A/N: Did someone say somewhat-early update? No? Too bad!
"…Two-one-five! Good! Very good!"
"Move your feet."
"I-I'm trying!"
"Let's start again. You're doing fairly well!"
Baylee nodded, feeling a bit too breathless to talk at the moment. It was her third day of sword training and Kili's sword, which had felt surprisingly light to her a week ago, now felt as if it were made from cast iron. As Fili started to swing his sword, she did her best to both keep up and to remember the guard positions as he called them out. The movements made her arms burn and she bit her lower lip, struggling to ignore the pain.
The worst part, however, was how hot it was. The day had been uncomfortably warm and muggy, making any sort of exertion all the more unpleasant.
"Three-five-one-four-two." With each number, he took a step forward, forcing Baylee to either back up or step to the side. "Good, good!" Seeing how red her cheeks were and how hard she was breathing, he gave her a pitying smile. "I think it's time for a small break."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Baylee dropped the sword and doubled over, her hands resting on her thighs. Her eyes were clenched shut in pain; her lungs felt like they were on fire. The last time she had felt this sore and out of breath was her first time serving a full house at the Green Dragon nearly three years ago.
"I think we might have waited a little too long for this break," Kili said, frowning. "Are you alright, Baylee?"
She nodded, feeling a bead of sweat drip off her nose. "F-fine," she wheezed. A few seconds later, she looked up as she felt something lightly tap her shoulder. There stood Fili, still wearing the apologetic smile as he held out a waterskin to her.
"I can't promise it's cold anymore," he told her with a small chuckle.
"Th-thanks," she said, managing a thankful smile. Taking the flask, she uncorked it and took a long drink. To her relief, the water was cool and sent a pleasant shiver through her body. 'Oh blessings, I needed this,' she thought, taking another drink. This second one was shorter, as she didn't want to drink all of the water, even if they were near a river.
With only a small wince, she corked the flask before reaching down to retrieve the sword. Then, forcing herself to stand upright once more, she went over to join the brothers on the log they sat on.
"On a scale of one to ten, what's your pain level right now?" Kili asked, an amused look on his face.
"A-about an eight," she admitted, leaning the sword against the log before sitting. "It'll probably go up to a nine by tomorrow, though." Pulling her handkerchief from her pocket, she used it to dab the sweat from her face. "Why do you ask?"
Fili chuckled, "Because if you were below a five, we would know we're not working you hard enough," he told her. "At least, that's what uncle an' Dwalin used to tell us when they were teaching us."
"You're even about the same size we were when we started to learn," Kili grinned. He watched as she started to fan herself with the handkerchief. "Though, we were only about ten then. Not…however old you are."
"Thirty-three," she replied without thinking. Upon realizing she had given her age, she somewhat froze in mild horror.
"A lady never gives her age so readily when asked because it is quite rude to ask a lady such a thing!" she heard Primrose say in the back of her mind.
"Thirty-three?" Kili snorted. "You can't be serious—you can't be more than fifteen!"
She pursed her lips in indignation. "I'll have you know I turned thirty-three just a few weeks before you lot showed up at Bag End," she told him, much to Fili's amusement.
"What about your father, then? How old's he?" Kili asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.
She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "He turned fifty in September." Glancing over at the brothers, she could tell they were doing the math in their heads; her cheeks started to grow hot once more. "Wh-why? How old are you two, then?" she quickly asked, hoping to distract them.
"I'm eighty-two and Kili's seventy-seven," Fili answered, the distraction having successfully worked on him.
But Kili hadn't been tricked. "Your dad was only seventeen when you were born?" he questioned. He looked both confused and in awe. "Hobbits must come of age a lot sooner than us dwarves!"
Biting her lip, she glanced away; she knew it would be useless to lie or to try to change the subject now. "We come of age at thirty-three," she sighed. "I…was a bit of an accident. The result of my da' and mother having too much Breeland beer at one of the Old Took's parties."
Expressions of understanding suddenly came to their faces and they nodded. "Ah, yeah, that sounds about right," Fili said with a chuckle. "Breeland beer is strong stuff. First time I had it, I woke up in Bombur's cellar the next afternoon, surrounded by half-eaten apples. To this day, I haven't a clue how I ended up like that and everyone refuses to tell me how it happened."
Baylee couldn't help but laugh at that, her brow rising. "You've had Breeland beer?" she asked, a bit shocked to hear that.
"Of course we have!" Kili grinned. "When we were younger, our mum an' uncle went traveling all around the lands between the Misty Mountains and Ered Luin to look for our grandfather. They didn't find Thrain, but they did find and bring back that wonderfully potent beer." He then shook his head, chuckling. "The first time I overindulged, I apparently tried to woo a statue."
"Aye, and it was starting to fall for your charm, too," Fili teased. "Shame it was a statue of a boar, though, and not a dwarrow dame. I don't think your children would have been too pretty."
As Baylee burst into a fit of laughter, Kili lightly punched his brother in the arm. "At least I remember what I did while drunk and it didn't involve apples!"
"At this point, I don't think I'd want t' know what happened," Fili snorted. He glanced at Baylee. "What about you, Baylee? How'd your first time with Breeland beer go?"
"Oh, blessings, I haven't tried a sip of it!" she managed to say through her giggles. "Both because I've heard so many horror stories about it and because I'm the result of one of those stories." She was relieved that they didn't seem to be all that horrified by the fact that her father had been so young when she was born—or, if they were, they were hiding it well.
"Smart girl," Kili grinned. Leaning back slightly, he looked up at the sky. "We should do a few more rounds of practice," he then said, "since it'll be getting dark soon."
Nodding, Baylee reluctantly got to her feet. Her body protested every bit of movement, but she wasn't going to let herself complain—at least, not out loud. Grabbing Kili's sword again, she walked a few yards away and waited for one of the brothers to join her.
This time, it would be Kili. Taking Fili's sword as it was offered to him, he walked towards her. "Let's try something a little different," he told her. "I'm not going to call out the positions this time around—but I will go slow the first few rounds if you're remembering them well enough, alright?"
"Understood," she said, getting into a defensive stance.
As Kili came at her, she raised the sword. Just as he promised, he moved slowly, going at what now felt like a snail's pace compared to when Fili was the one teaching her. On the first round, he went in order, but after that, he started to change the position order up. In her head, Baylee could hear his and Fili's voices as she blocked his sword.
One-Five-three-two-four.
Four-three-five-two-one.
Five-two-one-four-three.
With each new set of attacks, Kili got faster and faster. Baylee continued to do her best to push through the pain, but it was obvious she was struggling. Many times, she managed to only just block the blow. To make matters worse, the ground in this area was uneven, making backing up and sidestepping a bit precarious.
Only a quarter of an hour had passed when her heel caught on a rock. A squeak left her mouth as she started to fall backwards and she clenched her eyes shut, preparing for the painful impact of hitting the ground. But it never came. Instead, she felt a pair of hands clasp her upper arms, keeping her mostly upright. Blinking in surprise, she looked up only to find Thorin staring down at her.
"Are you alright, Mouse-Lass?" he questioned, his brow rising.
"Y-yes, thank you," she said as he set her back on her feet. She was thankful her cheeks had already been red from exertion, because otherwise, they would have been red from embarrassment. "Just got ambushed by a rock is all." Now that she was upright, she saw that Thorin's hair was wet and that he wore only his trousers and tunic.
"What do you need, uncle?" Fili asked, rising from his spot on the log.
"I need nothing," he replied. "I merely came to tell the three of you that I inspected the river and found it both shallow and safe enough for us to bathe in. So, if you wish to cut your practice a bit—" He frowned slightly as his nephews let out cries of joy and bolted off back towards camp. "…I must admit, I was not expecting them to be that enthusiastic about bathing."
Baylee chuckled as she walked over to the log where the sheath for Kili's sword sat. "With how muggy it's been today and how long we were practicing, it doesn't surprise me that they'd want to take a dip." Her lips pursed slightly as her arm shook, making the task of sheathing the blade a bit more difficult than it should have been.
He watched a small, victorious smile come to her lips when she finally got the sword in. "I'm afraid you'll want to wait some time before you bathe—if you choose to do such, that is. The others are all at the river."
"I am most certainly going to bathe once they're all done," she smiled. The knowledge that she would soon get to wash all the dirt and sweat off her skin managed to renew her energy—but only by just a bit. She started to walk alongside Thorin as they made their way back towards camp. "Judging by your wet hair, I take it you've already bathed, then?"
He nodded. "Yes. Someone needs to stay behind and watch over the camp while the others bathe."
"That makes sense." The last time the group had bathed, it had been Dwalin who elected to stay behind to watch over the camp—and her.
It didn't take long to reach the campsite, but to Baylee's dismay, upon arrival they found piles of clothes laying around on the ground. A heavy sigh left her mouth; with all the clothes here, she knew that the others would be returning to camp naked. They had done the same thing the last time, leaving her to sit with her eyes covered for nearly half an hour as they sorted through all the clothes.
Thorin shook his head and swore under his breath. "I told them to disrobe at the river," he grumbled. "My apologies, Mouse-Lass…I suppose, like my nephews, they were too excited and just ran off."
"It's fine," she replied with a reassuring smile. "So long as I get enough of a warning that I can close my eyes before I see anything, I don't mind." Finding Kili's bedroll, she placed his sword down on it before going over to the fire and, standing on tiptoe, lifted the lid to peer into the cooking pot. From what she could tell, Bombur had some sort of pork stew simmering away. Inwardly, she frowned.
She was so tired of stew…but she knew that she couldn't complain. They had food and they had enough of it for everyone. And Bombur was an excellent cook, so at least it would taste good.
"I'll be sure to let you know when I see them coming," he told her. He watched as she lifted Bombur's large ladle and used it to stir the stew around.
Once done, she tapped the ladle on the rim of the pot and set it back in the spot she had found it. Then, she went over to her bedroll and sat down before fishing around for her pipe and tobacco pouch. Glancing over at Thorin, she saw him sit down on his own bedroll and pull out his comb. She looked back at her pipe as she filled the bowl with tobacco and then pressed it down on it with her thumb, repeating the process twice more before checking the air flow.
'I wonder if now would be a good time to ask about the seven dwarf clans?' she thought, pulling out a match while holding the stem of the pipe between her teeth. Striking it, she let it burn for a few seconds before holding it to the bowl. She watched the leaves light up only to, a few seconds later, go out again. Once more, she held the burning match to it. 'Since it's just the two of us…it'd be rather awkward to sit here the whole time in silence, after all…'
She mulled over the thought for a few minutes, letting herself enjoy a few mouthfuls of smoke. It had the spiciness of unflavored pipe weed, but there were hints of cherries and peaches to it. Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself; it reminded her of the Shire and the comfortable hobbit hole that was Bag End…And the fact that she could take a bath whenever she pleased instead of having to wait until they came across a stream or river.
A small sigh left her mouth, some smoke wafting out as she did so. Stealing another glance over at Thorin, she saw that he was still combing his hair. She wasn't sure why she expected him to be done by now—he had quite a bit of hair.
"…Oakenshield?"
His brow rose and he looked at her. "Yes, Mouse-Lass?"
"A while ago, Fili mentioned that there were seven different houses of the dwarves," she began, feeling a bit of nerves in her stomach. "I tried to ask him more about said houses, but he told me that it would be better if I were to ask you…"
"I'm surprised you're interested in such a thing." As he spoke, he separated a section of his hair out with his fingers before beginning to comb it. "From what I know of hobbits, they don't have much interest in the world outside their borders."
She nodded. "Most don't," she agreed. "But da's map collection has always left me curious about the rest of the world."
"Your father has a collection of maps?" he questioned, chuckling. "I wouldn't have expected that of him."
"Oh, yes—he's got nearly a hundred! And they're of places all over Middle Earth, though most of them are in languages neither of us can read." She took a small pull from her pipe.
He nodded slowly in understanding. "I suppose that explains why he knew that Mirkwood was once called the Greenwood…" he commented, more to himself than to her. Then, sectioning out another part of his hair, he started to explain the clans. "Yes, there are seven houses of the dwarves, with the eldest being the Longbeards—better known as Durin's folk, due to being descended from the first father of dwarves to awaken. Longbeards are both the longest lived of the clans and are known for their long beards.
"Then there are the Firebeards and Broadbeams, who come from Ered Luin. Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur are all Broadbeams while the rest of us are Durin's Folk." He glanced over at Baylee, finding that she had her head cocked somewhat as she listened to him. "Firebeards are well known for their bright red hair and their ability to withstand higher temperatures than the other clans. Because of this, most of the great dwarven furnaces in the world are maintained by Firebeards. Broadbeams, though, are best known for being the biggest of the dwarves—whether it's in height or in width."
She couldn't help but giggle quietly. "Explains Bombur," she murmured. Her cheeks grew a touch pink when she realized Thorin had heard her.
"The next four clans originated in the far east," he continued with a small chuckle, "and most still dwell there to this day. They are the Stiffbeards, the Blacklocks, the Stonefoots, and the Ironfists." As he said the name of the final clan, Baylee noticed that it was said with some disgust. "The Blacklocks and Stonefoots settled the Red Mountains while the Stiffbeards and the Ironfists make their homes in the Yellow Mountains.
"As you can imagine, the Blacklocks are known for their dark hair—I haven't met one personally, but it is said that their hair is even blacker than a moonless night and they're the stealthiest of the houses. The Stonefoots have the greatest overall endurance of the clans, being able to fight for days on end without rest. The Stiffbeards are more or less called such because how far north they live—so far north, that their beards grow stiff from the cold."
Thorin paused, sectioning out more of his hair to comb through. As she waited for him to continue, Baylee lit another match, as her pipe had gone out. But when she had gotten it lit and he hadn't continued talking, her brow rose slightly.
"What about the Ironfists?" she questioned.
"Oath-breakers," he grumbled. "Centuries ago, when Durin's folk called for aid to help defend their ancestral home of Gundabad, all other clans pledged to help, the Ironfists included. And all other clans sent warriors—except for the Ironfists. And because of that, Gundabad was lost. Ever since then, the Longbeards and the Ironfists have hated one another."
She nodded slowly in understanding. "…Why are they called Ironfists?" she slowly asked, wondering if it was a wise idea to do such.
"Mahal—Aulë, to the other races—made the skin of their hands as tough as iron," he answered with a sigh, "and it can be just as reflective as polished iron, or so I hear. They're able to reach into a forge and grab glowing-hot metal or they can use their fists to break through stone."
"…Skin as tough as iron sounds like it'd be a mighty nice thing to have when it comes time to cook," she thought aloud. "Especially when a sausage falls through the grate."
Thorin's brow rose and he let out a laugh, taking her by surprise. "I suppose it would be useful for that sort of thing, yes," he agreed. "Though, it's not something I would have thought of."
She managed a small smile. "What can I say? I'm a hobbit and we hobbits think with our stomachs most of the time." At the mention of food, she glanced over at the stew, thinking it was about time it needed a good stir.
Standing up, she wandered over to the pot and, holding the stem of her pipe between her teeth, she removed the lid. She grabbed the ladle and gave the stew a good stir—just in time, too, as there were some bits starting to stick to the bottom. She knew it would be best to get the pot off the heat, but it was much too big for her to move.
"…I hate to ask, but could you move this off of the heat for me, please?" she asked, looking at Thorin. "It's starting to stick to the bottom and I don't think any of us want burnt stew for dinner."
Without a word, Thorin rose to his feet and walked over. A quiet grunt left his mouth as he lifted the pot from the hooks suspending it over the fire and set it on the ground near the fire. "Is this good, Mouse-Lass? Or does it need to be further away?"
"That should be good," she replied. "Thank you, Oakenshield."
He quietly chuckled. "You're truly insisting on calling me such until I use your name, aren't you?"
She glanced up at him as she gave the stew another stir, her free hand moving the pipe from her mouth. "Yes, I am," she replied. Tapping the ladle on the rim, she returned it to its spot before retrieving the lid and replacing it on the pot.
"Do many hobbits have such a stubborn streak in them? Or would it just be you and your father?"
"A good portion of hobbits can be quite stubborn, yes," she replied with a small laugh. "Some of them annoyingly so—like the Sackville-Bagginses." Shaking her head, she went back to her bedroll. As she sat down, the two of them could hear a loud cheer arise from the river.
He didn't seem to care about the cheer as he returned to his bedroll as well. "Your father has mentioned them a few times…Who are these 'Sackville-Bagginses'? Relatives, I'm assuming?"
She nodded. "Yes, sadly. They're greedy folk who've been trying to get da' to make Otho his heir so they can eventually get their hands on Bag End and da's fortune."
At that, his brow rose. "But you are his heir. Or do hobbit women not inherit?"
"Hobbit women can inherit, yes, but…" She bit her lower lip; telling Fili and Kili that she was illegitimate was one thing, but telling Thorin that she was illegitimate was an entirely different matter.
"…But the fact that you were born out of wedlock makes it impossible for you to inherit?" He watched as shock came to her face. "Your father told me," he answered before she could ask. "Or, rather, your father was coerced into telling me and Gandalf when the wizard asked him about his lack of a wife." Sectioning out his hair again, he picked up his comb and began to untangle the locks once more.
"I see," she murmured, taking a small puff from her pipe. After a few seconds, she released the smoke in a sigh. "It isn't impossible for me to inherit. I just have to be married and then da' can name me and my husband as his heirs."
"That sounds needlessly complicated."
"It's how it's always been done." She shrugged, watching him as she pulled her knees to her chest—of course, she made sure her petticoats and dress continued to cover her legs as she did such. "How is it done for dwarves?"
"Whether illegitimate or not, a child will inherit," he said. "If the child has siblings, then the inheritance is evenly distributed among them. If there are no children, the inheritance is then divided among the couple's siblings—should the couple have any that remain alive."
"What if there's no one to inherit?"
"Then their property goes up for auction." He frowned as he found a particularly stubborn knot in his hair. "And for hobbits?"
"The same thing happens if there are no heirs named." She watched him fight against the tangle; he was starting at the bottom and working his way up. Part of her wanted to offer to help, since he had so much hair, but she had quickly come to learn that hair and beards were sacred to dwarves. Offering to help a dwarf comb or braid their hair while not being a part of their family was seen as a highly flirtatious act.
"And if you had been born male?"
"Hm? What do you mean?"
He glanced over at her. "I know among some groups of Men, if there's only one son, he's the heir regardless of his legitimacy. Is it the same for hobbits?"
"Oh…I'm actually not sure about that. To be honest, I don't know much about how inheritance works. I only know what I know because I eavesdropped on the conversations my da' would have with my grandparents." Her cheeks turned a bit pink as a small, cheeky smile came to her lips.
He chuckled. "Eavesdropping? You've always been a bit of a Mouse-Lass, then. I can't say that surprises me much."
Baylee was about to reply when Thorin suddenly looked to his right; she could hear laughter and shouting quickly getting closer and closer. "Time to close your eyes, Mouse-Lass," he warned.
Groaning, she closed her eyes and tilted her head down towards the ground. She did not want to see any nude dwarves…
A few nights later found the company camped on a wide, flat ledge. It had been a long day of climbing uphill in the May heat, leaving the group exhausted. As such, most of them had turned in early for the night; even Bilbo and Baylee's sword lessons were set aside in favor of getting a bit of extra rest.
But sleeping on rocky ground was hard to do, as Baylee had quickly come to find out.
She rolled from her back onto her side for seemingly the thousandth time that night. Despite the ground being covered in a soft layer of grass, it didn't provide much in the way of cushioning. To make matters worse, it wasn't just the ground keeping her awake—Bombur's loud snoring was also a factor.
'I think I would have an easier time falling asleep on Buttercup's back,' she thought, her nose scrunched up slightly. Beside her, she heard Bilbo quietly curse under his breath as he, too, tossed and turned. 'At least I'm not the only one who can't get to sleep…'
After a bit more wriggling about in an attempt to find comfort, she was finally able to get herself relatively settled. Her father, however, had given up, choosing instead to get to his feet and walk in the direction of the ponies. A small sigh of victory left her lips and her mind soon started to fill with the pleasant fuzziness brought on by her approaching slumber.
But, just as she was about to drift off, a bone-chilling scream broke the still night air.
Baylee's eyes shot wide open and her body tensed. She heard footsteps rush past her and could see her father's silhouette as he hurried over to the fire. Another scream sounded in the distance and she shot upright, her eyes wide and her skin pale.
"What were those screams?" Bilbo squeaked.
"Orcs," Kili replied. He and Fili sat with their backs to the rock wall, their pipes in hand. Both of them seemed far too calm for having just said there were orcs somewhere out there.
"Orcs?" Bilbo repeated, his voice sounding weak.
"Throat-cutters," Fili elaborated. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."
"I don't like the sound of that," Baylee murmured to herself. Curiosity, however, took a hold of her and she stood up. She walked over to where the ponies were gathered near the edge of the cliff. They seemed uneasy thanks to the screams; as she passed by Buttercup, she gave the mare a gentle pat on the neck. "It's alright, girl. We're safe up here," she quietly cooed. A small smile came to her lips as the mare's nose brushed against her forehead before she snorted.
'At least one of us believes my words,' she thought, stepping away from the mare. She inched closer to the cliff's edge and bit her lower lip as she nervously peeked down at the ground below. The light of the half-moon didn't give off much light, but what light it did give off enabled her to see some clearings among the trees. She could also see that, further south, the tree line thinned.
"They strike in the wee small hours," Kili spoke up, making sure his voice was just loud enough for her to hear as well, "when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet—no screams. Just lots of blood."
She glanced over her shoulder at the princes, her lips pursed in a pout when she saw them laughing quietly. "I don't think now is the best time for your jokes," she scolded, which only made them snicker more. Shaking her head, she looked back out over the land below.
"You think that's funny?" Thorin's voice quickly silenced their laughter. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" He stood up, glaring at the two of them.
"W-we didn't mean anything by it," Kili quickly apologized, glancing away in guilt.
"No, you didn't," Thorin snapped. "You know nothing of the world."
Sighing softly, Baylee pulled her hair over her shoulder and started to run her fingers along the braid. The fear-brought adrenaline was still coursing its way through her veins, leaving her feeling jittery and anxious. She hoped the orcs were nowhere near them; the scream had sounded quite distant, but still eerily loud.
The tiniest of specks moved in the corner of her vision and she turned her head. In one of the southern clearings, she saw movement. What it was she saw moving, however, was a different story; it was too far away for her to get even the slightest idea of what it could be. She prayed that it wasn't an orc. Even in daylight, her vision wouldn't have been good enough to make out just what it was she was looking at. Her brows furrowed and, unconsciously, she walked a few feet southwards, as if trying to get a better look.
"You see them, don't you?" She let out a small gasp of surprise, looking up as Thorin came to stand near her. "The orcs."
"I-I'm not sure," she replied. "I do see something moving, but I can't tell what it is. It's just a dot to my eyes."
"Which way is it moving?"
"South."
"Then whatever it is, we should be safe. We're traveling north."
She nodded slowly, silence falling between the two. A voice drifted towards her ears and, looking over her shoulder, she could see Balin now standing near the fire, speaking with the princes and her father.
"…After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain," he was telling them, "King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria…but our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legions of orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler."
Beside her, Thorin quietly cursed before spitting on the ground.
"The giant Gundabad orc had sworn t' wipe out the line of Durin," Balin continued. "He began by beheading the king." A shaky sigh left his mouth. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing—taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat an' death were upon us. But that is when I saw him: A young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc."
Baylee glanced over at Thorin, finding his eyes fixed on the eastern horizon where the towering peaks of the Misty Mountains hid the lower portion of the sky from view. But his gaze seemed even more distant than that; as Balin recounted the tale, he was looking into the past, watching that horrid battle play out all over again in his mind.
"He stood alone against this terrible foe," Balin continued on, "his armor rent and wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken."
She stole another look at him; this time, her eyes fell to the oaken shield hanging at his side. She had glimpsed it a handful of times over the last month, but she was never able to get a good look at it. Still unable to see it too well, she glanced away. From what she had seen of it, however, she knew that it still resembled a branch in shape, though it had been shaved down and hollowed out quite a bit to allow him to wear it on his forearm like a gauntlet.
"Our forces rallied an' drove the orcs back; our enemy had been defeated," Balin said. A heavy sigh left his mouth. "But there was no feast nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count o' grief. We few had survived."
"But the pale orc," Bilbo questioned after a moment. "What happened to him?"
Thorin turned, facing the fire. "He slunk back into the hole from whence he came," he answered, disgust in his voice. "That filth died of his wounds long ago." He then looked at Baylee, finding that her eyes were locked on the southern horizon in search of more movement. "You should get some sleep, Mouse-Lass," he told her, his voice a bit gentler. "You can rest easy. No orcs will get us tonight."
She nodded slowly and turned away from the ledge, moving to go back to her bedroll. As she laid down and covered herself with her blanket, she found that, somehow, it was a bit easier for her to get comfortable. It took a little while for the adrenaline to finish wearing off, but when it was out of her system, sleep came quickly to her.
But that night, her rest was anything but easy. Her dreams were plagued by nightmares of running from orcs, their screams echoing through her mind.