A/N: You are all so lovely and here I've taken forever to get this chapter out. I'm so sorry! I promise that the next chapter will be out quicker than this one. :)
Thank you for all the reviews, follows, favorites, and general love that you all show. You are simply lovely.
"Home is behind, the world ahead,
and there are many paths to tread
through shadows to the edge of night,
until the stars are all alight."-J.R.R. Tolkien
Chapter 7:
She hated it.
Aule she hated water.
What she hated more, though, was the terrible sensation of something tugging on her leg, trying to rip her from her hold against the boulder in the center of the river.
And the laughter.
The terrible, sickening laughter that bounced around the inside of her head.
Lyla squeezed her eyes tighter together, digging her numb fingers into the jagged rocks, kicking her leg to shake off whatever was holding onto her, too terrified to even attempt to look to see what it might be.
When the water subsided enough for him to lift his head and gasp a lungful of air, Bofur scrambled to his feet determined to make it towards the center of the river, where a little head of blonde curls bobbed in the rushing water. His boots squelched beneath his steps, the force of the rushing water bogging him down, as Lyla's head became more and more visible as the water receded as quickly as it had risen.
He was thankful for that. Mahal, was he thankful.
"Lass!" He called as Lyla lifted her head sputtering and coughing, her shoulders shaking as her face pinched into a look of disgust and tired resignation as she dragged herself higher out of the water, her limbs quaking from the effort and the cold.
"Lass!" The water sloshed around him as he maneuvered through the slowing current towards the large boulder that the hobbit still clung to, her fingers digging into the rocks.
Bofur knelt near the hobbit, his own fingers shaky, heart hammering in worry, as he laid a hand on Lyla's shoulder.
The hobbit jerked at the touch but instantly relaxed as Bofur pulled her into a tight hug.
"Aye Lass," He murmured into her sopping curly head, "I'm here lass. It's over."
He noted the angry purple bruise that was blossoming on her cheek and the thin sliver of a cut that marred the flesh beneath her right eye.
Anger and confusion surged through him at the sight. He had the distinct urge to tear something apart.
Or someone.
Whatever mess Lyla Baggins had gotten herself into, she never deserved harm to befall her. That was why he and the two princes had followed after her, especially when they learned of the missing maps from the library and Ori's concern for 'Mistress Baggins'.
And when they discovered their missing hobbit who was in none of her usual hiding spots, they knew she'd done something foolish.
Brave, most likely, but undoubtedly foolish.
Gingerly, he and Lyla rose to their feet, his hold never loosening from the hobbit's shoulders as the moved through the (now calm) river and towards Fili, Kili, and Estel.
Lyla remained silent, her lip quivering from the cold as her eyes darted about wildly.
"Lass," Bofur murmured near her ear, "What've ye gotten yerself into. What is it they wanted of ye?"
"It's—I," Lyla's words were soft, her eyes downcast as her bottom lip quivered, "It's…of little importance right now. Don't worry yourself.
Bofur frowned down upon the hobbit.
Mahal, help him, he certainly would worry about it all.
Foolish hobbit. Did she not think that he would care?
Durin help her when Thorin realized she was gone.
"Lyla—"
"Master Baggins," Estel's voice was low, brisk, as he cut into the conversation. "Are you harmed?"
The slender man reached towards the hobbit, his brows pulled together in worry as he searched her face, her arms, for any sign of injury.
Bofur, however, was not keen to allow anyone to come near the hobbit again.
Especially a man they hardly knew and barely trusted.
"Aye, keep yer ruddy paws off of 'er," he snapped up at the dark haired Estel, watching as the man's eyes widened in surprise and then amusement. "I've had about enough of yer lippy attitude and this grand adventure into the wilds."
"I mean no harm, master dwarf," He remarked fluidly, lifting a hand in peace. "My only interest is ensuring her safety."
'Ruddy likely'
"Oh I dunno that much, master ranger," Bofur remarked, agitatedly, meeting the worried gazes of the dwarf princes as they searched around the small canyon and then looked back towards Estel suspiciously. "Ye've done a fair job of endangerin' her as it is. Lobbin' hobbit off cliffs isn't what I'd call 'protective behavior' Yer lucky I haven't taken my hammer te yer knees, lad."
"We hardly have time for any of this banter," Estel murmured, he too shifting his eyes about, "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien before nightfall. There are more that these wraiths in the dark corners of the world after nightfall."
"Indeed," A soft voice remarked.
Bofur tightened his grip on Lyla as Fili and Kili came to stand in front of the miner and his charge, their weapons drawn, prepared to defend.
As it turned out, however, they wouldn't need to.
His name was Glorfindel.
An elf.
A proud, tall elf, clad in rich blues and silver armor, with striking golden hair that shone in the low sun. He glared down the canyon, icy blue eyes trailing the river thoughtfully, lips pursed into a fine line.
He was the one who had spoken the words, causing the water to rise, to wash away the putrid, filthy presence of the wraiths.
"The power of my people can protect the Shireling from the wraiths, but we must hurry," He remarked softly, catching Bofur's eye, "They will follow after us. Too much is hinging upon their capture of the hobbit."
The golden-haired elf cast a soft glance at Lyla, his face pulled into a frown.
"Now that's ridiculous," Fili admonished, "We're heading back towards Erebor. THAT is where she belongs. That is where she'll be safest."
"No," Lyla remarked softly, pulling away from a surprised Bofur, "I can't. It isn't safe. Not for anyone there." She swallowed and then sighed, "I-I can't."
The dwarf princes erupted into a cry of outrage at Lyla's remarks, insisting that Erebor was the safest location or her, insisting that she NEEDED to return.
And while Bofur wanted to agree with the two younglings, he couldn't help but note the way Estel had tensed, as he scanned the terrain, his eyes narrowed and calculating. His hand was tight around the hilt of his sword and he peered upwards towards a small ridge, wary of any attacks.
"You would not make it back to Erebor's borders before the wraiths descended again," he remarked softly, "It is far safer for all involved, to head towards Lorien. The power of the elves WILL protect us."
"You," Lyla swallowed again, forcing a small smile to her lips. "You may return to Erebor. I am well. I will remain so. You don't need to—"
"Now," Bofur interjected with a frown, his brows knitting together, "I'll hear none of that talk there, Lass. Somethin's goin' on and yer daft te think that we'd leave ye with these two strangers and naught an explanation for your disappearance in the first place.
When Lyla made to speak again, the miner placed two fingers to the hobbit's lips and nudged her forehead with his own.
"I'll hear no more of it, lass," He remarked softly, "If yer te go to Lorien then Durin willing, we are too."
"But Thorin—"
"Hush yerself. Thorin will get sorted out I'm sure of it," Bofur pulled back and winked at Lyla, "He's not keen on lettin' his little givashel disappear, now is he?"
Bofur smirked as Lyla's eyes widened in panic, a smattering of pink coloring her pale cheeks.
But he couldn't help the sense of dread that filled his veins too, at the thought of the king's reaction when he discovered that not only were his kin gone, but his intended as well. For, Bofur was no fool. He could see the design Thorin had swirling in his eyes whenever he gazed at the hobbit.
There would be a hefty price to pay if any harm befell the lass.
And whatever this adventure entailed, by Mahal, he'd make sure to protect her.
'Don't you leave her, Bofur' he chided himself as the tall elf murmured the need to move towards Lorien while they still had light.
'Don't you leave her.'
No, he didn't intend to.
He never really had a chance against them.
None of them did.
They were outnumbered from the start and Brega knew it. Perhaps even Dain had known it.
Dain's first in command must have planned the whole thing.
But, regardless of the numbers who fought against them, Thorin Oakenshield did not shirk his duty to fight. He'd never do that.
He even managed a few spectacular hits on some rather unfortunate attackers who rushed his way. With orchrist unsheathed, he landed several solid hits on the dwarves' armor, knocking a few sideways. He then lifted his hilt upwards and caught another dwarf in the chin.
Brega, he managed, to hit in the stomach with the a powerful strike, knocking the enraged dwarf backwards, as metal crashed against metal in the dungeon.
He could hear the cries of Balin, upstairs and he spied Thranduil brandishing his own sword and his staff, knocking several dwarves of their feet as they attempted an attack on the tall, proud elf.
They regretted that action when the staff caught three dwarves and the sword another two.
Thorin also assumed that Tauriel and Legolas would be nearby. They'd never leave their king (and Legolas' father) without protection.
With a snarl, Thorin thrust his leg into a dwarf's stomach and made for the stairway as others spilled down the steps.
If he could just make it up the stairs, he'd have a better chance of defending himself.
A low growl erupted as more dwarves tumbled down the stairwell propelling Thorin downwards again. This time, though, instead of having the upper hand, they toppled over one another, pushed down by a fiery-haired elf warrior.
Tauriel's eyes were blazing as she rammed into another dwarf, sending him stumbling backwards, crashing into others as he fell.
With another snarl, Tauriel launched the hilt of one of her daggers, into a dwarf's nose, the sickening crunch of bone against metal echoing in Thorin's ears.
He suppressed a wince at the noise, but nodded his head in gratitude towards the obvious care the elf captain showed in her attacks. She (and the others) never attempted to kill any dwarf who charged towards them.
Legolas wasn't far behind his companion, using his bow was a hook of sorts, to snare a dwarf in the neck, pushing the struggling creature into one of his comrades, forcing the both of them to drop their axes in surprise. The elf prince kicked at another dwarf who advanced on him as he leapt upwards, his footfalls landing on several dwarf heads as he made his way down towards his father.
Thranduil, however, seemed to be doing well on his own. His movements were fluid as he swung his arm upwards, connecting with a dwarf's chin, swinging around as he connected the side of his staff against the bare hands of another, ginger dwarf who had been set to strike the elf king.
A solid, painful blow, connected with his temple. With a grunt, he stumbled backwards as hands grabbed at him.
Stars danced before his eyes. He blinked a few times to clear his swaying vision.
Brega smiled down on him, eyes alight with a cruel, vindictive glee. Thorin shook his head to clear it, watching as the dwarf's face swam in front of him.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen," the usurper muttered, with a smirk, as arms encircled Thorin, tugging him backwards, restricting his movements.
He noted the way Legolas and the others still fought, though more than once Thranduil's widened gaze landed upon him.
The sheer number of dwarves barreling down the stairs, however, proved to be Legolas' (and Thranduil's) downfall. The elf prince, surrounded, was forced back by several hard shoves against his person. Hand reached for him, yanking the bow from his hand, as others locked his eyes behind his back.
It was the blow to the stomach that forced the elf to stop his protests, and, consequently, it was the blow that managed to offset Thranduil, making him vulnerable enough to be forced against the wall, his weapons striped from him by three other dwarves.
"Here you will see the end of your reign as king," Braga snorted, watching as Tauriel too, was leapt upon and disarmed, a strike to her face given by a zealous, snarling young soldier.
"What a pity really. You'd hardly stepped towards the throne when it is taken from you. And now, you don't have a mountain, and you're not a king. You will watch the world burn."
'The lord of silver fountains'
The words came fresh to Thorin's mind.
'The lake will shine and burn.'
Thorin let out a low snarl as he tried to pull from those holding him.
"If you think that I'll allow you to simply tear apart every—"
He received another blow to his temple for his remarks.
"It's a futile effort, Thorin," Brega retorted as the battle stilled around them, "I have you outnumbered. Did you really thing that your rabble of a company could contend against the might and power of the dwarves of the Iron Hills? Did you really think that you or your hobbit could contend against the will of the Dark One?"
Thorin's eyes narrowed at the smirking Brega.
"Oh I know all of it," He remarked softly, maliciously, "Do you, though, I wonder? The hand of evil stretches farther than you think, Thorin Oakenshield, do you truly know what is at stake here?"
Brega's expression turned devious, his bushy red brows knit together as he bared his teeth in a wide grin.
"Tell me where they are."
Thorin clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together, as he strained against the hold the others had on him.
He said nothing.
Brega snorted derisively. "Do you truly think you can protect them any longer? I know your plot, to drive her away, make the others believe that she meant nothing to you! But it was all for naught. Your world will fall. SHE will fall. The arkenstone will be mine. Where are you hiding them?"
Thorin narrowed his eyes and remained silent. Slowly the rest of the rabble ensuing around him began to silence as well as the commander Brega squared his shoulders and snarled at the silent dwarf king.
"You are a fool, Thorin Oakenshield," he muttered, "It is unwise to fight against the inevitable. Darkness will fall, evil will descend and the world will be overcome by the power of Sauron. You must decide now where you stand. You must unite with us or you will fall."
Thorin's eyes narrowed down at Brega's hand and he snarled.
"Tell me," He remarked, "What was to be your prize, then? What price bought your allegiance? When the people of Erebor were overthrown, when our kingdom was destroyed, were you promised a share of the treasure?"
At that, Brega's eyes narrowed further and he stepped dangerously close to Thorin.
"I do this to protect my people," He hissed, "Our people. There is nothing that can contend against the will of Sauron and Saruman, the union of the two towers, and the power they wield. Nothing can stand in their way. Darkness will fall. It would be wise to join with them, give our people a chance to survive the oncoming war."
"You abandon reason," Thorin spat, "We are not a people who cower at the hand of others. We fight. We fight for our homes and our peoples. Even if there is no hope left, we stand and we fight. If it were to end in fire, we'd all burn together, not clawing for breath, sinking to the status of a servant and a slave. Not sinking to the status of a coward like you."
Thorin felt the sting of metal against his cheek as Brega snarled, his hand whipping Thorin's head to the side.
"You are a fool, Thorin Oakenshield," He hissed, "A petty, selfish fool. We will find the arkenstone and the hobbit. The master wants her and Mahal willing, we will find her."
"Mahal doesn't serve traitors," Thorin retorted, eyes fixed upon Brega's hand, narrowing in recognition.
"Especially thieves. Tell me, when did you take Dain's ring? When did you overthrow his power, corrupt his mind?"
Brega snorted, "It matters not. Dain is weak, weak in mind and weak with the sword. It was easy to capture him, separate he and his son and…persuade his allegiance." He smirked at Thorin, "This trinket gives me authority to do with you what I please for these men are MY army, they owe their allegiance to me."
Brega nodded his head and those pinning Thorin back started towards the stairs, the others being shoved along by many of the other soldiers.
As Thorin struggled, though, he caught the gaze of a few dwarves, their features making him start, his veins flooding with suspicion and curiosity.
They looked nothing like the dwarves of the Iron Hills. Too rugged, and unkempt were they, even hidden beneath the armor and helmets of their warrior garb.
It didn't make sense.
The sounds of battle waging in the halls reached Thorin's ears as he was thrust up the remaining stairs, and into the wide expanse of the main hall. Elf, man, and dwarf fought one another, their cries and the clattering of weapons a deafening noise to Thorin's ears.
He spied something strange as well.
Dwarf fought dwarf. He noted two members of his council engaged in battle against two members of the army.
The ones who looked different, the ones whose features were so altered and hardened compared to the clans from the Iron Hills.
They were traitors. Deceivers.
Spies.
"You see," Shouted Brega over the roar, standing near Thorin, who struggled against the hold of the others, "You should have given up, given me the arkenstone. Avoided all the pain. Chaos comes in your wake. Corruption and death await your foolish endeavors. All will come to ruin. You are unfit for the crown, unfit for this kingdom. At long last, Sauron's work will be manifest and MY people will rule the dwarven lands."
His people.
Now Thorin understood.
Despite Brega's well kept disguise, his carefully braided hair, his clean face, combed beard. He was one of them. He'd fooled them all for years.
Years.
Brega laughed as he watched Thorin's face contort into a glare and recognition.
"What a shame you didn't realize this all sooner. But rest assured, I will find your precious treasures even without your help. More's the pity for you."
The dwarf commander drew his sword and stepped closer to Thorin, the cool metal of the blade coming to rest against the dwarf king's throat.
"You will die for your kingdom, one you will never get a chance to rule."
Brega raised his sword back, baring his teeth in wicked delight as he brought the metal back towards Thorin's throat with a powerful swing.
The blow never came.
Instead, the sharp scraping sound of metal striking metal erupted in front of the surprised king.
A sword had blocked Brega's blow.
What surprised Thorin even more was the person who wielded such a sword.
With an enraged cry, Rin pressed his weight forward, forcing Brega's balance off, causing the dwarf's wrist to buckle and pull back from strike formation.
"Back!" Rin bellowed, charging at Brega sword swinging back for another strike, "Coward, liar, corrupter. I will not allow you to harm him. You have no place here."
With another snarl, he pressed the sword upwards connecting with Brega's forearm, eliciting a hiss from the older dwarf, forcing him to drop his weapon.
"This is none of your concern boy," Brega snapped, bringing his wrist tight against his body as he sidestepped Rin's advances, a shield of his soldier's coming to surround him, "Erebor is mine."
With a snarl, he reached for the proffered sword, one of his guards held out to him, and charged back at Rin, blood dripping from his arm as he whipped his sword forward with a powerful snapping movement.
Rin strained against the powerful blow, stepping backwards to gain a bit of traction as a small circle widened around the two dwarves. He met Brega's blow with a strike of his own, twisting his wrist upwards, the flat edge of his blade sparking against the serrated edge of Brega's, making the elder dwarf hiss.
But Brega was even quicker to retaliate.
With a snarl, the dwarf shifted his shoulder, severing the connection between his blade and Rin's.
The younger dwarf let out a low groan of pain and surprise as Brega's blade connecting with the soft flesh of his stomach, piercing through fabric.
Rin's sword clattered to the ground as his knees buckled, blood seeping through his clothing at an alarming rate.
Brega only smirked.
"Such a waste," he muttered sidestepping Rin, "Stronger than your father, I grant you, but no less a weak fool."
The dwarf commander made his way back towards Thorin, sword at the ready.
Then a deafening boom erupted in the air, making Thorin's ears ache. Blinding, white light cascaded over the entire expanse of the hall, the force of the shockwave, pushing dwarf, man and elf alike, off their feet.
Thorin blinked a few times to clear his vision as he stared up at the glittering gemmed ceiling above him. He strained to hear something, anything.
A low voice rumbled, though he could not make out the words quite yet.
Lifting his head, he spied a shadow slowly maneuvering over the fallen races, sword in one hand, staff in another.
"Take up arms," The voice came clearer that time.
Thorin recognized that voice.
"Fight," Gandalf admonished, his face pulled into a glower, "Fight!"
The clamor of angry cries and clattering weapons rose as elves and men pushed the angry, usurping dwarves backwards.
Thorin, too, was able to pull an arm free in the chaos of the moment. The new fought freedom gave him an advantage against the others who held firm. Wrapping his free hand around the arm of the grisly, dark haired dwarf who held him, Thorin pressed all his weight backwards and when pivoted, pulling the surprised dwarf forward and over his head as he moved.
He kicked another dwarf in the knees, ripping the sword from his grasp and parrying Brega's blow with one of his own. Being taller than his opponent, Thorin's downward strike forced Brega forward and stumbling. Thorin pulled his sword backwards and brought the hilt down against the dwarf's neck.
"You are from the far East," Thorin growled, his boot making a solid collision with Brega's chin "A clan of wicked usurpers, barely dwarves to begin with! You lack decorum, honor, and an understanding of our people and our heritage. You align yourselves with the wicked machinations of a deluded and power hungry entity. YOU are unfit for this kingdom and unfit to be called dwarf."
With a grunt, Brega forewent his weapon and wrapped his arms, instead, around Thorin's legs, pulling the king backwards, off his feet.
"Such a clever king," he grunted, "Always so quick to deduce others and their true nature."
Then Brega was atop him, snarling hisses, in Khuzdul, escaping his lips as he wrapped his hands around Thorin's throat.
"It will end," he growled, "All will end. YOU will end. This miserable existence will end and my people will be free of your degradation. No more will we be scraping a living off of rocks while you live in luxury cavorting with elves and the like."
Thorin brought his fist up towards the dwarf's enraged and contorted face, connecting with Brega's eye. Bringing his foot upwards, as well, the dwarf king wrapped a leg around Brega's and then twisted his body until he gained enough momentum to reverse their positions.
Pushing himself backwards, Thorin grabbed the front of Brega's tunic, hauling the dwarf to his feet. His fist clenched against and he landed a solid blow to the dwarf's stomach.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Oin tending to Rin's injuries. At the sight, his anger flared anew.
"You will never be welcome here. Your kin, all those who fight for the side of evil, will never hold the king's jewel, never wear the crown. I will see to it," Thorin snarled down at Brega.
Brega, though, would not be swayed from his mission.
Pulling a dagger forward, he thrust forward, nicking Thorin's arm, slicing through the fabric of his tunic. Another thrust saw the blade skimming his dark locks, nearly severing the braid behind his right ear.
"You are a fool to trust them," Brega muttered, "A fool to believe the elves would ever help you. Or the men. The greedy, money grubbing men whose only concern has been their own vanity! And then that hobbit," Brega snorted, "That filthy rat who stole from you, who defied your orders, you'd trust her?"
Ducking beneath another blow, the dwarf king rammed into Brega's stomach, pushing the dwarf backwards, forcing a hiss of pain from his lips.
He then connected his fist with the dwarf's jaw for good measure.
"You know nothing," Thorin growled dangerously low, "Nothing of her, nothing of these people, nothing of the elves and dwarves and men."
A streak of silver whizzed through the air. Thorin twisted to the side, rolling forward and leaping to his feet, narrowly avoiding the dagger imbedding into his abdomen.
Brega was not amused by the turn of events. With a growl, he slowly rose to his feet, serrated dagger gripped firmly in his hands. He hissed lowly at Thorin, preparing to strike again.
T he hiss, then, turned into a dull groan. Brega's eyes widened in abject horror, his mouth contorting into a nearly silent whimper.
"your words are poison," Dain Ironfoot hissed coldly, into Brega's ear, his eyes blazing with fury as he pulled his own dagger from the wound he'd created. "You'd have had me crawling on all fours like a dog, serving you, taking care of your needs."
Thorin watched Dain carefully, noting the bitterness swirling in his cousin's eyes as he watched Brega clutch at his side, groaning in agonized pain. Dain lifted his booted foot, hair moving wildly as he pressed his foot into Brega's back and kicked, sending the injured dwarf sprawling.
"You filthy, imbred. You are unfit to call yourself a dwarf, unfit you wear your clan's name, unfit to rule in any capacity. You sneaky, thieving …"
With a growl, Dain brought his boot back and gave a swift kick at the dwarf's face.
Brega's movements ceased as he slipped into unconsciousness.
With a small grunt of satisfaction, Dain cast a glance towards his cousin, eyes still wild, silver hair unkempt and knotted.
"Forgive me," he murmured softly, as the battle started to die around them, Brega's forces losing their conviction as they witnessed their master and commander succumb to the will of others. "I am sorry for interrupting your battle, but I could not let the opportunity pass by. I am sorry cousin."
Thorin stared at Dain with suspicion and worry, wondering if perhaps…
Dain must have guessed his thoughts for his face contorted into a look of utter remorse and agony.
"I cannot fault you for not believing me," he remarked, "But dark have been my dreams of late and at last I finally see a spark of light in my days." He smiled tiredly at Thorin, "I know the enemy now. I know myself now and I will not let myself be led astray any longer."
With a bitter snarl, Dain connected another kick into Brega's side.
They met with four of the wraiths as they reached the end of the canyon, just beyond the borders of the woods.
Their screeches had filled the air, a dark a bitter cry that sent rivulets of dread through Lyla's being, making her shiver.
They'd charged forward, even horseless, and tried to engage in battle, to attack Lyla. They even managed a solid hit upon the fumbling creature as she ducked a blow, only to connect with the creature's elbow.
Bofur and Fili and Kili, though, would have none of it.
Neither would Glorfindel.
He drew his bow and released arrow after arrow, holding the wraiths back long enough to let out a long, low whistle.
The hobbit was astonished to see the horses appear, flanked by two other elven warriors, their own bows drawn as they charged towards the company of travelers and their attackers.
And arm wrapped around Lyla's waist and she let out a squeak of surprise as she was lifted atop the white horse, Glorfindel leaping up behind her.
"On the horses," he remarked, "We make haste towards the woods."
'He'd anticipated the attack' Lyla thought, rather impressed by the elf's foresight.
Brandishing his sword, he parried against the few wraiths and still threatened to charge at Lyla, as the other two elven warriors grabbed at Fili and Kili. Bofur, on the other hand, was tossed atop the other horse as Estel quickly climbed on as well.
"Nobody tosses a dwarf!" The miner had growled as they charged past the wraiths, their cries growing dimmer as the distance between them grew.
Lyla, though, did not feel ease. Instead she remained rigid, heart hammering, as she waited for the rest of the wraiths to come from the shadows and ambush them.
She was grateful, though to be proven wrong. And as they reached the woods, a soft smile worked its way to her lips.
Lothlorien.
It was beautiful to be sure. Lyla's eyes were riveted to each softly lit tree, rising proudly above her head, their soft leaves swaying softly in the wind. Her ears twitched at the soft, lilting musical voices of the peoples moving slowly up the winding staircases that encircled the trees, leading towards lovely scalloped archways and towers.
It was enchanting.
And certainly warmer than out in the open, for which Lyla was grateful. After her escapades in the water, She wasn't too keen to be caught in the chilling winter winds any longer.
No, the woods of Lothlorien were soft, gentle and inviting.
Peaceful.
A stark contrast to how the hobbit felt at the moment. Always the murmuring laughter echoed in her ears as she strained to listen for hoof beats and shrieks of terrifying horror. He heart stayed planted firmly in her throat as they had marched along towards Lorien's borders.
And now that they were here…?
Lyla wondered WHY they wanted her here. Obviously the elves knew what she carried and where she needed to be, but they'd insisted upon Lorien, insisted upon her presence here.
Even though they knew she carried a great evil.
'You are a fool to trust them,' the voice murmured softly in her ear, 'A fool to trust anyone. They will abandon you, leave you as Thorin did. And for what? The greed of this earth is great…'
Glorfindel and Bofur both cast Lyla inquisitive looks as she shook her head to clear her thoughts, focusing, instead upon the soft crunch of her feet against the fallen leaves. She pondered the soft rustle of her cloak against the lowly hanging branches and the bushes they navigated through.
She spied Fili and Kili watching her carefully as well and a deep sadness filled her. A worry coursed through her veins as she struggled with the knowledge that danger awaited them.
Aule, she didn't want that!
But dwarves were stubborn. Lyla would have to be sneakier than they in order to keep them safe.
'Baggins…'
Lyla's head jerked as she cast her eyes about, searching for the voice that has tickled her ears.
The soft wind rustled the pale leaves overhead and she strained to listen.
Unbidden the image of fire consuming The Shire filled her mind, making her cringe.
'Baggins…'
The voice was familiar, she noted, as they made their way towards a staircase, wide and carved from stone, decorated with ornate vines and flower carvings, smooth and shining in the enchanting light that surrounded them.
"Lass," Bofur murmured, his warm breath washing over her ear as he leaned closer, "Tell me what troubles ye. What is this grand scheme and fine mess ye've gotten caught up in? What do they want ye for?"
She didn't want to answer and avoided looking towards Bofur as she cleared her throat.
"It's…" she searched for the right words to convey her thoughts without giving too much away. "It's just a…mistake that I need to remedy. After the goblin tunnels I made a mistake. I have to—to make it right. I have to set things straight."
"What are ye talking about?" Fili remarked as he too leaned closer, "What happened that you need to set right?"
Lyla shook her head softly as they came to a stop at the edge of the staircase. Lyla inhaled the sweet, floral scent of the low-hanging arbors wrapped in branches of blooming white flowers. She marveled how beautifully that scent mixed with the warm, heady, earthy scent of the pines and forest floor, mingling together and filling Lyla with a longing for the rolling green hills of her home.
Not the adventures that awaited her.
But who else would do it?
"It's nothing. Just a game. A game of riddles I played with a…creature. I won a—prize of sorts. But it turned out to be a mistake."
'Baggins. Lyla Baggins.'
Lyla cast her gaze up the staircase as two figures, clad in white, faces obscured by the soft light that cascaded around them, slowly descended, their hands intertwined.
Elves obviously.
This must be the lady Galadriel that had been so eager to see her.
The hobbit's eyes widened, however, as the figures came into view. Familiar, tumbling waves of gold framed the soft, pale face of the elf queen who stood next to her husband. Piercing blue eyes swept over their small company, coming to rest on each member briefly.
"Welcome, friends of the Eldar," She remarked quietly, though her voice carried through the clearing, "You come here with a great purpose, one that will shape the fate of all Middle Earth."
Lyla was having a hard time concentrating on what the elf was saying.
She recognized those eyes, the lips pulled into a soft smile, the small pointed ears, the regal stance.
All of it.
She'd met Galadriel before.
In Rivendell.
But she could have sworn that she'd dreamt it.
Galadriel's gaze then landed on Lyla.
And though the elf queen continued to speak, her voice filled Lyla's mind.
'Welcome Lyla of the Shire, one who has seen the great eye!'
Lyla winced at the volume of the voice.
'Your coming is as the footsteps of doom, ring bearer. You know what you carry, you know the peril and you continue to protect those you love. I warn you now, Lyla, that this task was appointed to you and you alone. You must not be swayed. Some will try to take the ring from you, some for your sake, others for their greed.'
Galadriel's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
'If you do not complete this task,' the voice was soft now, 'No one will. Do not forsake it.'
"Come, you must rest and recover your strength. On the morrow the council will convene."
"Council?" Fili remarked, "Council for what? We don't even know why you wanted her here," he gestured towards Lyla, "what is this council for."
Galadriel tilted her head to the side softly as she regarded Fili's hard gaze and protective stance in front of Lyla.
"You are here," She hummed softly, "To answer the threat of Mordor and Isengard. Lyla Baggins holds the key to either salvation or defeat."
The dwarves' eyes were upon her, their gazes intense and scrutinizing as they stared at her with wonder and unabashed curiosity.
She could feel the heat rising on her neck at the sudden attention.
Oh Eru help her.
She couldn't rest.
Even after all her companions were safely and comfortable tucked around her with full bellies, their soft snores filling her ears in a comforting way, Lyla couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that filled her. Even as she fiddled with the bracelet around her wrist (a new trinket from Bofur and decorated with Bifur's flower—who had been angry to know that it had been left behind.)
Despite the peace of this place, the hobbit knew something terrible was going to happen.
She could feel it.
'Baggins'
Galadriel's voice filled her head softly beckoning her up.
With soft, gentle steps, Lyla gingerly maneuvered her way past her companions, her feet resting against the soft grass of the forest floor as she slowly inched forwards, towards a narrow staircase that led downwards.
'Baggins.'
As she reached the marble walkway, she spied the familiar, fair head of Galadriel, standing before a large fountain of clear water. It flowed and bubbled softly.
In her hands was a brass pitcher, her delicate fingers clasped around the handle, as it rested in her palm.
'Come forward.' Her voice commanded gently in Lyla's mind.
Slowly, the hobbit walked down the steps, mindful of the soft tendrils of vines that wove around the stone.
"Will you look into the mirror," Galadriel's gaze was fixed upon Lyla, as she gestured towards the empty basin to her left.
"What…what will I see?" Lyla questioned hesitantly.
Did she want to look in this mirror?
Galadriel smiled softly, "Even the wisest cannot tell, for the mirror shows many things." Carefully the elf lifted the pitcher to the empty basin.
"Things that were."
The cool water began to tumble from the pitcher, splashing gently against the sides of the basin.
"Things that are," Galadriel tipped the pitcher back pulling the container closer to herself.
"And some things," She murmured, "That have not yet come to pass."
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Lyla hesitantly approached the basin, making her way onto the pedestal.
Peering into the water, she watched, fascinated as the water seemed to swirl and shift.
Erebor appeared in her vision, scorched and alight in flames as smoke billowed out of its entrance.
She could hear the cries of small children and women as they scuttled from their home once more.
Then the scene shifted and she saw The Shire consumed by flame and orc and goblin.
She watched, in horror as her kin were chained, whipped and shackled to one another and forced to march, all the while, a white wizard peered down upon them, a frown on his lips.
Lyla winced and pulled back, toppling to the ground as a great, red eye erupted in the water, the sinister whispers that were so familiar filling her ears.
Panting, the hobbit closed her eyes and grasped at the chain around her neck, her fingers encircling the rings that sat there.
"I know what it is you saw, Lyla Baggins," Galadriel's voice was hard, "For it has been on my mind as well."
She leveled her gaze at Lyla.
'It is what will happen, if you should fail.'
