"MORIA!"

The Valar Child gasped awake, sitting upright, brow and neck glistening with fresh sweat; she turned this way and that, eyes frantically searching for the voice that had called her name so clearly, and so very desperately. But as she took in the darkened surroundings of the room, all of its occupants still slept soundly; the call of her name had evidently only been part of a dream. A very vivid and peculiar dream. Yet another dream not from her memory, possibly yet another projection from another diviner being. The images, sounds, and voices were fading fast, but she could just still retain the call of her name – distinct and unmistakable – it was Gandalf's voice, she was sure of it.

She fell back onto the bedding, determined to rest a bit more if she could manage it. Her eyes fell closed as she wondered why Gandalf might have projected a memory of his when – "There is no light, wizard... That can defeat the darkness..." Moria's eyes flew open as a harsh twinge in her chest caused her to lurch upright once again. She gasped not only with the pain, but from the crippling sudden fear. She knew that voice. She'd dreamt it – no, she'd heard it in her nightmare in Mirkwood once before – Sauron's voice. How could that be?

By then her restlessness had roused her fox companions, although going by the expressions in their eerily human eyes whilst still in animal form, she needn't explain or put a front up about her distress. Just their softened, worried eyes alone communicated their concern for Moria.

She sighed, knowing there was no way she would be able to get back to sleep after that, not with the way her heart was still pounding a hurried, dreaded tempo. She shifted as carefully as she could so as not to disturb Bilbo, and slipped from the bed with each of her foxes trailing after her. Moria was headed toward the heavy door of the shared chambers but halted when she felt a tug at the hem of her nightgown. She glanced down to see Elska, that concern still her in eyes but rather for another than directed to Moria.

By Elska's guide, Moria was brought to the bedside where Fíli and Kíli shared a bed, both dwarf princes sleeping easily. Moria turned her questioning glance down to the red fox; nothing seemed amiss here, so why had she brought this to Moria's attention? Elska whined softly and hopped up onto the bed, on Kíli's side. Moria sighed and came closer when the fox silently demanded it. She wanted to know just what had gotten into Elska but that was when she heard the quiet panting of breath; in the scant light of the room she could see Kíli looked positively pale and feverish. Her pulse became to beat anew with frantic worry, her eyes searching Kíli's form for whatever caused his ailment, but then she stalled in physical movement, her mind racing backward and recalling Mirkwood, the orcish arrow at the gateway. Nearly the very same fear and rage consumed her once again, her trembling hands curled into fists, but instead of strands of ethereal light bursting from the creases of her fingers, a darkness oozed like thick smoke. The foxes exchanged panicked glances, Trygger shifted into her human form and circled her hands around Moria's wrists, nearly reeling back when Moria felt icy cold to the touch. She quietly spoke all of Moria's names in every tongue, edging on frantic as she and the others began to feel the floor gently quake. Moria's eyes had clouded over, that brilliant gold colour lost to something completely flat and grey. "Moria!" Trygger called desperately, taking hold of Moria's face.

"MORIA!"

Then as quickly as the darkness had taken hold of her, it dissipated. She felt as if she'd been holding her breath and needed to gasp in lungsful; as if she'd woken from yet another disturbing dream. She felt weak and terrified. Barely aware of what Trygger was saying as she bodily guided her out of the room with three foxes trailing closely after them.

There is no light... That can defeat the darkness... Surely not… If a vessel containing two pieces of the purest light in Arda was succumbing to the darkness.

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Preparations for the company to depart from Lake Town and to the Lonely Mountain kept everyone very busy. Moria was kept under close surveillance by her Rusqui. Still quite weak from her… episode, for lack of a better term, it wasn't too challenging to watch over her. She sat on the steps on Town Hall, somewhat vacant of expression and thought as she idly stroked her fingers against Varði's furry head perched in her lap.

She was deaf to the goings on around her as others – her company or townspeople – milled about eagerly. She might have appeared absent of thought, but her mind was very much attentive and working hard. She couldn't understand how the darkness could ensnare her so easily, how simply she gave herself over to thoughts and power of darkness to become someone – something else entirely. She was still herself, of course; she could see, she could think, she could move her body, she could wield her power, though she could not hear anything but the coercing voice of a being she wished never to meet.

She wondered if it were right to just offer herself to Eru, let him simply smite her willingly… If she were so easily influenced by just a touch of darkness, perhaps she ought to be extinguished after all. Her fingers ceased their stroking against fur as the seriousness of her thoughts registered with her. To give up her life… Was that really the solution? Would she really give in to death? Give up her life, her family, and all the friends she had made? No… No, she wouldn't. She was a far different being than she was months ago. She would not give up so easily, she would fight, she would fight hard, and keep fighting. And if it was possible, she would find a way to use her disadvantage – that was the bit of darkness within her - to her advantage.

As long as she stayed strong – her eyes caught sight of and followed along the sight of Lake Town guardsmen trailing after a number of dwarves, with Thorin at the lead, likely explaining what other supplies they would need before they departed – as long as she had hope, she would always continue to fight.

She jolted when she saw a limping figure pass the side of her vision. Varði startled to sit up when Moria turned and abruptly stood to follow the familiar figure. "Kíli!" she called after him, and the dwarf stopped, careful of which leg he was resting his weight on. He still looked pale, a sheen of sweat covered his face as he hauled a few bags on his shoulder. He tried his best to offer a smile, the only form of a greeting he seemed capable of, although that smile looked very like a grimace instead. "Your leg," Moria began but the young dwarf quickly cut her off.

"It's fine," he muttered through clenched teeth, readjusting the bags on his shoulder.

"It is not fine," Moria scoffed and went to note his obvious discomfort, but Kíli shushed her gently.

"Leave it, Moria. Do not let it burden you."

She just barely refrained from rolling her eyes as she took a bag from his shoulder, taking some of the load off of him, "It burdens you, so it burdens me," she stated as if it were that simple, and it really was. And she walked past him, silencing anymore protests he might voice, toward the main waterway of Lake Town where their boat was.

Kíli shook his head, fighting back a smirk as he hurried after her slightly longer strides, "Moria!"

Few had still yet to rise from their slumber, but those that were awake made haste to pack their belongings and whatever else the Master and the people of Lake Town bestowed upon them for their journey. All the while Moria pestered Kíli to slow down and let her take a look at his wound. Not that she would have any idea of what to do with the wound once she saw it, but seeing it at all would be beneficial just to know how bad it was. That orc they had captured and interrogated had mentioned it was a poisoned arrow, Kíli having lasted this long with poison in his blood was impressive, but that poison was still in his blood. He was too proud or stubborn to admit he was hurting, even as he lumbered along at a staggered pace slower than his comrades.

The minutes passed, the time of their departure approached quickly. Moria had redressed into her elvish armour, politely declining the fabrics and metalwork offered to her, while the dwarves and Bilbo, on the other hand, gladly accepted whatever they were given. Any clothes and any armour was good enough. Moria was offbeat again, nearly fidgety as the townspeople gathered along the main waterway, the Master was shuffling along with his deputy and guardsmen on either side of them. The band that had played night after night during the past week's festivities were on a stand beside the boat the company would take off on. Everyone was in their places, everyone was ready to go. But Moria couldn't brush off this overwhelming feeling of dread. A distinct feeling like she shouldn't keep walking along with her company and get on that boat. She looked around at the kind, poor people of Lake Town, the elderly, the women, the children –
She let loose a quiet gasp as she realized she'd forgotten to say her farewells to Bard's children, since surely he and his children would not be among this joyous crowd, since Bard was very against the taking back of the Mountain while a dragon still claimed it.
It seemed as if her heart had not yet calmed from pounding with frantic fear since she woke that morning. The closer they drew to the boat as they walked along the path, the louder and harder her heart beat against her ribs and in her ears, far louder than the cheer of the crowd or the shrill horns of the band. With each step, the more her breath seemed to pant from her lungs in quiet panic, she felt like she was going to drown; so occupied in her curious fear she did not even notice the altercation between Thorin and his nephews, she did not notice Óin get out of the boat as well to stick to his duty that remains with the wounded.

Desperation. To be saved once more by a familiar rescuer. "Thorin!" she squeaked out and reached for his sleeve, but instead caught hold of the long drapery of a red cloak on his back. She blinked in startled curiosity at their surroundings, she hadn't even noticed they reached the boarding area.

The soon-to-be-king of the Lonely Mountain stopped, and the rest of the company continued on without a word as the King and the Vala moved closer. His gaze of question and concern pierced her heart just as much as the odd consuming dread she felt for this town and its people.

"I... I must stay here," she finally sputtered out.

Thorin was stunned to say the least, he'd lost the ability to actually speak for a few moments as his mouth sat agape while he stared up at her. "What? Why?" he managed to croak out gruffly.

Moria chewed on her lip, trying hard not to run her fingers through her hair since it was tidily tamed into a single long braid down her back, "It's just. It's a feeling, I guess," she stumbled awkwardly with her words, the unexplained nerves giving her grief as she spoke, "S-Something is telling me to remain here. I don't understand it. I badly wish to accompany you to the Mountain, but it's this… this… horrible feeling. I cannot ignore it." Her eyes cast downward to the boardwalk by the end of her miserable excuse of an explanation.

"Moria."

Beneath her bracers she could feel his ring, the one he'd given her, pressing into the skin of her wrist, she felt a wave of guilt wash over her, "Thorin, I'm sorry. Please forgive me for this," she begged softly.

Thorin could clearly see the mental distress she was going through, he reached out for her, clasping her upper arm in hand, "No, it's alright," he shushed her, and the tension visibly released from her. "Trust your instincts," he encouraged and offered a small smile once she raised her eyes to meet his. Though, in honesty, he really wished to have stepped into Erebor for the first time in more than a hundred years with Moria at his side – such a remarkable tale that would have been to share among the dwarvish folk, the day King Thorin reclaimed Erebor with Mahal's Light of All Lights as his… well… among his company. His hand slid down her arm until he grasped her hand and gave a light squeeze, "Meet us in the Mountain once Kíli is healed; keep them safe."

"I will," she promised, her much smaller hand clutched his in return with appreciation as she grinned down at him softly. Then something occurred that she was not at all prepared for, something she would not have expected from Thorin given the present company of… well, the entire populace of Lake Town along with their company. Thorin drew her hand up, and the once delicate, unscathed knuckles of her hand met his lips. He pressed a beard-scruffed kiss to her hand, swift, chaste, but incredibly tender all the same. Moria felt his grasp loosening on hers far too soon after that charming gesture, and in a sudden burst of senselessness concerning their public audience in addition to a desperate impulse, she doubled her grip on his hand and pulled him back towards her. It felt as if it were habitual, or rather instinctual – this action, though she had not yet seen any of the dwarves exhibit this practice, she had seen her parents do so many times. Something that would translate her affection and blessing that was just as intimate as a farewell kiss. She leant her head downwards just slightly so she could touch her forehead to Thorin's. With eyelids fluttered closed, joined hands shifted to lace fingers together comfortably and perfectly, they remained posed as such for a few short moments before Moria first released him from her grasp. With her head still leant against Thorin's she muttered softly, "I will see you as king of that mountain." She drew away from him completely then, eyes gentle, bright and adoring with a grin to match.

Thorin, to his credit, remained collected, without even the slightest blush of crimson colouring his cheeks, though his eyes spoke a different tale entirely – a look that spoke of boyish dreams come true. Nevertheless, he returned her smile with a grateful and understanding nod before turning and taking his place on the boat.

Moria let out a sigh to see the majority of her company leaving her once again – this time, voluntarily. "I'll accompany them, my lady," Trygger's voice sounded beside her, and Moria glanced to the tavaril with obliged eyes.

"I'll go too," Varði piped up.

"We will keep them safe," Trygger promised.

"Thank you," Moria breathed out, and in a blink the two were scurrying off to hop onto the boat with hardly any notice from the others with their ease and grace. The band began to play once again as they boat began to depart down the waterway. Moria watched on as the tavaril crumpled down beneath their cloaks beside Bilbo, likely shifting into their fox forms to take up less room on the already crowded boat.

Verja and Elska stood on either of Moria, each of them sliding a hand into Moria's, leaning their heads against either shoulder as they watched them go.

"They'll be alright, m'lady," Elska sighed gently.

"We'll see them very soon," Verja agreed.

Moria nodded along, and was poised to open her mouth to comment when she heard Fíli's distressed call of his young brother's name. She spun sharply on her heel to see the young dwarf was far paler than he was that morning. Any hope that the poison had left his system and had simply left him with nerve damage and a limp was gone.

"The poison's in his blood, he'll be choking on it soon."

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Note: This was originally supposed to be longer, but since I've become full time at work it's hard to actually, you know, stay awake once I've finally clocked out and get home. So I thought I'd at least put this up since it's been several months without an update, and I wanted to let you guys know I'm not dead… yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the things except for the original characters.