A/N: A much shorter chapter this time around, but I think it's a fitting length for what we're transitioning into. Also, if you're interested in listening to some of the music that inspires my chapters I have a few songs for you to peruse: "Come and goes (in waves)" by Greg Laswell and "Ice of Phoenix" by Audiomachine

Enjoy!

Part III Prologue:

It wasn't supposed to end this way, she decided morosely, as she coughed into her sleeve, the musty, craggy surfaces about her making her nose itch painfully, the smolder, stagnant air about her pricking at her eyes, making them sting and water.

The darkness about her pressed its advantage and she let out a small shudder, screwing her eyes shut as she curled in on herself, as a longing for green fields filled her.

She missed the Shire. The flowing, little rivers. The rich fields of East Farthing. The little forests and the cool rich summer evenings amongst the stars.

She missed the comfort of her Smial, her dishes and the comfort of the paintings on her walls, her little armchair by the fire.

Her garden…

She missed the familiarity of it all. She missed the contentedness of it.

More than that, though, she missed The Lonely Mountain. Or, rather, those who resided there.

Thirteen dwarves of most peculiar nature and habit, with their crude, and often rude behavior, who were so uncouth, unconventional and so completely un-hobbit like that it would be a travesty for any respectable hobbit to be seen amongst their ranks.

Oh how she missed them.

Another rumble sounded overhead as she huddled there, in the dark, her thoughts the only solace available to her here, now, at the end of all things. Her hands wrapped about the small remnants of her friends that she had with her. The bead, the flower, and the small ring with the glittering jewel that belong to Dis, daughter of Thrain, mother to Fili and Kili and sister to Thorin Oakenshield. What hope did she have for this shadow to pass, for this moment to cease? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

What hope did she have to returning to those she loved?

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

"Mist and shadow,

Cloud and shade.

All shall fade. All shall fade"-J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter 25:

The first thing he noticed was the soft material beneath his fingers and the faint light flittering across his face. There was also a distinct warmth that surrounded him, and a soft pressure against his torso that was both comforting and cumbersome.

Something felt off, though, for the life of him, he couldn't get his sluggish mind to work it out, though it nagged at him incessantly. He knew there was something he was to be doing, something that called his immediate attention.

Someone who needed his help.

Before he could really muster the energy to figure out just what that nagging sensation was, drowsiness tugged him back toward the blessed cool reprieve of sleep and provided an escape from the jarring pain that cascaded through him.

The next time he woke, there was the distinct sensation of being well and truly overheated. He felt as though he'd been stuffed in an oven and Bombur was making a feast of sorts, using him as the main course. He could feel the sticky sweat on his brow and slicked down his back as he tried to wriggled out from beneath…whatever it was that he'd been wrapped in.

And, by Durin's Beard, why did he ache so?

Something blessedly cool pressed against his forehead and he leaned into the touch, reveling in the relief it brought. It'd been a long time since he'd felt this type of languid relief wash over him. Not since they'd defeated Smaug and taken back the mountain, had he felt this contented and lightened.

Still something niggled at him, pleading for his attention.

The ache in his chest was returning with each deep breath he took and he fought off the drowsiness, trying to concentrate.

He NEEDED to concentrate.

There was something…

He squeezed his eyes shut in consternation and fury as flashes came zipping back to the forefront on his mind.

Oh no.

Stifling a low groan, he forced the weight of exhaustion from his eyes, willing them to open, and his fingers twitched agitatedly, longing to grasp onto his weapon, feeling the familiar, cool metal against his palm.

The room that greeted him was dark, dim and musty as he slowly eased into a sitting position, letting the scratchy blanket fall from his shirtless torso and onto the lumpy mat and cot he lay upon. Interestingly, his torso, he found, was bound in heavy white gauze and aching dully with each movement.

What had happed?

NOW, now he needed to get to his feet (though that might be a bit of a challenge) and address the situation and the task of trying to remember what in Mahal's name was going on.

And where Lyla Baggins was.

The hobbit wouldn't have left without him, wouldn't have abandoned him to the rule of the men of Gondor.

She'd had the ring. They'd escaped the fell beast and the ruddy elf and that ranger were helping them to get to the lower tunnels.

Why then was he here? And hurt?

Something was missing, something had happened and Bofur strained to remember, to think about what had transpired.

He'd watched her get hit. A spear.

A spear!

And then—

Bofur's eyes widened in horror.

"Lass!"

Lyla stared hesitantly upwards, her hand coming to rest carefully around the chain about her neck as her fingers idly ran a pattern across the smooth surface of the golden ring she bore, bypassing Thror's ring and the small bead and flower that also held purchase against her throat.

She didn't want to think of the others right now. She didn't want to think of the hurt, the loss, the anger.

She didn't want to think of how she might have disappointment them.

Not yet.

Lyla blinked a few times, allowing the frown of unease to slip across her mouth, tugging the corners of her lips firmly downward as she surveyed the task ahead while remembering, with a lurching sensation firmly rooted in her stomach, what she'd left behind.

Again.

"Are you sure about this?" She murmured softly, her voice betraying the mistrust she felt, the unease at the prospect before her.

She didn't want to do this, not alone anyway. Despite the fact that it had been a week, Lyla Baggins was dreading the ascent before her, longing for the companionship she'd once had.

But it was not to be. She knew that, even as he heart longed to return to that blasted city with those ruddy men shouting insults at her and demanding to surrender the ring into their possession.

Ecthelion had certainly been one of the most vocal.

Yet here she stood. Free and once more trudging through the wilds towards Mordor.

Granted, it wasn't an ideal destination. And, granted it was filled with a great deal of unsavory expectations. Lyla was certain they were going to meet an orc or two on the way towards the mountain.

But, it was her path to follow and the hobbit was determined to complete this quest.

Even if it meant leaving someone behind.

Her stomach lurched again, nearly causing the bile to rise in her throat.

She had to leave Bofur.

HAD to leave him.

Not that she wanted to. Aule no, she never wanted to do that. But, watching him, lying there the rain mingling with the bright crimson from the wound, she knew she couldn't stay and wait for him. Not with orcs already surrounding them with the promise that more would follow.

Glorfindel urged her to go, sympathy written on his face as he tried to ease her away from Bofur's side, even as she fought against his slender arms and firm grip, even as Aragorn attended the dwarf who lay still, face paling, eyes fluttering briefly every few moments.

'He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade' the ranger had hissed lowly, 'He needs elvish medicine.'

Sapphire eyes, blazing with fury, met the calming oceanic orbs of the elf who stood near Lyla's side.

The ranger's gaze had then flicked towards Lyla and he'd frowned at the hobbit, his gaze softening though still maintaining the same stoic, all-knowing look that he seemed possessed of at all times. He wanted to convey to the hobbit what she should do, what she NEEDED to do.

She needed to leave.

And Lyla knew that. She did. She knew that this quest was important, that destroying the ring was a paramount objective.

She understood what his eyes conveyed to her.

But…

Could she really leave her friends a second time? Could she really abandon Bofur like this? Not knowing whether he was to make it, whether or not he'd survive.

In the end, she did not have the luxury of choice.

Despite the fact that the black rider had been temporarily deposed and the orcs were in a meyley of activity, none really having any firm focus or direction, there were a few who lingered, eyeing Lyla and Aragorn and the others with a keen interest.

All it took was a trio of foolhardy, and rather intimidating orcs, swathed in armor and bearing smatterings of blood and mud upon their faces, to lunge towards the group, hovering over the injured dwarf, before Lyla realized the haste she needed to make in retreat.

She'd scrambled backwards, barely having time to grasp her sword before the orcs had descended upon them, weapons drawn and snarling.

Had it not been for Glorfindel's quick movements, and Ecthelion's swift dagger throws, Lyla would have certainly come away from that moment with more than a terrified memory.

Had she come away from it at all.

Then as the queen of Rohan had stepped forward, her own sword drawn and ready to meet the blade of the orc nearest the hobbit and unconscious dwarf, it was Echtelion who had hoisted the girl to her feet, muttering lowly as he shoved her towards the alcove and the tunnel that would lead under the city and out.

'I never thought…' he'd muttered the words to himself, cutting off his train of thoughts rather abruptly as he cast a wary glance towards Lyla. 'You are a most determined creature.' He finally conceded 'and I loathe to part with the ring, though…' and he sighed deeply, 'though I feel—I feel I must now. I see, or begin to see, what corruption it brings…I believe we are beginning to understand one another.'

Lyla shook her head to bring herself back to the present task at hand. Refusing to consider what she had left behind, what worries nagged at her.

She had to trust the Bofur would be alright. She had to trust that Aragorn would take care of him.

Aule help the man if he didn't. She would never forgive the blasted me of this horrid quest if anything else happened to those she cared about.

"Come masters, Gollum Gollum, we lead you ups. Ups the stairs we must go." Gollum's voice was haggard, almost resigned as he pled with Lyla to pay attention to their current needs.

They must ascend the stairway. The steep, craggy stairway that barely cast an appearance in the growing dark. The blackish, dimly colored rocks stood proudly jutting and protruding from the hard face of the mountain about him, though they seemed nearly swallowed by the inky blackness of the growing night. And with the air as thick as it was, and the fog beginning to descend, Lyla knew they were in for a rather treacherous climb.

And the hobbit rather disliked heights.

And, as she cast a furtive glance towards Gollum as he hovelled near her side, wide blue eyes peering owlishly up at her, sparkling even in the growing dark, something uncomfortable settled in Lyla's belly.

'Do not trust him'

Glorfindel's admonishment had been clear.

'I don't.'

Lyla was no fool. Even as Ecthelion gave a questioning look towards Lyla as she affirmed that Gollum was her guide and would follow after them as they maneuvered through the tunnel and out of the city. Lyla knew Gollum, knew what he was capable of.

She wasn't slow to forget her first encounter with the creature, nor his obsession with the trinket she bore about her neck, the one that called to him, incessantly, corrupted him, provoked his ire.

Lyla knew well not to trust him.

But, she had to concede to his navigational skills in the days that followed her parting from the elf and the man of Gondor. Gollum knew the paths that she did not. And she was certain that he would not lead her to the dark Lord, not when he had his own grasping selfish desires to claim the ring.

Lyla just had to out fox them all to complete this task.

"We must hurry, master, we must." Gollum's movements were jerky, his rail-thin arms gesturing wildly above his head, milky skin noticeable even in the growing dark. "Wraiths with wings could come and gets us, yes. Quick like shadows we must be, up, up, up."

Up, up, up.

"Easy master dwarf!"

Such a command only enraged Bofur further. He glowered up at his captor, baring his teeth and letting a snarl escape from his throat.

Easy?

Easy?!

"Are ye ruddy mad?!" He bellowed, "Ye fowl faced louts. Ye'll let me go and that's the last of it!"

He strained against the rough hold on his shoulders, grunting against the searing stinging pain that lanced his stomach and torso, nearly knocking breath from him and making his vision swim.

"Be still."

Bofur's veins pulsed as he glowered up at Ecthelion's stern, though worried face. His gaze narrowed into a murderous stare as he snarled towards the man, trying to lunge at the brute.

That foul faced, good for nothing—

"What did ya do ta her?!" He growled, "Where is she, ya lippy lowlife, dung faced pansy?! By Durin I'll wreck that pretty face of yers if I find that any harm has come to her!"

He strained against the man's firm hold, ignoring the disgruntled groan the man let out as the dwarf's unbooted foot made a firm kick towards the man's unprotected stomach.

"You will tear your stitches if you keep moving about like that, master dwarf," Glorfindel's voice filtered through the room, momentarily stalling Bofur's movements as surprise washed over him.

Relaxing enough to turn his head he met the golden-haired elf's frowning face, thought he creature's eyes glittered in amusement.

"Are you quite done with your tantrum or shall I insist that Estel come to assist master Ecthelion in restraining you?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

"Oi!" Bofur snapped, resuming his pull against Ecthelion's restraining hold, "Why don't ya bring her pretty face to ma axe and then we'll see the tantrum aye? Of all that moronic—"

"Would Lyla Baggins approve of such a foul tongue?" Glorfindel tutted softly, eyes softening, "I seem to find her to be one more appreciative of refined attitudes. Would not you agree?"

"Where is she?" Bofur's voice was low, dangerous and demanding. The elf and the man would rue the day they tried to trifle with him.

"She's gone. And you would do well to relax for a moment before you injure yourself further. She'd never forgive me if anything happened to you. She made that abundantly clear."

Bofur swiftly ignored such a command and continued to twist away from Ecthelion, managing to pull himself from the man's hold entirely, and maneuvered towards the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side and pulling himself into a sitting position, despite the hands that landed on his shoulders to stop him.

Gone?

She was gone?

The scratchy blanket fell to the floor, the bandages rubbed uncomfortably against his skin as he flexed his shoulders and searched for his shirt.

How could they have just let her go?

Ruddy elves.

Blasted men.

"In case ye were wonderin'," he spat, "Yer not my mother. Nor am I yer prisoner. And if ye think that I AM yer prisoner, then ye'll have another thing comin'. I refuse yer request and ye'll tell me where she is. NOW if yer done dallying and stickin' yer thumbs up yer noses."

"Master Dwarf," Aragorn's voice was soft, but commanding as he stepped into the small room, his blue eyes glittered dangerously in the candlelight and Bofur steeled his own gaze in response. "You must be still. You will tear the stitching and do more harm than good."

Bofur's frown deepened, his glare narrowing further.

He would not be cowed by some high-brow man of the wild, or of Gondor, or wherever in blazes Aragorn hailed from.

"Like I give a damn about the ruddy stitches!" He snarled squaring his shoulders and ignoring the way the movement made him nearly shudder with the pain. "She wasn't ta be by herself ya great fool. And ye just let her go? Are you truly that daft?"

"That was no so courteous" Glorfindel chided softly, "Though it was justly articulated. I understand your frustration master Bofur but you must listen. The Shireling has gone ahead. She is headed towards Cirith Ungol, and the hidden stairway that will take her into Mordor."

Cirith Ungol…

"Ye understand nothin' ya fair-faced orc child," Bofur snapped, "Ye let her go? Alone. To Mordor? Do ye not know what she's been through? What that ring is doin' ta her? What—what that wretched Gollum will do ta her if he gets her alone?"

He knew what would happen. Lyla was far too trusting and far too wearied by this whole affair.

She couldn't survive in the wild on her own.

Bofur tried to rise, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest and running an elbow towards Echtelion's arm that still rested upon Bofur's person.

They'd not stop him, thank you.

He was going after her.

"You must rest."

"I WILL NOT!" He bellowed, enraged at such a request. "You dare to let her leave alone, and yer askin' me to stand by and let her fall into the hands of those nasty packs of orcs? Are ye completely daft?!"

"We had no choice, you have to understand that."

It was Ecthelion who spoke this time, taking a step back from the dwarf who still struggled to stand. The man peered down at Bofur, face in a neutral mask of indifference as he assessed the situation at hand and the miner's reaction to it.

This only enraged Bofur more.

"Oh yes ye've really turned a new leaf then, eh? Bargained for her life did ya?"

The dwarf snorted derisively towards the man.

"Ye've given me no reason ta believe ya care one wit about that lass. You who nearly tried to off the lass and take the ring? What made ya change then eh?"

"Believe me, I had no intention of letting her go." Hissed Ecthelion. "I was going to keep that ring and take it to my father. You can be certain of that."

The man of Gondor straightened and took a step back.

"I would have dragged her to the White City kicking and screaming if I had to. I did not want that ring to go. You of all creatures should have perceived that much."

He caught Bofur's enraged face with a dark look of his own.

"But it would seem the powers of persuasion were in her favor. She saved my life."

The man chuckled darkly, almost bitterly as he looked at the hobbit's friend, eyes assessing carefully.

"If you dared to lay a hand on her I'll—"

"You'll what? She's already gone as you can see, and I have no intention of following after her. Nor did I harm her after her fell. I've a city to maintain. And as I said, she saved my life."

Ecthelion didn't seem to fond of that thought as his frown deepened.

"Lucky move on her part. Caught the orc the was hiding in the tunnel before he could bury a blade in my back."

Bofur snapped his mouth shut but continued to glower at the man before him, the worry for Lyla warring with the fury he felt for the trio of big folk that surrounded him.

Orcs and wargs and black riders milling about. And she was all alone out there? She'd stick out like a sore thumb in Mordor.

That is if she could even GET to Mordor. The hobbit didn't even know the terrain. How was she to bypass the danger and succeed in her quest.

How was she to succeed?

He made to rise again.

If they wouldn't help him, well, then he would have to do that on his own. Ruddy, stupid, ignorant—they couldn't trust anyone. And that hobbit was out there alone, wandering towards Mordor.

"I cann't believe that you'd let her go alone." He muttered more to himself, wincing as he stumbled to his feet.

This time no one made a move to stop him.

"She wasn't alone." That was Glorfindel's voice, low though betraying no hint of the emotion he must have felt. "The creature Gollum went with her."

The dwarf stiffened at the name fear spiking higher at the images that assaulted him.

Now he remembered.

"We have to get her back. She cann't go with that—that thing."

He sent a hard look towards Aragorn, pleading silently with the ranger to understand. It was too dangerous for Lyla Baggins to go with Gollum.

"You'll never catch her, you know. She's a four day lead on you. And you've no understanding of the terrain."

Four days?

He'd lost four days?!

Aragorn must have noted his surprised for he nodded briefly.

"The wound you sustained was rather dangerous. A morgul blade. Nearly cost your life. Had we done nothing, you would be a slave to the Dark Lord's will and more a danger to the Shireling than Gollum. I trust that she can handle herself against that creature. I have to trust that."

Bofur was surprised by this admittance by the ranger and by the firm, reproaching looking he leveled at the dwarf.

Aragorn did not doubt Lyla Baggins.

Bofur did…

But that didn't matter at the moment. No.

"A morgul blade? A weapon of the enemy." Bofur muttered lowly, "He meant to kill me then. Drive us completely apart."

"It would appear that the Witch King intended that, yes," Aragorn conceded with a nod of his head. "Best to drive a wedge between allies and reinforce his own ranks. Though we managed to extract the piece, thanks to the skills of Glorfindel. You shall mend."

"The Witch King?" Bofur queried confusedly.

That wasn't right. The dwarf shook his head briefly at the fleeting images, his jaw clenching in anger. No. It wasn't right at all.

"He is the one who created those blades." Glorfindel affirmed frowning at the dwarf, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"No, it wasn't him." Bofur remarked, his voice rising in timbre, as he clenched his hands into fists, and tried to steady his footing.

He was still rather lightheaded.

"He may have created 'em but it wasn't him."

At such a statement Aragorn stiffened, glittering blue eyes betraying his surprise at the dwarf's statement.

Ecthelion, for what it was worth, looked perplexed as well, confusion clearly written in his frown.

Glorfindel, though, looked unsurprised, if a little resigned. Bofur's suspicions were instantly aroused.

What did he know?

"Then who?" The man of Gondor muttered, "Who was it if not the creator of such a blade? He was there."

"Aye," Bofur locked his gaze on the elf, "It wasn't him. Even if he did create the blades. It was Gollum."

It was Gollum.

And those fools had let that blasted creature go with Lyla on her journey.

Gollum was going to kill her to get that ring.

Of that, Bofur was certain.

Up. Up. Up.

'Just keep going' Lyla chanted silently as her nails dug into the rough, jagged and steep stairway as she slowly dragged her wearied limbs upward, higher into the darkening sky, into clouds that threatened to dispel rain upon them.

'You were a fool.' The ring continued to hiss at her, growing louder, like the roaring of the wind in her ear. 'He will never forgive you for what you've done to him. He will resent you. And you will be captured. You will let everyone down.'

There was a drop.

And then another.

And another.

The coldness of the raindrops mixed in with the warmth of the salty tears that fell rapidly from Lyla's eyes before she could will them to stop.

The hobbit hastily blinked, trying to clear her vision as she focused on her grip, making sure that her feet did not slip out from under her as he pulled herself up onto another stair.

Her left arm shook dangerously. Her grip felt weak and the tingling, stinging pain would not abate.

'You aren't strong enough to finish this.' The voice taunted her 'You never were. All you do is bring undue misery on yourself. Would it not be easier to turn back and just let go? Give the ring to Gondor. Let them have their advantage.'

The hobbit shook her head briefly, pursed her lips and gazed upwards, ignoring the way the rain was growing heavier and splashing in her eyes.

She focused on the large, pale feet of the creature above her and continued to pull herself upwards, higher and higher towards the top of this forsaken stairwell.

Her thoughts didn't take too long to stray to Bofur though and she silently pled with the dwarf to forgive her for abandoning him.

Even though she'd never really forgive herself for it.