Disclaimer: All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine.

Quick A/N: Long time, no see, friends! HUGE apology for the long wait; but, alas, life and all of its fickle (and not so fickle) matters. But I come bearing a super long chapter, and I am pleased to say that since school is winding down, I'll have more time to write, so hopefully I can begin to update more frequently again.

Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers last time: legolas98, yorushihe, lindir's gaze, AlliBaba13, the-first-beast, jkrfan7, SilverZelenia, Savarra, KeepingThemAtBay, KelseyBl, EquusGold, and xoxo (Guest)! And if I missed anyone, please be sure to point it out!

Happy reading!


Chapter Fifty-Four: The Oath

The trek to the city gates made Alison feel as if she were walking to the gallows, her heart hammering against her chest with every step as anxiety curled in her stomach, twisting it into knots. The dehydration sitting on her parched tongue and the shimmering mirage of sand before her did nothing to ease her nerves as she and Jonathan got closer, and it took everything she had to steady her breaths and keep pace with the Second Hero as the city now loomed before them in all of its shining glory.

Faint outlines of figures illuminated by the sun could now be seen standing guard at the gate, but the light was so bright Alison couldn't stare at them for long, having to avert her gaze and blink spots from her vision as Jonathan dropped back to her shoulder, now walking beside her instead of in front.

"How are you feeling, cousin?" He asked, and Alison swallowed.

"I'm fine," she croaked, and Jonathan snorted.

"Lying was never a strong suit of yours, Alison, so forgive me if I don't believe you," he replied sarcastically.

"Fine, I'm nervous," she snapped. "I'm currently trekking to a city full of people who might want to kill me, and considering I've been traveling with thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a Wizard for all of my time here, having only one other companion with me that would like to slit my throat is not the best confidence booster."

Jonathan chuckled, his teeth glinting white in the sunlight.

"I assure you, cousin, no harm shall befall you here as long as you're with me," he said, and Alison made a face at him that he ignored. "Just…stand there, and try to look intimidating while I talk."

She didn't have time to answer, for at that moment, a gruff, heavily accented voice called out a sharp command; and though it made no sense to Alison, she understood the message behind it clear enough, and came to a stop before the gate with Jonathan.

Two guards approached on their flanks from where they had been standing before the gate, and Alison assessed them quickly as they came closer, noting the wicked-looking scimitars at their belts and the gold scepters raised threateningly in their tattooed hands – in fact, everywhere their flesh was exposed Alison saw nothing but black and red ink, almost completely blotting out their russet skin. Their armor was thick black and gold leather, exquisite yet suitable for the harsh desert environment, with matching helms that protected their dark, heavily-inked eyes and covers that shielded the lower halves of their faces entirely.

They were unlike anything Alison had seen in Middle-earth so far, and she was strangely fascinated with them, despite their glaring eyes and menacing stances as they faced her and Jonathan. It wasn't because they were otherworldly, she decided, like the Elves and Dwarves and Orcs – they were just exotic.

"Akalleth." The second guard ordered, and Alison was taken aback when a rough, yet distinctly feminine voice issued from the figure. She focused closer, and realized with a start that the guard actually was a woman; she was shorter than her companion, though not by a lot, and her skin was smoother and her hair longer, interwoven with black and gold string that shimmered in the light.

"Ya umaz te Jarkhun-a?" The female guard continued, eyeing Alison suspiciously as the Hero swallowed, not knowing what to say, before Jonathan stepped forward and raised his hands in a show of peace, giving the guard a winning smile, though Alison could tell she was not impressed.

Jonathan said something back in the same coarse language, the words flowing smoothly from his tongue as he spoke, and he looked so at ease and confident that Alison was envious, especially since she was just standing there looking like an idiot and not saying anything.

The male guard suddenly interrupted, barking something harsh that caused Jonathan to scowl, his expression turning dangerous.

He snapped something back, and with a quick movement of his wrist, he grabbed the collar of his armor and yanked it down, revealing something almost like a tattoo or a brand, strange black markings curved together in a tight-knit circle right above his heart.

Alison didn't see what the big deal was, but the mark had a tremendous effect on the guards; the male one took a step back, his grip on his scepter slacking, while the skin around the female's eyes went pale as she called out another command in her tongue.

Immediately, the city gates began to groan open, and Alison looked on in incredulity and bafflement as the guards stepped aside, nodding and gesturing for them to enter. Jonathan strode forward, and only after shooting the two guards a quick look did Alison follow him, the gates grinding shut behind her as soon as she passed through.

They paused for a moment on the threshold of a bustling marketplace, a long, winding street crowded with stalls and people, hedged in on either side by brown-stoned villas with sturdy clay roofs, and Alison was instantly hit with the smells of sweat and perfume, herbs and spices and animals all combined into one scent.

No one in the marketplace had noticed them yet, and Alison took this opportunity to turn and look at Jonathan, raising a questioning brow.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?" He said without looking at her, his eyes instead scanning the marketplace, and Alison crossed her arms.

"Whatever you just did to get us in here," she said, waving a hand at him. "That mark on your chest—"

"Is a symbol of allegiance to Sauron," he interrupted, finally looking at her and cocking a brow. "The Easterlings have been allied with the forces of Darkness before, and many of them are sympathizers of Mordor. That mark is proof that I have pledged my service to the Dark Lord, and thus, I am considered an ally now. As are you."

He looked to her pointedly at this, and Alison looked away, feeling an uncomfortable twinge in her gut. She knew that this identity would keep her safe, but it was just so…wrong. She was supposed to defeat the Shadow; that was a part of her destiny. And even though it was an act, it still unnerved her that she would be seen as an ally to Sauron in this city, no matter how brief.

"So what now?" She asked, changing the subject as she took in the turbulent marketplace, meeting the stares of several people who were starting to notice their presence.

"Firstly, we are going to find an inn and a room, so we can keep our business away from prying eyes," he said, apparently noting the attention they were starting to draw, as well. "Then, I'm going to collect some information on how to seek an audience with Racor Rakshara and collect supplies for the both of us, while you relax and stay out of sight."

"That's a joke, right?" Alison said, glaring hard at the Second Hero when he only pursed his lips. "Are you serious? You just expect me to sit holed up in a room like an obedient pet while you run around and do God-knows-what? That is so unfair."

"I'm doing you a favor, cousin; trust me," he said. "This city would swallow you whole and suck on your bones by nightfall if I let you roam around by yourself. Just stay with the Ring while I run my big boy errands."

"Unbelievable," Alison muttered, while Jonathan started forward and began striding down the street, the Easterlings giving him a wide berth as he went with her following quickly behind, ignoring the prickling stares and rough whispers around her.

After several horribly uncomfortable minutes of walking through the crowding people, Jonathan entered into a large villa with a sign of runes above the open door, and Alison took it as a sort of inn as she stepped inside, blinking to adjust to the sudden dim light as the pungent smells of tobacco and spicy wine assaulted her nose.

Fortunately, there was hardly anyone in the bar and parlor area when they entered, only a cloaked figure twiddling a pipe in one corner and a young barmaid wiping down the counter, the many bracelets and rings upon her hands jingling loudly in the muffled silence of the bar.

She and Jonathan made their way to the counter, Alison putting on her best neutral face when the barmaid looked up and narrowed her eyes, the irises almost black in the darkness of the bar.

Jonathan leaned up against the counter and began to speak in the Eastron tongue once more, running a hand through his overlong bangs and smirking as Alison resisted the urge to gag, just wanting him to pay for a room and get on with it.

After several agonizing minutes of watching Jonathan and the barmaid flirt in a foreign language (though the barmaid did give them water, thankfully, which Alison drank greedily), the Second Hero finally paid for a room with a pouch of coins he pulled out of his pocket, and the barmaid led them upstairs to the second floor and directed them to a door at the end of the hall.

Ignoring Jonathan and the barmaid, Alison took the key and opened the door to their room, shutting it behind her as she had no idea how long Jonathan would be. Hopefully not long, as she really wanted to get a move on with this whole side-quest; but knowing the Second Hero, she didn't let herself get too optimistic.

Instead, she focused her attention on the room they had been given, noting the two separate beds (she thanked the Valar for this) dressed with intricately woven sheets, and the large bathing area with a stone tub, hidden behind a wooden partition. Light, red satin curtains fluttered in the breeze coming from outside, and Alison pushed them aside, coming out onto a small balcony that overlooked the city, and, more importantly, the citadel which she had seen earlier before entering the gates.

It was even more breathtaking up close, where she could see the white-washed stone gleaming in the sunlight, surrounded by fancy marble walkways and exotic gardens that oddly reminded her of Rivendell. When something in her chest throbbed at the reminder of the Elven haven, though, she shut down that train of thought immediately, not being able to afford getting dragged down into the suffocating mess that was her emotions right now. She knew she would have to deal with it sooner or later, but at the moment, later was looking a lot better than sooner.

She turned around when she heard the door open again, and she stepped back inside to see Jonathan entering the room, smirking broadly and looking quite pleased with himself as he met her eyes.

"Comfortable enough for you, princess?" He asked, gesturing around the room and making her scowl.

"Quite," she said shortly. "Now, are you going to get supplies and information, or should I find another barmaid to occupy your obviously infinitesimal attention span?"

"Ooh, feisty," he taunted. "Watch yourself there, cousin; if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous."

"What I am is disgusted," she retorted, clenching her hands into fists when he smirked at her and winked. "And I strongly suggest you walk out of this room right now and do what you're supposed to before I take one of my knives and shove it up your—"

"All right, I'm going, I'm going," Jonathan conceded, backing up to the door and raising his hands in defense. "Wind down some while I'm gone, cousin; I don't need you being a constant thorn in my side for the duration of this journey."

"Just get out." She snapped, throwing herself down on the bed and crossing her legs tightly as he heeded her words and left, leaving her alone in the room as she struggled to get a grip on her anger.

She rubbed her temples with her fingers, sighing out her nose as her head pulsed with a furious ache. There was just something about Jonathan that made her so recklessly angry, like every nerve in her body was on-edge and ready for a fight – which they were, when it came to him. But this time around with him seemed so much worse compared to past experiences, though she attributed that to the fact that her whole world was basically crumbling around her at this point, and Jonathan was just a physical manifestation for her to channel her rage and despair into.

Dragging her hands down her face, Alison lifted her head and locked eyes on the bathtub half-hidden behind the partition. Not knowing when Jonathan was going to be back, and not having anything better to do, she stood up and shuffled to the tub, finding it already filled with water with linens set out to the side, much to her relief.

She toed off her boots and began to remove her weapons, suddenly finding the weightlessness without them disconcerting after having grown so accustomed to having them on her person. She set them gently on the floor, but left Natrem and Maodus on the edge of the tub, within arm's reach in case she needed to use them, before continuing to strip down.

Soon, she was wearing nothing but the drawstring pouch that had been tucked under her shirt this whole time, and after a slight hesitation, she reached up and pulled it over her head, juggling it in her palm for a bit before setting it gently atop her pile of clothes and climbing into the tub.

The water was blissfully cool compared to the dry heat surrounding her, and she sank into the water gratefully until it reached her chin. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back, and sat lazily for a while, listening to the faint sounds of the water sloshing and the city life outside of the room, content to just be for a moment.

But when the minutes stretched on, Alison found herself getting anxious; and suddenly the quiet noises seemed too silent, too absolute, and it started to sink in that she was alone – and not just right now, sitting by herself in the room, but truly alone.

Everyone she had met and befriended on this journey – Bard, Tauriel, Gandalf, the Company – all of them were still back at Dale, back at the Mountain, while she was trapped with Jonathan, sucked into a deal she still wasn't entirely sure of, and still fearful that, despite his harsh promises and patronizing assurances, he was ultimately going to kill her in the end, and then she wouldn't be able to protect anyone anymore, much less save the world.

Tears were beginning to sting her eyes now, and she dug her fingers into the rims of the tub so hard she wouldn't be surprised if she had left deep furrows in the stone because of it as her emotions began to howl and tear at her chest, finally so tired of being shut away that they were trying to make an escape out of her.

What if this was it? What if she died on this insane vengeance quest of Jonathan's, never to see her friends or family or home again? What if Jonathan went back on his word and murdered her and her friends when all of this was over? There was still so much she had to do here; she had to defeat the Shadow, and restore order to this world and the mortal one, and save the Line of Durin—

A strangled sob escaped Alison's mouth at this last thought, and now the tears truly began to fall. She had sworn that she would protect them, that she would spare their lives, and now Fíli and Kíli would die so young, so full of fresh blood and innocence and love, and even Thorin, despite his awful deeds at the Gate, would die, his sickness finally breaking but too late, and Alison would never get to apologize, would never see any of them again—

She suddenly lashed out with her fist as the sobs came harder, cracking her knuckles on the stone and drawing blood, but she barely felt it, her ribs feeling as if they were about to crack as she struggled to breathe through her tears.

She was crying so hard she thought she was going to faint, but over the pounding despair clogging her head, she thought she felt the gentlest, lightest touch on her bare shoulder, and a tickling voice brushed against her ear with the breeze as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Do not lose hope, Maethor, the voice whispered. Fill your veins with iron, my dear girl. Sear your heart with an unquenchable fire. You are stronger than you think.

Alison marveled at the words for a few seconds, turning them over in her mind and wondering how, before she was interrupted by the key jangling in the lock of the door. She threw herself out of the tub, making a desperate grab for the white silken robe beside it and tying it on just as Jonathan entered the room, his shadow casting on the panel hiding her as she rubbed water on her face to cover her tears, making a silent noise of disgust when she remembered her bleeding knuckles.

"Alison?" Jonathan said, as she grabbed a rag and wrapped it around her hand as he knocked on the panel. "You in here?"

"Yeah," she replied, thankful that her voice came out normal. "I just took a bath, is all."

"Ah, good," he said, as she cradled her hand to her chest, trying to massage the soreness out of it. "Well, when you're dressed, come out and we can discuss what our plan is. I have a feeling you'll like it."

Somehow I doubt that, she thought as she caught the hint of glee lacing his tone, but she chose not to reply, instead beginning to towel off and redress.

She left off her coat and swords and most of her winter clothing, only donning her armor pants and her black long-sleeve undershirt that she rolled to her elbows, strapping on her belt of knives and leaving her boots and the rest of her attire and weapons on the floor. She picked up the pouch with the Ring in it, though, and she wondered if the pouch had gotten warmer since she had taken it off, though she attributed it to the temperature outside before putting it on and tucking it against her breast again, feeling a faint pulse come from the Ring, it seemed, before it was gone.

Pushing her wet hair behind her shoulders, she stepped out into the main room and found Jonathan lounging on one of the beds, surrounded by parcels of what she hoped were supplies, and two fancy-looking packages at the foot of the mattress that she eyed with interest as he sat up at her approach.

"So what's this big plan of yours?" She asked before he could greet her with some obnoxious comment, and Jonathan grinned, waggling his brows excitedly.

"While I was out purchasing items we would need on this quest of ours, I overheard some very interesting conversations," he began, as Alison took the bed across from him and curled her legs up beneath her to listen. "There's supposedly going to be a feast at the citadel tonight, in honor of Racor Rakshara's tenth winter upon the Clan Seat, and half the city's been invited, apparently. So I got to thinking, what better way to seek an audience with the clan leader, whose permission we need to enter the Sand Tombs, than to go to this feast ourselves?"

"Oh, Jesus," Alison groaned, looking at him in horror. "You're not seriously planning on sneaking into this party, are you?"

"It's not 'sneaking in' when you already have full access," he reminded her, tapping his chest where Sauron's mark was and smirking. "And it's genius, come on."

"This is like every bad spy movie I've ever watched coming to life before my eyes," she said, slapping a palm to her forehead. "You don't even have a plan, Jonathan; you just expect us to go in there blind and try and blend in with these people?" She snorted, shaking her head. "We're going to stand out like wolves among sheep, and that's going to make the Easterlings very suspicious. It'll be impossible to even get a look at this guy the whole night."

"Have some optimism, cousin," Jonathan complained. "It's simple, and straightforward. We'll be in and out of there in no time. And as for blending in…"

He patted the two fancy packages smugly as she stared, a sinking feeling tugging her gut as she knew what he was about to say. "We'll still stand out, no doubt, but we can at least dress the part."

He tossed her one of the packages, and she caught it, setting it on her lap and scowling as she tore off the paper and saw the dress folded neatly inside with some dismay.

"I'd start getting ready if I were you, cousin," Jonathan said amusedly as she glanced back up to him. "The sun will go down in a few hours, and then we've got a party to crash."


When Kíli opened his eyes, it was to find himself far, far away from Erebor.

He could tell the difference immediately; the cold, biting winds and harsh northern environment were gone, to be replaced by a soft, tickling breeze laced with the scent of fresh water, and warm sunlight that touched on his face as he sat up, blinking against the sudden light.

He was sitting on a dock, his bare feet hanging a couple meters above the blue-green water lapping at the boards below and reflecting the towering grey peaks of the Blue Mountains behind him – for that was where he was, he knew now.

This dock was a childhood favorite of his, a tiny, haphazard thing he and Fíli had discovered when they were first allowed to venture beyond Ered Luin's gates, and had decided to scout out the northern tip of the River Lune that ran from the mountains and to the east, far out of sight.

Fíli had never liked it very much, as he, like most other dwarves, found water off-putting, but Kíli had taken to the place instantly. There had always been something so…serene about it, quiet. He could reflect on his thoughts here, he could calm down from an angry tirade just by looking at the water – it was a happy place for him. He had come here on the day before leaving Ered Luin and journeying to the Shire, anxiety and the thrill of adventure seeping out of every pore, but the water had calmed him, had given him thoughts and recollections to take with him on the quest. Yet he hadn't been back since then…so what was he doing here now?

"This is a dream," Kíli said out loud, though he rarely ever recalled having such a vivid one, if he excluded the nightmares he had hallucinated when he was poisoned.

"And is it a good one?" A voice chimed amusedly, and Kíli's heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he recognized it.

"Alison?" He said quickly, whipping his head to his right and gaping at the Hero sat beside him on the dock, who only raised an eyebrow and quirked her lips up in response.

Kíli couldn't believe it – it was a dream, of course, it had to be – but seeing Alison beside him once again, smiling and whole and unharmed, was making his heart twist in so many ways he wondered how it hadn't snapped by this point.

She was dressed simply in a navy blue sundress, one Kíli remembered her telling him about when they had left Rivendell and she had been complaining about the trailing gowns she had been forced to wear, which had prompted him into asking what she would typically wear in the mortal world. He hadn't understood a lot of what she had said – 'jeans,' 'high-waist shorts,' and 'crop tops' had all been lost on him – but when he had teasingly asked her if she had worn any dresses, she had pursed her lips and thought before answering.

"I've worn dresses before, but only on special occasions," he remembered her saying. "The only one I ever really liked was the one I wore for Easter – a holiday thing – last year. You guys probably would've found it scandalous – " She gestured to Dori at this, walking ahead of them and smiling slightly and causing Kíli to laugh as the grey-haired dwarf turned around, frowning at his name before Alison waved him off. "But it was pretty; sleeveless, lace, loose, short skirt, navy blue. I think the only reason I liked it was because it made me look more like my mom, though."

She had fallen silent then, looking sad, and Kíli had been tempted to give her hand a light, comforting squeeze, though he had sensed Fíli watching and decided against it.

But she was wearing the dress now; and though Kíli was slightly alarmed and embarrassed by seeing so much of her golden skin exposed, especially on her legs, he had to admit that she looked stunning; with her pale green eyes sparkling and her long brown hair tousled by the wind, he was tempted to reach out and touch her shoulder, just to see if she was real.

Dream, Kíli reminded himself with some frustration. It's just a dream.

"Alison," Kíli repeated, shaking his head in confusion. "What are you doing here? What am I doing here?"

"This is your dream, isn't it?" She said, lazily running a hand through her hair and giving him a sidelong look. "What do you want to happen here?"

"I want answers," Kíli said, meeting her gaze head-on. "I want to know what happened to you, what Jonathan wants with you, where you are now—"

"And what makes you think I can give you that information?" she replied, her voice taking on a hard edge as she looked away bitterly. "I'm nothing more than your imagination right now, Kíli; I know just as much as you do."

"But there has to be something!" He growled, trying to refrain from tearing out his hair in frustration. "There must be a sign, or a clue you can give me—"

"There isn't," she said flatly, shaking her head. "I can offer you nothing, Kíli. This is one journey I have to make on my own, and you can't be there to protect me at all times."

"Don't say that," he said, choking back the lump that was forcing its way up his throat as she continued to stare at him with that sad, faraway look in her eyes. "I promised you, Alison, I promised that I would help you home and you would be happy—"

"And I appreciate that, Kíli," she said, biting her lip and looking on the verge of tears herself. "I really do; but you can't help me in this. None of you can. I have to do this on my own. If I survive, then I will come back to you. But if not…" She raised her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "Then I'll know I wasn't the Hero Middle-earth needed in this moment."

Kíli bit back a growl, glaring toward the horizon as if it had caused him some personal offense.

All he wanted to do was rage and scream; it just wasn't fair. Haven't they given enough for the sake of this quest? Hadn't they been to hell and back, just to get where they were? Granted, it had been on the brink of a war, but it was an enemy Kíli could have fought face to face. With Alison gone, and Jonathan with her… he didn't know what to do.

There was a heavy sigh from beside him, and then a rustle of cloth and the groaning of the wood below her feet as Alison stood up, reaching out a hand to him.

"Hey," she said gently. "Come on. Stand up."

Kíli grudgingly obeyed; he wanted nothing more than to brood and think on Alison's whereabouts, but he felt compelled to stand and be with her, anyway, if only for the sake of being in her presence once more.

He was quite taken aback when he took her hand and found it to be solid, shocked from the coolness of it and the softness of her skin, though he could feel the places where callouses and scars were beginning to stain her flesh.

He met her eyes, finding them almost equal to his, and he realized that she had grown on the months they had been journeying together; she had always been a few inches shorter than him, but now she topped his head by only a few centimeters, though it was enough to cause him some disgruntlement over the fact.

"Listen to me, Kíli," she said seriously, clutching his fingers so tightly he felt a flicker of pain, her green eyes solemn and searching. "I will find a way back to you. Maybe not immediately, but Jonathan will not keep me away forever; this I promise you."

Another promise. Wonderful. Kíli thought bitterly, before he pushed that thought away and instead forced a smile, raising their clasped hands between them.

He marveled at the differences for a moment, comparing her slender, doll-like fingers to his large and rather hairy ones as they stood in silence. He brought her hand to his lips and lightly skimmed his mouth across the back of her flesh, grinning when he felt the faint shiver in her fingertips.

"Amrâlimê," he murmured against her skin without thinking. He barely noticed that he had said it out loud until he caught Alison staring at him quizzically, and instantly he felt his cheeks warm.

"I don't know what that means," she said slowly, her confusion plainly growing when she caught sight of his flushed face.

Why did I have to say something so impulsive – again? He groaned inwardly.

But on the outside he managed to recover quickly, clearing his throat before saying, "I'll, uh, tell you when you get back."

She looked as if she were about to press, before shrugging and looking toward the horizon, as if thinking better of it. She released his hand and stepped to the edge of the dock, and after a slight hesitation, Kíli followed her.

"Do you remember what I told you all after the Misty Mountains?" She asked suddenly, after a lengthy silence, and Kíli frowned, struggling to remember. "About Galadriel's warning in Rivendell?"

"Vaguely," he admitted. "I believe I was too freaked about Jonathan's appearance to think much of it, though."

She nodded slowly, pursing her lips, and Kíli studied her troubled features in concern.

"What did she say?" He asked gently, when she didn't speak right away.

"That 'blood calls to blood,'" she began. "And a Shadow watches me, a Shadow that will try to consume me as it did my ancestors. But I'm starting to question what I initially thought she meant."

Her words had seemed to drop the nice temperature by at least ten degrees, and Kíli could feel his heart hammering in his chest as they sank in. "How so?"

"I knew she meant Jonathan, about the whole blood-calling thing," she explained. "But the Shadow… At first I thought she meant Sauron. He was on the rise, gathering power, raising an army to take over Erebor… But all the time I've been in Middle-earth, he's never made any move to get me on his side like he did Jonathan, not even to kill me or stop me from interfering with his plans. I don't think it's him anymore, especially if what Gandalf told me is true, and Galadriel did banish him back to the East"

"So…what do you think the Shadow is, then?" He pressed when she fell silent again.

She expelled a large breath, raising her shoulders in a helpless gesture.

"Who knows?" she replied. "All I know for certain is that there are forces at work here far greater than we ever imagined, and it's almost like they're…warring."

"Warring?" Kíli repeated in bafflement. "Like, fighting?"

"At the beginning of the quest, I was sure the story was trying to reassert itself," she replied, nodding to affirm his question. "And even though some things changed, it was like we were always forced back on to the same path, the same plot from the book in my world. But ever since the Gate, and Thorin, things got shot straight to hell. Everything has changed, and I can't help but feel that something wants this to happen, like it's going against the very fabric of the universe itself to get what it desires. I just don't know what."

"Then we'll figure it out together," Kíli said determinedly, meeting her eyes confidently as she gave him a wavering smile. "As soon as we find out where Jonathan has taken you—"

"No," she said abruptly, shaking her head and taking a step back. "No, Kíli. You are not coming after me."

"I – what?" He said incredulously.

"Jonathan needs me for something important, and only me," she elaborated, her eyes hard. "I won't have the rest of you risk your lives to save me. I won't allow it."

"Alison—"

"No," she said forcefully. "I promise to the best of my ability that I will come back, Kíli, but you need to swear to me that you won't leave the Mountain and look for me—"

Kíli was ripped violently from his dream as a hand shook him awake, and he sat bolt upright, his heart thumping painfully and his face heated from frustration as Alison's voice dissipated in the once-more cold air, and her touch became nothing more than a distant memory again.

"Kíli," Fíli was saying, holding a candle in one hand as he bent over his brother, looking worried. "Are you all right? You were muttering and twitching a lot in your sleep. Do I need Óin to fetch you a sleeping aid for later?"

"I'm fine," Kíli grumbled, sitting forward and causing Fíli to straighten up at the movement. "What are you doing at my bedside, anyway? It's the crack of dawn."

"Gandalf has called a council meeting," Fíli replied, walking towards the flap of the tent the elves had fixed for them the night before due to their temporary residence in Dale. "It starts in ten minutes, so I'd hurry if I were you."

"A meeting for what?" Kíli asked, swinging himself out of his cot and donning his chainmail and sword once again, desperately wishing – not for the first time – that he still had his bow with him; it would've been a comforting presence in his current situation.

But Fíli had already departed the tent, and Kíli snorted, following suit as he muttered, "Guess we'll find out, then."


"Look at those bastards," Nori said disdainfully, looking over the wall of Dale with an ugly expression as he gazed across the Desolation of Smaug where Jonathan's armies were camped. "They're like ants fumbling around after you've kicked their pile. Why aren't they doing anything?"

"For once, I think I agree with the dwarf," Thranduil drawled, and Kíli had to stifle a snort as Nori mimicked the Elvenking's regal manner behind his back. "There has been nothing from the southern army for almost two days now, other than the attack on the night Alison Ashburne was taken captive."

Kíli involuntarily flinched at the mention of Alison, flashing back to his dream, and Nori put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he only listened as the council discussion outside of Thranduil's tent – consisting of the Company, Bilbo, Gandalf, Thranduil, his son, Tauriel, and Bard (Dáin had been sent back to Erebor, partly to guard the kingdom and partly to avoid conflict between the Dwarf-lord and the Elvenking) – continued on, not having enough room in the actual tent to convene.

"It's a stalemate," the king's son, Legolas, affirmed. "Jonathan Ashburne must have commanded them to make no move unless he returns; else they would not be as idle as they are."

"Aye," Bard agreed, nodding. "It's doubtful Jonathan would relent them so easily after driving this war so ruthlessly for months now, though. Alison must've made it one of her terms before conceding to his demands."

The gathered council all nodded and muttered in assent, and Kíli felt a faint flicker of pride in his chest under his dull pain, knowing that Alison would've done everything in her power to protect them, even when she was gone.

"Then what are we to do, if the army does not plan on attacking?" Tauriel asked, and everyone's eyes switched to the red-haired she-Elf. "We cannot disperse now; there is an alliance forged, and Jonathan Ashburne will undoubtedly return and finish what he started eventually. What are we to do in the meantime?"

The council fell uncomfortably silent, everyone looking at each other anxiously, until Kíli spoke up, keeping his answer short and simple as he said, "We look for Alison."

There was no sudden uproar of approval at his words, just silence; and though he had half-expected this, Kíli still looked around in defiance, crossing his arms and ignoring Alison's tiny voice in his head, warning him not to come after her.

"Er, Kíli…" Bofur said, scratching his chin nervously. "Ya see, lad, we would, but…do we even know where she is?"

"Gandalf does," Kíli said, nodding at the Grey Wizard, who only nibbled the end of his pipe in response. "Where else does Jonathan have to go other than Dol Guldur? He had to have taken her there; it's the only place where she could be."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, my young prince," Gandalf said, taking his pipe from his mouth and gazing around the assembled peoples seriously. "Sauron has been banished from the fortress by the Lady Galadriel, and now nothing harbors there except darkness and ghosts. As intricately bonded as Jonathan Ashburne is to the Dark Lord, he would have known of Sauron's plight at the very moment it happened – which is exactly what he intended on happening."

"What do you mean?" Thorin asked, his brows furrowed and his face lined as he spoke up for the first time since they had convened, his dark blue eyes troubled as he frowned at the Wizard.

"After speaking with Alison upon my arrival here, I have deduced several things from my own experiences at Dol Guldur and what she has told me since I left the Company at Mirkwood," Gandalf replied, straightening up as he began his recount.

"Sauron is looking for the three Elven Rings of Power; he is bent on seeking them and corrupting them to his will, but above all, he possesses his lust and desire for his true Ring, the One Ring, that was lost over two thousand years ago. When I first heard of Jonathan's search for the Lesser Rings, I merely assumed he was trying to obtain them for Sauron, so the Dark Lord could continue to build his power until the time came for the One Ring to come forth. However, this is not the case.

"Jonathan Ashburne is seeking the Lesser Rings for his own purpose, and this purpose is no doubt a ploy to strike at Sauron in his weakest form and wrest his power and control from his helm. With the might of the Lesser Rings combined on his side, Jonathan may temporarily dispose of Sauron; but if the Dark Lord should find the One Ring before then…" Gandalf shuddered, and it seemed as if a heavy, ominous dark cloud now hung above all their heads as they stood in silence for several minutes.

"So…that's why he took Alison?" Ori asked. "Because he needed her help in finding the Lesser Rings?"

"But how?" Dori questioned, looking as if he wanted to find the Second Hero and pummel him to a pulp on the spot. "How can Alison help him find the Rings?"

"She didn't even find the one that was supposedly in Erebor," Glóin said, a troubled frown etched deep into his scarred features. "I don't understand how…"

"Except she did," Bilbo squeaked, and Kíli turned to look at the hobbit, who stood nervously and looked quite pale in the face as his hands fidgeted at his sides. "Find the Ring within the Mountain, I mean."

"What?" Fíli said, shocked. "But – she would've told us – how?"

"T-technically…I was the one who found it," Bilbo said shakily. "And I – gave it to her."

Most of the dwarves looked shocked and outraged at this, but Thorin stepped forward before anyone could begin to bombard the hobbit with angry questions.

"Stop," he said firmly, and instantly the dwarves stood down, though they still looked angry. "Bilbo did only what he thought was right; he gave it to Alison, and if her choice was to remain silent on the matter, then that was her decision to make. Bilbo did only what a true friend would do."

The dwarf king looked to the hobbit at this, and Bilbo gave him a small, wavering smile, and Kíli suddenly got the sense that his uncle was not just talking about the Ring in this matter, and he had to hide a smirk at this notion.

"Thorin is right," Gandalf said, nodding to the dwarf king. "It was Alison's decision, and now she must see it through, to whatever end."

"So we're just going to leave her to Jonathan?" Kíli said, suddenly incredulous and baffled as the Wizard's words sunk in. "We're not even going to try and help her?"

"I concur with Kíli," Tauriel said, and Kíli blinked at the she-Elf's support; though it wasn't that unexpected, considering how highly the Captain of the Guard thought of Alison, he still found it surprising, albeit relieving to have some endorsement. "Jonathan Ashburne has already proved himself to be a murderous traitor. Alison Ashburne is a strong woman, but it is unfair of us to intentionally leave her to her own devices against such a foe."

"I understand, Captain," Gandalf said resignedly. "But Alison has gone far beyond my Sight, which was not as strong a force to begin with in the first place. I do not like it any more than you do, but as of right now, her fate is entirely out of our hands."

Kíli could only stay silent and fume, refraining from taking the Wizard's staff and beating some sense into him with it as he tried to see the reasoning behind the admission, though it was hard when he wanted nothing more than to find Alison and bring her home.

"If there is one thing I know about Alison Ashburne, however," Gandalf continued. "It is that she does not abide by fate. She creates her own path in this world, and we must all keep that in mind in the darker days ahead."

Kíli felt a sudden lump form in his throat, and he turned and looked to the horizon to hide his emotions from the council. Gandalf was right, of course; Alison was her own spirit, and only one person could dictate her future – and that was herself.

He only hoped that that would be enough in the end.


Alison could feel the drums reverberating in her chest even before she was in the citadel, a loud, pounding percussion that vibrated her bones and quaked the pathway beneath her feet as she and Jonathan wound their way up to the grand entrance on the second level.

She felt overly exposed as they trekked through what felt like miles of gardens and statues of warriors long since gone, barely able to admire the beautiful scenery of the place as she refrained from covering her body with her hands, inwardly cursing Jonathan for his terrible and impractical fashion sense.

She had thrown a fit over the dress he had gotten her when she had first put it on; she had never liked dresses that much to begin with, but this one would have made Dori faint outright from how scandalous it was.

The bodice was tight and hugged her curves a little too well, black leather with a high collar and short sleeves made with a transparent material that resembled lace, though fortunately less scratchy. The skirt was barely even a skirt, instead made of a rich silken material the color of blood with long slits in the side, exposing her legs to the cooling night air as she tripped along in the gladiator-style sandals Jonathan had found to complete her outfit.

He had tried to assure her that it was a natural style here, as the Easterlings weren't exactly strict on modesty and decency, but Alison was still bitter over the whole ordeal, especially since all he had to worry about was a simple gold vest and black pants. But after half an hour of arguing, whining, and several threats of setting either the dress or him on fire, Alison had finally relented and decided to wear it, throwing her hair in a high ponytail and grabbing Natrem and Maodus before stalking out of the room.

She didn't know what Racor's policy was on bringing weapons to a party, but when she glanced around and saw the ornamental daggers hanging off of people's hips and belts and Anddrilri attached to Jonathan's own waist, she assumed it was pretty lax as she adjusted the Twin Blades more securely on her shoulders, and they continued on to where the main party was.

Torches that burned with spicy incense illuminated their path and mingled with the musky scents of perspiration and something liked baked sand, tickling Alison's nostrils as she wiped her slick palms on her dress, the lightweight cloth doing nothing for her sweaty palms as she tried to calm her nerves.

She chanced a glance at Jonathan beside her, wishing she could feel as cool and collected as he looked, his mouth quirked in a perpetual smirk as he strode languidly up the pathway, the only discernible sign of his tension being his black eyes, deep and depthless in the twilight, roving over their surroundings like a jungle cat searching for its prey.

Alison copied him and took note of the setting around her as the entrance loomed closer, taking in the dawdling Easterlings surreptitiously as they openly stared at her and Jonathan; some of them seemed furious at their very presence, curling their pierced and tattooed lips in disgust, while a few openly spit at their feet, hissing nasty things in their guttural language as they passed, though they fortunately weren't stopped. Most of them, however, only gazed in suspicion and bewilderment at their obvious outlandish, Westron looks, which made Alison feel a little better, but not by much.

They ascended a small staircase before finally reaching the entrance, a giant entryway with enormous carven doors thrown open to the night, allowing harsh golden light to spill forth as the sounds of brazen revelry and the smells of roasting meat and something like blood (Valar, she hoped not) hit her like a slap to the face.

Several guards stood at the doors, checking people before allowing them in, like bouncers, and after assessing them shortly, Jonathan abruptly held out his arm to her.

"Take it," he insisted, when she only made a face at him. "If only out of propriety."

"They don't seem too big on that here," she observed, wincing when a loud crash and a resulting roar issued from the crowd inside, though she reluctantly put her uninjured hand on his elbow, anyway, as her other was still sore and wrapped in a bandage.

Jonathan didn't answer, instead only pulling her along as they approached – of course – the most intimidating guard of the lot.

He said a few low-spoken words to the guard in Eastron, who looked disgusted for a few seconds before Jonathan pulled aside his vest and revealed Sauron's mark. The guard's eyes widened a fraction above his face cover, and then before she knew it, Alison was dragged inside, her hand still on Jonathan's elbow as they began to weave through the throng of Easterlings (who seemed too distracted with the party and each other to pay them any mind yet).

"You know, as much as I despise that mark, I'm really starting to dig its VIP status here," she said loudly, for the beating drums were now so thunderous she thought her eardrums were popping.

This goaded a chuckle out of Jonathan, who understood the gist of what she was saying if not the manner she said it in, though he didn't immediately reply, only leading her further into the fray, twisting and dodging through vulgar dancers and drunken men and women, the air thick with the fever of excitement and, less welcoming, the weight of something ferocious, a sense Alison had come to recognize as bloodthirstiness.

"I wouldn't be so quick as to call this a luxury, cousin," he said. "Not when you're about to see the real party."

She shot him a confused look, about to ask what he meant, when they suddenly came to a stop and she looked ahead of them, now understanding his statement clearly.

Before them was a long, expansive space, with dark wooden walls partially covered with furs and pelts of exotic creatures and other spoils of hunting, thick panels leading up to a vaulted ceiling that was nothing but chains, great metal links that crisscrossed and looped together to keep the roof stable, she assumed, though it reminded her of a dungeon.

Exquisite mosaic tiles covered the floor all the way to the back wall, though there was a large raised platform in the center of the grand hall where most of the guests were congregated around, and Alison soon understood why.

Two men, heavily-muscled and inked, were currently fighting upon the platform, which reminded Alison of a boxing ring, but without the ropes and no referee in sight, and this was definitely not a typical boxing match as she took in the men's swollen and bloodied knuckles, and the numerous cuts and abrasions mottled on their bodies.

The crowd jeered and shrieked as the two men faced off, their chests heaving and gleaming with sweat as they analyzed each other, but Alison tore her eyes away from the arena as the crowd roared, not desiring to watch them fight when she could already hear the crunches and blows from their attacks, even over the crowd's noise.

She swept her gaze over the sides of the hall, taking in the low tables where she assumed they were to eat later, before moving her eyes back to the far wall, where immediately she felt her muscles stiffen from what she saw.

Alison's first impression was that she was seeing Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones, though once she got over her initial shock and studied the man more closely, she realized that, while similar, this man looked – if possible – even scarier than the Dothraki character.

His skin was swarthier and more tattooed than any others she had seen, swirling red and black ink in the shape of a wolf that spanned his entire body, his face covered in the thick ink that was shaped in the form of a snarling maw over his unveiled features.

Even from across the hall, Alison could see his glittering dark eyes, filled with a cunning intelligence and a calculating ruthlessness that seemed to freeze her bones, and she had no doubt that this man was someone she should fear, and she deduced who he was even before Jonathan followed her gaze and told her.

"Racor Rakshara," he informed, his eyes raking over the massive figure and the equally giant throne he was sat upon. "The leader of the Shastahira clan – the Dalakârk – who's Blessing we need to enter the Sand Tombs."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" Alison hissed, beginning to panic. "He looks like he eats bones for breakfast!"

"Relax," Jonathan assured. "All you need to do is talk to him, and be persuasive and charming. I'm sure you can manage even that small feat."

She hadn't noticed it before, but Alison suddenly became aware of Jonathan pushing her subtly towards Racor Rakshara, and she tried to stop and break free, but her body was working against her, moving automatically towards the throne with Jonathan leading her.

"He doesn't even speak English – or, Westron, whatever – " Alison squeaked. "How am I supposed to communicate with him?"

"You're in for some luck, cousin," Jonathan replied cheerfully. "Because Racor here was trained in Westron language and culture, and thus knows how to speak to you without the need of a translator. Isn't that a treat?"

I'm going to die, Alison thought, panic gluing her mouth shut and refraining her from speaking as Jonathan brought her closer to the formidable man.

"Breathe, Alison," Jonathan said, bringing his mouth close to her ear and speaking soothingly. "Breathe, and keep your mind and tongue in check. You have nothing to fear, as long as you are respectful and precise. Now, chin up."

He pulled away from her then, leaving her alone before the throne of Racor Rakshara and melting back into the crowd before she could even protest. She swallowed hard, though, and raised her chin before stepping forward, his advice ringing in her ears; she was an Ashburne warrior, not just a normal teenage girl anymore, and that meant that she had to put on a brave face and have courage. She would see this through. Her friends were depending on her – as was the world.

Racor had not looked down at her since her approach, keeping his terrifying dark eyes trained on the fighting in the arena, and Alison stepped forward until her toes were brushing the bottom step of the large stairs leading up to the throne before her, taking a shaky breath before speaking.

"Um, excuse me?" She said, inwardly cringing at how childish she sounded before trying to make her voice deeper, richer, and slower. "Racor Rakshara? Or, no, sorry – Dalakârk?"

He said nothing, not even a glance in her direction, and Alison huffed irritably, speaking louder.

"I have come to seek an audience with you, if you would listen," she went on. "It's about the Sand Tombs, and, you know, getting your permission to possibly enter them?"

She shrank back, ready for him to start yelling at her about how Westrons were not allowed in there or something of the sort, but all he did was look at her sparingly, raking his eyes over her once, before turning his attention back to the duel and ignoring her completely.

Alison gaped, miffed at his blatant disregard; the least he could do was say 'no,' not dismiss her entirely. Was that really so hard?

Clenching her fists, Alison spun around and marched over to one of the feasting tables set before the throne; still directly in his line of sight, but now at a higher vantage point and thus harder to ignore as her chest pulsed with anger.

You bastard, she found herself thinking vehemently. I didn't get dragged halfway across this Godforsaken world for you to dismiss me like some peasant. You will hear me out.

A sharp flare went through Alison's chest at this last thought, and she automatically reached up to touch her sternum, starting when her fingers brushed against a bump under her bodice that she realized was the drawstring pouch with Ondolissë in it.

Through the leather of the pouch, Alison could suddenly feel the heat blazing from the Ring inside, burning her fingers and scorching her chest as it pulsed along with her fury, but she ignored it for the time being, having business to attend to with Racor Rakshara.

Alison clambered atop one of the tables, thankfully bare for the moment, before turning and facing the clan leader, noticing how the crowd was starting to quiet as people began to realize what she was doing.

"Racor Rakshara!" She shouted over the clamor, and her voice echoed surprisingly loud throughout the hall, silencing the crowd instantly, though she kept her eyes trained solely on the clan leader, glaring until he finally looked up and met her gaze, narrowing his eyes.

"Looks like you're not hard of hearing, after all," she said boldly, ignoring the hisses and murmurs that came from the crowd behind her, though they probably didn't know what she was saying. "A good thing, really; or else you wouldn't be able to hear my proposition."

"Do you believe you are wise coming here and demanding orders, little Westron girl?"He said in a heavily accented voice of English, low with anger yet slow with a lazy drawl at the same time. "How very bold you must seem to yourself right now."

"Not bold; resourceful," she retorted. "I need something that only you can give me, so there's no point in beating around the bush, right? So here I am."

She gave a small curtsy to him, causing the clan leader to scowl when she looked back up and met his gaze unflinchingly.

"What is it you want, kûran?" He snapped, and the use of his word caused the crowd to whoop and jeer, though Alison paid no mind to it, instead smiling sweetly.

"I need access to the Sand Tombs," she said bluntly, and though his cold expression did not change, Alison saw his muscles coil tightly under his inked skin at her words. "And for that, I first need your Blessing."

"And why would I give you my shasztâk, little one?" he sneered. "You have nothing to offer in exchange for such a precious price."

"Looks like you're right," she said, feigning innocence as she clasped her hands in front of her. "But I didn't come here to barter for your Blessing; I came here to win it."

And just like that, Alison suddenly had her plan; it was insane, bordering on suicidal, perhaps, but at this point, she was desperate enough to imagine it could work.

Could being the operative word.

"Oh?" Racor said, his tattooed brows lifting in mock interest, though Alison could tell she had his attention – for now. "And how do you plan on going about that, hm?"

"You, me, and that lovely arena right there," she said, pointing to the platform and trying her best to ignore the smears of blood on it from the last fight, and the fact that one of the fighters was mysteriously missing while the other nursed his wounds, looking savagely proud. "If I win, I get your Blessing; and if I lose…your choice."

It was silent for several long moments, Racor doing nothing but staring at her, and Alison's heart thrummed like mad, wondering if she could actually pull this off – before all of that was crushed as Racor let out a bellowing laugh, sounding like a wounded bull as the rest of the crowd exploded with laughs and jeers, as well.

To her credit, Alison remained perfectly stoic and silent, though she could feel the hope draining from her body like blood being sucked out by a needle. That had been her only plan; she had banked on the Easterlings' love for violence and hate for Westron people, and now it had backfired completely. She needed Jonathan to sort this out now; but of course, as soon as she actually needed him, the Second Hero was nowhere to be found.

Finally, Racor's booming laughs had subsided, though he still chuckled and grinned nastily as he said, "You wish to fight me, little one? How amusing; so very amusing. What made you think you could challenge such a royal as me, hm? You are nothing, little one. Nothing to me at all."

Nothing? She snarled in her head. NOTHING?

Alison's blood boiled, and she felt her fingernails digging sharply into her palms, though the pain was dull as her anger slammed into her like a tidal wave.

She glared straight into the clan leader's eyes, while a voice that was definitely not her own began to chant in her head, Rip…shred…break…rip…shred…break…

Ondolissë was growing hotter against her chest with every repetition, but Alison frantically locked the voice away, hoping against hope that she had just imagined what had happened a few moments before as she spoke up.

"You see," she said loudly, squarely facing Racor as she struggled to keep her anger and frustration in check. "That's where you're wrong, Racor; because I'm not nobody. I am Alison Ashburne, descendant of Eleon the First and of the line of Heroes of Men. And I do not bow so easily in the face of cowardice."

It was quite enjoyable, really, to watch the triumphant expression on his face slowly fade into a mask of shock and uncertainty, his dark eyes searching her up and down, as if looking for the lie in her words. When he found none, however, he leaned forward, staring at her intently.

"And what proof do you have?" he asked silkily. "You look awfully normal for a mortal warrior, little one."

"What, do these look fake to you?" she replied sarcastically, whipping out her swords and twirling them so they caught the light and gleamed wickedly, causing several gasps and murmurs to ripple through the onlookers.

At the sight of the blades, what little of Racor's skin that was still visible went pale, and he licked his lips, shifting slightly in his throne.

"So be it," he said quietly, though in the silence in the hall, his voice still carried. "I will accept the terms of your proposition, little Hero, in accordance with one duel; if you win, you earn my shasztâk, and thus have full access to the Sand Tombs. Failure, however, results in punishment. If you lose, then I keep you, and I will drop stones on your hands and feet to crush them for your insolence in my domain – after I cut out your tongue, of course, and wear it around my neck as a symbol of the Ashburne girl who crossed too many lines in my presence. Are we understood, little Hero?"

"Perfectly," she replied flatly, trying not to let her terror show, for she had no doubt that he would not hesitate in doing those things to her should she fail.

For the love of God and everything holy and Valar-blessed in this world, do not lose this damn duel.

A feral grin spread across Racor's lips, causing the wolf on his face to snarl fearsomely, and Alison swallowed down her panic and terror as he stood from his throne, easily the size of a small boulder compared to her feather-light figure.

"Let us begin."

The three words resonated around the hall, and Alison jumped down from the table in a semi-daze, not quite believing just what she had gotten herself into. The crowd of Easterlings parted like the Red Sea as she trudged to the arena, but she stopped abruptly when a familiar figure moved into her path and gripped her shoulders tightly.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Jonathan all but shouted, shaking her shoulders slightly. "Do you have a death wish?"

"What I'm doing is getting you the next Ring," she replied coldly. "Or have you forgotten already that that's what you dragged me here to do?"

"I said talk to him, not fight him!" He said in near-hysteria.

"Hey, you wanted my help in finding these goddamn Rings, so excuse me if that's what I'm doing," she snapped. "Now either get out of my way, or I will make you."

She pulled herself roughly out of his grasp and stalked off to the arena, leaving him in a rare silent wake that she was oddly smug about, though the circumstances easily quashed that feeling out of her when she climbed onto the platform and turned, seeing Racor step up in one stride, towering over her as she swallowed tightly, his physique reminding her forcefully of Beorn, and she suddenly wished with all of her heart that the skin-changer was here to fight beside her. With him, she might actually stand a chance.

"First rule of the arena, little Hero, is no weapons," he told her, his slow drawl containing a hint of glee that set her teeth on edge and heart pounding. "No swords, no knives, no bows, nothing. Just your hands and your feet, and whatever else you can spare dirtying."

He gnashed his teeth at this, clicking them together and grinning at her predatorily, and it took everything she had not to flinch or look away from his intense gaze.

"Second rule: the fight is won only when your opponent can physically go no further. There are no concessions, and there are no draws. Only one can win."

And may the odds be ever in your favor, she added silently.

"And what about deaths?" she asked neutrally, arching a brow. "Are those allowed?"

"The fight is won only when your opponent can physically go no further," he repeated, smiling crudely. "Either by injury, or death."

Alison forced a grin at this, but she was more focused on trying not to let her knees shake in front of the clan leader; he was a wolf, and wolves could smell fear. She could not show that she was afraid of him.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she said blandly, removing her swords and tossing them to Jonathan, who had come to stand directly behind her in the crowd of alternately booing and cheering Easterlings. "Let's get this over with."

They squared up in the middle of the arena, and Alison sank into a battle stance, dredging up memories of hand-to-hand combat lessons with Dwalin that seemed as if they had happened a lifetime ago, wishing that the burly dwarf was here with her now.

"You are small and easily breakable if an opponent catches you, but you have the speed and agility to ensure that that doesn't happen," she heard him say in his rough voice. "You'll be better on defense rather than offense; as long as you wear your opponent out first, then that's when you swoop in and finish them off."

Alison barely had time to register his long-ago teachings before Racor was already striking, flashing out a meaty fist towards her face that Alison easily ducked, twirling under his guard and lashing with her good fist, aiming for his throat before unexpectedly getting kicked in the knee, stumbling before catching herself on the throbbing joint and cursing.

Alison hadn't noticed her mistake until it was too late, and now humiliation crept into her nerves as she realized how novice she had just been; Racor had intentionally attacked her like that because he had expected her to retaliate out of defense. But now that she had done that move, he had tricked her into going on the offensive while he sat back to watch her exert herself trying to take him down, which they both knew at this point was pretty impossible.

Gritting her teeth, she hauled herself back to her feet and focused on remembering specific targets: knees, groin, in-steps, fingers, toes, jugular – aim with elbows and knees, occasionally fists if there's a good opening.

Choosing her target, Alison threw herself forward, relying on her speed, but she had underestimated just how quick Racor was himself. His fist suddenly came flying out of nowhere, and this time, Alison wasn't so lucky; though he only clipped the side of her face, the blow was still enough to make her dizzy and reel back, tripping on the hem of her dress when the skirt flew under her left heel.

She had no time to recover, for he was there again, ramming another fist into her gut that made her keel over, gasping for air as she tried to crawl back away from him and regain some breath, though he kept a languid pace with her, his dark eyes locked on to her face and blazing with something she could only describe as animalistic.

Shit, she found herself thinking, as breath wheezed in and out of her lungs. This guy doesn't play around.

Alison lurched to her feet, using her right elbow to smash his diaphragm, and though he grunted, it wasn't enough to weaken him. He kicked her already-sore knee again, and she bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out, tasting blood that erupted in her mouth after she fell to her hands and knees.

There was no relenting; Racor's bare foot swung out of thin air, it seemed, and landed so solidly in her gut and on her lower ribs that she wouldn't be surprised if they were bruised again, like what the trolls had done to her so long ago.

The force of the kick sent Alison sprawling to the edge of the arena, and she tried to use her elbows to get her up, but her vision was starting to blur, and every time she inhaled it felt like she was swallowing fire.

Get up, her mind chanted. Come on, get up.

But before she could move, she felt herself being dragged off the platform amidst jeering yells and shrieking boos, and suddenly she found herself swaying before Jonathan, on her feet, but barely, hunched over and clutching at her burning ribs.

"What are you doing?" she said thickly around the blood in her mouth, meeting Jonathan's half-annoyed, half-almost concerned gaze.

"I called for an intermission," he snapped. "What are you doing, Alison? You're getting your arse handed to you by that son of a bitch!"

"Gee, thanks for pointing that out, Johnny Boy," she replied scathingly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by her wheezing breaths. "I honestly had no idea I was losing."

Jonathan snorted crossly, rolling his eyes. "You're not wanting to win enough, Alison," he said. "I see it in your eyes; your heart's not in it, despite Racor's threats. It's like you want him to win."

"I don't," she replied tersely, as her lungs expanded a little more to accommodate more air, and she straightened up, though her body felt like it was going through a meat grinder. "I have friends I need to get back to, I have friends that need to be saved and protected. If Racor Rakshara thinks he can keep me here as his prisoner and torture me, then he has a shit storm on his hands, because I will not lose to him."

Jonathan said nothing for a few moments, simply scrutinizing her from head to toe, before finally saying, "Punch me."

Alison stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Punch me," he repeated. "Just deck me, right here." He tapped his cheekbone, turning it towards her.

Alison still stared. "But…why?"

"You're going to need incentive if you want to win, cousin," he said impatiently, as if she were an uncomprehending five-year-old. "Obviously your current goals of getting back to your friends aren't strong enough to keep you going, so what you need is anger to get you in the right mindset. True, unrestrained anger, and that Blessing will be yours in a heartbeat."

"But why do I have to punch you?" she asked. "I mean, I want to, I've wanted to ever since Lake-town, but…why?"

"Because I am about to say some very horrible things," he replied cheerfully, before clearing his throat and settling into the cold, blank mask Alison had come to associate with his psycho-killer side, and she suppressed a shudder as she listened in apprehension.

"Have I ever told you how I plan on killing your prince if you were to disobey me?" He asked, and Alison shook her head stiffly, her heart dropping to her toes. "Good; then we can start there.

"So, after all of your other little friends are dead, pun intended, I'm going to drag – Kíli, is it? – into the pool of their blood, and lay him on his back, so he's staring up at the cold, black ceiling above him, and I will wait for him to come to the realization that he is all alone in this world, that no one is going to save him – and then I'll bring you out.

"He'll cry, he'll beg for me to let you go, but you will have no choice but to obey me anymore, because I will have broken you, too." He stepped forward, his face inches away from hers, and the look in his eyes was so murderous, so cold, that she felt her stomach churning with acid, knowing he was meaning every word that he said should she choose to betray him.

"And then I'll hand you the knife," he continued, his voice turning into a low purr that seemed to freeze the air itself. "And you'll start by cutting open his face; he's a handsome dwarf lad, I've noticed – on the less hairy side, but still charming – so you're going to mar up that pretty little face of his while he feels you doing it. And finally, when that fun is over, you're going to make him watch you cut his own heart out, so he'll die knowing that his love for you, his heart, is truly in the palm of your hand."

Alison didn't even hesitate. She punched him so hard she felt several of her knuckles pop, but she was completely numb to the pain, only feeling the white-hot rage crashing through her veins, setting her body on fire from the intensity of it.

"Disgusting, heartless bastard," she snarled, as he straightened up, clutching his bleeding nose and grinning through the crimson staining his teeth.

"That's my girl," he mocked, before pinching his nose harder and wincing. "If you keep that up, cousin, you'll win this fight in no time."

"Shut up," she snapped. "I'm not through with you yet."

And with that, she gave him one last withering look of fury before clambering back on to the platform, shaking the swollenness from the hand she had used to punch Jonathan as Racor stepped up on the other side, rolling his shoulders and looking utterly relaxed and confident.

Big mistake, pal, she thought, and Ondolissë seemed to twitch against her breast, as if agreeing with her and eager to start fighting again.

But Alison knew she couldn't defeat an opponent like Racor with just herself; she needed a plan. But if she wasn't allowed to have any swords, knives, or bows, she would need something else, something helpful, but not something that would count as her breaking the rules…

As if some invisible force had grabbed her chin and tilted her head up, Alison suddenly remembered the chains hanging from the ceiling, and the first inklings of a plan began to form in her head.

"So, little Hero, had enough yet?" Racor leered, and the crowd snickered at his expression while Alison merely shrugged.

"Only if you're not able to go any further," she replied, smiling sweetly and clasping her hands behind her as he scowled.

Without a word, he started forward, striking like a viper – but this time, Alison was ready.

She sprinted straight toward him, catching him off-guard, and when he straightened up, she scampered up his shoulder and launched herself off of him, reaching up and grabbing hold of a low chain, which she was very grateful for or else she would have failed and fallen to the essential end of her life.

Racor bellowed something incoherent, but Alison worked quickly to get the chain detached from the ceiling, knowing she didn't have a lot of time to work with.

As soon as it was detached, she fell ungracefully from above and landed on her butt in the arena, the chain rattling as she rolled under Racor's outstretched hands, gripping the metal links in both hands as she leapt to her feet and whirled, catching the clan leader by the throat as the chain looped around his neck from her toss. She fisted the chain in both hands, tightening it so he gagged, but stood upright, glaring at her with blazing eyes.

"What is this?" he hissed. "I said no weapons, you daft girl!"

"Correction: you said no swords, no knives, and no bows," Alison panted. "You said nothing about chains."

Racor glared darkly at her, but Alison glared right back, her anger pulsing hot and erratic under her sweaty skin as she curled her lip in disgust.

"Here's how this is going to work, Racor," she said poisonously. "You're going to accept your defeat right now and give me your Blessing, or I swear by whatever deity you worship in this world, I will choke the life out of you with this thing. Your choice."

"And they say Ashburnes are noble," he sneered, and Alison was so momentarily thrown that her grip slackened on the chains in her hands. "You are just as cruel as the one you travel with – oh, yes, we have heard of Jonathan Ashburne here," he said in response to her puzzled look. "His deeds are almost as abhorrent as the Dark One's. He does not care for life, either, as you do; you would spill just as much blood as him, if not more, if you gave in to what you feel inside right now."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She growled, but ice was starting to coat her insides as the clan leader stared balefully into her eyes.

"A Shadow is growing inside of you as we speak," he rumbled, and Alison's heart nearly stopped beating. "I know what it is you seek in the Tombs, little Hero, and I warn that it will not bode well for you, not if you continue down a path with Jonathan Ashburne beside you."

"I know how to handle him," she choked out, but Racor just laughed, shaking his head in pity.

"Perhaps you will soon understand," he said. "But remember this, Alison Ashburne: the Shadow is just the beginning. It is the Darkness itself you must guard yourself from."

Before Alison could ask what he meant, he reached his hand up to his mouth and bit into the flesh of his wrist, his pointed canines breaking through the flesh easily until crimson blood began to slide down his arm in a thick, cloying stream.

He gestured to Alison, who hesitated for only a brief second before dropping the chains and raising her own hand, spitting the coppery blood that continued to gush in her mouth onto her wrist, before Racor gripped her forearm in a strong grip with his bleeding hand as she grasped his.

He bent his head over their connected arms and mumbled a low chant in Eastron, though more ancient, only lifting his head when Alison felt a strong surge of what she presumed was magic rush through her veins, making her lightheaded and slightly nauseous.

"The shasztâk will last only until next nightfall," he said, as he unwound the chain from his neck and rubbed at the bruises that had formed there, something Alison hadn't noticed until then and now something she felt incredibly guilty over. "Make sure you have reached the Tombs and obtained your item by then. If the protection wears off while you are still within its borders…well, there is a reason why people are kept out in the first place."

Alison didn't respond, too much going through her head to form a coherent sentence at the moment, though she nodded and raised her bloody arm in a faint gesture, hoping her eyes could convey at least some gratitude through the fractured emotions she was feeling.

"Remember what I said, Alison Ashburne," he warned, leaning in close to her before he walked out of the arena. "And if all else fails, then do not be afraid of the place you once called home."

And then he was gone, and the party returned to normal, every Easterling in the hall melting away and not sparing her a second glance as she stood in the middle of the bloodstained arena, cradling her hand to her chest and trying to make sense of all that had just happened.

A prickle on the back of her neck alarmed her that she was being watched, and she turned quickly to see Jonathan standing in the midst of a dancing group of Easterlings, holding a goblet in one of his pale hands as his black eyes bored into her from across the hall, and she suppressed the urge to shiver when Racor Rakshara's voice echoed back to her.

"The Shadow is just the beginning. It is the Darkness itself you must guard yourself from."

Alison didn't know what that could possibly mean, but one thing was already clear: there was another storm on the horizon, and this time, it wouldn't stop until all the land was covered in a second Darkness.


Author's Note

And some angst for you, and you, and you...

A lot of you are wondering in just what the heck kind of direction I'm taking this story, but all I can say is patience, young ones. There is still much to learn (plus there were some very big hints to the sequel in this chapter if you got them...)

Anyway, thank you all so much for the support while I was away! It means so much to me to have such great readers behind this crazy ride of a story (and especially ones that get me to 400 reviews?! LOVE).

Next chapter we get the exciting adventure to the Sand Tombs, Kili makes a very big decision, and Alison and J-Ash continue on their search for the Lesser Rings, while also trying to deal with each other's secrets and finding out just what the other is hiding...

Thanks again, lovelies! Until next chapter...