The blade of the axe buried itself with a satisfying clunk in the stump, the resulting jolt sending a shockwave through Fili's arms. He wrenched the blade out, grimacing as his body protested. He'd lost track of how long he'd been out there but, given how he felt, it had been quite awhile. His muscles burned like they were on fire, his shoulders and arms ached and he was drenched in sweat. Leaning the axe against the stump he grabbed his shirt where he'd thrown it to the ground and used it to mop his face.

"You know," a voice said mildly, "I'm fairly sure the elves like the Trollshaws. They might appreciate you leaving some of it standing."

Fili rolled his eyes, tossing the shirt down. "There are plenty of trees left."

Bilba moved into his line of sight, her eyes on the massive pile of split wood next to the stump. "There are plenty more that have fallen I think."

Fili snorted and moved to gather more of the wood still waiting to be split into smaller pieces. He'd cut it down earlier, trees that were already dead or dying of some disease or another, and spent hours simply dragging it to the clearing to be cut into firewood. When he turned back Bilba had sat on the stump and was giving him a challenging look.

Fili returned one of his own. "Why are you even out here?" The whole reason they had stopped for the day already had been the fact that Bilba had been lagging. Even with the extra supplies she was still caring for two infants and the journey was wearing on her.

She shrugged. "We were so close I thought I'd show Priscilla my parent's graves."

"I'm surprised Thorin let you come alone," Fili muttered. His uncle had certainly kept to his vow in the days and weeks since he'd sworn himself to Bilba, staying close by her side but not interfering. He brought extra food for her, fetched water and kept watch near her while she slept.

As odd as it seemed, in all that time neither had spoken more than a few words to one another, mostly Bilba quietly asking him to do something or Thorin announcing his presence.

It was almost as if they didn't know how to talk to one another anymore. Thorin would always look at Bilba or the twins with a deep longing while Bilba always looked back as if waiting, for what Fili wasn't even sure she knew. Thorin never asked about the twins, though it was clear he wanted to, while Bilba, Fili was convinced, was confused about whether or not she should offer to tell him about them.

It was an odd sort of relationship between them, both behaving as if they stood upon a frozen lake where the slightest movement would cause the ice to crack beneath them.

"He followed us," Bilba said, "but I asked him to escort Priscilla back to camp."

"And he agreed?" Fili asked. Anger, thick and familiar, rose up within him.

"He didn't want to," Bilba admitted, "but we could hear you attempting to chop down the forest and I said if we were close enough to hear that then you were close enough to hear me screaming in resignation if something tried to eat me."

Fili fought a smile and failed miserably. "Nothing has tried to eat you in well over a year, if not longer."

"Exactly," Bilba said, "we're overdue."

"Pessimist," Fili accused without heat.

"Realist," she corrected, her tone matter of fact.

He noticed, for the first time, Bilba was holding a water skin. He held out his hand and she obediently gave it to him, sitting quietly as he drank and splashed some over his face, arms and chest.

"I don't like being lied to."

Fili returned the skin to her, raising an eyebrow as he did. "Excuse me?"

Her eyes met his, her gaze suddenly and inexplicably unreadable. It was disconcerting. They had been in close company for so long he felt he knew almost everything there was to know about her. To now find he couldn't tell what she was thinking was…disquieting to say the least.

"You know what I'm talking about," Bilba said, looking down. Her hands, resting on her knees, tightened, gripping the fabric of her trousers.

Fili crouched down in front of her. Immediately her eyes were locked on his once more, daring him to deny her words.

She already knew he couldn't. Aragorn and Glorfindel had insisted the Nazgul were gone or, at the very least, far behind them.

It was a lie.

In truth the creatures had always been close, to close. Each day Aragorn and Glorfindel headed out and led them off, further and further away, once going so far as to reach a Ranger waystation which allowed them to bring back supplies.

But the servants of Sauron could only be fooled so long and every day they followed less and less until, of late, Aragorn and Glorfindel had barely needed to go out at all.

"You can see it in their eyes," Bilba whispered. Her eyes went to Fili's chest, tracking the brutal scar that cut a path down his ribcage and partway around his side. "It was the same look Kili had when you were hurt. Like if they just denied reality enough it would somehow change it." Her eyes took on a hollow look. "But it can't be changed," her voice dripped with despair, to a degree he hadn't heard from her before. "Nothing can stop them from coming."

Fili stilled, his body tensing. This was wrong, very wrong. Bilba didn't give up, especially not since Ash and Frerin had been born. She'd faced down a dragon for Mahal's sake. She'd insulted Azog to his face, multiple times, and squared off against Trolls, wargs and giant spiders.

Contrary to what she might claim, anyone who knew her more than a day knew one thing about her with utter certainty.

Bilba Baggins did not do defeat.

He reached his hands out and grabbed hers, flinching at how cold she felt. It was a warm day, there was no reason for her to feel like ice.

"They're just trying to protect you. You have enough stress already." He frowned, his heart lurching at the vacant look in her eyes. "Bilba? Are you alright?"

She didn't answer, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder.

"Bilba!" Fili said sharply. "Bilba!"

She flinched and shook her head. For a second an odd shadow seemed to pass over her face and then, in an instant, it cleared and she was herself once more. Life came back into her eyes and she gave him a small but genuine smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't know what came over me." She shut her eyes, squeezing the bridge of her nose with her free hand. She'd been having a lot of headaches lately. Priscilla believed it due to anxiety and the stress of the journey. Fili prayed she was right.

"You're right," Bilba said, interlacing her fingers with his. Her hand, he noted, seemed warmer, the skin more alive and less like the cold rock it had felt like a few moments earlier. "I'm sorry. Aragorn and Glorfindel are putting their lives on the line for me and here I am judging them for it." She took a deep breath. "I just wish I knew what those creatures wanted or how they found me."

"We'll find out," Fili said shortly. His legs were starting to cramp from crouching so he spun around and sat down, his back against the stump she sat on. He leaned over, resting against her leg. Bilba absently rested a hand on his head in response.

"Are you angry at me?"

The words were spoken so quietly Fili almost didn't register them and, when he did, was half convinced he'd misheard. He tilted his head back to look at her. "Excuse me?"

She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes fixed out on the clearing. "Are you angry at me? For not sending Thorin away?"

Fili sighed, turning to look off at the same nothing that Bilba was looking at.

"No."

They lapsed into silence after that. Absently Fili leaned his head against her knee and closed his eyes, fatigue dragging at him.

No, he wasn't angry at Bilba.

He was angry at his uncle.

And more than that even, he was angry at himself.

The second he'd been born, his mother's firstborn, his fate had been laid out before him. He was Erebor's exiled Prince, second in line after his uncle and the eyes of his people, and his ancestors, were upon him. He'd been groomed, trained, taught to be a leader, expected to lead.

And lead he had. He'd governed the Blue Mountains alongside his uncle, learning, and earning the trust and loyalty he would one day need to reign in Erebor. The Blue Mountains were his training grounds. Erebor was to have been his reward.

Once Kili had been born Fili's confidence had only grown. His little brother was always in his shadow, always looking to him, trusting his big brother to have the answers.

Fili had believed in himself then. He'd been confident, self-assured…reckless.

He'd been wrong.

When Thorin had announced the quest Fili had never questioned that he would be going on it, hadn't been surprised when he'd been asked. It had been Kili who'd nearly been left behind. There'd been a huge argument over it, mostly between Thorin and his mother. In the end Kili had been allowed to go, but only after Fili had sworn to watch over him.

He'd seen it all then, laid out before him in his mind. He could see himself standing beside his uncle with pride, the Arkenstone clutched in their hands as they proved those who'd doubted them wrong. He'd envisioned himself marching alongside the armies, leading from the front as they charged the mountain, bearding the dragon in his den and emerging victorious to an adoring crowd.

He'd seen himself coming into his own, the Crown Prince of Erebor, proven at last.

His gut twisted and he shifted, pulling one leg up and draping an arm over it, his fingers clenched into a fist.

Mahal but he'd been such a fool.

It'd been Kili who'd killed the dragon. Kili, his baby brother, the one almost not allowed on the quest, the one he'd sworn to protect. Kili and a tiny hobbit woman and he loved them both, he did, and every time he thought of it he felt a surge of equal parts pride and terror and, at the same time, such a strong sense of disgust it nearly choked him.

Because while his baby brother and a tiny, pregnant woman had been facing a dragon down in his den what had he, the Crown Prince, the leader, the warrior, been doing?

Sleeping.

They hadn't asked him for his help, hadn't even considered it. They'd left him behind.

Why?

He hadn't understood then.

He did now.

It was because they'd seen the truth, a truth he'd long ignored.

He wasn't Fili the Crown Prince, the leader of armies, the dragonslayer.

He was Fili, the idiot who slept through his loved ones facing down dragons. Fili the fool, who couldn't stop a monster from flicking him aside like an insect and dragging his baby brother away into darkness. Fili the useless, who couldn't manage to avoid a Mahal cursed orc blade in Mirkwood and now bore the scar as permanent testimony to his own ineptitude.

He'd understood by that time.

He hadn't before. Hadn't given much thought to his long, long list of failures.

Hadn't, until Thorin. Until his uncle, who had always claimed to believe in him, to trust him, to expect him to lead, had rejected his counsel. Rejected it so completely and so publicly that Fili wondered if the other dwarf had ever had faith in him at all or if he'd simply been tolerating him.

He'd argued, using every trick and tactic ever taught him and his uncle had rejected him at every turn.

And then he'd ordered him to throw Bilba out of the mountain and when Fili had argued that Thorin had threatened to cast him out as well.

His uncl – no, his father in all but blood, the only father he'd known outside of the shadowed memories of a dwarf long dead, had looked him in the eye and threatened him with exile. The dwarf he'd looked up to, adored, wanted to be just like more than anything in the world had rejected him so completely, so utterly that a year and a half later his heart felt as shattered as it had the moment it had happened.

About the only difference was that the pain, as time had passed, had slowly been replaced with anger. His entire life had been a lie. He'd been set up, led to believe he was one thing when he was really another.

The first seeds of rage had been planted on the journey home, watching Bilba as she suffered, knowing it was his uncle's fault, and his own inadequacy, that had put her there. The seeds had sprouted, turning into a white hot, burning hatred while sitting next to her bedside in Rivendell, when she'd been unconscious for weeks after the twins had been born. He could remember holding his breath every time her chest stilled, praying it would rise again.

It was his uncle's fault.

It was his own fault.

He hadn't been enough, not then and certainly not now. Every time Aragorn and Glorfindel left, every time the eyes of the others turned to him in simple trust he felt his heart clench and cold fear settle into his bones.

What if he got it wrong, again? What if he were caught sleeping again while danger threatened? What if his words failed him when everything hinged upon them? What if he found himself by someone's bedside once more and this time, next time, the time after, all the will in the world wouldn't make them breathe again?

His uncle – Thorin's presence made it a thousand times worse. He could almost feel his eyes, Dwalin's eyes, boring into his back, questioning his choices, judging his actions, finding him wanting.

Always, always finding him wanting.

Not fast enough.

Not smart enough.

Not strong enough.

He wasn't his ancestors.

He wasn't a Crown Prince.

He wasn't a leader.

He was simply Fili.

And he, simply, was not enough.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he drifted back into awareness to the sound of Bilba's voice speaking quietly over his head.

A familiar baritone answered and Fili opened his eyes to see Thorin standing a dozen or so feet away. He was straight backed, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

"What are you doing here?" Fili demanded, irritation at himself making his voice sharper. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He moved as he spoke, biting back a groan as sore muscles, locked up from inactivity, protested. Going by that and the length of the shadows he'd been asleep for far to long.

"You were gone long enough that it'll be dark by the time you get back," Thorin said. "The camp was concerned and sent us to ensure you were alright."

Of course the camp hadn't believed him capable of getting back safely, Fili thought bitterly. He looked past Thorin and saw Dwalin leaning against a tree. He wondered if it wasn't more likely Thorin had been asked to come and Dwalin had come along out of a lack of faith in his leader's ability to not get hopelessly lost.

At least Fili hadn't inherited that particular trait.

Fili grunted in annoyance and got to his feet. He retrieved his shirt and draped it across the back of his neck, grabbed the axe and balanced it on his shoulder and then held out a hand for Bilba. She took it and he pulled her up, sliding an arm around her waist as he did.

"Sorry about falling asleep on you. Literally."

She grinned at him. "It's alright. You clearly needed it."

Fili didn't respond.

They headed out. Bilba made no comment about the woodpile as they passed it. After all, she knew as well as he did that the camp they'd made on Weathertop would make any light visible for miles.

They had decided at the time they made camp that there would be no fires that night.

Bilba walked quietly through the night, both hands wrapped around Fili's bicep. Thorin and Dwalin strode along behind them. Bilba hadn't mentioned to Fili the fact that both had been there a long time, much longer than he probably thought. Given he'd spent the day taking out his anger on hapless wood it would probably not have been a helpful revelation. When Thorin and Dwalin had first arrived they had simply taken up positions on the other side of the clearing and had left her alone. It had only been when the sun had dipped past a certain point that Thorin had finally spoken, waking Fili up in the process as she was sure had been his intent.

Overhead a fat, full moon shone down, washing the landscape in bright, silver light. Bilba appreciated it. She'd stopped being a fan of the dark a long time ago, after facing down Trolls, goblins, spiders and other foul things within its shadows. Not that she hadn't faced things like that in the daylight as well but doing it with darkness closing in around her always made it feel worse.

The loss of the sun had lowered the temperature considerably and Fili's skin felt cold under her hands but she didn't tell him to put his shirt on. She knew she had a tendency to mother him and Kili, a fact they both allowed with no small degree of amusement. Given the closeness of their ages, however, and the fact he was currently leading them during Glorfindel and Aragorn's absences she'd been avoiding it, in public at least.

Weathertop loomed ahead of them and she sighed. "Do we really have to stay up there? You know how I feel about heights…and the lack of railings." She said the last through gritted teeth, her grudge against the other races of Middle Earth and their lack of proper safety well entrenched.

Thorin answered from behind her. "It was once a watchtower. It's positioned so we can see for miles in any direction."

"Which means it can't have railings?" Bilba muttered. At the same time she caught the undercurrent of tension in his voice. He knew the Nazgul were still after them as well then. The thought was comforting, not that she had any intention of letting him know it. It meant there was one more warrior capable of making rapid decisions if the need arose.

"It's placed so perfectly," she said instead, "and yet it still fell. Not the greatest testament."

"There goes that pessimism again," Fili said dryly.

"Realism," Bilba corrected. "I told you it was realism. I'm hoping being realistic will cut down on the things trying to eat me incidents."

"Given your luck I doubt it," Fili said, "but I suppose it's worth a shot."

"Thank you for the overwhelming vote of confidence," Bilba replied sarcastically. "Now who's being the pessimist?"

"Must be contagious," Fili answered, utterly unrepentant.

Bilba rolled her eyes and pulled herself tighter against him. Almost immediately she felt her spirits sag, as thought some unseen force were dragging them down. Unwelcome thoughts entered her mind, pushing out the happy ones she'd been trying to focus on.

She didn't want to be here. It was supposed to be over. She was supposed to be safe.

"I want to go home." The words slipped out unbidden, so low she doubted anyone had heard them until Fili pulled his arm free and slid it around her waist. She put an arm around his in turn and tried to quiet the way her stomach was churning, a heavy sense of dread settling on her as though they simply fled from the inevitable. The despair had been worse of late. She didn't know why. She was usually stronger than this. The fact it kept dragging her down made her feel weak and that made the despair stronger. There was a very real part of her that wanted nothing more than to sit down and let the Nazgul take her.

If she were alone, if she didn't have her children, Fili, Kili and the others, she very likely would have done exactly that.

She was just tired, she told herself. Just tired, scared, anxious, everything she'd believed she would never have to be again.

She wanted to go home.

She just wished she still had a home to go to.

She was dreaming.

The moon had disappeared. Everything was gone. There was only darkness. She stood up slowly, her body heavy, invisible hands dragging on her and pulling her down.

There was a light far off in the distance. It flickered, changing and shifting in a way that was almost familiar.

She moved forward, her feet dragging against stone. She should go to that light. She didn't like the darkness. The light would help her. It would show her the way she should go.

A dark shadow rose up before her, blocking out the light and she stopped. She reached out her hands and pushed at the shadow, trying to move it from her path but it held firm. She tried to go around it but it moved with her, blocking her in at every turn. Past it she caught brief glimpses of the light, beckoning, insistent; demanding. She gave a cry of frustration and swung at the shadow, desperately trying to remove it.

Something closed around her wrist, an unbreakable manacle locking her in place.

"Bilba! Snap out of it!"

The manacle shook her lightly, causing her to stumble.

"BILBA!"

Bilba jerked, the world coming into sharp focus. She was standing, how was she standing? She heard a commotion behind her and turned to see the rest of the party getting up, responding to…to…

For the first time she registered the hand holding onto her wrist. She turned back and found Thorin in front of her.

"Thorin?" she asked in confusion. "What-"

His eyes were dark, the expression on his face grave. Bilba looked at her wrist, still held in his, and shock rippled through her, so strong she actually staggered, her breath rushing out in a gasp.

She was holding a knife. Not just any knife but the one Fili had gotten her in Bree. She wore it in a sheath at the small of her back.

She looked back up at Thorin. "Thorin," she asked, horror coloring her tone. "Thorin, why am I holding a knife?"

He never got the chance to answer.

An unearthly shriek split the air and Bilba's heart stopped in her chest. Pulling away from Thorin's grasp she darted past him to the edge of the ruins.

Down below, highlighted in the silver of the moon, were dark forms rushing on the tower from all sides.

"Oh no," Bilba whispered. Fear thrummed through her veins, though very little of it was for herself. "Nonononono."

She turned to look back, her eyes catching on where her boys still lay sleeping. Glorfindel and Aragorn had not returned and the fact the Nazgul were now there and they were not left her with a horrible fear of what it could mean for her friends.

She took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to ease the shaking rattling her body.

They wanted her.

They had always wanted her.

Thorin was looking at her, the look in his eyes a response to an order she had not yet given. He was too perceptive for his own good. That or he just knew her really well and she wasn't particularly interested in dealing with that train of thought right then, or ever.

"Fine," she snapped, before he could open his mouth. There was no time for argument. She stepped around him, looking to where Fili had drawn his sword and was standing next to Kili and Dwalin who were equally armed. Priscilla and Seth were crouched behind them, each one holding one of her sons, while Adalgrim was even further back, his terror evident.

The distance between them wasn't so great but, at that moment, it felt like an ocean separated them.

"Fili!" she shouted. "Take care of them!"

She saw his eyes widen in horror. "Bilba, no!"

She ignored him. She spun and ran out to the edge. Thorin joined her and she glanced at him. "It's a watchtower. There had to have been other ways down."

He nodded. "There are. My brother and I used to explore up here before he died, when our father would travel to look for work."

Bilba nodded. "Thank Mahal for dwarven recklessness."

Thorin nodded to the left and she darted forward, her feet finding the beginnings of a path. She leaned over, no longer able to see the Nazgul but confident they were still there.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Witch Jackass! You want to throw me off another cliff? Come and get me!"

Thorin gave her an incredulous look. "Now who's the reckless one?"

"Pretty sure it's still you," Bilba muttered. "Let's go, you know the way."

He nodded and moved off down the path, as fast as he could given the terrain and lighting. Bilba followed in his wake, praying to Yavanna her plan worked and the Nazgul followed her and not her friends, not her children.

They reached a small outcropping, a shelf of rock jutting out from the side of the hill. As they crossed it Bilba leaned over to look down. She still saw no sign of the Nazgul, heightening her fear. What if they split up and some went up after her friends and some didn't? What if they ignored her altogether and attacked her friends simply out of spite?

Thorin stopped, so suddenly she walked into his back. A second later he had his sword out and she looked past him to see shadows striding toward them.

Oh, that's where they were. Apparently Thorin wasn't the only one who knew Weathertop.

Thorin roared a challenge and rushed forward. He lasted about a second, the lead creature sweeping him aside like the large dwarf was little more than an insect. Thorin impacted the wall of rock with a thud that made Bilba feel sick and then hit the ground, unmoving.

The two of them really needed to stop spending time together, Bilba thought with a near hysteria, if only because Thorin seemed to spend a lot of time unconscious in her presence, while she seemed to spend an equal amount of time facing death while he was unconscious.

The lead wraith advanced on her, the others hanging back, and she whimpered. She didn't know how she knew, they all looked the same, but she knew, she knew this was the one that had thrown her off the spires overlooking Erebor.

The Witch King of Angmar.

The one Gandalf had died to banish, albeit temporarily.

Bilba backed away, instinctively moving toward the rock face of the hill and away from the edge. She was rather tired of falling off of things.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded. "Why have you been hunting me?"

The thing that had once been human gave no answer.

Bilba risked a look at Thorin but he was clearly not getting up anytime soon and even if he did she doubted he could help.

This wasn't Azog after all. It wasn't something that could be fought by normal means.

Azog…

Memory surfaced, facing down Azog while standing over Thorin who'd been knocked out after idiotically throwing himself at the orc.

Bilba reached a hand up, closing it around the ring under her shirt.

Then the ring had given her an advantage, saving her life in fact when she otherwise would have lost it.

Could it do so again?

The Witch King was almost on top of her. There was no time to think.

Bilba wrenched on the chain, snapping it. She jerked it out of her shirt, grabbed the ring off it and slid it on her finger in one quick motion.

It was the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

The world grayed out around her but the Nazgul did not. Instead they were white, blindingly so, and instead of creatures under robes she now saw Men, old and gaunt, their eyes hollow and unseeing, skin stretched tight over their faces.

And now she also saw the knife the Witch King had been holding under the sleeve of his robe.

She stumbled backward but he was already moving forward, the blade a mere flicker in his hand.

Pain erupted through her shoulder, white hot and piercing. She screamed, high and shrill, even as the force of the blow drove her back. Her foot hit a rock and she fell, landing hard on her back.

Heat radiated along her nerves, sweat prickling on her skin. She felt something tugging at her finger and realized dully the creature was trying to take her ring off.

The ring. The ring she had given to Tilda in Mirkwood, meaning she hadn't had it on her when she'd been dragged before the Witch King.

The ring, that seemed to get hot and cold on its own yet somehow she never found it odd or thought to bring it up, that invoked in her a bizarre possessiveness.

It had been the ring.

The ring came off her finger but, without thinking, Bilba called upon everything she had and lunged for it. She felt it in her hand and then she was flying…and then falling, right over the edge of the small outcropping.

Given the number of times she'd fallen, or been thrown, off things, in the goblin tunnels, off a cliff and down a hill outside Bree, one might think she'd be as used to it as Thorin no doubt was to being unconscious.

One would be wrong.

The hill was sloped and she hit it with a thud, then she was rolling, end over end all the way down. Rocks and dirt tore at her clothes, sliced her skin, lit the wound in her shoulder with a new fire that had her shrieking in pain.

Through it all she kept the ring. It was hers, yes, but there was more to it than that. If the enemy wanted it then it was the very last thing she could allow them to have. Not when her children were in the world, not when it was their future at stake.

She hit one final time and then slid, coming to a stop crumpled on her side like a carelessly discarded doll.

Foolish, foolish, a voice she finally recognized as not being her own, taunted.

Shut up, Bilba managed to think back, before allowing herself to slip into unconsciousness.

It was about time it was her turn. Let Thorin be the one to fall off things. Maybe if he did he'd join her quest to bring railings to Middle Earth.

When she woke up she was on fire.

It burned through her, igniting her nerves, flicking along her skin, bubbling merrily in a pit of pure agony on her shoulder.

She screamed, fighting to get away from it, but hands held her and stopped her from moving.

She couldn't focus, couldn't think. There had been something hadn't there? Something important. What was it? What had it been?

She was only dimly aware of someone being there and she tried, tried so hard to tell them.

Light washed over her, not harsh and biting like the light that surrounded the Nazgul but soft and comforting. The pain receded, just a bit, and her mind cleared.

She was lying on her back in thick grass. Around her were trees, not Weathertop then but the Trollshaws.

Glorfindel was leaning over her, his skin gray. The light shining from him was dim, almost out entirely in fact.

He was speaking but his words sounded distorted, her mind already starting to fracture again or perhaps whatever power he was using to hold her together was waning.

"Ring," she managed to get out, or thought she did, it as hard to tell. "Ring."

He frowned and asked her a question but it was too late, far, far too late. The wave washed over her again and carried her away and all the world cracked and splintered around her.

And then the ring was someone else's worry, for a time at least.

But only a short time.