls and felt the clang of elven-forged steel on orcish iron as they tried to kill me and I tried to kill them.

This was survival.

And I was not going to die just a few days after being revived again.

Then an arrow with different fletching from Bard’s suddenly stuck through the front of an orc’s forehead. He crumpled, and I used the distraction to slice through the last orc’s neck. What they lacked in skill, they made up for in brutality and strength. But sometimes, their lack of skill gave great opportunities.

(I would know.)

I forced myself not to think about killing another living thing and looked to the blond-haired elf striding across the deck I had been ambushed on. I grimaced as all the exertion came flooding back into my aching muscles.

“You are meant to be dead,” Legolas commented. He slung his bow across his chest and glared straight ahead at the fleeing pack of orcs.

Fleeing, or regrouping?

“That’s what they tell me,” I said back. Orc blood spattered the side of my face, sticky and acrid.

Legolas unsheathed his sword and twirled it around. It wasn’t a show-off movement; it was a pissed off movement.

“Your dwarves are waiting for you.”

Legolas disappeared into the night, cutting down stray orcs who had fallen back to try and stop him. I went to sheathe my blades, swearing that I’d clean them when I had a better moment—

Wait. Wait a fucking minute.

My head craned over my shoulder to look at the calmed-down home. Tauriel’s voice, though muffled, drifted through the ajar door. She had no intention of leaving. But Kili—Legolas—the orc he would fight—the orc—Kili—

I sheathed the blades long enough to do what I should have done nearly an hour ago.

The droplet centered in my palm, and the chain wrapped between my fingers and wrist. I squeezed it tightly and let the blood flow, let the world sharpen, let the energy fissure through.

The droplet didn’t get in the way of holding my left blade. The leather on the hilt might get stained from blood, but the gem itself had burrowed farther than it ever had before, almost indistinguishable against my skin.

I walked across the deck, ignoring the mountain’s shudder, and tasted the thick breeze of the lake on my tongue. Both blades glowed pale blue. Their pallor seeped into the rising mist, which collected fragments of the ghostly colors.

I followed the sound of Legolas fighting orcs and broke into a determined jog that my body hadn’t known since the last time I used the droplet in Mirkwood. The soles of my elven boots hardly made a sound as I slunk through the mist. An orc jumped from the shadows to gut me, but I ducked his swing with more flexibility than I truly possessed. The blue glow of my right blade disappeared for three seconds into the orc’s abdomen. I couldn’t remember if I even stopped moving as I killed him.

Two more orcs rushed me, and two more orcs died. The droplet didn't give me better sword-fighting abilities; it just gave me the strength, stamina, and edge to act on everything I learned. Without fatigue or trepidation, the fog glided past me until I came upon Legolas and the big orc that would murder Kili in front of Tauriel. Neither of them saw me—they were so consumed with killing each other that I went unnoticed as I slowed and stepped over more orc corpses Legolas left on the ground.

The orc (Was his name Bulk or something?) threw Legolas into a wooden pillar, and it cracked with the force. Legolas grunted but regained his footing before he slid to the ground and became vulnerable. His sword caught Boog’s misshapen weapon and deflected it. They parried three more times, but it wasn’t until the orc’s back was fully turned away from me that Legolas, now facing where I stood, finally saw my form in the fog with two, slightly-curved blue elven blades. Bowl caught his shift in eye movement and tossed Legolas back to see who the elf had been staring at.

The instant he turned back, the right blade drove up into his chin, slicing through muscle and brain and skull. The tip of the blade hit the orc’s metal plating hammered into the top of his head and scraped to a stop. It didn’t matter, though; his one good eye went dead, and I shoved him back. The blade drew from his skull. Its shine flickered out.

“Bolg!” I exclaimed, using humor to hide from the horrifying fact that I just straight-up assassinated someone. “That’s his name.”

Legolas stood up and wiped the blood leaking from his nostrils. He staggered over.

“Why did you follow me?” he demanded.

“Because I remembered that you’d be fighting him.” I pointed to Bolg’s corpse with the left blade. “And he needed to die.”

Instead of regarding me with mild animosity, Legolas’ visage shifted into shocked wonder. “You know of the future?”

“Some. To a point.”

I crouched down and wiped the orc blood off with Bolg’s loincloth. My lips twisted into a grossed-out frown. “Ew. This guy has a literal skull codpiece.”

Then I stifled the interest to know what an orc dick looked like.

“You just killed the spawn of Azog,” said Legolas. He handed me a cloth to wipe my blades with instead, seeing my struggle at finding appropriate material to use. Bolg wore mostly leather, and the distracting skull kept getting in the way.

I accepted it with a muttered thanks and stood straight, then shrugged, “Oh—yeah. That’s right. Well. He was gonna die anyway. I just quickened the process.”

Legolas’ eyes darted to my left palm, which retained its faint glow and made the blood shine.

“You have altered what will come to pass.” He didn’t say it accusingly; if anything, he was too neutral to be normal.

“Yep. I did.” I pursed my lips and sheathed both blades. He took the cloth back and began to clean his sword. “I’ve kinda come to terms with what I’m trying to do. Hopefully, it’ll turn out alright.”

Realizing that there was less and less reason to be guarded, Legolas’ shoulders relaxed. “The accent you speak with—I have not come across its type in my travels.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m from another world.”

Legolas froze midway through cleaning his blade and stared.

Smirking at him, I began to walk to Bard’s. “Come on,” I gestured. “You don’t need to go off chasing Bolg, anymore. You can help the rest of us. Because in case you didn’t know, there’s a dragon coming to light up Lake-town.”

I didn’t glance back, and after a beat, he sighed and caught up to me. I threw him a warmer smile. He returned it with a faint quirk of his lips.

But a fiercer, longer quake caused by Bilbo and the dwarves trying to kill Smaug shuddered through Lake-town, and any real smiling ceased to exist for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry I missed out on the whole healing thing,” I said to Fili after embracing him. “There was something else I decided to do.”

“And what would that be?”

I didn’t miss how his eyes went to Legolas, who guarded the door with his back to us. Whether Legolas took his position out of concern for more orc attacks or didn’t want to be near Tauriel and Fili, I didn’t know.

“Killing Bolg.”

Fili paled. “You…” he stammered, “you killed Bolg? How? He must have been thrice your size!”

“He was, and I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flattered with your reaction. But—it didn’t happen as badass as you might think it did.”

I went over to my pack and used the remnants of my clean bandages to wrap my left hand, which still trickled with blood. Fili watched me cover the droplet, but he didn’t voice his concern about its embedment. “Legolas had him distracted. I snuck up on him. When he turned, I just…” I motioned shoving a blade up into Bolg’s head. Thinking too hard about how it felt when metal scaped across bone made me queasy, so I didn’t want to talk about it much longer. “Then he was dead.”

“But why? What did Bolg mean to you?”

I grimaced. Even the slightest glance at Kili would have betrayed my already unconvincing omission, so I kept myself fixed on Fili. “He, uh, he would have stirred up some shit that I decided to put an end to before he could.”

Fili eyed me with a fair amount of suspicion. “And what would that trouble have been?”

“Look, Fili,” I huffed, ignoring the swell of nervous bile in my stomach, “There’s some—”

“You must go,” Bard declared, interrupting all conversations in the house. “Smaug will be upon us any moment. I will not have my children feel the heat of his fire.”

“And what about you?” Sigrid questioned, wringing her hands. Bard answered by reaching into the bushels of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, then pulled down the black arrow.

Sigrid gasped, and Oin breathed something incredulous in Khuzdul.

Bard held it out in front of him, eyes fierce. “I’m going to finish what my ancestor could not.”

I slung my pack over a shoulder and took Fili’s hand. “You might want a backup for that windlance,” I said to Bard. “I think it’s one of the first things to get destroyed.”

“Only if Smaug is not felled quickly enough,” he replied. “But thank you. I shall be cautious and swift. Now go!”

We didn’t delay and fled the house. Kili, though drained, could stand on his own. He hobbled down the stairs with Tauriel behind him. She remained at the ready to catch Kili should he slip or stumble. At the edge of the boardwalk outside of Bard’s home, Bain and Sigrid hopped into the boat that awaited us. Legolas swiftly picked up Tilda and delivered her to her sister’s arms.

“The children should have departed long ago,” he said. The world groaned in agreement.

“Things didn’t go according to plan,”  I said, emphasizing the word to mean “my plan.”

Legolas softly scoffed. He caught Tauriel trying to help Kili into the boat, muttered something semi-sharp in elven, then firmly took Kili’s arm and guided him in until he was seated. Tauriel said something back, exasperated and fond.

I kept an eye on the black mountain in the distance, waiting for a winged beast to burst from it.

Tilda cried for her father as he watched us get in the boat. She stretched out her hand, and he took it, however brief.

“I’ll be back, my sweet,” Bard promised her. Despite his stoicism, tears shone in his dark eyes.

I almost reassured the sentiment, but some things were too perilous to say aloud.

Bain wanted to go with his father like he had with everything up to this point, but Bard made him swear to look after his sisters until he returned. So with tears tracking his cheeks, Bain nodded and swore it before he let Bofur direct him to the center of the boat with Tilda and Sigrid.

I was the last one to get in. Bard gripped my arm. “Tell me, Valeria,” he spoke, “what will happen after Smaug is slain? Will there be a dawn to this darkness? Will my people prosper?”

His question made all eyes turn to me. I clenched my blood-coated hand.

“Yes,” I answered, though I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t give him—any of them—hope that this was the worst to come. That once Smaug was dead, they could turn to Dale with faith that they would never taste fear of violence and fire again.

I took a breath. The air had turned foul with the stench of dead orcs. Then I looked Bard straight in his eyes, expression grimmer than his own.

“But first, there will be war.”

Bard wasn’t as shocked as he should have been. I supposed he might have put it all together, with the dwarves’ return and the orcs attacking, and how I mentioned that Dale would need a leader for the upcoming days and weeks.

“War?” Fili repeated, which made me turn to him. His visible hurt sent a needle through my heart. “What do you mean?”

“We can speak of the future later,” Legolas cut in. He beckoned for me, and I clasped his hand and jumped into the boat. “Right now, we must live through the present. Farewell, Bard. May your aim be true.”

Tilda cried more. Sigrid held her little sister, her own tears threatening to spill over. Bain had half a mind to jump back out of the boat and join his dad in spite of his oath, but Bofur kept a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in his place. Bard watched us leave with an indescribable expression. Then the fog shrouded him, and the bargeman disappeared from view.

The town, thankfully, was empty as we glided through the waters. Its only residents now were us and the solemn sheet of mist. Legolas, who manned the boat’s pole, moved with haste and expertise, like he too sensed the dragon’s heat on the back of his neck.

“War, you said,” Tauriel spoke. Veiled moonlight caught in her red hair. I didn’t miss the way Kili stared at it. “When will it be?”

“Soon,” I replied. The sound of the pole cutting through the water was too loud, and I shivered. “Too soon. The army—they’re going to come up from the earth. They use wheel…wheel worms? Something like that.”

“Were-worms,” Legolas corrected. His jaw clenched. “Vile monsters from the East.”

“They have not been seen since the Last Alliance,” Tauriel said with quiet horror. “How come they upon such creatures?”

I didn’t speak. I felt Fili’s eyes on me, searching for an answer.

“Thirteen dwarves and the Men of Dale cannot possibly hold off an entire orcish army,” Legolas went on. He steered us into the eastern portion of the city. Above us, ravens loudly cawed. “It will not be war; it will be slaughter.”

“The elves—your people—will come to fight, too,” I said.

Legolas spared me a dubious glance. “My father would not fight for either.”

“I think…uh, he comes to initially fight against the dwarves?” I made a noise, then added, “There are gonna be more dwarves coming from the Iron Hills.”

“Our kin would not let us be vulnerable after reclaiming Erebor,” Kili smirked, as pale and exhausted as he was.

“Careful, lad,” Oin warned. “Remember that they would not aid us at the beginning of this quest. They come because we will have taken the mountain back, not because they had faith in our doings.”

“They come because their king commands it,” said Fili. “And with the Arkenstone, Thorin is king.”

The mention of the Arkenstone made me worry about Bilbo and what was to come. Maybe I could…maybe I could just hit Thorin really hard and make him snap out of it? Kick him in the balls? Smear some elven ointment on his stupid forehead? Then his whole bout of madness could be avoided before it got in the way at all.

“With the Arkenstone, he is doomed.”

Legolas just had to put his two cents in. I grimaced at the statement as the dwarves’ ire raised.

“I remember when his grandfather became consumed by the Arkenstone and his gold,” Legolas continued, balancing perfectly on the boat while he pushed us along. “To lay one’s kinghood in gemstones and minerals brings weakness. The mountain was rank with Thror’s dragon-sickness even before Smaug buried himself in its treasures.”

“You watch your tongue, elfling,” Oin growled. “Do not make light of the decimation of our kin.”

“Your kin would not have been decimated if your king lay his strength in his people.”

“Alright, alright,” I interceded before the boat capsized because of a brawl. I put a hand on Fili’s tense chest. “Don’t get all high and mighty, Legolas. Your father isn’t the greatest either.”

“My father has kept the Greenwood protected since the beginning of this age.”

“Uh, what? It’s not called Greenwood anymore. It’s Mirkwood. Because it’s so fucking dark and dank and crawling with spiders.”

“The lady speaks the truth, mellon,” Tauriel said with both caution and courage. “Your father believes that as long as evil does not touch the city itself, we are protected.”

“It’s called denial,” I added. Even though I knew the many, many faults of the dwarves, I also had great love for them. Hearing Legolas’ criticism made me prickle. “Your dad was willing to seal himself away and pretend that everything was fine.”

“You have not faced the darkness that he has,” Legolas defended, but he didn’t sound riled enough to be convincing. “He has good reason to keep his people safe.”

“I’ve seen plenty of darkness,” I shrugged, but I was turning sharp. “And I’ve found that one of the greatest ironies about being safe is that true protection only happens when you make sure others are safe. Putting up walls and guards and trying to shut the world out doesn’t equal safety.”

“It makes a cage,” Tauriel said lowly. I nodded.

“It makes a cage. And it creates Us and Them. There has never been a more dangerous mindset than Us and Them.” I hoped that the elves, dwarves, and humans all in this cramped little boat heard what stewed in my soul ever since I started my humanitarian career. “Better keep that in mind these upcoming years.”

Legolas tilted his head to me. The eastern port was in sight, and the last of the citizens got into boats. Numerous campfires dotted the far shore, and lamplights on hundreds of boats dotted the black surface of the lake.

I worried more. They weren’t supposed to light fires.

“What will happen in the years to come?”

I didn’t answer him. And I didn’t need to, for a great crack broke the world. The lake shook in terror of what approached. We all snapped to the mountain.

The shouts and screams of the last fleeing people were drowned out by an air-splitting roar.

I watched in detached horror as a winged beast, larger than anything I could have imagined, rose from the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain and soared into the moonlit sky. It moved fast—far, far too fast. My human eyes could hardly keep track of it in the night.

“Smaug has come,” Legolas declared too-calmly. He began to row us beyond the dock with the rest—

But I grabbed his arm. Something didn’t feel right. Something wasn’t right. Years and years of work taught me that nothing, nothing could ever go this easily when danger was so close—and smart. Smaug was not mindless; I made sure Bilbo knew that, and I made sure that I would not forget it.

My gaze drifted back to the distant shoreline fires, the smattering of lights on the water, and the empty town behind us. Then it went up to Smaug again, who in just a matter of seconds had flown past the ruins of Dale. I could almost see the glittering red and gold of his scales.

And I saw how he veered East, draconic laughter-roars rumbling through the winter-night sky.

Something small flitted past my head. Glancing over, I was finally able to spot Bard’s little friend in full. The thought of something Luis told me a long time ago niggled in the back of my mind, when I scrolled Twitter and gave half-listening “mms” and “huhs” while he talked.

The bird, tiny and quick, perched on Bain’s finger, but all three children translated a language nobody else on the boat could decipher. After a series of the bird’s urgent chirps and whistles, Bain snapped his head to me, eyes wide with panic.

“Smaug knows the town is deserted. He flies for the shore.”

The spoken confirmation didn’t provide any relief to my suspicion. It only shoved the barbs in my heart further, made my stomach sicker.

But my mind stayed clear. The droplet weighed firm.

“If he reaches the lake, then all of our work will have been for nothing,” I spoke, rising to my feet. The boat swayed then stilled. How did my voice sound so resolute? I was fucking terrified of what I was about to do. “And even more people will die. We can’t have that, can we?”

“Valeria.” Fili’s tone was warning. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing…”

I wondered if my lips formed a smile or a grimace. Maybe it was both. I began to unwrap the bandage around my palm.

“Smaug needs to be drawn back to the town. Bard has the only thing that can kill him.”

The bandage dropped, and the droplet shined enough that the bones and veins in my left hand were visible. Everybody gaped at the sight of it, distracted enough to miss the scrawl of fright that passed over me.

I made the jump from the boat to the dock, and the boat bobbed behind me.

“Ria! No! You cannot!”

Fili stood and hastily scrambled to the dock as well. Was my pack still in the boat? Yeah. Good. And I had my blades in case of…something, and my scrunchie was tight, and the laces of my boots were secure—

“Ria!”

He reached up to grip my face so I was forced to look at him. I blinked, taking in blue ringed with gold, and I wanted to promise him that I’d be back. But how could I predict my fate? I didn’t have the luxury of carrying knowledge of my own while carrying the fates of those around me.

“Surviving Smaug—it’s impossible! No dwarf, no man, can do it alone!”

I gently removed his hands and held them. They were warm with a future I feared, a future I wanted. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a man, huh?”

The joke would be funny here in a few decades.

He let out a helpless cry. “Mahal, Ria! Then at least let me go with you—”

I cut him off with a short but fierce kiss. When I drew back, I whispered through the ache in my throat, “No. I can’t risk you dying.”

Smaug’s roar drove through the sky, closer now. Underneath it, with tangled desperation and calm, I said to Fili, “I love you. I love you.”

Using the droplet’s strength, I shoved him back into the boat and shouted to Legolas, “Get them out of here! Now! If I die—look for me in the morning!”

The dwarves shouted for me to stop, but Legolas swiftly pushed off the dock so they couldn’t follow me. I trusted him to do the right thing, not the wanted thing. The bird dashed above me twice before it disappeared again. The wood was slick under my feet, my coat already stifling.

What the fuck was I doing?

The question never got an answer.

Once I was away from the port and farther into the palpably silent town, I climbed the stairs of a house, hopped on a railing, then leapt up to grab the edge of the roof. It splintered and I almost slipped, but the droplet’s strength allowed me to swing myself onto it. I clambered higher up, shingles falling and shattering below, and braced myself against the house’s chimney.

In the next breath, I raised my palm up to the foreign heavens.

Did the Valar watch me right now? They should have been. I wouldn’t let their people die by the fire meant for them. I wouldn’t let the shore burn, and after this, I wouldn’t let the Line of Durin extinguish. Whether they liked it or not…

Well. I never gave a shit about what gods thought anyway.

“Okay,” I panted. “Okay.”

The droplet seared hot, and from it burst a part of myself and a part of something more, a part of something celestial and cosmic and familiar, which manifested in—

LIGHT.

I shielded my eyes from its blinding power.

All went silent, and a wind not of this world whipped strands of hair across my cheeks. I could taste the pain that came with the light, which laid my existence out bare. In its unshielded radiance, I couldn’t hide from anything. Not my flaws, not my mistakes, not my hypocrisies—not my love, my grief, my wants—nothing.

The light faded, and I blinked away the spots from my vision. The sky was now cloudless; an infinite canvas of stars sprawled above me, each almost as bright as the full, radiant moon. The chimney beside me had crumbled away, and it was a wonder the house I stood on hadn’t been torn apart.

I sucked in clean breaths of air and watched the connecting veins in my hand and arm pulsate with light. At its source, the droplet shone white-hot.

“What is this?” a deep, guttural voice boomed in the sky, and were it not for the droplet, my legs would have given out.

Smaug tilted his great leathery wings and swept back toward Lake-town. A breeze carried his dragon-stench. It was ripe with putrid reptile and metal. “A taste of another world? It has been so long.”

Smaug’s chest glowed yellow, and I didn’t have time to register what was happening until flames tore through the air and ripped into Lake-town. The suffocating heat of wildfire—no, dragonfire—stole the oxygen from my lungs. I raced to the edge of the house as flames licked the back of my heels and vaulted off, arms wind-milling. When I landed onto the crispy but intact deck below, I rolled and sprinted farther into the city.

“Why so timid, mouse?” Smaug questioned from above. His words carried a saccharine poison to them. “The Thief in the Shadows was much more polite to me. Come, now! Come! Tell me riddles and stories like your burglar! Are you, too, a Barrel-rider? A Luckwearer? For I smell him on you, just as I smelled you on his tattered clothes! The smell of a human! A human not from this realm.”

The grating growl came a second before a fury of flames scorched over me. The wall of fire ate away at homes and streets, so I propelled myself in another direction, any direction. Ash coated my throat, stung my eyes. My fist clenched the droplet.

I made the mistake of looking behind me.

Smaug dipped low, his wings nearly touching the tips of burning houses, unhinged jaw pointing right at me. I glimpsed white teeth bigger than my arms and gleeful, evil, yellow reptilian eyes. The sight of them nearly paralyzed me. I couldn’t comprehend actually talking to Smaug in all his nightmarish power like Bilbo so bravely had.

The fire roared into Smaug’s mouth, but before he could release it on me, I raised my hand aloft again and sent another pulse of radiance. Smaug screeched and drafted upwards. The drastic beat of his wings slammed me into the deck. I cracked a knee against the boards, then pushed myself back up and kept running.

“I did not believe what I smelled on the burglar in the mountain,” Smaug hissed, “but now I am certain! And you, you know nothing of the power you hold.”

He circled up high and rained fire down, trying to trap me. “Power that was not meant to be wielded as foolishly as you do. Your burglar fears it, for he has seen how it does not belong in this world, just as you do not. How does it feel to be unwanted? To have no fate in a world that was not designed for your existence?”

I screamed and shielded my face from the fire that spilled in front of me. Wood crackled, and the soles of my feet seared. “Give the light to me, and I will not kill those you have so rashly pledged your loyalty to. Be good, now, good and sensible.”

My right hand clutched my left arm like a brace while I sent out another wave of light. Buildings collapsed around me, groaning as they fell into the lake. I almost went in with them, for when the light faded, I stumbled in the absence of its pressure.

Smaug snarled from somewhere above. I jumped across a broken section of the street and continued sprinting—

A blistering hurricane of wind knocked me off my feet. I hit my brow bone against the wood, clawing to keep myself from sliding into the lake. The tips of my boots dashed across the water, and I whimpered.

Smaug landed atop several blazing homes. His golden eyes gleamed devilishly in the torched ruins of Lake-town. He was about two hundred feet away from me, enormous and wrongly brilliant. My limbs trembled, and panic crawled up my throat.

I pushed myself back up onto both knees, though, unwilling to break underneath the likes of him.

Smaug grinned, his draconic mouth stretching wide and splitting the sides of his skull open to reveal rows of razor teeth. “I know of a lord who would reward me greatly if I delivered you to him. He serves the same dark master as I. And I would not think it wise to let another one of your kind slip from our grasp.”

I staggered upright against the roiling heat that scalded my skin, and I raggedly shouted, “FUCK YOU!”

His head tilted like a carrion bird. Then he entreated closer, crushing the homes beneath his weight. He was so big, so big, but I would die over and over until there were no lives left before I let him take me.

I held my palm up to Smaug like some stupid fucking hero. It didn’t look cool—I shook too much for it to be. The weight of the droplet amplified, and I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or exhaustion or something else entirely.

“Or maybe I will kill you myself and rid this world of another meddlesome Worlds-walker.”

Smaug released his fountain of flame. It billowed straight at me, disintegrating all in its path, and I was going to die, I was going to die, I WAS—

The light solidified, shielded, and flame rolled off its surface. I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think—the world was a battlefield of white and orange. Flames streaked past me on both sides, and the heat sizzled the sweat from my bleeding brow. I screamed at the top of my tight lungs, but I only heard myself after the deafening fire subsided.

The droplet’s power retracted back into itself, shooting energy into my buzzing, half-numb bones.

The space between Smaug and me was gone. What blackened, skeletal remains of the buildings that rose haphazardly from the inky water reflected their licking glow on the surface.

I dropped my arm, wheezing. The deck I stood on crumbled to nothing less than two feet away.

Smaug tossed his head back and laughed so loudly that it must have been heard all the way to the Lonely Mountain. I coughed, and an agonizing pain wracked through my lungs.

“Such STRENGTH! I am impressed! But I am the Calamity, the Last of the Great Dragons! I have laid low cities and civilizations!”

His body sank into the buildings, and they groaned their dying breaths underneath him. Smaug’s grin warped into a snarl. “You are but one mortal. One human. You cannot withstand my fury.”

My shoulders straightened as Smaug spoke his last sentences. I grinned back, teeth bloodied, and the drake took it as defiance rather than confidence. Good. He liked the sound of his own voice so much that he reminded me of something important. Someone important.

I wasn’t just one mortal. One human amidst smoke and fire.

There was another.

And he just needed the right shot.

“You think…you think you can win against me?” I yelled, sucking in an unhealthy amount of ash lacing the air. If Bilbo could talk to Smaug, then so could I. The courage of hobbits would not die out in me. “You got chased out of your mountain! By just a few dwarves! You’re not any fucking calamity! You’re—you’re weak! Weaker than me! Your flames can’t even touch me!”

He reared his long neck back—still not enough to expose his chest—and snapped his jaws together. It was like a clap of thunder. “You DARE? I am Smaug! I flew and slayed those beneath me in the War of Wrath! And I will do so until the End Times! You? You are but an insect! And I will revel in watching your insignificant, unwanted soul be consumed by the misery the Dark Lord will unleash upon you! You cannot win! You cannot ESCAPE.”

Teeth still bared, I shifted into a defensive karate stance, fists clenched and raised. The droplet pulsated to life, and my veins became the tendrils of a galaxy on a moonless night. “Then come and FUCKING GET ME!”

Smaug’s roar nearly shattered my eardrums. He barreled through the wooden graveyard of Lake-town left in our wake. I leapt to the edge of the broken deck and pushed off like I was back in track and field. The droplet flared, which blinded Smaug and caused him to shout in agitated pain. He shot upwards, opting not to catch me in his giant maw, but snagging me with his back claw.

I cried out as one of the talons pierced through the skin above my shoulder blade. My arms weren’t locked in Smaug’s grip, however, so I continued to shine the light as best I could. Each of Smaug’s powerful, rippling wingbeats jarred me up and down. Through the frenzy of dragon flight, the ruins of Lake-town sprawled out beneath me. But the windlance survived despite my prior warning, and in the distant firelight, I caught the movement of a grim man who did not turn from peril.

“Perhaps first, I should finish what was started. You will watch the measly Lakemen burn under my power! Yes! Yes! You will watch, and you will despair.”

I would have shouted something back, but all my focus concentrated on not losing consciousness from the pressure on my brain and lungs.

Instead of keeping my fist raised, I directed it toward Smaug’s chest so it shined light on his thick-scaled armor.

We climbed higher and higher until the heat was replaced by cold, and Smaug’s claw threatened to prematurely force the life from me. I hadn’t thought about what I was going to do now—there wasn’t any time or chance. All I could do was accept whatever would happen.

This far up, with nothing but the heavens above, the earth below, and the might of a dragon, I thought of my families both here and there—and being crushed between them.

Then a black arrow found its mark in Smaug’s chest, sinking deep and true.

The fire drake let out an unholy shriek. It struck all sense from me. His grasp weakened then released entirely, and I was flung from his claws, arcing and tumbling away. The gusts of his erratic wingbeats twisted me through the air, which turned reality into a dizzying suspension.

It was as if Smaug flew to escape death.

But death would not be denied.

Smaug, the Last of the Great Dragons, the Calamity of Erebor, rattled out his final, choking breath, and plummeted to the lake below.

For a moment, I didn’t feel like I was falling. I seemed to float, staring up at the multitude of stars so very, very far from me, holding memory and life, but if I could reach out and touch one, then maybe, maybe I’d get to see Mom and Dad and Luis and Elena and—

I dropped back to Middle-earth.

Beneath its shine, the light twined around me when I failed to find the rational part of my brain to react to the fall. I had been skydiving, hang-gliding, cliff-jumping, and every extreme thing in between for the sake of fun and adrenaline. Yet no instinct or training registered like they had all those times before as I catapulted down. There was nothing but panic and terror. My limbs flailed and strained in their sockets. Razors upon razors sliced against my bare skin. Wind howled in frozen ears, and my own pitiful cries echoed in my head.

Before I shut my eyes to the force at which I fell, I caught sight of the eastern shore, still lit with fires, alive and whole.

For them, another death was worth it.

(But I still didn’t want to die—I didn’t want to die—this was going to hurt like a bitch and I didn’t want to die—)

Five pounding heartbeats later, I crashed into the Long Lake. A sledgehammer of freezing agony slammed through me, crushing and grinding everything I claimed to be mine. Fluid rushed into my lungs like wet concrete. It swallowed me up, and the light blinked out of existence.

Chapter Text

Bilbo’s dirty nails scraped against one of Dale’s decrepit rampart walls he collapsed on. The heat from Lake-town carried on the breeze, for it had become a battlefield of fire and light.

“She got everyone out, laddie,” Balin assured, though the dwarf’s voice strained and wavered.

“Aye,” Dwalin added, his gruff tone unusually soft. “Cannae ye see the lights on the shoreline? Smaug was flying there…but she drew him back. Smart girl.”

“I don’t care that she’s smart,” Bilbo snapped. He moved to look back at Dwalin, but only his body turned. His eyes could not be torn from the burning town. “She’s there. She’s there, alone, and—and—and she shouldn’t be!”

“Perhaps Fili is there,” Nori mused. “Or the elf lass she swore would come is with her.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Don’t be daft! Look! Look at that town!” He pointed a shaking finger at the atrocious bonfire upon the lake. “Valeria wouldn’t let anyone but herself be in there! She went—”

His throat closed, up, causing him to choke. “She went alone! Because we couldn’t kill Smaug like she told us to!”

“And how did you expect us to kill him, eh?” Gloin questioned almost defensively. “That’s a fire drake! We barely made it out with our lives!”

“She cannot be alone, Bilbo,” said Balin. He came forward and clasped Bilbo’s trembling shoulder. “Remember? Remember what she said? Bard is there. This will not go on for much longer.”

“I don’t want it to go on at all,” Ori whispered. He had curled up on the rampart farther away, too fearful to watch the destruction.

Bilbo’s panic was interrupted by a great blast of flame rolling off a sudden shield of white. It decimated that area of Lake-town; blazing fire and rebellious light flattened buildings, and the breeze sharpened unnaturally.

The taste of Smaug’s terror turned to Valeria’s courage.

He nearly toppled right off the ramparts. Bifur shouted something, and the remaining Company pressed themselves against the rampart to gape at the collision. Then Dwalin bellowed a war cry, and the dwarves followed suit, bringing their guttural cheers up from the depths of their stomachs.

Bilbo did no such thing; he took ragged breaths through the tears that stung his eyes, and he beamed so widely that it hurt his cheeks. He hoped Valeria heard the dwarves, as unlikely as it was. He hoped she knew she wasn’t alone, that they were with her, that she was strong and good and capable—

Smaug’s roar drowned out their own. Though the light flared again, the dragon beat his great wings, leveling more houses, then reared back and brought his hind claw forward. It disappeared in the veil of light.

It—she—lifted with Smaug’s abrupt, screeching ascent, and Bilbo’s grin sank to a mask of horror.

The dragon veered back toward the Eastern shore. The Company fell silent, too stunned to move, to speak, to do anything but pray to Mahal and Yavanna and any Valar that would listen for the safety of their foreign Valeria.

But she was indeed smart. Valeria kept her terrifying light on Smaug’s breast to illuminate the black pinprick amidst his crimson armor. Bilbo felt the dragon’s breath billowing upon him, asking questions about the smell of dwarves and humans—of a human, whose scent was unlike the others.

Smaug had made a mistake in mentioning Valeria, though; it reminded Bilbo of her steady courage, which would not die in him under the mountain.

She would live, if she were to die—except Bilbo did not want Valeria to die at all. Dying had been different each time, she said, and she could still feel the orc blade set in her chest if she sat still long enough, or the spider venom burning her leg. Why should she be burdened with yet another trauma? Another memory of death?

Bilbo did not want Valeria to die. He wanted her to live so she wouldn’t wake up thirsty and sore, then feel obliged to make light of what had happened to ease others. None of them ever asked if Valeria felt better, if she was better after the unfair cards had been dealt to her.

So Bilbo prayed straight to Eru himself, wherever the supreme deity over Arda was. He had never been the pious sort, but Valeria’s insanity tended to drive him to such lengths.

Let her live, he repeated over and over, until it no longer became words and instead an intense emotion pounding synchronously in his head and heart.

Then Bard’s black arrow pierced Smaug’s chest. The dragon’s screech rent the air, and he thrust Valeria from his clawed grasp before he plunged. The light hovered for but an instant like a star who had drifted too close to the lake.

Then it too fell from the heavens, falling, falling, falling, and a moment after Smaug crashed into a grave of his own fiery making, Valeria collided with the Long Lake. The light vanished from the world, leaving it darker than it had ever been.

Bilbo covered his mouth to stifle a strangled cry. He fled from the ruined rampart, unable to look upon the lake a moment longer. Nobody stopped him.

He stumbled down the rampart’s crumbled staircase, a sob heaving from him, and he would have kept running once he reached the base had it not been for the sole figure who stood there.

Thorin did not notice Bilbo come to a scraping stop. No, the king did not even watch Valeria stand alone against Smaug in the searing heat of Lake-town; he did not see her snatched up by the beast; he did not witness a black arrow slay the dragon by Bard’s own hand.

He only gazed upon the broken entrance of Erebor, unmoving as the mountain.

Bilbo’s panic pooled into cold dread. Then his eyes hardened and his jaw clenched.

Though he did not touch the weight settled inside his coat pocket, he could feel the Arkenstone pressed against his left ribcage like a tumor.

Valeria lied that night. She had always been a terrible liar, and Bilbo saw the twitch in the corner of her mouth that gave her away. The very next morning, right before he departed for the Lonely Mountain with the remnants of their Company, Valeria softly whispered that he needed to keep it hidden.

Now Bilbo was certain of her cryptic meaning. Valeria was becoming quite good at speaking in veils and shadows like Gandalf, though Bilbo doubted she’d take that as a compliment.

The sight of Thorin already consumed by dragon-sickness oddly grounded Bilbo. He would need to remain calm until Valeria, Fili, and the rest of the Company reached the Lonely Mountain.

Do not act suspicious.

Do not reveal the Arkenstone.

Do not let the dragon-sickness possess his own mind.

Bilbo dipped his finger into his vest pocket, brushing the smooth metal of the ring. He couldn’t bring himself to resist. He would tell Valeria what he saw when he looked at her with the ring on. He would. She deserved to know.

But it would bring up the subject of the ring itself again, and eventually the subject of Bilbo’s relation—no, there wasn’t any relation. It was just a silly ring.

Except it wasn’t. And Valeria would interfere—

He yanked his fingers out of the vest pocket and wiped them on his dirty trousers. Disgust rose in Bilbo, and with it the definite conclusion that not only would he tell Valeria of her altered appearance from the ring’s perspective, but he would then give it to her. Whatever it did to him…whatever it would do…he did not want any part of it. No, thank you. Dragon-sickness be damned; whatever this—this ring was, it contained its own disease. But Valeria would be immune. Yes, he was sure of it. She’d take it off his hands and do more good than he ever could.

Bilbo composed himself, tweaked his nose, and treaded back up to the ramparts.

-

Cold.

I was separated from the corporeal. I had to be, because I couldn’t move, because there was nothing for me to move…

Then the barest of groans escaped from numb lips, and the pain erupted like fissures in a glacier.

“You're awake.”

The world rocked—no, a boat, small and creaking, bumping against ice chunks in the water.

I wanted to puke, but what was left of my body was too exhausted to try.

Bard the Bowman broke through the haze and came into view. His olive skin looked gray in the somber hours of dawn.

“Thought you to be dead.”

He took off his jacket and laid it on top of me. Some of his residual warmth in it soothed the icy spikes under my skin. “But I found you floating face-up in the lake, still breathing.”

So I didn’t die. I just really, really felt like shit after slamming into the water.

How did I survive?

The light. The droplet. Of course. Of fucking course.

I honestly didn’t know if I would have been worse off if I died—there was still an incredible amount of pain.

Bard straightened and returned to his oars. Had he…had he found a boat in Lake-town? Even after it all burned away?

Lake-town. Smaug. Fighting him. The light protecting me. Getting carried off.

Oh, fuck, I wanted to cry.

“That…” I rasped as Bard’s oars cut through the water. “That was a fucking nightmare.”

“Aye, I reckon you’ll never get a good night’s rest again. But sleep, now. We will be at the shore in a half hour’s time.”

I already started to drift by the time Bard finished speaking.

“Oh, and Valeria,” he added, distant and muted. “Thank you for saving my people.”

-

“…Mija.”

My mom’s voice woke me up again, but I didn’t see her in the small tent. A winter breeze snapped against the canvas, and daylight brightened the inside. The pain throbbing in my body was more manageable now, so I risked shifting under the blankets piled on top of me. Someone removed the clothes I had been wearing, which was good. I was probably in the stages of hypothermia when Bard rowed me back to the shore. But my breathing was normal, and I didn’t have any chills or dizziness.

The tent flap opened, bringing a burst of daylight before shutting again. I smiled when I saw Tauriel. The tall elf had to stoop a great amount to fit into the size of the tent.

She smiled back. “I heard you awaken. Your dwarf wanted to come and check on you himself, but you are indecent, and I was not certain if you wished to be mauled by him.”

Tauriel picked up some folded clothes nearby. They looked like a pair I had left in my pack. “Here is something to change into. Do you require assistance?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I groaned as I sat up. The cold air of the tent hit my bare shoulders, so I pulled the blankets higher around me. “Thank you, though. Are we still on the Eastern shore?”

“Yes.” Tauriel handed me the clothes, and I began dressing with a series of winces and oofs. The more I looked at my skin, the more I realized that I was just one giant Bruise. “But they are preparing to leave for the ruins of Dale this afternoon. Some will walk with the larger carts and animals. Most will travel by boat.”

“Nice. Guess I better get off my ass and help out.”

Tauriel regarded me sharply. “You stood against Smaug, my lady—fought and survived him. Nobody expects you to do such things.”

I slipped my shirt on, then pulled the blankets off so I could sorely shimmy into the trousers. “I think we both know the kind of person I’m like, even though you just met me. Do I look like I’d just sit around when people need help?”

“You have already helped,” Tauriel sighed, fixing me with her hazel gaze. “You diverted Smaug’s attention long enough for the bowman to pierce him with the black arrow. That is a feat few races in Arda have ever accomplished, let alone lived to tell the tale.”

“Yeah, well, if I died, I’d just come back,” I muttered wryly. I pulled socks over my cold feet. “How’s Kili?”

Tauriel stilled, then let out another sigh. She sank to her knees so she wouldn’t have to crouch. “He is well. The poison’s effects have left his system.”

“Good.”

She tilted her head, lips parting as she considered her words. “You…knew of my coming.”

“I sure did.”

“Then you know of the future.”

“Well, that’s kinda relative.” I remembered killing Bolg and grimaced. “I’ve done a few things that have changed it.”

Whatever Tauriel meant to say next was abruptly bottled up and stuffed deep down inside her chest.

Nodding curtly, she gave me my boots. “Hopefully,” she spoke, “it will be a better future for us all.”

“I’d like to think that it might be,” I smiled, tugging a boot on. Then the smile turned sly. “Why, you wanna know something about you and Kili?”

Tauriel got to her feet and backed out of the tent. “Hurry now,” she hastily said. “You have loved ones waiting.”

I chuckled as Tauriel left, but once she was gone, it faded.

What the hell was the future even going to be?

And honestly, would I even make it better for the future? Or was I just giving Fili, Kili, and Thorin a future itself?

I pressed both palms into my eyes and took steadying breaths. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. There was still so much to do, still such a long ways to go.

With a final sniff that sent a twinge of pain up into my skull, I lowered my hands, blinked away whatever mist had formed, and grabbed the coat laid out for me. It was Lake-town style, long and layered underneath with sheep wool and yak fur, the fabric a dark green. I put it on, wincing at the strain on my skin and muscles, then staggered outside.

Daylight seared my already stinging eyeballs. I barely had time to adjust to it before arms were thrown around me, followed by loud dwarven speech and heavy-handed claps on my poor back.

“The great Valeria returns!”

“Thought you’d be nothin’ but a pile of ash! Smaug’ll do that to you!”

“Aye, but he didn’t do that to her, now did he, Bofur?”

“No! He didn’t! Best thank Mahal for that!”

“Best thank that light!”

Fili shoved Bofur, Oin, and Kili away from me. “Mahal, give her some space! Can’t you see she’s battered?”

I grinned and cupped my own cheek. It hurt. “I am battered, aren’t I?”

Fili took my left hand and kissed the back of it, refraining from showing a more public display of affection in front of dwarves, elves, and humans. I wouldn’t have minded if he couldn’t resist, but I understood.

Oh, shit.

I said that I loved him.

Okay, well, who could have blamed me? I was diving headfirst into fire, and I didn’t want to find out if I’d be reborn from the ashes like a fucking phoenix or whatever. If I did get reborn, however, I personally imagine that I’d look like a slimy Frank Reynolds when he slid out naked from the couch in It’s Always Sunny. There wouldn’t be anything cool or majestic about it.

“You’re beautiful,” Fili said, suckering me with—just—just him. “And incredibly, horribly courageous.”

“Aye, you’re lucky you faced a furious dragon,” Bofur put in, not bothering to hide that he and the others eavesdropped on our conversation. “Otherwise, you would have had to face Fili’s ire.”

I raised my eyebrows at Fili, who had the decency to be bashful. “Oh? You were mad?”

“Of course I was!” he quietly exclaimed. “You pushed me back into the boat then ran off!”

“We had to hold him down,” Kili said factually.

Fili huffed at my amusement. “You’re not supposed to think it’s funny,” he scolded, but he didn’t sound convincing. “And I still mean to give you a piece of my mind, woman!”

But his flustering only made me grin more, and I had to cover it and force myself not to laugh too hard, otherwise I’d bust an organ.

“So go ahead, give it,” Kili goaded. He crossed his arms. “Let us hear you chastise the woman who battled Smaug.”

“It wasn’t really a battle,” I tried correcting, but nobody listened to me.

“Oh, yes, get on with it,” Bofur said to Fili. He stuck his empty pipe in the side of his mouth. “Just repeat all the things you swore you’d say to her.” To me, he added, “Nearly tipped the boat over with the fuss he made.”

“A fuss was made?” I drawled. “By Fili? Wow, I wish I had been there to see that.”

“You still could,” said Kili, “if brother would just remember his words. Let me get you started.” He cleared his throat and did a sibling-perfected impression of Fili. “‘I swear on Mahal and Yavanna, that woman has no sense!  Something, something, grumble, can’t be reasoned with, something, cursing, foolish woman!’”

“I’m going to kick you right where that arrow got you,” Fili growled at Kili, who only beamed back like the shithead little brother he was. “Then we’ll see if Tauriel can speak a few elven words to heal it up again.”

The elf paused at the mention of her name while she packed two heavy bags of grain to a skiff. Her eyes narrowed at Fili before she continued on.

Kili, suddenly distracted, hobbled after her on his one good leg.

“Hey,” I said, drawing Fili’s focus back to me so he could see the genuine regret that furrowed my brows. “I am sorry. I didn’t…things didn’t go how I wanted, so I…improvised.”

I grimaced. “But I come back from the dead. You don’t. In that moment, it was safer for me to go alone.”

He sighed again, but this one released most of the weight he bore over it all. “I understand, Valeria. I do. Forgive me for acting rashly. I was terrified of what Smaug would do to you—Mahal, isn’t that a reasonable fear?”

I wanted to kiss Fili, but I kept it to squeezing his hand.

“It is. I’m sorry.”

Then I smirked, hoping to lighten the mood. “But now that I’ve faced a dragon and pulled it off, you can’t ever be mad at me again."

Fili gave me a deadpan look, then wryly said, “We’ll see about that. You tend to make those around you want to pull their hair out. But…” He drew my hand up to kiss the back of it again, and the airy sensation in my stomach was a nice contrast to the ache, “I am beyond glad that you are safe.”

He lowered my hand and tugged on it.

“Now come—we must make haste to the Lonely Mountain.”

My smile switched to a frown.

Bard strode up to us. “I heard you were awake.” He gave me a stiff, slight bow. “If—”

“Make way! The Master is coming through! Make way, you cretins!”

My frown switched to a scowl.

Alfrid shoved the few people who had either congregated around the dwarves and me or busied themselves with hauling supplies to boats. The Master of Lake-town strode behind him, puffed up with his robes and collar and gout.

“How the fuck is he still alive?” I hissed to Fili and Bard as they approached.

“Sheer unluckiness, I suppose,” Fili muttered back. Then, unable to help himself, he said with a smirk in his tone, “No thanks to you.”

I would have punched him in the shoulder, but I was too owie to be violent.

“My Lady Valeria!” The Master declared, throwing his arms wide open. I made a choked noise. “What thanks do we have to give! You spared all our lives from the great and terrible dragon! The sacrifice! The bravery! The…”

When the Master couldn’t come up for another word, Alfrid leaned over and said, “The care, Your Grace.”

“The care!” The Master finished with a yellow-toothed grin. “We owe our lives to your dedication.”

“No, you owe Bard your lives,” I snapped, pointing to the bowman. “He killed Smaug. And correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you trying to stop us from getting everyone out of the town?”

The Master opened his mouth, but I continued, redirecting my finger to him and Alfrid. “You’re Master of Nothing, now, aren’t you? Lake-town is gone. So it means I don’t have to listen to your bullshit, and neither does anyone else.”

“Watch your tongue, dwarven whore!” Alfrid spat.

He doubled over a second later, wheezing for air. Fili withdrew his fist back to his side and stood nonchalantly like he hadn’t just punched the wind out of the man.

My scowl faded to reflect the ideas weaving together in my head.

“Bard is the leader, now,” I spoke, steady and fast. More people gathered to listen, and upon my statement, agreeing murmurs swept through the crowd. “He planned to safely deliver goods to this shore and ensured that the people got here, too. Then he went and killed a dragon for them! He loves these people! Do you?”

“I—this is preposterous!” The Master proclaimed. “I am the Master! I hold the power! Without me, these peasants would have died long ago!”

The Lakemen, in response, booed and yelled back at the Master. He flinched at their assaults, gaping like a fish on land.

“Without you,” Bard finally said, and he drew himself up to full height, “Lake-town would have prospered, and my people would not have starved every winter the last fifteen years.”

Cheers and support backed him.

“You cannot—you would not—”

The Master’s cries were drowned out.

“We go to Dale!” Bard decreed. “There we will prepare to defend ourselves against the dark forces approaching! And we will rebuild! Smaug is gone from the land; we will no longer fear his terror. What was once good and green shall be so once more!”

I grinned despite how it stung and watched as the Northmen returned Bard his crown, his kingdom.

But he was and always would be a man of the people, and no claim or title could ever change that.

As Bard and his children were congratulated—and the Master and Alfrid pushed away into obscurity—Fili tugged me to the lake.

“Come, Ria,” he said. “We must be on our way."

It took me a couple of seconds to process Fili’s words and our direction, but once I did, I stopped. My shinbones creaked with pain. “Wait, what? No. We can’t go.”

Oin and Bofur readied the boat. Off to the side, Kili might have been conversing with Tauriel about the same thing from the way he placatingly gestured and Tauriel stood stiff-backed. Legolas watched them from afar as well while he held the reins of a horse.

Was he staying? Were they both staying? I supposed that since I killed Bolg, Legolas had less reason to follow him off to wherever they went. Gummy bad? No, that wasn’t right, but I was close. I was close.

“The people are safe, Ria. They do not need our assistance. But our king needs us.”

He’s not my king, I almost said.

“Oh, come on, Fili, do you really wanna up and leave?” I sighed, taking my hand away. Exasperation tightened his features. “After all this, you think it’s alright to just abandon them?”

“We’re not abandon—” he began with a raised voice, then corrected himself and spoke lower. “We are not abandoning them, Valeria. But it is time to leave.”

I scoffed a humorless laugh, then grimaced and rubbed my chest. “You know that it’ll take just a few more hours to get them settled into Dale, right? It’s not going to change much.”

“Valeria, Thorin—”

I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about Thorin right now. Do you know who I care about?” I splayed a hand behind me. “All these people! I’m not gonna leave them.”

Fili riled. “You signed a contract, remember?” he prompted, edged with heat. “You owe your loyalty to him.”

My eyes narrowed at his tone, his words. I inhaled a sharp breath, which pronounced my headache, and opened my mouth to start an argument in earnest. Fili stubbornly held his ground, chin tipped up a fraction at me. His gaze danced with all the ways he would counter and refute and reason anything I said—the politician’s son, the heir, emerging in him.

He didn’t expect me to slouch, fight dissipating in what I would admit was an uncharacteristic move, but he otherwise remained staunch.

“Listen, Fili. Listen.”

I cupped his face. The touch was less gentle than I hoped for and more frightened than I wanted. Fili felt it. Some of the frustration flickered out of him.

“Thorin is…Thorin will not be himself when we get back. He’s—”

When I faltered, Fili clasped my wrist. “What will he be, Ria?” he quietly implored.

“…He’s become corrupted with dragon-sickness.”

Fili gaped back. Everything hollowed out of him save for shock.

“No. No, that is—that is impossible. Uncle would never…he saw his grandfather…”

“It’s true. Believe me, Fili, it’s true. He’s not going to notice another day of our absence. He’s not…we’re not…”

I shook my head, irritated that I struggled to speak about it.

“It’s bad,” I settled on understating. “It’s really bad.”

Fili’s blue eyes searched for the truth and found it. Then he just looked…sad.

My expression grew firm when I retreated back into an easier topic. “But if you really have to go, then you can leave without me.”

“Mahal, I’m not going to do that,” Fili breathed.

He removed my hands from his face and held them, but a helpless breath left him, hurt trailing behind it. My insides twisted. “Why did you keep this from me? I could have…I could have gone with my uncle and perhaps…changed something.”

I dropped my gaze. “It…I’m not very good at any of this, alright? I find that out more and more. It’s not like I even know what to do about what’s going to happen—and I never came with, with fucking instructions. I’m just here hoping that I don’t…that I don’t fuck up, but sometimes I think that’s mostly all I’ve done.”

Fili made a soft noise of protest, and I looked back to him with my mouth in a firm line.

“But I am good at helping others. This? Aiding and assisting people who have been displaced and terrorized? This was my job back home. My entire life. I’d never just walk away from them. I have—I have followed all of you across the country, in a world that’s not even my own. For once, can you please …follow me? For a few hours? And take time to help just a little more?”

He released a curt, conflicted sigh with a look to match before he turned to the boat where Oin and Bofur stood, both of them confused and hands on their hips.

“What’s the hold up, laddie?” Bofur called. “Your mistress telling you no?”

Fili replied with an array of distressed gestures and a strangled sound.

“I’m serious,” I said. “I’m not going.”

He clenched his fists and brought them up with an infuriated, defeated growl, leaning in close enough that I could have kissed him. “You are…an obstinate woman.”

“Only when I need to be.”

Turning on my heels, I hobbled away from Fili and back to the fray.

A few moments later, Fili shouted a sharp command to Oin and Bofur. It was followed by the scrape of a boat being hauled back onto the shore.

In spite of my sore, chafed face, I grinned.

I found Tauriel in the bustling crowd and walked up to her. “So, you and Legolas are staying, too?” I asked.

She spared me a glance. “Yes. We felt it wrong to leave the Lakemen.”

Tauriel’s mouth then tightened a fraction. “My lord Legolas also has questions for you which he requires answers.”

“Hey, I’m fine with that,” I shrugged. Although the movement was a mistake, I ignored it to stoop beside her and pick up a light sack of what was most likely blankets.

She flashed a wry smile. “I see you command the dwarves, now.”

“Nah,” I drawled good-naturedly. “The trick is just to shame them.”

(I didn’t mention that it helped to have a dwarf love me as well.)

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Mm hm, you probably better.”

Tauriel opened her mouth to say something in blushing report, but a blond dwarf stomped over to interrupt our conversation. “Give me that,” Fili said brusquely, and he took the sack away from me before I could say or do anything.

I was left standing there emptyhanded, and I bit my bottom lip to keep from snickering.

Kili followed his older brother, smirking and hardly hiding the heart eyes he made at Tauriel. He picked up a heavy sack of grain, threw it over his shoulder, and melodramatically muttered to me, “So bossy, Ria. So bossy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I retorted, and I bent over to pick up another sack. It took just two strides to catch up to Kili. “You should be thanking me, you know.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because now you can hang out with your looooove.”

Kili’s ears reddened, but he sniffed, “No idea what you’re talking about.” A beat. “Be quiet.”

I laughed, which drew Fili’s attention for a moment from his place by the skiff before he returned to helping load supplies.

His assistance allowed him to mingle and converse with the people, who welcomed his honest help. It didn’t take long for Fili to ease up among them, especially with his outward warmth and steadfastness and charisma. Combined with Kili’s youthful enthusiasm and humor, Bofur’s wit and thoughtfulness, and Oin’s wisdom and hearty laugh, the dwarves had no problem socializing. Even Tauriel and Legolas didn’t struggle to assist the Lakemen, not with the way they calmed animals and deftly pushed boats into the lake and, on more than one occasion, had a gleeful child hanging from their arms or off their backs with unhidden mirth.

People allowed me to do some stuff, but it was as though everyone—men, dwarves, and elves—had collectively decided to ensure that I wouldn’t carry anything too heavy or work myself too hard. Cups of tea and biscuits and dried fruits were pushed into my hands more than once. Oin made sure to fuss over my mild fever, to which he then gave me more tea to bring it down and told me to rest for a good while beside a shaggy pony hitched to a cart.

And yeah—the tea did help, and I did like petting the pony, alright?

But during the rest, I studied the palm of my left hand. The droplet remained in its center, small and firm, and I curled my fingers over its unevenly faceted surface.

It saved me from Smaug’s fire—it saved me from the fatal fall. Just what else could it do beyond replenishing simple energy and shining light?

Smaug desired the droplet, too. He was going to FedEx ship me to the Dark Lord himself, but the droplet? He wanted that to be his and his alone, though I doubted Sauron would have let him have it.

So, for the thousandth time, I asked it:

What are you?

Chapter Text

I stood next to Bard on his boat as we sailed to Dale. Fili and Kili entertained Tilda, Sigrid and Bain stared forlornly out at the remnants of their still-smoldering town, Oin slept, Bofur whittled to make some toy for Tilda while whistling a jaunty tune, and Tauriel and Legolas muttered in their elven language at the front of the boat.

“So,” I said, folding my arms. The lake breeze cut my bruised skin, and the desire to sleep nagged at my focus. “You probably heard the entire conversation with ol’ Smaugy and me.”

A silence passed, filled with lapping water and the creaking boat. Then, “Aye.”

“So, you know the truth about me. That I’m from…a different world.”

“Aye.”

Bard’s breath was as steady.

“You…are not the first I have heard possessing the strange ability of the light.” He nodded toward the limp hand at my side, where the droplet remained. I was too afraid of pulling it out now, and I decided that maybe it was best to keep in until the upcoming war passed. “I’ve heard tales of an Eastern woman bearing a palm containing starlight. It is because of her that we’ve not had Easterling incursions in decades. She’s their queen, so the rumors go, or something of the sort.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

My thoughts had drifted to her several times after going toe-to-toe with Smaug using the droplet. “Her name’s Amelie, I think. That was what Beorn told me. She’s possibly from the same world as me. But—I didn’t know she was a queen. Or that she calmed the Easterlings. Honestly, I don’t know much about them. Just that they’re…in the East, and the dwarves had problems with them a long time ago.”

(“Probably an Easterling,” Dwalin lowly spoke to Thorin the third night I came into the Company when they didn’t think I’d hear. “You know as well as I that they wish our kin naught but ill.”

“Yet what would a lone Easterling be doing this side of the Misty Mountains?” Thorin questioned back. “Surely, word of our journey could not have reached that far.”

“Aye, but who can tell what manner of dark sorcery their kind uses to gather secrets on the wind and in the water—”

I snorted, and both dwarves snapped their heads around to glare at me.

“No, not an Easterling,” I said, fighting the hurt and anger. The Company tensed and quieted. “Just brown. Sorry.”

Surprisingly, Thorin and Dwalin stiffened with something akin to shame. The Company shifted in visible discomfort. Bilbo watched it all, lost at the implications but worried nonetheless.

“Forgive them, Valeria,” said Gandalf after he sent the two a disappointed look. “Their inane chattering casts a poor perspective on their scruples, but you needn’t worry. For all their…deficiencies, the dwarves do not differentiate between the color of one’s skin.”

Beside me, Bilbo inhaled a soft breath.

But my mouth didn’t untwist. “How nice—glad to know that it’s just because I’m human.”

Homesickness choked me, and I the last thing I saw before I turned away to sleep on the cold ground was Gandalf puffing angry pipe smoke with his own frown directed at Thorin, Thorin stoically regarding me, and Bilbo nervously chewing on his lower lip.)

“Perhaps you will meet her,” said Bard. “I hear she does not age. It is possible that neither will you.”

Well.

Fuck.

I pulled my coat tighter around me. My knuckles were swollen and stiff, and the stich work on my upper back throbbed in reminder of how Smaug could have easily carved me in two.

“So, it doesn’t scare you that I’m from another world?”

Bard almost smirked. He adjusted the boat’s steerer to direct its course. “I have much more to be frightened of than a person simply far from home.”

My quiet, single laugh could have been mistaken for a sob.

Really, the thought of another world should have been terrifying. It was for me. Yeah, it was generally agreed on Earth that there had to be lifeforms on other planets, but still.

I knew I had a come-apart trying to grasp the reality of this world—although that also had to do with its fictionality being not-so-fictional.

So even if Bard’s statement was out of wryness or denial or his Northman way of thinking, it brought a smile to my lips.

But that smile soon faded, and I was left with a hollow longing to be back on the home so far from me.

I didn’t expect Bard to keep talking with the finality of his previous words. But ever-so-softly, he whispered in the winter daylight, “You have a mark upon your head, Valeria. Darkness seeks to claim you.”

It took me a few moments to realize what Bard meant. When it registered that not only had he heard Smaug say that I was from another world, but he also heard reference of my delivery to the Dark Lord, I couldn’t contain my scoff.

“I’ve known for a while,” I then admitted just as quietly.

Bard tilted his head as if he wished to regard me, then thought better of it and continued to stare at the ruins of Dale. Maybe a person from another world didn’t scare him, but the mention of the Dark Lord certainly did; his jaw had clenched, knuckles white from gripping the steerer.

“And yet you speak so casually.”

“He doesn’t scare me.”

(But I felt his hand around my throat and the enormity of an incomprehensible evil swathing my existence.)

“He should.”

I couldn’t tell Bard that I had every intention of finding a way home, which would free from his grasp. Neither could I tell him that the very prospect of being separated from this world caused more sadness than anything Sauron could inflict upon me.

“I’ll be fine, Bard,” I instead assured, though it was flat.

“His army will be upon us soon. They will surely try to capture you to be taken to him.”

“Yeah. They can try.”

He let out an almost inaudible sigh of frustration. “You do not understand the severity of this.”

I frowned and pressed my hand to a cold ear in an attempt to warm it. “I do. More than you think. But I can’t dwell on it. Not right now—not when there’s so much else to keep me up at night.”

This time, Bard did observe me for a second. “Do not confuse your bravery with stupidity. If you are to fight, you must be careful.” He then fell silent, but it was like the draw of a bowstring before the release of an arrow. “If you are to be captured…I pray that your blade may be swift enough to find its way to your heart.”

My hand lowered.

“It is better to choose death than suffer what awaits you in the realm of darkness.”

Suicide.

I had confronted death more times than I could count—the executioner came in many forms. Bullets, drowning, disease, fire, suffocation. Being my own executioner had also been an undeniable consideration when it came to perilous and bleak circumstances. But it always remained a hatch in the bottom of my mind, locked and buried until the threat of people who wanted to harm me and the women I was with bore down. It never came to fruition, though, and I managed to keep it sealed away in all my years of work.

Of course, I entertained the notion in Mirkwood, but the circumstances behind my reasoning had drastically changed. And I didn’t die by my own hand in the forest, now did I?

(But I was reckless in a way I had never been before, even more so than the carelessness I fought with in the Misty Mountains. And wasn’t that still seeking death in its own form?)

I understood Bard’s reasoning, though and I most likely would choose to kill myself rather than live to see what the Dark Lord had in store.

These were strange times, however, and I had a stranger condition of coming back from something so universally final. A blade to the heart would not mean the end.

The realization made me feel small and helpless.

“Thank you for the advice,” I only muttered.

Bard did not say anything else.

To try and lift my spirits, I looked to Fili.

He currently taught Tilda how to hold a dagger (I didn’t know where he found it), and Kili enthusiastically mimed all the ways to stab an enemy. If Bard noticed them, he didn’t condemn it.

It was probably best for Tilda to know how to fight a little, at least, with war approaching.

Then I thought of barefoot kids holding assault rifles in dusty, dry countryside, and I despaired. For them, for Tilda, for Sigrid and Bain and all the other children who had tasted and would taste war.

Another wave of exhaustion hit me, and it lingered unhelpfully.

I thumbed the droplet in hopes that the touch would somehow provide me with a boost of vitality. But it could not or would not, so I wordlessly wandered away from Bard, slumped down beside Oin, and rested my head on his shoulder.

“Quit resisting the drowsiness, lass,” he mildly chided. “Ye need to rest while you can.”

“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled.

He pressed the back of his hand to my cheeks and forehead, then grunted, “Fever’s gone at least. How’s yer back?”

“It hurts, but it’s not too bad. That ointment is a fucking miracle, isn’t it? But I’ll tell you if it gets more painful.”

“And the rest of you? You took a beating; there’s more bruise on you than skin, I’ll say.”

I smirked. “It…could be better, I’ll admit. Nothing much we can do about it, though, so I’ll survive.”

Oin reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a pouch of some kind of pumpkin seeds clumped and coated in a sweet glaze. “Best keep this to ourselves, yes?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Lest Kili and Bofur whinge about not getting any, the sweet-mongers they are.”

“Oh, for sure.”

Oin poured some out into my cupped hand, and I hummed approvingly when I popped one into my mouth.

With even more food in me, I compromised and closed my eyes to doze until we reached Dale. My gray, drifting thoughts skirted between all that was to come and all that I could not foresee and death and love and worry.

But through it all, there remained a substantial light in the form of seeing the Company, seeing Bilbo, again.

-

Dale, for the dragon-burnt ruin that it was, stood strong. Snow drifted down from the blank, indeterminate sky, and the sun was a pale orb that hung above us while supplies, animals, and people unloaded on the shore of the River Running.

Everyone worked with efficient haste. The temperature dropped, and they didn’t have much time to get somewhat settled before night fell. I lost myself in the routine of unpacking and passing, walking and lifting, smiling and asking, and repeating the process. I spent days doing this exact thing back home—and compared to the places I had done it at, the ruins of Dale were a pretty nice place. Just a bit of snowfall, numb fingers and toes, and my own pained body. Everyone had food, though, and everyone had blankets and shelter.

Perhaps the greatest difference here was that everyone still also had their families despite the destruction of their town.

I helped make sure of it. The reminder sent a spread of warmth throughout my chest, and it renewed me with vigor that my muscles were sure to feel in the morning.

“The handkerchief is a nice touch,” Fili said when he finally sat beside me, balancing a bowl of stew and a hunk of hard bread in his hands. My own bowl of stew had only remnants of broth and strips of untouched meat, and my bread was long gone.

I touched the gray piece of fabric one of the women gave me to keep flyaway curls out of my face while we worked. “Oh, thanks. I like what you’ve done with your hair, too.”

Fili had loosely braided his hair back and tied it with a leather cord. “Thank you, my lady,” he smiled, and he absently tugged on a few strands of my ponytail, which were dry and gritty from being dunked in lake water. “Perhaps when we are settled, you may grant me permission to see to it that your hair is given the proper dwarven treatment.”

“What, sick of seeing it in a ponytail?” I half-laughed.

“Not at all. But your curls are beautiful, and they deserve to, mm, shall we say, breathe.”

“What? But they’re so nice and crunchy.” I gave a handful of curls a squeeze, and Fili snickered. “I also think they have a permanent scrunchie-sized dent in them at this point. Maybe I should just chop everything off when I get the chance. Make it easier to manage.”

Fili actually recoiled a bit in shock, and when he saw that my nonchalant consideration was real, he gasped, “No! It—your hair—it is wonderful! It would be the most envied hair in all the Blue Mountains, this I promise. It just needs to soak in some oils for a bit, then it’ll be shining. Please, do no such thing. It would cause me, all the Company, to weep.”

It didn’t surprise me that he’d be so enamored and concerned over my curls; the dwarves had their own customs and care regarding hair. And looking back on the journey, it made sense why I got more than one sour or anxious look from all of them in the beginning whenever I put my hair back in a ponytail. I just thought they didn’t like me. In reality, they didn’t like how casually I treated such envied hair and wanted to say something about it, but didn’t because of their own guard and unfamiliarity.

I pretended to be persuaded and let out a big sigh. “If you insist, then I won’t.”

Fili relaxed in relief with as much exaggeration, and we both leaned into each other, smiling and cozy. We both smelled of cold air and sweat and campfire, but unlike me, he bore no outward fatigue.

Because Legolas and Tauriel had nowhere else to go (and because Tauriel and Kili were unofficially a thing now), they had joined us around the small campfire identical to the dozens of others illuminating Dale. Legolas ate tiny bites, his body half-turned from the campfire as if to distance himself without being entirely removed. Tauriel was caught between indulging in Kili’s attention and abstaining from it. Without the need for ferocity or courage, she acted skittish and awkward more than anything, and Kili fucking ate it up.

Two elves, four dwarves, and a bruised human. We must have been quite the sight.

Fili held out his bowl for me to dump the leftover meat into. “I will be sad when we reach the Lonely Mountain,” he admitted playfully, “because then Master Baggins will be the recipient of such gifts and not me.”

“He’s a hobbit, alright? He needs to eat a lot more.”

“Need? No, no. I do not think so. Want? Yes.”

We both chuckled, our heads close together. Fili went to press a kiss to my forehead, believing that nobody watched us, but a smooth voice interrupted our moment.

“There are answers I desire from you, Lady Valeria.”

I lifted my gaze to Legolas. He had shifted so he squarely faced me from the other side of the fire. Embers reflected in his pale eyes.

Everyone quieted, and distant conversations from other campfires drifted by.

After a brief pause on my part, I set my bowl aside to make a submissive gesture. “Alright, yeah, it was me.”

Legolas lifted a brow.

“I was the one who drew the big monster penis on the wall.”

Bofur keeled over, coughing on pipe smoke. Kili’s eyes went wide as saucers, and he looked around the campfire like a child eager to see chaos unfold. Fili rubbed at his mouth and tried neutrally clearing his throat.

Then Oin said, “Eh? What’d the lass say? Mister squeamish?”

Fili choked, and Kili tossed his head back and laughed. “What, Valeria? You drew a cock on the elves’ wall?” Kili exclaimed. “Why have I not heard of this until now?”

Tauriel narrowed her eyes at me, though she feigned most of her malice. “That was right outside of my quarters, I’ll have you know.”

I slapped a hand over my eyes and cackled as well. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry! I made it—it was super ugly, too, and—and—and—”

“And sprayed copious amounts of seed right onto my door,” Tauriel finished dryly. That sent Kili and Bofur on their backs with Fili not far away from crumbling either. I doubled over, holding my ribs so they wouldn’t jostle too much from the hysterical wracking.

Just as it subsided, Tauriel also reminded, “You terrified one of my guards as well, pretending to be a vengeful spirit wandering the halls and speaking in strange tongues.”

Kili froze and sat back up, now deadly serious. “Valeria,” he breathed, “don’t tell me…”

I raised my hands in claw shapes. “La Llorona struck again,” I spoke, which unleashed a new bout of raucous dwarven howls. “Oh, the poor guy! I nearly forgot I did that! I scared him so bad!”

“Nobody understood half of what he was saying until it was too late,” said Tauriel, painting a fuller picture of what I’d done. “And it did not console him to find out that you had indeed risen from the dead and barreled down the river with a company of dwarves.”

“If you see him again, tell him I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, though I still couldn’t contain all my giggles.

Tauriel’s laughter was rich as a perfect autumn day. The thought of the dwarves’ imprisonment in Mirkwood brought forth a chest of memories, and even though it had really only been a few days ago, the incident seemed years in the past.

Leaning forward, I eagerly asked Tauriel, “Did you believe that they were genuinely sad about my death?”

She scoffed, and even that was beautiful. “Their reactions were too dramatic to be realistic, yet too foolish to be malicious. I first thought them cruel. Then I thought them stupid.”

“Oi!” Bofur protested. “We acted our hearts out! Kili even composed a poem!”

I gasped at the reminder, and Kili threw his spoon at Bofur. Legolas sunk back into an unimpressed demeanor with how derailed the conversation had become—but I wanted to believe that he enjoyed himself more than he cared to admit.

“Kili! Holy shit, Kili. You have to recite the poem!”

“Bah! It wasn’t even a poem!” Kili shot a glare at Bofur. “And I had hoped that it would stay in those cells where it belonged.”

“Please, Kili,” I begged. “I need to hear it.”

“Go on, brother,” Fili said. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to help embellish my pleading state. “She’s tired and in pain, and she needs the comfort only your poetry can provide.”

I loved him so much.

Reddening, Kili growled something in Khuzdul, and I was pretty sure the dwarven word for “fuck” was somewhere in it.

But then he straightened, loudly cleared his throat, and placed a hand over his heart while he looked directly at me.

“Sweet Valeria,
Gentle as wisteria
You are gone
And we long
For you to return.

Skin of brown
Eyes crowned
With curtained curls
And laughter unfurled
Like blossoms ‘pon the meadow.

You are gone
But not for long
Your breasts full—”

“Kili!” I shouted.

“That’s where I ended! I swear!” His face and neck were aflame now, and he threw up his hands. “I ran out of things to describe! And I meant to say ‘bosom’! But, but the words got all jumbled up, then everyone booed at me, and I never had the chance to fix it!”

Through his desperate ramblings, I shook with laughter. When Kili was in the middle of saying that my breasts, while fine, were not to his liking, but they could be to anybody’s liking, but not that he disliked my breasts, I cut him off before he dug himself a deeper hole right next to a thoroughly amused Tauriel.

“Kili! Kili, it’s fine. It’s fine, I swear.” I grinned so much that it hurt my tender cheeks. “You really had something good going there! I mean, up until the tits part, I didn’t think it was bad at all.”

He sniffed, then proudly said to Fili, Oin, and Bofur, “There, you see? The lady said it was just fine.”

“Except for the tits part,” I mentioned.

“…Except for the tits part.”

“Keep working on it, lad,” said Bofur, happily puffing away at his pipe. I didn’t know where he found some pipeweed, but he sure did rip into it the first chance he got. “You’ll make a fine poet.”

“Someday,” Oin added. “Not today.”

Kili opened his mouth to give an explanation to Tauriel, but under her faux-withering look, he slumped. Fili and I laughed with wholehearted mirth.

It felt good being this light again and hearing such sounds of warmth and joy. Fili kept me close to him while he absently played with my curls, Tauriel and Kili not-so-discreetly touched pinkies, and Bofur launched into a story about the time he, Bifur, and Bombur were set upon by bandits in the Blue Mountains and all the hilarity that ensued.

(Emphasis on story, because it was a story and not an “account”, though stories were far more entertaining than accounts—especially when told by Bofur.)

My heart eased.

Tomorrow, we would venture to the Lonely Mountain and see what had become of Thorin and the Company. Tomorrow, we would face reality again.

But for now, protected by the ruins of Dale, I was among friends, in the arms of my lover, and free of worry.

-

Legolas stood on the shoreline, seeking the sight of something beyond vision. Ice crunched between rocks as I treaded to him. Mist hung thick in the air, and Legolas’ figure reminded me of when I killed Bolg, of how the blade felt as it sunk through skull and brain and how the flicker of blue went out.

“Alright, I’m here,” I said. My voice sounded odd in the hush by the river. Standing next to the six-foot-plus Legolas also made me feel short, so getting back to thirteen dwarves and a hobbit sounded even better. “Ask away.”

“Is the dwarf’s love for Tauriel true?”

I stalled. Out of all the questions I expected Legolas to pose first, that one caught me off-guard.

It took a couple moments to regain my train of thought, but once I did, I said, “Yeah. They both love each other. Deeply.”

There was barely a pause. “And what becomes of them?”

The mist clung to my clothes, my throat.

But Legolas was strangely moored, and I sensed no venom in him—only concern that he tried to detach himself from. He cared just as deeply about Tauriel, but perhaps in a different way than I thought. In a different way than portrayed.

Without explicitly stating the details, I replied, “They…they have unhappy endings.”

“How so?”

I didn’t want to say it out loud. Doing that could set it in stone. Make it unavoidable.

So instead, I went with, “Bolg’s death changed things. I honestly don’t know what will become of them now.”

“Then you killed him with their future in mind.”

“Yes.”

Legolas did not move or speak for several seconds. I stood still as well, taking in the itchy sting of the cut on my back, the pain in my knees, the droplet’s weight in my palm.

The mist remained unbroken.

“What will become of my father?”

“Uh, I think he’s fine?”

I never paid much attention to Thranduil’s character. All I knew was that, aside from surviving, he was old and a dick and rode a moose-elk animal into battle. He was also dramatic.

“He will be here, soon,” Legolas went on. His carefully-crafted neutral tone faltered. I couldn’t place the emotion breaking through; it sprang from hundreds of years of a complicated father-son relationship. I doubted even Legolas fully comprehended it. “Word of Smaug’s death and Oakenshield’s reclamation will reach Mirkwood.”

Legolas finally tilted his head toward me. A touch of pain distorted his otherwise ageless visage. “He will come to take what the dwarves owe him.”

I gazed back out to the river. Fog crawled over it, slow-moving and tender. “He...your father, he wants, um, he wants jewels, doesn’t he?”

“The White Gems of Lasgalen. They were my mother’s—more so than the simple items you may believe them to be. She imbued her gentle, noble magic in them, and it is said that when one held a gem, one felt the nature of her soul. My father gave the gems to the dwarves to have them set into a necklace for her to wear and be strengthened by it.”

Legolas paused, then softly informed, “She perished before the gift could be completed.”

My heart twinged.

“I’m sorry.”

Something like curiosity edged Legolas’ brows. “Do not be. It happened long ago. When my father went to retrieve the finished necklace, King Thror would not return it on claims that though the gems came from the elves, they were mined in dwarven tunnels, and the necklace they crafted for the gems was also dwarven-made. Thus, the inlaid gems had always belonged to the dwarves, and dwarves would not part with their precious possessions as easily as we elves.”

I exhaled.

“It means my father has waited hundreds of years to tear down the mountain and slay any and every dwarf in his path to retrieve the gems. They are all that is left of my mother.”

“No. It’s not all he has left. He has…he has you.”

Legolas’ curiosity increased, and the hint of a smile flickered on the corner of his lip. “It is not every day that a human pities an elf.”

“It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?”

I made a small noise and said, “It—it’s compassion. Empathy. That’s not so strange, is it?”

Legolas’ smile grew. “No. I do not suppose it is.”

Then his smile disappeared altogether, replaced by concern again. “Nevertheless. The dwarves felt my father’s vengeance once. They will feel it again if the gems are not returned.” His gaze intensified. “Before any army of orcs arrives.”

“So, is this you trying to tell me to find a way to get ahold of the necklace?”

Voice lighter than I had ever heard before, Legolas replied, “No, of course not. I am simply warning you of what compels my father to do what he will. Nothing more.”

“Right, right,” I smirked. “I’ll try my best.”

“And your loyalty to the dwarves? To Thorin? I have heard that the line of Durin does not take well to treachery, and retribution is swift and merciless. Not that you have cause to worry, however.”

“Okay, one, it’s not treachery. And two, I’m loyal, but…but I’m not loyal like a dwarf.”

The discomfort the admittance gave me didn’t quell the truth behind it.

“Loyalty gets them in trouble,” I explained. “They often confuse it with being right.” Then my tone turned vehement. “I love Thorin. He—he can be a bastard, sometimes, and infuriatingly stubborn like the rest of them, but he’s a good person. A good king. So, they follow him. I follow him.”

“Yet you are not blind like they are.”

My attempted smile wound up a grimace. “I don’t have the dwarven perspective, no.”

“It has served you well.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “we’ll see if it’ll stay that way once I get that necklace for you.”

“I do not wish for them. Only my father does.”

“Yeah, except your dad sounds like he’s got issues. Plus, I don’t really know the guy. But you love him, and I like you, and I think that as much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d rather see your people and at least a few of the dwarves safe than go to war.”

Legolas blinked at my sudden sentiment, then drawled, “Oh? You like me?”

I quietly chuckled and kicked some pebbles loose from their icy encasements. “Out of everything I just said, god…but yeah, I guess so. You’re a lot nicer than you let on.”

The tone of my words were too connotative. Legolas caught it, and his demeanor changed. Though still amused, his shoulders stiffened, eyes sharper.

“Lady Valeria,” he spoke lowly.

I forced myself not to squirm like a rabbit against the snare closed around its throat. Legolas had somehow moved closer.

“I have one final question for you.”

I stayed silent, mouth thinned into a firm, unflinching line.

“What becomes of me?”

My chest involuntarily tightened. A faint, frigid and humid breeze brushed Legolas’ pale golden strands of hair, smelling like mist mixed with the sudden scent of forest pines.

Remaining still, I took inspiration from the veiled fog and answered, “Your future, Legolas? Your future would only scare you."

Then I left him alone on the shoreline, leaving the same way I came.

-

The entrance to Erebor loomed in front of us, a gaping void surrounded by massive, broken chunks of ancient stone and a dusting of snow. I passed the decapitated head of a sculpted dwarven sentry who had stout, intricate details and a firm—but vacant—stare.

A hollow wind blew out from the mountain, rattling like something taking its first breaths.

Or its last.

With the stagnant wind came the festering stench of a dragon. Smelling it again sent a memory of flame and ash through me, and I clenched my fists. The droplet fractionally shifted as skin and muscle and bone tightened around it.

Inside the mountain was a darkness broken by the dim light of torches and candles, like a furnace beckoning us in, like Smaug’s golden shine.

I hurt, and I wasn’t ready to face what Thorin had become: the new King Under the Mountain.

Fili enveloped my fist, relaxing it with his touch. He didn’t guide me in; rather, he let me move on my own while he remained at my side.

We entered the Lonely Mountain.

It was not a moment of pride and grandeur. The four dwarves didn’t holler for their kin to announce their arrival. Instead we moved with caution and quiet, but the sounds of our boots still echoed too loudly on the rubble-strewn floor.

A presence other than the darkness and cold pressed down on us.

I stepped on something hard and small. When I lifted my boot up, I saw a single coin. It had most likely dropped from Smaug’s body when he fled from the mountain and set his sights upon Lake-town.

Bofur finally spoke, but he kept his voice contained. “Where is everybody? Hello?”

“They must be farther in,” Fili said. He hadn’t let go of my hand, and as I withdrew from my haze of muted terror and dragon teeth, I noticed that he tightly clasped it. My sore bones and ligaments ached under his grip, but I didn’t complain.

We hit a patch of darkness untouched by the torchlight. I shivered in the blindness, thumbed the droplet, then cupped my palm in front of me. At the barest thought, it breathed life into the chamber with a white, calm gleam.

I cringed at the abrupt glow along with the dwarves.

“That’s a pretty neat trick there, lass,” Oin said after our eyes adjusted. “It’ll be mighty fine for ye in the unlit parts of the kingdom.”

And a kingdom it was. Lifting my palm above me, I increased the droplet’s power. Its flood of light revealed an entire sprawling city abandoned in the expanse of the mountain. I gasped at the endless pillars and stairs, the huge, ancient tapestries on the walls, the scores of carved streets and homes and buildings—all gilded with timelessness and strength so it could await its people’s return.

We stood in reverence of Erebor and for all it once was, for all it could be, for we few who believed in its dream and listened to its call.

Everything, everything, had been worth it: the nights on hard ground, the trolls, the tears, the homesickness, the stone giants, the goblins, the orcs, the spiders, the dragon, the death.

I grinned, breathless at first until a noise bubbled up from the back of my aching throat. It spread with the light, and I exclaimed, “Whoa! Like, whoa! You guys! Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!”

It broke the spell of awe. Our bewildered laughter brought a brightness beyond the light. Renewed with excitement, we hurried up a staircase, excitedly calling for everyone. The light traveled with me, turning the city of Erebor into a moving shadow lantern that we were the center of.

(Later, I realized that the light had washed away the oppressive air left behind by Smaug, freeing us to be joyous and unburdened.)

Then a voice I longed to hear called, “Valeria? Valeria?”

My light receded when we reached a a well-lit bridge. Down from the staircase on the other end came a hobbit, his large feet swiftly and eagerly carrying him to us.

“Valeria!” Bilbo beamed ear-to-ear. “Oh, Yavanna be good, you’re here!”

 “Baggins!” I shrieked, and I reflected his grin as I ran forward with groaning legs. “What is up?”

He was more than halfway across the bridge when we finally embraced. I nearly softball-slid to him before my knees found their strength. Dropping to the ground, I enveloped Bilbo in my arms and squeezed him with all my shaking strength. His curls tickled my cheek; his heart beat thunderously against my chest.

“Valeria!” Bilbo pulled away. His eyes glistened. “I—I was so worried! With you a-and Smaug and the light, it was, it was—”

He gulped, too emotional to go on without bursting into tears, so I laughed and pulled him into another hug.

“I’m alright. Just a little bruised, that’s all.”

“Yes. Yes, I can see that.” Bilbo cleared his throat to recompose himself, then examined my face in the brazen torchlight with his small hands. He tutted disapprovingly. “My goodness, you are absolutely ragged!”

He snapped his gaze to the dwarves behind me. “And I suspect none of you stopped her from working herself even more!”

“As if we could even succeed with that, Master Boggins,” Kili scoffed.

Bilbo huffed at Kili’s purposeful mispronunciation of his name and the overall dismissal, but it was done fondly. We both stood back up so he could hug and greet everyone else.

“Tell me, where are the others?” Bofur questioned. “We haven’t seen a lick of life, save for the fires!”

“They’re farther in. I—I have been wandering more so than they.”

Bilbo’s jovial visage slipped as the conversation turned. He directed his next sentence at me, nose tweaking, fingers twitching. “Valeria, you…you were right about Thorin. I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t listen. Not to me, or Dwalin, or Balin—not anybody. He has been down in the treasury ever since Smaug died. He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats. He’s not himself. Not at all. The—the—the dragon-sickness, it has consumed him.”

The oppressiveness returned, leeching into our skin, our souls.

We looked down into the city, where a light unlike the torches spilled through large pillars. They supported a wall decorated with patterns similar to the style here, and the golden gleam poured through them as well. The wall blocked off the rest of the treasury from our view.

But Thorin was down there. I could almost feel him already, walking aimlessly among the ocean of gold and treasure.

Silently, we traveled across more bridges and stairs and open hallways. The stink of dragon increased tenfold, and this time, I reached out to grab Fili’s hand.

“It will be well, amrâlimê,” he whispered to me.

His simple conviction eased what I could not.

Bilbo stopped on the platform of a staircase winding around the top of the treasury wall. We followed him around the corner to gaze upon the gold expanse.

Shock bolted my feet to the ground. There was no end to the wealth—no end. It spilled past the treasury area, overflowing into halls and rooms, swallowing stairs and pillars. Large braziers sat haphazardly atop the piles of gold, turning the appearance of individual coins into molten rivers that streamed down to the floor.

Down to the floor, where Thorin Oakenshield wandered.

The shock gave way to pure and utter disgust.

Not just at Thorin, but at the shrine to greed and gluttony, hoarding such vast riches away just because it could be done.

Angry sickness welled up in my chest, biting and snapping. It was so sudden and unstoppable that I jolted from my paralysis and went to the edge of the platform, nearly unbound from the swell of long-repressed rage that surged at the excess.

I pulled my lips back into a helpless, heated snarl and shouted:

“Thorin!”

Thorin!...Thorin!...Thorin…Thorin…Thorin…

He only responded to the final, faintest echo before it folded into nothing.

And when Thorin looked up at the six of us, he didn’t fill with gladness at the sight of his nephews, of his Company, of me. His Durin blue eyes didn’t shine. Only the treasure did.

“Gold.” Thorin spoke to himself, not us. He shambled across the sea of coins, and the thick, kingly robes he had found dragged behind him, clinking coins against each other. His once well-kept hair was lanky and disheveled, skin pale. “Gold beyond measure…beyond sorrow…and grief.”

Beside me, barely audible, Fili uttered a prayer.

“Behold…” Thorin—not the Thorin I knew, never the Thorin I knew—spread his arms wide to the disease of the Lonely Mountain, “the great treasure hoard of Thror.”

In a burst of movement that surprised us all, Thorin pitched something through the air. Fili caught it, then examined the hefty, blood-red ruby sickly gleaming in the torchlight. Anguish visibly filled him, so much that his grip on the gem slipped, and it plummeted back into the mass of the golden plague below.

Thorin did not notice. He touched the spot where his sickened heart lie. A tear cut into my cheek.

“Welcome, my sister-sons, to the Kingdom of Erebor.” 

Chapter Text

I came out of my room three days later, because whoo, I had been in a fucking coma. Turns out, when you spend a month only getting an hour of sleep at a time, die, get chased by orcs down a river, evacuate a whole town, fend off a dragon, fall a few hundred feet into a lake, relocate that whole town, and see a dwarven king raging with dragon-sickness, you get pretty tired.

“Ho, she lives!” Bombur cried heartily when I shuffled into the common area they resided in. Though the Company had an entire mountain to themselves, it was almost as if they feared it would infect them with its disease like it had their king.

I yawned and smiled, then bowed slightly with my arms spread out. “Your lady has returned.”

“The lady looks like shite!” Nori exclaimed, which got a laugh from most of the Company. Then Fili punched him in the shoulder before he stood to walk over to me. My arrival seemed to ease their restlessness, pausing absentminded card games, coin counting, and weapon cleaning.

“How do you fare?” Fili asked me.

I gave a hefty stretch, rubbed the back of my matted and greasy hair, and replied, “I’m starving.”

“I’ll put some stew on!” Bombur announced almost too excitedly, ready to jump on any excuse to keep himself from boredom and worry. “Should only be a couple hours, ready in time for supper!” He then rambled off listing the spices and vegetables from Lake-town he’d use. Pots and cooking utensils clanged loudly in the room.

“Best have a snack while you wait, my lady,” said Dori, handing me a bundle of cloth, which had a good amount of sliced cheese, dried apples, and fresh mushrooms. He also gave me a flagon of tame wine.

I inhaled the contents, and while I chewed poorly enough to present a choking hazard, I scanned the area. Kili, Balin, and Dwalin were gone. Thorin was, too, but I expected it.

“You slept for a long time,” Fili said matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes, but it was done with a huff and a smile. “Some of us were worried you had finally passed on.”

“I wasn’t!” Bilbo had to pipe up. “I wasn’t.”

“Thank you, Baggins.”

“It was the dreams, honestly, that affirmed your state,” said Fili as he led me to a spot where I could sit beside him. “You would toss and turn sometimes.”

It sounded like he meant to say something more on the subject but thought better of it.

If I had dreams, I didn’t remember them, which was a blessing. Thinking hard enough about them brought up vague and hazy memories of scales and fire, darkness and loss, but they slipped through my fingers like sand. I wouldn’t chase after them.

Instead, I asked questions so I could get caught up on what I missed the past three days. Aside from Thorin’s state of worsening madness, nothing much had gone on. Kili visited Dale every day to “help with reparations and for trade,” but really it was just to be with Tauriel. She and Legolas were still there, and Legolas constantly reminded them that their father would be at the mountain’s door demanding what he was owed very soon.

They also had a proper burial service for the dead who hadn’t made it out of Erebor when Smaug invaded. I was almost glad I missed it. The sight would have just conjured wearied memories of loss.

The armory had been cleaned out, and braziers were regularly relit and replaced to provide some light to the mountain. The water system also worked—it never stopped working, apparently. Everything in Erebor had been designed to last until the days of Dagor Dagorath. So. A very long time.

Dwalin spent most of his time watching over Thorin to make sure he ate what little food he did and wouldn’t turn violent. It turned his demeanor even more sour, so the Company avoided conversation with him most of the time. Balin busied himself with tidying the archives, but really he hid from who Thorin had become and the pain of watching another king succumb to the sickness. Only Bilbo visited Balin. The rest would only despair if they stayed too long.

“And you?” I quietly asked Fili when the conversation shifted away. “Are you alright?”

He nodded once, but his eyes were distant. “It shall not last forever, the sickness. He will recover.”

Then Fili looked to me for assurance—because I was the one who knew the future, because I held all truths.

Except I didn’t, and Thorin would recover from the dragon-sickness only to die afterward with Fili and Kili.

The thought of it made me reach for Fili’s hand. “Come on, let’s go walk around. I just slept for three days; I need to stretch my legs.”

But with the mountain too oppressive and our minds too distracted, we wound up back in my room, sitting in a bath full of fresh, hot water, and more food and alcohol within reach. At first, our conversation stayed quiet and small. We mostly shared fond smiles from our respective ends of the deep stone tub.

Then, as Fili’s hand stroked my outstretched calf, he asked me with curious, clear blue eyes, “Ria, tell me of home.”

I raised both eyebrows. “Yeah? You wanna know about more about my home?”

“You are always so bright whenever you speak about it. We have the time.”

Smiling, I said, “We do have the time, don’t we? It’s kind of weird, actually, having the world be this calm.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you’ll find something to do when you’re bored of it,” Fili remarked. I laughed and splashed water at him. He flinched, then pretended to shield the food. “Careful! You’ll make the biscuits all soggy.”

“Sorry, sorry.” I moved so I settled against Fili’s chest. His arms wrapped around my waist, and he kissed my wet shoulder with a hum. “Where to begin?”

“Tell me about your family members. What do they do? What is it like with them?”

“Okay. I…I come from a big, happy family. Mexican families are tight, you know, so we all take care of each other. Before I came here, Luis had a job at an ice cream shop. You know, ice cream? Frozen milk dessert thing?”

“Mm, yes. I ate some in Hobbiton a few hours before going to Master Baggins’ home. Had strawberry in it and everything. You have entire shops of that?”

“With, like, a bunch of different flavors beside strawberry.”

“And what is your favorite?”

“Honestly, I can’t even decide. It’s probably a tie between cookies and cream and strawberry cheesecake.”

“They sound very intricate. And delicious.”

“Oh, they are.” We shared fond chuckles, and then I went on. “My sister, Elena, is a graphic designer. I won’t even go into the details of that because it’s all computer-y and stuff. Even I have trouble getting it. My dad’s the manager at State Farm—an insurance company. Where, like, you pay to have things like homes covered by a company so if an accident happens, they’re the ones to cover it.”

“I see.” Fili didn’t see, but I kept going because I didn’t want to explain boring insurance stuff.

“My mom’s a dental hygienist. She…she helps make sure people’s teeth are clean and don’t have any cavities or other problems. You know, like tooth aches? They have, uh, healers for that. My mom does that kind of thing.”

“Is that why you’re so particular about your teeth, then?” he asked, humor in his voice.

“Yeah. I like having healthy teeth.” Instinctively, I ran my tongue over a filling on my bottom molar.

“Most of the dams back home are healers,” Fili said. He absently circled a thumb over my stomach, right beneath the scar that reminded me how I died in cracking flames and snapping jaws. “And you don’t want to be on their bad side when they’re setting bones or curing a toothache. My mother has healer skills as well, though she does more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Politics, mostly. While my uncle worked to keep the family afloat in the early days after Erebor fell, my mother worked to strengthen ties and trade and finances. She has the mind for it.” He chuckled, albeit dryly. “Sometimes she’s a little too good. I was politicked into eating my vegetables as a child on more than one occasion.”

“And now?”

“Well, right before I left, she was trying to have me married off,” Fili admitted with a sigh. “A political arrangement, mostly.”

I lifted my head back to give him a look. “What? Really? You never told me.”

“It never came up,” he tried to defend, but it ended weakly, so I held his hand tighter. “I came on this quest because it was my duty, and because my uncle needed as much help as he could get. But…”

“But it also got you away from marriage.”

“Something like that.”

“And do you like the person you’re meant to marry?”

“Mahal, no. Can’t much like a stranger, can you? I think…she felt the same way. Tif is her name. A Broadbeam from Belegost. She is sweet. Bookish and smart, too. But very young by dwarf standards.”

Carefully, I questioned, “And do you think once this is all over, you’ll find that your mother has finalized the arrangements?”

“Ah, no. Mother is cunning, but not so heartless as to go behind her son’s back while he’s away.” After a moment, Fili added, “We never spoke it aloud that it would also be unfair to Tif if I died while she was promised to me.”

“Well,” I huffed, hiding the pain caused from the very mention of Fili’s death, “you won’t die. Now what?”

“…Now, I believe I could not bear to wed Tif, for my heart belongs to another.”

“¡Soy yo!” I softly exclaimed, and Fili grinned.

“Sí,” he spoke just for me. “It is you.”

We did not speak of marriage and what would happen to us after the battle had come and gone. Part of me thought that reality ceased to exist afterward. That I’d go home. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was premonition. Maybe it was denial.

But I indulged in fantasies of marrying Fili, and warmth blossomed in my chest. I was aware of what it meant, that staying would hold happiness and love and life. It concerned me that I didn’t feel the ache of homesickness at the notion.

“Did you wash my clothes while I was out?”

“…Was I supposed to?”

“Uh, yes! I don’t have anything clean to change into.”

“That means you can do it the dwarven way! Bask in the stink, Ria. It calls to you.”

“And smell like lake water and-or dragon? No thank you.”

Fili hummed and kissed my shoulder again, this time deeper and longer. I relaxed into him and closed my eyes. One of his hands moved up to my breast, which drew a sigh out from me. “Then I suppose we will just have to stay here, amrâlimê.”

“Mm,” I smiled, voice low in the back of my throat. “I like the sound of that.”

-

I found Dwalin on the southern edge of the treasury, where Fili told me he would be. Bombur had indeed made a banging supper (which he blushed and preened over when I vocally praised his cooking skills), and before anyone could offer to take some to the warrior, I volunteered.

He sat against one of the pillars, gaze fixed on the king. Thorin wandered, muttering things too quietly to hear, unchanged from when I saw him three days ago.

“Hey, Dwalin,” I said as I approached.

Dwalin tilted his head toward me, and I glimpsed the same tired dwarf I had seen in Mirkwood. Only this time, his mind wasn’t filled with paranoia-inducing magic. Just grief.

“So, you’ve awakened,” he drawled, voice uncharacteristically hoarse. “Did you get enough beauty sleep?”

I rolled with the bite in his question. “Something like that. Kinda looks like you need to get the same stuff.”

When I knelt down next to him and offered the bowl of soup, Dwalin initially pushed it away. “Not hungry.”

“Too fucking bad,” I relented, and though I got a glare, Dwalin at least took it.

Sitting more comfortably, I shoveled soup into my mouth and chewed through a deliciously soft potato.

“Why did you come here?” he asked.

“Because I wanted to check on Thorin.” Then, more honestly, I added, “And I wanted to check on you.”

Dwalin scoffed. He absently picked up his spoon and swirled it in the broth. “And why,” he sighed, “would you want to do that? Have you already tired of the prince’s fawning?”

“Well, I mean, we fucked, so it’s all good.”

Dwalin let out a chuckle with a hint of his usual bawdiness. “Aye, I imagine it is.” After a beat, his smirk faded as he noticed the spark of spontaneous joy in him that dared emerge in such a dark atmosphere.

There was a lull so I could figure out the right words to speak. After my sixth bite of soup, I said, “Hey, Dwalin. He’s…he’s gonna be alright.”

The dwarf sharply regarded me. “Are you certain, lass?”

It almost sounded like a plea.

I nodded once. “Yeah. It’s—well, I don’t know when he’s going to snap out of it. A lot has changed, and a lot more may change. I only know one future, and I don’t think we’re headed in that direction anymore. At least not entirely. But…” I took a breath. “Thorin is bound to return to his normal self.”

“And what will cause him to do that? Will it come naturally?”

“Uh.” I scrunched my face up a little, trying to remember. When my brain wouldn’t move fast enough, I set my half-eaten dinner aside and dug into the confines of my sports bra. I pulled out the worn piece of paper from Beorn’s house and unfolded it. Though the ink had smudged from heat and use, it stayed dry in my pack. And now that I was in a safe environment, I could go back to carrying it close to me.

I didn’t know why I thought all the answers could be found in my list, though. It wasn’t like I miraculously wrote anything since I folded it up in Beorn’s kitchen so long ago. Still, I skimmed over it, muttering, “This happened, this happened, this kinda happened…”

“Tell me you didn’t write down everything to come,” Dwalin said flatly.

I snorted a small laugh. “I wasn’t going to remember otherwise. Besides, writing things down helps the memory.”

“Anybody could see it.”

“It’s in Spanish. Does anybody here speak Spanish?”

Dwalin huffed.

-B gets white stone.

-Bard kills dragon. Laketown displaced. Go to the ruined city.

-T goes crazy over gold. B gives the stone to elf king and Bard. G comes back?

-Orcs attack. Big battle. Battle of the Five Armies.

“We’re right between here,” I pointed. Dwalin leaned in to examine, though he would only be able to pick out Bard’s name and individual letters.

“What does it say?”

“Thorin goes crazy over gold.”

“And what else?”

“That’s it,” I somewhat lied. “Like, that’s all that I wrote about him right now.”

My eyes briefly went to Thorin below, who ran gold coins through his fingers. I frowned.

Dwalin growled and shifted his position. Sourly, he retorted, “Well, we all know that, don’t we?”

“Hey, don’t fucking get mad at me,” I said back. “Everything on this list is broad! That was the point. But it has reminded me of things.” I refolded the paper and stuffed it back in. “I think—okay, here’s what goes down. I think. So, did Fili tell you about the battle coming up?”

“Yes.” Dwalin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And thank you, lass, for telling us all about it earlier. It was truly appreciated.”

I ignored his ire. “Thorin, like, won’t let you fight because he’s all crazy, even though you know that dwarves and elves and men are dying on the battlefield trying to protect Erebor from invasion. ‘Where’s Thorin?’ Dain shouts, or something like that. ‘Where’s Thorin?’ Because a lot of people are dying.” 

When I realized what I said, my voice grew somber from memories of death and rot. “A lot of people die.”

Sensing my withdrawal, Dwalin placed a hand on my shoulder. Its weight grounded me. “Then what?”

“He…you come to him. He’s on the throne. You argue because he won’t let you fight. Because your kin are dying for you.” I rubbed the side of my face. “So, naturally, he threatens to kill you.”

Dwalin stiffened, but he let me go on without interruption. “But the conversation refocuses him. I mean, he hits rock bottom first, but then he pulls himself back up. Then you all go and fight. It’s all very heroic.”

I tied up the foretelling with a neat bow so Dwalin wouldn’t ask me the inevitable: “And then what happens?”

Because nobody wanted to know that.

(Because I had long convinced myself that nobody wanted to know that.)

When Dwalin opened his mouth to ask the very thing, though, I covered with, “But I’m not sure if that’s how it’s exactly going to play out? I—well, I killed Bolg, so…”

“Eh?” Dwalin blinked like he hadn’t heard me right. “You killed Bolg? As in, spawn-of-Azog Bolg? Why have I not heard of this?”

“Probably because you’ve been here,” I said with squinted, teasing eyes. “Missing out on listening to all the great stuff I’ve done.”

“No, not all—I saw you stand off against Smaug,” Dwalin corrected, leaning back against the pillar and picking up his bowl. He ate more willingly now. “Lovely fireworks, that. Then…” He lifted his hand with a finger pointed down and whistled while it lowered. “Like a star falling into the lake. Seen better, but it wasn’t bad.”

“You’re so fucking rude,” I laughed, and I started to eat again as well. “I got picked like a cherry! Which wouldn’t have happened if you had done your damn job at killing him!”

“Bah, it ended up alright. No dead dragon in the mountain. No dead Lakemen. And no dead Valeria.” He paused, then asked, “You didn’t die from that, did you?”

“No, fortunately,” I spoke in a mocking, deep voice. “But it was like hitting solid stone.”

Dwalin smiled again, but it grew softer. Fonder. He roughly patted my knee. “Aye. You’re a tough lass, though.”

I smiled back, warmed by the side of Dwalin he rarely expressed.

“I am, aren’t I? But anyway. I killed Bolg.”

“How’d you do it?”

“Well, uh,” I snickered, “Not in a very cool way. I kind of snuck up on him when he was fighting someone else. Then he turned, and I stuck him through the skull with my sword.”

“Who was he fighting?”

“The elf prince Legolas.” I enunciated his name in a poor British accent. Dwalin rolled his eyes and groaned. “He was holding his own, though! I just finished what he wouldn’t have been able to.”

“So does this bode well for our fates?”

I thought of Kili and Tauriel, and my smile broadened. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does. He would have been a tough fucker to kill otherwise.”

“Don’t doubt that,” Dwalin grunted. “Who would have killed him if not for you?”

“Legolas.” His name was followed with the waggle of my brows and another mouthful of soup. Dwalin thumped the back of his head against the pillar. “The blade would have gone into the top of Bolg’s skull and not the bottom.”

“Praise Mahal that it was you, then.”

I skirted around the meat in the soup. Dwalin caught me trying to do it inconspicuously and clinked his bowl against mine. “Give it here. Can’t fathom why you don’t eat the best part of any meal.”

“I’m a vegetarian,” I quipped, not for the first time. I dumped the chunks of meat into Dwalin’s bowl, which he promptly scooped up and ate.

“Aye, aye, and Yavanna is probably praising your name,” he said back, also not for the first time.

But the remark only added to the brewing question that had been on my mind for a while. Contemplation furrowed my brows.

“You think they watch me?” I asked. “Yavanna and Mahal and…the others.”

Dwalin grumbled in slight discomfort. “Tis not for me to say.”

I hummed and drained the last bit of my soup. “Me neither. But maybe they do. I am, after all, from another world messing things up here. They probably don’t like that.”

“No, lass,” Dwalin said quietly. We kept our eyes on the dredges of our dinner. “I don’t think you’re messing things up here.”

-

With all my clothes clean and too much time on my hands, I put on the outfit I wore when I fell into this world. As I walked out in athleticwear and Nikes just after breakfast, I garnered the attention of the Company.

“And what’s the occasion?” Nori asked me. He counted his earned or stolen coins for the hundredth time. “It’s too cold to go out like that.”

“I’m going for a run,” I responded, starting my stretches. “I’m, like, super out-of-shape. Mirkwood took all that out of me.”

“Do you wish for me to join you, my lady?” Fili offered.

I smirked at him. “Sure. If you can keep up.”

He scoffed a laugh. The other dwarves oohed.

“Did you not just say you are unfit? Perhaps you would not be able to keep up with me.”

“Fili, cariño, I’m out-of-shape for me. Also, my workout routine is, shall we say, different from yours.”

But that only made Fili stand up and casually flex. “It cannot be so bad.”

“I don’t know about tha-at,” Bilbo quietly sang while he helped himself to more fried potatoes. Fili threw him a sideways glare. Bombur, Oin, and Gloin, however, nodded sagely in agreement.

“Well, if you wanna,” I shrugged, “you can.”

Then I grinned, and Kili audibly shuddered.

“That’s an evil grin. I fear she will have your life, brother.”

“I have lived a full life,” Fili proclaimed. “If I shall die in these halls and be buried alongside my ancestors, then so be it.”

I scoffed to hide the spike of anxiety that came with his joking sentence. “Come on. We’ve got some sweating to do.”

“Have fun!” Bofur called. Before we were fully out of earshot, he chuckled, “Poor lad.”

Despite the banter, Fili earnestly stretched out beside me with the movements and techniques I taught him in the early days of our sparring sessions. Then I pointed where we’d be running and, if I was accurate, wind up back here. After, we would do some light upper body exercises. Once we stretched, he took off his tunic in preparation for the workout and bound his hair back.

I gave him a light kiss on the lips to seal his utterly demolishing fate.

It wasn’t just running; it was repeatedly running up and down stairs for about three miles. I tripped over some because of the damn darkness, but bruised knees were nothing compared to what I had just recovered from. And, if anything, Fili’s presence made me feel better about my own struggle; not only was he several inches shorter than me, but extensive cardio was not a dwarven thing. What started as a steady pace turned into bursts with breaks in them, and during the breaks Fili tried to catch his breath between swearing up a Khuzdul storm. When he ran out of expletives, I taught him Spanish ones. The mixture of two strained languages echoed in the mountain, and I was sure that the Company got a kick out of it.

When we made it back to the start of where we began, I gave Fili a high five and tossed him a towel I had carried from my room to wipe the sweat off. “Mahal, you don’t even look tired!” he groaned, throwing the now-damp towel back at me. I caught it, laughing.

“I am so! That run kicked my ass. I just wouldn’t have, uh, taken as many breaks, you know, if I had done it alone. So that really helped.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, but it was accompanied with a begrudging smile.  “So…you run and you wrestle. Is there anything else I should know?”

Too hot for the shirt, I took it off and cast it beside Fili’s. The mountain’s air soothed my skin. “Uh, well, I wrestled competitively. And I ran competitively. So, it’s not just random things I like to do for fun. I mean, it is fun for me, but I did it for more, too. I also played softball, which is just another kind of sport that’s hard to explain in this world.”

“I see. So, your world is so advanced that you’ve turned survival skills into amusement?”

“Ha! Sometimes that’s the case. ‘Advanced’ doesn’t mean ‘peaceful.’ But we try to find fun and success where we can. My whole family is way into sports, actually.” Fili slumped against the wall to cool his back while he listened. “Luis plays a similar sport to softball as well as fútbol and track. Elena did track, too—okay, all three of us do track, which is basically running to win.”

“Understandable.”

“Elena also does judo and karate like me, and my dad played minor league baseball. My mama did kickboxing, too, but I never got around to it.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“My mama is dangerous.” We both laughed, and I reached down to drink out of a flagon. Handing it to Fili, I went on. “A big part of it was that we supported each other. Sports can be divisive, but I loved bonding over it with my family.”

Fili regarded me expectantly, as if searching for something on my face.

I tilted my head. “What?”

“Ah, it is nothing,” he said, glancing away. “You…it is simply nice to see you speak of your family without sadness.”

I stopped, and Fili saw the change in my expression. He came forward to me, saying, “It is not that I think you don’t miss them anymore, Ria. But I am glad that you can talk about them with the love you have always wanted to convey. Love unburdened by loss.”

Was it because I had lost them long enough? That I accepted my separation from them?

I smiled, then turned away from Fili to get ready for the second part of our workout. He made a noise like he meant to say something else, but nothing came out.

(I would stow away Fili’s words and my reaction until night came, and I could stare up into the darkness thinking too much about them.)

“Alright, Mr. I-Can-Keep-Up, ready for some more?”

When Fili saw that my good mood hadn’t dissolved, he brightened even as he groaned to join me. “If I use my legs much longer, I will collapse, then you will have to carry me and my shameful state back.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” I said. “You’re probably going to be a lot better off with this stuff. Now, you may feel a bit silly doing them, but believe me, they’re going to target all the right muscles.”

“I will follow your lead, my lady.”

“You say that, but I don’t think you’ve ever done burpees.”

No, Fili hadn’t. He struggled the most with them and some plank stuff because of his weak legs, but to be fair, so did I. We were both panting and wilted and drenched by the end of the short fifteen-minute workout.

“Never,” Fili rasped, sprawled on the floor, “have I been so thoroughly whipped in such a short amount of time. Valeria, you beast.”

“Honestly, that’s such a great compliment,” I replied with a weary but playful grin. “Now you know how I felt yesterday when we were training.”

“Now who’s the one being dramatic? That was naught but a feather-light walk compared to this!”

I drained most of the water and gave the rest to Fili. He gratefully took it, and after we found the motivation to move again, we gathered our things and walked back to our room to bathe and change. Our hands intertwined, clammy and hot as they were.

“So, Fili,” I pondered aloud, “how do you like being with a woman taller than you?”

“It’s quite lovely,” he replied, gazing up at me for extra effect. “Do you wish to know why?”

“No.” Except I giggled when I spoke, so he answered.

“It’s because I can do this.”

Fili halted and drew me close to him. Once his arms secured me, he buried his head right between my boobs. I shrieked and shoved him off, then howled with laughter as he stumbled away.

“You fucking animal!” I hollered. Fili slapped a hand over his eyes, head reared back with a loud laugh. I gave him an extra shove before his arm snaked around the lower part of my waist. My own arm then loosely draped across his shoulders, and we continued on.

We’d have to separate for the sake of propriety when we reached the group. But for now, we let ourselves be, and our own light and joy repelled the gloom of the mountain.

Chapter Text

“Come, come, down through here.”

Bilbo gestured for me to follow him through an unfamiliar part of the mountain. The way he spoke and how his feet carried him told me that we were going so far away from the rest of the Company for a reason. Though the braziers remained lit, more rubble, dust, and cobwebs littered the passageways.

The pressure of our increasing depth seemed to grow.

“This way. Just a little farther.”

I listened to Bilbo without response. My mouth set into a grim line, and the tightness in my stomach outmatched the tightness in my limbs from the workout with Fili. I knew what Bilbo was going to show me.

We reached a chamber with a lit brazier inside it. The room, however, lacked warmth, meaning that it hadn’t been going for very long. Bilbo must have planned ahead. I would have given him a hard time about being paranoid, but because of where we were—and what he had—I didn’t. In fact, it was good of him to. And because he was a hobbit with common sense, he even laid out some furs for us to sit down on.

I tugged my coat tighter to myself. Bilbo slid the chamber’s stone door shut with a little grunt, then turned with his back braced against it. Sweat faintly glistened on his brow.

“Hey, Baggins,” I said, motioning for him to come closer to me. “Take it easy.”

“Oh, Valeria, things are not good, not good at all,” he sighed. He moved forward and plopped down onto the furs. I joined him and tucked my sore legs underneath me. My fingers absently brushed against the droplet. “I’m worrying myself to death.”

“Well, stop. Stop it right now.” I wished I had some food to give him to calm his nerves.

“It’s not that simple!”

Bilbo’s exasperation wasn’t meant to be amusing, but I still unconvincingly pursed my lips to hide a smile. He plainly saw it and frowned at me. “Valeria. This is serious.”

“It is! It is. But…” I groaned and put my head in both hands. “At some point, things are so bad that they’re funny. You know what I mean?”

He huffed. “Of a sort, yes.”

Composing myself, I sat straight. “Alright, Baggins, what have you got for me?”

Despite our complete isolation, the hobbit glanced about the room to make sure that, I don’t know, a dwarf didn’t spontaneously appear to accuse him of mutiny and cut us both down. When he was certain, he dipped his hand inside his Lake-town coat and, rather slowly, pulled out the Heart of the Mountain.

I stared at it, breathless.

The Arkenstone shone with a light I had never seen, a light that pulsated with life and memory and power. Veins of gold and red and violet and blue spun and whorled until they knotted around the center of a captured galaxy, where a deeper light countered the one encasing it. Like the core of the Earth, it seemed to be compressed into liquid, a molten dark blue that held something I could not comprehend.

Bilbo placed the Arkenstone in my hand. I didn’t realize I had beckoned for it until the weight settled in my palm. It was either warm from being inside Bilbo’s pocket or from radiating its own heat. Specks of gold and silver spattered across the veins like stars. The light rippled and moved on its own accord. It gave the illusion that the chamber was underwater where the sun refracted its light through the waves.

I had never seen anything so beautiful.

So, appropriately, I whispered, “Wow.”

“It is as though Varda herself made the Arkenstone.” Bilbo also spoke in a hushed, awed tone. “And Aulë grew the mountain around it. It is…it is something of both heaven and earth, is it not?”

“Yeah.” I moved my hand, the one with the droplet centered in it, around the curve of the Arkenstone. The droplet warmed considerably, but not so much that it became uncomfortable. “It is.”

We sat in silence for a long while, admiring the Arkenstone. Not that it gave us any bad thoughts or temptations; it was simply stunning, and the longer I looked at it, the more I would see. To us, the Arkenstone wasn’t a priceless treasure to covet. It never would be.

“Here,” I eventually said, giving it back to Bilbo. He tenderly took the stone. “Better tuck it away again. Does anybody else know about it?”

“Balin. I…implied that I may or may not have known the whereabouts of the Arkenstone. He told me to keep it safe, for if Thorin should know that I had it, he would surely kill me and take it for himself. Then there’d be no returning from his madness.”

I nodded once. Bilbo slipped the Arkenstone back into his inner coat pocket, and the world faded a darker, colder place again.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” I moved into a cross-legged position and tucked my hair behind both ears. Bilbo tilted his head, and a small smile surfaced on his otherwise worry-creased face.

“You have your hair down,” he commented. “It looks nice.”

“Oh—” I ran fingers through the loose strands, puffing out one of those I-don’t-know-how-to-respond-to-a-compliment breaths. “Thank you. It finally looks healthy again ever since they got their hands on it, right?”

We both chuckled at the memory of the dwarves clamoring to give their input on what oils and clays and soaps to treat my hair with last night. A couple of brawls just about broke out over which root or seed or leaf extract was better for my curls, and my hair almost got yanked from my head more than once when a dwarf tried to apply something or steer my scalp away from another’s attempt entirely. I had to yell at them to calm the fuck down or else they wouldn’t get to do anything with my curls at all. Then I appointed Fili and Dori to be the official hair handlers because it was Fili’s idea in the first place and Dori stood right next to Fili, so he was naturally next in line for the position.

I was accused of bias because of my relations with Fili, of course, as if it wasn’t my hair they all wanted to pick at. But I stood firm by my decision, and after some bitching, the dwarves settled for loudly doling out their opinions while they watched Fili and Dori zhush up my hair.

(The debacle made everyone happier, though, with it being a welcome and wholesome distraction from the mountain and its cursed king. It almost felt like all those nights on the road, swathed by campfire light and conversation and good spirits.)

(God, who would have thought that we would ever long for those times again?)

“Do you remember when you broke my comb trying to brush out that mane?” Bilbo smirked, and an old brightness that I dearly missed seeing in him returned.

“Yes! Man, I felt so bad. You gave me something that was yours, and I busted it. That was when we hardly knew each other, too, so it mortified me when it happened.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Bilbo winked again, just like he had when I first gave the broken pieces back to him. And also just like then, it lessened the ever-present weight on my chest. “I simply wanted to remind you of how gracious I am.”

I snorted. “Well, speaking of hair, nuggitito, you need a haircut. Can you even see through those shaggy bangs of yours?”

Bilbo tutted. His brows lifted up as he pulled on a curly auburn lock to examine. “Yes, it has been quite a while. Though, I believe the dwarves wish for me to grow it out more just so they can braid it.”

“Oh, I bet that’s exactly what they’re planning,” I grinned. “I was just saved from it because I’m a lady, and you saw how much shit Fili got for even touching my hair. I can’t imagine what they would have said if he had fucking braided it. Probably would have made us marry right then and there.”

A sly smirk crawled up the corners of Bilbo’s lips. “But do you wish for your hair to be braided by him? And all that comes with the custom?”

“Hey. Shut up.”

He raised his hands placatingly, bearing a look of feigned innocence. “I was merely asking a question!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” I clambered back to my feet, groaning as I did so. Bilbo followed, and he patted the spot where the Arkenstone was for extra measure. “Come on. Let’s go find something so I can give you a haircut.”

“What—you’ll really do that for me?” Bilbo’s eyes turned hopeful.

“Whoa, hey, don’t put too much stock in my skills; I may just end up making you look like shit. But it’ll save you from being tossed around while dwarves fight over who is the best for the job.”

He laughed. “I suppose so, yes.”

Smiling, I helped him gather up the furs he had so considerately laid out for us. As we headed to the door, however, Bilbo slowed enough for me to notice. I looked back at him, surprised to see some kind of doubt—or some kind of fear—on his face.

“Everything okay, Baggins?”

The question snapped him out of his state. Refocusing, Bilbo smiled back at me and continued past, taking the lead. “Yes. I am quite alright, thank you.”

My gaze lingered on his back, but eventually, I closed the chamber door shut and walked on.

Dori had some hair-cutting shears that he used for his beard more than his hair, but he generously lent us his entire kit. I offered to give Bilbo an undercut, but when I described just what that was, he refused. Vehemently.

“Well, how about I just cut it all off?”

“No.”

“High and tight?”

“No.”

“Edgy?”

“Valeria, if you offer one more suggestion like that, I will walk away!”

“Fine, fine—how about I cut it short but leave a little long piece at the nape of your neck. Right here!” I fiddled with the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. He batted my fingers away with a curt hiss. “You can play with it when you’re bored.”

“Absolutely not. How can something be both little and long, hm?”

“Sounds like one of your riddles. The answer? Probably has something to do with a penis. Eyy, am I right?”

“No, you are not.”

Laughing, I ran an unbroken comb through Bilbo’s damp curls. I had given haircuts to Luis and other volunteers before, so I wasn’t full of anxiety. Were they ever the best? No. But would Bilbo know the difference between my work and a professional’s? Also no!

Kili, Fili, Nori, and Bofur unhelpfully watched, however, which put some of the pressure on.

“Five gold says she’ll nick his ear by the end of it,” said Bofur.

“I’ll wager against that,” Fili replied, backing up his girl. “Ria has a steady hand.”

“You would know of the ability of her hands better than anyone else, brother,” Kili said idly.

Before Fili could punch him in the shoulder or thigh, I grabbed a thick-bristled hairbrush and threw it with lighting reflexes that my mom would be proud of. Kili only had enough time to widen his eyes at the incoming missile before it clocked him square in the forehead. He toppled backward, groaning and cursing, while the rest of us laughed.

“I barely saw the thing, it moved so fast!” Nori exclaimed with a hearty guffaw.

“By my beard, I daresay that was the exact replica of when you fixed Dwalin with that river stone!” Bofur added, which earned another round of laughter from all of us—except Kili. He tried throwing the brush back at me, but it went wide and clattered against the ground on the other side of the chamber.

“Damn you, woman,” he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “You and your aim are positively cursed!”

With a grin, I returned to trimming Bilbo’s hair—who, by the way, did not get a nicked ear from the sudden throw. “You can thank softball for that.”

“Well, there’s nothing soft about being nearly killed by a hairbrush!”

“Calm yourself, brother,” Fili faux-soothed. “Jealousy is not an admirable look on you.”

“Jealous?” Kili sneered. “Whatever would I be jealous of?”

“That you have not experienced the steadier capabilities of Tauriel’s own hands.”

I stopped cutting Bilbo’s hair to throw my head back and let out a loud cackle with the rest of the dwarves. Kili burned bright red and spat something in Khuzdul, but that only made them laugh more.

When Bilbo and I settled enough to get on with the haircut, I said to the hobbit, “There’s this saying in my world, you know. ‘Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.’”

“Mm, an apt phrase,” Bilbo giggled. “Perhaps Kili will learn to keep his helpings to himself until he learns better. I would know a thing or two about dishing up plates, mind you. I am a hobbit, after all.”

The attention turned away from us while the dwarves slipped into conversation in their own language, and I finished cutting Bilbo’s hair in peace. I wasn’t focused enough to pick up on any words that I might have been familiar with. So instead, I hummed softly while I trimmed and snipped, watching slivers of auburn hair fall onto the canvas of Bilbo’s threadbare tunic and the nape of his neck.

“How does the song go?” Bilbo quietly asked me, our conversation lost to the usual loudness of the dwarves—just like those calmer nights where we slept under a canopy of summer stars, where a fire crackled and the earth was cool. When I used to cry myself to sleep, and Bilbo would touch my turned back to offer whatever comfort he could.

Smiling, I sang half-remembered lyrics of the song just as quietly for fear of being overheard by anyone but Bilbo.

When I finished, he said, “That was lovely, Valeria.”

“Sure,” I snorted, ruffling Bilbo’s hair to get loose strands out. “I think I’m the only person in Middle-earth who doesn’t have a fantastic singing voice. But I try my best.”

“You give yourself too little credit. And I know plenty of hobbits who cannot sing. Worse, plenty of hobbits who cannot sing yet think they can. You certainly don’t fall in with that lot.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, then put the shears down and stepped so I faced Bilbo, “Well, hopefully I gave myself enough credit when it comes to haircuts. Because I think you’re done—and no nicked ears! Here. Take a look.”

I grabbed the hand mirror and held it in front of him. Bilbo squeaked with an enthusiastic grin.

“Oh! This is impressive! Quite so.”

“Hey,” I called to the dwarves, “what do you guys think?”

“Amazing!” Nori shouted back. “Looks like a proper knob!”

Bilbo and I gasped, affronted. “Don’t be fucking rude!” I yelled. “He looks wonderful!”

As I went to ruffle his hair again, a fantastic idea struck me. “Hey! Baggins! You want me to style your hair like someone from my world?”

“Oh, yes, I’d like to see that!” Fili answered for Bilbo, nodding vigorously.

“As would I!” Kili put in.

“Cultural insight, that’s what they call it,” Bofur said with an astute pipe puff.

“Yeah, cultural fucking insight,” Nori echoed.

Egged on by them, I picked up some dwarven pomade and unscrewed the lid. Its fragrance made me think of Dori, who always smelled faintly of it.

Bilbo raised a finger. “Now, hold on one moment. As much as I’d like to see one of your—er, world’s hairstyles, I believe I am just fine, thank you—”

He went to move out of his chair, but I pushed him back down.

“It’s gonna be fun,” I steamrolled, ignoring Bilbo’s noises of protest. I lathered my fingers in pomade. “Fun, Baggins! You need more of that in your life.”

“The last time I thought something was going to be fun, I wound up traveling without a proper handkerchief!”

“Oh, so you mean this whole adventure.”

“Did I not make myself clear enough?”

“Now you’re just being cranky.”

Bilbo squawked as I ran my fingers through his hair to sculpt it. It solidified his fate, so he slumped back down in his chair, grumbling in a very hobbit-like manner. Even more interested, the dwarves got up from their spots on the ground and gathered to witness the transformation.

I had to do it in an old-school fashion since his hair was still a longer length all around—and his curls could be just as difficult as mine—but after some working, my vision became a reality.

“Nuggitito, you look gorgeous!”

Kili scratched his scruffy beard, contemplative. “He looks…actually, Master Boggins rather looks quite swell. Don’t you think, brother?”

“Master Boggins does indeed look quite swell. Downright respectable, I’d even wager.”

“Here,” Bilbo huffed, “give me that mirror so I can see what has been done to me.”

His reflection showed his shock with the rest of his hair. It had been swept back out of his face and parted to the side. Dori’s concrete pomade smoothed out a lot of his curls, which gave him a dashing waves instead.

“You look like a 1940’s pilot who broke all the girls’ hearts at any swing dance you went to,” I said, even though I knew I was the only one who would understand the description. “Very cool.”

For all his griping, Bilbo sat prim and pleased in his chair. “Well, whatever that means—thank you.”

“Ahh, I wish I had a camera for this,” I whined. “I’d like to keep this image of my little modern hobbit with me forever.”

“Ria, just do what I do to remember,” said Kili. He placed himself directly in front of Bilbo, then squinted his eyes and concentrated really hard. Bilbo’s delight shifted to discomfort. After a few seconds of us laughing at Kili, he relaxed and nodded. “There! Now I shall never forget what Master Boggins looks like with his hair done how the men of Ria’s world do.”

Fili muttered, “You are an idiot.”

“I am intellectual,” Kili corrected, horribly reminiscent of Luis. He tugged Bilbo off the chair so his modern hairstyle could be paraded around to the rest of the Company.

“You are, Kili,” I affirmed as I packed everything back into Dori’s kit.

“Hmph! See, Fili? Ria thinks so, and Ria is never wrong!”

Fili shook his head and waved Kili off.

“Oi, I’ve got a question I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Nori. He came up beside me, arms crossed and eyes speculative.

“Yeah? What’s the question?”

“How come you got taken all the way to Beorn’s house by one of those eagles, and we were dumped off only an hour away from where we were nearly killed? Then abandoned on a highly unsafe eyrie? And after, we barely escaped the orcs chasing us while you were picking carrots and lounging about?”

Everyone stopped to think about it, myself included. Fili frowned comically. Bofur scratched underneath his hat. An invisible math equation floated around Kili’s head. Bilbo scrunched up his face.

“Well?” Nori said impatiently. “What’s the reason?”

What was the reason?

“Well, I mean…” I shrugged, then thought about it hard. “There was, uh…”

“Were the eagles simply not fond of dwarves?” inquired Bilbo. “I’ve come to find that’s often the case with dwarves and, well—everybody else.”

“It’s Us and Them!” Kili cried, enthusiastic about remembering what I said on the boat when we were escaping Lake-town. “Us and Them! Of course.”

“No, it’s not Us and Them,” I said, and a moment later, my face lit up as the reason came to me. “Oh—duh! It’s just because I knew where you guys were going before you did. That’s all.”

“Ah,” they all muttered and grumbled.

“And, like, if you want to blame anybody, blame Gandalf. He’s the one who took you to Beorn. Maybe he had it in mind all along.” Dryly, I added, “But I don’t know, I’m coming to find that I think he acts like he has everything more under control and planned than he actually does.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Bilbo asked.

Another shrug. “Soon? I’m not familiar with a specific timeline.”

“But before the army comes, right?”

“Yes.” A pause, then, “Yes—I’m pretty sure.”

“‘Pretty sure’ doesn’t sound all that sure, lass,” Bofur pointed out.

“Okay, fine, I’m sure. There.”

It felt wrong to state the future so out in the open, but I didn’t backpedal. It appeased everyone who wanted a straightforward answer, though, and I couldn’t blame them after I bobbed and weaved so much with my words. And Nori, who had the dilemma stewing in his brain for who knows how long solved, stuck his pipe in his mouth and patted me on the shoulder as he passed.

I smiled at them, taking in the memory with much more subtlety than Kili’s method, and caught up to Fili. He waited for me, and once I was at his side, he held my hand.

Then he abruptly shouted, “Oi! Bofur! You owe me five gold!”

-

Alone, I looked to the East like I would see Amelie herself somewhere among the sloping, snow-dusted hills. But only a bitter chill that numbed my skin swept from the direction, promising little more than cold doom.

Standing outside, however, was better than being in the mountain. Thorin had moved from distracted wandering to bouts of rage, calling for Fili and Kili, Dwalin and Balin, to come to his side while his madness worsened.

But the change in him would give me the opportunity to sneak into the treasury unnoticed and unheard. Perhaps I could find the Lasgalen necklace.

I turned my gaze upward to the gray, overcast sky. It hid the early winter sunlight and left me yearning for something I couldn’t place. After I failed to find what I didn’t know I searched for, I centered my focus on the droplet. I usually did once I was alone and had nowhere else to direct my thoughts.

I tugged on it with my fingernails, feeling the twinge of discomfort in my arm that came with the pull. The droplet was in me, now; its veins laced all the way up to my shoulder where the sensation ended. And I wondered: if I removed it, would I die?

“Valeria.”

Jumping, I spun around and faced Bilbo, who stood in the balcony’s open doorway. “Ay wey, Baggins, don’t scare me like that.”

His grim expression flashed with guilt. “I—I’m sorry.”

The wind turned colder, lashing loose curls around my face, and I hunched my shoulders. “What’s up?”

Bilbo took a hesitant step forward onto the balcony. But his feet shifted as though they were trying to walk backwards, as though something was attempting to control his own movements.

“I—I—you see, something…there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Yeah?”

His hair ruffled with the shift in the wind. What once traveled from the East now came up from the South, and it bore a humidity with it that sunk into my bones and made me shiver like I was sick.

Bilbo wetted his dry lips and moved his hand slowly into his vest pocket.

I stilled.

Atop the balcony, with no one but us, the hobbit revealed the Ring.

It shone an unnatural gold against the backdrop of the muted, depressed surroundings. So small, too, as it rested between Bilbo’s thumb and forefinger.

With a slightly trembling arm, he extended the Ring out to me. I wanted to backpedal against the balcony’s solid railing, but I remained planted like I had become part of the mountain’s stone. A statue frozen in the face of such powerful, unassuming evil.

Bilbo, frowning but steadfast, took another step forward. He seemed to move through water—and I drowned in it, lungs burning while the current tore all life from me and left nothing but a husk.

“I want you to have it,” he spoke, voice firm. “Please—Valeria. You must take it from me. I fear…I do not know what I fear, but this thing has, it has a will of its own. Please. You were not affected by the dark magic in Mirkwood; you won’t be affected by the magic of this ring. I—I saw your resistance to it at Beorn’s home. Please.”

My words tumbled out all at once. “Bilbo, I can’t take it. I can’t. Remember what I told you back then? I can’t mess anything up! I—I’m already doing more than I should already, and, and, and what if I go back home? Then what?”

“Then it will be safe!”

“Then I won’t be safe!”

His jaw set, and something dark rose in him. It terrified me more than the Ring did. I hated, hated, hated it, because that was what it did—it twisted all who were good and what was good in this world.

Tears pricked my eyes, and a foulness rode with the wind.

“You are not going home!” Bilbo all but shouted. “You have no way—no chance! Valeria, do you understand me? You are stuck here. Why can’t you grasp that? Surely you cannot cling to such impossible notions!”

“Bilbo!”

The broken crack in my cry reached him, and he surfaced from the darkness that sought to claim him with a ragged gasp. Then, stifling a sob, he threw a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.

I came closer, steps halting, hands half raised. The air turned my warm tears into icy tracks that traveled down splotchy red cheeks.

“You must take it,” Bilbo finally whispered when he choked everything else back. “Please. So that I may not say such cruel things ever again.”

His pleading was desperate. But I was desperate, too. Desperate not to ever touch the Ring. What would it do to me? I didn’t want to be corrupted until it unraveled everything inside that made me who I was. And what if holding it further bound me to this place and these people and their future? Then I would break what I said to Thorin in that quiet room in Lake-town, and all my hope of returning would have been for absolutely fucking nothing.

Above all else, if I took the Ring, I would find out what everything meant in Mirkwood. It would bring me closer to him, whose fingers I could still feel wrapped around my neck, crushing all life and joy from me, wanting something I would not give.

“No,” I whispered, fingers curling, courage fading. I wilted like a flower in an early frost. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

But I didn’t move as Bilbo neared, soft and slow, the Ring proffered. He stopped when he stood in front of me. The wind stilled, leaving us in a place where time did not exist. Only cold. Only us. Only the Ring.

It laid flat in Bilbo’s open palm. “If you cannot take it permanently, at least keep it for just a little while. Please. I, I do not wish to possess it when there is so much of its like around us in this blasted mountain.”

I could take it to give Bilbo a break. Not forever. Just until he needed to use it again, which shouldn’t be that far away.

Wait. No. Still a bad idea—

But if I took it, Bilbo could get a hold of himself and detox from the Ring’s presence. I’d shove it in the bottom of my pack and never take it out, and I would give it back at the right time.

Yeah. That could work.

For Bilbo, I’d do it. I mean, it wasn’t as if I was going to march into Mordor and yet the Ring into Mount Doom myself. After I buried it in my pack, my mind would be freed up to worry about fare more important issues.

I sniffed, and the guard in my expression chafed away to resolve beneath the returned wind.

“Okay,” I muttered. “For a little while.

Bilbo smiled mirthlessly. “Thank you, Valeria. Thank you.”

“It’s because I love you, you know.”

He blinked, taking in my earnestness that shone through the tired, taut features I often bore these days, reminiscent of times when we whispered to each other about home and riddles and food when there was only us to talk to.

A swell of fresh tears shone in his eyes.

His voice was small and scratchy when he said, “I love you, too. Very much so. ”

Numbly, my fingers uncurled. Bilbo took my hand in his to support it.

Nothing will happen, I chanted to myself. Nothing will happen.

The Ring glimmered in absent sunlight—

And touched my skin.

-

The garden in my backyard flourished. My feet were bare underneath the slightly uneven path that ringed the back porch. Faded wood fencing shielded the backyard from the rest of the neighborhood. In the distance, a sprinkler ran. My grass needed mowing. Maybe later today, I’d call Luis to have him and Papa load up the mower in the truck and bring it here. Was the zucchini ready? Or the tomatoes? I could take some to Bilbo. His vegetables were always bigger and grander than mine, but he assured me that my produce was tastier than his. I doubted it was true, but if he wanted to flatter me, then I wouldn’t stop him.

I pushed myself off the white plastic patio chair barely shaded by the house. Remy said her boyfriend was coming to visit tonight. Maybe I’d grill hot dogs and burgers and jalapenos for dinner. Pick up a case of light beer. And hey, I could finally introduce them to Fili, who my family already loved more than me, I swear.

Oh! The strawberries—

My left hand ignited in searing pain, but light did not shine and I could not close it.

Terror came with the lucidity.

This wasn’t a dream.

This wasn’t a dream.

This wasn’t a dream.

The sky above roiled black. No, everything beyond the fence roiled black, turning the backyard into a speck floating among the void. The only thing that retained its color was the garden, though it was too green and too perfect to be real.

If this was a dream, I’d be awake. If this was a dream, I wouldn’t feel so cold with unforgiving stone pressed against my back and something worse pressed against my front.

It was familiar.

Any sound died in my throat, screams trapped inside my own mind.

A figure stood at the edge of the garden, tall and alone, turned away from me. Gleaming, silvery hair fell down his back in a silken curtain. It didn’t catch light so much as it gave off light. But this light was not the light I held in my palm, the light in Gandalf’s staff, the light in Rivendell, the light in the Arkenstone. It was a cold light, a ruthless light, a false light.

His black robes fell down to the green, green earth, and what they touched turned a memory of life into a memory of death, leaving blades of grass charred and hollow.

“What a lovely place,” he spoke, and he did not face me. His voice was low and smooth and wrong.

I shuddered in spite of not having any breath in me.

Please, I prayed to the gods here, the god of Earth, anything, anyone. Please, help me. Save me. Save me. Save me.

The familiar fear amplified like a stretching wound, and the tears that fell from my cheeks and onto the dreamy grass below were the only things that moved in my paralyzed state.

“Hush,” he went on. “Do not be frightened. You are wondrous.”

An invisible touch brushed against my jaw.

“Wondrous…and elusive. Do you think I would let you go now, Starbright? After you have escaped me before? No, I think not.”

The sky rumbled. My left hand remained splayed open, trapped by the power to keep it unfurled and the droplet powerless. The right, however, had been forced closed, which kept the small object inside it secure—no matter how hard I tried to cast it away.

“Now, take me somewhere interesting.”

My left hand burned with the intensity of resistance, but it was not enough. Tremendous, soul-scorching pain wracked through me, and I wanted to scream—

The grass shriveled and blackened. Everything, everything shriveled and blackened, including my skin, my bones, my blood, until all that remained was the false light of his hair.

Fingernails raked through my brain, searching, tearing, violating.

Then he found what he desired.

BOOM!

The impact of a nearby bomb shook the ground. Buildings trembled, and rubble fell free. Jets flew overhead and soldiers shouted over heavy artillery fire. Civilians screamed. Blood soaked the ground. But the stench of metal and rot and heat acted as a smelling salt, jolting me from the haze of terror. Oh, the terror was still there, but I could blink again, breathe again, think again.

This wasn’t real.

This was memory-of-memory, a reflection of reality I had seen and rearranged in my mind. It was the seamless culmination of dreams and nightmares, pictures and experiences. It was everything I had never wanted to go back to.

But in it, I found strength again.

“Now this,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his venom, “is what I have sought for so long.”

Another bomb dropped nearby, pelting me with rubble. Its brash and welcome memory-pain spurred me. I took a step forward, then another, breaking free from the chains of paralysis. The heaviest imprisonments weighed both my hands down in their respective positions, but it was a start.

“Get out of my head,” I uttered, barely making any noise. I went unheard or ignored. The onslaught of modern warfare and cries of casualty heightened.

The droplet wouldn’t awaken. There was too much disconnect, too much dark power in our way. I needed more.

I treaded farther, approaching him. The ozone of fear sat like rancid syrup in the back of my throat. It mixed with the dust I breathed in.

Please. Anyone? Can you hear me? Please save me. I’ll do anything. I won’t interfere anymore. Please.

But they had not come to me in all these months I was stranded in a world not my own. They would not come to me now.

More tears fell. I kept moving.

“Get out of my head,” I growled, teeth baring.

He stiffened, and the black sky above growled back, churning more wildly.

“Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my head.”

The layer of fear broke in my throat like a fever, and I sprung forward at the Enemy, the Dark Lord, without care or restraint. All that mattered was being free from this fucking hell he had turned my own mind into.

“Get out OF MY HEAD—”

A brutal, invisible force swung into me. I flew backwards and hit the ground hard, head ricocheting off the desert street. I coughed, and a mist of blood sprayed up into the air. The sky moved in amusement of the spasming pain, oppressive against the warzone.

Didn’t I want to stop fighting? Didn’t I want to rest? Why did I put myself through all this horror when I could find peace if I just slept? Hush, now, hush. It would all be over soon.

My eyes began to close.

The coldness spiked, and from afar, he laughed in monstrous delight at the scene before him.

I searched vainly for a sign of light in the sky, a sign of hope that it so often carried. But this was not this sky; this was him. And no such things were to be found in his soul.

“…Valeria!”

A distance voice, little and faint, expelled the haze that crept over me. It spanned through my consciousness, light in its sure-footed steps, sinking into my heart and renewing my will to fight.

I coughed again, and blood did not come up. He was weakening, the fucker, and he would not stay where he was not permitted.

Grimacing, I propped myself up on my elbows and tried to put power into the droplet.

And…and there.

The tiniest bit of power, nothing more than a grain of sand. But it was there. It was returning.

“You,” I panted, pushing myself back to my feet. He paid no attention to me. “You will get out of my head."

“…Valeria, wake up…!”

I would. I would.

So, he wanted to play around in my mind?

With a vicious cry, I forced a memory of a bomb dropping right where he looked. Everything exploded in a deafening wave, and a gust of searing heat ate at my skin.

Through the dust and debris, I screamed, “GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD!”

I couldn’t see him. Nothing had settled, and I was left in a thick, sandy brown fog that swirled around me.

He chuckled low, and it sent a bone-rattling shiver through me. Just as I opened my mouth to shout again, a massive hand, clad in black armor and shadow, lashed out and wrapped its fingers around my throat.

I choked, thrashing, and got lifted off my feet.

“We are not finished.” A guttural undertone laced his voice. “Show me more, Starbright.”

My tearful and terror-filled eyes widened as I saw the outline of his front. But the dust protected me from the full vengeance of who he was, and in a desperate attempt to further shield myself, I conjured more rubble.

“Show me all of it.”

The rubble started to dissipate counter to my wishes. Two void-like cinders emerged through the earthen mist, burning with hatred and desire and appetite, and they alone drew the life force from my body.

My fingers twitched, and the grain of sand in my palm transformed into a star. Its light cast itself through my being, my soul, illuminating everything I was and everything I had.

And it revealed my rage, pure and deep like a wellspring.

Seething, I snarled, “I’ll show you this.”

My left palm slammed over my right hand.

Blinding, celestial light erupted from it. A force more powerful than the darkness he carried tore into him, and the pits of hellish purgatory that were his eyes could not withstand the fury of the heavens contained in the palm of my hand. What should have broken in me did not, and what should have terrified me no longer did.

His grip on my throat loosened, then gave way completely.

I dropped into the expanse that the light created, slipping from the memory-of-memory he thought to trap me in.

“We will meet again,” he spoke, voice the pits of a volcanic furnace, and his words carried something cursed that leeched into me like dormant poison. “And when we do, Starbright, your sliver of the Sublime’s power will not withstand my WRATH. For I will—”

I unclenched my right hand and severed the connection.

-

Ting, ting.

The Ring rolled onto the stone floor of the balcony before it spun sidelong and clinked to the ground, sounding almost musical with its light-pitched sound.

The sky above was winter-gray.

Fresh, sticky blood trailed from both nostrils and into my loose hair beneath me. I laid on my back, hands limp. I was numb with cold, but my hands burned with so much numbness that I wondered if they were still there.

The droplet’s warmth told me otherwise. And the only things warmer than it were Bilbo’s small hands, which cupped my bloodied cheeks.

“Oh, Valeria,” he sobbed, and how I hated to see him cry. “I thought—I thought you were gone.”

Bilbo collapsed onto my chest, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again.

I stared up at the sky. It was winter-gray. Blood slowly ran from my nose. Numbness deadened me. Bilbo wept.

But.

He jolted when my chest shook, and he wiped the tears from his eyes to make sure that what he saw was real.

I laughed, faint as it was. A swell of residual horror came with it, but that was swept up with the grim humor, too. My own leftover tears spilled out, running down into my hairline. A flare of pain rose up in my neck. I ignored it.

“What, what is it? Valeria?”

“The…the Ring,” I uttered, words like whips in my throat. “Get it.”

After a fearful, doubting look, Bilbo stood and hurried over to the Ring. He deftly picked it up and pocketed it.

Though it felt like the weight of the entire mountain was on me, I moved of my own accord and struggled to sit up. Bilbo knelt back down to help, and he half-dragged my corpse-stiff body to the nearest wall to lean against. He unstuck curls that the blood had plastered to my cheeks. Then he took out the washed but perpetually dingy cloth he called his handkerchief on this adventure, though he did it just to make himself feel better about using a piece of Bofur’s nasty-ass shirt whenever he blew his nose.

With a shaking hand, Bilbo gingerly wiped the handkerchief across my cheeks and around my nostrils in an attempt to clean up the blood. I let him do it, eyes half closed, teeth chattering so forcefully that I couldn’t get a word out even if I tried.

Bilbo, the nervous talker he was, spoke in soft, broken tones. “It all happened so fast, Valeria. You fell back, and you grew so…so very cold. But I could not run for help, could I?”

I shook my head once.

“Y-yes, you see? I thought, I thought you dead.” He swallowed. “Except your heart…your heart raced, and you breathed faint breaths.”

Becoming misty-eyed again, Bilbo squeezed my hand, and he bit back a hiss at how cold it was. “What felt like an eternity passed. I—I tried taking the ring from you, but your fingers, they were closed so tightly that I, I didn’t have the strength to pry them open.

“Then the light, your light, burst so suddenly that it gave me an even bigger fright than the one you were already putting me through! It blinded me for a few moments, there, a-and then…”

“I woke up,” I whispered.

Bilbo nodded, freshly cut curls bouncing.

“You…did I say anything? While I was…out.”

He shook his head. I would have exhaled if I had any breath to spare. Letting Sauron’s name slip with Thorin around had done enough damage; I didn’t need—didn’t want—to make Bilbo suffer the same way.

“Valeria,” Bilbo uttered, “what happened?”

(He called me Starbright.)

I closed my eyes, and I curled my fingers around the droplet.

Chapter Text

Oh, god.

What had I done?

I doubted I had ever been so fucking stupid in my entire life. And that was saying a lot because I often suffered from a case of Major Dumbass.

I just…I just wanted Bilbo to be happy. But it created a major lapse in judgement, and now neither of us might ever be happy again.

When I opened my eyes again, Bilbo stared back at me, waiting for an answer that I could not give. But he wanted to know everything—everything about the Ring and what it did to me and why and all that awful shit he wasn’t supposed to find out for another hundred fucking years.

With great effort, I placed both hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, but I didn’t have the warmth to squeeze them.

“Listen to me, Bilbo.”

“Valeria…”

At the sight of my steady gaze and unsmiling mouth, Bilbo turned incredulous, then despondent, then stubborn.

“No, no” he started, vehemently shaking his head. “If you dare suggest that, that I cannot ask—that I cannot tell anyone what just happened—”

“I am,” I cut in. “I’m suggesting exactly that.”

Bilbo took in a breath, but before he could argue with me more, I moved my frigid hands up to cup his cheeks. His jawline had become more pronounced ever since Mirkwood.

“Your hands, Valeria,” Bilbo croaked, worry and fright returning in him, and he placed his own over them in an attempt to provide some heat. “They’re so cold. What manner of dark magic caused this? Please—tell me. I beg of you.”

“I can’t,” I replied, then let out a helpless breath at the look he gave me. “Bilbo, what just happened—it wasn’t supposed to. And now it can’t be undone, a-and it’s all my fault, and I have no fucking idea what to do.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered, and his lower lip trembled. “It was not your fault. It was mine.”

Desperation bled into my words. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t tell anyone about this, and you can’t—you can’t ask any questions to me. Please. What happened will stay here on this balcony. You…you will keep the Ring with you—”

“I won’t—”

“—You will, and that’s final. Do you understand me? You will never speak of this again.”

Bilbo despairingly said, “You cannot possibly expect that of me.”

My mouth twisted, tears surging, and a new set of tremors threatened to unstitch me at the seams.

“I’m…I’m so scared all the time, Bilbo. I want to get it all right. I have to get it all right. But more often than not, I think I’m doing everything wrong. This just—” A stab of pain lanced through my neck with the soft sob, but I winced and spoke through it. “This just fucking proves it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you part of this mess. It wasn’t…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. But it is. And now all I can do is ask you to not tell a single soul. Please.”

He stared at me, weepy with blood faintly stained in strand-shapes on my gaunt cheeks and shivering too much, made a soft noise in the back of his throat, then embraced me.

“Oh, Valeria,” he whispered as I buried my head into his shoulder, furiously biting my lip to keep from openly bawling.

The confession, so despondently exposed and unlike everything I built up around me and the words I spoke, rattled Bilbo more, and he held me tightly to abate the uncertainty. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to be kept from the truth; if our roles were reversed and I saw him suffer through the same thing I just did, I would have shaken him until he spilled everything.

But I’d like to think that I would have trusted him, in the end. Just like he trusted me, which he showed by shakily muttering, “Alright, alright. I won’t tell a single soul. You have my word.”

Unable to speak, I choked out a whimper.

After Bilbo stroked the back of my head a few times to help calm me, he sniffed then said, “Come on. Let’s do away with this cold, yes? Up you get.”

Together, we staggered into the chamber connected to the balcony. It did nothing to warm me, but it at least sheltered us from the wind. I unceremoniously dropped to the dust-saturated rug on the floor, which had been abandoned when Smaug invaded like so many other items.

Bilbo settled across from me, and both of us hunched close together, afraid that something terrible might happen should we be too far from each other. My tears dried, and although coals still sat in my throat and I still shook, I started to breathe easier again.

A silence, heavy yet hollow at the same time, hung over us. Bilbo fidgeted. I curled and uncurled my fingers to force feeling back into them. Uncomfortable pins and needles accompanied the movement. Once some sensation returned, I reached for the leather cord around my neck and tugged out the shark tooth from underneath my clothes.

Bilbo watched me bring the tooth between us.

I spoke with a detached reverence. “You…you people here do blood oaths, don’t you?”

Already washed of color, Bilbo’s pallor dropped to a sickly shade. He jerkily nodded once.

“I won’t make you,” I murmured. “I’d never make you do anything. But it’s all I have. Because…” My throat clenched up again, and I had to force the words out. “Because you’re right. You’re right, Bilbo. I don’t think I’m ever going home.”

“Valeria, I—no, that’s not…”

I frowned to fight back the tiresome urge to cry. “But if I’m staying here, then I need…I need to be sure that you’ll stay quiet. No one—no one—can know.”

The stabbing wound in my heart came from more than speaking the possible, likely truth of my chances at going home. It also came from the dread that I might have put Bilbo in inescapable danger. Sauron could have found the Ring’s location through me, leading him right here to the Lonely Mountain. It could have meant a bigger orc army. It could have meant that they would look for Bilbo as well as me. It could have meant that they would take the Ring back to its master and—

Blameful tears stung my raw face, but their warmth was a welcome thing.

Bilbo pursed his lips and bowed his head.

“…Alright. I’ll do it.”

I released a ragged sigh.

Even though I trusted Bilbo with everything I had, all of this? This was more now. Far more, in gravity and danger and divergence. What happened to me might hurt many more—especially the ones I loved.

But if it went unspoken, out of mouth and out of thought, then they also might have a fighting chance.

(And myself? What were my chances of safety, what effect would I have in all of this, if I was here and not home?)

“I’m, uh, not sure how to do any of this,” I eventually whispered.

The wind outside whistled, heralding the approach of a storm.

“I’m afraid that neither do I.” Bilbo rubbed his hands against his thighs, palms dragging against the worn and rough fabric of his trousers. “Oaths…blood oaths…are not a practice among hobbit-folk.”

I extended my thumb and pressed the tooth beneath its knuckle. The cut would have to be conspicuous; any marred or bandaged palms would raise questions. Dwarves were superstitious, too, and a pact involving promises and blood likely didn’t sit well with them.

Just as I was about to run the tooth over my thumb, Bilbo said, “Wait. Wait a moment.”

Haltingly, he offered his own little thumb, calloused from the journey we had both embarked on. “I’ll go first.”

He only winced a little when I dug the tooth in, which had retained most of its sharpness despite the travel. Blood beaded up from the uneven cut.

Then I slashed the tooth against my own skin. Less careful than I had been with Bilbo, the cut was deeper. Bilbo flinched at the faint scraping sound my skin made as it tore open.

I held my right hand up. Blood drizzled down my thumb and over my palm. Bilbo clasped it with his own cut hand.

We froze for a moment, both shaking from what happened, what could be, what was.

I did not drop my gaze. Nor did he.

Blood welled up between our fingers.

“I swear…” Bilbo started, and a glimmer of bright bravery and resolve shone in him as he spoke. I doubted I would never not be awed by his spirit. “I swear that I will not tell a single soul what occurred here today. I swear on my life. I swear on all that is green and good.”

Then it was done. If there were any magical powers that bound us, I didn’t sense it. Maybe there never would have been. We weren’t elves, after all, and there were no ancient, meaningful words to speak that would seal the oath. We had nothing but fear in our hearts and drops of our blood spattering against the floor.

It was enough, though. It was enough.

I let go and examined the smears of red against my shaking palm.

“Oh, dear,” Bilbo tutted, as if tea had been spilled instead of our blood. He took his handkerchief—which had hardened from my own blood he cleaned up earlier—and ripped off a cleaner strip. He then wrapped it around my thumb, and the rag bloomed dark red.

Wordlessly, I did the same for Bilbo. By the time I had tied his bandage into a knot, I was crying again.

(Would anything ever be okay again? Or was this simply like the howling wind that battered the mountain before the true storm came?)

“You need some food in you,” Bilbo said, getting to his feet. Though his legs and tone wobbled a bit, he staunchly took charge while I sat in my crumpled, overwhelmed state. “It will perk you right up, mark me.”

I didn’t want him to pretend cheerfulness. But one of us had to try, and it couldn’t be me.

Bilbo extended his uncut hand. I took it and stumbled upright. “Food,” he repeated, bobbing his head and tweaking his nose, urgently ready to put what he would describe as “bad business” behind him. “Yes, food is what we need.”

Though I was sick to my stomach, I let him lead me back into the mountain.

-

Fili stroked my freshly-washed, lightly damp hair as we lay in our makeshift bed of furs and blankets from Lake-town. A fire lowly burned in the mantle. I couldn’t look at it; the glowing embers reminded me too much of him. Though three days had passed since the incident, the trauma lingered.

But Bilbo had not spoken of it, and we feigned smiles at each other, waiting for them to become real again.

My fingers remained cold.

“Ria, does something trouble you?” Fili inquired.

I had finally become distant enough for him to notice. Guilt transformed the insides of my chest into cold lead.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine. This mountain is just shit, that’s all.”

I turned to rest my head in the crook of his arm. Fili automatically held me close to him, and it was here that I actually felt safe. When I relaxed, he kissed my forehead.

“It will not be this way forever.” His own chest, constricted, however, and I lifted my head so I could see him better. Worry darkened his eyes.

“What is it?” I asked.

Fili sighed and absently played with my hair. “The elven king arrived in Dale this evening. I am certain that he will demand what he believes he is owed tomorrow. His son has made sure we are aware of that fact.”

“Well, you know where I stand,” I said. “Just give him the necklace.”

“It is not that easy.”

“Yes, it is.” I adjusted so I could prop my head up. The bottom of my shirt cinched with the movement, and Fili couldn’t resist touching my bare stomach. “You don’t have to listen to Thorin, you know. He’s…he’s not himself.”

“Aye, but even if he was, he would not give anything to the elves. They did not aid our people when we needed it most, and this he will never pardon.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. We already had this conversation several times before, alone and with others, and it always turned circular. The dwarves were stubbornly loyal to Thorin. No matter his state, he was still their king, and they stood by his decision to not offer anything to Thranduil. And I couldn’t even say they were being entirely unreasonable with this particular issue; Thranduil watched an entire people flee from their burning kingdom and did nothing. If I were Thorin, I would hate him as well.

And even lucid, I doubted he would make peace with Thranduil. He hadn’t in Mirkwood.

A darker revelation bloomed in my mind. “It means the orcs will be here soon, too,” I said, closing my eyes with the weight of the words.

“It means war, yes.”

I settled back down and stared at the dark ceiling above us. But it reminded me of a roiling black sky, so I focused on Fili, where the firelight turned strands of his blond hair to vibrant gold.

“Hey, Fili…” I said, words slow to form. “What, uh, what do you know about the…the…”

It was like saying goddamn Voldemort’s name, I was so scared to utter it aloud. Fili waited, brows slightly furrowed, for me finish to my sentence. Eventually, I gave up and went with, “The Dark Lord.”

He tensed a fraction, curious more than worried. “Well, which one are you thinking of? Morgoth, or his servant?”

Oh! Ha! Yeah! There were fucking two of them. “His servant.”

Fili clicked his tongue. “Well, he was once a Maia of Aulë. Mahal. He was taught a great manner in the power of creation. Smithing. Handiwork. But he was tempted by the darkness. Morgoth convinced him that he could achieve his dreams and desires of building a perfect world if he did so without Aulë and the constraints of the Valar. I’m not quite educated on the intricate details. Balin would have more stories about it if you wish to ask him—though don’t tell him I cannot recall such important history. As my former tutor, he would have my hide.”

I snorted a laugh.

Then Fili made a noise. “Oh, yes, and the most important thing about it all, of course: He made the Rings of Power. Hadud khazâdzubûdul ni aban-dumizd. Seven for the Dwarf-lords in the halls of stone.”

I forced my body to stay relaxed.

“My great-grandfather, Thror, bore one of the seven. But when my grandfather Thrain disappeared, so did it, and it has not been recovered. The rest of the rings were lost to time.”

Holy shit. How the fuck did I not know this?

Fili’s brows twitched as I propped myself back up, hair spilling over my shoulders.

“But—like, isn’t that ring bad? It was created by, by him.”

“We dwarves are a sturdy sort. Sauron could not corrupt my folk despite wearing the rings he gifted.”

I frowned deeply. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, look at what happened to the humans who wore them. They are wraiths. We are not.”

His brows furrowed more when I made a loud doubtful noise.

With a scrunched-up thinking face, I said aloud, “Luis…freak, what did Luis say? Rings…the rings the dwarves wore, they didn’t turn them into wraiths like they did the men. But, uh, but they did something else.”

I slid both hands up higher so they raked through tresses of hair. When nothing came to mind, I dove into the halls of the mountain, from the architecture to the graves, the weapons and the archives, the dwarves and their lineage, until my thoughts landed on Thorin and the treasure—

My head snapped up to Fili, who had gone from curious to confused to concerned in the span of my small silence. “Not wraiths. Gold. Greed. The rings…”

I sat up and crossed my legs as though getting into an upright position would help the words flow better. “The rings enhanced the dwarves’ desire, and over time, it twisted their love of the mountain and all its gifts into greed for gold and riches. In the end, they were so consumed that they—they would go mad. They’d forget their people. Forget everything but material treasures. So, in the end, they had just as terrible fates as men did.”

The strength left my voice. “Or at least I think that’s what happens. Luis knows a lot more than me.”

Fili, who had sat up as well, leaned forward and solemnly asked, “Do you know what became of my grandfather and his ring?”

I started to shake my head—then remembered when Luis made me watch extended stuff. He talked the whole way through it, spouting off the differences between the book and the movie and what was this and what was that. I should have paid better attention to him. But how could I have fucking known that I’d end up here?

“He…I don’t think he makes it.”

“And the ring?”

I did not—could not—say who ended Thror and most likely took the ring, so I softly answered, “It’s lost as well.”

Fili exhaled, but it was not in anger. Resignation, perhaps, or possibly relief. “Then let it remain so.”

When I stayed quiet, Fili brought me more securely into his arms, and we let the silence wash over us. But despite the exhaustion that made my joints ache, I couldn’t fall asleep. Too many thoughts skirted across my consciousness, like autumn leaves caught in the river’s rapid current.

Then I plucked a single leaf from the tumultuous waters.

When Fili’s breath turned slow and even, I slipped out from under his arms and reached for the little piece of folded paper buried underneath a heap of clothes. I faced the fire; its dim light orange filtered through the parchment.

-T goes crazy over gold. B gives stone to elf king and Bard. G comes back?

-Orcs attack. Big battle. Battle of the Five Armies.

-F, K, and T die near tower thing. A dies.

-B leaves with ring. End.

Was Gandalf here already, watching the Lonely Mountain from Dale with his stormy gray eyes? Did he talk with Legolas and Tauriel? Thranduil and Bard? There was so much I wanted to ask him, tell him.

A deep, uncovered ache sprung up in my chest. I missed the wizard—much more than I let myself acknowledge. He provided a rock when there were no others, and his low and caring voice could ease the tangled knots I had created inside myself. He’d take a look at the droplet embedded in my palm, raise his bushy brows in a serious manner, and say to me, “My dear Valeria, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Maybe he’d have all the answers, too. Maybe he figured out a way to send me home while he was gone. Or maybe not. Bilbo’s words up on that balcony stuck with me. Despite the nature in which he said them, they carried truth.

And if I wasn’t going home, then I had to do something.

I wiped away a tear from the corner of my eye before it fell.

The “tower thing,” I found, was called Ravenhill. The dwarves built it as a watchtower that doubled as a rookery for Erebor’s ravens. Talking ravens that lived a long time, to be specific. I saw Oin lowly conversing with a raven yesterday, but I couldn’t make out what the bird said. Maybe if I saw the raven again, I could ask them if they’d tear out Azog’s eyes for me. Or at least shit in them.

Fuck, I should have just blown it up when I had the grand idea to do it. Put all those dwarven explosives to good use. That would have…made things different, right?

I glanced back at Fili, whose faint snores told me that he actually slept. I would have recognized his fake-sleeping; he had never been told that he snored when he slept, and I’d keep it that way so he wouldn’t start.

Refolding the parchment, I tucked it away where I first stashed it. Then I stood up and slipped my trousers, coat, and boots on.

The door slid open almost soundlessly, and I thanked the dwarven architects who constructed it.

They wouldn’t be thanking me, though, with where I headed.

If Thorin and the dwarves would not make peace with Thranduil, then I would. For Legolas. For them. For the whole fucking future. And let it be known that a pitiful human mended what mighty dwarves and elves could not.

Distantly, I heard indiscernible conversation between a few members of the Company in the common room ahead. I went the opposite way, letting the brazier lights guide me down to the treasury.

I had put it off for too long. I wouldn’t wait another night, not when this could be my last one spent in the Lonely Mountain.

-

Thorin shouted in the distance. He did not rest anymore, even in such late hours. Dwalin and Balin both placated him. With all the nerves coursing electric in my body, part of me kicked myself for just not asking Bilbo to retrieve the necklace under the invisibility of the Ring. But then again, after all that happened between us because of that fucking thing, I wouldn’t dare bring up even a whisper of it.

Which left me back to my original plan.

If a grown dragon could completely submerge itself in the treasury, then my two little legs had a lot of ground to cover. Fortunately, Fili referenced seeing where the necklace was in passing a few days ago: along the northeastern side, where bars of gold stacked to the ceiling as though they were pillars themselves. The necklace sat on a pile of extraordinarily glittering diamonds, some of which were set into the necklace itself as worthy embellishments for the Lasgalen gems. But the gems themselves gleamed far brighter than the diamonds, and their light had not been dimmed by the gloom of the mountain.

When the glow of the braziers faded, I risked using the tiniest bit of light from the droplet to guide me through the darkness of gold and greed heaped up on both sides of the trail.

It was an old path once carved by Thror, and carved out yet again by Thorin. Shuffled footprints among the thick dust layering the floor scared me more than the stench of dragon mingled with the tang of metals.

I quickened my pace as much as I could without making too much noise.

The fury of Smaug’s fire and the shine of his massive, glistening teeth still haunted my dreams, and I occasionally woke up sweating from a heat that did not exist outside my mind. But ever since I held the Ring, even the dreaming dragon fire couldn’t warm up the tips of my fingers, which felt almost painfully cold this far in the depths of the treasury with nothing but madness and apathy in the air.

Other dreams plagued me, too. Dreams of Thorin killing me when he found the necklace in my coat pocket. Dreams of killing Bilbo when he found the Arkenstone in the hobbit’s coat pocket. Dreams of Fili dead with Ravenhill looming over him. Dreams of Thorin dead. Dreams of Kili dead. Dreams of everyone dead.

Dreams of myself dead, yet still alive among their corpses.

And dreams of darkness, at times so vivid that I thought Sauron had come back to finally claim me.

Bard was right; I should have been more scared.

To stay focused, I held the droplet close to my chest, where its light filtered out between my fingers and illuminated the bones and veins in my hand. Its warmth comforted me, bringing a clarity I would not have otherwise had.

If I shined the light on Thorin, would it bring clarity to him as well? Would it drive the veil of shadow from his eyes? It could work. I mean, what didn’t this droplet do?

A particularly loud shout in the distance made me jump. Anxious, I dimmed the light until it was almost nonexistent. Thorin raved in Khuzdul, but after it faded, I began walking again.

My prickled against the cold; my heart beat too frantically in my chest. Its thump-thump-thump must have echoed through the entire mountain. The shadows the droplet cast looked like dragon scales moving under the gold from the corner of my eye.

I swallowed the hard ball of fear and kept moving. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

Like a child, I sang Selena songs under my breath to stave off the mounting dread that made me want to bolt like a deer at every imagined sound. I wished Fili was here with me, or Bilbo, or any of the Company.

I didn’t want to do this alone.

(And it again begged the question: Was I even doing the right thing? At all?)

(But I had to believe it would. I had to believe.)

I found the necklace over an hour later. They sat where Fili described them. The dwarves had stacked hefty gold bars like fucking Legos all around the area, and I resisted the temptation to shine the light bright enough to see where they ended. Gold coins littered the area, pebbles compared to the vast hoard. There would be no getting rid of them, not even if all the treasures in the mountain were swept out to sea.

The diamonds carried a luster similar to the droplet’s own. Although they weren’t nearly as powerful, they were still beautiful enough for me to pause and stare at them. They refracted the slightest light from the droplet and turned it stronger; I had to immerse myself in complete darkness so they wouldn’t pump the place up like some fucking EDM concert.

It was a silly image that almost made me smile.

The necklace meant for Legolas’ mother outshone even the brightest of diamonds, however. It was crafted from silver spun so thin that it looked like spider silk, and the Lasgalen gems themselves were twinkling dewdrops. The necklace would have spanned across her collarbones and dipped down to the middle of her chest, its intricate chains weaving a complex and breathtaking pattern while the gems scattered across like pinpricks of starlight in the night sky.

As soon as I picked up the necklace as reverently as I could, a dignified yet mirthful warmth spread up my cold fingers. Its presence reminded me of Legolas.

This time, I did smile, and the warmth seemed satisfied at both the comfort it brought me and the similarity I drew from it.

I tucked the necklace in my outer coat pocket. Hopefully, it wouldn’t become so tangled that Thranduil couldn’t undo those shitty little chain-knots that formed the second any kind of necklace was set down.

Now in a hurry to get the hell out of here, I wound back through the path that I took and let the light guide me to safety. Thorin had gone silent, which was a tormentor of its own. What if he found out what I had stolen? What if he was waiting for me?

He…he wouldn’t actually try to kill me, would he? It was just a necklace, after all. Not the Arkenstone. Bilbo was more at risk than I was—though that thought did nothing for my nerves either.

But the White Gems of Lasgalen meant collusion with the elves, and in Thorin’s state, it was a certain death sentence.

And I didn’t want to die again. Drifting into death was as easy as breathing, but dying? Where blood seared in my mouth and pain stretched across my limbs and my soul thrashed against the lulling silence?

No. I didn’t want to die again.

I couldn’t wait for all of this to be over.

Then what came after? When the snow and ash had settled, when the blood had dried on the frozen ground, what would I do then?

The first, immediate thought was being with Fili. He had become more to me than I ever imagined possible. I loved him, and by now I had uttered it without the fear of dragon fire and death looming over us.

His death was unfathomable at this point, as much as I dreamed and worried otherwise; I had chiseled the fate I would create for him, Kili, and Thorin into stone. I meant what I said when I promised him that he would live.

Staying with Fili, staying here…it did make me happy. I enjoyed thinking about what life could look like if I lived with him while we rebuilt this kingdom. I’d visit Bilbo in the Shire and see Bag End, too, and I could make my mom’s strawberry drink for him, and we’d discuss the best ways to prepare the vegetables from his garden. And I could see Beorn again and cuddle with his animals, and I could talk to Landroval, and I could finally meet Dis and hope she thought that I was good enough for her son.

And I could stay and help the Fellowship if I lived long enough.

An old sense of mourning washed over me. Luis’ baseball season would start up in the springtime, but the spot on the bleachers where my parents sat would have an empty space next to it because I’d be gone.

No more humanitarian work, either. My dreams of running an organization would vanish.

I could still do good work here, though. Here, I’d still be loved. Here, I’d still have a life.

When I returned to the room unseen or unheard by anyone else, Fili’s back was to the door. Despite the steady rise and fall of his form, he didn’t snore.

For a second, I considered leaving the room again. But it’d make no difference; Fili would just get up and follow me, and I preferred to talk to him in the security of our room.

So, I shed everything until I was in my shirt and underwear and socks, and I crawled under the heavy fur blanket with him.

He did not speak immediately.

I wrapped my arm around his sturdy waist and nestled against his back. Something blossomed inside me. Something always blossomed inside me whenever I was with him.

Nuzzling my face between his shoulder blades, I shut my eyes and lost myself to love for a few precious moments.

“Your nose is cold,” Fili muttered about thirty seconds later, voice throaty but clear.

“Sorry.”

“Where did you go, amrâlimê?”

“I was…sneaking,” I whispered back, unable to conjure some weak lie.

Fili turned to face me. Distress etched into his features. He brushed a few loose curls back and cupped my cheek.

“We are so close, Ria,” he said. His voice cracked. The sound of it sent a jolt of pain through my heart. “Please…please, do not jeopardize what you do not have to.”

“Fili, I—”

He breathed, “Thorin is suspicious of you. More so than the others. Far more. He speaks as though he does not know you at all. As though you are a spy for the enemy.”

Why did the revelations sting me?

Fili pressed his forehead to mine. “I would not have you give him more reason for paranoia. Please. I could not bear to have anything happen to you when danger is already so near. Promise me—promise me that you will stay far from trouble’s reach.”

He let out a poor laugh. “As hard as that may be for you.”

Then Fili took my hands in his and tried to warm up my fingers. He kissed my knuckles. “Ria. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said.

He held me to his chest and twined his fingers through my hair. It was good of him to do; he couldn’t see my face and the shameful dread that inevitably surfaced.

Because the promise had been broken before it was made. 

Chapter Text

I braided my hair slowly, meticulously. The fabric of my athletic shirt brushed against my skin, and my worn leggings did little to protect me from the cold air. Wool socks climbed up over the leggings midway to my calves, and my Nikes found traction against the stone floor.

Then I put on the coat holding the White Gems of Lasgalen.

Fili left earlier this morning to council Thorin on the matter of the elves. I told him I’d be joining, but that was a lie. He may have been too stressed to notice, or he did notice but decided not to stop me. Neither gave me comfort. But he kissed my knuckles anyway, and he said that all would be well, that Thorin would see clearly once more and trust that I remained loyal. 

“Just wait a little longer, amrâlimê,” he spoke, voice strained as it clung to hope.

I couldn’t, though.

(Was I doing the right thing?)

(Please, please, let this be the right thing.)

I cinched my blades at both hips. Fili taught me more about wielding them, but I was still far from being a proper fighter, let alone warrior like him. I took Bolg by surprise in Lake-town. The army of orcs and trolls and all manner of enemies wouldn’t give me that same advantage.

Before I killed Bolg, I used the blades to kill spiders…then died. Before the spiders, I used the blades to kill orcs and wargs…then died.

Maybe using them again was an omen of another approaching death. The dread that wove my entire stomach together warned me of its lurking, inevitable steps.

(But I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to die.)

To combat the omen, I fished out the single coin thrown at me in good humor near the beginning of the journey and placed it in my other coat pocket. And for extra luck, I also grabbed the white quartz I found at the bottom of the shark lake. The coin and quartz clinked together.

My hands curled tight to stop them from shaking.

I had always known this was coming. But like most momentous things, it evaded reality until the last second, until the waves already crashed onto the shore.

Would I drown?

A soft, mirthless laugh broke the silence. A pointless question. I had been drowning for a while, now.

The only thing to do now was swim farther down, down, down, right until the world flipped and I breathed air again.

I whispered a prayer I barely heard myself. Then I left the room with the finality that no matter what, something would change.

What was loyalty?

I remained loyal to Thorin—to the Thorin uncorrupted by dragon-sickness, to the Thorin who did not see me as a spy. To the Thorin who fought to defend me in Goblin Town and praised the burritos I made and forced me to eat in Mirkwood when I tried to shun food and woke me from my nightmares. To the Thorin who trusted me, cared for me.

And I remained loyal to Bilbo, whose own loyalty lie with the same Thorin.

The both of us would break that loyalty in order to remain loyal.

And when those loyalties conflicted? My loyalty to Fili, my cariño, twisted and strained because he told me that it was best for both of us if I stayed quiet and unassuming. And maybe it truly did seem the best for him. This plan, though, had long been in the works before the foundation of our relationship grew roots through my very soul and anchored itself there. I could not abandon it now and risk the worst.

Even my loyalty to the rest of the Company stretched with discomfort. The Thorin they followed would have me punished for my actions, and they were bound by dwarven custom and love to do his bidding. But they loved me, too, so my broken loyalty could force them to break theirs to Thorin because of that love for me.

I didn’t want to hurt anybody.

If it meant peace, though, if it meant saving lives, then I would do it all the same.

Bilbo sat alone in the common area. He jumped when he saw me approaching from the hallway. For the morning hour, it felt unnaturally late.

“Oh, Valeria—good, you’re awake.” He picked up a plate of food and hurried over to give it to me. “I saved you some breakfast. It’s gone cold, but you should eat up anyway.”

“Thanks, Baggins,” I smiled. I took it from him and bit into a cold biscuit. Bombur’s baking should have been savory, but as I chewed, the biscuit turned to dry sand in my mouth. I had difficulty swallowing.

Bilbo rubbed his hands on the sides of his trousers and glanced around. “The dwarves are in a meeting. I—I slipped away just for a spot of something to nibble on. Aren’t you supposed to be with them?”

“Yeah.” I took one last reluctant bite of biscuit and set the plate aside. Bilbo took what I didn’t eat for himself. “But I can’t go. We need to get out of here right now, before Thranduil decides to assault the mountain without leverage.”

I pointedly looked to Bilbo’s coat.

“And…and you?” he whispered. “Did you get them?”

I patted my coat pocket. “I did.”

The Arkenstone would halt war between the elves and dwarves. The White Gems of Lasgalen would broker a longer peace.

And both things needed to get the fuck out of the mountain before Thorin’s fury came swinging down on us.

“You should—you should stay.” Bilbo grasped my hand and gave it a nervous squeeze. “Let me take both to the king. I will shoulder the blame.” With a quiet ruefulness, he added, “I am, after all, a burglar.”

My smile, however sad, was genuine. I crouched so we were eye level and hugged him fiercely. Bilbo hugged me back. His breath hitched.

“Oh, Baggins,” I whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you as well, my dear Valeria.”

Bilbo renewed the hope in me. Fresh breath returned to my lungs.

I let go, and Bilbo dabbed away at his tears with the back of his coat sleeve.

“I’m going with you,” I spoke. “I’m afraid that if I stay, Thorin will still accuse me of conspiring with you. And…and he wouldn’t be wrong.” I weakly chuckled. “But it could mean that I won’t be safe.”

“But Fili will protect you!” Bilbo responded fervently. “They all will!”

I shook my head. “I can’t count on that. And besides…” I sighed and looked up like I could see my loose plan formulating above me. “I need to be out of the mountain.”

Bilbo peered at me speculatively, nose tweaking. Then he fidgeted before he sighed and threw his hands up. “Alright. Alright. I know there’s no changing your mind. You can be as stubborn as those bebothering dwarves.”

“Hey, you’re one to talk. Those big ol’ hobbit feet are like bricks you plant down when you don’t want to do something.”

Bilbo huffed and puffed, but when he couldn’t come up with an adequate response, he gave me a look instead.

I stood upright and held onto his hand again. Beneath the collar of his shirt, a bit of shining chainmail peeked out. Good. He also had Sting strapped to his hip. Despite the relative peace, he too was ready for confrontation.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand, nuggitito.”

“Nuggitito,” Bilbo repeated as I grabbed some spare rope laying untouched in the room. “Nuggito pequeño. You call me these things, yet you’ve never told me what they mean.”

“It means that you’re a little nugget, Baggins.”

“Yes, but what does that mean?”

I gazed down the empty hall that would deliver us to the front and lowest balcony of the mountain, “As much as I’d love to talk, I don’t think now is the time to have an in-depth conversation about it.”

“Right.” Bilbo’s newly-trimmed curls bobbed. He didn’t let go of my hand, and he didn’t comment on the coldness of my fingers or the scabbed-over cut on my thumb. “Yes. Let us leave this place.”

I slung the rope over my shoulder and began the journey to the outside of the mountain. Thorin had gathered everyone in the treasury; our absences would undoubtedly be suspicious, but hopefully by the time they came looking for us, we’d be on Dale’s porch steps.

We moved down a flight of stairs more slowly than either of us would have liked in order to keep quiet. In the far distance, a hazy, pale light spilled into the mountain from the balcony. Thorin made the Company barricade the entrance Smaug destroyed, so we couldn’t escape through there. I wanted Bilbo to put the Ring on in case we got caught so it’d appear as though I alone was escaping, but I kept my mouth shut. He’d just say no, the scare with the Ring still too fresh. But I hoped that he would use it when he absolutely needed to, which was all too soon.

The thought of Bilbo Baggins in the midst of war made my gut twist tighter. I glanced down at him, imagining his clean face smeared with grit and blood, dust and sweat, breath billowing from him as he fought for his life and the lives of others.

What if I changed so much that Bilbo’s own fate had altered as a consequence?

(What if Sauron came for him?)

A wave of heat started at the back of my neck and traveled down to my feet, making me feel sick. I almost stumbled, but Bilbo’s steady pace kept me going.

(What if I couldn’t save anyone? What if I would make things worse?)

I audibly growled as I shoved the persistent thoughts away. No. I refused to be torn apart by doubt now.

“Baggins,” I said to him while we moved, hoping that talk of the past would conjure some relief, “do you remember that evening in Rivendell? When we sat by the waterfall and watched the sun set? And the elves sang that song while the sky turned to twilight?”

“I do, yes. My clothes had been cleaned, and you wore that lovely gown.”

“You remember my dress?”

“Of course. It was gauzy. The color reminded me of lilacs in bloom.”

I smiled. “I forgot about that dress. It was pretty, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Fili thought you looked pretty in it, too. You were absent when he said it in passing, but he mentioned how fair you were.” Bilbo paused, then added, “Of course, he was teased mercilessly for the comments. Admiring a human creates such reactions among dwarves, as you well know.”

“Oh, I know.” We descended more stairs. “God, that was such a long time ago.”

Then I swallowed and said, “I’d like to go back. Enjoy it more.”

“I would as well. Perhaps we can go together? Once this business is all said and done. Another adventure. And maybe one more after that.”

“See? I told you that you’d want to go on more adventures after this.”

“Yes,” Bilbo said dryly, “forgive me for not believing you back then in all my misery.”

We looked up and down the next hallway before crossing it. “Do you still believe what I said back then? That you’ll wish this had never ended?”

He let out either a sob or a laugh. I couldn’t tell which. “Ask me again in a few days. Then I shall give you a proper answer.”

“Deal.”

A span of silence followed. Then I felt a breeze on my skin, and I briefly thought that I should have grabbed the scarf Ori knitted for me.

“Valeria,” said Bilbo, his eyes meeting mine for a second. “We…we will be alright, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” I automatically replied. “Of course we will.”

“And I mean ‘we’ in reference to yourself, you know.”

“I don’t know my own future, Baggins.”

“Then be safe, please.”

Bilbo’s genuine care and concern struck me, just as they always did.

“Your…coming back from the dead has created a recklessness in you, I fear. Do not let it drive your choices.” He took a breath, willing himself not to be overcome with emotion. “I would much prefer to see you live.”

He did not make me promise anything like Fili had, or like when I made him swear his own promise. It was simply a Bilbo request, which always came with a dose of common sense, love, and a bit of reprimand.

In similar hobbit-like wryness I learned from him, I replied, “I’ll try. I’d prefer to stay alive as well.”

We reached the balcony, and a wall of cold air and soft sunlight greeted me. I hadn’t been outside since I held the Ring, and it pulled sour memories to the surface. I adjusted the rope, though, and gritted my teeth.

I’d see this done.

Bilbo looked across the barren stretch between Erebor and Dale. “I think I can spot elves,” he mentioned while I unwound the rope and found a solid piece of stone to wrap it around.

“How the hell can you even see that far?”

“I have very keen eyesight, Valeria,” Bilbo stated objectively.

I, in turn, rolled my plain human eyes at him.

“Come on, help me—”

A raven’s cry pierced the air. Both of us snapped our heads to the awning above. We watched in horror as the massive corvid took flight.

Right into the mountain.

“Oh, fuck.”

With time now against us, Bilbo and I worked as quickly as we could to get the rope tied securely. “Stupid crow,” I hissed. “Estúpido espío. El pequeño soplón. Odio los pájaros. Fuck! I hope a fucking orc eats it.”

“Hush! You can make death threats later!”

The end of the rope hit the water below with a faint splash. Before Bilbo could speak, I lifted him onto the flat surface of the balcony with a small grunt. “Hurry,” I breathed, looking up at him. “And I’ll be behind you.”

Bilbo’s attention went from me to the space behind my shoulder.

Color fled from his cheeks.

Half a second later, a voice spoke.

“Valeria.”

My blood turned to ice.

Slowly, I turned back around. The soles of my sneakers scraped against the stone beneath us.

Thorin stood in front of the entrance to the balcony, garbed in kingly robes. Patches that had been gnawed on by moths and mice and time stood out against the dark fabric and fur. His dark hair tumbled down, disheveled and knotted up in the heavy crown he wore on his brow.

A sword hung at his side.

Those blue eyes that once regarded me with fond, familial love now burned with hatred.

I almost shrank away.

“Bilbo,” I whispered, hoping he heard me. “Go.”

But his small hand grasped my shoulder to tell me that he would not leave, and I sucked in a ragged gasp.

“I have been betrayed,” Thorin grated. He took a step forward. I tensed. Bilbo hopped off the ledge, staying behind me. I felt him reach for the Ring, should he need it. “Betrayed…by my own.”

“Thorin.” I moved a hand in front of me like it would maintain the distance between him and us. “You need to listen.”

“Listen?” His chuckle sent a shiver of fear down my spine. It was reminiscent of Smaug’s laugh. “For what…purpose…would I have to listen to lies and deceit?”

“We wouldn’t lie to you.”

Hasty footsteps preceded the rest of the dwarves coming through the balcony’s entrance and stumbling to a stop at the scene. I locked eyes with Fili for a moment. Anguished, he mouthed my name with a silent despair that made me want to weep.

Had he known that the promise I gave him was empty?

I’m sorry, I mouthed back. Sorry for what I broke. Sorry for what I would break. Sorry for everything.

“Uncle,” Fili said in a desperate attempt to soothe the confrontation, “perhaps you should let them explain themselves before passing judgement.”

“Do not speak to me, boy, on matters you cannot understand,” Thorin snapped.

Fili didn’t blanch, and his fear for Bilbo and me heightened.

We had no adequate words to defend ourselves with because explanations didn’t matter. The decision was already made.

“Return what you have stolen,” said Thorin, “and you shall not lose your heads.”

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted, and he came out from behind me despite my attempts to keep him shielded. He pointed a chastising finger at the dwarf. “Thorin, you are not yourself! Dragon-sickness has claimed you for too long. The—the Thorin I knew would not threaten his friends!”

“Friends? The same such friends who would slither out of this mountain to ally themselves with elves and men?” Thorin’s eyes narrowed, and he sneered, “Those who betray my trust forfeit any and all right to friendship, if it ever was there.”

“You forfeited your friendship with us the moment you laid eyes on that fucking treasure hoard!” I yelled. Thorin darkened with fury. “You’ve gone so fucking crazy that we have to run to save ourselves!”

“Your lives would not need saving if you were loyal!” Thorin roared back, yells echoing off the mountain.

I flinched but did not otherwise move. A frightened tremor ran through the Company. Fili, Kili, and Dwalin tensed, readying for what they did not want to fathom. Balin gazed out at Dale with unshed tears.

Thorin quieted, voice deadlier. “I am…I am a king. I will not tolerate mutiny.”

“This is not a mutiny,” I snarled, fists balling. The droplet was firm against my skin. Perhaps if I could get closer to Thorin, I could then use the droplet’s power to cleanse his poisoned mind. “Because some of us haven’t forgotten the rest of the world! We haven’t holed ourselves up like some rat, ignoring everything and everyone while we rolled in our own fucking filth!”

“Hold your tongue!”

Thorin surged forward a few steps. I shoved Bilbo behind me, both afraid and fearless. “I have seen you clothed, fed, and protected, and this is how you repay me? By insulting me in my very kingdom?”

“THIS ISN’T A KINGDOM! It’s a fucking prison! Look! Look at everyone! They’re absolutely miserable here!”

I sucked in a deep breath before unleashing another torrent. “Their kingdom was wherever you were, Thorin! But now you’re not even you! You’re just some insane piece of shit who’d rather watch thousands die at his doorstep rather than fight!”

Thorin blackened again. He moved closer. I shuffled back with Bilbo still shielded by my body.

“Do not…” His lavishly-ringed hand strayed to the hilt of a heavy dwarven sword. “Speak to me about death, woman.”

A chilling smile flickered on Thorin’s mouth. My heart writhed in my throat.

“Though, you do know it so intimately, I suppose. Like a lover. How do you fare, Valeria, sleeping next to my nephew and knowing that he will soon be a corpse?”

A fell silence cast itself over the balcony.

I clenched my jaw. Anger roiled with the distinct terror of an awful secret unveiled.

“Uncle,” Kili hoarsely called out this time, “you must not think of these things! It isn’t right!”

“Right? Tell me, my sisters-son, is it right to withhold the nature of one’s death?”

Thorin’s eyes bore into me. Tears, however, also sprung up in them, and it took me aback.

Teeth gritting and voice shaking with tumultuous emotion, Thorin asked, “Is it right to lie about the lives we would have, when in truth, we have none at all?”

Everyone looked to me.

Though I trembled, I did not waver.

“I didn’t lie,” I said, and shock burst from the Company like a crack of lightning in a storm.

“You evaded speaking the truth outright, your words always cloaked in shadow. It is enough of a lie.” Thorin lifted his chin up in challenge. I had half a mind to strike him so he’d shut the fuck up. “How does it come to pass? How do my nephews and I meet our end?”

“You don’t!” I spat back, but it came out frantic. “You don’t.”

Thorin tutted. “Always such a poor liar.”

I corrected myself. “You aren’t going to die!”

“Because you are certain that you will succeed, hm?” When had he moved closer? “You have enough power to change the course of fate.”

I glanced at Fili and Kili. Both stared back, frozen.

What could I say to them?

Nothing. If I did, then I would expose the truth and give Thorin more power.

He extended a hand, and in a calm voice that didn’t match the frenzied intensity of his gaze, he said, “Give me the Arkenstone and the necklace, and I shall keep my nephews from battle. You have my word.”

“Your word?” I laughed icily, stepping farther back. Bilbo clung to my coat. “Your word is shit! I’d trust Smaug over you!”

Thorin’s hand curled, and his attempted façade crumbled away with the biting wind.

“Give me what is rightfully mine,” he ordered, low and full of promise, “or we will see if your burglar also possesses the power to return from the grave.”

Pure malice spiked inside me, stabbing up through my stomach, lungs, heart.

I snarled, “You won’t lay a finger on him!”

“Or what? You shall kill me? Is that not what you’re trying to prevent?” He glowered, paranoia shifting, and I felt the heat of his venomous hatred. “Perhaps I have misjudged. Perhaps you do not speak of my death because it will give away your true intentions. I die, and Fili becomes king with you as his queen.” He tilted his head to look back at his nephew. “Perhaps that has always been your plan, you mutinous whore.”

“Thorin!” Fili yelled sharply, which got his attention. “Your tongue is as twisted as the dragon’s! Please, it is as Bilbo said: you are not yourself!”

He began to turn away from me, growling at Fili, “You dare insult your king—”

I lunged forward, hearing Bilbo yelp as I tore out of his grip. The droplet illuminated, and I released a vicious noise from the back of my throat. My left hand raised up to smack Thorin with divine light instead of the elven blade he tempted me to use for a moment.

But incredibly fast and precise, Thorin backhanded me so hard that bursts of color danced in my vision. I hit the balcony’s railing, dazed, and cupped the spot on my jaw where Thorin landed his ruthless blow. The Company held Fili and Kili back so they wouldn’t attack or be attacked by their king and uncle. But still they desperately shouted for Thorin to see reason, to stand down, to spare me.

He didn’t listen to them.

The sleek sound of a sword leaving its sheath brought my senses back. Grunting, I braced myself against the railing. “Bilbo,” I whispered while I stared Thorin down, watching his attention glide to the hobbit as a new vile plan formed. Cold, clear-headed survival kicked in. The muscles I worked so hard to regain coiled in preparation. “Run. Now."

When Thorin went for Bilbo instead of me, I screamed ferally and launched onto his back, ripping at his hair and face. He bellowed and rammed me up against the mountain wall. I spared my head from slamming into it, but my grip loosened enough that Thorin threw me off him.

I stumbled off and away. Blood from the strike he delivered to my jaw turned my mouth to iron. I spat some on the ground.

“Thorin,” I muttered, getting into a defensive stance. I hadn’t trained for dodging a whole fucking sword, but I’d have to try my best. Because he did point it my way, after all. But that was good—as long as it wasn’t toward Bilbo or Fili or Kili or anyone else besides me, it was good. “Don’t do this. Please.”

The weak plea was one final attempt to calm the situation. It wouldn’t work, of course, but I needed to try.

“Valeria! Valeria!” Fili beckoned me to join him and the Company. Several of them, himself included, had drawn their weapons. If they could not fight Thorin for me, they could at least barricade me behind them.

I wanted to run to their safety. It’d mean a better defense, a better chance at not dying.

Fili reached out to me with his free hand, bearing a look I hadn’t seen since an orc shoved their blade through my chest in the Misty Mountains.

 He thought I was going to die if I stayed where I was, facing who I was.

I did, too.

But I had a poor penchant for striking instead of defending, and I didn’t run to Fili like I should have.

Bilbo was right; I relied on recklessness, ready to jump into death. But it never was part of the plan, I swear. Things just…happened.

Thorin raised his sword, teeth baring. He shouted a Khuzdul phrase I didn’t recognize.

I was scared of him. So, so scared of him. Part of me helplessly wished that he would die. Die, so he could escape the burden of living with what he was about to do for the rest of his reign.

Sorrow welled with the light.

Then I struck first, and Thorin leaped to meet me.

I vaguely heard myself shout his name as the droplet’s power collided with his maddened outrage. The force of my palm hit his bearded cheek, blinding who the light swathed—

Divinity scorched away all that was dark and corrupted. It retook and rebuilt what had corroded, sealing the cracks and fortifying the structures of the consciousness. And for what seemed like less than a moment and the span of an eternity, I felt that all had become good again, all had become healed, all had been sanctified, and I wanted to laugh in sheer, joyful relief at the work which had been done through me, because of me, by me.

(Because I had done something right for once.)

In the celestial expanse, the mind of Thorin Oakenshield returned to him, cleansed and whole.

Then red blossomed around the cold metal embedded in my side.

The light vanished. My hand dropped. Fili screamed in agony.

Thorin stood in bewildered horror, lucidity awash in his expression.

The elevation, the elation the droplet gave me was gone, leaving me with nothing but treachery and anger and a grief so immense that it overpowered the pain of the sword. The tears that raked down my face burned hotter than the blood soaking my coat and streaming down my thigh. They burned hotter than dragon fire, than suns, than sin.

So this was betrayal.

His sword ripped from my waist and clattered to the ground. Blood rose in my throat and spilled out.

So this was betrayal.

“No, no, no no no no!” Thorin cried. He caught me before I fell, arms trembling and tight. “Valeria, no!”

So this was betrayal.

Wailing, Thorin’s knees hit the ground. He desperately tried to stem the flow of the blood that poured out of me from a fatal wound of his own making, though it did nothing to keep the life in me.

Why wouldn’t death come swiftly like it had all the times before? Why was I forced to listen to Thorin’s weeping and pleading? Why did I suffer through the blood flooding my organs and funneling through my nose? Why did I continue struggling to breathe through the liquid in my lungs? Why did I keep crying tears hotter than existence?

I hated Thorin more for it.

“You…” I choked through wet dredges of breath, teeth slicked crimson.

Thorin stared at me, beyond horror, beyond despair.

Hellish scorn rose with my surging blood, and I was consumed with the dying desire to hurt him like he hurt me.

“You are no king.”

Thorin merely keeled over in response, clutching me to him, sobs heavier, whispering his apologies again and again.

Cold exhaustion seeped in, but it was unable to quench the heat of my tears, which ran faster than the tributaries of blood that stained Thorin’s hand a dark, terrible red. Then my lungs refused air at all, and I choked and seized, strangled hacks twisting in my throat. Blood flecked on Thorin’s ashen, damp cheek. He gripped me to contain my violent thrashes. I needed to shriek, to howl, to unleash the torment that trapped me, yet nothing but suffocated wheezes rasped past my lips. It cut deeper than the wound, pushing me to the brink of madness.

Thorin cried for my forgiveness.

I didn’t want to wake up from this death. I didn’t want to remember it. I didn’t want to remember who killed me. I didn’t want to face anyone when my eyes opened. I didn’t want to face myself and my failures.

I didn’t—want—this—

Chapter Text

Elves, humans, and a wizard gathered on the northern edge of Dale, drawn first to the light that burst from the front of the Lonely Mountain. In the cold winter morning, they watched thirteen dwarves and a hobbit walk the road from Erebor to the ruins. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield formed a procession, heads bowed, steps muffled.

Thorin led them. In his arms was a brown-skinned woman. Her head lolled back, and an arm hung limp.

They crossed the threshold of Dale’s decrepit gates. The people of Lake-town did not part for the Company; they parted for the woman who saved them from Smaug’s destruction. The woman with blood stained on her unsmiling lips.

A few soft cries came from the Lakemen, one of them Tilda’s as Bain and Sigrid kept her tightly between them, both silently weeping.

The elven army did not part for the Company. They stood at the ready behind the King Thranduil, the crownless King Bard, and the wizard Gandalf the Grey.

Manwë hid the sun behind a veil of endless clouds, casting a dim pallor over Arda.

Thorin did not meet the gazes of his judges. The heir of Durin had been laid low, and his shame bade him to lower himself further before those he once thought himself superior to.

He was, after all, no king.

Thranduil examined him, cold yet curious. Bard burned with fury and grief as he looked upon both the dwarf and the woman in his arms. Gandalf muttered inaudible words under his breath as a different, older kind of grief overcame him.

“You will have your peace,” Thorin said to them, voice hoarse and on the verge of broken despair. “You will have anything you ask. But please. Let us lay her somewhere sheltered from the cold.”

Several moments of silent, tense exchanges passed between Thranduil and Bard. Then the elf king inclined his head in the semblance of a nod. He regarded the woman as though he searched for something in her still features.

The first death had come to Dale.

Dale, however, would find it impermanent for the woman who held starlight in her hand.

-

I awoke to the sense that my time in Middle-earth was near an end.

Slowly, the trails of some forgotten dream slipped from my stirring consciousness. Memories returned to me, linking the view of a fine canvas tent to that of a mountain, a mountain where my life fled through the gaping wound of a dwarven sword.

“Oh, my dear Valeria,” a low voice rumbled gently. “You have experienced more peril than the contract you signed stated.”

Blood cracking on my skin, I shifted my head to the side and met the kind gaze of Gandalf the Grey, whose eyes were etched with a care so deep that it transcended mortality.

He smiled a smile that I had missed.

I burst into tears.

“Gandalf,” I sobbed. The wizard leaned forward and took my hand. Concern and sorrow mingled with his love. I shook my head back and forth despite the spiking pain, unable to convey all the things I barely understood in my state. “It’s—I can’t—I can’t—”

“There, there. It’s alright. You are not expected to bear such burdens unflinchingly.”

I lifted an arm over my eyes, too emotional to respond. Electric shocks accompanied each ragged gasp of breath. The pain was worth screaming over, except I had no strength to do anything but cry.

“But the weakness you believe yourself to bear is truly incredible strength,” Gandalf went on with quiet passion. “Strength that shines bright, even in dark hours. You must believe me, Valeria. I have crossed the paths of ages and ages of Men, and rarely has there been a soul like yours.”

I just cried harder until everything emptied out and I was left exhausted. After I rubbed my tears away with a blood-crusted coat sleeve, I stared up at the canvas again.

“We’re in Dale,” I whispered, throat scratchy.

“Yes. You are resting in a tent provided by King Thranduil. It is about three hours before dawn.”

I glimpsed past Gandalf to see a sliver of darkness that sliced through the tent’s entrance.

“Where…where is everyone else?”

“Evading sleep. They believe war is upon them. They are right.”

I didn’t ask about Thorin. The kiss of his blade kept me from forming the question on chapped lips.

Instead, the night stoked a further memory of darkness, of hate-filled eyes and their hunt for me.

“Gandalf,” I said, voice softer, more scared. “Something…something bad happened.”

His head tilted a fraction, but he gestured for me to go on. If I hadn’t already cried out all the tears in me, I would start weeping again.

“I—I saw him.”

The wizard paled like he had on the outskirts of Mirkwood when I told him that Sauron was back. He squeezed my hand tighter and seemed as though he wanted to say many things, but he eventually uttered a simple, “Go on.”

Head still turned to him, I closed my eyes and said, “He came to me in…in Mirkwood. The dark magic over that place helped him. He wanted me. I—I was able to escape that time. The second…” I shuddered. “He found me again in the Lonely Mountain. I was barely able to get away. He saw, he saw my world, Gandalf. He saw the destruction in a war zone. That’s what he’d been hunting for in my mind. He would have—he would have searched more because he was so much stronger, but…”

I swallowed thickly, feeling his grip on my throat. Gandalf took the hand he held and laid it palm up. His thumb padded my cold fingers as if for proof.

“But I got away. I banished him. I think. I, I don’t exactly know. But I’m so scared, Gandalf. I’m scared of what’s going to happen because of it. I’m scared I’ve set this world on a darker path that the light can’t break.”

Silence permeated throughout the tent.

Then, “And how, Valeria, did you banish the Servant of Morgoth?”

I opened my tired, aching eyes and slid them back to Gandalf.

My left hand lifted and uncurled. Gandalf’s breath left him.

I had seen him angry, scared, happy, confused—but never shocked. Not like this.

Tenderly, Gandalf exchanged my right hand for the left. He laid two fingers on the droplet, and warmth rose up like a relaxant. 

“Herinya…” he muttered, though it was not to me.

I studied Gandalf’s features as best I could in my position. An ancientness emerged in his visage, profound and undeniable. It was like he was seeing something from long ago—or someone—and it struck him with insurmountable sadness, joy, love, and loss.

Gandalf then posed a question that was both absent and direct. “Where did you come upon this?”

“…Lady Galadriel.”

His gaze, now bearing that distinct intensity that made me want to shrink away, bore a hole into me. “Lady Galadriel,” he repeated.

“It was when we were leaving Rivendell. Tiriel and Gallien, the elves that helped me there, gave it to me. They just…they just said it was from Galadriel, and that it contained some light to help protect me from darkness.”

I shifted uncomfortably. Laying down irritated my body, so I struggled to sit upright. Gandalf assisted me, and after a wave of dizziness passed, I got my bearings and drank some water. I wiped the excess that dribbled down my chin with the back of my blood-spattered hand.

“She spoke to me for a little bit. I…I told her about Sauron. About him returning.”

Gandalf nodded like he had some understanding of the information. “She came prepared to Dol Guldur, I shall say.” He then stroked his beard contemplatively. “Your banishment of the Dark Lord makes more sense, now. He was weakened considerably by the time the Council came to my aid. Lady Galadriel cast him and his lieutenants out of the fortress and to the East.”

“Mordor,” I whispered. Saying the place out loud took ten years off my life.

Sitting upright still hurt. Thorin’s sword had gone deep. I crossed my right hand over to the left side of my waist and under the coat to gingerly apply pressure to it, which took some peeling because my clothes were glued together with blood.

But someone had at least wrapped a few bandages around the wound out of kindness.

“Yes,” Gandalf said. I kept the droplet on display.

“Did he mention me?” I asked with a weak, bitter smile.

“No. Whether that is for good or ill, I know not.”

“Me neither.” I looked off to the side, searching for something I couldn’t find. “My own presence wasn’t a factor in this world.”

“So it was not. But this…gift…” Gandalf motioned to the droplet, “signifies that though you may not have been expected, you were welcomed.”

“Okay.” I took as big of a breath as I could without mortally wounding myself again. “Who the hell made this? Landroval said even if Galadriel sent it to me, it’s not elven.”

“Hmph. So you revealed this to the great eagles, but not to me?”

I turned bashful and didn’t bother to mention that I also showed the droplet to Beorn. “Sorry, G.”

He grumbled, but it was his pretend-mad grumble. “It is done. There are much bigger matters to worry over at the present.” Gandalf closed my fist to conceal the droplet. “I am afraid that I have been unprepared for this…revelation. I must consult others before I can provide an answer.”

“Who?”

I raised both brows at Gandalf. Metal that the water hadn’t washed out still lingered in my mouth. “Look. We both know that I know that you aren’t just a wizard. You gotta consult your gods or whatever? Fine. But just be straight up, you know?”

“Straight…up…” Gandalf repeated, and I regretted saying it. That look of amusement on him always meant trouble. “I assume it means that I should speak with honesty. Very well. But I can only ask the same of you if I am to do so.”

My shoulders hunched, and I held back a fearful scowl. We both had things we could talk about, but doing that might set loose all the things that we worked hard to contain just so the people we cared about would be safe.

In other words, being honest could be…disruptive. For each other, for ourselves, and for everyone else.

“I want to be straight up with you,” I finally muttered, wincing at a stab of pain in my waist. “I do. I…I understand that sometimes that can’t happen, but it’s not completely impossible.” I briefly lifted up my closed fist. “The…the gift, the light it contains, it makes me feel powerful. But in a scary way, G. Every time I use a lot of it at once, my head turns inside-out. Like it, like it sees everything that I am. Like it exposes everything I’m not. It lays bare all my desires and faults, and I—I can’t escape it.”

I drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not sure I can even handle it.” In a softer voice, I added, “I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“Those who question their right and ability to hold the power in their grasp are often most worthy of it.”

Gandalf’s words did not bring any comfort. If anything, it just hollowed me out. I hurt, and I wanted to go back to sleep.

Still, I muttered, “Thanks, G.”

He patted my leg and stood. His hat nearly brushed the top of the tent. “I’d advise you to try and rest,” Gandalf said with his familiar knowing look, “but I am certain that it will not occur. So, at least refrain from exerting yourself; death unwound still carries a weight that demands you recover from.”

I nodded once. As Gandalf retreated, I almost told about Amelie in the East. It was a long overdue conversation. But before I got it out, another question intercepted it. One I had fought hard to shove in the back of my mind because it just made me sad and confused and frightened.

“Gandalf.” I pulled my unfocused vision back up to him.

He paused and turned to me, inquisitive. “Yes?”

“Who sent me here?”

The wizard turned grim, like he hoped he could leave the tent without being asked the question.

I placed both hands on the edge of the cot.

“My dear, I believe you shall find out soon enough.”

I didn’t frown. The hollowness increased.

“So you feel it, too.”

The end for me.

Gandalf didn’t nod. The answer shone in his old eyes.

I wiped away an errant tear. “Well.”

Then I attempted to smile. It only made my breath hitch as another bout of sobs threatened the stillness of my body. All the things I wanted to say to Gandalf couldn’t form; they bore more enormity than the space my broken heart could tolerate.

“See you around then, G.”

Gandalf dipped his head, remaining silent, and left the tent. I appreciated that he didn’t say anything. It would have only solidified the reality of my departure, whether through death or portal or reincarnation or however I came here in the first place.

But why? I wanted to stay—

I sucked in a lungful of air at the traitorous thought. It viciously stretched and twisted newly-healed muscles and bone.

The truth remained, though. It remained in my heart, no matter how battered and beaten it had become. No matter how many times I died…no matter who killed me.

I wanted to stay.

My hatred had largely died with me in the mountain, and little of it lingered in my revival. As much as I wanted it to stay and strengthen and shield me from what I didn’t want to feel about the inevitable, it was leaving, leaving, leaving.

Was I meant to experience this?

My eyes fluttered shut, and I imagined myself kneeling beside my bed, arms propped on the mattress, gazing up at the worn wooden cross my abuelita gave me two years before she passed. Mexico was ingrained in it, darkened with traditional Catholic conviction and Hispanic hardship. It hung a little crooked to remind me of my mortal imperfections.

Was I meant to experience this? I’d ask it. And the Holy Ghost would whisper what I could not hear, if it ever whispered at all, but I continued to carry my rosary with me no matter where I found myself in the world, holding it close with shaking hands when the things I saw almost grew too great for a single human heart.

The droplet’s chain used to weave itself through my fingers like the rosary beads. Then at some point, when I wasn’t paying attention, it fell off and left the droplet alone in my palm, unmovable and unignorable.

I clasped my hands together and bowed my head, knuckles pressing into my brow.

Maybe I was meant to experience this. Maybe I wasn’t.

But I would not waste the suffering.

Then I stood, hands dropping to my sides. The pain came like a staunch partner.

Suffer so I shall.

Because, inevitably, it’d lead me back to love.

The tent’s flap whipped open, and I watched with disjointed surprise as an elf strode through. He carried himself with pride and certainty. His unnatural gaze swept across the tent, landing on me last and staying there. A circlet of immaculate silver crowned his head, and pale blond hair reminiscent of another elf flowed down his shoulders and back. His fine and dark clothing lay beneath finely-crafted armor that gleamed in the tent’s light.

The elf was cold and beautiful, and he deemed me a curious creature, however inferior.

“You must be King Thranduil,” I said to him while I slowly shuffled to a table that my blades rested on. When I went to pick them up, my frigid fingers could barely move.

“I am. And you are Valeria. A revenant, so it seems.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him glide farther into the tent. He was even taller than his son and made grander by his status.

“Just tired,” I corrected. The blades were heavier than I remembered. Hopefully, they’d grow lighter again when it mattered. “And, uh, I’m sorry, but right now isn’t a very good time to have a long and political conversation.”

“Oh? Are you not under my protection?” Thranduil’s cape grazed against the ground when he shifted, a brow raising. His eyes drifted to my fingers as they slowly fumbled to cinch my blades to me. “And as it is, I provided a resting place for you in order to have such a conversation.”

“Wow. Sneaky. Are you sure you didn’t do it just to be nice? But…” I managed to secure the belt above my hips. “Whatever. I think you’re going to be disappointed with anything I have to say, though.”

I faced Thranduil again. Compared to his might and elegance, I was a crusty little booger.

His head tilted a fraction like a mildly interested cat. “How could I be disappointed? The great Thorin, son of Thrain, carrying a dead human in his arms to Dale? The very same dead human who was carried into my hall mere weeks ago? The one my son claims has knowledge of what may come to pass?”

Thranduil evaluated me coolly. “I will admit, you are…less than I imagined.”

“Oh, god,” I scoffed, and my entire abdomen twinged. “Thanks. You talk to everyone like that?”

“No, not everyone. Simply those who do not require fanciful words to soothe their sensitive faculties.”

“You see, those words almost sounded like a compliment, but your tone makes me think that it’s an insult.”

Thranduil’s brow twitched, and on his otherwise unchanging visage, its movement was obvious. “It matters not.”

He resumed his detached demeanor and treaded closer to me. “You intend to return to your dwarves.”

“I do, yeah.”

“After what they did to you? Kinslaying is punishable by death in dwarven culture; but as you are not one of their own, and you reemerged from the halls of Mandos yet again, there shall be no justice on your behalf.”

“Living with what’s been done can sometimes be enough justice,” I responded, and I closed the rest of the space between Thranduil and me. Looking up at him exacerbated the pain in my jaw from the earlier blow. “You should know the feeling, I bet.”

His sculpted expression hardened, perfecting thousands of years’ worth of disdain and offense. It didn’t do anything but make me more exhausted.

“Hey, listen,” I said through aching teeth. “I…I can’t stay here. We both have important things to take care of. I’m sorry. I’m sure you prepared very important things to say to me. Maybe some threats. Questions. Insults. And still, you wouldn’t see me as an equal. That’s okay. Plenty of other humans think the same where I’m from because of how I look; I’m used to it.”

Comparing Thranduil to human weakness tightened his face with imperceptible, icy fury. I let out a small breath of a laugh. It hurt.

“If I cared right now, I might try to prove you wrong. I’m a pretty awesome person, you know. But I think we’re running out of time.”

I reached down into my coat pocket and pulled out the White Gems of Lasgalen.

Or, more like I unstuck them from my pocket. The chains tangled together in half-clumps, sealed and stained by now-dried blood. But although the gems’ opulence was marred by death, the same warm magic that Legolas’ mother blessed them with still radiated beneath my touch.

I softly exhaled as the pain in me waned for but a moment, a smile flickering on my lips.

Then I grimaced at the necklace’s sorry state. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I—they weren’t supposed to look like this. Obviously. The whole exchange, really, was…supposed to be better. But it’s not. Still. I meant to give them back to you, so.”

I doubted I should have seen the deep, genuine emotion rise up in Thranduil. It changed his entire countenance, which gave way to the wide eyes and parted lips of someone who now had a piece of their loved one right before them.

Memory unseen, cold exterior cracking, he held out his slender, ethereal hand. Gently, I placed the necklace on his palm. If the tent hadn’t been so quiet, I wouldn’t have heard his miniscule intake of breath as his wife’s magic brushed against him. The sound was of a sorrow so old and untouched that to simply feel the echoes that the gems contained almost unraveled him.

I dropped my gaze to the necklace, allowing Thranduil discretion during his rightful loss of composure.

“Legolas asked me to get them,” I said. “Because he loves you.”

Then I smiled. “And…he’s going to help Middle-earth a lot. It’s the least I can do as a bit of thanks.”

I downplayed the request. Really, the Lasgalen Gems hastened my death. Many things did, though, Thranduil’s pride included, and out of everything that I regretted, taking them was not one.

Was it worse for them, seeing me as a living reminder rather than a dead one?

Without anything else to say, I walked past Thranduil’s tall figure. He stopped me, however, free hand holding fast to my shoulder. I grunted at the abrupt but not unkind halt.

Avoiding a direct stare, he questioned, “Why must you do this?”

I glimpsed the slivered darkness outside the tent’s entrance yet again. Now that I was more awake and aware, it didn’t scare me as much as it had before.

“There’s…this silly old Latin phrase where I’m from. It’s pretty cliché, and it’s also a motto for South Carolina, which is just a garbage state, so that doesn’t help. But it translates to something like, ‘While I breathe, I hope.’ I don’t know. It’s just…me.”

I didn’t sound strong or sure. Merely truthful.

Wryly, I added, “And I guess it’s me even when I’m not breathing, too.”

After a moment, Thranduil released his grasp, and I left him alone with his thoughts in the privacy of the tent.

I would not bury my suffering like Thranduil, who let his lie in his soul until it turned into callous and isolating disregard, which then inflicted more suffering upon himself and others. But maybe Thranduil and the elves didn’t experience suffering like humans did. Maybe our suffering wasn’t as permanent, and its power could transform us if we let it. And our suffering could heal, even, when shared with others who listened out of love.

I pitied Thranduil a little. It must have been lonely, suffering like he did and without hope that anything could offer as much joy and promise as the past.

The frosty winter air numbed some surface pains. I limped past the elven guards positioned on the other side of the tent’s entrance and into the courtyard where it had been set up. Other armed elves patrolled the perimeter or stood by braziers to warm up. Their glinting, somber gazes followed me.

“You should not be out here.”

Steady hands took my arm. I leaned into Legolas’ support.

He let me keep walking, steps small so they wouldn’t outpace mine.

When I didn’t respond, he asked, “My father did not strain you, did he?”

“No. He wasn’t so bad.”

I hummed as my mind moved to another topic I forgot to discuss with Legolas and everyone else. His presence in the cold dark reminded me. “You would have followed Bolg to Gundabad. There is a secondary army coming from there. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“And why not?”

“Because they’ll be taken care of.”

Legolas had enough sense to not ask anything more. He led me to the courtyard’s exit. I glanced out; the snow-dusted street was empty. Good. I didn’t need more looks.

“Where’s the Company?” I asked.

“Go left and continue down the street, and you shall find them in the ruins of a stonework home.”

His intensity burned the back of my neck. I didn’t want to crane my head up at him, though, so I kept focused on the street that the moon illuminated for me. “Are you…certain you wish to see them?”

Legolas failed to conceal the genuine care in his tone. I faintly smiled.

“No.”

“Then stay here. Rest. You shall be safe.”

“I’m not the kind to rest. You know that. But thank you. I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

Whatever conflict he had toward letting me go manifested in his stiff but conceding bow. Then he relinquished me.

I wobbled for a moment before I started walking away. Fuck, I needed a cane. But if I fell, I doubted I’d be able to get back up, and Legolas would have to help me, which would be embarrassing. So out of sheer stubbornness, I made myself move uprightly. I stuck close enough to the street’s walls so I could brace a hand against stone if I felt too lightheaded. A few people passed me on the street, but it was dark enough that they couldn’t get a clear sight of me and left me alone.

After about thirty minutes of hobbling through Dale, I came upon the home Legolas described.

A fire flickered in the center of the half-exposed interior, drawing a dark-eyed and solemn Company to its heat. They appeared as though they had already seen battle, huddled close and quiet while terrible memory danced in the orange flames. Part of me longed to limp into the crumbling home, offering a smile and a poor joke and poorer comfort—but comfort, nonetheless. But this wasn’t like when we met again at Beorn’s home or in the prison cells; I couldn’t say the right thing to them, and they couldn’t say the right thing to me.

Fili was the only one who slept, most likely drugged, which explained why he wasn’t at my side when I awoke. I wondered if someone had to practically force it down his throat or if he took it willingly. Either way, I was thankful that he could get some reprieve.

Kili sat next to him, gaunter than he had been when he was dying. He kept a hand on Fili’s shoulder.

The ache to be with Fili was sharper than my wounds. I bit back a swell of tears.

What did he think of me? For all of Thorin’s madness, he wasn’t wrong: I lied to him, lied to all of them. And what kind of person kept the truth of their deaths hidden?

For a moment, I tried to make myself believe that Fili hated me. It’d ease the pain of this foreboding sense of departure. But I couldn’t kid myself for more than a few seconds; Fili would never hate me, even if I hurt him. He loved me. And if he had done the same as I did, I would continue to love him as well, without hesitation.

Thorin faced the fire. He was the most haggard of them all. his hair hung limply around his face, gray streaks stark in the light. He shed his kingly robes and crown, now dressed in the clothes he always wore. Deep bruises mottled the bridge of his cut nose and underneath both faraway, empty eyes. Another small gash sliced up his brow, and his scabbed, split lip shone against pale lips.

Someone had beaten him.

I couldn’t quell the slight vindication.

 Just when I glanced at Bilbo, the hobbit coincidentally looked up and saw me.

I quickly put a finger to my lips as he opened his own mouth. Then I receded into the shadows and away from the home. By the time I managed to make it to the other side of the house, the hobbit snuck out unnoticed. He treaded as quietly and quickly as he could to me, and when I was within reach, he sobbed and wrapped one arm around the uninjured side of my waist as fiercely as he could while also being careful. I gently stroked his curls.

“Hey, Baggins,” I croaked. “What’s up?”

Bilbo vigorously shook his head and let go. “No,” he uttered, pointing his finger at me in a way that could have been mistaken for anger and not tremendous worry and trauma. “Do not do that, Valeria. You cannot pretend such casualness.”

My lips formed a tight line. “I don’t know how else to act. Do you?”

Bilbo faltered. When he couldn’t produce an answer, I took his hand and began walking with him beside me.

“Is everyone…are they handling it?” I asked.

“Barely. Valeria, I…”

He inhaled and released a humorless chuckle. “To see you die by Thorin’s sword was horrific. Completely horrific. Then to see him realize what he’d done in his madness…”

Bilbo’s voice turned throaty. “Fili—he flew into a rage. I never, I had never seen such fury in him. A-and Thorin, he didn’t fight back. Dwalin and Kili had to tear Fili off, lest he kill his own uncle and king. But…but Thorin carried you here. He made peace with elves and men. He…spoke with Gandalf, too, though I’m uncertain of what they said. I don’t believe I wish to know. But he has not spoken much since.”

Distantly, I heard the sound of movement from Lakemen and smelled the subtle scent of bread. My stomach complained of hunger and thirst, but I ignored it for now.

We both slowed to a stop, and Bilbo turned to me. The moonlight shone brightly in his unshed tears. “Oh, Valeria—how can anything ever be the same?”

I ducked us into an alcove with snow drifts piled up on the sides. It offered more shelter from the lake breeze and allowed us a private space.

A resolute gentleness overcame me. Seeing Bilbo’s distress created a calm that eased my own fears in some strange way.

Cupping both his cheeks, I said, “Let me tell you a secret, Baggins: nothing will ever be the same. That’s not the way the universe works. We just…have to accept it and continue on, hoping that one day, it will all be better. That we can make it better. We go forward.”

“You say it so simply.”

“All the hardest things are simple.”

He allowed himself a small smirk, and seeing it returned strength to my frail body. “You have turned into quite the poet, haven’t you?”

“Nah. I just spoke to Gandalf a little while ago. His way of talking rubbed off on me. It’ll go away soon, I’m sure.”

After his faint laugh faded, Bilbo scrubbed at the side of his face. “In all my fifty-one years of existence, I never thought I’d be…here. It would be unbelievable if I did not stand with you right now.”

I blinked and made a face. “Fifty-one? I thought you were fifty.”

“I, er, turned fifty-one last month. In Halimath.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” The steadfast manner that I spoke to Bilbo in disappeared as fast as it came.

“Because it wasn’t important.”

“Of course it’s important.”

Bilbo folded his arms. “Would you tell me your birthday?”

“Yes,” I said tersely. “My birthday is in March. So, like, at the beginning of the year.”

“Would you really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it doesn’t exactly matter anymore, does it? We were wandering Mirkwood on that day, and things haven’t exactly been pleasant enough to have a celebration.”

I scoffed and absently held my wound to stem the pain. Bilbo watched my movement hawkishly. “That’s bullshit, man. I never miss a friend’s birthday, and definitely not my best friend’s birthday. I won’t stand for it.”

“What, are you going to celebrate now? The night before an orc army is meant to attack?”

He suppressed a squawk when I stepped out from the alcove. “Just, like, stay here for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

“Valeria—”

But I was already tottering off to the encampment, putting all plans on hold just for ten minutes.

Despite his protests, Bilbo waited for me to come back.

A single flame that ate away at the thin little stick jammed into a hard chunk of bread sat in my cupped palms. Its dim light illuminated my throttled face and small but genuine smile. Bilbo tried to put on his best stern expression, but it didn’t last long when I prompted him to kneel down with me. His confusion then dampened with frustrated endearment as I held the bread and its makeshift candle between us.

I bit back any visible pain and hoarsely whispered a song to him.

“Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Bilbo
Happy birthday to you.”

Smoke curled up from the stick as the flame inched down.

I smiled more and waited for Bilbo to blow it out.

Something inexplicable overwhelmed the hobbit the longer he stared at me. My smile slipped a bit. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he felt the ending of this story as well. But we held tight to the moment before reality found us again, before it pushed us forward in our suffering no matter our resistance.

Bilbo drew winter air into his lungs and blew the candle out.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to Ravenhill,” I told Bilbo once he helped me stand back up. “That’s where everything will to happen.”

“In your condition? I should think not!”

I pretended not to hear his objection. “Go back to the Company. Keep them safe. Tell Fili that I love him, and that…that I’ll be okay.”

“No, you won’t, Valeria.”

I headed out of the alcove. Bilbo followed behind me, face heated despite the cold temperature. He grabbed my wrist and held it tight. “What did I say about being reckless?” he hissed.

“Uh…” I frowned like I couldn’t recall.

“That you shouldn’t be reckless! Is that so hard to grasp?”

“That’s the only thing I can be,” I said back, cupping my jaw as a pulse of pain shot through it with the statement. “Do you think I actually like running around like some feral bitch?” Bilbo involuntarily twitched his fingers at the curse word I directed at myself. “No! I love planning and preparing. But this damn world really just takes that option away from me, nuggitito. It sucks balls. But I still have to do what I have to do.”

“And just what exactly is that?” Bilbo neared me and lowered his voice. The street we stood in remained empty, but we could easily be heard if somebody got close. “Eh? You have kept your secrets, Valeria, and I haven’t asked because you are my friend and I trust you. I do. But I shall not let you traverse alone to only Yavanna knows where in the middle of a war. I shall not stand by—”

Bilbo suddenly swallowed, blinking away a rise of tears. He then cleared his throat and continued softly so his voice wouldn’t break with emotion. “I shall not stand by and let you die again.”

My shoulders sank. “Bilbo…”

“I trust you, and you trust me. So please…” He didn’t yield his gaze. Bravery shone in him, bravery that burned despite his fear. “Tell me, Valeria. Is it about what Thorin said in the mountain? That he…that they are meant to die?”

Listening to Bilbo say it out loud got to me. I hunched, clutching my side tighter, as sickness crept up the back of my throat.

“Valeria?”

I looked down at my Nikes. The white rubber soles were bright under the moon.

“Yes. Yes, alright?”

Had I really…? Had I said…?

Bilbo inhaled but was otherwise unfazed. He had prepared himself for the truth. “So, Fili…”

My lower lip trembled at Fili’s name.

“Oh, Valeria. I am so sorry.” Bilbo gave me another gentle hug. I leaned in as best I could to return it. “I’m sorry that you have had to carry such responsibility this whole time. Ever since…my goodness, ever since the cave, isn’t that right? When you whispered to me that you realized why you’re here. It was to save them.”

“Something like that,” I choked. If I started crying again, I’d only make myself hurt. “I can’t believe you remember all that stuff, fuck. But…it’s all lead up to this, you know? Except Thorin, I guess he heard me having a bad dream about them dying in Mirkwood. He figured it out.”

I sniffed and wiped my nose. “Maybe…maybe if I talked about it more with him, he wouldn’t have…”

Bilbo held my hand.

“Anyway. Yeah. That’s why I killed Bolg in Lake-town. He…he would have killed Kili. Right in front of Tauriel. And that fucking Azog—” Anger burned my stomach hot. “I should have tried harder to kill him in the Misty Mountains. But he’s not going to succeed.”

I almost surprised myself with the growl that came with the promise. “Because I’m going to stop him. Simple as that.”

“But alone?”

“If I do it alone, then he can’t murder Thorin and Fili right in front of my fucking eyes.”

“And how, exactly, are you going to accomplish this? Who’s to say that he won’t simply kill you and then be on his merry way?”

“Well shit, Baggins, don’t put that in my head.” I mean, it was already in my head, but I didn’t need another person voicing it.

“Then let me come with you. I—I will stick him with Sting while you distract him.” He made a jabbing motion. I smiled. “I’ll be invisible. Quiet, too. We can do it together!”

“You and me?” I weakly chuckled. “Nothing good will come of that.”

“Nothing good for them.”