Flint eyes narrowed suspiciously on the blonde figure racing towards Erebor. Vaguely, Thorin heard the joyous cry come from his right and he recognised the female sprinting at the mountain. He did. He knew who she was, but he didn't trust her. Why was she there? He gave her explicit orders to stay in the Shire and protect Bag End. He told her to, so why was she there? What was she doing? Did she want his gold? Was that why she was there? Why she followed Kili around? She was nothing more than a lowly butcher's daughter. She had no place in his halls. She had no claim to his nephew, his blood, nor his name. She was a thief. He could see clearly now. She was a thief looking only for gold and gems.

"Do not let her in," Thorin snapped at Dwalin, who'd stopped in building the wall.

"What? Thorin, it's Ovila," Dwalin scowled, confused. "You had to have known she'd never follow orders to sit and twiddle her damned thumbs."

"Don't let her in," Thorin insisted, a snarl twisting his words. "That's an order."

"And Kili? You think he'll accept that? The lad loves her and she loves him," Dwalin retorted, utterly bewildered at his king's words. "Fili and Ori won't stand for it either."

Thorin merely snorted and turned to glare out at the blonde getting closer and closer. Bilbo had spotted her and a smile filled the Hobbit's round, hairless face. She held something to her chest. What was she holding? Why was she there? What did she want? Did she want his gold? She wanted his gold. She wanted his nephew. She wanted his blood. She was a thief. She shouldn't be there. She should be in Bag End. She disobeyed him. She must be punished. She cannot be allowed in Erebor. He must keep her out, for the safety of everyone involved, and for his treasure. The mountain belonged to him and Ovila was not going to threaten that.

"Keep her out," Thorin insisted icily. "It's not safe."

"Ovila wouldn't betray you anymore than I would," Dwalin argued hotly, but he obeyed. He had to obey his king, even if it meant keeping one of his best soldiers out. Perhaps it was safer to keep her away. Perhaps it was for the best until Thorin's madness passed. "Bilbo," Dwalin called shortly. The Hobbit frowned, confused, but padded over to the Dwarf and looked up at him curiously. "Ovila's outside – tell her to go to Dale and wait for us there with the humans," Dwalin whispered harshly. "Find a way out, burglar."

"Why? Why can't Ovila come in?" Bilbo frowned worriedly, but his eyes darted to Thorin and he nodded without out waiting for an answer. Everyone has seen the madness settling into Thorin's mind. "I'll figure a way out."

With that, Bilbo darted away on silent feet. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one was paying attention to him. Thorin was sending Kili away, no doubt so the younger Dwarf wouldn't see his betrothed racing towards the mountain, and the others were still collecting stone for the wall to block the entrance. For the moment, no one was watching him. No one but Dwalin, who was encouraging him to leave and get Ovila away from this cursed mountain. Bilbo knew the treasure inside was twisting Thorin's mind, especially the 'lost' Arkenstone. It wasn't safe for Ovila to be here. Thorin barely trusted those of the company and he definitely didn't want Ovila around. If she was allowed into the mountain, Bilbo had little doubt that Thorin's gold fevered mind would convince him that she was an enemy and a thief. It was best this way.

The small Hobbit managed to wiggle through a gap in the wall and he ran as quickly as he could towards Ovila, who was far too close. Hopefully, Dwalin would keep anyone from looking out until Bilbo was safely back behind the walls. If Thorin saw, Bilbo would be the enemy too and that wouldn't do anyone any good whatsoever. At that thought, the Arkenstone felt heavier in his pocket. Doubt niggled at his mind and he had to shove it away before it distracted him from his current task. She was so close he could make her out clearly now. She looked…different from what he remembered and there was something strapped across her chest that she kept a strong arm around protectively.

"Bilbo!" Ovila greeted breathlessly, a smile on her face. She was flushed and happy and excited. It shone in her bright eyes as she stopped in front of him and tried to catch her breath. "Are you the welcoming party?" she teased and adjusted the bundle attached to her chest.

"There's no time, Ovila," Bilbo hissed, grabbing her arm and tugging her behind one of the pillars on the bridge leading into the mountain. They were too close. Someone was going to see them. "Thorin's been taken by the gold sickness," Bilbo said in a harsh whisper. Her happiness morphed into fear and worry and her arm tightened around the bundle strapped to her chest. "He's – he's concerned about your sudden appearance here, Ovila, you have to go."

"I can't," Ovila argued, shaking her head. Her blonde hair, still filled with braids fastened with beads and clasps that jangled gently, swayed around her face and her eyes drew together in a worried, almost fear frown. "I have to talk to Kili," she insisted. "It's important."

"You have to wait until the sickness passes," Bilbo retorted with a worried glance thrown back at Erebor. "Please, Ovila, for your own good."

"Does Kili know I'm here?" she demanded, frowning sharply down at the Hobbit. He felt a little like a rabbit cornered by a wolf beneath her glare. "Does he?"

"No, just Thorin, Dwalin, and myself," Bilbo answered honestly. "Dwalin wants you safe, Ovila, we all do, and it's not safe for you in Erebor right now."

Before Ovila could retort, there was a whine from the bundle attached to her and Bilbo's eyes widened. Her attention was immediately diverted down to the bundle and she carefully withdrew a tiny infant from the fabric sling. Dark hair fluttered in the light breeze and tiny fists rose from a soft, dark green blanket and dark brown eyes stared wetly up at Bilbo for a split second, before all attention was focused on the murmuring Ovila. Love and devotion shone in the blonde's hazel eyes and a small smile curved her lips, despite the situation. She murmured soothing words and gently rocked the baby until the child settled down and curled against her, slumbering once more.

"Do you understand now?" Ovila asked quietly, never taking her eyes from her child. "Do you understand why I have to see Kili?"

Bilbo was speechless, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, eyes on the baby, and Ovila glared at him impatiently. "This is all the more reason for you to get away until Thorin's better," he said eventually. "He's not himself, Ovila, he's not the king you remember."

She bit her bottom lip and her eyes flickered up to the mountain she'd been raised on tales of. "Tell Kili I'm in Dale, unless it puts him danger with Thorin," she decided in a quiet voice. She gently placed the baby back in the sling with a soothing hum at the slight whine that emitted from the child. "Thank you, Bilbo," she murmured and turned to leave. She hesitated and looked back over her shoulder with a sad smile. "Her name's Kilin."

Some tears swam in Bilbo's eyes and he nodded with a lump in his throat. Ovila didn't wait for his response as she jogged away, pulling her hood up to hide her distinctive hair. Her cloak and pack would hide her axes from a distance and Bilbo could only hope it was enough to keep her safe for now. He knew she was smart and resourceful from all the stories Fili liked to tell, just to tease his brother, and he remembered her being stern, but kind. She had softness beneath her battle hardened, scarred appearance. He had noticed new scars peeking up from beneath the neckline of her tunic, but there was no times for questions.

A sigh pushed free from the Hobbit's mouth and he made his way back into Erebor, unable to decide whether or not to tell Kili about Ovila being in Dale and, more importantly, about the child that was most certainly his. There was no denying it. Kili was written all over the child. From Bilbo's brief glimpse of Kilin's face (and that name was just adding fuel to the fire), she was just Kili in miniature, especially those big eyes. Just the thought of her made Bilbo's head spin and his shoulders slump beneath an intangible weight. He didn't know what to do with this and he certainly didn't know if he should ask Dwalin for advice. Dwalin would probably go and smack Kili in the back of the head just on principal. Perhaps, for now, it would be best to stay silent on this matter.

Tilda squealed happily when Ovila joined them once more. She was too young to understand the true implications of her leaving Erebor. Bard wordlessly handed her some food and, when they settled down to sleep, Sigrid held the Dwarf's hand when she cried soundlessly. No asked questions, but Alfred was more than likely making snide comments to himself, as no one was listening to him. The slimy little man was already whining about having to take the night watch, but Bard wanted everyone to get a good night's sleep after the long journey, especially the newly returned Ovila. He did want answers as to why she hadn't joined her kin in Erebor, but she was unusually silent and sullen.

Ovila was up before everyone else the next morning. Kilin had awoken her for a feed in the early hours of the morning and she hadn't found the will to return to a restless sleep full of dreams of rejection and hatred. She shook the dreams away and kept her eyes on Kilin, who was cooing on a blanket and staring up at the sun that was rising. They were mostly sheltered by walls, but the walls and ceiling had long ago begun to crumble into disrepair and allowed the sunlight to filter through. It was going to be a nice day. The sky was clear and it looked as though it was going to be bright, but that did little to raise Ovila's spirits. Kilin was the only bright spot in her life.

As though on cue, Kilin smiled gummily up at her mother with a gurgled giggle. The noise roused Bard, who blinked groggily and yawned widely. The man sat up and rubbed his eyes with a small smile at the baby. She waved her hands in greeting, kicking her tiny, socked feet. He squeezed one of her little feet and then faced her mother, but Ovila hadn't seemed to notice that he was now awake. He sighed and stood. His hand landed on her shoulder reassuringly as he walked past her. Her head lifted slightly at the contact and she looked up at him with a weak, sad smile. She stood also and stretched her stiff limbs.

"I'll join you on the morning patrol, if you don't mind," Ovila stated. "Or I'll probably go out of my mind."

"Just wake Sigrid to watch Kilin," Bard agreed immediately and Ovila crouched and shook the girl awake. There was no argument when she was asked to watch the babe. Sigrid simply smiled and reached for Kilin, who gurgled and wrapped her tiny fingers into the girl's long, brown hair. "Alfred was on the night's watch and there was no squealing," Bard said quietly to Ovila as they walked away and humour sparked briefly in her eyes.

"That bodes well, unless he fell asleep, in which case an army of howling orcs could march straight into Dale," she retorted dryly with a roll of her eyes.

Both snorted softly with amusement and Alfred jerked as they approach, looking puffy eyed and sleepy. "All quiet, sire, nothing got past me," he yawned.

Bard tensed at the title and both he and Ovila rolled their eyes at Alfred's brown nosing, until they spotted what was outside. Unfortunately, Ovila's derisive comment was almost true. It was not quite an army of howling orcs, but it certainly was an army. There, in the courtyard of the ruined castle, was an army of Elves that made the female Dwarf's lip curl and her fingers twitch towards her weapons. They were gleaming and impeccable in appearance and didn't even twitch at the hateful glower and disbelieving stare that were pinned on them.

"I hate being right," Ovila muttered darkly to herself and glared at the Elf sat astride an elk. "Elves are worse than Orcs," she defended at Bard's look. "Especially these Elves."

"You are certainly kin of Thorin Oakenshield," the elk riding Elf noted with smooth indifference. He dismounted and strode towards them with impossible grace. Ovila shifted uncomfortably and felt dumpy and stumpy in front of the Elf. Not that she would ever let him know that. She had been stomped on enough for the past twenty four hours and she simply raised herself to her fullest height and glowered at him hatefully.

"And you are the one that left my ancestors to burn in dragon fire," Ovila spat back. "King Thranduil."

"Clever little thing," Thranduil drawled. "You must be Ovila – the one Thorin's youngest is betrothed to."

"Clever little thing," Ovila mocked and folded her arms over her stomach. "And why are you here? To take what doesn't belong to you?"

"There are jewels in that mountain that are mine to claim," Thranduil spat. Ovila snorted. His icy blue eyes narrowed on her and he turned to Bard. "Are you in charge here?"

"I suppose," Bard answered, throwing uncertain glances between the two. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here to help," Thranduil answered. Once again, Ovila snorted. "And why are you not in the mountain with your beloved?" he asked icily. She tensed and turned her face away, fingers clenching around her arms. "Has the sickness already set in? Has he already begun to throw away those he should hold dear?" Thranduil asked, but there was no true malice in his words, just a bored indifference. "The longer he stays there, the worse it will get, Ovila Warg Slayer."

Stunned eyes snapped up to the king's cool expression and she scowled at him. "How do you know that name? I doubt word of my deeds has travelled as far as the Mirkwood."

"When you slaughter a pack of wargs and orcs on my doorstep, I receive word of it," Thranduil replied dismissively, but interested eyes slithered down to her (almost) flat abdomen. "The news I received also suggested that you were with child at the time."

"I was," Ovila confirmed reluctantly. If Thranduil was to stay, he would eventually see Kilin and there would be no hiding her parentage. "Beorn the Skinchanger was kind enough to take me in and take care of me until my child was born."

"Beorn the Skinchanger is rarely called kind," Thranduil pointed out, but said no more of it. "We should discuss our plan of action."

"You are not attacking that mountain," Ovila snarled dangerously, eyes flashing furiously. "Thorin may be sick, but he'll get better and he'll give what he promised."

The look in Thranduil's eyes was of the most horrific quality: pity.