okay i know this update is HELLA late, and I. Am. Sorry. :((

Everything's been so hectic lately. Like, I was seriously planning on keeping up with the updates every weekend, but this time of the year is Tournament Time, meaning i have to wake up early nearly every day and when i get home, i go to sleep immediately because i am always SO EXHAUSTED from training.

i know excuses suck, but that's mine. I'm still so so sooo sorry though :((

anyway, it seems as if i've just missed two updates, so two chapters are coming right up! ^^

LOVE YOU GUYS! never forget it! ;)

All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson; except for Fheon, Elijah, and a couple other OC's.

P.S. it's story time.

Fheon's concerns about the journey being painful for her turned out to be completely childish... but it did not mean that the ride was comfortable.

For a whole day, they travelled across vast lands and hills, only rarely stopping for their ponies to drink at the streams they passed by, and halting for only minutes when their mounts grew too tired to keep running; although Beorn had claimed them to be strong steeds, Thorin asked too much of them. The Company did not stop for lunch; Bombur distributed large portions of the turkey from Beorn's house so they ate on the road. Fheon found that she did not have to constantly clutch her shoulder to keep it from moving, for the brace did that for her; however, they occasionally had to cross rivers and streams, and this offered her great discomfort. The violent movements of her horse often jarred her enough that she had to bite the hem of her cloak until the worst was over.

The day's journey was quiet and grim. They had all heard Beorn state that the orc pack hunting them would not be far behind, if they were on wargs. They had to reach Mirkwood before the orcs caught up with them. Even Elijah, who had been so buoyant that morning, could not muster up the sincerity to lighten the mood. Fheon thought it best that he did not, anyway.

Overhead, they would sometimes see Caligula flying ahead of them, but she never slowed for long. It was a good thing, too, for Azog surely remembered the hawk that had blinded one of his subordinates before Bilbo was able to kill it.

Eventually, as the day wore on, the sun disappeared from view and darkness descended upon them. Fili spotted a rock formation not far from where they were, and this was where they set up camp. The tall rocks would shield them from prying eyes of predators, and hopefully the orcs as well—but it would not be for long, which was why Fheon was going to stand for the first watch.

There was no campfire. Beorn had given the dwarves only six bedrolls, which Thorin had given to the youngest of the Company—Bifur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, Ori, and of course, Elijah. Fheon still had her own bedroll; however worn-out and grimy it may have been, she still wanted to use it. So the dwarves laid themselves down on the grass, and the ones with the bedrolls either sat or lied down on the soft material. Since there was no fire, Dori and Nori took out loaves of bread from their packs and distributed them to the Company. When Fheon received her share, she placed the bread in-between her teeth and pulled her canteen of water out of her pack. She had refilled it earlier that day, and so it was rather full. Taking advantage of this, she retrieved Beorn's pouch of coneflower from inside her pocket, grabbed a few of the leaves and petals, and tore them up and shoved them into her canteen. The smell of the pollen was appetizing enough, but Fheon knew most teas were like that, and that it did not promise the taste would be as appealing.

With lips pursed, she closed the lid and started shaking her canteen, making sure the properties of the coneflower were mixed into the last drop. Elijah watched her with curious yet amused eyes.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Coneflower," said Fheon. "Beorn said it would make me feel better."

"I do hope it tastes nothing like Sambuca."

"I hope it tastes like chamomile," she agreed, right before bringing the mouth of the canteen to her lips and taking in a large gulp, which was followed by an immediate grimace. "It tastes like chamomile, alright," she said, shuddering. "But much stronger." As her brother laughed at the look on her face, she took a bite out of the slice of bread she'd been given, hoping it would remove the flavor from her mouth even a little bit.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Company's bread had disappeared—down their stomachs, Fheon knew—and they were already preparing to go to sleep. Thorin was on his feet leaning against a boulder, and she assumed that he was planning on stealing the first watch from her. His eyes were on her, an expectant gaze, a single raised eyebrow.

Sighing, Fheon took another swig of her coneflower drink, and it acted like alcohol for her confidence. "Who wants to hear a story?"

Ori's head peeked out from beneath the blanket he had been provided with, and it was one of the few times where he truly looked like a child… despite the facial hair. "Is it a happy story?" he asked.

Fheon met his eyes and said, "Not particularly." Then she looked to her brother, who had been staring at her in confusion. She gave him a small, knowing smile, as well as a light shrug, and his face cleared up. He nodded, and she continued, "Is that alright?"

"Does it have fighting in it?" said Gloin.

Pursing her lips, Fheon looked to her brother again and found a humorless smile on his face. He said, "Only some."

The dwarf grunted in response. "Fine. Go on, then."

"Shall I go first or will you?" Fheon murmured to Elijah, meeting his eyes in steely determination. If they were going to recount their childhood, they might as well do it with purpose. But she had gained a purpose that night after the attack, while she and her brother were wandering for refuge. The anger had been so strong, then, and it still was—as she waited for her brother's reply.

He scooted closer to her and patted her back gently, saying, "I'll go." Fheon looked to Thorin for his consent. He nodded, and she took another swig of her strong medicinal drink. She could feel Thorin's gaze on her, but made no move to return it. Patiently, she waited until the Company was ready, and then Elijah began.

"Several years ago, there was a village out by the Hills of Evendim. There, a farmer and his family lived," he said. "The farmer's name was Leon, and his wife was named Mina, after her grandmother. They had three children—Elijah, Talia, and Lenora." When the dwarves heard Elijah's name, recognition flashed cross each of their faces, one by one. Fheon kept her eyes on the ground. "Every day, Leon would take Elijah to the fields to tend the crops. Mina and her daughters would go to town to buy supplies and they would cook lunch and supper for the men, who never stayed out past dark. The family was happy."

"Lenora was the youngest, but she took after her mother," Fheon interjected softly. "She loved cooking, and would oftentimes journey to the bakery to learn from the old man there how to make cakes. The old man was kind, and always gave her cookies to bring home to her family. She was the perfect daughter, the perfect sister—good, kind, beautiful. Everybody loved her." Memories of the girl rushed forth in Fheon's mind, and she struggled to push them away, to keep telling the story.

Thankfully, Elijah cut in. "But her siblings were just as lovable, of course," he said, "And Elijah was ever more handsome." He flashed his teeth cheekily, earning himself a rumble of both amusement and approval from the dwarves. Bilbo clapped his hands in enjoyment. "Their father, apart from being a farmer, was a respected hunter as well. Sometimes, he would even venture as far as the forests of Fornost to hunt, and would bring back enough fare for both his family and selling. This made him one of the most esteemed men in the village. When predators tried to attack in the night, he would take out his bow and hunting knife and strike them all down, alongside the menfolk of Evendim."

"He was legendary with a bow," said Fheon. "And so one day, when Elijah had just turned the proper age for a man, Leon took him out to the forests and gifted him with a bow. Hand-forged, unique—"

"Is that it?" Kili interrupted, nodding at the bow Elijah currently had.

Elijah shook his head. "Afraid not."

"What happened to the hand-forged one?" said Fili.

"I'll get to that," said Elijah. "So, Leon gave his son a bow, complete with a quiver of arrows made by the local fletcher. He taught Elijah how to wield it properly, how to aim, the proper release. A month afterward, Elijah shot his first deer." His statement was met with a hard pat on the back by Dwalin. "But Talia was also interested, you see. As often as she could, she would watch her father and brother practice, yet Leon would never take her out hunting. The problem was that Mina did not approve of her daughter handling a man's weapon. She said Talia should have been more like Lenora, so that more men would want to court her, as she was nearing the proper age for it."

"Talia was persistent," Fheon finally spoke, after making sure her throat would not keep her words back. "Yet it was not Leon who agreed, but her brother, Elijah. He was the one who let her borrow his bow, and snuck off with her during the night to teach her. Mina grew suspicious, as well as Lenora and Leon, but they were less appalled by the idea. They were only half-oblivious for quite some time."

Most likely remembering these events, Elijah managed a small smile—which quickly disappeared, as their story was drawing to a close, and the ending was not very cheerful. "Lenora noticed the scrapes and welts on Talia's hands and forearms before anyone else, but she did not have to tell Mina for her to see as well," said Elijah. "That same night, as Mina stayed inside with Lenora to speak with Talia, and as Leon took Elijah outside the home so they could speak privately, a loud noise echoed all across the valley. A noise that would make the knees of clueless men buckle."

Fheon drank from her canteen, though she could feel her brother's eyes on her. And seeing as she was not going to say anything, he continued: "It was an orc horn, you see." The Company, hearing this, adopted a more serious air. "And a village of men have only ever heard tales about the vile creatures. They did not know the sound of a war horn when they heard it. But the orcs raided the village atop wargs. Leading them was Azog, the Pale Orc, astride his White Warg." From the corner of her eye, Fheon spotted Thorin straighten up. "That time, almost everyone else was asleep, except for Leon's family. Leon took his family deep into their house and locked all the doors, and they hid. But even from inside, they could hear everything that happened; as the orcs destroyed and plundered the village, the screams of the men, women and children were ear-piercing."

It was then that Elijah's voice finally broke. He tried to hide it with a laugh, but even that was half-hearted. Abruptly, Fheon felt his hand snake around hers, gripping it tightly. Frowning, she continued for him.

"Leon refused to leave his family," she said, "But doing so, he could not get to his weapons. Ultimately, the orcs found them. They killed Leon first—stabbed him through the heart." (But that was not the truth, as they had actually beheaded him, yet Fheon knew that Elijah would not really mind.) "Then they pulled the rest of the family out of the house, right before burning the entire village to the ground." Her eyes stung with tears; she ducked her head as she blinked them away, finishing the story hurriedly: "Elijah and Talia were the only ones who escaped."

The Company stayed quiet, no doubt letting the facts sink in. Yet as always, it was Bilbo who had the guts to speak first. "Quick question, um…" he said, looking at Fheon. "You don't happen to be Talia, do you?"

And even then, his voice was shaky. Fheon took this as a sign of his sentimentality, but did not answer right away. By Thorin, she heard Gandalf clear his throat, like a rumble in his chest. She stared at him pointedly before saying, "Talia was a weak, young girl—someone I left to burn in the fires of my home. She no longer exists."

Elijah squeezed her hand and raised his eyes to look at the Company. "So how did you like the story?" he said. "I hope it wasn't too depressing. We can't be feeling like that tomorrow, venturing through Mirkwood—which is gloomy enough, I must say."

Fheon sighed softly, pondering how her brother could do that, how he was able to return to his gleeful ways so quickly.

"We had no idea," said Balin. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

After a moment of thought, she answered, "Sentiments; you understand."

"You can tell us anything, you know," said Bofur. "I mean, you might as well. We're going to be together for a much longer while. And you're a part of the Company now."

"Aye," Kili agreed, and then Fili, and then Nori, and then Bilbo, and then soon, every one of the Company had said the word, except for Thorin. He only nodded.

Gandalf cleared his throat again with a subtle smile on his face, before saying, "Alright, story time is over. All of you, get some sleep."

"Impossible," Elijah said to Fheon under his breath, and she smiled half-heartedly.

Her attention had stayed on Thorin, who seemed to be intent on keeping his position on the watch. "Get away from there, Thorin," she told him. "I'll be taking first watch tonight."

"You're sure?" he said, uncrossing his arms and looking at her oddly.

"Very."

She felt her brother's hand tighten around hers, trying to pull her back, but she threw him a warning glare, shook his hand off and walked to the boulder Thorin had been leaning against. Her eyes scanned the space within their little rock formation, checking to see if everyone had indeed gone to sleep. Elijah held his head up using his hand with his elbow planted on the ground, staring at her with scrunched eyebrows. He was worried, no doubt. But he of all people should have known that she would forget all about it if only he would leave her alone, leave her to sort out her thoughts on her own.

She threw him another exasperated glare, this time more insistent, and this time, he looked away. Laid down on the grass and turned on his side, away from her, to sleep.

Sliding down to sit cross-legged on the ground, Fheon took her bow into her hands and slid her fingers across the smooth wooden base. She missed holding it, gripping it tight as she drew the string back with an arrow nocked. It had not even been very long yet, not even a week. She supposed she had to get used to it, at least until her shoulder healed up—lest she want the pain to grow. But thinking this, a saying her father used to say sprung to mind: "Take the pain and anything that comes with it, but don't let it defeat you, or the wolves won't even have a good meal out of you." He had never actually said it to her or to Lenora, but to Elijah. Whenever they came home from a hunt or a practice session in archery, and Elijah was complaining to Fheon and Lenora about the ache in his limbs, their father was always there to hear it.

Fheon never forgot those words, especially during the first month after their village burned down. The pain that had come from her burns was excruciating, but she never let it defeat her, and Elijah never let her forget.

Unbeknownst to her, a single tear had strayed from her eye and reached her chin, where it fell onto her hand. She hurriedly wiped at her cheeks and at her eyes, rubbing the moisture away from her face. She took a deep breath and composed herself, returning her bow over her shoulder and replacing it with her sword.

Suddenly, a low, gruff voice reached her ears: "How did you escape Azog?"

Fheon turned her head to find Thorin standing amidst the snoring dwarves, face as grim as it was before. Apparently, he still did not have all the answers he had wanted.

"Luck, mostly," she murmured in reply. "He was going to kill me, but Elijah got by just in time. I don't know what he did. After that, I had to pretend I was dead. I think that, that day, Azog was not feeling particularly up to his title to defile."

Thorin did not laugh. He slowly made his way to her, saying, "I find it bigoted that he did not make sure every one of you was dead."

"Would you rather I and my brother were dead, then?"

He paused. "I never said that."

"He did a good enough job anyway," said Fheon, bristling slightly. "Killed my mother, my father, my sister—the entire village, and then burned everything else. Like I said, luck was with me and Elijah… But everyone else was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

To her surprise, after what seemed to be a moment of hesitation, the Dwarf King said, "I offer my condolences. We all do."

"It is appreciated, and returned," she replied softly. "But really, Thorin, you should get some sleep."

"Sadly, that is impossible under present circumstances. The looming threat is too great for me to be able to close my eyes and fall asleep."

Fheon smiled lightly. "Impossible. That's what Elijah said, and yet look at him now—sleeping like a baby." She and Thorin both glanced at the sleeping man, who was snoring softly with his chin tucked into his chest. Vaguely, she heard Thorin chuckle under his breath, and raised an eyebrow. "It is very rare for the great Thorin Oakenshield to laugh at something. My brother will rejoice when he hears that he was the subject of such happenings."

The King Under the Mountain looked at her with a deep frown. "Is that an insult?"

"It's a joke," she said. "I would not insult you again. Believe it or not, I've grown quite fond of you and your kin."

"And we you," he replied. She could feel his eyes boring into her, and could not help but to meet his gaze. She had never stopped to admire them before, but his eyes were apparently a beautiful shade of blue. It deeply contrasted his sometimes ill-mannered behavior, for sure. "But indeed," he said, "the Company has not seen you smile or heard you laugh in quite some time, Ranger. Are you ill?"

"Quite ill," said Fheon, lightly tapping her left shoulder. "But you'd be disappointed to find that I've been smiling all this time, even right now." She subtly raised her eyebrows at him, not smiling at all, which brought the planned effect on him.

The corners of her lips twitched up slightly, and his gaze softened. He asked, "How is your shoulder, by the way?"

"Not much better, but it's on its way."

"That's good. Once we reach Mirkwood—"

"It won't be fine by then," she interrupted swiftly. "You understand that."

"I do."

"But my brother will be there to help. You must trust him."

"I do."

Fheon glanced at him to find an expectant look in his eye. She shook her head slightly and turned away, muttering, "Get some sleep, Thorin." It was not a request, this time.

After a beat, he nodded and turned, looking as if he was about to walk away, but said at the last second, "I had two siblings, a sister and a brother. Now I only have a sister."

Surprised, Fheon raised her head and met his gaze again, finding his blue eyes filled with such familiarity and sadness that it made her heart clench. "Dis," she murmured, "Fili and Kili's mother."

Thorin nodded. "My younger brother, Frerin, perished at the Battle of Azanulbizar." He was quiet for a long while, just staring at her. And then he said, "You and I are not very different, Fheon. And so I must apologize for acting so revoltingly towards you. I suppose it's just because you…" He trailed off, almost hesitantly, and Fheon offered a small smile; she had a distinct idea of what he was trying to say, but decided that it was best he kept it to himself.

"It's fine," she said. "Apology accepted. Now, sleep."

He turned away and returned to his place beside Balin and Dwalin, and there he lied down on the grass, facing upwards to the stars, and closed his eyes. Fheon did not let her gaze linger for long, and instead scanned the Company once more, to find that one of them was not asleep.

It was Gandalf, and he was looking at her with a knowing glint in his eye. She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing, instead returning her attention to the wilderness surrounding them. Her senses had not even turned dull in the slightest, and she knew that it was going to be a long night.

It seems Thorin has found a kindred spirit.

so~ whadya think? :)