I AM SO SORRY THAT I MISSED THE LAST UPDATE. We had an out-of-town trip last weekend, and I was hoping that there would be wifi in the place where we were staying but NOPE. It was a third world sort of place. (I have insect bites all over.)

BUT, as payment for missing the last update, I am posting two chapters in a row; however, this also means that I won't be updating until NEXT weekend.

I know, this is all confusing because we live in different timezones, but point is: i'll post two chapters today, and the next one won't come up for at least another week or so... unless I'm feeling especially generous. SO MAKE SURE TO REVIEW AHAHAHA

(All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson. Except for my OC's. They're mine, obviously.)

For there were not enough bedrooms in the house to accommodate the sixteen members of the Company, only two were allowed to share the extra room upstairs. Elijah did not suggest that Fheon be one of the lucky people, and for that she was thankful. She had gained enough rest while the dwarves were busy breaking into the armory. Her first suggestion was Bilbo, but he waved her off, stating that he was more than fine. And Fheon could not help but to agree as she regarded his steady frame, firm eyes and balanced demeanor. He had become stronger than the hobbit that had left the Shire. Scanning the room once more, she next suggested Kili, for he was the weakest of the lot, and in this Thorin agreed with her.

"If no one else finds the need to sleep in a room with blankets," said Fili, "I would like to stay with my brother tonight."

His kin gave him their consent, and he helped a pale, limping Kili up the stairs. Fheon stared after them until they had disappeared from her view; at which point, she sat down on the bench across the room, by the window that looked over all of Lake-town. She leaned her head against the glass pane and watched silently as eleven dwarves walked about the room, looking for positions in which they were comfortable. The few that sat on the second bench across the room had their legs leaned on by the dwarves who sat on the floor. Those who sat by the table were done the same, but they were accommodated to cross their arms on the tabletop and place their heads into the crook of their elbows. It did not surprise Fheon to find Thorin sitting cross-legged on the floor at a corner of the room, with his head against the wall.

The King Under the Mountain appreciated his privacy, after all.

Sigrid and Tilda served them the leftovers of their dinner, which Fheon was positive had been cooked for the family only. Fheon rejected her share, as did Elijah, so that the dwarves would have more to eat. But not much had been left in the first place, and the dwarves ended up dozing off with half-full stomachs. She and her brother plucked out some of their self-control and limited their intake that night to water—nothing more. It gave them the illusions of having full stomachs, when in truth the reality was that they would grow hungry again very soon. Before Sigrid retreated upstairs for the night, Fheon told her to prepare more food for their breakfast, adding in the fact that it was going to be a very early morning for them all. The adolescent only nodded briskly before turning and trudging up the stairs.

Elijah finished his fifth straight glass of water before pulling his cloak about himself and muttering good night to Fheon. She grunted in reply and took a slow sip from her sixth glass of water, watching his eyes flutter closed and then, in a short minute, heard him start snoring. She left a quarter of water in her cup, standing up to place it on the kitchen sink before quietly returning to her seat by the window. The dwarves were sound asleep; she tried to remember when was the last time they had been able to rest in warmth and safety. It was before they entered Mirkwood, which was definitely almost a week ago.

A fire had been lit within the chimney corner and it sent waves of balminess throughout the living room, but it was snowing outside and the cold drafts slipped into the gaps and cavities of the house. Frowning, Fheon tossed the two corner tips of her blanket over her shoulders and pinned them against the wall with her back. Beneath the thick cloth, she rubbed up and down her arms, doing her best to warm herself. Then, she felt the familiar feeling of someone staring at her, and slowly raised her head to find Thorin's eyes trained on her from way across the room.

She returned his gaze evenly, managing an inward sigh. It was no use to stay angry at him now. The hurdle had been crossed and there were still many more battles to fight, more enemies to vanquish… namely, a thousand year-old fire-breathing dragon. Together, it already seemed impossible to defeat it. What would happen if they were to start fighting amongst themselves? No, she had to bury her pride, but things would only work out if the Dwarf King did the same.

"What happened, exactly?" she said, soft enough to be barely noticeable for the sleeping members of the Company, but loud enough for Thorin to hear.

He said, "We went to the armory, and everything was going according to plan until Kili slipped and sent our weapons tumbling down a tall flight of stairs. The noise was enough to attract the attention of the guards." He shook his head, and Fheon once again wondered why he had brought Kili along instead of her, when the dwarf had a much more terrible wound on him. "So we were brought in for an audience with the Master of Lake-town."

"And then?"

"And then we convinced him to let us continue our quest. Yet no help came from our new bargeman. He tried to sway the Master and the people of the town, saying that our journey for the Arkenstone would only bring them death and ruin; and he also just failed to mention that Girion, the Lord of Dale Balin had told you about, was an ancestor of his," Thorin spat. "He tells us of the destruction we might bring, when it was his blood that failed to protect Dale… He is a coward."

"But tell me then, Thorin," said Fheon. "When we enter the mountain, and when you send Bilbo off to his mission for the King's Jewel, will he not disrupt the silence of the chamber where the jewel lies? Will he not tread heavily on the mountains of gold, having no other option but to give in—albeit unconsciously—to his fear and anxiety? If this happens, can you ensure that we will be able to keep Smaug within the mountain or, quite impossibly, defeat him?"

A shadow crossed the dwarf's face, which was not easily caught beneath the dimness of the room.

Fheon leaned forward slightly and softened her gaze. "I ask this as a friend, Thorin, but also as someone who cannot help but to worry about the well-being of the innocents in this town. My brother would say the same to you if I were the one sleeping instead of him. And so I will ask it again: Can you ensure the dragon's downfall, as well as the people's safety?"

Doubt appeared on his face, which was more than she could have hoped for at the moment. His forehead creased as his eyebrows met, but his eyes remained serious and ever grimmer. Ripping through the silence, he answered her: "No."

Her lips pursed together in a thin line, and then she forced a smile that did not reach her eyes. "As is what I expected," she said, tucking the blanket tighter around her body. "I won't abandon this quest for the sake of my being sentimental, for I and my brother have already sworn to put the Company—you, your kin and Bilbo—first. But you should know that I also do not take lightly the safety of the people in this town." Her voice dropped into barely a whisper and she was not even sure he heard what she said next: "Being one of the few people I have told my story to, you should understand why I wouldn't want Lake-town to be lost in the fire."

He nodded. "I understand."

Fheon tore her eyes away from him and turned her attention to the buildings past the window frame she was leaning on. Nothing interesting was there, however; she had only done so because she found that she could not stand to see the fierce distress that had settled over the King. Without glancing at Thorin, she said, "My apologies—I have kept you up for long enough. I will let you sleep."

For several minutes, he was silent, letting her assume that he had, in fact, fallen asleep. But then his voice once again travelled across the room and into her ears. He said, "When I first met you, not for a moment had I thought that you would be like this."

"Like what?"

"So… kind… You are sometimes quick to snap at me and my kin, but only because you have worked so hard to get us this far, you and your brother. Your compassion precedes you, Lady Fheon."

It was the first time he had ever bothered to call her a 'Lady', for she was not. The title sounded meaningless in her ears, but in the firelight, she was able to discern a sparkle in his eyes, and that was certainly not meaningless.

They regarded each other for a long while afterwards, both trying to somehow read the other's mind when neither of them were experienced in any sort of mental sorcery or telepathy. Fheon noticed that, beneath his gaze, an odd sensation had crept into her stomach—most probably how it would feel to have swallowed butterflies and have them travel into her digestive system, where they were somehow still alive and fluttering about and sending light shivers down her spine. Never before had she bothered to look at his eyes for so long; the first time they were caught in such a moment, she was overcome with fury. Now she had learned to hold her patience, especially with the King Under the Mountain.

Months before, she had already been able to notice how wonderful the shade of blue his eyes were: almost grey, like gathering storm clouds, but with the firelight reflecting off them, they appeared to her like glittering sapphires.

"I wish I could say the same for you," she said, managing to break the trance she had been pulled into with her sudden amusement. "But to say that your compassion precedes you, Thorin Oakenshield, would be the height of folly."

The King actually laughed; not a chuckle, not a deep rumbling sound in his chest or a hum in his throat—but an actual, energetic and wholehearted laugh. "I suppose it would," he said, the shadow of a grin still on his face. "But could you regale me, if just for tonight?"

She managed a small smile as well as she decided to humor him. "Then it is my pleasure to say that it has been an honor and my privilege to have fought by your side, for your compassion precedes you, O King Under the Mountain."

He laughed again, and because it was the second time in a row, the dwarves surrounding them stirred; Bilbo mumbled in his sleep, but none of them woke. Still, Fheon took this as an indication that her lighthearted conversation with the dwarf leader had to be put to rest. Meeting his eyes once more, she said, "Sleep well, Thorin," with a gentle note of finality in her voice.

He did not argue, and instead only returned the statement: "Sleep well, Fheon." He rolled to his side. Fheon did not stare at him for much longer and tore her attention away from the dwarf, surprisingly, with reluctance.

She leaned back to place her head against the thick glass of the window and allowed her eyes to roam the ceiling for a minute or two, before closing them and, therefore, drifting into the land of dreams.

The sun had barely risen when the noise of the milling dwarves woke her up. Fheon was surprised it had not been her brother. Without a word, she stood up, walked to the table, grabbed a plate, topped it with a mound of the food Sigrid and Bard had cooked, and ate. The rest of the Company was eating swiftly, as well as her brother, and she did her best to follow suit. She requested chamomile tea from Sigrid and then drank it quickly, letting it burn her throat for she knew its medicinal properties were quick to take effect. The dwarves were putting their plates away when there was a knock on the door.

Bard, who was still unhappy about the turn of events the previous night, pulled the door open to reveal more than a dozen children lined up outside; each of them carried shiny, metal armor, but not complete sets. Fheon saw that the Master could only provide them with breastplates, shoulder harnesses, and iron helms. She did not mind.

Bard ended up having to allow the children to enter the house, for there were many people outside who were gawking and trying to sneak through the door. Once the children were inside, he locked the door and told Sigrid, Tilda, and Bain to go upstairs. The living room had become too crowded.

Apparently, there was one child for one member of the Company. And so the dwarves bustled about, hurriedly looking for which armor fit them perfectly; Bilbo was left to wander with them, for he was as close to their body type as he could ever get. It took Elijah a shorter while to find his set, for he certainly was given the largest and widest set of armor. Fheon simply went to the only girl in the group, for the Master seemed to have found it amusing to send a lass to give armor to the only a girl in a man's Company. Frowning slightly, she took the clothes hanging from the girl's shoulder: a clean tunic, a thick evergreen gambeson, and pants. She thought about her situation for a short moment before grabbing the girl's wrist and gently leading her upstairs, into the room she had changed in before.

She sent the child a small, reassuring smile before undressing. She kept her chest wrapping and shoulder brace on, for the Master had not bothered to send her new pairs of either, and then slipped the new clothes onto her body. The gambeson was thicker than she had thought; long-sleeved and reaching past her collarbone, where it settled around her neck like a scarf, it offered her much warmth. Then she relieved the child of her heavy burden. Fheon had been given a chainmail hauberk; not exactly armor, but it was better than none. The sleeves of it reached just above her shoulders, but the tasset continued down her thighs as well to act as an iron skirt. Wearing it, she grew thankful that she had been given such thick cloth for her under-clothes, for the fringes of the armor were unforgiving and were sure to have scratched against her skin had her under-clothes been thinner.

She tugged her boots back on, and then stood up to find the child holding out a leather sword belt. Stunned, Fheon gently pried it out of her hands and pulled the sword out of its sheath. The grip did not fit within her hand perfectly, but she was positive that no weapon in the town ever would. After strapping the belt around her waist, the child then handed her a cloak. It was very similar to the one she used to have, the one the Dunedain gave her, but this one was red and did not have the six-pointed clasp. She clipped it on anyway.

And then the child handed her a bow and a full quiver of arrows; with this, Fheon was truly at a loss for words. Her shoulder prevented her from successfully pulling at the string until her finger touched her jaw, but the mere feeling of gripping the base of a bow was enough for her. She slipped the bow and quiver onto her back, lightly rolling her shoulders. Looking down at herself, with the green under-clothes, chainmail "armor", cloak, long braid (which she had let stay, for it was still acceptable), sword-belt, and bow and arrow—she felt like herself again.

On the staircase, the girl ran past her and out the door immediately, for it seemed that the rest of the children had gone off. It was only when Fheon reached the kitchen that she realized it was too late to apply more mint balm onto her shoulder. She set her jaw and became determined to grit through it.

The dwarves had finished donning their own sets of armor, with more than one of them wearing stupid-looking helmets, and were bustling about the living room, anxious to continue the journey. Before they left, Fheon quickly pulled her brother aside and into the kitchen, where they raided the shelves for the herbs they might need. As they did so, a continuous stream of apologies escaped Fheon's mouth, directed to Bard, who was standing behind them with crossed arms. She handed the large pouch full of medicinal herbs to Balin, who would surely not lose it. By that time, Bard's offspring had come down into the living room once more. As the dwarves were slowly streaming out of the house, Fheon had to stop and wait for Elijah, who had taken to stand in front of Bain.

He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and offered a smile, saying, "Take care of your sisters."

"Yes, sir," replied Bain, and Elijah's smile grew wide. He said his thank-you's and goodbyes to Sigrid, Tilda, and then finally, Bard. Fheon threw the children small smiles and gave their father a fleeting glance, a hasty wave of her hand, and then she and her brother were striding in the middle of a clean path before them. The people of Lake-town had stepped aside to let them through with ease. But still, by the time they had reached the edge of the town and were loading their newly-acquired belongings onto a boat, the sun had broken into the horizon.

"You do know we're one short," said Bilbo. Fheon had not noticed that they were one short, for in their rush of putting on their armor and collecting the needed herbs, she had forgotten to do a headcount.

But Elijah, apparently, knew that Bofur was, in fact, not among them. "I know," he replied.

"Where's Bofur?"

"If he's not here, we leave him behind," said Thorin, though not impatiently.

"We'll have to," Balin agreed. "If we're to find the door before nightfall, we can risk no more delays."

At first, Fheon was appalled by how they would so willingly just leave one dwarf behind when there was still a chance at time; then she raised her head and found Erebor staring back at her. It was a tall mountain, the peak only barely breaking past the ceiling of clouds. It was going to be a long and arduous trek up the mountainside, even though there were sure to be paths… She concluded that Balin was right, but was still reluctant.

When the dwarves finished piling their belongings onto the boat, they started loading themselves onto the vessel, one by one. The Rangers flanked the group, making sure that each one of them, aside from Bofur, was there. And it was to Fheon's surprise when Thorin suddenly turned and stopped Kili from stepping onto the boat; however, she hid her emotions well.

"Not you," said Thorin. "We must travel at speed. You will slow us down."

Kili looked at his uncle in confusion, and then a smile broke out onto his face. He thought he was jesting. "What are you talking about? I'm coming with you." Until then, Fheon had not noticed how weak and frail his voice had become.

"Not now."

Thorin shook his head, and the realization dawned upon Kili. "I'm going to be there when that door is opened," he insisted. "When we first look upon the halls of our fathers, Thorin—"

"Kili," Thorin interrupted in a gentle voice, but firm demeanor. "Stay here. Rest. Join us when you're healed." He placed a hand on the back of the younger's dwarf's head in a reassuring gesture, before pulling away and stepping onto the boat—just when Oin stepped off it.

"I'll stay with the lad," said Oin. "My duty lies with the wounded."

As he passed by, Fheon and Elijah slipped past Kili. The older of them threw the dwarf a heartening smile, while the younger offered a concerned look. They stepped onto the boat and could not help but to overhear Fili and Thorin conversing.

"We grew up on tales of the mountain," Fili was saying. "Tales you told us. You cannot take that away from him!"

"Fili—"

"I will carry him if I must!"

"One day, you will be king and you will understand," said Thorin, and Fheon could see that he was trying to keep himself composed. "I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf… not even my own kin." This was when the dusty-blonde dwarf stepped off the boat, and Thorin grabbed his arm. "Fili, don't be a fool. You belong with the Company."

"I belong with my brother," Fili retorted, pulling his arm away and then retreating into the crowd, where Oin and Kili were.

Fheon stared after the three dwarves in distress, not knowing whether it was better or worse for the quest that there were less of them. Her apprehension was quickly turned to confusion when, suddenly, Elijah moved away from her and to Thorin. He pulled the dwarf off the boat and spoke to him in low tones. His mouth moved quickly. She could not hear what either of them were saying past the roaring of the people of Lake-town. Unconsciously, her heartbeat sped up in slight panic as she watched a dark look across Thorin's face. He nodded once, and then Elijah was walking to where Fili, Kili, and Oin were.

"Elijah!" she called loudly, rushing to the edge of the boat and grasping the rails. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

A kind smile appeared on his face and he returned to stand by the boat, but he did not step onto it. "Someone has to stay and protect the dwarves, Fheon," he said.

"They have weapons. They can take care of themselves."

"And what of their reputation? Who will keep them from making foolish mistakes; like robbing another armory or—"

"You are making a foolish mistake," she hissed, slowly losing her patience. "Do you really think I would allow us to be separated like this?"

He spread his arms and smiled again. "True siblings can work when they are apart just as well as they can when they are together. Father was the one who said that, long ago. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

Both of them were shouting now, for the noise of the crowds had become louder. People were waving their handkerchiefs and shouting farewells. The Master of Lake-town stood atop a podium above everybody else, saying his goodbyes like everybody else. Someone was tugging at Fheon's sleeve. From the corner of her eye, a short figure was pushing past the people. She vaguely felt the churning of the water beneath the boat and beneath her feet as the dwarves rowed, and her panic grew.

"Promise me," she yelled at her brother. "Promise me we will see each other again." It was the only thing she could think of at that moment that gave her hope.

His laugh reached her ears. "You're overreacting, sister! I'll always be with you. Enjoy your journey! And remember…" He winked knowingly at her. "The Company goes first."

For once, her spirits were not lifted at the sound of their constant mantra. The roaring of the masses grew deafening and it became impossible to hear what Elijah was saying next. She could not read his lips for they were too far away from the docks, now.

And then they turned a corner, and Elijah's tall, lanky figure—his familiar, cheery face—was lost to her.

It had been nary a minute that she had been separated from her brother, though she could already feel cold claws digging into her heart, suffocating her, limiting her movements. She had not moved from her spot by the edge of the boat, her fingers wrapped tightly around the railing. Soon, the roars of the people of Lake-town faded until they were only echoes across the water. It was early in the morning, and neither fog nor low temperatures would ravage them during the hours that passed.

But despite this, and despite the fact that there were more than half a dozen familiar people surrounding her, Fheon had never felt so alone.

so what did you think of Fheon and Thorin's bonding time? And what's all this business with Elijah? I also have no idea, it just came to me HAHAHA

Anywayyy, don't forget to review! ^^