PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXV: We All Need Some Majestic Therapy

"Hi."

The first encounter between Jack and me since our failed date had to be one of the most awkward things I have ever done. And, as someone who has a habit of coming and going without warning, I've done a lot of awkward things in my life.

After a week of walking the other way whenever cute neighbor Jack came into my line of sight, I finally worked up the nerve to talk to him about my disappearance in the movie theater. I'd been leaving my apartment for a job interview later that afternoon when I saw Jack across the hall, locking his apartment door before departing as well. He'd definitely heard me greet him, but he took his sweet time, pulling the key out of the lock and placing it in his jacket pocket. When he was done, Jack looked at me through flat hazel eyes. He didn't smile. "Hi."

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Fine."

"Look," I said, stepping forward. "It was a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" asked Jack. "You ditched me in the movie theater. What's there to misunderstand about that? You teleported from the movie theater and left me sitting there like an idiot. What's to misunderstand?"

You're probably wondering why, at this point, I can't just tell Jack that I Skip to a different world. I don't blame you, I've wondered that several times myself. The conclusion I've come to was that I didn't trust other people with that information. I didn't know how they would respond—would they think me crazy or would they demand proof? The idea of bringing anyone—voluntary or not—to Middle Earth terrified me. Nick had been in goblin town for three days and who knew what kind of damage had been done to him. I couldn't risk that happening to anyone else—what if they ended up in front of Sauron or Smaug?

And how would I feel if they refused to believe me? Skipping was something deeply personal to me, something that had messed up my life so much that, at times, I didn't know up from down. If I ever told someone that I Skipped, and they didn't believe me, I felt as though a part of me would crumble. I didn't want to open myself up to that. I couldn't open myself up to that. So I said nothing.

"Yeah," I said, scuffing my boot on the wooden floor. "I knew you'd be angry. But you've got to understand, I don't have any control."

"Oh sure," said Jack. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes?"

Jack snorted. "I'm going."

"But it's the truth!" I stepped forward, coming between him and the stairs. "I told you I can't keep track of time or place. I've never been able to. Bu that doesn't mean I'm a horrible person." One look at Jack's face told me he wasn't buying it. I sighed. "I really liked going on a date with you."

"Tell it to someone who cares," said Jack. He pushed past me and headed down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

"You were perfectly willing to believe that I was an elf!" I shouted after him.

Seven hours later, after failing miserably at the job interview, avoiding my mom's calls, and eating my feelings at Panera, I was walking through the park, taking on the phone with Nick.

"I'll set you up with one of my friends," promised Nick.

"You don't have any friends."

"Yes, I do." Nick's voice cracked through the phone. "Eddie, Lamar, Keith…"

I crunched up my nose. "Your friends are all weird."

"Well, you're weird Ana, so it works."

To be honest, I couldn't argue with that, so I just said, "I'll find my own date. Maybe I'll make an online profile. That's a thing, right?"

Nick snorted. "Yeah, that's a thing. I don't think it's going to be your thing though. I feel like people need some exposure to you before they realize your datable. If they show up to the date, and you start rambling about monkeys, they're going to run in the opposite direction."

"I like monkeys," I muttered. "Besides, I think my chances are better if they're just thrown in. You know, sink or swim mentality. Either they can handle or me or they can't."

Nick laughed but then broke off when someone spoke to him on the other end of the phone. I waited, and after a moment, Nick said, "I've got to go. Setting up for summer classes."

"Good luck with that," I said, trying to sound happy for him. After all, it was good he was getting his life back on track after six months.

"Talk to you soon. Stay safe. You shouldn't be walking around the park alone after midnight."

"Bye, Nick. I'll be fine. If anything bad happens, I'll end up Skipping to Middle Earth." I paused to consider this. "Where more bad things will happen."

"Just head home," said Nick.

"Bye."

After ending the call, I thrust my cell phone into the pocket of my jacket. Nick was the best. He'd spent the last hour on the phone with me, saying Jack was an asshole and promising to beat up my cute neighbor for me if I needed it. I'd told Nick that it was all right, it wasn't Jack's fault—it was the stupid Skip's fault.

I didn't tell Nick this, other than the awkward encounter in the hallway and the occasional pang of regret, I'd barely thought about Jack. Jack wasn't what haunted me at night.

Hands in the pockets of my jeans, I continued walking down the dirt path. It was somewhere in the small hours of the morning; the sky was pitch black and no stars were visible. Everything above me was shrouded by thin clouds and the only light came from the dim orange glow of lamps along the park path. There was no one else around.

I hadn't been able to sleep the night before. I'd barely gotten more than six hours of sleep all week. Every time I put down my head to rest, my eyes wouldn't close. The same thoughts kept running over and over again in my mind. The scene played in my head, and despite my will, I found myself trying to picture how Boromir would die. The flash of an orc blade. The whistle of an arrow. A cry of pain. Blood everywhere. A body in a boat.

Don't think about it. Think about this world instead. My world. I needed a job. Which obviously isn't happening any time soon. But how was I going to afford my apartment? Ask my parents for more money? What would they say? I told them I'd get a job. Which meant I needed a job. Though no one will hire me.

My cellphone vibrated in my pocket. I checked the caller ID. It was Nick. I put the phone back in my pocket without answering. He probably wanted to make sure I was still alive—wandering around the park at night was not the best idea I'd ever had. Still, I wasn't ready to go back to my apartment and spend the rest of the night watching shitty YouTube videos.

"What are you doing here?" asked a deep, gravelly voice.

I shrieked, spun around, and found myself face to face with—a cop.

Did I scare you for a second? Okay, okay. You obviously know I survive, but I was scared to death at the time. I really thought I was about to be killed or worse.

"You scared me," I said.

Of course, since the man wasn't a cold-blooded murdered but rather a round-faced cop, I had a different set of problems to deal with. In case you haven't noticed, I have a deep dislike of prisons. I like to be free. And in my tired, sleep-deprived mind, cop meant prison.

"You shouldn't be out so late," said the officer, frowning. "This park is closed after midnight."

"Really? I didn't know." (Lying has always been a special talent of mine.)

The officer surveyed me. I probably looked a little alien in the glow of the orange lamplight. "What's your name?"

"Ana."

"Where are you from?"

"Erebor."

"Why are you in the park at night?"

"I'm on a quest to reclaim my homeland."

The cop squinted at me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Are you mocking me?"

I smiled. "I am a dwarf of Erebor. I am too majestic to mock." And then I turned around and ran.

The cop shouted something that I couldn't quite make out and then started to chase after me, letting out a stream of curses.

I sprinted through the park, at first sticking to the path but then diverging and sprinting through the grass. There was a red bridge that crossed a dark, murky pond, and when I ran on it, my footsteps echoed as they pounded against the wood. Halfway across the bridge, I came to a stop, my chest heaving up and down as I turned to watch the cop approach.

The officer came to a halt at the end of the bridge, huffing and puffing just as I was. "Stop. It's dangerous to be out so late. You should go home—and watch your mouth next time."

It happened then. I was no longer standing on a red bridge in a park. Instead, I was standing on the edge of a white cliff, watching as gray waves crashed against the rocks below. At first, I thought I'd Skipped, but when I blinked, I was back in the park. Only, I was standing on the railing of the red bridge.

"Oh shit."

My foot slipped. The officer shouted something. I screamed.

Skip.

The back of my head slammed on the stone ground. I lay there for a moment, trying to remember how I'd ended up on the railing of the bridge anyway. Something about white cliffs. Great. I'd had so little sleep over the past week that I was hallucinating. I'd probably traumatized that poor cop. I also probably shouldn't have run away from him. He was just doing his job.

I opened my eyes. Wherever I'd Skipped to, it was dark. The only light came from a flickering torch on the other side of some iron bars. I sat up. Bars? Great, after all that to try to escape a cop, I had ended up in a prison cell anyway. Oh, the irony.

"Your Skips have poor timing, Ana."

I looked over my shoulder. Blue eyes stared out at me from the far corner of the cell. I blinked, squinting through the darkness. It was Thorin, chains around his ankles and wrists. (Still majestic.)

"Did they finally arrest you?" I asked.

"If you refer to the elves of Mirkwood, then yes."

"Oh." Suddenly, I was trying to fight back a grin. "Arrested by elves. That's a new low, even for you."

Thorin glared at me.

"I'm just saying," I said. "I had higher expectations of you."

The glare did not cease.

I stared back at Thorin. He sat there, in the heavy black chains, his eyes fixed on me. There was something about those blue eyes that set me on edge. I wanted to make a joke, I really did, but I felt as though those eyes saw through every defense I tried to throw between me and reality. Those blue eyes knew me far too well for my own comfort.

And suddenly, I was crying. Fat tears dripped from my eyes and down my face.

At last, Thorin stopped glaring. He blinked. He frowned. He opened his mouth. He closed it again. He glared. He stopped glaring. He blinked again. Then, slowly, almost cautiously, he asked, "Why are you crying, Ana?"

"Why do you think I'm crying?" I wiped some tears off my cheek with the back of my right hand. I sniffled. The tears wouldn't stop.

After another round of opening and closing his mouth in confusion, Thorin helplessly said, "Because you are in awe of my majesty."

"No. Though that would be a good reason to cry." I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "My life sucks. My best friend in Middle Earth is going to die and I need to save him and to do that I need to meet him before he does and tell him what's going to happen, but there's no guarantee that I'll see him before he dies, and with my luck, I might end up watching him die. I don't want to see him die. And what if I can't save him? What then? I don't handle tragedy very well—in case you haven't noticed. And then, Bonnie is still missing. I managed to find Nick—in the depths of goblin town, who knows what kind of scars he's been left with—but who knows where Bonnie is. She could be dead. She could be somewhere worse than goblin town. I could have brought her to her doom, and no one will know what happened to her because she's gone and dead. And it's all my fault. And, my dating life sucks. I can barely keep a normal friendship let alone date a guy. And Jack was yelling at me, and he wouldn't believe my explanation. He was perfectly willing to believe I was an elf or a fairy—but no, he can't forgive that I Skipped out on him in the movie theater. He can't believe that I have no control over the Skipping. Part of me thinks I should just tell him about the Skipping, but I can't do that. I'm terrified someone's going to put me in a straightjacket. I don't want to be in a straightjacket. And I can't even talk to my parents anymore. They always want to know about my life and my work and they keep telling me that I can tell them anything but they don't know the half of it. I can't get a job because I disappear to Middle Earth too often and miss work. My parents don't know this and they want me to find a job, but I can't. And I can't ask them for more money. Who's going to pay for my apartment? What am I going to do? And, just to make things better, I just told a cop my home was Erebor. I was joking, but that's still frigging insane. I don't even know where I belong anymore. I'm from Ohio—right? So why do I spend so much time in Middle Earth? Maybe I just don't belong anywhere. Maybe I'm just drift everywhere. Or maybe I just don't exist at all. I don't know. I don't want this. I want to go home. But instead I'm sitting here in a cell with you and I don't even like elves. And you know what? You know what the worst part is? I just found out that Taco Bell sells coffee. Taco Bell, for Gods sake! I'm afraid they'd put chili powder in my coffee or something. It just sounds gross. Who would do that kind of thing? Who would!?"

Thorin stared at me.

I sniffled. My throat was burning, and I coughed—a deep, hacking sound. Snot and tears dribbled down my chin. I tried to wipe it off with the back of my hand. "Stupid Taco Bell, making me cry."

There came the sound of chains clanking together as Thorin shuffled across the cell. Then, I felt a heavy hand tapping me on the shoulder. I looked up and saw Thorin grimacing as he patted me on the shoulder.

"Thanks," I said.

He stopped patting my shoulder and sat back down. He watched me for a moment and then said, "You look ugly when you cry."

"You're not supposed to say that."

"I am just telling the truth," said Thorin.

"Why do I talk to you?"

"Because I am majestic."

I managed a weak smile. "That's right."

"At least," said Thorin. "You were not captured, interrogated, and thrown into a prison cell by the people you despise most in the world."

"Yeah, but I bet you were great when they interrogated you."

"I am certain that I irritated Thranduil to no end," said Thorin, nodding. "He kept inquiring as to why my dwarves were wandering about the woods, and I kept replying that we were starving. Apparently, he did not believe that dwarves could starve because he continued at ask why we were in the woods."

"Because you were starving," I said. "Wow. Thranduil seems like a dense elf."

"Are not all elves dense?"

"Well, Elrond was rather clever," I said. "But Thranduil is definitely dumb. Mirkwood elves might not be as intelligent as their Rivendell kin."

"His idiocy could be rivaled by that of his son," said Thorin. "That blond elf that prances around with a bow and arrow."

"Legolas," I said, nodding. "Legolas is the prince of the stupid elves. He prances around with that bow and arrow all the time and he's like, 'Look at me, look at me, aren't I pretty? Aren't elves awesome? We just got chased across the country by wargs and almost destroyed by a balrog, but my hair is still blond and in perfect condition, aren't I cool?' And the rest of us are sitting there—dirty and tired—and we're like, 'Legolas, your hair is stupid and it makes you look like a cheap party trick.'"

Thorin laughed. (I actually managed to make Thorin laugh. Though, I think he just likes to laugh at elves.)

"You have ceased crying," said Thorin, suddenly.

I paused, tapped my cheeks to make sure, and then grinned. "Yeah, I did. That was a load to get off my chest. I think the majestic therapy session helped."

"Majestic therapy?"

I nodded. "You know what would help even more?"

"I do not want to know."

"If you sang to me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"You can start a new business as a musical therapist. Someone can come into your office after having a really, really, really bad week and you can sing to them in your deep voice and all their problems will just drift away…"

"No."

"You enjoy crushing my hopes and dreams, don't you?"

A faint smile. "Yes."

There was a clink.

Both Thorin and I turned to the door of the prison cell. My heart missed a beat. Was a guard coming to check on Thorin? He would see me. What was I doing in a cell with the dwarf king? Well, there's a perfectly logical explanation for that…

The door creaked open.

"Thorin!" cried Ori, sticking his head through the gap.

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. "Keep your voice down, Ori. We do not wish to be overheard." Thorin got to his feet and held out his chained arms. Bilbo slipped into the prison cell and revealed a little black key, which he used to open the irons that bound Thorin.

I remained seated on the ground, staring at the whole scene in shock.

"Ana," said Kíli, appearing at the door of the cell behind Bilbo "what are you doing here?"

"I Skipped." Frowning, I turned to Thorin. "You knew about the escape plan?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?"

Thorin shrugged and massaged his red wrists. "I did not know how long you would be here." He stepped outside the prison cell. "Are you coming? Or would you rather remain locked up?"

I jumped to my feet. "In an elven cell? Not on your life."

As I stepped outside the cell, I saw that all thirteen dwarves had gathered. Apparently, Thorin had not been the only one captured by the Mirkwood elves. Bilbo (the hobbit had proven to be quite the successful burglar—though only I knew that it was partly in credit to the One Ring) led the way through a series of underground tunnels. He had some destination in mind, but it seemed the dwarves didn't know where he was leading them. We tiptoed through the halls though neither the dwarves nor I were particularly quiet. Thankfully, the Mirkwood elves partied hard. Bilbo had wisely waited until they were all unconscious from their endless drinking before freeing the dwarves.

"Disappointed." I shook my head. "I expected better of you guys. Getting arrested by mere elves."

"It is not our fault," said Kíli. "We were hungry and starving in the forest, and we had been attacked by spiders."

"Spiders?" I asked, my voice going up an octave.

Kíli nodded. "Huge spiders with poison in their pincers."

A shudder ran down my spine. "First spiders and then elves—you poor dwarves have had a rough ride."

"You do not like spiders?" asked Glóin, a wide smile forming under his red beard.

I eyed Glóin suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

"I am not thinking anything," said Glóin.

"He is quite empty headed," said Óin. He whacked his brother on the side of the head. "Did you hear that hollow sound?"

I laughed.

"Could you possibly be louder?" asked Thorin irritably.

I stuck my tongue out at his back. I think he could somehow sense it, because he shot me a venomous glare over his shoulder. However, I lowered my volume after that. Who knew when the elves were going to wake from their slumber.

"Why are your eyes pink?" asked Bofur.

"Er…" I lifted a hand to touch my puffy eyes and then silently cursed the side effects of crying. "It's Thorin's fault."

All the dwarves turned to Thorin.

"You made Ana cry?" asked Nori, horrified.

"That was not very nice," said Ori.

Thorin shot me a scathing look and then to the rest of the Company, he said, "We were having a majestic therapy session."

"A what?" Dori looked dumbfounded.

"Now silence," said Thorin, "unless you want to be returned to the cells and at the mercy of the elves."

That certainly shut the dwarves up.

Bilbo led us down a ramp, made a sharp turn, and then stepped out onto a wooden dock. The dock was built over an underground river, the waters of which frothed and sloshed against the steep rock walls of the cavern. There were a few boats tied to the dock and stacks of barrels and crates near the entryway. Thankfully, the one elvish guard was fast asleep in a chair. I was delighted to see that drool trickled from his mouth onto his tunic. It was the first time I'd seen an elf look anything other than graceful.

"What are we doing here?" asked Thorin.

Bilbo gestured at the river. "This is the way out."

"Do you expect us to swim?" asked Fíli, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Oh no," said Balin. "Dwarves are not made for swimming."

"And neither are hobbits," said Bilbo firmly. "Have no fear, you will not be swimming out. You will each get inside a barrel, and I will seal you inside. Then, when the elves throw the supposedly empty barrels in the river, we will float downstream and be free from the elves."

"How do you know what they do with the barrels?" I asked.

Bilbo smiled. "I have spent a lot of time observing the Mirkwood elves and forming this escape plan."

"Observing the Mirkwood elves? You poor hobbit, there are such better things to do with your time."

The dwarves muttered their agreement.

"Hurry," said Bilbo. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, jittery with nervousness. "This is the only way out, and the elves will be arriving soon to throw out the barrels."

"We will be broken, bruised, and battered to pieces," said Dori.

"This is mad," muttered Balin.

Bilbo finally lost patience with the dwarves. "Very well, I still have the keys. You all can hop back into your cells, and I will lock you in. No one needs know that you tried to escape."

The dwarves exchanged glances.

"Owned," I said gleefully. (Cue glare from Thorin.)

"It is not all that bad," said Fíli suddenly. He walked towards the closest barrel and popped off the lid. "I can certainly fit in here. It looks spacious. Perhaps I shall keep the barrel and make it into my new home. What do you think, Kíli?"

Kíli popped the lid off another barrel. He grinned and hopped inside, settling down for a comfortable fit in the barrel. "Rather snug."

"They are small," said Dwalin. "Of course they would fit inside the barrels with ease."

"Yes," said Bombur. "What about us large dwarves?"

"Don't be a baby." I bounded after Fíli and Kíli and found a nice barrel. I hopped inside, pulling my knees up to my chest. "It's roomy in here. Bilbo, lid me up!"

"I will not do it," said Balin, stubbornly.

Grumbling under his breath, Thorin picked out a barrel and sat inside it. I couldn't see him over the top of my own barrel, but I could image his grouchy scowling face.

"Come on," said Thorin. "They are not as uncomfortable as you make them sound."

The rest of the dwarves followed Thorin's leadership. Soon, we had all crawled into barrels. Bilbo put the lids in place, wedging us in tightly. Then, he found his own barrel and managed to shut himself in. I sat in darkness, my knees pulled up to my chest and my head just brushing against the lid of the barrel. To be honest, it was far from comfortable, and I dreaded the journey down the river. But, like Kíli, Fíli, and Thorin, I lied to get the other dwarves into the barrels.

I don't know how long we sat there, silent and cramp, but I was beginning to get impatient. Going back to the prison cell was beginning to sound like a viable option. But just when I was prepared to pop the lid off the barrel, the sounds of elves filled the room.

"Where is old Galion, the butler? I have not seen him at the tables tonight. He ought to be here by now to show us how it is done."

"Ah ha! Here he is. With his head on a jog. He has been sleeping the drink."

"Wake him up. I still have a few more drinks with my name on them."

There was a pause and then a grumbling noise. A sleepy voice filled the room and I supposed it belong to Galion, the drooling elf. "You are all late. Enjoying the festivities a little too much, I would say. You forgot your duties and left me to wait. Small wonder I fell asleep."

The other elves laughed and made jokes at Galion's expensive, but he only grunted at them to get to work. And with that, the barrel tossing began.

I don't know whose barrel they tossed first, but through a peephole in the side of the barrel, I watched as, one-by-one, the barrels were hurled into the river and the waters swept the barrels (and the dwarves they contained) away. Mine was one of the last to be hurled into the river. All I felt was unsteady air and then—splash—a rickety ride on the river.

Water came in through the peephole. I panicked. My throat thickened and my breathing came in short gasps. I thought my barrel was going to fill with water, and I was going to sink to the bottom of the river, trapped inside. So I did what any other desperate person would do. I shoved the lid off my barrel, managing to get one breath of air before the barrel flipped over and dunked me head-first in the water. Coughing and Spluttering, I clung onto the barrel for dear life as the river waters sped me down stream.

"Do you need some help, lassie?"

I looked up to see Balin, sitting in his barrel. His lid was off and the top half of his body was out of the barrel, bobbing up and down as if he was on a mini-cruise.

"Show-off," I muttered.

"Who is a show-off?" asked Fíli.

I turned around to see that he too was sitting upright in his barrel, completely at ease. In fact, looking around the river, I saw that Thorin, Dwalin, Bombur, Bifur, Bofur, Óin, Glóin, Dori, Nori, Ori, and Bilbo were all sitting upright in their barrels, enjoying the peaceful float downstream.

I groaned. "Was I the only one who fell out of the barrel?"

"No," said Fíli. "Kíli fell out too. He refuses any help getting back in."

Fíli pointed back upstream where I saw Kíli floating in the water, trying to push himself back up into the barrel, but every time he got close to sitting into the barrel, the thing capsized, dumping him back into the water.

I groaned a whacked my head against the side of wood of my barrel. "I'm on the same level as Kíli…"

"Look out," said Thorin. "There are rapids coming." He glanced at me. "With sharp rocks."

"Sharp rocks?" I squeaked. Clinging desperately to the twisting and rolling barrel, I tried to hoist myself up onto it or into it—I wasn't really sure which—but the barrel rolled over and dumped me into the water yet again.

I bobbed back up, treading water as I floated downstream. The dwarves guffawed at my pitiful attempt. I looked around and realized that my barrel had floated far away from me. The white tips of the rapids and the tops of the jagged rocks were growing nearer.

And if the rocks weren't bad enough, it seemed that the elves had realized that their prisoners were missing. Just over the sound of the rapids, I could hear the bellow of a horn.

"They have noticed our absence," said Balin grimly.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been terrified by the idea of being chased by angry Mirkwood elves; however, I had bigger problems right then—mainly, rapids.

I screamed, "Not the rocks!" and then properly received a mouthful of river water.

Gasping and gulping, I tried to remember my nine-year-old summer camp canoeing lessons where I was had been taught to go down the rapids with my feet first. Holding onto my flotation device (AKA the barrel), I kept my feet up and tried to steer myself away from any rocks.

White, foaming water splashed into my face. I was hacking and coughing and my eyes stung. The rapids dipped me underwater time and time again—I clawed at the barrel, desperately trying to stay above the surface.

By the time I came out of the rapids and managed to regain sense, we were under attack—not by elves but by orcs.

At first, I was confused. What were orcs doing there? Weren't we escaping from elves? I didn't realize until later that some members of Azog's hunting party had seen the dwarves being captured by the Mirkwood elves and were now trying to assail us from the banks of the river during our escape attempt. However, the orcs' plan to ambush us was ruined by the elves who were trying to recapture us. Apparently, the saying that "my enemy's enemy is my friend" is not true, because the two parties clashed on the river's banks while we floated by down the river.

One orc fired an arrow, and it struck the side of my barrel with frightening force. I screamed and slipped underwater again. Thankfully, Balin grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt, pulling my out of the water.

Now, I'll have you know that Bilbo tells a quite different tale of this river battle than I do. Bilbo has a habit of embellishing details for dramatic effect (okay, I admit that I do this from time to time too), but I know for a fact that Bilbo likes to tell this story where the dwarves pass around weapons while floating in barrels and being attacked. He also likes to tell the story where Bombur's barrel flies out of the water, takes out a dozen orcs and then Bombur turns the barrel into some kind of fighting machine. I can tell you right now that this did not happen. The great escape from Thranduil's realm was not nearly as dramatic as that.

Most of the dwarves fell out of their barrels in the rapids so the orcs' arrows hit the water or the barrels and missed the targets. A couple orcs slipped on the wet, moss-covered banks and fell into the water, allowing Dwalin, Nori, and Fíli to take the orcs' weapons. Fíli managed to use the sword on one orc and then was forced to drop the weapon because it was too heavy for him to stay afloat while holding.

I will let you know now that our river battle consisted of choking on water, screaming, shouting, more choking on water, drowning, missed arrows, rapids, choking on water, orcs falling into the water, drowning, water in our eyes, going under water, and more choking on water.

As much as I hate to say this, if it had not been for the Mirkwood elves, we probably would have either been killed by orcs or drowned by our own inability to swim in rapids.

Thorin grabbed my arm and hauled me above the surface of the bubbling water. My own barrel had broken on one of the rocks, so I was forced to cling to Thorin's barrel.

On the banks there were a dozen blond-haired elves (one of them was Legolas, I realized before getting water in my eyes) were firing arrows at the orcs, slaughtering the members of Azog's party. I watched as the elves and orcs got farther and farther away until they were out of sight entirely.

Most of the dwarves had fallen out of their barrels at this point, and as we sailed down river, Thorin and I still holding on to our barrel, the rapids became worse and the cries of the Company heightened.

"Look out for that rock!"

"Tree branch! Tree branch!"

"A fish bit me!"

"Rock!"

"I think it took a toe off!"

Water sprayed in everyone's faces, and we screamed until our voices broke. (Except Thorin, he took the rapids like the majestic dwarf he was).

You'll be happy to know that we did survive the rapids. I was separated from Thorin at one point, but I managed to find a piece of driftwood. By the time the river calmed, each member of the Company was left gasping for air and clinging to his flotation device (driftwood, broken barrel, another dwarf, etc.). We looked bedraggled and exhausted but very much alive.

"I cannot believe we survived that."

We all turned around to see that Kíli alone was sitting upright in his barrel, bobbing up and down with a broad grin on his face.

"Look, uncle," said Kíli, still grinning. "Look who is majestic now."

Thorin was looking, but it wasn't at Kíli. He was looking downriver where the water sped up and then disappeared from slight entirely.

Recognition struck Thorin and he bellowed, "Waterfall!"

Kíli promptly fell out of his barrel in shock.

The rest of the dwarves tried to swim for shore, kicking and struggling against the current, and eventually, they managed to reach the rocky bank.

I kicked and kicked, but I was too far away to make it to the bank in time. I clung to my bit of driftwood and screamed at the top of my lungs as I was pushed closer and closer to the waterfall's edge. I looked behind me as all the dwarves watched, wide-eyed, from the rocky shore.

"Not like this!" I wailed.

"Shut up," said Thorin, though his tone was not harsh. He looked me directly in the eyes and said, "You will go over the edge and then Skip to safety."

"No I won't!" I screamed. "I'm going to die!"

My driftwood rolled over the edge and down I fell. Down, down, down, down.

And guess what. I Skipped.

Damn Thorin and his habit of being right.