So, uhm, Morgana knows she had written in her profile that she is going to finish one story before starting a new one, but...

But I have seen the Hobbit recently, and I have decided that we need a different ending. Yup.

Welcome to and alternate version of the Hobbit, my dear readers! Morgana hopes you'll enjoy!

Near Mirkwood, year 2800, Third Era. Prologue to the events that will unfold in this story.

Gandalf the Grey had been wandering around the borders of Mirkwood for a year, and he had finally decided to enter the wood a few weeks ago.

He couldn't tell why Mirkwood, of all places, was drawing his attention. 'Not yet, at least', thought Mithrandir, slowly advancing among the whispers of the trees.

It's a peculiarity of Wizards to know exactly the where and the when, but much less often the who, what or how.

He believed he was going to be drawn close to the Lonely Mountain, but soon he felt that his destination was a different one, for the moment.

Wizards' instinct works strangely most of the times, so Gandalf was not particularly worried about finding what he seeking. He was going to stumble on it, sooner or later.

'If I only had a clue of what I am looking for.' he pondered, passing next to a huge tree with reddish trunk and leaves, that slightly moved its roots to make the Wizard trip. Gandalf huffed, glared at the disturbing tree, and went on.

It had been ten years that the dragon, Smaug, had claimed the Lonely Mountain for himself. Ten years since when the Dwarves of Erebor had been scattered around Middle Earth, with nothing but the clothes they were wearing when they fled the dragon. Many of then were alone. Many of them were not alone, but had lost so much they felt alone anyway.

'So many lives, lost. A whole city burned down in a few minutes, by the greed of a single beast...'

The territory around the Lonely Mountain, once florid and full of life, was now a desert land, where Orcs were roaming freely. Dale was uninhabited. Esgaroth had quickly fallen into misery.

And Erebor, the city of the Dwarves, rich of gold and gems, mines and the best ale in miles, was occupied by one of the wickedest creature Middle Earth had ever seen.

Gandalf knew that, sooner or later, Smaug had to be slayed. He felt it deep in his veins. 'It has to happen! A dragon roaming in Middle Earth can't possible lead to anything good!'

A dragon was a terrible and powerful enemy, or a terrible and powerful weapon, used by an much more terrible and more powerful enemy.

Gandalf shook his head, hoping to send those thoughts away, but they settled somewhere back in his mind, and didn't allow him forget them.

"Smaug will have to wait." mumbled Gandalf to liane that was obstinately clogging up the small passage between two trunks. "I am here for another reason, I feel... A yet-unclear one, to be precise!"

The Wizard chop off the liana, and went on.

His instinct was telling him he had to be there, in Mirkwood, at this precise time. Several other events were being prepared, and his presence was required in a specific point of the wood, to allow such events to happen in the future.

He kept wandering and wandering among the trees and the bushes, careful not to be seen by the Elves, or by whatever might have interest in spying a Wizard (the latter being a long list, as Gandalf knew fairly well).

But luckily no one was following him, or knew that he was there, and Gandalf kept roaming for many days and many night, undisturbed.

Finally, Gandalf resolved into sitting next to a brook, and wait.

He waited for some hours, smoking his pipe, and watching the smoke raise and twist and twirl in the air, until it disappeared in the crown of the trees.

Gandalf waited more, listening to the brook. And he listened and listened, until something in the way the water bubbled and rolled caught his attention.

Gandalf frowned, and went closer to the river, carefully tending his ears, discerning in between the other sounds around him and a voice that he was hearing speaking to him through the ripples of the small river.

He suddenly knew who was talking to him. And it was someone - if the word 'someone' is correct - to whom the Wizard quickly bowed respectfully, murmuring a few words of greetings in a language that not even the Elves could remember.

The brook seemed to accept his greetings, and whispered to the Wizard a few instructions.

Gandalf nodded, although those instructions seemed strange to him, but he was no one to question the one that was talking to him through the pouring water. So, Gandalf nodded and bowed again.

When the brook went back to its usual bubbling noise, and Gandalf knew he had been told all that was needed, he stood up and walked hastily, following the course of the brook in the wood.

Gandalf advanced quickly, taking turns and secrets paths to avoid the eyes of the Elves. These were the indications he got.

Gandalf almost got out of the forest to be completely sure to pass unseen. However, since it is really hard even for an Elf to catch glimpse of a Wizard when such Wizard wishes to pass unnoticed, Gandalf was back to the shores of the same brook, that had now turned into a river, without the Elves knowing of his presence.

They were currently in their halls, busy with some other business the Wizard had been told by the brook to investigate upon. 'But that is for later', thought Gandalf. There was something he needed to do before.

He followed the river core closely, searching its shores with his eyes, investigating the bushes that rose from the water, checking under the roots of the trees and among the rushes.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. Or well, he heard it.

The cry of a baby broke the silence of the forest, and Gandalf walked quickly in its direction, and he finally found what the river had told him he was supposed to find.

A newborn baby girl, that the waves had gently placed on the shore among grass and mud, just born, judging from the way her eyes where staring at nothing, and by the reddish spots on her skin.

Gandalf walked to her, lifted the baby from the ground draping her with part of his cloak. "Hush, hush! Be quiet now." he murmured gently, and as if the baby girl could hear him and understand, her cries quieted.

Her eyes couldn't see the Wizard, but she seemed to like him well enough, for she giggled - as far as a newborn can giggle - and wiggled her small hands in the air towards him.

Gandalf smiled back at the baby, although he couldn't help shoting a questioning glare at he river. But the river didn't answer him this time, and so Gandalf was left with the small baby in his arms.

The Wizard sighed, considered for a moment how much difficult was to be a Wizard, and then, rocking gently the baby and murmuring some sweet words to keep her quiet, Gandalf entered again the forest, and disappeared from sight.

Behind him, unheard by anyone but the trees and the bushes, the river murmured its approval.

And then, everything was quiet again in Mirkwood.

City of Erebor, autumn of the year 2941, end of October.

Thorin Oakenshield was pacing back and forth in front of his throne, with a scroll of paper in his hand. He mumbled a few funds to himself, pondered several things in the span of a few seconds, and finally huffed annoyed at the paper.

"Bard is the most hateful Man I have ever met, and his worst fault is to be able to make a request in a way so that it can't be refused." stated the King under the Mountain, lifting his gaze over the three Dwarves in front of him. "You must go. There is no other way."

"Well Thorin, we'll go, if we must. But where do we have to go?" The Dwarf who just spoke was actually incredibly tall for a Dwarf. He could be easily mistaken for a short man, and in fact, Dwalin had been mistaken for a short man by several people in the course of his life, only to headkbutt them in a very Dwarnish-line manner right afterwards, making them change their opinion on the subject.

"It says" grumbled Thorin Oakenshield, "that a large pack of Orcs has been seen moving close to the Eastern border of Mirkwood, heading north. Bard says some men have seen them following the River Running, towards Erebor."

Dwalin spat on the floor. "Orcs! Close to Erebor!" He was about to voice his surprise - and his enthusiasm, for very few Dwarves were as happy as Dwalin when there were Orcs to slain - when a second Dwarf spoke: "After we have destroyed their army to the last Orc! Uncle, how do they dare to venture in our territory!"

The Dwarf who spoke had long, braided blonde hair, and braids were on his moustaches as well. He too was tall, not as tall as Dwalin of course, but the handles of the two swords, he had on his back were making him an inch taller. "Hasn't the Battle of Five Armies been enough for them?"

Next to him, the third Dwarf, the youngest of the three, with a little black beard and a large how he was playing with in his hands, grinned. "Seems like the want a little more, brother!"

Thorin had to hide his smile from his nephews. They made him so proud.

After the Battle of Five Armies, Fìli and Kìli had almost never left his side, helping him as no other in the reconstruction of Erebor. Thorin remembered when he had shown them the City under the Mountain, that Fìli and Kìli were seeing for the first time.

Thorin had pointed to them all the things he remembered from his youth, and they had listened to him and admired with wonder the marvellous city of Durin's people.

Thorin had seen great pride and humbleness, as they crossed the silent corridors, with golden ceilings, and silver floors, and runes telling the deeds of Durin's folk decorating the doors.

They had opened every door, walked in every room, the two younger ones dreaming about the things that will be, and the elder one remembering the things that had already been.

With the City under the Mountain slowly being repopulated, the city of Dale being rebuilt with the help of both Men and Dwarves, and the trades with Esgaroth starting again, Thorin was keeping Fìli, and Kìli at his side as much as he could.

Right after the Battle of the Five Armies in June, the news of the slyer of Smaug had travelled fast in Middle Earth, and Dwarves had started coming back to the Lonely Mountain.

Many warriors that had followed Dain Ironfoot, and that had lived in Erebor before Smaug, had stayed in the mountain after the Battle. Others had gone back home, to retrieve their family and belongings, and were expected to come back to the Lonely Mountain in the next months.

And everyone was working to make Erebor not only the city it once was, but the home, it once was.

'One day, Fìli is going to be King.' was often thinking Thorin. There was so much Fìli had to learn.

Thorin wished to prepare him as best as he could. He also wished that Fìli might choose a wife among the Dwarrowdams that were flooding in Erebor, but he hadn't touched that subject with his nephew yet. Several nice dames were now walking in Erebor, and all of them, with no exception, were glancing coquettishly at him and Kìli.

Besides, Thorin liked to have his nephews around. They were making all the responsibilities he felt grieving on his shoulders less heavy.

Moreover, Fìli and Kìli were leading the parties that worded off the bands of Orcs that were still roaming around the Lonely Mountain. It was like Thorin was in two places at the same time, both inside Erebor, and outside on the battlefield.

"I agree with Fìli. It's strange that we see them so close to us!" Dwalin caressed the handle of his axe longingly. It had been a few weeks since it was washed with Orcs' blood, and it was thirsty. "How many of them?"

"Sixty. Maybe more." Thorin shook his head. "The estimated number is not clear."

The expression of the King under the mountain darkened. "Bard says that this band is behaving strangely. They are not sacking, nor depredating, as Orcs usually do. They shy away from men, and try to hide in the woods."

Fìli laughed under his breath. "Tsk. Cowards. Maybe the Battle has been enough, after all."

"It's not all." Thorin reread the scroll of paper once more. "They are moving fast, running most of the time. It's like they are heading somewhere, and don't mean to stop here."

"Then why should we bother to go after them?" asked his nephew. "Can't we just keep an eye on them?"

"That would be a good idea, Fìli." mumbled Thorin. "But from the dispatches Bard got, it seems these Orcs are transporting something. Or someone."

The three Dwarfs glanced at each other.

"Transporting? Bard's men have really bad eyes," muttered Dwalin. "Orcs do not transport things, only if it's a prisoner or..." Dwalin's eyes opened in sudden realisation, and words died in his throat.

"Or they are preparing for war!" completed Fìli.

"War!" Kìli breathed with horror.

It was true: Orcs didn't transport anything usually, living out of what they found on their way. The only thing that they moved with them in their errandings were machines for war, like towers to climb defence walls, rams, catapults...

The missive Bard had sent Thorin suddenly took a whole different meaning.

"Uncle!" hastened Fìli. "We must go after them, if that is the case!"

"Calm, Fìli. "Thorin handed the scroll to him. "They are not armed for war, as far the the Men could tell. But these Orcs are up to something. And if war is the case, then it will be good for us to find out as quickly as possible."

Dwalin glanced over the words Bard had written with his elegant handwriting, and grunted. He didn't know how to read.

But sure he knew how Orcs behaved. "Orcs do not transport things." he repeated. "And certainly they don't hide from men! They must have a very good reason to behave this way!"

"If they are hiding in Mirkwood, can't the Elves take care of them?"

Kìli looked at his uncle. "It's closer to their borders, right?"

Thorin stiffed a bitter laugh. "Do you want to go and treat with Thrauduil?"

Kìli grimaced in disgust. "No."

After the Battle, the Elven King had retreated into the woods, and no one in Erebor had heard from him ever since. And there wasn't a Dwarf who thought it was actually a bad thing - well, there was an Elf Kìli was thinking of from time to time, but this is another story.

"Then it's decided." Fìli grinned, elbowing his brother. "Aren't you happy? We got some Orcs to slain!"

They had left Erebor with forty Dwarfs, the strongest they could find. More they couldn't find. In Erebor mines were being open again, and some Dwarves were busy helping the Men rebuilding Dale. And Thorin couldn't allow Erebor to stay without defence.

Fìli was leading the party. With him, there were Kìli, Dwalin, and among the others, Oin, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur had come.

Oin was there since he was the only healer in Erebor. Others were supposed to come in the next months, but Oin was the most expert so far. And yes, the most pugnacious, piercing his spear into Orcs like it was no one else business.

Bofur, who was a toy-maker in life, was planning to wait a few more years before going back to his usual business, since there were very few kids in Erebor and Dale and Lake-Town. He was going to stay without work, he used to say. In the meantime, he was helping with the reconstruction of Dale, and of course, he was on the first line when there were Orcs to slain.

His brother, Bomber, was accompanying the party as a chef. And for the Orcs, as well.

Bifur, who struggled to make anyone else understand him with his gestures and old dialect, had been practically adopted by Bofur and Bombur since the Battle of Five Armies a few months ago. Since then, he had been helping Bofur in Dale, and as the other Dwarves he took great pleasure into cutting One's heads from time to time.

And those sixty Orcs shying away from Men and Dwarves made no exception.

The Dwarves had travelled for two days south, and finally, on the third day of march, the explorers had come back signalling the pack of Orcs was a half of day ahead of them.

"They are travelling fast." had said Kìli, who had been among the explorers. "They are armed, thought I don't see them too well organised. They do not expect any attack."

"It's a miracle they haven't killed each other yet." muttered Dwalin.

"Are they really transporting something?" asked Fìli.

Kìli nodded. !It's a wagon. They are dragging it themselves. But I can't tell what's inside" Kìli shrugged. "It's not very big. It can't be a war machine or something."

"So, the best thing to do, would be to take down the Orcs and retrieve the wagon!" stated Fìli. "There might be something interesting for us inside!"

"Fìli! Behind you!"

But Kìli scream reached his brother when it was already too late.

The company of Dwarves had ambushed the Orcs that very morning, to avoid them destroy the wagon and its content, what it was. It has proved to be the right choice. The Orcs had disposed around the wagon, to prevent the Dwarves reaching it.

However, their defence was poor and disorganised, uneffective against the compact front of Dwarves. They were even less equipped than it seemed, and the band was tired by the past days spent running and carrying the wagon.

It had been easy for the Dwarves to cut into their defence, slaying them with little effort.

Well, mostly with no effort.

Fìli had pushed himself forward, and he was a few step from the wagon, when two Orcs had stepped from behind it, attacking Fìli with a ferocity the young Dwarf was not expecting.

He managed to kill them, but his arm was bleeding badly, and his vision started to get blurred.

He saw the third Orc emerging from the bushes when the hideous beast was already on him.

Taken by surprise, it was only with immense pain that Fìli managed to lift his shield to protect himself from the huge club the Orc lowered over him.

Fìli cried in pain, as the club broke the shield and, Fìli believed, his arm. He heard Kìli cry in anguish, but more Orcs were emerging from the shadows of the woods.

The Dwarves went in formation again, facing their enemies, Dwalin shouting orders, Kìli not sparing his arrows. Somewhere in the brawl Bofur was heard cursing, trying to reach Fìli. "Fìli!"

Fìli stumbled on his feet. He lifted his gaze up at the huge orc, and growled angrily. But the Orc, roaring victoriously, left his club once more, ready to give the Dwarf the final strike.

"Fìli! No!"

Fìli saw the club nearing his head. His shield lay broken at his feet. He could barely make out the shape of the club in the shadows crowding his eyes. He saw it closer and closer, and in a terrible instant, he felt sure he was going to die.

'This is it.' He though. 'This is the end of you, Fìli.'

But Fate had different plans for him that day. Although the path that lay ahead the Dwarf was harsh and narrow, and maybe Fìli, one day would have pondered if it would have not been better to have died that day on the battlefield. However, Fate doesn't care much of mortals opinion, and Fìli considerations are of little importance to Fate.

Miracoulously, Fìli saw the club deviating from its initial trajectory, missing his head of various inches. He didn't waste time, and with the little force he had left, he teared the Orc's stomach apart with his sword.

The Orc looked down, somehow surprised to see his guts peaking out from the torn skin. Then the beast touched his chest, and Fìli noticed a huge needle sticking out.

In the moment Fìli asked himself in the anatomy of Orcs was involving a large needle implanted in their chest - but it was not, Fìli was quite sure of that - the Orc collapsed on the ground, and in the fall, his intestines sprawled n the ground.

Fìli put a hand on his mouth. If his vision was a little blurred, his nose was, unfortunately, working just fine.

'Must have come from somewhere behind him' he thought, fixing his attention on the Orc's chest instead of his half-emptied belly.

"Fìli!"

Fìli turned, and saw his brother running towards him. Now that he hadn't an Orc towering over him, and he could breath again, Fìli looked around.

The final defences of the Orcs had been vanquished in those last minutes by the Dwarves. There seemed to be no dead among them, only a few wounded. Fìli's arm protested loudly, remembering him he was part of the wounded as well.

Kìli and Dwalin were at his side in the blink of an eye.

"Are you ok, brother?" cried Kìli, looking at his as if it was Fìli the one with his intestines out.

"Ha!" Dwalin kicked the Orc. "Some of these bastards were hiding, but it was of little use to them!"

But Fìli was not ready to call it a victory. "His chest." Muttered, holding his arm and trying not to think about the pain. "Look at his chest. Something's sticking out of it."

Dwalin kneeled, stomping on Orc's guts and blood. "What's that? Is it yours?"

Fìli shook his head. "No. I don't bring knitting needles with me, usually."

Kìli snorted, and knelt next to the dead Orc. "Seems more like the one you use to roast meat... How do you call it?"

"Skewer." groaned Fìli. His arm was pulsing and aching. "It came from behind it."

"Behind?" Dwalin lifted his gaze. His mouth opened, and he looked ready to say something, but no sound exited his mouth.

"Behind? Are you sure?" Kìli was looking thoughtfully at the dead Orc, but when he lifted his eyes, following Dwalin's gaze, he also fell with his mouth open.

From behind half lidded eyes, Fìli looked as well. And him too froze.

The wagon was just a few feet away, and its door was swung open, and in front of it a figure, small, dirty, covered with a ragged cloth.

Nothing could be made out but his profile in darkness. Actually, it couldn't be told if it was a 'he' or 'she'.

"What the-" but before Dwalin could utter any profanity, the figure collapsed on his (or her?) feet without a sound.

It was definitively a 'her'.

When they all saw the human falling on the ground, they had slowly approached, Dwalin with his axe ready to strike. But the human - a woman - was as good as dead.

Even when Kìli prodded her with the point of his sword, she didn't flinch.

"Is she dead?" asked Dwalin.

"No, but looks like she will be soon." Convinced they had little to fear, Kìli had knelt down next to the girl.

"How did she get out?" Dwalin frowned, not fully convinced they were safe. "She had just killed an Orc with a skewer!"

"Hey, I killed the Orc!" yelled Fìli from behind them, but his arm made him yelp, and reminded him once more that it was not exactly the truth. The Orc had not killed him because it had been pierced with a skewer. He had merely finished the job by tearing apart its stomach.

"No clue." Kìli was examining the woman more closely. She was thin, thinner than she should have probably been, and covered in dirt. Her long hair were of an indistinguishable graysh colour, and Kìli could see some light bruises here and there.

"I thought there was something precious in the wagon!" yelled Dwalin. "Not some sort of woman! Why would Orcs keep a woman alive in a wagon?"

"Hush, maybe she is important." Kìli had quite unceremoniously turned her head, and lifted her hair and was now looking at her ears. "She is no Elf."

Fìli had stumbled towards the three. "Then? Who's him?"

"It's a she." Spat Dwalin, crossing his arms on his chest. "Not of the Elven-kind. Seemed famished and beaten up, but I guess if she managed to throw a spit at that Orc, she must not be that bad."

"Yeah?" Fìli head felt heavy, and his arm was pulsing more and more. He hoped it was not seriously broken. "Brother, I might go to Oin. I don't want to lose my arm."

"Yes, let's go." Without effort, Kìli took the woman in his arms.

"She's coming for now."

Fìli nodded. "Dwalin, pick some Dwarf and examine that wagon." he said "Destroy and burn it if necessary."

Dwalin chuckled. "My pleasure."

"So, we have defeat the Orcs and seemed like we retrieved what the Orcs were hiding!" grinned Kìli, looking at the woman his brother was carrying. "That was a success!"

"You know we have only one cot?" grunted Fìli holding his arms, without stopping looking at the woman.

Kìli laughed, and winked at his brother. "Seems like you'll share."

They didn't have to share in the end. Fìli's arm was badly broken, but Oin was quick to patch it up, and the Dwarf could perfectly stand on his feet.

'A pity. I'd like to have shared.'

When Kìli was carrying her, Fìli had time to give a look at her, and he had decided she looked pretty. Her face was covered with dust and dirt, but the line of her chin and neck was elegant and delicate, and she had thin pretty ankles and feet.

The brothers brought her to where Oin was healing the other Dwarves, next to small fire he had lit and where he had placed all his bottles and gauzes.

"I am used to this kind of injuries." Oin had chuckled, tightening a bandage around Fìli's arm. "Just stay here and rest yourself for a couple of hours."

Fìli huffed. "Can't I go? I promise I will not-" "Whatever you say, we know it's not going to happen." Oin pointed a rug. "Sit there." He commanded. "I need to take care of

our young friend. He - oh, pardon, she - needs a good rub first."

Fìli didn't dare to contradict the Dwarf, he just did as he was told, pouting a little, looking as Oin armed himself with a cloth and a pot of water, and started to clean the woman of all the dirt.

Fìli followed his careful movements, his hands checking now an then for broken bones or any sign of serious damage.

"There is a lot to clean here." murmured Oin after a while. "See here, lad."

Fìli leaned forward, and saw the healer rub the cloth hard against the woman shoulder. Her skin, grey at first, slowly lightened, until it was as fair as the moon.

"And look here." Oin pointed to a strand of hair he was holding in his fingers, and Fìli saw golden shades glinting below the mud.

The prince shrugged - as much as his arm allowed him. "She is fair of hair and skin. So what?"

"She is not of here, lad! Have you seen a blonde woman in Esgaroth?" Oin pointed to her body. "Famished, but not tortured. Not too badly beaten. Her body is strong and young. I wonder where does she come from, and how long have she been held captive."

"And above all, why the Orcs were keeping her." mumbled Fìli. "To eat?"

Oin bursted laughing. "A girl like that for sixty Orcs!? Ha! she wouldn't even make a starter, lad!"

Fìli rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We'll find out when she wakes up." Bacause she was going to wake up, right? "A woman with such a pretty face must wake up!"

"It comes to me that she had saved your life." stated Oin very severely. "You should not be so disrespectful towards her."

Oin words hit a string. Fìli eyes wandered on the woman. The point was that Dwarves were proud, very proud, in fact. So, being saved by an almost-dead human-woman was not ideal. Especially for a Dwarf prince.

"Considering the state your arm was in, I doubt you could have taken another blow! Ha, don't look me like that now! I perfectly know when I am right, thank you very much! Now, give me that salve over there, and do not be a nuisance to an old healer!"

Fìli had little chance but roll his eyes once more - careful that Oin didn't caught him, and sit on the rug, keeping his mouth shut.

While Fìli was treated by Oin, the Dwarves had piled the dead Orcs and were starting a fire around them to burn the bodies. With the Orcs lay the the rests of the wagon - Dwalin had taken literally Kìli's suggestion to destroy it, and having found nothing, he had decided it was better to burn it as well.

"Is your brother ok?" asked Dwalin, directing the Dwarves with torches and fire. "I would be better if we leave this place before the sun sets. It's too close to Mirkwood."

"I agree." observed Kìli, letting a group of Dwarves transport one of the last dead Orcs to the pyre. "I think Fìli would like to pass to Esgaroth first, and the go back to Erebor as soon as possible. This is not the first pack of Orcs we see in the last year crossing our borders, but we ought to tell Bard, since it was him who reported it."

"We could send a dispatch." Dwalin spat on the ground. "I don't like these Orcs roaming in our territory, carrying strange women in wagons!"

"That's why it would be better to speak to Bard in person." chuckled Kìli. "Maybe he knows her."

They both stood silent for a while, as the fire lit the pyre, and the bad smell of burnt Orcs invaded the plane.

"Blah! Mahal help us! I always forget how much they stink!"

Kìli turned and smiled. "Glad you are good brother."

"I got my arm slightly broken, but it should heal in a few days." Fìli shrugged - again, as much as his arm allowed him. "Are we ready to leave after this happy convivial fire?"

"Yes lad." Dwalin barked a few orders to a group of Dwarves passing by. "Travelling to Esgaroth, Kìli was telling me."

Fìli nodded. "Yes. We don't have much to eat left, enough to reach Esgaroth. We might rest there, and then go back to Erebor by boat."

"Sounds like a nice plan!" Kìli punched his brother arm - the broken one, of course, and dodged his brother's kick just in time.

"I wanted to tell Bard about this business of the Orcs, too." added Fìli, kicking his brother a second time, and not missing the target.

"What about the kid we found in the wagon?" asked Dwalin.

Fìli shrugged. "She's a grown up woman, not a kid. Famished, but not sick or wounded. Oin is fighting to clean her up at least, and says she must come from a far land because she is blonde. She is still unconscious, we have no clue who she is or why the Orcs were keeping her."

"To eat?" asked Kìli with a horrified look. Orcs could eat anything. They were even cannibals. It didn't made much difference for them.

Kìli snorted. "To quote Oin, 'she wouldn't even make a starter'!"

"Well, we'll see that to do once in Esgaroth then." Dwalin sneezed, and glared at the burning pyre. "Mahal! Burn Orcs do really stink!"

The day after, the Dwarves came in sight of Esgaroth. And behind it, Erebor, the tall mountain that was their home, was standing right in front of them, dominating the plane with its grandness.

They had stopped for lunch, and exptected to arrive in town by latr afternoon.

"Ah, here!" Dwalin took a huge, huge even for a Dwarf, gulp of liquor from his canteen. "Finally we are not eating while walking, like animals."

"Always like we had a dragon breathing on his neck!" Kìli laughed soundly.

"Hush lad! Don't joke about that!" grunted Dwalin. "You were not there. You don't know how it was."

Kìli rolled his eyes. "When you will be King under the mountain, will you rehabilitate dragon's jokes, right?" he whispered to Fìli.

"When I will be King under the mountain, no joke will be banned, but yours"!" snorted Fìli, throwing a piece of bread to his brother.

"Good! I support the future King!" Dwalin bursted into laughing and headbutted Fìli with such enthusiasm that the young Dwarf fell backwards, among the laughs of the other Dwarves.

"If you want to be King, you have to have a strong skull!" from the other side of the circle of Dwarves, Bofur threw some meat at Fìli.

"The lad has the strongest skull I know!" declared Dwalin, picking up Fìli with a hand. "I guarantee for him!"

The Dwarves around them cheered. They were close to home, the Orcs had been defeated, with very little cost for them. Fìli with his broken arm was one of the worst wounded, and thanks to Oin he was already healing.

Speaking of which, thought Fìli, he had not spoken to the healer for since the day before. Oin had merely come to him a couple of times, adjusting the sticks on his arm, and muttering complaints about the stubbornness of young Dwarves, who could not just simply sit and rest.

Speaking of the devil...

"Fìli! Kìli! Dwalin!"

As Fìli's thought had called him, Oin came running, waving his horn in the air. "Come! Move!" he ordered, grabbing Fìli's arm - the broken one - and yanking him up on his feet.

"Whoah, calm down Oin!" shouted the others. "What's the matter?"

"She's up!" cried the old Dwarf, shouting in Fìli's ear as if the lad was as deaf as him. "She's up! Not talking, but she's up!"

"Hu-ish-hup?" Kìli spat some food around, before remembering to swallow his food if he wanted to talk properly. "Who's up, Oin?"

"The girl! Or well, woman, lass, nevermind, she is!"

Dwalin burped and closed his canteen. "The girl we got from the Orcs! She's back to Middle Earth finally!"

"About time!" laughed Fìli. "Let's go and see her then!"

In a jump, the Fìli, Kìli and Dwalin were on their feet, following Oin slumbering towards a corner of their small camp.

"It's behind these bushes - do not scare her! It took a me a good deal just to - Kìli!"

Too late. The young Dwarf had run a few feet ahead, and was already behind the bush, when they all heard a high pitched woman-cry, immediately followed by an equally high pitched Kìli-cry.

"Kìli!" Fìli next to his brother, Dwalin run after him.

"Wait!" Oin panted. "One at a time!"

"Kìli! What's the matter?" cried Fìli, taking his dagger out, ready to strike. But soon Fìli realised there was no need for it.

Crouched on the ground there was the woman they had saved - surely it was her, and yet the attempts of Oin to make her look presentable were making her look quite different.

Now her fair skin was clearly visible, and her hair, an untamed mass of curls reaching the middle of her back, were glinting like gold in the sun.

She was awkwardly covered with some sort of dress Oin had made using a blanket, and her small, bare feet seemed almost white against the ground.

She looked all but scary. In fact, it was the opposite. Her lips were trembling, and she was eyeing the dagger in Fìli's hand with teary eyes.

"Fìli, put that away." Kìli elbowed his brother - on the wounded arm, of course. "You are scaring her."

"Me?" Fìli hissed, putting the dagger away and glaring at his brother. "Why did you screamed?"

"I don't know! She screamed first!"

"That's because you jumped here all of a sudden!" grunted Dwalin, seeing the poor thing retreating on the ground, doing her bets to cover herself with the blanket she was enveloped in. "She looks scared to death now!"

"If you just had waited... pant... making an old Dwarf run this way!" Oin appeared next to Dwalin, huffing and panting. "I told you... huff... She woke up a while ago! She has yet to speak a word, don't scare her!"

"What do you mean she is not talking?" Fìli frowned. The hair of the young woman were capturing the sun in warm golden shades, and their glowing and twinkling was casting some sort of magic upon the Dwarf.

Oin, not touched by feminine beauty of spell, shrugged. "So far, she has not spoken a word. Tthe Orcs - or someone before them - have drugged her, and now she is still very confused. She might need a few days before recovering. She seems to understand what we say, so don't say or do anything silly, and - Kìli!"

Once again, Oin rebuke went unheard - like if really the young were as deaf as the old!

Kìli had crouched on the ground, at the same eye level of the girl. "Hey! Hello!" he murmured, waving a hand to her. "Sorry for scaring you!"

"Kìli, I don't think - Fìli!"

Dwalin chuckled to himself, seeing Oin getting all red and angry.

Fìli had imitated his brother, and was waving at the girl. "Hello!" he said quietly, partly feeling like an idiot, partly internally exulting because the woman now seemed less scared than before.

Kìli elbowed him - again, the wounded arm. "She saved your life, thank her!" she whispered.

"Why do you always... Nevermind!" yelped Fìli. "Ehm thank you, young woman, for killing the Orc that was about to kill me!"

He smiled. A warm, kind, bright smile, that made the woman stop clutching to the blanket as if it was the only solid thing in the whole world - even if she was still glancing at Dwalin with a slightly worried look.

She tilted her head to the side, studying the two strange creatures waving at her, and glanced at Oin with a small frown, as if asking 'is this normal?'

"My dear, I wished I could tell you this is not their usual behaviour, but the truth is we have the most idiotic princes of all Middle Earth!" Oin groaned and shook his head.

But that seemed to work in favour of the two strange small Men crouched on their knees and waving at her. Her lips quivered, and they draw a small, timid smile. She lifted a hand and waved it with great caution, as if she was the one afraid of scaring them.

The blonde one, the one with braids in his moustaches, asked her "What's your name?"

She made then a face, as if she was confused - she looked like a lost puppy on that moment - and her eyes searched Oin, who smiled reassuringly at her. "Your name, dear. You have a name?"

But the woman was silent again, and the faint smile was gone.

"Oh well, you will tell us eventually!" Fìli was on his feet again, and smiled. "You must have one!"

"Or maybe we can give you a name until you don't tell us yours? How do you like it?" Kìli was still crouched, looking at her like she really was a puppy they were going to keep.

"'Mim-mazandrukul'!" laughed Dwalin, measuring her with his eyes. "'small person'."

"'Mamal', I like it better."

"How about 'manassuna', 'the one who is saved'?"

"'Innêg'!" cried Fìli. "'blossoming'! It's for good luck, and I like it!" And by saying so, the Dwarf led out a hand to the woman - who we will call 'Innêg' for now, since she hasn't told us her name yet - and helped her standing on her feet.

"And I wanted to call her 'small person'! Ha!" Dwalin bursted into laughing, seeing that Innêg was at the same eye-level of Fìli. Maybe even one or two inches taller.

Oin, shorted than her for a good hand-width, eyed her carefully from head to toe. "Well, she is short for a human woman."

"And her hands are small!" Fìli probed the thin fingers of Innêg between his. Her nails had still some dirt underneath, but her hand was graceful and delicate, despite the small calluses he could feel on her palm.

In fact, all her person was graceful, as Fìli noticed as she stood, and moved a few steps in between them, like a child who is testing his ability to stand on her own legs. The elegance of her movements clashed with the awkward way the cover was wrapped around her.

Innêg moved a few more steps, led by Fìli's hand, solely concentrated onto holding the blanket around her, among the stares of the Dwarves. For a moment, even Kìli seemed to be at loss of jokes.

Until Oin, who, once again, was insensitive to women beauty or grace, called them back to the ground. "Well! The lass has to eat something! You three, bring her to Bombur! We don't have all day!"

"Right!" Kìli's face lit up. There was the chance that he could steal a bit more of food. Those rations were starving him. "Let's go!"

Dwalin spat and cursed, telling the two to move if they wanted Innêg to eat something before Bombur finished it all.

Innêg didn't seem to understand very well all that fuss around her. She was still weak on her feet, griping tightly Fìli's hand. She looked at Oin interrogatively, and then at the Dwarf next to her.

Fìli had a huge grin sprawled on his face, but when he saw the bewilderment in her eyes he spoke gently. "Well, would you like something to eat, Innêg?"

And it was with great satisfaction that Fìli saw a smile - small, but genuine - stretching her lips, and a lively light twinkle in her eyes.

The kitchen was Bombur, and Bombur was the kitchen. He was the official chef of all the expeditions that left Erebor, and even when at home he could always be found around the King's kitchen - which was the best furnished, and therefore the most interesting place to be around, from Bombur's point of view.

However, he was always more than happy to leave the secureness of Erebor and assist his peers during battle. And by 'assisting' he meant feed then a good meal before, and after the battle - if he was not needed on the battlefield, because then the Dwarf become incredibly hungry for Orcs' blood and enemy flesh.

But on that day, under the sun warming the plane in front of Erebor, with the Orcs defeated and Esgaroth to be reached before nightfall, he was more Bombur than ever, snoring on his backpack, having just finished tying up pots, saucepans and the few supplies left - which he was planning on eating during the afternoon, to keep his spirit up.

Kìli had to kick him a few times and shout a good deal, before waking him up. "Bombur, Bombur!" he cried, waking up Bofur and Bifur, who had finished eating a minute ago and were already snoring on the grass next to him. "Wake up! We need another meal!"

Behind them, Fìli was gallantry accompanying Innêg across the camp, with Dwalin marching behind them.

Dwarves resting on the grass under the sun were lazily opening their eyes, glancing at the trio passing. Everyone knew there was a young woman under Oin care, found among the Orcs.

A prisoner, was the common thought, but no one was really worrying about her. She was safe now, that was the important whing.

However, there was a Dwarf who had been quite curious about her.

"Bofur!" laughed Kìli, jumping next to the Dwarf. "Here you are! Innêg is up!"

Bofur yawned. "Who's Innêg?"

"There she is!"

Behind Kìli, Fìli appeared, holding Innêg's hand like he was ready to present her to a ball, instead of at their campfire. "Clean, safe and sound!" he laughed. "Like he wanted her to be! Come on Innêg, take a sit!"

The Dwarves moved to make room for her, not minding the strange tunic Oin had made out of the cover - it is known that Dwarves have in general little care for nudity, especially when they are among them, probably because the bodies of Dwarves and Dwarrowdams are quite similar, and both equally hairy.

Innêg sat among the Dwarves, studying them with eyes wide open. Her eyes, Fìli noticed, were a mixture of green, blue and grey, and they looked like some iridescent gems in the sunlight.

"Yes, of course I was worried! She looks so small!" was saying Bofur to Kìli and Dwalin. "I have been worried about Bilbo as well, always asking'where is Bilbo?' from the Shire to Erebor! I am a meme because of that, you know?"

Bombur, busy squeezing himself next to Bofur to make more room for Innêg, frowned. "You are a what?"

"Ah, nevermind!" Bofur shrugged, and turned to Innêg. "Although you are taler than Bilbo, it's just right to worry about someone that looks so afraid and lost! Now what's your name, lass?"

"She doesn't speak. Not yet." Fìli said quickly. Their hands were still intertwined, and if on one side Fìli found holding that small hand quite nice, Innêg didn't seem to be willing to leave that comfortable warmth soon. Not that any of them had realised it.

"We have called her Innêg." Kìli explained.

"That's a pretty name!" Bombur bowed his head. "Nice to meet you, Innêg. I am Bombur!"

Innêg's eyes travelled over the Dwarf huge form, and she looked so impressed that the other Dwarves bursted into laugh.

"Well, if that is not a compliment, now it is, brother?" Bofur was roaring with laughter. "I like you already, lass! My name is Bofur, by the way. And this is Bifur."

Bifur tilted his head, considered Innêg for a moment, and then bursted into laugh again, saying something no one understood.

"He's a good chap." Bofur leaned over Innêg. "But he speaks an old dialect no one understand anymore. So it's like he is not speaking at all." Bofur winked.

"We were here to eat! We must move, otherwise we will never get to Esgaroth!" grunted Dwalin, probably referring a small loaf of bread Kìli was taking out from Bombur's backpack.

"You have already eaten!" mumbled Bombur, seizing the bread away form Kìli. "But Innêg hasn't had lunch yet, so this is for her!" Bombur handed Innêg the loaf of bread with an encouragingly smile.

When she hesitated in taking it, Bofur whistled. "YOu might need both hands to eat, lass!" he chuckled, looking at Innêg and Fil's intertwined hands.

The group bursted into laughing, and this time, even Innêg share with them a big smile.