Warnings: None (for this chapter, that is.)

The day after Durin's Day, around sunset
Kíli

It was peaceful. More peaceful than I had thought it would ever be again.

Of course I knew it would be of short duration; there was an army of Elves facing us, only a thousand metres away, along with about fifty furious fishermen. There would be a war later on, perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow. I could feel it in the air.

But for now, it was peaceful, as the fourteen of us – Uncle Thorin, Fíli, Óin, Glóin, Balin, Dwalin, Ori, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Bilbo Baggins – watched the sun disappear behind the hills. Soon, there would be starlight, and that would sadden me, for it was Tauriel's favourite kind of light, and for she was not here with me.

In fact, she was with the army of Elves on the other side of the valley, preparing for a war against us.

I was not sure on which side I was, deep inside. I did not want war, I just wanted Tauriel to be here, with me. Of course, that was a very selfish thought, and I had been taught to be selfless at any cost, so I quickly banned it from my head.

I bent forwards and leaned on the barricade Uncle Thorin had made, my chin resting on my gloved hand. I had just closed my eyes when I heard footsteps. My trained ears told me that it was one of the race of Men, a youngster, walking towards us on the dry ground.

I straightened up and peered down, only to see that I had been right. It was a girl. I estimated her to be about fifty years old, but I knew Men aged quicker than Dwarves, so that would make her around fifteen or sixteen years old.

Her hair was a bright shade of red, like the colour just on the tip of a flame. Her clothes were odd, unlike any I had ever seen before. She wore trousers made of a fabric that looked like it had been woven from the night sky, dark and smooth, and a bright-coloured vest with an unfamiliar logo. She did not wear boots, like most of the Men, but shoes made of textile and kept together with laces.

This girl, whoever she may be, certainly was not from around here. How could she be? She was walking so calmly, all alone, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her vest and no weapons to be seen, that she clearly did not know how dangerous it could be here, especially after nightfall.

Fíli and I shared a look – he had seen it as well – before we heard Uncle Thorin grab his bow and aim an arrow at the young girl. She immediately stopped in her tracks and looked up. Her eyes were the colour of wood, with small flecks of gold, and they were wide in shock but not in fear.

"I have already told your folk that we do not share our gold!" Uncle Thorin bellowed. "Leave, or my arrow will hit between your eyes!"

I saw her take a step back before she cleared her throat.

"I don't belong to the people from Lake-town!" she then shouted back. Her voice was clear, like the air that surrounded her, but she spoke with an accent that made it somewhat difficult to understand what she was saying. "I don't want your gold! I need to warn you!"

Uncle Thorin clearly was fed up with her, because he fired an arrow at the ground, right in front of her. She jumped back.

"I will not hesitate to kill you," he said coldly. "Now leave."

She shook her head – how foolish was this child? – and Uncle Thorin lay another arrow on his bow.

I was startled. He could not slay her, could he? This girl clearly did not know what was going on. Perhaps she was ill. I could not let Uncle Thorin kill an ill child.

I walked up to him and lay a gloved hand on his shoulder. He spun around quicker than I had expected, causing me to jump backwards.

"What?" he said boldly.

I swallowed difficultly.

"I do not think you should kill this girl, Uncle," I replied. "Perhaps we should listen to what she has to say. It might be important – she said she wanted to warn us."

Uncle sighed.

"Kíli," he said, "has it ever come to your mind that this child might be sent to trick us into giving the people of Lake-town our gold? Or to threaten us? It is better if we finish her off now."

I indeed had not thought of that, but that did not change anything.

All of a sudden, my brother was behind me. I could not see him, but I could feel his presence the way brothers can.

"I am sorry to object, Uncle," he spoke, "but I agree with my brother. We should listen, instead of killing a stranger."

Uncle Thorin was growing frustrated, now; I could hear it in the way he spoke.

"I have told her to go away twice," he said.

"And I must admit that she is foolish for not leaving," Fíli agreed. "But she may be ill, for she does not know how dangerous it is. Do you want to be responsible for the death of a sick child?"

I had to stifle a grin. It was amusing how Fíli always knew exactly what I was thinking.

Uncle lowered his bow, the dark look that had been in his eyes for the last day disappearing for a moment.

"No. I do not. Perhaps we should listen."

Then the hard gaze came back.

"One of us will go and talk to her – I am not willing to lose my voice while shouting at her. If she says one wrong word, she will die. Understood?"

Fíli and I nodded simultaneously. The solution was not what I hoped it would be, but it was something.

"I will go and talk to her," I offered. Uncle shook his head immediately, but I argued quietly: "Uncle, I have already done less than I wanted to do. Please. Give me a chance to prove myself."

He did not protest, so I assumed that he allowed me to do it. A last glance over the barricade showed me that the girl had not left; she was just standing there, in the dim light, waiting. Then I started to climb downwards.

A/N:

So, yeah. I've started a new story. About the Hobbit. Because I'm not happy with the ending. Hope you like it.

PS: When I started this story, I hadn't read the book yet, so in the ending, there may be some things that are in the books but not in the movie. It's not annoying, believe me. If it was, I wouldn't have used it.

PPS: I own none of the characters, places, or anything else of The Hobbit. The only thing that's mine is our Tale-Changer, who will introduce herself later on in the story. And the song in the next to last chapter. The rest belongs to JRR Tolkien, and to whoever thought Tauriel up.

PPPS: I suck at titles. Just so you know.