Hello all!

So sorry for the delay. I wanted to get this out a week after chapter 6 but, as it does, life got in the way. Thank you for being patient, my mental health hasn't been the best recently.

Thank you for your reviews, favourites, follows and reads! THANK YOU! I really do appreciate every one of you, and it makes my day a lighter brighter.

Guest: Very good point! Thank you for pointing this out. When Dwalin first sees Rosalyn's ears he's shocked as HalfBloods aren't common. And then, knowing what he does about Thorin's hatred of Elves, he believes that Thorin will jump to conclusions when he sees her ears without hearing the whole story. So Dwalin tells her to cover them up for her protection until he can either calmly explain the situation to Thorin, or be there to monitor the moment Thorin learns of her heritage. But obviously, no they don't have anything against Hobbits. Our big burly Dwalin is a softie at heart.

I realised I have been spelling Bombur, Óin and Glóin wrong. I apologise, this will be rectified for the rest of the story.

Please read my extra notes at the bottom. I don't want to spoil anything for you before you read the chapter and they might answer any questions.

I own nothing but Rosalyn and my original storyline for her. The Hobbit and LOTR are works belonging to Tolkien and his estate. All creative output by Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens and Fran Walsh, and their interpretation belong to them and all the relevant parties.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 7

Rosalyn

Getting Bilbo into the parlour wasn't as difficult as I'd expected when eventually Nori and Bofur lent a hand, chuckling to themselves the entire time. Kíli, who was still outraged to have been embarrassed by Bofur in front of the rest, was adamantly refusing that he'd ever been close to fainting. The majority of the Dwarves did not believe him, which was only made worse by Fíli's good natured teasing. As we sat Bilbo up, I looked back into the dining room, and I saw that there was a noticeable mixed reaction among the rest of the Dwarves. I didn't look long enough to see who in particular spoke, but heard several mutterings of less than favourable views of Bilbo.

Gandalf muttered something once we'd got him upright, and a moment later Bilbo was half lucid and able to move his legs so he wouldn't be dragged. After setting him to rights, and sitting him by the fire in the parlour, Gandalf once again muttered something and Bilbo blinked away the last of the sleepiness. He did indeed have a sore head, much to his annoyance, and proven by his grumbling complaints about sudden shocks. Hiding a smile, I fetched him a cup of peppermint tea in his favourite green mug before finally reentering the kitchen, leaving him and Gandalf to talk. Bilbo would no doubt have some stern words to share with the Wizard.

In the kitchen, the Dwarves had accumulated. There was a suspiciously empty place left at the table, even as they squeezed into the room. I knew then that I was about to face my own reckoning. Many of them gave me brief smiles as I entered, and Ori waved from his cramped position from between Dori and Dwalin, behind Thorin's back. If I didn't know better, I would say that some of them looked as nervous as I felt. But what would they have to be nervous about?

The kitchen was clean of debris from their feast, and most of the crockery had been put away. I dearly hoped in the right place and not in random locations around the home.

"So, Miss Rosalyn, shall we continue our earlier conversation?" Thorin gestured to the empty space on the bench from his place opposite. Someone had placed a jug of ale for whoever sat there. Most likely to fortify my constitution so I wouldn't faint like Bilbo. If their opinion of Hobbits wasn't disenchanted before, it certainly was now.

To say I was hesitant to join them was an understatement. But I knew this was a conversation I needed to have, sooner rather than later.

I sat, moved the jug to one side, and they crowded closer.

"Where shall I begin?"

"You've been here a week?"

"I woke up a week ago to the day, yes."

Some of the Dwarves began whispering to each other, and I tried to ignore them, but Fíli's eye caught my own as he frowned. I wondered if they were discussing what to do with me. I already knew from the vehemency with which they'd spoken that my being alone was a rare thing, but was it something they could remedy? Just what were the implications of my waking alone? If I was honest with myself, and I really didn't want to be, I knew that something dire had happened around or to me that resulted in that situation.

"And you had nothing with you to identify yourself?" Thorin clarified, unmoved by the chattering happening around him.

"Nothing."

"You are sure you have nothing, lass?" Balin pressed, leaning forward from beside Thorin, his brow peaked with fluffy eyebrows. He gestured with his hands as he spoke and I noticed how worn his gloves were. "Nothing at all to tie you to a clan or family? No jewellery, no satchel or cloak?"

"I have only the dress I woke up wearing." I wasn't sure what else they expected me to say. What else could I have on my person when all but my clothing was left?

As it had before, my lack of provisions and supplies distressed the group. They were audibly upset. Dwalin cracked his knuckles as he leant to the side and spoke with Glóin. The brutish metal plates over Dwalin's knuckles creaked with the movement.

"And were you injured?"

Thorin's question brought my attention back to him. With his placid features and closed off expression, I couldn't read his impression of me. Did he believe me? I wondered if he had seen the healed wound at the back of my head. I'd undone the intricate plait Hilda had shown me when I'd come home. Bilbo had inquired after it conversationally, but hadn't gone out of his way to gawk at my head as Daisy had when the stitches had come out.

"Yes, there were scrapes on my hands and knees, it looked like I'd fallen. I had a piece of wood, a splinter about so big," I gestured with my thumb and forefinger, much to Ori's horror whose eyes widened as they stared at my fingers. "Embedded in my ankle. I was bruised from hip to shoulder on my back. Hilda, the one who healed me, wouldn't say more than that about it. But I was in pain for some time afterward. If I move too quickly even now, my back will protest."

Thorin nodded, unaffected at my list. "Anything else?"

I reached up to the back of my head, feeling the tender flesh beneath my hair. "I had a head wound. The stitches came out this morning. It's still a little sore."

"Óin."

The elder Dwarf was already on his feet, shuffling towards me with his ear horn at the ready.

"Might I take a look, lass?"

"Of course."

He frowned and leant forward with the ear horn stuffed into his right ear. "What was that?"

There was a groan from several of the party, but no one explained to him what I'd said. A laugh chuffed out of me as I realised they must have all been together for a while. Common curtsey had been and gone as far as their interactions with other were concerned.

"Of course," I said a little louder. How did he practise medicine if he couldn't hear what his patients ailments were? Or was Glóin on hand to help with the explanation?

I parted my hair and turned for him, wincing at the pull on the still delicate flesh. The stinging, itching pain that the stitches had brought on had lessened but left an aching sensation that felt rather like the onsetting pain of a migraine. I quickly adverted my eyes when I caught sight of Fíli watching. Óin fingers probed my scalp carefully, never pressing very hard. For a Dwarf and with his large hands, he had a gentle touch.

"By my beard, lass. How old did you say this wound was?"

"About a week, why?"

He continued to prod at my scalp. I could see his ear horn hovering near my head. No wonder he could hear me.

"Whoever patched you up, they did fine work, very fine indeed. However, head wounds are always trouble. Did you have any effects from it?"

"Some headaches, pain."

"And do you still have any pain?"

"No, not really."

Óin then sat beside me, pushing Bombur along the bench and began to inspect my hands. His ear horn was abandoned on the table and he set about taking stock of my palms, hemming and hawing under his breath. I looked with him. There were small pink marks from the thin cuts I'd had, and a faint green tinge around my wrists were I imagine a hard floor like bare wood boards or even rocks had impeded my fall. Nothing new, nothing shocking.

Thorin cleared his throat. "And aside from your name, what else do you remember?"

Pausing, I thought of all the little moments I'd recalled since waking. Shaking off the murky understanding that accompanied my dreams, I focused on those that felt real. True. Honest. Maybes and half-truths wouldn't help me here.

"Snippets, like I said. A hand giving me a plate of shortbread, a voice calling my name, some moments walking through grass, others of a stone room with a fire in the hearth. I remember feeling water on my skin and a harsh breeze through my hair." I sighed, knowing it wasn't what they wanted to hear. "But no faces, no names, no places, nothing about my family."

"Well," Thorin began, his eyes appraising me as Óin let go of my hands. "I would say you have not yet reached full adulthood, going by your physical features. You don't have sideburns, so I would put your age nearer to sixty than to seventy. There were no beads in your hair?"

My hand went to my hair feeling the texture of my curls and tugging on them, careful to keep my ears covered as per Dwalin's instructions I now knew what he was talking about beforehand. Would they work out my heritage from my hair? Was wearing no beads a sign of not being a full blooded Dwarf? Something clenched in my gut and I fought hard against the urge to run out of the room, the smial and straight to Hilda's.

"Beads? No, it was loose." None of them shouted with outrage, but a few shook their heads. Kíli reached up to his own hair and patted something out of my sight. "Why? Should there be?"

Their leader was sad, and unsurprised. He'd expected my answer. "Some Dwarves chose to adorn their hair with beads and clasps. It can show family ties and engagements. It would have told us to which clan you belong."

Belong? I wasn't sure I liked his use of the word. Bilbo had told me a little about Dwarf clans, what little he knew from his books. Dwarf clans were incredibly private, rarely moving from outside of their territory. So much so, that Dwarrowdams were rarely, if ever seen. But the way Thorin spoke, it sounded like clans weren't a part of a Dwarf's identity, the Dwarf was a part of the clan's.

Dori turned from his spot near the fire and showed me the sliver clasp gathering his braids over his hair. It was fine work, finer than any silver work I'd seen on Asphodel's stall. There were intricate runes around the edges and an image, rather like a stamp in the centre.

"This was my father's," he explained. "It bears the mark of the Broadbeam clan." He indicated to the stamp on the clasp. "You have nothing like this? It wouldn't look exactly the same, only similar."

"No, no I have nothing like that."

This caused unease around the room, they shifted in spot, arms were crossed and heads were shaken. Their mutters growing in volume each time I revealed new information to them.

"Well," Thorin spoke up, louder than the group's voices and they quietened. "While I cannot say with any certainty what happened to you, or where your clan is now, we can agree that you are in safer hands now."

"What do you mean, will you take me with you?"

"Truthfully, I'm unsure," Thorin admitted, pursing his lips. "We will be journeying on the road for months, without respite. I would prefer to escort you back to my sister. But time is not on our side and I fear our task takes precedence. We will not be able to take you to Ered Luin."

I knew the names Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains. Bilbo had a map of Middle Earth I'd studied extensively in my first few days here. Though it hadn't turned up any memories for me, I'd looked at it every morning afterwards, thinking that maybe today would be the day. The sheer size of the world baffled me. The Blue Mountains were a mountainous range close to the Shire, but far enough away that I couldn't see them with the naked eye stood up on the hill looking out towards the horizon. My kin hadn't been that far away from me after all. I did wonder, in those first few days, had I come from the mountains too? But if I had, the Dwarves would have recognised me. The fact that they hadn't, well, at least now I had my answer.

"Is that where you are all from?" I asked, trying to take my mind off the seemingly impossible task of finding my home. Middle Earth is a large swathe of land with many villages, towns and cities. The scale of the task before me was beginning to sink in. Would I be able to search without help?

"Yes, though the aim of our quest is to retake our ancestral home, Erebor."

They all came from Erebor? The Lonely Mountain? Now Gandalf's subterfuge made less sense.

"You're related?"

Some laughed as I inspected them all for likewise features, and Bofur laughed loudest.

"We haven't introduced ourselves, lads!" He crowed, grinning. "Where are our manners?"

The earlier sombreness of our conversation had vanished and there was a general grumbling agreement before then they all, bar Thorin, stood, forming a neat line around the room. Thorin stood when they were assembled and bowed to me, a smile pulling at his lips.

"Miss Rosalyn, it is an honour to meet you. I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, prince regent of Erebor, Lord of the Blue Mountains."

For a moment I was shocked. A prince? He was royalty? Then, remembering myself, I hurried to stand and knocked the bench backwards with my knees. Without any Dwarves sitting on it, it buckled and skittered along the flagstones. Flushing, I curtsied to him, nodding in greeting. Before I could greet him back as I was sure was expected of me, Fíli stepped forward and bowed. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, and there was a wicked tilt to his lips beneath his beard. Was he laughing at me?

"Fíli, son of Víli, prince and heir to the throne of Erebor."

He was a prince too? And I'd entertained thoughts of how handsome he was! What other impropriety had I committed? Then, one by one, the rest of the group all stepped forward and bowed to me. In the cramped quarters of Bilbo's kitchen, their polite introductions reminded me of Daisy's rag dolls and the pantomime conversations she made them perform. While I, their hapless audience, stood agape at them.

"Kíli, son of Víli, prince of Erebor."

"Balin, son of Fundin."

"Dwalin, son of Fundin."

"Óin, son of Gróin."

"Glóin, son of Gróin."

"Dori, son of Náin."

"Nori, son of Náin."

"Ori, son of Náin."

"Bofur, son of Brokkr."

"Bombur, son of Brokkr."

Bifur stepped forward and Bofur introduced him. "Bifur son of Baldr."

Bifur bowed and when he stood again said: "Lanz galikh."

The words were guttural, suiting the rugged Dwarf they came from. Thick, harsh sounds falling on the 'g' and 'n' in a way I was unfamiliar with. It sounded like the language he'd spoken earlier to Bilbo and Gandalf. But I hadn't caught them during the chaos.

Smiling at Bifur, I wondered what the appropriate response would be. The rest of them were watching me expectantly. Was this another sign I was not a proper Dwarf? If I claimed to know it, I would surely be found out later on. My only hope was to tell the truth and trust that they wouldn't judge me too hastily.

"I'm sorry, but what language was that?"

Silence followed my question. Each one of them stared at me, eyes wide, some with brows furrowed. Had I inadvertently insulted them? Or were they realising what I was? I cast a look back to the parlour, seeing Gandalf's back as he paced. But his and Bilbo's presence were of little comfort when there was a bundle of Dwarves between us. Dwarves who looked as if I'd asked them a complex riddle.

Fíli was the one to shake off his confusion first. He took a step towards me, but quickly shifted his weight back, like he'd only just realised he'd moved.

"You cannot understand Khuzdul?" He asked.

"What is Khuzdul?"

There were several gasps and the urge to run intensified. My cheeks were flushing, I could feel the heat as it rose up my face, but Fíli was patient.

"The language he spoke," he explained. "It's Khuzdul, the language of Dwarves."

"Oh." I licked my lips, watching them all warily. "Umm, no, I'm afraid not."

"How can this be?" Thorin asked.

"I don't know," I admitted, feeling small. "Am…am I supposed to understand?"

"Yes!" Came the answering chorus.

"Every Dwarf is raised to speak Khuzdul, before they speak Westron," Fíli explained.

Balin shook his head. "How is this possible?"

Sinking back into my seat, I felt more than small, I felt invisible. They were acting as if this was a grave sin. The company began talking amongst themselves again, but this time, it sounded like a heated discussion I didn't want to be a part of, but was the subject of.

"Later," Thorin ordered when the conversation began to border on shouting. "It is late, we can speak of this on the road."

General agreements were voiced. Though I doubted that there would be time for a linguistics lesson in their travels. That was if they took me with them. I had noticed that no one had asked me if I wanted to go with them. Both I and they seemed to have accepted that I would without question.

Fíli, once again, came to my rescue. "He said good evening."

"Oh, um, lannz galikha."

"Lanz galikh," Bifur enunciated.

I felt like a child being taught to walk. What else had I forgotten?

"Lanz galikh."

"That's it, lass," Bofur praised. "You've got it!"

I curtsied to them all. "Then I should formally introduce myself. I am Rosalyn, and pleased to meet you. I'm afraid I don't know my title or my mother's name to greet you back properly."

They all assured me I didn't need to, and I ignored the stinging sensation in my eyes. Before, when it was only Bilbo and I, there was no expectation for me to provide my parent's names. And even though they were assuring me I didn't need to, I felt devoid of reassurance. This was a fundamental part of my being, and I didn't have it. What else was I missing that was so essential to being a Dwarf, to being me?

I suppose, I had a lot to remember about Dwarven culture. If I were to live among other Dwarves, would this be a commonplace thing? Would every introduction feature a void in place of my mother's name? How long until those I spoke to demanded an explanation?

"Rosalyn?" Balin called.

"Yes, sorry, I was…thinking."

He smiled. "Yes, we could see that, dear. Now, what do you think of joining us?"

"Joining you?"

"On our quest to Erebor," he clarified. "We will be leaving in the morning, would you want to come with us? As Thorin said, it would be preferable to take you somewhere safer where there are Dwarves to take care of you. But, given our need for urgency, we won't be making any detours."

"I…may I think on it?"

"Of course."

Thorin rose to his feet.

"We will leave you to your thoughts. Should you have any questions, any of us will be able to answer. Just ask."

"Thank you."

Thorin left with Dwalin, Fíli, Balin and Kíli in tow. The younger two and Dwalin lingered behind after Thorin left the room, nodding to me or, in Kíli's case, smiling. Once they had left, it felt like all the air had rushed into the room and I felt a chill despite the fire at my back.

Everyone else sat down at the table, and I knew they were watching me, but I couldn't look up from the dark knot in the wood. Eventually they began their own pockets of conversation, but still I did not look up.

While the others seemed to have forgotten about the circumstances in which I'd found myself here, I had not. Dwalin's words still sent a wave of terror through me, and the group's avoidance of the subject was not comforting. Not for the first time I entertained the idea that my injuries were the result of maltreatment. Óin hadn't said anything, my description alone seemed proof enough for him. But how had I been injured? Looking down at my wrists, I imagined rope or shackles over the bruises. I hadn't told them about the missing patches of hair as it felt too real. Having ones hair torn out at the root was a rough, desperate attack. I'd seen enough children pulling each other's hair spitefully whilst playing to know it was not the first port of call to harm someone.

How had I been so blind?

Someone had wanted to hurt me, and had succeeded. These weren't the injuries of mistakes and accidents, they were purposeful.

"Miss Rosalyn?" I heard Ori's tentative question above the quiet chatter of the other Dwarves.

Startled, I jumped in my seat. "Y—yes, Ori?"

The Dwarf in question appeared contrite at spooking me, but his nervous demeanour was a small comfort to the nightmarish turn my thoughts had taken.

"Will you…I—I mean…would you…" he stuttered and stammered, but I remained patient, knowing he would come to his question eventually. His shy persona felt like a balm against the lingering air of disappointment that was left in the room. "Are—are you going to be joining us?"

I found myself smiling at the Dwarf. My past might be uncertain, and my present might be peaceful, but within my future lay the opportunity to escape the role of abandoned, forgetful waif. I could forge a path forward with these Dwarves. Despite their anger at my lot and outrage that I did not know their (my) language, they were kind.

"In all honesty I would like to, yes." The Dwarves turned to listen to me, and I felt more at ease than I had before, more sure of my decision. Though Thorin's warning weighed on my mind. "I've found people who are like me, I didn't think I ever would. But would there be any problem with my coming along? I wouldn't want to cause trouble for you all."

Poor Ori shook his head, wide eyed and nervous. He looked frantically at the other Dwarves, I wasn't sure if he was in need of reassurance or permission. Glóin took his hesitation as a sign to intervene.

"It's not that we wouldn't want you to come along, lass, it is just…" he sighed roughly and shook his head. "You should never have been alone in the first place. That is where our hesitation lies. There should have been someone with you, or at the very least, something you could use to defend yourself with."

His eyes drifted down to my hands, I knew he was looking at my wrists. So they were aware of the danger I had no doubt faced.

"Where we are going is not safe," he continued, eyes fixed on my bruises. "Our journey is no doubt going to be dangerous too."

"Aye, lass," agreed Bofur. "It's a tricky business, this situation of your's."

"Does this mean you don't want me to come along with you?"

"Nay," Glóin adamantly refused. "We want you with us lassie, of course we do. But in our stubbornness, we would much rather you were safe."

My head was starting to hurt from their exhaustive repetitions about my safety. I didn't understand, wouldn't I be safer with them than without? Yes, I understood they were journeying towards a dragon, if I understood correctly to steal something from said dragon. But they didn't seem to understand why I wanted to go with them. For all of Bilbo's chivalry and kindness, he could not protect me if those who had harmed me wished to do so again.

The circumstances of my arrival to Hobbiton proved that someone somewhere had once wanted to hurt me. What evidence did I have that they were done with me? I doubted that whatever they had gained, be it my purse or a family heirloom, was of any real value when I had so obviously sustained such a drastic trauma. My head wound, as Hilda had pointed out, could not explain my missing memory. So the question remained, why couldn't I remember?

"Won't I be safer with you?" I asked, pleading with them to see sense. "Even if you are venturing somewhere dangerous?"

"Well, there in lies our problem," Glóin admitted, sharing a look with Nori who sat beside him. They seemed on edge, so perhaps they did understand why I was so insistent. "You are safest with us…but you will also be put in danger by being with us."

"In danger? You mean from the dragon?"

Nori shook his head. "We are not expecting this to be an easy quest, even before we reach the mountain."

"It does sound dangerous," I agreed, thinking back to the wording of the contract they wanted Bilbo to sign. "But, you are the only Dwarves I've met, and are likely to be the only Dwarves I would ever meet staying here in Hobbiton."

Nori nodded. "True."

I bit my lip. They weren't understanding what I was trying to say.

"I need to think."

They nodded, pleased that their warnings had gotten through.

"Of course, lass."

"Take your time."

"We're here if you need to talk."

Stuffed full of Bilbo's food and now drinking from mugs filled with cold, frothy ale, they were content. While I was frustrated by their lack of awareness of my circumstances, I was glad to see there were more similarities between Hobbits and Dwarfs than I'd first thought.

"Thank you, all of you."

I exited the kitchen, intending on retreating back to my room to catch my breath. Bilbo wasn't in the parlour anymore and one look at Gandalf told me that their conversation had not gone well. Or more accurately, not as he had planned. This entire night felt like a dream. Dwarves and a Wizard appearing to take Bilbo away on a quest? What next? Daisy knocking at the door demanding I come with her to see Elves drinking at The Green Dragon?

Head full of thoughts, I watched the carpet beneath my feet, and bumped into someone coming out of the pantry, mug of ale in hand. The mug sloshed, but didn't fall, and a firm hand steadied my elbow. I found my footing and stood with the help of the person I had almost knocked down. When I looked up, I found those eyes which had caught mine so often tonight.

"Thank you, Fíli."

His reply was equally as quiet as my thanks had been. "You're welcome."

His hand was still on my elbow even now I was steady, but Fíli kept staring at me. Looking up at him, I couldn't help but notice the freckles on his brow and nose. His beard was as closely cropped as Thorin's, but his plaited moustache was entirely his own. The way the braids framed his mouth was rather appealing, and there was a scent lingering on him that whispered of pipe smoke and pine needles. So intoxicating was it, I found myself leaning into him.

His breath caught in a gasp and I fell back onto my heels.

What was I doing? He was a prince. A prince! I was…a nobody. I had no title, no family, no claim to wealth, or power, or status. Nothing. What could he find so interesting in me? Embarrassed, I could barely look up at him, ashamed of my thoughtless action. Peeking from beneath my eyelashes, I was shocked. He looked…entranced. His eyes were unfocused and for a moment I was sure he'd stopped breathing. Scared, I called his name wondering where his thoughts had gone. He came back to himself in a rush, and let me go as if he'd gripped a hot iron.

"Apologies."

"It's all right."

We shuffled away from each other. The hallway was strangely empty of other people. Whatever that had been between us, it felt intimate and I was glad no one had been around to witness it. Yet I wished for an easy escape from this awkwardness, no matter how it came.

"Will you come with us?" He asked.

I'd been looking down the hallway towards my room and was surprised when he spoke.

"Do you want me to?"

Fíli shook his head, the clasps at the end of his moustache braids swaying distractingly.

"What I want doesn't matter," he insisted softly. "It's what you want to do that matters."

He'd moved towards me again and I didn't know what to think, what to feel. All I knew was that I wanted to move closer to him. I wanted to replace my hands back onto his chest as they had been when we finished dancing. To feel his warmth again. To be in his arms again. His scent clouded around me until I could smell was him.

"I need a moment." The words burst from my lips strangled, distorted, rushed.

All I knew was that I needed to move away from him before I lost my sense.

He moved to one side, eyes soft as he watched me. "Of course."

I left and walked down the hallway, struggling not to run, and felt his eyes on my back until I rounded the corner but I didn't dare look back.

Fíli

Watching Rosalyn walk away from him was physical torment.

But for a moment, for a few precious seconds she had been so close he could count her eyelashes. While she hadn't been in his arms, when she'd leant forwards it was the next best thing. If she had only stayed there and not moved back, Fíli would have taken her into his arms. Consequences, and the mug he held be damned.

Before, when they'd danced, holding her to him had been the greatest of pleasures he'd encountered in his life. Then, feeling her warmth so near just now, he'd felt all at once at peace and in utter inner turmoil. Her eyes weren't as deep as the sapphires he'd compared them to in his mind, but with a darker circle around the edge which brightened into a lighter blue at their centre. There were sun birthed freckled around her eyes, up to her temples, and fine lines that spoke of a fondness for laughter. She came up to his shoulder, and he fancied that her head would fit well onto his chest if she were to rest against him. He felt the want for this with a bone deep ache that unsettled him.

But her retreat reminded him that she'd flinched back from him in the kitchen, how timid and nervous she had been, and still so obviously was. What must she have been thinking in those moments? Yes, her inability to understand and speak Khuzdul was shocking, but he wasn't as surprised as he thought he'd be. Head traumas often resulted in changes to speech. Bifur being the prime (and only permanent) example he knew. Perhaps that was why the elder Dwarf had patiently waited for Rosalyn to understand him? The toymaker had been quiet since his accident, but Fíli remembered a brighter Dwarf who, in his youth, had played and schemed with the two young princes. Fíli wagered that Bifur would be only too happy to protect Rosalyn if she joined their company.

He knew what caused her distress, and it wasn't whether or not she would be safe if she was to accompany them. Fíli too was concerned, and had voiced this to his uncle when they'd left the kitchen. Thorin had listened, as he always did when his nephew gave council, and had agreed that Rosalyn would be safer with them. He'd told Fíli how troubling it was that she had been left here with nothing at her disposal. Dwalin and he had seen something similar before, but when pressed, neither would share any details with the rest. All his uncle would say was that he doubted those who had harmed Rosalyn were gone for good. Fíli, reluctantly, agreed.

Rosalyn

My red dress swung from its hook as I closed the door behind me. Collapsing onto my bed, I watched it and bit my lip. It was my best dress. But, that thought, that deep-seated inkling I'd had since seeing hung, now festered like an untreated wound. It was a lover's gift. I knew it in my bones, to my very core. The fine thread and rich fabric shouted wealth and status, but the intricate flowers on the stays, and the white lace trim around the bodice spoke of a more intimate origin.

Not for the first time I wondered if I had a husband waiting for me somewhere. Now the thought accompanied a pang of disappointment. I remembered Fíli's eyes. How he'd held my elbow until I was steady. How his breath seemed to catch when our eyes met. How his breath had caught when I'd leant into him like some love drunk fool. How I'd felt him at my back, lingering in the hallway, watching me leave him. Surely I wouldn't feel this way if I did have a husband or betrothed? Life couldn't be that cruel, could it?

Exasperated, I grabbed hold of my pillow and held it over my head as I dropped back down onto the mattress. Why couldn't I remember something, just anything of my former life? Navigating my way through social practises I knew nothing about, or feelings I didn't remember the reason for, was exhausting.

How could I be expected to remember an entire language? An entire culture? Being a Hobbit was easy enough. Or so my limited experience was showing me. Live peacefully, take up a job for income to see you living comfortably, and be kind to all. There were examples to avoid, such as Aldagrim Took, but in general, living in Hobbiton was relatively easy. Sure they ate an excess of food, and some liked to drink and dance the merry night away down at The Green Dragon, but they were a welcoming, happy folk. Bilbo had even commented that I fit right in. As if I were always meant to be here, with him, Hilda, Dinoadas and Daisy in Hobbiton.

I enjoyed gardening with Bilbo and Hamfast. Chatting with Hilda as she taught me a new stitch, or hunting for newts with Daisy. When it came time for meals, the wealth of food once overwhelmed me, but now, I was eager to try tastes I did not remember encountering. I could begin my day with a stroll to the marketplace, and end it sat on the garden bench beside Bilbo, watching the sun set. It was a simple life, and I knew that it was all my life would ever be if I stayed.

If I did stay, there was also the matter of those who had left me in that field. It hadn't been clear to me at first, consumed with worry about my lack of memories and the influx of realistic dreams, that my waking might have been a mistake. That the people responsible might have come back to the field after I'd left and expected to see me, still unconscious. Perhaps they had thought I was dead, and left me? In that case, I was safe if I stayed here, I hoped. Why would anyone who took me to the outskirts of Hobbiton to leave me for dead, come to see if I had been buried or burned? So sense told me if I stayed in Hobbiton, I would be safe. Or, the more worrying option, that I was being watched. Someone could be following me, I wouldn't know how to tell. People in Hobbiton were approachable and conversations were struck up over the smallest of things. It could be possible that one of the many strangers who had greeted me was responsible for my pain. But I couldn't imagine that those who had hurt me were Hobbits, at least, the Hobbits I'd encountered.

It was a problem I couldn't solve without help and the Dwarves were offering to help me. Though, maybe not in the way I was thinking, but surely they would understand my meaning soon. I knew I had to leave with them, or else I'd regret it for the rest of my days. The fear of what lay ahead was beginning to plague me. Not of what the journey with the Dwarves would entail, but what would await me after the task was complete. Could I stay with them at Erebor? I assumed they wanted to reclaim the mountain once the deed was done. But how? They said themselves, a dragon lay within the mountain. I highly doubted it would leave once Thorin had the right to rule once again.

I was still trying to understand why they needed to steal something in order for Thorin. What was it they wanted Bilbo to steal?

Then there was Fíli to consider, and this uncontrollable onslaught of emotion he inspired within me. I wasn't obtuse, I knew what attraction was, and that couples courted before marriage. There were faint memories of seeing blushing couples giggling in dark corners, and shy smiles being traded when passing in a candlelit corridor. Asphodel had taken great delight in introducing me to several eligible bachelors just this morning while we walked. Hilda had been no help, hiding gleeful smiles behind her hand while I floundered to escape the eager grip of one bachelor who made it his mission to detail all of his family's accomplishments. Daisy hadn't understood why he had been so insistent and interrupted him to declare we were going on an adventure. When he'd, rather quickly, asked if he could accompany us, she'd shook her head.

"No, Rosie and I don't play with boys."

And that had been the end of that, much to Asphodel's mortification and Hilda's amusement.

I looked down at the yellow dress, considering the thin fabric and carefully sewn hems. It wasn't my favourite of the two Bilbo had bought me. I felt pretty wearing it, but pale. The light colour made me feel like a ball of light, though Hilda and Asphodel had complimented it. Daisy, on the other hand, preferred the green dress. As did I. The green was darker, the hue more like damp moss. I thought it suited my complexion, what little I could make out of it, though didn't mention that to Bilbo.

My eyes drifted back to the red dress and I wondered how pretty I looked while wearing it. Maybe I should wear it tomorrow? Though it was of fine make and delicate design, it was travel worn. More suitable for walking than the thinner, longer skirted gowns Bilbo had bought me. But would the Dwarves recognise the design? If it was, in fact, Dwarven made. Hilda had commented that the stitching was unorthodox, if beautiful. Could it help to find my family? Or was it just a piece of clothing and I was reading far too much into it?

Walking back towards the kitchen, intent on making myself a peppermint tea, I was once again accosted by Fíli. This time his hands were free and his eyes were bright as he took hold of my hand.

"You'll want to hear this," Fíli assured me, without telling me what it was I'd want to hear and leading me into the sitting room where the rest of the Dwarves had congregated to smoke.

I noticed that none of them had sat in Bilbo's seat, leaving it free for their host. Who had not reappeared since walking out on Gandalf. The Wizard in question, I saw, was now sat at the kitchen table and blowing smoke rings into the air while he ruminated.

Fíli pulled me with him to the window seat, and I sat down, looking around for any clue as to what he'd brought me in for. None of the others made to explain. He stood at my side; for a moment I thought he would sit beside me and even shuffled to the side to allow him more room. But he wasn't looking at me, rather into the room at the other Dwarves. He looked a mixture of expectant and mournful.

Just as I was about to question him, the room began to fill with a deep humming sound. The room took on an air of stillness that felt separate from reality. We existed only in this moment, in this state of watchful sorrow that I could feel ebbing from each Dwarf. The fire popped and crackled in the hearth, but the cheerful flames that had once lit the room were now amber and cast long shadows onto the walls.

"Far over the misty mountains cold," Thorin began to sing in a deep, warming voice. He had a far away look on his face, turned to gaze into the flames, his pipe forgotten in his hand. "In dungeons deep, and caverns old."

Slowly, more and more of them joined him in song. Though the youngest members of the group continued to hum the tune. I had the distinct feeling that this was a song for the elder of the group, singing about their pain and sorrow. So tangible was their grief, I could feel tears stinging my eyes and a tightness around my chest like a compressing band. It only increased when I listened to what they were saying.

"We must away, 'ere break of day, to find our long forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the high, the winds were moaning in the night. The fire was read, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light."

They finished singing, and the room held its breath, with the fire lulling into a low light and no one reached to feed it. Fíli was away with his thoughts, lost so deep, there was a glaze over his eyes that frightened me. This preoccupation with Erebor and finding something hidden within the mountain plagued each of their thoughts. Yet, the look in Fíli's eyes was a deep yearning bordering on hunger. A longing I couldn't understand, and wasn't sure I wanted to.

Balin, after a long moment of contemplative silence, came and sat down next to me in the armchair under the window. He gave a deep sigh, a gloved hand patting my own that I hadn't realised I'd clasped in my lap.

"That is a song about the day we lost Erebor to that vile worm," Balin informed me in a quiet voice. He had a far away look on his face, like most of the room. However, the elder Dwarf's voice held a lot of his grief. I wondered if the singing had taken him back in time and his mind had not yet returned to the present. Had Balin been there when the dragon took Erebor?

"It is…I have no words," I admitted, feeling listless and useless.

My earlier worry about remembering my part of my heritage was now exasperated. Was this song a part of my past? If so, it was so much bigger than I'd ever considered.

"It is our pain," Thorin replied, looking decades older than he had while we spoke in the kitchen. "And our hope to never again encounter such destruction."

He turned to face me with a sigh, finally taking a puff from his previously abandoned pipe.

"After the dragon came," he began to explain. "Our people were disbursed by the mayhem. I personally took as many as were able onward towards Dunland where we lived for many years before we eventually made our way to the Blue Mountains. Over the decades, many other Dwarves who had lived in the mountain but not come with us, found their way to Ered Luin. Many of them had been thought dead. Perhaps, your family was part of this dispersal?"

"Perhaps," I considered, feeling my chest tighten. "There are too many maybes in my past. For all I know, they have been dead and gone for years now. I'd hardly know. Bilbo and I tried to jog my memory by looking through his maps, but…nothing. I can't even remember my mother's face."

A sob caught in my throat and broke apart the last word. Bilbo and I had been hypothesising my origins based upon my mixed heritage with little to show for it. But I hadn't considered until Thorin's story that I might not have anyone left in the world. Or, more sobering, that I was left on purpose. Abandoned because of my heritage. Would the company help me if they knew? Dwalin hadn't reacted so terribly before when he saw my ears, but he had said things would go smoother if they were hidden.

"Here, lass," Balin offered a handkerchief, patting my arm much in the same way Bilbo did when he couldn't think of the right think to say to me. "No need to hide your tears. A good cry does a world of good."

I chuckled wetly into his handkerchief.

"I haven't cried since I woke up in that field," I admitted. "It…it felt like a dream. Waking here, without a past or present. It's only now sinking in that I—I might not have a family to find."

"If you have family still alive, we will find them." Fíli spoke unwaveringly, moving closer to hover at my side.

"Thank you."

We were all quiet for a while, letting the last moments of sadness drift over the room. Some, like Bifur, had closed their eyes, their pipes finished. It made my heart heavy to look around them and not see the joyful troop who had sung and danced with Bilbo's crockery only hours ago.

"I would like to help you, if I can."

"We would be grateful of your help, Miss Rosalyn," Thorin thanked me with a smile. "Without a burglar we'll surely need a moral boost."

"Bilbo isn't joining you?"

"No, it appears not."

Suddenly nervous, I turned to Dwalin. The larger Dwarf was leant against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He knew the question that lay in my eyes and nodded, though his mouth twisted into a grim line. So, I would be alone with them all. And with only one other who knew about my ears.

"I would like to share something with you."

Holding my breath, I tucked several curls behind my ears and bared them to the room. All of them gasped, only Dwalin stood resolute, arms crossed over his chest and his hands clenched into tight fists, looking like he was ready to take on anyone physically who raised an issue about my ears. For the corner of my eye, I could see Fíli's hands make fists. I daren't look at his face and see whether he was angry or just stunned. Balin, on the other hand, hid his emotions well, his face a blank of expression.

When I finally looked up, I locked eyes with Thorin. He had moved towards me, but his earlier smile had contorted into outrage.

"What is this?" He demanded. "What are you?"

Injured, I shrunk back. What was I? What did he mean? Dwalin reached out and put a staying hand on Thorin's shoulder. His knuckles were white.

"The lass is a HalfBlood," he explained. "She's part Hobbit."

Thorin's anger quickly left and he gaped at me.

"A HalfBlood?" He whispered. "How?"

Around me, the room broke into hushed murmurs. Flushing under the attention suddenly on my ears, I shied away and into the cushioned seat. "I don't understand."

To my right, Balin shifted, gaining my attention. "There hasn't been a halfblooded Dwarf in centuries," he explained. I noticed he was making a point to look directly at me, and not at my ears.

I almost covered them back up, but a voice in my head (that sounded rather like Bilbo) told me that I had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of. Any prejudices they had against me were their own. No Hobbits had been hostile to me. The Dwarves had no reason to be either.

"Why?"

Balin grew uncomfortable. "It is a long, complicated story, my dear."

They all fell into an uneasy silence. Clearly no one wanted to broach the subject. My gaze was avoided and feet were shuffled. It was Bifur who approached me, tentative as if I were a cornered animal. His dark eyes soft and his face open. He sat beside me in the space I'd thought Fíli would fill and smiled. He then spoke in Khuzdul again, but a longer sentence now.

"I—I'm afraid I don't understand," I admitted, fearful of offending the softly spoken Dwarf.

Someone cleared their throat.

"He said, that we all look different, but we are Dwarves, and you are one of us," Bofur answered.

"He's right," spoke up Nori.

This was met by a cautious chorus of agreement.

"You all really think that?"

"Of course, lass," Balin assured me softly.

Tearful, I thanked them. While they might not be certain of their agreement, I had a feeling they were not the sort to lie so openly about this. My being a HalfBlood had unsettled something deep within them all, even Kíli and Ori, who had watched with wide eyes. If I wasn't going to discover what this unease was now, I could only hope that when we knew one another better, they would tell me.

"Miss Rosalyn, I would very much like you to accompany us on our journey," Thorin announced after sharing a look over his shoulder with Dwalin. "However, I understand that this place has become your home, and I would never want to take you from your home. But, as Dwarves we do feel this need to protect you, even if we are headed toward danger. We will be able to protect you if you come with us. We cannot offer that protection if you stay here."

I thought for a moment.

"Will you be wanting me to replace Bilbo as your burglar?"

Thorin's face softened into a small smile. "No, I will not."

For a moment, I hesitated. Should I tell them about my dreams? That I had seen Thorin before in a dream? It felt like I was stood at the edge of a precipice, if I leant one way or the other I would be either saved or doomed. But if I told them, which way would I fall?

"Then yes, I will join you."

"I am glad."

Bilbo had retreated into his bedroom. I knocked and waited for him to call me to enter.

"Bilbo?"

I opened the door to see he was lay fully dressed on his bed staring into the fire in his small hearth. Not for the first time I wondered what Gandalf and he had spoken about.

"You're leaving with them?" He questioned even before I'd closed the door behind me.

"Yes."

He nodded and sat up, sighing heavily.

"I knew this day would come," he admitted to the floor. "But I thought it would be many months, even years down the line."

Stepping forward, I knelt on the floor beside his bed to look up at his face. When he saw he couldn't hide his expression from me, he gave me a wan smile.

"If they can help me, I have to try."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course you do, my dear," he assured me, brown hands flapping. "Of course you do. I never meant otherwise, it's just, well, I've rather gotten used to having you around."

"So you're not coming too?" I prodded, hoping he would tell me Thorin had it wrong. That he was coming too. And that what he and Gandalf had discussed were merely the terms and conditions of his contract. If I was going with the Dwarves, I didn't want to leave behind the first friend I ever remember having.

"No," he said softly, instantly deflating any hope I had. "No, I think that adventures of this nature are better suited to Dwarves, not to Hobbits."

"But I'm not either," I protested. "Not a full blooded Dwarf nor a Hobbit and yet I'm going."

He smiled patiently. "Yes, you are. And you'll be taking a part of me with you."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Here," Bilbo said, standing and crossing to his chest of drawers, reaching into the bottom drawer. "I want you to have this."

He drew out a dagger the length of my forearm, encased in a dark leather sheath and attached to a pretty, but sturdy leather belt with a silver buckle.

"Bilbo! Oh, it's beautiful!"

He smiled and handed it out to me. "It was my mothers."

"Oh! I can't—"

"Yes," he retorted, taking one of my hands and placing it into my palm. "You can. She would want you to have it. She might have married a Baggins, but at heart she was always a Took."

Clutching the dagger to my chest, I could smell the same perfume that had been on the cloak he'd given me. "What does that mean?"

"It means that…it means that she would have been proud to know that her dagger is not collecting dust anymore." He quickly spun round to face the dresser again, sniffing and wiping at his eyes before he span on his heel and threw up a stern finger in my direction. "And you're keeping the cloak too!"

I knew better than to argue with him by now.

"Thank you Bilbo."

I held the dagger close and sat at the edge of his bed while Bilbo pottered about and fetched a backpack from the bottom of a large wicker basket.

"Bilbo?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I should have told them? About my dreams?"

He sighed. "I think you did the right thing. While they are Dwarves, we do not know why you were abandoned."

"You think it was because of my dreams, don't you?" Honestly, I thought it could be the most likely reason after my mixed heritage. If it was as rare and strange as Bilbo believed, what did other races believe of my dreams? If Thorin had automatically asked what I was when he saw my ears, what would be say when he found out about my prophetic dreams? But, his words echoed in my ears. What was I?

"I think it was a factor, yes."

I remembered the many weapons the Dwarves had shed for dinner. "Should I keep it a secret?"

"Perhaps," he considered. "Then again, perhaps they can help. I'm sorry that I don't have the answers you need, Rose."

I nodded. "I understand."

He patted my hands and rose to pack the carefully selected items into the bag.

"I'll be sad to leave Daisy," I admitted, wondering what she would think of all of this. She would have loved to see the Dwarves arrive, and had taken great pleasure in joining them all for dinner. I had a feeling she'd fit right in when they'd begun throwing food.

"She'll be sad to see you go."

"Maybe I should tell her I'm leaving?"

He nodded, smiling indulgently at me. "If you think it's best. I know she and Hilda would be glad you let them know."

That made up my mind. "Then I'll go tonight. What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven," he observed. "Dinodas will still be up, he likes to see the fire down to embers on the warmer nights before bed."

"I won't be long, Bilbo," I said. "Shall I take that key you had cut?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No, my dear, don't worry. I only locked the door because of Gandalf earlier, but never mind now."

I made my way back to my room, clutching the backpack Bilbo had given me in my arms. As I passed the parlour, I saw the Dwarves sleeping in various places, some more comfortable than others. Snores shook the floorboards, and I couldn't help but smile. When I turned to go, the hair at the back of my neck stood up. I was being watched.

Looking back into the shadows cast by the dying fire, I couldn't see the gleam of any eyes, but the feeling did not go away. It wasn't an uneasy feeling. In fact, it was strangely pleasant. Warm, and inducing a sensation in the depths of my belly. Some small part of me hoped my phantom observer was a certain fair haired Dwarf, but sense told me I was imagining things.

Knocking on Hilda's front door, I cast glances all around, wary of her neighbours. What would the gossips think of my visiting in the middle of the night? Dinodas answered in his dressing gown, eyes creased as he took me in.

"Rosalyn?" He asked, looking around for Bilbo behind me. "Whatever are you doing out so late? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothings wrong, I just—I have some news."

"Come in, come in," he ushered. "I'll fetch Hilda, she's doing some mending."

The house was quiet, dark and cool. A shadow of how it was in the daylight. How long would be it before I saw this house again? If ever?

When Hilda came from a room down the corridor, she was as worried as her husband.

"Rosalyn? What is it?" She demanded, her eyes were darting over my body, looking for wounds no doubt.

"I'm sorry for calling so late. Everything's fine, I promise. It's all a bit, odd, in truth," I admitted, unable to keep my hands from fidgeting. "Bilbo and I were visited by Dwarves tonight."

"Dwarves?" The word was an empty echo, full of confusion.

I nodded.

"Do they know you?" Dinodas questioned, moving to seat us all at the kitchen table. "Is it your family?"

"No, and no, unfortunately," I confessed. "But they have offered to help me find my family. They are leaving tomorrow morning and I'll be leaving with them."

They both stared at me, mouths agape and unblinking.

"Leaving?" Dinodas finally repeated. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"So soon?"

"I'm afraid so. They've offered their help to find my family, and I can't refuse." My explanation felt flat when I saw their faces fall. "I don't know when I'll meet Dwarves again here in Hobbiton."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"I understand," Hilda said at last. I had a feeling she was hiding how she truly felt, but, just like her daughter, I found her hard to read. "It's a shock, is all."

Dinodas nodded, reaching over to take Hilda's hands in his own. "But we're happy you've found a way to look for your family."

Hilda smiled and I saw tears welling up in her eyes.

"Just remember to come back and visit, eh?" Dinodas asked, smiling crookedly.

Tears muddied my sight and I tried to sniff them back but a hot droplet fell down my cheek. How many times would I cry tonight?

"I promise. Will you tell Daisy for me? We'll be leaving very early and I wouldn't want to wake her up to say goodbye."

The pair smiled, and I wondered how this could possibly be more painful. Though the realisation of how Daisy would react stung like gripping onto a nettle with my bare hand.

"We will, but you'll have to come back, because if not she's liable to track you down."

"I wouldn't put it past her," I tried to laugh but the sound was strangled. "I will come back, this is the only home I know."

Hilda stood and embraced me tightly. She smelt of soap and lavender water. She smelt of comfort.

"We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

Sorry, this is a long list of notes, but I wanted to anticipate any questions anyone might have.

The Khuzdul translations are taken from Dwarrow Scholar. They have a wonderful, extensive log of Neo-Khuzdul taken from Tolkien, David Solo, and other sources.

Lanz galikh: Good evening (literally: evening good)

Broadbeams are one of the clans from the Blue Mountains. As it is never noted which clan Dori, Nori and Ori hail from, just that they joined Thorin in the Blue Mountains before leaving on the quest, I imagined that they may have been a part of a clan which came from the mountains all along. So I chose Broadbeams as their clan.

I've taken some creative liberties with the names of some of their fathers. In all my research, I haven't found consistent names for each Dwarf's forebears. Or in a couple of cases, any names. But I have tried to remain consistent with the use of Dwarf names, using a tried and true classic within the Durin line for the Dwarves who are a part of it. And then I looked to Old Norse names for the rest:

Baldr is the Old Norse form of Balder.

Brokkr is Old Norse for 'badger' and is the name of a Dwarf, the brother and assistant of Sindri. The pair made several magical items for the gods, including Odin's ring Draupnir and Thor's hammer Mjölnir. I thought that using a name which translates as badger was very fitting for Bofur in particular as he's often written as a miner and, well, underground...you get it.

Also, I know that many people have taken inspiration from the behind the scenes footage of The Hobbit where Jed Brophy, Mark Hadlow and Adam Brown agree that they are only half brothers, having the same mother but different fathers. But I didn't like this. I wanted them to be full blood brothers. I imagine them living in close quarters in the Blue Mountains and this has lead to their interesting family dynamic. Also in the behind the scenes, it was mentioned that Bofur, Bombur and Bifur were the only ones who are not descendants of Durin. I like this, as it gives the company a selection of Dwarves who are not going to Erebor merely because of their heritage.

I'm not entirely sure of the proper title for Thorin. But I felt regent suited him here as "A regent (from the Latin regens: ruling, governing) is a person appointed to govern a state pro tempore (Latin: 'for the time being') because the regnant monarch is a minor, is absent, abdicated the throne, is incapacitated or dead, or unable to discharge the powers and duties of the monarchy." (Wiki)

A quick aside: Have you guys seen Breaking Boundaries on Netflix? It's a documentary narrated by David Attenborough about how close we are to tipping points within the earth's system that we soon won't be able to reverse them. A definite must see. I highly recommend. And for those who still haven't seen A Life On Our Planet, please go watch!

I can't promise to have the next chapter up at on certain day, but I will try my best to get it done as soon as possible.

Next chapter, the journey begins!