Fili stood and held a hand out. "We should head back. Uncle might think I inherited his sense of direction and got lost."

Bilba slapped his hand away in irritation. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was help from a little princeling. She placed a hand against the damp soil of the forest floor and pushed up to a standing position. As she did it occurred to her the top of her head came to just under his nose.

Bastard.

She took a step...and quickly realized that might have been a mistake.

Physical bodies had limits, no matter how strong the spirit within, and as annoying as it was to admit, she was well past hers. Her entire frame was shivering and she suddenly felt ice cold even as her skin prickled with sweat. Her leg and shoulder throbbed; a bone deep pain that brought waves of nausea with each pulse and darkness ate at the edge of her vision. She put her head down, focusing on Princeling's boots as she breathed slowly in through her mouth and out through her nose, trying desperately not to throw up.

She could vaguely hear Princeling speaking but had no idea what he was saying.

Bilba swallowed back bile and straightened, shutting her eyes for a second to try and clear her head. She was not doing this. She was not going to need help from the Princeling or the Chief Bastard. She was stronger than this. It was just a matter of willpower. She'd walk back and carefully sit down to wait for Syrath. No one would have to be the wiser.

She could do it.

She could.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, allowing her breath out slowly. She took a second step forward… and promptly passed out.

Fili knew she was in trouble and was already moving seconds before the color drained completely from her face and her knees buckled. He caught her around her waist, slid his other arm under her knees and hefted her easily into his arms. She hung limp and he adjusted his hold until her head rested against his shoulder.

Awake she was larger than life, an intimidating presence, filled to overflowing with fire, passion, and marrow deep anger.

Unconsciousness wiped out all of that, leaving her face clear of the burdens of her past.

Gandalf was right. She was young, or should have been.

Boots crunched on dead leaves as Dwalin approached. "Want me to take her?"

"No," Fili said instantly, his eyes still fixed on her face. "I've got her." She barely weighed anything. Her frame was small, closer to a Hobbit's structure than a dwarve's denser bones, and carrying her barely affected him. She was more delicate than he was, easier to break and he shook his head at the thought of her throwing herself at the orcs over and over as though she were made of mithril instead of fragile flesh and blood.

Dwalin frowned. "You should be careful."

Fili's eyes flicked toward his. "Why?"

"You're becoming infatuated," Dwalin replied, "with a woman you don't know."

Fili bristled. "I can handle myself."

Dwalin shrugged. "Just be sure you don't end up so blinded by who you hope she is you miss who she actually is."

"As long as you don't end up so blinded by paranoia you decide who she is without bothering to get to know her," Fili shot back. "She's got a dragon for Durin's sake, Dwalin. They don't choose riders lightly."

"Syrath is an infant," Dwalin growled back. "We're lucky he didn't choose an orc. The only dragons in Erebor allowed to bond as young as he is are the royal dragons and that's because they're born knowing who their rider is. I didn't get chosen by Xalanth until he was near twenty."

"I don't need a lecture on something I already know," Fili muttered. He turned as he spoke, heading back toward the clearing.

"I'm not lecturing you," Dwalin answered, falling in beside him, "I'm reminding you." He sighed, his gaze troubled as he studied Bilba. "I've met a handful of Arena survivors. They aren't safe."

"No one is safe," Fili said. "That's one of your first lessons, isn't it?" He scowled, "Don't you think her past has hurt her enough without you insisting she be defined by it?"

"All I'm saying is watch yourself, lad." They exited the clearing and began heading back toward where the others waited. "You don't have the luxury of being ruled by emotion, misplaced or otherwise."

Fili grit his teeth and didn't respond. He hefted the small woman in his arms slightly higher and raised his chin as he strode to the others. Durin's beard, why did Dwalin have to be so perceptive? He knew most who didn't know the Guard Captain assumed he was little more than brawn, a shield of blood and bone standing between the royal family and its enemies.

Fili knew otherwise, as did anyone who spent more than five minutes with him. No dwarf became Captain of the Guard and head of royal security simply by being large. Dwalin was smart, to a scary degree sometimes. He always seemed to know everything that was going on at all times, to a point where sometimes Fili thought he was the Court's Spymaster instead of Nori.

Kili frowned as they approached. "Did she try to attack you again?"

"No," Fili said, his patience frayed, "she passed out. It happens when you have severe injuries, Kili."

A shadow flashed by overhead and Fili's heart sank. He looked up to see Syrath and Xalanth spiraling down toward them.

As expected, the young dragon did not react well to Bilba's condition.

Not well at all.

Fili leaned against the stone wall across from the Healing Ward and idly chewed on his lower lip. After Syrath had yelled at Bilba for running around while injured, seemingly unconcerned she was unconscious and couldn't hear him, and then at Fili for letting her run around injured, as if he could have stopped her, the small dragon had carried them to Erebor, muttering deprecations about the idiocy of his riders the entire way.

Once there Xalanth had managed to convince his newfound son to go to the lairs on the lower levels while Fili took Bilba to the Healers.

Are you still lurking outside the Healing Ward?

Fili sent the mental version of a scowl at his brother and ignored him. That, of course, had never stopped Kili before and a few minutes later he came strolling down the hall and took up position next to Fili against the wall.

"So," he said, with a grin that suggested he was about to make Fili want to hit him, "I happened to overhear Dwalin talking to Uncle."

Fili definitely wanted to hit him.

"By which you mean you were lurking outside his study like the stalker you are," Fili corrected. He could feel a headache coming on. He had no doubt what the two had been discussing.

"Just keeping up on current affairs." Kili responded cheerily. "With the way you're going I'll be King someday anyway. It's important to keep up with what's going on."

Fili raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kili shrugged. "Just that most people who found out their second rider was more than slightly insane would run screaming the other way, not decide she might be their One." He gave his brother a considering look. "That does not bode well for your future survival, brother."

Fili rolled his eyes. "I never said she was my One and I don't see why it's any business of yours, or Uncle's or Dwalin's for that matter." Some lesser noble or another walked by and both boys straightened long enough to exchange pleasantries. As soon as the other was past they slouched, in sync, against the wall once more. "Am I the only one who saw her fighting? She fights like she was born to it." Not to mention she was gorgeous. Who wouldn't be at least something interested?

"She fights like an orc," Kili's voice cut in, his voice tight. He locked eyes with Fili, in one of his rare serious moods. "I did see how she fights, like she has no fear of death, reckless."

"You're one to talk about being reckless," Fili accused.

"I didn't drag my brother headlong back into a fight we'd already escaped from," Kili said shortly. "We were out. There was no reason to go back. She wanted to kill, or be killed, and she didn't care if she took you with her."

"We were fine," Fili said. He crossed his arms over his chest, studying the door. Kili had a point but there was no way he was going to admit it.

Kili glared at the door, his jaw set. "Dwalin thinks she was an Arena fighter. If she was then she's well used to killing."

"We know that already," Fili said. "She's been slaughtering orcs for five years."

"I'm not talking about orcs," Kili said in annoyance. "I saw the way she looked at you. The way she behaved in the battle I'm not sure her own life means much to her but I know yours certainly doesn't. Not to mention the life of her own dragon."

"They've been together five years," Fili argued back, "and nothing has happened."

"Which could be luck as much as her actually giving a damn," Kili shot back.

Fili's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to judge her for what the orcs have done to her!" He leveled a look on his younger brother. "And neither should you."

Kili curled his lip in irritation. "I'm not judging her for Durin's sake. I'm simply worried for my idiot brother!"

Fili sighed, his anger evaporating. "Noted." He leaned his head back against the wall. "You're getting ahead of yourself though. I've barely met her."

"She's your ride partner regardless," Kili said, still agitated, "and the last thing I want is to see her get you killed."

"She won't," Fili assured him. "I'll keep my eyes open."

Kili snorted. "Like you'd even notice. You're crushing so bad we've all seen it," Kili mused.

"You didn't see it," Fili replied dryly. "You stalked Dwalin and Uncle and overheard it."

Kili's eyes widened suddenly and he got that look that suggested he'd just thought of something particularly evil. "I wonder if Mom has heard yet. Just think, the one time out of the year she decides to visit Lake-town and look what she missed? She'll probably never leave the mountain again."

Fili groaned and shut his eyes, banging his head lightly on the wall behind him. "Kill me now."

"I'm sure Bilba would be happy to oblige," a new voice said and Fili sighed as Dwalin and his uncle appeared from around the bend in the hall.

"I'm fairly sure she'd be happier to kill you," Kili said to Dwalin from Fili's other side.

Fili frowned, rolling his head to the side to study his brother. "You noticed that too? I thought I was just imagining it. Syrath says she hates everyone."

Kili shrugged. "Maybe but she certainly seems to have reserved a special place in her heart for Dwalin." He leaned forward to look at the other dwarf. "What did you do to her?"

Dwalin shrugged. "I had Xalanth ask Syrath but he didn't even know there was a problem. He says she's not a fan of Erebor but that could just be-"

"Because I was here and she thought I was going to steal Syrath," Fili cut in.

Kili looked startled. "She thought you were going to what?"

Fili didn't get a chance to answer as the door opened to the Healing Ward and Oin stepped out. Fili pushed off the wall. "Well?"

"She'll be fine," Oin said. "Just needs rest is all, her and the dragon both I'd imagine."

"What else did you find?" Dwalin asked.

Oin scowled. "I don't think it's particularly your business do you?"

"It is if she plans to be near my heirs," Thorin growled.

Oin sighed and then waved a hand at the door. "Then at least let's move inside so I'm not blasting the poor girl's business for the entire mountain to hear."

Thorin gave a curt nod and they followed him inside. Fili didn't see Bilba in the main room. Oin must have put her in a private one.

Oin walked to the large desk he worked behind and picked up a sheaf of papers. "It's as was suspected," he stated simply, "her body is heavily scarred and there's evidence of her being manacled and collared, probably for long periods of time. She was undoubtedly a slave."

Fili swallowed, his hands clenched into fists at the news. He'd suspected, maybe even more than suspected, but to have the facts laid out like that... "For how long?"

"Impossible to say," Oin replied, "though, given her youth, and the fact the average life expectancy in the mines can be measured on one hand I wouldn't think longer than a few years." He cleared his throat and glowered at the paper as though taking personal affront to it. "She's also missing her tongue. From the remnants I would imagine it was removed rather violently."

Dwalin and Thorin showed no reaction. Fili sucked in a breath while, beside him, Kili hissed, "Mahal."

"That explains why she only speaks through mental link," Thorin said. His face was expressionless but Fili knew his uncle well enough to see the news bothered him. Thorin took the existence of slaves in Moria personally. Moria was a dwarven kingdom and many of the slaves within were dwarves or dwobbits. The fact he could do nothing to drive the orc scum out or free his people enslaved within rankled.

Oin continued. "And I believe Dwalin was correct as well. Many of the scars appear to have been made by weapons. I could attribute it to her lifestyle but for the fact she bears an Arena brand over her right shoulder."

"An Arena brand?" Kili asked blankly. "What's that?"

"Nori's reports suggest most slaves in Moria are treated as communal property by the orcs," Thorin said. "The ones who cause problems are thrown in the Arena where their life is usually measured in seconds." His lips twisted in a grimace.

"Unless you're branded," Dwalin took over. "Branded slaves have proven themselves in the Arena. Their reward for not dying is being taken and owned by one of the orcs, typically one of fairly high rank. After that they're fought in bouts, usually with the orcs betting on the outcome."

Fili felt a rush of nausea at the thought of Bilba being owned by an orc as though she were little more than a pet or of being forced to fight for her life as a sick form of entertainment. "Do you know who the orc was that had her?"

"I've only seen two brands before this," Oin said, "and both were different. I have no idea who uses this brand. We'd have to ask her."

"Or we could ask Syrath," Fili said. "If he even knows." The two didn't have a soul bond for whatever reason and she'd clearly kept things from him. It was quite possible Syrath knew very little about Bilba's time in the mines.

Oins shrugged. "Might be preferable. She's still unconscious."

Fili frowned. "She hasn't woken up yet?"

"She's exhausted," Oin said. "She'll wake up when she's ready." At Fili's doubtful look he sighed and said, "I know my job, Your Highness. The girl will be fine."

Bilba wasn't fine, at least not immediately. She developed a nasty cold and, a few days after that, infection set into her shoulder and leg. Oin commented on the fact she'd been soaking wet when they came in contact with her and postulated she'd been in an underground river or lake. Given it was in goblin territory the water had most likely been polluted with Mahal only knew what, all of which had leeched into the wounds and now waged war within her body.

She grew delusional and, though she could not speak, she could vocalize and spent long hours screaming until her voice grew hoarse.

When her fever grew worse her shields weakened, allowing the raving in her mind to leak through. Any rider in proximity with lowered shields, or too young to be fully trained, could feel her pain and fear radiating through the halls.

With their mental link, Fili could actually hear her.

She seemed to relive the same moment over and over and over again. She would beg someone to live, plead with them; promise them she'd be good if they would just wake up. He didn't know who she'd lost, or when, but it always ended the same way, screaming. Syrath could hear it as well and though he said he did know of people she'd lost he didn't recognize the particular event she seemed to be reliving. As Fili had suspected, she'd kept her life before she met Syrath private. The young dragon tried to extend his shields as best he could to cover her and stop others from being affected by her pain but he was several levels below and, with his age and without a soul bond, his abilities were limited from that distance. To properly shield her without a soul bond he would need to be in her physical presence and she was much too ill to be moved to where he was.

He couldn't help her.

So Fili did instead. He set up a chair next to her bed and built a mental wall around her mind, not touching her but keeping her thoughts and emotions private as he had no doubt she would want. It didn't stop him from feeling and hearing it himself but it gave her some privacy. He had his meals brought to him and slept in a second bed that Oin placed in the small room.

About the third day his parents returned and, as expected, his mother was less than pleased at the news that the dragon her son had waited years for came with an angry, reckless dwobbit attached.

They loved Syrath, even though the dragon spent his time curled in a tight ball of misery over Bilba's illness and barely acknowledged their visit. Not even being surrounded by other dragons, and his father, for the first time in his life, could draw him out of it.

Through it all Bilba continued to fight the phantoms of her past in her mind. Fili had no doubt she would be horrified at how much of herself had been revealed through her illness but he couldn't help feeling an odd sort of gratitude, even if he would have wished for a different method for it.

He understood her a little more, or thought he did . Hopefully, it would be enough to forge some sort of friendship.

That or at least enough of a relationship to get her to take him off the "Kill Him When He's Not Looking" list.

He couldn't do anything, however, until she recovered.

So he waited.

Bilba felt exhausted.

She lay still, eyes closed and breathing relaxed as confusion raced through her mind.

Where was she?

What had happened?

Her body felt heavy with fatigue, aching and a dull pain in her shoulder and leg spoke to healing injuries.

When had she been hurt? Fuzzy memories floated through her mind. Riding Syrath, the burn of acid racing through her leg.

Orcs, that was right. There had been orcs. There were always orcs.

Clearly she'd been hurt. How badly? She ran a mental check over her body but couldn't find any further sign of injury, which was odd. She could feel the sink of a mattress under her, the feel of blankets on top. If she wasn't that injured why was she in a bed? Usually she just crawled under the nearest tree and waited out Syrath's griping until she recovered. He'd only taken her to Rivendell or Gondor twice when her injuries had proven so severe he'd worried over her life.

He worried too much.

She reached out with her mind, intending to call him, and ran against what felt like a solid wall of mithril in her mind, locking her in.

What?

Her stomach started fluttering and her breathing quickened slightly. New memories swam to the surface, falling, pain blooming in her shoulder, a dark cave.

Azog.

Her eyes snapped open.

There was stone overhead.

Her breathing sped up to where she was nearly hyperventilating.

She was under stone.

She was under stone.

She'd been recaptured.

She was in Moria.

Her heart turned into a hammer, going so fast it was a wonder it didn't burst in her chest, and her breathing caught in her throat. Her body started shaking as full blown panic ripped through her mind. She lunged to the side. Her body tangled in the blankets and she fell onto the floor, pain cracking through her knees and hands as they impacted.

She curled in on herself, wrapping her hands around her head, panting. Dizziness swam through her and she shuddered.

Her mind screamed at her to RunRunRunRUN but her body was locked, every muscle frozen in place.

Arms grabbed at her suddenly and she screamed, lashing out in blind panic. Panic made for poor tactics, however, and the arms easily dragged her to her feet.

She couldn't breathe. Her airway had nearly closed. Every breath she dragged in made a horrible grating noise as it struggled to fit through the small opening left in the throat.

An arm slid around her waist. The other held her arm and pulled her in some direction or another. Bilba's eyes were open but she was bent over so all she could see were her own blurry, unfocused feet as they scraped across the floor.

A door opened…and fresh air washed over her.

What?

The hands released her and she staggered forward until she caught against a stone railing at about waist height. She leaned on it, gripping the edges until sharp spikes of pain radiated through her palms. She shut her eyes and put her head down, focusing on trying to control her own body.

A balcony, her mind supplied. She was on a balcony. Moria had balconies but the slaves weren't allowed on them.

So why – her mind began to calm down slightly and, as it did, the rest of her memories began to return.

Oh.

She wasn't in Moria.

She was in Erebor.

She cursed in Black Speech, using every last word she could think of as well as a few new ones she'd come up with over the years.

The air around her was cold and crisp and perfect for clearing her head. She opened her eyes to see a dark night stretched out before her. Stars glittered overhead and a fat moon tracked lazily across the sky. Below her she could see the landscape spread out, awash in silver light and shadow.

Her heartrate was slowing and her throat finally released. She sagged on the rail, the edges cutting in a line across her stomach, and focused on breathing. She still felt rattled, her nerves on edge but at least she could breathe again.

"I'm sorry," a voice said quietly behind her. "I should have realized you wouldn't react well to waking up inside a mountain."

Bilba shut her eyes and started up a new round of swearing. Of all the people to see her like this of course it would be the idiot Princeling. The wall around her mind had vanished at some point and, now that she was calming down, she could see the holes in her shields. She gathered them up and restored them, locking them down into a solid bulwark.

I don't have a problem inside mountains; she threw at him before slamming shut the last of her shields, locking him out where he belonged.

It was the truth. She didn't have a problem inside mountains. She'd made sure of it. She'd realized the issue the first time it had rained and they'd needed shelter. The second she had set foot inside a cave she'd started shaking and her breathing and heartrate had increased.

It had been pathetic.

She'd began to purposefully spend times in caves after that, as much as she could. It had been ugly at first but, slowly, over time it had gotten better. She had no problem, so long as she was prepared for it and wasn't waking up confused, hurt and caught off guard.

She wasn't weak.

She glanced over her shoulder to where the bastard Princeling was standing near the door.

She reopened her link. You saw me with the goblins. Did I LOOK like I was having problems?

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean aside from the fact they were about to slaughter you?"

Bilba blinked, startled at his quick comeback.

The feel of cold stone under her feet caught her attention and she looked down at herself with a frown.

She was dressed in a loose pair of cotton pants, a light shirt and nothing else.

A light short sleeved shirt. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of the moonlight shimmering off the thick bands of scars wrapped around her wrists, the mangled mess of old mutilations marching up her arms. Without having to look she knew the collar of the shirt was low, leaving the marks left by the manacle on her throat visible for anyone to see.

Visible for Syrath's other rider, the Crown Bastard, to see. His body was undoubtedly flawless and unmarked. She could only imagine the disgust he must feel at seeing hers.

The shaking started again. She wrapped her arms around her torso and whirled to face the bastard. Where are my clothes?

He stepped back and angled toward the door. "In there. They were cleaned and mended-"

She marched past him, ignoring the rest of what he said. The room inside was massive, easily as large as the chambers Azog held in Moria. It was richly arrayed with furniture, lush rugs and tapestries hung on the wall.

Princeling had followed her. "Once your fever broke we moved you to your own quarters."

Bilba caught sight of her clothing, neatly folded on top of a dresser and nearly ran to grab it. As soon as she did she went behind a large privacy screen in the corner of the room and quickly began undressing. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely work the fastenings but she managed, quickly stripping down to her undergarments. She gave no thought to the Princeling being in the room just on the other side of the screen. The last thing he would ever want to see would be more of the disfigured mess that was her body.

He was still talking, his voice oddly level. He was different, more confident in how he held himself and in how he spoke to her but she couldn't understand why.

Her hands paused in the act of pulling her pants on. How long was I unconscious?

"Over a week and a half," his response came immediately. "You developed a bad infection."

That explained why her injuries were already well on the way to healing. She swallowed past a rock in her throat at the thought of Princeling having a week and a half of uninterrupted time with Syrath. Had they soul bonded yet?

She finished getting her pants and boots on and grabbed for her tunic and vest.

"You were delirious at times," Princeling's voice went on.

He said something else but Bilba didn't hear it. She'd frozen on the word "delirious". She knew what happened when she got delirious.

She fought against a sudden burning in her eyes. She hadn't cried in years. She certainly wasn't going to start now.

Weak, her mind taunted, so very weak. She bit her lip, hard. Of all the people to see her at her weakest…of all the people…why did it have to be the bastard?

She finished getting dressed, pulling on her gloves and cloak. She clipped the pin Aragorn had given her on and immediately felt relief rush through her. No one wanted to see her scars. She didn't want to see them.

She still felt jittery, like thousands of insects were crawling under her skin. Her body was nearly vibrating and it was with reservation that she let her shields down enough to call Syrath.

Would he even care to answer?

I'm here. Come on.

Another wave of relief raced through her. She put her chin up, eyes ahead and strode out from behind the screen.

Princeling was seated on a couch on the other side of the room. He got up when she appeared and started to say something but she walked right past him, her eyes fixed on the balcony. Every step was pure torture as she struggled to hold herself together.

By the time she reached the door she had broken into a run. She burst out onto the balcony, cold mountain air wrapping around her, and ran for the edge.

She heard the Princeling shout something behind her but she ignored him. She planted her hands on the cool stone of the railing, pushed up, and vaulted right over the edge.

The Princeling screamed something, most likely because he was an idiot, but she didn't bother to listen.

Her feet landed solidly on Syrath's back as he soared past, just under the balcony. She slid down to a seated position and grabbed the straps, tying them in place with shaking fingers.

It was only as she got the last of them done that she realized they'd banked and were heading back toward the mountain.

What are you doing?

Fili wants to come too.

Bilba frowned. Who?

Syrath sounded amused as he answered. Our second rider. Do I even want to know what nickname you came up for him?

Probably not, Bilba answered. She looked back toward the balcony and saw Princeling standing on the railing, a mere silhouette in the dark. She raised an eyebrow. Did he really intend to jump? She wouldn't have thought he had it in him.

Why not? A voice whispered in her mind. You had it in you and you're pathetic. He's a Crown Prince. He can do better than you in his sleep.

The shaking grew worse. She felt as though she'd been stripped naked and paraded through Erebor. The fact the Princeling had seen made it a thousand times worse.

And what about her father? Cold settled in her gut, along with a horror so profound she almost wanted to throw herself off Syrath's back then and there rather than face the possibility the chief bastard had heard even a single one of her delirious ravings.

Bone deep humiliation settled in and she gripped her pant legs in agitation, gritting her teeth until her jaw ached.

Syrath flashed by the balcony again and, a second later, Princeling was sitting behind her. She felt him fumbling around and realized a second set of straps had been added to Syrath.

Are you ready?

Please, Bilba responded. She didn't know if Princeling was strapped in yet but if Syrath were asking her then he probably was.

Syrath shifted, and then shot straight up into the air. Bilba was thrown back, ending up pressed against Princeling's chest. She could feel his nose pressed against the back of her head and shifted to avoid touching him as much as possible. She felt the briefest brush of his hands alongside her hips as he grabbed the straps and tangled his hands in them to anchor himself. She had already done the same with her own.

She looked up, watching the stars overhead.

They shot higher and higher still, past where anything or anyone could reach her. Finally, when the air began to noticeably thin, Syrath evened out. Around them was total silence. The moonlit landscape was far below them and all around was nothing but a wide field of stars.

Bilba sighed, her shoulders relaxing minutely and her shaking beginning to lessen. There was no Azog up this high, no chief bastard, no humiliations.

There was the Princeling, unfortunately, but he was silent behind her. He'd untangled his hands and, were it not for the barest feel of his body behind her, she wouldn't even have known he was there.

They could only stay up a little while. The air was thin and Syrath needed it more than she did so they could never stay, not that any length of time would be long enough for her.

Are you ready? Syrath's voice came again.

Bilba hesitated. Finally, she turned and checked the Princeling's straps, ensuring they were properly and tightly secured around his legs, thighs and waist. She saw him give her a questioning look in the dim light but continued to ignore him. She turned to face the front again, reached behind her and grabbed his hands, making sure they were secure in the straps again before doing the same for her own.

Syrath made a sound that she'd decided was the dragon version of a shout of excitement…and then proceeded to fold his wings in against his side and drop like a stone.

Bilba felt her stomach plummet to her feet. Her entire body lifted, the straps digging into her flesh as they became the only thing keeping her in place. Wind roared past them, shattering the quiet, and rippling through her hair and clothing.

Princeling's voice shouted in her head. ARE YOU INSANE?

Bilba laughed as the air whipped past her. Syrath began to spiral, the stars swirling around them so fast it became a near vortex of light. Vertigo washed through her and she let her body go lax, spinning with the stars.

Syrath snapped his wings out again and they started to slow. He spiraled once more, ending up horizontal to the ground instead of vertical, and then they were speeding over the tops of the trees of Mirkwood, so close their passing rustled the tops.

She turned and was grudgingly impressed to see Princeling had somehow managed to keep his food down.

Maybe he just hadn't eaten in a while.

That was probably it.

He was breathing hard and his eyes were wide but when he looked up at her, to her surprise, he didn't look scared.

He looked exhilarated.

He just kept refusing to behave in the way she expected him to.

It was pissing her off.

"That," he gasped, "that was…AMAZING." He laughed, grinning and, to her everlasting horror, Bilba felt the sudden urge to grin back.

She jerked around and slumped as she relaxed. It no longer felt as though she were in the process of unraveling, her nerves fraying at the edge.

Syrath shifted suddenly, his muscles tightening under her legs.

I smell orc.

Bilba stiffened. Where?

Syrath's response was to angle to the left, his speed increasing until they'd shot passed the forest and were over the main road that ran through Mirkwood to Dale and Erebor. Within seconds she heard the distant sound of metal clanging and voices shouting. A woman screamed and she tensed.

It's a caravan under attack.

Syrath agreed. It's odd they would attack here.

Bilba agreed. The orcs were between Mirkwood, Dale and Erebor with Lake-town not that far away. It wasn't safe for them to be this close to civilization.

Not that any help seemed to be coming.

I've raised the alarm, Princeling's voice sounded in her head. They'll be here soon.

The woman screamed again, sharp and piercing and Bilba felt her blood ignite. Not soon enough.

She began to undo her straps, sliding out and moving until she was crouched low on Syrath's neck.

"What are you doing?" Princeling asked in shock. "You barely woke up! You don't even have a weapon!"

Bilba rolled her eyes. Having a weapon was a luxury, not a necessity. As for the rest, at her most exhausted and ill she was still in better health than she'd ever been in Moria and she'd fought nearly every day in the Arena there.

Syrath banked low. The caravan came into view. It was large, probably more than twenty or more. They appeared to be humans, the males currently locked in combat with a large orc pack. She caught sight of several women huddled in the back of one of the wagons.

Syrath opened his maw and let loose a roar that echoed through the valley. The sound startled the entire group, humans and orcs alike, and they all looked up as Syrath whipped past. He banked, turning easily and began a second run. He couldn't actually attack without the risk of hurting an innocent but that wasn't why he'd flown over them.

Bilba locked eyes on the orc she'd picked out on the first pass, a large, stocky one standing off to the side as the rest battled. He was the leader, watching the carnage casually, a large sword held loosely in one hand. He glanced up at them as they neared, sneering. She sent one brief glance back at the Princeling, noting the light tunic, pants and boots he wore.

Stay here, she ordered.

Then she jumped.

She landed squarely on the shoulders of the orc leading the attack. Wrapping her legs around his throat, she threw herself backwards, feeling him come with her as he was knocked off balance. She twisted her legs sharply and a loud crack sounded. Bilba felt her hands impact the dirt and pushed off, sending her body into a perfect backflip and landing in a low crouch.

She lunged forward into a roll and when she came up she held a sword in her hand.

A sword may not be a necessity but it was always nice. She barely spared a glance at the now dead orc beside her and launched herself into the fray.

It scared her sometimes how comfortable she was with fighting. She understood it, felt at ease with it, was good at it.

The orcs had made her into who she was.

What did that say about what she was?

An orc loomed in front of her and she dropped, swinging the sword in a wide arc that slashed across the front of his legs. He fell and she drove the sword through his chest.

Two more came, from both sides. Balancing her weight on the sword hilt she sent a booted foot into the chest of the closest one, driving him back a few feet. She wrenched the sword out of the chest of the fallen orc, swung it into the throat of the third one and then spun, sending the sword behind her and driving it deep into the chest of the second one.

She wrenched it back out and turned to see Princeling had apparently ignored her order and joined the fight at some point. So much for his whining about not being prepared to fight.

Not only had he gotten himself a sword, he'd managed to get himself two, because he was a showoff, and was dual wielding them. His shirt had been torn open at some point, from collarbone to hip and was nearly falling off him. She frowned , checking him over but couldn't find any evidence of blood or wounds suggesting he'd been sliced by a sword.

She did see that, as she'd suspected, his body appeared completely free of scars or other marks.

She continued to fight, fending off blows with ease. As she did she found her eyes, almost of their own will, being continually drawn back to Princeling and his stupid bare chest. It wasn't as though it was anything she hadn't seen before. Orcs barely believed in clothing at all and most slaves had little more than rags. So she didn't understand why she kept getting distracted by him.

She did know it was annoying her, and that being distracted was a very good way to get killed.

As if summoned an orc nearly beheaded her and she cursed, dropping low and driving her sword through the creature's stomach before ruthlessly twisting the blade and wrenching it back out. It had been years since an orc had almost gotten the drop on her like that.

She shot a glare in the Princeling's direction and mentally cursed him.

It was his fault, the bastard.

Bilba turned her attention back to the task at hand, joining alongside the humans as they made quick work of the rest of the orc pack.

When the dust settled there were six dead humans and thirty dead orcs.

Bilba was breathing heavily. Her arm and leg ached but she didn't appear to have reopened anything so she ignored it.

Syrath landed with a thump nearby. Xalanth is coming. His rider isn't happy.

Bilba didn't care how the Chief Bastard felt. She caught sight of Princeling, standing near the edge of one of the wagons. He was breathing as heavily as her and was splattered with blood but none of it appeared to be his. Her eyes snagged on his bare chest again, watching as it rose and fell with each breath before she caught herself and shook her head in irritation. With extreme annoyance, she opened the link and snapped, Princeling!

Princeling? Really?

She raised an eyebrow. I could go back to calling you Bastard.

He barely even paused. Princeling is fine.

Glad we got that cleared up, Bilba sent back, her mental voice dripping with sarcasm. Your shirt is ripped.

What? He looked confused and then glanced down in surprise. Oh, yeah. I'm not quite as experienced jumping off a dragon as you are. I think I caught it on the edge of one of Syrath's scales. I'm not hurt though.

Bilba sputtered, her hands clenching. She hadn't mentioned it out of concern. She'd mentioned it because she wanted him to close the Valar. Cursed. Thing. Up.

One of the humans started to head toward her and she moved, stepping back into the darkness off the road. The human changed direction, toward Princeling instead. Bilba relaxed and went to stand with Syrath.

The women were starting to get down from the wagons. As she watched one reached up and grabbed hold of several small children, handing them down one at a time to sit on the ground.

One of them was a young girl with light brown hair and dark eyes. She studied the carnage with wide eyes, clutching her mother's skirts with both hands.

Bilba watched her, trying to imagine her in the mines alongside her mother.

You saved her, Syrath said, lowering his head over her shoulder.

One more child who doesn't have to grow up to be me, Bilba responded.

Syrath shifted, angling his head so one massive eye studied her. I like you.

You're an idiot, Bilba replied dryly.

Xalanth shot past overhead and landed a few dozen feet away with a loud thump, the ground shaking under her feet with the force of it.

Chief Bastard strode up, hands clenched into fists at his side, face set.

Bilba raised an eyebrow. The coward almost looks intimidating. There's a surprise.

Why do you call him a coward? Syrath asked.

Bilba didn't respond. She merely leaned back against Syrath's side, crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

The girl was trying to bait him.

Dwalin could see her, back in the shadows, leaning against her dragon with her eyes fixed on him. She wanted him to come and try to berate her for her actions.

He wasn't in the mood for playing games with children. He found Fili, speaking to one of the humans, and checked him out visually. The young prince held himself loose and easily, his face animated and clear of pain or distress.

He was uninjured.

He was lucky. After the thousands of hours of training invested in the boy over his lifetime, Dwalin would have been greatly annoyed if the Crown Prince of Erebor gave a poor showing, in front of humans, against so paltry a number of orcs.

Fili had finished speaking to the human and turned now to face him. Dawlin caught the rebellious look in the young dwarf's eyes. Fili expected to be berated but Dwalin wasn't an idiot. There was no possible way he could do anything in front of the girl, or the humans for that matter. It would only humiliate the boy and ensure the rebellious streak he'd picked up grew wider. The last thing they needed was Fili acting like Kili. One was bad enough.

Besides, the boy was less than a month from his majority, had been well trained his entire life and would naturally want, and expect, to be able to make his own decisions.

On the other hand, however, the boy was a Crown Prince, heir to an entire Kingdom. He'd survived multiple assassination attempts over the past five years and knew his safety was at risk. He also knew he had an obligation to his people, one that put their needs ahead of his own. He was not free to simply run off and recklessly endanger himself trying to impress a girl.

Dwalin sighed. It was on nights like this he didn't envy Dis and Vili their sons. It was next to impossible to know what the right course of action was.

His eyes went back to the girl, hidden in the dark. He had no doubt what her expectation was of his reaction.

He really hated playing into expectations.

It was quite possible Fili and the girl weren't the only ones with rebellious streaks.

"Are you all right?"

Fili nodded, his eyes suspicious. "I'm fine."

Dwalin gave a curt nod of his own. "And the girl?"

Fili shot a look in her direction. "I think so. I never saw her take a blow."

"Too bad," Dwalin said dryly, "She seems to be less trouble when she's in the Healing Wards."

Fili gave him a wry look. "Aside from traumatizing everyone who walks by the Wards that is."

Dwalin grimaced. The boy had a point. Before Fili had locked her down mentally he'd heard the girl's screams, and felt her fear, as loudly as anyone else.

She blustered and postured a lot but, underneath it all, she was a scared, traumatized kid who hid herself behind a wall of rock so thick it was possible she wouldn't be able to let someone else in even if she wanted too.

And therein lay the problem.

It wasn't that she was traumatized or that even that she had some kind of irrational personal hatred for him.

It was that she was in Fili's life now and the boy was clearly infatuated with her. With the way he'd stayed by her side throughout her illness rumors were already circulating that he believed her to be his One.

Dwarves usually knew their Ones on sight, even if they didn't sometimes didn't recognize it right away. The same was true for Dwobbits. Dwalin hadn't understood Belladonna was his One for months, even though he'd felt drawn to her every time she crossed his path.

He didn't know if that was what was going on with Fili. It was possible that Fili had longed for his dragon so long, and so intensely, that he was now transplanting that emotion onto Bilba.

It was possible he was just an infatuated kid who'd seen a pretty girl, who happened to be a capable warrior at the same time, and had developed a crush.

It might fade over time.

It might not.

Regardless, it would be a fine line between trying to keep Fili from getting himself killed and not making it look like they were trying to keep him from his dragon or second rider. He knew enough to understand doing so would simply drive Fili closer to the girl in an act of rebellion.

Fortunately, Dwalin thought, he had a bonus in his favor.

He wasn't Fili's father.

He indicated Syrath. "Think we can head back now? I imagine your uncle might have a few thoughts about your late night escapades."

The grin on Fili's face faltered slightly. "Uncle's awake?"

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. "You raised the alarm, kid. Everyone's awake."

"Oh," a look of horror was slowly dawning on Fili's face. "Even my mother?"

"Especially your mother," Dwalin said. He turned as he said it and began to head back to Xalanth. He could still feel the girl's eyes boring into his back so he turned just enough to give her a nod of acknowledgement.

It seemed to piss her off. Good, might as well establish now he was someone to be reckoned with.

As he turned back to Xalanth he heard a telltale giggling from behind him and turned back with a frown. A handful of teenage human girls were leaning out of the wagon, blushing and fawning, their eyes fixed on Fili. He remained as oblivious as always but Dwalin fought back a groan. Having a crop of young, and eligible, royalty to deal with was enough to make him consider early retirement. It seemed every girl within a several hundred mile radius had been raised on fairy tales like "Opal and the Mithril Slipper", "The Cursed Prince" or a hundred more like it leaving them all enamored of the very notion of princes and convinced they were destined to marry one, if they could just get his attention. Nori, thankfully, got the pleasure of sorting through the piles and piles of letters from young girls who'd set eyes on one of the princes and decided they were perfect for one another and destined to be together. Dwalin got the task of escorting many of those same girls out of the mountain when they were caught trying to sneak into an event or the royal wing. Hearing them insist he was thwarting fate had gotten old the first dozen or so times he'd heard it. It was particularly bad after parades or days when the boys decided to visit Dale or Lake-town.

It had been even worse once with Thorin and Frerin added to the mix but then they'd lost Frerin in Moria and Thorin had been crowned and adopted a permanently constipated look. The number of starry eyed girls trying to sneak into his quarters had lessened dramatically and, of course, there were none trying to sneak into Frerin's at all.

This was not the case with the princes. Even some of the noble women had a penchant for trying it from time to time, hoping to land themselves even greater status and wealth than they already had.

As he passed the idiot prince, Dwalin absently pulled off the shoulder cape he'd been wearing and threw it at him. Fili caught it and looked at Dwalin questioningly.

Dwalin kept walking, "Cover up your assets, Princess. I got enough problems without you attracting more."

He heard something that sounded like a snort and looked just in time to see the girl turning away to hide what looked suspiciously like a smirk.

So the girl had a sense of humor after all. Dwalin filed it away for future reference. Nice to know she wasn't stone and liquid hatred all the way through after all.

Fili wrapped the cape over his shoulders, doing nothing at all to cover the remnants of his shirt as Dwalin had intended, and remounted Syrath. The girl mounted in front of him and the small dragon lifted off, circling lazily in the air until Xalanth took off. The girls came out of the wagon below, one or two of the braver ones waving and calling out to Fili, while the rest glared daggers at Bilba.

She didn't seem to notice though Dwalin figured it was more likely she did notice and simply didn't care.

Dwalin sent word back to Erebor via Xalanth to have a couple of drakes sent out to escort the caravan the rest of the way to Dale. He also made a note to talk to Nori. He wanted to know why there were orcs this close to the mountain and the spymaster was his best resource for finding out the answer.

The girl's humor had apparently passed and she was glaring daggers at him from her seat but he ignored her.

It was the middle of the night for Mahal's sake, far too late to have to deal with dream addled little girls, rebellious teenagers or hormonal princes.

He was going back to bed.