TO ANYONE WHO WATCHES GAME OF THRONES OR WHO'S READ THE BOOKS, I HAVE A SURPRISE IN STORE FOR YOU IN THIS CHAPTER HAHAHA ;)

All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson + George RR Martin. Except for my OC's. They're mine.

It was a fitful, dreamless slumber.

When Fheon awoke, it was to her utter alarm that the sun had gone down—not quite completely dark out yet, but the day was long gone, the sky turning purple as night began crawling in. Startled, she shot up. The blanket fell away from her shoulders to rest by her knees. She did not remember having pulled it up so far.

She stood up, ignoring the coolness of the floor and the slight ache in her shoulder, and rushed downstairs. Sigrid and Tilda were setting the table; Bain was sitting on a stool by the door, looking quite anxious; whereas Bard, Bilbo, and the dwarves were nowhere to be found. The children's eyes turned to her and Fheon's stomach clenched in dismay. "Where is your father?" she demanded.

"He went to the armory," answered Sigrid, "To look for the dwarves."

"The others were allowed to enter?"

"No. I overheard the fat one with the red hair; he said that they were going to break in."

"They're planning on leaving me?" Fheon whispered to herself, half in horror and half in fury. Had that been Thorin's plan all along—to leave her, the one with the minor injury—and let his nephew with the gaping hole in his leg to tag along? The Company would never have survived without her and Elijah! Then, remembering her brother, she started to ponder whether he had agreed to Thorin's plans. A low snarl escaped her throat and she had to turn around to hide her deep scowl from Bard's progenies. Bristling, she whirled around and was about to go after the dwarves, but was stopped by Bain's arm… and she remembered that she was still barefoot.

Because he stood by the door, Bain was able to block her from exiting the house. And though she could have pushed him away any second, she decided not to. "Don't," he protested. "They're sure to have been caught by now. You'll only make things worse."

"I'm going to help them—"

"The Master already dislikes my father. When he finds out that he smuggled a band of dwarves into town, Da will surely be imprisoned, along with your friends. If you go to them now, you will be captured as well and then there will be no chance ofan escape. You must stay here so that you can rescue them when the need arises."

She regarded the boy warily. "Since when did you start thinking for the cause of my… friends?"

"I…" He paused. "Your brother, Elijah, he told us the story of the dwarves." Fheon almost thought that he meant Thorin's real story, the true past of the dwarves of Erebor, but then he continued, "He said that their family member at the Iron Hills was severely sick, and that the dwarves just wanted to reach him before it was too late… I wouldn't want my family to be the one to keep them from finishing their journey."

From the corner of her eye, she caught Tilda nodding. "Plus," the girl added, "we don't like the Master very much either."

"You can stay here with us and wait for the news," said Sigrid. "If the Master does imprison our father and your friends, we can help you get them out."

The corners of the Ranger's lips twitched up in an said, "I doubt that you could help me much, but alas, your minds are in the right place. I will stay here with you."

Bain released a small sigh of relief, before a somewhat defensive look crossed his face. "I know how to swing a sword," he said. "Da had one, once, and he taught me a bit before the Master took it from him."

"I never said anything about using swords."

"I know how to pick a lock," said Tilda, and then nodded to her sister. "Sigrid taught me."

Blood rushed up to Sigrid's face, and she tried to hide it with her hair, but she had tied it into a bun. "I-I thought it would be useful at the time," she stuttered abashedly. "Obviously, proper women aren't supposed to have anything to do with sneaking around and… and snitching anything—"

"Is that what your father told you?" Fheon interrupted, allowing the amusement to show on her face at the look on Sigrid's face; the girl would not meet her eyes and had her head ducked. "Never mind it. Forget I said anything."

She walked to the fireplace, where her clothes were the only ones left hanging by the mantelpiece, and slipped her now-dry boots onto her feet. Elijah had taken his cloak with him, leaving only her tunic, which she left there. If there was still going to be time, she would change out of Sigrid's long-sleeved shirt and return the worn-out tunic onto her body. But if there was no time, then Bard would surely find a useful purpose for the torn clothing.

She pulled up a stool for herself and set it facing the door. There, she sat with her arms crossed and intently waited. Sigrid and her siblings slipped into an uncomfortable silence—uncomfortable because Fheon was there and they were not yet too accustomed to her company. She did not mind, but she could not help but to ponder if they were unaccustomed… or frightened. Either way, she was not going to stay for long. She was going to reach Erebor, whether finishing the quest with the Company or not.

Thirty minutes into the lapse of silence, the siblings cleared the table behind her and Sigrid immediately went about to washing them. Fheon glanced over her shoulder and found a single plate and pair of utensils had been left, which was most likely for Bard—if he was coming back tonight. Seeing the plate, she could not help but to remember how, when she was younger, she and her mother had used to do the same for Elijah and Leon, for Mina always served supper before 6, and the men would not come home from the fields until another half an hour.

She thought she had already learned to control such memories from coming into mind, but it seemed that, seeing the family before her, it was rather impossible to keep the thoughts out.

And then, as if on cue, she felt something lightly tap her shoulder, and turned her head to find Tilda hovering behind her with an uncertain look on her face. "What is it?" inquired Fheon.

"Your hair's a mess," the girl replied straightforwardly.

Fheon's corner lip twitched up slightly. "I suppose it is."

"And since you're going to be walking around with a bunch of men and all, I thought I could fix it for you… if you don't mind," she hastily added.

"I don't mind." Fheon let her eyes wander to the side, where she found Sigrid standing by the sink; the girl was looking away but she could still see the amusement on her face, and so she discerned that she had been the one to tell her sister to come over; Fheon knew enough that Tilda would not speak to her so frankly if there was no reason to. She continued, "Do you have a comb?"

"Yes."

"Then do as you will."

Fheon patiently let the girl comb through her dark tresses that now reached only an inch or two above the small of her back. It was dry and scruffy from being left as it was while she slept, but Tilda's comb quickly sorted out the tangles and soon her fingers were gently running through her hair. Over the course of the many years, no one else had handled her hair apart from herself and Elijah; his fingers were sweaty and clumsy, and he would sometimes pull too hard. But in her childhood, there were two other women who handled her hair for her: Mina and Lenora. Lenora had been the one to handle Fheon's hair most of the time, for their mother had always been very busy and she would say that they had to learn and get used to it. Of course, Fheon would do her hair when she needed to, but whenever Lenora wanted to, she would let her.

Now, feeling Tilda's gentle hands against her scalp, Fheon felt a strong sense of nostalgia course through her. She did her best to ignore it and focus on the situation at hand: that she was waiting to find out whether her trip to Erebor was to be a lone one, or if it would have to be delayed in order to break into the city jail and free the fifteen foolish beings who were her companions. It helped, but only little, so she settled for talking. Talk would aid in keeping her mind from wandering.

"Did you really think me an elf before?"she asked softly.

Tilda hesitated before answering, "Yes."

"You meant it as a compliment, you said."

"Da always told us that all elves were very beautiful, but that some of them were uncaring and prideful."

"They are also very tall. The older ones are even taller than your father. Tell me, do you think me a very tall person as well?"

"Well, no… but you are very beautiful. I haven't seen very many beautiful people around here apart from my sister. I wasn't old enough before to remember what my mother looked like, but Da tells us that she was even prettier than an elf. Is that possible?"

"Very possible," Fheon replied. "A pretty face means nothing if there is no compassion in one's heart. Remember that."

After a long moment of silence, the girl asked, "Are you like that?"

Immediately, Bain straightened up in his seat and scolded her—"Tilda!"—which was followed by Sigrid's exclamation—"Why would you say that?"

"She just speaks her mind is all," Fheon said, craning her neck to give Tilda an odd look as she waved the other two younglings off. Speaking to Tilda, now, she murmured, "When you grow up, you must learn to be conscious of the words that leave your mouth. And I say this as someone who has learned many lessons the hard way. Is that clear?"

The girl nodded her head rapidly. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Fheon offered her a little smile before returning to her previous position and letting her continue braiding her hair. She was quiet for a while, once again lost to the memories of her own, fallen sister—how similar she and Tilda were. "As for my heart…" She frowned slightly. "I'd like to think that my decisions have been the results of a clear conscience; that they've been for the greater good. If not… then I suppose fate will have my hand sooner or later."

Tilda stopped asking questions and sorted through her tresses in a calm hush. It was Sigrid who broke the silence next. She asked, "Where are you and your brother from?"

"A small village by Evendim, in the North," Fheon answered.

"And your parents?"

Fheon was caught by surprise, for not many people asked this question; but she caught herself soon enough. "Both of them are from Evendim as well. They met as children and married when they were of age. But if you were hoping for something more interesting, my mother told me that her grandmother always spoke of a land far across The Encircling Sea."

"But there is nothing past The Encircling Sea except for the Undying Lands," Sigrid argued. "Surely your great-grandmother did not come from there?"

"She did not speak of the Undying Lands," said Fheon. "She spoke of a land named Essos, where there was a city called Meereen. She also said that, in her youth, she once served the beautiful and just queen of Meereen, Daenerys. The queen had taken her in when her parents were killed and she was taken as a slave."

By that time, Bain had pulled his seat closer in interest. "How did Daenerys free her?" he asked. "Did she buy her?"

"Before rising up to rule, the queen killed the masters of Meereen and freed every slave, and soon took the throne for her own."

"Killed them?" Sigrid frowned. "I thought she was a just queen!"

"The masters there were cruel and harsh with the whipped them and beat them and had them walk around in chains with almost no clothes on."

Tilda's hold on her hair tightened. "That's horrible!" Fheon nodded in agreement.

"But Daenerys had a very powerful army, as well as dragons."

There was a collective gasp around her. "Dragons!" said Bain. "But… but dragons… They cannot be tamed! How was she able to control them?"

"She was of the House Targaryen, known to be a noble family of dragon lords. They kept and rode them, but for a while the dragons became extinct, until the queen was able to hatch three eggs. With these dragons, she was able to attain her army, gain allies, and conquer many cities."

Sigrid shook her head. "A land across The Encircling Sea, a house of dragon lords, and three tamed dragons… Was your great-grandmother sane when she told this story to your mother?"

"I would not know. I was not yet born when she passed away." Fheon managed a small smile. "Think of it however you want. I am sure all of us have more urgent matters to worry about." From the corner of her eye, she caught the three siblings share looks with each other.

Then Tilda's grip on her hair disappeared, and the girl said, "Finished."

Fheon felt at the braid behind her head with one hand, gently running her fingers over the interwoven strands. She was satisfied to find that it was cleanly done; tight and firm, but comfortable. She glanced over her shoulder and softly thanked Tilda. The girl's face brightened and she nodded in return, perhaps even curtseying slightly. Fheon smiled, and for a moment, she saw Lenora standing there instead of Tilda. Dazed, she shook her head to snap herself out her stupor. But just as she was doing so, the door only a few feet away from her swung open to reveal Thorin.

She was immediately on her feet, the kind expression on her face hardening into one of a more demanding and firm nature. Small relief flooded through her at the thought of not having to break them out of prison, but it was easily masked by displeasure at the dwarf for having left her without telling her of their armory-raid.

His eyes were hard, as they were most of the time, but there was something about the way he carried himself that tipped her off. Her interest was piqued, and for the moment, her exasperation ceased to exist. Behind him, she noticed the rest of the Company lined up outside the house, along with her brother (who, upon seeing her, smiled brightly), and along with Bard. She quickly started a headcount and, finding that no one was missing, faintly relaxed her shoulders.

"I take it you have gained the needed amount of weapons?" she asked in her usual composed voice.

"We have," answered Thorin in an equally collected tone, "Along with the Master's approval. He has agreed to give us everything we need in order to complete our quest." He walked into the house and was quickly followed by theother members of the Company. Fheon counted again: thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, one human, and an extra Bard.

Elijah bounded up to her and made a move to ruffle her hair, but she expected this and was swift to dodge out of his reach. He gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, why the frown? The Master's given us his approval! We would be celebrating if it were not for our tight schedule…" He kept looking at her for a while, and a frown slowly eased onto his face. "I've done something, haven't I?"

She looked at him with hard eyes. "As soon as you got the weapons, you were going to go straight for Erebor, yes?"

"Well, yes."

"And you would have left me here?"

"No! No, of course not. Thorin mentioned it before but I never would have done then, considering your shoulder, it might be a good idea…"

"My shoulder is fine," Fheon hissed. "And I will hear you out, but I assume that you were taken to the Master—you were caught. Thorin never would have had the chance to talk to him, unless you strolled into his home, which is something that you definitely did not do." Her brother's expressions clarified her statement. "So you were caught stealing and then brought to him. What would have happened if he did not offer your amnesty, if he had been feeling even the least bit generous tonight?"

His eyebrows furrowed together in seriousness. "I see your point."

"You would have been thrown into prison, Elijah."

"I never would have let it happen. I would have found a way," he said, and her gaze hardened even more. "You must realize, sister, that you are not the lone protector of this Company. I started this quest with you, pulled you into it, and I will not let you carry the entire burden.I swore to myself to defend our allies, but you will never stop being a priority. Never." He placed a hand on her right shoulder and squeezed. There was an honest glint in his eye that she could not ignore.

Her anger slowly ebbed until it was a mere prick at the back of her head. She let it recede, knowing that arguing would not help them in the slightest. Sighing, she patted her brother's hand. "Fine, apology accepted."

The giddiness returned to his face and he said, "But in other circumstances, the Company goes first."

"Of course," she agreed, knowing that he was in a joking mood, but that the mantra itself was not a joke. In fact, the two of them had to take it more seriously than ever.

I DO NOT OWN DAENERYS TARGARYEN HAHAHA don'tsueme