hey guys! Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favourites, once again!

Onwards with the next chapter!

*edited June 2018

Chapter Three: Postcards

I would like to say I'm not someone who gets frightened or scared so easily, but that would be complete and utter bullshit.

So, yes, I'll be the first one to admit it: the new addition to the group scares me. His face is frozen permanently into a scowl, his hair is raven black, and he looks a little younger than some of the group, though the silver wisps that are streaked in his hair tell me he isn't as young as Blonde Dude and Mr Strange Dark Handsome Guy. Like the others, braids thread his beard, which is as equally black as his hair, and he is quite short (that's rich coming from me) but second tallest to Dwalin (whose name I had finally learned). And, even though he smiles at Gandalf, I feel even more terrified. It's strange, like his face wasn't adapted to showing such a small display of happiness and I would much prefer it if he frowned.

"Gandalf," he greets, stepping in from the night cold and into the warm home. I notice how deep and scratchy his voice was, resonating throughout the empty space of the front hall. It was strong, and he didn't even need to speak up to be heard; he seemed to be one of those people who were just born naturally with the gift of capturing everyone's attention when entering a room in a positive way - unlike me.

"I thought you said this place was easy to find," the Dwarf whose name I need to find out says. He rids himself of his cloak before turning to face Gandalf with an almost amused smile. Key word: almost. "I lost my way here - twice. I wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for the mark on the door."

"Mark?" splutters Bilbo, finally speaking up after watching yet another stranger walk in, stepping forward to defend his home. Poor guy. Though, better me than him, I guess. I would have hated to see this many people in my own home, trashing everything and then leaving before my mother arrived. But, alas, I didn't even know, let alone talk to, this many people back home. There you go again, being your depressive self. "There's no mark on that door! I had it painted not a week ago."

"There is a mark there for I put it there myself," Gandalf explains.

I hide behind Gloin and Nori, peering over their shoulders at the newest member. He practically bleeds importance, standing up straight and an aura of pride around him. And I am being forced to meet him. Me. The girl who probably looks down - right horrid with scrapes and scratches on my face, neck and hands and my hair looking like a rat's nest. At the memory of how horrible my hair probably looked, I turned away from the new object of attention and, desperately, I run my fingers through my hair in place of a brush, wincing as I tug at the knots but also keeping an ear on the conversation at hand.

When I heard them speak quickly breach the subject of the mark on Bilbo's door (who, when he had insisted he had just gotten it painted in the last week, reminded me a bit too much of my mother which was quite scary) the look on his face makes me want to bark out a laughter when Gandalf had told him there was a mark on the door for he put it there himself. I'm glad when attention is drawn to Bilbo.

"So," the Mr Scowl Face (a.k.a new Dwarf) begins, linking his hands behind his back as his blue eyes examine the small man who looks like he wants nothing more than the floor to just swallow him up. You and I both, buddy. "This is the hobbit."

What is with this word Hobbit? What such strange names people called each other here. I roll my eyes at this, combing my hair absentmindedly; trying to keep track of what is being said. I don't really know what Mr Scowl Face says but apparently, it's enough to make the other Dwarves laugh. I awkwardly chime in lowly before giving up of trying taming my hair. I let out a huff of annoyance, turning back around to face poor Bilbo when I meet Gandalf's sparkling eyes.

Oh, Hell, no.

I try to sneak away when Gandalf speaks.

"And this - "

He motions to the other men in front of me who separate like Moses had parted the Red Sea and (twice in one night) my back is face towards a new stranger. A hand clasps around my shoulder and spins me around (I probably should have known it was Bofur since that little shit has always taken time out of his schedule to embarrass me). I meet the intense blue eyes of the stranger as I try not to have a mental break - down.

"- is Aurora Liberty Fernwright."

"Libby," I stress through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the embarrassed blush that is creeping up on me due to the fifteen (Gandalf, Bilbo and the thirteen Dwarves) pairs of eyes focused on me.

"Ah, yes, who prefers to be called Libby. Libby, this is Thorin Oakenshield."

The way Gandalf says the name has me thinking of whether I should curtsy or fall to my knees, praising him. Thankfully, I save my self the embarrassment and just kind of stare awkwardly at him, hoping he would say something. Only he doesn't, pursing his lips and staring at me with such intensity I wonder if my clothes will burst into flames. I start to feel self-conscious of myself, all too aware of my mismatched clothes, my tangled and knotted hair and the little red ribbons on my skin. I most likely look absolutely horrible in comparison to everyone else present. I can't even look him in the eyes and drop my gaze to my shoes before he finally, finally, speaks. But, when he did, it wasn't something I was even expecting.

"A child," he states bluntly, looking to Gandalf with an eyebrow cocked, evidently saying, without words, are you serious?

I felt myself frown at how he called me a child; I was eighteen, that practically made me a legal adult - unfortunately. I cast a look to Gandalf, my eyes wide before I turn to Thorin (I hate how it suits Mr Grumpy Face) ready to open my big fat mouth despite every nerve in my body screaming DON'T DO IT YOU SOCIALLY SUICIDAL IDIOT!

As I'm about to do so, and probably make Thorin hate me (if he didn't already but I'm pretty sure he did), Gandalf intervenes by slouching forward into my view so that I could only see the Dwarf if I peered around the old man. Yeah, you're lucky I'm being held back or else my foot would have gone so far up your ass you'd be tasting the end of my shoe for a week.

Ha, as if I would ever have the balls or courage to do such a thing.

"Libby has much to offer for this quest -" Wait, what? " - and I am positive that she may help us yet along our journey to the Lonely Mountain."

I could feel every eye on me as I stare at Gandalf like he had gone around the bend. Is it just me or does everything here seemed to be rushed with one thing happening after the other, and yet no one is asking for a single explanation as to what they were getting themselves into or what is even going on?

Thorin keeps his gaze locked with Gandalf's for the briefest of moments before he hums slightly at the tall old man, almost as if he was begrudgingly agreeing to Gandalf's (idiotic, stupid, ridiculous) request, before turning away.

Well, it appears so.

What I learn in the next half hour is that everyone here quite fancies going on a suicide mission apart from my, rather sane in comparison to everyone else present, self and dear Bilbo Baggins, poor soul. Of course, whenever I open my mouth to ask a question or complain, it seems to reach deaf ears. Not surprising.

Surprise, surprise, turns out when Gandalf had said dragon, he actually meant dragon.

And, no, it wasn't a dragon like Mushu from Mulan.

It was a living, breathing, very large, fire breathing, man eating dragon.

That made my stomach do multiple backward flips.

Bringing me along is honestly one of the most idiotic and stupidest things that could ever be thought of. What on earth could I even offer these people on a suicide mission? Bad cooking? Bad, scratch that, amazing jokes? Non-stop complaints? I was still trying to wrap my head around the thought of me even going; all I want to do is lie down on the ground and scream for the next forty-six minutes and slap Gandalf into his senses. No, I won't do it, I refuse to do it! It was stupid, ridiculous, nonsensical, and did I already say it was stupid?

But no one listens to me, not even Bilbo who seems to be in the same boat as me, travelling up shit creak. I could sneak away or just plainly refuse to go. Maybe I could house sit for Bilbo. I mean, he'd only come back to a smouldering ruin that was his home, but it was better me burning the place down than a dragon.

Alas, here I am, despite everything; we sit around the same table we were eating at before only it is cleared of all food and plates and instead of laughter and chatter, a stiff tension hangs around the group and I have to bite my tongue in case I say something really inappropriate, and, considering it's me, it'll likely happen though it would have been the perfect time to voice my objections to the idea of me tagging along on their treasure hunt. I'm wedged between the good - looking blonde Dwarf and the very handsome dark-haired Dwarf, our shoulders against one another and I feel so small and squished at the edges, feeling as if that if any more pressure is applied then I'm just going to explode. The room is rather hot, though I see no one else suffering from an overheated and red face. But my main cause of suffering was the dark-haired Dwarf sitting next to me, who I peek at through peripheral vision.

Thank God he doesn't pay attention as his eyes are focused solely on Thorin because otherwise, I'm pretty sure he would be very creeped out over my staring over how handsome he is.

Oh my, he's a yummy gummy bear.

As the men talk, I keep quiet as I ponder on every single thing they say. Like, all of this is brand new information that I have no idea what to do with. Names and places roll of their tongues and my head is swimming with all these words; I want to everyone to stop talking after a sentence is said so I can ask what the heck is even going on, but no one seems to notice my presence. While usually a gift, is now really annoying.

"What of the meetings in Ered Luin? Did they all come?" The Dwarf, Balin, asked Thorin.

Ere - what - ? How the Hell do you even pronounce that?

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin grunts his answer.

Holy shit, they have that many kingdoms? Jesus Christ, why has Gandalf told me diddly - squat? Oh, goodness, was I in Westeros?

I try to make an effort to listen, but I don't understand half the things that come out of their mouths (which, now that I look back on it, was probably how they felt every time I opened my mouth).

"And what do the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?" questions Dwalin.

Wait, who the hell is Dain? Why does everything and everyone have such a strange name? Why couldn't they just name their kids a normal name, like Kevin or Brad? It would have made my life so much easier.

Glancing quickly around the table, Thorin lets out a sigh. "They will not come." At this, everybody lets out a light groan, obviously disappointed at the news. But I sit, looking around with a confused look on my face. Bad news? Yes, I can tell from the negative response, but why it is bad news I don't know. Still, I click my tongue and gave a sigh.

"Well, shit," I mutter under my breath, thinking no one would hear me. But, unluckily, dark haired hottie shoots me a bewildered look but I brush him off.

"They say this quest is ours and ours alone," Thorin continues with a deathly tone.

"You... you're going on a quest?" Bilbo intervenes; suddenly interested as he steps out from where he stood beside Gandalf. I shoot him an are you actually serious? look from my seat. Where has he been for the past ten minutes? That's all they've been talking about! I mean, I'm no saint myself, but it was obvious - at least to me it was. The only thing I don't get is why or where they're going on this quest.

"Well, no shit Sherlock," I snort, a bit louder than my previous statement. Both of the men beside me gaze at me with wide eyes before struggling to hide their laughter. Blonde Guy starts to cough roughly whilst Dark Hair Hottie slaps a palm over his mouth, turning away from Thorin. Though I am one hundred percent positive they hadn't a clue as to what I said, it stills makes me feel gooey and gloopy inside that I am still as funny as ever.

Plus, I made two hot guys laugh so, score!

At Blonde Guy's coughing and Dark Hair Hottie's sudden disinterest in the topic at hand, a few of the Dwarves shoot a few curious looks as I shrug my answer, practically saying: I don't know either. Just me being my usual delightful self.

It feels good to not be the one whom everyone is wondering what the Hell is going on in my mind that would be so funny.

Though I'm not paying much attention (oops) I can still collect bits of what's being said: reclaiming some mountain that's lonely, defeating the dragon (who's apparently called Smaug. Who knew it'd have a name? Imagine if the mother dragon popped the baby dragon out and was like I want to name him Richard) and getting their gold back. At least, that's what reaches my ears.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light," Gandalf smiles wearily at Bilbo, taking everything in his stride.

"Far to the East, over ranges and rivers - "

Gandalf lays a map down on to the table's flat surface as everyone gathers around it. For crap's sake, how am I supposed to see when I'm this small and it's at the other end of the table?

" - beyond woodlands and wastelands lies a solitary peak." Pointing to a place on the mountain, Bilbo leans over his shoulder, eyes squinting as he tries to make out the words.

" 'The Lonely Mountain'," he reads. So, their quest is to this Lonely Mountain? Brownie point to me for finally understanding this shit!

In the middle of my mental happy dance, Oin speaks,"...the reign of the beast will end."

I know it's probably supposed to sound so dramatic but with that God - damn trumpet in his ear, I can't help but bite down on my knuckles to stop the laughter from flowing through and ruining the moment. Bilbo, however, looks alarmed at what he says.

"Beast, what beast?" Jeez, Bilbo, you could at least try to seem interested.

"Oh, that would be a reference to Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age," Bofur said probably a lot more casual than I would have liked. I mean, sure there was tension, but I felt like it wasn't enough. Maybe if he held a flashlight underneath his chin it'd work better.

"Err, what is he exactly? Smaug, I mean?" I question for the sake of Bilbo who looks to be handling this all very terribly. Believe me, I am too but I'm a master at not letting how I really feel inside show onto my face. I know that Smaug is a dragon, but what kind of dragon is what I'm looking for. He could be a nice dragon for all we knew.

"Airborne fire - breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals." Okay, now he has got to be taking the piss. Bofur has a slight smirk on his face when he sees Bilbo's drained and startled face.

Oh, God, that's it: I'm going to die. I'm going to die a terribly terrible death. I can't believe I've even survived this far. Knowing my luck, I probably would have choked on my food earlier or tripped and fell onto a butter knife. Everyone's voices are drowned out as I swallow myself in myself pity and my unavoidable death. Well, it's official: there is no force on this Earth (which… ever Earth this was) that could make me go. Real or not, I don't fancy being charred alive.

Until Blonde Guy slams his fist down on the table, making me squeak and jump in my chair, clutching my heart. I realize how Dark Hair Hottie and I are touching shoulders and I have to stop myself from becoming a pile of jelly on the ground. Touching shoulders with a hot guy? Oh, the scandal! God, I'm getting worked up over him and I don't even know his name. Way to go, Libby.

"We may be few in numbers! But we're fighters!" Blonde Guy exclaims, slamming his fist down on the table again, making jump as I had just calmed my heart down again. Bastard. "To the last one."

Don't know about that one, man, I can barely hold a spoon without getting injured somehow.

"Do not forget we have a wizard in our company!" Dark Hair Hottie joins in. "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!"

"I doubt it," I snort very quietly as Gandalf begins to stammer slightly, clearly showing how that was not the case at all.

Then an uproar started; everyone got louder and louder, demanding an answer from the old man. A few stood to their feet as they yelled on top of their voices while I sat there awkwardly, my eyes glued to the grain patterns of the table. Maybe I could sneak out without anyone knowing but I am wedged between the two guys and am subjected to the yelling. What a very pretty table, very pretty. I especially like the, uh, the wood.

And then Thorin was yelling.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think that others will have read them to?" his voice booms, bouncing off the walls. "Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for over sixty years! Eyes look east the mountain, assessing, wondering, and weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of people lies unprotected? Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize the chance to take back Erebor?!"

Damn, you go girlfriend.

If I had ever said that out loud, I am eighty four percent sure Thorin would have kicked my ass.

Another uproar, one more positive than the last, ensues around the table and I give a feeble shout before realising that it probably won't matter if I sit here, quietly, going unnoticed. Oh! Maybe I could take this opportunity to sneak out! Then I realise it wouldn't work too well since I'm even more wedged between the Blonde and Brown-haired Dwarf as they took their seats, and that if I were to stand, then all eyes would be turned to me.

"You forget, the front gate is sealed!" Balin states. Wow, buzz - kill. "There is no way into the mountain."

Dude, no, stop killing their hopes and dreams.

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," Gandalf counters sneakily before producing a key. I thought it would be a very special key; one covered in jewels and a bright, bright gold. But no; it was just an ordinary key.

"How," Thorin asks, mystified as he takes it into his hand, eyes wide. Is that a tear I see Mr Grumpy Face shedding? "How, came you by this?"

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain," Gandalf sighs. Such weird names. "For safe - keeping, it is yours now."

"If there is a key," Blonde Guy says dramatically. God, all these Dwarves just love being dramatic. "There must be a door."

I literally have to resist the urge to slow clap sarcastically.

"These ruins speak of a lower passage way in the lower halls," Gandalf says, pointing to the map that I still can't see.

"There's another way in," Dark Hair Hottie grins, still slightly awed.

Isn't that just what Gandalf basically said?

"Well if we can find it," the old man sighs deeply, "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed."

"Well, that was a smart idea. Seriously, what plonker thought of that?" I bite my tongue as soon as the words leave my mouth. And I was doing so well being invisible and quiet (ish)...

"Makes sense for keeping out unwanted visitors!" someone barks, though I don't know who because I'm too preoccupied at the sudden twinge of pain that explodes in my mouth.

"Not that sensible when you want to get in now, is it?" I snap back.

I heard a murmur of agreement and I could see from the corner of my eye Dark Hair Hottie smile.

"The answer," Gandalf cuts us - well, me - off with a slight glare (sorry, jeez), "is hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others who can."

Well, isn't that just dandy?

"The task I have in mind," Gandalf continues speaking, "will require a great amount of stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, it can be done."

Gandalf's eyes shift to Bilbo nearing his sentence and, catching on to what he is insinuating, I can only think: Oh, you poor, poor, small man. But this could mean: I'm off the hook!

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori pipes up, looking a bit too happy as a bright smile flashed across his face. Aw, he's so adorable!

"Hmm, and good one too, an expert I'd imagine," Bilbo says, not aware of what is being insinuated.

"And are you?" a voice asks.

"He said he's an expert!" Oin triumphs happily, his little trumpet thing in his ear. I'm never going to be able to not laugh at that.

"Me? No, no, no, no," Bilbo stutters, looking quite pale and backing away from the table, eyes looking around helplessly, and his face pained at the thought of even leaving his home. "No! I've never stolen anything in my life!"

"I'm afraid," Balin speaks up again, eyeing the Hobbit (strange calling Bilbo that), "I have to agree with Mr Baggins. He's hardly burglar material."

Clearly meaning it as an insult but Bilbo ignoring it, a murmur of agreement rings through the room.

"Aye," Dwalin intervenes, agreeing with Balin, "the wild is no place for gentle folk - " me " -who can neither fight - " also me " - nor fend for themselves." Oh, look, me again.

The table start to (rather loudly) agree with both Dwalin and Balin, slowly raising their voices. I eye Gandalf as he glances around, and I can just see him start to crack.

"ENOUGH!" Gandalf's voice echoes around the room as he stood to his feet, shadows spreading around as his tone grows chillier and darker, making me scared to the core. "If I say Bilbo Baggins' is a burglar then a burglar he is!"

A deathly silence envelopes the entire room and I have to stop myself from saying eep.

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose," Gandalf's voice retreats back to its normal self as the shadows withdraw from around the room. "And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, Hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage!"

No one speaks as the man continues, taking in the brief silence to finally say his part. I bring my eyes to the table as I warm my hands between my legs, feeling that this was all a bit too realistic and it is making my head swim. Finally deciding enough was enough, I take my hands from between my knees and place them flat against the surface of the table, standing to my feet with my chair scraping back on the floor from being pushed back by my knees.

"Right, so," I interject awkwardly, causing everyone to turn their heads towards me, "then I wish you all the best of luck. You should send me a postcard when you arrive, I'm sure I'll be just thrilled to hear all about -"

"You are coming with us, Libby," Gandalf announces, quite smug for some apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, say what again?" I blank, mouth gaping. "B - But you heard what he said!" I whine, pointing to Dwalin. "I can't fight or fend myself! I can't even punch someone! I'm as dangerous as a butterfly stuck to a marsh - mellow!"

Once again with the odd looks. I might as well get used to them.

"The lassie is right," Bofur speaks up, leaning back in his chair, "a woman on a quest? I've never heard of such a thing be done."

"Thank you," I gush to Bofur, who awkwardly smiles back as everyone starts to mumble in agreement with Bofur and I before I realise the rather insulting remark he made, and my smile drops, and I turn to glare at the Dwarf. "Now just you wait a minute - "

"Quiet!" Gandalf raises his voices and glares slightly at every Dwarf (save Thorin).

"While Libby may not be able to wield a sword or any kind of weapon, she is talented in many things," Gandalf says, causing my eyes to snap back to him.

I was what now? And just what was he expecting me to do? Curse the dragon to death in with my very colourful and wide range of vocabulary? And didn't we literally just meet? He basically knew nothing about me!

"She is strong in nature - "

Excuse me? I once cried my eyes out because I was being yelled at by a teacher. And that was a month ago.

" - she can do everything that, well, a woman can do - "

What?! I frown at Gandalf. Last time I remember, I don't actually have the qualifications of a "woman can do". And also, the last time I did anything "womanly" (by that I mean cooking) I gave my family a severe case of food poisoning followed by two weeks of diarrhoea. Maybe that's a bit too much information. Also, who the Hell does he think he is, insinuating that all women could do "womanly work" whatever the heck that meant? My work is cut out for me with all this casual misogyny being thrown around. Guess I'll just have to kick a few asses.

" - and she is a good and decent ally to have."

"I can do what and the what-what now?" I question, voicing my thoughts. But, again, everyone ignores me. It's not as if they can drag me along; I'll be a liability! If I just say no and explain my case, they can't bring me! If all else fails, I could just run away.

"You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mr Baggins and I have also chosen Miss Fernwright as the fifteenth. There is a lot more to the both of them then appearances suggest, and they've got a great deal more to offer than any of you know!" Gandalf finishes, taking a deep breath and sitting back into his chair. "Including themselves, you must trust me on this."

That's it, I'm dead. Eighteen years of living and I'm going to die in the company of fourteen guys in the wilderness. Title of my biography right there.

"Very well," Thorin relents, sitting back in his chair too. His eyes snap to Gandalf, "We will do it your ways - " his eyes turn to Balin " - give them the contract."

"Oh, no, no, no," Bilbo's voice cracks as he pleads, and I feel bad for him as I feel a frown slip onto my own face in displeasure at the news. There was a contract? "Please."

Balin stands to his feet, handing over a very large wad of paper. Jesus Christ, how the Hell am I supposed to read that? "It's just the usual, out of pocket expenses, time required, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Did he just say, 'funeral arrangements' ?" I splutter, looking at the two guys beside me. "Because no way in Hell am I down with that!"

Blonde guy frowns. "Why would you be 'down' with it? What is there to be down with?"

I wave my hand in the air, too tired to explain to him as Bilbo mutters under his breath, reading the 'contract'.

"Lacerations... evisceration," he mumbled before stopping dead, turning back to everyone, eyes wide. "Incineration?!"

"What?!" I squeak, jumping on the table to walk over towards Bilbo. I hear a few grumbles of complaints from the Dwarves as I walk surprisingly lightly on the table but I'm too latched onto the fact I can, and probably will, be burned alive. I jump to the floor as I stand near Bilbo, trying to read the fancy scrawl of the contract.

"Are you actually serious?" I whine, turning back towards the group.

"Aye," Bofur tells us, "he'll melt the flesh off your bones in a blink of an eye."

"That's it: I'm dead," I mutter as I turn back to the contract, acutely aware of how pale Bilbo is and how much he's shaking.

"Uh. . ." Bilbo says, looking more terrified at this new information.

"You alright, laddie?" Balin asks in, what I think he meant it to be, a kindly tone.

"Yeah, I think I . . . oh," Bilbo bent over, hands on knees as he continued to breathe in and out deeply. "I feel a bit faint."

I quickly stepped away from him because there were either two possibilities:

1: he could faint and

2: he could get sick and then faint.

And I am not taking a chance either way.

"Think furnace," Bofur added, standing up, "with big wings."

"Just why would anyone want to think that?" I all but snap, eyes knitting together.

"Air, air, air, I need air," Bilbo began to chant as his breathing became more shallow and quick.

"Flash of light, searing pain then poof!" Bofur rants, "You're nothing more than a pile of ash!"

"What is wrong with you?" I stare at Bofur, horrified at his attempts to "calm" Bilbo down.

Bilbo stands up with his back straight and I smile, thinking he got over the initial shock. He glances around the room before turning back to Bofur and then, finally, Gandalf.

"No."

And then, with that, the small man collapsed to the floor, looking very much like a rag - doll. I peer down at his head that lay down next to my feet before turning back to the company.

"Well," I say a bit too sarcastic, "he took that better than I thought he would."

Thanks for reading!