A/N: I'm fortunate to have a few days off from school...so that means copious amounts of writing. Yay...right? Thank you, all you lovely readers and reviewers for being so patient with me. I wish I was able to get all of these ideas penned out and updated as quickly as I could, but school does force me to work on other things, unfortunately.

That being said, I hope that this small update is entertaining for you? And as always, I appreciate any feedback, comments, questions, whatever you'd like to say concerning this story. Feel free to do so.

And thank you.

Enjoy.

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

"You cannot do this!"

Fili was indignant, spluttering and fuming as he straightened his back, standing as tall as he was able against the massive form of Treebeard.

He would not be cowed.

"They are our kin!" He barked heatedly, "We cannot just forsake them!"

"I am sorry little dwarf master," Treebeard's gravelly voice was low but authoritative, "But this is not our fight. We Ents cannot hold back the storm. We must weather such things as we always have done."

"How can that possible be your decision!" Fili's voice raised in fury, "You cannot simply give up! Our friends, our family are out there!"

"This is not our war, little dwarfling."

"No!"

It was Kili's turn to protest, stepping forward so that he was side by side with his brother.

"That cannot be! Aren't…aren't you part of this world? Doesn't that matter to you at all? You must help…please?"

"This war," Treebeard remarked lowly, fixing his gaze on Fili first before shifting towards Kili, "Is not one that we belong to. And you should be seeking safety. Not war."

Fili had heard enough at this point. Shaking his head in anger, he averted his gaze, to the ground, steeling his emotions before shooting a hard look towards the Ent before.

"You're wrong," He spat, "I belong with my uncle, with my kin. I belong in this fight. Others are out there, defending this land, and all these peoples and creatures, and what are we to do? Cower? Hide away in the forest while others give up everything for all of Middle Earth?"

Fili turned swiftly away from the congregation of Ents, Kili hot on his heels, and began his long march into the woods. He'd scale a tree as soon as he was a good distance away from Treebeard and could control his flaring temper.

He'd never forgive them for this. He'd never forget this injustice.

How dare that selfish, ignorant—

The young dwarf prince let out a grunt of surprise as he was lifted off his feet, a familiar pinch of bark against his neck and the warm breath of the Ent ruffling his hair and tickling his ears.

Kili let out a similar disgruntled sigh as he too was hoisted into the air and onto the familiar perch of Treebeard's shoulder.

"Now, not so hasty, master dwarf," Treebeard retorted good-naturedly, which made Fili's anger boil. "Gandalf instructed me to keep you safe and so safe is where I'll be keeping you. I am to take you home, master dwarf. That is our path. Your part in this tale is over."

Fili perked slightly at Treebeard's words.

They were going home. That could do them some good. The young dwarf prince knew that the mountain was no less safe than the rest of the lands of Middle Earth.

Perhaps there was something they—

"But home won't be any safer than anywhere else," Kili piped in. Fili inwardly cringed before cuffing his brother in the ear.

"Ow!" Kili growled, leaning away from his brother, averting his eyes away from Fili's scowl. "All I meant was that—"

He earned another cuff to the ear.

"Quiet!" Fili hissed, grabbing his brother's sleeve.

But, it was too late.

Treebeard rumbled lowly as he tromped slowly through the trees. "Not safe then?" He questioned, "hmm. Where then to take you? A safe place for little dwarves."

"We should go south!" Kili's voice rang out. Fili groaned.

South? Why South?

"South you say?" Came Treebeards inquiry. "That won't take you close to home at all. We'll go right past Isengard."

"I—"

Fili started at the comment and then pursed his lips together, giving his brother a sidelong glance.

What was he up to?

"Precisely," remarked Kili simply. "This way we can slip past Saruman unnoticed. Go around and undetected."

Fili was flummoxed, absolutely flabbergasted by his brother. How could he think that this plan was sound?

"Are you daft? It doesn't work that way. Don't you know anything?" He retorted heatedly, "They'll see us Kee. We'll be caught! And even if we're not, we'll be too late to help anybody!"

Kili only shot Fili a smile and shook his head in his youthful, boyish way, reminding Fili just how young his brother truly was.

How young they both were.

"No we won't. Not this time," Kili remarked, softy. "Don't you see? The closer we are to the danger, the farther we are from harm."

He winked at Fili who still looked utterly confused.

The rough rope that bound her wrists was scratching uncomfortably against her skin, rubbing the flesh raw.

Lyla stumbled briefly, as a firm hand shoved her forward.

Her foot struck a rock, and in her blindfolded state, the hobbit scrambled unsteadily, unable to gauge what lay before her as she placed another foot forward.

Her knees scraped against something hard.

Her tender shoulder was gripped harshly.

"On your feet, Halfling," Someone snarled in her ear, his voice low, breath warm against her cold cheek. She wondered when it had gotten so cold.

Her contempt burned deep in her belly, igniting a defiance.

However, even should she wish to remark, reply to the man's cruel treatment, her mouth was gagged, silencing her as much as the hood about her head blinded her.

Lyla felt very much like a sheep being led to the slaughter. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, echoing in her ears. And all the while the ring grew heavier and heavier about her neck.

The captain—whoever he was with his familiar countenance and spirit about him—could very well snatch it from about her neck, and all would be lost.

'He has only to extend his hand and take the ring, and all will come to ruin. You will fail. The world will fall.' The mocking voice hummed lowly, tantalizingly sinister in her ears.

And here, with the darkness surrounding her, with bodies pressing near her, prodding and poking and urging her forward, into the unknown, Lyla felt utterly alone and helpless. The deep pain in her hand and shoulder pulsed dully.

She felt suffocated as the humming voice muted the other, more natural noises about her: the crunching of gravel, the rifling of fabrics, the low, dulcet whisperings of the men surrounding her.

Even Bofur's voice was muted, dulled, suppressed by his own gag.

She wasn't sure how long they travelled like this, moving slowly and then quickly, travelling upwards and downwards, stumbling over rocks and roots and brambles and bushes. Time was distorted, blending and blurred together, its grasp beyond her comprehension. She felt utterly disconnected from the movement of time and space, utterly out of step with what was happening around her.

Shivers had started to tingle up her spine and her head felt muddled.

And this only heightened the loss of confidence she felt, no matter how angry she was.

But what she did feel with a keen certainty, with every step she took, was that she was moving further and further from her goal, from the mountain.

She was failing.

With a low grunt, Lyla landed, ungracefully, on the ground, being forced to her knees by one of the guardsmen behind her.

The low, murmuring whisper cackled delightedly at her treatment.

What the hobbit didn't anticipate though, was her hood and gag being hastily ripped off of her. Wincing at the sudden change in light, Lyla slammed her eyes shut and licked her dry and cracked lips, grateful for the cool breeze that soothed her flesh and filled her nostrils with fresher scents than the one that the tattered bag provided.

Interestingly, though, as Lyla opened her eyes she noted that it wasn't towards the hobbit or dwarf that the men's attentions were drawn to, thought they had removed the impediments of the hood and gag. Instead, the guards surrounding her had stilled, their eyes drawn upwards, towards the bright sky.

"What is it?" the captain murmured lowly, his voice barely ghosting in the air in front of Lyla. "What do you see?"

He caught the gaze of the man nearest to the hobbit's left, whose dark brows were knit together into confusion and suspicion as he assessed the movements around them.

It was obvious that he was their tracker, much as Kili had been for the company during the quest.

"Nothing yet," the man remarked just as softly as the others, "I've seen nothing. But, do you notice…the birds. They're still. Nothing. Just nothing."

At that, Lyla's ears, too, strained to listen for the soft chirping of bird song or the rustling of leaves and wings.

But the man had been right, there was nothing. Life had ceased, disappeared. No sight nor sound of any other creature, apart from themselves, manifested themselves.

Either the area was barren and desolate, as had been the case with the land around Erebor during Smaug's reign, (though from what Lyla could see life was thriving)…

Or…

"We're being watched," the captain's voice was hushed, near her ear as he crouched down.

The hairs on the back of Lyla's neck stood on end, and a chill settled in her bones. The constant ache that had formed in her shoulder and hand throbbed dully in response to the man's words.

"And I suspect it's you they're hunting."

His voice was accusatory, though unsurprised as he turned to face the hobbit, peering down at her submissive personage, and Lyla swallowed back the thickness that tightened her throat, trying to ignore the way the chain around her neck grew ever heavier, humming against her skin, cold and burning all at once.

'Don't let him see.' She chanted repeatedly. 'Please don't let him see.'

She didn't know to whom she was pleading, but she pleaded all the same.

Despite this plea, though, the man's eyes flickered for a moment, moving towards the thin, silver band that marred her skin, rubbing the flesh raw. Lyla watched the color of his eyes darken and then flash dangerously, emotions flitting like a whirlwind as he leaned closer towards her.

"The question is why." His voice was barely above a whisper, the warm breath ghosting against her cheek as he leaned forward. "The Nazgul do not follow creatures for amusement. They hunt with a purpose."

"I suggest ye back away if ye know what's good for you."

Bofur's voice was dripping with venom and Lyla spied, out of the corner of her eye, that he was straining against his bonds. "Don't ye lay a hand on her head!"

Bofur's comment made the man blink, his eyes lightening as he turned towards the dwarf who stood proudly, staring defiantly back at the much taller opponent before him.

"You're bound to an errand of secrecy," The captain spat, "And yet you are my captives. I shall extract any information I see fit. Now—"

He turned back towards Lyla, grabbing the front of her shirt, hoisting the hobbit to her feet.

"You will answer my questions. There are not innocent travelers any more. So tell me, Halfling, whose side are you on?"

The man was towering over her, eyes shifting towards the sky briefly before narrowing back onto Lyla's face.

Lyla knew there wasn't a way to keep all her secrets, save the ring's purpose and presence in her possession. She'd have to confess something to the man.

"We set out from Erebor, my companion and I," Lyla gestured her head towards Bofur, "Before meeting many new companions in Lothlorien who began our journey with us. Several elves and dwarves among out party, as well as two men and the grey wizard."

At this the man paused, his brows furrowing in, what appeared to Lyla, to be surprise.

"And who were these men?" He queried, eyes sharp and assessing.

Lyla swallowed suddenly feeling like a creature on display, the man's gaze was so intense.

"One was called Aragorn or Estel and the other was Denethor of Gondor."

The man's face froze, his eyes darkening as he watched her.

He didn't move for a moment, his breathing stilled.

And then he frowned.

"You were a friend of Denethor?" He queried softly, dangerously.

Flashes of the man's angered face filtered through Lyla's mind and she repressed a shudder. The pain the ring had caused the man of Gondor had been great.

Lyla understood that. It was treacherous, the ring. It would hold one to their word, bind them in an unbreakable contract.

It would corrupt all those who came in contact with it.

And while she could not fault Denethor's actions to wholly his own will, she was hesitant to think well of the man completely.

He'd gone back on his word. He'd succumbed to temptation…

But was it worth it to convey this to the captain before her? It was obvious that he was familiar with Denethor's name.

Perhaps he was a close friend?

No, it would not do well to convey distaste for the man in front of one who knew him.

"Yes," she finally managed her voice low. "I was, for my part at least."

At this the man straightened and adjusted the bracers on his knuckles. His face had stilled into one of cold indifference as he averted his gaze.

Lyla knew instantly that her words had struck a sour chord with the man.

"It would grieve you to know, then, that he is dead." The man's voice was clipped, bitter, and angry.

Lyla blanched at his words, her heart dropping.

Oh Aule.

No.

"Dead?"

Flashes of Denethor's enraged face filled Lyla's mind, his fierce commands for the ring, for the power of the enemy.

And now he was dead?

"When? How?"

If he'd perished…

What of the others?

A stone settled in Lyla's belly.

Oh please no…

"As one of his companions," The man continued, eyes narrowed, as he peered towards the darkening sky "I was hoping you would tell me."

The man's face had twisted ever so slightly, contorted into a look of accusation of condemnation as he flashed a gaze back at her.

"His horn washed up along the riverbank not three days hence. It was cloven in two." The man's face looked pinched, strained, his eyes taking on a faraway look, "And then his shield the following day. The remnants of a boat were not long behind."

The man frowned.

"But more than this, I know it is my heart that he is dead. Those were the marks of a funeral."

The captain shot Lyla a hard look, eyes focused and unblinking as he stared at her.

Lyla swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat as her cheeks began to feel warm under such a gaze.

He blamed her.

"I-I was not there," She finally conceded, "I did not…if something happened to Denethor I did not know it until now. We were separated in battle. All of us were."

At this the man scoffed, "Battle you say? When would someone like you have gone to battle? You're nothing but softness and ease. This is war Master Baggins, not a game. You could not have gone to battle with Denethor and survived while he did not. He was a skilled warrior, a man of Gondor. And what are you? A simpering creature in favor of comforts and gardens."

"I—"

"Now tell me the truth." The man had stepped closer, his shadow encasing her smaller frame in darkness. "Tell me what happened."

"I was not there." The hobbit repeated, her anger beginning to flare at the insults thrown her way. No one seemed to think well of her…

"And I certainly know something of war, believe me. I do not know what happened to Denethor but I do know that it was his own doing."

'Fool of a Took' she instantly berated herself for the words the spilled from her lips in her annoyance. While they'd been truthful, they were less than tactful.

Fool of a Took indeed…

The man's eyes narrowed further, and he stepped closer to the hobbit, his long, slender fingers, wrapping tightly around her shoulder—her injured shoulder—making her wince.

"Come then, little Hobbit." He all but snarled at her. "Let us prove your word to be truth."

A strange sensation prickled the back of Lyla's neck as she was pushed forward roughly, back onto the path and towards the unknown.

This would not end well.

The unknown place, it turned out, was a cave. A large cave, hidden behind a thicket of trees and overgrowth and protected further by the careful camouflage of a large tarp covered in vines, brambles and leaves, matching the natural foliage around it.

It was into this cave that Lyla and Bofur were led, into the dark and downward, following a low tunnel of sorts.

With barely any torchlight to help her see, Lyla stumbled over every obstacle that presented itself, something the captain and the rest of the men seemed to find amusing.

The captain placed a firm pressure on Lyla's already tender shoulder and eased her forward, through the crowd and away from Bofur, much to the dwarf's consternation.

"Oi!" He hollered, "You bring her back!"

The captain, for his part, ignored the furious dwarf and all but dragged the hobbit further into the cave, away from the larger crowds and towards a smaller alcove.

With a firm shove, he propelled her forward, so that she nearly collided with the far wall. Her joints protested the rough handling, her already tender arm hissed and ached, making Lyla's head feel light.

She blinked a few times to clear her vision.

"Now, Halfling," The man murmured softly, stepping forward, "Let us prove your worth shall we?"

The man reached forward, tugging at the bonds that held Lyla'd hands together. Cool metal slid across her wrists and suddenly her bonds were free.

The man stepped back, his eyes hooded and narrowed as he watched her.

Lyla, for her part, rubbed her wrists carefully, unsure of what to do or say. What did he mean by prove her worth?

"I don't follow your meaning," She finally murmured awkwardly as the man just stood there staring down at her, his lips pursed into a fine line, gaze trained on the chain about her neck.

"You know what happened to Denethor."

It wasn't a question. The man's voice was clipped, accusatory. His eyes were suddenly blazing as he peered at her.

The captain did not need to declare his suspicions for Lyla to grasp what the man was implying.

"I told you," Lyla's hands reached behind her, towards the rocky wall, "We were separated. I don't—I don't know what happened. I was not there."

"He was a man of Gondor," The captain hissed, "And yet you survived while he did not? How is that possible? Unless you betrayed him."

Lyla's eyes narrowed at the accusation.

She would never—

"A great man may fall by one arrow," she remarked lowly, "And some that die deserve life. But it was not my doing. Denethor's fate was decided the moment he forsook the quest! He was the betrayer not me."

'Blasted. Keep your mouth shut Lyla!'

At that rather foolish comment, the man drew his sword and stepped forward.

Lyla's eyes widened and she took a step back out of reflex, her emotions torn between anger and fear.

Was he going to attack her?

Bebother it all…

"Draw your weapon."

The man took another step forward, slowly, predatorily, eyes trained on Lyla's face.

The hobbit had only a moment to draw her sword from its hilt before the man struck at her. Lyla stumbled back, her shoulder ramming into the wall, making stars dance before her eyes, as the man struck again.

Metal sang against metal. Sparks flew, and Lyla's arms nearly buckled at the powerful blow angled at her.

The man said nothing as he stepped back squaring his shoulders before lunging again.

Lyla pivoted to the left as the captain's sword tore through the air, positioned dangerously close to her left ear.

"Come now," The man barked, "don't be shy. You say you were in battle. You survived when Denethor did not. Surely you can defend yourself from the likes of me."

Was he mad?!

While she did not know how she'd survived up until this point (being rubbish with a sword as she was) surely the man would not fault her for living?

Lyla brought her sword up again, meeting the man's blade with her own little letter opener as he parried, cast a blow, and then retreated before advancing even quicker towards.

Apparently, he did fault her for living.

Denethor must have meant a great deal to him.

The man charged her again, nearly pitching her off her feet, as his sword (much bigger than her own) nearly sliced through the flesh of her arm.

But she refused to strike back at the man.

She'd only ever defend herself.

"This is madness," She huffed, "I wasn't—I didn't—"

The man was pressing towards her again, his feet moving quickly, as he pivoted and caught the hobbit's wrist with the hilt of his own. Lyla hissed in pain, her fingers loosening the grip on her own weapon.

The small. Elvish blade clattered to the floor…

The man surged forward again and pressed his advantage of height upon Lyla, ramming the hobbit back and then to the side, towards the opening of the small alcove.

Lyla stumbled back, her wrist still smarting from the blow, her footings still unsteady in the darkened caves.

The man lunged again, sword pushing down on her, aiming towards her throat.

Lyla twisted back violently, and lost her footing, tumbling backwards in a tangled of limbs and her cloak. Her ankle, which had been ensnared by the claws of the great fell beast stung from the contact of the grime and pebbles that littered the floor.

"Get up!" The man snapped, kicking Lyla's sword towards her lightly, "Now!"

Dizzily, the hobbit rolled to her side and struggled to stand, her arm hissing in protest, the laughter of that ever-present voice humming in her ears.

'You will beg for death before the end'

"Bugger off ya brute!" Bofur's voice was echoing through the cave. Lyla spied the struggling dwarf out of the corner of her eye, straining against the hold the two soldiers had on him.

"Up!" the man commanded again, his voice like ice. "Now."

Lyla hesitated too long though, and received a rough arm wrapped around her shoulder, hoisting her to her feet.

The world spun slightly and Lyla stumbled as her sword was thrust back into her hands.

She brought her sword up as the man charged at her again.

"Come now, Halfling," he snipped, "If you could survive during that battled when Denethor did not, surely you can best me."

Lyla managed to pivot her stance and catch the tip of the man's blade with her own, her smaller stature being an advantage at this angle. She ducked beneath the man's blow, extracted her sword from the binding connection to the captain's and brought the blade flush to the man's wrists, pressing all her weight into the connection.

She was careful not to nick the man's flesh, aiming instead for the thick leather straps that wound about the man's wrists.

The pressure of the blow, though, smarted enough that the man was forced to take a step back, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Well it seems you can fight after all…"

But, Lyla would not step further in advancement. She would not attack him again.

He was mad.

"This is ridiculous" She muttered, "I've done nothing to warrant your ire. We are innocent travelers. You must let us go. I will not fight you."

The captain, though, seemed to have another opinion on the matter.

"Innocent travelers you say, and yet you were with Denethor the day he died. You refuse claim to any blame for his demise. But, little Halfling, you will fight me. I will make certain of that."

Before Lyla could register what had happened, the man had moved to his left, his arm shooting outward towards another of the guard that surrounded them.

With firm, deft movements, the man pulled Bofur forward, still bound and struggling.

Instantly the blade went to the dwarf's throat, stilling his movements, even as curses escaped his lip.

"Bofur!"

"You filthy—"

"Now little hobbit, what shall it be? Shall I cut his throat or will you abide by my wishes?"

Lyla gaped at the man silently, her ire rising with each breath the man took. At the same time, though, a deep panic thundered in her chest, beating wildly against her ribs, making it difficult to breathe.

Bofur looked both annoyed and worried as he peered back at Lyla, a frown firmly fixed on his face.

"Come now, it's time to choose," the man remarked, pressing his weapon more firmly against the dwarf's throat.

Droplets of blood oozed forth, lazily running down Bofur's neck.

The man hadn't mortally wounded the dwarf.

But he'd done enough to incite the hobbit's anger.

With a resigned growl of frustration, Lyla straightened and readied her sword.

"So be it," She murmured, taking a step forward as the man cast Bofur back into the grips of another guard who placed a dagger against Bofur's ribs as a reminder of what would happen should Lyla refuse to fight.

Raising his sword he surged forward angling his sword downward, meeting Lyla's blade, deflecting the blow she'd tried to inflict upon him.

The captain then brought his sword round and nicked at Lyla's wrist again, making the hobbit hiss and nearly abandon her weapon altogether.

She caught Bofur's gaze briefly, as she stumbled back, her head swimming. The dwarf look perturbed by the battle ensuing and his eyes were pulled into a worried gaze as he watched her.

Lyla swallowed back the bile that had risen in her throat and tried to steady the wild beating of her heart as the man charged forward again.

This time, though, Lyla was somewhat prepared for the onslaught and brought her head down, barreling into the man's stomach before he could even bring his sword down to meet her weapon.

The man however was not amused by her attempted attack and brought the hilt of his sword into Lyla's bad shoulder, making the hobbit gasped in shock and pain.

Stars danced before her eyes, as she contorted her body away from the man.

The captain brought his foot around, sweeping beneath Lyla's own footing, completely unbalancing her, causing the hobbit to tumble backwards, panting and gasping in pain.

Dimly, she was aware of Bofur's panicked, furious voice as she struggled to gain her footing, dragging herself to her feet.

"I was not responsible for his death," she hissed back, her anger rising even as the world tilted and blurred. "I was not there. His death was his own. No one else."

Her head felt heavy all of a sudden. The laughter continued to reverberate in her ears.

"He would not have died had it not been for you and that forsaken quest," The captain hissed stepping forward, straightening his shoulders as he peered down on her, "I know what it is you carry. Isildur's bane has been found, hasn't it, little Shireling."

The sword was pointed towards her throat again, the tip pressed against the tender flesh at the base of her neck.

Lyla blanched at the look in the man's eye.

Isildur's bane…

She'd heard that before.

But where…?

Then the pointed tip of the captain's blade slowly slid across her flesh, moving achingly sinisterly towards the heavy chain that hung about her throat. Metal touched metal and carefully the man brought the blade beneath the chain and lifted the necklace upwards so that the two rings that hung about her neck were dangling in the air. Thorin's ring hung limply, its bright mithril and blue gem shining like the fairest moonlight in the dark cavern.

The bright gold of the ring of power, though, shone brightly in the dim light, acting as a beacon that drew the eye.

Lyla cringed watching the way the men's attention turned to the ring, their eyes focused and attentive to the glittering gold.

She was certain that they could hear, just as she could, the humming, enticing pleadings that the innocent looking trinket murmured.

'Isildur's Bane'

Lyla's head throbbed. She could feel the blood pumping in her veins, echoing in her ears. The world tilted briefly.

'He will take the ring from you…' The voice was gleeful as it whispered to her.

'Watch it destroy him. Watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad.'

No.

Lyla tried to take a step back, but the man's blade returned to her throat, pressing uncomfortably against her skin.

"What price will such a trinket bring I wonder," the man murmured, his eyes fixated on the golden trinket, "What advantage will we have against the enemy?"

'All will come to ruin because of you.'

"Think of your father," One man remarked softly, "Think of what this will do for him. What we can do to fortify Gondor against the enemy."

The man's eyes glittered thoughtfully, unable to move away from the ring.

Lyla's stomach rolled, her palms becoming slick, the world dimmed around the edges.

'I will break them. It will all come to ruin. You've led them to their doom, Halfling.'

"NO!" Lyla jerked away swiftly, pulling backwards, her eyes searching wildly around at the faces that surrounded her. All the men peered at her curiously. Bofur, though looked horrified, his eyes wide as he searched her face.

They couldn't take the ring.

She couldn't let them.

"You cannot wield it," she murmured, taking another step back, her hand coming up to encase the ring, to hide it away, "None of us can. It will destroy you, all of us. Everything."

Her chest felt tight. Breathing was difficult.

The man blinked a few times, seeming to come back to himself. He caught the hobbit's gaze with his own.

The green of his gaze darkened. His lips pulled into a firm frown as he tilted his head towards Lyla thoughtfully.

"You'd be wrong to assume me so noble a creature." He remarked softly, "What care I for your toils and quests? Gondor is my home and I will do all I can to protect it. No matter the cost."

The man stepped forward as Lyla moved back, only to be grabbed by one of the guard that stood behind her. Her arms were pinned behind her back, and she struggled to get away.

But she would not break eye contact with the man as he stepped forward again. She had to make him understand…

"Please," she remarked softly, "It will destroy you. It will destroy all of us. You have to let me go. You cannot take the ring."

The man leaned closer to her face, his warm breath blasting across her cheeks as he glared at her, his gaze boring into her own.

"It seems a fair trade," He remarked. "A ring of power as compensation for my son's death."

It started with the birdsong disappearing.

The small, twittering of larks and sparrows gradually dissipated.

And then the rustling of animals ceased as well.

Then Fili knew something was wrong.

But it wasn't until he began to see the dark, billowing puffs of smoke in the sky that Fili understood the danger of what they were walking into.

The air felt heavy as they cleared the tree line.

In that moment, Fili realized that his brother was not as daft as he'd supposed.

How did he…how had he known?

The golden-haired dwarf cast his brother an incredulous glance, and noted the resigned look on the dwarf's face. He shot his brother a half smile.

And all the chattering that'd been committed, all the topics that Treebeard had prattled on and on about had ceased as they stepped into the clearing that oozed the scent of smoldering wood and ash with large, grey clouds looming overhead.

The distinct sound of metal grinding against metal made Fili cringe as he imagined what must have destroyed the trees nearest the town of Isengard.

For that is where they now stood.

Part of the forest had been burned, hacked, and destroyed.

And for what?

Fili got a good look at the dark tower, standing like a sentinel amongst the barren landscape.

The strangled cry of their companion drew both dwarves' gaze downwards, towards Treebeard's face. Fili noted the way the creature's brows were knit together, his mouth hanging slack in surprise, eyes wide and astonished.

"N-no," the Ent bemoaned quietly, "Many of these trees were…my friends."

Fili felt a familiar pang of remorse course through him. Finally Treebeard could see what he, himself had experienced: the loss, the destruction as a result of this great war.

The betrayal that Saruman committed was palpable, heavy in the air.

Finally Treebeard could understand. Though, it was a bitter reality and one that Fili was loathe to impart on others.

Now what were they to do though?

"I'm sorry Treebeard," The elf prince remarked softly, eying the Ent carefully. "This did not deserve to happen."

Despite their earlier disagreement, Fili felt some compassion for the ent. He wondered if this creature had ever experienced such loss before.

"A wizard should know better," Treebeard continued, the timbre in his voice growing deeper, "He used to walk amongst the trees, talk to them. He used to be my friend. And now…"

Treebeard's whole person shook and Fili grabbed the nearest branch to steady himself, as the ent let out a might roaring moan of anger, arching its back as he brought his call into the sky.

And in that moment, Fili knew that they'd no longer be observers in this great war.

The Ents were going to battle against Isengard.

"What are we going to do then?" He questioned the Ent, watching the way Treebeard's hands balled into fists, his mouth pulling into a frown, large eyes narrowing as he peered towards Isengard's dark tower.

"We fight."