The boat ride was quiet, and the waters were still; such were the proper conditions under their circumstances.

Thorin had just left his two nephews behind, though it was undecided whether he was feeling very melancholic about it. Fheon had just left Elijah behind—her brother, with whom she had spent the travelling along with the Company with, as well as drifting along her life. He had been her anchor to sanity when they lost their home, just as much as she had been to him. Never had she bothered to think that they would ever be separated, except perhaps when they retired from Rangerhood, when their limbs were too weak to pull on the strings of a bow or hold a sword, when they would gain the right to settle down in a village, perhaps in Hobbiton, although Fheon very much doubted either of them would decide to have children.

The closer they got to the Mountain, the larger the chances grew of them actually being able to return to Eriador, and Bilbo to The Shire, and the dwarven folk to Erebor. Elijah was supposed to be safe in Esgaroth, but the panic that had grown within Fheon during their departure was only half because of her worry for him; the other half was worry for herself. Because the closer they got to the Mountain, the looming threat of Smaug grew ever more frightening.

How had Elijah so easily decided to stay behind while his sister travelled onwards to face the dragon? Was he so sure of her prowess, that she would be able to vanquish the beast? With her injured shoulder and weary mind, Fheon had never been so mistrusting with her abilities in her life. And so the more she thought about it, the more her sense of betrayal grew.

By the time she had come to reconcile with her circumstances, the shore of the Mountain had come into view. It was only a few dozen more yards away. Composing herself, Fheon leaned against the railing of the boat, even sitting on it slightly, so that she could rest her feet. During the hour they had spent rowing towards Erebor, she had remained standing and looking out across the water, lost in thought. She knew it would not do for her, the remaining scout of the group, to have weak legs when it came to climbing the mountain. Elijah would not be there to take turns scouting ahead with her. But then thinking of her brother and finding that he was not beside her… it made her heart clench with despondency. She thought to herself: Get this over with and then you'll be able to see him again. Just don't die.

The prospect, however, seemed improbable.

Once they reached the shore, the dwarves quickly stepped off the boat. Fheon was careful not to let her feet touch the small waves, for she knew that the water was freezing and it could soak into her boots easily. She did not need the distraction. Thorin took to the head of the group immediately, and then gestured for Fheon. "Come, Ranger," he said. "You are still our scout, are you not?"

His lips turned upwards into a small smile—probably trying to lighten the mood—but she could not bring herself to respond positively to his advances.

She gave a sharp jerk of her head and bounded up to him dutifully; giving the dwarf a sideways glance, she was about to stride past him and start leading the way—simply just following the clear parting of the grass ahead of them—when he grabbed her by the arm. He looked at her earnestly, saying, "I understand your worry for Elijah, Fheon, but please do not let it affect the outcome of this quest."

"Yes, Thorin."

"May I have your word?"

The Company goes first. "You have my word." With nothing more to say, she gingerly peeled his hand off her arm and forged onward, leaving the Company to follow her as they wished. She did not need to bite the inside of her cheek, or purse her lips, or grit her teeth, for she did not wish to say a word. The dwarves would hear nothing from her unless they were the ones starting the conversation.

They did not walk through thin forests of trees, nor were there much undergrowth to see. The few animals that passed by them were mountain goats, grizzly bears, big horn sheep, a few wild turkeys, and antelope. And when the dwarves' need for lunch appeared, Fheon let Ori decapitate their food with his slingshot before running up to it and killing it with her sword. Her bow was still useless in her arms.

With the dwarf's slingshot and her sword, they were able to catch four big horn sheep, two antelope, and two extra turkeys. Since Thorin was positive that there were no other humans or orcs or dangerous, two-legged beings on the mountain asides from their Company, he allowed Bifur to start a fire so they could cook their game. It was for an hour that they laid the meat over the fire and let it cook, and then Thorin ordered that they eat on the way. Without horses to ride, Fheon was not sure whether it was harder or more convenient. Bombur cooked the turkeys but kept them for a later time.

The dry, stony mountainside offered them some difficulty, for it had become so desiccated due to the low temperature that it was slippery beneath the dwarves' feet. Fheon let them help each other while she did her best to keep her feet light and continue treading onward. The stick of antelope meat filled her stomach, and the gallon of water she had drunk the other night strengthened her limbs, though milk would have worked as well. After finishing with her meat, she chewed on a chamomile leaf, ignoring the strong unpleasant taste. She had already mixed a handful of the leaves into her canteen of water, willing it to strengthen her left shoulder immediately even if it was impossible. She longed to release a successful arrow again, for it was much more rewarding than slashing a sword when her target was ten feet away.

In her musings, she accidentally lost her footing. Her arms shot forward reflexively to break her fall, but she instead ended up cutting her palm open on the tip of a jagged rock. It was not her sword arm, thankfully, but her left hand, which was the extension of her already-injured left shoulder.

A startled cry erupted from one of the dwarves: "Are you alright, lass?"

Fheon did not bother to look over her shoulder, but instead acknowledged his question with a simple "I'm fine. The gash ran from beneath her forefinger to the center of her palm, where it was deepest. Crimson liquid flowed from the laceration and down the bottom of her wrist, where it soaked into the sleeves of her shirt. She tore the wet strip of cloth off her sleeve and secured it around her hand, to stop the bleeding.

Scowling slightly at the continuous stings of pain, she gritted her teeth, pulled herself back onto her feet, and continued the hike up the mountain.

And the time came when the slope of the mountain decreased, and the beds of rock disappeared from view, replaced by a flat, dry, vast piece of land that went on until past her field of vision. But to their sides, the large boulders remained, and the white sand beneath their feet did not travel far to their right or their left—perhaps only a few meters.

It was high noon already, and the sun had risen directly above them. Its rays beat down on the Company mercilessly. Beads of sweat streamed down the sides of Fheon's face. Her body, beneath the chainmail, had become so slick with sweat, she was soon disgusted with herself. It occurred to her that only yesterday had they been laboring against cold temperatures, and now it was the complete opposite.

She allowed her feet to become heavy, for there was no longer a slope to be wary of, and trudged through the temporary wasteland with long strides. The thought of having to reach the gates of Erebor before nightfall, which was only a few more hours away, gave her the urgency she needed to keep moving. Behind her, the dwarves had not complained once, not even Bilbo. It gave her the assumption that perhaps they had already grown used to treading up mountains in such weather, for their kin were known to live in mountains themselves. They must have had to walk up a mountainside at least twice a day.

Harboring the thought of Elijah not being among them—not walking behind her, beside her, or ahead of her—made her feel a sense of weakness. Fheon became determined to not let the Company see her as weak, even though she knew that she had already shown them her dexterity many times over. Her pride would not allow it.

Her left hand throbbed at a rapid pace because of her fresh injury, and she did her best to ignore it. Eventually, the temporary desert gave way to the return of stones, with grass and ferns peeking out from the rocks. Two hours afterwards, an obvious decline entered her view—a basin. And within this basin, there were the dark, charred ruins of a once-beautiful city. Fheon was able to register the scent of smoke and decay, and she knew what city she was standing before. Although she kept her steady pace, the dwarves ran up from behind her to stand by the edge, proving as their overlook. Soon, Fheon took her place behind them.

"What is this place?" asked Bilbo, standing beside Thorin.

"It was once the city of Dale," Balin answered in a melancholic voice. "Now it is a ruin… the desolation of Smaug."

"The sun will soon reach midday," said Thorin. "We must find the hidden door into the mountain before it sets… This way!"

As he was about to walk away, Bilbo called, "Wait. Is this the overlook? Gandalf said to meet him here. On no account were we to—"

"Do you see him?" the Dwarf King interrupted softly, but sternly. "We have no time to wait upon the wizard. We're on our own. Come!" For the second time, he gestured for the Company to follow him and then turned, striding past Fheon. "We are close," he told her. "There is no need for scouting anymore."

She jerked her head once in reply, but said nothing. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, concern etched upon his face, before he strode forward. Wordlessly, she trailed after him and his kin. Bilbo soon fell into step with her, and she allowed him to.

"You don't have to worry about Elijah, you know," he said, cutting into the silence. "He and the others will be fine. We'll have recaptured Erebor before we know it."

Fheon glanced at him, forcing a blank expression to take up her face. She said nothing in reply, hoping it would discourage him from continuing to ramble. It worked. And she made a mental note to apologize to him at a later date; but for the rest of the day, and perhaps another day after, she wanted to be left alone.

Thorin was the one who led them into the dead-end. The mountain continued to ascend, but they had no more time to turn back and find the path leading up to the crags. They searched for an incline, or a ladder, or a stairway of some sort, for when Fheon looked above them, she could see something manmade peeking out from atop the cliff. Lowering her head, the cliff-face stared back at her in challenge, as if saying, "If you were smart, you would find the gradient in less than a minute." But alas, it had been well over five minutes of searching the landscape beneath the cliff, and they were yet to find anything of import.

For the second time that day, Thorin laid his sword upright, digging the blade into the soft ground in front of him, and yelled, "Anything?" Fheon was taking a few seconds of rest upon a rock behind the King. She took a single large gulp from her canteen before clipping it back onto her belt.

Several meters away, Dwalin shouted back in kind, "Nothing!"

An impatient grunt escaped Thorin's throat. He leaned down and pulled out the familiar square of yellow paper from his pack, the map. "If the map is true, then the hidden door lies directly above us," he said, and then threw his head back to start scanning the rock faces that surrounded them.

Fheon slowly rose to her feet and let her eyes roam the crags around her. The sun was drawing low. A few more hours and it would be gone. She sighed inwardly in her frustration, but then spotted something jutting out from the cliff-face—not an ordinary expanse of rock, but there were patterns on it that caught her attention. Just as she was starting towards it, Bilbo flit into her line of sight and pointed elatedly at the strange rock formation. "Up here!" he called. Thorin ran up to the hobbit immediately, followed by his kin and Fheon languidly trailed behind them.

Past a rather large boulder that was jutting out of the cliff-face was an even more massive stone statue of a dwarf. In its hand was a sword or an axe; Fheon was too far to know for sure. But starting from the crook of its elbow all the way down to the ground was a two-meter wide pillar. A maze pattern had been forged into the stone, but looking at its arrangement, Fheon could have guessed that people were meant to climb it.

"You have keen eyes, Master Baggins," she heard Thorin tell Bilbo; a smile was on his face. He rushed up to the pillar and immediately starting ascending the entrenched staircase. The nine dwarves who were the remainder of the Company followed their King unquestioningly, including the hobbit. Fheon decided to trail them from the back, remaining wary of their surroundings.

The climb was long and tiring, considering each one of them was already exhausted. When they reached the top of the staircase, they scaled up the stone dwarf's hand and walked on the handle of its weapon. Glancing downwards, Fheon found that it was, in fact, an axe. At the end of the weapon was another staircase, but she was not sure if she could even call it that. It was steep enough to be properly called a ladder; only the slight angle of it allowed the Company to actually clamber it to the top of the Mountain. The staircase stopped at the stone dwarf's ear, at which time, Thorin had already been able to lay eyes on the break of the mountain-face, the top of the cliff on which they were standing on.

Fheon was the last to reach the top of the staircase. When she did, Thorin was standing directly in front of the wall of the mountain. It was smooth enough for her to discern that one or two places behind it might have been hollow. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief, for they had found the entrance.

"This must be it… the hidden door," Thorin breathed, running a hand across the smooth stone surface. The rest of the Company remained by the stone dwarf's ear, emitting laughs and chuckles and exhalations of triumph. Thorin retrieved the key to the mountain from one of his pockets, turned, and Fheon saw that his eyes were lit up like candles. "Let all those who doubted us rue this day!" he said victoriously. Cheers erupted from the small band of dwarves. Fheon managed a small smile, for their glee could sometimes be too strong for her to overpower.

The dwarves broke away from the statue behind them and approached the wall, eager to open the entrance into the mountain. "Right then, we have a key," said Dwalin, stepping up to the wall and pressing his hands against it, "Which means that somewhere, there is a keyhole."

"The last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole," Thorin recited, standing on the edge of the cliff. The sun had started its descent and would soon disappear; they had two minutes, at most, to find the keyhole.

And so they waited. Dwalin ran his hands up and down the stone wall, occasionally knocking at the stone. He kept his ear near it, listening for the echoes that could suggest there was a hollow spot behind the stone. Fheon reverted to counting the seconds in her head; and when she reached sixty, she knew that something was wrong. She glanced over her shoulder the same time Thorin did, both of them taking note of how low the sun had gone. He ordered Nori to go over to the wall, and the dwarf obeyed. From his pockets, he pulled out a spoon and what looked like a metal funnel. He placed the wider end of the funnel onto the wall, and the smaller end a few centimeters into his ear. The spoon he used to softly knock at the wall. Fheon guessed that his method for looking for the hollow within the wall was the same as Dwalin's.

"We're losing the light," Thorin hissed with a tone of slight panic in his voice, looking at the sun. "Come on."

Nori continued in his ministrations, though it was evident by the manner of his spoon-knocking on the wall that he was starting to panic as well. Dwalin, in his impatience, started kicking at the stone barrier. His determination was commendable.

"Be quiet!" said Nori. "I can't hear when you're thumping."

"I can't find it," Dwalin muttered, using his strong arms to push at the wall, perhaps hoping that it would make a difference. "It's not here… It's not here!"

The two minute marker had passed. They were fortunate enough to still have the sun, but it looked like they only had mere seconds before the light of Durin's Day was gone.

"Break it down!" Thorin ordered.

"Aye!"

The dwarves surged forward immediately and equipped their battle axes. They hacked at the stone with fervor, but they did not even scratch the unrelenting rock. There were no dents, no abrasions, and no marks left whatsoever. Sparks flew from the strength of the Company's blows, but it was no use. "Stop!" said Fheon. "You'll break the only weapons you have!"

No one acknowledged her but Bilbo, who added in his agreement, which the dwarves did not acknowledge either. To their right, Fheon heard Thorin's strangled whisper: "It has to break." He had not taken his eyes off the sun, which was sinking ever lower with every second that passed. The sound of shattering metal reached her ears, painfully rattling her eardrums. A flustered look ultimately edged onto her face. Where's the door?

"It's no good!" Balin finally concluded. He and Thorin were the only two dwarves who had not helped in the abusing of the stone. He said, "The door's sealed. It can't be opened by force. There's a powerful magic on it."

And with that, the sun disappeared beneath the peaks of the mountains. Though the clouds remained purple, the day's light was lost.

"No," Thorin grunted, fury lacing his voice. He surged forth from the overhang and stood in front of the undamaged wall, pulling out the map. Everyone looked at him with wide eyes, including Fheon. "The last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole," he recited, and his voice cracked at the last word. Fheon's heart clenched, sharing in his disbelief and anguish. "That is what it says…"

"We must have missed something," Fheon suggested in a hoarse whisper, for it was the only way she knew to keep her voice from breaking. "Something that Elrond couldn't read… something—"

"What did we miss?" said Thorin, his grief-filled eyes trained on her as he approached her slowly. His hands were shaking as he repeated, "What did we miss?" His statement turned into a broken whisper. He stared at her desperately, and then at Balin. "… Balin?"

The older dwarf shook his head. "We've lost the light," he said. "There's no more to be done."

The finality in his words made Fheon's stomach wrench even harder. The strong sense of misery overpowered her, and her emotions betrayed her. Her eyebrows furrowed together as a deep frown covered her face. She swallowed thickly to ensure her a strong voice, but even then, it was difficult to find the right words. "It can't… It can't have all been for nothing… We'll find a way—we always have. Maybe i-it's not even Durin's Day yet. Maybe—"

"We had but one chance," Balin told her, in an empathetic but stern voice. "Come away, lads… It's over."

He was the first of the dwarves to start the long trek back down the stone dwarf's jaw, but he was soon followed by the others, all of them muttering in broken whispers and dejected statements. Seeing them, Fheon could not help but to feel the same way—to feel miserable. There was still hope in her chest, but only little, like a fire that had been drenched with water and was slowly flickering until its inevitable death. She cradled her head in her hands and tried to gather her thoughts.

"Wait a minute… Where are they going?" Bilbo muttered, glancing in a panic from the dwarves to Thorin. "You can't give up now! We've come too far!"

A metallic sound rang across the barren clearing. Thorin turned around and began walking after his kin.

"Thorin…"

He pushed the map into Bilbo's chest, where the hobbit kept it, sighing.

"You can't give up now."

The Dwarf King did not seem to hear. Silently, he marched down the steep staircase and soon disappeared behind the rock of the stone dwarf's beard.

Bilbo took to standing in front of the stone wall and reciting the runes from the map. "Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks... The setting sun…"

Finally being able to form a coherent though, Fheon patted the hobbit on the shoulder and told him, "Stay here and try to figure this all out," before rushing down the steps and after the Company. She missed one or two steps on several occasions and scraped her hands against the rock whenever she tried to keep herself from falling, in her hurry. Once Thorin's familiar mane of dark hair was close enough, she reached a hand out and grasped his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. He was not even agitated when she did so; the only look on his face was one of pure sorrow.

"Thorin," she chided gently. "We've come too far and nearly died too many times. You can't lose hope—"

"What hope is there?" he rebuked gruffly. "The light is gone. Durin's Day will not come again for another dozen months. I doubt the Company will rally again, seeing as nothing happened. The map did not work."

"Maps rarely do. Thorin." She gripped his shoulder tighter. "We did not come all this way for nothing. Kili was not shot in the leg, I was not struck by a goblin, and you did not risk your life for this quest—just to give up."

His forlorn expression remained. "Fheon—"

"Listen: you can't lose hope. You can't. I don't care if the others leave now and never turn back, but I will not let you do the same. You started this quest, nearly got us all killed several times, and you will be the one to turn your back? … After the compassion I so surely thought you'd had?" At the look that crossed his face, he must have recalled the conversation they had had the night before. Her lip twitched up slightly, and her expression softened. "Hear me now, Thorin Oakenshield. You cannot lose hope, for when you have lost hope, you have lost yourself. And remember this: When things are dire and bleak…"

Above them, Bilbo's voice echoed down the mountainside in waves of pure excitement—"The keyhole! Come back! Come back! It's the light of the moon—the last moon of autumn!"

His laugh was contagious, nearly so for Fheon, who managed to keep herself in check, but allowed a smile as she continued, "There is always hope."

P.S. I got that "hope" thing from the I Am Number Four book. Kudos to Pittacus Lore - I LOVE THEM! (Even though I haven't read the latest ones... yeah...)

Anyway, that's it for ellesmer's recommended reading material! [feeble applause] Have a nice week!

AND DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A REVIEW. YEAH I'M LOOKING AT YOU.