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Chapter Four

A Rather Expected Party

Bilbo's hobbit-hole was chaos.

As Alison stepped through the front door—not even having to bend her head to get in, she was so short—it was like crossing an imaginary line. On one side, there was the quiet, quaint village of Hobbiton, with only the crickets chirping in the tranquil dusk, while on the other side of Bilbo's door were the rowdy, raucous dwarves, who laughed and shouted merrily as they began to pillage the hobbit's pantry.

"If you'll excuse me," said Bilbo hastily, releasing her hand before rushing into his kitchen, demanding the dwarves to put everything back, though the poor hobbit was largely ignored.

Uncertain, Alison crept closer to the kitchen, hoping she would find Gandalf somewhere amidst the madness surrounding her. The dwarves seemed too intent on gathering food and setting the table in Bilbo's dining room to pay her much attention, but for this she was glad. Her head had not fully wrapped around the notion that she was supposed to be there, and that she was supposed to help them on their quest, though she doubted she would ever get used to the idea anyway.

She had been standing so quietly in the background, preferring to watch what was happening around her than joining in, that she should not have been surprised when a heavy body came around the corner and walked right into her, causing her to let out a startled cry as she toppled to the floor.

"What the hell?" she demanded of the person who had knocked into her, glaring up from the floor to see an unfamiliar dwarf standing above her that had not been present at The Green was blond, and appeared younger than the rest, with twin mustache braids hanging around his mouth that quirked when he raised a brow at her.

"Apologies, lass," he said, "but you were the one standing in the corner unseen, if I recall."

She scowled. He held out a hand to her that she grudgingly took, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You're Gandalf's companion?" he asked when she was back on her feet, and she nodded, brushing off her clothes. She was disgruntled to find that the dwarf was nearly the same height as her, and she had to wonder what the purpose of calling them dwarves was if most of them stood as tall as her in the first place.

"Unfortunately," she grumbled.

He looked taken aback by her remark, though did not comment.

"Interesting," he said instead, his eyes traveling over her curiously. "I expected someone…taller."

"You're one to talk," she retorted, her annoyance growing with each passing second.

He grinned at this, his twin braids dangling wildly, before he bowed at the waist and said, "Fíli, at your service."

Alison blanched. Fíli. Thorin's eldest nephew and one of the dwarves that would die at the end of the quest.

"Alison Ashburne," she choked out when her silence became suspicious.

He smiled uncomfortably. "A pleasure, Miss Ashburne," he said just as another body rounded the corner and nearly stumbled into the pair. "Ah, Brother! I was wondering where you'd run off to. Have you met Miss Ashburne yet?"

Alison's polite smile froze on her face when she realized that Fíli must be talking to Kíli. She felt rather ill with the two of them before her—real people, with heartbeats and thoughts and feelings, not just characters in a book.

And she was supposed to save them.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Kíli when she did not speak, his dark eyes raking her over suspiciously. He was quite unlike his brother in appearances; where Fíli's hair was fair and braided back from his face, Kíli's was dark and held with only a simple clasp, allowing pieces to fall across his forehead and lending him a brooding look. He seemed young, as well, but that was probably attributed to the lack of a beard, his face only dusted with dark stubble in its place.

His rude question seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she had gone into at the sight of the two dwarves, and she turned her scowl on him.

"Nothing's wrong with me," she said. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"So, she does speak," he said amusedly, and she wondered if the Valar would be mad at her if she ended up killing the brothers prematurely.

"Be polite, Kee," Fíli said. "Miss Ashburne is Gandalf's chosen companion."

At this, Kíli's face darkened, and he only let out a brusque, "Apologies," before he left abruptly. Alison stared after him, wondering what that was all about, as Fíli coughed awkwardly from beside her.

"You'll have to forgive my brother, Miss Ashburne," he said. "We've been traveling for well over a fortnight now, and he gets cranky when he doesn't get enough sleep."

Alison's lips twitched at his attempt to alleviate the tension that had sprung up in the wake of Kíli's departure and nodded to him in gratitude, though she got the sense that a lack of sleep was not all that was contributing to his brother's foul mood.

"It's all right," she said, shrugging it off easily. Not as if I'm here to make anyone like me, anyway. "And it's just Alison, by the way."

He bowed his head. "As you wish, Miss Alison." She sighed. He gestured to the pillaged pantry across them. "Would you like to eat? I recommend grabbing something now before Bombur gets to it."

Grateful that at least one of the dwarves seemed friendly, Alison accepted his offer and followed him into the pantry, searching for something edible amidst the wake of devastation the others had left behind. She felt bad for raiding Bilbo's food supply, but the guilt was immediately replaced with hunger as she snatched up an apple and some rolls, with Fíli grabbing some mugs for mead beside her.

They ventured into Bilbo's dining room with their fare and took seats near the end of the table, as everywhere else was occupied. Fíli plopped down next to his brother while Alison kept on the other side of the blond dwarf after the dark look Kíli sent her. Despite her earlier conviction that she was not there to make friends with anyone, his attitude still made her leery.

The room was brightly lit with candles and warm from the fire blazing in the hearth, though someone had had enough sense to open one of Bilbo's windows. The dwarves were atrocious diners, as Alison soon learned; she had to duck her head numerous times when a piece of food whizzed past her, the table embroiled in some sort of food fight while they ate. Fíli had taken to walking along the tabletop to reach the barrel of mead on the far side of the room, and he shouted apologies and jests as he clambered back to his seat, trying not to spill the overflowing mugs in his hands as he passed one off to Alison.

She sniffed at the dark liquid in her cup, smelling honey and an array of spices that goaded her to take an experimental sip. The brew was quite good, and she found herself gulping it down at an alarming pace, only turning back to her food once the cup was drained.

"I'm beginning to think you don't need air to live, considering you haven't taken a breath since sitting down," Fíli said, grinning as he watched her stuff an entire roll into her mouth.

She swallowed the bite with some difficulty, inhaling exaggeratedly afterwards and causing him to laugh. He jostled Kíli's shoulder with his own, and the dark-haired dwarf scowled, his eyes flicking to her accusingly as if she were the root cause of all his problems. She glared back at him before taking a hearty bite of her chicken, taking the opportunity to study the dwarves along the table.

She recognized the ones she had met at The Green Dragoneasily enough, if only from how distinct each of them was from the others. No one looked alike, even the ones that were related—their hair and beards were all styled differently, and their adornments varied. The only dwarves she was not familiar with were the two that sat at the opposite end of the table. One was a hulking mass of muscle, with tattoos on his bald head and glowering eyes, while the other was plump and short, with long white hair that gave her vivid flashbacks to the Santa Claus that came to their town square every Christmas for pictures with the kids. She determined that those two were Balin and Dwalin, though which was which, she couldn't say. That only left Thorin Oakenshield to be accounted for, but since Dori had informed them that he was running behind, she chose not to dwell on that particular dwarf—after all, he was the final say in allowing her to accompany them or not. Her appetite quelled at the thought, her nerves returning to her with a vengeance.

She hadn't realized she was still staring at the scary dwarf until he looked up and locked eyes with her, his brow lowering and making his gaze seem sinister. She gulped, turning away hastily, but the damage was already done. The dwarf spoke to her, his loud voice booming down the table and capturing everyone's attention, making her wince.

"The wizard says he has chosen you as our last companion," he said, his gaze never wavering from her. Her mouth was suddenly dry as every pair of eyes fastened on her. She noticed that Bilbo and Gandalf were missing from the room, leaving her only with the dwarves, and she swallowed nervously. "Why?"

"I…I don't know," she said, cringing back from the incredulous look he gave her. "That's a question for Gandalf, isn't it?"

"I'm asking you," he said, raising a thick eyebrow with a white scar running through it. "Why does the wizard feel the need to bring you along on our quest? It's bad enough that we're already being burdened with a burglar. What is your role, then?"

Alison didn't answer, her heart hammering in her chest. What was she supposed to tell them? The truth? It would be a good place to start, but would they even believe her if she told them that she was from a different world, one where their quest was a story and that she knew what was going to happen to them? It would lead to a lot of questions she didn't have the answers to, but fortunately she was spared from having to reply, for just then Gandalf shuffled into the room with Bilbo behind him.

"What is this?" the wizard asked, sweeping his gaze over the tense room. He met Alison's eyes, and his face lit up in understanding when he caught her silent plea. "Ah, I see."

"What would you have us do with this girl?" the burly dwarf demanded, wasting no time in turning to the wizard with his questions. "Thorin will never allow her on the quest. Why bring her?"

"Aye," the redhaired dwarf named Glóin piped up. "It's bad luck to bring a woman on a quest, Gandalf. Why do we need her?"

"She is a descendant of Eleon Ashburne," Gandalf said, reclining in a chair that was just large enough for him at the table and taking out his pipe. "The Ashburne blood runs in her veins, and the Valar have chosen her to aid in your quest, Master Dwarves. Surely the decree of the Valar is sufficient enough reason to have her?"

"But what is an Ashburne?" Fíli asked. "I've never heard of this Eleon Ashburne. Who was he?"

The dwarves all muttered their agreement, and Alison nodded along with them before catching herself. Even though Gandalf had told her the gist of her family history, she was curious to know more, even if she still had a hard time believing any of it.

"It seems your history lessons left out quite a few things, Master Dwarves," Gandalf said, lighting his pipe with a flame that sprouted from his fingertip while the dwarves looked to each other and grumbled. "Allow me to teach you, then, if you will.

"Eleon Ashburne was one of the first great Heroes of Middle-earth," he began. "And by Hero, I mean a group of Men who were regarded as the most elite warriors in the First Age, gifted with strength and courage by the Valar themselves. Eleon was the First of the Heroes, along with his four siblings. They fought in the War of Wrath, in Beleriand of the First Age, and helped defeat Morgoth's armies."

There was a collective shudder around the table at this, and the room seemed to darken, the candles burning lower and the fire guttering in the hearth. Alison listened, rapt, as Gandalf went on.

"However, shortly after the war had been won, Eleon disappeared to a world that was not our own. Before his departure, he swore an oath to the Valar, that those descended from him would be called upon to serve Middle-earth and the Free Peoples in times of strife. Eleon was never seen again, and the Heroes became legends, until a descendant of Eleon returned to this world from his own, an age later.

"His name was Jonathan Ashburne, and he served under the Last Alliance of Elves and Men in the war against Sauron in the Second Age. Jonathan Ashburne became the Second Hero, and while his fate remains unknown, the pattern continued. Heroes reappeared in Middle-earth—sporadically throughout the ages, yet all with the same task to help keep the peace and balance of our world. Miss Ashburne here is the Seventh Hero, and the Valar have given her the duty to help you in your own quest."

"Then it is a sign!" the one with the ear trumpet—Óin—declared. "The Valar have blessed our quest if they sent her! We must go!"

The intimidating dwarf from earlier scoffed.

"She is a remnant of a lost race, nothing more," he said. "This quest needs no blessing from the Valar to happen. Are we not here already, willing and honor-bound?"

There were a few rousing agreements from the dwarves, and Alison sat back, looking to Gandalf helplessly. But the wizard was frowning, a pondering look on his face, and did not catch her eye.

"If the Valar sent her here for a reason, then should we not heed that?" Fíli asked, gazing around the table imploringly. "What would happen to us if we ignored their will? It seems like a bad omen to me."

The table erupted into a full-blown argument at Fíli's words, all the dwarves clamoring over each other to be heard, and the volume swelled in the small room. She, Bilbo, and Gandalf were the only ones who remained silent, though she was growing increasingly irritable with every second that the dwarves spoke about her while she was sitting right there. Finally, she had enough.

She scraped back her chair, standing from the table and garnering the attention of the shouting dwarves. They all turned to look at her with varying levels of curiosity and suspicion, but she was done listening to them rant. She was exhausted over the events that had transpired that day, and her headache was coming back with a vengeance.

"If you don't mind," she said as evenly as possible, "I'll be waiting somewhere else until you're done." She looked to Gandalf. "Come get me if anything's decided."

And with that, she retreated from the room, heading down a tunnel-like hallway until she reached Bilbo's sitting room, tucked away in a cozy corner of the smial that was thankfully away from all the noise. She plopped herself down in a plush armchair, putting her pounding head in her hands and sighing. She felt like crying at that moment, but she was so tired the tears would not come.

What am I doing here? I don't want to go on a quest, or be a Hero, or anything. I just want to go home.

She had only been sitting alone for a few minutes before she sensed a body take the chair across from her own, but she didn't look up, even when Fíli spoke.

"Are you all right, Miss Alison?"

She scoffed.

"I don't think I've ever been so far from all right in my life," she said bitterly, finally looking up and meeting his concerned gaze. "The others are right," she continued. "I don't belong here. I'm not a Hero, or a warrior. I'm just a girl who has no idea what to do with her life who got dragged here against her will. I'm nobody. I couldn't help if I tried."

"You don't know that," he said quietly.

She shook her head, fighting off tears. "Why are you here? Why are you being so nice to me? You don't even know me."

"Because I know what it's like to have a great responsibility on your shoulders," he said. His eyes searched hers, a gray-blue color that reminded her of frozen steel. "My uncle has no sons of his own, so as his eldest nephew, I am the heir to his crown. It is a burden I carry every day, but I know it is my duty to carry it. You may not think yourself a Hero, Miss Alison, but the Valar chose you for your own duty. The way I see it, you can either let it crush you, or you can carry it and move on."

Alison stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap. Fíli was right, she knew. Gandalf had told her that going home was impossible unless she completed her task and fulfilled her Oath to the Valar. Even if she couldn't fight to save her life, she still knew the story and all that would happen on the quest. Shouldn't she use that knowledge to her advantage? She could save lives with that knowledge. She could save the dwarf in front of her from an early grave with that knowledge. Was that not enough?

"What about the others?" she asked. "Your uncle? What if they decide that I can't join the Company?"

"Then I will carry you in my rucksack, if I must," he said, grinning, and she cracked a tiny smile in return, about to thank him before she was interrupted by a shrill voice.

"I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"

They turned to see Bilbo stalking into the hallway with Gandalf behind him, and the hobbit's irate shout was what they had heard as he stood fuming at the wizard. Before Gandalf could reply, however, Ori approached Bilbo warily, his dinner plate still in his hands.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

When Bilbo looked as if he were contemplating breaking said plate over the dwarf's head, Fíli jumped up and strode to where they were standing, saying cheerfully, "Here you go, Ori, give it to me."

He took the plate just as his brother came around the corner, pipe in hand, and Fíli shot Alison a mischievous grin before yelling, "Kíli!" and tossing the plate to his brother.

Kíli caught it deftly, sharing his brother's grin as he tossed it behind his back like a frisbee, ignoring Bilbo's whimper as Dori caught the plate and passed it along, back down the hallway to the kitchen.

Bilbo ran off, attempting to dissuade the dwarves from throwing around his dishes, but he was too late. The dwarves had made a sort of game by then, and Alison watched in amusement as pottery and cutlery went flying in all different directions, though not a single piece was dropped.

Some of the dwarves were in the kitchen when Alison entered, stomping and beating their knives on the table in tune as Bilbo rushed in, exclaiming, "Can you please not do that? You'll blunt them!"

"Ooh, d'you hear that, lads?" Bofur said. "He said we'll blunt the knives!"

And out of nowhere, and from the least likely person she would have expected, Kíli began to sing:

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks!"

Fíli joined in, adding:

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"

And suddenly all the dwarves were singing, adding verses in between their game, and Alison stared in amazement at the flurry of activity around her, listening to the dwarves sing their song:

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates,

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

Cut the cloth and tread on the fat,

Leave the bones on the bedroom-mat,

Pour the milk on the pantry floor!

Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl,

Pound them up with a thumping pole,

When you've finished, if any are whole,

Send them down the hall to roll!

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

So, carefully! carefully with the plates!"

Alison laughed along with the rest when the distressed hobbit realized that not only were all his dishes clean, but they were stacked and piled without a single chip or crack in the middle of his table.

Their laughter died as three booming knocks came from Bilbo's front door, the air reverberating with the sound.

Gandalf spoke ominously into the silence that had befallen the Company, three simple words that managed to send a chill down Alison's spine: "He is here."


Everyone piled into Bilbo's entryway as Gandalf went to open the door. Alison followed reluctantly, lurking near the back of the Company while nerves gnawed at her belly. She had almost forgotten about Thorin in her brief moment of fun, but now her anxiety returned in full-force as the door swung open, revealing Thorin Oakenshield in the flesh.

Alison didn't know why the book had made him out to be so plain. Silhouetted against the opening of Bilbo's door, she thought she had never seen a kinglier person in her life. His hair was long, black, and streaked with gray, like moonlight on a raven's wing. His face was angular for a dwarf, with a sharp nose and deep-set eyes of blue that matched Fíli's, yet darker, more intense. He also did not have an abnormally long beard, but rather a well-trimmed one that circled the lower half of his face. All in all, he made for an intimidating figure, and what small courage she had before seemed to drain away as he stepped inside.

"Gandalf," he said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest and seeming to make the air quiver around them. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find? I lost my way—twice." He grunted. "Wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

Bilbo pushed his way to the front of the throng, saying, "Mark? There's no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!"

"There is a mark," said Gandalf easily. "I put it there myself just this morning."

Bilbo stared at the wizard, outraged, but Gandalf ignored him, closing the door before nodding to Thorin. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce you to the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield."

"So," Thorin said, beginning to circle Bilbo with studying eyes, sizing him up. "This is the hobbit. Tell me, Master Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" Bilbo looked around in confusion, but Thorin went on.

"Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo bounced nervously on the balls of his large feet. "Well, er, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know. But I fail to see…why that's relevant?"

"I thought as much," Thorin said, coming to a halt and facing the dwarves, a satisfied smirk on his face. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The dwarves laughed, but Alison frowned at the jest. That was hardly a way to treat someone who had just offered their home up as a gathering place, king or no, she thought.

As if he could sense her disapproval, Thorin turned and met her eyes from where she stood at the back of the crowd. His brow lowered in confusion as he shot a furtive look to Gandalf.

"Who is this?" he asked. "There was no mention of a woman to be at this place."

"Thorin, this is Alison Ashburne," Gandalf introduced, sweeping an arm toward her. "She is here at my behest."

The effect was instantaneous. Thorin's expression turned stony, his eyes hard, and he turned back to the wizard with a cold glare. "An Ashburne?"

The room had gone quiet as if everyone held their breath. Alison's heart rate spiked in response to the sudden tension, sweat beginning to prickle under her arms.

Thorin gestured to her without taking his eyes off the wizard. "This is who you have chosen to be our last member? A young girl?" He scoffed. "Come, Gandalf; she is no warrior. One look was enough to tell me that."

Alison thought it hardly fair that he had referred to her as a young girl when she had been eighteen for several months already, but she had to agree with him on the last part—there was no way in hell she was a warrior.

"Let us discuss this matter elsewhere," Gandalf said. "You must be hungry after your travels, Thorin." He gestured to Bilbo. "Bilbo, my dear fellow, if there is anything left for our last guest, would you be so kind as to bring it? We will gather at the dining table once more."

Bilbo nodded, ever the gracious host, and Alison had a sudden idea.

"I'll help you," she said quickly, moving to stand by the hobbit's side, and he gave her a grateful smile. She avoided eye contact with anyone as they all trooped back to the dining room, specifically Gandalf and Thorin, who had started up a heated discussion in whispers as they left.

She followed Bilbo into the kitchen, where the hobbit pulled out a pot and set it over the cooking fire in the hearth before grabbing various ingredients that had been left behind after the massacre of his pantry.

"Soup?" she said after he asked her to hand him the wooden spoon in the drawer behind her. He nodded, his brow furrowed.

"Nothing fancy," he said. "I don't have much left to work with, unfortunately."

She winced upon noticing his barren pantry. "What can I do?"

"Provide me with some sanity," he said. "You seem like the most reasonable one out of the lot, anyway." He shook his head then, his floppy curls bouncing. "I don't know what Gandalf was thinking. You know he wants me to be a burglar for these dwarves? To go on an adventure?" He began chopping some carrots forcefully, muttering to himself, "Adventures…hardly respectable… Oh, what would my dear father say?"

Alison sat awkwardly, not answering. She knew from the book that Bilbo would eventually decide to go on the quest, and she didn't want to say anything that could possibly dissuade him.

"At least you get a choice," she grumbled, playing with one of his antique pepper grinders. "Gandalf thinks this quest is my 'destiny.'" She made air quotations with her fingers, and Bilbo looked to her curiously.

"Then you think he made a mistake?" he asked.

She shrugged, putting down the pepper grinder. "He had to have. I mean, I'm supposedly a descendant of this ancient warrior who just happened to have my last name. That has to be fake, right? There's no way I'm a warrior. Gandalf chose the wrong person." She frowned. "The Valar chose the wrong person."

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps, but perhaps not."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you know, Bilbo Baggins?"

He pursed his lips, not answering for a long moment as he scraped the carrots and some onions into the broth and added a dash of barley. However, when he turned around and saw her still staring at him, he sighed and held up his hands.

"All right, very well," he said. "It's just… I know many things about this world, Miss Ashburne. I've studied history books and maps and legends from all races and all lands—the ones I could get my hands on, anyway. I've read about the Ashburne Heroes. And though the stories vary, the one thing that seems unanimously agreed upon is that Eleon Ashburne disappeared to another world and all the Heroes after him came from this same world."

She frowned, not liking that answer at all, but whatever shred of hope remained inside her that this had all been some sort of cosmic misunderstanding had been dashed away. She was the descendant of some old Hero guy that had lived thousands of years ago, and now the Valar and Gandalf thought she was someone special because of it.

Bilbo hesitated, studying her carefully before asking, "Is it true, then? Do you really come from another world?"

"Apparently so," she said, rubbing her temples where a massive headache was forming again. She laughed bitterly. "And to think I spent so much of my life wishing I was somewhere else." She shook her head. "Needless to say, I think I got a lot more than I bargained for."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said sincerely, his face sympathetic. "I know you never asked for this. I can't even imagine what it's like for you being here, so far from everything you've ever known."

She nodded, blinking back the tears that sprouted in her eyes.

"Yeah," she said hoarsely. "Thank you."

Bilbo smiled kindly before turning away to give her time to recompose herself, busying himself with the now-bubbling soup as she scrubbed at her eyes in annoyance. By the time he poured the finished soup into a bowl, her eyes were thankfully dry, and they exchanged a small smile before he led them back into the dining room.

The dwarves and Gandalf were all seated around the table once more, with Thorin having taken the head with Gandalf to his left, smoking a pipe. Bilbo set down the bowl in front of the dwarf king silently, but Thorin at least had the decency to nod politely to him. The same could not be said for Alison, however, as he merely watched her stonily as she and Bilbo stood awkwardly behind the wizard.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" the dwarf that looked like Santa Claus asked Thorin, his intent eyes at odds with his round, cheery face. "Did they all come?"

"Aye," Thorin said between bites. "Envoys from all seven clans."

The dwarves rumbled hopefully around the table. Santa's brother asked, "And what did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dáin with us?"

Thorin hesitated before shaking his head slightly. The dwarves seemed to deflate a little as he said, "They will not come. Dáin thinks it folly. He says this quest is ours, and ours alone."

"Excuse me," Bilbo piped up, and everyone's eyes turned to him. He looked quite nervous, addressing all of them, but he spoke anyway. "It's just… There's been quite a few mentions about a quest now. Er…what exactly is your quest?"

Thorin turned to Gandalf accusingly. "You haven't told him?"

The wizard looked a bit sheepish, but said, "I was going to, in time." When Thorin only glared, Gandalf reached into his robes and pulled out a square piece of parchment, which he unfolded and spread across the table for them all to see.

Alison and Bilbo leaned over his shoulder and saw an old, yellowed map with a black ink drawing of a mountain in the center, a red dragon flying above it, and some weird lines she couldn't distinguish in the corners.

"'The Lonely Mountain,'" Bilbo read. He looked up to the dwarves in astonishment. "Erebor. But isn't there a dragon living there now?"

He pointed to the drawing on the map, and Thorin's face darkened.

"Oh, aye," Bofur said from farther along the table. "That would be Smaug. Terrible beast, he is. Airborne firebreather. Teeth like razors. Claws like meat hooks. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye—"

"We got it, thanks," said Alison when she saw Bilbo's pale face.

"I'm not afraid, I'm up for it!" Ori burst out, standing up from his seat near the end of the table and looking fiercer than she thought possible for the meek dwarf. "I'll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his—!"

He was pulled back down by a disapproving Dori, his last word lost as the table began to cheer and voice their agreement. Santa, however, spoke over them.

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," he said heavily. "But we number only thirteen—and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest."

"We may be few in number, but we're fighters; all of us!" Fíli declared, slapping his hand on the table. "To the last dwarf!"

"And you forget we have a wizard in our Company!" Kíli said. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

Gandalf choked on his pipe. "Oh, well, no, I—"

"Go on, then," Dori said to Gandalf. "How many dragons have you killed?"

"Well, none, I should say—"

At Gandalf's admission, another argument broke out amongst the dwarves. Alison stared, not knowing what else to do as she watched them shout and jab fingers at each other. Gandalf sucked on his pipe, looking like he wished he hadn't said anything.

Finally, Thorin stood up and yelled something to the dwarves in a foreign language, which Alison guessed was the dwarvish version of shut the hell up! At their king's command, though, the room grew silent once more, and Thorin continued, thankfully in a much lower voice and in a tongue she could understand.

"The dragon has not been seen for sixty years. Rumors have begun to spread. Eyes now look east to the Mountain—assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

He raised his fist and shook it, and the dwarves took up a chant in the dwarvish tongue again, pounding on the table and stomping their feet.

"This guy would be great at motivational speaking," she muttered, but no one heard her, for Santa had to rain on their parade again.

"You forget that the Front Gate is sealed!" he said. "There is no other way into the Mountain."

"That, my dear Balin," said Gandalf, "is not entirely true."

He produced a key from an inner pocket of his robes, except that it was the strangest key Alison had ever seen. It was an iron monstrosity with an intricate pattern that would take up the size of her hand should she hold it. She didn't see what the big deal was, but the dwarves were all staring at it like it was the Holy Grail.

"How did you come by this?" Thorin said, slightly hoarse with awe.

"It was given to me by your father, Thráin, for safekeeping," the wizard said. "It is yours now."

Gandalf gave the key to Thorin, who held it reverently before the wizard pointed back to the map and the weird lines. "These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls. If we can find the secret door that this key belongs to, we may have a way in."

He puffed on his pipe, thinking. "However, dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere within this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can." He looked around at the dwarves. "The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori exclaimed.

Bilbo grew pale again as every dwarf swiveled to look at him.

"I know what you're thinking, but I'm not a burglar," he said nervously. "I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," said Balin, looking the hobbit over with sympathetic eyes. "He's hardly burglar material."

"Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," the burly dwarf (who now had to be Dwalin) said, with a vague glance in Alison's direction as the others murmured in agreement.

"Enough!" Gandalf said, rising from his seat and towering over them all. The room seemed to shrink, and Alison stumbled back as shadows began writhing at her feet. The wizard's voice boomed like a thunderclap as he said, "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!"

And just like that, the shadows receded. He continued as if he were merely discussing the weather. "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon may be accustomed to the smell of dwarf, hobbits are all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

Thorin glowered, a muscle in his jaw twitching, but he said nothing. Gandalf went on.

"I have chosen Mr. Baggins as the fourteenth member of this company, and he has a great deal more to offer than any of you know—including himself."

Bilbo swallowed hard at the wizard's statement, looking torn between gratitude and terror. The dwarves began to mutter amongst themselves again, but it was Dwalin who spoke directly to Gandalf.

"And what of the girl?" he said, jerking his chin at Alison. "What does she have to offer, Gandalf?"

"She is a warrior from an ancient line—"

"We have plenty of warriors already," Dwalin objected. "She does not even carry a weapon. How do we know she can fight?"

"You don't," the wizard said wearily. "But the Valar have chosen Miss Ashburne—"

"They are wrong," he said. "This quest is ours. Erebor is our home. An exception can be made for the hobbit and his supposed skills, but there is no excuse for this girl. She has no place here."

Alison could feel the dwarves watching her, and shame made her face burn. It was one thing to know her own limitations, but to have someone else bring light to her shortcomings was mortifying.

Surprisingly, it was Thorin who spoke next. He had been staring into his empty bowl so intently as if the china would provide him with answers, but now he looked up, sweeping his stony gaze over the table.

"Leave us," he said to them all, indicating that he and Gandalf would stay. He turned to Balin. "Give Master Baggins the contract and make sure he understands it." Bilbo began to protest, but Thorin spoke over him as if he wasn't there. "All of you, go."

The dwarves stood and trickled out of the room, talking lowly and extracting pipes, with Bilbo following Balin into the sitting room. Alison shuffled forward a few steps, but Thorin shook his head. "No. You stay."

Swallowing down her anxiety, she nodded and took the seat next to Gandalf. Dwalin remained, glowering between her and the wizard, but Thorin gestured to him. "Go, Dwalin. I will handle this matter on my own."

Dwalin looked on the verge of arguing, but finally he closed his mouth and stood, bowing his head to Thorin. With a last suspicious glance at Alison, he departed the room, leaving her alone with Thorin and Gandalf.

"Well, Miss Ashburne," said Thorin, gazing at her with unreadable eyes. "What have you to say for yourself?" When she stared at him, uncomprehending, he sighed out his long nose. "Do you defend yourself against Dwalin's accusations?"

"I'm not a warrior," she said quietly. "I may be descended from one, but I don't know how to fight or survive."

"We can always train her," Gandalf broke in.

Thorin bowed his head. "That is true, but much time would be wasted on the Road if we did. It would slow us down."

"She's a natural," argued Gandalf. "Eleon's blood flows through her veins. The instinct is within her—suppressed, perhaps, but with proper training she could make a formidable warrior."

"I have warriors," Thorin said. "There is strength in numbers, yes, but my men are seasoned fighters, Gandalf. Even if she were able to reach their level, she has never seen battle before." He shook his head. "I agreed to the choice of Master Baggins against my better judgment, but I will not drag another innocent on this quest. Not when there is no guarantee of survival or success."

Alison sat silently, thinking. If there was one way to convince Thorin to allow her on the quest, it was the book. She could tell him that she knew all of their fates, knew how their quest ended. He would have to bring her then, wouldn't he? But something kept her tongue clamped to the bottom of her mouth, and she remained quiet as the two bickered over her as if she were invisible.

What else could she do, then? She had no way of getting home unless she fulfilled the Oath, and she had no idea how to survive on her own in a strange world. She imagined the Valar were having a great laugh at her expense just then, and the thought suddenly made her angry.

"Stop," she said, and the two men ceased their arguing upon hearing her speak. She clenched her hands into fists below the table, looking Thorin Oakenshield dead in the eyes. "I have to go on the quest."

He said nothing, but the skin around his eyes tightened. She went on.

"I know I don't have anything to offer, but I need to do this to fulfill the Valar's stupid oath if I ever want to go home." She sucked in a sharp breath, hoping she could get her point across accurately. "You should understand that better than anyone. This whole quest is about you returning to your home. Will you not help me do the same?"

Thorin stared at her for a long moment—so long that she thought he might have fallen asleep with his eyes open. The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire and the crickets outside the window. Gandalf glanced back and forth between them warily.

Finally, Thorin heaved a great sigh.

"Your words ring true, Miss Ashburne," he said. "I do know what it is like to have your heart yearn for home." He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before relenting. "I will allow you to come. However, let me make some things abundantly clear."

He leaned forward in his chair, and she instinctively leaned away before she caught herself and willed her back to remain straight.

"Your safety and your life are not guaranteed," he said solemnly. "This quest will be perilous, make no mistake. We very well could be walking into an inferno." She tried not to shudder at that, but it was hard. "My Company and I may not be able to protect you from the many dangers the Road and the Wild pose. You are responsible for yourself, but you will do your part to help as needed, is that understood?"

She nodded, afraid that if she said anything she would just vomit her dinner on him. He leaned back, knocking his knuckles absently on the table before looking at Gandalf. "You got what you wanted, Wizard. Now, is there anyone else I should be aware of before we set out in the morning?"

"No one," Gandalf said, grinning slightly. "Miss Ashburne was my final choice for this quest."

"Very well," said Thorin, rising to his feet with Alison and Gandalf following. "I will ask Balin to write up another contract for her." He turned back to her, his eyes dark and brooding. "We leave at first light. I suggest you get some sleep."

She nodded, and he and Gandalf disappeared down one of the tunnels, heading for the low chatter she could hear from the sitting room. Deciding that she had had quite enough for one night, she followed another tunnel to the back of Bilbo's house, emerging into an area that appeared to host several bedrooms.

She tried one of the handles, finding the door unlocked, and stepped inside a bare but cozy guest room. Taking one of the candles from the hallway, she set it on the bedside table, letting the soft glow emanate through the room and hoping Bilbo wouldn't mind her taking advantage of his hospitality one more time this evening.

The bed was hobbit-sized but covered with a thick white quilt and fluffy pillows that looked comfortable, nonetheless. Beside the table was a wooden wardrobe, and next to it stood another door that she peeped through curiously, finding an adjoining washroom.

There was a basin full of water with a washcloth and some lye soap beside it, and she brought in the candle from the other room after setting down her backpack, grateful for a chance to wash. She stripped off her new coat and scrubbed her hands and arms vigorously, hating the feel of dirt and sweat on her skin. Tying back her hair with the elastic on her wrist, she splashed some of the water on her face, hoping it would clear her head a bit, but she felt the same as ever after drying her face on a towel.

A looking-glass sat above the basin, and she bent down a little to see herself in it, expecting an entirely different person to be staring back at her—but no, there she was. The same old Alison Ashburne that had gotten up that morning, said bye to her mom and siblings, and went to study with her friends in a coffee shop. And now she was here, literally worlds away, and her reflection hadn't changed at all, despite feeling as if she had aged within a day.

She ventured back into the bedroom, unlacing her boots and shimmying out of her jeans before crawling beneath the quilt. She tried to fall asleep quickly, but her mind was racing a million miles an hour. The events of the day were finally beginning to catch up to her, and she tossed and turned, feeling itchy and wired, like someone had poured caffeine directly into her bloodstream.

She ceased her fidgeting, however, when a low humming began to echo throughout the hobbit-hole, and she listened carefully as—Thorin?—began to sing a low, haunting song:

"Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep, and caverns old.

We must away, ere break of day,

To find our long-forgotten gold."

The words hinted at ancient sorrow, but a bit of strength as well, as if the song were awakening in her a courage long since buried. The other dwarves added their voices, and the song swelled in her chest.

"The pines were roaring on the height,

The winds were moaning in the night.

The fire was red; it flaming spread,

The trees like torches, blazed with light."

The song ended, though the words still hung shimmering in the air, dancing around her head until exhaustion overcame her, and she finally drifted to sleep.


Until next time!