PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XI: Back To The Mountains

Later that evening, the Company occupied a cozy room that had been reserved for Elrond's guests. The room had high ceilings, decorated with curling, carvings shaped like vines. There was one wall with open archways that led out onto a balcony with white railings and a view of the valley However, it was cool night, so flames flickered in the white hearth and the Company remained inside.

I'd been in that exact same sitting room before. Boromir, Elrohir, Elladan, and I held one of our many drinking competitions there. Of course, glancing around that the faces of the Company, I figured it was best not to mention my drinking adventures with Elrond's sons.

It was a weird experience being back in Rivendell. I recognized some of the elves—such as the one who had directed Boromir and me to a public courtyard for my sword-training—however, they didn't recognize me. My two-month stay in Rivendell with the Fellowship would not happen until the future. To these elves, this was our first meeting. I wondered if their memories of my stay in Rivendell would diverge from mine. Perhaps in their memories, I would become a drinking expert and, for once, not be the first one to pass out from too much wine.

That evening with the Company, the dwarves were scattered throughout the room, entertaining themselves in the early hours of the night. Glóin, Óin, Nori, Bifur, and Dwalin played a gambling game with dice (at one point, Glóin referred to Óin as an "elfer" and Nori had to shush Glóin before an actual elf could overhear). Ori was knitting a sweater for one of his brothers. Fíli and Kíli listened in awe as Balin told stories of the Battle of Dwarves and Orcs that had stretched across the Misty Mountains. Bombur enjoyed a late night snack, while Bofur and Dori sat on the other side of the fireplace discussing what they would do if they possessed all the gold in the Lonely Mountain. Gandalf and Bilbo were not in the room, preferring to engage the elves of Rivendell in conversation (unlike the stubborn dwarves). Thorin reclined in an armchair, smoking his pipe, while I sat on the floor at his feet. I had my back to the fireplace, letting the warmth wash over me.

"What do you remember of your encounter with the trolls?" I found myself asking.

Thorin blew a smoke ring from his pipe before answering. "Our burglar was caught thieving by one of the trolls. We came to rescue him, but the trolls threatened us with Bilbo's life." His blue eyes landed on me. "That is when you stepped out from beneath the oak tree and threw your 'coffee' at one of the trolls. You then served as an excellent distraction, running in circles and shrieking, while we battled the trolls until Gandalf's arrival."

"Oh."

"You remember it differently?" he asked.

"Uh, well, a little. I suppose it changed after I met you in Bag End. We wouldn't have been strangers to you then."

"You did not move a finger to aid us in your memory," said Thorin dryly.

I winced. "I did…after Glóin spotted me under the tree."

Thorin might have said something along the line of "figures" after that.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that my actions had changed without my knowledge, as if there was some other Ana running around. Suddenly, the memory formed of my neighbor apologizing that she'd missed me leaving because of a trick of the light after she witnesses me Skip the day before. A trick of the light. Distracted for a moment. Disappeared in the blink of an eye. It was as if everyone had collectively agreed to remember things differently. The Skipping worked in such indecipherable ways.

"So," I asked, desperate to talk about something else, "what brings you of all people to Rivendell? Don't you hate elves?"

"Gandalf deceived me," said Thorin gruffly. "We were fleeing the wargs, and he led us to a secret passage into Rivendell."

The image of the Company fleeing across the grasslands, running from rock formation to rock formation, flashed through my mind. It seemed the Company had escaped safely thanks to Gandalf. "Ah, so he saved your life and you're holding a grudge. That's so typical you."

Thorin scowled. "I simply do not like to be deceived by one of my companions."

"Perhaps he deceived you because you're so stubborn, Mister King of the Elf-Haters."

The look Thorin gave me was icy.

However, I offered him a glowing smile and said, "I know you secretly like me. Bofur told me at dinner you were worried I might have been eaten by the warg last time I Skipped."

"Why would I worry about someone who will vanish in the face of danger?" scoffed Thorin. "Bofur has a creative imagination."

"Bofur likes to imagine that you have emotions other than majesty."

Thorin snorted. "Majesty is an emotion?"

"Your only emotion."

"Ana," called out Dori, pausing his conversation with Bofur, "are you flattering Thorin needlessly again?"

"What?" I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Why do you say 'needlessly'? I'm not that bad."

"Not that bad, she says," muttered Dori. "Every time Thorin speaks, she claims majesty."

I laughed and gestured to the dwarf-king sitting in the armchair. "But look at him—how can you deny that majesty?"

"We do not deny it," said Dori. "Only we do not feel obliged to point out his majesty constantly."

Bofur nodded. "It is best not to wear such praises out with overuse."

Our conversation was brought to an abrupt end when the door to the sitting room opened. All the dwarves paused in their activities and turned to see who had arrived. When they saw that it was Gandalf and Bilbo, I swear every dwarf breathed a sigh of relief. None of them wanted to see elves any more than necessary.

Bilbo stopped to chat with the dwarves playing dice, and it seemed the conversation quickly turned into Bilbo trying to explain that the elves were not all bad and that he actually enjoyed talking to them. Gandalf, on the other hand, was all business. He made his way across the room to join Thorin and me at the fireplace. With a glance in my direction, Gandalf addressed Thorin and said, "Come. We must speak with Lord Elrond."

Thorin frowned. For a moment, I thought he was going to insist that Elrond should come to him. But then, Thorin rose from the armchair and headed for the door alongside Gandalf.

"Come, Balin," said Thorin as he passed by the old dwarf. "You ought to listen to what Lord Elrond has to say as well."

Balin bowed his head slightly and then rose to follow Thorin. Fíli and Kíli looked at their uncle hopefully, wanting to be invited along, but Thorin shook his head.

"Can I ago?" I asked from my seat on the floor.

I asked for the fun of it, expecting to be flat out refused. However, Thorin turned to Gandalf and said something in a low voice. Then, Gandalf looked back over his shoulder at me, a thoughtful expression on his time-worn face.

At last, Gandalf said, "If you do not have any objections, Thorin, I suppose it can only be to our benefit to have one who has seen the future accompany us."

There was something in Gandalf's words that unsettled me. One who has seen the future. That made me sound like someone important. Someone who had weight in this world… I hated it. It wasn't true. I was just someone passing through.

Still, as much as I wanted to reject Gandalf words, I didn't want to miss the chance to watch Thorin making insulting comments about elves while Elron tried to help him. So, I kept my mouth shut and hurried to follow.

Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, and I followed Gandalf through the halls and walkways of Rivendell. We spotted surprisingly few elves on our journey—which was probably for the best, because Thorin would complain in Khuzdul to Balin whenever we passed one. Gandalf, for the most part, ignored Thorin; though he did make the occasional side-comment about the stubbornness of dwarves. I silently added my own comment about the stubbornness of elves, just to keep things even.

Eventually, we entered vast room with a high, arched ceiling. There were murals painted on the walls—pictures of a war between men, elves, and orcs. The most beautiful mural showed the image of a man of Gondor in full battle armor holding up a shattered blade. Facing the painting was a statue of a maiden. Her head was bowed, and she held up a flat stone on which the fragments of the shattered sword were placed.

Elrond stood in front of the stature, gazing at the pieces. When he heard us enter the hall, he turned and smiled that ageless smile of his.

"Gandalf says you have need of my knowledge," said Elrond grandly. (I swear, everything this elf does is just grand. I bet he even sneezes grandly.)

Thorin shot an irritated glare at Gandalf. "Does he say that now?"

"Show him the map, Thorin," said Gandalf.

"Why should I?"

"He is not going to steal it," snapped Gandalf. "He only wants to read it."

"This map was made for dwarves," said Thorin. "What business does an elf have with dwarven artifacts?"

Gandalf pounded the bottom of his staff against the stone floor. "Put aside your stubbornness and give him the map. You are standing in front of one of the few people in Middle Earth with the skills left to read that map. Give it to him."

Silence followed Gandalf's words. I glanced at the present company. Balin and Thorin glowered distrustfully at Elrond, while Gandalf watched them with thinly veiled impatience. My gaze met Bilbo's, and I saw that my feelings were mirrored his worried expression. We both weren't certain if Thorin was going to give the map to the elf.

I hesitated and then, because I could stand the tension no longer, said, "Gandalf makes a good point. What's the point of having an ancient dwarven artifact that can help you reclaim your homeland if you can't read it?"

"That does not mean we should share the long-held secrets of our people with an elf," said Balin.

Thorin ignored both of us. "This map is the legacy of my people. It's secrets are mine to protect."

"You also make a good point," I said. "But Gandalf's was better."

"I regret permitting you to come." The look Thorin gave me was scathing. However, Gandalf's words must have had some weight, because he pulled the map out of his cloak and stiffly handed it to Elrond. Balin tried to stop him, but Thorin had already given it over.

Elrond carefully opened the map. "Erebor? What interest do you have in Erebor?"

Thorin started to reply, but Gandalf cut across him. "A purely academic interest, I assure you."

I covered my smile with the back of my hand. What part of Thorin looked academic?

"Moon runes," said Elrond suddenly.

"Say what?" I looked at Thorin and Balin to see if they were also confused. Thorin nodded once and Balin smiled. Only Bilbo shared my puzzled expression.

"They can only be read by the light of the same moon of the same season on which they were written," said Elrond. He started to walk out of the hall and the rest of us quickly followed, our footsteps falling heavily against the stone floor.

"That's highly inconvenient," I said. "Why would anyone write like that?"

"It is not for convenience," said Balin.

"Then what is it for?" I asked.

"Secrecy."

"Oh. Duh. I feel stupid now."

"You do not always feel that way?" asked Thorin. His voice was quiet, so that Elrond and Gandalf could not hear him. However, there was an amused glint in his eyes.

"Don't you feel bad for bullying me?" I muttered.

"You forget," said Thorin, "majesty is my only emotion."

I let out a bark of laughter. Elrond and Gandalf glanced back at us, but I kept my eyes wide and innocent.

We said nothing more as Elrond led us down a stone tunnel that burrowed deep into the walls of the valley. The tunnel was not made out of smooth, carved granite like most of Rivendell but was built more like a cave, rough and jagged. The path was long and winding, and I was beginning to wonder if the tunnel had no end.

"Where are you leading us?" asked Thorin.

"We are in luck," said Elrond. "Your…research is fated, Thorin Oakenshield. The season is right, and the same moon shines down on us tonight. I can read the moon runes on this map…" He glanced back at Thorin before adding, "If you would so permit me."

"I do so permit you," said Thorin. "Lead on."

I muttered under my breath to Bilbo. "As if Elrond needs Thorin's permission to do anything."

"I heard that," said Thorin.

I smiled as sweetly as I could at his back. "Did you now?"

When we finally reached the end of the tunnel, it opened up to one of the most beautiful views I had ever seen. We stood on a ledge low in the valley's walls that looked out over the trees and rivers, but the view was blurred by a waterfall that poured down over the front of the ledge like a thin veil. A large, white stone was embedded in the ground, shaped so that it formed a sort of table. In the pure moonlight, the stone emitted a brilliant white light.

Gandalf and Elrond seemed unimpressed. Elrond I expected, but I had the feeling that Gandalf had been here before as well. Bilbo looked around with opened-mouthed amazement, while Thorin and Balin both shifted from side to side awkwardly, refusing to admit that Rivendell had anything of beauty and value to offer.

Elrond placed the map on the stone table. The white light emitting from the rock struck the back of the paper. Slowly at first but then gaining intensity, silvery runes appeared on the old, worn paper.

"What does it say?" murmured Balin.

Elrond glanced at the old dwarf before turning back to the map and translating, "It says, 'Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.'"

"Durin?" I asked.

"He was the father of the eldest clan of dwarves, the Longbeards, and my first ancestor." Thorin paused before adding, "I am his heir."

"Then what is Durin's Day?" asked Bilbo.

I silently thanked him, relieved that I wouldn't be the only one asking questions.

"It is the dwarven new year," explained Gandalf, much kindlier than he had ever explained anything to me.

"The first day of the last moon of Autumn on the threshold of Winter," added Thorin, "when the sun and moon may be seen in the sky together."

"Durin's Day is barely four moons from now," said Balin. "We do not have much time."

Thorin stiffened. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the stern face of Elrond.

"So that is your purpose," said Elrond. "To enter the mountain."

"You mean to stop us?" asked Thorin. He had his stubborn face on. His jaw was set into position, and his eyes had a fighting gleam to them. He would not budge no matter how much Elrond might try to convince him otherwise.

Perhaps Elrond understood this because he simply said, "There are some who would not deem it wise."

To that, Thorin said nothing.

"Ana, wake up!"

Mere hours later, I opened my eyes only to find that it was still dark out. I groaned and rolled over in the soft, Rivendell bed. "Let me sleep a few more hours…or years."

"Ana," the voice hissed, "you must get out of bed!"

"I'm hibernating. Let me know when winter is over…"

"We are leaving now."

That woke me from my slumber. I sat upright and turned to stare at Bofur. He was fully dressed in his freshly-cleaned travelling clothes and ready to hit the road.

"We leave in five minutes," said Bofur. "I brought you some clothes suited for the road." He pointed to the end of my bed where a pile of folded, woolen clothes had been placed. "Also, we are leaving in secret, so be quiet about it."

"Why did no one wake me sooner?" I cried.

Bofur cast a wary glance at the door before saying, "I think Thorin wished to leave you behind with the elves. But rest assured, the others of the Company would not allow it."

"That jerk!" I jumped out of bed and grabbed the clothes Bofur had brought me. They weren't elvish in make, which meant they likely belonged to one of the dwarves. "I'll be ready in four minutes just to spite him."

Well, actually I was ready in six—but who's counting? Besides, the dwarves didn't actually leave without me. They were waiting, with impatient looks on their faces, for me to join them in the courtyard. I showed up in a wool tunic, a blue jerkin, and trousers that were a couple inches too short. Thankfully, my boots from Ohio were almost knee-height so that I could conceal with Sword Breaker in them, and they covered the hem of the too-small trousers.

Without so much as a word, Thorin led the way along the hidden valley path with the twelve dwarves, one hobbit, and one me trailing behind him. The Company moved in silence with their heads kept low and their gazes shifting about for any signs of elves. Bofur later told me that Gandalf had remained behind for a meeting with Elrond, but he planned to catch up with us later on.

From what I could tell, no elves spotted our departure. Then again, I wasn't the most observant person around, so what I could tell really counted for nothing. The Company tried to move quietly through the dark morning, and soon enough, we were on the mountain paths leading out of Rivendell. We had reached the edge of the valley when the sun rose on the horizon, marking the beginning of a new day.

A little ahead of me on the path, Bilbo looked wistfully over his shoulder at the splendor of Rivendell.

"You might come back," I said, thinking of the Council of Elrond.

"Maybe," said Bilbo. "It would be nice to have endless time there. I could imagine a life spent at the fireside, listening to the songs and music of the elves."

Personally, I'd get sick of all the snotty elves, but I only ginned at Bilbo and said, "Don't let Thorin hear you say that. His elf-induced regurgitation reflex has yet to be cured."

"What?" asked Bilbo.

I sighed. "Why do I bother making jokes anymore? If I were in Ohio, everyone would laugh."

Walking a little behind Bilbo and me, Fíli leaned over and muttered to Kíli, "I think Ana has an unrealistic vision of herself."

The road from Rivendell was long and hard—and mostly uphill. Some of the dwarves actually started to miss the comfort of the elven halls (not that they would tell Thorin that). Eventually the path led to the Misty Mountains, which the Company would have to cross in order to reach the Lonely Mountain. The ascent was agonizing. My body had been given almost no time to recover from my journey down Caradhras and to the Gap of Rohan with the Fellowship. My only relief was that there was no snow this time; the Company was smart enough not to attempt to cross in the winter.

As we journeyed on, the path became little more than a ledge, jutting out from the side of the mountain. It was dangerous to walk on, one slip would lead to almost certain death. The dwarves were more sure-footed than Bilbo and me. While they walked with confidence, we shuffled along the ledge, eyeing the bottomless ravine below. And, as if things weren't miserable enough, it started raining. And not just rain, but thunder and lightning as well. The rocky path became slippery, and lightning would strike the mountainside, causing rocks to fall. Death seemed all the more certain.

"Why are you afraid?" Glóin asked me. "If you fall, you will simply Skip back to your world."

"It's still scary," I said over the pouring rain. "What if this one time I don't Skip?"

"You are much less likely to die than me," muttered Bilbo. His face was stark white.

There was a crack of lightning. We all pushed ourselves against the mountain wall, taking what little shelter we should, as rocks tumbled past us and fell into the deep ravine. I almost wished I was back on snowy Caradhras. Almost.

"That was a close one," said Bofur.

"Look!" cried Kíli, pointing somewhere off into the distance. We followed his directions, and there, beside a mountain peak, we saw a giant.

Now, I know that sounds insane. You're probably thinking, "Ana, you've lost it. This story is getting too ridiculous." And I agree: this story is ridiculous. But I am telling you the truth. Amidst the rain and thunder and lightning, a giant stood by a mountain. He was made from the same rough rocks as the mountain, and if he hadn't been moving, I wouldn't even have noticed him. But now that I had seen him, I filled with an overwhelming horror.

"A giant." My voice was oddly high pitched. "A giant. Made of stone. A giant. Of stone. Look, there's a giant made of stone."

The giant broke off a piece of the mountain and hurled the rock towards us. For a second, I thought the rock was going to hit us, but it sailed over our heads. There was rumbling sound, and when I turned, I saw that the rock had struck what appeared to be another stone giant in the head. The second giant crashed into the side of another mountain, causing an avalanche of broken stone to fall into the darkness below.

Balin pointed madly at the giants. "A thunder battle!"

"Look out!" cried Nori.

The second giant leaned down and took a piece of the mountain to use as a weapon. Unfortunately, the piece he chose was where Bilbo, Kíli, Dwalin, Glóin, Bofur, and I stood.

A deep cracking sounded above us, and suddenly, I was no longer on solid ground. The mountain was moving, shifting beneath my feet. We stood on a rock that was no longer attached the mountain. All the giant had to do was throw us or drop us, and we would die. Squish. Flat. Gone. Just like that.

"Who the frig invited stone giants?" I screamed, grabbing hold of Glóin's arm and holding on for dear life.

"We can jump," said Dwalin. He gasped Bilbo by the shoulder and held the unsteady hobbit in place. "Quickly, before the giant moves us too far away!"

I could see the over dwarves standing on the mountainside. Fíli was shouting something. Óin motioned for us to jump. Thorin looked desperate, and Ori looked just plain scared.

Another crack.

The first giant had thrown something—probably a rock—at the giant holding us. The giant stumbled, his stone legs getting caught in the ravine. He tripped. His hands went flying. Our rock shifted in his grip. I screamed. The rock was hurtling towards the mountainside. We were going to become dead dwarf pancakes.

"Jump!" roared Dwalin.

We jumped. Dear God, we jumped for our lives.

I don't really remember the details of what happened. But Glóin grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me off the rock after him. My head slammed onto the ledge, and I scrambled for something to hold onto. Bofur—I think it was Bofur—landed on top of me. The boulder smashed against the mountainside. Debris shattered around us. Everything went dark. I was convinced I was dead.

And then it was gone. I could feel the rain again, hear the sound of dwarves breathing and the roar of thunder in the sky. We were alive. Alive. We had somehow managed to survive the stone giant.

I breathed in. "Bofur! Get off of me!"

"Urg," groaned Bofur. "Please, do not let us do that again."

He rolled to the side, and I felt lighter without his weight on my back. I sat up and rubbed my aching shoulder. "How did we survive that?"

"Kíli! Dwalin!" cries of our names could be heard over the cracking of the storm. "Glóin! Bofur! Bilbo!" I even heard someone shout my name. "Where's Ana?"

The other dwarves ran along the mountain ledge, coming to meet us after our near-death experience. Fíli embraced his brother in a tight hug, while Óin and Glóin thumped each other on the backs. Bombur and Bifur pulled their brother into a bear hug. Thorin visibly relaxed when he saw that we were all in one piece. He placed one hand on the mountain wall and managed a small smile for the Company.

I grinned at him, trying to hide the fact that my hands were shaking. "Thorin, why didn't you come for the ride? It was fun."

"Oh." He tried to return his face to its usual stony expression. "You survived."

"You don't have to pretend," I muttered.

"My aching back." Bilbo stood up and rubbed his shoulders. "I should have stayed back in Rivendell where the only pains were those of eating too much food."

"Go back then." Whatever soft, relieved emotion had been in Thorin's eyes had vanished and had been replaced with anger. He rounded on Bilbo, his blue eyes flashing. "Do you prefer it in Rivendell? Go back then. I am sure the elves desire the presence of a lost hobbit more than we do."

Bilbo did not respond to Thorin but kept his head bowed. For a second, I debated saying something to Thorin, but when I opened my mouth, the words died on my lips. Thorin would probably say the same thing to me. Besides, some small part of me understood what Thorin was saying: this was not a quest for hesitant people. The likelihood of making the trek to the Lonely Mountain without losing someone was unlikely, and the likelihood of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain without losing someone was even more unlikely. Hesitant people were a risk. If Bilbo spent the entire journey dreaming of Rivendell, he would put the Company in danger. Still, Thorin had a shitty way of explaining these things.

"There was a cave back there," said Balin, his voice cutting through the pounding rain. "It might be wise to take leave of the mountain path until the storm passes."

Thorin nodded. "Lead on, Balin."

Sure enough, back along the trail there was a small opening in the rock—big enough for a dwarf to pass through. The opening led to a much larger cave, which would provide shelter against the storm. The dwarves found that there was just enough room for them all to lie down and spend the night.

"Bofur," said Thorin, "you will take the first shift. I'll take the second."

Bofur nodded and settled on a misshapen rock at the mouth of the cave. Meanwhile, the other dwarves were figuring out sleeping arrangements.

"Kíli, get off of me!" cried Fíli.

Kíli had laid down on the ground, practically on top of his brother. He wriggled about a little and then said, "I cannot. There is not room enough."

"Tell Dori to budge over," said Fíli. "I cannot get a wink of sleep with your hair in my face."

"There is no room to move," said Dori. "Not with Óin is taking up all the floor space."

"Bombur uses more than his fair share of floor," grumbled Óin.

"I am sitting upright," said Bombur, who was indeed in a sitting position and leaning against the wall of the cave.

"This is not very comfortable," whined Nori.

With his face squished against his brother's back, Ori said. "Think of it as snug."

Eventually, they quietened down and one by one managed to drift off. I stepped over the dwarves, who were curled up like a jig-saw puzzle in the little space available, and made my way across the cave to where Thorin was sleeping—or, at least, trying to sleep. As the king and the next dwarf on watch-duty, he had been given the most space near the entrance of the cave, but that also meant that there was no blocking out the roar of the storm.

"This looks like a comfy spot," I said, settling down next to him.

"You are not sleeping here," said Thorin, his back turned to me.

"Tough. This is the only spot left."

"You can sleep on top of the hobbit," said Thorin. "I am sure he makes a good mattress."

"And I'm sure you make a better one." I paused. "Besides, you have long hair. I'm sur that could be used as a blanket."

"No."

I sighed and laid down on the ground, wrapping a wool blanket Bofur had leant me around my shoulders. "Mean. You shouldn't keep all that hair to yourself. Sharing is caring."

He ignored me.

"You know," I said. "You could sing me a lullaby with that beautiful voice of yours."

"I am trying to sleep before my turn to keep watch."

"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm terrible at singing."

Thorin did not answer, and I eventually shut up and actually attempted to fall asleep.

The deep, rhythmic sounds of the dwarves snoring filled the cave. Outside, the rain pounded against the rock face and lightning forked across the dark sky. Every few minutes we would hear deep cracking noises echoing throughout the mountains to remind us that the giants were still fighting.

We lay there in silence for a good long while. I couldn't sleep, and neither, I think, could Thorin. That is the worst part, of course. When I'm unable to sleep, but lying down, willing sleep to come, there is nothing to stand between me and my memories. I tried to block them out, but they came anyway—Merry with an arrow embedded in the side of his head, those blank eyes staring at me. Legolas, crying out, as blood flowed from the wound on his chest. Boromir, being struck down, even as he smiled at me. There was more than just that incident, of course. The burning White City that I had seen eight years ago. Orcs wandering the battlefield, cackling and talking in their foul language. And then I saw Bonnie and Nick. Where had they gone? I started to imagine them in the clutches of orcs. An arrow embedded in Bonnie's temple, her blank eyes staring at me. I bit the insides of my cheeks and tried to drown out the memories with pain.

"Thorin," I whispered, "I cannot sleep."

No response.

"I know you're not sleeping."

"I was having a good dream."

"Was I in it?"

"No. That is why it was a good dream."

"Thorin." At first, my voice was sharp, but then there was crash of thunder and I buried my face in the wool blanket to smother the gasp of fear. "Thorin."

"It will never go away." Thorin's quiet, rough voice surprised me, and I peaked at his back over the top of the blanket. Still not looking at me, Thorin said, "You must learn to live with it. We all learn."

"I can't."

"You will. There are good memories with the bad. Hold on to th—"

"Where are you going?" Bofur's voice cut across our muffled conversation.

Thorin stopped talking. I felt his body tense beside me as he strained to hear what was going on at the mouth of the cave. From where I lay, I could see Bofur sitting on his misshapen rock, talking to a packed and ready-to-leave Bilbo.

"Home," said Bilbo. He glanced down warily at where Thorin and I lay on the cave floor, and I squinted, trying to look fast asleep. Bilbo must have been satisfied with my acting, because he turned back to Bofur and said, "Look, Thorin was right. I am not cut out for this type of thing. I want my home, I want my bed, I want my fire, and I want my meals seven times a day."

"You cannot leave," said Bofur. "You are one of us now."

"But I am not, now am I?" said Bilbo. "I am not made for this. You dwarves, you dwarves are used to this. Always on the road, never at home, never belonging an—" Bilbo stopped himself. "I am sorry."

"No," said Bofur softly. "No, you are right. We do not belong anywhere." Somehow (to this day, I am still amazed by this), Bofur managed to smile at the hobbit. "Bilbo, I wish you all the luck in the world."

Bilbo hesitated for a split second and then nodded. "Thank you. Well, I'll be off—"

"What is that?" asked Bofur suddenly, pointing at the blade strapped to Bilbo's side. Through the dim light, I could see Sting glowing blue at the hilt.

A deep, rumbling sound filled the cave.

"Get up!" roared Thorin. He pushed off the ground, springing to his feet and reaching for his sword. "Get up!"

The other dwarves had barely opened their eyes, still foggy with sleep, when the stone floor opened and swallowed them whole.

The floor did not swallow me, however. I was long gone at that point.