Welcome back!

Thanks to those of you who have been kind enough to leave reviews so far!


Chapter Seventeen

The Second Hero

Everything was happening too fast.

The Company stood, frozen, their hands on their weapons as the man tilted Alison's head back, exposing more of her throat. She found Thorin's gaze and silently begged of him. Please do as he says. I'd rather not die.

Thorin dropped Orcrist to the floor. The dwarves and Bilbo did the same with their own blades. Gandalf unbelted Glamdring but kept one hand on his staff.

"Your staff, too, Istar," the man ordered. Alison couldn't see his face, but his voice was as cold and unyielding as the iron against her neck, with an odd accent she could not place. English, but more guttural.

Gandalf smiled, amused. He did not relinquish his staff. "So, you know who I am? I am flattered, if not a little confused. Who are you?"

The stranger's grip tightened on her hair. Her eyes met Kíli's. He was seething, his expression furious. He had dropped his sword, but Alison knew he was contemplating using his bow. The thought made her stomach clench. Was he really willing to kill this man for her?

"My name is Jonathan," the man said, "and I am the Second Hero of the Ashburne Line."

He might as well have dropped a bomb on them. The house went utterly silent. Alison's insides had turned to water.

"What?" she squeaked.

"Impossible," Gandalf said much more eloquently. "Jonathan Ashburne disappeared over two thousand years ago. He crossed the veil back to his own world after the war."

"Disappeared?" the man echoed. "I suppose that is true. But I never returned to my world."

Alison glanced down at the sword held against her. It was much larger than her own Twin Blades, but there was something familiar about it. Her eyes quickly scanned the length of the blade. Yes, there—those symbols. She recognized them. They looked like the same runes that decorated her own swords.

"Those runes," she managed to say. "The ones on your sword. They're from the language of the Heroes, right?"

He yanked her head back until she was on her toes, peering into a narrow, handsome face. He was much younger than she expected—perhaps in his early twenties, but his depthless eyes made him seem ancient. They were dark pools of liquid blue, so deep that they reminded her of the bottom of a glacier, floating in near-darkness. A puckered scar traced a jagged line from the corner of his lips to his right ear, disappearing into a tumble of blond hair as fair as his skin.

"What do you know of the Heroes, peasant?" he hissed in her face.

She forced herself to hold his gaze. "I'm Alison Ashburne." She paused, letting her words sink in before she choked out the rest. "The Seventh Hero. The swords on my back have the same runes as yours. They were given to me by Lord Elrond of Rivendell, passed down from Eirene Ashburne, one of the First."

He stared at her with those fathomless eyes. Faster than she could blink, he unsheathed Lightgiver from her back.

"Natremiis," he murmured. He repeated the same with her other sword. "Atrembul."

"Um. Sure."

"Lightgiver and Nightbane," he said. "The Twin Blades that once belonged to Eirene Ashburne."

"Indeed," Gandalf said. "She is an Ashburne Hero. If you are who you claim to be, then you share the same blood as your descendant. Release her."

Slowly, he removed the sword from her throat and stepped back. Kíli rushed forward and yanked her toward safety. The dwarves closed in around her protectively, openly glaring at the man.

He was much taller than them, easily Gandalf's height, if not taller. He didn't seem very muscular underneath his armor—Hero armor, she noticed, though slightly different from hers—but there was a lean wickedness to him that made her think he knew exactly how to handle that sword.

Jonathan Ashburne. The Second Hero. With his jet-black armor, sword, and scar, he looked every inch a warrior.

Alison suddenly seemed so small and insignificant by comparison.

"How are you here?" she asked.

"Yes." Gandalf's piercing eyes had narrowed. "I would like to know the same thing."

Jonathan Ashburne smirked. "You think me a force of Evil, do you not, Istar? That only a darker power could have brought me back here?" He shrugged. "I guess that could be true. Except I was never dead. The Valar allowed me to slumber with the condition that I would be awakened when it came time to help one of my descendants." His gaze cut to her. "A descendant, it would seem, that has to be you, Alison Ashburne, the Seventh Hero. The one who shares my blood."

A jolt went through her. Galadriel's words echoed in the back of her mind. Blood calls to blood.

"Oh," she whispered, hoarse.

He grinned. It was jarring how different he now looked, as casual and relaxed as if he hadn't been prepared to spill her blood minutes before and was simply greeting an old friend.

"I sense that we have a lot of catching up to do, my little descendant," he said. "Let's all take a seat and have a drink, hm?"


Alison held onto the mug before her like it was an anchor, grounding her in her too-large seat at the gigantic dining table in Beorn's kitchen lest she float to the ceiling and all the way out the chimney. The mug itself was more like a vase, as large as it was, but the man—Jonathan Ashburne, however that was possible—had filled it with a strong honey mead that took the edge off all the bizarreness that had occurred within the last day.

The Company sat around the table with her, looking like dolls. Everything in the house seemed fit for a giant rather than a man, and it was an ever-present reminder that the owner of such a house was currently outside in the form of a massive, territorial bear.

Alison took another drink.

Jonathan Ashburne sat to her left at the head of the table with Gandalf on his other side. The wizard had not let go of his staff once, and his gaze never wavered from the Second Hero while he shelled sunflower seeds and popped them in his mouth without a care in the world. He'd placed his long, slender sword atop the table in a show of peace, but Alison thought it was better suited to cleave the heavy tension hanging around their awkward party.

She stretched her arm across the table and tapped the sword. "Does it have a name, too?"

"Anddrilri," he said. He cracked another seed open. "In Westron it translates to Firestorm."

She retracted her hand and wrapped it firmly around her mug once more. "Then you speak the Hero language?"

"Only the rudimentary parts," he said carelessly. "Greetings, formalities, things like that. Gondor's library had a modest collection of old Hero artifacts, not unlike Rivendell."

"Gondor," Alison repeated. Perhaps the mead was already getting to her. "Right."

"And how is it you came to be in these parts?" asked Gandalf shrewdly.

"It's difficult to say," Jonathan said. He chewed, thoughtful. "I don't remember much before waking up on the banks of the Anduin with nothing but my sword, armor, and my deal with the Valar." He swallowed, lounging in his seat and looking wholly relaxed. "I wandered the Wilderland for three days before encountering Beorn by chance—the owner of this house, and that delightful creature you must have met earlier. Fortunately for me, he was in the form of a great man at the time. He allowed me to take refuge here while I…adjusted to being back in the world again. That was about two, three months ago?"

Alison exchanged a glance with Gandalf. If he was telling the truth, that would put his awakening around the time of her arrival in Middle-earth. Her gut pinched.

"That does not answer the question of what you are doing here," Thorin said, speaking up for the first time since they had entered the house. His eyes were shards of blue stone as they bored into the languid face of the Second Hero—Alison's own ancestor, she remembered with an uncomfortable prickle. "You are the Second Hero, allegedly. Your own time has passed. Why are you still here?"

"I swore an oath with the Valar," Jonathan said. He spoke slowly as if to a child, which Thorin did not miss. A muscle in his jaw had begun to twitch rapidly. "They'd keep me in Middle-earth, in stasis, until they deemed another Hero would need my help. They take their oaths quite seriously, the Valar." His gaze sidled between Gandalf and Alison. "As I'm sure you both are quite aware."

Alison was painfully aware, but no one else seemed convinced. Thorin leaned forward. His shoulders barely cleared the table, yet that did not detract from his intimidating stare.

"What charade is this?" he growled.

Jonathan shrugged. "No charade, Master Dwarf. I am merely here as a guardian." He shot Alison an arrogant smirk. "A protector of the protector if you will. Surely the wizard understands what I mean?"

Gandalf said nothing, though his lined face creased infinitesimally at the words.

When no one said anything, the Hero sighed and got to his feet. He grabbed his own tankard from the table, and Alison straightened. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you and your companions a chance to speak," he said. His eyes glinted in amusement, and she wondered how he was handling this with such nonchalance. "It seems there is much to discuss before our own talks can get anywhere."

He made for the front door that they had barred not even an hour ago, and Alison started to her feet. She didn't yet know what to make of this man—her supposed ancestor—but she wasn't callous enough to let him walk out and be mauled by a giant bear or a pack of orcs. "Wait—"

The door snapped shut before she could say more, and he was gone. She lingered, ears straining for any sounds of bear-on-Hero violence, but when all she heard were the faint neighs of horses and the buzzing of bees, she sat down again.

"What the hell?" she said weakly.

Thorin's gaze cut to Gandalf. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

For once, the wizard did not answer immediately. His hesitance alarmed Alison greatly.

"That remains to be seen," said Gandalf after a ringing silence. "The Valar's plans are often shrouded from the eyes of those of us in the world. Their true intentions are hardly clear." He steepled his fingers together under his chin, pondering. "I do believe Jonathan Ashburne is who he says he is. As for the manner of how he came to be here, or what his purpose truly is, I cannot say."

"Sounds like a load of boar's shit to me," Dwalin growled. "We already have a Hero; why would we need another?"

"Does this mean our quest is too dangerous for just one Hero?" Ori asked worriedly.

Alison remained silent. Ori's question echoed all the ones crowding her own head. Why did they need a second Hero? Was she not good enough? Did the Valar not trust her to save the quest or the Line of Durin? Did they think she was going to fail—or worse, die—which is why they called upon Jonathan to help them? And why was he merely slumbering in Middle-earth in the first place? Why not send him back to his and Alison's world after his own quest was over?

"Of course not," Fíli said, cutting off her bubbling inner-panic. "The Valar trust in Alison to help us, and she will."

He said it with such conviction that Alison almost believed it herself, and she shot him a grateful look.

"Miss Ashburne?" Gandalf turned to her, along with every eye in the Company. It made her feel even smaller than she already was in Beorn's overlarge chair. "What do you think?"

"I think he's telling the truth," she said quietly. "No. I-I know he's telling the truth."

"How can you be so sure?" Thorin demanded.

She cringed. "Um…it was foretold to me, I think. In Rivendell."

The Company looked stumped, but Gandalf's eyes lit up.

"Ah," he said. "You received a visit from the Lady Galadriel, I assume?"

She nodded, aware of everyone's stares. "I did. She said a lot of things, but she told me that 'blood calls to blood.'" She tilted her head toward the door. "That has to mean him, right? Jonathan Ashburne. My…ancestor. My blood."

"So, what do we do?" Bofur said into the uneasy silence. "He says he's meant to help Alison, but if Alison is meant to help us…"

He trailed off, and the Company all looked at each other anxiously, thinking the same thing Alison was.

"Then he's supposed to come on the quest with us," she finished, but the words were barely out of her mouth before Thorin was already shaking his head.

"No," he said. "I will not allow it. There is something about that man I do not trust, and I am not bringing him with us on a quest that is sacred to our people. I have already allowed you to come, Miss Ashburne, but not him. I will not jeopardize this quest for the sake of some ancestor of yours claiming he is working under the Valar with no proof."

"That is so hypocritical," Alison shot back. "You let me join the quest without a shred of proof that I was who I said I was, and now you're using that argument to not let Jonathan join us?"

"I had proof," Thorin said calmly. "I had Gandalf's word."

"Well, Gandalf believes him, too," she retorted. She was aware that she was beginning to sound like a petulant child, but Thorin's distrust grated on her nerves. "Why isn't that good enough for you this time?"

Thorin's eyes flashed. "I said no. Either accept that, or you may join him by yourself if that is what you wish."

Alison shoved back from the table. It was quite difficult, considering her feet didn't even touch the ground, but she managed to stand. She said nothing, only exchanging a glare with Thorin before she, too, marched out the front door.

In the distance, the sun was setting behind the Misty Mountains, molting the sky from blue to navy, violet, and gold. There was no sign of any monstrous bear or orcs, but Alison wasn't naïve enough to believe that they were gone for good.

Beorn's grounds were lush and beautiful as she ventured away from the house, taking everything in now that she wasn't running for her life. The grass was green and reached for her knees, waving gently in the calm breeze, speckled with wildflowers and buzzing with honeybees the size of her fist, but she was unafraid. She got the sense that the bees were not hostile, but she still avoided bumping into any as she walked.

Trees protected the perimeter of the grounds, along with a towering wooden fence with posts fashioned into spikes. The gate was now shut and barred, but her breath caught when she realized what was decorating its posts: orc heads, rotting and grotesque. A warning. They seemed so out of place compared to the relative wild beauty of Beorn's home that she couldn't tear her eyes away until a voice spoke behind her.

"Charming, aren't they?" Jonathan said, coming to stand beside her. She finally looked away from the heads and to the man at her side. She barely reached his shoulder and had to crane her neck to see his face. "Beorn hates orcs, but they certainly are his favorite decoration."

"I don't blame him," she said, suppressing a shudder. "I hate them, too."

He said nothing. They stood together and stared at the decomposing heads. Out of the dozen or so atop the spikes, only a few seemed recent, crawling with maggots and swarmed by flies. Jonathan followed her gaze and spoke.

"That was from our most recent hunt," he said. "We found that pack roaming the borders about a fortnight ago." He shook his head. "They've either been growing bolder or growing in numbers. We're not sure yet."

She kept quiet. Something told her Thorin would have her own head if she started divulging information, even if it was to her supposed ancestor.

She glanced over at him. "So…I guess you're really my ancestor, huh?"

"It appears so." He met her eyes and smirked. "It's nice to see that the family's good looks lived on."

She huffed out a laugh. "We look nothing alike."

"Ah, it's the scar, right?" He pointed to his face. "It does put a damper on things, but I think it only makes me more attractive."

Alison had to laugh, if only out of disbelief. "You seem to be taking everything rather well."

"I've had loads of experience," he replied. "Tell me; were you really that shocked to see me after everything you've been through so far?"

She thought about it and bit her lip. "While it was a surprise at first, now…" She lifted her shoulders. "The most I can do anymore is roll with the punches."

He grinned. "That's what I mean." He crossed his arms and looked back at the orcs, thoughtful. "I have to ask… Where are you from? Back in our world? Your accent is rather peculiar."

"Oh, yeah. I'm from Texas." When he turned, his face blank, she raised her eyebrows. "In the United States of America?"

He stared at her. "What is that?"

She stared back. "Um, where are you from?"

"England. A small village near Dover."

She nodded. At least those weren't strange. "Right… So, um, do you remember who was ruling England? Before you came here?"

He pursed his lips. "King Edward III, if I recall correctly."

Who the hell is that? Alison thought, but she said, "Oh. Hm. Okay."

"Why? What year was it before you left?" he asked.

"2019," she said cautiously.

He whirled on her. "Bloody hell! What?"

"Yeah," she said awkwardly. "What year was it when you left?"

He thought hard. "I think I remember a priest saying something about 1362. Anno Domini." The Latin slipped from his tongue easily, naturally, and she stared.

"Jesus," Alison said, her voice weak.

"Precisely."

She hugged her arms around herself. "I swear, every time I think I've just gotten a grip on reality, I just have to be proven wrong."

He quirked his lips at her, sympathetic. "The Valar aren't very forthcoming in their instructions, I'm afraid. We Heroes don't receive much guidance in that aspect."

"But they kept you here, didn't they? To help me?" She hesitated. "Wouldn't you want to go home, though? Back to our world?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "Not when there's no home to go back to." A bee buzzed by lazily. He tracked it with his eyes. "There was a terrible sickness during my time. It claimed nearly all of my village. My parents, my elder sister, and even my younger brother. I fled, doing what I could to survive when nothing was left to me. When I was summoned here…it was a second chance." He shot her a wry grin. "And now I've been given a third."

"I'm so sorry, Jonathan." Alison tried for a smile. "But they say that the third time is the charm."

He appraised her with those endlessly blue eyes before turning them to the darkening sky. "Night approaches. We should stay indoors while Beorn is away."

Alison shivered. "I couldn't agree more."

She followed him back into Beorn's house and tried not to feel like the blank eyes of the orcs' heads stared after her.


Jonathan arranged their dinner and lodgings that night. He moved through Beorn's house with complete ease and surety, gathering food, blankets, honey-mead, and whatever else the Company would need to be comfortable. The dwarves managed to bring a roaring fire to life in Beorn's enormous fireplace, and it crackled merrily as the Company staked claims on their patches of floor in Beorn's main room.

Apart from the kitchen, only one other room was in the house, hidden away behind a great wooden door carved with intricate designs of wild animals. The rest of the house was dedicated to the live animals they had come to learn were living within it, such as the dozing dogs, cats, and goats scattered amongst the rushes covering the stone floors and the hay piles in the corners. The smell reminded Alison of a petting zoo, but she was just thankful that there would be a roof over her head again.

The animals slept on as the Company moved past them, and Alison was glad of that, for she didn't know how keen the animals would be if they woke up and found strangers in their home. They settled in a central space on the floor, and she found to her surprise that it wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it would be as she all but collapsed, her legs still shaky and weak from the day's events.

The dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf began to pass around food as Jonathan retrieved seventeen mugs and a stone pitcher from the kitchen, filling up the mugs and in turn passing them around as well. Soon, Alison had a hunk of seedy bread, a pile of assorted nuts and dried fruit slices and berries, and a chunk of creamy white cheese before her, which she immediately dug into. Though the dwarves appeared disgruntled by the fact of no meat, they quickly ate their share, too, and downed their mugs in thirsty gulps.

"I believe it is time to retire for the night," Gandalf said once everyone had drunk and eaten their fill. He was largely ignored by the majority of the Company, who had perhaps drunk a bit too much mead to be able to settle down quietly and were now engaged in boisterous conversation.

As the shadows settled deeper into the crooks and nannies of the house, the animals that lived there also began to stir. Despite a few curious sniffs and gazes, the animals skirted around their large group and slunk off to wherever they wanted to be. One brave tabby kitten bumbled up to Alison, tripping over its paws, which were slightly larger than its lean, striped golden body.

"Hey, there," she said softly, holding out her hand for the kitten to sniff. The kitten stretched out its neck cautiously, smelled her, and then rasped its little pink tongue over her fingers, seemingly more intrigued by the leftover scent of food on her hands rather than her own smell, which was undoubtedly unpleasant by that point.

Alison resisted the urge to coo as the kitten allowed itself to be picked up, instead smiling while she rubbed its fluffy fur and scratched its ears, the kitten purring contentedly in her arms.

"I never took you as one with an interest in cats," a voice said beside her. Kíli had settled into the spot where Jonathan had been; the other Ashburne had gone back to the kitchen, it seemed, to clean the mess the Company had made with their meal. Alison gazed at the dark-haired dwarf quizzically. He shot her a cheeky grin. It looked more mischievous than usual, and she wondered how much mead he'd had to drink already. "It doesn't seem like you."

"Why would it not?" she asked, burying her face in the kitten's soft, outdoorsy-smelling fur before letting it go when it squirmed. She and Kíli watched it trot back to the larger tabby cat and other kittens in their bed of hay in a secluded corner. "They're cute and easier to handle than dogs." Just then, there was a particularly loud belch from one of the dwarves. The rest erupted into laughter as Alison grimaced. "Or dwarves."

Kíli chucked. "Aye, there's some truth to that."

"Sounds like they're having fun," she observed. She watched with a smile as Bifur grunted a story in Khuzdûl, gesticulating in the Iglishmêk as well. Apparently, it was a highly amusing story, for the dwarves were rolling on the floor, their raucousness bolstered by drink. Bilbo sat with them, quite confused, while Gandalf roamed around the house, smoking from his pipe as Jonathan worked in the kitchen, not even bothering to pay them attention.

"Indeed," Kíli said, leaning back on his elbows and stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Why aren't you over there, then?" she asked, poking him in the shoulder.

The dwarf prince shrugged, keeping his dark eyes on the raving Company as his mouth quirked in a half-grin. "I wanted to see how you were. We've had quite a few, er, exhausting days."

"You don't say," she said drily, and he snorted. Abandoning her cross-legged position, she stretched out next to him on her stomach, using her elbows to keep herself propped up.

"I guess I'm fine," she said. "Completely drained, but otherwise fine. What about you?"

He shrugged again. "Just another day of vigorous entertainment," he replied, and she sniggered.

They fell silent as their humor faded. She looked away from the evening shadows that coalesced on his face and threw his striking looks into contrast, instead fiddling with a piece of straw on the floor while she inwardly berated herself. Her stupid, unreasonable crush was becoming increasingly annoying, and she wanted anything to distract herself from it.

"What's your favorite animal, Kíli?" she asked suddenly.

He looked down at her, half-amused and half-curious. "Where on earth did that come from?"

"I don't know," she said. "What is it, though?"

He thought for a moment, his lips pursed.

"A hawk," he said eventually. When he saw Alison's expression, goading him on to explain why, he acquiesced with a small grin. "I've always been fascinated by them. I used to see them wheeling above the mountains back in Ered Luin—just tiny specks in the sky. I always imagined how wonderful it would be, to be one of them and to soar as high as that. And they're extremely intelligent: efficient hunters, graceful, and their eyesight is incredible. They're what inspired me to be an archer, and I picked up a bow by my seventh winter." He looked down at her. "Sorry. You only asked what my favorite animal was, and here I'm giving you an entire speech."

"Oh, no." She shook her head. "No, I mean, that was great. Would you…" She trailed off, uncertain.

"Would I…what?" he said. "You can ask me whatever you want, Alison. Don't be hesitant. You're my friend, and I trust you."

Alison nodded, a part of her wondering if she had just gotten friend-zoned, but she chose not to linger on that. "Would you mind telling me about your home, then? About Ered Luin?"

Kíli's brows rose. "What do you want to know?"

"I mean…you've told me stories about yours and Fíli's childhoods there before, but I just…want to know more. I know so little about this world, about this place where my family came from, and I want to know, Kíli. I want to feel some sort of connection to this place, something that I can take back with me when I go…home."

Her breath caught on the last word, but she was serious; she wanted to know more about Middle-earth, about the place—if under completely different circumstances—she would've called home if Eleon Ashburne had never crossed the veil.

"All right," Kíli said slowly. She met his eyes, light green staring into dark brown. "You already know Ered Luin is in the Blue Mountains, but the city itself…"

And he was off, telling her of the dwarven city built into the heart of the mountains, where always the smells of good food and good ale wafted through the air, and the echoing rings of the forges and mines could be heard at almost any time. He told her of mornings where he'd watch the hawks fly and nest, and nights where he'd climb as high as he could just to see the moon. He told her of his mother Dís, and about her fierce nature that not only bled into her politics but her love, as well.

"She gave me this before I left," Kíli said. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an oval-shaped, dark stone, which he passed to Alison. The stone was smooth and cool, and she brushed her thumb across the runes etched into it, intrigued by the sharp, rigid lines she assumed made up the written language of the Khuzdûl.

"Should you be showing me this?" she asked, remembering how secretive dwarves were about their languages, but Kíli shook his head unworriedly.

"No, it doesn't matter," he said. "It's mine to show to who I wish."

Alison turned the stone over in her hand, suddenly realizing just how much Kíli trusted her in showing this to her. The thought left a warm but heavy glow in her chest as she handed it back to him.

"What do the runes say?" she asked as he flipped the stone in his hand and weighed it on his palm before storing it back in his pocket.

"Return to me," he replied, and it was like a car had slammed into her. His words filled her with the all-too-familiar panic and dread as she once again remembered the battle, and thought of Kíli's mother, waiting for sons and a brother that may never come back to her…

"Are you all right, Alison?" Kíli asked, leaning close and inspecting her face. "You just went all pale. Are you ill?"

Alison snapped out of her horrified daze, shaking her head.

"What? No, I'm fine," she said. "I just got really tired all of a sudden." It wasn't a lie, either; her limbs felt weighed down by sandbags, and she could barely keep her eyes open as it was.

"We've had a rough go of it lately, that's for sure," he agreed. "Get some sleep, Alison. I can only imagine more days like this in the future, and we need the rest." He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "And the thought of it warms my heart like nothing else."

Alison snickered, dragging herself to her feet. "Goodnight, Kíli."

Kíli quirked another grin at her as she walked into the kitchen, looking for Jonathan. "'Night, Alison."

She found Jonathan seated in one of the huge dining chairs again, his elbows propped on the table and his head bowed. He sat in the shadows, not even have bothering to light one of the numerous candles. The moonlight streaming through the high windows played with his pale features and his scar, making it look like it was dancing at the right angle. She stepped closer, wondering if he had fallen asleep; his eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even, but as she neared, she saw the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the way his muscles were coiled and tightened, and he seemed to be muttering something silently to himself, his concentration clearly elsewhere besides the present.

"Uh…Jonathan?" Alison whispered, but he gave no sign of hearing her. She stepped even closer, and timidly reached out a hand, shaking his shoulder lightly. "Jonathan?"

Jonathan jerked at her touch, and when he started, Alison felt a spark surge through her fingertips before it vanished instantaneously. She yanked her hand back as Jonathan came to, opening his eyes and looking at her; for a second, his eyes were eerily blank, but the bleakness was gone so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.

"Can I help you?" he asked, and she detected the faintest note of irritation in his voice. "I was sleeping."

Alison narrowed her eyes at his tone. "Sorry. I was just looking for an extra blanket. You miscounted earlier."

"You're a grown girl, aren't you?" he said. He was definitely annoyed now. "You couldn't have searched for one yourself?"

"So sorry that I interrupted your beauty sleep," she retorted. "You looked like you were having a nightmare, anyway."

He swung himself off the chair and landed lightly beside her, his footsteps nearly silent. "Nightmares are a good thing," he replied, walking over to a cabinet perched haphazardly in the corner. "They're just another obstacle to get over your fears; once you accept the fears, once you let them become a part of you, then you can truly master them. Overcoming your waking terrors is nearly impossible; but allowing them unto yourself fully, and with no restraint, accepting the darker parts of you—that is how you truly master and tame fear."

"O-kay…" she said, bewildered by the sudden turn in conversation. Jonathan turned away from the cabinet and loaded her arms with a thick woolen blanket, ignoring her comment.

Before she retired, she stopped and met his fathomless gaze curiously.

"What is it you fear?" she asked.

"The unknown," he said, and she blinked; she hadn't really expected an answer, albeit a serious one, at that.

"That's…reasonable," she said when he didn't elaborate.

He nodded, the arrogant smirk she'd begun to recognize returning to his face.

"And what about you, Alison?" he said as he studied her. "What do you have to fear?"

She paused, the words on her tongue. Failure. I fear that I won't be able to save everyone I have grown to care for on this journey; that they will all be ripped away from me in the end. And I fear that I will not survive this myself, that I will never return to my family or ever see them again…

But she said neither of those things, settling with, "Spiders. They're just so…creepy, and ugly, and the way they move…" She shuddered slightly.

"I see," Jonathan said, his smirk growing wider. "Spiders."

Alison glared at him and the barely concealed humor behind his eyes. "Goodnight, Johnathan," she said briskly and walked away as the warrior chuckled behind her.

She retreated toward a hay pile in the corner, setting up her station to sleep while the dwarves continued their revelry. She didn't know how they could bounce back so strongly after the harrowing days they'd recently had, but she only begrudged their good spirits a little.

She yanked off her boots, sighing in relief that her feet no longer had to be so sore and cramped up, and for the first time in a while, she unstrapped her sword scabbards, wanting to enjoy her sleep without being prodded awake at all hours of the night because she rolled into the wrong position. She peeled off her torn up, raggedy jacket and placed it next to her shoes, then she tied back her matted, tangled hair before resting her head on her pillow and drawing the blanket up around her, wondering how in the world she was going to be able to sleep with the rowdy dwarves so close to her.

As if reading her mind, Gandalf boomed, "Get some sleep, all of you, and I mean it this time!"

Alison was already asleep by the time the last candle was blown out for the night.


And now it remains to be seen if Jonathan is to be trusted...

Please review!