A/N: Life has been throwing some wicked curveballs lately. Sorry about that. I hope this chapter makes sense and lives up to the expectations. I'm always a bit nervous when I post these. *hides*

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 9:

The wizard snorted, wiping the speck of dust off his robe absently.

His thoughts were dark and menacing as he stared out over the valley, choked with black smoke. He listened the clatter of metal striking metal, the grunts of the workers pulling trees up, ripping their roots from the rich soil.

He listened to the howling of the wargs as they paced in their pens, thirsty for blood and action. Hungry for battle.

'Soon enough' he thought dourly, 'Soon enough they will all taste blood.'

His thoughts strayed to Gandalf, the grey wizard who had bested him, who had escaped.

The fool.

Did he really think that a hobbit could contend against the will of darkness?

A hobbit?

It was absurd. Insane.

His master knew, of course. And he was preparing to reap the land, set fire to all of Middle Earth, to get to the hobbit and the prized possession she carried.

"What orders from Mordor, my lord?" A gargling little voice rasped from behind him. "What does the great eye command?"

The white wizard smirked into the dark night.

"We have work to do. Send out your warg riders. Make for the borders of Lorien. Spare none you find there."

Saruman narrowed his eyes down from his dark tower, folding his arms together as he frowned.

"You have chosen death, Gandalf," he muttered into the darkness, as the orc retreated to issue the order. "You have aligned yourself with the losing side."

And he would make sure the grey wizard knew it.

"War is coming. To all corners of Arda. You cannot defend all lands and people. They will fall."

Saruman smirked again as the cry of the wargs grew, their echoing snarls rising into the night.


The meeting ended in a shambles.

Despite Lyla's best efforts to quell the growing arguments, she only managed to stun the respective parties for a moment with her bold assertion to take the ring.

That is until Denethor and the others protested a hobbit, a simple hobbit (as they clarified), taking such a powerful weapon across the wild towards the enemy.

"This is madness," He thundered, "To think that she," He pointed a large finger towards Lyla, "that this…hobbit could succeed in even reaching the gates is madness!"

The man made to step towards Lyla, who took a step back out of reflex.

Her dwarvish companions went into an uproar at the action, jumping in front of the hobbit, snarling and threatening Denethor.

"If ye so much as take another step, I'll take an axe to those pretty knees," Bofur snarled, raising his weapon.

Gimli was by his side, axe poised and waiting.

Legolas and Elladan stood near the dwarves, eyeing Denethor and the others carefully.

"ENOUGH!" Lyla snapped, raising her voice, glowering at the group around her, "The ring is in my possession. It—it came to me and I will take the ring to Mordor."

The hobbit raised her chin in defiance, but the wizard could see the trepidation swimming in her eyes and the way her hand shook as she stood as tall as she could in the presence of these men and elves (and dwarves)

And, before anyone could protest further, Elrond had demanded each member of the council take a few hours to collect their thoughts and reconvene.

The elf, however, did not try to persuade Lyla to give up the ring. In fact, he only nodded towards her as she retrieved the trinket and returned it to the small chain about her neck.

Gandalf was angered by this.

"You cannot expect this to go well," He remarked heatedly once he was alone with Galadriel and Elrond, "She cannot take that ring to Mordor."

"And yet to have come so far still bearing the ring," Elrond remarked thoughtfully, "She's shown extraordinary resilience to its power." The elf lord leveled his gaze at Gandalf, "Can you assure us that there is one more qualified, more capable than she?"

"This is a burden she should have never had to bear!" Gandalf retorted, narrowing his eyes at Elrond, feeling the spiking shards of guilt sting his heart. "We can ask no more of Lyla Baggins. She doesn't deserve this, doesn't…"

"She is the only one," Galadriel's soft murmurs halted Gandalf's remark.

His heart dropped as the elf queen caught the wizard's gaze.

"Mithrandir, you know she is the only one."

"No," Gadalf retorted, "I will not place this task to her. There has to be another way."

"Who then? Who will you place your trust in to protect this earth? My people plan to leave these shores soon. Who then will you look to? The dwarves? They hide in their mountains seeking riches. They care nothing for the troubles of others."

Gandalf sighed, noting the way his head twitched at the daunting thoughts whirring in his mind.

Who could they trust?

"It is in men that you must place your trust."

Elrond turned a hard eye towards Galadriel.

"Men?" he asked incredulously with a snort, "Men are weak. The blood of Numenor is all but spent. The line of kings has failed and if you recall, it was men who allowed this evil to endure."

"And yet there is one who will protect this quest, who can unite the people, bring balance to the kingdoms and ensure that Lyla Baggins travels her path."

"He turned from that path a long time ago," Elrond murmured tiredly, his hand rubbing the spot between his eyes, "He has chosen exile. He will not protect her."

"You do not know that," Galadriel remarked softly, "Nothing is certain."

"It matters not, if he will help, Gandalf remarked, "We cannot allow Lyla Baggins to travel to Mordor."

"And who will take the ring then?" The elf queen fixed her gaze on Gandalf, "Will you trust Denethor? Do you believe that any of the elves will be willing to take it in order to destroy it?"

Galadriel's eyes narrowed towards Gandalf.

"What if it were given to you? Would you take it? Could you destroy it?"

At that question, Gandalf balked. He could feel the power when he was near the ring.

But to actually carry it? To attempt to destroy it?

"I dare not take it. Not even to keep it safe," he muttered, suddenly feeling much older than he had a moment ago.

The thought of carrying that ring to Mordor, the temptation for that power.

Gandalf ran a hand through his tangled grey hair.

"No," he finally sighed, "No, through me, it would create a power too great a terrible. I dare not even consider taking it."

"You are wise to forsake it, Mithrandir," Galadriel stepped slowly closer, "The ring is evil. It will corrupt any who hold power. It has a will of its own. There is no escaping it."

The elf rested her pale hand on Gandalf shoulder, smiling softly at the tired wizard.

"It betrayed Isildur to his death. And then, being washed down the river, that knowledge that we should have remembered was forgotten and lost. We assumed that Sauron's ring had been washed into the sea, far away from us. That history became legend, and the legend eventually became a myth, a children's story meant to frighten, but never taken seriously. And for two and half thousand years the ring passed out of all knowledge." Galadriel sighed, "Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer."

"Gollum," Gandalf nodded resignedly, "Yes, I know."

"And you know that for five hundred years it poisoned his mind," Galadriel's voice had taken on an almost sinister edge, "He took it deep into the Misty Mountains, deep into the rock, hidden away, in the darkest of caves, where it consumed him. And there it waited."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed slightly at the elf.

"You knew?" He remarked incredulously, catching Elrond's surprised expression, "You knew of Gollum and his possession of the ring?"

The elf shook her head, her golden curls bouncing slightly at the movement.

"It did not," She remarked, "That information has only recently been acquired."

'He is here, Mithrandir. The creature Gollum is here.'

The wizard's eyes widened as he regarded the stoic queen.

"When? How?"

"He was heading for The Shire, when we reached him. He was in search of the hobbit with the enemy on his tail. Our Marchwarden, Haldir, managed to secure the creature before the black riders could capture him."

Celeborn's deep voice had Gandalf turning towards the doorway where the Elf Lord stood, his golden hair shining in the afternoon light.

"For now," He continued, "The creature Gollum is safe from enemy hands. But he did provide valuable information."

The elf nodded towards his wife.

"The ring must have abandoned Gollum," She remarked quietly, "waiting for the moment when another creature would come and retrieve it. But, then something happened the ring did not intend."

At that Galadriel smiled fondly.

"The ring was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable." She caught Gandalf's eye, "A creature, though while resilient, is fond of the comforts of home. Who cares nothing for power. A creature the ring could never have anticipated."

A hobbit.

"Under the guise of the name Bilbo Baggins," Lyla retrieved the ring, completely unaware of its power, "Until now that is. But that gives us an advantage. She is the only one who can bear this ring, the only one capable of resisting."

'Mithrandir' Galadriel's voice hummed in Gandalf's mind, 'Your plan to convince her will fail. She cannot forsake this quest. It has to be her.'

The wizard wanted to protest Galadriel, but he found his anger dwindling quickly, replaced by uncertainty and frustration.

He never meant for this to happen.

None of it.

All she'd experienced…and his coaxing was what took her from her warm home.

Gandalf's hand tightened around his staff.

Even if she still rejected his proposal, he still had to try.


Thorin was uncertain about this.

This whole concoction of Balin's left him feeling uneasy.

But there really was no other solution.

"I know what yer feelin', lad." The white haired darf murmured, "But we'll be fine here. Dain's got a handle on his troops and Gloin and Dori won't let the defective council members escape their notice. We'll do all we can to protect the mountain."

Thorin sighed, "It's not just that," he muttered, rolling Lyla's bead between his fingers, "The mountain might not be safe. We do not know if an enemy marches upon us. The wizard's plan was foiled, he was delayed. We don't know how much Saruman wants this mountain now."

"Word has gone to the Blue Mountains, Thorin," Balin remarked, "Weeks ago I sent the missive. Our people know of our need and they will come to our aid."

Once again Thorin was chastised and perturbed to realize the depth of his ineptitude as king.

Balin only shook his head.

"Ye can't suppose ye'd have known about it all." He gave the king a hard look when Thorin snorted in derision, "It's true, lad. We had to make the council members think that we weren't privy to their corruption. But Thranduil made a point to let ye know about the Arkenstone and its power. He'd given you reason to suspect the others."

Thorin's hand slammed down upon the table, "That's not good enough!" He hissed, "I should have realized something, noticed something about what was going on around me. I was just so—"

"You were exactly what they wanted you to be. Distracted." Thranduil remarked, softly, "It was their design. We could see it, but we didn't stop it either. We couldn't We had to let it happen, to make them believe."

Thorin rubbed his temples in agitation.

"It is done, Thorin," Balin hummed softly, "And it is done for the best. Our preparation prevented the ambush. Many lives were saved. YOU were saved. And now, with Thranduil's help we've Dain on our side too."

"Are you certain," Thorin muttered darkly, his eyes drifting towards his cousin who stood, uncertainly in the corner, his grey hair smoothed and redone, his calloused hands clasped together as he watched the interactions.

"Are you so certain that he is not just playing the part?"

"Come now cousin," Dain muttered, "Do you think I would play the victim if I were already winning the war? The men who trapped me were subduing my guards, they outnumbered you, do you really think I'd have taken down Brega if I didn't need to? If I didn't want to?"

Dain's eyes locked with Thorin's, narrowed and assessing as he watched his cousin. His lips were pulled into a thin line, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.

"I know you have no reason to trust me," he remarked, as Thorin glared in return, "No reason to suspect that I am on your side. But, I would never allow harm to come to my son, never would have allowed that to happen. That is not me."

Thorin could see the way his cousin's shoulder's tensed, his hands balling into fists at the thought of his son lying with a severe wound, inflicted by a man who had corrupted him.

Thorin nodded in agreement.

They had no choice but to trust him.

"If you are to make for Master Baggins and your nephews," Thranduil remarked, stoically, his arms folded together as he assessed the dwarves in the room, "Then you must trust us to keep your mountain safe. You must trust Dain."

"We will keep the people under control, continue rebuilding, send troops to patrol the trail ways, searching for any enemy movement. And the ravens will be in contact with Lorien should we discover anything."

Lorien.

Lyla.

Could he leave the mountain though? It was what he'd searched for, fought for.

Large hazel eyes swam in his mind.

Tinted cheeks.

Curls.

The stubborn scowl she wore whenever she wanted to prove a point.

Thorin could feel himself nodding as he tried to rid his head of those images. He was no simpering lovesick suitor!

"Yes, I understand," his reply was soft, his head swimming with thoughts, conflicted notions, and speculations.

He stepped towards his cousin, mind slowly coming to understand what he had to do.

A solid, forceful punch cracked Dain's nose, forcing the dwarf lord stumbling backwards, a groan of pain escaping his lips as he clutched at the offended appendage.

"Not sure I deserved that," Dain wheezed through the gushing blood dripping from his nose, "But it seems I have no choice."

"Indeed you do not," Thorin growled, lowly, glaring at his cousin, "You may not have been responsible for your previous actions, but I am loathe to forget what you did to her."

"That's enough lad," Balin's voice was commanding, making Thorin remember the warrior that the dwarf used to be, "This is hardly helpful."

"It's not ideal, Thorin," Dwalin's voice was gruff, "But when has it ever been so? We've got to help the lass, yer kin. We've got to do somethin'. We've got to send someone after her."

Thorin nodded again.

Yes, they needed to do something.

Much as Gandalf had predicted, anticipated, and instructed.

Blasted wizard.

But Thorin could not deny the tingle of pleasure that ran down his spine at the thought of seeing Lyla again.

Of seeing his nephews again as well.


"Are you daft?!" Gandalf muttered agitatedly as he stepped into the room Galadriel had granted to Lyla.

After the meeting, she needed a place to escape the prying eyes and discontented murmurs of some of the others (Denethor in particular).

"Not hardly," the hobbit remarked softly, keeping her eyes away from the wizard.

The others who were crowded into the room locked eyes on the hobbit as well.

"You cann't be serious lass," Bofur cut in, "Yer not ta go on this mad dash towards darkness. It's foolish."

The hatted dwarf grabbed Lyla's hands, halting her from fiddling with the small travelling pack (another gift from the elves). A hand tilted her chin upwards.

"Look at me lass," Bofur murmured, his brown eyes swimming with concern. "Ye have te look at me. Ye cann't do this. It'll be the death of ye."

Lyla swallowed back her emotions and gave a half-hearted frown towards Bofur.

"You know that I can't sit here and do nothing," She remarked, "The ring came into my possession for a reason, Bofur."

"No, Lyla, you can't say that for certain!" Fili cut in, his voice heated as he marched forward, his blue eyes blazing, much like his uncle's did. "You cannot even begin to think that this is some sort of destiny. There are plenty of others who could take that ring, plenty of others who are willing to take that ring to Mordor!"

"Who then?" Lyla retorted, glaring up at the young dwarf "Fili, look around you. That whole council ended in an argument. Is there anyone who can really just…" Lyla took a deep breath, "There's no other way."

"And the council," the young prince continued, shaking his head in annoyance, his blonde braids swishing with his movements. "They merely agree to go along with this mad dash towards Mount Doom, with a hobbit at the lead!"

"Listen," Lyla snapped, glaring at Fili, "I know I'm just a hobbit. A small, insignificant little creature, not associated with war or power or anything of that nature."

"Now hold on a minute I didn't mean—"

"Enough," The hobbit sighed, "I'm rather tired of this whole affair. Of speeches and arguments. Of pleadings for power, for a—a trinket of darkness to fall into their possession. I'm tired of you lot contending that I cannot do this, that there are others far more capable than I. I don't…I don't want to do this, but I must."

Lyla could feel her heart beating painfully against her ribs. She tried to steel her nerves but found it difficult.

But she had to try. This had to stop. And by Aule, if it didn't she was determined to get to Mount Doom with or without the others' knowledge.

"And that's the last that I'll say about it all. You can agree or not, but you'll not change my mind on the matter. I am going. I decide my own fate in this matter. I will take the ring to Mordor."

"You fool of a Took," Gandalf snorted, rubbing his face tiredly, "Can you ever just enjoy a quiet life? Always looking for adventures, aren't we."

Gandalf smiled at Lyla, though it was a pained smile.

And then the wizard sighed.

He must have sensed that any further argument would only waste time. Lyla wasn't about to be swayed.

"I will help you bear this burden then, Lyla Baggins," He rested a wizened hand on her shoulder, "For as long as it is yours to bear."

"Oi, then I'm comin' too," Bofur declared, his gaze shifting between the hobbit and the wizard. His nose twitched as he glared down at Lyla. "Yer not goin' anywhere without me."

"Indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you two," Elrond declared, stepping into the room, flanked by Legolas and Glorfindel, "Especially when she was summoned to a secret council and you were not."

The dark-haired elf quirked an eyebrow at the hatted dwarf, who had the decency to look a little sheepish.

"So far then," He continued, casting his gaze towards Lyla, "You have earned the allegiance of a wizard, and two men and a dwarf."

"Now hold on there!" Fili cut in again, "We're coming too."

Lyla turned a surprised eye towards the dwarf princes. She had been certain they would return to Erebor.

They SHOULD return to Erebor.

Fili frowned at Lyla, "And I'll not hear a word of argument about it all. Hang my uncle, hang Erebor. We've a hobbit to protect."

Fili's frown turned into a soft smile, the corners of his braided mustache framing his dimpled cheeks.

"Anyway, you'll need people of intelligence on this sort of mission," Kili frowned his dark brows knitting together thoughtfully, "this quest….thing."

Lyla shot Kili an inquisitive look, raising a brow at the grinning dwarf, who stood proudly between her and Fili.

The blonde dwarf only shook his head at Kili, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Well that rules you out Kee," he muttered, "Fine example you set for us all."

Lyla bit back a snigger.


She took a stroll, once she could pry herself away from the others. Fili and Kili, in particular, were not too keen to leave her be.

It was the dwarf, Gimli, who finally convinced them to focus their attention elsewhere.

That is to say, focus their attention on him, as it were.

So displeased was he with the arrangement of the elves, the red-bearded dwarf, son of the diplomatic Gloin, was making a fuss concerning the nobility of the elves.

Many of the comments Lyla had heard before, from the lips of the other company members no less. But, considering recent events during the battle of the five armies, Fili and Kili were trying to convince Gimli to have a little more patience and forgiveness for their elven comrades.

They'd eased his opinion enough to hush his protests and bring a bit of calm back to their little rabble.

That is, until, Legolas had approached Lyla.

"I've come to offer my assistance," he murmured, "For your quest. I offer you my bow. Let me act as a guide and protector, ring bearer."

The elf prince bowed his head in deference to Lyla, much to the hobbit's surprise.

At THAT, Gimli's resolve cracked.

"Oi, yer not goin' anywhere without me then," he huffed marching towards the hobbit, "I'll not have some elven bow shooter act as the only source of protection for ye. I offer my axe, lass."

Surprised, Lyla made to thank him.

But, the dwarven princes, however, had a bit of an issue with Gimli's eagerness to serve.

Particularly concerning his age.

"Gloin would have our heads if you darted off on this," Fili admonished, "You're just barely considered a full fledged adult and—"

Gimli's indignation flared at being called a child.

Especially in front on an elf.

And as the battle of words grew in volume, Lyla caught Legolas' grin as she slipped away to clear her head.

Breathing in the calm, soft breeze, Lyla's nose twitched as familiar scents of flowers and the soft, moist earth filled her senses. The breeze rustled the tree branches overhead and she could hear the faintest of birdsong somewhere in the distance, entwining with the soft musical murmurs of Galadriel's people.

Golden light filtered through the greenery and Lyla couldn't help but smile.

It WAS peaceful.

'But it will never last. You will leave this haven behind and travel into the wild, into the dark void. Towards death. And all who follow after you will perish.'

No.

"No." she murmured to herself, frowning at the trees. "I won't let them."

She wouldn't allow it.

She couldn't stop her friends (her family) from tagging along on this venture. But by Eru, she'd do her best to keep them safe.

She rubbed her left arm gently, as small prickles of pain sparked up her veins.

In the distance she could hear the faintest of laughter, caught on the breeze.

"Renich i lú i erui govannem?"

The hobbit halted for a moment, her ears twitched as a familiar voice tickled her hearing.

The elf was someone she'd encountered before.

Lyla stopped walking, feeling the cool breeze settle on her as she strained her ears to hear more clearly.

"Nauthannen i ned ôl reniannen."

That voice—a man's voice—also sounded familiar.

Lyla hesitantly stepped forward, stretching her neck a bit to see if she could locate the speakers (and ignoring the fact that she was spying on a private conversation).

"Gwenwin in enninath… Ú-'arnech in naeth i si celich. Renich i beth i pennen?"

As her gaze round the large tree, Lyla's cheeks warmed at the sight before her.

There, standing together, were Estel and Arwen, their hands intertwined, a thoughtful gaze on the elf's face as she stared, unabashedly, at Estel.

Lyla kenw she'd recognized those voices.

"You said you had bound yourself to me," Estel murmured, his voice hesitant, unsure as he peered down at Arwen, lines of worry creasing his brow. "That you would forsake your people for a life with me."

Arwen reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of Estel's face, "And to that I hold," She remarked, "I would rather share one lifetime with you than spend all the ages of this world alone."

"You cannot do this," Estel remarked, "Your people, your father need you."

"I have made my choice," was Arwen's quiet reply, "I choose a mortal life. It is my decision."

Estel's eyes slipped closed as a sigh escaped his lips.

"It will not end well for you," he remarked, tiredly, "There is danger still yet to come, many things that I must…"

The man sighed again, his gaze returning to Arwen.

"A si i-Dhúath ú-orthor, Aragorn. Ú or le a ú or nin." The elf's voice was soft, calming, as her hand grasped onto Estel's, "There is still hope."

"But the same blood flows through my veins," Estel's voice was strained, pained, "The same weakness."

"You," Arwen's voice was adamant, "Are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself. When the time comes you will face the same temptation and you will overcome it."

"They are young and headstrong, much like yourself," A voice near Lyla's ear, made the hobbit squeak in surprise and stumble backwards.

Large, strong hands steadied her, and Lyla gazed up into the wise face of Lord Elrond.

The hobbit's face ignited as she realized that she'd been spying on Elrond's daughter.

The elf, for his part, though, appeared completely unruffled by her actions. He smiled at Lyla.

"At first I thought it was a passing fancy, her infatuation with this man," Elrond remarked, "He has so much to do to prove his worthiness for her."

The elf lord let out a short breath, as he guided the hobbit away from the two lovers, further into the gardens, "But they are both stubborn and see in one another something they desire greatly. Something they would protect."

Elrond stopped walking and gazed down on the hobbit, his eyes assessing, questioning.

"I fear though that this quest will tear them apart. He goes to protect you, to protect the ring. Isildur's bane and he goes to protect it. And Arwen will remain here in Lorien, waiting, wondering, her fate tied to the ring that you carry."

Isildur's Bane.

"He's the heir?" She questioned softly, watching Elrond's face carefully, noting the way his dark eyes seemed to deepen.

"Yes, he is the heir of Gondor. You know him as Estel. Others know him as Strider. For truth, he is Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne."

Elrond frowned at Lyla, "You've endeared yourself to many creatures of this earth, Lyla Baggins. I recall you in Rivendell though I never had the chance to talk with you. An opportunity I'm coming to regret, I see." The elf smiled a little, "You do know what is at stake do you not?"

Lyla nodded carefully, unsure where Elrond's thoughts were tending.

"Love, Lyla Baggins, can be a vicious motivator. Far more powerful that the search for control and prestige." His eyes narrowed at Lyla, "It is love that drives Estel to protect you. Love for Arwen, for Middle Earth. And it is love that drives the others in your previous company to chase after you. Are you prepared to protect them, to keep this promise to destroy the ring? Are you capable?"

Lyla's eyes widened, her heart thrummed in her ears as she stared into the expectant face of Elrond.

She wanted to answer yes, wanted to reassure the elf that she was capable, that she should do this, protect everyone.

But she couldn't.

"I. I don't know," She admitted, "I don't know what I can…if I can. I just…"

It was Lyla's turn to frown.

"I have to try. I'm sorry. I just couldn't sit there and watch the others tear themselves apart because of this—this thing."

Lyla gestured towards the ring.

Elrond nodded, much to the hobbit's surprise.

"I know," he remarked quietly resting a hand on her head, "Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya. May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky. Trust in your own strength Lyla Baggins, trust your instincts. Do not sway from your path. More than your own life rests on your shoulders now." His gaze turned hard, "Do not let anyone take the ring from you."


Thorin grasped his reigns tightly, glaring at the road before him, feeling a sense of urgency flowing through his veins.

Ori—Ori of all dwarves—sat atop his own horse, studying terrain carefully, matching their location on the map in his hands.

Thorin want to toss the ruddy parchment into the river that lay to their left, the same river they'd followed for two days.

But he thought better of it.

Ori was here as their guide. It wouldn't do well for them to have to navigate the wild without their map.

Idly, he fingered the parcel in his lap, his fingers twitching with longing to untie the package and bestow the gift he'd held captive until an appropriate time.

He should have given this gift earlier.

"We're about fifty leagues from the destination point," Ori remarked softly, scratching absently at the bandage that still covered the top of his head.

Thorin glared at the bandage, but said nothing.

Fifty leagues.

That was it.

Fifty leagues the meeting point where Gandalf would be waiting with a hobbit and two dwarves.

A hobbit and two dwarves he hoped would return to Erebor without complaint.

"Come on then," Dwalin huffed impatiently, "These horses won't move themselves will they?"

Thorin cast a glance towards the warrior dwarf who held a small bundle of his own in his lap.

Another gift to bestow.

With a swift kick, he urged his horse forward, following closely behind Ori's own movements, keeping a close watch to the sky and the billowing clouds that were growing overhead.


The air was crisp, cool and hinting at a winter storm. The sky was a brilliant blue but clouds loomed in the distance as the fellowship made their way south, distancing themselves from the woodland realm.

Days they had travelled like this, in the cool, winter weather, with the threat of snow surrounding them, but never falling, following the Anduin southward.

They were a strange group. After all was said and done, far more companions declared allegiance to this quest than she'd originally anticipated.

Two men.

Four dwarves.

Two elves.

And a wizard.

All of them heading south, towards warmer climates.

And more dangerous lands.

South meant they were closer to Mordor. And with each step that Lyla took, her heart felt heavy, the weight around her neck seemed to grow.

And the feeling that she was being watched never left her.

Yes she had her dwarves to keep her safe (along with the ever eager Gimli) and Legolas was faithful to the cause, to be sure.

Gandalf she never questioned. After his adamant plea for her to leave the ring behind, to travel back to Thorin, he'd not tried to sway her again. He'd remained, the ever stoic leader of the group, having traversed the road enough times to navigate it effectively.

No, it was the men, the race of men, who set her nerves on edge. Estel (Aragorn she amended) was the heir of Gondor. His ancestor had failed to destroy the ring of power, would he be the same?

'No,' she tried to hush the doubts, 'He's helped you this far.'

It was Denethor, however, that set Lyla's heart racing. There was something sinister, offended, and cunning swirling in the man's dark eyes.

'One by one it will destroy them if you allow it' Galadriel had said.

She understood his desperation to have the ring, though. She knew Denethor wanted to protect his people.

That was a noble endeavor, surely. And she could not fault him for not trusting in her abilities to succeed in this task.

She wasn't a thief or a burglar when she went on her travels with Thorin and the company.

And she certainly wasn't a hero or a warrior now. She was a hobbit, a creature who loved home and food and warmth and laughter.

Not this.

And yet here she was.

And what Denethor did not realize is that she had Took blood in her and that meant that she was stubborn and determined to see this through.

Even if things didn't end so well for her.

Lyla swallowed the bile that rose to her throat and cast her eyes about, noting the way the clouds rolled ever closer.

Her eyes narrowed as a strong gust of wind blew her hood back. Even with the thick material of the tunic she'd been given by Galadriel, a chill still ran down her spine.

Something felt…

Off.

"Ye alright there lass?" Bofur's voice was soft, near her ear as he rested a comforting hand on her should.

"Y-yes."

No.

"I'm fine. Just—curious about the weather." Her eyes turned upwards again as she watched the clouds.

It was odd.

Bofur looked towards the sky with a frown.

"What are ye curious about then? Looks like snow te me."

Gandalf stopped quite suddenly, making Lyla nearly barrel into the wizard.

She noted the way his hands gripped tightly to his staff, the way his shoulders were tensed back, as he too, turned his head to the sky and searched.

"What is it then?" Denethor remarked, "Just a passing storm. We'll be able to make it through in due course."

"No," Legolas answered, "No, there is a foul voice on the air. The clouds are moving too fast."

"And against the wind," Denethor's eyes narrowed as he too frowned at the sky, "How did we not…"

"Something draws near," Legolas murmured, "Something sinister."

Lyla strained her ears, listening intently, searching for a sound, any sound that seemed out of place.

Apart from the low humming whisper that was a constant companion lately.

A low rumble of noise filled the air, a strong gust of wind blew towards them, slamming into Lyla's face with such force that she was knocked backwards, her body convulsing with shivers as the winter winds descended.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf bellowed as the roaring noise of the howling wind over took them, the blustering wind encircling them, and the cloud tumbled overhead, darkening the sky and making the air colder than before.

The snow descended, a thick torrent of freezing droplets pummeled them, covering the ground in short order and making it hard for Lyla to see beyond the distance of her arm's reach.

Lyla could begin to catch snatches of a voice on the air as Bofur and Fili tucked her into their sides, trying to shield her (unsuccessfully) from the biting wind.

The snow started to pound down upon them, stinging Lyla's eyes, making her teeth chatter, and her movements slow as, all too quickly, the storm began to pile upon the ground.

"Gandalf!" Denethor shouted, begging to be heard, "We must find shelter! We must get out of this storm."

"No!" Gandalf retorted, "If we stop now, we'll be pinned. We have to keep moving."

"We cannot stay here," The man retorted, sparing a glance towards Lyla (much to her surprise). "If we stay here it will the death of the hobbit!"

Gandalf refused.

And they pushed forward, for hours, through the growing storm.

The dwarves stayed close to her, never loosening their hold on her shoulders, guiding her footfalls to match their own, trying to make things easier on her as they sloped upwards, towards more hill-covered territory.

But it was slow going and exhausting. Their pace had been crippled by the harsh and swift weather change. Even after the weather tapered off, the snow easing up enough for them to see, they were still bogged down by the layers of white that covered their path, surrounded their legs.

And being in this storm, exposed to this weather, left Lyla feeling light headed, her head and arm thrumming with pain.

Memories—painful memories—assaulted her mind's eye and she found it hard to take sturdy steps.

Then the howling pricked at her ears and Lyla's stomach dropped.

No.

Aule, no.

Lyla was shoved backwards as a dark shape descended upon them, leaping from the rise that was above them.

A warg tackled Bofur, knocking the dwarf down, sending his hat from his head.

"Bofur!" the hobbit, slipping as she tried to reach her friend.

But Estel and Denethor were there quickly enough to subdue the beast.

Mercifully.

Legolas had his bow out and was firing upwards, towards two other wargs who were leaping towards them, at the urging of their riders.

In Lyla's mind, images of the Fell Winter, assaulted her.

Another growl and the guttural black speech of an orc pulled her back towards the present as a large, grey warg charged towards her, its rider holding a long, thin axe in hand, his mottled face pulled into a glaring sneer as he bore down upon her.

Lyla let out a squeak of surprise as she scrambled backwards, her hands slick from the snow, making it hard to get back on her feet.

Fili tried to maneuver in front of the hobbit, but the warg easily sidestepped the dwarf prince and made its way towards its prey.

Towards Lyla.

An arrow connected with the soft flesh of the warg's chest, sending the creature howling backward, bucking and snarling, throwing the rider off its back.

That didn't deter the orc, however, from rising to his feet and charging towards the group, weapon raised, a fierce cry falling from its lips.

Another arrow slowed the orcs advances.

And then another.

"Back!" Estel called towards her, "Move back! Lyla move!"

Lyla pushed herself to her feet and moved backwards as her companions surged forward, trying to quell the movements of the orc pack that was falling upon them.

Their howls echoed in Lyla's ears and she wished, desperately, that she had her sword.

She let out a shriek of surprise as something tugged on the back of her tunic, propelling her backwards, off her feet again.

She caught sight of Gandalf wielding his staff like a club, his sword in his other, knocking one orc down before charging at another who sat atop a warg before warm, putrid breath washed over her face and a long clawed arm reached in front of her locking its fingers around the chain that encircled Lyla's neck.

"No!" She hissed, clawing at the orc's hand. "Let go!"

Surprised by her sudden bout of energy, the orc jerked his hand away and shook the hobbit so hard that her teeth rattled.

"Be still," he hissed, spittle flying from his mouth and splashing against the hobbit's cheek as he glared down at Lyla.

But she wouldn't listen.

She wouldn't be still!

They'd only just begun this journey. Fine mess she'd make if she lost the ring now. She wasn't a slave to the power of the ring. She didn't have to obey such a command.

With any angered growl, that matched the tone of the battle going on around her, and ignoring the hissing laughter in her mind, Lyla wrapped her own hands around the orc's arm and tugged.

"NO," Lyla grunted tugging harder, ignoring the claws that were digging into her neck.

With a surprised hiss, the orc toppled over Lyla's shoulder and on his back.

But he didn't release his hold on the hobbit either, making Lyla tip forward on top of the blasted creature.

Perfect.

With an angered growl that roared in her ears, the orc shoved Lyla off him and pushed her into the snow. Her mouth and nose were filled and she blinked furiously to clear her vision.

The orc landed a solid hit to Lyla's shoulder, tugging at her hair and forcing her head back, exposing her neck again and the ring on the chain.

Aule she really needed a sword.

"Get off!"

Kili's roar bit through the wind and the noises of the scuffle surrounding them. Lyla was knocked sideways as the young, dark-haired dwarf tackled the orc that had her pinned.

"You will not touch her," He snapped, as they rolled top over tail through the snow, a tangle of limbs and punches. "You will not lay a hand on her."

The orc let out a hard growl, wrenching the dwarf's arm backward, causing Kili to cry out in surprise in pain, forcing him away from the orc.

Lyla was on her feet, her own anger rising.

How dare he!

That filthy little…

Reaching for the first object she could find, Lyla charged towards the orc and swung the branch at the creature's head.

With a grunt, the creature fell to the side, and rolled on his stomach, his movements more sluggish than before, an annoyed snarl escaping his lips.

Lyla didn't wait for him to regain his footing. "You will stay away from him!" She growled, swinging the branch again, this time connecting with the orc's shoulder and then again with the side of his head.

"Stay back!"

"Lyla!" Kili's cry came too late as another orc, astride his large, tan warg, leapt towards her.

She only had a moment to tighten her grip on her branch before the warg was in front of her, teeth bared, eyes narrowed.

"Give up the ring, halfling," The orc snarled lowly, glaring down on her.

She felt droplets of water sliding down her face as she stared up into the blazing eyes of the orc and the predatory glare of his warg.

But she was half of nothing.

'Don't be a fool.' The voice in her head hissed at her, 'Give up now.'

Lyla took a step back, raising her branch, lifting her chin.

"No."

She took another step backwards as the warg's throat rippled, a guttural snarl tearing through its throat as it dipped its head towards Lyla.

'You will die, stupid fool.'

Letting out a long growl, the warg leapt forward, high into the air, towards Lyla, who charged forward as well, branch raised.

The long growl, however, was suddenly severed by a low whimpering hiss as the ward suddenly jerked to the side, losing its balance as its legs buckled beneath it as he landed on the ground, a long dark arrow embedded in its chest.

The orc, roared in indignation as he struggled to free himself from the strap that had held him firmly atop the now wounded warg.

Another arrowed whirred through the air, striking the warg again as it tried to stand. And another sailed past the orc's ear as he finally stood.

"If you take another step, I will shoot you where you stand."

Lyla's heart dropped at the voice.

She knew that voice.

But how?

The orc thought better of his movements for a moment, though that didn't stop him from drawing his own bow, and aiming an arrow at Lyla. An arrow was fired.

And Lyla felt the feathers of the arrow cut across her cheek as it zipped past her ear.

With lightning reflexes the orc pulled another arrow and readied it.

"We will have what is ours," the orc hissed, never taking his eyes from Lyla, "You attack me and I release the arr—"

All too quickly, the orc's face turned from smug victory to horrified agony as metal collided with flesh, the glint of silver embedded in his belly.

With a gurgling gasp, the orc lurched forward, his hands twitching as Denethor stepped forward, pushing his sword further into the creature's flesh.

"I have to disagree," the growled, pushing the struggling orc forward, sliding his sword out of the convulsing creature's side.

The man's gaze leveled on Lyla and he gave a short, stiff nod.

The scuffle had tapered, the few remaining wargs and riders retreating as their forces were cut down by the brute strength and accuracy of Estel, Denethor, Gandalf and the others.

"They will return," Gandalf remarked, with a huff, over the growing wind as he shot Lyla a worried look, "And now we know the path southward is being watched."

A cool stone of dread dropped in Lyla's belly. She suspected that they couldn't remain hidden for long after leaving Lorien.

But still the thought of someone aware of where they were and what they carried set her heart beating erratically.

"You!"

Lyla cringed.

Another thing to worry about.

"You turn when I'm talking to you Lyla Baggins."

Lyla's eye slid closed for a moment and she let out a low breath of air and turned.

Thorin growled lowly, dismounting from the pony with such rapid, fluid movement, it left Lyla's head spinning.

Aule he was here.

Lyla cringed again.

And he was angry.

Thorin's face was contorted into a deep scowl, his sapphire eyes were blazing, dark hair in disarray as he strode forward, each booted step purposeful, hands tightly balled into fists and shoulders pushed back. Lyla could see the way his braid swayed with his natural movements, giving her a peek at the vein in his neck that was taut against his flesh, pulsing.

But oh that scowl.

"You!" He snarled again stepping closer to the hobbit, "You foolish, selfish creature! How could you just leave? You, who claim to care so deeply for the company would leave without so much as a hint! You'd leave for your own selfish and vain desires."

Vain desires?

Lyla's own eyes narrowed, "I did no such thing," she hissed in reply, "Yes, leaving without word was wrong, I'll admit that—"

"Do you have any idea of the pain you put the company through? Do you have any concept of the stress you put ME through? What with you disappearing and my two bumbling nephews," Thorin shot Fili and Kili hard glares, "Dashing off after you I feel somewhat like a nursemaid chasing after children."

Nursemaid?!

She was doing perfectly well without him.

"You made it clear that I was not welcome in the mountain," Lyla muttered darkly, her breathing hitched at the thought. "You pushed me away, remember? What does it matter if I—"

Thorin crossed the distance between them before Lyla could blink. Large, warm hands brushed against her cheeks. Large, warm lips descended upon her own as he tugged her close, wrapping his fingers in loose, wet tendrils of her curls at the nape of her neck.

Lyla could feel her cheeks flush as the dark haired dwarf pulled away, his blue eyes glaring into her own.

"You are a fool," Thorin muttered to her, running a thumb across her cheek, "A foolish, arrogant, stubborn little creature."

He brushed his nose against her own, their foreheads touched.

Lyla was confused.

Pleased.

But confused.

"Oh a fine lot of mush yer creatin'," Dwalin muttered. "I've half a mind te knock ye both senseless."

He shot a half-hearted glare to the hobbit. "Runnin' off with narry a goodbye is bad form, lass," He chastised then reached over and ruffled Lyla's damp hair.

Ori, however, was grinning softly, his ears a delicate shade of pink.

"Yes, well, that's all well and fine," Gandalf interrupted with annoyance, "But we need to move. They'll be back and with reinforcements too."

The wind picked up for good measure.

And howling filled the air.

"Move," Gandalf commanded, "Run!"