The pony whickered nervously in the unfamiliar wilds and its rider made a soft soothing sound, eyes flickering warily over the terrain. The ground was uneven with sharp dips and steep hills that only the most surefooted could trek through. Thankfully, the pony was extremely surefooted and carried its rider loyally along the riverbank, but at a safe distance from the waters of the Hoarwell, which was flowing in the wrong direction for her journey. It would take them into the mountains, where she would, hopefully, find an easy enough path to get to the other side of the Misty Mountains and then skirt around the Mirkwood until she found the river that passed through it. She had it all planned out and checked her map every hour, just to make sure that she was still on the right path. If she stuck to the river, she should be fine and she always made sure to find a suitably well hidden alcove for sleep each night, if only for a few hours, and always with a fire blazing to keep any wild animals away.
The journey, though, was becoming more and more difficult as the ground grew rockier and steeper the closer she grew to the mountain. It was also made cumbersome by her changing, growing form and Ovila lifted a hand to settle over her gently swelling belly protectively. The curvature was barely noticeable in the thick clothes she wore to protect her from the chill, so any travellers she passed or people she met in villages were oblivious to her condition and that was something she preferred. No one could know, not until she caught up with Kili and told him of the child growing within her. Their child. Despite everything, the simple thought of a tiny being made from her and Kili's love made her smile and her thumb rubbed slowly against her stomach through the heavy fabric of her cloak, coat, and tunic.
So far, Ovila had been travelling for almost two months with, thankfully, no trouble and, in those two months, it had become increasingly more and more obvious that she was with child. In the past few weeks, she'd taken to avoiding populated areas, despite her heavy, thick clothing, and was making do with what food she could gather in the woods. This sort of living was what she was used to, though, and it seemed to be enough, because she was sure that she grew with each passing day. She even felt the babe moving sometimes, but it felt like butterflies more than anything. Just the slightest of flutters in her stomach, usually when she was resting, and it made hope and love and happiness swell in her chest, despite how terrified she was.
When Thorin found out, he was going to be furious, especially because she'd decided to follow them to tell Kili of her condition, but it wasn't as though she could go home. Thondi, Calim, Chalrim, and Hilda would have lost their minds if she'd returned in this condition and it was entirely possible that they wouldn't have let her marry Kili, not with the lingering uncertainty of the success of the quest. Perhaps she could have sought Dis' help, what with it being Kili's child too, but Ovila was terrified and Kili was the only one she wanted to soothe her fears. She wanted his arms around her and his lips against hers and his voice offering promises that it was all going to be okay. She'd believe it if it came from him. Somehow, he had the irritating habit of making everything seem much less dire than it actually was, because he an annoyingly optimistic person.
The mountain pass was dangerous, full of rain, and so cold that Ovila was sure she and her unborn babe would freeze, but she managed. Her pony was good and sturdy, made for trekking over the mountains, and he was the one that kept her alive when the nights grew bitterly cold. She would use his body for warmth, draping her blankets over the both of them to create a sort of tent, and they would sleep for a few hours at a time, never lingering long in one place. No cave in a mountain was left unattended after all and she couldn't risk being taken by orcs or goblins, not when her life wasn't the only one at risk now. There was another life in her hands now, one that had no means of defending itself, and she couldn't leap into battle, prepared to die, when there was life in her womb under her protection.
It was on her ninth night in the mountains that Ovila ran across some trouble in the form of goblins. They attempted to sneak up on her while she slept, but succeeded in setting off the alarm trap she'd devised. She was awake instantly and her hand snatched one of her axes as she forced her rotund body up. Three goblins were struggling to free themselves from the snares she'd set up and she swayed dangerously, unused to her rounder form. By the time she'd steadied herself, the goblins had managed to cut the rope around their ankles and she barely lifted her axe to block a knife that came for her face. The other two circled her, looking for an opening, as she wrenched a second, smaller axe from her belt and slammed it into the goblin's skull.
The second and third goblins squealed and gibbered furiously as Ovila kicked their comrade down the mountainside and she rounded on them. She moved as quickly as she could, blocking a slash from a twisted, black, needle like sword, and beheaded the second goblin with a swift swing of her larger axe. The third goblin shrieked lividly, lunging at her with its knife raised to stab at her belly, and panic had her stumbling out of its reach, rather than pushing forwards with an attack. An arm wrapped around her belly to protect the precious cargo she carried within her, especially when her back hit the stone wall of the mountain and the goblin prowled towards her. Fear rose in her chest, fear for her child making her brain forget those attacks Dwalin had drilled into her over and over again, and her fingers tightened around her axe.
"Two for one," the goblin grinned, revealing cracked, yellow teeth that matched its sickly yellow skin. "I'm going to enjoy cutting that thing from you, Dwarf," it cackled and a livid, roaring anger stole the fear from Ovila's veins.
With a furious shout, she shoved herself off the stone and threw the bigger axe straight into the goblin's sternum. It staggered away from her, but she followed and, using the second, smaller weapon, cut its head from its twig like neck. Black blood sprayed over her as she wrenched her axe from its chest and, with a sneer, she kicked the remains down the mountain. When she was sure that there were no more threats, she turned to comfort the frightened pony, surprised it hadn't bolted. She wrapped her arms around the pony's neck, whispering soothingly into his black mane, and was so glad of the equine's presence. Her whole body shook as that fear crept through her once more and she dropped her hands to her stomach, just reassure herself that her child was still there and safe.
"Move," Ovila whispered pleadingly to her belly and her terror increased at the stillness from her child. "Oh Mahal, please, please move," she begged, voice tightening, and the pony whinnied worriedly. "Move," she pleaded, eyes closing against the tears welling up hotly in her eyes, and that was when she felt it.
A swift, sure kick just beneath her right palm.
Both rider and pony were infinitely glad to leave the Misty Mountains behind after more than two weeks traversing the dangerous mountain paths past the source of the Hoarwell River. Eventually, though, Ovila got out of the mountains and the ground became smoother and flatter as she made the journey to the Mirkwood. She'd need to find some supplies before entering the forest, having used the majority of hers in the mountains, and she checked her map for any close by villages or towns she could drop into to buy some food and water barrels. She'd also need to find a boat, but there were no towns or villages marked on her map after the Misty Mountains and before the Mirkwood. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip worriedly as empty plains stared back at her, though she did see some rabbits bounding about here and there. She could catch those, but she couldn't carry them through the forest, not without attracting predators, and she wouldn't eat them before they went bad.
With a heavy sigh, Ovila began to set up camp for the night and prepared both a trap for any attempting to sneak up on her whilst she slept and a snare for any curious rabbits. She started a fire using the firewood she hadn't used in the mountains and smiled when her pony – Bertie – still laid against her back when they sat. He happily took the carrot she offered him, even though it was a little mouldy, and he grazed while she nibbled on the stale bread and dried fruits she had left over. She knew she needed to find food and fast, because this lack of it couldn't be good for her baby, even if the child kicked determinedly every time that Ovila was attempting to get some sleep.
The babe felt strong and healthy, but Ovila didn't know what she was doing and just prayed that her foolishness hadn't permanently damaged her child. It was too late to turn back now and she was not travelling across the Misty Mountains again, not with the goblins and the cold and the dizzying heights that had her clutching at her stomach protectively. She'd been so aware that wrong step, that being careless with her changing body, would send her tumbling over the edge and would kill her and her baby. That was something she couldn't ever let happen and her hands curved protectively over the bump at the mere thought of any harm befalling the child.
In her head, Ovila had taken to calling the babe Kilin, like in her dream, and she rather liked the name, even if it was a variation of Kili's name. When she closed her eyes, she could still see that bright, smiling girl with the twin, black braids and hazel eyes and hear her happy, chirping voice. Every piece of her ached for that dream to come true. She longed to be in Erebor, married to Kili, a child of their own calling her 'Mama' and him 'Papa', and another babe in her belly. Before now, she'd never thought of children, but she loved the child inside of her with a fierce intensity she'd never before experienced, not even for Kili, or Caldin, or Balili. Perhaps she could recover from the loss of one of them, no matter how much it hurt, but she knew that she would never survive the loss of the child made from the love she and Kili shared.
"What are we going to do, eh, Bertie?" Ovila sighed and the pony snorted behind her, before turning back to his grazing. "You're helpful, really," she muttered, even as she reached back and scratched him behind the ears, and she let out a long, heavy sigh. "There's nowhere to buy food, water barrels, or a boat from and I am not going to take you through the path, far too dangerous, and it'll take far too long," she frowned and picked up an axe to sharpen, running a whetstone over the blade. "I've already been longer than I wanted and I'm getting far too big," she continued, absently resting her axe on her decidedly large bump, and she swept a finger over the curved blade. "A boat would be best all round, wouldn't it? And then I could get another pony in Laketown to take me to Erebor."
With an indignant huff, Bertie blew on Ovila's blonde braids, drawing a laugh from the Dwarf, and she smiled back at the pony fondly and promised that she didn't want to get a new pony, but she could hardly take him on a boat, could she? That was if she found a boat, though, and that was beginning to look more and more unlikely as she stared out at the empty, dark plains stretching for as far the eye could see. A frown settled on her face as she stretched her legs out in front of her and examined her sharpened axe, rubbing a cloth over it to make the steel shine. She needed to figure something out and fast. If her calculations were correct, then the others should be close to the mountain by now, if they hadn't encountered too much trouble, and she didn't really want to be around when they prodded Smaug awake.
The plains were quiet, almost too quiet, and the air was hot, despite the clear skies, as the middle of summer settled over them and Ovila was glad she'd begun her travels at the start of spring. She hadn't had to travel through winter and, for that, she was immensely grateful. Part of her felt sorry for the others, but Thorin was the one to begin all of this in the autumn, so he really should have taken the seasons into account. She could just hear Kili whining about the rain, especially going over the mountains, and Fili attempting to hush the younger. It made a sad smile curve at her lips and she struggled to cling to the memories of their voices, but it was getting difficult and she so longed to see them all, even if they were all going to be incredibly angry at her for disobeying Thorin and for getting in this situation in the first place. Kili being the exception of course.
Would Kili be happy? Ovila hadn't thought of that, only that she was afraid and that she needed him, but would he be happy? They'd only spoken of children in vague terms, agreeing that they would like them, but later, when they'd had all the adventures they wanted. Perhaps this quest was enough of an adventure for him and he'd be glad to settle into Erebor with her and their baby, but perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he wanted to explore more, just like he'd always talked about, and she'd have to stay behind with the baby while he and Fili and Ori went off on great adventures, just like now. It wasn't a scenario she wanted and just imagining it made her feel cold, despite the balmy heat of the summer night.
With a sigh, the blonde leaned a little heavier on her pony, which gave a soft snort, but rested his heavy head on her knee as she folded her legs over each other. Her fingers threaded through his mane, finding warmth there, and she slowly ran the whetstone over the blade of her second axe. Her movements were slow, practiced, and methodical and it was obvious she was used to the activity. A slight crease of concentration formed between her eyebrows and the muscles around her mouth tightened thoughtfully. She rested her head back against Bertie's side, fingers pausing for the moment, and she placed the whetstone on her thigh and picked up a rag to rub over the newly sharpened blade. She followed the curve of the axe diligently and one hand wrapped tightly around the worn leather hilt, before it flew from her grip and slammed into the skull of an approaching Warg.
A curse in Khuzdul hissed out from between Ovila's teeth as fear made her heart and blood spike and she hauled herself to her feet. Her stomach threatened to knock her off balance, but she stubbornly pushed her feet into the ground and steadied her stance with a soothing murmur thrown at her nervous pony. She spun to the right and dragged her axe across the throat of a lunging Warg, just managing to sling her ungainly form out of the way of its heavy bulk. It crashed into the ground and the third canine prowled at the edge of the fire, snarling and snapping at what should be easy prey, but Ovila's never been easy prey and now she has even more of a reason to fight. She gritted her teeth, lifted her axe, and threw it. It made a satisfying crunch as it tore through the Warg's ribcage and the creature hit the ground with a final, pitiful whine. For a moment, the animal twitched, gasping for breath, and Ovila took the time to look over the plains in search for the Orcs it was no doubt leading.
"Let's get going, buddy," she muttered to the pony, wrenching her axe from the Warg's corpse, and she mounted the pony with a little difficulty. "We'll have to make the best of it," she sighed and shivered at the distant howl of a Warg.
The pack was a way off for the moment, but Ovila didn't know if she could outrun them. She was going to try, though, with all she had, as she nudged Bertie into the best gallop he could manage and she clung on for dear life. Her baby moved inside of her, restless as she sensed her mother's fear, and Ovila wondered if her child would prove to be as much a fighter as her family. That was one thing she was torn on. She wanted the child to know how to fight, but she didn't want to watch her babe go into danger and face the terrors of the world. Perhaps that was foolish, but she had to wonder if this what her own parents felt in watching her throw herself into danger without thinking of the consequences. The consequences were all she thought of nowadays, especially now as she pushed Bertie beyond his limits to outrun the pack heading her way.
The howls grew louder, no matter how hard Ovila pushed Bertie, and fear threatened to choke her as her eyes searched desperately for a place to hide until the Warg Pack had passed. She yanked Bertie's reins to steer him towards a shelf of rock that they could take cover beneath, her fingers tightening around the leather reins, and terror was making it difficult to breathe. Her body dropped down from the saddle as she reached the shelf of rock, drawing the pony beneath the stone with her, and she felt a little safer surrounded by rock. Bertie puffed on her hair, breathing heavily, and she stroked his long nose absently with an urgent sound of comfort. The pony whickered fearfully, jerking its head when the Dwarf's hands desperately clamped down over its mouth, and her heart stopped for a brief moment.
A shrieking howl ripped through the air, right above Ovila's head, and she gripped Bertie tightly to stop him from bolting. The whites of the pony's eyes were visible and he tried to rear away from his rider. Loyalty could only carry them so far, especially when Wargs and Orcs were bearing down on them, and she had never felt more alone than she did in that moment. She just didn't want Bertie to go out there and die, giving away her position in the process and leaving her completely alone. Her breathing came in short spurts that she muffled with a hand over her mouth and she tried to calm herself down. She lowered her hand to grip the hilt of the axe hanging from her back, the axe still dripping in blood, and she gripped the supple leather hilt tightly as the stench of Warg breath reached her nostrils.
The Warg was getting closer, prowling over the top of the rock towards the edge, towards Ovila, and she readied herself with her heart pounding furiously in her chest. Breathe, nice and slow, keep calm, she instructed herself, though the voice in her head was startlingly like Dwalin's, and she closed her eyes briefly and took in a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes reopened, determination stealing the fear from their depths, and she took the head of the Warg that looked into her safe alcove. Bertie screamed, stamping his feet, trying to wrench free from his rider, and she swore and released the pony with reluctance. He bolted, but was instantly set upon by Wargs with ugly, twisted Orcs on their backs and Ovila gritted her teeth and swung her second axe into her hand.
"We're going to be okay, baby, just trust me," Ovila murmured without believing the words, but she readied herself and swallowed her terror as an Orc spotted her. "We're going to be okay," she repeated firmly and nervously spun her axes as the monsters ran towards her. "Come on, mother fuckers," she spat, baring her teeth like the creatures ready to tear her to pieces, and her child kicked frantically inside of her.