I have read all your reactions, and they were the kind that I was expecting, but I still feel guilty from dropping that bomb on you guys... Guilty, but with no regrets.

Doesn't make sense, I know. Life doesn't make sense either. (That's what Fheon said)

AAAANYWAY, new chapter! ^^

Also, if any of ya'll have ever heard of Mufti day (and if you haven't, search it up), I'll be dressing up as Eponine. ^^

On my own~ Pretending he's beside me~~ (Again, that's what Fheon said.)

I LOVE YOU ALL PLEASE DON'T HATE ME-

All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson. I only own anything you do not recognise.

There was nothing quite as torturous as knowing that with every ripple Fheon made through the water with the paddle, she got farther and farther away from Elijah… or, rather, Elijah's body. It was all the same prospect to her; she had nothing to remember him by. She did not believe that he would live on through memory. Memories were soon forgotten, and the more it passed onto different generations, the less important it became. In a century or so, Elijah would be known as nothing more but the Ranger who saved the son of Smaug's killer, not the killer himself—except to Fheon who would, of course, be dead. But perhaps he could mean more to the next generations of their family: the brother of the last survivor of Evendim.

Scowling, Fheon docked the boat and stepped onto the shores of Erebor. The sun had disappeared from the sky, now, replaced by his sister, the moon. Stars twinkled overhead but Fheon did not look at them, fearing that the sight would remind her of her brother's seemingly-logical musings about them. The imagined lacerations on her heart were still too raw. She would have continued on to the Mountain until morning, but the ache in the heels of her feet soon grew too much to bear.

Gritting through the pain, she walked across the familiar narrow desert, all but emptying her water canteen. She kept walking until she reached a place suitable enough to rest in: a rock formation similar to the one they had come across when they were on their way to Mirkwood. Said journey seemed like it had happened ages ago, but not even a fortnight had passed since then. Fheon rested there for a few minutes, composing herself, and then stood up. She took note of the rock formation's location and then went off to find a stream. If memory served her, there was supposed to be a source of freshwater somewhere near where she was—be it a stream or a spring. She supposed she could gorge herself on water, but truth be told she did not feel very hungry.

The stream was about a quarter of a mile away. With her long strides, it took a bit over ten minutes to find. As soon as she reached it, Fheon filled her canteen with the cool water; in an effort not to dirty the stream, she hiked her pants up and poured the water from her canteen onto her legs. The razor thin cuts on her legs had closed hours ago, which made her worry, for the dirt from the rocks she had scratched them on might have entered her bloodstream. After pondering on it for a while, she poured water onto her fingertips and rubbed the cuts until the tender new skin tore open again. Ignoring the sting, she cleaned the scratches with water until she was satisfied. Then, she refilled the canteen again and started cleaning herself.

She stripped until she was only in her pants and chest wrapping. After carefully laying down her tunic, gambeson and hauberk onto a dry rock, she rubbed herself clean with only her hands; arms, chest, neck, face. The cool water brought her back into an alert state of mind, chilling her to the bone. She scrubbed her skin clean of the grime and sweat that had accumulated there. A thought occurred to her and then she spilled water onto her shoulder brace until it was completely drenched. The night air brought the relief she had wanted for her shoulder, but also made her teeth clatter. Giving her limbs a hasty shake, she slipped her gambeson back on and not her tunic, for the latter had become too dirty for her to use while she herself was clean. She wore her hauberk again as well, as a means of warmth. Already the wetness of her shoulder brace was soaking through her clothing, but she paid it no heed.

Another half minute passed as she filled her canteen and then drank from the stream until her stomach could hold no more. Once she was finished, she returned the canteen to one of the clasps on her belt, turned around, and made to return to the rock formation.

The walk seemed longer this time, but only because she was not in such a rush. Her pace was slower, her strides shorter, but her mind was no less attentive. She kept a watchful eye for bears or any other predators, for it was dark and they no doubt saw her as just another source of food; perhaps to feed their cubs, if they had any, or the rest of their family—

Fheon forced her mind to clear and started thinking about another wholly different topic; she settled for the problem that was her shoulder. An unhappy scowl eased onto her face as she tried turning her left arm in a corkscrew motion, which only resulted in a slow-growing pain that started near her chest. She let her arm dangle beside her like a limp noodle.

Something flitted into view from the corner of her eye. In the span of a second, she had jumped back and pulled her sword out of the sheath.

The sound of the blade sliding against the scabbard pierced through the silence, startling the boar and making it squeal, right before it thundered into the darkness. Fheon stared after it in both amusement and surprise. Sheathing her sword once more, the grey hide of the animal reminded her of Gandalf's billowing robes. And then at the thought of Gandalf, she remembered that he was a wizard, and wizards had the capacity to use their magic to heal. Her injury was not a very severe one. He had rectified Thorin's injuries when the dwarf had been thrown about like a ragdoll by Azog, and his physical state had been far worse. Surely he could heal her minor fracture easily.

Ultimately, the towering figures of the formation of boulders came into view. Fheon jogged up to it and sat down on the dry ground, leaning against the side of the rock with her sword on her lap. With all her will, she focused on her surroundings and not of the memories that threatened to plague her mind.

As the night progressed, more and more animal cries reached her ears. Be it the screech of a hawk or an eagle, the grunting of a nearby bear, the soft clopping of a big horn sheep's hooves. Nothing had threatened Fheon so far. Several had approached her, but she remembered the words of Hiram when they had once encountered a black bear and her cub.

It was during their later years as Rangers, and they were supposed to meet someone at Bree. The bear had appeared hostile, but Hiram softly instructed that they stay still and to calm their breathing. Once they did, the bear blinked—as if in recognition of their virtuousness—and then lumbered away with her cub; not even looking back in suspicion.

So throughout the night, Fheon made it a point to keep her heartbeat steady, and her breathing slow and calm. Whenever a bear would come near her site, she would look away and train her eyes on the ground until they walked away. But when a coyote neared, she would pull one or two blackberries out of her pocket and roll the fruit towards the animal. Ultimately, the coyote would completely ignore the berries and walk away. She was not sure whether she had pleased it or annoyed it, but she knew almost nothing about coyotes, for the Rangers did not camp in mountains.

It was lucky that no packs of wolves or mountain lions came; else she would have to fight. And with only a sword, she was not very sure as to who would come out alive after such an encounter.

As soon as the morning sun had illuminated enough of the surrounding environment, Fheon continued on her way to Erebor.

Despite the bags beneath her eyes, she remained awake and vigilant, climbing the mountain quickly so as to keep her word to the dwarves—that she would return to them by afternoon. But considering the pace of her journey, she was likely to arrive at the hidden entrance of the Mountain even before the sun had fully risen. She distracted herself by focusing on walking with light feet, for her limbs had grown weary from the exertion she had put upon them the last few days. The mountainside was slick with dew, making it all the more difficult for her to not trip over her own feet.

She had already crossed the narrow desert the day before, just before nightfall; and so it was just another two hours before she reached the overhang. She made the mistake of looking down at the ruins of Dale, if only for a moment. Suddenly, comparisons of it and what was now the town of Esgaroth sprung to her mind, followed by the long-known fact that many had perished to Smaug's fire… including Elijah.

At the thought of her brother, Fheon struck her stomach with the pommel of her sword. Pain immediately lanced up her torso, immobilizing her for a minute. As soon as she had the strength to move again, she turned and started making for the stone statue of a dwarf. For a while, her sword remained in hand until she had dispelled all thoughts of Elijah from her mind; at which time, she once again sheathed the blade and carried on in a faster pace.

The wounds were as fresh as they had been twelve hours ago.

The towering stone statue soon entered her sights, almost completely hidden by the jagged rocks jutting out of the cliff-side. Fheon climbed the staircase with practiced ease. No doubt, taking the route to the front entrance of the Mountain would have caused her less energy, but she had only ever taken the route once, and it had been going away from the Mountain. Nori was not there to correct her if she took a wrong turn, and a single minute of straying from the right path would possibly take another day to correct. No, the hidden entrance was much safer for her to take.

Entering the tunnel that would lead her to the treasure room, she noticed that the torches on the walls had been lit, so she did not have to go through the arduous task of having to wait for her eyes to adjust. Walking in darkness—with nothing but her hearing (for her sense of smell was not at all exemplary) to guide her—unnerved Fheon. She much preferred having all her senses in use instead of just one and a half.

She found refuge in the fact that none of the tunnels would lead her to any sort of dead end, and that, no matter which combination she chose of lefts and rights, it would always lead her to some part of the Mountain. So she took random turns, took her time, and eventually ended up in the dining hall—as she had hoped for, for she still had the right to hope—

Stop it.

Quickly, Fheon threw on a mask of detachment—despite the difficulty—and strode into the chamber. Only about half of the Company sat at the long tables, eating but not using the plates, for those as well as the utensils had gathered a meager amount of dust over the past dozens of years. As soon as Fheon stepped into the threshold, however, each one of them shot to their feet. She noticed Bilbo among their ranks, with a greasy turkey leg in his hand, but acknowledged him with only an extra second of eye contact before continuing to the table.

Her eyes scanned the dusty surface of it and, to her slight disappointment, found that there was no food left over for her.

"You've gone hunting again, I see," she muttered, "But did not catch enough game to have left any for my brunch."

The dwarves shared somewhat nervous glances with each other. And then Kili, for he was among their ranks, said, "We can go out again if you'd like, Fheon."

"It's fine. I'm not very hungry anyway." Her stomach growled, but the sound was low enough to not have given away her lie. Her face certainly did not. "Where are the others?"

"In the treasure room," answered Gloin, "searching for the Arkenstone."

"How long have they been at it?"

"Ever since Kili, Fili, Bofur and Oin arrived yesterday."

The dwarf's answer pinned her on the spot. She allowed a small frown. "Surely he lets you eat and sleep?"

"Of course," said Kili, and then his voice dropped an octave. "But when we aren't, we're down there with him while he orders us about." Then, seeming to think better of his words, he hastily added, "Not that we mind, of course. We want to find the Jewel as much as he does. It's just…

Surprisingly, Bilbo continued for him. "Something's not right with him. He's a little too obsessed."

Fheon pondered about it for a moment, and was grateful for having something to occupy her thoughts. "Let's not be too quick with our conclusions, yes?" (Though she suspected that the illness had already taken hold of the new King.) "For now, do what you can to get him back to his old self. Apart from that, nothing else you can do, really." Other than get food for me, she wanted to add, but thought better of it. Remembering Kili's injury, she said, "How's your leg?"

"As good as new," he answered, and then, somewhat abashedly, said, "Tauriel came around and fixed it."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Perhaps that was the reason Tauriel had been with them when they escaped from Lake-town. The question was: why did the elf follow them so far? Was it just to help Kili? And so the question came again: why?

The embarrassment remained on Kili's face, as well as a slight blush; he would not meet Fheon's eyes. She pursed her lips slightly, discerning what might have been going on between him and Tauriel. Even though she did not approve of it completely, she was in no position to judge who should love who.

As she was turning around to make for the treasure room, to get a glimpse of what she had missed, Kili called out to her: "Fheon!" he said, and then, "I'm sorry… about Elijah."

A familiar ache returned to her chest, squeezing her heart. She cleared her throat softly and said to the young dwarf over her shoulder, "Aye, me too." Then she renewed her stride and walked out of the room before anyone could add more weight onto her shoulders.

For a while, she just wandered the citadel in silence, gathering her thoughts and recomposing herself. She had no idea a single statement about Elijah would break her down so. It only added to her dismay that the rest of the dwarves would have some things to say about him as well. What was she to do: pretend to be fine until finally the fourteen of them had finished in saying their condolences, and then break down? She wished she could tell her companions to simply bugger off, but after all they had been through, it was going to be impossible for them to do so for long. This fact, along with the grumbling of her stomach, irritated her greatly.

After five minutes or so, she ultimately found herself standing before the notorious treasure room. The coins and gems within the keep were so well-kept that, even with almost no torchlight at all, light still bounced off them and covered Fheon's face in specks of yellow. She had thought the atmosphere in the room would be different, considering they had vanquished Smaug, but that was not the case. Everything felt the same. She could still feel the knot in her gut, and her body itched all over in her anxiousness.

She found Balin, Oin, Bombur, Dwalin, Ori, and Fili buried up to their knees in the coins, hunched over and sifting through the mounds of gold. Often there came exclamations of complaint from them, which Thorin answered by insisting that the Arkenstone was not lost, not taken—they just were not looking hard enough. The King was separated from all the others, standing on the junction of an upwards staircase and a downwards staircase. He was sure to see everyone and everything from up there.

Luckily, Fheon came up from the staircase behind him. She kept her footsteps light, so he did not notice her, and did not announce her presence until she was standing straight with her hands clasped behind her, and a blank expression on her face.

"Thorin," she greeted softly, making the Dwarf King start slightly in surprise.

"Fheon," he exclaimed. "You just got back?"

"Yes."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"There was nothing to be found."

The look on his face said it all: every soul in the Mountain had been informed of Elijah's death.

"You have my condolences, Fheon," he said in an earnest tone. "Truly."

Fheon knew not the proper reply. She would not cry in front of him and lament of how her brother had been the only family she had left. She would not tell him of the nothingness she had found in the ruins of Lake-town. She would not tell him of how the last thing Elijah had done was to save a young man from a long, agonizing death—Stop.

She forced a smile. "Thank you."

"Will you help search for the Arkenstone?"

The suddenness and brusqueness of his question was enough to startle her out of her inner self-pity. For a long moment, she regarded his dazed expression, the nearly desperate look in his eye, and saw what she needed to see.

Despite her apprehension, she answered in a blunt tone, "Of course."

A few minutes before nightfall, Dwalin (who had been given the authority to watch the dwarves' searching) told Thorin that they had to rest, for it would do them no good to continue searching while they were exhausted, lest one of them collapse into the mounds of gold and be buried. After much reasoning from Dwalin and Balin (who was as close to an advisor as either of them could get), Thorin finally gave them leave to rest, except for said two dwarves, who he ordered meet with him at the throne room, with the added request for Bilbo and Fheon. And though Fheon was not happy that she was not going to be left alone any time soon, the look on the King's face was cause enough not to question him.

After spending a few minutes in the kitchens to quench their thirst, Fheon, along with the three others Thorin had requested for, walked to the throne room, where he was waiting for them. He stared up at the jewel-frame embedded at the top of the throne, shattered when Smaug first took the Jewel, along with Erebor. As soon as Fheon and the others were standing a safe distance away from him, Dwalin spoke:

"There has been no sign of the Arkenstone so far, Thorin."

The King did not turn away from the frame as he said, "It is here in these halls. I know it."

"We have searched and searched," Dwalin insisted.

"Not well enough."

"We would all see the stone returned. You know that."

"And yet it is still not found!"

Fheon's frown deepened. She had heard Thorin snap at one or more of his kin before, but not raise his voice in such a manner that it echoed several times throughout the chamber before fading out entirely.

"Do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here?" asked Balin. She noticed the amount of shock, realization, and then dismay on the dwarf's face, which he quickly masked with a hard inquiring expression. Thorin turned and looked at him with cold eyes as he stepped down from the throne. Balin continued, "The Arkenstone is the birthright of our people."

"It is the King's Jewel," Thorin retorted in a hushed tone, before shouting, "Am I not the King?"

Balin turned away in exasperation, but Fheon regarded the King warily, just as Bilbo and Dwalin were. Without having to think about it, she knew that their thoughts were up to par with one another's.

"Know this," said Thorin, meeting her eyes as she quickly eased a milder countenance onto her face. "If anyone should find it and withhold it from me… I will be avenged." He finished with something that closely resembled an animalistic growl, turned, and then disappeared behind the throne. Fheon took this as his sign of dismissing them.

Sighing softly, she trudged down the steps and followed the others out of the throne room. She thought to herself, then, if the kind of horror they had unleashed could be worse than the previous looming threat of a dragon waiting within the Mountain. For there were many illnesses in the world, but one deriving from gold was very rare, and she was sure that the remedy for it was even rarer.

Damn dragon-sickness...