Author's Note

Finally got another chapter up. Next chapter we're getting to the good stuff.

When they reached the camp, she landed at the edge. Thorin was sitting with his back toward the fire and although his eyes were closed, she knew he didn't sleep. Fíli and Kíli went to get their bedrolls and spread them out on the ground. The night was cold and the other Dwarves had lain their bedrolls as close to the smoldering fire as possible. As a result, Fíli and Kíli, although up to their chins in their bedrolls, couldn't help shivering just a little. So she curled up next to them and let them share in the warmth radiating from the fire inside her belly.

As punishment for their little joke, Thorin had the three of them clean the dishes for a week after that. She didn't really mind in the end, finding it much more relaxing than she'd initially thought. Also in that week was the first time she, albeit hesitantly, brought her prey back to camp.

When she appeared at the edge of the camp with a dead rabbit in her mouth, every eye was on her. It was as if they realized for the first time that she was a predator, and could kill them should she wish so. She was a little surprised, to be honest. They hunted too, didn't they?

Bombur was the first to regain control over his tongue. "Ah, very good, we'll have rabbit stew tonight," he said as he came trundling over to her.

She dropped the rabbit, stood over it protectively, flattened her ears and snarled viciously enough to make Bombur stop dead in his tracks. After a look at Thorin, who stood frowning at her with his arms crossed, the fat Dwarf retreated back behind his cooking pot.

Thorin quietly asked Gandalf, who happened to stand next to him, "What now?"

Gandalf barely hid a smile and Thorin got the distinct impression that he was enjoying the situation. "Well, you're the leader."

Blasted wizards, always speaking in riddles. Thorin sighed inaudibly as he made his way over to her.

She saw him coming and snarled again. Did it sound less aggressive than with Bombur, or was that just his imagination? He tried talking to her through Ursel, but she deflected his questioning proddings with irritation. He looked at her eyes. He had been paying attention to their colours in different situations, and he recognized orange. Orange was good, it meant annoyance but not yet full-blown anger.

As he stepped closer, feeling everyone's eyes boring into his back, her eye colour lightened, and she lowered her body until her belly was pressed to the ground. Every muscle in her body tensed, she saw him close his eyes for a second before reaching down slowly to pick up the rabbit. He kept eye contact with her as she followed his hand towards the ground. As he closed his fingers around the bloody rabbit, she rolled onto her back, light belly up, tail wagging feebly.

Her eyes slowly turn a dark brown as he stepped backwards away from her, trying not to show his surprise at her actions, before finally turning his back on her and tossing the rabbit towards Bombur, who caught it and began skinning and preparing it. After some thought, the cook threw one of the rabbit's hind legs towards her, which she caught in the air, satisfied.

The Company ate a delicious rabbit stew that night. It considerably improved the atmosphere, compared to the dried meat they were usually forced to eat. Thorin wanted to travel as fast as possible and so didn't give the Dwarves time to hunt. Now she hunted as the rest of them were still riding or setting up camp, which saved them a lot of time. The first few times, Thorin had to put his foot down to order her to give her prey up, but eventually she just walked straight to Bombur and dropped whatever she had caught that day in front of him, often with various parts chewed away as she always gave herself her lion's share before bringing it back. She even sometimes accepted a bowl of Bombur's cooking later.

Still, she surprised them regularly, such as when she stayed behind at their campsite to spend hours watching a flower open and only joining them in the late afternoon. Or that time she nearly gave Fíli a heart attack.

It had to do, Fíli told them later, still shaking slightly, with something she had told him on one of the first nights of the Journey. She'd told him that, when she was asleep, she was still aware of her surroundings. He didn't believe her, so she said he should sneak up on her one night and see. Which he did.

She heard him. Of course she heard him. She had told him the truth. She stayed still, letting him think she was asleep.

He never knew what happened. One moment he was quietly making his way over to where she lay sleeping on the ground, the next he found himself pinned on his back with something sharp pricking his skin on either side of his neck and something hot blowing against it. With a feeling of horror he realised she had her jaws around his neck. The sharp feeling were her teeth and the heat he felt was her fiery breath. The one eye he could see was dark orange, like fire.

What a stupid way to die, he thought. It almost made him laugh, but he made sure to keep perfectly still. Any movement could result in a tooth piercing his skin and drawing blood.

After what seemed like an eternity, in which only her eye and the teeth against his skin existed, she pulled away to tower over him, growling softly with her lips drawn back. Dimly, he was aware of nervous activity around him. He must have screamed or something, because overlapping, panicked voices filled the air. The other Dwarves tried to reach him, but whenever they got too close to her taste she swept her tail around, knocking them off their feet and pushing them back.

She spread her wings, the thin membranes stretching as the distance between the bones grew. She raised her head and opened her mouth, revealing the hellish red pit that was her throat. He fought to keep his eyes open, to keep them from closing like a coward's, even though he was sure this burning hole was the last thing he would ever see before she killed him.

But she didn't kill him. Slowly, her wings closed, coming back against her body. The pressure on his chest lightened as she pulled her paws back. Her mouth shut, and she blew a cloud of smoke from her nostrils into his face before climbing off him, leaving him coughing and spluttering as the other Dwarves rushed in.

Kíli and Óin reached him first, Thorin interestingly staying behind, instead making his way over to her.

"You're fine, not even a drop of blood," the healer told Fíli, not entirely hiding his surprise at the control Skyfire had demonstrated.

"Tell me…" Thorin said, "he wasn't in any real danger, was he?"

"No."

Hmmm… Maybe…

Of course she could read his thoughts. "Forget it. I'm not your pet."

She circlefired and curled up with a wing over her head.

Danger or no danger, the experience had scared the living daylights out of Fíli for a moment. So she walked beside his horse the next day, and asked if he was all right. When he said he was, she assured him she was never going to kill him. Which made him smile. A little. In hindsight, he decided, the whole event wasn't as terrifying as it had seemed at the time. A king should be able to endure worse.

She asked Gandalf and heard that, after a month and a half of travel, they were at about a quarter of the trip. At this rate, they would get to the Lonely Mountain in late autumn. Thus far, it was, dare she say it, a bit of a dull affair.

Also there was the problem of the map. Even though Thorin sat poring over it for evenings on end, he couldn't find the key to finding the door once they got there. Without that door, the key Thráin had passed over to his son was useless and with it the whole trip.

It was when they were camping on a lonely cliff that she learned more about her troubled companion. Thorin had dozed off against a rock and Fíli and Kíli were keeping watch. She was curled up next to them. Gandalf was smoking his pipe and Bilbo was feeding his pony an apple, though he tried to not be noticed. The rest of the Company was sound asleep.

Suddenly a loud screeching echoed through the night, waking Thorin and sending her into a tree overlooking the cliff. She held on to a branch with her tail and twitched her ears, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked, coming closer to the fire.

"Orcs," Kíli replied, gazing into the night.

"Orcs?" Bilbo said, a panicky note creeping into his voice.

"Throat-cutters," said Fíli, as if he were describing the weather. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The Lone Lands are crawling with them."

"They strike," added Kíli, a hint of amusement in his voice, "in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

The brothers looked at each other and chuckled at the look of panic on the Hobbit's face.

She turned her head around and growled at them at about the same moment Thorin said, "You think that's funny?"

Fíli and Kíli looked away. To find both Thorin and Skyfire against them was humbling. From Thorin they were used to it, but Skyfire was usually in for a bit of fun.

"You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" Thorin went on.

"We didn't mean anything by it," mumbled Kíli.

"No, you didn't," spat Thorin. "You know nothing of the world."

"Don't mind him, laddie," said Balin, who had evidently returned from a sanitary stop. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."

She turned to Balin, then to Thorin, who had walked towards the edge of the cliff and looked into the night.

She climbed back out of the tree, deducing there was no immediate danger, just as Balin began his story.

"After the Dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thrór tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf Kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race. Azog, the Defiler."

Upon hearing the name, Thorin's hatred crashed over her like a wave. She shuddered, hoping with all her heart he would never hate her like that.

"The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began…by beheading the king."

Grief. Terrible grief. She had to forcibly keep tears from running down her face.

"Thráin, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed. We did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us.
"That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf-prince, facing down the pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armour bent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Deflecting the Orc's attacks, he managed to grasp a sword from a fallen comrade and cut off the Orc's arm. Azog the Defiler learned that day…that the line of Durin is not so easily broken.
"Our forces rallied, and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song that night. For our dead were beyond the count of grief. Wee few had survived.
"And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."

Maybe I could too.

Thorin turned around to see his Company all looking at him, silently promising their support. He responded by inclining his head in gratitude.

"And the pale Orc," Bilbo asked Balin, "what happened to him?"

It was Thorin who answered, "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."

She decided that was an appropriate ending to the evening and flew off to let the story sink in. As such, she missed Gandalf and Balin exchanging a worried look.

She also missed the two Orcs upon Wargs across the ravine, observing the Company and talking to each other in the rough Dark Speech.