- Chapter 14 -

Dawn peeked over the hills of the Shire with the promise of rain later on. The light drizzle they had overnight left the ground soft under the hooves of the horses and ponies that walked steadily down the path through the Shire. Fat drops of rainwater fell onto their heads from the branches above as they passed underneath the trees when a breeze caused the branches to shake. Alwil tossed her head next to Gandalf's bay mare, anxious to pick up the pace. The ponies short strides annoyed the tall horse but Shyloh kept a firm hand on the reins, insisting they stay at a walk. Gandalf eyed the mare next to him with raised eyebrows.

"Someone is anxious to be off," he said and she frowned.

She would have gladly let the mare stretch her legs especially after being cooped up in the Shire the past few days but the short strides of the ponies ahead of them wouldn't be able to keep up. Alwil was an elvish mare and where she was sleek and quick paced, the hairy ponies were not. No, they would have to go at a much slower pace.

"She is not the only one," Shyloh said quietly. She glanced backwards once more, her eyes scanning the crest of the hill behind them, eyes searching under the tree tops. "Do you think he will come?"

Gandalf gave her a hopeful smile but she didn't return it. "Bilbo has a little time left to make his appearance. Besides, I would not have bet on it otherwise."

Shyloh pressed her lips together. The first thing the dwarves and Gandalf had done after mounting their ponies, was take wagers on whether or not the hobbit would agree to join them. They hadn't asked her if she wanted to join in, nor had they spoken to her at all that morning. The only acknowledgment she'd received from them were the glares they occasionally shot her from under their bushy eyebrows. She didn't mind, because she was just as fond of them as they were her.

"Wait!" cried a small voice. "Wait!"

Pulling her horse to a stop like the others, Shyloh twisted around in the saddle and watched, to her amazement, as Bilbo Baggins raced towards them, his arms stretched out as he awkwardly ran.

"I did it," he gasped as he stopped alongside Balin. "I signed it!" He thrust the contract towards the white haired dwarf who took it, raising a small eyeglass to his eye to examine it, much like he had done with Shyloh's contract.

After a second, he nodded his approval. "Everything looks in order. Welcome Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

There was a soft murmur of approval from the other dwarves and Shyloh smiled.

"Give him a pony," Thorin said from the head of the line. Shyloh's eyes grazed his stern face quickly before watching as a protesting hobbit was picked up and placed on top of a pony, nestled in front of bags of supplies like he was a rag doll.

He looked completely surprised and uncomfortable at the exact same time. Obviously hobbits didn't ride horses much because he picked up the reins and held them out in front of himself like they might bite him. She smiled, and was suddenly glad she wasn't the only oddball in the company anymore.

"Come on Nori, pay up!" someone shouted from behind them and suddenly there were little bags being tossed down the line of dwarves. Bilbo watched curiously.

"What's all that about?" he asked Gandalf and the wizard gave him a small smile.

"They took wagers on whether or not you'd turn up," he said and Bilbo's eyes grew wide.

"And what did you bet?" the hobbit wondered.

Gandalf raised a hand and a small bag shot towards him. He caught it and then tossed it in the air with a satisfied smile.

"My dear Bilbo, I never doubted you for a minute."

Shyloh rolled her eyes but Bilbo turned to her next.

"And you?" he asked her. "What did you think?"

Before Shyloh could answer Gandalf spoke up.

"She did not join in on the wager," the wizard said as he shot her a look.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows at her curiously and she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"I did not think my wager would have counted," she said and Gandalf gave a small chuckle. "But I had faith in you Bilbo."

Rain came later that evening, drenching them all into a silent misery. Shyloh pulled her cloak over her, drawing the hood to keep the damp out although it didn't do any good. Rain poured off the back of Gandalf's pointy wide brimmed hat, making it look like a waterfall against his silvery gray hair as it dribbled down onto the horses back behind him. Alwil shook her head, clearly displeased with the weather much like her rider. The dwarves had fallen into silence much to her enjoyment. She was always told she was a quiet person, and she probably was, but these dwarves talked so much that it made her head hurt. They sang the most ridiculous songs, some she couldn't even understand the slightest.

She found herself riding next to Bilbo and despite being on the road for a while now, he still didn't look anymore comfortable on top of his pony. After giving him a few riding pointers, he seemed a little more at ease and he gave her a grateful smile.

"So, where do you come from?" he asked her one afternoon as the sun beat down on them after another heavy rain. Mud splattered up as the horses and ponies walked down the road in almost single file. This question, while so simple and innocent, seemed to draw the attention of the dwarves. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for her answer.

Gandalf had warned her quietly, should the dwarves ask, not to tell them she hailed from Rivendell. She didn't understand why it was such a complication but at the wizards persistent look she gave in.

"Oh," she said vaguely, "Here and there."

A loud 'humph' came from ahead of them and her eyes narrowed as Thorin's head turned to face forward. Clearly he'd been listening and he didn't seem to like her answer.

"I have never seen hair quite like yours before, I mean, among elves that is," the hobbit stuttered, his face turning a light shade of red. "Mostly blond or brown."

"It's not overly common," she said steadily. "But I think silver is fairly common in Lothlorien and Mirkwood."

"Yours is white though," he said, his eyes squinting slightly as if to see it better. "Like pure white. Almost like fresh snow."

She almost snorted but the look on Bilbo's face made her choke it down. How many times her hair had been compared to snow was laughable.

"Yes, I suppose it is," she said with a tight smile then tried to take the conversation off of her. "Do all hobbits walk around barefoot?"

"Oh yes," he said, almost looking surprised that she would ask such a silly thing. "We do not need to wear shoes. Too constricting if you ask me, not that I have ever worn any that is."

"You've never worn shoes?" she asked, her eyes widening. Lord he must have tough feet!

He laughed at her expression. "No, of course not. We have no need for them, even in the snow they are tough. Meant for walking, not so much riding." His gaze drifted down to the neck of the pony in front of him and he frowned.

"Interesting," she mused and he gave her a shy smile.

Aside from that, the dwarves avoided her but she wasn't going to complain. Bilbo kept her company and so did Gandalf, even though his companionship had grown steadily quieter and more thoughtful as they rode.

"Gandalf," came a voice from behind the line somewhere. "Can you do something about this deluge?"

"It is raining Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done," Gandalf said. "If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

"Are there any?" asked Bilbo and Gandalf twisted a little in his saddle.

"What?"

"Wizards."

"There are five of us," said Gandalf. "The greatest of our order is Sarumon, the White. Then there are the two blues...you know...I've quite forgotten their names."

"And the fifth?" asked Bilbo.

"That would be Radagast, the Brown."

"And, is he a great wizard, or is he more like you?"

At that, Shyloh had to stifle a laugh.

"I think he's a very fine wizard," Gandalf said firmly. "He's a gentle soul, who prefers the company of animals over others. He keeps a watchful eye on the vast Greenwood to the East, for always evil will look to take hold."

The rain finally ceased much to everyone's pleasure and although the ground still squelched underneath the hooves of their mounts, Shyloh was thankful that she could draw her hood back and soak up the last of the daylight before dark set in. They stopped that night on a sharp ledge of a rocky area. The wall of the mountain stretched up far above them, creating a little cocoon for the company to settle into. Ahead of them, tree tops swayed gently in the breeze, carrying with it strange smells and sounds she had never heard before, except when she traveled the Trollshaws with the twins and Glorfindel. What she wouldn't give to have one of them with her right now.

One of the dwarves started a fire while a few others began prepping supper. They tied the horses and ponies up and settled in for the night. Shyloh stretched out her legs as she leaned against the rock wall next to Gandalf. The wizard was puffing on his long pipe but he wasn't the only one. Pipes seemed to be popular among the dwarves too because a few of them were also puffing away on one. Every once and a while she'd get a whiff of it and she did her best not to scrunch her nose at the smell.

Oh the memories it brought back though, and she smiled to herself.

"What are you smiling about?" Bilbo asked, catching her off guard. She looked at him surprised and reddened a little when she saw the dwarves watching her curiously.

"Oh it's nothing," she said, trying to brush off the unexpected attention.

"You were smiling about something, what is it?" Bilbo pressed and she sighed.

"The pipe smoke," she said with a shrug.

"Does it bother you Lady?" Thorin interrupted and she gave him a narrow eyed look.

"No, actually, it just brings back memories," she said firmly and Thorin gave a little huff of dry amusement.

"I did not think elves enjoyed smoking," he said.

"They don't," she said sharply, "Like I said, just memories."

"And what memories are those Lady?" asked Bofur and she was surprised to hear how interested he seemed.

She shook her head but even Gandalf gave her an interested look.

"Really, I don't think it's something you'd care to hear about."

"You have our attention," Bofur pressed and he propped himself up on his elbows to look at her better.

Seeing there would be no way around it she sighed.

"My father used to smoke cigars when I was a kid." Seeing their confusion, she explained. "Cigars are basically rolled up dried and fermented tobacco that are usually long and thin tube shaped. Anyways, on my eighteenth birthday my father had to work and his job usually took him away for three weeks at a time so it was just me and my brother. We snuck a bottle of my dad's favorite whiskey and a handful of his cigars and went down to the river. We made a campfire and drank the whole bottle of whiskey, then we puffed on the cigars and pretended to be dragons."

The dwarves chuckled and even Thorin's face softened which surprised her.

"What is whiskey?" Bilbo asked as he grinned.

"It's a hard liquor that's made from a fermented grain mash that's distilled. It's aged in charred oak barrels before being bottled," she said and Bilbos eyebrows rose.

"I did not have you pegged for drinking such a thing," Bilbo said. "And here I thought elves preferred wine."

"You do not strike me as the type to do much drinking," Thorin said, giving her a look out of the corner of his eye. "Much less enjoying a smoke."

"Oh, we didn't smoke again after that," she said quickly, trying not to laugh. "No, we were sicker than dogs the next morning. Whiskey and cigars are not a good combination."

The dwarves laughed at that and she couldn't help from laughing herself.

"Well done," Gandalf said quietly to her, a bemused look on his face. "I wonder, what other stories you might have?"

"Don't get your hopes up, I only told that one because they pushed," she said. "And it wasn't even a very good one."

"They got a chuckle out of it none the less," he said and she sighed. "And it is good to see you smile, even if only a little."

She knew it wouldn't be enough to ease the tension towards her, but she also knew Rome wasn't built in a day. It would take very small steps to win the trust of the dwarves. She knew safety lie in numbers and as of right now she was a solo act except for perhaps Gandalf and Bilbo. But, even Bilbo wasn't as welcomed into the group despite being the designated burglar.

After a while, Bilbo got up and to Shyloh's surprise, the hobbit made a quiet beeline right towards the ponies. He gave his pony a pat on the forehead and then fed her an apple he pulled from his pocket. Funny how quickly he'd taken a liking towards the little mare.

Just as she was starting to settle in and doze off, a distant screech floated through the air like a dagger and it stirred her wide awake. She would know that screech anywhere. Bilbo looked just as startle and he quickly stepped back towards the campfire.

"What was that?" he hissed.

Fili and Kili looked off towards the tree tops below their campsite, dark expressions etched into their eyes.

"Orcs," Fili said simply.

"Orcs?" cried Bilbo, and it was loud enough to stir the company awake. Thorin jerked awake from his seat, eyes widening in alarm as he looked around.

"Throat cutters. There will be dozens of them out there," said Fili seriously but his mouth twitched into a half hidden grin after seeing the hobbits sudden worry.

"They strike in the wee small hours of the night, quick and quiet, no noise, just lots of blood," Kili said, playing along with his brother.

Shyloh narrowed her eyes and glared at the brothers as they chuckled between themselves.

"That's not funny," she snapped, but Kili only gave her a wink and grinned.

"You think that's funny do you? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" Thorin's voice shaved the grins off the brothers faces instantly.

"We didn't mean it," Kili said in a small voice but Thorin wasn't so forgiving.

"No you didn't, you know nothing of the world," Thorin said and he rose from his seat and walked away from the campsite, looking over the forest below them.

"Don't mind him laddie," Balin said, giving Bilbo a halfhearted look. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

Shyloh shivered and tucked her cloak around her shoulders even more. Balin then told the tale of Thorin's father and grandfather and her heart felt heavy while she listened to the tragedy that was unfolding in his story. A beheaded king, a father lost to an unknown fate, a fallen kingdom, an unknown tally of dead kinsmen, and a young prince destined to lead his people in the blink of an eye. It was a tragic and remarkable story at the same time and she felt her heart strings loosen just a tiny bit more, silently understanding Thorin just a little better.

They crested a grassy hill one afternoon and came to the runes of what she guessed was an old home. The roof was practically gone, and bits and pieces of the walls were either caved in or blown about the small area around the foundation. The stone fireplace still stood though, but a great chunk had been taken out of the top of the chimney.

Thorin called for a halt and the dwarves started dismounting, but Shyloh eyed the partial building with dislike. Something about it didn't feel right but clearly she wasn't the only one thinking that. Gandalf dismounted and walked towards the old home with caution, his eyes sweeping the scene before him.

"A farmer and his family lived here," the wizard said, his voice sounding strained. Then he turned to Thorin, who walked just ahead of him. "We should move on. We can make for the Hidden Valley."

"I told you I will not go near that place," Thorin sneered, his eyes narrowing with dislike. He shot Shyloh a disgruntled look and she kept her face in neutral although she wanted to tell him off.

She couldn't understand why the dwarf leader was so opposed to going to the Valley. Her uncle was a kind and reasonable elf leader, surely he would be able to help the dwarves. Sensing her thoughts, Gandalf shot her a warning look. With a slight shake of his head she snapped her mouth shut and turned her attention to Alwil reluctantly.

"Why not? We could get food, rest, advice."

"We do not need their advice," Thorin snapped. "Do you think the elves would give our quest their blessing?"

"Of course they won't, but we have questions that need answering. You must put aside your petty grievances with the elves. We have a map, that we can not read, Lord Elrond could help us."

"You ask me to seek help from the very people who betrayed my Grandfather? I will not seek aid from the elves."

Blowing a heavy sigh, Gandalf shook his head irritably and stomped away. He went at such a disgruntled pace that the other dwarves stared at him with wide eyes as he went, grumbling to himself.

"Gandalf? Where are you going?" Bilbo cried.

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has any sense!" Gandalf snapped.

"And whose that?" Bilbo asked innocently but Shyloh wished he would have kept his mouth shut.

"Myself! I've had enough of dwarves for one day!" With that, Gandalf was gone from their sights and he didn't show up the rest of the night.

"Fili, Kili," Thorin called out. "Keep an eye on the ponies. Lets get a fire going."

Reluctantly, Shyloh led Alwil to the far end of the camp where the dwarves tied up their mounts. She pulled the saddle off the mare, letting it drop to the ground in a heap by her feet. The mare stretched out her neck towards the tall grass, her reins trailing over the ground. Shyloh had come to learn that the mare wasn't one to take off but still, she couldn't risk being left behind or to walk.

Wouldn't the dwarves love that," she thought to herself with a wry smile.

Grabbing the reins, she tied them to a low branch so the mare could still eat. She wished she had a brush or something to work out the sweat stains that formed under the saddle pad but unfortunately she had nothing.

"There you go girl," she said, giving the mare a well deserved pat on the neck before heading back to her tack and propping it up next to the rest of the ponies gear.

She was just about to find Bilbo and help him with his pony when a strange conversation caught her attention.

"No, I bet Snowball could shoot better than he can," Bofur said quietly and she thought it sounded like they were making bets again.

"I wouldn't bet a coin on Snowball," Gloin grumbled as he rolled out his bedroll. "Kili's got her beat any day of the week."

"I'll wager on that," Nori said.

"Wager on what? That Kili can out shoot her?" Bofur asked as he slunk to the ground and pulled off a worn boot, tipping it upside down as if he had something in it.

"I'll wager that Kili can out shoot Snowball any day," Nori said with a heavy nod of his head.

She frowned and crouched down, pretending to adjust something on her saddle, curiosity nipping at her.

"I'll wager Snowball can out shoot Kili," Bofur said as he pulled his boot back on. "Elves are known for their skill with bows, she could out shoot him in a heart beat."

"I have to disagree," Gloin said, brushing Bofur's praise for the elves aside with a wave of his hand. "Kili's more skilled."

Realization dawned on her just then about who they were talking about. Did they seriously nickname her Snowball?

Someone cleared their throat and the three dwarves went quiet. Thorin was sitting only a short distance away but he'd clearly heard the entire conversation and he knew she was standing only a short distance away. Simultaneously, the three dwarves turned to look at her and they were met with a cold glare.

"Snowball?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "You're placing bets on me now?"

Gloin's eyes widened as he turned away slowly, as if he was embarrassed they'd been caught red handed and his face flushed red. Bofur's expression froze and Nori's face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace.

"Well," Bofur started, drawing his words out as if he were hesitant to continue. "You do kind of look like a snowball..."

"What with all that white hair and all..." added Nori.

"Balin's got white hair and I don't hear you calling him Snowball," she said, narrowing her eyes at the three of them.

"Well that's a little different," Gloin stated with an eye roll.

"No it's not," she snapped. Hearing his name, Balin turned to them with a halfhearted expression.

"They've been calling you Snowball for the last day and a half lass," Balin said, doing his best not to chuckle.

"Well if you're going to call me names I guess it could be worse than Snowball," she grumbled and stood upright.

"As far as the bet goes," Gloin added slowly with a curious look. "You wouldn't be willing to agree to a little competition would you?"

Her eyes narrowed and she could hear Thorin sigh heavily.

"I'd be interested," Kili said, overhearing the entire thing. He gave her a wink and grin as he stood up. "Don't worry Snowball, I'll go easy on you."

She pressed her lips together in a thin line and placed a hand on her hip. "You seem fairly confident, but I wouldn't want to embarrass you." She sounded a lot more confident than she felt, not to mention she had absolutely no clue how good of an archer Kili was. Fili shot his brother a wide, daring smile.

Kili laughed out loud and a few of the dwarves chuckled endearingly.

"Enough," Thorin said sharply, putting an end to the taunting and Kili's smile faded. "You two are supposed to be looking after the ponies." His eyes fell on Fili and Kili who were clearly not where they were supposed to be. She rolled her head towards them, and the brothers each gave her a smothered grin as they turned away and resumed their post.

"You know lass," Balin started as he turned around, hands on his hips to face her. "I've met my fair share of elves in my day, and I have to say, you seem very different than the rest of them. More quiet and watchful."

She could feel the eyes of the entire company on her once again as she picked up her bedroll.

"Aye," agreed Dwalin. "Not as quick to take offense either."

"And you're more sarcastic," added Ori. His face flamed a brilliant shade of red and he had to turn away.

"Most elves have silver hair or brown or blond. Yours is white," said Bofur curiously. "Like snow."

Her face reddened and she fidgeted with her bedroll. Then she shrugged. "Maybe I'm not elvish enough because I wasn't raised by elves."

Silence followed and confused looks flowed through the company and she instantly knew she should have kept her mouth shut.

"What do you mean?" asked Bilbo. "You're an elf aren't you?"

"Obviously she's an elf," said Bofur with an eye roll.

"What do you mean, you weren't raised by elves?" Thorin asked. He twisted around to face her, the same guarded look on his face and she shrugged again.

"I mean I wasn't raised by them. I was adopted," she said, and her throat tightened up at the thought of her family. Her hand reached involuntarily towards the necklace under her tunic, feeling the small hard lumps of the gems that hung from the silver chain.

"Adopted?" Thorin asked.

"I grew up in the world of men, actually."

"What happened to your real parents?" asked Oin.

"They're dead," she said.

"Why would men adopt an elf child?" wondered Bofur.

"Look," she said suddenly as her hands started to tremble. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Quickly before anyone else could ask more questions, she hurried to the other side of the camp away from everyone, even Bilbo, not meeting anyone's eyes as she went. She didn't talk about her family, real or adopted, and knew she'd already spilled too much.