A/N: Oh my various gods, I am so, so very sorry that it took two months to update! I feel horrible about it, especially since this chapter is so pitifully short. I have been so strapped for inspiration on my Hobbit fics, it's not even funny. Not to mention, when good weather comes to this part of Washington, I find myself having to do yard work since my parents no longer have the time to do it. :( Over all, it's not a good combination of things to happen when you're trying to write the last arc of a story...Again, I am so very sorry for the delay and I am thankful to everyone who's stuck around and is still reading. I 3 you guys and gals big time!

Chapter Thirty-Five

Warren tiredly rubbed his face before taking a long, slow drink from the mug he held. Delicious, hot broth slid down the back of his throat before reaching his stomach; a shiver ran down his spine as his body was filled with warmth. Across from him, Will was greedily chugging down his second mugful of piping-hot soup while Adela futilely tried to get him to slow down lest he make himself sick. The frigid air of the jail, however, helped to further bring ruin to her efforts.

Three cells down, Baylee passed a clay mug of steaming soup to Camilla, who heartily thanked her. Warren couldn't help but notice that Camilla now wore the wool gloves that had been covering his daughter's hands just a little while ago. Unlike Camilla and Will, Geoff sat in his cell, delicately cradling his first serving of soup in his hands, letting its warmth soak into his skin. He would take a sip of the liquid every few minutes, his eyes closing and a soft sigh leaving his mouth.

Bard had ordered for more blankets and coats to be given to the prisoners, as well as each cell with a person behind it to have its own brazier placed within. Despite these efforts, however, the cold always managed to find its way in through the cold, unforgiving stone.

As Baylee came back towards the soup pot, which sat between his and Will's cells, Warren leaned forward slightly. "'Lee?" he quietly hearkened.

"Aye, papa?" she inquired, walking over to him. "Do ya want more soup?"

He shook his head before pausing for a moment; thinking it over, he then nodded. "Aye, please," he replied, handing her his cup. He watched as she went to fill it up with more soup, being careful to not let her fingers touch the hot liquid. "But I also wanted t' know how you're holdin' up. Ya look exhausted, love."

A weary smile came to her lips. "I'm fine, papa," she quietly reassured him as she wiped away a bit of soup that had dribbled down the side of the mug. "Aye, I'm tired, but that's because I've been doin' the jobs o' three people the past few days." Handing it back to him, she brushed an ashy lock from her freckled cheeks. "I'm more content t' run around an inn rather than run the inn itself."

"I know, love." He blew the steam away from the surface of the soup before taking the smallest of sips. "What 'bout the inn? How have things been?"

She lightly shrugged. "Surprisingly well," she informed. "Business hasn't slowed at all –if anythin', we've got more customers comin' in now that they've heard 'bout our plight. Almost all our rooms are filled…Can't say I think it'll stay that way for long, though. I know most folk have been comin' just because they know that you an' Will are in here."

"We'll be out o' here someday," he told her.

Nodding in agreement, she again smiled. "Bofur an' I think we've got a pretty good idea o' where the Horn o' Thúnor is," she began, "or at least where Thúnor lived."

At that, Warren frowned. "Baylee, tell me you're jokin' –ya know full well tha' Thúnor's Horn is just a story for wee ones."

"But Bofur an' me found some evidence, papa," she countered. "We've found his named mentioned in old texts; he really lived-"

"'Lee, don't you think somethin' like the horn –somethin' o' incredible importance an' magical value- would have shown up in those old texts as well? After all, it could supposedly heal or poison a person, all dependin' on their intentions."

"Papa-"

"An' even if it was real, it would have been taken t' Minas Tirith long after Thúnor's line died out," he continued. "The Kings o' Gondor –an' now, Stewards- could have used it t' tell friend from foe, don't you think?" He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. "No. Baylee, love, ya need t' face it. The horn doesn't exist. The only way Will an' I are gettin' out o' here is by givin' Mannus the Tankard."

Her eyes widened and she backed away from him. "No!" she cried, drawing the attention of Adela and Will. "Why would ya even think that? He's the reason the two o' ya are in here in the first place! I'm not about t' hand ownership o' the inn over t' the likes o' him!"

"'Lee," Warren spoke, his voice firm, but calm, "the only other way t' free us from here would be for ya t' marry him. I'm not 'bout t' give him my only daughter."

Her hands moving to rest atop her hips, Baylee glared up at her father. "So you'd rather give him your life's work instead?" she snapped. "We've already lost the Tankard t' one worm an' I'm not about t' let another one get his hands on it."

"Goin' after the horn will get ya nowhere, Baylee!" he scolded. "Mannus knows it's not real –why else would he send ya on such a fool's errand? If you go an' take too long t' come back, he'll be able t' claim the inn as rightful payment!"

Baylee unconsciously straightened up. "He's not getting' our inn," she sternly stated. "Real or now, I'm to Lond Daer an' at the very least search for the damned horn." Warren opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off before he could utter the first syllable. "I have to do this, papa. I swore t' the Valar I would. While I'm gone, I'm goin' t' put the Tankard under Galiene an' Bofur's temporary ownership. I've already checked with Bard; it's perfectly legal an' keeps Mannus from claiming it. Galiene will handle the inn's chores while Bofur does the finances.

"I've already put in an order with the cobbler for a pair o' traveling boots an' I'm still lookin' for someone t' travel with me. I'd take Bofur, but he went an' injured his leg quite badly, thus him stayin' here. I already got my saddlebags packed an' my spear sharpened. Once the boots are finished, I'm leavin' the day after."

Warren looked down at his daughter, his mind swirling with a strange combination of anger, hurt, and pride. Now, more than ever, he was forced to realize that Baylee was no longer a child, but a grown woman. In her short twenty-four years of life, she had endured more than most humans would in their entire lifetime and evidence of this was written across her face. Not just in the scars she bore, but in her eyes as well: They were full of fierce determination and strength. He knew full well she wouldn't back down from the quest.

With a defeated sigh, he looked away. "You are your mother's daughter," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "Lond Daer is a long journey, even in the best weather. Ya wouldn't be back until autumn at the soonest."

Her shoulders relaxing, Baylee slowly nodded. "Aye, I know. I was goin' t' follow the mountains south until the Gap o' Rohan. Then it's north an' west from there."

He slowly shook his head. "Ya'd have t' go around too many forests if ya did that," he informed her.

"It's winter," she protested. "The mountain passes will be impossible-"

"Take the Celduin until ya come t' the Mountains o' Mirkwood," he instructed, "then go through the Old Forest Road. It'll be a hard road, but the elves have been keepin' it clear. With luck, you'll have their help. Once on the other side, follow the western shores o' the Anduin until ya come t' Emyn Muil. It's important that ya stay on the western side, alright? It'll be nigh impossible t' cross the further south you get." Baylee nodded in understanding. "Then go west. You'll go through the East Emnet, cross a small river, then the West Emnet. The village your mother an' aunt came from lies somewhere in those vast fields –ya know the name o' it. If your uncle an' grandparents still live, they'll surely help ya."

"I've never met them, though. How am I supposed t' know what they look like? An' how are they supposed t' believe that I'm Éolynna's daughter?"

At that, Warren let out a laugh. "Baylee, save for your hair, you're the spittin' image o' your mother! Especially right now, mind you. They'll know who ya are sure enough."

"But how am I supposed t' know them?"

Warren thought for a moment; as he did so, he took a long, slow drink from his soup. "Ya only have their names t' go by, I guess."

"I only know Evoric's name."

"Well, then you find Evoric. He has one o' the largest herds in the East Emnet; I'm sure he won't be too hard t' find. He's also got black hair; most o' Rohan is blonde or redheaded." He took another long drink from his soup, this time draining the cup. "An' 'Lee –for the love o' the Valar, find someone t' travel with ya. I know you're determined t' leave as soon as possible, but I think ya learned full well that travel is dangerous, even in groups."

She nodded, taking his mug from him and moving to refill it for the second time. "I will, papa. Even if it means draggin' Dwalin or Peter with me."

Warren's brow rose. "Peter would be a good option, actually. He's good with horses, just as big as me, an' he knows how t' fight." Taking the soup yet again, he let its warmth soak into his palms for a time.

"He's also been helpin' Wenna an' Lovisa with tables," she told him. "He'll be my last resort."

Bofur sighed as he lightly tamped down the tobacco leaves in his pipe. His leg ached something fierce, but he ignored the pain as he struck a match and brought the flame to rest amongst the leaves. Around him, the Full Tankard hummed with conversations as peopled dined on their midday meals, having nothing else better to do on a chilly winter's day.

Glancing up, he watched as Wenna crossed his path, her arms laden with steaming mugs of hot cider and mulled wine. Across the room, Peter was setting bread trenches full of cheese soup in front of a group of elderly men. The door to the inn opened, bringing with it a gust of bitter wind, snowflakes, and-

Before he could see who entered, Bombur obscured his vision. His brother sat down across from him, a tray of food in his hands. "It's high time you ate something," the younger dwarf said, setting a bread trench of soup in front of him.

"I'm not terribly hungry right now, Bombur," Bofur replied. "But thanks anyway."

"Which means something's bothering ya." The redheaded dwarf set his own bread bowl on the table before laying out plates of roasted vegetables and tankards of ale. "You're my brother, Bofur, an' I know when something's troubling you. So, tell me: What's on your mind?"

He let out a heavy sigh and slouched forward, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. "It's Baylee. She's wearin' herself out, what with havin' t' get ready for a long journey as well as take care o' the inn. I know for a fact that she hasn't gotten a full night's sleep since this whole fiasco started an' she refuses t' take a break. Not t' mention, she's not eaten more 'n half a meal a day!"

Bombur nodded in understanding as he sprinkled some ground pepper over his soup. "She's stressed. Half o' her family's wrongfully in jail and she can't do anythin' 'bout it. What would you do if ya found yourself in her position?"

"Try my damnedest t' help," Bofur replied. He raised a spoonful of soup from the bowl only to tip the spoon and watch it pour back in. "An' I know that's what she's doin', but…" He sighed again. "I don't know. I'd go t' my friends for help, I guess. Baylee's already done that, though. She's got all the help she can get –or at least she's willin' t' get."

His brow rose. "What do ya mean, she willing to get?"

"Knowin' Baylee, she feels like if she asked for any more help than what she's currently got, she'd be troublin' people. After all, most o' her friends have businesses an' families o' their own; she wouldn't want t' bother them." He breathed in another lungful of smoke before letting it escape through his mouth.

Bombur was quiet for a moment, mulling over his thoughts as he chewed on a bit of roasted parsnip. "That's one o' the things about people," he finally stated. "Those who help others rarely seek out help themselves, even when they need it the most.

Bofur nodded. "An' o' course, Baylee really needs the help right now…"

Out of nowhere, a third chair was planted beside the table and Dís sat down, white flakes of snow still clinging to her hair and beard. "What is going on with Miss Baylee?" she questioned, pulling off her gloves. "I have heard a rumor or two, but nothing more." Unclasping her cloak, she gave it a light toss so that it draped itself over the back of her seat.

"A rival o' theirs had her brother an' father arrested," Bofur explained while Bombur used Iglishmêk to ask Dís if she wanted anything to eat. "An' the only ways t' get them out o' jail is by givin' the arse either the Full Tankard, Baylee's hand in marriage, or somethin' called Thúnor's Horn."

Bombur scooted his chair back as Dís signed her order back and waddled off towards the kitchens. Dís, on the other hand, furrowed her brows. "Thúnor's Horn?"

Bofur nodded. "Apparently, it was a fae tale in these parts-"

"I have heard of it."

At that, Bofur's brows furrowed. "What?"

She nodded, stealing one of the roasted carrots. "I have heard of it," she repeated. "When I was younger, Thorin, Frerin, and I had to studies the histories of Middle Earth's royalties. It belonged to an ancient king of men; it was his hunting horn."

"Well, that's different from the story Baylee told me. In the tales she's heard, it was a drinkin' horn that could either kill ya or heal ya dependin' on if you were evil or not."

Scratching her beard, Dís lightly shrugged. "I guess that is the element that made it a fae tale then," she mused.

"That, an' the fact that he slew a troll with the vessel," Bofur chuckled. "Strange, though, that Baylee an' I couldn't find anythin' like that in the archives. We had t' have searched through most o' the old texts in the place."

Again, she shrugged. "Thúnor was renowned for slaying a great many troll throughout his life. And it may be that you did not find much because Dale is not nearly as old as other settlements in Middle Earth." She then paused, giving Bofur a worried look. "Bofur…please tell me that Miss Baylee does not intend to seek out the horn."

"Well, she's not 'bout t' marry him or give him the Tankard," he told her. "Frankly, I'd be more than willin' t' just throw a few gold bars at his head –Mahal knows I've got enough- but the guy is an arse. Apparently, he's been tryin t' ruin Warren for years. Baylee's tryin' to find herself a companion or two t' go with her; I'd go with, but…" He motioned at his injured leg, which was propped up on a stool.

Dís frowned and lightly shook her head. "Such a horrible thing to happen to such a nice family…" she murmured. She glanced around at the inn, trying to find any sign of the innkeeper's daughter. "Where is Miss Baylee now?"

"She an' Adela are at the jail. They take warm meals t' Warren an' Will."

She nodded in understanding as Bombur returned. "Thank you, Bombur," she told him as he set a hot mug of mulled wine down, as well as a large, bread bowl of soup. "Oh, cheese soup! It has been a long while since I have had this."

"One of the last bowls," Bombur chuckled. "It's been quite popular today."

Tapping the ashes out of his pipe, Bofur decided that it was best to put some food in his belly. He took a small spoonful of soup only to turn scarlet as his stomach made a rather loud noise. Dís' brow rose while Bombur chuckled. "Apparently I'm hungrier than I thought," he mused.

Bombur pointed his soup-covered spoon at him. "See? I knew you needed t' eat. It's alright t' be worried about your lass, but if you've got any sort o' mind 'bout keepin' up with her, you need to eat."

"Has he not been eating?" Dís questioned, looking at Bombur with concern.

"He has, but not as much as a normal dwarrow should."

Bofur cocked his brow. "Hey now –the pain in my leg is part o' the reason I'm not eatin' much!" he argued. "You try eatin' when your entire leg is just one massive ache!"

"I'd rather not, thank ya very much," Bombur retorted, his brow raised. "And don't you try lying that poorly again. I know full well that you're worried over your lass and that's why you're not eatin'."

His cheeks turning red once more, Bofur said nothing, choosing to instead shove a large spoonful of soup in his mouth. A somewhat tense silence fell between the three dwarrows. Dís glanced between the brothers as she ate a bit of crust from the top of her bowl, noticing that Bofur was keeping his gaze facing downwards while Bombur seemed to look everywhere but at his brother. It was obvious to her that this was not the first time the brothers had argued over such a matter.

"When does she plan to leave?" she quietly asked, scraping the last of soup from her bread.

"Soon as the cobbler finishes a pair o' boots she ordered," Bofur replied. "Why?"

"And you said she was seeking a companion?"

Bofur looked at her as he cautiously nodded. "Aye, she is," he slowly answered. He had a strong feeling he knew what the next phrase Dís uttered would be and he had to admit, he did not like the thought much.

Brushing some crumbs from her beard and chest, Dís shrugged. "Then I shall go with her."

"No!" Bombur and Bofur chorused.

"My lady, you've already traveled so far," Bombur protested. "You've crossed Middle Earth twice in your life; surely you wouldn't want t' cross it again?"

Bofur's argument was quite a bit more valid. "This is somethin' more befitting o' Dwalin, my lady," he told her. "I'm sure he'd be more 'n pleased t' see a bit o' adventure!"

Dís brow rose and she unconsciously straightened her posture and lifted her shoulders in the way that royal females do when it came to verbal defense. "I will have you both know that I am more than capable of traveling such a distance, especially if it means helping someone in need," she retorted. "Not only that, but perhaps I wish to have my own journey of sorts so that I may honor the memories of my adventurous sons and my brother.

"Therefore, I shall join Miss Baylee and provide her with assistance in her quest for Thúnor's Horn." She then took a drink from her wine, ignoring the shocked looks from her dining companions. Then, as an afterthought, she added, "And I will have you both know, I know the area of Lond Daer quite well; after all, Thorin and I searched for father there for half a year."

Their cheeks turning as red as Bombur's hair, the brothers looked down at their laps (or, in Bombur's case, his stomach) in shame. They knew they shouldn't doubt Dís –not only did she come from one of the strongest lines of dwarves, but female dwarves were more often than not hardier than male dwarves. Regardless, Bofur worried for the safety of both females; he had nearly lost Baylee once and he did not want it to happen again.

Baylee winced as she stamped the snow off her boots and shook it from her skirts. Shrugging off her cloak, she let out a quiet sigh as the warmth of the kitchen began to chase the chill away from her. The moment she hung up her cloak, Galiene hurried over and, lightly grabbing the girl by her shoulders, brought her over to a chair where she forced Baylee to sit.

"You've been gone since before dawn!" scolded the cook. "When Adela came back an' ya weren't with her, I had half a mind t' go out lookin' for you myself." She shook her head as she plucked up one of the last crusty loaves of bread and proceeded to cut the top off of it. "I know you've got a lot t' do, Baylee, but tryin' t' get it done all in one day?" Again, she shook her head.

"I had t' go t' Erebor," explained Baylee. She thanked Gawen as he placed a mug of warm cider beside her. "I bought a new spear an' dagger as well as ordered some warm travelin' clothes."

Galiene glanced up from hollowing out the bread. "Why couldn't ya place the order here in Dale?" she questioned.

"The dwarves are faster when it comes t' makin' things," she replied. She glanced around the kitchen, finding that she, Galiene, and Gawen were the only ones occupying it. "Where are the others?"

Gawen looked over his shoulder at her. "Baylee, it's nearly ten," he told her. "They've either gone home or turned in for the night."

At that, Baylee frowned. "What? It can't possibly be that late…" She rubbed her face in an attempt to make her nose and cheeks warm up faster.

Galiene grabbed a ladle and filled the bread to the brim with beef stew. "It is. Now can ya see why I was worried about you, lass?" She shoved a spoon into it before putting the meal in front of Baylee. "Ya left before sunrise an' returned long after sunset. I'm surprised you're not an icicle right now!"

Stretching her bad leg out, she leaned forward and took a bite of the warm stew. "I was plenty warm most o' the day, I promise," she assured the cook. "The only time it got real cold was when I was walkin' back from Erebor-"

"You walked to Erebor an' back!?"

"The roads were clear o' snow! It was just cold because the wind picked up." She took another bite of the stew, her stomach making a rather embarrassing noise as it finally got a bit of food in it. Ignoring the noise, she took a long drink of the cider before downing more stew.

"It would have been better t' take a pony," Gawen spoke. "Easier on your leg an' it would have been faster."

At that, Galiene frowned. "That's right…How's your leg? Surely all tha' walking around couldn't be too good for it."

"Can't really feel it right now," Baylee lied. "I didn't push myself; I took plenty o' sittin' breaks." That hadn't been a lie; many times throughout the day found her seeking a sit-down so that she could massage some of the pain out of her leg and hip. "Have ya seen Bofur today?"

Gawen nodded. "Just helped him get out o' the bath, as a matter o' fact. He's in the back, no doubt gettin' ready for bed."

Baylee slowly nodded, looking down at her stew. A pang of guilt temporarily ruined her appetite and she let out a quiet sigh. "I think I'll finish my meal back there," she told them, standing up. "I think I've seen ya two more in the last few days than I've seen him." Grabbing a bowl, she carefully slid her bread into it, making it easier to carry.

Bofur looked up when she pushed open the door to the private quarters, a smile coming to his tired features when he saw her. Forgetting about his injury, he started to push himself up so that he could help her, but a bolt of searing pain shot up his leg. A hiss left his mouth and he quickly plopped back down.

"Now why'd ya go an' do that?" Baylee lightly teased, kissing his temple. Balancing her mug and stew on one arm, she used her free hand to drag a chair alongside his.

"Because I went an' forgot I'm hurt," he replied, shifting in his seat. When Baylee had gotten situated in her chair, he pulled her even closer to his spot before snaking his arm around her waist. "You were gone a long time."

A small frown came to her face and she quietly sighed. "I know," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had been gone literally all day." Kissing his cheek, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. "An' I'm sorry I haven't been here much." The feeling of guilt started to grow in her stomach when Bofur didn't respond right away.

"I can't say that I don't mind," he admitted, "but you've got a lot on your plate right now." His fingers started to unconsciously toy with her hair, brushing it back as she ate so it wouldn't get in the way. "Most people would have just given up by now, but you're still goin'."

"Only reason I am is because I've gotten so much help." She offered him a bite of stew, a small smile appearing on her lips when he tilted his head forward, snatching the spoon between his teeth. "Without ya an' the others, I'd probably be more o' a wreck than this. I mean, I'm still a wreck, but at least my friends are makin' sure I've not locked myself away in my room."

At that, Bofur chuckled. "Even if ya did that, I'd still manage t' find a way t' get in an' make ya eat an' whatnot," he told her. "Though, speakin' o' help…I found ya a traveling companion."

She seemed to perk as he said the words. "Oh? Who?"

Scratching the back of his head, he glanced away. "Dís."

"Dís?" she asked, blinking. "Really? I was expectin' ya t' say Dwalin or Dori or someone…not Dís." She looked down at her stew as she stirred her spoon in small circles through her. "I appreciate it, though. I really didn't want t' go on a journey by myself."

He nodded in understanding. "She's a strong fighter," he explained, "an' she knows the area 'round Lond Daer pretty well."

Tilting her head, Baylee cocked her brow. "She does?"

"Aye. She an' Thorin traveled that area quite a bit when they were younger." He scratched his beard with his free hand before glancing down at Baylee. Dark circles lined the bottom of her eyes, making him frown slightly. "Her knowledge will probably be better than some o' those maps we found."

Setting her bowl on the floor, Baylee shifted her position so that she could better snuggle again Bofur. "Aye…I also got some help from my da' –mostly 'bout how t' get down there good an' fast."

"Go through the mountains?"

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his midsection. "Take the Old Forest Road an' follow the river south. Then I can cut across land t' the Gap o' Rohan an' then go north." She found it amusing how her strange position was oddly comfortable; with no pressure on her bad leg, it did not ache nearly as much, though her body was draped over the arms of two chairs. "The lands further south should be warmer, too, even if it's winter. If they've not got much snow, travel will be easier."

"That makes sense. It'd be safer, too, since ya won't have t' worry 'bout avalanches an' sudden snow storms blockin' your path." He let his head fall back against the chair, his eyes closing. "It'd be even faster if ya had a raft o' some sort t' travel the river with." His fingers continued to play with her hair for a few more minutes before she reached up and lightly clasped the ends of his fingers.

"The Anduin is dangerous," she murmured. The combination of a long day and little sleep was beginning to beat Baylee's efforts of staying awake. "Especially at this time o' year. S'already fast 'n' deep –don't need t' be on it when there could be flash floods from winter rains..."

"'Least ya wouldn't be in a wine barrel," Bofur mumbled, starting to also fall asleep. "Thems not so good…bumpy ride…"

Gathering her last bit of energy, Baylee glanced up as she heard Bofur's words fade into quiet snoring. She smiled and kissed his jaw before nuzzling into his shoulder, succumbing to slumber herself.