A/N: SO, I was supposed to go on my first date tonight, but the guy texted me and canceled. Long story short, I'm at home instead of at dinner, and the result is a new chapter. I don't own anything from the Hobbit. Enjoy and review.


It was soon after Linnor had finished that Bard returned with a large bundle tucked underneath his arm and a stormy expression on his face. But before he couldsay a word, little Tilda had already dashed to meet him.

"Da! Linnor was singing the most loveliest song I've ever heard! She's elvish, and I think Bain fancies her, and, oh, Da, maybe if you ask her, Linnor can-"

Bard laid a hand on Tilda's head, quelling the flow of words as she looked into her father's stern face.

"Hush, Tilda. Come away." Sigrid stepped in after a long pause, Bard and the dwarves eying each other stormily, Linnor herself trapped in between them. Bain came forward (blushing furiously) and moved his sisters back.

Bard moved slowly and laid the bundle on the table, the hidden metal weapons clanking harshly in the stiff silence.

"It seems Thorin Oakenshield has not been the only one keeping secrets, then. Quite the group of misleading...travelers, was it?" Bard turned his cold gaze upon Linnor then, and she felt her stomach drop.

"How-?"

"You have a knack for making others believe you. Linnor, Alea, Tauriel...all just a means to an end to you. A half-elvish, half-dwarvish changeling spawn-" he spat out the words with angry venom, making Linnor flinch and erecting furious growls from the company, "traveling with a company on a quest to unleash and destruction upon us all. Isn't that right, Thorin Oakenshield? You're going to the mountain, aren't you?" Bard glared at her uncle, who returned the look without a flinch.

Thorin was as still as stone, his eyes dark with anger. In fact, all the dwarves seemed to tremble at the insult the Man had spat. But no one spoke. The silence grew out, tense and suffocating, and Linnor could feel the burn on her skin, the pounding in her ears, her breathing labored, eyes teary, the tightness in her chest building up until she felt the need to scream or choke.

"You-" Thorin finally started.

"I'm sorry."

Linnor's voice echoed loudly in the small cabin, making everyone jump. Once more, Bard's gaze locked onto hers, but gentler than before, which relaxed her somewhat.

"What?"

Linnor took a breath to steady herself. She could feel Thorin watching her, almost disapprovingly, his pride preventing him from being utterly truthful now and instead wanting to flare up with kingly might. Even Fili and Kili were tense, their Durin blood clearly boiling at a deliberate insult. But Linnor didn't feel insulted, though she knew she had been. She felt admonished, like a child. She felt none of the fierce pride so evident in her kin, only an embarrassed shame at being caught in a lie. It was vaguely similar to when Thorin told her off for her endless songs. Linnor thought that it was like if her own father was scolding her now instead of her uncle or a Man.

"Bard...try to understand, for a moment, please. A lie...I didn't mean to...what I mean to say is that my name, my real, full name is Linnor Alea Sathren Durin." Linnor barely registered the complete shock evident on Bard's face, mirrored on the faces of his children. There was a warm burning in her chest as she spoke, and Linnor thought that maybe she had spoken too soon about Durin pride as her words started to take on a defensive tone.

"Yes, Durin. My father was of the royal line, making Thorin and his kin mine own. Elf blood aside, I chose to be here, in the middle of wild danger, leagues upon leagues from home, with my kin to claim what is rightfully ours, and I include myself in that. So do not call me spawn, Man, when that is all we are. I did not lie out of evil, which I think you know, I lied to to protect myself in case you crossed us over. But for that, I am sorry. Try to understand. For family, you do what's needed of you. Regardless the end results."

A hand came and rested on her shoulder as she finished strong, her face flushed and damp with strays, and Linnor saw KIli, his eyes gentle in his young, stubbled face. Fili stood behind him, his hand on his brother's back. The others stood a little taller then, all beside their own kin, and Bilbo looking a little lost. Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda held each other tightly, and Bard's eyes lingered on them.

"There are depths to you, Linnor. Depths one does not expect from a lineage such as yours. I would know, as I have grown up in the mountain's shadow, as my family has since the days of Dale." Bard settled himself into a chair and, after a moment, Tilda crept softly over and nestled into his lap.

"Believe me then, Thorin Oakenshield, Linnor Durin, and company here, that I am sorry and meant no true ill offense to you with my ill-tempered comments. In truth, I had a suspicion in any case that none of you were truthful in any reason you gave. I would do anything, even lie, to protect my family, you are right. And that includes protecting them from the fiery death that is sure to come if you proceed to do what I think you're going to do, and if you really are who you now say you are, and who I know you to be, then I say it's best of you leave as soon as possible. Or at the very least, leave my home."

"So you will not help us?" Balin spoke up. Linnor could see how desperate things were becoming now, and it was in no way comparable to how desperate things would soon (so very, very, soon) become. Bard sighed and Linnor reached up and touched Kili's hand.

"I did not say I would not do as I promised. Here take these. Then leave." Bard reached over Tilda and unwrapped the bundle he had only minutes before laid down.

Metal poles and bars clanged onto the wooden table. Linnor would be the first to admit that, growing up as she did, she was no expert on weaponry, let alone those suitable for taking back a mountain and taking down a full grown firedrake. But those-

"What are these?" Dwalin had picked one up in haste and just as quickly threw it down in disgust. "Fishing tools? We cannot use these!"

The others growled in response, and Linnor caught Bilbo reaching for the hilt of his slim dagger in assurance.

Bard himself hissed a little and stood, carrying Tilda up in his arms as he went.

"Well what did you expect? You asked for weapons to fight with, and this was all I was able to get you on short notice and without raising alarm. Anything more suitable would have to go through the Master and it'd be a dry day indeed before he gave anything in charity of a quest."

"Well these are utterly useless to us." Thorin snarled, the constant debating clearly wearing on his patience. Linnor feared an all out fight was close at hand, especially with the look on Dwalin's face. "What else is there? You have swords? Maces, axes, bows, arrows, shields and the sort, do you not?"

Bard tensed, clearly hearing the open threat and deciding whether or not to bait it. He chose, and sighed.

"The armory is heavily guarded andin the center of the town by the Master's quarters. It's where all the heavy weaponry not necessary for our daily lives is kept. There are two floors to it. But if you plan on doing anything, you do it without my help, Thorin Oakenshield. I will not risk a jailed life and abandoning my children for you."

Thorin gazed at him a long while, and slowly at the rest of them, each giving something in their gaze, awaiting the next orders from there close King. Linnor's breath was held, wishing she could go back into song, before all the trouble and grief had started. For a brief second, she wished she was back in Mirkwood, feeling the things she had felt.

"Very well. We do not need your aid." Thorin spoke harsh and strong, not a waver in his steely eyes. "Tonight we make a move on the armory, and then, on the mountain."