I realised going through this that I misspelled Khuzdul spectacularly. A thousand apologies. Oh, and I should probably warn of the gore, slight drug use, and slight self harm. Mostly gore, but I did want to use it to bring out the horror, so bear with me. It's meant to make you wince. Onward!

Chapter Six

Blood and Monsters

She couldn't move. That was what terrified her the most.

She was pressed against the cupboard door and couldn't move a muscle.

She should have been inside – she should've been hiding; invisible. That was how the nightmare was supposed to go. It should've played over and over as she watched, tormenting her; trapping her, until it was all her world ever was. It should've been like being encased in crystal and stuck on a shelf; crushed and burrowing down, tangled in the towels and blankets of the cupboard.

Not like this.

The images assaulting her were so clear they physically hurt; so open, it was if she stood in the memory itself. The light floated softly over the floor; the magazines littered the coffee table, the shade on the lamp in the corner looked almost grey-blue rather than black. The stereo sat quietly in the corner. The old sofa, patched, stained and full of bits of fluff, just sat hulking on the carpet so that a space was left in the middle.

Like a minstrel's stage.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to charge the bastard as he stepped onto the stage, all violence and fury and grubby hands, but the play continued as if she were not there at all.

She couldn't move.

Not even to scream.

She had to do something – clawing away the world and ending with his face sounded like a fucking good place to start. But the horror...the old horror; the horror of a child…crept into her bones before she could so much as muster a thought. It invaded her, silver-black, and latched itself around her heart; her senses, her breath, her body. It held her tight with a single thought.

'There's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can do. There's –'

She watched everything. She felt everything. Every noise, every touch; every fleck of dust and crumbling paint beneath her rigid fingertips. She watched…and she felt the tears sliding fast down her face. But they weren't her tears – and it wasn't her face. She was stood against the cupboard and before the drunken monster towering over her. Observing – witnessing – and yet feeling at the same time in the way the mind can only accomplish in a dream.

She was aware of her own body pressed hard into the wooden slats behind her.

She was aware of the hand, pale and filthy, gripping her wrist like a steel vice.

Her spine bent backwards under the strain; it cracked as she tried to move from her vigil. The sensation was excruciating.

And still she couldn't move.

She had to move…she had to…she had to stop –

The hand had the bottle. The bottle was moving. No slow motion, no cushioning time to think. It simply fell from the point she watched it towards her face (that wasn't her face).

That's when she screamed. She screamed as it hit, blood streaming down tear-stained cheeks from the crushed vessels. Then again, flattening the skin. Then again. For the interval of a moment, it looked as if her nose had merely been pressed (though the pain told her otherwise) for it was smooth and clean. Not damaged. Not gone. Just –

The flat of the bottle impacted one final time and the centre of her face…exploded. There was no other way to describe it. Blood and bone burst outwards as she fell to the floor, a high keening escaping her lips that was as alien a sound as Senga had ever heard. And it was coming from her lips – she could still feel it. It was drowned in the end by the scream tearing from her own lungs; the unending cry of a thousand banshees wailing in her head. And the blood seeped into the carpet…all that blood…

She ripped free of the paralysis, but not before the bastard finished the job; hacking flesh and skull until there was nothing left.

Nothing.

No face.

How could someone not have a face?

The blood pooled, spread, sank...and the smell…the smell was like metal and acid and polluted water...

How could one person have so much blood in them?

She was running. The world collapsed around her, but still she ran, feet mangled through broken glass. Things tried to hold her back through the dark, but she would not stop. Not stop. Until at last she fell, face pressed painfully into the ground. The things pressed closer, unseen. Hands; fingers, nails…

A keening noise filled her ears – one so like the sounds she made, it caused Senga to choke on her own short breath. Until she realised it was coming from her own mouth. She tried to scramble forwards, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the frozen, ash-like soil. Far off, she could hear someone yelling her name. Or…knew it was her name without hearing, as one does in a dream. She tried to raise her head, but it was so heavy. Her whole body felt as if it were made of rock.

Her brain refused to work.

Her name?

Much closer, was a sound that made no sense – and one she had hoped never to hear in real life. Or even in a dream. It was the horror of someone else's story.

The crunch of metal boots.

She tried blindly to tunnel into the ash, pressing herself down until she couldn't breathe at all. Her eyes screwed shut and her throat burned. Her mouth was clogged full, and the things clawed at her, her name on their tongues. The pain in her oesophagus and in her mouth became horrific as her lungs throbbed, begging for air.

A harsh, guttural laugh descended over her.

"Senga!"

The trail of a metal weapon in the dirt…

"Senga –"

Wham!


The sensation of being hit by a wall of balloons while at the same time being shoved into a freezer, yanked her to consciousness like an electric chair. Her eyes snapped open, and then shut again as they met a wall of black. Everything on her face hurt, but as soon as she regained consciousness, the pressure lifted marginally. It was exactly the opportunity for someone – the person whose hands were tight on her wrists – to yank her arms away from where they were clamped over her nose.

"Oh, thank Mahal for tha'!"

"Is she okay?"

"She's really ill!"

"Senga!" She stared, wide eyed, at the last voice and into the bright, penetrating eyes of Gandalf as he knelt before her. "Can you hear me?"

She tried to speak, but it came out a confused gurgle that seared her throat. The person holding her wrists held her up as she fell into a fit of coughing, desperately trying to draw in air. There was wet everywhere – on her face, in her hair. The soft, warm trickling told her some of it was from her nose, but when she looked down and saw blood and vomit everywhere she squeaked in panic.

"It's alright, it's alright! Senga…look at me!"

The wizard held her eyes as she fought back the urge to bolt.

"You are safe." He said firmly. "There is nothing here that will hurt you and you yourself are unharmed."

She cocked an eyebrow, aware that she was literally covered in her own blood, but the hands were comforting now. They soothed her, and slowly she believed what Gandalf said. The world came back into focus as her breathing normalised (though it still hurt) and she took stock.

Blood. Throw up. Cold water. Dream. Screaming. Dwarves.

It didn't take long to process what had happened. She tugged weakly at the hold on her wrists.

"I'm alrigh'." She muttered croakily. They released her hesitantly, letting her arms fall to her sides. She stared blankly in front of her as the panic faded, leaving her numb and cold. Like stone. The dwarves were all craning to get a look at her; some were impatient, others angry she'd roused them. That covered the majority she could see, though no one was going back to bed yet. Was she really that interesting?

She wanted them to go away. Oh, she did…except that she couldn't move and her body was starting to shiver on its own. Her eyes dropped to fix on the ground a few feet from her, the rough dirt on the edge of the turf dancing with the flickering firelight. She was numb.

Like she'd been emptied out.

"Senga?"

"Hmm?"

It took far more effort than it should have done to look into Balin's eyes. Far from looking angry or annoyed, he looked downright terrified.

"Lassie?" his voice was quiet, almost begging. He was next to Gandalf, but the wizard moved aside so that he could move to clasp her cheek with one hand. The other shook slightly as he laid it over her leather-clad arm, and he was desperately searching her face. She wondered what the hell she'd done; what the hell he was looking at as his blue eyes shone with fear.

So she did what she was good at when her brain went into overload.

"Who threw the water?"

Never talk when – actually, just never talk. That'd be a better policy.

Balin's face split into a small, relieved smile. At the same time, twin sets of nearly giddy laughter sounded to her left and she looked up to see Fili and Kili, both breathing deeply.

"That would've been me." Kili shot her a nearly-normal grin.

"But Bofur got the water from the stream." Fili added quickly.

Bofur waved amicably from where he stood in the shadows behind the brothers. There too stood the King Under the Mountain, staring at her with an intensity she could barely place. By the way the three were standing; it almost looked as if Thorin had been holding them back. Their eyes met, though his were suddenly somewhere else. He looked more shocked than anything.

Senga nodded into Balin's hand, trying her best not to be crushed as a wave of emotion crashed down. She swallowed heavily, shutting her eyes tight and shaking uncontrollably.

"Oh, lass."

Balin pulled her towards him, apparently heedless of the watery muck she was covered in, and pressed his forid to hers.

"Lass, it's okay. We'll no' let harm come to you."

"I'm alrigh'." She mumbled again, though this time it was so quiet only Balin heard her.

"No, you're not." He said sharply, pulling away to look at her. "Righ' now, you're a mess. But you will be."

"Thing's 'll ge' better." She breathed hoarsely, looking off into the night.

"Wha' was tha'?"

"Nothin'."

Her body felt dead. She couldn't have stood up it an army of orcs burst suddenly through the trees. She was worse than dead. She was irrevocably, wretchedly helpless. In the dream she could do nothing, and she could do nothing now. What was the point of her?

"We need to get you cleaned up." Balin said at length, pulling her gently but firmly to her feet. At least her body obeyed Balin if not her. He led her to the stream, helped her take off her coat, and assisted her in removing the blood and sick from her face and hair. It was small mercy that the leather was waterproof and the surface easily washed, though a lot had managed to get down her neck. By the end of it, she was very wet and very cold, but free at last of the sticky residue. Her nose had stopped bleeding some time ago and Balin completed the ablutions without comment and Senga didn't say a word. In fact she barely moved at all. Balin guided her back to camp under a blanket and sat her down in front of the fire.

No one had gone back to bed.

"Well, if this is what a nightmare does to you." Dwalin said derisively. "Screaming like you were being cut to pieces."

Senga didn't so much as glance up. Balin seemed to snap and yelled something in Khuzdul, face red with anger. Quite soon the campsite was a pitched verbal battle above her, the voices sliding into one another.

She was probably dehydrated. Her head had started to pound as soon as the cold of the water on her face had set in. But while they were roaring, they wouldn't see the tears slowly sliding down her cheeks (her own cheeks this time). Not that she could've done much if they were looking. She couldn't move her hands to even touch them, much less swipe them away as they trickled over her lips. At least if they looked, there wasn't much danger of them pitying her.

"Well I think Miss Senga's been very brave!" Ori piped up over the babble, unnaturally high. "Nearly choking like that!"

"Oh, tha's brave to you, is it lad?"

"If she can' even handle nightmares…"

In the chill air, her eyes snapped up. She wasn't sure where the anger came from, but kept her from tumbling into the abyss. It pulled her back together like a jack-hammer.

No.

She had not survived this long only to pack up now. Not now.

"Oi!" She stood, blanket still clutched around her like a cloak. Silence descended. She was still shaking – badly – but the fire in her gut felt good. Her knees threatened to buckle under her, but for the moment they didn't dare. She just stared at the company, gaze unwavering. The tears no doubt glittered on her face in the firelight, but her voice held like steel.

"You'd judge me on a fuckin' dream? Jog the fuck on!" The last part came a snarl. At that moment she felt as if she really did hold a storm caged inside her chest. Half the company flinched. Dwalin looked as if he was about to speak again, but she beat him to it.

"As if you've never had monsters hunt you down in your sleep."

The hatred was so palpable it soured in her mouth. Now Dwalin was a man who, she was quite certain, could stare down a balrog if the need arose, but this brought him to silence. He opened his mouth slightly, then shut it again, his face flickering with something like surprise. Senga just concentrated on not collapsing to the ground, his face dancing through her mind.

If in her life she met the greatest evils of the known world (and that was conceivable) she would never hate them as much as him. It wasn't possible.

Finally, Dwalin looked away, stomping off to find whatever peace he could for the few hours he had left. After that…the rest fled. Senga managed to stay standing long enough to see the last of them stumble and rush back into the darkness, eyes flicking nervously over their shoulders. Thorin stayed the longest, looking for a moment as if he were about to speak, but seemed to think better of it as he turned away, leaving just Balin, Bilbo and Gandalf. They each looked warily at her – until she started swaying in earnest, at which point Gandalf reached an arm around her shoulders and pulled her straight.

"Here," he said gently. "Have a little of this."

He pushed the handle of his pipe towards her, raising his eyebrows as she tried in vain to take hold of it in trembling fingers.

"It will calm you. Have you ever smoked before?"

"Jus' gimme the weed, old man." Senga muttered dryly, forcing her fingers to grip with a small smile. The feel of a wooden rod in her mouth was admittedly very strange – different from paper and tin foil, certainly. And the smell was milder, less cloying as it curled up her nose. The first pull left her mouth unnaturally dry, but the sensation of the smoke was silky, the taste wonderfully subtle. It calmed her breath as she exhaled, greedily inhaling the next mouthful with her next breath and suppressing a cough.

"Aye, tha's it, lassie."

Gandalf's arm kept her upright as he guided her back to the fire to sit down, head lent against his chest. Bilbo came up beside her, and Balin beside him.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" The hobbit asked evenly.

"No."

The smile folded inwards and she took another deep pull on the pipe.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"No." She said softly. "It's an old dream."

Silence descended between them, heavy with the unspoken. Balin stared deeply into the fire, brows drawn together, and Gandalf just sat quietly. After a time, Senga looked up at him and gestured with the pipe.

"Do you mind?"

"Oh…oh, not at all." He said with a twinkling smile. Numb contentment settled around her ears as she finished the pipe weed, vaguely aware of Bilbo nodding off on her other side. Eventually, Balin took pity on him and got up to take him to bed. As he did, he gave Senga a concerned look.

"Lassie…"

"Go on." She murmured. "I've slept enough for tonight."

To her surprise, he took this without protest and departed with the hobbit. Gandalf hummed an odd little tune she didn't recognise, letting her curl into his side as he watched over them. It felt childish; as if she were tiny again, but in her weed-induced state of calm it didn't matter. She barely noticed as her eyelids grew heavy, the world's light lifting from black to deep blue.


"Gandalf?"

"Master Kili, if you would perhaps move over a little."

The wizard deposited his soundly sleeping burden next to the dumbstruck (and still very awake) dwarf.

"Make sure to keep her warm, if you will." He said amicably, before striding promptly away. Kili stared after him, mouth opening and closing like a fish before Fili poked him hard in the back.

"What?"

"Oh sweet Aulё – move."

Kili spluttered as Fili crawled over him, dragging his make-shift bed to Senga's other side and throwing his blanket over her. Kili scowled at him.

"Do you suppose she'll tell us?" The blonde asked after a while, looking her up and down and noting how pale she'd become; how vulnerable she looked in sleep.

"Not a chance." Kili muttered wretchedly, edging closer to her in the remains of the dark. "I wish she would." He added quietly. Fili watched as he curled an arm around Senga's and settled his head at her shoulder.

"If she'll tell anyone, it'll be you." He said, trying to sound reassuring. Kili just shook his head.

"She won't say anything. And if she does it'll be to Balin or Bilbo. Or Gandalf."

"She trusts you."

Kili made a non-believing sound in his throat, burrowing his nose into the warmth of her arm.

"She does. Whatever she feels for you, brother, she does trust you." Then after a moment, he risked, "And she doesn't want to send you away."

Buried in the warm leather, Kili sighed.


It was spitting when she woke up. In fact, it rained for three days solid, but it was that first day that nearly killed her.

Worried or suspicious glances followed her wherever she went, but always there was someone at her side trying to deflect them. She wished they would go away. By sunset, everyone was cold, wet and miserable, and Senga was aware she'd said nothing for hours. She sat at the edge of the camp after fetching the ponies' food and water. They were in a dripping grove that offered some shelter from overhanging trees, but it was pointless in the end. Everything was either wet or damp. .She ached. And for the first time all day, she was alone.

This was what you wanted, an annoying voice reminded.

All she wanted was a bit of peace. At least when Bilbo came up next to her, he simply offered her his presence and the occasional inquiry to her comfort. Fili and Kili simply wouldn't stop bothering her. And Ori was avoiding her. This hurt more than she ever believed it would.

Gandalf and Balin let her be, though neither was far away.

It should have given her comfort.

Oh, but the questions. It was bad enough that she could barely order her thoughts as it was without the questions. Her head and throat ached. Her stomach churned.

So she kept a straight back and chewed what she could as a necessity. She was careful to keep her eyes ahead and her senses attentive. It didn't matter that that her body hurt and every mile plucked more insistently at her sleep-deprived, overwrought wits. She could give the illusion of normality.

She was good at that.

Or was with strangers, anyway. It took all the willpower she had not to push the brothers away with a very pointy metaphorical barge pole.

Scream at them until her anger was vented.

Fight them until her violence was sated.

She didn't. She couldn't have borne it. Never had she felt so completely shattered. At first she couldn't work out why – and then she'd remember waking to Fili's face, hair mused with sleep, and the feeling of Kili draped over her other side. She'd been so very cold that morning, except where Kili held her close.

He'd held her safe.

She'd tried to move, and his arms had momentarily tightened. And in that one, selfish moment, she'd turned her body towards his and pulled him closer. She'd put her arm around his both and her head next to his.

She hadn't cried.

It was as if she were a corpse and his body was the only thing holding her to the life slipping away from her. She'd never had anyone to hold like that. None that she'd ever reached out to that needed her.

She hadn't cried.

Then he'd woken and she'd met his eyes with such guilt and self-disgust he'd baulked. She'd rolled away, stood up, and barely looked at him since. She hadn't looked at anyone much.

You wanted to be alone.

Thorin had been the most confusing. She'd expected him to be even more taciturn than usual, but he'd simply ignored her, giving an even better illusion of normalcy than her. It brought a humourless smile to her lips when she considered he'd had more time to perfect it.

"You alright, Senga?"

Her body tensed horribly…and then she caught herself. Fili approached from the main group with his wide grin and a morsel of cheer. Her head spun slightly and her legs throbbed, but she covered it with the same statuesque stance she'd held all day and acknowledged him without annoyance.

Which was an accomplishment.

He seemed to sense her effort and nodded.

"I brought you dinner." He pushed the soggy bowl towards her. Her jaw felt like it had locked, and nodded awkwardly. She ate mechanically, sending the orders to chew without tasting the food. Actually she really did feel ill, but it wasn't the first time she'd forced herself to eat and she told herself it'd make her feel better. Hopefully. As the uncomfortable silence descended, she thought (not for the first time) of how she'd actually managed to throw up in her sleep.

Oh, she'd woken up in sick before, but not since…and she'd never done it while asleep, no matter how bad the dream.

Fili was watching her, anxiety winning slowly through the forced grin. Finally, he put down his own bowl and moved purposefully to her side. She flinched when he put his arm firmly around her twinging shoulders, keeping it there despite her glare.

"You can't avoid him forever."

"Who?" She'd been avoiding everyone. And she didn't want to think about Kili.

"He thinks he's wronged you. He's been fretting all day."

"I'm in no state to talk to him." She said emotionlessly.

"So you're not going to talk to anyone?"

"No."

She tried to sound stubborn; angry – even childish would've been good. It would've meant she felt something, anything, but her voice was as void. She felt as cold as the drops falling disjointedly from the branches above.

"Why?"

Such a simple question…

"You can't just close yourself away from us –"

"Watch me!"

She stood so suddenly, Fili had to flail to stop from pitching backwards.

Anger. That's good. Something solid.

He shouted in alarm, but she was already striding away into the dripping forest. She lost him quickly in the falling night and found a clump of brush to jam her back against, long knife in her hands. Her muscles had taken on the consistency of her stomach, but her will remained for the moment. She heard shouting and crashing as people searched, but she answered none of their calls. She didn't want to be found – not this time. She was invisible in the dark and rain, sat among the briars.

More footsteps, more crashing. More rain.

Voices, crashing, rain.

She shuddered, trying to hold herself together.

From behind her (though the downpour made everything blur together) she heard something faint – maybe twenty feet away – and worried briefly, but it didn't sound again. And although she wouldn't hear Bilbo coming, he didn't have the skill to find her in the first place. She was safe. She couldn't be seen. She stared ahead, water dripping off her nose.

It took much longer than she expected, but eventually the crashing ended, easing the throbbing in her head. Thorin said something in the far distance, baritone carrying despite the confusion.

And then it was just the rain.


"She can' 'ave gone far!" Gloin's determined voice was lost in the thundering deluge.

"Maybe she's left for good this time. An' good riddance!"

Only those right next to Dwalin heard him properly – namely Balin and Kili – and it was perhaps lucky that a thunderclap chose that moment to drown out Kili's response.

"She'll catch her death in this weather!" Bofur shouted from away to their right.

"Aye, and so will we if we tramp around much longer like bloody confused fairies!" Dori turned to try to recall his brothers.

"But we can't just leave her out there!" Fili yelled desperately. Balin suspected he blamed himself for Senga's sudden departure, though it was her way, frustrating as it was. She sought solitude in times of pain, ignoring all attempts to offer her comfort. And this time they would be forced to let her – it was impossible to see more than three feet in front of them and the more weary they were, the worse it got.

"Gandalf? Can you no' light our way?"

"That, my dear Balin, is exactly what I have been attempting to do! It has little effect in the face of this downpour."

"There mus' be something we can do?"

"Face it, brother!" Dwalin turned to him, barely visible only a few paces away. "She's lost and she's no' coming back!"

"Don't say that!" Kili slipped on the slick ground and crashed into the trunk of a fir. Balin rushed quickly to his aid, more worried about him being turned around in the dark than of him risking injury.

"She won' 'ave gone far." He mused as he hauled the dwarfling to his feet. Kili looked at him in confusion.

"Then why 'asn't she answered us?"

"Because she does not wish to be found." Thorin appeared out of the murk at Balin's shoulder. He looked drawn. Then again he had done all day; his anger smouldered on a damp surface as he looked vainly about them, having about as much luck seeing through the dark as they.

"Of course she doesn' wish to be found!" Balin said exasperatedly. "She's worse than you!"

Thorin's eyes flashed.

"So we're just going to leave her?" Kili shouted angrily.

"There's nothing else we can do!" Thorin grabbed him by the shoulder and started steering the four of them back to camp, calling the others. Balin saw Fili stumbling and sliding towards them as the rest assembled, face still full of open panic. Kili wrenched his arm free to stand by his brother, but Fili gave him a look of such guilt, it was almost heart breaking as his gaze turned back to his uncle.

"Thorin –"

"We cannot search while the rain holds." He said simply, roaring over the chaos. "If she has not returned, we will seek her again in the morning. We can do no more tonight."

"She'll get pneumonia out here!" Fili entreated desperately.

"Then if she is wise, she will return!" Thorin's storm-eyes blazed through the watery night. "We have little time for distractions on this quest, much less the tantrums of a spoilt child!"

Fili opened his mouth to protest, but another roll of thunder near shook the ground beneath them and he was forced to close it. Thorin was already turning, and as much as Balin hated to admit it, he was right. It was futile to continue flailing about in the blasted storm trying to find one girl in the underbrush. Not when she didn't want to be found.

Fili's head fell to his chest, and he looked utterly dejected as he followed up behind his uncle, flanked by Dwalin. Kili however…

Out of the corner of his eye, Balin saw the lad slip away from the rest and into the darkened branches of another fir. He suppressed a sigh. He knew that no amount of words could dissuade his foolishness, but in his heart he was secretly and overwhelmingly relieved. If there was one in the company that stood a chance of persuading her to come back – other than Bilbo, and he was shivering like a leaf – it was their maverick archer.

On the border of the camp, Thorin looked over his shoulder. He didn't miss much.

"Let him bring her back." Balin said simply.

Thorin looked like he was having some kind of internal struggle. There was regret, fear, confusion, frustration, guilt…

He swore violently under his breath.


Rain slid off her face as if it were stone.

The blood on her thumb stained the water on her skin. Kili felt the cut when he reached for her hand in the dark, barely avoiding slicing his own on the blade she still held out before her.

She didn't look at him.

"Senga?"

He was scared. Not as scared as he'd been when she was in the throes of crushing her own face, but still terrified. She looked like a ghost in the thick darkness. It was amazing he'd found her at all.

"Senga…don't do this." His voice was horribly weak.

Nothing. The grip on her forearms was urgent, but he couldn't get closer without being gored.

"What haunts you so? What dream could be so bad?"

Her skin was colder than it should've been. The tear on her thumb made no sense until her blade tilted suddenly towards the skin. She split it without a sound.

"No!" Kili hadn't the first idea what to do. His panicked scream reverberated around the area. The weapon he yanked away, holding it at arm's length. He stared at her with painfully wide eyes. Still she didn't look at him.

"Senga, please!" he was trembling with either shock or horror (the two blended together) and somehow managed to let go of her. A hand shot out to reclaim his touch. It was like the time he'd caught his arm in the mining pulleys.

"I'm sorry."

"Senga…"

"I'm sorry."

With aching slowness, she wrapped strong arms around his chest.

Kili didn't know what to do. He loved her – or so he thought. He'd never been in love before. And even with the fell shadows, she was beautiful. She was contradiction. Young and old; perilous and familiar. Found and lost. Who was he to her? He longed for her.

But she needed him. A strange thought occurred to him then.

She needed him. She needed not a lover, but she needed him.

He sheathed the knife at her side and rocked them back. She settled between his knees. He pressed her closer than she was trying to press herself, and there she stayed. She mumbled the words over and over into his neck until she came to silence.

Her brow felt unnaturally hot under his chin. He was still confused.

But he would've been a bigger fool than his reputation suggested if he were to forsake her heart for his own. Perhaps she did need a lover and perhaps he would ask, but for now he was what she had.

He would ask about the cutting when she woke up.

And with that determined train of thought, he picked her up securely in his arms (staggering a little, he had to admit) and took her back to camp.


"See there, Dwalin? Nothing to worry about. The lass just needed some time to herself."

Dwalin watched Kili stumble through the trees, both he and his burden soaked to the skin bar their leather coats. Thorin saw them and looked away – jealous probably, as ludicrous as it was. The bloody idiot was trying to hide it. Well, at least Dwalin couldn't blame him for wanting to fuck her; she was pale and her eyes glimmered. So did most tarts'.

"What is it about her you hate so much, Mister Dwalin?" Bofur said suddenly, voice hard. "And don't give me the shite that this is all about her being a woman, 'cos that's just untrue."

Balin made you swear...

He loosed an expletive that had Bifur barking a reprimand from the other side of camp.


"Wha'…the hell?"

"You've go' a wee fever, lassie."

"Why didn' you wake me?"

Kili laughed, the arm around her waist juddering a bit with the motion.

"You were dead to the world, you were."

"I could've ridden on me own, though." She rasped indignantly, fighting the wave of fatigue that assaulted her ravaged limbs. The second day of falling rain made her skin twinge. She shivered.

"And 'ave you falling off on us?" Kili set his chin on her shoulder, pulling her back closer to his chest. "Not a chance, our Miss Senga."

She had to admit it was nice. She remembered the warmth he'd given her when he'd let her cling to him; let her burry the nightmare in his skin. Confused shapes and horrors danced across her mind – eat your heart out, pink elephants – but all the while she'd clung to him, they'd kept at bay. And he hadn't allowed her to let go in the brief minutes she was lucid in the darkest hours of the night, either.

"It's alright," Fili came up beside them with a genuine grin. "Arthur will carry you both as long as you need."

"Arth –" Senga rolled her eyes. "Who names a pony Arthur?"

"Oi!" Kili leant back in mock outrage. "This here is the most noble beast you've ever meet!"

"So you called him Arthur?"

"Yes!" his face was so serious even as Fili started to laugh. For the first time in two days, a smile tugged at her lips. The sight of it made Kili's face light up.

"There we are!" Fili exclaimed enthusiastically. Senga sighed wearily and leant back into Kili's chest, trying to find some way to rest her head.

"Aye, lassie, sleep 'll do you good." Balin rode together with Bilbo behind them, smiling encouragingly. "Every nightly horror wears off, given time and rest."

She nodded dully. Kili put his chin on her shoulder again as her eyes drooped closed

"I wish you'd let us help you, you know."

"You did help me, Kili."

She drifted in and out of sleep as they passed through the dripping forests, occasionally breaking out into open turf. When this happened, Kili did his best to keep her dry, lending her his hood to keep the water off her face. At least she had her own coat which kept her reasonably dry beneath it – unlike Bilbo, whose shirt and jacket had been wet since the day before. Given the circumstances, she was amazed that they weren't dropping like flies to the sniffles. But dwarves, it seemed, were built as hardily on the inside as out.

She suspected the tea Dori distributed to all of them when they stopped for the day helped as well. Fili wouldn't let it drop until she'd downed two cups – not that she was complaining, just tired. She curled up with as much dignity as she could muster, shivering and aching, but for once not minding that Kili wouldn't leave her side. She poked him indignantly, but that only made him gather her up in his arms again.

Guilt. Not strong this time, but she felt it nonetheless. Wrapped up in a blanket on his lap, she had to say something now.

"Kili –"

"Why were you cutting your thumb?" He blurted out suddenly. It was as if the question had been biting at him all day, but he hadn't been able to ask it. Senga stared at, mouth slightly parted. It took her a very long time to respond, a battle raging between her newfound trust in him and the dark pits of her own head. Only the safety of his presence and the weakening of her own defences in that moment allowed her to respond at all. But in this she owed him the truth.

"Because," she murmured haltingly. "I couldn' feel anythin'. I couldn' feel anything at all."

Kili's brows drew tightly together. To her enormous surprise, the sight made her chuckle.

"I hate it when you do tha'."

"Do what?" Kili was bewildered.

"Gimme tha' stare. Like you're looking righ' into me…or through me, or somethin'. You're the spittin' image o' Thorin when you do tha'."

At this, his eyebrows rose so high they disappeared into his fringe.

"Oh, no' you look like you again." She smiled into his collar as she curled languidly back against him. It faded again as she realised she still hadn't got to the point. Absently, she laid her scarred hand against his heart and sighed heavily.

"I wish I'd had a brother like you." She whispered brokenly. He looked down. "I don' kno' how to say it another way."

Kili looked utterly lost for words. For a second, Senga took his shock for being wounded and felt her heart sink. She made to move away, but a strong arm kept her anchored in place and, to her surprise, he smiled.

"You don't have to say anything."

"I'm sorry, Kili."

"Don't be!" he smiled gently and brushed her hair out of her face. "I'll live."

"You're no' gonna moon afte' me?"

"Ey, you're not the first girl I've ever looked at, you know." He thought for a moment. "I admit you're probably the prettiest, but –"

"I'm no' pretty." She looked blearily at him as if he was mad.

"What are you on about? Of course you're pretty – even looking like you're half-dead, you're still pretty!"

"Tasha's pretty." She mumbled. Kili shook his head and pulled her close, rocking her back and forth like a babe.

"You're definitely the maddest." He said wryly after a moment. She smiled at that. Bilbo joined them shortly afterwards with more tea and some broth that Senga eventually managed to get down. It kept her awake as Bilbo interrogated Gandalf on the wizards of middle earth. She'd asked the question of Tolkien's books about a week before, and remembered his answer with a smile.

"Oh, the connection between your world and this one never truly closes, regardless of the door. Dreams of what adventures transpire either side may permeate the minds of the great, if important enough – though of course they are never recognised for what they are. That the future is chronicled through these tombs of yours speaks merely of the strange nature of time itself when viewed though the gap."

"So how many actually kno' about this?"

"Oh, very few. You are indeed fortunate, young Senga."

"Uncle really looks at you like that?"

Her head hurt as it snapped up to look at Kili, eyes narrowed. At least (thank the gods) he'd said it quietly, but it didn't stop her chest lurching as if she'd cornered on a rollercoaster.

"Like what?" Fili came up beside them, and ill as she was, she delivered a very adequate elbow to Kili's gut. Fili smirked. Bilbo actually reprimanded Kili for being impertinent, and she smiled savagely before drifting into a blissfully dreamless slumber.


"Thank Christ!"

The rain stopped on the fourth day. The third day was an alternatingly wet and damp slog along a muddy ridge, her still riding with Kili. But on the fourth day, she awoke to watery sunlight. And the ability to stand without her head spinning.

"Well you're certainly looking better, Miss Senga!"

"Fuckin' feel better, Bofur."

"And no more dreams?"

That sobered her. It was true she'd had none, but that might have had something to do with Kili wrapping his proportionately lanky limbs around her every night.

"No." she said eventually. "No more monsters."

The company slowly dried out under the sun. They travelled in the rocky open for most of the day, the shadowy lay of mountains appearing suddenly out of the warm haze. Misty snorted beneath her, apparently having missed her for the days she'd been on Arthur, and she smiled a little more.

They made good time, despite the way the land rolled, and came eventually came to a sheltered hill. A stretch of wood bordered it with wilding elm and ash. There was clearing a short way away perfect to picket the ponies. But what drew her eye was the skeleton of a farmhouse, set atop the hill.


A.N: Right, going for an ironic ending there. And I actually managed to get to the point where I wanted the story to be without getting distracted, which was nice. I don't believe in 'filler chapters' - everything has a purpose, even if it's just to get the characters to where you need them to be (physically, emotionally, aesthetically). It's still part of the story and it's part of being a writer to come up with interesting things that happen even if it's not directly related to the main plot.

I brought in multiple perspectives in this chapter because I thought of them at the time. I realise this is a bit mixed up, stylistically, but I've done my best to tie it all together.

Still Senga won't talk, I know, but she is getting there. Being sick was a plot device to lower her emotional defences enough to let Kili in, which is progress. Reviews, loyal readers? (still can't believe I actually have readers, it's such a buzz!)