A/N: Greetings! So this is actually a rewrite of a story I started all the way back in 2015, but due to the fact I was writing about four stories simultaneously, I put this series on hiatus. Well, this is me returning to this story, as promised, and I decided that I would start it from scratch(ish - I'm using the old version as a template of sorts, and simply changing a few small details to make it a little more coherent). If you haven't already discovered, this will develop into a Thorin/OC story, though with most of the relationship appearing in later parts of the series. This book will mostly serve as a build-up.

Basic stuff about Alana (you'll learn during the story, but just in case you want something to start with):

Race: Human (dúnedain)

Age: 25

Appearance: Black hair, blue eyes, pale skin

Height: 6'2"

Weapon of Choice: Sword (can use bow and arrows too)

'Without the kindness of strangers, where would we be?" ~ Jill Johnson

An Unlikely Alliance

Chapter 1:

Wind whipped around a tall, shadowed figure as they silently followed a prowling party of orcs. The recurve bow in the figure's hand had a white-feathered arrow notched against the string, the hand that was holding it growing tenser with every second that passed. The shadow moved from tree to tree, tracking its prey.

Orcs were not smart creatures. They were soldiers and servants – it was rare that an orc had the mental capacity to give out orders. But this group moved with a purpose, and by the way they panted and walked with an unusual heaviness to their limbs, the figure deduced they had not stopped for rest in at least a day.

They were after something. Or someone.

It was an hour or so past sundown when the orc party came into view of the small, human town of Bree. They hid behind tree trunks and in bushes, three on either side of the dirt track. Waiting. To know the plans of an orc pack was always a beneficial thing, and so the cloaked figure hiding above their heads waited too.

Five minutes passed.

At last, there was the movement of a shadow beneath the doorway leading into the small town. It opened with a quiet squeak. Out stepped a small figure – small being short, not thin, so most likely a dwarf – who had a fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a hood that protected his face from the lashing rain. It also kept him shrouded in shadow.

The figure in the trees glanced down, sensing that the orcs were stirring.

The group exchanged glances as the dwarf walked past, before moving to ambush him. The cloaked shadow finally reacted. Releasing the arrow that had been prepared and smirking as it buried itself in the forehead of one of the orcs, the figure quickly jumped from the branches and into view of the equally startled dwarf and orcs. After releasing another arrow and killing a second orc, the two cloaked figures both drew their swords. The dwarf's was a broadsword – strong and thick. The blade the other figure drew was far more delicate and thin, but equally as dangerous when wielded by the right hand. This blade was of elvish make, and was glowing blue in the darkness.

Working efficiently together to slay the last four orcs, the temporary allies then turned to one another. Neither lowered their hoods, nor sheathed their blades for a few tense seconds. Then, the dwarf revealed himself. A mane of damp, black hair framed his face, though there were a few streaks of grey and silver that seemed to shine in the pale moonlight. His eyes were a stormy grey, harsh and icy, and hinted of memories that would crush the soul of most. Yet the way he held himself was regal and proud.

The other figure remained still, refusing to lower their hood. The dwarf grunted. "I believe I owe you thanks, stranger," he said gruffly. "I am in your debt."

He was visibly surprised when he heard the response of the cloaked figure. "You owe me nothing, Thorin Oakenshield." It was not only the words the figure spoke, but also the voice that spoke them. It was a female. Throwing back her hood, the woman revealed herself. Long, wavy black hair and blue eyes, coupled with a young face with pale skin was what met the gaze of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. The woman stood at 6'2", over a foot taller than him.

Thorin's grip on his sword tightened. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Unperturbed, the woman smiled knowingly, blinking as a stray raindrop fell onto her eyelashes. "I had been tracking those orcs for many hours. They were waiting for you."

"That doesn't explain how you know my name," Thorin growled. "Who are you?"

The woman bowed. "My name is Alana, my lord. I am a dúnedain Ranger. The lands surrounding the Blue Mountains are under the protection of my people, particularly the Shire, and so it is my job to pay attention to any news that comes from within those borders. Your name is hardly an unknown one in these parts, even if most do not know your face."

Thorin sighed and – very hesitantly – sheathed his sword. After a moment, Alana did the same with hers. "Well, regardless, you have my thanks for your aid."

Alana glanced at Bree. "You didn't happen to meet with Mithrandir while you were here, did you?" At Thorin's blank look, she elaborated. "Tharkûn, as you would probably know him. Or perhaps Gandalf is more familiar to you, given that you live so close to those that call him thus."

Thorin huffed and nodded his head, before pulling up his hood. "He should still be at the inn. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.

"Of course. Thank you for the information." Alana dipped her head into a bow again and watched as Thorin walked away calmly. She then turned towards Bree, which was, incidentally, her destination. Well, Mithrandir was who she was meeting, whether in Bree or not. The fact that the orcs she had been tracking had come here was little more than happy chance.

After a brief chat with the gate guard, Alana slipped into the town, pulling up her hood again. She walked silently through the town, trying to ignore the probing, distrustful looks she was receiving from the locals, and stepped into the inn – The Prancing Pony. Scrunching up her nose at the scent of stale sweat and beer, she made her way to a figure cloaked entirely in grey. She sat herself opposite him, her back facing a roaring hearth, before finally lowering her hood and shaking out her soaked hair.

Gandalf looked surprised, but ultimately pleased to see her. "Ah, my dear Alana. It has been a long time, and I must admit, I expected it to be longer."

"Well, you know me, Mithrandir; I like surprising people," Alana said with a grin. She rested her elbows on the table top, leaning forward. "So, what reason could you possibly have for summoning me? I know it is no mere errand, or you would not be involved, and you most certainly wouldn't have invited me to come along."

Gandalf chuckled. "I am about to embark on a quest with a company of dwarves, and a hobbit, with luck, to reclaim Erebor."

Alana raised an eyebrow. "At least that explains Oakenshield's presence in such a place."

"You saw him?"

Alana nodded, indicating to the waitress near her to bring her a small plate of food. "He and I ran into each other when we encountered some orcs on the other side of the gates," she informed him with a nonchalant shrug. "He thanked me for my help and then left. It seemed like he had somewhere to be in a hurry."

Gandalf nodded. "Yes, well, Thorin would be the leader of our little party. I wish to invite you along."

Alana leaned back in chair as the waitress placed her plate of bread and cheese in front of her. "I very much doubt that dwarf will want me to accompany him on this quest of his. First of all, I'm a woman, and the fact that I am a Ranger will make no difference to him on that account. Second, however distantly, I am a descendant of elves. Thorin Oakenshield has a hatred of elves that is legendary."

Rolling his eyes, the grey wizard took a sip of the red wine in front of him. "A little hardship has never put you off before, my dear."

Alana scoffed. "It most certainly has not, and it shan't do now. I was merely curious as to why you chose me, of all people. There are many others who would do the job just as well, if not better. People whom Thorin would be far more likely to accept into his company without a fight to the death beforehand."

Gandalf smirked knowingly to himself, but said nothing. "In a week's time, I want you to meet me in Hobbiton, at night. You will know where I'll be."

Alana sighed at his characteristic elusiveness, but nonetheless nodded. "As you wish." She paused, her eyes glancing around. "Have you seen Estel recently?" she asked with a lowered voice. "Do you know how he is?"

Gandalf nodded. "Estel is in good spirits and is as healthy as ever, though he misses you terribly. I know you have been busy, but it is about time you returned to Rivendell, don't you think?"

Alana nodded and smiled, picking up a slice of cheese and eating it with a large chunk of bread. "No doubt this quest will take us close by. Perhaps I will find the time to see him then."

"I'm sure you will make time, my dear." The wizard's eyes were twinkling. "After all, I am sure that you miss your little brother as much as he misses you."

Alana grumbled under her breath for the umpteenth time as she and her horse meandered through the little hobbit town. Gandalf could have given her more details – she knew she had to be in Hobbiton, but not which house she was looking for. Alana had been searching for the best part of an hour for some sort of sign as to where the wizard could be. Eluviel, her sixteen-hand mare, snorted, chewing on her bit as Alana gently tugged on her reins and directed her up a small hill.

A large looking house – large in the standards of hobbits, that was – was sat elegantly on the top of the hill, white smoke rising from the chimney. If the glowing blue mark on the door was not a good enough sign, the loud guffaws of the house's inhabitants would have been more than enough to convince her that she'd finally found the right place. Hobbits could never make that much noise, except in the Green Dragon Inn, but that was a mile or so away.

After tying Eluviel's reins to the fence surrounding the house's garden, and patting her gently on the nose, Alana walked up the steps and knocked on the green door three times. A strange hush fell over the group on the other side.

A finely dressed hobbit met her gaze as the door was opened. He seemed irritated, but even more so when he saw her. Alana sent him an understanding smile, before her gaze flickered to the gathering of dwarves behind him, and, behind even that, to a smiling Gandalf.

"You couldn't have given me a more precise address, could you, Mithrandir?" she asked after the hobbit silently invited her in, his face set with resignation. "It took me around an hour to find this place, with no clue what I was really looking for. I was close to giving up."

She pulled her thick cloak off her shoulders and draped it over a hook on the rack to her left, where many other coats and cloaks were already hanging. Alana gazed down at the group stood in front of her. They were quite the gathering, that was for certain; a wide range in age, hair colour, you name it. There was a dwarf in a strange but quirky hat, and another stood just to his left with an axe shard in his forehead.

A strange group, indeed.

As she broke herself from her musings, Alana became aware of a familiar form stepping forwards. "What are you doing here?" a rather perturbed Thorin Oakenshield demanded, a hint of a sneer on his face.

"Gandalf invited me to be here," Alana replied evenly, not backing down to his glare.

Thorin turned his sharp gaze to the wizard as he stepped forward – almost crashing his head on the low ceiling as he did. "Is this true?"

Gandalf nodded. "It is. Alana is a dear friend of mine. Her help will no doubt be needed at some point on this quest – she has a great knowledge of the wild lands to the east."

"She is a woman," Thorin scoffed, and Alana rolled her eyes at his predictable comment. "A quest like this is no place for a woman."

"I hate to interrupt," Alana said calmly, and Thorin whirled on her once more, "but I believe you already know I can handle myself in battle. I have travelled and lived in the wild for the last eight years of my life." She paused. "And as I have already informed you, I am a Ranger of the North; I have much experience with everything you are likely to encounter on this quest."

"You are of the dúnedain, then?" a young, blonde dwarf asked curiously. Actually, he was the only blonde dwarf among them all.

Alana nodded. "I am indeed, Master Dwarf." She turned to Thorin. "So, do I have your permission to be a part of this quest?"

Thorin looked extremely doubtful, even with both her and Gandalf's assurances. It took many long seconds, but eventually he let out a long breath. "Very well. But I will not be responsible for anything that happens to you."

Alana huffed. "I can look after myself, so that is no issue."

With a stiff nod, Thorin led the dwarf party into the next room. When Alana ducked into the room – which seemed to be a dining room – she found there were no seats left, so instead leaned against a wall, not really listening as they conversed about their quest. Every now and then she'd pick up a name or two, but unfortunately it was less than adequate.

Someone gently poked her arm. Glancing down, Alana met the curious and mildly embarrassed gaze of the young hobbit. He smiled up at her. "Bilbo Baggins," he said politely. "It's nice to meet you. I'm terribly sorry for my less-than-warm welcome."

"It is nice to meet you, too, Master Baggins," Alana responded, accepting the hand he held out for her to shake. "I am Alana. And given the circumstances, I can understand your frustration, and do not blame you for it." Bilbo smiled, before sighing and letting his gaze sweep over the dwarves. "I'm guessing you didn't know they were coming?" Alana asked with amusement in her voice.

Bilbo shook his head. "No. I thought it would just be an ordinary day when I woke up this morning. Then Gandalf showed up and–"

Alana's laugh interrupted what he was going to say. "If Gandalf shows up, it's never going to be a normal day."

It was only then that she realised her laugh had drawn the attention of the dwarves. "What makes you say that, lass?" the dwarf with the strange hat asked.

Alana smirked. "I can hardly recall a time when I was with Gandalf when I wasn't either on some exciting or dangerous adventure (mostly both), or talking about going on one. It seems the old man can't get enough of them."

A few of the dwarves chuckled. The one with the hat spoke again, grinning crookedly at her. "The name's Bofur, lassie."

"Alana," she replied. That caused the whole company to start introducing themselves. Alana was somewhat overwhelmed by the abundance of information she was receiving, but at least she prided herself at being good with names. Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Gloin, Oin, Nori, Dori, Ori, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Balin and, of course, Thorin.

It amused her greatly that most of the dwarves introduced themselves with a hearty "at your service". They seemed like an extraordinarily merry and light-hearted group, though Alana wondered how long that would last.

"So, lass," Bofur began cheerfully, "what can you tell us about yourself?"

Alana stiffened a little, but tried not to show it. "There's not much to tell. I'm twenty-five – don't bother saying anything about that – and have been on my own for what seem like a very long time."

"What've you been doing all that time?" asked Gloin with a frown.

"Hunting orcs and goblins, mostly," Alana answered, getting uncomfortable with the direction this currently short conversation was going.

"Orcs?!"

"Goblins?!"

"Do you have a death wish, lassie?" Dori asked with a deep frown.

Alana smirked. "As you can see, Master Dori, I do not. If I had a death wish, I would not be here."

"How long have you been a Ranger?" Fili leaned forward on the table so as to hear her reply better.

"I was born into the group, so you could say all my life. However, I didn't start my training until I was eight." She shrugged. "Technically then, seventeen years."

Many of the dwarves seemed surprised to hear this. "You were training with weapons from the age of eight?" Dwalin demanded.

"Real weapons," Alana said with a curt nod. "I had been using wooden ones since I was five."

A few murmurs went over the group as they discussed what to make of this. During that time, Alana managed to sneak over to Gandalf. "Why are we here, of all places, Mithrandir? Why Bilbo?"

Gandalf's reply was equally quiet. "He is to be our burglar."

Alana glanced over the hobbit, who looked positively terrified. "Burglar of what?" But Gandalf didn't reply, so with a shake of her head, she muttered, "I hope you know what you're doing."

Nodding, Gandalf sent her a wink. "You know you can trust me, my dear."

"Oh, I can trust you, yes. Whether I want to is another matter entirely. A part of me doesn't want Bilbo to come, merely for the sake of his life. He will not come back from this quest the same. If, that is, he comes back at all."

When once again Gandalf didn't reply, Alana turned to the dwarves to find them all staring at her with curiosity and confusion, clearly not having come to any sound conclusion as to what they thought of her. With a withering smile, Alana left the room and ducked out of the house. The night was cool, the air crisp. Standing inside such a small house for so long had stiffened Alana's back, so she quickly stretched to loosen the tight muscles. With almost silent footsteps, Alana then moved over to the little stone bench. Using her cloak as a makeshift pillow, Alana lay back on the stone and lifted her knees so her feet rested on the seat. With both hands over her stomach, the young Ranger stared up at the sky and let her mind fall blissfully blank.

It could only have been a few minutes later that Alana heard the thundering sound of Gandalf's 'dark' voice rumble through the door. With a whispered curse, Alana got to her feet and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders as she re-entered the little hobbit hole. She poked her head into the room, sighing in relief when she saw the customary darkness that spread outwards from the wizard was slowly retreating back into him. Wondering if she had missed out on anything important, Alana decided that she should perhaps stay, and moved to stand against the wall.

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet," the wizard declared firmly. "In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while Smaug is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the smell of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage." Gandalf turned to Thorin, his eyes blazing. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mister Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this."

Thorin sighed, but nonetheless relented. "Very well. We will do it your way."

"No, no, no," Bilbo protested vehemently, shaking his head, only for his words to fall on deaf ears.

"Give him the contract," Thorin ordered with a bark. His eyes met Alana's, grey clashing with blue. "We have no contract for you to sign; your presence among us was not anticipated."
Alana shook her head, smiling gently. "I don't need a contract. Any profit you make need not be shared with me. I only desire to help you reclaim your home." Her eyes turned sad. "I know how it feels to lose everything." Once Thorin had sent her sharp nod, the Ranger tilted her head towards Bilbo, watching him becoming gradually paler and paler – though without really registering what she was witnessing – and therefore it was quite a shock when he simply collapsed on the floor. She frowned, bewildered.

"Ah, very helpful, Bofur," Gandalf grumbled.

Alana glanced at the aforementioned dwarf and their eyes met. Alana shook her head. "You're an idiot," she murmured teasingly. She then pushed herself off the rounded wall and headed towards the incapacitated hobbit, gently scooping him into her arms. With a bit of a struggle, she managed to set him down on one of his armchairs. Alana then grabbed a clean handkerchief from her pocket, went back to the kitchen, and soaked it in water. Upon her return to the halfling, she placed it on his forehead. The cold and the wet woke him up immediately, his legs automatically kicking outwards and thus crashing into Alana's legs. She didn't so much as flinch, only offering a wordless smile of forgiveness when Bilbo started stuttering out half-formed apologies. Gandalf chose that moment to swoop in, a steaming mug in his hands, which he passed to Bilbo.

Alana sent the old wizard a small smile, before moving back to the kitchen. Though there was very little food left, Alana managed to scrounge up enough to fill a plate. She took an empty seat and leaned back, kicking her feet up onto the table and making the most of the suddenly empty room. She wasn't entirely sure where the dwarves had gone, but she was grateful for the opportunity to rest her legs and fill her stomach.

A figure suddenly took the seat next to her. Startled, for she neither saw nor heard her new companion approaching, Alana glanced over to see Fili eyeing her with open, almost child-like curiosity. "Yes, Fili?" she asked, before popping a ripe tomato into her mouth.

The blonde dwarf grinned. "I was wondering if you could tell me something about your previous adventures," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "You seemed to imply earlier that Gandalf pulls you out of the comfort of your chair all the time."

Alana chuckled. "Master Dwarf, whenever Gandalf is involved, chairs don't even exist." She glanced at the grey wizard as he spoke to Bilbo, no doubt trying to convince the small fellow to join their quest. Alana's eyes turned down. "My first adventure – not that you can really call it that, because it's really more of an escape story – happened when I was seventeen. It was eight years ago now, when the village I grew up in was attacked by orcs. My father was killed in the battle that followed. They outnumbered the dúnedain ten-to-one, at least. Despite how well trained the warriors of our race are, there was nothing we could do against such numbers. So we fled; my mother, my brother, and me. We had only one horse, and I gave it to my mother and brother to use, while I travelled on foot. I took us to Imladris – to Rivendell – hoping that we might find some safety there. Only, along the way, we were ambushed in the night by a pack of goblins. I urged my mother to take my brother and leave me. I stayed behind to kill all the goblins that I could, but a few made after them. I know now that they were killed at the borders of Rivendell by the elves, having followed my family up until that point. Unfortunately for me, I was injured during the skirmish. A stab wound to the leg. Our horse had carried all our medical supplies and food, which meant I had nothing. But I continued on, regardless. After four days of no food and no rest, I couldn't continue. My wound had become infected, and I was very ill. Now, I have enough knowledge of the healing arts to have stopped the infection, but at the time I had nothing. All I could do was try to make it to Rivendell. I passed out on a plain somewhere. By lucky chance I was found by a group of elves, and they took me to the one place I wanted to be so I could be cared for and healed. I ended up being bed-bound for two weeks." She smiled at Fili, sadly and wistfully. "I lost my father on the day of that attack, but at least my mother and brother survived." After a lull, Alana suddenly bolted upright. "Fili, do you know what the date is?"

Fili was visibly shocked by her sudden movement, but nodded. "April 26th. Why?"

Alana slumped back in her chair, a lazy smile on her face. "It's Estel's birthday on the 1st, in five days. He'll be ten."

"Estel being...?"

"My brother," Alana clarified.

Fili frowned. "You're fifteen years older than your brother?"

Alana nodded. "I am. Don't forget my people live a long time when compared to ordinary men. Almost as long as dwarves, to my knowledge." She stretched. "Well, I don't know what you want to do, but I'm going back outside."

"Sure thing," Fili said, smiling as she stood. "Thanks for the tale, by the way. Even if it was a sad one. I'm sorry you lost your father."

Alana smiled sadly. "It's alright. It's not as if it's a secret. Many know of that day." Then she kept her word and headed outside, the hobbit's round, green door closing with a quiet squeak behind her.