A/N: Hello! It's late again, sorry! Thank you all for your patience. This month has been tiring - major project's deadline, grandmother's funeral (which took a week), and a week of Overseas Community Involvement Project that was super enjoyable and meaningful (to me) but it took slightly more than a week, so my posting schedule was pushed back. I just got back from my trip two days ago, actually. Just finished writing this. Just.

Anyway, thank you for your support! Thank you for the reviews, EntityShifter, NagandEmerald, Lucky Guard, KaiaRenkin, Zyenna, PurpleFairy11, Julien Caeg, claire1663, le poussin foe, godess bubbles, Sassy Robert, Mystic Myra 8,Pergithshme and FanfirHydra!

Hope you'll like this chapter :) It seemed a bit draggy to me? Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed! :)

NOT BETA-ED YET because i wanted to post it before Dec (It's still 30th Nov, 11.50pm in my country, heck yeah) so I'll be sending this to my trusty beta, Windlances, later and will update with the beta-ed version. Sorry heh.

DISCLAIMER: not mine

Chapter 17

Ori had woken up with the resolution to act perfectly normal around Bilbo. No sense in alarming the possible-dragon that Ori, the youngest dwarf of all, knew of his potentially dangerous secret. He had went for breakfast with a forced but determined smile to be Just Another Ignorant Dwarf. He thought it might even be easy to behave as such - all he had to do was act stupid.

Then Bilbo walked in, and his resolve dissolved.

The potential-dragon barely glanced at his direction after a nod of greeting, but Ori's wild imagination was providing him with images of Bilbo morphing into a dragon there and then and burning everyone into a crisp.

Was that not what dragons do? Pillage and kill and destroy - rinse and repeat?

Maybe it was all in his mind, but Bilbo seemed to have exceptionally sharp canines and long, lethal fingernail. His glances under his eyelashes looked more cunning than innocently cute, and was that a wicked smirk in the slight lopsided curve of his lips?

(Ori was sure the last observation was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe not. He really could not discern the difference right now, not since he found out that the supposedly most innocent and harmful one in the Company could actually be the most dangerous and ruthless of them all. Such realisations were a shocker, to put it lightly.)

He hid his trembling hands under the table and tore his eyes away from Potential-Dragon. He still had not decide what to do.

He still could not look Bilbo in the eye without flinching.

What was he to do?

Nori knew something was up with the secretive way Ori was acting. His little brother was bad at keeping secrets, and even worse at concealing his emotions. But what could possibly be bothering Ori?

He cornered his brother right after breakfast. Ori found himself tugged to a corner of the room, back against the wall. "Speak," Nori demanded.

Ori tried a smile. "I'm fine, Nori! What's the matter?"

Nori pinned him with a glare.

Ori eyes slowly lowered. "I can't tell you."

Nori hid a wince. "You don't trust me," he stated flatly. He knew he was deemed untrustworthy by the other dwarves, but by his own little brother, whom he'll give anything for?

Ori's hands flew up into a gesture of denial. "It's not that! It's just, I don't know if I can say it. How to say it," he admitted.

The older dwarf relaxed minutely. He scrutinised every movement of Ori's. "What's it about? A clue, at least?"

Ori's eyes strayed towards the dining table, where their hobbit sat with a few others, eating.

"Bofur? Bifur? Thorin?" Nori guessed wildly. Ori shook his head. "Dwalin? Tell me, is Dwalin too pushy?" Nori leant forward, grasped Ori's shoulder and squeezed tightly. If Dwalin managed to do anything that bothered(?) his little brother, he would, he would…

Ori shrugged his hands away. "It's not Dwalin! Why would it be Dwalin?"

The snarling monster in his chest settled. No castrating Dwalin, then. He had thought that - it does not matter, he was merely glad he was proven wrong. "Never you mind. Who is it?"

Ori shrugged. "I can't say." Unconsciously, he glanced towards their hobbit again.

Nori narrowed his eyes at Ori. "Bilbo. It's our hobbit, isn't it?"

Ori's eyes widened and he pressed his lips together, refusing to answer, but not denying either. Nori leant back, satisfied.

"Care to share?" He asked carelessly.

"I can't, Nori! I don't know if I can and I don't want to accidentally implicate things, or, or..."

His brother blinked at his outburst. He was silent for a few seconds.

"Very well," he said slowly. "Don't tell me. It's not my secret to know. But," he paused, "if it's bothering you, tell someone, aye?"

Ori opened, then closed, his mouth.

"Agreed?"

"Who can I tell?" Ori asked glumly.

Nori shrugged. "We have a patient, wise, old dwarf with plenty of experience and cunning. He's more than willing to listen to the woes of any dwarf. Especially when it concerns our dear hobbit."

Ori's eyes brightened. He straightened, and nodded. Nori patted him on the back and got ready to leave when Ori stopped him. "Thanks, Nori. You're a great brother."

He smiled wryly. "I try."

Bilbo sat at his usual bench by the garden, puffing smoke rings in the air. His two legs, suspended in air, swung idly. From his peripheral vision, he saw Ori attempting to creep past him.

"Good morning, Ori," Bilbo said jovially, pipe in hand. "How are you?"

Ori flinched at his voice, eyes staring determinedly on the ground. "I'm... I'm fine, thanks for asking." His tone was wary and apprehensive, as if Bilbo would suddenly turn into a monster and devour him there and then, bones and all.

His brows furrowed. "Are you sure? You seem... Jumpy today." He reached out to Ori's shaking fists. The dwarf jerked away from Bilbo's grasp.

Bilbo froze.

"Aye, I'm fine," he insisted, taking a step back, head still ducked down. "Really. Thank... Thank you for the concern, Bilbo. I'm, I'm on my way to find Balin, that's all. Alone. Dwarven matters." He gulped.

Bilbo stared at Ori. "Okay," he said faintly.

Ori finally looked up. His gaze was one of a stranger's - hooded, fearful, and mistrusting. Never had he garnered such a gaze from anyone in his hobbit form, not even when he broke twenty of Lobellia Sackville's antique plates the first time he went to her house when he was thirty. Even the dwarves did not shoot him one of this intensity at the beginning of the journey.

Ori's gaze snapped away. "So... sorry," he gasped. Without further explanation, he turned and ran.

As Ori fled from him, he wondered what he had done to cause such fear from the dwarf.

Ori approached Balin nervously, clutching a book tightly to his chest. The room was empty; he had made sure that no one was about when he decided to approach the old advisor.

"Ori?" The other dwarf asked in concern, "how can I help you?"

This is the right choice, he told himself. Balin could keep a secret. Like what Nori had said, Balin was the oldest, the wisest, the most rationale - he would not hurt Bilbo unless the latter pose as a threat. He was very shrewd and would be able to tell if something was truly amiss with Bilbo.

Taking a shuddering breath, Ori calmed his jittering nerves.

"Balin," he said, voice wavering, "Can... Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, Ori?"

Ori took a step forward. "It's about Bilbo."

Balin's sharp gaze seemingly pierce through Ori's soul. "And?" he prodded.

Ori prayed that he was making the right decision. Without another word, Ori pressed the book into Balin's hands.

Bilbo leant back against the bench. Why was Ori avoiding him? Did he do anything wrong? He ran the list of events that happened through his mind, but he could not remember any actions or his that could have possibly frighten, offend or hurt the young dwarf. Was he missing something?

Maybe he was simply thinking too much?

Bilbo genuinely like Ori. He like teasing Ori, talking to Ori, discussing history and culture (even though most may not be the most accurate recount). Ori was his friend, and Bilbo would sorely like to remain as such.

Putting aside his worries about Ori, there were even more worries to thing about. How was he going to deal with Smaug? When the elves had asked, he had said with utter conviction that he would defeat him, but a plan was still needed. Weeks it had been, yet here he was still procrastinating coming up with a working, solid strategy!

Not only that, but the issue of missing dragonlings greatly vexed him. Worse still, he could not discuss this with anyone. Gandalf knew nothing, and he knew the grey wizard was already doing everything in his abilities to assist Bilbo, along with juggling his own set of problems: the Necromancer, the orgs, the White Council, and the horrendously stubborn Company. No, this was something he probably had to deal with alone - it was his family (extended), so it was his problem.

There was also the issue of the ring.

He blew smoke rings from his pipe, watching idly as they floated up and dispersed to the air. If only his worries could disappear like the smoke.

He sighed.

"Why the long face?" Bofur asked as he sat down next to Bilbo. He grimaced.

"No, nothing."

"Uh huh." A skeptical expression crossed Bofur's face.

Bilbo straightened. "Really. I'm fine, I'm really, really good. Fine morning, don't you think?" He commented abruptly, pointing to the sky.

The skeptical expression remained.

Bilbo let his arm drop and sighed. "I don't know," he said.

"Are you homesick again?" Bofur asked.

"No. No, I'm really not, Bofur, stop looking so skeptical."

Bofur grinned knowingly. "It must be something of a more... Amorous nature, then?"

Bilbo choked on his pipe. Of all his concerns, that was the least of it. All the way to the bottom. Chucked out of his mind. Why was Bofur even considering that to be part of his problems?

"I knew it," Bofur said sagely. "Now, tell Uncle Bofur your woes: who is this lucky lass? Or lad, if you swing that way," he amended.

His mind drew a blank. "Uh."

"Don't be shy," Bofur coaxed. "Is it someone back home? Or," he paused dramatically, "someone from our Company?"

Bilbo gaped.

"It is?" Bofur exclaimed. "Someone from our Company?" His voice rose an octave excitedly.

The reality of what Bofur just claimed hit Bilbo like a sack of rice. "What? What, no! Whatever gave you that idea?"

Bofur smirked. "It's our prince, isn't it. Thorin caught your eye."

He flushed. Maybe he did admire the dwarf from afar once or twice, but that did not mean he was enamoured with him! "It's not a statement, don't make it sound like the truth. Yavanna help me."

Bofur waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Bilbo laughed at the absurdity of the entire scenario, shaking his head.

The dwarf leant back, satisfied. "There. You laughed."

"That was what it's about? Making me laugh?" Bilbo exclaimed, chuckling even harder.

Nabbing his pipe, he took a puff. "You looked like you needed it. Plus, maybe I was really trying to find out the truth." Bofur winked.

The hobbit paused. He did feel better, the burden on his shoulder much lighter. He cracked a smile. "Oh. Thanks, Bofur."

Nori watched the exchange between Bofur and Bilbo closely.

He had always known something was off about Bilbo. It was something in his demeanour, something he tried very hard to conceal. For all his claims of being a hobbit with supposedly no experience in anything related to fighting or 'adventuring', his behaviour spoke otherwise. When fighting, his movements were too graceful, too smooth, and his footwork were confident. The others may peg that to training with the elves, but Nori knew better. That surety could only come from experience gained from real situations, not from the training grounds.

His gaze was sometimes heavy and older than he claimed to be, with something sharp hidden lurking underneath. The hobbit covered it very well with his bluster and laughter, but Nori had been dealing with liars and cheaters for longer than he could remember. He could spot a disguise, no matter how well-worn, when he sees one.

If Nori has to describe Bilbo, it would be: a wolf in layers upon layers of bunny fur.

He had seen Balin's reaction towards the hobbit as well, and it surprised him.

That was not saying that Bilbo was not to be trusted. Maybe he could, maybe he could not. Nori hoped that it was the former, as the hobbit has grown on him. He liked Bilbo, liked his spunk, especially towards the prince. There were dedication and an innate kindness in the hobbit that cannot be faked, as he had observed from Bilbo and Ori's interactions.

But even the kindest person would turn around and attack when their secrets and lives were at stake. Nori did not care what secrets Bilbo was hiding, as long as it does not compromise the dwarves. As long as he got the job done, the how was less important.

But if Bilbo hurt Ori, Nori would not hesitate to cut him down, friend or not.

Balin closed the book with a grave expression. He was silent for a few seconds, face more weary than Ori had ever seen. "Thank you for the information, Ori," he finally said. "Your worries have some truth in it, I'm afraid."

Ori's eyes widened. "Should we inform Thorin right away, then?"

"No. The prince is hot-headed. I believe the wizard knows of this as well. No, we shall keep this between us. Speak of this no more to anyone."

"Aye. What of Bilbo?"

Balin hesitated. "We observe, for now. I'll like to keep this book for a few days, if you don't mind?"

The scholar agreed without hesitation. "Balin," he said, "is Bilbo to be trusted?"

Balin's tired expression reflected his own. "I wish I can say yes, Ori, but I do not know."

"But the wizard trusts him."

"Sometimes what the wizard wants, for the good of the whole of Middle-Earth, is not what is favourable for us. Do you understand, Ori?"

He was quiet. "I do."

The remaining day passed fairly quickly. They woke up earlier the next day, brimming and bustling with energy. The Company is to resume its journey.

Perched atop a pony, Bilbo watched as they stacked more food into the ponies. Beorn hovered around, supervising the dwarves. "Remember: there is one stream in Mirkwood that I know of, black and strong which crosses the path. Never drink of, or bathe in it,for I have heard that it carries enchantment and a great drowsiness and forgetfulness. Never stray from the path."

Beorn looked around his compound. "Go now, when there is still light. There is no sign of your hunters; you should be safe, but do not tarry. I wish you all speed."

Thorin gripped Beorn's hand tightly. "Thank you," he said gruffly, "the dwarves of Erebor are in your debt."

Beorn snorted. "Take care of Bilbo."

Thorin nodded grimly and joined his Company, giving them some space to talk.

Bilbo stretched his sore shoulders, relishing in the pain. At night, Bilbo had grabbed the chance to practice his flying, dwarves be damned. They had caught him sneaking out and almost insisted on tagging along, but a growling Beorn and Gandalf's grumbling finally dissuaded them from that Terrible Suggestion. Bilbo was sure that Balin was eyeing him even more suspiciously after that, but he did not care.

"Thanks, Beorn," Bilbo said gratefully. "Thanks for everything." The tall man shrugged his shoulders as he hefted his axe over his shoulder.

"Anytime, little rabbit." Leaning forward, he whispered, "Are you sure you want to go with those dwarves?"

The hobbit nodded. "Signed a contract and all that."

He sighed. "Very well. Fair winds, Cousin. Tear that Smaug apart, alright?"

Bilbo gave a feral grin. "Oh, I will." Hand raised in a farewell, he nudged his pony forward to join the dwarves.

Then they were off.

The company rode rapidly across the land, slowing to a stop before a looming forest. The trees stretched upwards sinisterly, the trunks huge and gnarled, their branches twisted, their pine-coloured leaves dark and long. A slight mist wafted out from within; Ivy were draped all over the branches and trailed along the ground. The path in front of them was dark and almost hidden by fallen leaves. Gandalf dismounted and walked to the edge of the forest. He glanced at an ancient archway.

"The Elven Gate." Turning around, he called out, "Here lies our path through Mirkwood."

No sign of the orcs. We have luck on our side," Dwalin commented as he dismounted.

Bilbo squinted at the distance and saw Beorn-bear watching them from a distant ridge. He waved.

"Set the ponies loose. let them return to their master."

They dismounted, grabbing their supplies off the ponies before doing as Gandalf said.

Bilbo took a step towards the edge of the forest, almost beneath the great overhanging boughs of the trees. He had came here before when he was still a wee lad, when travelling with the Rivendell Elves. It was still called Greenwood then, and the forest then was brimming with life, the air clean and fresh. He took a tentative sniff. The overpowering pungent of rot and sickness hit him squarely. He choked, reeling, stomach churning. "This forest feels sick, as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around?" He asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "Not unless we go two hundred miles north, or twice that distance south."

Thorin shook his head. "We've tarried long enough at Beorn's. No, we go forth, through the forest."

Bilbo pursed his lips unhappily and shrugged.

Gandalf followed a path a few feet further into the shadows, towards a statue covered in moss and creeping plants.

In his mind, he heard chanting.

The chanting intensified as he took another step towards the statue.

One ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

In his pocket, Bilbo felt the ring, all wrapped in a handkerchief, vibrate. The handkerchief grew warmer.

Beware the Necromancer. He is not what he seems.

Gandalf leapt forward and ripped off the vines on the statue. On the old statue was the painted Eye of Sauron.

His heart sank.

They were letting all the ponies go when Gandalf stopped them with a shout. "Not my horse! I need it."

As Gandalf strode forward, the Company looked up and murmured in surprise.

Bilbo came up to stand next to him. "You're leaving."

"I would not do this unless I had to. The darkness that is stirring. We must know if our enemy has truly arrived."

"You're going to the High Fells?

Gandalf nodded. Turning to Thorin, he said, "I'll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and the key safe, and do not enter that mountain without me." He paused and looked hard at the dwarves prince. Thorin stared back stoutly with a semi-defiant expression. The Grey Wizard sighed and moved on.

"This is not the greenwood of old. The very air in the forest is heavy with illusion. It will set to enter your mind and lead you astray."

Dori whispered to Dwalin, "What does that even mean?" Dwalin hushed him.

"You must stay on the path do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again." The wizard nodded to Bilbo. "Take care of the dwarves for me."

As he rode gallantly away, hair whipping behind him, he shouted, "No matter what may come, stay on the path!"

The Company turned towards forest. "Come on. we must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin's Day," Thorin said.

"Durin's day," Dwalin echoed. "Let's go!"

They followed the paved path, with Thorin leading in front. The path twisted and turned sharply, through bare ground and high ledges, over fallen tree trunks and under tangled branches. The quiet was so deep that their feet seemed to thump along while all the trees leaned over them, watching and listening. With hardly any light streaming in, everything was washed in shades of grey and blue. The air was still and stuffy. Gloomy was an understatement.

Bilbo felt like everything was closing in on him and he was suffocating. He tampered down the urge to tear free and burn all the wrongness into ashes. The elves always told him that burning was not the solution to all his problems.

The more they walked, the more disorientated they were. But they pushed on. For days they stayed in the accursed forest, forging ahead even when the path ahead was dark ad barely visible, and they narrowly avoid being stabbed by sharp twigs in their path. They rationed their provisions carefully, but even then they were running out of food, fast. Bilbo mourned the times when he could have seven meals a day and feast like a king. They tried hunting for the black squirrels that ran around the forest.

Kili had the most luck in catching a few of those squirrels, but they tasted so putrid that no one wanted another bite. "I'll rather starve," Bomber had declared, along with a few nodding dwarves, after spitting out his first mouthful of squirrel meat. The black squirrels were left alone from then on.

The nights were the worst, when not even their fingers were visible to them. Bilbo would always make a small fire out of tinders, but the smoke produced was even more suffocating due to the stifling air, despite its warmth and light. Moths were also attracted to the light and would flock to their fire in tens and dozens. Finally, when everyone was coughing and flapping at the overgrown, black moths, Oin had had enough and placed a ban on setting a fire 'unless especially necessary'.

At certain pauses during the day, however, Bilbo could hear a few other pairs of footsteps alongside theirs, shadowing them, following them closely. Even at night, he saw the glint of eyes appearing and disappearing into the darkness, surveying them from afar.

Bilbo knew the Elven Guards were watching them, but he was starting to feel creeped out by their silent, stalker-tendencies. Could they not have simply announced their presence? Their constant, subtle presence was a niggling twinge on his instinct, like an itch on the back of his neck that he could not scratch. The dwarves noticed nothing, so he said nothing.

Sometimes, he caught sight of huge, dense cobwebs gleaming on the branches overhead. Spiders. He shuddered. Occasionally, bulbous yellow eyes would stare at him at night — he would hiss at them and they would fade back into the darkness. He hoped the spiders sensed the presence of another predator in the forest, and had the sense to back off.

They were at their wit's end when they finally came across a river, flowing fast and strong but narrow enough to be crossed. In the glom, the water appeared to be black.

"Water!"

"Thank Mahal."

"Wait!" Thorin's sharp voice cut through their excitement, halting them in their race towards the water source. "Beorn mentioned this before. Do not touch the water."

Reluctantly, they stepped away from the river edge.

"How are we going to cross this river?"

Fili pointed to a rotting, broken post near the bank. "There used to be a wooden bridge across it, but it's gone now."

Bilbo knelt on the brink and peered forward. In the distance, his eyes could make out a boat against the far bank. "There, there's a boat at the other end," he said.

"Sharp eyes," Nori noted appreciatively.

"How far away do you think it is?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo surveyed the river. "Maybe about twelve yards."

Kili nodded. "We can reach it with a grappling rope."

The pair of siblings worked together with Oin and Gloin to pull the boat across the river to their side of the bank.

"Who'll cross first?" Bofur asked. It was then decided by the Head Dwarf that Bilbo, Fili and Balin would cross with him, followed by Kili, Oin, and Gloin, with the dwarves taking turns doing the ferrying. The third trip would consist of Dori, Ori and Nori, then Bifur, Bomfur and Dwalin, with Bombur (ferried by Dwalin) being the last.

"I'm always the last and I don't like it," Bomber complained. "Let someone else be the last today."

"Well too bad," Bofur snorted, and left it at that. They crossed the river quickly, without much mishap. As Dwalin was scrambling out onto the far bank, hooves sounds were suddenly heard. Without warning, a stag shot out of a bush and towards the dwarves. Bowling them over, the stag readied itself for a leap. It sprang across the river, kicking Bombur in the process.

Thorin reacted quickly, fitting a bow swiftly and lifting it up to aim.

"Thorin, no!" Bilbo shouted. But it was too late. The arrow flew straight and true, embedding itself onto the side of the stag. The stag faltered as it landed on the other side of the bank, stumbling. The shadows swallowed it up, but they heard the sound of hooves falter to a stop.

Bilbo moaned in dismay. Stags and deer were the Elven King's favoured animals, and they may have just offended him in his own domain. Especially since the Elven King and the dwarves were on bad terms.

A shout of help pushed all political affairs of any sort to the back of Bilbo's mind.

"Bombur has fallen in!" Bofur shouted. Bombur flailed around, one leg in the dark water and one leg on the river bank, hands slipping off the slimy roots at the edge. Hastily, they flung a rope to him and pulled him off. Bomber's entire being was soaked by then. Worse still, the effects of the enchantment water had gotten to him — he fell asleep the moment they managed to pull him to safety.

"Half our supplies are gone," lamented Oin.

"What are we going to do now?"

Thorin looked up. It seemed as though it was already nearing evening, but it was hard to tell with all the gloom about. He sighed. "We set up camp here today. Tomorrow, we press on."

End of Chapter 17

Comments will be appreciated! :)

Thank you!

-littlesparrowkeet