Hunter and Hunted

I poked at the chunk of ear gloomily. Nothing to be done. There were spells that could fix this kind of thing, but I didn't know any, and it wasn't as if I could just waltz into St Mungo's and ask the healers to grow my ear back for me. Still, I thought, It could have been worse. You could have lost a kidney, or a lung. Ears are expendable. I examined the lump of flesh more closely. It wasn't even a whole ear – just a good half, including the lobe. I'll never be able to wear matching earrings again. Damn shame.

It had been a good fifteen minutes since Bilbo had left the clearing. I knew the company was probably wondering what the hell was taking me so long to join them now that the hobbit had recovered from his temporary break-down. Truth was, I was stalling. Yes, the hobbit wad sworn to keep quiet, but that didn't mean that I wasn't a little freaked at the way our conversation had ended. My mind was still reeling from the fact that everything had gone so…well. Bilbo's last question was especially confusing. Did he somehow think that my "young" age made me incompetent? If that were the case then I'd have to set the record straight as soon as possible. It was bad enough that the dwarves considered me as a hindrance without receiving this kind of treatment from my newly-appointed (and much unwanted) sidekick too.

Uhrg. The sudden readjustment in our relation was going to take some getting used to.

I didn't really know what to do with the sticky piece of meat. I sighed as I considered my options. I couldn't take it with me, but then, the idea of leaving here in the clearing wasn't terribly pleasing either. I hated the thought of it rotting slowly away. That's if a scavenger didn't find it first. The prospect of having a little bit of me – however small it might be – chanced upon and digested by some carnivore was even more disturbing. Burying it wouldn't help if the animal was determined enough, or alerted by the scent of blood.

You could try burning it. Use magic.

The idea of attempting to cast again filled me with eagerness, as well as trepidation at the thought of failure. Right now my spirits were soaring from my success at aparating, but what if botched up my next shot at magic? I didn't want to relive the past two week's frustration all over again.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I gingerly lifted the piece of ear of the ground and, ignoring a shiver of repulsion, dropped it into my palm. If felt cold and clammy. Ew.

I closed my eyes and focused. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter that much, that if I failed, I'd find another way, but to no avail. I knew how important this was and couldn't persuade myself otherwise. All my hope, all my faith rested on this spell. If I couldn't get it to work, then…but no. This would work. It had to.

I breathed in deeply, letting the air fill my lungs, chasing away all my doubts, and tried to find something within me that hadn't been there before. My magic hadn't just appeared out of thin air. It had been there the whole time, dormant. When the troll had attacked me, I had drawn on it without even realizing. I could do it again – I just needed to figure out how I'd done it before.

I took my time, breathing in and out, in and out, until finally, I felt something. A faint tingling in my chest. I scarcely dared utter the incantation for fear I'd fail, as if, in fumbling just this once, my magic would somehow vanish, never to be recovered.

"Inflamare."

When, at first, nothing happened, a wave of disappointment threatened to overcome me, but I quickly recovered when I realized that the tingling was still there, slightly stronger than before. I sucked in breath and started again, before the feeling could fade, "Inflamare." Again it intensified.

Encouraged by this, I launched into a chant, "Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare, inflamare…"pouring all my emotion and conviction into that one word, until I could no longer feel the incantation leaving my throat, could only hear the sound of my voice echoing around me, charged with longing, frustration and ambition. Again and again I repeated the spell. Sweat started beading at my brow, trickling down my temples. My ear began to pulse painfully again. Then, finally, I felt the first, small, rush of power as the tingling shifted from my chest, slowly migrating down into my arms, my forearms, my palms, and still I repeated the words, terrified that if I stopped, even for a second, it would all disappear.

"Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare…"

There was a sizzling sound, accompanied by the scent of burning meat, and I opened my eyes. The chunk of ear was still sitting in my palm, but the flesh was starting to look a little charred in some places, black smoke curling in the air. I felt a surge of victory and pressed on. "Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare..." My voice rose to a crescendo, waves of heat were pulsing down my arms, into my palms.

"Inflamare, inflamare, inflamare…"

I yelped, dropping the piece of sizzling flesh as it suddenly became too hot to handle. It fell to the earth, blackened and shriveled.

I stared, unable to quite wrap my head around what had just happened. Then a burst of hysterical laughter escaped my lips, and suddenly I was on my feet, whooping victoriously, punching the air with my fist in mad glee. "Ha!" I shouted, gesturing to an invisible audience. "Did you see that?" If any of the dwarves happened to walk in on my little celebration, they would defiantly think me crazy, but I was too elated to care.

The past two weeks had been a blur of stress and uncertainty. I don't think I'd realized just how miserable and crippled I'd felt by the loss of my wand, trapped as a muggle, forced to act a role that didn't suit me. Now, against all odds, I had managed to cast a spell. Sure, it had taken me over fifteen minutes and an insane amount of concentration, and even then, all I'd done was fry a piece of flesh the size of my pinky finger, but still, it was a start. I had proven to myself that wandless magic was possible. It would take a lot of time and a fair amount of practice, but eventually, I was certain my efforts would pay off. I grinned, delighted beyond words. I was no longer helpless, no longer a burden.

I was a witch once more.

Even though I had wiped the daft grin of my face, I was unable to lose the spring in my step as I made my way through the woods, in the direction of the troll's cave. I had retrieved my satchel from the outskirts of the clearing where it had fallen before Bert had spied me in the shadows, and it was now bouncing rhythmically at my side. I felt so flooded with euphoria that my troubling conversation with the hobbit had almost slipped my mind.

I sobered up a little though when I heard voices up ahead indicating that I was nearing the cave. The trees were thinning and I saw a giant rock producing from the earth. The dwarves were bustling about a gaping hole at the base of the rock (I assumed it was the entrance to the troll's lair), rifling through the treasures they'd discovered. I tried to keep a straight face as I approached, but was unable to hold it for very long.

Bofur glanced up as I neared him. If he was alarmed by the sight of my mangled ear and bloodied clothing, he showed no sign of it. His brows furrowed as he took in my smug expression. "What in Durin's name has gotten you in such a good mood?"

"Nothing," I said, even though I was radiating self-satisfaction with every step. "Just glad to be alive. It's cool that the trolls didn't eat us or anything. That would have sucked."

The dwarf frowned. "What has the temperature got to do with our survival, Miss Morgan?"

I waved the question away. "Just an expression we use at home."

I suddenly noticed that there was a stranger in our midst. "Hey, who's that?" I pointed to the eccentric-looking man who was in deep conversation with Gandalf. He was slightly shorter than the wizard and clad in various shades of brown. Like Gandalf, the stranger had a long wild beard and was leaning heavily on a staff. "What did I miss?"

Bofur straightened his hat. "That's Radagast the Brown. He arrived just a few moments before you did – very confused, the poor fellow."

I tilted my head. "The tree-hugger?" I asked, remembering Gandalf's lecture on wizards in Middle-Earth the previous day. I frowned. "Isn't he supposed to be guarding some forest in the east? What's he doing here?"

Bofur shrugged. "Wizard business, I'd imagine. He came in search of Gandalf."

Another wizard? What a small world. I glanced at the dwarf at my side, but Bofur's attention had already been diverted. He didn't seem to be in least bit curious at this new arrival. I couldn't say the same for myself. If this hippy-wizard had gone through all the trouble of tracking our band down in the middle of nowhere just to consult with Gandalf, then he must have brought some pretty disturbing news. The old man's face was grave as he listened to his fellow wizard's agitated ramblings. Whatever Radagast was telling him, it was bad.

I strode towards them, giving the hobbit a wide berth as I passed him by. I wasn't ready to confront him yet, not while I was still puzzling through our last exchange. Bilbo didn't look up as I walked past, too engrossed in his examination of a fine-looking sword incased in a leather sheath. I vaguely wondered how he'd gotten hold of it and hoped to god he wouldn't find a creative way to skewer himself with the blade by accident.

As I arrived within earshot of the two men, I heard the brown wizard say, "– from out of the darkness, a necromancer has come." He twitched and glanced around nervously, as if alarmed by his own words. "Sorry," he muttered, twisting his fingers frantically. His eyes were wide and slightly mad-looking, as if he'd missed several nights of sleep.

"Try a little old toby," Gandalf said, wiping the tip of his pipe in his beard before passing it to Radagast. The brown wizard took a long puff, filling his lungs with smoke. His eyes crossed slightly and he seemed to relax a little.

"I sure hope that's not Pot he's smoking."

Radagast started at the sound of my voice, white fumes billowing from his nostrils. I planted myself before the two men, arms crossed. "'Cause he looks high enough as it is."

"Gandalf looked at me disapprovingly. He seemed vaguely irritated by my interruption. "Cassie," he sighed, "Now is hardly the time for your witticisms, especially if no one but you can understand them." He glanced towards the lively group of dwarves. "Why don't you ask Oin to take another look at your ear?"

I shot him a withering look. "My ear's fine. But thanks for showing your concern, gramps." I turned my attention to Radagast, who was observing the exchange nervously, and thrust out my hand. "Hello. I'm Cassie Morgan."

Radagast hesitated, gazing down at my palm, mirroring my gesture uncertainly. I seized his outstretched hand and shook it vigorously.

"What's a necromancer?" I asked as soon as I'd released Radagast from my grip. The brown wizard gazed at his hand bewilderedly, as if amused by my antics.

"Miss Morgan," Gandalf addressed me formally, and there was no mistaking the annoyance in his voice. "Such matters should not be discussed so openly. Radagast came to seek my council, bearing ill news."

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, he's the one who brought it up. So what are they?" I couldn't help feeling a little smug as Gandalf pinched the bridge of his nose, a pained expression on his face. Payback for the whole troll fiasco. If he hadn't taken his sweet time splitting the boulder, I might still have two whole ears.

"Gandalf," Radagast's whispery voice cut through the silence, commanding the wizard's attention once more. He pulled a long object wrapped in a pale cloth from the inside of his dirty cloak, handling it cautiously, as if it might burn him.

I moved closer as Gandalf took the article from Radagast, curiosity getting the better of me. Gandalf didn't seem to notice. His attention was now entirely focused on the object he was carefully unraveling. Once it was uncovered, the old man did a double-take, staring at the blackened dagger in his grasp. It was a cruel, cold looking weapon.

"That is not from the world of the living." Radagast's eyes were charged with meaning as he stared intently at his fellow-wizard.

I gazed at the dagger in fascination. It seemed to suck the heat and light out of everything around it. There was no denying its magical properties. "What in Merlin's name–" I started to ask, but my question was cut short as a sharp, raspy howl sounded from a short distance away, drowning out the dwarves' racket.

Gandalf and Radagast both glanced up, and in an instant the dagger had disappeared into the folds of Gandalf's cloak. The old wizard met my questioning gaze with a hard stare. "Do not speak of what you just witnessed. Swear on your blood that this shall remain between us." His expression left no room for arguments.

I licked my dry lips. "Yeah, sure, I swear it. I won't tell anyone." So many secrets.

The company blurred into motion around us. "Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asked quickly, his eyes wide. "Are there wolves out there?"

Bofur stepped in front of the hobbit, holding his weapon close to his chest, tense gaze roaming the clearing. "Wolves?" he asked. "No, that is not a wolf."

Something massive launched into the clearing, landing several feet away from the hobbit. Bilbo shouted and staggered back, tripping over his own feet and landing in a panicked heap on the ground. It was a monstrous thing, the size of a hoarse, all black with scattered tufts of rough fur. The beast snarled and pounced.

Thorin's blade sliced through the air, embedding itself deep within the monster's skull. It fell in a crumbling heap, just as a second beast leaped into view. This time it was Kili's arrow that shot it down, striking it in the eye with deadly precision. Dwalin finished the creature off with a heavy blow to the head.

There was a moment's shocked silence, then –

"Warg scouts!" Thorin shouted, pulling his sword from the monster's corpse. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind!"

"Orc pack?" Bilbo exclaimed shrilly as he scrambled to his feet.

"Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?" Gandalf questioned urgently, striding forwards.

Thorin's gaze darkened. "No one."

"Who did you tell?" The wizard demanded, voice rising angrily.

"No one, I swear!"

"Guys?" All heads swiveled in my direction. I cleared my throat. "Could we argue later? When we don't have a pack of killer dogs the size of thestrals on our tail, howling for our blood?"

"The lass is right," Balin said. "We have to get out of here."

"We can't!" Ori exclaimed as he rushed into the clearing, tripping over his robes in his haste. "We have no ponies! They bolted!"

The dwarves groaned in horror as realization dawned upon us. We had no means of escape. On foot, we didn't stand a chance. These warg-thingies would hunt us down in no time. Sweet Salazar, can't we ever catch a break?

Radagast's voice sounded across the clearing, drowning out our panicked shouts. "I'll draw them off!" he cried, gesturing to a rickety-looking wooden sleigh to which twelve freakishly large rabbits were tied. I felt my eyebrows threaten to disappear into my hairline. Merlin, the guy was stoned.

Gandalf also seemed to find the idea ridiculous. "These are Gundabad wargs – they will outrun you!"

"These are Rhosgobel rabbits!" Radagast retorted, a mad glint in his eye. "I'd like to see them try."

"Remind me again why we're letting this nutter distract the bloodthirsty hellhounds?"

Gandalf shushed me. I scowled. The company was hunkered in a line behind a jagged-looking boulder, waiting for a sign that Radagast had succeeded in drawing the orc pack away. As soon as the warg-riders were sufficiently distracted, we would attempt to flee across an open stretch of land, and hopefully escape our fate. So far, all remained silent and I wasn't alone to crack under the strain of waiting. Fili and Kili were fidgeting nervously near the front of the line and Bilbo kept twitching beside me, pale-faced and wide-eyed.

What we were about to attempt was utter madness. The fact that we'd even considered Radagast's plan proved just how screwed-up our situation really was. After all, only a lunatic would agree to let a mentally-unstable, tree-hugging hippy ride away on a makeshift sleigh pulled by a bunch of over-sized bunnies with the assurance that he'd 'lead the vicious creatures away by giving them something to chase', and still hope to see tomorrow. But what other choice did we have?

A loud baying noise was heard in the distance and I perked up, listening intently. The sound of heavy paws hitting the earth and a shout of "come and get me!" echoed across the plain. The hunt had begun. We readied ourselves, waiting for Gandalf to give us the all-clear. The wizard peeked over the boulder, shoulders tense, and raised his hand, signalling us to get ready to bolt.

Something whizzed past our boulder, closely followed by a pack of howling wargs. I squinted as they sprinted away, trying to make out their riders. When Gandalf had told me that orcs were a subspecies of elves, I'd imagined them as something like vicious gnomes – dangerous, but not particularly intimidating. The warg-rider, however, was bigger, uglier, and a hell of a lot more frightening than a gnome.

Before I could let that impair my already thinning confidence, Gandalf leaped to his feet and motioned us forwards with a cry of, "Come on!" and we scrambled from behind the boulder.

The next few minutes were a ghastly game of cat and mouse. We ran from rock to rock in a single file, driven by the sound of snarling wargs in the distance. Every now and then Thorin would bark at us to "get down!" and we would throw ourselves to the ground until the danger passed.

It quickly became clear that Radagast's plan was not, as I'd come to expect, to lead the orc pack away, but rather to confuse them by having them chase him around in circles. That meant that he kept bringing the wargs treacherously close our company only to whizz away at the last minute, jeering loudly as they tried to keep up. Every time he did this, my heart hammered loudly in my chest and I cursed under my breath, certain that the orcs would spot us crouching behind the rocks. One time, they passed right in front of us and Thorin hastily motioned for us to halt. We froze, weapons raised, but the wargs only rushed by, Radagast's cries egging them on.

After a while of this my heart was beating erratically and I was gasping for breath, clutching my sides. The dwarves showed no sign of tiring, and I quickly fell to the back of the line. Even Bombur was faring better than me. My head was spinning, my thoughts a muddled haze of run, breath, run, breath, run, breath… Once I tripped, only to be hurled to my feet again by the nearest dwarf who squeezed my shoulder and urged me to keep going.

I soon stopped trying to guess which direction the old man and Thorin were leading us, and merely followed mechanically, my body aching with exhaustion. My head had started pounding, my right ear throbbing painfully again. I kept my gaze fixed on Bilbo's red coat and tailed him blindly, praying that the hobbit knew where we were going. When Thorin shouted at us to hide, I hid. When he motioned us to start running again, I ran.

"Here! Here!" Gandalf cried suddenly, waving us behind yet another boulder. I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, glad for the chance to gather my bearings. I expected the wizard to urge us on immediately once the orcs had passed us by, but he remained crouching, his sword raised in a defensive posture. I glanced around to see that the dwarves had assumed similar positions. Their gazes were turned upwards, towards the rock, where a scuffling sound could be heard from the other side.

I frowned in confusion, my head still pounding dizzily, trying to make sense of the noise. It was only when I saw Gandalf and Thorin exchanging wary glances that I realized that one of the wargs had separated itself from the pack and was approaching fast. Something had caught its attention.

"Has it smelled us?" I hissed to Bofur, who was closest, and he gave me a quick glance. "How does it…" I began, but trailed off when I noticed the colour draining from his face. "What?" I whispered.

"Cassie," he murmured, his voice laced with horror. "Your ear."

My hand leaped up to feel the right side of my head, which had been aching ever since the beginning of our escape. It felt damp and sticky again. I glanced down at my clothes and saw that they were stained with fresh blood. With dawning horror, I let my gaze trail over the path I'd scrambled across to crouch behind the boulder. Several blotches of crimson were splattered here and there. No doubt similar splotches were dashed all along our route, leaving a clear trail. I felt sick.

It wasn't something that had caught the warg's attention. It was someone.

My blood. My scent. Me.

"Oh, shit."

By then, most of the dwarves had caught on to what was happening and were staring at my bloodied ear in dismay. Fili was the first to break the silence, eyes flashing angrily. "The girl is leading them straight to us!"

The scuffling sound grew louder and the orc's grating voice could be heard from beyond the rock. We froze, hardly daring to breath.

Bilbo had turned a nasty shade of grey. "What do we do?" he squeaked.

I felt my mouth run dry as I met Thorin's hard gaze. We both knew what had to be done. It was my blood that had alerted the warg, mine alone. Doubtless it hadn't yet detected the scent of dwarf, or the orc would have sounded the alarm. But it was only a matter of seconds before it realized that the pack was chasing the wrong quarry. And then the game was over.

I tightened my grip on my short sword. Yes, I knew what had to be done. Lead the pack away. Give the dwarves a chance to escape. It was the brave, selfless, Gryffindor thing to do.

But I wasn't a Griffindor.

The warg snarled and I pressed myself against the rock, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding with my hand. My brave streak had vanished just as fast as it had come. I couldn't do this. Yes, I'd faced off with the trolls earlier, but that had not been by choice. I would have remained skulking in the shadows if Burt hadn't forced me from my hiding place. It takes a different kind of bravery to consciously throw yourself in harm's way, knowing full well that your chances of survival are slight.

I couldn't be that person, and we were all going to die because of it.

Thorin's eyes grew cold as he saw me make my decision and, for a second, I resented my weakness. I wanted to convey to him how utterly sorry I was for this whole mess, but he was already looking away, towards the sound of the approaching warg.

The king motioned for Kili to ready his bow. His youngest nephew nodded, slowly drawing an arrow form his quiver. We waited with baited breath as the warg's ugly head appeared over the boulder. Then Kili leaped into action, jumping out from our hiding place and firing his arrow at the rider's head. But in his haste, he missed, hitting the warg's foreleg instead. It crumpled noisily to the ground, howling and withering in pain. The orc scrambled out of the saddle, drawing its weapon, but Balin stuck it down before it could do any damage while the other dwarves silenced the warg.

In the distance, answering howls could be heard. The pack was moving fast towards our band, alerted by the warg's shrieks.

"Move!" Gandalf shouted, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. "Run!"

We lurched into motion once again, this time in a full out sprint across the plain. The wargs gave chase. It was impossible to pinpoint their exact location – howls were erupting from all around.

"There they are!" Fili shouted as he spied one of the wretched creatures cutting us off ahead, and we veered right, following Gandalf's cry of, "This way, quickly!"

I fell behind once more, despite the fact that my legs were longer than anyone else's save for the wizard who was leading the way. I drew my short sword, determined not to go down without a fight. But Thorin had us stopping short once again. I felt my stomach drop when I realized why.

We were surrounded.

The dwarves spread out, weapons drawn. Kili fired another arrow at the closest warg-rider, striking it in the throat. It fell, only to be replaced by two more. It was no good, there were too many of them. They outnumbered us.

"Where's Gandalf?" someone shouted. I glanced around to see that the old man had vanished.

"He's abandoned us!"

My hands started shaking, my palms sweaty, slipping on the hilt of my sword.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin roared.

Slowly, as the wargs began descending, we inched closer into a circle, guarding each other's backs. They drew nearer, snarling.

"This way, you fools!" Gandalf. I whirled around and found the wizard, who appeared to be sticking halfway out of a rock. He gestured at us to follow. "There is a passageway!" He disappeared once more.

We needn't be told twice. As the wargs charged, we sprinted for the opening, all save Kili, who was covering our retreat. One by one the dwarves dropped out of sight into the gap at the foot of the rock. Thorin swung his blade, slashing at one of the approaching beasts. "Kili!" he shouted. The dark haired dwarf fired one last arrow and turned, dashing towards the opening.

We reached the gap in the rock at the same time and leapt inside together, sliding to the bottom and landing in a tangled heap besides Gandalf, who was brushing the dirt off his robes. Thorin soon followed and the dwarves quickly formed a defensive line before the opening, in case one of the orcs tried to follow. I was shoved unceremoniously to the back with Bilbo.

A trumpet blast echoed from a distance, accompanied by the steady beating of hooves. Through the stone opening, there came the sounds of battle.

"Who the heck is that?" I muttered, swaying a little on my feet. I hadn't felt this exhausted in ages.

Suddenly, an orc toppled through the entry, falling dead at our feet. I resisted the urge to throw up and edged away, only to find that the cave went on farther back than I'd first expected.

Thorin pulled the arrow from the orc's corps and examined the tip. "Elves," he spat, throwing it to the ground.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," Dwalin called from farther down the cave. "Do we follow it or not?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur said, striding forwards. The rest of the company followed eagerly, glad to be out of the heat of the fight.

Above our heads the battle raged on. I didn't know who had saved us or why. It doesn't matter, I realized. If it helped cover our escape, I didn't care.

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