A/N: This is Juno (Eleanor, for my readers here). As some of you may know, Loki (Aranel) is currently buried in what looks an awful lot like a living avalanche of homework and work-work and packing and studying and more or less trying not to drown in Real Life. So for the next few chapters, you'll have me as your host and guide.

We would like to offer our official and most genuine apologies for the long delay (I'm sure messages like that are getting quite old for you lot). We are doing our very best not to let Real Life devour all of our free time. I will be posting new chapters here rapidly (I've got four lined up for today) until we're caught up on the months again, or at least as close as we can get. Please forgive us our tardiness, and thank you again for your amazing dedication and patience through the months (or is it years, now?) - you are all quite thoroughly fantastic, and we love and appreciate you all. :)

So, without further ado, here you go.

Twenty Five

Wet. The wet was everywhere. Not particularly cold, but chill. At least, she thought it was. Things like that were hard to concentrate on. Things farther out than her limbs were impossible... even her limbs seemed very far away. But she could feel them now, which was an improvement.

Billa could tell that there was light on the other side of her eyelids. It was morning again. Today was the day. Today, she would... The hobbit's thoughts trailed off into incoherent chaos, then collected again. Water. She needed water. It was wet all over, and the drops she gathered from rocks and leaves were all very well, but she needed real water. A real drink.

Her mind drifted vaguely to a celebration... she wasn't sure which one. Dark, rich ale in her mug, warming her throat. Thorin's soft laughter at her elbow. His hand on her back. The scent of his hair, the taste of his skin.

Billa pulled herself back to the present. Today was the day. Her hands and knees were raw from crawling. Not that she'd gotten all that far, but they were raw all the same, scraped and cut by the rocks all around.

Carefully, she sat up. Her head throbbed unpleasantly, and her stomach twisted, but the earth under her tipped only minimally. Encouraged, she checked the makeshift bandages holding her wounds shut. Strips of her shirt, now ragged and stiff with blood, wrapped around her shoulder, chest and stomach. It left her positively indecent, but better half nude than dead.

Her unborn child fluttered uncertainly in her belly, and Billa remembered that yesterday's mushrooms had been small and many hours ago.

"Don't worry, little one," she assured the babe, using her hands to brace herself. Her voice was rough and barely recognizable, but speaking made her feel better. "Your daddy will find us. Don't you worry."

It was dangerous, she knew, leaving the shelter of the latest place she'd taken refuge. But she had little choice now. It was leave now, or give up all hope of living another day. She felt wretched, an animal crawling from hole to hole, dangerously close to fulfilling Saruman's parting wish for her. In a way, though, his words galvanized what remained of her will, driving her on, giving her strength to endure what she knew was necessary. She had to survive. The pain as she clambered out of the rocky hollow was intense at first, but after she'd moved across the rugged landscape a while, crawling so slowly she felt sometimes as though she was making no progress at all, the scabrous mass of her knees and palms numbed into a singular, burning sensation indistinguishable from the pain of the rest of her wounds. The thought of water, the necessity of it, drove her on despite everything, and when at last she caught the sound of faint trickling, distant, but not so far she couldn't tell in what direction it lay, she was convinced she'd imagined it.

Downhill. Water was always downhill. Billa tried to keep that in mind, but her mind was like a sieve. Hours seemed to pass, crawling almost as slowly as she was, reduced to the dull, aching throb in her knees and hands and head.

Because her head hurt so much, she kept her eyes closed, more often than not. Her hands were sensitive enough that she usually knew where the trees were before she ran into them. There were more of them today than there had been yesterday. She couldn't have made it more than a mile the previous day. Maybe a mile. Certainly not more.

She was in the middle of vaguely calculating distances when her forwardmost hand descended much farther than she thought it should have needed to before it found the ground again. Her other hand followed before she'd figured out what the problem was. By the time she stopped, the loose, wet earth was crumbling under her knees. The hobbit slid forward and started to tumble, rolling down the steep bank as the world whirled around her in a blur of pain that ended in an abrupt splat .

Thick, chilly mud oozed around her and soothed the fire in her shoulder, stomach and chest. The ringing in her ears pulsed in time to the throb of her head, and she lay still for a long few minutes before she felt up to trying to pry herself out of the wet clay.

The muck sucked hungrily at her limbs. Her arms and legs shook, her shoulder screamed in protest, but at last, Billa rolled free of the mud and onto smooth, rounded pebbles. Water splashed against her hand and dripped down her cheek. At first, she thought someone was putting a wet rag on her face. It was a lovely thought, but when she opened her eyes, all she saw was the broad leaves of a bush leaning over her.

Billa's heart sank. Rolling over carefully, she found the stream that was lapping at her hand, and she wormed forward on her belly to drink, too dazed to feel much more than thirst. Gratitude, she could manage later.

Despite the somewhat awkward means of receiving it, the drink was perhaps the most refreshing she'd ever had, and when at last she raised her curly head again, tangled hair dripping cold droplets, she sighed heavily, and clambered back onto the smooth pebbles of the bank. She stayed there a good while, hunched over herself, allowing the cool water to settle in her shrunken, parched stomach. It was strangely peaceful, this place, despite the perfect silence of the stream as it coursed along its stony channel. She'd rest here a while, she decided, and then perhaps move up the bank to see if she could find anything edible. Mushrooms, maybe, as before, and if she experienced a turn of extraordinary luck, a berry bush. She was just losing herself in thoughts of ripe, juicy blackberries when a strange rumble pulsed up through the soles of her feet where they rested on the stones.

An earthquake? The rumble continued, subtle, barely detectable. Perhaps she was imagining things. Some twitch of the nerves due to her injuries, maybe. She shuffled her feet a little, wiggling her toes into the wet sand filling in the pebbles. Not imagining it, in any case. It was growing stronger, more persistent, like... the creaking of the floors in Laketown as water shifted around the piers.

That thought, terrifying as it was (bottomless icy water, ravenous to pull her in, make her disappear, chopping at the piers, at the floors, trying to get at her) made her focus on her surroundings again. It was a conscious effort. She was still under the bush. The mud to her right and a little nearer the water was churned up and mucky, but didn't have any of the obvious loose, shifty places that might indicate an earthquake. Neither, she noted absently, did it have an obvious hobbit shape in it. Her struggling must have obliterated the pattern. The tremors in the earth grew stronger, harder, more pronounced.

Billa extended her observations, fighting against her headache and the mild sense of panic that filled her at the impression of distance, of impending travel, of movement and pain. She couldn't see anything. Nor could she hear anything other than the slight ringing in her ears.

This last observation, the lack of sound, didn't strike her as overly odd until a large, heavy boot crashed into the pebbles barely an arm's length from where she sat. Billa froze, petrified. The boot was followed by a second, then a third, and a fourth. Orc boots. They jogged heavily along the stream, some on the bank, some splashing through the water. And though she could feel the ground shudder under their weight, feel the wind of their passing and smell their fetid stench, she could hear little more than the muted, distant thud of their footsteps.

Have I gone deaf? Are the traitor-Wizard's words going to be the last I ever hear?

But the last of the orcs passed on without a second glance. How they didn't smell her was anyone's guess, but she thought it might have something to do with the water muddling her scent. Maybe they weren't after her at all. Saruman had obviously valued her very little; he'd discarded her without a second thought. Of course, he'd also thought she was deadly hurt and would never move again from the spot she'd come to rest. When the last of the rumblings faded into the distance, Billa released the breath she'd been holding, her chest heaving suddenly, freed from its terrified paralysis. Still, beyond that, she didn't dare move. Not for a score of minutes after that, and even then, she kept low in the stream bed and monitored her movements more carefully. No telling whether one of the brutes might have remained behind, skulking about in hopes she'd reveal herself. The hours slipped by.

Finally, trembling and weak, Billa found a small hollow in a stony shelf bordering the stream, and set her back to it, intending to spend the night if she couldn't rally her strength enough to continue. She hadn't given herself time to think about all that had happened. Not truly, anyway. Survival was all that had filled her consciousness, and beyond that which presented potential danger, she hadn't allowed herself to remember. The Ring. Gandalf's last stand. The Wizard's farewell. She hadn't yet had time, even, to mull over his final words to her.

And now, thinking about the Wizard, she felt a surge of hot grief filling her lungs, making it hard to breathe evenly. She didn't want to think about it. What sort of a place was this to mourn? How would she ever remember the things about Gandalf that really mattered? His bravery, his cunning, his determination. He had never asked anything for his own gain, manipulative old codger. He'd always been working toward the good of... somebody. Everybody.

Billa refused to lose herself to the grief she couldn't do justice to. Instead, she focused on her body, trying to evaluate the state of her injuries. After some consideration, she began to unwrap her shoulder. Cautiously, slowly, she stripped away the layers, unwinding the makeshift bandage. The last layer was the hardest, pulling up part of the lumpy, spiky scab as it came away from her skin. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears (proving that she hadn't completely lost her hearing) as she looked down at the wound.

It was ragged and swollen, but seemed to weep only a little clear, odorless discharge. Nothing to indicate it was infected, despite the heat of pain and the way blood still triggered her gag reflex. In her belly, as though sensing her distress, the child fluttered against her skin. The feeling was still distant, more like a startled bird that a child, really. Still, it was comforting.

"It's alright," she murmured, now unsure if she heard her own voice inside her head or through her damaged ears. "It's alright, little one. Mommy's just taking a little breather. We'll get moving again in a little bit." She studied the bandage with a critical eye, realizing that her hands were shaking again. She would need to nap before she moved on. But washing her bandages was a good idea.

The stream was colder than she remembered as she lowered the first tattered and crusty strip of cloth into it. She watched it wave amongst the reeds, growing steadily lighter in color as trails of pinkish-red and dirty brown snaked away along the current. The fabric, when cleaner, bore a faint pattern that matched her now thoroughly destroyed shirt, and Billa almost smiled at the thought.

Poor Dori. He'd have been horrified to see his handiwork so shredded and mangled.

How she wished she were back in Rivendell. Anywhere civilized, really. The longing was so strong, it nearly ached in her chest. It seemed simple, selfish even. But all she could find herself wishing for at the moment was a warm bed, a hot meal, and Thorin assuring her she was safe.

She wrung out the strip and laid it over the smooth stones, hoping it would dry quickly. The sun was sparse through the trees, but there were a few patches glittering on the bank. Once she'd done the same with all her bandages, she decided to venture a peek over the ledge. Carefully, she crawled up the step-like rocks near her sheltering place, being mindful of not upsetting any loose shale, since it seemed likely she'd miscalculate how much noise she was making. At last, she had a clear view. The trees were scattered, clumped in groups of three or four, and around them were bushes of various types, full and glossy-leaved. Her appearance, however unobtrusive, still managed to upset a large bird with black and white striped feathers. It exploded silently out of the tree limbs above, flurrying off, no doubt indignantly voicing its displeasure. Billa cringed, ducking down again. It was probably unnecessary, but she felt she couldn't be too cautious after her near-fatal mishap earlier in the day.

Nothing happened. No one sprang out of the bushes to attack her, and nothing else seemed to notice her presence.

Now wouldn't that be a handy ability? To know whenever anyone was noticing you.

Billa considered it a minute, entirely distracted from whatever it was she'd been doing, and decided that it would actually be somewhat irritating. It would be like the foolish young tween who'd wished that her berry vines would prosper, and had been overrun by them and trapped in her house until her family could cut her out. Never mess with magic, that was what Hamwise had always said. She was beginning to think that he had been right.

Coming back to herself, Billa tried to focus on the bushes ahead of her, but couldn't seem to make sense of them. There were too many shadows, too much space. With a shiver, she lowered herself back down to her little cave and her drying bandages.

Find us quickly, Thorin. The Wild is no place for an injured hobbit.

An hour or two passed in an exhausted blink. She woke with a start, noting at once that the lights and shadows had all changed. The shade had deepened beneath the trees above, and Billa shivered a little with cold. The bandages were still damp, but she bound them back on anyway, feeling vaguely if she left them off any longer, she might burst through her scabs. It might have been silly, but it comforted her nonetheless to have them; she knew they'd at least keep her wounds cleaner.

Huddling into the threadbare wool lining of her familiar blue coat, a coat that was crusty with dried blood - hers and Gandalf's - she pressed herself against the wall and sighed.

"Well," she whispered, still not sure whether she was hearing her voice or merely her memory of it, "it looks like I've little choice. Press on, or wait here to die."

With a renewed will, she crawled out of the cave, moving again up the bank. If the orcs were still lurking about, she hoped the clatter of a few stones scraping against each other would go unnoticed.

Thorin flicked dark blood from the tip of his sword, thinking absently to himself that he'd probably killed more enemies with an elvish blade than with dwarf-made weapons. Number of enemies weighed the scales, rather than amount of time he'd carried the weapons in question.

"Who was on lookout?" He turned to what remained of the camp, bedrolls and blankets scattered haphazardly between him and the low, sloping bank of the murky pond that protected their western flank. Gimli slowly raised his hand, looking somewhat sheepish.

"Why didn't you sound the alarm?" Thorin's voice wasn't any harsher than usual, but his usual tone was already dangerously close to a growl. The dwarrow looked down at his boots, clearly not wanting to answer. To his credit, the red-haired youngling did answer, and clearly enough that all could hear his shame.

"Ah fell asleep, sir."

Thorin felt a shudder of anger pass through him. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together briefly. Then, as seemed to happen more and more often since Gandalf's disappearance, the anger drained from him like ice water.

"It ain't 'is fault, Thorin," said Glóin with a strained, confrontational tone. "We've not 'ad a full night's sleep in weeks!"

Thorin strove to moderate himself before replying, tempering the answer all too ready to match Glóin's. Exhaustion and discouragement were taking their toll; it was easy to blame the rigors of the journey on one's companions.

"See that it doesn't happen again." Thorin nudged the dead orc at his feet, glancing about to see that the others remained unmoving. An orc patrol coming on them unawares could have ended very, very badly, but as it was, no one had been hurt - not seriously, anyway. These brutes seemed even less well-trained than the last bunch. As though they'd never fought a day in their pathetic lives.

The dwarf king might've scolded, might've used the incident as a teaching moment. As it was, he knew the importance of cohesion. Of completing the mission. He had to keep his little band together just a while longer. There was only so much they could take.

"Clean up this mess, and douse the fire. We'll," he acknowledged a weary sigh from Glóin, "move the camp a ways north and finish out the night."

The dwarves shuffled and grumbled and gathered their things. Nikû and Bofur silently shifted bodies, their hands quickly covered in thick black ooze. They rejoined the others, scrubbing their hands clean on a little patch of tough grass before helping Gimli with the last of the tack. They led the horses rather than riding them, trudging through the cool darkness without talking, and Thorin contrasted this with the cheerful nights and nervous jokes of the time before... Before Dain, before Smaug, before... Billa... He shook the thought away.

"I know you're doing your best." Her voice was so low, he almost didn't hear it, but he jumped at the sound. Nikû walked beside him, holding the long, limply dangling reins of two horses in one of her fists. "What will you do, if they break?"

Her voice was soft, but Thorin still checked to see if the others had overheard. They hadn't. That, or they had the good sense to pretend so. His first impulse, beyond that, was toward offense. What right did she have to involve herself in problems that belonged to him alone? Was she trying to suggest he was... incompetent?

"Then I'll go on alone. I would have, even from the beginning."

"But traveling alone through the wilds..." Nikû kept her tone respectful, despite the doubtful nature of her words. "...you'd have been little more than a target. An unprotected one."

Thorin scoffed. "If I'm the only one I can rely on, what choice would I have had? I certainly wouldn't have remained amongst the elves."

"We never expected you to stay," murmured another voice, and Thorin bit his tongue to keep from growling a curse. The two elves that had stayed, the female scout and a brown-haired male whose name he'd not bothered to remember, were as often gone as not. He remembered now that they had been fighting near Nikû, as silent as moonlight.

Thorin felt his anger flare again and turned his head slightly to scowl over his shoulder at the intruders. He didn't say anything, though. Even in the dark, he could see the sadness in the female's face, the lines around her deep-set eyes.

"Will you wait for them, for us?" pressed Nikû gently. "We are loyal, all of us, but we cannot go on indefinitely. We need to hunt. To rest."

It was so easy to imagine her using this persuasive tone with Dís.

Thorin shot another look at the elves. He found it incredibly annoying that they'd involved themselves in the conversation, and by extension, everyone else. Pride tempted him to simply leave them, to mount up and ride off without another word, but he knew his chances of defeating Saruman were greatly diminished without allies. That meant some amount of compromise was in order, however much he disliked it. He nodded slowly. "Very well. You'll have the rest of the night to sleep, and an hour or so of daylight to hunt and see to your needs. We can spare no more than that."

Nikû looked like she might have reached for him. Touched him. He'd seen her do just that for his sister on an occasion or two. Thorin's heart twisted slightly. His sister. There was another thing he didn't want to think about.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He heard Nikû murmur the words. If the elves said anything else, he didn't hear them.

The Company settled again, a mile and a half from their old camp site. Glóin glanced at Thorin, lifting his flint slightly.

Thorin shook his head. "Can't chance it." The ginger's face fell. "Aye." After an orc attack doubtless precipitated by the sight of their campfire, building another a relatively short distance away made little sense.

"You need sleep, too, Uncle." Fíli's voice rose at Thorin's back, and the dwarf turned to see his nephew spreading a bedroll. His. "A few more hours'll do you some good." While Thorin pondered the implications of that statement, Fíli settled on a rotted stump close by. "I'll keep watch this time. Won't be able to sleep anyway after... all that."

Thorin considered protesting, but thought that of his remaining companions, Fíli was probably the one he'd trust the most. With a sigh, he shook his head at his nephew and moved to pass him, setting a heavy hand on his shoulder as he went by. Eventually, he would break under the weight he carried, and he hated to think of passing this burden to the dwarrow. It was all too easy to look at the blond and see him toddling after his mother, chubby face creased in concentration as he tried to fit his two silver hoops back together again. Thorin realized he was still standing beside Fíli with a hand on his shoulder when the blond spoke.

"Please, Uncle. You're tired. Go rest."

Thorin murmured assent, moving to the bedroll his nephew had set out. Fíli was right. He'd tried forgoing sleep altogether before, and it seldom ended well. If he was to face a Wizard, and Mahal knew what else in the process, he'd need to have the strength of mind and body to sustain him until the end. He'd scarcely lain down, rolled onto his side, and shut his eyes before he was awake again. Shards of bright sunlight streamed through gaps in the trees, the camp was in the process of being struck, and Fíli, Nikû, and the two elves were missing.

Blinking against the daylight, Thorin sat up, ashamed of his own weakness. To have slept so long undisturbed, and still wake up feeling as though he hadn't slept at all... Or perhaps he simply hadn't slept well. They came back quickly, the memories, and he worked to shut them out. It was a dream, that's all. Vivid, yes, but untrue. None of it was true. He hadn't... but he didn't want to think about it.

"They're hunting?" He caught Bofur's eye, and the hatted dwarf nodded.

"Left about an hour ago. Wit' any luck, they'll bring back more 'an a bird."

Thorin absently nodded his agreement, unable to stay focused on that topic. Unable to stay focused on anything . The dream invaded every corner of his mind, in spite of his best efforts to banish it. After a moment of vain struggling, he shook his head and moved toward the trees.

"Oy, if yer headin' out, d'ye t'ink ye could refill these?" Bofur lifted three obviously empty canteens, and Thorin took them, a vague gratitude sweeping through him at the excuse to move farther off than he'd first intended.

Empty containers bumped and clattered against his hip while he walked, head bowed. Fíli had been right. These dwarves needed their rest. But how could he justify resting when Billa's killer was still at large? In his chest, something twisted painfully.

He could hear a stream nearby, babbling along in its gentle, murmuring cadence. It was good to have a source of water nearby; not only would it mask the noises of the hunters, but it would be likely to attract game. Thorin found the stream quickly enough, and uncorked the first canteen, kneeling down in the soft, mossy earth on the bank. As water shimmered into the narrow mouth of the canteen, Thorin glanced up, scanning the far bank for any signs of movement. Something he'd neglected to do beforehand, in his distracted state. Nothing. Just the rustle of the morning breeze in the ferns, and the whispers of the leaves.

There was a small part of Thorin that wouldn't have been surprised if Billa had suddenly popped out of the trees, cranky and scolding, but very much alive. It was the part, he reasoned, that had expected to see his father come walking in the door in Ered Luin, months and years after he'd vanished. The part that simply couldn't accept the reality of the loss.

"No more real than that dream," he mused aloud, corking the first canteen and brushing it clear of water droplets with his sleeve. "I never threw you off the wall. Wasn't how it happened. You were there, but..." He trailed off, lowering his gaze to the water. "It wasn't you I hurt that day."

The memory of Fíli's bleeding and brutalized face sent a familiar chill down his spine. He'd become a monster, somehow. Despite all attempts at resistance, at caution, the Arkenstone had proved too insidious.

Thorin shook his head slightly, no longer seeing the babbling stream. "I was wrong, Billa. I was... corrupted." The dream mingled freely with the memories, and it was hard for a moment to remember which was true. The scars, the burns, the fear in her face. It was hard to see past it.

"My sword is wet with your blood. What kind of a dwarf am I, that I hurt you so much?"

Thorin sighed, the canteen dropping from his fingers. He scarcely noticed it as it sploshed onto the mossy bank. "You'd have been better off if you stayed in the Shire. I shouldn't have..." He trailed off again, finding it difficult to finish his sentence in a way that felt at all truthful. To have never known Billa beyond that uptight, overwhelmed halfling squeaking about her dishes, to have never had any idea what she would come to mean to him... No. He could never honestly wish that.

Later, he couldn't have said what it was that made him look up. A sound, a feeling, a change in the atmosphere. For one wild moment, the figure in the bushes opposite him took on the shape of his burglar, and his heart seized with a joy so great it was painful. Then he blinked, clearing his eyes of tears, and saw the she-elf scout, fair hair obscuring half her face.

She looked so sad, so... devastated, that he couldn't summon the appropriate amount of betrayal. Oh, he certainly wasn't happy, but his grief was too strong to give way to anger so easily.

Demanding to know just what she was doing would be futile. Obviously, she'd heard his distraught-sounding pleas to Billa and - curse the keen ears of elves - come to see what was the matter.

"This isn't your business," he said tightly, scooping up the now half-empty canteen. "You've no right to intrude." That's exactly what it felt like. An intrusion on his private grief. Besides, no one was supposed to see him like this.

The elf blinked at him silently, but even as she rocked her weight back, as though preparing to step away, she hesitated. She looked distinctly like she wanted to say something, but couldn't find the right words. In the end, thankfully, the she-elf said nothing, fading back into the undergrowth without a word.

Thorin sighed and crouched to refill the canteen he'd dropped. The mood had been broken, and now the piercing agony of guilt and grief was beginning to lose its sharp edges. A very Billa-ish voice near the back of his mind insisted in an irritating 'I told you so' tone that he should be grateful to the she-elf for having the respect not to say anything.

Thorin gritted his teeth in frustration. He felt he was sinking slowly beneath the weight. He couldn't lose himself to all this, not now. He had to maintain control at all costs, or their cause was lost.

Turning away from the stream, he mentally prepared himself for the looks of concern and assessment that surely awaited him. The she-elf would tell her partner, at the very least, and perhaps even share what she'd witnessed with the rest. When he reached the others, though, there was no sign of anything amiss. Bofur sat near the saddled and laden horses, silently mending a sock. Gimli and Glóin had finished cleaning and sharpening their weapons, and were tightening the straps of their various scabbards and sheaths. Natural, everyday preparations.

Bofur looked up finally, offering a faint smile and nod. "Hour's almost up. They should be comin' back right quick."

As if on cue, a distant, cheerful whistle became audible. The unrecognizable tune had a solid beat, as though for mining or marching, and Thorin guessed it was Fíli, celebrating a good hunt. Passing the canteens to Bofur, the dwarf king moved toward the edge of the campsite, intending to catch the elf and warn her to keep her mouth shut. But when the hunting party came into view, not a one of them looked at all concerned or even unsettled. Not even the she-elf.

"Uncle! Luck is with us again! Look at this!" Grinning broadly, Fíli lifted what looked like an abnormally large pheasant, or maybe a small turkey. From the belts of the others, he saw a brace of small rabbits, two more birds, and three glistening silver fish, each as long as his forearm. The hunting prowess of elves was not exaggerated, then.

Thorin nodded, a bit puzzled. So the elf hadn't said anything. Yet.

"Good," he said quickly. "Very good. Prepare them. We have far to ride today."
All was done with a practiced hand, the bird plucked, the rabbits dressed, the fish gutted and cleaned. Dangling them from their saddles, the group mounted up once more and were on their way.

Thorin took care to moderate his pace this time, not desiring a repeat of yesterday's criticism. A steady, cautious speed would ultimately serve them better than a reckless, swift one. He tried to convince himself it wasn't mostly a demonstration of his competency and mental soundness, some precaution against a future confrontation in which the she-elf could easily add fuel to embers he was lulling back to sleep. He had little reason to distrust her, or to think her capable of blackmail, but all the same - it didn't seem fit to presume where elves were concerned.

The hours passed in the monotonous, rhythmic hoofbeats of the horses. Orcs had grown scarce in the last couple days, which made Thorin suspicious that the beasts were hanging about Rivendell in particular. Saruman's doing, likely, but he couldn't understand why . To distract Elrond? To lend credence to his own lies? Or maybe he was wrong about the Wizard's involvement.

He tried not to dwell on it, but when one's day consisted of alternately sitting on a horse and leading it, there wasn't really a lot to occupy one's mind.

It wasn't until they were settling in for lunch (Fíli insisted the fish wouldn't be nearly as good if they waited until evening to cook them, and Thorin wasn't in the mood to further damage the group's morale) that anything changed. Thorin stood at the lip of the dell, standing guard and trying not to think about Billa or the remaining scraps of his dream. The soft sound of soft footsteps approaching from behind alerted him to the elf's presence, and Thorin turned. It was the male elf. His expression seemed serious, thin face framed by brown hair that didn't have any right to be as glossy as it was.

"Oakenshield."

The dwarf felt a chill. Had the she-elf finally told? Did they think him weak? Incapable of leading?

"Yes?" His voice was low, but satisfyingly steady.

"I think one of your kin... requires attention." The elf was obviously trying to be delicate. He looked over his shoulder and nodded slightly toward the horses. "The one with the hat. He seems... unstable."

The words didn't make sense at first, as Thorin tried to frame them in the context he'd been expecting - this wasn't an accusation of incompetence. After a moment, he nodded slightly and moved his hand to indicate the little hillock he was standing on.

"Keep watch," he murmured, and moved down into the dell to see what was going on with Bofur. Emotional things had never been his strong point, whether the emotions were his own or someone else's.

Separated from the rest of the camp by the horses, who had been unsaddled and allowed to graze while the fish cooked, Bofur sat hunched on a mossy rock, muttering to himself. Thorin approached cautiously, uncertain what to expect. Bofur looked up before Thorin could think of anything to say, and the expression that crossed his tired face was one of intense frustration.

"What? Ye come to tell me I've gotta control mysel', is that it?"

Thorin glanced at Fíli, who shrugged, as though he hadn't the faintest what was going on. He leaned toward the miner. "What's the matter?" His tone was gentle, not demanding or accusatory.

Bofur squinted, shaking his head. "Dunno. Just... doesn' make much sense, does it? Traipsin' into some Wizard's fortress, t'inkin' we'll even have a chance when he made short work o' Gandalf."

The miner's voice was thick with too many emotions to name. He looked into Thorin's face, seeming torn between anger and pleading. "I followed ye from th' Blue Mountains ta Erebor an' back, but what's the point? Ye don't know where we're goin' any more than I do! Y're jus'... tryin' te make the pain stop. Y're not the only one as lost someone ye love."

Thorin tensed slightly. Bofur's words struck a deep, painful chord, and he could feel the eyes and ears of the whole group as surely as if they'd been his own. When Bofur lowered his head, twisting his hat between his hands, Thorin risked a glance over his shoulder. Behind Fíli stood the elves. The female was watching him, but she made no move to speak.

After a handful of beats, Thorin swallowed, then spoke. "All we can do, Bofur, is the best we know how. Gandalf was our friend and ally. He never harmed a living thing, when he could avoid it. The sort of man that would cut Gandalf down in cold blood is not the sort that should be left alive." Another pause, and he straightened. "You're right. I do want the pain to stop. But avenging my loss won't do that. It never has. All we can do is... to keep moving. None of the dead would wish us to stop living."

Bofur seemed to consider these words a moment, then with a small sigh, nodded. "Ye're right. I should'na let m' doubts get the best'a me."

Thorin couldn't imagine what had happened to make him go off like he had, but he'd carried on so long without the slightest complaint that Thorin should've known it would only be a matter of time before he snapped.

Bofur ceased wringing the hat, punching it back into shape and settling it back on his head, like some symbolic resumption of the mission. Thorin extended a hand, and Bofur took it with a nod of gratitude.

"Wasted enough time already, I have," he said, shame apparent in his tone. "Gimme somethin' t'do, an' I'll be right as rain in a nip."

Thorin set him to taking the horses, two by two, to the nearest stream, and letting them drink, then sent Nikû with him, to make sure he wasn't ambushed. And after all of that had been settled, he noticed the she-elf trying to catch his eye. She tipped her head slightly, indicating she wanted to speak with him alone.

Was this her plan, then? Wait until his Company was completely demoralized and then use his own weakness against him? Thorin set his jaw, but nodded to the elf. He led the way to a section of the dell the Company wasn't using, because there was a thick layer of ivy covering everything. He stood with glossy green leaves about his knees and folded his arms, waiting for the she-elf to speak her piece.

For a moment she was silent, then she crouched, lithe as a cat and now slightly below him. He remembered Tauriel doing much the same in Laketown. It unnerved him just as much now as it had then.

"Oakenshield," she began softly, "are you certain marching on Isengard will not end in all our deaths?" A tone of 'is this wise?' seemed to flow through her words, but she was gentle, not at all angry or accusatory.

"No, I'm not. But if he was willing to kill Gandalf and a defenseless hobbit, who would be next? Elrond?" His words came a little more defensively than he'd meant them to, and the she-elf flinched, clearly appalled by the idea that anyone would kill her sovereign lord.

"But would it not make more sense to return to Rivendell to seek my lord's counsel first? Surely when he hears news of Saruman's betrayal, he will grant his aid."

Thorin shook his head. "He has his own enemies to deal with for now. By the time all was made ready, the Wizard would doubtless have concocted some new scheme. Maybe he has spies in Rivendell already."

The she-elf blanched at the thought, but said nothing.

"Where we now stand," Thorin met her gaze earnestly, "we have speed and stealth, or we have nothing." He wondered a moment who he was trying to convince more - her... or himself.

Anxious silence settled between them for the space of a heartbeat, maybe two, then the elf sighed, bowing her head slightly.

"I believe you may be right, Oakenshield, and that frightens me."

The idea of an elf being frightened was so incongruous, Thorin couldn't wrap his mind around it at first. Dark locks of hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head, frowning slightly as he looked down at the elf.

"I don't understand," he murmured. "You could have taken control, exposed me... had your way. Why didn't you?"

The she-elf regarded him with some surprise. "Why would I have? This is not my quest."

Had she never intended to betray him? There were dwarves, even in his own Company, that he wouldn't have trusted to keep what she had seen to themselves, but here was this elf who owed him no allegiance, to whom the idea of taking charge of what she believed was a misled and doomed venture was completely foreign. It didn't seem believable.

"You think this is a fool's errand." He observed her face closely, looking for the slightest indication that he was right in his suspicions. The elf looked thoughtful, her gaze dropping to the ivy below them.

"Not a fool's errand," she replied at length. "But I do think we are too small a force to have more than a slight chance at success, should we confront the White Wizard."

"Surprise can be the downfall of even the strongest foe," Thorin murmured, and the elf nodded her agreement. Another short pause followed. Each silence seemed more comfortable than the last. At length, Thorin spoke again. "Your loyalty is... appreciated. I'm not accustomed to seeing it in aught other than my own kin. So... thank you."

She studied him a moment, smiling faintly. "I will be your ally as long as you fight for what is true," she murmured.

Thorin nodded, moving to pass her. He was surprised to feel her hand on his shoulder, gentle, but firm.

"I, too, have lost someone dear, Oakenshield. I know it is not an easy thing to bear and still fulfill one's duty as is necessary." Her voice had sunk to a low, confidential tone - even more so than it had already been. Thorin got the sense she didn't often speak about this loss she'd sustained.

"What... was your duty?" Thorin felt that asking who she had lost was too personal, but the elf seemed to hear the unspoken question.

"I was new to the scouts of Imladris when my mother died. It was... difficult to focus on anything, after that." She gave him a sad smile. "I imagine it would be just as difficult for you."

Thorin disliked the turn the conversation was taking. It wasn't one he wanted to have. Wasn't her business what he might or might not be feeling, even if he no longer had cause to believe she'd betray his confidence. His features hardened.

"I've lost nearly all my kin. Mother. Father. Brother. Countless others. Now my One." His voice wavered slightly, but he countered it by rushing through the rest of what he had to say. "It's simply the way of things, elf, and the sooner we both come to terms with that, the better."

"Faervel."

"What?"

The she-elf blinked placidly. "My name."

"Fine." Thorin turned away again and moved off, not looking back to see if she followed. The world ahead glistened and blurred and just as suddenly grew clear again. No. He couldn't talk about all that now.

Billa staggered and fell for the fifth time in... a period of time. Time had lost meaning except for light or dark, day or night, safe or full of enemies. She'd managed at last to get to her feet that morning, but her ability to keep her feet had gradually declined.

The water was soaking into her right sleeve, icy and invasive. Pulling her arm out of the water, the halfling covered her face with her dry sleeve and tried to force the world to hold still. She felt... ill. More colorful terms might have suited better, but she was a gentlehobbit. Still, she had to keep moving, had to keep going. Beginning to shiver violently, Billa rolled over and pushed herself unsteadily to her hands and knees.

Her stomach twisted violently, and she pressed her hand firmly over her mouth, focusing on breathing through her nose. "Rotten berries," she muttered into her fingers. Or maybe it had been the mushrooms? She'd thought they were common ones, much like those she'd often hunted in the Shire. She wasn't sure how it was possible to feel a simultaneous return of strength and a peculiar sleepiness. But she couldn't contemplate that for long. Something far more confusing distracted her. The forest canopy above.

The trees were swaying back and forth, flexing so much she wasn't sure how they didn't break in half. Wasn't much wind that she could tell. Not that her hearing had returned to offer veracity to the silence. But when she looked at the water, it, too, seemed to be shifting, ripples and rivulets skittering back and forth along the mirror-bright surface.

Oh no . She had to keep going. That was all she knew now. Had to keep going, or it would be too late. Too late for what, she couldn't have said.

Lacking proper reasons didn't stop her from fleeing from this unknown danger. On hands and knees, because she didn't trust her feet, the halfling scrambled along the gravel stream bed, occasionally finding herself up to her swollen belly in water before she realized which direction she'd gone.

This won't do. This won't do at all. I'm sure I'm making too much noise .

It didn't take much thought. Even as wretched as she felt, Billa knew she wouldn't stand a chance if she didn't keep moving. Small creatures skittered past her in fear as she climbed the steep, muddy bank out of the stream's tiny gorge. Squirrels and mice, tiny porcelain chipmunks and animated sugar tongs. Tongs from Bree, looked like. With the little rose on either side.

She reached the level above the stream and found herself in a world of giant trees and dark, craggy rock formations. Bewildered, she hesitated a moment, her stomach rolling uncomfortably as the trees here began to sway, and even the rocks quivered. Billa looked up, and had to stifle a scream.

Spiders. Giant, ugly, hairy spiders. Some carried webby, dwarf-shaped bundles. Others were ridden by slimy-looking black orcs with sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes.

They had them. They had the dwarves! And Thorin, most likely. Unless they'd killed him already. She couldn't stomach that thought; it seemed to quite literally twist her insides into knots. Despite her scream, the spiders didn't seem to have noticed her. Maybe she still had a chance. Ducking behind the nearest tree, she peeked out at them again. There were some in the branches above, and more on the ground now. The orcs were grunting in Black Speech, and the spiders were gurgling back at them. The bundles squirmed soundlessly, but that renewed Billa's hopes. They were still alive.

You don't have the Ring this time , a voice that sounded remarkably like Thorin's pointed out.

You're not here. Don't pretend to be , she hissed at him.

Don't do this, Billa. There has to be a better way . The world shifted before her eyes, making it difficult to make sense of much of anything. She relied on vague impressions and blurs of sound and color, watching the dark smudges that were certain death skitter about at the bases of the trees.

Well, I'm not about to leave my friends to be spider-food. Even if I only end up joining them .

Billa , don't. Please .

Begging never suited you , she remarked drily. If you want to help, keep out of the way. I'm going to save you. Even if it kills me .

She felt a stab of muted terror at the thought of dying to save her little family, but she didn't think it was hers. In any case, it was easy to push aside. Grasping a crooked branch and hefting it, she pushed herself slowly to her feet. The world still reeled drunkenly about her, but her feet seemed marginally more steady than before.

Please, Billa!

Shut up, Thorin. I'm trying to concentrate.

You don't have to do this .

The hobbit blocked him out and took a deep breath. Her eyes refused to focus properly, but she could see them. A dark shape coming closer, looming like a horse. She lunged forward, striking out with all her might. The branch collided solidly with something hard, and she thought she could hear muffled, pained shrieking. The knife she drew from her belt, the one that had nearly killed her, seemed to waver and glow in her hand. Sting! She had thought she'd never see it again. With a shout of fury (at least, she thought she was shouting,) she lunged past the first of her foes, still staggering from her first blow, and stabbed out with her knife, aiming for where the many eyes were surely gleaming madly in the half-light.

The ground pitched under her feet and nausea followed as she fell. Billa struck the ground hard, and suddenly there were arms about her. Strong arms. She wriggled and thrashed. Something popped faintly and her ears were abruptly drowning in a roar of sound, too loud and too sudden for understanding. Her own screams sounded demented, but she could hear names amid the snarling. Thorin. Fíli. Kíli. Bombur. Billa fought and writhed, but it didn't feel like her struggles were making any difference against the strong arms.

I'm sorry, Thorin. I did my best .

Dreaming was easy. She felt peaceful, somehow. Here, in this world of warm, comfortable darkness, she was safe. Now that she considered it, "warm and comfortable" was never how she would've described being captured by anything, let alone orcs. She was dead, then. That was all there was to it. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't know what she would see when she did, and that frightened her. She had no frame of reference for being dead. Something like voices swam about her ears, vague and indistinct, as though she were hearing them from deep under water.

The more she listened, though, the more she found she could understand them. Bits and pieces, anyway. A word here and there.

"...waking... don't understand... antidote... child..." Child. They were talking about her, then. Maybe they were discussing how she'd died.

She felt a stab of regret. Her baby would have died with her. Even if there had been someone skilled enough to take the child from her womb, it would have been too soon, too early for the baby to live.

I'm sorry, Thorin. I did try my best . The spiders, the orcs... But if she had been captured and killed, what were these voices now? No orc voices, to be sure, but smooth, light voices, accented with hints of Elvish. Had her spirit already traveled from her place of death, then? Billa tried to listen more closely. The voices became clearer, though no louder.

"... everything I can. The rest is up to Miss Baggins."

"You don't understand," hissed a second voice, sounding strained, rougher than the first. "If he loses her, Uncle Thorin might not want to... to keep going. There has to be something else we can do."

She recognized the second voice, even before it mentioned Thorin. Kíli. Why was Kíli here? What did he mean? Everything was very scattered and muddled, like a recipe book with half the directions blotted out.

"Lord Elrond has not returned yet, Master Kíli. But I wouldn't expect this latest raid to last more than another day. If she can hold on that long-"

"She has to!" Kíli seemed passionate to the point of tears, which couldn't help but touch Billa. She hadn't known how deeply he cared for her.

The elven voice sighed. "I will... search the tomes in my lord's library. There may yet be found answers beyond my own skill."

"Good. You can start now, unless you've got something more important to do."

"And Miss Baggins?"

"I'll stay with her."

Silence fell. Billa might have tried to puzzle out the meaning of all this, except her mind seemed to be spinning. Thoughts seemed to slide this way and that, not staying still long enough for her to understand them.

Then a warm, rough hand closed around her fingers, chafing them gently. The halfling nearly jumped out of her skin with surprise. That did not feel dead. If her outward reactions were as obvious as they felt, then Kíli was blind as a mole.

Now more frightened and confused than ever, Billa tried to open her eyes. They felt swollen and heavy, but at length, she managed to separate the lids sufficiently to squint. She could see the hunched figure beside her, outline blurred, dark hair obscuring his face.

Poor Kíli. He looked so distraught. She wanted to cheer him up, but speech currently seemed beyond her capacity. She felt... paralysed, somehow. The most she could coax from her fingers was a faint squeeze, and it required every ounce of her strength and concentration. She wasn't even sure if he'd felt it, that slight bit of pressure, that signal secret and quiet as a tear in the rain.

I'm here, Kíli. I'll hold on as long as I must .