AN: Hey there guys. Thank you so much for the follows and reviews. I really do appreciate your support. I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but, that way I want to space them out, stopping where I have was kind of necessary. Please enjoy! :)

After walking for no less than a mile, their camping gear and ponies retrieved and in hand, the group soon came upon a cave. Lighting their torches, they ventured down into the hole. Firiel came in behind Kili, and had the most horrid scent she'd ever had the dissatisfaction of smelling wafted right up into her nose. She thought the hair in her nostrils might burn out. She choked a little one the sheer density of the putrid odor.

"What's that stench?" Kili asked.

"It's a troll-hoard," Gandalf replied, seemingly unaffected by the smell, "Be careful what you touch."

One by one, they all made their way down into the trolls' cave, all coughing and gagging as they went. For, no matter how bad a dwarf could smell, nothing compared to the smell of rotting flesh and dung for a troll cave. Looking about the cave, Firiel saw that there was gold and treasure lining the walls and floors, along with all manner of bones, armour, and weapons.

"Seems a shame to just leave it lying around," Bofur said casually, gently kicking a pile of coins, "Anyone could take it."

"Agreed," Gloin said, "Nori, get a shovel."

Firiel didn't even want to know what those three were up to, and continued to trudge along behind Thorin and Gandalf. As Gandalf headed off to the back to explore, Thorin parted off towards a display of swords that were covered in cobwebs. He pulled out two to examine them, and Gandalf returned to observe as well.

"These swords weren't made by any troll," the dwarf prince said.

He handed the one in his right hand to Gandalf, and who took the blade and began to exam it carefully.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men," the wizard noted.

The two examined the swords, Gandalf pulling his ever so slightly from its sheath and tried to remove the dirt, whilst Thorin just continued to turn his over in his hands, weighing and considering it.

"These were forged in Gondolin," Gandalf said with sudden excitement, "By the High Elves of the First Age."

Thorin seemed rather disgusted with the blade all of a sudden, glaring up at Gandalf as though the wizard had done it on purpose. Perhaps he had; Firiel would never know. Thorin moved to put it back, but Gandalf was having none of that.

"You could not wish for a finer blade," the wizard snapped.

Thorin then stopped and, with some mild reluctance, took the sword and partially unsheathed it, studying it carefully. Gandalf seemed to know that that battle was won, for her took the sword he was holding for himself, and motioned Firiel back towards the entryway.

"Come my dear," the wizard said, "You must be dying for breath of fresh air."

As they were headed back towards the entrance, something caught Gandalf's eye, and he stopped them for a brief moment. Going off towards what he had seen, Gandalf came back holding a small sword. It looked very similar to the ones that he and Thorin had. Gandalf handed it to Firiel.

"That will be an excellent weight for you, my dear," the wizard smiled at her, "And elvish blade is very fine indeed.

"Better than even the dwarves could make," he whispered playfully, winking at the she-hobbit, "It'll glow blue when goblins or orcs are nearby. I pray you will never need it, but I feel it best that you have it."

Firiel grinned and thanked him, waiting for the wizard to go ahead, since most of the others had gone. But Gandalf told her to go on ahead, deciding he had a little more exploring to do. Firiel was happy to oblige, for she didn't know how much longer she could stand the smell of that place. She prayed that the blade didn't reek of it.

As she headed out into the daylight, she saw that Fili and Kili were already out, and helping to go through what the dwarves had collected from the cave. Fili was the first to notice her, and pat Bifur's shoulder to let him know he was off, and soon he was in front of Firiel, pulling a damp and, thankfully, clean-looking cloth from one of his pouches. Firiel regarded him quizzically for moment.

"You're covered in troll blood," he said to her, motioning her forward with his hand, "Come here and I'll get it all off for you. Don't worry; the water's from that well near the cottage."

Firiel was little weary that he might do something of a joke-like nature to her, but padded over to him nonetheless. She knew he wasn't lying; she could feel the stuff crusted on her skin. Firiel thought he would let her do it, but, to her heart's greatest surprise and elation (she would only admit much later), he did something rather unexpected.

"Is it alright with you I do it?" he asked her.

He had said he would get her cleaned up, but she didn't think he would actually do it himself. She hadn't really expected him to ask if it was alright to touch her. It was not as if she really minded it though. It was a little shocking that he had asked, but she loved it.

"Um, sure," Firiel murmured, "It's probably faster that way."

Fili nodded, cupped her clean cheek in his hand and began to clean her himself. His hands were calloused and dry from many years of work and training, but they were also warm and very gentle. He focused in on the blood-splatter, wiping it quickly and carefully from her cheek and chin. It crusted right off, thankfully, and the contact was brief in the grand scheme of things, but my goodness was it intimate. It was the care with which he cleaned her neck that really made her insides quiver with excitement. It takes a lot of trust to show someone your neck, and even more to let them touch it. When she finally trusted how gentle he was being, Firiel leaned her head into his hand, exposing even more of her throat to him.

Fili was certain he'd never seen anything more intoxicating. It made him wonder for an instant what his beautiful companion looked like beneath her fancy clothes. What colour was the skin on her body that never saw daylight? What shape were her breasts when free of her corset? Was her whole body dry like her hands, or was her skin only dry in certain areas? What marks did she have on her body? How many freckles were just waiting to be touched? Or kissed? Which parts of her would she immediately allow him to worship, and which parts would he have to steadily gain even more of her trust to experience? Would she let him care for her like this always? Watch out for her and work hard to deserve her heart? Would she let him have it and hold it close as if it were the most precious stone on Middle Earth?

When he finished cleaning her neck, he pulled back to inspect his work. He seemed to have it almost off and-by Durin, her ears were red. She looked so cute, glaring off into the woods to their left as her blush grew darker and darker, climbing up her neck to her cheeks. Fili smiled a bit at the sight.

"Are you embarrassed?" he asked her, his voice almost smirking for him as he went back up to the last speckle on her cheek.

"No," Firiel punched out plainly, fiddling with the cobwebbed sword she still held in her hands, "I'm warm. There's a difference."

"Ah," he laughed a bit, "I see. There you go; all done."

When they detached from one another, Firiel said a very brief "thank you" and whirled around, heading right back towards where she had left Gandalf and plucking the webs off her weapon the whole way. Fili grinned after her retreating form as his eyes lingered on her reddened neck; she was a fun one to mess with. He suddenly received a clap on his shoulder. It was Thorin.

"She is beautiful," Thorin told his nephew, the look in his eyes knowing and final, "But she is also a hobbit, and a common one at that. Do not forget that you are a prince. My heir. She may be a good companion for now, but do not forget where your responsibility truly lies."

Fili nodded, the reality of his circumstances coming to his mind. As Thorin headed off, Fili began to wander towards Kili, his mind distracted and his heart oddly empty. He could never have her in the way he truly wanted to; no matter how much he wanted it. She could never be his queen. Tradition didn't allow for such unions. There was no point in longing for her so deeply, in nourishing their connection, and yet a very large part of him continued to protest and yearn even deeper for her, willing him to gaze upon her once more. It insisted that something so pure could never be wrong.

Firiel had just reached Bilbo and Gandalf, her intension being to check on her uncle, when Thorin gave a rather loud cry.

"Something's coming," he called.

Gandalf launched forward out of the mouth of the cave. Bilbo and Firiel looked at one another, and that is when Firiel noticed that her uncle had come possess a sword. It was a little thicker and larger than hers, but it looked to be the perfect size for him.

"Stay together," Gandalf ordered them all, "Hurry now! Arm yourselves!"

The dwarves all drew their weapons and headed off after Gandalf. Firiel and Bilbo exchanged another glance, before both drawing their swords. Firiel's was much thinner than it had originally looked in the sheath, the blade much straighter than Bilbo's. It looked almost plain, but it was definitely a well-made short sword. Bilbo's own sword was a bit fancier than hers, with a blade that curved ornately and some decorative runes engraved along it, but Firiel liked her blade. Soon, she and Bilbo took off after the dwarves to face the noise. Something was speeding towards them through the bush, and, when it emerged, Firiel couldn't believe her eyes. It was a dirty old man, in a dirty old brown robe, riding on a sleigh pulled by brown rabbits.

Yes, you did just read that correctly.

"Thieves! Fire! Murderer!" the robed man screamed, riding right into the centre of their circle.

Firiel knew she had to be dreaming. Apparently the others felt the same, since none of them moved to attack. They all just kind of stared at him. What on Earth were they looking at? Though, Gandalf clearly knew.

"Radagast," he exhaled in relief, sheathing his sword, "It's Radagast the Brown."

The rest of the company all looked to one another for a moment as Gandalf headed towards his friend. They all slowly sheathed their weapons, still wondering what was going on. Firiel studied Radagast, and found he really made even some of these dwarves look clean. The man had mold and bird dung in his hair for goodness sakes.

"Well," Gandalf began politely, but then stated rather plainly, "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you, Gandalf," Radagast said quickly, "Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong."

"Yes?" Gandalf nodded for him to continue.

Radagast gave a great inhale, but seemed to find himself out of words.

"Just give me a minute," Radagast said, then grew rather put out, "Oh, I had a thought, and now I've lost it. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue."

Bilbo and Firiel looked at one another, and then Firiel turned her gaze to Fili, who was on her other side. She noticed then that he was really doing his level best not to look her way, although she knew he could probably see her plainly. She would have pondered on it, but Radagast made a noise that caught her attention.

"It's not a thought at all," the brown wizard said, opening his mouth, "It's a silly old stick insect."

And a stick bug it was. She watched in absolute confusion and disgust as Gandalf pulled it right from his mouth and plopped it in Radagast's grubby hand. She felt a little bit sick all of a sudden.

"Give us a moment, will you?" Gandalf said to the company, "We won't be long."

The dwarves all looked to Thorin, but Firiel and Bilbo didn't need to be told twice, and headed off towards some nearby rocks. The dwarves followed them shortly.

There they sat in the sun, on mossy stones, as the two wizards smoked and conversed. Firiel wondered if that was all one needed to be a wizard; a staff, dirty robes, a ridiculous hat, and a pipe. She voiced her musings aloud to Kili and Fili, who laughed and chimed in their own thoughts on it. Whatever had been bothering Fili before seemed to be long gone in terms of any hold it had on his mood, and he seemed to be back to normal. Firiel simply chose not to ask. If he needed to talk about it, she knew he would.

Suddenly, a howl rang through the forest air, and all conversation came to an abrupt halt. It sounded like a wolf, but it was far too large to be one.

"What was that?" Firiel whispered to the brothers.

Kili didn't answer her, and grabbed his bow instead. Fili did the same, drawing his sword and bringing himself closer to her. Firiel elected to follow suit, and drew her own blade. She noticed her uncle standing abruptly, gripping his new sword. All stood at the ready, listening.

"Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asked, utterly alarmed, "Are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves?" Bofur seemed equally alarmed, "No, that is not a wolf."

The air was still, but Firiel felt a vibration go through her eardrums. It was growling, and it was coming from behind their party. A stick broke, and they all turned to face it, giving a great shout. It was a warg. A great, wolf-like beast with grotesque claws and saber-like fangs. And it was making its way down the hill towards them, growling and snapping all the way. It suddenly lunged forward, knocking Gloin to the ground and attempting to bite his head off. The creature's plans were cut short by Thorin, who bore his new sword down upon the beast's neck with a great cry. Another warg emerged from the woods behind Thorin.

"Kili, you're bow," someone yelled.

And Kili didn't miss a beat, shooting the creature dead in the chest. It knocked the monster down, and Dwalin delivered the fatal blow. They all rushed forwards to see if everyone was ok, but the relief was short lived.

"Warg scouts," Thorin cried, pulling his blade from his kill, "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?" Bilbo was almost incensed.

"Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?" Gandalf demanded, closing in on Thorin.

"No one," Thorin replied.

"Who did you tell?" Gandalf cried.

"No one, I swear," Thorin cried back.

Gandalf sighed in frustration.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Thorin asked him.

"You are being hunted," Gandalf replied as though it were obvious.

The air grew thick and heavy. What were they going to do?

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin said.

"We can't," Ori cried, coming down from the hill, "We have no ponies! They bolted!"

All of this commotion was occurring to a chorus of warg howls in the distance. They were dead.

"I'll draw them off," Radagast said suddenly.

"These are Gundabad wargs," Gandalf turned to his friend, attempting to reason with him, "They will outrun you."

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits," Radagast returned, a twinkle in his crazed eyes, "I'd like to see them try."

And so, the plan was set in nearly an instant. Radagast would give the orcs something to chase, meanwhile the company would attempt to cross the final flatlands on foot. It was risky, but in that moment, it was all they had. Soon, Radagast was off, and the race began. As Radagast drew the orcs out into the fields, Gandalf lead the company out behind the departing orc pack.

"Come on," the wizard called.

The whole company took off down the hill, running for their lives across the rocky plains as Radagast attempted to lead the orcs the other way. His plan clearly got a little derailed though, for no less than a minute after they had last seen him, Radagast passed right in front of their party, the orc pack nipping at his heels. Thorin, who had been in the lead, instantly put on the breaks.

"Stay together," Gandalf muttered loud enough for them to hear, "Move!"

And with that, they were off again in another direction entirely. Firiel could hardly keep her breathing under control. It didn't matter how fit she was; these dwarves were all a fair bit bigger than her, and two of her strides matched one of theirs.

It wasn't long though before Radagast passed in front of them again, Ori almost jutting out into the open until Thorin grabbed him. Gandalf waved them on once the Orcs were past.

"Come on, this way," the wizard said.

Nobody had the time or the patience to argue. If Gandalf knew the way, he knew the way. He and Radagast were their only hope. Again, Radagast passed in front of them, but everyone knew what to do by this time. They all headed to the nearby rocks, pulling their bodies tight up against them and waiting. The rest of the orcs passed by, but Firiel soon hear the growl of a warg coming from the rocks above them. Thorin looked up to see what it was, and then nodded to Kili. Within an instant, Kili pushed off the wall and shot the warg in the chest. Before his orc rider had time to blow a signal horn, Kili had shot him in the chest. Orc and warg came tumbling down, the warg giving a violent screech. His rider was up and came at them, but Dwalin and Bifur knocked him down with ease. Though that didn't stop the orc from giving a scream so loud it could have made your ears bleed. Thorin was soon on him and chopped his head from his body. Kili shot the warg one more time before it lay still. But it wasn't too long before the howls of wargs and orcs began in unison, quickly growing louder with each instant.

They had given away their position. Radagast would be of no use now.

"Move!" Gandalf ordered them, "Run!"

Firiel grabbed hold of Fili's arm and dragged him off with her on a mad dash after Gandalf. Fili soon caught up and sped past her, pulling her along behind him. He could feel in her every step that she was growing tired, and gripped her arm tighter. The company just made it to the top of a hill, and saw wargs coming around in their path.

"There they are!" Dwlain shouted, pointing.

"This way! Quickly!" Gandalf yelled, taking off once more.

They followed after him, Thorin taking up the front again, until they soon found their path blocked by another orc. They were trapped in a little gully. Firiel clung close to Fili's side, frightened for her life.

"There's more coming!" Kili yelled, running towards the centre of the little valley.

"Kili, shoot them!" Thorin ordered.

It was in vain though; Kili did not have enough arrows to shoot them all.

"We're surrounded!" Fili cried.

The dwarves all stood in an outward facing circle, staring down their enemy. Kili began to fire arrows on their foe, taking down one orc after another.

"Where's Gandalf?!" Dori shrieked.

"He's abandoned us," Dwalin replied.

The orcs continued to advance, cackling madly. The company all began to back up together. Firiel looked to her left and spotted Bilbo, sword drawn and eyes focused on the orcs. To her right was Fili, keeping himself half a step before her and Kili, like a shield. Everyone looked ready to bolt.

"Hold your ground!" she heard Thorin order.

Closer and closer the orcs stalked. It was like they were getting some sick, sadistic thrill from all of this. Firiel saw her sword begin to glow brilliantly, almost blindingly blue, even in the harsh daylight.

"Keep near to me," Fili told to her, not once taking his eyes off their foe, "Keep near to me, and it'll all be fine."

All hope seemed lost.

"This way, you fools!"

It was Gandalf, they all looked around for him, and found him perched between a giant and smaller boulder. He had an escape route.

"Come on, move," was Thorin's new order, and move they did.

There was a hole in between the rocks. Thorin stood atop the smaller boulder.

"Quickly, all of you!" he shouted.

Bofur was the first down, followed immediately by Biblo and Balin. Fili had accompanied Firiel to the cave and helped her slide in after Balin. It was nearly a sheer drop, and she rolled to the bottom like a stone. She soon spotted her uncle, and rushed towards him, embracing him quickly and checking for wounds. She soon noticed that Fili was not behind her, and looked back up in panic. One after another, the other dwarves came, but Fili, Thorin, and Kili were nowhere to be seen.

"Kili! Run!" she heard Thorin yell.

Almost immediately after, to her great relief, Fili and Kili came tumbling down, with Thorin taking up the rear. Firiel felt all tightness in her chest vanish. Without a thought or care in the world, Firiel ran right into Fili, wrapping her arms around her neck. That tightness had moved up to her throat now it seemed, as she struggled not to weep. Fili was rather stunned for a moment, but her embraced was soon returned. She felt him grip onto her so tightly that it was as if she were disappearing.

As he held her tight in that instant, breathing in a scent that was completely her own, Fili came to a conclusion about his feelings, and it was quite an unusual conclusion for him. Who cared what Thorin said? Hadn't he already defied Thorin once for her? What was the big deal about doing it again? He loved his uncle like a father, and disappointing him was the last thing Fili wanted to do, but the world was a strange place. He had earlier just witnessed a mad old man riding a bunny sled, and he realized that his feelings were not nearly so strange as that. That strangeness had even tried to help save their lives. Surely, if there were people like the brown wizard running about, a union between a dwarf and a hobbit wouldn't seem that strange. And, even if it was, if his uncle really did love him, would Thorin not wish for his happiness?

The two separated as quickly as they had come together, crouching low and preparing for the orcs to follow them down. The company all stared up into the light, but no orcs followed them. Instead, a mighty horn sounded, and the sound of arrows flying through the air greeted their ears. Shouts and battle cries rang through the air. What sort of madness was occurring up there? Midway through the above-ground skirmish, an orc came tumbling down the hole, an arrow protruding from his neck. The company parted like the red sea, only relaxing when they saw that it was dead. Firiel shuddered; these creatures looked even more gruesome in death. The sounds of battle quickly ceased, only the hooves and whinnies of horses still above them. Thorin came forward and wrenched the arrow from the creature's neck, staring at it only for a moment before a look of contempt crossed his face.

"Elves," he spat, tossing it to the ground.

Firiel looked to Bilbo then, and they both seemed equal parts puzzled. Why were elves helping them? Then they heard Dwalin calling from the far end of their little cave.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," he shouted, "Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it of course," Bofur cried, taking off in the same direction Dwalin had gone.

Nobody asked any questions, chasing right on after them. Anywhere was better than from whence they'd come.